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The Red Tree is one of those books that well illustrates the old adage "Don't judge a book by its cover." The sullen-looking woman suggests that this is another of those "kickass heroine" urban fantasy chick-lit novels that take up so much shelf space in the sci-fi/fantasy section, when in actuality it's a dark fantasy with tinges of Lovecraftian horror.
There's a lot of fiction out there that claims to be Lovecraftian, as if the author thinks that by name-dropping Innsmouth and featuring a cult of tentacle-monster worshiping madmen automatically makes their work a modern-day Call of Cthulhu. Kiernan wisely avoids the low-hanging fruit of the genre and instead presents a novel that has the feel of classic Gothic horror without being a direct homage.
In my mind, one of the most important elements of this style of horror is the sense of isolation, something that is so hard to create realistically in our modern day of large cities, cell phones, and internet. And so we're given a narrator in self-imposed isolation, depressed, anti-social, and living in an old house in rural Rhode Island. She has a cell phone, sure, but no one she wants to call, and admittedly uses the internet mostly for surfing porn rather than seeking human contact to salvage her sanity.
Much like many of Lovecraft's stories, The Red Tree has a slow pace, often introspective and going off on tangents. It's written in the form of the main character's journal, and she often admittedly avoids difficult subjects, instead telling old stories or talking about minor things before screwing up the courage to type what's truly bothering her. Rather than bogging down the story, it gives us a better window into Sarah Crowe's mind, and the story is intimately hers.
However, the way this novel stood out from all other horror novels and short stories I've read is that there were a few distinct moments where I was reading it, and while I wasn't exactly scared, I so distinctly empathized with the character, how weird and scary the situation was for her, that I realized that this is what horror has always meant to be. Other horror has grossed me out, or given me weird dreams, but only The Red Tree gave me a sense of sympathetic fear.
And for that reason alone, I wholeheartedly recommend this novel, to remind you of what horror should feel like, that it shouldn't just be a bunch of jump-scares and splatter shots, but that it can be psychological and sad and strange, and leave you scratching your head and wanting more.
Two final notes: first and foremost, it is very important that you read the prologue. Without it, the end doesn't make any sense. I know it looks like an editor's note, but it's the fictional writer's fictional editor giving you important information. Second, this is not a book for children. It has strong language, and while the sex isn't graphic, it touches on some fetish-y stuff that you're probably not ready to explain to the little ones.
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