The Empusium by Olga Tokarczuk.

There’s a kind book in which the writing style is very staid and correct, and focuses on events, conversations, and vivid descriptions. The Empusium, by xxx, is such a book.

According to the cover, it’s a “health resort horror story,” and features a sketch of a woman’s skeleton wearing a hat, but for much of the book, it’s a gentle account of a young person’s stay in a guesthouse for gentlemen at a high altitude eastern European health spa for tuberculosis.

Sure, there are some elements that could be seen as slightly disturbing - such as a woman’s suicide, some of the customs of the locals, and the inevitability of some deaths in a tuberculosis sanitorium - but these are part of the background and day-to-day life, along with regular drinking of a local homebrewed mushroom herbal liqueur.

For at least three quarters of the novel, I found myself drifting along, enjoying the scenery, and observing with mild distaste, the attitudes of a group of men towards women in the immediate run-up to the first world war.

The arguments and debates are interesting, but nothing I hadn’t heard before: do women have souls or their own minds? Does a woman’s body belong to herself or society? Such are the things that occupy the minds of our protagonist’s companions, along with discourses on art, science, philosophy, spirituality, and religion.

These views aren’t especially shocking or surprising, but the amount of time devoted to them can be a bit tiresome.

Essentially, it’s a slice of life, and it’s not until I was nearly at the end that I recognised certain undertones that had run throughout the book for what they were.

Yes, there are some unexpected twists, and there’s a sudden and climatic event at the end. You’ll see it coming.