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Synopsis:
1987: After a childhood trauma and years in and out of the care system, sixteen-year-old Ursula finds herself with a new job in the postroom of a local art school, a bed in a halfway house, and—delightfully— some new friends, including wild-child, Sue. When Ursula is invited to join a squat at The Underwood, a mysterious house whose owners met a terrible end, she can’t resist the promise of a readymade, hodgepodge family.
But as Sue’s behaviour and demands become more extreme, Ursula who has always been hungry—for food—and more importantly for love, acceptance and belonging, carries out her friend’s terrible dare. It’s a decision that will haunt her for decades.
Thirty-six years later, Ursula is a renowned, reclusive sculptor living under a pseudonym in London when her identity is exposed by true-crime documentary-maker who is digging into an unsolved disappearance. But it is not only the filmmaker who has discovered Ursula’s whereabouts, and as her past catches up with her present, Ursula must work out whether the monsters are within her or without.
From critically acclaimed and award-winning author, Claire Fuller, Hunger and Thirst is a compelling and chilling tale of loneliness and female friendship, of the dangerous line between wanting and needing, and of how far a person will go to truly belong.
Review:
I received this novel as an ARC from Tin House in exchange for an honest review.
Many people do not like reading horror because they think horror is “beneath them”. Then a novel like Angel Down by Daniel Kraus wins the Pulitzer Prize, and people say, “But that’s a different type of horror. ” This is an excuse readers have used for decades when it comes to the type of horror they enjoy. The truth is that horror, like any other genre, has a wide spectrum of different authors doing completely different things with the same concepts yet making it their own. Fortunately the stigma of “horror” as not being artistic is growing less and less prevalent (as seen in Angel Down and by a vampire film like Sinners breaking the record for Academy Award nominations), but there are still readers and filmgoers who will consistently avoid anything that might be labelled as horror. As horror becomes more and more accepted in mainstream critical and art worlds, the argument against it will grow weaker, and the examples of the “different type of horror” that wins prestigious prizes will continue to grow.
Claire Fuller has written a novel that fits firmly into the category of prize-winning literary horror. Hunger and Thirst is Ursula’s story, a sixteen-year old in 1987, living in a halfway house and working in the mailroom at an art college. Her coworkers at this college are all older than her, and even though they guide her through this period of her life, they are not role models. Sue is a friend who convinces Ursula to steal, who talks big plans, who wants to make a movie, who plans to move to America, and who wants to use Ursula’s help in this. Vince is another of Ursula’s coworkers, who is running from the expectations of his parents, only wants to work, get laid, do drugs, and live with Ursula in The Underwood, the empty house of a local family annihilation event. Vince and Ursula move in, and the story evolves from one about young people with more dreams than focus into a haunted house story where paranormal things are happening. Sue eventually disappears for good. There is a parallel story about Ursula thirty-six years later, a reclusive sculptor who has divorced herself from the things that happened to her teenage self. This past is starts to resurface with a documentary filmmaker who wants to know what exactly happened when Sue vanished and if it because Vince killed her. The truth is much worse.
What makes this the “different type” of horror novel is the development of Ursula as a character. Told in first person, we quickly learn that Ursula does not see the danger she has walked into from spending time with these older coworkers. None of them have her best interests in mind. Ursula falls in with these people because she has spent most of her life moving from foster home to halfway house, being shuffled by through a system, and she is not only looking for something permanent in her life but is also looking for guidance. The underlying horror in Hunger and Thirst is that Ursula does not have anyone she can turn to when things get weird, and when she does try to explain what is happening in the house, she is dismissed, not only for being young but for being someone who does not deserve to be believed. Ursula is a powerful character whose behavior is clearly driven by the lack of role models in her life. She is just trying to fit in to survive. We are invested as readers into what is going to happen to her, but we cannot predict any of it.
The parallel story thirty-six years later, with the true-crime documentarian, Emma Zahini, investigating what happened at The Underwood is written perfectly. By a writer less talented than Claire Fuller, this could have been a clumsy device used to move the story from point to point, but she does not do this. Instead Fuller does what we have seen in countless true-crime documentaries. Many people in documentaries are introduced with a short moment of the interviewees settling into their seat for the upcoming interview, taking a drink from their water bottle or having their microphone pinned to their clothing. These are the scenes we get from the documentary until the end, Fuller introducing the characters thirty-six years later as people getting ready to be interviewed for the documentary. When the documentary does happen, when the story is revealed through the eyes and research of Zahini, the documentary becomes a natural story telling device that ties the past and the present, spending only a few pages to really transition from 1987 to 2023. It is so simple but so well done that the reader does not even realize it has happened until it is done. This shows one of the countless strengths of Clare Fuller’s storytelling.
Hunger and Thirst is not only a perfect example of a horror novel that is more “literary” because it focuses on characters before the story so the horrors seem believable, but it a horror novel that continues to break the barriers of the genre stigma. This is horror for those who read prize winning literature and think a haunted house story cannot possibly be moving, compelling, and completely believable. I would not be surprised if Hunger and Thirst becomes the next horror novel to win major awards.








