Things We Say in the Dark

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I feel like all I’ve heard of Kirsty Logan is how atmospheric her writing is, and with her name cropping up in relation to so many horror books, I really went into this expecting to be wowed. We know there are thousands of National readers who want to debate, argue and go back and forth in the comments section of our stories. He carried her with his strength and let her mercilessly fall until their hips kissed and pulled away, caught in a tantalizing rhythm.

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Their bodies now pressed against each other, their silhouettes almost made something of a heart shape. Despite all her pleading, there was a roguish smile on her lips, her mouth hanging open as she gasped for the cool air misting around her. Instead, I found writing that felt like a basic to-do list narration, with a rhythm that felt repetitive and stories that failed to hold my attention. As with most collections, there were stories I felt were really strong and some that I found weak, but overall a good collection.I have to say in advance: it’s mostly me, not the collection, but maybe be advised on the content before you go into it. Men and women cried tears of joy; some raised their arms up to the sky, in praise of the old dragons. The conversation will go back to what it should be about – people who care passionately about the issues, but disagree constructively on what we should do about them. It’s deeply thoughtful how she engages with all these themes, but, most importantly, the collection as a whole revels in the deep pleasure of storytelling itself and how our nightmares function as a deeper form of self-communication. Many invoke imaginatively creepy imagery involving ghosts, haunted houses, witches, seances and animalism.

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In between the stories are italicized passages that seem to give context on Logan’s composition process, including her writing retreat in Iceland – but it turns out that this is a story, too, split into pieces and shading from autobiography into fiction. Branches blatted along the roof of the car and wet leaves stroked Jay’s window, and she wanted to roll it down, and she turned her eyes front to ask Pop if she could and a big black shape loomed up fast and smack against the car’s front bumper and thuck over the bonnet and Jay screwed up her eyes so she wouldn’t accidentally see anything in the wing mirror. Their lips hovered close to each other — breathing, barely touching as sweat beaded down their skin. Her short fiction and poetry has been translated into Japanese and Spanish, recorded for radio and podcasts, exhibited in galleries and distributed from a vintage Wurlitzer cigarette machine.She felt it every night, when he took her in his arms and held her so close, she no longer knew where she ended and where he began.

Things We Say in the Dark by Kirsty Logan book reviews Things We Say in the Dark by Kirsty Logan book reviews

Haven’t read a horror short story collection before but thought these stories had interesting var At first the author of these short reflective pieces seems to be Logan herself, but then it becomes clear it’s another creation and the dilemma of this (untrustworthy) fictional author is as eerie as the plight of many of the stories’ characters. But despite the horrors of Voldemort’s new world, help—and hope—seem to arise from the most unlikely of places. Around them, much of the army was still busy cheering, with most of the soldiers cajoling and hollering to the camp aids for something to drink. Undeterred by her begging, Xander kept sucking on her tits, carefully giving both breasts his devoted attention.A sultry sigh filtered through Corrin’s lips once she felt his fingers comb through the roots of her hair, toeing the tenuous line between massaging and possessively gripping the tresses over her head. She knew this because she saw it in him — the pain of remembering too much and having to relive, in the darkness of his quarters, the fears and insecurities that left a shadow beneath his eyes.

Things We Say in the Dark by Kirsty Logan | Waterstones

The book starts with a short introduction from the “author” herself, where she is set in Iceland, in a remote village without any distractions. She hooked her arms over the broad column of his neck, holding onto him whenever her body bounced from the smooth motions of his lovemaking. In “My House Is Out Where the Lights End”, one of the more straightforward chillers, nature exudes a patriarchal menace.I personally really enjoyed this part, and had high hopes for the collection as a whole at this point. I found the subject matter of most of these to be quite sinister and disturbing with very little sense of hope or escape which did nothing to lift my mood. Make sure you’ve got a blanket to hide behind – here are monsters, ghosts, magical islands and talking cats. At bedtime Jay would wait for Pop to come and tuck her in, which she desired and feared in equal parts, but she shouldn’t have bothered because since he planted the sunflowers he was rarely ever in the house at all. Never quite able to live in the present, Xander was caught in the limbo of a troubled past and an uncertain future.