My first Sheridan Le Fanu novel and, uh, it was okay. Uncle Silas promised to be a sort of locked door mystery, but ended up a low-rent Ann Radcliffe. The privileged daughter and only child of a slightly reclusive rich man is sent to live with her ne’er do well uncle after said rich man dies. Oh, and her uncle is now a reformed man after having been a gambler and womanizer who also maybe killed a man, but it couldn’t be proved.

For a moment, it seemed like it might be a sort of closed door mystery as a plucky young lady manages to prove her uncle innocent.

But no. It’s a just another 19th century novel, with a neck-breakingly acceleration into a gothic turn as a bald and bewigged evil French governess (re)appears and her uncle’s grammatically challenged and obviously dangerous son try to kill her. And would you believe the uncle was a bad guy after all? And we learned the solution of the locked door mystery, but it’s a single sentence throwaway.

Skip.