Lost in the Garden

  ‘'Emma Green is boldly haleHer house is warm but narrowOn scattered grass until she diesShe's wide awake in sorrow.''
‘'Anna Green is old and frailHer house a warmer borrowHer scattered ashes, unbidden eyesStill wide awake and hollow.''
Always look both ways when you cross the street. Don't go anywhere near pylons. Don't ever go to Almanby. Almanby is the Other. Its name is uttered in frightened whispers, the place of mystery, terror and fascination for the youth who is constantly being flooded with the cautionary tales of the adult world. But what if there is actual truth in those tales? What if some places ARE the Other that must be avoided at all costs? 
Three young adults, Heather, Rachel and Antonia, must go to Almanby to find Heather's boyfriend. Many of their friends have disappeared never to be seen again. And this is how a summer Odyssey of mystery, despair, deceit and obsession begins...
And this is how one of the most beautiful and unique books you'll ever read is born...
‘'Front doors changed colour overnight, their locks fit different keyes, they opened outward instead of inward. Pets changed colour, or were slightly larger or smaller than before, or they changed sex. Light switches inverted, windscreen wipers swapped sides, fridge magnets demagnetised, televisions detuned, piano keyboards swapped ends with the high notes on the left and the low notes on the right. Beyond the rash of wild conspiracy theories, nobody had a good suggestion, either for the changes or the ghosts. The best anyone could come up with was that reality itself had become sick.''
First of all, this astonishing novel contains some of the BEST first pages I've ever read. We're talking true, pure Masterpiece Material! Adam S. Leslie has created a dystopia unlike any other and breathed new life into a much-abused genre. The summer seems endless, voices are heard through radio waves, people wither, die and become ghosts. Ghosts lurking in the fields. Ghosts wandering, lost and sad. Ghosts banging on your windows. Ghosts trying to attack you and kill you. This is a land where danger is constant, unpredictable and unbeatable. Your dead relatives will hurt you, silently whispering, watching with dead eyes and lethal intentions. And Almanby is always there, the destination that seems to resemble a different Hell on Earth. And the Earth itself has changed...
‘'Six years of summer.Six years without grey skies or snowdrifts or icy northerly blasts. Six years of sweltering in the same gelatinous humidity.''
‘'Six years ago, a different kind of pollen drifted in on the summer winds.''
It is a world of suffocating beauty. A world of summer afternoons and silent interactions, where ‘'the grass smelled of evening.'' A land of abandoned cars in the fields, of empty towns, of sighs containing terrifying lullabies, of empty funfairs and maypoles moving on their own. A time when you can sit on the grass and let the meadow hear your cries on the way to your meeting your Fate with a sad soul. 
  ‘'Dusk was Rachel's favourite time of day. The heady stink of night-time plants, still hot from the day's glare, filling the atmosphere now with their aromas. Everything red and purple and lavender, at once insubstantial and supremely solid. Nothing was quite real at twilight.''
‘'[...and the sun had baked the sky cobalt blue and naked, burnt all its clothe off. Now just a tortoiseshell of fields lay ahead of them, as flat as the ocean or an alien world, and impossibly green. Woodland, misted blue by the distance, stretched out to their left - and even against its furthest flank, Heather could make out the pinprick- small presence of ghosts. Tiny moments of black and white.''
The way the writer shocks us in the middle of a ‘'simple'' paragraph is nothing short of outstanding. Using references to fairytales and folklore, he has composed a dark folk song, steeped in the light of the midday sun, equally scorching and hypnotising.
This is Folk Horror at its finest, and a genuinely BEAUTIFUL novel.
‘'Emerald green the boat that sailsThe mouse will surely borrowOn shattered glass ‘neath stars he criesTo guide this day to sorrow.''
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