The Night Strangers by Chris Bohjalian

I LOVED this book. That is, I loved half of this book.

Here are some of my notes to self–“right from the start I adore the style,” “this is refreshing after the last lackluster book,” and “Thank you, Crown Publishers for not italicizing the prologue!” (For more on the great prologue controversy, read my post on prologues here.)

It begins so well. A goose-downed (as in a-gaggle-of-geese-downed-the) plane ends in  a failed landing (notwithstanding an admiring nod to Sully Sullenberger), leaving in its wake 39 dead passengers; a prostrate pilot, Chip Linton; his befuddled wife, Emily; and their impressionable twin daughters. Then there’s the relocation of traumatized Pilot Linton and family to a seemingly idyllic New England town replete with placid horticultural hobbyists. Soon, Chip begins rehabbing their shabby-chic Victorian house as a sort of self-rehabilitation and discovers the mysterious coal chute sealed with 39 bolts, the exact number of dead passengers on the doomed flight.

Delicious chills abound. And, of course, Chip finds himself compelled to search behind the coal chute, thus releasing the obsessive spirits who haunt him.

We expect no less. We’re having fun.

The second half of the book begins well. Oddball but helpful, though at times intrusive, townsfolk take a keen interest in newcomers Chip and Emily, assisting with Emily’s employment, Chip’s post-traumatic issues, and (this is mega-creepy) their pre-pubescent daughters.

But in time, the narrative slips downhill, devolving into a facile Stepford Wives/Hocus Pocus reduction.

And then I was no longer having fun.

In fact, I felt compelled (imitative of Chip and his coal chute) to skim. When I skim, it’s for one of two reasons. Reason 1: I’m so caught up in the plot I have to figure out what will happen so that I can relax enough to go back and enjoy the writing. Reason 2: I have begun to lose faith in the author’s grip on the reigns and need to halt the runaway coach.

Sadly, this time my skimming was due to the latter. What began as a promising ghost novel with assured, evocative prose, veered astray into creepy territory (and not the fun turn-on-the-lights-lock-the-door variety we seek when we first settle under the quilts and crack the spine of a ghost story).