“Will knew, although he couldn’t always see it, the man wore a menacing smile that raised higher on one side. Will referred to him as The Crooked Man.” – Michael Nunn, Echoes of the Forgotten
IT WAS meant to be a fun night etched in their memories, a celebration of new beginnings as they embarked on their third year of university. Instead, it morphed into a dark tapestry woven from loss and mystery—a night that stripped Will Campbell of everything he held dear and plunged him into an abyss of forgotten horrors.
Five vibrant students, full of dreams and laughter, disappeared without a trace, swallowed by the shadows under a moonlit sky. Three days later, Will was found disoriented and miles away from their university campus, lying in a desolate stretch of rolling countryside. His body was a canvas stained with someone else’s blood, a grim reminder of the night that erased his past.
As he tried to piece together fragments of that fateful evening, only fleeting images surfaced—a flickering fairground, with its bright lights and merry sounds distorted into echoes of horror, and a spectral man grinning with a crooked smile that sent chills down his spine.
Yet, in the depths of his confusion, one harsh truth remained: there had been no fair that night, only a sinister darkness that swallowed his friends whole.
With his novel Echoes of the Forgotten, author Michael Nunn has expertly crafted a narrative that focuses on themes of trust and reliability—of oneself and others. This psychological horror story challenges the characters and readers to question their perceptions and the protagonist’s trustworthiness.
This sense of unreliability, primarily Will’s, amplifies the tension throughout the tale, prompting profound contemplation: Are the events unfolding before us rooted in reality, figments of a mentally ill man’s imagination, or perhaps actually touched by the supernatural? Each reader, guided by their own insights, intuition, and deductive reasoning, will likely arrive at a distinct conclusion which may or may not be the truth.
But who’s truth, exactly?
Did Will indeed murder his friends? But what could possibly drive him to such a heinous act? Could it be that the creepy fair was merely an illusion crafted by his mind, a desperate attempt to shield his fragile psyche from the horrifying truth of that fateful night? Is he so profoundly disturbed that he has lost the ability to distinguish between reality and the phantoms he conjures? And if so—what did it take to break him?
Is there a hidden truth lurking in the darkness, a supernatural terror that stalked these friends when they found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time? Is the undeniably terrifying Crooked Man a figment of Will’s imagination, a subconscious manifestation of emotional pain displayed in a recurring nightmare? Or is he something tangible: old, inexplicable, and utterly sinister?
I’m not telling.
Will’s amnesia is a brilliantly crafted narrative device skillfully inserted in the story with a rapidly unravelling mystery that keeps readers glued to the pages, perpetually questioning what is real and imagined. Amnesia can often be an overused, tiresome trope that’s too frequently written through histrionics with a predictable outcome. Not this time!
The intricate development of our protagonist, Will, warrants special attention. Nunn dives deep into his psychological landscape, illuminating his journey’s positive and tragic facets. The exploration of several dark themes, including sibling death, parental mental illness, and, of course, the bloody mystery of Will’s friends’ disappearance, enriches the narrative’s depth of horror and creative intrigue.
It also evokes a sense of empathy, encouraging readers to root for Will as he grapples with self-doubt and mentally taxing struggles, like potential self-harm, to forge ahead.
Some readers may think there’s too much focus on Will’s character development and not enough on the supporting cast, like his step-father, a stand-out “B” character, for me. Sure, I can see it, but I particularly liked that aspect of the novel.
I enjoyed how the scope of the narrative orbited around Will, his mental state and his perceptions, and the possibility of him suffering from subconscious “pseudologia fantastica,” also called psychological fabrication. How he articulated to others what he believed to be the truth of his experiences and memories and how these supporting characters responded to his revelations as the story progressed felt more critical than any extraneous backstory development for them.
Nunn wrote the flow of his story and the level of character complexity the way he envisioned it, and it all feels appropriate for the length and breadth of the novel; I finished the book satisfied.
I appreciated the nuanced representation of mental health in the story, particularly the exploration of triggering themes such as depression, suicidal thoughts, and one’s journey through therapy. How these complex issues were incorporated into the story added depth and authenticity to the narrative themes of trust and reliability and an individual’s trauma and suffering.
I see Nunn underscoring mental health advocacy in this work, using his fiction as a platform to raise awareness and foster understanding around these sensitive topics. I commend his tact in successfully bridging the gap between respect for real-world trauma and imaginative, entertaining storytelling.
Lastly, I just want to note that the queer representation in the novel greatly enhanced my reading experience, adding depth and complexity to the storyline. I particularly admired how these connections are portrayed with sincerity and respect rather than through stereotypes or mockery. Nunn’s approach to queerness makes those characters feel relatable, not comedic throwaways, and the story is more engaging for it.
Echoes of the Forgotten is a mesmerizing and masterly written tale that captivates right out of the gate. This is Nunn’s first novel, and it’s a dynamic and creative entry into the world of literary horror, an excellent showcase for this author’s remarkable talent and passion for terror.
0 comments