The Unknown
Cut along the dashed lines and pass the cards around the table.
Settle in with your warmest drink: what part of this book felt best to read on a quiet, cozy evening, and where were you when it pulled you in?
If you could spend one calm afternoon on that remote Vermont island before any trouble started, what would you want to do there?
The story leans on the comfort and fear of being cut off from the world. When has being somewhere remote felt cozy to you, and when has it felt lonely?
Mediums promise a bridge to people we have lost. Setting the scares aside, which moment in the book stirred something tender or personal in you about grief or remembrance?
Old islands and old houses hold a century of memory here. Is there a place from your own life that feels haunted by good memories, and how does returning to it feel?
This is spooky in a curl-up-under-a-blanket way rather than a nightmare way. What did Sager do that let you feel safely scared instead of truly disturbed?
Without giving anything away, how did your feelings toward the island shift from the opening pages to the closing ones, and what emotion stayed with you after you set the book down?
The book sits with the question of whether some things are meant to stay unknown. After finishing, did that idea comfort you or unsettle you, and why do you think it landed that way?