Disturbing Sweden: 'Let The Right One In' Review

Let The Right One In (2004) by John Ajvide Lindqvist is a disturbing yet grossly enticing Vampire narrative which is both heart-warming and heart-breaking; a story of deception, loss, and loneliness but also of friendship and survival.

Bat at Dusk, Photo Attribution to Igam Ogam @igamogam.

Taking place in 1981, the plot is narrated from the perspective of multiple characters living in a quiet Swedish suburb called Blackburn, outside Stockholm. There is Oskar, a timid and lonely boy who gets viciously bullied, Lacke and Virginia, two middle-aged alcoholics circling the drain, Tommy, the neighbour kid always getting into trouble and two others that turn the little suburban setting into a stage of tragedy. Eli and Haken, a young girl harbouring the deadly curse of the Vampire and her disturbing and horrifying protector posing as her father, move into the suburb of Blackburn and just as the curse of the mythical monster infects the veins of whatever it bites, these two outsiders infect all those around them; in some ways this is horrifying, but in others, specifically concerning the relationship between Eli and Oskar, the effect of the vampire can be a somewhat positive influence, depending on whichever way you bite it.

Let The Right One In has a very interesting and greatly utilised narrative style. The novel is narrated from the perspectives of multiple characters and an omniscient narrator talking us through police reports and newspaper articles like a cold and calculating detective who has collated all the evidence of the horrors of the novel. Each perspective not only has its specific sensory narration of the novel's plot but includes insights to that person's inner, intrusive thoughts. Their immediate, personable reactions to the disastrous things they experience. This style is expertly used and not only allows us to better understand our characters but allows us to get an unsentimental yet sentimentalised description of the novels tragedy.

If you are looking for a horror novel that makes you jump from fright then this is not it, but if you desire a more disturbing and gut-wrenching horror experience then this would suffice. The monsters created in the narrative, mythical and otherwise, are wonderfully awful and wicked, and Lindqvist plays around with his narrative form to better exaggerate the terror of these creatures to a fantastic degree. However, it would do well to be aware that the main bulk of this horror is built around acts of paedophilia and molestation. The narrative is filled with scenes of disgusting acts of violence perpetrated against children. These scenes certainly contribute heavily to the prevailing sense of dread and tragedy, as well as expressing the core themes of the novel, that of the consumption of innocence and childhood, but I did find them to be far too frequent. The detail and specificity of these scenes go beyond what I think is necessary to express and explore these themes and they walk all too close to being gratuitous. Lindqvist goes too far than he needed to. This sexualised horror is so unlike those other sorts of harrowing horror, with their love of gore and guts and torture, it is far more visceral than that and moves beyond feelings of morbid enjoyment and serious representation into a realm far darker than we can cope with.

Snowy Forest, Photo Attribution to Sacha T'Sas @tsasacha.

So how does this novel fit into the melancholy philosophy? Well, the novel certainly has its melancholy moments. The dark, snowy landscapes of Sweden at night and the running imagery of ice and blood create an enjoyable sensory and aesthetic experience for the horror genre; and when the two core protagonists, Oskar and Eli, are together, their conversation and a shared sense of loneliness create a bright and warm sense of friendship and even love. A relationship drecnhed so deep in darkness but one that still shines brightly through it. But as I have previously stated, the melancholy does not cover all things horrible and the scenes of such harrowing sexualised horror within this narrative simply cannot be described as melancholy.

Many reviewers have likened Lindqvist’s style to that of Stephen Kings and the similarities are obviousness: creepy moments of grossness and disturbing madness, specifically around sex and sexual actions, pervade both Lindqvist's and King’s novels but I would argue that to describe Lindqvist’s literature as King-Esque does Lindqvist a great disservice. The difference between the two authors is simply in the power behind these scenes of disturbing horror. King’s always feel gimmicky, the disturbingess within the narrative does not seem like it exists for any larger or artistic reason other than simple horror-shock factor, while Lindqvist uses his deeply disturbing scenes as a means to express the various ideas and themes that pervade the novel as a whole, even if he might go that bit too far. The act of consumption within the acts of violence are parallel to the consumption of blood within the Vampire mythos and this violence being perpetrated against children has similarities to how children are being constantly buffeted around between greatly more powerful processes and systems than themselves. In short, the horror of King feels hollow but the horror of Let The Right One In has a grand, deeper sense of meaning that in turn keeps you reading on and on beyond the horror that makes you want to shut the book up like a coffin, never to be opened again.

Book Cover of Let The Right One In (2004), Lindqvist, John Ajvide Låt Den Rätte Komma In (Stockholm: Ordfront, 2014).

Let The Right One In is not only an interesting horror novel, it is also a very original vampire narrative. It may follow your more stereotypical and cliché rules, the abhorrence to sunlight, the need for human blood, the lack of physical ageing and, as the title suggests, the need to be invited in. But where Let The Right One In differs from other vampire narratives is in its biological approach to the physical effects of the mythical curse. The curse itself latches onto the heart of its host and grows what is described as brian cells on it, which in turn is referenced to even take control of the body long after the human element has passed away. Creating a very original way of explaining the stake through the heart rule. Let The Right One In is certainly a very modern vampire story and it has not fallen to modern trends, the vampires within this narrative are not darkly handsome or fetishised for the audience as other vamps have been, Twilight being a core offender, and so in its refusal to stick to modern popular trends of vampire narratives, the novel creates its own sense of modernity through its originality, a perfect blend of the old and the new forms of vampirism.

Without spoiling too much of the plot, Let The Right One In brings up very interesting questions around gender and romantic relationships, and you will find yourself being turned away from what you thought was true and real and you will question the world that has been created in this little suburb in snowy Sweden. You will see the binaries of this reality as blurred lines as each character you follow moves further and further away from the recognisable. That alone shows masterful writing worthy of great commendation.

In short, Let The Right One In is a great read for those searching for another vampire fix and for those looking for slower horror experiences. A book of many melancholy moments.