From My Reading Chair…
The imposing house looms from the cover, all peaked roof, shadowed boards and windows that feel unnervingly like eyes...
Only they’re not evil eyes. They’re lonely ones.
Jessie Sima gives the building such immediate humanity that before the story has even begun, I am no longer looking at a setting. I am looking at somebody trying very hard not to be judged by their exterior. (Ugh! Shingle straight to the soul!)
The muted blues, greys and mossy greens coat everything in subdued curiosity. This is not a haunted house shrieking for attention from the top of a hill; it is one holding its breath, wondering whether anybody might come close enough to live in it and love it.
And then, just when I thought my emotional scaffolding was secure…the house begins to think out loud!
Here is a sentient, self-conscious little house, listening to its own creaks, squeaks and groans and worrying about what they mean. Am I too old? Am I too broken? Must I become quieter, brighter and less myself before somebody will want me?! (Casual existential crisis with excellent ceiling height!)
The cutaway spreads are gorgeously clever, allowing us to peek into its inner chambers while it worries about which bits of itself need renovating. A nervous cat wanders through those generous double-page spreads as the house catalogues every rumble. That recurring figure gives children something to search for. Meanwhile, the house thinks it is alone, but life is already padding quietly through its rooms.
Then comes the sentence that split me neatly down the middle: “I’ll just have to find people who like that I’M SPOOKY.”
Not people who will tolerate the spooky bits while planning a tasteful renovation. Not people who will sand down the creaks, chase away the shadows and insist upon using a more marketable shade of paint. People who hear the creaks and see the cracks and think, ‘Ooh, character & charm!’
The transformation from haunted house to haunted home is more than a cosy twist. The very things she worried would put people off help the right inhabitants feel at home.
There is something deeply beautiful in the idea that being known requires allowing others into our rooms. Not every visitor deserves a key, especially those arriving with builder-grade beige to cover your colours. But belonging begins when the right ones see the cobwebs, hear the groans and choose to stay.
Hardly Haunted is profoundly reassuring. I love that this little house can find happiness and belonging without undergoing a literal renovation. There’s always somebody ready to sell us improvements once they’ve convinced us we’re falling apart. How lovely to find a story where ‘full of character’ means loveable, rather than ‘too much work’.
No estate agents welcome. We’re here for belonging, not inflated valuations!
Creep on Reading, Pumpkins!
