I thought I was just going to be reading a spooky book, which turned out not even to be that spooky.
At least I can write in my review that I was flummoxed, because flummoxed is a fun word to say. I think the last third of the book is supposed to Mean Something, with bolds and capital letters. How is it that my super-hero skill is the ability to pick books where random shit is thrust upon the reader? If I could monetize this, I would be wealthy enough that I could buy all the books I want, rather than request them from the public library or Netgalley. Oh my goodness, it’s the aliens all over again. In which the novel suddenly veers off strangely into some bizarre Soylent Green revenge fantasy plus the Holocaust I think.
Even the structure, which each chapter starting with a small-font, italicized blurb: In which … There are secret corridors and hidey holes and disappearances, all aping a nineteenth century ghost story. It definitely starts out spooky - children showing up at a manor house somewhere vaguely British, a manor house owned by Morgan, a disfigured recluse and attended to by a housekeeper who also simply showed up one day.
The Children’s Home by Charles Lambert, is sort of a spooky book.
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