Set in modern day Reykjavík, the capital city of Iceland, The Night Guest is the vaguely unsettling debut of Hildur Knútsdóttir, concerning a woman whose life is plagued by a host of undiagnosed personal (mainly medical) problems. This is one of those books that gives little away, is frustrating in parts but never becomes boring, and your final opinion may well hang on how you rate the ending, which will undoubtedly be loved and hated in equal measures.

The story has a fascinating opening hook: after a visit to the doctor and purchasing a pedometer, Iðunn falls asleep with the step count still active and wakes up to find she’s walked over 40,000 steps during the night. This storyline caught my attention and is developed in tandem with Iðunn’s poor health, suffering from constant fatigue and repeated visits to the doctor which do not throw up any noteworthy results. The story semi-implies doctors have a habit of blowing off women’s health problems as ‘being in their head’, which might even be the case with Iðunn until events spiral. It is hard to tell with Iðunn, as she is a classic unreliable narrator and is also loose with the truth, even if she is not completely aware of it.

Frustrated with her inability to get help, she attempts to eat healthier, take vitamins and exercise regularly, but nothing changes and she feels a sense of guilt it is somehow her own fault. She gets little sympathy from work when she takes time off sick and is hounded by the HR department. As the entire story is seen from Iðunn’s point of view, it can be jarring and it seems there is something off-kilter about her right from the start, but it is hard to pinpoint exactly what this is and this is one of the stronger aspects of the story. As it is a short book, with chapters often only a few paragraphs long, it is easy to speed through in a few sittings in the quest for resolution. As the episodes intensify, the reader is sucked deeper into the mystery, with the narrative occasionally bleeding into an incoherent stream-of-consciousness which reflect her fragile mental state.

I do not want to say too much about the plot except that Iðunn starts to wake up with disturbing injuries and tries to combat this by putting bolts on her door and other extreme measures. And in the background there is the nagging feeling nobody takes her seriously and she experiments with increasingly desperate ways of self-medicating herself whilst trying to put on a brave face.

Like with all classic unreliable narrators, there is a lot to like in Iðunn. She is clearly not well, maybe even a little unhinged, but her quirkiness and individuality shines through. Is she going insane or is the tragedy (which is kept heavily shrouded) regarding her late sister the underlying problem? This is a solid example of a psychological horror story where madness is most definitely knocking at the door, where reading between the lines becomes essential. Hildur Knútsdóttir does a superb job ramping up the tension for the fragile Iðunn in what a restrained, quiet, book.

The ending did have me flipping back and forth to see whether there was something I missed, as it feels slightly rushed with little payoff and even less resolution. Considering The Night Guest is full of hints and clues (what happened to all the neighbourhood cats for example), the reader deserves more from the ending, unless you are happy to take the book as one big metaphor for chronic illness.

The Night Guest is a solid two-hour and distracting read, which is fine company. Spending time in the head of Iðunn is an unnerving experience and this novella is well worth checking out should you want a story with more questions than answers.