Diversity in Horror Fiction

The Unfinished by Cheryl Isaacs

The Unfinished by Cheryl Isaacs. Recommended. Read if you like atmospheric, slow burn horror

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: HarperCollins

Genre: Demon, Eco Horror, Folk Horror

Audience: Young Adult

Diversity: Kanien’kehá:ka (Mohawk) and Jamacian-American

Content Warnings (Highlight to view):  Child Endangerment, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Kidnapping

Blurb

In this debut YA horror novel by Cheryl Isaacs (Mohawk), small-town athlete Avery is haunted by the black water and Unfinished beings of Kanyen’kehá:ka stories and must turn to the culture she hasn’t felt connected to in order to save her town.

The black water has been waiting. Watching. Hungry for the souls it needs to survive.

When small-town athlete Avery’s morning run leads her to a strange pond in the middle of the forest, she awakens a horror the townspeople of Crook’s Falls have long forgotten.

Avery can smell the water, see it flooding everywhere; she thinks she’s losing her mind. And as the black water haunts Avery—taking a new form each time—people in town begin to go missing.

Though Avery had heard whispers of monsters from her Kanyen’kehá:ka (Mohawk) relatives, she’s never really connected to her Indigenous culture or understood the stories. But the Elders she has distanced herself from now may have the answers she needs.

When Key, her best friend and longtime crush, is the next to disappear, Avery is faced with a choice: listen to the Kanyen’kehá:ka and save the town but lose her friend forever…or listen to her heart and risk everything to get Key back.

In her stunning debut, Cheryl Isaacs pulls the reader down into an unsettling tale of monsters, mystery, and secrets that refuse to stay submerged.

The story begins with Avery, a Kanien’kehá:ka (Mohawk) teenager living in Crook’s Falls, going on her morning run through the forest. She’s trying to get a cross-country scholarship to afford university as she and her mother struggle financially, especially after her parents’ divorce. Avery did her first run for cancer research at age 7 and immediately fell in love. She explains “[Running] had been and still was the closest thing I could imagine to flying.” It also helps still her mind of racing thoughts. Her mother, along with everyone else, has told Avery to never leave the forest path for her own safety (though they don’t elaborate as to why). But apparently, Avery’s never heard the story of Red Riding Hood and decides to do just that. While she doesn’t encounter any wolves, Avery does come across a hidden meadow with a strange, black pond that gives her a sense of unease. When she peers into it, her reflection smiles at her. Thoroughly freaked out Avery manages to stumble her way back to the path and runs home.

Her overprotective mother, Violet, was worried about her daughter going on an early morning excursion without leaving a note, but Avery blows off her concern (something she does frequently with her friends as well). At first, Avery doesn’t treat her–or her friends, Key and Stella– that well, mostly because she’s so reserved and pushes them away when things get too emotionally heavy for her. But her friends accept these aspects of her and are supportive (Avery is essentially an introvert who was adopted by two extroverts, which is usually how introverts like me make friends). She even admits “And here it was—the maddening part of my personality that just couldn’t deal with Serious Feelings Talk. Sharing. Vulnerability. I couldn’t do any of it, even when I wanted to… But just like my mom, I found sharing scary. Unlike her, I was basically a coward.” Avery does get better as the story progresses though.

Avery finds that the black water seems to have followed her home, showing up in her dreams, her shower, her coffee, and even flooding a bus she’s riding. She has strange visions no one else can see that get progressively worse as time passes. Sleep deprived with frayed nerves Avery tries to open up about what’s happening to others, but people either don’t believe her or tell her to just ignore it. Avery is beginning to question her sanity when folks start to disappear, and she realizes it’s all connected to the Black water and a strange pale figure called “The Ragged Man.”

I found the most interesting part of the story to be Avery’s character development. She starts the book feeling disconnected from her culture and holding the world at arm’s length. Avery just can’t deal with her emotions or opening up to others. Part of this is because Avery thinks that if she speaks something, that makes it real, but if she just suppresses it then it will go away. This is based on her belief that she caused her parents divorce by asking them if they were getting divorced: her question made it happen. Although she understands intellectually that can’t be true, it doesn’t stop her from believing it. As Avery explains, “…saying things can make them real, and when they’re real, they can be taken away.” But as the story progresses Avery finds her strength by connecting to others.

Part of Avery’s disconnect from her Kanien’kehá:ka heritage is because her mother refused to teach her about it growing up. Avery explains “I think Mom was afraid it might do me more harm than good, marking me as different in a world that only claimed to value diversity.” This also may be a remanent of the lasting damage done by residential schools. As Noetta, an Osage, Mvskoke Creek, and Seminole woman explained in an interview with PBS “There are some Natives that were so affected by their boarding school experiences that they chose not to raise their children in the traditional ways” resulting in a loss of culture between the generations. As is perfectly summarized by the website Native Hope “All of these current challenges—lack of educational opportunity, physical and mental health disparities, the intense impact of historical trauma, lack of economic independence—are part of the great tragedy facing Native Americans: the loss of Native American culture and identity.”

For example, Avery’s can’t understand when her Ihstá (aunt), Lily, tries to speak Kanyen’kéha (the Kanien’kehá:ka language) to her, only knowing a few words because her mother never taught Avery their language. This loss of culture and community may be part of the reason Avery struggles so much with her mental health and feels like she must be independent, never relying on others for help. Unlike the traditional western approach to Wellness which focuses primarily on the body, Native communities often have a more holistic approach. According to the Canadian Health Justice website “There is immense diversity in approaches to wellness among different Indigenous communities however, a core concept of health and wellness common to First Nations, Métis, and Inuit people is that people, earth, and everything around us are deeply interconnected and that wellness comes from holistic internal and external balance that goes beyond the absence of illness.” Without these important connections Avery’s mental health suffers.

Obviously, I can never understand the struggles American Indians go through, nor what it feels like to have your culture erased by residential schools (amongst other forms of cultural genocide), and I won’t pretend to. But I still found myself relating to Avery’s longing for a culture erased by colonialism. As some of you are aware, I’m half Black (though white passing), and while Black Americans do have their own rich culture, it doesn’t hurt any less knowing that generations worth of culture and knowledge have been erased by the enslavement of Africans by Euro-Westerners. While some remnants of African cultures still remain (like in music, food, religion, and even speech) it’s not the same thing as knowing how to speak the language of my ancestors or follow their spiritual beliefs because I don’t know what those were, and there’s really no way of finding out what specific region of Africa my family came from (genetic testing can narrow it down to a general area, but not a culture).

I know it’s not the same, but Avery’s despair over feeling like she was losing her roots stirred up grief and frustration in me. It was the same feeling I get when my white mother talks about the genealogy research she does for her side of the family (who are horrible people I don’t like) that she can trace back hundred of years. I would love to do that with the Black side of my family (who I’m much closer to), because that information was erased when they were enslaved. Again, I can’t really know how Avery feels, but I know how she made me feel. I guess what I’m saying is this book stirred up a lot of deep-rooted feelings for me. Avery feeling like she wasn’t part of her culture, or had a right to tell their stories really resonated with me as a biracial person who sometimes feel like an intruder in both my parent’s cultures. For Avery, reconnecting to her family and culture, and learning to rely on her friends, is the best way for her to heal and holds the key to defeating the black water.

The black water reminded me of MMIW and Native children taken from their families by the government. It’s supernatural metaphor for very real problems destroying Native communities today. When the black water steals someone the community finds reasons to excuse their absence, like “they ran away from home” and the police show little to no interest in their disappearance. I found the black water to be especially creepy, and at first, I believed it had to be based on some real-world legend. But no, it was entirely Isaac’s own invention, which I found impressive. The black water felt like a story passed down as a warning from generation to generation, and not something the author just invented for the book. However, Isaac does use some traditional stories in her narrative. Avery reflects on Haudenosaunee (the six Iroquois Nations) creation story of Sky Woman, at first believing  Sky Woman’s fall from the Sky World is something terrifying, a punishment for being too curious. But a Kanien’kehá:ka elder makes her realize that if Sky Woman hadn’t fallen, we wouldn’t have Turtle Island (the name used by some American Indians for what Euro-Westerners call North and Central America) or the Haudenosaunee people. So, although change can be scary, good things can come from it.

This made it the antagonist of the story even creepier, and this was definitely a creepy book, filled with a general sense of unease. But it wasn’t scary per se, so perfect for people who want to dip their toes in the shallow end of the horror pool. Your personal experience may vary, but I think this will appeal to fans who don’t usually read horror. You’ll also notice there aren’t a lot of trigger warnings for this book. The Unfinished feels very approachable, but if you’re a hardened horror fan, you may be disappointed at the lack of scares. I liked how the story centers around a teenage girl trying to save the boy she’s crushing on, a nice inversion of the “damsel in distress” trope, and the message about building community and relationships.

I personally feel that The Unfinished would have worked better as a novella, as the story really dragged for me. The pacing is much slower than I usually prefer, focusing more on atmosphere, emotion, and building suspense than action. Which is fine, it just didn’t grab my attention as much as other books. Keep in mind however, I do struggle with ADHD so I tend to prefer a fast pace with a lot going on over atmospheric reads. Those who do like a slow buildup of suspense and in-depth character studies will probably have no issue with the lack of action. I also found that the story was very repetitive; Avery sees something creepy, gets scared, goes to someone for help but then has trouble actually asking for help then runs away, lather, rinse, repeat. I understand this was probably to give Avery more time to develop her character, but to me it came off as unnecessary padding, which just reinforced my opinion that this would have worked better as a shorter story. The only other fault I found is something that’s admittedly, very nitpicky. I just really wished that Avery and Key could have just been friends instead of having an awkward crush get in the way, but that’s just my queer aversion to hetero romance tropes and I feel like most readers won’t care about that. Even though I had some issues with the length of the book I still enjoyed the story and its message, and I think it will be relatable to many BIPOC people who feel disconnected from their culture.

*If you want to learn more about the Haudenosaunee confederacy, I highly recommend the Iroquois Museum in Howes Cave, NY. I visited it years ago and found the museum highly informative and had great conversations with the staff and an elder who had painted the mural in the museum. If you’re not near New York the museum’s website has virtual tours and an online gift shop that sells educational books.

Tags: American Indian, BIPOC, Book Review, Demon, Folk Horror, Mohawk, Own Voices, Recommended, Young Adult

You’ve Awoken Her by Ana Dávila Cardinal

You've Awoken Her by Ann Dávila Cardinal. Recommended. Read if you like Cthulhu, Criticizing Classism

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: HarperCollins

Genre: Eldritch Horror, Mystery

Audience: Young Adult

Diversity: Puerto Rican main character and author, main character with anxiety disorder

Takes Place in: The Hamptons, NY

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Ableism, Child Endangerment, Classism, Death, Forced Captivity, Mental Illness, Racism, Police Harassment

Blurb

All Gabi wants is to spend the summer in his room, surrounded by his Funkos and books, but with his mom traveling, his bags are packed for the last place he wants to visit—the Hamptons. Staying with his best friend should have him willing to peek out of his cave, but ever since Ruth’s nouveau riche family moved, their friendship has been off.

Surrounded by mansions, country clubs, and Ruth’s new boyfriend, Frost Thurston—the axis that Hampton society orbits around—it doesn’t take long for Gabi to feel completely out of place. But when he witnesses a woman being pulled under the ocean water, and no one—not the police or anyone else in the Hamptons—seems to care, Gabi starts to wonder if maybe the beachside town’s bad vibes are more real than he thought.

As the “accidental” deaths and drownings begin to climb, Gabi knows he’ll need proof to convince Ruth they’re all in danger. And while the Thurston family name keeps rising to the top, along with every fresh body, what’s worst is that all the signs point to something lurking beneath the water—something with tentacles and a thirst for blood. Can Gabi figure out how the two are intertwined and put an end to the string of deaths…before becoming the water’s next victim?

I received this product for free in return for providing an honest and unbiased review. I received no other compensation. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.

As an introvert, being forced out of my cave of books and horror movies and into new social situations is not my idea of a good time. Even more so if it means being surrounded by rich white people. I’ve seen Get Out, I know how that story ends. But that’s exactly how Gabriel (Gabi for short) is meant to spend his summer, with his white, Nouveau Riche best friend Ruth. Ruth has invited Gabi to her new house in the Hamptons to meet all her new, rich friends and basically make sure her bestie doesn’t spend the summer in his room glued to his computer. If you’re not familiar with the Hamptons, it’s a popular seaside resort with a large artist community where wealthy New Yorkers like to summer. But the Hamptons aren’t exclusively white (even if it sometimes seems that way). Sag Harbor was a refuge for upper and middle class Blacks starting in the 1940s and the Shinnecock Nation were the original inhabitants and still reside there today (which Cardinal makes a point of mentioning). And of course, there’s the Hampton’s Latin American population who make up the bulk of the workforce there.

Gabi adores Ruth (platonically): she’s feisty, independent, and extremely loyal to the people she loves. Unfortunately, who she loves right now is a guy name Frost who is the absolute worst. Gabriel has put up with Ruth’s bad taste in men for years, but Frost is definitely the bottom of the barrel:an arrogant hip-hop producer who’s used to getting his way. It’s interesting how Frost (not his actual name) profits off Black music while being white and owns a Basquiat (a Black, neo-expressionist street artist who rose to fame in the 1980s and sadly died of a heroin overdose at the age of 27), without sharing the artist’s anti-capitalist views or even really recognizing the themes of colonialism and class struggle in the artwork. It’s clear he only cares about Black culture as far as it makes him look cool. He also calls Ruth “Tiki” because her paternal great-grandmother was Native Hawaiian. Ew. But Ruth is Gabi’s best friend so he tries his best to get along with her new beau, no matter how loathsome he finds him. Okay, admittedly, he could try and be a little more accepting and less judgmental of everyone in the Hamptons, but Frost totally deserves it. The Hamptons aren’t completely terrible, though. Gabi gets to meet Lars, a pansexual restaurant owner who grew up in South Boston (yay Boston) and Georgina, a bartender and fellow horror fan with a dry sense of humor (and part of the aforementioned Latine workforce) who he strikes up a friendship with.

The Irony of the Negro Policeman painting done in Acrylic and oilstick on wood. A neo-expressionist painting of a Black man in a midnight blue police uniform with a skull-like face. The red and blue top hat he wears resembles a cage.

Irony of Negro Policeman by Jean-Michel Basquiat in 1981. Acrylic and oilstick on wood.

The class divide is clearly putting a strain on their friendship, with Gabi feeling afraid of getting replaced by Ruth’s new friends and left behind. Ruth is concerned by what she sees at Gabi’s lack off support and is also afraid of losing him. And it doesn’t help that Frost is whispering in her ear that Gabi’s jealous of her new life and trying to ruin it for him. It’s causing understandable tension and neither of them are entirely at fault for it. Gabi tends to deal with his insecurity by being snarky, even when people are trying to be nice to him, while Ruth keeps forcing Gabi into situations that make him uncomfortable and trying to get him to be friends with Frost. Clearly, both of them need to read up on Michael Suileabhain-Wilson’s Five Geek Social Fallacies, namely Geek Social Fallacy #4: Friendship Is Transitive (Ruth doesn’t seem to get that not all of her friends will get along, and that’s okay) and Geek Social Fallacy #3: Friendship Before All (Gabi needs to accept that Ruth is allowed to go off and live her own life without it being a slight on him).

While annoying at times, I think their behavior is not uncommon for young adults who are still learning the intricacies of relationships. As a grown up with a fully developed frontal lobe and years of experience with friendships, yes, the character’s behavior can be annoying. But for teenagers who have been friends since early childhood and are probably facing the idea of growing apart for the very first time, their actions make sense. Hell, I probably would have responded the same way at their age. And here is where I remind everyone this book is written for young adults, so if you’re older, you may not find the characters relatable. But that’s okay, the book isn’t for you. And honestly, I found both Gabi and Ruth well developed and likeable, even when they were acting like brats (again, they’re teenagers, it comes with the territory). I also really appreciated that there was no hint of romance between two friends. It’s nice to see them just be friends, as the “men and women can’t be friends” trope is one of my pet peeves.

I’ve written before about how Lovecraft was a racist, sexist, xenophobic, antisemitic asshole to the point that even his wife and friends were calling him out on it. So, I love when marginalized authors use his works to create their own, progressive stories. The Horror at Red Hook is basically about how Black and Brown immigrants are a plague, so I love that Cardinal subverts this by making the white inhabitants the invaders instead (which historically they are) and gentrification the real plague on society. The wealthy colonizers are repeatedly compared to white poplars, an invasive tree species that was first introduced in the mid-18th century from Eurasia and that outcompetes many native North American species of plant.

There’s also a lot of talk of appropriation in the horror genre. Gabi’s online nemesis, @SonicReducer, points out that modern zombies are a whitewashed version of the original Haitian zombies who were a symbol of slavery. We learn from Georgina that Lovecraft stole his ideas of Cthulhu and the Great Old Ones from other cultures where the creatures actually existed, tying into the book’s themes of colonization. In reality Lovecraft was more likely inspired by Alfred Tennyson’s poem The Kraken and The Gods of Pegāna by Lord Dunsany. He despised anything that wasn’t Anglo-Saxon so I have a difficult time imagining he would have been willing to draw from cultures he viewed as “lesser” for his ideas. Still, fiction requires a willing suspension of disbelief and not me nitpicking a story about an eldritch horror terrorizing the Hamptons, so I’m willing to let it go for the sake of enjoying the story. Plus, it ties into the story’s themes of colonization.

A poorly drawn sketch of Cthulhu in profile sitting on a square drawn by H.P. Lovecraft. The date says May 11th, 1934. H.P. Lovecraft has written underneath the drawing. The words

A sketch of Cthulhu done by H.P. Lovecraft. Clearly Lovecraft was a better writer than he was an artist.

There is some ableism in the book, Gabi describes someone speaking to him as if he has a single digit IQ and refers to another character as looking like a “junkie” (a cruel name for people with substance use disorder), which I was not a fan of. Gabi also refers to Georgina’s make up as “punk rock war paint,” which made me side-eye. But overall, the book wasn’t especially problematic in any way.

I enjoyed the mystery elements, as I’m a total nerd when it comes to research and love when characters go to the library to discover the town’s dark past. In this case, Gabi and Georgina try to discover why people keep disappearing in the town, and if Frost’s family might be behind it. It’s pretty obvious who the bad guys are from the beginning so the mystery elements come more from how they’re making people disappear, why, and who’s next. There’s a sense of dread the hangs over the whole story that I found very effective. The pacing was decent, with enough horror elements to keep the book moving without sacrificing character development. Overall, You’ve Awoken Her is a good book for those looking for scares that aren’t too intense or gory. Body parts are found on the beach, but that’s about as gruesome as things get. While Gabi makes many references to horror films (both real and fictional) you don’t have to be a hardcore fan to enjoy the book.

Tags: Anxiety Disorder, BIPOC, Book Review, Disability, Eldritch, Hispanic/Latinx, Latine/Latino, Mental Illness, Mystery, Own Voices, Puerto Rican, Recommended, Young Adult

They Bloom at Night by Trang Thanh Tran

They Bloom at NIght by by Trang Thanh Tran. Recommended. Read if you like oceanic horror, found family.

 

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Bloomsbury

Genre: Body Horror, Eco Horror

Audience: Print, audio, digital

Diversity: Lesbian, transgender, and gay characters, non-binary author, Vietnamese Author and main characters

Takes Place in: Louisiana

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Animal Death, Animal Cruelty, Death, Homophobia, Pedophilia, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sexism, Transphobia, Verbal/Emotional Abuse

Blurb

A red algae bloom has taken over Mercy, Louisiana. Ever since a devastating hurricane, mutated wildlife lurks in the water that rises by the day. But Mercy has always been a place where monsters walk in plain sight. Especially at its heart: The Cove, where Noon’s life was upended long before the storm at a party her older boyfriend insisted on.

Now, Noon is stuck navigating the submerged town with her mom, who believes their dead family has reincarnated as sea creatures. Alone with the pain of what happened that night at the cove, Noon buries the truth: she is not the right shape.

When Mercy’s predatory leader demands Noon and her mom capture the creature drowning residents, she reluctantly finds an ally in his deadly hunter of a daughter and friends old and new. As the next storm approaches, Noon must confront the past and decide if it’s time to answer the monster itching at her skin.

I received this product for free in return for providing an honest and unbiased review. I received no other compensation. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.

They Bloom at Night is a queer, coming of age, environmental horror story. What at first appears to be a classic tale of “Man vs Nature,” quickly shifts to show that“monster” and environment are not the main antagonists, so much as the greedy human, and, to an extent, the environmental destruction caused by humans.

Since Hurricane Arlene destroyed the town of Mercy, Louisiana two years ago, a red algae bloom on the Mississippi River has become the longest-lasting known to humans. The algae have made fishing difficult for the teenaged Noon (real name Nhung, but most white people can’t pronounce that) and her mother, Tien. The two women have taken over fishing after the disappearance of Noon’s brother and father, who Tien believes are either still alive or have been reincarnated as sea animals and are waiting for rescue out there somewhere. Their family has a guardian water spirit, named Sông, who Noon sees as little more than superstition. Sông is said to have kept her father’s family safe as they made their perilous journey from Vietnam to the United States by sea, and Sông is the reason Tien is convinced that her husband and son are still out there.

Even though, both have likely drowned, Noon’s mother insists they must stay in Mercy to find them, despite her daughter’s desperation to leave the small town. Mercy holds nothing but bad memories for Noon. After her brother, Jaylen, was born, her parents began to ignore her and favor their son. Their home was all but destroyed by Hurricane Arlene. Noon has never felt welcomed among the racist, sexist town folks who hurl jeers at her and her mother when they dock their boat. Loan Shark and businessman Jimmy, the man who controls most of the town through money and fear, still owns their boat and demands Noon and Tien bring him strange, mutated sea life to sell. And Noon was sexually assaulted at Mercy’s Cove by an older boy who had groomed her. When her mother found her, Noon’s hair had turned white and her skin was flaking off. Her body continues to change, her fingernails all fall out and she can only digest raw meat.

When Noon and Tien get to the dock, a girl named Covey who seems to be overseeing things says they must go see her father, who is revealed to be Jimmy. Jimmy explains he wants them to look for a sea monster. People around Mercy have been disappearing, most recently a government scientist studying the algae bloom named Dr. Lucía Delgado. The government wants to close the fishing season early and possibly designate the whole area a disaster zone, and Jimmy can’t have that. He orders Noon and Tien to find whatever creature is causing the disappearances and bring it back to him in three weeks’ time. He informs them that Covey will be accompanying them on their mission. After Tien becomes ill from a rusty nail injury she receives from Jimmy, the two teens are forced to work together to find Jimmy’s monster. A tense relationship between Covey and Noon slowly blossoms into friendship and then into something more as they race to solve the mysterious disappearances and face their own trauma. On their journey Noon reconnects with her old friend, Wilder, who has run away from home, and meets Saffy, who was kicked out of her home after her parents discovered she was transgender.

The hurricane that nearly destroys Mercy has clear parallels to Hurricane Katrina, the 2005 hurricane that decimated New Orleans and caused nearly 1,000 fatalities. Noon refers to her life after Hurricane Arlene as post-Apocalyptic, even though everything is business as usual outside Louisiana. Mercy has some electricity and running water, but it’s unreliable at best. A Rolling Stone article about Hurricane Katrina entitled it Apocalypse in New Orleans. Vanity Fair has one called Hell and High Water: American Apocalypse. Noon explains that politicians think the people who chose to stay in Mercy deserve what they got. A research paper entitled System Justification in Responding to the Poor and Displaced in the Aftermath of Hurricane Katrina states

“One sentiment that took hold following Katrina was that those who lived in New Orleans were at fault for having chosen to live there in the first place, and for not having evacuated when the officials issued a mandate. Some went so far as to ask why people would choose to live in a city that lies beneath sea level. Talk show hosts and local newspapers blamed victims and asked why the government was obligated to help those who did not evacuate.”

Two men paddle in high water in the Ninth Ward after Hurricane Katrina.

A photo of the Ninth Ward after Hurricane Katrina. Mario Tama/Getty Images

Besides environmental disaster, one of the major themes of the books is the fraught relationship between parents and their children. Noon states “…the people who hurt us most, who forced us here, have been those responsible for our care.” Saffy’s parents forced her to choose between being her authentic self or living with them and pretending to be a boy. Similarly, Wilder runs away from home because his parents want him to be something he’s not. Because boys are more highly valued then girls, an effeminate boy is a disappointment, and Wilder simply couldn’t continue to fit his parents’ idea of what a man should be. Noon is also a victim of toxic masculinity, and is treated as having less value than her brother Jaylen. Even after her brother and father go missing, presumed dead, her mother continues to place a higher importance on them than her living daughter.

I appreciate that, while all the parents had problems, the Asian parents at least seemed to love their children, and were doing their best while burdened with generational trauma and a traditionally sexist culture. Tran is able to challenge the sexism in Vietnamese culture while also making clear that sexism and bad parenting isn’t exclusive to Asians. Wilder has a tense relationship with his parents who are uncomfortable with his bisexuality and even pressure him to be more manly. But at least they don’t disown him like Saffy’s parents do. There’s at least some hope Wilder will one day be able to reconcile with his mom and dad. Jimmy, on the other hand, is completely irredeemable, not just as person but as a parent. Noon says “Like so many parents Jimmy thinks his daughter is only fit for his hopes. But when we inherit those, we also inherit the mistakes. We are the ones to live with the consequences. Every generation before had a semblance of a chance, but we have the end of the world.” He sees Covey only as an extension of himself, just another tool on his belt. Tien at least tries to be a good mother to Noon, trying to protect her, singing her to sleep at night, and performing Cao gio (coining) to relieve her headaches.

I also liked all the random facts about ocean animals strewn throughout the book. Noon is a huge nerd and I’m totally here for it. Through her we learn that the red algae bloom is not toxic to marine life like the red tide (which can be worsened by hurricanes), but it does seem to cause mutations. We also learn how algae have mutualistic symbiotic relationships with several species, like Coralline algae, a red alga which plays an important role in the ecosystems or coral reefs. A similar type of algae lives in Cassiopea jellyfish, which gives the jellies their color and helps them get food.

An aerial photo of a red tide near the FLorida coastline.

Photo of a red tide from WMBF News.

As a story about embracing the “monstrous” parts of yourself, rather than hiding them away to please your family and society They Bloom at Night will especially appeal to queer and trans readers. I suspect Noon may be non-binary, but hasn’t cracked her egg  yet as many of the things she says and feels about being in a “girl’s body,” like “Monsterhood is a girl’s body you don’t belong in”  and not knowing what it means to be a girl, felt familiar to me as a non-binary AFAB person. She feels more comfortable in a “monstrous” body than one that belongs to a girl. The “body horror” is less horror than it is freedom. Tran is also non-binary and uses they/she pronouns so I wonder if they had similar feelings as a young person. There’s a decent amount of trans and queer representation in the book, with Saffy being transgender, Wilder bisexual, Covey a lesbian, and the lead scientist researching the algae bloom, Dr. Delgado, is non-binary. There may also be some neurodiversity among the group as one of the teens quips that they’re “Team Neurotic Kids with Very Specific Interests,” something else that people are expected to hide away for the comfort of the neurotypical.

Tags: Asian American, BIPOC, Body Horror, Book Review, Eco Horror, Gay, Lesbian, LGBTQIA, Non-binary, Recommended, Trans, Vietnamese, Young Adult
Draw You In Vol.1 – Collector’s Item by Jasper Bark

Draw You In Vol.1 – Collector’s Item by Jasper Bark

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Crystal Lake Publishing

Genre: Blood & Guts, Mystery, Occult

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Gay author, two main characters with mental illness

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Ableism, Amputation, Body Shaming, Child Abuse, Death, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Gore, Homophobia, Mental Illness, Pedophilia, Police Harassment, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Slurs, Transphobia, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence, Xenophobia

Blurb

Can you disappear so completely that only one person remembers you existed?

That’s what comics creator Linda Corrigan asks, when her editor, disappears without a trace. Drawn into an FBI investigation by Agent McPherson, Linda and comics historian Richard Ford unearth a chilling link to the forgotten comic artist R. L. Carver, whose work might just hold the key to a series of mysterious disappearances.

As they explore Carver’s life, they uncover the secret history of horror comics, the misfits, madcaps and macabre masters who forged an industry, frightened a generation and felt the heat of the Federal Government. They also stumble on the shadow history of the United States on a road trip that veers into the nation’s dark underbelly, where forbidden knowledge and forgotten lore await them.

Described as “Kavalier and Clay meets Clive Barker,” Draw You In Vol.1 – Collector’s Item is the first in a mind-bending trilogy of novels. It contains stories within stories that explore horror in all its subgenres, from quiet to psychological horror, from hardcore to cosmic horror.

 

Experience the epic conspiracy thriller that redefines the genre for a new generation.

I received this product for free in return for providing an honest and unbiased review. I received no other compensation. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.

I should start by saying this is the first book in a trilogy, it ends on a cliffhanger, and you’ll be left with more questions than answers. You need to read the full series to get the whole picture, but you won’t have to wait for the next volume to come out because all three books have been published. I’ve only read the first book for this review, so I can’t say what the rest of the series is like, but I enjoyed the first novel. Readers should also be aware the story centers around an FBI investigation with the main character acting as a civilian consultant. While I personally enjoy detective investigation stories like Psych, Lucifer, and Hannibal, I know copaganda is a big turn off for many. Finally, there’s a secret government organization, which may be another turn off for readers, as the whole idea of a wealthy cabal that secretly controls the government has roots in antisemitism (look up “The Elders of Zion” for an example). However, Bark’s secret organization seems to be controlled by wealthy WASPs instead, and one of the people trying to prove its existence is a Jewish man. I personally felt like the secret organization was more of a criticism of how the government often hurts those with marginalized identities than playing into an antisemitic conspiracy theory, but I’m also not Jewish so it may hit different for someone who is.

The story starts with a formerly famous comic book artist named Linda Corrigan who is now struggling to get by. It’s been my personal experience that male authors don’t usually write women well, but I love the way Bark writes Linda. For one thing, I appreciate that she’s middle-aged and heavier set instead of hot, young, and skinny. She acknowledges that her appearance is a double-edged sword; while she no longer gets sexually harassed, misogynist editors now ignore Linda completely. Her complicated relationship with being an artist, especially now that she’s no longer popular, also felt relatable and realistic. Linda loves being an artist, but the industry does not love her back, and it’s a difficult job, full of heartbreak and financial strain. She doesn’t just miss the money, but the attention she used to get as a famous artist.

She’s struggling to market and sell her independent graphic novel, Doom Divine (the title comes from the Algernon Swinburne poem The Death of Richard Wagner) and it’s destroying her morale. Linda misses the old days when she was on panels and invited as a guest artist. As someone who used to do artist alleys at anime cons 10+ years ago, I can relate to Linda’s fond memories of the past. I remember when it was easy to get into an artist alley back in 2009 and Boston Comic Con was a one-day event in a basement room that cost about $20 to get in (you got a discount if you wore a costume). It was mostly indie comic creators and comic shops selling back issues back then. Of course, Linda also admits that comic cons have become much safer for women than they used to be earlier in her career, when she was one of the few female comic artists and was used to sexual harassment. She’s happy to see both more women attendees and women working in the industry.

Linda is getting little traffic at her booth and debates packing it up early when she runs into one of her old editors at Fox Comics (I love that Bark uses a real comic book publisher from the past), Paul Kleinman. The two begin joking around and Paul shows her an old sketchbook of horror art. Linda recognizes the work as being by a little-known comic artist named R.L. Carver. Paul lets her use Carver’s old pen and sketchbook, and she draws a quick portrait of the editor. He ends up inviting her to an exclusive party with a bunch of other editors that could really help Linda’s career. Linda puts on her Vampirella dress (another fun comic book nod), and heads to the party, but when she arrives, no one has heard of Paul and she’s not on the list. To add insult to injury her old assistant editor Stephanie tells her that her dress isn’t age appropriate and too revealing. Hurt and humiliated Linda heads home wondering how Paul could play such a cruel trick on her.

At the con the next day, no one seems to remember who Paul is. His mysterious disappearance triggers one of Linda’s panic attacks. She reports Paul missing after about a week, but the police imply Linda is ether crazy or lying for filing a missing persons report for a man who seemingly doesn’t exist. She’s beginning to believe maybe she really is losing her mind when Agent McPherson of the FBI tracks her down. He tells Linda that Paul isn’t the only mysterious disappearance connected to R.L. Carver’s sketchbook, and he offers her a position as a special advisor to the FBI. Joined by a comic historian named Richard Ford, the three set out to learn the history of the enigmatic Carver. Linda finds herself relating to Carver because he’s also a comic artist ahead of his time who’s dismissed by the industry. As she learns more about his story, she begins to wonder if pursuing a career as an artist is truly worth it. As the mystery at the root of the story unfolds, we also learn more about the comic industry and its history.

The cover for Tales from the Crypt #29 shows a hunch backed ogre nailing a man into a coffin. The cover for Black Cat #50 depicts a man's face and hands melting down to the bone from a tube of uranium. Weird Mysteries #5 shows the purple gloved hands of a man removing the brain of an ape's head. The cover of Eerie #2 has a skeleton holding a lantern and staff of bone leading a woman in chains through a sewer. The woman wears a torn yellow dress.

Tales from the Crypt #29, Black Cat #50, Weird Mysteries #5, Eerie #2

Carver is revealed to be a Black comic artist (although I notice the editor didn’t capitalize Black) like Matt Baker, Elmer C. Stoner, and Jackie Ormes, who starts out drawing horror comics, similar to Alvin C. Hollingsworth (To learn more about Black comic artists check out Invisible Men: The Trailblazing Black Artists of Comic Books). We also learn later in the book that he’s asexual (yay for ace rep). Carver draws stories for the pre-Comics Code horror comics of the early 1950s, like Voodoo, Eerie, Suspense Comics, Black Cat, and Tales from the Crypt. Carver even has his own “horror hosts,” similar to the Crypt Keeper and Uncle Creepy, called the Saints of the Damned. Unfortunately, Carver’s work becomes too realistic and horrific and he’s eventually fired. Struggling to find work, Carver does a brief stint drawing fetish comics. This is similar to Joe Shuster, one of the original creators of Superman, who did BDSM comics under the pseudonym of Clancy when he was desperate for money (which you can learn more about in Secret Identity: The Fetish Art of Superman’s Co-Creator Joe Shuster). Of course, the creation of the Comics Code Authority in 1954 would have made Carver’s graphic illustrations impossible to print.

Blue Beetle #31 depicts a man clad in a blue scaly costume with a blue domino mask, red gloves, and a red belt. He is fighting Japanese soldiers in a WWII battle. There's a tank behind him with American soldiers. The City of the Living Dead cover shows a blond, white woman adventurer holding a whip. She stands in a cave full of human bones in front of a white-faced corpse that's been tied up by the wrists. The cover of Phantom Lady shows a dark haired white woman in a skimpy blue costume with a red belt and red cape. She is standing in front of a giant page with writing that is being read by an emaciated yellow hand with long finger nails.

Blue Beetle #31 drawn by E C Stoner, City of the Living Dead drawn by A.C.Hollingsworth, Phantom Lady #13 drawn by Matt Baker

A psychiatrist named Dr. Fredric Wertham was largely responsible for the Code. His book, Seduction of the Innocent: The Influence of Comic Books on Today’s Youth, blamed comic books that depicted sex, crime, and drug use for contributing to juvenile delinquency by encouraging these acts in young people. Not even the relatively tame superhero comics were safe, with Wertham claiming that Batman and Robin encouraged homosexuality and Superman was un-American and fascist (which I’m sure his two Jewish creators must have appreciated). Seduction of the Innocent was extremely popular, even winning a Book of the Year award, and this popularity stirred up a moral panic across the country. This eventually lead the United States Senate Subcommittee on Juvenile Delinquency to hold the comic book hearings  in 1954. By September of that year the Comics Magazine Association of America came together to create the now defunct Comics Code Authority, a self-censoring body to regulate the content of comic books. Rukes included “No comic magazine shall use the words “horror” or “terror” in its title” and “All lurid, unsavory, gruesome illustrations shall be eliminated.” This censorship hit horror comics, particularly publisher EC, especially hard.

Finally, Carver settled on making Underground comix. Comix emerged in the 1960s partially in response to the draconian restrictions enforced by the Comics Code Authority. These comics were either self-published or published by a small press and were sold in head shops. They often depicted drug use, free love, and political commentary. The golden age of underground comix lasted from 1968 to 1972, starting when Robert Crumb published Zap Comix. Underground horror comix rose in popularity during this time, many of them inspired by the EC Comics of the 1950s. Titles including Skull (Rip Off Press), Insect Fear (Print Mint), Death Rattle (Kitchen Sink), and Bogeyman (San Francisco Comic Book Company) were published in the early 1970s.

Boogeyman shows a monster in a graveyard with green skin and a white face with giant black eyes and a salivating mouth full of sharp teeth. In it's fist it holds a small demon with moth wings. Skull shows what appears to be an Aztec cult. There is a disfigured face in the foreground in a black cloak with a symbol on the forehead. A light skinned woman in a skimpy outfit walks a fierce dog on a leash. Insect Fear depicts a giant, neon green mosquito in a laboratory.

Bogeyman #3, Skull #5, Insect Fear #1

The amount of research that went into creating Draw You In Collector’s Item is impressive. Bark makes several references to real world artists like John Severin and Jack Cole, writers like Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko, publishers like Fox Comics (creator of Blue Beetle) and EC (creator of Tales from the Crypt and Mad Magazine), series like Terry and the Pirates, and even individual comics like DC’s House of Secrets #92 which features the first appearance of Swamp Thing. Bark also references other historical elements like the Cartoonist and Illustrators School (later the School of Visual Arts) created by Burne Hogarth for returning GIs and the Kefauver Hearings. Even the Louisiana Voodoo (which has differences from Haitian Vodou) was well researched, something that’s rare in the horror genre and routinely reduces a religion down to zombies and curses. I studied Vodou in college as part of an anthropology course (there was a lot of arguing with my white professor that yes, it was in fact a “real” religion) and found that Bark uses proper terminology when referring to the spiritual leaders (oungan and manbo), spirits (lwa), symbols (veves) and takes care to not make Voodoo seem like a “primitive” belief system. Bark even includes the manbo and ougan, Cécile Fatiman and Dutty Boukman, who conducted a Vodou ceremony at Bois Caïman, which is credited with being the catalyst that started 1791 slave rebellion of the enslaved Haitians against the French slaveholders.

The numerous mysteries at the center of the story (many of which I haven’t revealed to avoid spoilers) grabbed my attention and managed to hold it for the entirety of the book: no small feat considering I have ADD and can’t focus on one thing for long. The characters are all intriguing and I enjoyed the diversity of opinions and personalities. For example, Richard struggles with the stigma of having a mental illness while also having to be reminded by Linda to be more aware of his white male privilege, which always ruffles his feathers. Sometimes she feels sympathy for him, other times she appreciates how he admires her work or is impressed by his research skills, and on still other occasions she finds him incredibly frustrating and ignorant. I appreciate Bark’s honest representations of mental health for both Linda and Richard as well as accurate exploration of the harassment women face in the comic book industry. Overall, this is a fun, captivating read and I can see why it’s called Draw You In because that’s exactly what this book does.

 

Tags: Adult, African American, Asexual, Black, Blood & Guts, Book Review, Gay, LGBTQIA, Mental Illness, Mystery, Occult
I’m Sorry if I Scared You by Mae Murray

I’m Sorry if I Scared You by Mae Murray

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Medusa Publishing Haus

Genre: Body Horror, Sci-Fi Horror

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Bisexual main character, Lesbian major character; queer author of Indigenous descent with a chronic illness/physical disability 

Takes Place in: Arkansas

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Animal Death, Antisemitism, Childbirth, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Gore, Homophobia, Physical Abuse, Police Harassment, Rape/Sexual Assault, Slurs, Slut-Shaming

Blurb

Thanksgiving 2010.
The world prepares for the first lunar eclipse to take place on the winter solstice since the year 1638. Crop circles, strange animals, disappearances, and UFOs permeate the empty countryside of the American South.

Odette “Odie” Tucker is a first-generation college student, returning home from Boston to rural Arkansas for the holidays. On the drive home, she endures a pill-induced abortion in a gas station bathroom, the product of a recent rape she has told no one about. On a whim, she ‘rescues’ the clump of expelled cells in a plastic water bottle.

At home, Odie faces the suppressed feelings of abandonment from her family and lifelong best friend Dale, an out butch lesbian Odie is too afraid to admit she’s in love with. When Odie’s abortion becomes sentient and possesses her, she begins to live vicariously through its complete embrace of life, love, sex, violence, and vengeance.

I started I’m Sorry if I Scared You while recovering from a salpingectomy. One of my biggest phobias is getting pregnant and giving birth, and with Roe v. Wade being overturned in 2022 and the current administration’s war on birth control, I wasn’t taking any chances. And post-sterilization seemed like a good time to read a Southern rape revenge story about a sentient fetus and the occasional space alien.

Most of the story takes place in rural Arkansas, from where Murray originally hails. I’m Sorry if I Scared You is a love letter to that area and the low-income families that do their best to survive there. Poverty is a serious issue in Arkansas. Its poverty rate of 17.2% is the seventh highest in the nation, above the national official poverty measure of 11.1%. It’s one of the worst states for child well-being, has a higher suicide by gun rate than the rest of the US, has an incarceration rate of 912 per 100,000 people (making it the third highest in the Nation), is one of the least educated states, the most homophobic/transphobic, and is ranked one of the worst states to live in due to the economy. In contrast, Massachusetts, the state where Murray currently lives and her main character, Odie (short for Odette), goes to school, is one of the richest states, the first to legalize same-sex marriage in the country, and the most educated state in the US. We were also voted the snobbiest state (and apparently we’re proud of it), but more on that later. Odie is the first in her family to get into college (implied to be Harvard) and she views school and moving to Mass as her ticket to a better life. That is, until she’s raped by another student and discovers things can be shitty pretty much anywhere.

Disillusioned and depressed now that she knows college in Massachusetts can be just as shitty as the things that happen at home, Odie takes Plan B and drives back to Arkansas for Thanksgiving break to find comfort among her friends and family. She drives while bleeding through her pants and passes the clump of cells in a gas station bathroom. For reasons unknown to her, Odie decides to save the embryo in a plastic water bottle and bring it home with her. We learn that Odie has very mixed feelings about home. She’s ashamed of the insect infested trailer and the poverty in which her family lives, but at the same time, she loves her family and her two best friends, Dale (short for Dhalia) and Dwayne, and wants to be with them after such a traumatic event. Both her father and stepmother struggle with substance use disorder, alcohol for her dad and pills for her stepmom, and her teenage brother, Bubba, has already been to rehab for meth.

Substance use disorder (SUD)* does not discriminate when it comes to socioeconomic status, but poverty, lack of formal education, and unemployment are all risk factors for fatal overdoses and make it more difficult to recover from SUD. At my current job working with patients with SUD, I see how much more our low-income and unhoused patients struggle with their recovery than our patients with more financial stability. There are fewer detoxes that accept Medicaid and MassHealth (I live and work in Massachusetts, and MassHealth is our public state insurance), and those that do are often not as nice as the ones that only accept private insurance. Poverty and being unhoused can have disastrous effects on mental health by increasing stress and feelings of hopelessness, which in turn increases the risk of substance abuse. It’s also extremely hard to try and focus on getting better when all your energy goes toward trying to survive. There’s also the shame that comes with both, as poverty and addiction are often viewed by our society as a moral failing, as if poverty and substance use were choices.

Odie struggles with the complexities of loving someone with substance use disorder. Her father is kind and loving one moment, then flies into a violent rage the next. He drinks while he drives, terrifying Odie and Dale. But Odie seems to have accepted his alcoholism as a fact of life, which makes it even sadder. Murray does an excellent job capturing the feelings of despair felt not just by Odie after her assault, but of her friends and family who didn’t “escape” rural Arkansas. Shortly after her return, Odie and Dale head to Club Trinity (probably based on the Triniti Nightclub in Little Rock), the only gay club in the state. Even with Arkansas passing anti-LGBTQIA+ bills left and right, there are still safe havens for the queer community in Arkansas, like Eureka Springs, “the gayest small town in America.” Odie remarks that “The Southern queers did not have the same air of self-importance as the queers in Massachusetts” which, as a Massachusetts queer, I really wanted to be offended by, but it is kind of true. Having lived in Mass my whole life, there’s definitely a lot of classism here, and people will often ask where you went to college so they can judge how well educated you are, especially if you’re in the Boston area or one of the college towns. I’ve read posts by white Massachusetts liberals who will joke about Southern states “getting what they deserve” under Trump, as if there aren’t leftists in red states, and painting Southerners as lesser because they view them as poor and uneducated (and apparently think being low-income and lacking a formal education somehow makes you inferior). They don’t even realize how racist this is since the South has a large Black population.

My grandmother was from Tennessee and also left her depressed hometown of Iron City (the subject of the documentary Iron City Blues) during the great migration to move to Chicago and get her degree. Her family expected her to return home to be a teacher when she graduated, but she knew if she returned, she’d never escape the Jim Crow South and instead stayed in Chicago where there were more opportunities for an educated Black woman. Unlike Odie, my grandmother had nothing but negative things to say about the town she grew up in, and the South was full of bad memories for her. Odie knows her town isn’t a good or safe place to live, but there’s still love there. It’s why she goes back to Arkansas to seek comfort.

This was a weird ass book, and I mean that in the best way possible. I wish I could give more away, but since it’s short, I don’t want to spoil anything. Two of the book’s major themes are police violence and sexual assault (which feels especially poignant in today’s political environment) and it’s gratifying to read about Odie getting her revenge on both the cops and her rapist. A satisfying and sick fantasy since we so rarely get justice in the real world. I liked that there was polyamorous representation and we get to see what it’s like to be queer in a red state. It’s also refreshing to see Murray subvert “hixploitation” horror (examples include films such as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Hills Have Eyes, Motel Hell, and Wrong Turn). Here it’s not the “hillbillies” who are the source of horror, but the rich college kid and corrupt cops.

*If you or someone you know struggles with substance use disorder check out SMART Recovery, a secular and research based peer support group.

Tags: Adult, American Indian, BIPOC, Bisexual, Body Horror, Book Review, Chronic Illness, Disability, Lesbian, LGBTQIA, Own Voices, Physical Disability, Queer, Sci-Fi

This Thing is Starving Isobel Aislin

 

This Thing is Starving by Isobel Aislin. Highly Recommended. Read if you like Linghun, The Road to Hell by Terry Benton-Walker

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Independently Published

Genre: Ghosts/Haunting, Historic Horror

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Asexual main character, trans man character, lesbian character

Takes Place in: Pennsylvania

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Child Abuse, Child Death, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Homophobia, Medical Procedure, Mental Illness, Pedophilia, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self-Harm, Sexism, Slurs, Slut-Shaming, Suicide, Transphobia, Victim Blaming, Violence

Blurb

It’s just a house, right? Houses can’t hurt. Houses can’t bleed.

But this house wants you to.

When the Waite family moves into their new home, they don’t bargain on being unwanted guests. But this house has deep-rooted, blood soaked history, and it’s angry. This Thing is Starving is an unflinchingly feminist love letter to the abused, bursting with feminine rage and told from the perspective of a haunted house.

Warning, this review discusses abuse, rape, and the sexual abuse of minors.

The house on 4377 N. Oscar St is haunted. But this is not your typical haunted house story. This story is told from the house’s point of view as it witnesses the tragedies that befall its owners throughout the year. The house is haunted by four women and one trans boy. The first, and oldest, is Lillian. She lived in the house with her husband in the 1920s and is the most unstable of the five ghosts. Jason was a teenaged, closeted trans boy from the 1950s. Lila was a lesbian from 1975 who hated her queerness. In 2002 the house was owned by a woman named Karissa, a child abuse survivor who struggles with low self-esteem. The final ghost is Kay, a teenaged girl who died in the house after it was abandoned by Karissa in the early 2000s. All the ghosts are victims of abuse, sexual assault, or other forms of violence at the hands of men, and they all met with tragic ends either by their own hand or at the hands of others.

Veronica Waite and her family are the house’s most recent inhabitants. Her mother, Louise, moved them there after escaping an abusive partner and is doing her best to start over. The house immediately takes a disliking to the family, with its wild and grubby children and Louise who it immediately labels a “bad mother” due to her love of wine, parentification of Veronica, and inability to keep track of all her children. The only exception to the house’s ire is Veronica, whom the house feels strangely drawn to. It views her as “a splotch of brightness amongst the gloom” and tries its best to communicate with the eldest Waite child. Veronica certainly seems happy in the beginning. She finds a new friend quickly, makes the cheerleading team, and even lands a hot, football playing boyfriend. She creates beautiful art to hang in her attic room. But then things start to unravel for the family, and the house can do little to stop it. As Veronica struggles with her asexuality and trying to take care of her siblings, she slowly learns how cruel the world can be to women and girls.

Most of the men in this story are horrible, even an old man whose obituary Louise is editing. I’m sure the “not all men” crowd will object to the fact that almost all the cisgender men (and boys) in the story are awful human beings (admittedly sometimes to the point of feeling like caricatures), but I believe this is intentional. The story is being told from the point of view of the house, and the house hates men. Because the house can only witness what happens within its walls, or the lives of the unhappy ghosts who haunt it, the house rarely gets to see the good parts of humanity. Statistically, the majority or murders and rapes are committed by men, so of course the ghosts are more likely to be victims of male violence, leading to the house believing  that all men are inherently bad. Toward the end of the book, a character named Owen shows up who is devoid of the toxic traits shown by most of the other male characters. While he clearly has a crush on his female coworker, he respects her boundaries, supports her decisions, and keeps his desire to protect her in check. But of course, the house can’t recognize that he’s a good man like the audience can, and immediately hates Owen.

Ironically, the house is reinforcing harmful gender stereotypes because it doesn’t understand the complexities and nuances of abuse. It can only see people as innocent victims (women, girls, and AFAB people) or evil perpetrators (cisgender men and boys). But characterizing men as inherently evil gives them permission to behave horribly, as it rejects the notion that they have control over their actions. Essentially, it’s a more insidious form of “boys will be boys.”  But men can, and need to, do better. The house also conveniently ignores the fact that women can not only support the harmful actions of men, but can be perpetrators themselves, and that men can be victims, but Aislin does not. Lillian is abused by her serial killer husband, but when she finally snaps and kills him, she doesn’t free the women he has chained in the basement. Instead, she replaces her husband as the predator in the house and kills them. She even slut shames her husband’s victims, justifying their rapes and murders to herself. Veronica’s younger twin brothers, Charlie and Sawyer, are also revealed to be victims of their father’s abuse (especially Sawyer). Sadly, like Lillian, Sawyer becomes an abuser himself, acting out what he experienced at the hands of his father on his little sister Leslie. The house makes an exception for Jason, a trans man, another victim of male violence, but not for the twins. I suspect that’s because the house is mildly transphobic, and sees Jason as a woman, even though he’s clearly a man and his ghost has a male-presenting form.

While the house feels a fierce protectiveness of Veronica and her baby sister, it shows a cold indifference to their brothers. Interestingly, Louise was also abused by her husband, yet the house doesn’t group her in with other victims. Instead, it views her with scorn for “failing” to protect her girls (but not the boys). This is another sign that the house is not entirely free from its own sexist bias and doesn’t fully understand how abuse works. The house’s hatred of Louise is understandable, with its strong desire to protect, it cannot comprehend a mother “failing” to do so. The problem is that the house expects her to be perfect just because she’s a mom, even though Louise is a victim herself and doing the best she can under the circumstances. She loves her children, and tries her best to protect them, even when the police fail to.

Sadly, judging mothers who are being abused is not an uncommon occurrence. In an interview with NPR, Mother Jones reporter Samantha Michaels explains “It’s basically sexism. Most of the legal experts that I talked with said that it comes down to a cultural expectation that women are responsible for what happens in the home. There’s an expectation that they should be the moral center of the family, that they should reign in the man’s worst impulses, and that they should do whatever they can to protect their child, even if it means, you know, sacrificing themselves.” Mothers can have their children taken from them, and are even sent to prison due to Draconian “failure to protect” laws. Kerry King is one such mother, who is serving a 30-year sentence in prison for not protecting her daughter from their abuser, John Purdy, who is only serving 18 years for abusing King and her daughter. On October 26, 2004 in the case of Nicholson v. Williams the New York Court of Appeals ruled that children who witnessed abuse were wrongfully removed from their mother’s care, and that their non-abusive mothers had not been “neglectful” simply because they were unable to protect their children from witnessing domestic abuse.

This Thing is Starving starts with statistics about the rape, exploitation, and abuse of women and girls. Aislin states that the story is dedicated to the women who never get justice and whose stories are never heard. The book reminds me of rape revenge films without the sensationalism/exploitation common for the genre, similar to Promising Young Woman and Revenge (both films notably have female directors). Except, in this story, most of the victims don’t get revenge. Revenge against an abuser may be satisfying in fiction, but it rarely happens in real life where men often get away with hurting women. This makes the book feel more realistic. And when the house, full of pain and rage, lashes out and tries to hurt abusers and rapists, it usually hurts the innocent as well.

For example, when the house violently kills the teen boys who attempt to rape Kay, she also gets caught in the crossfire and is killed. Hate and anger rarely hurt just the intended target, but others as well. As Maddie Oatman so eloquently puts in her rape revenge article for Mother Jones “These stories offer a retributive vision of justice, the violence of the man mirrored back onto him. Traditional gender roles are flipped—the woman is the predator, and the man is the prey—but the basic shape of the conventional revenge story is unchanged. Witnessing women take revenge in film and fiction may offer a cathartic thrill, but the trope can also function as a trap; vengeance replicates the same power structure the avenger wishes to hold accountable.” She further goes on to explain “But justice can and should mean something other than the balancing of harms, as prison and police abolitionists and other activists have argued. In resisting the carceral approach to punishment, they advocate a politics of structural change, of experimentation and openness to new social forms. These ideas demand a radical artistic approach to match, a breaking free of the traps of the revenge plot. A couple of recent works give us a sense of this. Call it the reparative mode.”

Aislin shows us that there are other, healthier ways to heal from trauma than hunting down and killing your rapist (something victims are sadly arrested for in real life). And honestly, I really appreciate that Aislin presents more realistic ways that survivors can heal from trauma, like leaning on others they trust for support and opening up about what happened.  Instead of perpetuating the cycle of violence like the house does, the survivors heal by breaking free of it. This Thing is Starving is certainly a difficult and heart-wrenching read that contains abortion, rape, revenge porn, conversion therapy, drug addiction, suicidal thoughts, an infant’s death, pedophilia, trauma, a minor doing sex work, and transphobia. But Aislin doesan amazing job handling the difficult topics of abuse, sexual assault, and trauma without making the story feel like trauma porn.

Tags: Adult, Asexual, Book Review, Ghosts/Haunting, Highly Recommended, Historic Horror, Lesbian, LGBTQIA, Queer, Trans
Malicia by Steven dos Santos

Malicia by Steven dos Santos

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Page Street Publishing

Genre: Blood & Guts, Demon, Monster, Mystery, Myth and Folklore, Occult

Audience: Young Adult

Diversity: Gay and bisexual man characters, Dominican Americans, character with anxiety disorder

Takes Place in: The Dominican Republic

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Ableism, Child Death, Death, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Gore, Medical Torture/Abuse, Mental Illness, Suicide, Torture, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence, Vomit

Blurb

Four friends, three days, two lovers, and one very haunted theme park.

On a stormy Halloween weekend, Ray enlists his best friends Joaquin, Sofia, and Isabella to help him make a documentary of Malicia, the abandoned theme park off the coast of the Dominican Republic where his mother and brother died in a mass killing thirteen years ago.

But what should be an easy weekend trip quickly turns into something darker because all four friends have come to Malicia for their own.

Ray has come to Malicia to find out the truth of the massacre that destroyed his family. Isabella has come to make art out of Ray’s tragedy for her own personal gain. Sofia has come to support her friends in one last adventure before she goes to med school. Joaquin already knows the truth of the Malicia Massacre and he has come to betray his crush Ray to the evil that made the park possible.

With an impending hurricane and horrors around every corner, they all struggle to face the deadly storm and their own inner demons. But the deadliest evil of all is the ancient malignant presence on the island.

I received this product for free in return for providing an honest and unbiased review. I received no other compensation. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.

The story is told through alternating first-person perspectives between the four main characters; Raymundo, Joaquin, Sofia, and Isabella. The friends are traveling to spend Halloween weekend in Raymundo’s family’s abandoned, horror-themed amusement park, Malicia. The park was closed after a mysterious mass murder took place, claiming the lives of Raymundo’s mother and brother. The island on which Malicia was built is only accessible by boat, and there’s a massive hurricane headed right toward them, so good luck trying to escape if anything goes wrong. You may question the teens’ decision to go to what is very obviously a cursed murder island during a hurricane, but each of the four have their own reason for being there. Raymundo wants to try and summon his brother’s spirit, Isabella wants to film a documentary about the island, and Joaquin wants to sacrifice Raymundo because the cult he belongs to told him to. (Don’t worry, that’s revealed early in the story, so it’s hardly a spoiler.) Sofia is  there because her friends are, and because she very firmly doesn’t believe in the supernatural or scare easily.

I think the characters were somewhat underdeveloped and one-note, and the exposition felt awkward at times. But honestly, the characters were just an excuse to explore the super cool setting. I mean, an abandoned, horror-themed, cursed, amusement park? Could there be a more perfect location for a horror story? And Santos clearly put a lot of thought into describing Malicia in loving detail. There’s an entire map in the beginning of the book (and I’m a sucker for maps) showing the different areas of the park, like Serial Springs, Paranormal Place, and Creature Canyon. I also liked the ride descriptions, which all sounded like tons of fun.

Malicia strongly reminded meof the island setting in Umineko When They Cry, where the characters are trapped by a typhoon on a remote island that is slowly overtaken by the supernatural (and everyone there dies horrible deaths). As both stories progress, the scares move from strange shadows and murders that could’ve been committed by a human to horror that’s clearly the work of demonic forces.

I enjoyed how the author not only used Spanish frequently throughout the book (which I appreciate that the publisher did not italicize) but words and phrases specific to the Dominican. The friends name their little group the Quisqueya Club, a word of Taíno origin that refers to the inhabitants of Hispaniola. Raymundo and Joaquin refer to each other as pana and tiguere, the friends informally greet each other with “Qué lo que” (what’s up?), Raymundo calls his parents Mai and Pai, and he admits to himself that he’s a Jablador (liar). Many of the monsters are also specific to the Dominican like Los Biembiens and La Jupia. The four friends also prepare Dominican food like mangú and yaniqueques.

Malicia an incrediblya spooky, gory, fun read. Even though it’s a 300+ page book, it felt like a quick read because the chapters are short and the suspense was able to grab my attention, although, admittedly, the story did drag a bit in the middle. The shifting viewpoints throughout the book helped build the suspense as the characters all started to become suspicious of each other. Because it was written for teens, it felt like a PG-13 horror movie with R-rated violence, which, of course, you can get away with in a book. The descriptions of mutilated bodies and rotting flesh are very graphic so this one is definitely not for the squeamish horror fan.

Tags: Anxiety Disorder, BIPOC, Bisexual, Blood & Guts, Book Review, Demon, Disability, Dominican, Gay, Latine/Latino, LGBTQIA, Monster, Mystery, Myths and Folklore, Occult, Own Voices, Young Adult
Feeding Lucy by Mo Medusa

Feeding Lucy by Mo Medusa

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Crooked Foot Press

Genre: Occult

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Lesbian main character, queer, non-binary author

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Animal Death, Cannibalism, Death, Gore, Gaslighting, Gore, Sexism Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence, Vomit 

Blurb

Frankie left home ten years ago, abandoning the tall mountains of her small hometown for the tall buildings of the big city. Desperate for a new life, she was happy to escape her overly-critical mother and the Polish-American customs of her past.

But after a strange caller informs her of her mother’s sudden death, she’s reluctantly drawn back to the mountains for the first time in a decade.

Arriving days before the Scandinavian tradition of Sankta Lucia, the town is aglow with holiday lights and cheer—and the townspeople can’t stop talking about the annual Feast of St. Lucy.

When an unexpected blizzard rolls through, revealing the true nature of the feast—and the evil that resides in the mountains—the darkness of her mother’s past is brought to light once again.

Caught between tradition and terror, Frankie quickly learns that her mother’s overbearing influence won’t be stopped by her death alone.

Taking elements from The Night of the Witches in Polish folklore, and the real tradition of Sankta Lucia, Feeding Lucy is a story of grief, tradition, and the darkness that lives inside of us all.

I received this product for free in return for providing an honest and unbiased review. I received no other compensation. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.

Frankie, or Franciska, as her mother calls her, is suffering through an awkward holiday party at her job when she gets the call that her mother has died. Frankie had a complex relationship with her volatile mother, Lucja. The two lived together in an old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere along with Lucja’s ancient, cranky cat, Zula. Growing up, Frankie felt like her mother loved that old cat more than her. She doesn’t expect affection from her mother because it is so rarely given, and eventually stops expecting everything at all. Lucja is both overbearing and withholding as a mother, obsessing over everything her daughter does one moment, then punishing her with the silent treatment the next. Frankie fears disappointing her mother above all else, yet always seems to do so. Lucja judges everything her daughter does, what she wears, and even what she displays in her room. She grows to hate Lucja, and gets away from her the first chance she gets. Frankie moves to the city, gets a job at a magazine, and joins the local queer scene. She goes no contact with her mother and forgets all about her until she gets the call. Frankie has no interest in her mother’s body, or returning to their small town, but the coroner promises her that Lucja left her a “pretty penny” and she’ll need to come back to her hometown if she wants to collect the insurance money.

Franciska is from Kolbe, a town built by immigrants all from the same small village in Poland, whose descendants are determined to keep their traditions alive. To Franciska, it seems more like they can’t let go of the past. One of their most important traditions is Sankta Lucia (Saint Lucy’s Day) a Catholic feast day commemorating the Sicilian saint who was martyred during the Diocletianic Persecution by the Roman Empire. Saint Lucy’s Day is held on December 13th and is viewed as a precursor of Christmas Day. Because the name Lucia is derived from the Latin “lux,” meaning “light,” and her feast day is celebrated during the darkest time of year, Saint Lucy’s Day is considered a “festival of light” meant to drive away the darkness, similar to Diwali or Hannukah. Young girls dress up as Saint Lucy, in a white robe with a red sash and a wreath of candles on their heads. Songs are sung and saffron buns eaten.

A drawing of a girl with long blond hair and brown eyes wearing a white dress with a red sash. Oh her head is crown of green leaves, red berries, and six white candles. She is holding a seventh candle and it's casting shadows on her face. The picture has a dark blue background with a gold border and holly leaves surrounding the image.

An example of what girls wear for Saint Lucia

Interestingly, Lucia shares her holiday with another Lucy, the Scandinavian Lussi. Lussinatta, or Lussi’s Night is similar to the legend of the Wild Hunt, where Lussi and her band of trolls, witches, and undead spirits would spend the darkest night of the year searching for unsuspecting humans who had stayed out too late or not finished their chores. Those who had not finished spinning yarn or threshing could expect to have their chimneys smashed. Those who were especially unfortunate would be whisked away by Lussi, never to be seen again.

And wouldn’t you know it, Frankie has arrived in Kolbe just in time for the annual Saint Lucy’s feast her mother always organized and the town’s people are very invested in making sure Lucja’s estranged daughter attends the feast (red flag number one). But Frankie just wants to get her inheritance and go back to the city. That is, until she runs into her long-lost love, Stella, working at the coroner’s office. Frankie is so smitten with her former girlfriend that she immediately agrees to stay for Sankta Lucia despite her initial hesitation, and gives Stella a pass for her strange, mercurial behavior (red flag number two). She only briefly wonders how it’s possible that Zula, who was already an old cat when Frankie was a child, is still alive (red flag number three). Even the disturbing visions Frankie starts having during the day, and the horrible nightmares when she sleeps, don’t clue her in to the fact that something is deeply wrong in Kolbe.

I appreciated the depiction of Lucja and Frankie’s dysfunctional relationship. The more we learn, the clearer it becomes that Lucja is emotionally abusive to her daughter, but as is often the case when there’s no physical component, the abuse is not immediately obvious. Lucja uses guilt to manipulate and control her daughter, alternating between coldness and gentle affection. Her love is conditional and young Frankie feels like she has to earn it.

An estranged adult child returning to their small town only to discover the town’s dark secret is one of my favorite horror tropes (seen in such films as Salem’s Lot and Dead Silence), so this was right up my alley. The story has a witchy vibe and a dark, moody atmosphere that makes reading it feel like the calm before the storm (or blizzard in this case). This slow burn horror is perfect for a dark winter’s night.

Tags: Adult, Book Review, Lesbian, LGBTQIA, Non-binary, Occult, Queer
The Eyes Are the Best Part by Monika Kim

The Eyes Are the Best Part by Monika Kim

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Erewhon Books

Genre: Psychological Horror

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Korean-American author, main character, and side characters, Black side character

Takes Place in: LA, California

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Cannibalism, Death, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Gore, Medical Procedures, Mental Illness, Racism, Sexism, Slurs, Slut-Shaming, Violence, Vomit, Xenophobia

Blurb

Ji-won’s life tumbles into disarray in the wake of her Appa’s extramarital affair and subsequent departure. Her mother, distraught. Her younger sister, hurt and confused. Her college freshman grades, failing. Her dreams, horrifying… yet enticing.

In them, Ji-won walks through bloody rooms full of eyes. Succulent blue eyes. Salivatingly blue eyes. Eyes the same shape and shade as George’s, who is Umma’s obnoxious new boyfriend. George has already overstayed his welcome in her family’s claustrophobic apartment. He brags about his puffed-up consulting job, ogles Asian waitresses while dining out, and acts condescending toward Ji-won and her sister as if he deserves all of Umma’s fawning adoration. No, George doesn’t deserve anything from her family. Ji-won will make sure of that.

For no matter how many victims accumulate around her campus or how many people she must deceive and manipulate, Ji-won’s hunger and her rage deserve to be sated.

A brilliantly inventive, subversive novel about a young woman unraveling, Monika Kim’s The Eyes Are the Best Part is a story of a family falling apart and trying to find their way back to each other, marking a bold new voice in horror that will leave readers mesmerized and craving more.

Out of all the types of trauma and injuries the human body can suffer, eye trauma makes me the most squeamish. They’re so soft and vulnerable; whenever I know an eye injury is about to happen in a horror movie, I watch the scene through my fingers. The infamous eye scene in Zombi 2 still makes me squirm. So, I knew a story that centered around ripping out eyes and consuming them would be especially horrific. Interestingly, the book isn’t especially violent. There are only two scenes with any significant amount of blood, though ironically the stabbing and bludgeoning is less disturbing than the scenes of eye trauma and cannibalism (which have comparatively little gore).

After Ji-won Lim’s Appa (Korean for dad) abandons his wife and two daughters their Umma (the Korean word for mom) is completely inconsolable. Despite being a faithful and devoted wife, he still leaves her for another woman. She haunts the entrance to their apartment, hoping he will come back and saying she wants to die without him. It’s at that moment Ji-won realizes their roles are reversed. She has become the mother and Umma the daughter; it’s now Ji-won’s responsibility to take care of her little family.

When Umma was little, her parents left their children to search for work. Her other siblings decided to follow, afraid they would starve to death before their parents returned. But Umma refused to leave their home and instead waited for her parents to return, living off bark and snow throughout the harsh winter. When her family finally returned the following summer, they found her skeletal and delirious. Her older brother mistook her for a ghost.

To Ji-won, her mother’s decision to remain behind seems foolish and naive. She feels frustrated by what she sees as Umma’s stupidity and thinks she’s pathetic for spending her life making herself small and inconspicuous to men. But she also pities how every part of Umma’s life is characterized by suffering and relates to the fact that her mother is always alone. Ji-won is feeling abandoned, not just by her Appa but also her high school friends who all got into Berkeley when she didn’t.  Their loneliness makes both women particularly vulnerable to predatory men. Umma begins dating George, a white man with striking blue eyes. He says he speaks Korean, but is terrible at it and his pronunciation is awful. He clearly fetishizes Asian women as is clear when he leers at a Chinese waitress and later at Ji-won’s chest, makes gross sexual comments to Ji-won and her younger, underage sister Ji-hyun, and goes on trips to Thailand to sleep with the women there.

He also gets mad when they have a white waitress at a Chinese restaurant because he wants to experience “culture,” even though the restaurant is anything but authentic (it’s called Wok and Roll for crying out loud). George has a truck with a bumper sticker that says “I’m a Republican because we can’t all be on welfare,” complains loudly about how kids these days are “too soft” and “easily offended,” and reminiscences about “the good old days.” Essentially, he’s a loud, mediocre, abrasive white man who is thoroughly convinced of his own superiority. Understandably, the sisters can’t stand George, and they both resent Umma for bringing him into their lives, but the conflict averse Ji-won refuses to say anything about it.

Meanwhile, Ji-won befriends a boy in her class who seems like George’s polar opposite. Geoffrey presents himself as an ally. He takes women’s studies, wears “Nevertheless she Persisted” and Ruth Bader Ginsburg t-shirts, reads Ngozi Adichie’s We Should All be Feminists, and is horrified when a group of frat bros at their school say disgusting things about Asian women in front of Ji-won. Ji-won immediately likes Geoffrey and really wants to be his friend. She’s impressed by his intellect and his knowledge of the world. She believes they “get” each other and she doesn’t need her old friends anymore because she has Geoffrey now. But slowly red flags start to pop up. Geoffrey gets extremely jealous when Ji-won spends any time with her new friend (and possible crush) Alexis. At first Ji-won excuses this, thinking he’s just insecure and possessive of his friends like she is. Even when he snatches her phone out of her pocket to get her phone number, acts clingy, or pushes her to do things even after she’s said no, Ji-won continues to ignore his toxic behavior. She doesn’t realize Geoffrey is arrogant, loud, self-absorbed, and rude, just like George. His quips about feminism are just showing off, trying to make himself seem better than other men. He claims he’s an ally because he’s read about oppression, yet still gives Ji-won a thoughtless, racist gift for Christmas. George and Geoffrey are merely two sides of the same coin.

After Appa’s abandonment, the frat boys at her school saying disgusting about Asian women, George invading their life and being horrible, and Geoffrey’s face heel turn, Ji-won is boiling over with barely suppressed rage. Things come to a head when George wakes her from a nightmare and she quickly turns her anger on him and starts cussing him out. She apologizes for Umma’s sake, but the outburst has awoken something in Ji-won. Up until this point Ji-hyun has been begging her Unni (Korean for older sister, an honorific used by younger women to refer to older women) to do something about George and is frustrated by her inaction. Now Ji-hyun notices something is off about Ji-won and starts to worry about her, despite her sister’s insistence that she’s fine. Ji-won is a well-crafted, sympathetic anti-villain who focuses her anger on the toxic men who have wronged her. She cares deeply for her little sister, Ji-hyun, and her Umma, while still finding them frustrating (something I’m sure many daughters will relate to).

She’s also incredibly manipulative, cowardly, jealous, and unable to deal with her emotions in a healthy and mature way. Feeling betrayed that her friends are all going to Berkley, Ji-won hides an heirloom ring then blames one of her friends for stealing it. She continues to try and sabotage their relationships by sending texts pretending to be her other friends or their crushes because she’s upset that they’re “abandoning” her. When her friends finally figure out what she’s doing and try to have a calm conversation about how she hurt them, Ji-won shuts them down and leaves abruptly because she feels like she can’t face what she did. She doesn’t interact with them again for the rest of the story.

Later, Ji-won fucks with George the same way she did with her friends. Because he’s so convinced of his own self-importance and superiority, he’s easily manipulated by a “Oriental girl” he sees as beneath him. She starts by stealing money from his wallet, hiding his keys, and putting his driver’s license down the garbage disposal. Her “pranks” escalate and she destroys his most prized possession, the expensive Rolex his father gave him, and even gets him fired from his job, all why playing innocent. I love that she’s imperfect and gets to do bad things. I’ve mentioned it before, but imperfect, morally gray, sometimes villainous characters are my favorite! There’s too much of a push for protagonists to be perfect and heroic, but too often it leads to dull characters, in my humble opinion, at least. As horrified as I am at some of Ji-won’s behavior, I still love her as a character, and it thrills me that she gets to live out her (and I imagine many other Asian women’s) revenge fantasy.

I’ve touched before on how white men tend to fetishize Asian women and how harmful it is. As Nancy Wang Yuen, a sociologist and author of “Reel Inequality” told USA Today “The idea that Asian women are desirable and exotic and passive isn’t just an innocent stereotype or a desirable trait to envy. The shadowed side of that is they then become targets of hate, sexual violence and physical violence when they aren’t perceived as fully human and deserving of rights to be safe.” Media representation unfortunately only reenforces harmful hypersexualization of Asian women.

Top: Cio-Cio-San from a 2019 production of Madama Butterfly at the San Carlo Theater in Naples. Second row: (left) Gigi from the musical Miss Saigon (right), Fook Mi and Fook Yu from Austin Powers. Third row: (left) a Vietnamese sex worker propositioning Joker and Rafterman from the film Full Metal Jacket (right), Trang Pak hooking up with Coach Carr from film Mean Girls. Fourth Row: a series of sexy costumes loosely inspired by Chinese and Japanese clothing modeled by white women in “yellow face.”

 

One of the editors for this book, and my personal friend, Diana Pho, wrote this piece about being fetishized and harassed as a Vietnamese-American woman during an interview at New York Comic Con back in 2013. Diana was there to host a panel on representation in comics and had donned one of her Asian inspired steampunk outfits and was carrying a parasol. She was approached by a group of white men asking her to do an interview for a “TV show”. Though hesitant, Diana agreed. The interviewer (who she would later learn was Mike Babchik from the now defunct Man Banter) immediately started making sexist and racist comments (you can read a full account of the incident here).

Mike Babchik: So, if I were walking in the rain, could I pay you to walk next to me with your umbrella?

Diana Pho: Pay me?

Mike: If I paid you?

Diana: Then, buy your own umbrella.

Mike: No, I want to buy an umbrella with an Asian girl.

Diana: Then no.

It got even grosser from there.

Mike: Well in my experience, girls who stand next to me longer than 20 seconds get a cream pie.

Diana: I would give you a slap in the face.

Mike: (backing away) Really? Would you?

He then scurried off. As white men tend to do, Man Banter had completely underestimated Diana. They were expecting a weak, submissive, Asian girl who would giggle at their crude remarks, but what they got was a fight from a woman who wasn’t about to put up with their racism and sexual harassment. She told her story, and it wasn’t long before outlets like The Daily Dot, 18 Million Rising, and The Mary Sue all picked up the story. A petition was started to have Mike Babchik’s employer hold him responsible for the harassment. One of the employees from Man Banter sent Diana an apology on Tumblr, and promised to delete the so-called interview and agreed not to return to NYCC (though it sounds like the con was planning to ban them after Diana reported the incident to them). Diana mentioned that while she was angry that this happened to her, she was even more upset that this could be potentially happening to young women and underage girls who didn’t have the same resources, support, or confidence to call them out (I know I certainly wouldn’t have felt comfortable standing up to an adult when I was a teenager). For every Diana there are thousands of other Asian women who don’t get to tell their story. Women whose valid concerns are dismissed as “overreacting,” are shamed into believing it’s their fault, and that they should keep quiet about their experiences.

Diana Pho at New York Comic Con in 2013

The Eyes Are the Best Part is a slow-burn psychological horror story. I was half way through the book and wondering if perhaps I had picked up a thriller by mistake, when things started to get bloody and wild. It’s a suspenseful read, made even more tense by Ji-won’s deteriorating mental state and fraught relationships. The atmosphere is oppressive and claustrophobic, with the tiny, cramped apartment the family shares emphasizing Ji-won’s feeling of being trapped. Kim’s writing is as precise as a surgeon’s blade, gradually becoming more chaotic as Ji-won’s mind begins to unravel. There isn’t a page or paragraph wasted on filler or pointless details. Every line of the book carries meaning and weight.

Tags: Adult, African American, Asian American, BIPOC, Black, Book Review, Highly Recommended, Korean, Psychological Horror
American Ghoul by Michelle McGill-Vargas

American Ghoul by Michelle McGill-Vargas

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Blackstone Publishing, Inc

Genre: Historic Horror, Vampire

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Black main character, Black side characters, Black/Native side character, Black author

Takes Place in: Georgia and Indiana

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Child Abuse, Child Death, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Oppression, Pedophilia, Police Harassment, Physical Abuse, Racism, Self-Harm, Slurs, Suicide, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence, Vomit, Xenophobia

Blurb

You can’t kill someone already dead.

That’s what Lavinia keeps telling her jailer after—allegedly—killing her mistress, Simone Arceaneau. But how could Simone be dead when she was taking callers just a few minutes before? And why was her house always so dark?

Lavinia, a recently freed slave, met Simone, a recently undead vampire, on a plantation in post-Civil War Georgia. With nothing remaining for either woman in the South, the two form a fast friendship and head north. However, Lavinia quickly learns that teaming up with this white woman may be more than she bargained for.

Simone is reckless and impulsive—which would’ve been bad enough on its own, but when combined with her particular diet Lavinia finds herself in way over her head. As she is forced to repeatedly compromise her morals and struggle to make lasting human connections, Lavinia begins to wonder if is she truly free or if has she merely exchanged one form of enslavement for another. As bodies pile up in the small Indiana town they’ve settled in, people start to take a second look at the two newcomers, and Simone and Lavinia’s relationship is stretched to its breaking point…

I received this product for free in return for providing an honest and unbiased review. I received no other compensation. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.

American Ghoul is a unique historical novel with dark humor sprinkled throughout about a free Black woman, her white vampire companion, and all the trouble they get into. Lavinia, the forementioned free woman, hardly feels free after being released from her enslavement after the Civil War. With limited options and too afraid to leave the only home she’s ever known, Lavinia stays at the plantation where she was enslaved, helping her former mistress, Miss Tillie, run it as a brothel. It’s unpleasant work, but Lavina doesn’t dare hope for something better. That is, until she meets a strange white girl named Simone whom she rescues from burning up in the sun. Later she finds Simone drinking the blood of one of the brothel regulars.

Lavinia is an interesting character, as she’s an unlikeable victim who defies the mistaken belief that a victim must also be a good person. What happened to her both during and after her enslavement is horrific, and she’s certainly sympathetic, but Lavinia also does terrible things without feeling particularly guilty about it. She justifies what she does by saying she never killed anyone herself: she just helped Simone do it (which is hardly better). Personally, I love that she’s such a complicated character and gets to be an anti-villain. It’s clear she doesn’t think what she’s doing is that bad, as Lavinia does try to choose immoral people for her vampire friend to bleed dry. But other times, she just picks victims who have things she needs, like a new pair of boots. Lavinia is brave, no-nonsense, and blunt, and doesn’t have a lot of patience for Simone’s nonsense. While Simone is well-educated, Lavinia is clearly the smarter and more practical of the two, and it’s a miracle Simone even managed to survive a year on her own.

With the exception of Lavinia’s love interest, King, and a little girl that Simone murders, very few of the characters are fully good or bad. Take Miss Tillie, Lavinia’s former mistress, for example. She never beat Lavinia, gave her a new dress for Christmas, and speaks to her rather than at her, which causes Lavinia a small pang of guilt when Simone kills her. But while Miss Tillie is a far cry from Simon Legree, she was still complicit in the enslavement other human beings, an unforgiveable sin definitely worthy of making her a vampire’s dinner.

Simone is similar in that she’s not a good person and thinks that helping Lavinia makes up for the fact that she’s also controlling and doesn’t seem to care about anyone but herself (although she claims to love Lavinia). While you can’t help but feel bad for Simone for being turned into a monster against her will, it doesn’t justify the way she treats Lavinia. She wants her friend all to herself, gets extremely jealous if Lavinia spends time with anyone else, and will read her mind without consent to figure out what she’s been doing and where she’s been. Their relationship is toxic at best, and abusive at worst. With Simone’s possessiveness and their shared mental link, Lavinia eventually realizes their connection is almost as bad as the one that tethered her to Miss Tillie.

And of course, there’s the fact a vampire will kill anyone, even children, for food, especially if she’s hungry. Simone’s recklessness when it comes to food often leaves a mess for Lavinia to clean up and gets them both in trouble on numerous occasions. Simone is a spoiled white girl who claims she’s less racist than other white people, but as we learn more about her past it’s revealed that she’s not the white savior she claims to be. This is hinted at early on when Simone refers to Lavinia as her “chocolate savior” (ew), is completely unaware of how dangerous it is to be a Black woman walking around a white town on her own, and laughs when Lavinia doesn’t know how to read a globe. Because Simone also had a troubled past, she thinks she and Lavinia are similar, not realizing her white girl problems are nothing compared to being enslaved. Sometimes it feels like Lavinia is sacrificing everything for a white woman because of some misplaced sense of loyalty.

While the two women make their way to Chicago (a popular destination for formerly enslaved people) Lavinia meets a Romanian couple named Valerica and Victor Radut who own a store where she sells the belongings of Simone’s victims.  The couple recognize Simone as a vampire immediately, and believe Lavinia can protect them from her, since Simone (sort of) does what she says. They believe that in order to kill a vampire you must cut off the head, burn the heart, then drink the ashes for protection (like they did to the body of poor Mercy Brown in 1892). Despite claiming Valerica as a friend, Lavinia is ultimately unmoved by the unfortunate fate that befalls the Raduts because, as she puts it, “Simone was my priority. Maybe the only friend I needed.” Other people who make the mistake of getting close to Lavinia suffer similar fates. It’s hard to decide whether you want the them to face justice or not, or if you want them to get away with all the horrible things they’ve done.

Tags: Adult, African American, BIPOC, Black, Book Review, Historic Horror, vampire

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