Matthew Haigh's Vampires is a rare book: devastating both for its dazzling linguistic flair, and its moving central story-an elegy to a lost, beloved aunt. Rich with references that place us firmly in the late 80s and early 90s, it reminds us that childhood is leaping from a bridge into mist. It's a heady read, in which family life bleeds into gothic fantasy, into video games and arcade classics-with their endless potential for death and rebirth. Every word is lacquered, effulgent, cut like crystal, packed with E numbers, fizzing with energy. Vampires is a dream resurrected, a surreal MTV video, an ode to our beta-version hearts.