House of Hunger
By Alexis Henderson
ACE 2022

WANTED: Bloodmaid of exceptional taste. No more than 19. Must have a keen proclivity for life’s finer pleasures. No references required. Candidates will be received by mail at The Night Embassy, 727 Crooks Street, Prane, or personally from 10 to 12 in the evening hours. Girls of weak will need not apply.

So begins House of Hunger, the second book by Alexis Henderson, author of The Year of the Witching. Drawing loosely from the story of Countess Elizabeth Báthory, House of Hunger follows a young woman named Marion Shaw. Marion lives in Prane, a city in the South, and works as a maid for a cranky old woman who pays her just enough to barely keep a dilapidated shack over her head. When she leaves work at night, she comes home to her abusive brother. So when Marion sees the above advertisement in the newspaper, she jumps on the opportunity to change her life.

Henderson has a knack for creating atmosphere in her books. Where The Year of the Witching took place in a cold, fog-shrouded, muddy landscape, House of Hunger leans into decadence and decay. The South is described in visceral detail. The streets are grimy and covered in manure, the air choked with smog, “so thick that the sun could barely shine through it.” Marion herself lives in the slums of Prane in, “an odd structure, crushed between a horse stable and the town poorhouse, with a twisted chimney that belched clouds of thick, black smoke when the stove fire was lit.” Everything about Marion’s life is filthy and falling apart; a commentary on the way the poor are used up and spit out by a system that cares only for the rich and powerful.

When Marion boards the night train to the North, the contrast could not be more obvious. Aboard the train she takes a seat on an “overstuffed red velvet bench” and is offered “a bearskin blanket folded on a golden tray.” The disparity is, of course, the point. Now that Marion is headed off to her new life in service of the greatest house in the North, her worth is increased. Henderson uses descriptions like these throughout the narrative to not only build a vibrant and tense atmosphere, but also to keep the ideas of wealth and inequality top of mind.

As in The Year of the Witching, social commentary takes center stage in the narrative—sometimes a bit heavy-handedly. The contrast between the haves and the have-nots is just one example. Also touched on are issues of female bodily autonomy and sex work—all bloodmaids also serve as sexual partners for their employer, at least at the House of Hunger.

Obsession and paranoia permeate the walls of the House of Hunger, though at times this seems to come out of nowhere. Marion’s obsession with becoming First Bloodmaid hits hard and fast in ways that don’t entirely seem organic. Whether this is a function of a briefly hinted at childhood interest in bloodmaids, or whether it’s simply an affect of being at the House of Hunger, it’s certainly an aspect of her character that may have benefitted from more exploration.

House of Hunger is plot-driven and incredibly fast paced, so it’s not surprisingly that the character-focused moments can leave something to be desired. The narrative jumps from social event to social event, barely pausing for breath. This is a deliberate choice, one that is justified in the text when Countess Lisavet admits that even though she rarely attends any of these parties, “It makes the nights pass faster.” Many of the characters feel a bit more like plot devices rather than characters. Part of this is because the story is told from a first-person limited perspective, so readers only know what Marion knows, and Marion doesn’t have many opportunities to just chat with the other girls. And what opportunities she does have for idle chitchat are largely spent discussing Lisavet, naturally.

Ultimately, House of Hunger is a book that it is over too quickly. At less than three hundred pages, it’s difficult not to wish there was more to the story. Like additional exploration of the characters, including the other bloodmaids and staff. Or more talk about any of the twenty-seven other houses and the inter-house politics. Or some explanation at all about the blood fuel—sourced from cows, apparently—that powers the night train. The book certainly works as is, but there is also ample opportunity to expand on any number of aspects of the narrative. It's just a shame that there’s not more to the story.

Amberlee Venters is a freelance editor and writer living in Northern California.