By David Dent
Arnott made his name via a trio of late 20th century crime novels set in London at various points in recent history. While his later books nodded to Occultism and Aleister Crowley, prompted by a move from London to Hastings (where an aged Crowley was resident, incidentally in a retirement home called ‘Netherwood’), this is his first fully fledged horror novel.
In a plotline which mirrors, to some extent anyway, the author’s own relationship to this area of the English coastline, Justine and Adam are seeking a new start after their lives take a dip while living in London; she is a freelance journalist, he a formerly successful artist, and they are both dealing with the grief of her recent miscarriage.
They find a ‘too good to be true’ house in Hastings, the rear of the building nestled in the town’s rocky hills; among the quirks of the property is a cellar room, complete with half buried witch bottle, whose walls are built into the rock itself, which Adam hopes will provide some artistic inspiration. It also reignites their sex life, and before they know it, Justine is pregnant.
But the house comes with its own occult history, having been owned by John Malachy, whose dark arts associations connected him to artists working in the 1960s and 70s counterculture; and indeed the Great Beast Crowley himself.
Justine and Adam both respond to supernatural forces operating within the house and begin to understand that the spirit of Malachy may still be present in the town, placing their lives in increasing danger.
As a long time fan of Arnott’s writing, it was a bit of a wish come true that the author has finally dipped his toes into the world of horror. On the face of it, ‘Netherwood’ steals a lot of plot twists from 1970s British fantastic fiction; supernatural events occurring in a prosaic seaside town with a secret history; the unfolding of the onion skin layers of the story merging fact and fiction; and some great spooky set pieces.
But being Arnott, ‘Netherwood’ is elevated above a lot of this type of writing because of his innate ability to create believable characters without the need to over explain, and his sheer enjoyment having fun with both local and occult history, ingeniously weaving fact and fiction together to create a believable world alive to arcane forces.
‘Netherwood’ is both a love letter to his Hastings home – and those reading it may be tempted to up sticks and relocate as a result – and a knowing but equally affectionate nod to popular horror fiction, showing that, in the right author’s hands, there’s still life in the genre; or indeed death.
Bloody Flicks 