To put it frankly, this book is neither worth your time nor your money (I did pay fifteen dollars, plus tax). Feel free to read on, but I cannot recommend this novel to anyone. The blurb on the back promises “… a claustrophobic and chilling portrait of a disintegrating marriage teetering on the edge of darkness. The Apartment is a terrifying tour de force of supernatural horror, psychological tension, and hunting suspense,” and delivers on none of these fronts.
The novel follows the protagonists Mark and Steph, a wholly unsympathetic and unlikable couple who share the burden of moving the plot forward by trading places as the agent of narration each chapter. Mark is a forty-something literary professor whose inner narration sounds more akin to a young twenty-something. So much so, that I often forgot who was narrating as each character essentially sounds exactly the same, despite Steph being an actual twenty-something stay at home mother. A lot of emphasis is placed on the characters age disparity, but nothing ever comes of it.
While we are on the topic of dialogue, the couple’s child Hayden’s dialogue is especially egregious. Children are often hard to write realistically, but I have never heard a child use such caveman-like speech and refer to itself in the third person in such a cringe-worthy way. I would go on, but there are virtually no other characters worth discussing (Carla is actually interesting, but isn’t given nearly enough time to be interesting or develop as a character). Although, it was particularly annoying that every French person they encountered either spoke immaculate English, or spoke like how French characters are often depicted on television, speaking pretty passable English but dropping in universally understood French words at the ends of their sentences, non?
I have to pause here and stress just how unsympathetic and flat these characters are. The novel is pretty much devoid of secondary characters save for Carla, Mark’s old coworker and possible love interest, and Steph’s parents (who themselves are so flat you could use them to as a level when hanging shelving). So, while we as readers spend pages listening to the inner monologues of Mark and Steph, most of it is spent with them either restating their own neuroses about the other or drowning in their own guilt. This happens with such frequency that it’s hard to see why they ever wanted to marry in the first place, or why we should care about salvaging such a train wreck. Steph basically fluctuates from hating Mark and wanting to flee or feeling guilty that she isn’t willing to force him into psychotherapy. Mark is an especially rancid character as he essentially gets high off of his first wife’s chemotherapy pain medication, only for his daughter to kill herself by overdosing on the drugs he leaves out while he is in a stupor. Other characters constantly ask him to let go of his guilt, but as readers, we are never given a reason why he should.
The actual impetus to go to the titular apartment via a house-swap website, is due to a home burglary that has shaken the family to their very core. Of course, this is perhaps the nicest burglars ever captured on paper. They do no harm to the family, the young daughter doesn’t even see the crime taking place, and the only real loss is a laundry list of Apple products that get stolen. Q’uel dommage!
I sincerely wondered if the authors had ever actually been to Paris, or bothered to do any research. Much like Mark’s character development, Paris is merely a list of famous locations, with the protagonists spending most of their time at the local Parisian Starbucks using the Wi-Fi and eating stale croissants. I began to question why this significant portion of the book even had to take place in Paris? The protagonists see literally none of the sights, and merely traipse back and forth from their dingy apartment (I would say haunted, but that’s a stretch) and a Starbucks. I have to imagine that rather than doing any in-depth research on Parisian dining or museums, it was just easier to slide the entire setting by as nothing more than a backdrop.
Like so many other horror novels, the characters must be given a reason to be stuck in the eldritch location. Much like the snow-storm or island murder mystery tropes, the authors scramble to come up with reason why Mark and Steph must keep returning to this apartment throughout their weeklong stay. Unfortunately, that reason simply hinges on them being terribly disorganized. They don’t preapprove any cards for travel, no traveler’s checks, and very little pocket money. It’s stressed just how poor this couple is too, that they cannot really afford the trip, and yet they chose Paris of all locations to travel to. At one point they even consider just buying more plane tickets through Steph’s parents, but poo-poo that idea because they don’t want to burden them. I guess they would rather stay in this “terrifying” apartment than just ask for help, or better yet, ask their well-to-do friend Carla for help, when she clearly has the money to do so.
While much of the early novel can be forgiven as setup for the promised spookiness to come, the titular apartment itself doesn’t offer much in the way of horror. This seems to be the crux of the novel’s issues. The authors provide the reader with unsettling images, such as buckets of human hair in a closet or a seemingly abandoned apartment across the hall with decades old food rotting on a table, but does absolutely nothing with those images. An image itself can be disturbing or creepy, but the art of a horror novel is to do something with those images, otherwise it comes off as almost comical.
The apartment is also a smattering of horror clichés and tropes. We have no less than: the creepy older woman who says cryptic things that don’t ever make sense (and her melodramatic suicide), lights that don’t work, but sometimes do, a creepy boiler room, a dead cat, a dingy apartment, sounds in the walls, an abandoned building, and the list just goes on. And of course, of all these weird little subplots, almost none of them have a bearing on the story or are ever resolved. At one point, Mark gets a splinter in his foot that is mentioned repeatedly, and nothing ever comes of it, not even an infection. And so many paragraphs are just like that splinter, completely innocuous. It’s as if the authors wanted to get from point A to B and then back to C to resolve the main plot, but somehow had to carry the book to 270 pages, so they simply filled the space with small, petty problems.
Perhaps the most egregious issue with this novel’s plot is that something supernatural is going on, but we are never clued in that there is an actual threat to these characters. Zoe, Mark’s first child whose death caused the dissolution of his first marriage, has started to haunt him throughout the latter half of the novel. Ironically, it’s framed so that Zoe’s apparition could easily be mistaken as his own psychological break from reality. Plot twist, she’s actually a malevolent spirit and you would be completely forgiven for not seeing it coming. To make matter worse, Steph, who by the end of the novel is missing most of these plot points from her point of view, somehow puts it all together. Then, in a last minute roundup, the final five pages attempt to pull off a Ringu-like “pass the curse on to another family” ending. It’s as if the novel had hit the required page limit and the authors just decided to wrap it up.
If I had to take a stab in the dark, I would guess this is another horror book churned out just in time for the 2016 Halloween season. The little marketing blurb on the front of the novel is from Lauren Beukes who is then unabashedly thanked in the acknowledgements section of the book, making me think this was just another publishing house needing to publish something to line the shelves and hope enough people will be taken in by a clever idea before they realize how poorly executed it really is. I cannot emphasize this enough, do not waste your energy on this title.
Normally, I wouldn’t rail against a book like this, but I did pay for it firsthand and felt completely taken. Also, just a small tip, but if you’re going to write a book about taking care of a haunted, empty place in a foreign space that slowly drains the energy of the husband and drives him to madness, don’t allude to The Shining in your text. It’s just bad form.