Preston's blistering tale of land and violence . . . is written in his distinctive Cumbrian voice, a vernacular stripped to its bones that encompasses stark prose and sudden startling flashes of poetry . . . The result is half Tarantino and half pitch-black northern realism that slides under the skin and lodges deep . . . A sucker-punch of a novel, edged with knife-sharp black humour and shot through with moments of startling beauty