It exposes our deepest feelings like a raw nerve, like cold air on minty teeth. It is a genre that allows for exploration of the awful, terrible, horrible parts of humanity in order to find something that is strangely beautiful. This is the kind of book that reminds me why I love horror. “The Last House on Needless Street” by Catriona Ward is the kind of horror that seeps into your bones, the kind that makes you think you might be a little messed up for even reading it, the kind that makes you want to stare the author straight in the eyes and ask, “Who hurt you?”
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |