This is, without doubt, one of the strangest novels I have ever read. Told from several different perspectives the book deals with the events surrounding a rather run-down cottage in Highgate, London, and the tenants who live there. When the original owner sells up an unscrupulous 'rackman' takes over causing fear and concern amongst the inhabitants. Will they be forced out? Will the rents rise to astronomical levels? Will the place be allowed to fall into ever greater disrepair? The inhabitants of the cottage fear the worst: Gladys, a frightful, self-important gossip; her sister Annie, confined to bed and perpetually wrapped in blankets and overcoats; and an elderly gentleman on the top floor with secretive habits and the strange quirk of using a new name every month all suspect the future will be very bleak but what actually happens is more peculiar than they could ever have imagined. The 'rackman' moves his wife into one of the spare flats; a wife who is beautiful, rather frail and, so it appears, possessed by a malevolent spirit.
It's actually quite difficult to place the tone of the book. At times the novel is lighthearted and playful, with characters such as Gladys pronouncing quirky little observations on life whereas, at other moments, the book is beyond black as, for example, when two members of the clergy sit beside a frail woman who appears to be under the influence of something demonic and destructive. There are also comic episodes - the curate's awkward attempts to make small-talk with a succession of overbearing elderly ladies - which nestle against episodes of deep, and genuinely shocking, tragedy. In a sense this makes the novel feel uneven but, then again, one could argue that life - in which the comic and the tragic so often go hand-in-hand - is much the same.
For all its flaws, however, the story is ultimately extremely moving. Almost without being aware of it the characters become real people and we find ourselves caring what happens to them. Not all of them receive happy endings as the novel closes and it a tribute to Stella Gibbons's skill as a novelist that we feel pangs of anxiety and sorrow for those who do not come out smiling at the end. The book is also extremely well written - so much so that I was surprised to learn it had been out of print for such a long time - and the descriptions of a rundown London after the war are both melancholy and shocking. It's a very odd tale, but one told with great flare and skill: by turns amusing, shocking, frightening and uplifting it will, in all probability, be quite unlike anything else you have ever read. In an age where it is so difficult to surprise that in itself is enough to mark out the novel as something of a triumph.