There are some books made of pure enchantment, such is the magic of their entrancing, breathtaking prose. Little Neck has effortlessly carved itself a throne among these special books — to the point I kept rereading the last page, because stopping would mean saying goodbye to it, and I was not ready to part just yet. What an incredible feat of literature!

Learning Darcie Dennigan’s a poet came close to explaining the secret of Little Neck, its unique imagery, its artful repetitions, its enigmatic tone. But I fully believe this is an inexplicable book. Just what it does so right cannot be pointed out. It is such a complete, saturated whole that despite having so many beautiful expressions, you cannot bring yourself to isolate any quotes, to carve out and isolate any piece from what comes before and what shall come afterwards. The best way to put it is to call it an experience — something you have to see for yourself, see perhaps not with eyes but more importantly with the heart, or better yet, that pit in the stomach, that hole that opens itself up in our chests when something cuts so deep into our core. Yet I also believe calling this an emotional impact would cheapen it. It is of such utter intellectual, artistic impact that it’s beyond thought and emotion. It really is impossible for me to describe my love affair with Little Neck. All I can say for sure is that there lives a hungry creature in me, clawing within my body against my back, desperate to get out, desperate to TOUCH this book, to make actual contact with the words that gave it so much, to feel it like a beating heart in its palms. I cannot wait for Little Neck to be published so I can hold my beloved in my arms.

I would liken the experience of reading Little Neck to reading Clarice Lispector’s Agua Viva, the leftover spell still tingling along your spine. I would liken the experience of Little Neck’s prose to Vi Khi Nao’s Fish in Exile, which truly reads like a poem, though Little Neck is something beyond poetry. And I would liken the experience of Little Neck’s imagery to Robert Eggers’s The Lighthouse, so surreal and disorientating at times but suffused with so much beauty that you truly believe your eyes might start bleeding at any moment, for gazing upon it feels like intruding upon an otherworldly revelation: a beauty so devastating on every level.

Call me a feral beast for Little Neck. It’s well deserved. And well earned.

This novella feels like the smell of salt in the air, wet, warm earth between your fingers, an uneasy buzzing of insects in the distance, a cold breeze in spring. This one is for all the problematic weird-girl nature-loving individuals out there!

This is an eerie, beautiful, lingering tale. Literary horror at its finest. A search for answers in a New England town steeped in secrets, a desperate search and a relief for grief that seems impossible to find solace.

We start at the middle of the story, and the end, or possibly even the start. Our young protagonist's first day as a tombstone apprentice at Marguerite Concrete. Sisters Rosemarge and Rita are entrusted with the care of our unnamed girl, the two stonecutters are as hard as the stones they carve each day. A connection is formed between the young girl and the sisters over the act that got her in trouble—digging up the grave of the infamous Pearl. Not concealed in a coffin, the tales of how this body ended up in the dirt, something about Pearl’s grave allures our young main character to dig at the answers, ending in a peculiar accident. An act that seals these characters’ paths. Abandoned by her silent and mysterious guardian, the cemetery’s groundskeeper, her only comfort in this isolating world, in which she has lived with on the grounds for her whole life. We uncomfortably observe the twisted connection between the two like the roots surrounding Pearl’s deceased body.

The conspiracy of the slate town, Little Neck, envelops our silent child, we know nothing of her because the sisters refuse to tell her of her origins, we do not even know her name or what she looks like. Two sisters at the stone carvers, a strange quiet man as the groundskeeper, a desolate slate town, and an embalmer we do not name. Intrigue and mystery are heavy in this small tale, the seeds of their actions spread throughout. Fingernails packed with wet dirt and grass in your hair. A damp lingering of stone and the cold realisation of temptation and disgusting fervor. Disturbing nature in the hands of a curious young unnamed lass—unacknowledged like the pain carried out throughout the characters of this tale. A want of relief and emotion stuck in your throat like the rocks the sisters shape and carve everyday.

The writing is rich in muddying sentences, a mesh of interconnecting lines acting as thoughts, back and forth through time, a dizzying ride for the reader as we look into these people’s past, present and future all at once. It’s poetic and signals to the Romantics, a perfect stylistic choice to explore the human experience of uncertainty, love, and grief. Impossible to take in all at once, we stroll through the cemetery and admire the design. The chosen plants to surround each person’s final resting place, and the courses taken to lead them there. Tackling back and forth between feelings of want and unwantedness, death and its freedoms.

There are no quotation marks to signify speech, it is a free flowing constant conversation and an observation of what is not being said. A girl’s fresh hands clawing through the grave of Penny, forming a sharp yet unspeaking connection with the deceased. It’s much about what is not said than what is ultimately later revealed.

This story is a possession story in all its forms. A violent uprooting of childlike innocence as the body and mind are invaded. This is by no means an easy tale to read in regards to subject matter, yet it is artfully expressed, in my opinion. However, I will never look at peonies the same again, I fear.

Darcie Dennigan is an impressive storyteller, carving this morose tale in which we are equally curious and voiceless as our main character. I’m glad I have been introduced to this writer via this work. I can’t wait to see what they release in the future.

Little Neck by Darcie Dennigan

Darcie Dennigan composes a novel brimming with melancholy, and steeped in moroseness. Curious in nature, our story revolves around a girl searching for answers. Within the cemetery plot lies a tale of secrets. Her abandoned, slender hands dig through the bleak soil, toiling for answers. Devoid of her heritage and questioning her destiny, she may have stumbled upon a clue. As she discovers a hint of what could be significant, she awakens in the Little Neck’s gravestone sculptor's abode. The two ladies seem curious and yet somehow indifferent to her, as she fails to create any meaningful conversation with them. Perhaps more importantly, her story is mired in what they do not say. There is secrecy here amongst the two sisters, Rosmarge and Rita. Working in unison, they help the bereaved with creating epitaphs and headstones for their beloved deceased. The young girl soaks up the knowledge and seems unusually adept at carving tombstones. Why is she in this place of stone and dust, she asks herself?

Due to my limited understanding of various writing styles, this offered me a new chance to broaden my literary horizons. My senses are bombarded by sentences strewn together, creating a dizzying effect. My brain is being overloaded with countless ideas and thoughts. I was forced to slow down my reading process. Perusing would not do; concentration was a must. Taking a good deal to acclimate, I finally understood that this was not a race I must win. I was here to enjoy the scenery in its infinite gloominess, sprinkled among the freshly planted flowers around the burial grounds. I was forced to spectate and observe. Atmospheric in nature, I walked through the cemetery. Stopping to pause and observe the numerous family plots. A fog of gloom washed over my faculties as I paused to admire the craftsmanship of the headstones. Similarly, admiring the looping of the cursive names scrawled upon them, as had the adolescent character in the tale.

Redemption, retribution, and love are themes that ring loudly. I will not spoil what awaits the reader. Please know there is a reward to the madness lying within the pages. Be prepared for the author to engage your emotions. Sadness, grief, and despair await as the tale unfolds like a blooming flower in the summer heat. Anger and resentment become your allies as you ask the questions as to why. The subject matter is as heavy as lifting a ten-ton rock from a quarry bed, and there may be some triggers for some individuals.

In conclusion, I took a leap of faith and simply hoped for a great story. I left Little Neck with so much more. This was a transformative experience. Defining! For those with experience with this type of novel, I commend you and highly recommend this book. For readers like me, who are new to this style of writing, this is evidence that there are countless ways to improve as a reader. I am giving this 4.5 stars and rounding up to 5 stars. Recommended!

Many thanks to Fonograf Editions for the ARC through Netgalley. This review is voluntary and contains my honest opinion.