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258 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 1, 2015
"Aickman's readers are a bit like the narrator of "The Inner Room," who never gains access to her forlorn dollhouse's hidden sanctum where all mystery is laid bare. What one remembers most from Aickman's stories are not the ghosts, vampires, psychopaths, goddesses, or lake monsters, but rather a feeling of dread and a lingering doubt over the precise nature of the epiphany, or atrocity, that seems to have occurred. After reading an Aickman tale, one feels as if one's vision is occluded by the very "self-renewing, perennial" debris that covers every surface of the mansion in "The Unsettled Dust," a story in which the prying narrator is curtly told: "The key of your room doesn't open every door." And perhaps that's for the best; some locked doors should remain unopened."













The place was part of a gated community, a little triangle of buildings full of apartments, some of which had motorized metal shutters that could be brought down at night, sealing you in like a tin of preserved meat. (5)Yes, some of these are very unpleasant characters.
It was his upturned flare of the nose, his dirty blue eyes flecked with green like an algae-stained pond. (121)
[O]ne thing my Cambridge years taught me - pleasant though they were in most respects - was that those of an academic mind are quick to judge; and, having judged, quicker still to slaughter. (147)
There were and are obvious advantages to my relationship with Cara [the narrator's wife].
Companionship always puts one more at east with one's own eccentricities. Alone, one's compulsions can become forces of anguish and alienation. Betrothed, they twist into endearing quicks in the eye of one's lover. This of course i so much easier than the futile quest to entirely remake one's self to fit an ideal. (24-5)
I ignored her, mostly, and I think she liked it. Most women do. (153)