In All the Fiends of Hell, Nevill launches his horror show on page one, spending little time on the events that preceded the apocalypse in either reference or return. The new world is ominous and still, and those that dwell in it are ill-equipped to parse the mysterious dangers that confront them. Nevill's hallmarks are here: the steady, introspective, reflective nature of his protagonist; the immutable and almost incomprehensible creatures that defy ready visualization; the escalating helplessness of those pitted against them…

‘Fellstones has many brilliant elements affixed to a plot that doesn't quite do enough, and the ideas and levels of creativity that are showcased in the novel’s backstory are greater than the execution wherein they are presented.’

“Across the road, those who watch the vicarage’s transformation see windows beaming golden. Not only has the grin at ground level broadened, but the eyes are open and alight upstairs. A watcher may remark that after sleeping for so long, the building appears to have been roused from within.”

Ward understands the human relationships that underlie each passage, and seeds in her characters very real shortcomings that in time bear terrible fruit. The horror here is not fanged and leering, but that which lies at the heart of every person: the capacity to be horrendously cruel for a taste of crude power. It is a book where no one shines, and all victories are hard-won and bloody.

this iteration of [Nevill’s] formula feels like a polished, smartly-conceived story that plays out across a number of increasingly interesting layers.

Every character, setting, and arc is an askew, asymmetrical thing that shuffles at the edge of the reader’s perception showing a side that does not match its shadow.