Overview

Dark water, deeper secrets. In The Loch, Fran Dorricott traps a tight-knit community between memory and myth after a disappearance dredges up old fears. The loch’s surface is calm, but the story swims with grief, obsession, and the dangerous power of stories told in the wrong light.

Writing & Atmosphere

Dorricott’s prose is crisp and cinematic: mist on the shore, stones slick with rain, the hush of something moving just out of sight. The mood leans gothic without losing its procedural edge, and she paces the reveals with a steady hand—slow enough to build dread, sharp enough to keep pages turning.

Characters

The narrator’s fixation on the missing person is the novel’s engine—part love, part guilt, part hunger for truth. Locals are sketched with empathetic detail: friends who know too much, family who won’t say enough, and outsiders who misunderstand both. Even minor figures carry the weight of history, which makes every conversation feel charged.

Themes

Rumour, folklore, and collective memory ripple through the plot. The loch becomes a metaphor for trauma—what sinks and what rises again. Dorricott probes how communities protect themselves (and their monsters), and how love can cloud the searchlight we aim at the truth.

What Worked

• Atmosphere for days: you can feel the damp, hear the hush, sense the eyes on the shore.
• Clean structure: well-timed reveals that reward close reading.
• Emotional stakes: grief and loyalty keep the mystery grounded.
• Folkloric shimmer: hints of the uncanny without breaking realism.

Minor Quibbles

• A mid-book lull as suspects are re-interviewed may test impatient readers.
• One late twist arrives fast after a long slow-burn—satisfying, if a touch tidy.

Final Thoughts

Brooding, moody, and deftly human, The Loch is a ripple-spread thriller where every shadow on the water might be a memory—or a warning.

Rating: ★★★★☆ (4/5)