File this novella under: skin-crawling psycho-sexual thriller
The protagonist, Dale, is your garden-variety passive creep. He’s a flop with the ladies and is pushed around by his hoity-toity family. But he’s got one thing going for him: the doll collection he keeps in his attic. He hears his girls talking, and they seem to hear his replies.
Dale decides it would be great if he could bring his dolls to life, and also turn himself into a living doll. (So they can, you know.) Thanks to some contacts in the world of black magic, the dream becomes a reality.
Sort of. I won’t go any further so as not to spoil things.
I’ve read several of Wieland’s books, and always appreciate her efficient prose. There are no extraneous adjectives or unnecessary descriptions weighing things down.
There was a bit of an Easter egg for me at the end, as there’s a subtle reference to a California serial killer whose house (long since abandoned) I once lived near.
It’s a quick read and highly recommended.
