Nothing But Blackened Teeth

I was excited to read a horror novella steeped in Japanese folklore, but that's not what this is. The folklore is merely set dressing (literally!) for the petty squabbles of a group of characters you can't even love to hate.

At first, I expected the haunting to play off of the characters' animosity towards each other to escalate the horror, but they come into the story at each other's throats already. There's not much room for build up.

And that's where this book really fails: horror is all about the build up. But the haunting alternately jumps around in intensity and simmers on the back burner to make room for the sorts of interpersonal issues that would be forgotten in such life-or-death circumstances. And I couldn't help but laugh along with the ghost at that.