When I was a kid, my family and I went camping in the bush. On one particular hike, there was a tunnel called ‘The Wombat Hole’ that was notorious with the camping crowd. It was a gradually narrowing natural cave formation that you could walk into, but had to crawl out of on your belly. I’ve no doubt this natural wonder has long been shut, but the early 90s were a wild, unregulated time in Australian National Parks. So my Dad, tempted by the challenge and confident of his abilities, swaggered into The Wombat Hole without a shred of fear or concern.
I waited breathlessly for him to emerge victorious at the other end. Waited, and waited… and waited. Eventually, a scrawny teenager slithered out of the exit, complaining about a big hairy man stuck halfway through.
Yep, that’s right.
Long story short, he eventually made it out. But the look on his face when he finally emerged will stay with me forever. The Wombat Hole reduced my fearless, invincible, mustachioed hero into a sweaty, quivering mess.
Caves are scary, y’all.
And the cave in The Anomaly is the scariest.
I could not put this novel down. I was gripped. I was THERE. I had no trouble suspending my belief as the plot thickened (and darkened). It had twists and turns that I didn’t see coming, and the craziness ratcheted up wonderfully. I knew going in that this novel was going to scare the pants off me – dark, enclosed spaces are inherently terrifying. Plus the allure of revisiting the Grand Canyon, even in fiction, was guaranteed to appeal to me. But what I found most surprising and enjoyable about this novel were the LOLs. Despite the darkness (literal and figurative), it had just enough genuinely funny banter between characters to keep the dialogue kicking along.
This novel ticked all the boxes in my over-imaginative brain. 5 spooky stars.