By Laura McCarthy.
In Rainforest, Michelle Paver leaves the classic ghost story setting behind in favour of something altogether different – no prizes for guessing where. She says “so long” to the spectral woman in black of Eel Marsh House and “good riddance” to the ominous presence of Hill House in her fourth ghostly novel.
This reinvention of genre conventions is not new ground for Paver. In Thin Air, she set her haunting in the Himalayas. Meanwhile, in Dark Matter (my favourite of her ghost stories) Paver used the hostile Arctic as the backdrop to her chilling (in both senses of the word) tale.
Dark Matter is particularly effective in this respect. The Arctic, in its uninhabitable nature and isolation, is a villain in itself. It is an antagonist against all human life, heightening the dread. Heightening the threat.
As things start to go wrong on the Arctic expedition, our protagonist’s team gradually leave to deal with various accidents and issues which arise; now alone, the haunting truly begins and the immense vulnerability permeates every page.
Setting is a powerful tool, especially in horror. The classic haunted house is so effective because it takes an established safe space, the home, and warps it so that it is unrecognisable. Similarly, notorious horror films like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Wickerman take place mostly during the day; nightmares are no longer confined to the dark but run rampage through daylit streets, ripping our feelings of security to shreds.
Paver doesn’t do this in her ghost stories. Instead, she chooses inherently dangerous locations and enhances the threat through supernatural forces. Rainforest is no exception, using the jungle as a facilitator for fear.
Whilst Dark Matter weaponised the subzero temperature and icy conditions, Rainforest is armed with capricious, changeable weather. One minute we are burned by the scorching sun, the next we are pelted by heavy rain. This location is chosen for its intensity. It is crawling with insects, like mosquitos and leeches, and even the monkeys seem to ready for a fight.
Both settings also highlight how easy it is for characters to lose themselves within these environments; the Arctic lacks any identifiable landmarks or reference points, whilst the rainforest is busy – too busy… so busy that it is disorienting, labyrinthine in scale and from the sheer mass of foliage.
Consistently, Paver’s use of setting remains the strong core of such novels. She forces readers to question which is the greater threat, the surroundings or the supernatural? And, on top of this, how much of the supernatural is actually a side-effect of the setting or a character’s mental instability? These thought provoking ideas and the sense of uncertainty create dangerous and compelling worlds for audiences to immerse themselves within.
Moreover, what is particularly admirable about the use of setting in Rainforest is the fact that Paver’s own experiences and research shines through to shape a fully realised location, despite the Yachikel Village and the ruins of Piedras Quemadas being fictionalised. This is also true of the character J.C., a jungle guide based on characteristics of many of Paver’s real-life guides. By far, he is the most interesting, multifaceted, and compelling character.
But we are not with him for very long. Instead, we are stuck with the insufferable Simon, our main character. So, whilst I enjoy Paver’s writing, my main criticism with Rainforest is characterisation. And not just because I don’t like Simon as a person.
Don’t get me wrong – I respect flawed characters and unreliable narrators… when done well. Take Ian McEwan’s work: I despise the protagonist of Joe in Enduring Love (who is both immensely irritating to me and so unreliable as a narrator that he could rival The Great Gatsby’s Nick Carroway) but he is crafted with such intention and thought that I can only appreciate the authorial mastery here.
On the other hand, Simon just doesn’t hit the mark for me. Simon doesn’t seem real and, yet, a lot of the narrative depends on him feeling so. How else are we meant to buy into the premise? He is supposedly an incredibly logical “intellectual” but makes so many stupid decisions that it becomes ridiculous. And, when the ludicrous wears off, it is just plain tedious.
Why wouldn’t you zip up your backpack in the middle of the rainforest, Simon? Why would you throw a glass bottle (basically littering) into the jungle, if you think you’re being stalked by angry ghosts who protect the rainforest from the harm of white men, Simon? Why would you brew and take your own drugs from unfamiliar plants if you couldn’t even handle weed, Simon?
Some might argue that this shows how the character is having such drastic mental health issues due to his grief that he is willing to go to extreme lengths, or that it is a commentary on white men’s destruction, or even that some people think they’re intelligent but are actually narcissistic, idiotic hypocrites… but it doesn’t quite come together for me. Even when I try to consider the narrative from such perspectives, it feels like I am making excuses for the characterisation. Simon repeatedly breaks his own sense of being, going against what he is established to be on a whim. His character just does not make sense to me, which is a shame as I didn’t think this was the case in Dark Matter.
Overall, I would argue that Rainforest is still worth your time. It is a short, fast-paced thrill in which the setting is utilised to great impact. Though, I will say, if you’ve not yet read Dark Matter, this should be your first port of call.
- Rainforest was published in October 2025 by Orion Books.
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