Henrietta and Junior live simple lives. They enjoy their existence on remote farmland. It’s quiet, predictable, dependable. This routine becomes interrupted by a stream of green headlights blasting through the upstairs window of their farm house late one evening. Junior has been selected, he doesn’t have a choice, he must go. He takes solace in the fact that Hen won’t be left alone, she’ll be looked after, cared for by someone who can do almost as good as he can personally. No need to fret, she’ll be left in company.

Atmosphere and tone drive Reid’s works, with Foe being no exception. He has a way of making the plot feel conspiratorial: everyone is in on the secret except for the main character and the reader. Feelings of impending doom are cemented through Junior’s inner dialogue, watery timelines that are easily manipulated, and Terrence’s character as a whole.

The farm fosters feelings of bleakness and isolation, nurtured so thoroughly they shine clearly through Henrietta’s thoughts and actions. Domesticity isn’t a topic I expected to be explored within Foe but, I’m glad it is. It elevates the experience, highlighting the subjective nature of what it means to be content.

IFoe isn’t a book of quick scares or incessant plot twists. It slowly yet steadily closes in on you, becoming more unsettling as time elapses, a slow-building horror that’s building all the same.