The Lighthouse at the Edge of the World by J. R. Dawson is a powerful and poignant contemporary queer fantasy. Perfect for fans of Hadestown and Under the Whispering Door by TJ Klune.

Love doesn’t die, people do . . .

At the edge of Chicago, nestled on the shores of Lake Michigan, there is a waystation for the dead. Every night, the newly-departed travel through the city to the Station, guided by its lighthouse. There, they reckon with their lives, before stepping aboard a boat to go beyond.

Nera has spent decades watching her father – the ferryman of the dead – sail across the lake, each night just like the last.

But tonight, something is wrong.

The Station’s lighthouse has started to flicker out. The terrifying, ghostly Haunts have multiplied in the city. And now a person – a living person has found her way onto the boat.

Her name is Charlie. She followed a song. And she is searching for someone she lost.

From the author of The First Bright Thing, The Lighthouse at the Edge of the World is a moving and emotional story of magic, family and those who leave us alone – but who might not remain lost.

This is an intriguing novel that follows two fascinating female protagonists separated by a century of time, by life and death, by grief and love yet whose fates are utterly entangled. But it isn’t a simple love story, there are dark currents that threaten more than just Nera and Charlie’s happiness, or even their existence.

Dawson weaves some interesting themes together – the great Chicago fire of 1871 sparks the origin story for the Lighthouse, it’s enigmatic keeper and his troubled daughter ‘Nera’ whose whole life has been spent in the liminal space of the Lighthouse between the city and the veil, between life and what comes after.

There is something of the original Dr Who series in the relationship between Harosen and his daughter. Like William Hartnell’s Doctor and his grand-daughter Susan, Harosen and Nera’s relationship feels more a nod to convention than a biological reality. Like the Tardis, Harosen’s lighthouse has an almost infinite interior to accommodate the memories of the dead and the spirits who know they are dead but are not yet ready to move on. The Tardis might have its swimming pool, but the Lighthouse has a cinema, and a diner, and rooms full of good or bad memories, and it’s not always obvious which ones will bring a tear to the observer’s eye.

Into this strange mix comes Charlie still grieving and wracked with guilt six months after the death of a much loved sister, Sam, lost in the senselessness of a mall shooting.

Every book carries something of the context in which it was written, which is why I am drawn to afterwords, acknowledgements and dedications. J.R. Dawson’s dedication includes a reference

To Cerberus, Better known as Toby, Stitch, and Paddington. Now you’ll live for ever.

And – with Dawson as very much a dog person – it is unsurprising that a panoply of canine friends feature in the book as shepherds to the souls of the dead on their journey into the … into what ever comes next.  Having just read John Scalzi’s Starter Villain with its supporting cast of aloof but efficient cats, the uncanny canines of The Lighthouse at the Edge of the World  made an interesting contrast showcasing the dogs’ innate courage, loyalty and – in some cases – goofy distractibility, (did somebody say squirrel?).

Another feature of the book’s opening is the Author’s note flagging up trigger warnings and sources of help for the book digs deep into ideas not just of grief but of survivor guilt as Charlie, her father, and Marco her sister’s boyfriend, struggle to come to terms with their loss.  Perhaps one of the most telling refrains as they struggle to answer the question “What are we going to do” is the father’s response to the boyfriend.

There is no we.

That’s what he’d said to Marco. Heartless. Painful.

Three people who were once united by a shared love for Sam, utterly fractured by grief at her passing. As Charlie observes

People can die before they’re dead. Their souls give out and their bodies keep walking. My father wasn’t the one who died that day, but he didn’t walk out alive either.

Dawson’s story plays with ideas of love and grief of life and death. How can Charlie move on from death? How can Nera learn to live? And what secrets did Harosen drink to forget?

But the whole narrative is given a magnificent backdrop in the city of Chicago and its history. It’s a place I first saw in fiction in The Time Traveller’s Wife and Dawson captures some of that same intoxicating ambiguity of the place.

• There are frozen winters and icy lakes that tormented the time travelling Henry and force Charlie to give Nera her coat I could handle the cold in my hoodie long enough to keep her safe.
• There is the L – short for the ‘elevated train’ that runs for 24 hours and is something of an opposite to the London Tube – certainly it offers better views – as Charlie takes advantage of a 24 hour service to lose herself in travel. and
• There is the city’s iconic water tower – a feature that survived the great fire and proves pivotal to the unfolding plot as the past scrabbles to catch up with Harosen and is not beyond preying on the grief struck and vulnerable Charlie.

The story is structured around roughly alternating first person chapters from its two protagonists who make an interesting contrast. Finding the living Charlie in a ferry load of souls heading into the veil, is the trigger that startles the unworldly Nera into wanting to be more than an indifferent gatekeeper like her father. Harosen has been a no-questions-asked ferryman – who taxis souls into the afterlife with no interest in the names let alone the lives they led before. However, Charlie, still chasing down her dead sister’s soul needs Nera to know more, to know if Sam has passed over or if she is trapped somewhere in the brooding city. That conflict between what Charlie wants and what Nera can provide drives the development of both characters in intriguing directions.

Between the protagonists chapters Dawson has inserted some interludes or Remnants that have a very archival feel incorporating scrapbook images, city photographs and other reflections and memorabilia to augment the story.

The prose sparkles with lines and images that draw a nod of recognition or a moment of thoughtful reflection.

Music is a recurring theme in the emotion and the magic of the lighthouse as Charlie observes

Chords played by thousands before me, all trying to put a sound to the feeling of having a soul.

But danger lurks beneath the surface as the lighthouse flickers and dark forces gather.

I followed Nera to the pillars outside. She ran like an EMT rushing to something bloody and raw.

Nera’s curiosity about Charlie’s stubborn existence, “Was my fascination simply because she was alive like a flower growing through concrete.” is expressed in an image that hints at the forces of grief and sorrow that may yet grind down their fragile fledgling relationship.

Throughout the story challenges Charlie’s isolated immersion in sorrow with Nera saying “You are not only your grief” and Charlie asserting  “I wanted her to know there had been more to me than this sadness.”

But, as Dawson highlights – perhaps its very transience is an integral aspect of the generosity of the gift of life.

All things disappear eventually. But wouldn’t they cheapen if they didn’t. The suddenness, the temporary flash of life, that’s what made it special.

Dawson expertly merges the threads of the story – the large scale threat to the Lighthouse and its soul guiding role  and the smaller more intimate tale of Nera and Charlie – so that the resolution of both storylines converges in an enthralling denouement.

All in all, a soulful examination of what it means to live and love and lose and live again.

The Lighthouse at the Edge of the World is due for publication on 31st July – you can pre-order your copy on Bookshop.org