Sarah Pinborough has carved out a distinctive niche in psychological horror, and her latest offering, We Live Here Now, stands as both a testament to her evolving craft and a chilling reminder of why domestic gothic horror remains so unsettling. Following the phenomenal success of Behind Her Eyes and its Netflix adaptation, Pinborough returns with a story that burrows deep into the rotting foundations of marriage, trauma, and the houses that harbor our darkest secrets.
The Premise: Paradise Lost in Dartmoor
The setup is deceptively familiar: Emily Bennett, recovering from a near-fatal accident and months in a coma, moves with her husband Freddie from London to Larkin Lodge, a sprawling Victorian house perched on the windswept moors of Dartmoor. What begins as a fresh start quickly deteriorates into something far more sinister. Emily experiences supernatural phenomena—books flying from shelves, doors slamming, nauseating smells, and an overwhelming sense of malevolence emanating from the third-floor bedroom. Yet these events occur only when she’s alone, casting doubt on their reality and her sanity.
Pinborough expertly exploits the uncertainty surrounding Emily’s post-sepsis condition, which can cause hallucinations and sensory disturbances. This medical ambiguity becomes the novel’s strongest asset, creating a persistent question that haunts every page: Is Emily experiencing genuine supernatural activity, or is her damaged mind creating these horrors? The answer, when it finally arrives, is both more complex and more disturbing than readers might expect.
Character Development: Fractured Souls in a Fractured House
Emily: The Unreliable Protagonist
Emily Bennett emerges as one of Pinborough’s most compelling protagonists precisely because of her flaws. Her post-trauma vulnerability makes her sympathetic, yet as layers peel away, we discover a woman capable of shocking moral compromises. The revelation of her affair with her boss Neil, motivated by career advancement, transforms our understanding of her character entirely. Pinborough skillfully uses Emily’s memory gaps and medical condition to obscure crucial information, making her both victim and perpetrator in ways that only become clear as the narrative unfolds.
The author’s portrayal of Emily’s physical recovery feels authentic and well-researched. Her struggles with mobility, chronic pain, and the psychological aftermath of near-death create a visceral sense of vulnerability that makes her supernatural encounters more terrifying. When Emily questions her own perceptions, readers question them too.
Freddie: The Weak-Willed Husband
Freddie Bennett initially appears as the supportive spouse, but Pinborough gradually reveals the weak and morally compromised man beneath. His gambling addiction, hidden debts, and ultimate betrayal create a character study in masculine fragility and self-destruction. The author’s decision to give Freddie his own narrative sections proves crucial, as his internal monologue reveals the extent of his resentment and self-serving rationalizations.
What makes Freddie particularly unsettling is how relatable his weaknesses are. His gambling isn’t portrayed as cartoonish villainy but as the desperate actions of a man drowning in circumstances beyond his control. This relatability makes his ultimate actions all the more shocking and effective.
The Gothic Atmosphere: Larkin Lodge as Character
Pinborough transforms Larkin Lodge from mere setting into a malevolent character in its own right. The house’s history—built on a crossroads where suicides were buried with stakes through their hearts—provides both historical context and supernatural justification for its evil influence. The author’s descriptions of the building’s oppressive wallpaper, drafty corridors, and especially the third-floor bedroom create an atmosphere of creeping dread that permeates every scene.
The house’s ability to bring out the worst in its inhabitants becomes a central theme. Pinborough suggests that Larkin Lodge doesn’t just harbor supernatural entities; it actively corrupts those who live within its walls. This corruption manifests differently in each character—Emily’s capacity for blackmail, Freddie’s murderous impulses, and the historical residents’ various moral failings.
Supernatural Elements: The Science of Evil
The novel’s supernatural mechanics, revealed through Christopher Hopper’s hidden journal, provide one of its most innovative elements. The concept that the third-floor bedroom can resurrect the dead while trapping their negative aspects creates a unique take on ghostly hauntings. This isn’t traditional spiritualism but rather a form of supernatural surgery—separating the good from the evil within human nature.
The revelation that Sally Freemantle was murdered by her husband Joe, with part of her jealous, violent nature trapped in the house while her “improved” self lived on, demonstrates Pinborough’s skill at reimagining familiar supernatural tropes. The process by which trapped souls can be freed—burning personal items containing their DNA—adds a scientific veneer to what might otherwise be pure fantasy.
Social Commentary: Marriage as Battleground
Beneath its supernatural horror, We Live Here Now functions as a savage critique of modern marriage. The novel’s exploration of how couples present idealized versions of themselves during courtship, only to reveal their true natures over time, resonates with uncomfortable truth. Russell’s observation that “we all fall in love in part with an illusion” becomes the book’s thematic cornerstone.
Pinborough doesn’t shy away from depicting the casual cruelties that accumulate in long-term relationships. The way Emily and Freddie’s affection curdled into irritation and contempt feels painfully authentic. Their constant refrain that “marriage is teamwork” becomes increasingly ironic as they work against rather than with each other.
Structural Innovation: Multiple Perspectives and Timeframes
The novel’s structure, divided into sections titled “Me,” “You,” “Us,” and “Them,” reflects the fragmentation of identity central to its themes. Pinborough’s use of multiple viewpoints—Emily’s first-person narration alternating with Freddie’s third-person perspective—creates narrative tension while gradually revealing the full scope of each character’s deception.
The incorporation of historical documents, particularly Christopher Hopper’s journal, provides crucial exposition while maintaining the gothic atmosphere. These passages, written in period-appropriate language, offer both backstory and foreshadowing without feeling like mere exposition dumps.
Critical Assessment: Strengths and Limitations
What Works Brilliantly
Pinborough’s greatest achievement lies in her ability to make readers complicit in her characters’ moral compromises. Emily’s blackmail of Mark feels both shocking and understandable given her circumstances. Similarly, Freddie’s descent into murderous thoughts follows a logical progression from his initial weaknesses. This moral ambiguity elevates the novel above simple good-versus-evil horror.
The author’s medical research pays dividends in creating believable post-trauma symptoms that serve the plot without feeling exploitative. Emily’s physical limitations and cognitive issues feel authentic rather than convenient, adding layers of vulnerability to her character.
Areas of Concern
The novel’s middle section occasionally suffers from pacing issues, particularly during Emily’s investigation into the house’s history. Some readers may find the blackmail subplot involving Mark and Cat feeling somewhat disconnected from the main supernatural narrative, though it serves important thematic purposes.
The revelation that both Emily and Freddie end up “corrected” versions of themselves while their negative aspects remain trapped might strike some readers as overly neat, though it serves the novel’s themes about the nature of identity and moral responsibility.
Comparative Context: Pinborough’s Evolution
Compared to Pinborough’s previous works, We Live Here Now represents a maturation of her psychological horror style. While Behind Her Eyes relied heavily on its shocking twist ending, this novel builds its horror more gradually and sustainably. The supernatural elements feel more integrated into the character development rather than serving as mere plot devices.
Readers familiar with Pinborough’s earlier works like Cross Her Heart and Dead to Her will recognize her skill at depicting toxic relationships, but this novel pushes those themes further into supernatural territory while maintaining psychological realism.
Final Verdict: A Masterful Blend of Domestic Drama and Gothic Horror
We Live Here Now succeeds as both an effective haunted house story and a sophisticated examination of marital dysfunction. Pinborough’s willingness to make her protagonists genuinely flawed—even unlikeable—while maintaining reader engagement demonstrates considerable skill. The novel’s exploration of how trauma can reshape personality and relationships feels both timely and timeless.
While it may not achieve the singular shock value of Behind Her Eyes, it offers more sustained psychological complexity and thematic depth. Readers seeking straightforward supernatural scares might find themselves challenged by the novel’s moral ambiguity, while those who appreciate psychological horror will find much to admire.
For fans of authors like Gillian Flynn, Simone St. James, or Jennifer McMahon, We Live Here Now offers a compelling blend of domestic thriller and gothic horror. Pinborough has crafted a novel that lingers long after the final page, not just for its supernatural elements but for its unflinching examination of how well we really know the people we love—and how little we might want to know ourselves.