If I listed the things that scared me most, vampires running around looking for blood wouldn't rate in my top 10. They wouldn't rate in my top 50. That said, John Ajvide Lindqvist's Let the Right One In (translated and distributed in the U.S. as Let Me In) unsettled me in multiple ways. I actually started reading it in 2012, then again in 2013, before finally making it through its house of horrors. And I'm sure glad that I did.
The title is a play on the Morrissey tune "Let the Right One Slip In", but the story takes place in the winter of 1981 in a suburb outside Stockholm, Sweden called Blackeberg. Let that slip in for a moment. Lindqvist does a marvelous job setting the table in a neighborhood with no past, no future, where even the angles of the apartment buildings seem a little strange somehow.
Oskar is a 12-year-old latchkey kid, raised by a single mother, with no siblings, no friends. He's tormented so relentlessly at school that he has trouble controlling his bladder. He shoplifts, and fills his head with morbid thoughts of taking revenge against his tormentors. While my school experience was nowhere near as hopeless, I related to Oskar's plight much more than I wanted to.
In the dead of night, Oskar receives new neighbors, including a young girl about his own age who gives the name Eli. Meeting in the courtyard playground after dark, Eli talks like an adult, smells like an old bandage, seems impervious to the cold and solves a Rubik's Cube without effort. In no time, a teenager is found murdered in the forest, drained of blood, and Blackeberg's nightmare begins.
Rather than crank out another tired tale of vampires, Lindqvist's narrative is about how we alienate each other and keep even loved ones at arm's length. Much more than the Swedish or U.S. film versions, the novel expands its scope to characters who were mere extras in the movies, or not included at all. Lindqvist has an ability to invest us in even minor characters introduced very quickly, for example, a bachelor driving home from a blind date that's gone very well for him, until he encounters something on a bridge.
This is hardcore horror fiction. There were moments where I thought, "That's as fucked up a thing as any human could experience" only to have something even more dreadful happen next. Pedophilia, skin burns, razorblades, drowning, mean cats and being locked in a dark room freak me out and Lindqvist works them all into the story to maximum effect. There are horrors as potent as anything in Thomas Harris' Red Dragon or The Silence of the Lambs.
Reviewers have cited a somewhat inconsistent and clunky English translation as posing pacing problems, but I was so absorbed in the characters -- particularly Eli, who would tear all of Stephenie Meyer's vampires limb from limb as a mercy killing -- that I barely noticed. My complaint was the last scene, which feels anti-climactic and poses more questions of logic than it answers.
Lindqvist's footing doesn't seem as strong in his final paragraphs, but the rest of the novel is so emotionally visceral that five stars was never a question.