I do not, generally speaking, like retellings. I find them to be lazy and unoriginal - which they kind of are, by definition. I don't mind them when I don't know the original source material, as was the case with this one. I don't even care about the original, I absolutely loved this and honestly I don't think Poe's could be better (gasp!).

I find fungi so fascinating. It's kind of odd that we don't have more fiction that incorporate fungi, with the notable and valiant exception of Mexican Gothic, a novel much less impressive than this novella. I was thinking about this exclusion of fungi, and in my mind I compared it to deep space vs. deep ocean - we are perfectly happy reading and writing about space, but the ocean... we don't want to look there. The ocean can just be there by itself thank you very much, I don't even want to imagine the horrors. Maybe fungi is the same kind of creepy and fascinating; looking too closely makes you want to look away entirely and forget it even exists.

In any case, I love creepy mushrooms and I love this novella. I was genuinely spooked out and even scared. Easton was a wonderful narrator, and I liked the rest of the cast as well, including the horse, Hob, who had more personality than so many literary characters. Bonus points for the gorgeous cover.

Now, I am off to (hopefully) read more from Kingfisher. And to think I only picked up this book based on the title, the artwork, and the author sounding vaguely familiar. I learned my lesson: sometimes you should judge a book by it's cover.