Elizabeth Engstrom

A 16-year old newlywed, Sally Ann, living on a farm finds herself (accidentally? intentionally?) locked inside an old well complex connected to a vast underground network of caves with underground lakes and streams. Some time later, after she is unable to find a way out, she gives birth to a son, Clinton.

A visitor, whether real or imagined, I do not know, assists with the delivery of her baby.

Some unknown time after she has given birth to Clinton (time elapsed between chapters), she has a show more conversation with her son about what the world "up there" is like. She has a tough time explaining concepts like "light" and "sight" to someone who has experienced neither, since they live in the pitch black darkness of the caves. Clinton has no frame of reference to conceptualize what she means—except when he dreams. And if you've ever been inside a cave and turned off your headlamps, you know exactly how dreadful the darkness, even temporary as it is, can be.

Even later, when Sally Ann decides to find a way out no matter what, Clinton argues with her, telling her he doesn't believe in "his Dad" or some "world up there". And why would he, when all he has ever known his whole life is the darkness of the caves? In the caves he has everything he needs, slugs and fish to eat, fresh water to drink and swim in? Why would he want anything "up there", assuming "up there" even exists?

What a profound metaphor Engstrom creates in this underground world of darkness. Yes, when darkness loves us, as it has loved Sally Ann and Clinton for so long, people tend to choose the darkness over light.

I look forward to reading more of Elizabeth Engstrom's writing, including the second novella, "Beauty Is. . .", that completes the "Two Chilling Tales" in When Darkness Loves Us. show less

4.5/5
When Darkness Loves Us consists of two novellas: When Darkness Loves Us and Beauty Is…. They are often discussed together, but they do very different kinds of work — and reading them as a pair is part of the book’s effect.

Engstrom is not a cathartic writer. These stories do not offer release, redemption, or even the comfort of clearly assignable blame. Even Beauty Is…, which initially feels gentler and lighter than When Darkness Loves Us, ultimately is not. Its harm is quieter, show more more procedural, and — in some ways — more disturbing because it is blameless.

I found both novellas deeply unsettling, though in different registers. When Darkness Loves Us is harder, more immediately oppressive, and emotionally demanding. That may be partly because it comes first: it establishes a reading posture of enclosure and dread that carries forward. Going into Beauty Is…, I braced myself for something equally punishing — and was surprised to find that it was less painful in the moment, even as it lingered longer afterward.

The contrast between the two is deliberate. Where When Darkness Loves Us confronts survival, adaptation, and generational harm directly, Beauty Is… examines how care, improvement, and love can quietly erase a person without anyone intending to cause damage. One is brutal in its conditions; the other is disturbing in its inevitability.

I valued reading both, though “enjoyment” isn’t quite the right word. These are precise, intelligent stories that resist emotional release. Taken together, they form a shocking and rigorously constructed pair — one that refuses comfort and leaves the reader without an easy moral foothold. show less

WHEN DARKNESS LOVES US gets ALL the stars and maybe even a few planets!

I'm going to keep this review short and I'll tell you why. A friend has been telling me for years how great this book is, but I didn't know anything about it, other than it contained two novella length stories. I think "going in blind" is the best way to attack this volume. I had no preconceptions as to what was going to happen, what the stories were about or anything at all, really.

I will say the following: both of these show more tales feature women as the protagonists. These women are tough, they're fighters, and they're brave. They make the most of what they have and try not to complain. Which makes it all the more difficult for the reader when the stories turn, as they both do.

A word about the writing-it was beautiful at times. Often, it was beautiful and horrific all at once, which must be a hard thing to pull off, because even reading as much as I do, I rarely come across that perfect, vivid style. I'm not usually a fan of flowery writing but I submit this as a perfect paragraph, descriptive but not overly so, resulting in a tight little description of the seasons on a rural farm:

"Winter was a mean ogre, dangerous and ugly, yet his reign was oddly cozy and comfortable as they rested during this respite from the sweltering summer. Spring was a baby bunny, soft and warm, but skittish, and able to dash into frantic motion in less than a heartbeat of time. Spring was clean. Then summer again, a paper queen of vivid reds, purples and greens, fading in the sunlight, turning all the colors a sickly yellow while the paper itself became crisp and brittle. Autumn was a deer, beautiful and swift. And winter had come again."

This book was like autumn, actually, (at least it is the way Ms. Engstrom described it), beautiful and swift. And horrific and heartbreaking. And all the other words that describe the type of read that never leaves you. I don't know what else to say other than:

My HIGHEST recommendation!

*Thank you to Valancourt Books for the e-ARC for review consideration. I considered it and said Hell, yeah!* show less

Angelina Watson leaves home at the age of fifteen, following the death of her mother. Once on the road she begins to exhibit vampirish behavior. She sleeps all day. She drinks blood, though she believes she is bestowing on her victims a gift out of love. She begins to hear a voice that urges her on. What makes all of this interesting is the ambiguity. She was never bitten. There was nothing that "turned" her. She can't change into anything and she is not fussed by religious icons. And while show more she seems to develop special powers later on, we must remember that we are reading the first person narration of a young woman who is possibly mentally ill. Even the book's final lines don't offer certainty. Can madness be contagious? Perhaps. I suppose, in the end, it is up to the reader to decide. show less