The stories in Help The Witch are beautiful and sometimes unsettling vignettes of the rural English countryside. The ghosts and witches blend with and emerge from the country, through old creaky houses and locals' folk tales. You can feel the chill in your bones as Cox guides you through the scenery he clearly knows so well.

Not my usual reading material these days, but it was a great change of pace. I love the historical and folkloric weaving. At the end of the day, don't we all secretly love a bit of swords and sorcery?

This was my first encounter with Cusk. Her prose alone is worth the read, but the interiority of the protagonist is really what makes this novel shine. Her self reflection and revelation were like a dagger, oftentimes pointed directly at me. It took me a while to get into the rhythm of her writing style, but once I did it was well worth it.

I read an uncorrected proof of this. Gilda's character often hits too close to home. Some of the plot points seem a little far fetched.

Jon Klassen is always so charming and delightfully dark. I wish I had his books when I was young, but I can enjoy them just as much as an adult.

My first of Moshfegh's. I don't know what to say. She uses perfect prose to describe the grittiest things. She makes you somehow sympathize with the most deranged narrator. Moshfegh knows the depths of depression and complex grief like her own soul; which, if you're familiar with either, probably lends to empathizing with the protagonist. If it weren't for the final page, I'd give it five stars. We knew the situation, no need to hand feed it; that made it feel trite.

This book perfectly captures the feeling of the Denver I've known and loved for so many years. It's a strange comfort to be so intimately familiar with many of the story's settings, knowing very well how Kari might feel while headbanging at the Hi-Dive or browsing records and books at some old favorite haunts. Maybe that makes me biased, but the rich setting is so integral for me. Wurth's protagonist, hell, most of the characters, are relatable and realistic. While Kari's journey can verge on the absurd at times, it lends charm and interest to the story rather than detracts.

I'm not sure why, but it took me ages to finish this. Truthfully, it might be because I attempted to read it around the tenth anniversary of my own father's death. A lot of Yocchan's sentiments were much my own, especially in the immediate aftermath. It's very honest and it captures the haze and routine zombie-like walk through everyday life after a traumatic event. That's the thing--it seems like nothing really happens for the first 3/4 of the book. But looking back, after Yocchan and her mother start emerging from that haze, you can see the changes and events that led them there. It's not action-packed, suspensful, or mysterious. It's a quiet journey about healing from grief and learning what life is really all about.

I think Mariana Enríquez might be my current favorite author. Every story in this packs a punch, terrifies, and enthralls me. She is excellent at weaving the ghostly and supernatural into real, believable vignettes of urban Argentine life.

Beautifully surreal, but also speaks to the inherent absurdity of the modern workplace and our search for meaning while being tethered to obligation.