Fiction by Hildur Knutsdottir, reviewed by Dimitris Passas
THE NIGHT GUEST (Tor Publishing Group)

It is rare to encounter a novel of the horror tradition that dares to abstain from the trademark visceral descriptions and gore dominating most of the genre’s works. Hildur Knutsdottir’s The Night Guest lucidly demonstrates that there are alternative approaches to writing horror fiction that call for exploration, especially by younger authors.  The story elicits an unsettling, in some parts even disturbing, mood with the author employing an austere writing style and establishing a masterful tempo by which the plot gradually escalates until the final, open-ended climax that leaves several questions unanswered for the reader to contemplate. In a way, the final result is reminiscent of David Cronenberg’s body horror movies, latching on to a cerebral bizarreness that possesses a much stronger shock value than the average blood-soaked works of the genre. Knutsdottir is known in Iceland as a writer of both adult and children’s fiction but her latest feat veers towards uncharted territories, an indicator of her versatility and vigilance as a writer. The integration of the paranormal aspect into the story is treated with subtlety and, even though Knutsdottir has certainly been influenced by several pioneers of the horror genre, her narrative choices and crystalline prose render her a distinctive fresh voice leaving many promises for the future.

The Night Guest revolves around the existential crisis experienced by the sole first-person narrator, Idunn.  We learn more about this young woman as the story unravels. However, Knutsdottit remains uncommonly reticent in providing sufficient information regarding the character throughout the story’s narration. We never learn what is the exact nature of the protagonist’s job, why her relationship with her parents seems to be simmering with thinly veiled tension, or anything we feel to be solid about her past. This elliptical narration is deliberate. Knutsdottir wants to keep the reader focused on what really matters: the hollowness and artificiality of the modern human condition in the Western world today. Idunn’s journey to the heart of darkness is meant to mirror our own everyday struggle. Life is absurd in its inherent futility and deems any attempt for humans to truly know themselves an impossibility.

The novel commences with Idunn visiting a neurologist to pinpoint the cause of her overwhelming feelings of restlessness and fatigue. She wakes up every morning sensing the same baffling pain and soreness in her limbs. Sometimes she even spots bruises and dried blood on her body. Idunn progressively realises that no doctor can help her with her predicament. The severity of symptoms deepens as she struggles to confront all alone the unsounded malaise that threatens the totality of her existence. Things get even weirder as Idunn’s bodily symptoms morph and shapeshift. She faces the possibility that she is sleepwalking or that something else, something sinister and otherworldly, is at play.

The narrator’s nocturnal escapades, during which she saunters around the city of Reykjavik, evade her memory. As she strives to understand what is happening to her and why, she meets several characters along her search. Each fails to help her. Though we encounter a litany of friends and strangers as we follow Idunn’s journey, no one she encounters can comprehend the abysmal depth of Idunn’s pain as she fights to adapt to her new, terrifying reality. There is a specific term in the field of psychiatry that succinctly describes her condition: fugue. The protagonist longs for the return of insouciance in her life, a quality that is buried deep within her along with the innocence of her childhood. The loss of her elder sister is the event that marked Idunn’s life, even though the exact nature of their bond remains largely unspecified in the novel. Since her sister’s death, the protagonist has lead an unremarkable and uneventful life, a blur of next steps. Many important decisions in her life have not been the consequence of her own personal choices but the outcome of her parents’ wishes. The parents seem to favor the deceased member of the family over the living one. 

Through her protagonist’s struggle, Knutsdottir reminds us that an all-encompassing, pitch-black darkness can prevail. The individual is bound to lose in a rigged game where God holds all the cards. The author urges the reader to take a look at the dark side of the moon, a metaphor for the dismal uncertainty regarding the eternal existential questions tormenting us since time immemorial. 

As we turn the pages, it feels like we are inhabiting Idunn’s turbulent state of mind. At one point, she says: “My head is constantly filled with a steady bubbling that drowns all other thoughts as fast as they rise out of the morass.” Terseness proves to be Knutsdottir’s secret weapon as it helps her to accurately convey Idunn’s distorted state of mind to the reader. Loquacity has no room in the Icelandic author’s fictional universe. She opts for delicately small chapters that many times consist of a single sentence or two with the brevity and terseness adding to the impeccable pacing by which the story unfolds. Knutsdottir delivers a masterclass in building suspense, and this is only one of the novel’s premium qualities that shine through the author’s pithy, staccato prose which apparently has an allergy to anything ornamental. 

The translator, Mary Robinette Kowal, does a terrific job of capturing and conveying the essence of Knutsdottir writing that is reflected in both her thematic choices and the austerity of her writing style. The latter displays the author’s bravura as she takes a major risk by deciding to pay no heed to the established tropes and cliches of a genre that very often thrives in verbosity and redundancy. This short novel, approximately 180 pages, can be relished in just one sitting. If you would like to try something new in horror fiction, The Night Guest is a perfect choice.  

Dimitris Passas is a freelance writer from Athens, Greece and the editor of the online magazine Tap the Line (www.tapthelinemag.com), in which he reviews books, movies, and TV series while also featuring articles, news, and Q+As with authors and artists. His academic background includes bachelor studies in sociology and a master’s degree in philosophy. His work can also be found in ITW’s legendary magazine The Big Thrill and various online platforms such as DMovies, PopMatters, Off-Chance, Loud and Clear Reviews and others. His latest book reviews have been accepted for publication in esteemed literary and film journals like World Literature Today, American Book Review, Alphaville, Bright Lights Film Journal and Compulsive Reader. Dimitris’s short and flash fiction, as well as his CNF pieces, can be found in various literary magazines such as Litro Online, Maudlin House, 34th Parallel, Litbreak, and several others.