The Doll Who Ate His Mother: A Novel Of Modern Terror

by Ramsey Campbell

It was a freak accident. The man had suddenly stepped into the road, and the brakes had failed. Clare could only steer wildly, the car finally crashing into a tree and on to the kerb. Now her brother Rob was dead, silent in the passenger seat, slumped against the door. He died of massive head injuries. But there was something else, something that at first she couldnt quite grasp, that seemed inexplicable. His right arm was missing. Gone. Someone had taken it.

Genres: Horror, Fiction, Thriller, Mystery, Fantasy, Novels, Crime

209 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1976

About the author

Ramsey Campbell is a British writer considered by a number of critics to be one of the great masters of horror fiction. T. E. D. Klein has written that "Campbell reigns supreme in the field today," while S. T. Joshi has said that "future generations will regard him as the leading horror writer of our generation, every bit the equal of Lovecraft or Blackwood."

Reviews

[Eloy Cryptkeeper · Rating 1 out of 5]

"le daba la impresión de que las palabras no importaban; era la manera de decirlas, el sonido de su voz, las cadencias. Como una canción latente debajo de las palabras. Me acuerdo que decía que le recordaba a la música que tocan los encantadores de serpientes"

"Una vez, por capricho, permití a unos pocos enfrentarse a mi poder. Me mostré ante ellos con el cuerpo compacto y tieso como una maza y los desafié a que me movieran. Algunos apartaron medrosamente los ojos y se arrugaron cuando les di permiso para tocarme. Pero al final habían todos empleado sus fuerzas contra mí, contra ellos mismos y contra los otros, y sucumbieron agotados, mientras yo, riendo, continuaba inmóvil. Algunos parecían abatidos y se vieron quizá como yo los había visto, revolcándose por el suelo con el ansia de complacerme. Todos me comprendieron cuando les hablé de la vara de mi poder"


Esta es la primera novela de Campbell. Y todo el tiempo tuve la sensación de estar leyendo borradores. Una estructura sumamente fragmentada e inconexa. El hilo/idea principal (que de por si no es la gran cosa) no lo termina de desarrollar. Personajes intrascendentes. Le sobran una infinidad de Páginas. Un final tan flojo como el resto de la novela.
Contribuye a mi idea general de que Campbell es un muy buen cuentista.Pero como novelista, en mayor o menor medida queda en deuda.

[Peter · Rating 5 out of 5]

An absolutely disturbing and extremely sinister novel. What begins with a simple car accident turns into a nightmare and ends in a manhunt. Melancholic prose you can't stop reading when you found your way into the book. Extremely eerie background story (I don't want to give any spoilers here) and what a remarkable set of characters. You really are among them in dreary Liverpool (as the author is from Liverpool he brilliantly describes his town). Visit the Library. Find out about John Strong. Then you go into the basement of the magician to discover... I was extremely fond of this novel and it kept me reading until I had finished it. Great read, fine twists, clear recommendation, an absolute horror classic!

[Karl]

This hard cover is numbered 40 of 150 copies produced and is signed by:

Ramsey Campbell
Peter Crowther
David Whitlam

[Jamie Stewart · Rating 4 out of 5]

With a title like The Doll Who Ate His Mother this novel was bound to be good or so I told myself. Except it isn’t, it’s fucking magical is what it is. That’s mainly due to Ramsay Campbell descriptive pose, which finds ways to make this novel uniquely creepy and eerily beautiful. Find any passage from this novel about the city of Liverpool (where the novel is set) and you’ll think your reading poetry. Or find yourself looking over your shoulder while one character reads a book in a library. The only flaw with this book is in its characters, there are times were I found myself compelled by the writing style and the plot of this book but had no attachment to the characters. However, for once I didn’t care about that from simple awe over the authors style.

[Cody · Rating 2 out of 5]

Well, that was a waste.

When reading an author for the first time, if the book I've chosen to pop my cherry with (so to speak...) is his or her debut work, I do take that into consideration. I've never given up on a writer because of a horrid debut. And I won't give up on Ramsey Campbell despite the fact that I did not like his debut, The Doll Who Ate His Mother. I will certainly read more of his works in the future, if only because I've already bought three of them (and they aren't the cheapest). My bad.

If I'm being honest, this was a torturous read. I don't remember the last time I was so bored with a book; my "fucks given" meter wavered between 0.0 and 0.1 throughout. By the story's climax (which Stephen King's blurb on the back of my paperback copy praises as 'one of the most effective sequences in modern horror fiction') I was just surging through to finish as quickly as possible. The characters found within are listless; their motivations are unclear. The plot hinges on the unwavering belief that a certain someone is guilty of crimes committed, without proof. Campbell just doesn't give the reader any reason to care about the story or what happens to the people who populate it. It isn't scary and it isn't mysterious; it's just a big bore.

Technically speaking, Campbell's writing is very capable. His interesting turns of phrase and maneuverings of sentence structure are the only things that kept me reading to the end, hence my 2 stars. I just couldn't bear to give this, a novel I was able to finish, 1 star — but don't think it wasn't tempting.

I will give Campbell more chances in the future; I have Incarnate on my TBR shelf and will probably read that in a few months. As for The Doll Who Ate His Mother . . . well, color me disappointed.

[Quirkyreader · Rating 5 out of 5]

The second time around with this book was even better than the first.

[Carl Bluesy · Rating 4 out of 5]

I never read a book from Ramsey Campbell before, i’m definitely glad I started with this book. It was dark and creepy. I only wish it was longer, I couldn’t be pulled away from this book. So that ended with me reading through it far too fast. At least the characters in this novel will stay with me for a long time after I put this book down.

[F.R. · Rating 3 out of 5]

I’d only read Ramsey Campbell’s shorter fiction before this but had always been hugely impressed with his distinctly British tales, but I can’t say I was blown away by this 1976 novel. The chief problem is that Campbell doesn’t grasp the characters and make them convincing, they never achieve depth and sometimes their motivations are frankly baffling. Of course, a bunch of stereotypes and ciphers working their way through a scary situation is something horror cinema does ad nauseam, but in horror fiction you do need people to care about or otherwise the tension of the writing just dissipates.

A radio DJ dies in a car-crash, and immediately afterwards his arm is torn off and stolen by a passerby. This leads a true crime writer, named Edmund Hall, to conclude that this mutilation was the work of a boy he went to school with, who was always a bad ‘un. (It’s an element of the book that I found particularly unlikely. Why does he conclude this so certainly, without the slightest shadow of a doubt? In a large city, isn’t there just the smallest chance there’s more than one psychopath?) He hooks up with the DJ’s sister, a cinema manager who lost his mother and a young actor who lost his cat, to track down the culprit.

The horror element at the centre works really well, and Campbell does expertly weave the black magic into the narrative without making it sound preposterous. What’s more – in Liverpool – he captures an industrial city on the decline. Unfortunately, other elements are flatter. The group’s questioning of the various friends and family of their quarry becomes slightly repetitive, and – after all the shocks – the ending doesn’t quite live up to its promise. As such there is some entertainment to be had, but nothing that’s going to make me tear out to pick up another Ramsey Campbell novel.

[Plagued by Visions · Rating 3 out of 5]

A fine example of a mighty ugly tale. British horror almost always leaves me feeling the off-putting sensation of wet socks. Good stuff.

[Don · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very strange and often disturbing book, rarely a dull moment though, review to come.

[Tara · Rating 3 out of 5]

With such a crazy title, I was expecting this to be something along the lines of an unofficial Child’s Play prequel.



It was actually nothing of the kind, but while I enjoyed its dark, unsettling, highly sinister atmosphere, and its fitting prose style (“Slivers of light through the choked slits at the tops of the windows lay stranded, glistening.”), the plot and characters were sadly dull and flat. Still hoping to find a Ramsey Campbell book I can really connect with, as I had very similar issues with The Parasite. If The Hungry Moon is likewise disappointing, however, I might just have to cut my losses, as there are plenty of other Paperbacks from Hell authors out there I’ve yet to investigate. But if you’re in the mood for an atmospheric horror novel that inspires a hazy yet potent sense of foreboding and dread, you could do far worse.

[Craig · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a slow-burn of a horror novel, very eerie and creepy and any other Warren titles you care to add. I loved the title, but there were no characters with which I could really sympathize despite the good writing and very atmospheric setting. There are some quirky twists, but I thought it was too slowly paced. It was on the final ballot for the World Fantasy Award for best novel in 1977 but lost to Doctor Rat by William Kotzwinkle. (I would have chosen the Karl Edward Wagner or Gordon R. Dickson or Michael Moorcock nominees, but they didn't ask me.) There is an interesting Black Magic element, but I preferred Campbell's more heavily supernatural or cosmic horror works.

[Stay Fetters · Rating 2 out of 5]

"The Devil had made him clever — pretending to be a little boy, waiting for the chance to be a monster."

This book is one I definitely judged by its creepy cover and the just as disturbing title. There was no way that I could turn my back on something so evil.

The first chapter blew my freaking mind. It was interesting and super weird. Who steals a guy's arm after he's been in an automobile accident? I had so many questions after that happened.

The second chapter is where you lost me. It started to drag and I got bored very quickly. I did push through because I wanted to see if this could get any weirder. I am so very sad to say that it didn't It went in the direction that I thought it would and that really sucked. Where was the creativity in the rest of the book like there was in that first chapter? It was b***s**t!!

The Doll Who Ate His Mother has a great title and an even better cover. That is really all it had going for it. Okay, that first chapter was awesome but you can't let that carry the entire book because it won't. The author certainly did try though. There are so many other and better horror books out there and I suggest trying one of those instead.

[Join the Penguin Resistance! · Rating 5 out of 5]

Review: THE DOLL WHO ATE HIS MOTHER by Ramsey Campbell

This 1976 publication is not my top-favourite of Ramsey Campbell (so far, that's ANCIENT IMAGES and the collection HOLES FOR FACES) but I quite liked it. Unusually, my 5-star rating is not due to the horror and paranormal elements. Instead, I rated it highly due to Campbell's incredible grasp of and ability to delineate, character. This applies to his human inhabitants, but also to animals and to Place. Looking back through my reactions to the novel, I remember many occasions when I marveled at his revelation of character--just when I thought he had peeled back the remaining layers, he demonstrated more! The horror element is well done, and it's subtle, but I shall remember the novel for its characterizations.

[Note: in the case of Mr. Campbell's explication of the "villain's" inner state, the resonances are positively Poe-ish. See for example, "The Pit and the Pendulum" and "The Telltale Heart."]

[Melanie · Rating 2 out of 5]

2 stars, one for that spectacular cover-art (the main reason I bought it!) and the creepy title, the other star for the sinister reveal about half-way through the story which was the only thing that kept me going....on a road to nowhere!!!!!

This is my first Campbell read, and while it feels very much like a debut novel (it was one of his first published works), you can see the beginnings of the prose so many people talk about. Unfortunately, that's about it. I had to concentrate pretty hard at times to work out wtf the characters were up to, and the climax was....well....unsatisfactory.

I'll be reading more of Campbell (mainly because I've already bought a few second hand) but this one will be displayed on my these-covers-are-fucking-awesome-but-don't-look-inside-them shelf.

[Oliver Clarke · Rating 4 out of 5]

Review coming soon on scifiandscary.com

[Иван Величков · Rating 3 out of 5]

Първият пробив на Кембъл в дебрите на романа. Ако сте чели каквото и да е от него, трябва да знаете какво да очаквате. Проза приближаваща се до лилавата с богат език и бавно промъкващ се под кожата ужас от нещо неизвестно. До последно не сте наясно какъв точно е проблема с който се сблъскват героите. Описанията на ЛИвърпул, в който се развива действието, са толкова живи, че става ясно защо Стивън Кинг предполага, че самоя град е злодея, а не Кристофър или, задочно, Джон Стронг. Което пък поне малко е допринесло за Дери.

Разследващ писател, обсебен от крайно кървави престъпления, е решил да пише нова книга. На прицел са няколко мистериозни случки, за които е сигурен, че е отговорен негов бивш съученик от гимназията. Той се свързва с няколко роднини на предполагаемите жертви - детска учителка, чийто брат е загинал в катастрофа и после някой преминаващ случайно е задигнал ръката му; собственик на кино, чиято майка е починала от удар след като някой е убил кучито ѝ; млад уличен артист, чиято котка е наполовина изядена. Те провеждат няколко интервюта с хора от миналото на предполагаемия убиец и скоро нещата започват да изглеждат доста по-мрачни от обикновена социопатщина.

Има го онзи момент, където до последно се чудиш дали всичко е плод на случайни съвпадения и антагонистът не е просто жертва на обстоятелствата или са замесени сили отвъд приетите за нормални. Някой от разказите направо ти изправят косата, без да си наясно защо точно.

Героите ми бяха леко дразнещи, честно казано, а финалът малко претупан, но хей, говорим за първи роман на човека, който ще нарекат най-големия хорър писател на Острова. Класата си личи.
След "Паразитът" се бях зарекъл да прочета нещо от по-късните му неща, а стана точно обратното, та вина си имам и аз. Ама тази си стоеше на киндъла поне от три години, а ме мързеше да търся нещо друго. Моята книга има разкошен послеслов, писан 20 години след издаването на романа за първи път, изпълнен е с доволно количество скромност и самоирония, а показва и някой аспекти на занаята с които се е сблъсквал всеки решил да твори в дебрите на макабреното, явно половин век не е променил нищо или ние сме си с половин век назад. Или и двете.

[s · Rating 3 out of 5]

springs to life halfway through with a pair of knockout weird scenes—rides the unease to a finale with one last strong image

[The Blog Without a Face · Rating 3 out of 5]

50 Years Buried
BWAF Score: 7/10

TL;DR: Campbell’s debut novel turns Liverpool into a haunted conscience, skewers true-crime voyeurism, and builds dread like mold in your ribs. Precise prose, pitiless psychology, and an ending that feels inevitable and rotten. Fifty years on, it still bites and then asks why you wanted to watch.

Ramsey Campbell is Britain’s quiet assassin of horror. He started as a teenage acolyte riffing on Lovecraft, then slashed free and made Liverpool his haunted organ. By 1976 he’d already proven himself a short-story killer with collections like Demons by Daylight, swapping cosmic tentacles for urban mildew, bad lighting, and human guilt thick enough to spread on toast. The Doll Who Ate His Mother was his first published novel, a grimy, street-level murder trek that points toward later masterworks where psychology does more damage than any monster: The Face That Must Die, Incarnate, The Influence, the whole “let me show you how ordinary life curdles” catalog. Campbell’s lane is atmospheric dread married to moral rot. He writes cities like they’re alive and quietly judging you, and he writes people like they’re sleepwalking off cliffs with smiles on.

In The Doll Who Ate His Mother a young schoolteacher, Clare Frayn, survives a horrifying car accident in nocturnal Liverpool. Her brother does not. Worse, someone steals the evidence in the ugliest way possible. A slick true-crime writer, Edmund Hall, swoops in with a book deal and a theory about an old schoolmate turned predator. Reluctantly, Clare joins a grim amateur manhunt through back streets, derelict houses, and crumbling psyches. The hunter’s trail runs through a local history of spiritual grifters and homemade rituals, and the closer they get, the more Liverpool itself feels complicit. The novel isn’t a whodunit so much as a what-are-we-really-made-of. Think serial predation, occult leftovers, and the human urge to stare at car wrecks because some part of us wants to see the worst. The finale delivers a mud-slicked reckoning that’s as much about childhood nightmares as it is about bones in the ground.

This book is a pressure cooker. Themes: guilt, voyeurism, exploitation, class friction, the way family “love” can deform into a cage, and how the present is just the past wearing fresh skin. There is literal hunger in here, sure, but the real appetite is psychic. People feed on each other. Some take attention. Some take safety. One vile little soul takes more.

Symbolism shows up in small, nasty packages. Dolls crop up as creepy mirrors. They hold power, secrets, and an obscenity of birth that Campbell wields like a scalpel. Basements, lamps, sodium-orange night, and wet earth turn Liverpool into a half-awake beast. You can practically smell the damp. The city is the novel’s big symbolic organism. It shelters ghosts of demagogues and hustlers, and it leans in like a nosy neighbor while the characters try to keep their masks straight.

Campbell’s style is precise, patient, and mean. He doesn’t shout. He whispers the worst thing into your ear right when you realize you’re alone. Sentences carry dread like static electricity. He loves the tiny sensory detail that opens a trapdoor. He is not here to spoon-feed gore. He is here to watch you watch, then make you feel weird about wanting to.

Fifty years on, the book reads like an early indictment of content culture. Edmund Hall is proto-content. He packages other people’s pain and calls it “research.” He’s suave, hollow, and magnetic in the way only an opportunist can be. Campbell doesn’t sermonize. He sets Edmund next to Clare’s ordinary decency and lets the comparison corrode you. The question becomes: which is worse, the demon or the documentary? Who does more damage, the eater or the exploiter who sells the recipe?

Clare is the soul of the thing. Guilt chews her, shame handcuffs her, but she keeps moving. In a lesser novel she would be the Final Girl, stabbed and purified. Campbell gives her something smarter. She has to face the truth about the killer, the city, and her own complicity in chasing the spectacle. The book’s lingering aftertaste is not fear of the boogeyman. It’s fear of our appetite for him.

The occult thread matters less as literal magic and more as a metaphor for inherited monstrosity. The past leaves artifacts that demand attention. You dig in the wrong garden and up comes the family business. Birth itself becomes an image of entrapment. Creation can be corrupt. Nurture can be a form of predation in a polite dress.

In 1976 this was a nasty piece of originality. Campbell drags the horror novel out of creaky mansions and into municipal orange glow. He braids serial predation with a scuzzy folk-occult residue and lets the two feed each other. Half a century later we’ve overdosed on serial-killer fiction, but Doll still feels singular because Campbell keeps the camera pointed at shame, class, and complicity rather than giddy body counts.

Measured and deliberate, the book breathes like a stalker. If you need jump scares every five pages, go watch a streaming show that thinks “loud violin” equals terror. Campbell wants you stewing in moral humidity. He slow-rolls dread until the basement scenes hit like a punch you saw coming and could not dodge. When the plot goes subterranean, the tempo kicks just enough to make your stomach drop.

Clare is quietly excellent. She is capable, blinkered, and painfully human, and the book never treats her as a prop. Edmund is a beautifully awful portrait of a man who believes “I’m telling the truth” is the same thing as “I’m doing good.” The villain is not a mustache twirler. He is a product of household damage, social neglect, and something rotten that wants to repeat itself. Even side characters feel observed rather than placed. Campbell never forgets that horror is a social genre. People make monsters, then pretend the monster arrived by courier.

This is thick with atmosphere. The scares are cumulative rather than spiky. There are sequences in basements and derelict rooms that had me curling my toes like a cat about to bolt. The city’s sodium haze is its own jump scare. And yes, there are images here that will just sit in your head humming, like a fridge that might contain something you do not want to open. I would not call it splatterpunk. It is worse. It is patience.

Lean and quietly lethal. Campbell’s sentences walk you right up to the thing and then make you admit you wanted to see it. He does not grandstand. He just keeps choosing the detail that knifes you. There is humor, but it is the bitter, human kind, not wink-wink camp. If you’ve got a grudge against mediocre writing, you will feel seen.

The Doll Who Ate His Mother still slaps. It is bold in its restraint, original in its urban moral lens, and gutsy enough to make true crime itself the secondary monster. It is not perfect for every reader in 2025, but that is mostly because it refuses the sugar rush. Good. Let the weak have their candy.

Recommended for: Readers who like their horror damp, morally ugly, and weirdly tender. Fans of decayed cities, doomed basements, and dolls with terrible ideas. Anyone who has ever side-eyed a slick true-crime bro and thought, “you would absolutely monetize my funeral.”

Not recommended for: Folks who need car chases every chapter. People who think dolls are adorable keepsakes and would like to keep thinking that. Anyone who believes the past is safely buried and that basements are for storage rather than spiritual biohazards.

[Rowan MacBean · Rating 3 out of 5]

I had some doubts about this book pretty far into it, but I'm glad I gave it a chance and finished it. I realized the major plot twist ("at it were," as the author himself says in the afterword) almost the moment it was possible and I thought I was going to have to be bored through more than half of the book until it was revealed at the end. Fortunately, it's actually revealed to the reader and the characters about two-thirds of the way through, and it's dealt with at length instead of in half a chapter of crazy action, like a lot of horror/thriller novels.

It's purple-prosey and might have benefited from some (more?) editing, but if you keep in mind that this was Ramsey Campbell's first novel and cut him a little slack, it's really not a bad piece of horror writing. If this genre is your thing and you're in the mood for brain candy (little to no nutritional value, but quick and tasty), give this book a shot.

[Charles Dee Mitchell · Rating 1 out of 5]

The second best thing about this book is its title.

The best thing is an incident in the first chapter. After a car crash, the first person on the scene, rather than offering help, steals the severed arm of one of the victims who subsequently bleeds to death.

After that there is a so-so tale of a true crime writer, the sister of the man with the stolen arm, another man whose mother was eaten on after dying of a heart attack, and a young hippie street performer. (This was written in 1976.) About halfway through there is a twist that will come as a surprise to anyone who hasn't taken a couple of minutes out of reading the first half to figure out what is going to happen.

This is yet another Ramsey Campbell novel that comes slathered in praise from other horror writers and is described as more frightening than The Exorcist. I don't get it.

What Campbell does best is capture the beat-down world of Liverpool in the 1970's.

[Katsumi · Rating 3 out of 5]

Campbell's style is extremely strange; his prose is cool, almost icy, and his characterizations unsympathetic in the extreme. All this, however, makes this novel somehow more affecting and horrifying than a more dramatic approach would have. This grisly tale of an evil child (told with overtones of Satanism and Black Magic) set against the somewhat drab and mundane backround of modern Liverpool, sets your teeth on edge from the first page and holds you spellbound. The undramatic way Campbell handles his tabloid-style subject matter lends an extra chill to the book that engulfs the reader as well.

[Debra · Rating 4 out of 5]

Stephen King recommended book and author.

Book noted as "important to the genre we have been discussing" from Danse Macabre, published in 1981. Book and author discussed in chapter 9 where King also said this about the book: "My Plan is to discuss ten books that seem representative of everything in the genre that is fine; the horror story as both literature and entertainment, a living part of twentieth-century literature..."

[Cameron Trost · Rating 5 out of 5]

I read this book many years ago when I was a teenager but could never remember who wrote it. Today, I found out it was Ramsey Campbell, who is one of Britain's most famous horror writers. How could I give a book that has stayed in my memory for so many years a lower rating than 5 stars?

[Thomas · Rating 2 out of 5]

Earlier this year, when I decided to tackle all of Charles Grant's fiction, I remembered that I had never read much of Ramsey Campbell, either. Both authors are well known in horror circles for their own brands of "quiet horror", and when I finished off Grant's works, I decided to start with Campbell's body of work next. I've only read a small number of Campbell's works ("The Words That Count" being the one that had the strongest impact on me), and considering that he's considered a modern master of the genre, I figured it would be a good project to take up after Grant.

This wasn't my first time reading The Doll Who Ate His Mother. When I was in high school, I was such a Stephen King junkie that I pretty much read just his books, along with any books he recommended. That was how I discovered Peter Straub, Shirley Jackson, and the Dell/Abyss line, and when I saw that King had no small amount of praise for The Doll in Danse Macabre, I figured it would be worth my time to read. As I recall, I didn't get around to reading it until I was in college, and what I remember of the book (nothing at all, which is a bit of a surprise, given the opening chapter) suggests that I was underwhelmed.

The thing is, the kind of horror I was reading then is very different from the horror Campbell writes. I didn't appreciate Charles Grant back then, and this book, which wasn't just a huge departure in style for me, but was also full of British terms and slang that were slowing me down, didn't speak much to me, either. Today, I still have trouble reading the book because Campbell uses an awkward narrative style. There were sentences that took me two or three reads to understand just what he was trying to say, and there were some scenes that were downright confusing the way they jumped from person to person without any real segue between them. One particular sentence that stood out to me was in a passage where Campbell was describing the setting on the street (emphasis mine):

Beyond the wire fences at the edge of the pavement, people emerged from small shops with the evening newspaper. Buses honked; ducks flew over them back to the park, honking. Children watched a large green maggot writhing in televisions.

I don't even know what this is supposed to mean. Is it symbolic, or literal? Is this a reference to a children's show in England? Is it supposed to be surrealism? Campbell doesn't elaborate on it; he just moves on with the narrative, as if that one sentence makes perfect sense. I was stumped on it for a minute or two, searching for further context in the surrounding paragraphs.

Overall, the story here isn't very interesting. It starts off well, and shows some potential, but then it just devolves into uninteresting characters doing uninteresting things. I had my suspicions as to who was going to turn out to be the antagonist, and was proven right, but much earlier in the story than I expected. Then the story became about the chase, but it wasn't exciting, nor was it engaging. It just became a matter of waiting to see how it ended.

This was Campbell's first novel, so I don't want to give up on him completely for misstepping, but I do wonder what it was about this novel that made it such a classic. Aside from King making a big deal about it, T.E.D. Klein did, too, especially around the time of its release. It didn't feel atmospheric, and the characters all felt dull and two-dimensional. The reveal happened too early, and the ending came too quickly. Tack on a conclusion that doesn't answer any questions nor add anything to the story, and I'm mystified. Is it just a bad novel, or am I just a bad reader for not getting it?

[Courtney · Rating 4 out of 5]

Bleak and tense.

Clare Frayn was giving her brother a ride home on night when someone ran in front of her car and caused an accident. Her brother died instantly, but they never found his arm. The man who ran in front of the car seemingly disappeared around a corner shortly after the accident, carrying something looking suspiciously like an arm...

A couple of months later, popular true-crime writer Edmund Hall contacts Clare for help in researching his latest book, "Satan's Cannibal," about the man he is certain was responsible for Clare's brother's death. As a child, Hall went to school in Clare's neighborhood with a creepy kid named Christopher Kelly. Kelly was a maniac who attacked, killed and ate small animals - and badly scared the school bully by nearly biting off his nose.

Clare and Edmund play detective, with a few friends, to track Kelly down. Of course, with that much attention coming his way, it can't be too long before Kelly turns the tables, and comes looking for them...

[Jade · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was an interesting one--I was not loving it at the beginning because it was throwing me off kilter a lot but that came to be a part of the fun. A very quick read, 153 pages including the afterword by the author (which was terribly charming in and of itself--almost an apology for any flaws--very sweet). Creepy without being terrifying and for me, quite original--there was a twist in the middle I did not see coming (I admit, I am slow about such things but don't hate--it makes reading more fun for me than it does for wise asses). Another reason to keep reading Ramsey Campbell.

[Amanda · Rating 1 out of 5]

I don't know if my mood wasn't right for this book, if I wasn't used to Campbell's style, or if it really was just a dumb book, but I hated this. In hindsight, I'm not sure why I even finished it other than that I wanted to see if there was going to be a big reveal.

The story was stilted, the characters were unlikable, and the plot was contrived to get from one "disturbing" scene to the next.

I'm going to try Campbell again in the future, but it's going to be awhile.

[Jim Smith · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Doll Who Ate His Mother is a vivid example of Campbell's literary genius for unsettling descriptive prose. Although the plotting doesn't hold up (the initial conceit of them stumbling upon the killer due to a childhood recollection is impossible to buy) and the characterisation lacking compared to a King or Straub novel, what matters is that this is a creepy book with a powerfully disquieting atmosphere of menace throughout. Campbell is a master of mise en scène.

[J.w. Schnarr · Rating 3 out of 5]

A Slow burner, and the ending seemed like it didn't really fit the story, but Ramsey Campbell can put words to paper in a way few others can. Beautifully written, so much so you may not care as much about the ending or the fact that he gives away the mystery in the last 50 pages or so...