The Lie by Helen Dunmore, review A soldier, "clagged in mud from head to foot," appears at the foot of Daniel Branwell's bed. It is 1920 and the war is now over. But Frederick, his closest childhood friend, has been making such night-time visitations ever since Daniel failed to rescue him on the French battlefield. In her unnervingly ambiguous new novel, Helen Dunmore presents a haunting that wavers between ghost story and a study of war trauma. Back in his Cornish hometown, Daniel is not making much of an effort to fit in to normal civilian life. With no family left, he ekes out a marginal existence on the land of a sick, old woman named Mary Pascoe. After she dies, Daniel respects her final wish to be buried in her own garden. Having circumvented a Christian burial - as well as moving himself into her decrepit cottage - Daniel embellishes the lie that Mary is too ill to see anyone. As he becomes preoccupied with his growing attraction to Frederick's sister Felicia, his lies about Mary are engendering suspicion among the locals. This simple story is deftly unfurled, but our deeper engagement centres on the vast dread lurking beneath Daniel's everyday routines. As he sows seeds in the cottage's vegetable patch, the soil becomes the mud of the battlefield. Readers who enjoy an epic wartime drama might find this a pared-down affair. Dunmore seems uninterested in mining the Great War for operatic set pieces. Instead, she simply closes in on Daniel's desperate attempts to bring an injured Frederick back to the relative safety of their dugout. That Daniel also loves his friend with an intensity that verges on the taboo is one of the many complexities that Dunmore captures with the allusive economy of a gifted poet. Never striking a false note, The Lie is one of those rare and arresting novels that make you think and feel with greater lucidity. The Lie Helen Dunmore Hutchinson, 304pp, Telegraph offer price: £12.99 plus £1.35 p&p (RRP £14.99).