“One thing society could always count on in today’s world was insanity.”
1913. An experienced nurse watches in horror, as yet another woman is confined to the Kenmore Lunatic Asylum.
1953. A trainee nurse arrives at Kenmore, determined to make a difference.
2021. A pair of teenage ghost hunters creep into the abandoned complex, en route to the worst night of their lives.
A stand-alone novel from the author of the Keeper series, The Haunting of Kenmore Asylum explores an occluded corner of the past, weaving fact and fiction into a seamless tale of terror. Societal oppression, the camaraderie of women, and shifting definitions of mental illness are powerful themes, but at the heart of this book lies fear itself.
Asylum stories are popular in horror, but it is refreshing to find one that, while not shying away from the confronting aspects of its subject, refrains from exaggeration. The day-to-day operations of the institution in its heyday have been meticulously researched and are presented with realism and sensitivity – for the most part, the characters are people doing their best under far from ideal circumstances. And this includes the patients: when trainee Bonnie first meets the First Nation women Lillian and Bertha, she thinks they’re staff.
“Yessum.” Lillian’s mouth closed as she leant back with her hands over her tiny stomach, still smiling. “We’s heading into Autumn now, gals. Me and the other ‘nebriates done make our homes here for the cold times.”
The exceptions, perhaps, are Aiden and Devin, would-be hosts of a true hauntings webcast with an entirely adolescent sense of their own privilege. But even they, increasingly, are simply trying to survive. And, unbeknown to his friend, Aiden has connections to this place that far exceed a morbid curiosity.
This book is a slow-burn, but the pacing is well-nigh perfect. The three timelines gradually wind tighter and tighter, incidents that may seem trivial in one serving to ramp up tension in the others, building momentum until catastrophe is inevitable and, once Carpenter gets there, she does not hold back. But – and this is the book’s other outstanding feature – what appears to be happening, to the idealistic Bonnie, the brash teens, and the resolute Harriet (“…prepared to show him just what a little “assertiveness” from a woman really could look like.”), is not necessarily the entire truth. The situation is complex and, as some at Kenmore have begun to realise, the observer influences what is observed.
The writing throughout is excellent and what’s more, appropriate to the period. Nurse Harriet, for all her intelligence and fortitude, simply does not have the options available to Bonnie and her frame of reference includes things her successor would consider dangerously unscientific. And comparing Bonnie’s primness to the casual profanity of the teens of 2021 is hilarious. But always, always, there is the asylum, an all-encompassing atmosphere of doors locked and unlocked, echoing ceilings, winding hallways, and dread. Such a strong sense of place is only appropriate. Because whatever may or may not walk there, Kenmore itself is perfectly real. It stands to this day outside Goulburn, in country New South Wales.
A strong story with a plausible conclusion, and a welcome addition to the ranks of the Australian Gothic.
Graveside Press affirms no part of this book was created using generative AI.