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A review by dreamofbookspines
The Red Tree by Caitlín R. Kiernan
5.0
Haunting, from the very beginning when I had to check that the author's name was not in fact Sarah. The unreliability of Sarah as a narrator is part of what makes this book so creepy. It's a constant "is she crazy or isn't she" battle that goes on in your own head as you're reading. I couldn't read this at night, but during the day I sat in patches of sunshine that moved across my floor, and read as much as I could. Then I had to read something else before bed, so I wouldn't go to sleep with images from this blood-flecked horror story fresh in my head.
The author has some minor language quirks that are irritating (e.g. "half a decade"--seriously, it's five years; "somesuch"--only good in historical fiction or once in an entire book of a different genre), but luckily they're relatively minor. Because the story is so excellent, I was able to overlook these. Mostly it's a subtle progression [of the narrator] from totally sane, though maybe a little immature, to increasingly insane and doubting herself.
This book reminded me of quite a few other books and movies, some of which Kiernan actually references in the novel. The Red Tree has a hint of the psychosis from Charlotte Perkins Gilman's The Yellow Wallpaper, the gothic mood of Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale, the mysterious qualities of Picnic at Hanging Rock (the Peter Weir film, not the book), and some similar thematic elements from Elizabeth Hand's Black Light. Since these are all things I rather liked, this book was a pleasure (though it also left me terrified and panting, breathless).
The author has some minor language quirks that are irritating (e.g. "half a decade"--seriously, it's five years; "somesuch"--only good in historical fiction or once in an entire book of a different genre), but luckily they're relatively minor. Because the story is so excellent, I was able to overlook these. Mostly it's a subtle progression [of the narrator] from totally sane, though maybe a little immature, to increasingly insane and doubting herself.
This book reminded me of quite a few other books and movies, some of which Kiernan actually references in the novel. The Red Tree has a hint of the psychosis from Charlotte Perkins Gilman's The Yellow Wallpaper, the gothic mood of Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale, the mysterious qualities of Picnic at Hanging Rock (the Peter Weir film, not the book), and some similar thematic elements from Elizabeth Hand's Black Light. Since these are all things I rather liked, this book was a pleasure (though it also left me terrified and panting, breathless).