“Grief is a language that tears us apart, but it is also what brings us together”

Linghun by Ai Jiang follows multiple characters who reside in the town of HOME, a town infamous for its susceptibility to hauntings. People move to HOME in hopes of reuniting with their deceased loved ones, and Wendqi’s family is no different. The newest residents of HOME have purchased their domicile through a private sale, something almost unheard of. Due to the high demand to live in the town, there are two distinct social classes: those who can afford to purchase homes, and those who reside on the lawns of others in hopes of one day gaining access to a house. Wendqi befriends a boy named Liam, whose family is staked out on her lawn, which helps distract her from her turbulent home life. Her mother’s unwavering attention is solely placed on attempting to conjure Wendqi’s dead kid brother, and her father is almost a ghost himself. Her family is focused on chasing ghosts, and she just wants to feel alive again.

Linghun is a pretty short novella, but it packs a major punch. I immediately was drawn into the story, desperate to learn more about the fascinating social hierarchy in HOME. The story is told through multiple POVs (Wendqi, Liam, and their elusive neighbor known only as Mrs.), which ultimately allows us to get multiple perspectives of what life in HOME looks like and how people handle their grief differently.

Obviously, a book about people desperately trying to conjure their dead loved ones is bound to elicit some difficult emotions. The pain of the residents in HOME is so palpable, their anguish almost envelopes the town like a cloud. These are people who have packed up their entire lives in order to get a chance at reconciliation with a loved one, and they are willing to do anything to get that chance. This desperation comes to a head during a scene in which a house goes up for auction, which sends the townspeople into a violent frenzy that ends in tragedy. In this scene, it becomes very obvious that the residents of HOME worship their dead, but they have no respect for the living. Their interactions with each other are often steeped in ulterior motives; they simply do not care who they have to hurt or how they have to do it in order to come one step closer to reuniting with their loved one.

This idea of disregarding the living in the process of obsessing over the dead further is solidified through Wendqi’s family dynamics. When he was alive, her brother was the Golden Child, sole owner of all of the love and attention their parents could give; Wendqi often was forgotten or ignored because her parents were so busy fawning over her brother. Even in death, he still is the only child that the parents really care about. Her mother often accuses her of either not caring about her brother, or of actively trying to sabotage her attempts at conjuring the spirit; her often cruel demeanor dissipates as soon as there is a suggestion of paranormal activity, with her becoming warm and excited as soon as she begins to believe that she’s making progress. Sadly, Wendqi is never the recipient of this warmth and love. While mourning the child they lost, her parents actively alienate and hurt their living child.

What the people of HOME don’t realize is that their obsession with conjuring their loved ones is wholeheartedly keeping them from moving on. They are stuck in a constant cycle of pain and they won’t really begin to heal until they leave the town. Their grief has consumed them, and they have essentially chosen to put their lives on hold in order to let that pain marinate. It is not a healthy way to live, and while some of the younger residents of the town may have realized this, the older generations simply cannot let go. In the process of waiting for the opportunity to move into a house and begin conjuring spirits, these people are letting their own lives pass by. Some townsfolk even die in the process of waiting to meet their loved one, which only widens the pool of the dead and creates further pain. The characters in this book are all so focused on what they have lost, that they take for granted what they have, what they are currently losing.

Linghun is more so a gothic literary fiction story than it is a horror story. It is a somber reflection of our relationship with grief, and it left me feeling incredibly contemplative. As I read the book and attempted to put myself in the characters’ shoes, I continued to wonder if I would go to the same lengths as these characters do in order to be able to contact my deceased loved ones. Though I say I would give anything to see them again, realistically, I don’t think they’d want me to do that. I don’t think the spirits in this book wanted to see their surviving loved ones suffer either, which makes the entire concept so incredibly heartbreaking. Linghun is a very bleak and melancholy story that will leave you with an aching heart and plenty to think about.