A House of Endless Windows

I am not a J-horror fan, or even a horror fan in general, but there is one clip from a mid-aughts entry in the genre (I think it was called Pulse, but I am 100% not looking it up to check) that lives rent-free in my head: a guy goes into a sub-basement, hears something weird, and at the end of this dark hallway, sees a strange figure standing there in the shadows. Slowly, slowly, it starts to walk towards him, with this hideously unnatural gait, almost falling once before it gets its limbs back under control. He’s rooted to the spot, just watching as it gets closer, and closer, and closer, mesmerizing in the inevitability of its languid approach.

I don’t know how the sequence ends – I honestly hope it’s just a jump-scare, because that would be the least-scary of the alternatives? – but I find it terrifying; being forced to inhabit the same world with something uncanny for so long, with no choice but to linger on the details of how wrong it is, makes my blood run cold. It’s horrible! But in a really compelling way.

A House of Endless Windows pulls off a similar trick: while this kinetic novel plays coy at first, dancing around details of backstory and context, it’s clear from the get-go that there’s something deeply wrong in this family – the alienated child (that’s our narrator), the pushy mother, the absent father – even before a new arrival shatters the prevailing chilly détente. But then the player understands more about what’s happened to create this situation, and engages with the mysteries surrounding the newly-arrived housekeeper, and the effect is slow-motion torture: the situation feels untenable, even as nothing overtly threatening is happening, the danger and trauma masked behind stilted dialogue and a refusal to acknowledge the reality that everybody knows lies beneath the surface.

Don’t get me wrong, there is a plot, stuff does happen, but the vibes are really what make A House of Endless Windows so arresting. You get a sense of the contortions the main character has made of his life in order to hedge defenses around himself almost immediately:

The sooner I complete the chores, the sooner I can start on homework. The sooner I start on homework, the more time I have to study.

Or:

I yell as loud as I can. It’s a pitiful, quiet yell.

The writing is finely calibrated, getting us in the head of Pierce, our damaged, precocious protagonist, while writing dialogue that isn’t quite naturalistic but still manages to feel plausible. Here’s an exchange between him and his friend Avery:

Pierce: Do you believe me?
Avery: Well, I can’t imagine you’re lying about it.
Pierce: That’s not the same as you believing me.
Avery: No. It isn’t.

It’s clear this awkwardness is intentional – there are a few flashbacks that take Pierce back to a time before things in his family were quite so broken, and his mother’s dialogue is notably warmer than it is in the present. There are also a few well-earned moments where the possibility of emotional engagement at least flickers into possibility, even if it’s never quite achieved. But they gain their power from the contrast they draw with the rest of the game, where Pierce is typically passive or frozen, observing that things aren’t right but unable to take action to correct them. Indeed, his lack of conviction is a major character point: he takes refuge in the rigidity of mathematical proofs, but finds he can’t even conjure enough faith to assume the axioms to be true – indeed, while contemplating the possibility of a higher power, he says he “prefer[s] this to the other options. And yet, it’s unsatisfying. I don’t like it. The proof, when I write it out, looks weak and flimsy.”

This is very internal horror, in other words, which is a good fit for the deliberate pace at which the plot doles out its revelations. For all that I think there was probably room for the climax to go a bit bigger and provide a sharper contrast with the slow-burn of the rest of the story, I found those middle bits, where Pierce knows more than you but not enough to be able to make sense of what’s happening, very effective. I’m no more eager to revisit A House of Endless Windows than I am that clip of a ghost walking down the hallway, but I think it’s going to stick with me just as long.