'I'm writing this in a stranger's room on a broken chair at an old school desk.'
John Cole's feeling a bit bored of it all, so he shuts up his shop, drives out in to the countryside and intends to leave all the shit behind him.
When he gets lost (where the fuck's your map, John. You've just come from a fucking bookshop) and goes looking for help, finding a big house where the residents seem to be expecting him, or someone very similar to him. And so in he goes to stay in this house with this bunch of strangers. (John, what the fuck.)
As time passes John finds himself drawn into the goings on of the place, and part of the lives of the people within, whatever their intentions may be. (WHAT DID YOU EXPECT, JOHN?)
This is one of those books that dangles a constant sense of foreboding over you, as you can probably tell from my brackets up there. It is written in such a calm and considered way that it just feels spooky. Do you know what I mean? You'd better do because that's all you're getting on the subject.
I did not latch on to this story and fall in to it. I thought it was a pleasant read, and very clever and thoughtful, but I am not very often in a think-y mood. The book felt like it needed a more think-y person to read it. That being said, it does make you want to read on to the end and find out what the fuck exactly is going on, so it does pull you along.
Recommended if you are a patient reader who likes a bit of lingering darkness and psychological turns.