House of Leaves is a story within a story within a story. In short, it is a collection of writings, put together by an amateur tattoo artist after retrieving the notes from a dead blind man's apartment, notes about a documentary that may or may not have existed, a documentary that details one family and their house that is far bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. It is a desperate mess, a mile-high pile of unreliable narrators' unreliable writings collapsing in on themselves. It is a horror, not about a haunted house or a monster in the dark, but about the things that haunt us and the monsters inside our minds. It is a book that pushes the idea of what a book can be. It is gibberish, illegible, unreadable. And it is one of the most gripping books I have ever read.
I was glued to this book when I got it. It was one of the first real horror books I have ever read, and yet it betrays every idea of what horror should be. It is long and rambling and pretentious, going off on random tangents and strange digressions at the drop of a hat, but it still made my skin crawl. After I first bought the book, I quickly realized that I could not read it when my parents weren't home. It's something about the abruptness of horror after so long without it, or maybe its the unsettling words before that put you in the headspace where every shadow looks like a death omen. It's likely also something about the way the book chooses to directly address the root of all fears. It isn't about a house invasion, it's about the primal fear that comes when the comforting becomes unsafe. It isn't about surviving in a dangerous or extreme environment, it's about the bone deep terror of being somewhere you don't belong. It isn't about a monster, it's about the monstrous things this world has to offer, and how that monstrosity can creep into our very bones. This can be seen in the way the horror of the book is never named or explained. There is no ritual or legend, no handy expert or trusty guide. Even if a character manages to escape the horror, the horror still exists, because it has always existed.
Despite the beautiful prose, rich imagery, and startling effect this book creates, there are definitely some problems. The main issue is the inherently illogical structure and plot of the novel. This is obviously intentional on the authors part, since the book, and its characters, are meant to be a challenge to understand. The book is filled with rambling, nonsensical footnotes that can take up pages at a time. Words will go in different directions, appendices will stretch on for hours, entire chapters will be devoted to academic nothingness. This strangeness also weaves its way into the plot. While the documentary's story is mostly straightforward (although it, too, dissolves near the end) the ramblings of the amateur tattoo artist bringing the story together are crude, strange, abrupt, and often incomprehensible. There is a lack of catharsis, of any sort of understanding of most of the characters, and this can be very confusing and frustrating.
All in all, this book was a difficult yet rewarding read. I'd definitely recommend it for older readers, and would instruct any attempting to read it to get the physical version, read however feels comfortable, and go to the appendices when directed. I'd also recommend it for any lovers of horror, mystery, or a story in unique format.
Reviewer Grade: 12
