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Moriah
Silas Flood is a broken man in a broken country. Nine years have passed since the end of the American Civil War and Flood is helpless to escape its shadow.
In the summer of 1874, he is dispatched to the mountain village of Moriah, Vermont to investigate sensational claims of supernatural happenings. There the brothers Thaddeus and Ambrose Lynch are said to converse with spirits and summon the dead.
As Flood investigates the true nature of these phenomena, and the difference between the hauntings of the living and the dead, he must first come to terms with his own past and with the hold it has upon him—before he can behold the mysteries of the other side.
Daniel Mills is the author of Revenants: A Dream of New England (Chomu Press, 2011) and The Lord Came at Twilight (Dark Renaissance books, 2014). His short fiction has appeared in various magazines and anthologies including Black Static, Shadows & Tall Trees, The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror, and The Year’s Best Dark Fantasy and Horror. He lives in Vermont.
In the summer of 1874, he is dispatched to the mountain village of Moriah, Vermont to investigate sensational claims of supernatural happenings. There the brothers Thaddeus and Ambrose Lynch are said to converse with spirits and summon the dead.
As Flood investigates the true nature of these phenomena, and the difference between the hauntings of the living and the dead, he must first come to terms with his own past and with the hold it has upon him—before he can behold the mysteries of the other side.
Daniel Mills is the author of Revenants: A Dream of New England (Chomu Press, 2011) and The Lord Came at Twilight (Dark Renaissance books, 2014). His short fiction has appeared in various magazines and anthologies including Black Static, Shadows & Tall Trees, The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror, and The Year’s Best Dark Fantasy and Horror. He lives in Vermont.
320 pages, Paperback
First published April 18, 2017
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457 people want to read
About the author
Daniel Mills
61 books115 followersDaniel Mills is the author of Moriah and Among the Lilies and creator of historical crime podcast These Dark Mountains. His nonfiction work has appeared in The Los Angeles Review of Books. He lives in Vermont.
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Displaying 1 - 18 of 18 reviews
May 20, 2017
With his second novel Moriah, Daniel Mills ingeniously weaves together two disparate literary modes of expression: the Victorian Gothic penny dreadful (with its séance scenes and morbid obsession with communicating with the dead) and the Appalachian murder ballad. The plot can be described very simply: in the year 1874, a New York-based journalist (and former army chaplain/Civil War veteran) named Silas Flood is sent by his newspaper to the village of Moriah in Vermont, in order to investigate reports of bizarre phantasmagorical activity revolving around two supposedly psychic brothers named Thaddeus and Ambrose Lynch. We are then quickly introduced to a cast of well-defined characters, of both the living and dead variety: indeed, the dead are, in their spectral way, just as important as the living characters in this novel, and even though we only get to know them through diary entries and the various dreams and memories of the principal characters, their presence permeates the narrative at all times. All this is conveyed in the same elegant and elegiac prose style that made Mills' first novel, Revenants (2011), such a joy to read, and there are plenty of nice period details that do a good job of recapturing what life was presumably like in rural New England in the late 19th century.
Biblical allusions abound, most prominently the Binding of Isaac (the story from which this novel obviously derived its name) but also Eve's temptation of Adam in the Garden of Eden (it's also worth noting how the novel unfolds over the course of seven days, and seven chapters, which is suggestive of the Genesis creation narrative). This Biblical feel also extends to the names of some of the characters, and I'm sure there is some symbolic reason why many of them are given the names they have (I presume that Ambrose, the medium who channels the voices of the dead, is named after the 4th century saint and bishop of Milan, who was also known for his "honeyed tongue"). And like the Bible itself, it all builds up to an apocalypse of blood and revelation. Only this apocalypse does not seem to end with any sort of redemption or salvation: here, everyone and everything seems damned. Initially, when Silas arrives at the demesne of the Lynch brothers(suggestively called "The Yellow House") early on, I wondered if maybe this was the start of some manner of haunted house narrative. I quickly realized that the characters themselves were ambulatory haunted houses, each one permanently scarred by the scourges of Time and haunted by their own private memories: the one thing they all have in common is that they seem doomed to repeat the tragic past. The depiction of time presented in this novel is thus seen as cyclical (which is of course in the manner and methodology of the Pagans), as opposed to the Christian concept of time as a linear phenomenon, with a clear beginning and ending; seeing as most of the characters are lapsed Christians of some sort or another, its not surprising that they should view this cyclical representation of time with fear and loathing.
The impression I'm trying to give here is that this is a very grim book, more fire and brimstone Old Testament in its events than anything else. It doesn't give much away when I state that in my opinion the ending is something of a downer: I haven't felt this depressed since the last time I listened to the Skeleton Tree album by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. I could imagine someone like Cave setting this book to music, or maybe Children of God-era Swans; if they ever issue an audio book the publisher should lobby for Michael Gira to do the narration. Actually, in my opinion the most fascinating musical reference in the novel itself is its nod towards the 1763 Methodist hymn Idumæa. I first became aware of this song thanks to the masterful 2006 Current 93 album Black Ships Ate The Sky, where it is performed nine times by nine different singers (the Marc Almond version that opens the album is especially worth listening to). Seeing as how Mills had a story appear in the Current 93/David Tibet tribute anthology Mighty in Sorrow a few years ago, I'm going to assume that he's a fan of Current 93 and is familiar with this album as well.
Biblical allusions abound, most prominently the Binding of Isaac (the story from which this novel obviously derived its name) but also Eve's temptation of Adam in the Garden of Eden (it's also worth noting how the novel unfolds over the course of seven days, and seven chapters, which is suggestive of the Genesis creation narrative). This Biblical feel also extends to the names of some of the characters, and I'm sure there is some symbolic reason why many of them are given the names they have (I presume that Ambrose, the medium who channels the voices of the dead, is named after the 4th century saint and bishop of Milan, who was also known for his "honeyed tongue"). And like the Bible itself, it all builds up to an apocalypse of blood and revelation. Only this apocalypse does not seem to end with any sort of redemption or salvation: here, everyone and everything seems damned. Initially, when Silas arrives at the demesne of the Lynch brothers(suggestively called "The Yellow House") early on, I wondered if maybe this was the start of some manner of haunted house narrative. I quickly realized that the characters themselves were ambulatory haunted houses, each one permanently scarred by the scourges of Time and haunted by their own private memories: the one thing they all have in common is that they seem doomed to repeat the tragic past. The depiction of time presented in this novel is thus seen as cyclical (which is of course in the manner and methodology of the Pagans), as opposed to the Christian concept of time as a linear phenomenon, with a clear beginning and ending; seeing as most of the characters are lapsed Christians of some sort or another, its not surprising that they should view this cyclical representation of time with fear and loathing.
The impression I'm trying to give here is that this is a very grim book, more fire and brimstone Old Testament in its events than anything else. It doesn't give much away when I state that in my opinion the ending is something of a downer: I haven't felt this depressed since the last time I listened to the Skeleton Tree album by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. I could imagine someone like Cave setting this book to music, or maybe Children of God-era Swans; if they ever issue an audio book the publisher should lobby for Michael Gira to do the narration. Actually, in my opinion the most fascinating musical reference in the novel itself is its nod towards the 1763 Methodist hymn Idumæa. I first became aware of this song thanks to the masterful 2006 Current 93 album Black Ships Ate The Sky, where it is performed nine times by nine different singers (the Marc Almond version that opens the album is especially worth listening to). Seeing as how Mills had a story appear in the Current 93/David Tibet tribute anthology Mighty in Sorrow a few years ago, I'm going to assume that he's a fan of Current 93 and is familiar with this album as well.
November 12, 2021
This short novel is written in a very florid style which I appreciated. I think that's where it shines best. I was familiar with Mills short stories, having read a collection of them some years ago. Mills proves adept at keeping up the suspense, keeping us guessing as to the supernatural angle -- is it real? Do all of these damaged, traumatized people just want to believe? There's a sense of mounting tension throughout.
May 3, 2017
NOTE: This review originally appeared on New York Journal of Books: http://www.nyjournalofbooks.com/book-...
“Here, as in Rhinebeck, the dead outnumber the living. Their graves are chiseled with angels and death’s heads and carved with dire words of warning or rebuke, which bespeak the superstitions of the living, their holy terror. Above all, they fear the fires of hell and doubtless they are right to do so, for the living here know more of darkness than all of the unnumbered dead.”
Daniel Mills is a master of telling tales set in pre-20th century New England. His previous novel, Revenants: A Dream of New England (2011), takes place in the late 1600s, and his short story collection The Lord Came at Twilight (2014) is chock full of period-set tales. So it is that with Moriah he sits the reader down for a tale set in Vermont in the years following the Civil War—a tale of secrets, lies, and ghosts.
A minister and former army chaplain turned journalist named Silas Flood has traveled to the mountain town of Moriah to cover a most unusual story: two brothers, Thaddeus and Ambrose Lynch, who apparently communicate with the spirit world. It’s not long, however, that ghosts of a different sort begin to manifest in the narrative—those of Flood’s tragedy-strewn past, both in the war and in the life that he’d left behind, as well as those of the people he meets in Moriah.
What’s most prominently on display in this book is Mills’ strong, heavily evocative prose. Such exquisite care was taken to render a sense of authenticity to the very particular style of language, both in dialogue and in the overall narrative, for characters living in the shadow of war-torn America in the late 1800s.
“Mrs. Ambler exhaled and settled back against the chair. She said: ‘My aunts were superstitious women, Mr. Flood. Mary, the youngest, was frightened of storm sand the evil eye, while the oldest, Rose, used to tell me ghost stories. She never married, but I gather she was once engaged to a sailor—one of many who went to sea and did not return. The stories she told me were so vivid, so detailed, that I used to wonder if they had truly happened if she knew . . . I do not wonder anymore.
“‘What, exactly, do you believe she understood?
“‘What it meant to be haunted.’”
Every page—and, indeed, every paragraph—is clouded with an overarching sense of melancholy. Although this mood is powerful, it is never overpowering; instead, the focal point is always on the interactions and reactions of the cast of broken characters.
Moriah is told in an epistolary fashion; although it is mainly Flood’s tale, there are several chapters told from Thaddeus’ point of view, interspersed with journal entries from Ambrose (beautifully illustrated to look like handwritten notes on crumpled sheets). As a result, not only Flood’s past that slowly gets drawn into the light—the Lynch family is a host of tragedies, secrets, and skeletons piled in closets.
Some readers may be a bit overwhelmed by this book’s combination of historical and narrative styles, but then Mills thoughtfully utilizes these qualities to appropriate degrees, and the results never come across as superfluous or exploitative.
As an added treat, in the acknowledgements page at the end of the novel, Mills shares some fascinating details regarding the inspirations behind the tale, including a pair of very real brothers who practiced as mediums in Vermont in the late 1800s.
Although not quite a horror novel, nor even an outright ghost story in the classical sense, Moriah is nonetheless a story about people being haunted by ghosts. Melancholic and mesmerizing, this book will stay with readers long after they finish, and further cements Mills as a name in fiction to read and revere.
“Here, as in Rhinebeck, the dead outnumber the living. Their graves are chiseled with angels and death’s heads and carved with dire words of warning or rebuke, which bespeak the superstitions of the living, their holy terror. Above all, they fear the fires of hell and doubtless they are right to do so, for the living here know more of darkness than all of the unnumbered dead.”
Daniel Mills is a master of telling tales set in pre-20th century New England. His previous novel, Revenants: A Dream of New England (2011), takes place in the late 1600s, and his short story collection The Lord Came at Twilight (2014) is chock full of period-set tales. So it is that with Moriah he sits the reader down for a tale set in Vermont in the years following the Civil War—a tale of secrets, lies, and ghosts.
A minister and former army chaplain turned journalist named Silas Flood has traveled to the mountain town of Moriah to cover a most unusual story: two brothers, Thaddeus and Ambrose Lynch, who apparently communicate with the spirit world. It’s not long, however, that ghosts of a different sort begin to manifest in the narrative—those of Flood’s tragedy-strewn past, both in the war and in the life that he’d left behind, as well as those of the people he meets in Moriah.
What’s most prominently on display in this book is Mills’ strong, heavily evocative prose. Such exquisite care was taken to render a sense of authenticity to the very particular style of language, both in dialogue and in the overall narrative, for characters living in the shadow of war-torn America in the late 1800s.
“Mrs. Ambler exhaled and settled back against the chair. She said: ‘My aunts were superstitious women, Mr. Flood. Mary, the youngest, was frightened of storm sand the evil eye, while the oldest, Rose, used to tell me ghost stories. She never married, but I gather she was once engaged to a sailor—one of many who went to sea and did not return. The stories she told me were so vivid, so detailed, that I used to wonder if they had truly happened if she knew . . . I do not wonder anymore.
“‘What, exactly, do you believe she understood?
“‘What it meant to be haunted.’”
Every page—and, indeed, every paragraph—is clouded with an overarching sense of melancholy. Although this mood is powerful, it is never overpowering; instead, the focal point is always on the interactions and reactions of the cast of broken characters.
Moriah is told in an epistolary fashion; although it is mainly Flood’s tale, there are several chapters told from Thaddeus’ point of view, interspersed with journal entries from Ambrose (beautifully illustrated to look like handwritten notes on crumpled sheets). As a result, not only Flood’s past that slowly gets drawn into the light—the Lynch family is a host of tragedies, secrets, and skeletons piled in closets.
Some readers may be a bit overwhelmed by this book’s combination of historical and narrative styles, but then Mills thoughtfully utilizes these qualities to appropriate degrees, and the results never come across as superfluous or exploitative.
As an added treat, in the acknowledgements page at the end of the novel, Mills shares some fascinating details regarding the inspirations behind the tale, including a pair of very real brothers who practiced as mediums in Vermont in the late 1800s.
Although not quite a horror novel, nor even an outright ghost story in the classical sense, Moriah is nonetheless a story about people being haunted by ghosts. Melancholic and mesmerizing, this book will stay with readers long after they finish, and further cements Mills as a name in fiction to read and revere.
June 25, 2017
I went into Moriah pretty confident that I would like it for a few reasons. One is this is not my first experience with the author Daniel Mills. I have read a novella called Children Of Light as well as a few of Mills' short stories. This book is released through Chizine Publications which puts out some of the best literary horror I have ever read. Also, it is a historical gothic ghost story which is one of my favorite specialties of fiction.
Moriah does not disappoint. The book is set in 1874, not too long after the Civil War. Silas Flood, a journalist, is sent to the town of Moriah Vermont to report on the legendary Lynch brothers who have a reputation of being able to communicate with the dead. Most think it is a hoax, including Silas himself, who thinks the assignment will lead to him to writing a skeptical piece. Mr. Flood has a complicated history himself having previously been a minister whose faith has been shaken by the death of his wife and child. The Lynch brothers, who are very interesting characters, are hosting some other people that have lost close loved ones and are exposing them to the spirit cabinet in their house. As Mr. Flood continues to gather information and experience the spirits mixed with some hallucinatory dreams he learns that this may not be a hoax at all. The dark atmosphere of the "Yellow House" interspersed with some extreme acts of violence are what make this a horror story. The spirit cabinet displays spirits from the Lynch's past as well as the loved ones of their guests. Eventually, the violent family history of the Lynch's comes to a head and overlaps with the experiences of their guests.
The prose in this book is incredibly precise and the dialog reflects the times. I can definitely recommend Moriah to fans of Alan M. Clark or Michael McDowell because those are two of my favorite writers that like to set books in the 1800's. Again, if you are a fan of gothic prose, ghost stories, and the dark atmosphere of a historical horror setting then go ahead and read Moriah. I look forward to reading more of Mill's work in the future. I have his novella The Account Of David Stonehouse, Exlie and his short story collection The Lord Came At Twilight in my library to check out next. Daniel Mill's has proven himself as an author or creepy weird fiction I will keep checking for.
Moriah does not disappoint. The book is set in 1874, not too long after the Civil War. Silas Flood, a journalist, is sent to the town of Moriah Vermont to report on the legendary Lynch brothers who have a reputation of being able to communicate with the dead. Most think it is a hoax, including Silas himself, who thinks the assignment will lead to him to writing a skeptical piece. Mr. Flood has a complicated history himself having previously been a minister whose faith has been shaken by the death of his wife and child. The Lynch brothers, who are very interesting characters, are hosting some other people that have lost close loved ones and are exposing them to the spirit cabinet in their house. As Mr. Flood continues to gather information and experience the spirits mixed with some hallucinatory dreams he learns that this may not be a hoax at all. The dark atmosphere of the "Yellow House" interspersed with some extreme acts of violence are what make this a horror story. The spirit cabinet displays spirits from the Lynch's past as well as the loved ones of their guests. Eventually, the violent family history of the Lynch's comes to a head and overlaps with the experiences of their guests.
The prose in this book is incredibly precise and the dialog reflects the times. I can definitely recommend Moriah to fans of Alan M. Clark or Michael McDowell because those are two of my favorite writers that like to set books in the 1800's. Again, if you are a fan of gothic prose, ghost stories, and the dark atmosphere of a historical horror setting then go ahead and read Moriah. I look forward to reading more of Mill's work in the future. I have his novella The Account Of David Stonehouse, Exlie and his short story collection The Lord Came At Twilight in my library to check out next. Daniel Mill's has proven himself as an author or creepy weird fiction I will keep checking for.
November 13, 2019
I think I'm missing something in this book that other reviews clearly found. It is well written--in that it's got evocative language and does convey a sense of time and place. But I'm baffled by it. What happened? A journalist, Silas Flood, goes to a remote farmhouse to write a story about two supposed medium brothers, Thaddeus and Ambrose: are they genuine, or frauds. The brothers run the farm as a B&B, taking in people who want to experience the spirits. On the first sitting, one of these other characters, a German man, sees the spirits of his two dead children. They speak with him, he touches them. Flood recounts all of this to us, the reader, just as he sees it. But then... nothing. No reaction from him, no shock, no alarm, no skepticism. Nothing. He doesn't even privately ponder it, but goes out for a walk as if nothing had happened. An Indian woman had appeared as well and danced, then an Indian Brave... again, Silas thought and did nothing. We later learn that the So, I've been left baffled and utterly unmoved by this book. Annoyed actually. I'm only giving it two stars rather than one because the language is lovely and I at times I felt I was there in the yellow house.
February 25, 2022
Mills writing style sets the mood right from the start and rides out the grim, supernatural beliefs to its quiet ending that disappears in a fog of imaginative darkness.
A slow burn historic/fiction with a gothic mood and sometimes you look over your shoulder…making sure nothing is watch you.
Admire this man’s work.
A slow burn historic/fiction with a gothic mood and sometimes you look over your shoulder…making sure nothing is watch you.
Admire this man’s work.
December 8, 2024
This was really breathtaking; haunting in every sense of the word. I love stories like this, that wear a lot of hats: a historical snapshot, a study of grief as singular driving force, a tapestry that unfolds very slowly, a bleak tangled knot of characters that orbit each other over the course of one week.
Former Rev. Silas Flood travels to a family home called the Yellow House in Moriah, Vermont as a journalist investigating the family’s alleged ability to conjure spirits during nightly seances. This is in the 1870s, and the whole country is deeply spiritually curious as it processes the traumas of the Civil War. There he encounters medium brothers Thaddeus and Ambrose Lynch, their sister Sally, the various guests drawn to their conjuring skills, and the spirits they call from the afterlife. Flood, walking around with his own personal tragedies, becomes swept up in the questions around belief, desire, memory, guilt, and fear that haunt the entire group - as well as family secrets.
It’s a fascinating moment in time wrapped in a very captivating delivery. These characters are super broken - it’s a bleak, disturbing book - but I couldn’t look away as they churned in turmoil. The spirit aspect is very unique and probably not what makes this book horror… I think that would be the deep dive into the horror that is the human experience. Like I said, bleak.
So why 3 stars? 3 stars means I liked it. I have read books of a similar tone (sort of an… exercise-y, literary, biblical allusion-infused, words-at-the-forefront tone with heavy themes - reminds me of something I’d read in school, begging to be inspected and called clever) and they all land around 3 stars for me. I wouldn’t touch this is you’re in a grim mood unless you want to wallow in it. But again, I liked it. I like horror in all its flavors, even its most melancholic.
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Former Rev. Silas Flood travels to a family home called the Yellow House in Moriah, Vermont as a journalist investigating the family’s alleged ability to conjure spirits during nightly seances. This is in the 1870s, and the whole country is deeply spiritually curious as it processes the traumas of the Civil War. There he encounters medium brothers Thaddeus and Ambrose Lynch, their sister Sally, the various guests drawn to their conjuring skills, and the spirits they call from the afterlife. Flood, walking around with his own personal tragedies, becomes swept up in the questions around belief, desire, memory, guilt, and fear that haunt the entire group - as well as family secrets.
It’s a fascinating moment in time wrapped in a very captivating delivery. These characters are super broken - it’s a bleak, disturbing book - but I couldn’t look away as they churned in turmoil. The spirit aspect is very unique and probably not what makes this book horror… I think that would be the deep dive into the horror that is the human experience. Like I said, bleak.
So why 3 stars? 3 stars means I liked it. I have read books of a similar tone (sort of an… exercise-y, literary, biblical allusion-infused, words-at-the-forefront tone with heavy themes - reminds me of something I’d read in school, begging to be inspected and called clever) and they all land around 3 stars for me. I wouldn’t touch this is you’re in a grim mood unless you want to wallow in it. But again, I liked it. I like horror in all its flavors, even its most melancholic.
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March 31, 2024
Mills, Daniel - Moriah
1874, journalist Silas Flood travels from New York to Rutland, Vermont. There are reports of a family of spiritualists who can summon the dead. Ghostly apparitions who can speak and comfort bereaved family members left behind.
A miracle? Or a fraud? Whichever truth, there is a story, and there are eager readers.
Flood is an ex-Army chaplain, faith shattered during the Civil War, where he was part of Grant’s campaign. Of ghosts, he clutches his own, as do most of the characters in this.
The narrative spills from various witnesses and players, sweeping from a decade preceding the war, to blood soaked battlefields, into a parched 1874.
The family of spiritualists are a particularly complicated tribe.
Mills’ style is rich and textured, meticulously structured. Multitask readers, steer away.
Mills reads like a wayward descendant of Faulkner, which I mean as a compliment.
I went into this one stone cold, knowing nothing, and was absorbed and immensely pleased.
Note: One could spend a lot of time reading the endpapers of the Zagava edition.
1874, journalist Silas Flood travels from New York to Rutland, Vermont. There are reports of a family of spiritualists who can summon the dead. Ghostly apparitions who can speak and comfort bereaved family members left behind.
A miracle? Or a fraud? Whichever truth, there is a story, and there are eager readers.
Flood is an ex-Army chaplain, faith shattered during the Civil War, where he was part of Grant’s campaign. Of ghosts, he clutches his own, as do most of the characters in this.
The narrative spills from various witnesses and players, sweeping from a decade preceding the war, to blood soaked battlefields, into a parched 1874.
The family of spiritualists are a particularly complicated tribe.
Mills’ style is rich and textured, meticulously structured. Multitask readers, steer away.
Mills reads like a wayward descendant of Faulkner, which I mean as a compliment.
I went into this one stone cold, knowing nothing, and was absorbed and immensely pleased.
Note: One could spend a lot of time reading the endpapers of the Zagava edition.
October 28, 2018
Southern noir is common and popular, but this is the first time I've read anything "Northern noir" (if that's even a thing). The story takes place in the fictional town of Moriah, Vermont, in 1874, where we follow protagonist Silas Flood (great name), who has been dispatched to Moriah to investigate and write about the supernatural things going on at the infamous Yellow House.
Not to give any specifics away, but what happens there isn't scary. Supernatural, yes. Scary, no. Which may be the reason why I didn't enjoy this book as much as I'd hoped. It was sold to me as a horror novel, though it really isn't. What it is, though, is a very well-written, darkly Gothic story about a broken man sent to investigate other broken people. True, they were all haunted in a way – but in painful, personal ways rather than frightening ways.
The above said, Mills can write, and well. His attention to the language of the day is spot-on. Authenticity of voice is indeed authentic, and the slow burn he leads us on is worth the ride.
Not to give any specifics away, but what happens there isn't scary. Supernatural, yes. Scary, no. Which may be the reason why I didn't enjoy this book as much as I'd hoped. It was sold to me as a horror novel, though it really isn't. What it is, though, is a very well-written, darkly Gothic story about a broken man sent to investigate other broken people. True, they were all haunted in a way – but in painful, personal ways rather than frightening ways.
The above said, Mills can write, and well. His attention to the language of the day is spot-on. Authenticity of voice is indeed authentic, and the slow burn he leads us on is worth the ride.
July 14, 2017
I only made it a third of the way through this. I only read it on my Kindle when I was eating out, so I lost a lot between sessions of food, but I never felt super determined to read it any other time. So I stopped. But it was a cool time, and a great opening. Felt historical and intelligent.
March 18, 2019
Its pages exude grief and guilt. Ghosts need not be supernatural. A beautiful book.
September 9, 2024
It reminded me of Edith Wharton, in the best sense.
July 1, 2022
Moriah is a beautifully gothic tale, weaving together Victorian Spiritualism and the trauma of post-Civil War America in its dread-filled web. Though it initially appears to be a ghost story, or at the very least centrally focused on paranormal investigation, the heart of this story is that the true ghosts are those of our memories and trauma, of which the characters in this book have plenty.
There is horror in this story, but the source of it is very human. Whether or not the ghosts are of a supernatural nature is ultimately left to the reader to decide.
Daniel Mills' prose and wealth of knowledge of late 19th century New England vividly illustrates this story in rich sepia tones and were what I enjoyed most about this novel. Moriah is an excellent addition to the bookshelf of any lover of Gothic horror. I'm very glad to have stumbled upon it while at work in the library.
There is horror in this story, but the source of it is very human. Whether or not the ghosts are of a supernatural nature is ultimately left to the reader to decide.
Daniel Mills' prose and wealth of knowledge of late 19th century New England vividly illustrates this story in rich sepia tones and were what I enjoyed most about this novel. Moriah is an excellent addition to the bookshelf of any lover of Gothic horror. I'm very glad to have stumbled upon it while at work in the library.
June 28, 2017
Mills has delivered a piece of taut and suspenseful historical fiction that will please fans of literary and genre fiction alike.
Daniel Mills has built something of a reputation as an author of historical fiction. Indeed, he has openly expressed a love for history from a young age, and is especially known for writing fiction with a New England setting. Just look at some of his previous releases: Revenants (Chomu Press, 2011), his collection The Lord Came at Twilight (Dark Renaissance Books, 2014) and the novella The Account of David Stonehouse, Exile (Dim Shores, 2016). He has also had great success in having his short fiction published in some well-respected magazines (including Black Static, Strange Aeons and Supernatural Tales) and anthologies (Autumn Cthulu, The Madness of Doctor Caligari and Aickman’s Heirs, among others). His latest release, Moriah (ChiZine Publications, 2017), takes place in a similar setting to his other historical fiction.
The story opens with the narrator, Silas Flood, a former soldier and chaplain in the American Civil War and now a contributing writer for a New York newspaper, The Sunday Echo. He is travelling by train to the town of Moriah, Vermont to investigate rumours of the Lynch brothers, Thaddeus and Ambrose, who claim to possess paranormal abilities. Mills has used the real life case of the Eddy brothers of Chittenden, Vermont as a basis for his story. The history of the Eddy’s is intriguing, but in Moriah, Mills has created a more interesting tale with much more depth. Flood may be sceptical of the paranormal, but he is haunted by his own ghosts throughout the book. He is troubled by memories of bloodshed and death during the war, the loss of so many young men and his difficulty reconciling this with a benevolent god. But he also struggles with the memory of his late wife, Katherine, who pleaded with him to stay with her rather than fight, and was torn between the duties of a husband and father (Katherine was expecting their first child when he left) and the duty he felt to defend the ideals of the Union. These elements help us to better understand Silas as a person, making him that much more relatable.
To read the full review, please visit This Is Horror.
Daniel Mills has built something of a reputation as an author of historical fiction. Indeed, he has openly expressed a love for history from a young age, and is especially known for writing fiction with a New England setting. Just look at some of his previous releases: Revenants (Chomu Press, 2011), his collection The Lord Came at Twilight (Dark Renaissance Books, 2014) and the novella The Account of David Stonehouse, Exile (Dim Shores, 2016). He has also had great success in having his short fiction published in some well-respected magazines (including Black Static, Strange Aeons and Supernatural Tales) and anthologies (Autumn Cthulu, The Madness of Doctor Caligari and Aickman’s Heirs, among others). His latest release, Moriah (ChiZine Publications, 2017), takes place in a similar setting to his other historical fiction.
The story opens with the narrator, Silas Flood, a former soldier and chaplain in the American Civil War and now a contributing writer for a New York newspaper, The Sunday Echo. He is travelling by train to the town of Moriah, Vermont to investigate rumours of the Lynch brothers, Thaddeus and Ambrose, who claim to possess paranormal abilities. Mills has used the real life case of the Eddy brothers of Chittenden, Vermont as a basis for his story. The history of the Eddy’s is intriguing, but in Moriah, Mills has created a more interesting tale with much more depth. Flood may be sceptical of the paranormal, but he is haunted by his own ghosts throughout the book. He is troubled by memories of bloodshed and death during the war, the loss of so many young men and his difficulty reconciling this with a benevolent god. But he also struggles with the memory of his late wife, Katherine, who pleaded with him to stay with her rather than fight, and was torn between the duties of a husband and father (Katherine was expecting their first child when he left) and the duty he felt to defend the ideals of the Union. These elements help us to better understand Silas as a person, making him that much more relatable.
To read the full review, please visit This Is Horror.
August 16, 2023
Another book that’s been sitting on my kindle for over five years. (Probably closer to 6). I thought it was a ghost story, and it kind of is but not really.
The language used is nice and seems fitting for the story’s time period. But I can’t help but feel like there were some plot holes that are huge and just never addressed regarding the ghosts. The end is also very vague though if my assumption is correct on what it means it’s super depressing. Actually the whole tone of this book is centered on grief. There’s a bit of mystery as to whether the ghosts and mediums are real or not, but overall it’s more of a dive into multiple characters traumatic pasts and the figurative ghosts that haunt them.
Not really my thing, not a genre I would have picked intentionally. Had to start this book at least five times, just couldn’t get into it. But I decided to just do it and eh. I’m sure it’s for someone, just not for me. Maybe my expectation of a scary ghost novel played a role in disliking it as much as I did. (I can’t really even say I disliked it.. so much as it’s not what I wanted to be reading. If I had been in the mood for something like this and had intentionally gotten it for that I’d probably really like it).
Anyway, it’s moody book about uncovering traumas and grief with multiple characters while trying to decide if a family is faking their spiritual gifts.
The language used is nice and seems fitting for the story’s time period. But I can’t help but feel like there were some plot holes that are huge and just never addressed regarding the ghosts. The end is also very vague though if my assumption is correct on what it means it’s super depressing. Actually the whole tone of this book is centered on grief. There’s a bit of mystery as to whether the ghosts and mediums are real or not, but overall it’s more of a dive into multiple characters traumatic pasts and the figurative ghosts that haunt them.
Not really my thing, not a genre I would have picked intentionally. Had to start this book at least five times, just couldn’t get into it. But I decided to just do it and eh. I’m sure it’s for someone, just not for me. Maybe my expectation of a scary ghost novel played a role in disliking it as much as I did. (I can’t really even say I disliked it.. so much as it’s not what I wanted to be reading. If I had been in the mood for something like this and had intentionally gotten it for that I’d probably really like it).
Anyway, it’s moody book about uncovering traumas and grief with multiple characters while trying to decide if a family is faking their spiritual gifts.
August 17, 2017
If there's such a genre called Northern Gothic, then Daniel Mills has nailed it. He crafts a somber post-Civil War period piece with supernatural trappings, perhaps even with a slight hint of Wuthering Heights and that flavor of psychological tension. In style I'm tempted to compare him to William Gay, with his literary nuance and evocative diction. While Publisher Weekly starred this novel, it still seems the industry and a potential fan base are sleeping on Mills.
November 6, 2025
I loved his previous novel Revenants and its style, but this was a bit too ephemeral and obtuse to draw me in. Very hard to follow as it jumps around from past-present-deluded memory. It works to create the melancholy, ghostly atmosphere but it's not always enjoyable to read.
October 8, 2017
Sad Civil War veteran turned journalist seeks to heal his soul and uncover the truth concerning a family of Vermont spiritualists. Succeeds on one account, but fails on the other.
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