The Headsman

The writing style of Cristina Mîrzoi is stylized, literate, and modern. It evokes all the senses but does not dwell on them. She demands an attentive reader; a reader who understands the subtleties that tie the characters together. Ultimately, for me, it was an emotive piece of storytelling that makes me hope that Cristina chooses to tell a longer and even darker tale.

This wee tome contains multitudes by way of subtly connected fairy tales. Each chapter offers a vignette look into an overarching storyline which, just as expertly, undergoes a slight disconnect. A perfect balance between the familiar and the unfamiliar.

Poetic in its consideration of life, death, love, intimacy, aging, justice and grief, The Headsman is a surprisingly lithe group of demented short stories pulsating with a peripheral darkness. Neither gruesome nor outright terrifying, it is the chilling mood that makes it stand out.

You can read it as a collection, each story its own satisfactory, self-contained tale. Or you can read it in linear order and treat it as a novella, because the stories and characters are all set in the same place, and are all interlinked.

This is a strange book, and I mean that in a complimentary way. It's quite surreal in some parts and the imagery conjured and used is wonderfully rich. It is also beautifully and impressively grim.

Mirzoi continues to poke at your nerves with those quick jabs of horror. By the end, it's tempting to dive straight back in for a careful re-read, to see how the final parts line up with earlier moments you might have seen as throwaway.

The book only clocks in at a little over 40 pages, but it packs a lot of uncanny atmosphere and chilling intrigue into such a small space. In form, it reads something like a collection of short stories, but they're all interrelated.