Plants died, milk curdled, and my children went slightly feral as I succumbed to the creepy magic of David Mitchell's Slade House. It's a wildly inventive, chilling, and - for all its other-worldiness - wonderfully human haunted house story. I plan to return to its clutches quite often.
Manically ingenious . . . Each fresh product of Mitchell's soaring imagination functions as an echo chamber for both his previous ideas and his oeuvre to come
Chilling and dazzling . . . but the real skill of the book is in its emotional impact. Mitchell makes you care about each of the narrators
Packed with heady ideas and pulsing with dark energy . . . both dazzlingly inventive and compulsively readable.
An elegant fright-fest of the highest order . . . Mitchell masterfully, humorously, combines the classic components of a scary story - old house, dark alley, missing persons - with a realism, when describing the lives of the victims, that is pacy, funny and true.
A deliciously creepy story to be read for plot and for pleasure, with your heart racing, and your eyes involuntarily skipping forwards to find out what happens.
Genuinely good, genuinely scary.
[Mitchell] seamlessly brings together his clashing parallel realities through wordplay so dazzling it seems to defy its own gravitational rules.
Mitchell's most pleasurable book to date, which also features some of his finest writing