I loved it so much I purchased a copy when it came out! I enjoy Irish writers and how you can almost touch the words they use to create the world they build.

This novel fits very well with a new very hyper specific subtrope of the unsound women trope and that is 'young woman at the absolute end of her tether begins to self-destruct her otherwise stable life'. The experience of reading this book was the same as when you get to scratch an itch that was plaguing you but there was no way you can take your shoes off in public so you had to live with it for under your clothes for while before sweet itchy privacy. Which is a long way of saying, it was rewarding! The title alone is so evocative, so image 200+ pages of that. But I'd say if you can't relate to the title, then this might be a struggle. This book was very similar to 'Homesick' by Silvia Saunders, another 2025 release, and now in my headcannon, the two leads have met, have a houseshare and are loving it.

I would absolutely live in a haunted flat if it was in a nice part of London.
Not entirely certain this should be marketed as horror, it’s more ‘unsettling modern fiction’, but an excellent read.

3.75 stars

Áine is in a period of new beginnings in her life. She is moving in with her boyfriend, Elliot, for the first time and experiencing a new way of living without her long-term roommate and friend. They find a flat in an upmarket neighbourhood, and despite Áine's spoken and unspoken reservations, they're moving in before they know it. Áine is immediately unsettled, by the unwelcoming upstairs neighbours, the unhelpful real estate agent, the ominous cellar, the chill that seeps into every corner, and the omnipresent mold spreading without cause. Áine sprials further into melancholy with every day spent in the flat, but with a partner who brushes off her concerns and nowhere else to go, she resigns herself to wait out the lease.

As the title suggests, this book explores the concept of what makes a home and how we grow around our environment. I really related to Áine and I loved she adapted and changed over the course of the book, gradually at first and then in a crescendo. She has great dry wit and I saw myself in a lot of her attitudes towards her partner, domesticity, friendships and work. Through Áine, the author offers commentary on coming-of-age when things aren't going well and I will read that all day everyday. Elliot is a fantastic companion character to Áine because they contrast well against one another and he's the kind of man everyone has met and can probably join in Áine's disdain to some extent. Áine's relationships outside of her newfound domestic bliss are strained across the board, including her newly estranged bestie-turned-houseboat-renovator who has become wrapped up in her own relationship and left Áine behind. The author does a great job of putting multiple forces to work to keep Áine inside the house and thus worsen her situation.

I have no idea why but I did find this quite a slog to get through for the first 2/3 or so (the end I devoured) and I often found myself only reading 5-10 pages at a time. I think it could have hit its peak sooner because there was a lot of repetition in the first half and this involved the point just be remade over and over again with little new information being added. This is described as 'a ghost story set in the rental crisis' and I feel this may set unrealistic expectations. Early on there is a super creepy ghost story moment that gave me goosebumps and I couldn't wait for more, which I sadly didn't get. It has a wonderfully eerie atmosphere but I was waiting for something else to happen and it rarely did. I appreciate literary horror because it's not as on the nose as classic horror but I just think this book didn't live up to its potential. The tagline also sets you up for a good laugh (in my opinion) and if you pick it up for that reason alone you'll be let down. There's some great wit sprinkled throughout but the tagline almost sounds sitcom-y??

Overall I really enjoyed the writing and how erratic this book is. I would be very interested in reading more from this author.

I read the title for I Want To Go Home But I'm Already There and I immediately knew I was going to love it but I really wasn’t prepared for the anxiety ridden fever dream that resides within its pages. Set in the all too familiar housing crisis in London, the story follows twenty-something Áine & her boyfriend Elliot as they move into a garden flat in an idyllic bougie area for below market rent. Seems too good to be true? Well, buckle in, because these things always are!

As Áine’s story begins it does feel like they’ve found the elusive rough diamond and I felt myself imagining somewhere like Ranelagh village filled with those cute little restaurants, organic grocery shops and that amazing butcher shop (iykyk), but as with any seemingly perfect setting there will always be the odd horror lurking behind a closed door.

When Áine & Elliot begin to settle in it becomes quite apparent that their cute little garden apartment is anything but adorable. While a strange festering mold begins to rise from the ominous basement and take over the walls, a crawling, clawing anxiety takes root deep within Áine’s mind. As the sour putrid rot begins to engulf their dream home, we also slowly start to see Áine’s and Elliot's relationship crumble into decay.

There is a subtlety to Lanigan’s writing which left me constantly on edge and questioning reality, even long after I finished reading. She plays on the real visceral fears of the modern day renter, mixed with the eerie horror trope of the haunted house, creating a very ominous sense of unease.

There are a few slow burn moments and a moment with a dog which I did struggle to read, and did honestly question its necessity but overall IWTGHBIAT is an outstanding debut which kept me compelled from start to finish.

An enthralling and claustrophobic horror story which feels all too real that will firmly take root in your every little anxiety, perfect for fans of Camilla Grudova, Julia Armfield and Ainslie Hogarth.

If you enjoyed this review come follow me on Instagram @TravelsEatsReads for more

Áine and Elliott are moving in together for the first time after a series of house shares. They are delighted yet disconcerted when the flat they view is still available despite being listed for two whole weeks (unheard of). But it has a garden and is in a ‘boujie’ neighbourhood so any misgivings are swept under the carpet and they jump at it.

Áine is never able to shake a rising sense of unease. Tendrils of damp rise suffocatingly from the dark basement, there’s a strange man living upstairs and the place constantly feels cold and cloying. Elliott is a loving boyfriend and tries to set her mind at ease but Áine is spending whole days there alone now that she’s working from home more frequently.

I loved the way this book spoke so accurately about the realities of the rental market for young people in London. It was the nineties when I was there sofa surfing and flat sharing with workmates in grubby subdivided terraces where you never saw or heard from shady landlords. Not a lot sounds to have changed except for the ever more exorbitant costs and the increasing competition for even the most decrepit of holes.

I liked the creepiness of this novel too and the way we start to become aware that Áine has also struggled with mental ill health. I felt this was well handled and the way the author plays with the question of whether the flat is really haunted or whether Áine’s spiralling thoughts and fever dreams are the root cause of the issues in the flat.

Despite Elliott’s amiable, loving nature, Áine starts to sabotage their relationship. The book also describes well the existential crisis experienced by many in their mid-twenties to thirties - that everyone else is getting their shit together and you’re still flailing around and messing up.

The book did lose pace in the middle for me, and I could have coped with even more creepiness, but overall, I did really enjoy this novel. Even with the hints at the supernatural, it felt very real to me and the characters were well fleshed out. Recommended read.

With huge thanks to NetGalley and Penguin Fig Tree for granting me the digital ARC for this review.

Not a traditional horror, but is there anything more horrifying than the UK housing market?

It took me a while to get invested - the pacing was slow at first, and the writing felt a little dense, but I eventually found myself intrigued by Áine’s story, even relating to parts of it. The book perfectly captures that unsettling period in your early 20s when you’ve finished uni and are navigating the nightmare that is renting, trying to build a home and a relationship in a place that will never really be yours, the overwhelm of your first proper job, questioning if the people you met at uni are really your friends, and the creeping sense that nothing is quite fitting together the way it should.

What this book does really well is create an atmosphere of quiet dread - there is always something ominous lurking beneath the surface. I do wish the ending had been more satisfying; after such a slow build, it felt a bit rushed. But overall, it’s a solid and interesting read.

Editor and journalist Róisín Lanigan’s debut novel is a compelling take on the plight of generation rent – the 18- to 40-year-olds essentially priced out of the housing market. Lanigan draws extensively on tropes from ghost stories and haunted house narratives to craft this unsettling, fluid tale. The focus is on Áine, now in her early thirties she left home in Belfast for university, eventually ending up living and working in London. But, her easy-going existence with best friend-turned-flatmate Laura is upended when Laura suddenly announces she’s leaving to buy somewhere with her boyfriend. Áine begins to understand that everyone around her is following a set of unspoken rules: getting engaged, getting married and/or starting to produce children. So Áine reluctantly attempts to shape her own life in line with this sudden shift. She moves into a rented, garden flat with boyfriend Elliott. The area – based on East Dulwich but could just as well be Crouch End or Stoke Newington – has all the markers of ‘boujie’ London society, an upmarket bakery not unlike Gail’s has just opened, there’s a 24-hour organic supermarket, and Áine’s surrounded by women sporting eco-conscious Vejas and Lululemon, often accessorised with an expensive pushchair. All of which makes the relatively low rent for the flat seem slightly suspicious.

Áine finds this new space claustrophobic and increasingly unnerving, a strange mould covers the walls, resisting all attempts to remove it or check its growth. The upstairs’ neighbours are distant and oddly menacing. And Áine gradually realises the flat’s haunted, riddled with traces of the people who came before. The dust from their skin cells clogs her nose and mouth, making it hard to breath, this and the mould start to make her ill. Áine tries to eat healthily but food mysteriously rots as soon as it’s purchased, flies gathering around the kitchen table. Áine can’t shake the sense that she’s under constant surveillance and her sleep’s disrupted by hallucinatory nightmares. Yet Elliott remains oblivious, blaming Áine’s problems on her anxiety, hinting she may even be delusionary and unhinged. The problems in their relationship are exacerbated by their clashing cultural heritage, Elliott is resolutely rational, even though lapsed Áine grew up Catholic in a family steeped in spiritual beliefs from spectres to banshees.

Lanigan painstakingly documents Áine’s deteriorating physical and mental state, her increasing isolation and alienation. Without being overly derivative, Lanigan’s deft storytelling’s directly inspired by work like The Yellow Wallpaper and Sarah Water’s The Little Stranger, like these she creates a sense of a world pervaded by uncanny, malevolent forces. And, like her influences, Lanigan exploits the eerie to tease out issues around gender, capitalism and class – the concrete, malevolent forces impinging on Áine’s sense of self. The latter underlined by the glaring differences between working-class Áine’s and monied Laura’s experiences of London, all of which forms a timely commentary on the significance of inheritance, the ways in which it’s creating fresh, gaping economic divides. Something which also pushes mismatched couples like Áine and Elliott together, the only way it’s possible to afford to somewhere even half-way decent in cities like London. Circumstances which also make it near impossible to leave, so that Áine has to decide which is more threatening to her well-being: the supernatural or the likely loss of rental deposit, and grappling with rapidly rising rents, dilapidated housing stock, and indifferent landlords. Although, like the governess in The Turn of the Screw, it’s never clear if Áine’s dealing with the demonic or manifesting her own conflicts and trauma, she’s not an entirely reliable narrator. All of which adds to the novel’s considerable force. Admittedly there were some slow burn stretches but overall I thought this was accomplished, moving and subtly disturbing.

I had such high expectations for this one, but it ultimately just wasn't for me. I think stories that conceptually lean towards the speculative, but in practice are deeply rooted in the realm of litfic are such a specific niche, and everyone's likely to approach them from a different place, expect different things from them, and take away very different things from aforementioned books.

Thematically, I appreciate Lanigan's exploration of the haunted-ness of a housing crisis, and the tension of feeling the oppressive natural of this house that cannot be a home, yet being unable to leave it much as you might wish to. In terms of characters, I also found Áine and her circle to feel true to life, and I particularly found her almost feverish descent into madness to be compelling on paper, but I never got fully invested in her narrative, which oddly felt both static and chaotic to me. I can see the argument for this dichotomy serving to drive in the nonsensical nature of this post-modern, late stage capitalist horror tableau, but it didn't help make me wish to pick up the book once I'd put it down, or keep reading.

I think if you like stories in the vein of THE PALLBEARER'S CLUB or WOMAN, EATING, you'll want to give this a go. Overall, I can see this working for a lot of readers, it just felt a little bit middling for me.

Áine and her boyfriend Elliott have managed to find a flat they can afford in a nice London neighbourhood, so everything should be going well, right? However, from the moment they move in, Áine can't help but feel that something is not quite right. From the strange upstairs neighbour to the mysterious damp basement, even to her own relationship, she is gripped by the feeling that something is wrong. But perhaps that's just renting in London?

I was really excited to read this. As someone who has had their fair share of London renting stress (I had to move twice last year), I know how pervasive housing stress can be. I've read a couple of nonfiction books (highly recommend Vicky Spratt's Tenants) but was excited to see it tackled through fiction.

I really liked Lanigan's writing style, it was my favourite aspect of the book. While this is her debut novel, she is a journalist by trade and you can tell she is a writer.

I feel slightly conflicted as while I enjoyed the writing style and the topic, I think the book was too long. You quite quickly grasp the general direction of the story and at times, it felt repetitive. I quite like long books but I'm not sure why I really felt this book was too long while reading. If it was around the 200-page mark, I think I would have found it far stronger as a story. While adopting a dog called Puca while thinking your house is haunted made me chuckle (though perhaps that's a reference for Irish audiences), I think that whole storyline could have been cut, for example. But then again, I think the length was probably deliberate to show how long Áine was stuck suffering in this slowly worsening situation.

After complaining about a book's length, I haven't exactly been brief in my review. Overall, I think if you are interested in books about housing, mental health, and 'sad girl' books, I would recommend. I will definitely pick up Lanigan's next book as I really liked her writing style.

This is a powerful book that has the potential to polarise readers into lovers or not fans of the novel. I think during my reading of I Want To Go Home But I'm Already There I was both a lover and also not a fan!

In my mind, there are many discussions to be had on what the author's intention is - this novel is set in London but it could be in any number of cities but highlights the helplessness you can find yourself in when you rent a property that has flaws that you didn't see before moving in. Áine's state of mind during the year in her house changes dramatically as does her relationships with Elliott and Laura - can that all be attributed to this rental property and how much it gets her down?

I would love to hear from the author - but isn't the ambiguity what makes a novel interesting?

Well done, Róisín Langan, this is a novel that will likely divide opinion but keep people talking!

I Want To Go Home But I'm Already There by Roisin Lanigan
⭐⭐⭐ 3 stars
Publication date: 20th March 2025

Thank you to Viking Books and Netgalley for providing me with an e-copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Áine should be feeling happy with her life. She’s just moved in with Elliot. Their new flat is in an affluent neighbourhood, surrounded by bakeries, yoga studios and organic vegetable shops. They even have a garden. And yet, from the moment they move in, Áine can't shake the sense that there's something not quite right about the place…

How interesting that this was tagged as Horror on Netgalley; it isn't. It is however about the mundane horrors of the current rental market, about the horrors of having to deal with elusive landlords, about the horrors of existential dread… I would categorise this as Sad Girl Fic, for sure, but not Horror. Though it is not without its tense moments as Áine unravels, with nothing or no-one to anchor her, with her friendships and relationship fraught and tense.
This was very readable, with great characterisation, but it was exhausting being in Àine’s mind and overall, ended up feeling a bit repetitive for me.

Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for an advance copy of this book.

This is an interesting read but I didn't see much of the humour other reviewers saw. What I read was a disturbing story of a young woman experiencing a prolonged episode of mental illness. We know that Aine has a Prescription (her capital letter) for medicine she does not take and although it is not stated, I assume the medicine is for a mental illness (an illness as opposed to a mental health issue). It seems to me that many of the issues she had with the flat such as the overwhelming creep of mould and dirt, her fear of the cellar and the feelings of being spied on could be symptoms of her state of health.

I was surprised at how little Elliot (who seemed nice enough) was concerned by her descent into lack of self care, listlessness, loss of interest. There were hints of a past trauma, possibly in Ireland, but I don't think this was explained. Even the title about wanting to go home when the person is already in their home can be a mental illness symptom where "home" is not a place but a state of mind.

Aine is quite a likeable character and I thought that generally, the book was a good read with a satisfactory ending.

Possibly I have misinterpreted the book. I will say that the details of life in London in difficult living conditions make for grim reading. I have read one or two books lately where this has been part of the story and I cannot imagine why people who come from perfectly good places that are not London would want to subject themselves to such a poor standard of living..

This is a difficult book to review, but I think a good starting point is that I really liked it. I thought it was funny, I enjoyed the satirical takes on quite dark topics, the relatability and the writing style.

There was first the Unnamed Landlord, which felt like a ghost in itself. You never meet him, but he’s there sending daunting emails (well, getting someone else to send them on his behalf) and hanging the threat of the lease ending over their head which will bring an inevitable rent inflation. Alongside this. you have noisy upstairs neighbours, mold that cannot be rid of, and the understanding that the space you live in isn’t really yours. Because of this, it entails a sequence of moving from place to place. There is an exhaustion and melancholy that come with this, which I think was done so well. I could feel the dark cloud coming at me through the pages.

Which made me feel like this book was about depression: the depression of living in the current housing crisis, of late stage capitalism, of knowing you deserve a home but being unable to get one. Also, about the struggle of getting and maintaining genuine human connection throughout it all.

I’m excited to see what else this author writes in future!

First things first: hell yeah, more Áine representation!

Anyway. Roisín Lanigan's debut novel is excellent, but really hard to review! I've been mulling it over for a week or two now and I don't know how much closer I am to being able to articulate my feelings on it. It's a very quiet novel but no less powerful for it. It tells the story Áine and Elliot, who have just moved in together. She's living in a cute little neighbourhood for below-market rent, but suspects that her always-cold, increasingly-mouldy flat is, well, haunted. Áine - who works from home - gets in her head about it! As you would! But no-one around her believes that there is something sinister about their gross little flat.

As someone who has lived in a gross little flat, I ate this up. Lanigan describes the horrors of renting so well and pairing them with actual supernatural horrors is so clever! She also really captures how anxiety-inducing the process of renting is - taking the first place you're offered, not wanting to make a fuss for fear of losing your lease, accepting maybe-ghosts as "just part of renting" - and the toll takes on your mental health. And it does take a big toll on Áine's! This is a book about mental health and relationship breakdowns as much as it is a haunted house tale. It's giving existential dread! It's giving What Happens When You Move House And Go Off Your Meds Simultaneously! Lanigan weaves together the themes of mental illness, supernatural horror, and mundane horror so well that everything blurs; like Áine, the reader finds it nearly impossible to distinguish what's real from what's not. Lanigan's writing style adds to this so well; the tone of voice gives us a sense of numbness that makes us feel as apathetic as Áine does about the world around her.

It reminded me of Caroline O'Donoghue's Promising Young Women, Julia Armfield's Our Wivesa Under the Sea; novels where the horror is lurking just around the corner, moving around at the corner of your eye. I think I would have loved the horror to have been dialled up a little bit - the scary parts of this novel are genuinely unsettling - but it's still a really strong, compelling read that I'd recommend to anyone who has gone through the nightmarish process of renting.

There were so many moments in this book that felt so relatable to me, it had so many funny moments and real moments that truly showed the horrors of life.

“Renting is a nightmare…” - the publishers copy goes “I Want to Go Home But I’m Already There is a ghost story set in the rental crisis. A wonderfully clear-eyed portrait of loneliness, loss and belonging, it examines what it means to feel at home.”

The story follows young couple Elliot and Áine, who have just moved into a seemingly ideal shared rental flat—a millennial dream with ample space, an overgrown garden, and even a cellar. However, as their twelve-month lease unfolds, they face growing issues like mould, dampness, and cracks, mirroring the fractures in their relationship.

Lanigan presents an interesting thought-provoking portrayal of modern life haunted by the anxieties of renting. I truly relate to the frustrations of extortionate rental prices, dilapidated properties, troublesome neighbours, and difficult landlords, all of which drew me to the novel, this is such a contemporary theme - I was ready for it. However, I found it rather lacking in traditional horror elements, as the story fails to evoke strong feelings of fear or dread despite its unsettling themes, at times it felt a little repetitive.

The essence of horror here leans more toward existential dread, reflecting Sartre's assertion that "hell is other people." or your ‘overthinking mind’? Áine constantly compares herself to her ex-flatmate Laura, battling her insecurities even though her life appears stable with a flexible job and a supportive boyfriend. Nothing satisfies her: the neighbours are odd, the apartment is cold, the commute is lengthy, and the garden feels insurmountable.

Áine's struggle to create a sense of home illustrates the effort required in relationships; fulfilment doesn’t come automatically. While Elliot observes the unraveling of their situation, the horror largely resides in Áine's pessimistic perspective, which pushes her further into isolation. This leads to her mental decline, even as those around her encourage her to regain control. As a reader, I yearned for a more tangible manifestation of that horror on the page, there was so much potential for it!

I genuinely wanted to love this novel; Lanigan’s prose is engaging and skilfully crafted. However, I found myself wishing for a deeper exploration of authentic horror elements to amplify its emotional impact.

Many thanks Penguin and Fig Tree for the arc

“Had never been a hangover in the first place, but instead some sort of psychotic break or perhaps carbon monoxide poisoning or demonic possession.”

I was so excited for this book and I think we can all relate to the housing crisis and the precarious housing predicaments we find ourselves in. This is a tale of that desperation, living in 12 month intervals, that sacrifice and that tip-toeing we do around each other in the early stages of a relationship. We hear about the mould that becomes the all encompassing third character, forgotten pills and an ominous coat.

The reader is left on tenterhooks wondering what will survive for Áine and Elliot. Their security deposit, their relationship or their mental health?

I Want to Go Home, But I’m Already There is out next week on 20th March. I want to thank NetGalley and Penguin Books for this early release copy. It felt in many ways too close to home for my rental experience with an ominous character living below us, that awoke PTSD, that I thought I had buried deep deep down, so fair play to Roisin Lanigan for hitting it on the nail.

The following review is posted on my book review page:

Genres: Contemporary/ Literary Fiction / Modern Psychological Horror.

Themes: Housing Crisis, Relationships, Friendships, Mental Health, and Isolation.

‘[A]nd she was the third Áine and she was holding the kitchen knife and he was breathing hard and he was scared, she could see that, really scared, and she couldn’t remember when she’d woken up and when she’d got out of the bed, and someone said: “I think I’m inside a nightmare. I’m sorry.”’

Lanigan’s debut novel brims with potential with its unique premise that speaks to the experience of many trying to build their own lives in this current housing crisis. Lanigan’s protagonist, Áine, is deliberately flat in tone, dejected and deflated, and is an incredibly unreliable narrator.

Forced by circumstance to move in with her partner, Elliot, Áine finds herself living in the ground-floor flat of a split house in London, enclosed by creeping mould and the mounting weight of her perceived failings.

It quickly becomes apparent that something is amiss with either Áine or her new surroundings. Equally as swift, it is confirmed that Áine has stopped taking her prescription medication. As a result, Áine spirals down into a hole of paranoia and fear as everyone and everything, including the house, is working against her. Elliot doesn’t believe Áine that the house is haunted, and this tension, push and pull, between them grows tedious to read, perhaps purposely so, as Áine falls further into poor mental health.

While marketed as a ghost story set in the housing crisis, it is fairer to go into this novel with the knowledge that it is a psychological examination of how the housing crisis is affecting young people. The ‘hauntings’ are mundane, making it clear from the onset that the ‘hauntings’ are caused by Áine’s failure to confront her growing unhappiness with her living situation, her failing relationship with Elliot, and her inability to leave given the lack of alternative housing options available.

Lanigan’s use of language is stylistically flat and repetitive like thoughts swirling in a panicked and numb mind. Áine’s mental deterioration is surreal and claustrophobic making it difficult to reach the end of this novel without feeling similarly to Áine in her ‘haunted house.’

If you’re a fan of #psychologicalhorror , this might be the novel for you.

‘I Want to Go Home but I’m Already There’ hits shelves on the 20th of March 2025. Many thanks to @penguinukbooks for the advanced reader copy in exchange for an honest review.

I was emotionally draining to read this book which is a reflection of how the main character feels throughout this book dealing with feeling attacked on all fronts from living in a rented house and not being able to make it a home because of all the outside influences getting in the way, including her own subconscious thinking the flat is haunted.