I’ll never be able to hear God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman the same way again.
The Halls of the Dead puts the “romance” in necromancy. It’s a revenge story with incredible catharsis, a poly love story horrormance, a dark fantasy, and one of the best books I read in 2025. The prose is lyrical, gorgeous, absolutely aches with yearning, and the imagery is delightfully gruesome. Hallow clearly has great affection for and knowledge of classic gothic themes and motifs.
The bulk of the plot takes place in the Haley house over roughly six days with flashbacks to the trio’s past in three rotating POVs. In this version of early Victorian London, magic exists and is commonplace, though necromancy is forbidden. I enjoyed the magic system (the foreshadowing, payoff, and attention to detail with the necromancy lore and spellwork was fantastic) and felt like the worldbuilding was sketched out enough for a book with such a tight focus.
(I especially liked the way Hallow nods to faith and the afterlife through St. John’s backstory and the monks at St. Lazarus’s Abbey.) The thematic use of flashbacks to fill us in on the plot events prior to the opening chapter’s resurrection means it can feel a bit slow in the beginning if you’re not someone who enjoys a character-driven narrative, and I did have a bit of trouble keeping track of details and the timeline at times. But after a bit of a lull in the middle, things really heat up, and the gory payoff to the revenge plot does not disappoint.
I enjoyed all three POVs, but I especially loved Irene. I love that this woman failed to resurrect her sister, and rather than take the hint that maybe sometimes people die and we have to move on and let go, she said “no I can do it, for real this time though” and tries again with Agnes. I really appreciated the exploration of the way that depression and disability impact Irene’s life and the lives of her loved ones. And I loved the portrayal of the agony of grief and how it overwhelms and changes us, and can make us into someone we don’t recognize. The scenes between Irene and her sister Willa in the Halls were some of the most affecting for me, but I also loved St. John’s chapters reflecting on his abbot and the necromancers he lost over the years. And speaking of, special shout out to St. John, or as I like to think of him, if Oogie Boogie were a proper Victorian gentleman. His utter devotion to both Irene and Agnes in his narration is delightful.
I think your own relationship with death and loss may play into how hard this book hits for you. I’ve been dealing with prolonged grief from the death of my best friend, so this hit like a truck. Hallow’s observations on grief are poignant and devastating; early on, St. John remarks that he wishes he could make Irene a book after she dies and carry her with him forever, and I found myself in tears. This happened often throughout the book, and consequently I had to take my time with it because it weighed heavily on me. So many sentences stopped me in my tracks. It’s one of the best grief narratives I’ve read, and I’m so thankful I got to read it. 4.5 stars rounded up.
Would I re-read this: Yes
Who should read this:
fans of unlikable/flawed women
queer/poly romance enjoyers
anyone looking for genrebending unique books
If you’re a very visual reader and you like a vibey gothic, I think this will be right up your alley. If you can’t generate your own visuals (and therefore don’t care for beautiful, descriptive language) or you’re a very plot driven reader, you’ll likely bounce off this book. Additionally, while this book is deeply romantic, I think readers picking this up as a romance expecting a typical romance structure/beats might be disappointed.
For fans of: Caitlin Starling, Johanna van Veen, S. T. Gibson, Alix E. Harrow, Maggie Stiefvater
Thank you to S. M. Hallow, Avon/Harper Voyager, and Netgalley for the eARC.