Thank you NetGalley and Tin House for the ARC in exchange for an honest review!
Set largely in 1987, “Hunger and Thirst” by Claire Fuller follows sixteen-year-old Ursula, a damaged and deeply vulnerable girl who has grown up in the care system and slipped through its cracks. Recently placed in a halfway house and working a menial job in the post room of an art college, Ursula is desperate for belonging. She finds it in an unlikely friendship with Sue, a volatile but charismatic young woman with dreams of Hollywood, and Vince, another care-leaver. Together they move into an abandoned squat known as The Underwood, a bungalow shrouded in rumors after the sudden and possibly violent death of its former occupants. That summer, made out to be claustrophobic, intense, and deeply unsettling, will come to define the rest of Ursula’s life.
Fuller tells the story through a slow-burning, character-led narrative that shifts subtly between past and present. In the present day, Ursula is now Uschi, a successful but reclusive sculptor, still haunted by what happened at The Underwood as a documentary filmmaker begins to excavate her past. These brief glimpses of the future never overwhelm the main story, instead adding a quiet sense of dread as you begin to understand just how inescapable those formative events truly are.
This is not a straightforward horror novel, though it is undeniably chilling. The first half reads almost like literary fiction, carefully building relationships, insecurities, and power dynamics, particularly within female friendship. Fuller excels at capturing Ursula’s aching need for acceptance and the ways trauma shapes her choices. The tension simmers rather than explodes, creating an atmosphere that is eerie, confusing, and emotionally heavy. When the story darkens, and it does, the shift is deeply effective. The Underwood itself feels like a living, malignant presence, raising unsettling questions about whether the true horror lies in the house or in the people drawn to it.
Fuller’s writing is elegant and immersive, making even the most depressing moments compulsively readable. Her depiction of life in care, squatting, and poverty is unflinching; the dirt, neglect, and discomfort feel almost physical. Her handling of mental health and loneliness is subtle and compassionate. The 1980s setting, without mobile phones or easy access to information, heightens the isolation and sense of danger.
“Hunger and Thirst” is bleak, emotionally draining, and at times deeply uncomfortable, but it is also powerful and unforgettable. The ending lingers long after the final page, delivering a quiet, icy shock rather than a loud payoff. Claire Fuller once again proves herself a master of exploring damaged lives and the quiet horrors that grow from neglect, longing, and the past we can never quite escape.