It suggested a very different read, one steeped in social commentary that never emerged. It would be wrong to review the book in relation to the book I wanted to read, but I found the blurb somewhat misleading. As though the Almighty said, Let thus and such critter be dead, and I said, ‘Fuck you, he can still play the banjo’.” But when I make a good mount I feel like I beat God in a small way. “So does a self-educated man find satisfaction in the preservation of dead animals?” Those Across the River feels like an accumulation of chapters into a story it works as a whole, but absolutely no moments stand-out as being particularly well-written or chilling. Something feels very creative writing about it as though every chapter should do something, but never stand out on its own. Nevertheless, I found myself putting down the book after reading twenty pages and thinking “what actually happened?” There’s just very little of note. Incidents that lead right back to Frank.īuehlman hardly proves to be a prose stylist, but the plot rollicks along at an incredible pace. The couple begin to settle in the backward village, but when the villagers vote to stop their monthly ritual of releasing pigs out into the forest across the river, terrible incidents begin to befall the villagers. The story follows Frank Nichols, a veteran of the First World War, and his partner Eudora, as fate forces them to move back to Frank’s poor ancestral village of Whitbrow, where his predecessors owned a plantation where horrors occurred. Those Across the River is the debut novel from Christopher Buehlman, who has gone on to be a rather prolific writer. Then I found out that neither was available for anywhere near a reasonable price and had to settle for some also-rans. After assiduously researching, I found a couple of horror volumes that really piqued my interest. Whatever the case, I fancied delving back into some horror fiction. Mostly it’s probably just anticipating the release of The Haunting of Bly Manor on Netflix. Perhaps it’s the onset of autumn, or the horrors of the real world.
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