Claire Fuller has a fascination with corpses, with the moment a living body becomes inert matter. In her Costa-winning Unsettled Ground, twins struggle with the weight of their dead mother. Now in Hunger and Thirst, protagonist Ursula's fate is shaped by two cadavers as the book oscillates between social realism and gothic horror.
A Troubled Beginning
The first corpse is Ursula's mother, who died of dengue fever when Ursula was seven, leaving her trapped in a bathroom in Morocco for two days. By 1987, Ursula is 16, having moved through seven children's homes before landing at a halfway house. She gets a trial job at Winchester School of Art, where she meets Sue, a bold friend who introduces her to a warm family. Ursula narrates 40 years later, hinting that something will go horribly wrong, leading to a documentary about Sue's murder.
The Underwood and Horror
Ursula moves into a derelict house called The Underwood, where the Bloodworths were murdered a decade ago. She feels at home in this horror setting. Sue's destructive will intensifies, leading them into seances and recreations of the murder. Ursula discovers her creative vocation carving a dead tree, turning the house's demonic energy into art.
A betrayal occurs when Ursula's secrets are exposed on camera for a documentary. Her sculpting mallet becomes a murder weapon, and a second corpse haunts her forever. Fuller's gamble into full horror mode pays off.
Social Critique and Horror
Like The Shining, the novel runs two stories: a careful observation of Thatcher's Britain and the care system, and the lurid horror of The Underwood. The social critique remains urgent, suggesting we may all be haunted by the 1980s. Fuller implies horror is the most honest genre to represent our world, with the documentary being more exploitative than horror films.
This is a lurid, brilliant book full of intense feeling. As Raymond says, 'You watch because you want to know the worst that can happen.' In this world, ordinary feelings morph into horror, and happiness becomes illusory.
