Elspeth Wilson’s debut novel, These Mortal Bodies, opens with promise: a university setting laced with mystery, the allure of dark academia, and the messy entanglements of friendship.
At its centre is Ivy, who leaves her quiet coastal hometown in Scotland to study at a prestigious university. From the moment she arrives on campus, Ivy is acutely aware of her outsider status. She throws herself into campus life: joining secret societies, forging intense female friendships, and tracing the university’s legacy from its foundations to the present day. These interests inevitably become the focus of her end of year essay.
The structure, mapped out in academic terms and weeks, offers a satisfying sense of rhythm and captures the familiar ebb and flow of university life. Even if they’re not described, you know the season, you understand the mood and you sense the pressure of the essays which are looming over the characters.
I read this as a thoughtful campus novel with a perspective that is rarely given space in the genre. Through Ivy’s narration we experience the campus and academic life from the perspective of a lower socio-economic background and of a neurodivergent experience. Ivy finds herself surrounded by privilege, constantly aware of the gap between herself and her peers, and caught up in the exhausting task of trying to carve out her own place. She doesn’t come from a family with generations of university alumni, nor does she have the money to effortlessly fit into the social rituals of student life. It’s a refreshing change to see this experience reflected on the page, and I found myself strongly identifying with Ivy in this respect.
Wilson weaves in subtle, understated glimpses of neurodivergence through Ivy’s internal world. Not through overt labels or dramatic revelations, but through the texture of her thoughts and observations. Ivy’s way of processing social situations, her sensitivity to small details, and her tendency to overthink or fixate on certain interactions all build a quiet, authentic portrait of a mind that operates differently. These moments are never spelled out or made into a defining characteristic; instead, they’re embedded into the narrative in a way that feels natural and lived-in. For readers who share Ivy’s perspective, these details will feel instantly recognisable.
That said, the novel’s treatment of class and neurodivergence is subtle, and I think it risks being overlooked by readers expecting a more conventional dark academia experience. While it gestures towards familiar tropes at the beginning of the novel (the societies and talks of witches), it doesn’t fall through with the delivery of the gothic atmosphere or sense of suspense typical of the genre. As dark academia, it may feel too quiet and restrained to fully meet those expectations. However, for readers attuned to its quieter strengths, it shines as a campus novel. It prioritises interiority over aesthetic, refusing to flatten Ivy into a stereotype or single identity marker.
Overall, These Mortal Bodies is ideal if you’re craving a quieter, more reflective take on university life. It offers less of the gothic drama often associated with dark academia, and more of an honest, thoughtful exploration of class, belonging, and identity. A subtle but resonant campus novel, ideal if you are craving a little bit of nostalgia.
These Mortal Bodies publishes on Thursday 17th July 2025 with Simon & Schuster.
Words by Georgia McInnes
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