A collection of short stories, previously heard on the radio in slightly different versions. I liked this, but it’s less cohesive than I hoped - the idea of linked stories all taking place in the same area over thousands of years offers plenty of opportunity for resonances and echoes throughout, but that doesn’t come into play as much as I might have liked. It’s also curiously lacking in a sense of place - I didn’t come away thinking I knew this area or how the location of one story was related to another. There wasn’t one individual story that I disliked, but somehow as a novel it is less than the sum of its parts. There is some great writing here, and a sinister and ominous mood throughout (which counts as praise round my way), but I think it is better served by being parcelled out over a long period if time and interspersed with other books rather than being read in one go.

Okay, let's talk about a book that's basically the literary equivalent of those true crime podcasts we can't stop binging - but with way more atmospheric dread. If you're the type who loves stories that crawl under your skin and set up camp, this is absolutely your jam.

Barrowbeck is a remote valley straddling Yorkshire and Lancashire, where the landscape itself feels like it's holding onto centuries of dark secrets. It's not your typical horror - forget jump scares and gore. This is the kind of slow-burn, atmospheric horror that makes you look twice at the shadows in your peripheral vision.

The structure is genius. Instead of a traditional narrative, Hurley gives us interconnected stories that span generations. Think of it like a creepy family album where each page reveals another layer of unresolved trauma and ancient, barely-contained darkness.

The real horror here isn't monsters or ghosts - it's the slow erosion of community, the way progress cuts up ancient land, and how easily we forget we're just temporary guests in a landscape with its own memory.

Hurley's writing is like a master class in creating atmosphere. The prose is dense, heavy - the kind of writing that makes you feel like you're wading through thick fog. It's not jump-out-and-scare-you horror; it's the horror that sits in your chest and makes breathing feel slightly more difficult.

If you're into:
- Slow-burn horror
- Generational storytelling
- Atmospheric narratives
- That specific brand of British folk horror that makes the landscape feel alive

Then grab a glass of wine, put on some Nick Cave, and dive into this deliciously dark read.