'There were owls in the nursery when James was a boy.'
A lad (James) and his sister (Charlotte) move into a cottage with their Aunt following their parents deaths. Soon after, James gets sent away to school in Oxford. He meets another lad and becomes part of his social circle. They hang out. Everything is fine. It's nice, even.
Then, quite unexpectedly, everything is not fine. James is left alone and his sister Charlotte, who's still up in Yorkshire, comes looking for him fearing that everything is fucked. Everything is a bit fucked, to be fair.
This is a novel set in Victorian England with a load of supernatural guff chucked in. I am fucking sick to death of fucking vampires and werewolves and fucking FUCKING zombies and all the rest of it. Leave it alone now, it's been going on ages and it's SHIT.
Anyway. It's Gothic and dark like you want from a story set in Victorian England, but that's about all the (incredibly faint, and pretty predictable) praise I can give this one. It lacked anything to fucking engage me. The first hundred pages or so were great, but it just went downhill from there. It is a mighty 500 pages long. Does it need all those pages, all those words? Does it fuck. Cut down by about 300 pages and it could have been a good story and entertaining read, but it just. Kept. Fucking. Going. LONG.
If you've got an interest in the supernatural/fantasy and/or Victorian England then by all means give it a go. Although, I think that if you do like these things though then there are a few that I could recommend you that knock the socks off this one.
All in all, a lot of words for not much happening. What the fuck is going on at the moment with these droning long books? Cut it down, cut it out, editors. You're wasting my fucking time.
Recommended if you've got AGES to read a book and you are a lot more patient than me.