My Cultural Diet

Although he’s the son of a high-ranking Lord of Hell, Laszlo really just wants to enjoy Earth’s finer things, like milkshakes, cigarettes, and outsmarting con artists. Unfortunately, he’s tasked with managing the centuries-old curse on the Drakeford family, and he’s doing a very poor job of it. In order to save his career — and his existence — he must team up with the latest Drakeford scion to be afflicted by the curse’s hideous effects. But can Maggie Drakeford trust the demon’s promises to help her family? And can Laszlo trust his fellow demons when he learns a secret about the curse that challenges Hell’s balance of power? It’s definitely an intriguing premise for a novel that promises a lot of (theologically dubious) fun. Unfortunately, The Witchstone fell flat for me. There’s nothing bad about it per se, but neither is there anything terribly gripping about it. The whole time I was reading it, I kept waiting for something to kick in that would pick up the pace or make the proceedings more interesting and involving. That said, Neff’s depiction of Hell — or at least, Laszlo’s corner of it — as a paperwork and metrics-obsessed corporate bureaucracy replete with sycophants and consultants is The Witchstone’s strongest feature, and the source of most of its humor. (I imagine The Screwtape Letters’ C.S. Lewis having a good chuckle at this part of the novel. I certainly did.)

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