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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 are still in dire need of exploration, especially by younger authors. 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 as experienced by the sole first-person narrator, Idunn, a young woman for whom we learn more 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 something solid about her past as a human being. However, this elliptical narration is deliberate as Knutsdottir wants to keep the reader focused on what really matters. And that is nothing else than the hollowness and artificiality of the modern human condition as perceived by an increasing number of people in the Western world today. Idunn’s journey to the heart of darkness is meant to mirror our own everyday struggles with life’s futility which has become the uncontested king in a vast kingdom where the sway of grand narratives is progressively dwindling, a process that began shortly after the end of the Second World War. –
The novel commences with Idunn visiting a practitioner 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 while sometimes she even spots bruises and dried blood on her body. Idunn soon realizes that no doctor can help her with her predicament, and she struggles to confront all alone the unsounded malaise that threatens the totality of her existence. However, as time goes by, things get even weirder and Idunn must face 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 and as she strives to understand what is happening to her and why, she meets several people that always fail to help her, not even a tiny bit. We meet Idunn’s female friends, a prospective lover, a young man named Mar, her parents who regularly hold banquets in their house, and so on. Nevertheless, nobody comes even close to comprehending the abysmal depth of Idunn’s pain as she fights to adapt to her new, terrifying reality. The loss of control over your own body and the radical distortion of one’s personal identity are more than enough to send anyone to the loony bin. There is a specific term in the field of psychiatry that succinctly describes this condition: fugue. The protagonist longs for the return of mirth 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.
-The 40-year-old Icelandic author urges the reader to look at the dark side of the moon, a metaphor for the dismal uncertainty regarding the eternal existential questions tormenting us since time immemorial. However, there are also the bleak certainties, first and foremost of our own demise, that can be equally tantalizing. Knutsdottir reminds us that even among the brightest stars, an all-encompassing, pitch-black darkness prevails. The universal and the human overlap but the cosmic laws are always more powerful throughout the ages as history has taught us.
– As we keep turning 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.” The author 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. It’s a short-length novel, approximately 180 pages, that can be relished in just one sitting. If you would like to try something new in horror fiction, The Night Guest is your optimal choice.
By Dimitris Passas
Eric Akoto is the founder of Litro Magazine, where new writing meets the world, and The Sphere Initiative, a platform protecting creative rights globally. A writer and editor, he champions diverse voices and experimental storytelling. His work spans publishing, cultural programming, and advocacy at the intersection of literature and technology.
