The Cordova family is an enigma. Stanislas Cordova is a reclusive film director, renowned for his spine-chilling horror movies, while his wives have all either died or relegated themselves to the fringes of society — and sanity. So when 24-year-old Ashley Cordova is found dead in a Manhattan warehouse, investigative journalist Scott McGrath suspects that there is more to her death than just suicide. But unmasking the family’s secrets will undoubtedly bring the family’s wrath upon him — and he must decide how much he is willing to pay for the truth.
This book sent me on a dizzying journey through the darkest corners of my imagination. The author built a wonderfully harrowing and eerie atmosphere — I could almost feel the damp heaviness of the mist enveloping the city, hear the heavy thuds of feet echoing against precarious metal staircases rusted from neglect, see the faint flickers of streetlights through suffocatingly thick fog. Before experiencing Night Film, I had absolutely no inkling of the horrors my mind could conjure over a mere whisper of mystery, of the places my mind could wander in a futile attempt to break an endless fall towards a nightmarish delirium. One of this book’s critical flaws, though, is the pacing. The author chose to sacrifice much action for the building of suspense and heightened tensions — so much so that throughout the first 300 pages, I struggled to stay engaged. However, the pace did pick up during the latter half of the book, and I absolutely loved the ending. This book is most definitely not a devilishly mind-twisting thriller — it wears the label of tense, hair-raising horror much better, especially since it was so effective in evoking a deep, blood-curdling fear. Overall, I would recommend this to those who do not mind a slower-paced story.