Starve acre

In this meditative, dread-filled novel from Hurley (The Loney), the lives of bereaved parents Juliette and Richard Willoughby become increasingly bizarre as they attempt to process the death of their five-year-old son, Ewan. On their remote estate, Starve Acre, on the British moors, Richard takes to digging endlessly in the fields for animal bones and mysterious tree roots, while Juliette consults a group of local mystics called the Beacons. After the Beacons perform a spiritual ritual (which they insist is "not a fucking séance") at Starve Acre, questions surrounding the last days of Ewan's life arise and mix with the specter of a local folkloric boogeyman--an eldritch presence buried beneath the soil of Starve Acre itself--making it ever more difficult for Juliette and Richard to hold onto the truth. Hurley has a slow and steady hand in establishing a gloomy, nearly gothic atmosphere, allowing his characters' grief room to breathe even as he tightens the noose in ways readers won't see coming until the chilling and memorable conclusion. This is folk horror that knows how to take its time. Fans of T. Kingfisher and Francine Toon will find a lot to love. (July)

A couple's son is dead. But something is lingering. Richard and Juliette Willoughby are grieving the recent loss of their young son, Ewan. While Richard is on leave from the university where he teaches history, he has little to do on his inherited rural English homestead except explore the nearby fields. There, he excavates a hare skeleton and the roots of an oak once used as a gallows and tries to fend off neighbors who claim they can help him and Juliette communicate with Ewan from the grave. Richard is skeptical of such talk when he isn't infuriated by it, but an inconsolable Juliette is willing to try. Cannily revealed details explain why: Regional lore is suffused with tales of possession and murder, and Ewan experienced stunning spasms of violence (deliberately slamming a classmate's hand in a door, then worse) that made Richard and Juliette pariahs. Meanwhile, Richard is blinding himself to the evidence of eerie malevolence that's emerging right before his eyes. Hurley originally published this book in the U.K. in 2019 under a pseudonym as part of a series of novels purporting to be neglected classics of 1970s horror; he's ably captured the vibe of the era's demon-spawn novels like Rosemary's Baby and The Exorcist. Hurley smartly tells the story mainly from the perspective of Richard, who (like the reader) is shut out from the darkest depths that killed his son and threaten his wife. The explanations are deliciously, terrifyingly vague ("I didn't like the dark....It was talking to me," a 5-year-old Ewan says) until the novel's chilling, well-turned ending puts matters into clearer focus and Richard's vision of the countryside as a bucolic retreat is undone forever. Top-shelf gothic-folk horror. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.