It’s not there, and then a small black door appears, “black, nothing-black, like the gaps between stars”. Set in the universe of Mitchell’s The Bone Clocks, where humans live unknowingly alongside immortals, it opens as a boy and his mother search along a narrow, high-walled alleyway in an anonymous town for the entrance to Slade House. I read David Mitchell’s Slade House while surrounded by much of my extended family I still found myself piling my children into my own bed at the end of the evening, ostensibly to keep them safe from Mitchell’s haunted house and soul-sucking vampires, but if I’m honest, it was really all about me. Bad, because that fear has to be realised in an environment where I feel safe – other adults around, the scary bits wrapped up before bed, and so on. Good, because I have an unquenchable thirst for being thoroughly frightened by fiction. T here are good and bad things for me about reading (and reviewing) thrillers.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |