Diversity in Horror Fiction

The Unhaunting by Micaiah Johnson

The Unhaunting by Micaiah Johnson

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: G. P. Putnam’s Sons

Genre: Ghosts and Haunting, Gothic

Audience: Adult

Diversity: Black author, Black, neurodiverse main character with generalized anxiety disorder. Major bisexual character with alcohol use disorder

Takes Place in: Mississippi

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Ableism, Alcohol Abuse, Child Death, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Mental Illness, Physical Abuse, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self-Harm,  Suicide, Torture, Violence

Blurb

A house, itself, is nothing. It’s not a shelter until it is sheltering someone. A house is a housefire, waiting for its match. A house is a ghost story, waiting for its death.

At the end of the Civil War, a daughter of the confederacy made what she thought was an innocent wish: to build a house where nothing bad could happen. But peace came at a price, and one hundred and seventy years later Shantell and her friends are about to discover where all that darkness ended up.

When Shantell’s best friend, Avery, tells her he has inherited a house big enough to make their dreams of a sanctuary come true, she’s too cautious to be optimistic. A lifetime of loss — her father to the Iraq war, her brother to police violence, and her mother to suicide — has taught her cynicism, and even though Avery swears the house has never experienced a tragedy, she goes along expecting everything from black mold to evil spirits.

But not only is the house in better shape than they’d expected, it makes them better Shantell’s anxiety stops flaring up, terminally shallow Avery is suddenly capable of deeper emotions, and Tobias, Avery’s older brother and the contractor for the job, even quits chain smoking.

There’s an eeriness to the calm, and it’s almost a relief when they realize they do not walk alone in Abernathy House. If nothing bad has ever happened here, where are all these ghosts coming from? As they dig into the house’s history, Shantell, Avery, and Tobias discover that there’s only one thing worse than a house that’s haunted: a house that desperately wants to be.

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.

Shantell expects to hate the rural South based on her grandmother’s stories of lynchings and Jim Crow that she moved North to escape. As someone who’s lived in Massachusetts their whole life, and whose grandmother left the South during the great migration for Chicago, I could definitely relate. But her best friend, a white man named Avery, has just inherited a house in Mississippi and invites her to come live with him there. The offer of a life with no rent and a safe place to ride out her anxiety-induced agoraphobia seems too good to be true. Shantell’s life has been full of death, her mother’s suicide, her father death abroad while in the military, and her brother getting shot by police, but none of those deaths came with anything but loss. Certainly not a free house. But Avery’s family is wealthy, and life has always been good to him. His brother Tobias, not so much. Shantell is upset when she learns Avery has hired Tobias to make repairs on the house since she remembers him as the asshole who punches walls and doesn’t talk much. But as they work together repairing the house Shantell starts to warm up to Tobias.

 

Days pass pleasantly and Shantell feels more comfortable than she has in a long time. But weird things start happening. Shantell sees figures at night and something traps Tobias in the closet despite there being no lock on the door. When the Avery and Shantell go to a nearby gas station to get snacks and coffee the Black owner tells Shantell “Nothing bad happens in the big house” when she asks about the house’s history. She knows he’s trying to tell her something important, but isn’t sure what. Later, while on a ghost tour, their guide Hakeem tells them about the tragedies that happened around town: a mill explosion, a fire that destroyed the homes of thousands, and a mysterious illness that killed a dozen infants over a few days. But none of these tragedies touched the house in which Avery and Shantell now reside. The town seems like it’s cursed, but Hakeem points out the properties around the house were always poorer and Blacker than Avery’s family home. The mill owners most likely chose to ignore basic safety measures to protect their largely non-white and immigrant workers, the victims of the fire couldn’t afford to build with brick, and the working mothers may have relied on a tainted formula supply to feed their babies while the wealthy were free to breastfeed. “There’s a distance from which poverty appears indistinguishable from a curse” Hakeem says.

 

Avery, Shantell, and Tobias don’t realize it, but the house had a dark start. It was built in postbellum Mississippi, by a white woman named Adele whose family and husband enslaved Black people. She tells herself she’s not like them since she didn’t own the slaves personally, only beat a slave once as a child, and while she may not have tried to intervene when her husband raped the women he enslaved, she didn’t actively encourage it like some of her friend did. She’s a “good person” who even once had lunch with abolitionist Harriet Beecher Stowe. Fortunately, the Union army doesn’t listen to her protests and burns down her plantation. Adele decides to build the “safe” place she deserves, the house in which Shantell and Avery now live. She uses very spell and superstition she knows to make the house a safe place, putting brick dust, clay, and ashes from her father’s land. She ignores the fact that the brick dust came from her father’s sweat box, the clay from the ground where he’d staked runaways, and the ashes were from the twenty enslaved people burned alive as punishment for the 1712 slave rebellion, a grim “souvenir” her grandfather had collected,

 

Johnson does an excellent job delving into the racist violence experienced by Black Americans throughout history, from slavery to gang violence, without ever getting too graphic. It reminded me of how Nia DaCosta’s Candyman (2021) chose to portray the violent deaths of each previous Candyman with paper cutouts rather than live actors. The emotional impact of the racial violence is still there, but it feels less traumatic. And for the Black readers, some of what’s discussed in the book is traumatic. I was especially affected by a scene *trigger warning* where Shantell finds a Black man’s hand in a jar labeled “monkey’s hand.” There’s also reference made to the real-life torture and lynching of Sam Hose. *end trigger warning* Mercifully, the book does not go into great detail because it is truly disturbing, and I honestly don’t know if I could’ve handled it, even in a horror book. Fictional violence is one thing, but real-life violence is another entirely. And as someone who is half Black, racist violence hits especially close to home. Some of the scenes felt like a gut punch that left me reeling. A non-Black author never would’ve been able to tell this story in a way that  wasn’t deeply exploitative. But Johnson expertly tackles the horrors of racism, both subtle and extreme, like slavery, police violence, poverty, Black mental health, and even the complexities of being friends with a white person.

 

Shantell and Avery’s friendship really highlights how differently low-income Black women and wealthy white men experience the world. Shantell lives with constant fear and anxiety because she’s hyper aware of what she’s lost and generally has a pessimistic outlook. Avery, on the other hand, assumes everything will always work out no matter what. He’s every dumb white guy in a horror movie, pushing aside everyone else concerns that they’re clearly in a dangerous situation and insisting everything is fine with annoying optimism and naiveite. Avery isn’t a bad guy; it’s clear he cares deeply about Shantell, treating her with deference and trying to protect her from the world. But he’s still rich and white, and even though he does at least try to acknowledge his privilege, it doesn’t always work.

 

This is another thing I think Johnson handled really well. Often, it’s really hard for white people to confront their own internalized racism because they’re not trying to be racist. They also have this idea in their head that only bad people are racist, and because they’re not a bad person they can’t possibly be racist. It’s why in media you get white saviors vs irredeemable racists who border on caricature like Simon Legree. But this type of portrayal is problematic because it reinforces the idea that only the “bad” people are racist when in truth anyone can be racist. We live in a racist society, if you’re white you’re going to say or do something harmful to BIPOCs at some point in your life. And it will probably be unintentional, though no less hurtful. But portraying racism as something only the “bad” people do means you get people who become defensive when someone tries to point out their racism, or they try to minimize the harm they did (pro-tip: when you find yourself in this situation offer a sincere apology to the person you hurt instead of making it about you, and thank them for letting you know).

 

I think that mindset makes it especially hard for people to unlearn their internalized racism. This is why I liked Avery so much as a character, he lives in a gray area that feels much more realistic of many white liberals. Shantell would not have befriended him if he weren’t a good guy, but as any Black person with white friends will tell you, sometimes your friends do shit that just makes you cringe. And Avery is no exception. Shantell discovers Avery inherited the house a while ago, and only decided to move there to help Shantell. She feels hurt that Avery thinks she’s dependent on him and would be lost without his help. She doesn’t even let Avery help her with rent so giving her a house behind her back and lying about it is a betrayal and  like he’s not listening to her. Avery worries a lot more about what people say about Shantell than she does. She doesn’t really care (and honestly if she did, as a neurodiverse Black woman she’d be exhausted ). But Avery also treats her like she’s fragile and needs him to take care of her, like she’s deficient. After Shantell suffered a breakdown, he started to treat her like she was helpless, and she nearly ended their friendship over it.  

 

While it’s never explicitly stated, it’s heavily implied that Shantell is autistic (we know she’s neurodiverse) and I love that. Do you know how hard it is to find neurodiverse Black characters in fiction?  Especially women? On average Black children are diagnosed with autism later than white children, so they end up missing out on early support services. Part of the delay in diagnosis is because traditional autism research has mainly focused on white, middle class families. Another part of it is that Black students are assumed to be ignorant and lazy by a racist education system, minimizing or erasing altogether their access to disability services. Participants in this study also described a lack of resources and external support due to financial constraints, especially since autism evaluations are expensive as hell! Black children are also more likely to be labeled defiant for regular behaviors, so autistic behavior could be misconstrued as child being intentionally disruptive or disobedient. Research also indicates that autism is more likely to be underdiagnosed or misdiagnosed in girls, as it can present differently than in boys. So, if you’re an autistic Black girl or woman like Shantell? Forget it. She probably was never able to get an official diagnosis, which is why it’s not mentioned in the book. But Avery and Shantell are both aware she isn’t neurotypical. And while Avery tries to be supportive, he often crosses into infantilization territory, which Shantell finds degrading.

 

The Unhaunting was such a great read. I was intrigued by idea of an “unhaunted” house, where nothing bad happens there EVER, not even deaths. It seems like a dream come true at first, but the longer you think about it the more sinister it becomes. Why has the community suffered so much tragedy, yet the house remains a safe haven? It even helps Shantell’s anxiety and Tobias stops chain smoking. Never has a house without ghosts felt so scary! The story is written from the house’s point of view, while it observes its current occupants and remembers its past, and through it we learn that it has less than pure motivations, even when it insists it wants to protect the people who live there. But this is a horror story, so you know it’s too good to be true. I also think Johnson did an excellent job depicting Shantell’s internal struggle. She’s aware something is wrong with the house, but she also knows it lifts the burden of her trauma. Would it be wrong to stay there if she can finally be happy after a life of tragedy? You have to admire the strength of Shantell’s character, as most people wouldn’t think twice about accepting the offer of a free house when they’re struggling to pay rent. She’s at least conflicted about it. Ultimately the choices made by both Shantell and Avery highlight how different their lives are due to race and wealth.

 

This is a book about privilege and power, and how those who have treat those who don’t. It addresses violence against Black people, both historical (slavery, lynching) and modern (police murders, gang violence, suicide). There’s even a list of further reading at the end so you can learn more about historical and modern racism, like They Were Her Property: White Women as Slave Owners in the American South by Stephanie E. Jones-Rogers, Watermelons, Nooses, and Straight Razors: Stories from the Jim Crow Museum by David Pilgrim, Afropessimism by Frank B Wilderson III, and The Delectable Negro: Human Consumption and Homoeroticism within US Slave Culture by Vincent Woodard. The nerd in me loves reading lists! The book also explores the weight of grief and trauma on a person, and how it affects them. We learn that Avery and Tobias both have their own trauma they’re trying to process, and we see how differently Shantell and the two brothers process what’s happened to them (the further reading sections recommends Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence by Judith Butler if you want to read more on the subject of how grief affects people). But ultimately the main theme is how those with privilege benefit from the suffering of those without it, whether intentional or not.

Tags: Adult, African American, Alcohol Use Disorder, Anxiety Disorder, Black, Book Review, Disability, Ghosts/Haunting, Gothic, Highly Recommended, Neurodiversity, Own Voices
Harvest House by Cynthia Leitich Smith

Harvest House by Cynthia Leitich Smith

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Candlewick Press

Genre: Ghosts/Haunting

Audience: Young Adults

Diversity: Muscogee main character and side character, Biracial Indigenous Latine major character, Bisexual major character, Ojibwe side character

Takes Place in: Kansas

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Bullying, Death, Police Harassment, Racism, Stalking

Blurb

Deftly leading readers to the literary crossroads of contemporary realism and haunting mystery, Cynthia Leitich Smith revisits the world of her American Indian Youth Literature Award winner Hearts Unbroken. Halloween is near, and Hughie Wolfe is volunteering at a new rural attraction: Harvest House. He’s excited to take part in the fun, spooky show—until he learns that an actor playing the vengeful spirit of an “Indian maiden,” a ghost inspired by local legend, will headline. Folklore aside, unusual things have been happening at night at the crossroads near Harvest House. A creepy man is stalking teenage girls and young women, particularly Indigenous women; dogs are fretful and on edge; and wild animals are behaving strangely. While Hughie weighs how and when to speak up about the bigoted legend, he and his friends begin to investigate the crossroads and whether it might be haunted after all. As Moon rises on All Hallow’s Eve, will they be able to protect themselves and their community? Gripping and evocative, Harvest House showcases a versatile storyteller at her spooky, unsettling best.

Being one of the few Native kids in a mostly white high school can be tough. Hughie, a Muscogee teen in a suburban Kansas town is no stranger to anti-Native racism. Last year Hughie, a huge theater nerd, turned down the role of the Tin Man in his school’s production of the Wizard of Oz to protest L. Frank Baum’s anti-Native views (Baum advocated for the genocide of American Indians). But Hughie is excited for their fall semester play, especially since he and his fellow thespian AJ have been pushing the theater/English teacher Mrs. Q to put on a play by “somebody with melanin.” Sadly  Hughie’s hopes of landing a lead role are crushed when Ms. Q says a fall production just isn’t in their budget for this year (but of course the school could afford new Jumbotrons for the sports games).

Although Hughie is feeling bummed about the play, things aren’t all bad. His crush, an Ojibwe girl named Marie, likes him back, he has a new best friend in Sam Rodríguez, and Sam has invited him to put his theater skills to work on a haunted house. The haunted house, dubbed Harvest House, is a fundraiser for one of Sam’s mom’s friends, a woman named Ms. Fischer who’s drowning in medical debt. Things finally seem to be going well when Ms. Fischer drops a bombshell. The grand finale of the haunted house will be an “Indian burial ground” and she wants Hughie and Sam to play Indians. YIKES. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Ms. Fischer found a (non-Native) girl to play the “Indian maiden” who haunts the crossroads. Hughie is understandably horrified, especially since the death of Indigenous women and girls isn’t something to make light of. But now he’s stuck with a dilemma: does he leave after giving Ms. Fischer his word to stay? Does he try and convinced her to change things? Or does he grin and bear it? It’s an uncomfortable position for a kid to be in. Little does Hughie know that there actually is a Native woman haunting the crossroads outside Harvest House, and she takes the news even less well. The Ghost, named Celeste (her name is really all she can remember) tries to protect other women at the Crossroads from the mysterious “Bad Man” who seems to be targeting Native women.

If you’re unfamiliar with the hashtag #MMIWG2S it means Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Girls, and Two-Spirit People. Native women have one of the highest rates of homicide in the US. The CDC reports that murder is the third-leading cause of death among Native women. Non-Natives commit about 88% of the violent crimes against Native women on tribal lands, but most of these women never see their assailants brought to justice due to federal laws and jurisdiction issues. Pocahontas, also known as Matoaka, was the one of the first MMIWG2S. She was kidnapped and forced to marry one of her captors, then forcibly converted to Christianity and made to give up her culture. Yet her tragic story has been romanticized, most notably by Disney.

Pocahontas has long been portrayed by colonizers as an “Indian Princess.” She has also been intentionally sexualized. In 2017, controversial singer and songwriter Nicki Minaj posted a highly sexualized image of Disney’s version of Pocahontas (link NSFW) on her Instagram. The costume company Dream Girl used to make a sexualized “Native costume” they dubbed “Pocahottie.” While the costume is thankfully no longer in production, similar costumes are still being sold and worn. In the book #NotYourPrincess, in her essay entitled “We are Not a Costume”, journalist Ka’nhehsí:io Deer (Kanien’kehá:ka) writes about the problems with Indian Princess costumes. “…many of [these costumes] also objectify, victimize, and romanticize Indigenous women and girls as exotic other.” Amnesty International states that “Racist and sexist stereotypes lead perpetrators to believe that they can get away with committing acts of violence against Indigenous women and girls.” In Harvest House, the owner of a restaurant at the crossroads prints a story on his October menus about the Native crossroads ghost where he describes her as a “beautiful, exotic Indian maiden.” In death Celeste is exoticized like Matoaka and turned into a stereotype, a story for colonizers to consume. As Celeste puts it “Our enemies take our land and our lives, and then they take our life stories—what’s left of us when we’re gone—and corrupt them. Is there no limit to their greed or selfishness or lies?”

Racism, like the objectification and sexualization of Native women, hurts Native people, even when it’s not done with malice. I like how Smith makes clear that anyone can say or do racist things, not just cross-burning, hood-wearing racists. Ms. Fischer is being racist. She doesn’t seem like a bad person, but her actions still hurt Hughie. He decides that when he talks to her about it that he “would be forthright in a way that left space for listening,” which is very generous of him. Then again, he wants to make sure Ms. Fischer actually listens. Hughie would be well within his rights to chew her out, but unfortunately people are less likely to listen when you yell at them, even when it’s justified. In Austin Channing Brown’s book, I’m Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness, she writes the following paragraph:

“I don’t know where this belief comes from, but I do know it has consequences. When you believe niceness disproves the presence of racism, it’s easy to start believing bigotry is rare, and that the label racist should be applied only to mean-spirited, intentional acts of discrimination. The problem with this framework—besides being a gross misunderstanding of how racism operates in systems and structures enabled by nice people—is that it obligates me to be nice in return, rather than truthful. I am expected to come closer to the racists. Be nicer to them. Coddle them.”

Brown’s point is proven correct by the negative Goodreads comments on her book which accuse her of being “too angry” and “too mean” to white people (though I was happy to note most of the reviews were positive). Ms. Fischer is a nice person, and her intentions aren’t bad. She doesn’t hate Native people. But she is racist.

There’s a reason Hughie always mentions his Indigenous heritage early in conversations with potential new friends as a litmus test to see if they’re bigoted or not, and if he should bother investing in a relationship. Marginalized people need to prioritize their safety and mental health over the feelings of bigots and it’s exhausting wasting energy on a relationship with someone who will inevitably hurt you, then demand you teach them what they did wrong. At one point, Ms. Fischer makes a crack about two of the volunteers being queer and Sam feels bad for not saying anything.

But it can be hard to speak up, especially when you’re a member of that marginalized group (Sam is bisexual) and you feel like you’re constantly having to speak up. Hughie points out it’s okay to pick your battles, an important message for marginalized kids. It’s not your job to constantly educate people, especially adults (which is why it’s so important for allies to speak up). Cricket is an example of what good allyship should look like. When Cricket dismissively says that all girls have to worry about creeps during a conversation about the dangers Native women face she immediately catches herself and apologizes. Cricket messes up, but she’s making an effort to learn about colonialism and be better. She works to prove herself as a friend. She’s not perfect but she’s putting in the time and effort, which Hughie appreciates. 

Later in the book, Hughie’s Prairie Band Potawatomi classmate, Sophie, gets mad at him for participating in Harvest House and calls him an “Uncle Tomahawk” (the Native version of an Uncle Tom). She was impressed when he boycotted the Wizard of Oz play and is now disappointed he’s apparently giving Harvest House a pass. I like how Smith points out that Natives aren’t going to agree on everything, as they aren’t a monolith, nor do all Natives look the same. When Ms. Fischer comments about finding them “cheap black wigs” so they look like “real Indians” (when Hughie is an actual Native!) she thinks of Natives as people who exist only in the past and looked a certain way, as if all Native people are a homogenous group instead of hundreds of different tribes and Native nations. This is why I loved the diversity of Smith’s characters. Hughie keeps his hair short rather than long. Sam and his sister, Ximena, are biracial Indigenous Latinés. Rain, Hughie’s cousin, is light skinned with light brown hair. And one of Hughie’s friends from another school, Queen, is a Black Seminole girl. I was very happy at Smith’s inclusion of a Black Native, since there can be Anti-Blackness* within the Native community.

I will let readers know now, this horror story is very light on the horror (with the exception of the very real-world horror for Indigenous women, girls, and two-spirit people).Think more spoopy fall vibes than scary. Harvest House is perfect for older tweens and young teens looking for something with Halloween vibes but aren’t huge fans of horror, or are looking to ease into the genre slowly. Basically, it’s a horror story you recommend to people who don’t like horror. So don’t go in expecting Goosebumps or Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. And that’s fine! I review a wide range of horror stories for all different tastes. The book is for young adults, but for me, it seemed to lean younger than most YA books I’ve read (which generally seem to be geared older teens). There’s a little bit of mild swearing, an explanation of how someone was murdered, and a brief mention of sex offenders, but nothing the 12-14 range can’t handle.

I found the book very educational, for both Native and non-Native kids. Anyone who is BIPOC will relate to Hughie’s dilemma of whether to call out racism or not, and white kids can benefit from learning about allyship. Non-Natives will learn about anti-Native stereotypes and allyship, and Native kids can enjoy seeing a variety of different Indigenous people represented on page. Fans of Smith’s other works, like Rain Is Not My Indian Name and Hearts Unbroken will be excited to see Rain (Hughie’s cousin) and Lousie (Hughie’s older sister) again.

I personally enjoyed learning words in Mvskoke like “Hvtvm cehecares” which means “I will see you again” (Smith provides a handy glossary of at the end).  I was surprised to discover how incredibly anti-Native and awful L. Frank Baum was, and will definitely never look at the Wizard of Oz the same way again. I liked I like how Smith specifies when a character is white (instead of just making whiteness the default, even in a majority white town), and how strong all the Native women and girls in the book were. But most of all, I loved the message that things won’t always turn out perfectly.

Sometimes, you just have to focus on what you can change and know change can take time. This is also something I learned from my queer, neurodiverse, Black therapist when I was spiraling out over the state of the world, and I think it’s a good message for anyone looking to avoid burnout (because you can’t help anyone in that state).

Hughie isn’t going to singlehandedly solve anti-Native racism or stop violence against Native women, girls, and two-spirit people overnight. But he can take a stand in his largely white community, like he did when he turned down the role of the Tin Man. We see Hughie support local Native artists at the Indian Arts and Crafts Co-Op, show up for his friends when they need emotional support, do volunteer work in the community, and look into the disappearance of a young Native woman, all great ways to create a positive impact.

 

*Because Kayla Shaggy defends author Rebecca Roanhorse in her article, I thought it only fair to also address why many Native people are upset with the author. Essentially, there are concerns about Roanhorse sharing aspects of Diné culture not meant to be shared. As I am not Native myself, it is not my place to comment on the controversy, but I did think it was important to make readers aware of it.

Tags: American Indian, Book Review, Ghosts/Haunting, Latine/Latino, Muscogee, Ojibwe, Own Voices, Plains Native Nations, Young Adult
They Will Not Save Us by Marie Arnold

They Will Not Save Us by Marie Arnold

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Scholastic Press

Genre: Mystery, Myths and Folklore, Zombie

Audience: Children

Diversity: Haitian characters and author

Takes Place in: Haiti

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Child Endangerment, Death, Forced Captivity, Vomit

Blurb

Lena has always been a troublemaker. Descended from a long line of Mambos, priestesses of the Voodoo religion, she knows a thing or two about creating havoc — and getting out of it. There’s nothing she can’t get herself and her friends out of, even when she causes most of the predicaments they find themselves in. But there are things even she can’t fix. She can’t bring her father back from the dead, can’t make her mother happy again, and can’t forgive the gods for taking her father away.

When a mysterious man arrives in her little Haitian village, taking up residence in the giant house at the outskirts, she’s more curious than anyone. Anything helps to keep her mind away from her father. And the mysterious man’s dinner party is just the thing to keep her mind at ease, and learn more about why he’s on the island.

But then strange things start to happen. People stare at her with their eyes glazed over. They walk as if they’re being controlled — as if they were zombies… And they’re all after her.

As her village descends into chaos, Lena must fight to save what community she has left, solve the mystery of what’s truly happening, and escape the horde of zombies before they catch her. It may take everything, even the gods, to get out of this alive.

They Will Not Save Us returns the zombie genre to its origin in Haiti, and explores the genuine horrors of slavery, loss, and colonization in a bone-chilling way.

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.

Everyone has a different theory about why the wealthy white stranger has come to Lena’s small village of Bonne Fin, and Lena can’t wait to find out which one is true. She thinks she has her chance when the entire village is invited to a party at his grand home, but then Lina’s mother bans her from going as punishment for sneaking into Old Man Joe’s garden to steal oranges. To make matters worse, strange things keep happening around her. There’s a chill in the air, and Lina hears whispers on the wind. Old Man Joe’s eyes cloud over and he starts to sing a creepy nursery rhyme. Terrified, Lena tries to tell her two best friends, Jesula and Luke, about the strange occurrences, but they don’t believe her, blaming her active imagination. Things continue to get weirder and seem to be tied to the missing 13th story Lena’s father was working on before he died. Soon, Lena finds herself fighting an ancient evil for the fate of her home.

I appreciated that Arnold gave us a more authentic look at Haitian Vodou than the images made popular by Hollywood. Vodou is often portrayed as something dark and sinister in modern media, with Voodoo dolls, human sacrifices, and demonic bargains, even though none of those things exist in Vodou. Many of these lies were perpetuated during the first American occupation and made popular by the sensationalized book The Magic Island (1929) by American explorer William Seabrook. Sadly, many Christian organizations and colonizers have pushed to outlaw Vodou practices in Haiti, even though it’s legally recognized as one of Haiti’s two official religions (the other being Catholicism). Some even blamed the 2010 earthquake on Haitians practicing Vodou.

Vodou is actually a diasporic religion derived from the amalgamation of West African religions, Roman Catholicism, and Indigenous Taino beliefs that arose during the Atlantic slave trade. Instead of sacred texts, Vodou follows an oral tradition and is largely experienced through practice. Vodou has one “true” God called Bondye (often equated with the Abrahamic God as most Vodou practitioners are also Catholic) who rules over all. But Vodou also has many spiritual beings called loa (also spelled lwa) who interact directly with humanity. Bondye created the universe but is so busy running it that he is not particularly involved with the everyday matters of humanity. For that, people summon the loa. More well known loa include Papa Legba, Damballah Wedo, Ogun, Erzulie Freda, Baron Samedi, and Manman Brijit. Unlike spirits in many other religions, loa will interact with the tangible world by possessing one of the Vodou practitioners, which is described as riding a chwal (the Haitian Creole word for horse). The loa speaks through the “horse” and will interact with the world around them, dancing, drinking, eating offerings etc. Anyone can serve as a chwal, not just a houngan (Vodou priest) or mambo (Vodou priestess).

In the book, Lena has been training to be a mambo like her mother and grandmother. But Lena has been unable to summon the loa since her father died from a heart attack. She blames the loa for her father’s death, especially Manman Brijit, the mother of the Gede, due to her connection to death. Lena takes great pains to avoid thinking about or speaking about her father. I like how the book explored grief from a child’s perspective and coming to terms with the loss of a loved one. Lena initially deals with her father’s death by trying to ignore anything that reminds her of him. She makes rules for herself like not talking about her father and not crying in front of others, instead suppressing her emotions. The American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry website states that “…long-term denial of the death or avoidance of grief can be emotionally unhealthy and can later lead to more severe problems.” Lena tries to deny her feelings of grief and is unable to overcome her anger at the loa until she learns to accept her father’s death.

In March of 1798, in the French Caribbean colony of Saint-Domingue (what is now Haiti), fourteen enslaved Africans informed authorities that their enslaver, Nicolas Le Jeune, had murdered four of them and was torturing two enslaved women. When magistrates went to Le Jeune’s coffee plantation, they discovered the women, known only as Zabeth and Marie-Rose, with severe burns on their legs. The women died shortly after. When confronted, Le Jeune claimed that the enslaved women had planned to poison him, yet no poison was found among the women’s possessions. When the Governor of Saint-Domingue ordered his arrest, Le Jeune fled. Le Jeune was eventually put on trial, but other white enslavers put pressure on the court to release him, and the case was ultimately dismissed. But in Arnold’s story, Le Jeune successfully escapes and makes a deal with a demon called Tan-tan to get revenge on the enslaved people who reported him.

I really liked the use of Haitian history and culture as plot points and that Arnold didn’t shy away from the darker aspects of the country’s history. It’s presented in an age-appropriate way without minimizing how awful it was or insulting the intelligence of its young readers. None of this “softening the message for kids” nonsense because it might make some white readers “uncomfortable” (looking at you, Ron De Santis). At the same time, Arnold also shows the readers good parts of Lena’s home. With Haiti currently in turmoil and overrun with violent gangs (thanks in no small part to interference from the US), it would be easy to paint the country in a solely negative light, so I appreciate that Arnold didn’t do that. Lena admits life here isn’t perfect; electricity and internet can be spotty, food and water are sometimes scarce, and some of the homes get washed away in hurricane season. But there are cool things too, like hiking on the mountains and swimming in the ocean. Lena’s favorite thing about Haiti is the food, like her favorite beef and pumpkin soup, orange glaze cake, and cherry shaved ice. She loves her home and would never want to live anywhere else.

One of the things Le Jeune uses his magic for is to turn people into zombies. The zombie, or zonbi in French Creole, is a cadaver that has been resurrected by a bokor (a magician who has not been initiated as a mambo or houngan) to work as slaves. It should be noted that Zombies are not part of Vodou. Haitians do not fear zombies themselves, but becoming one. In a New York Times editorial, journalist and writer Amy Wilentz argued that the threat of becoming a zombie would’ve preyed on the fears of enslaved Africans in Saint-Domingue. Instead of passing on to a peaceful afterlife where they’d finally be free, they would instead continue to be enslaved, even in death.

In her book Tell My Horse (1938), anthropologist and author Zora Neale Hurston described her experience seeing a zombie during her time in Haiti. “I had the rare opportunity to see and touch an authentic case… So I know that there are Zombies in Haiti” she writes. Cultural anthropologist and ethnobotanist Wade Davis made the claim that zombies were not the product of magic but of a drug that could slow the metabolism, making the victim appear dead. Whatever the cause, Haitian zombies are quite different than the undead flesh-eaters made popular by Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968). Arnold uses the traditional Haitian zombie for her book but adds in a little bit of the Hollywood zombie hoards who go after the children to make the zombies more threatening.

There’s just so much Haitian history and culture in his book! Readers learn about Krik-Krak (a type of traditional Haitian storytelling), Lougawous (a shape-shifting monster), Lwil Maskreti (aka Haitian black castor oil), and Kompa music. The writing is simple and approachable, yet still conveys complex feelings and ideas, making it perfect for young audiences. There’s a lot of time spent fleshing out the setting, which I loved but less patient young readers might get bored with, since there’s not a lot of action until the last third of the book. This is an atmospheric horror story with a mystery that slowly builds the tension.

For those interested in learning more about Vodou, I would recommend Voodoo: Search for the Spirit (1993) written by Haitian sociologist of religion Laënnec Hurbon, Tell My Horse: Voodoo and Life in Haiti and Jamaica (1938) by Zora Neale Hurston, and Nan Domi: An Initiate’s Journey into Haitian Vodou (2013) by Haitian musician and Vodou practitioner Mimerose Bea.

Tags: BIPOC, Black, Book Review, Children, Haitian, Mystery, Myths and Folklore, Own Voices, Recommended, Zombies
Something Followed Us Home edited by Cynthia Pelayo

Something Followed Us Home edited by Cynthia Pelayo

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Atria/Primero Sueno Press

Genre: Comedy Horror, Dark Fantasy, Historic Horror, Monster, Myth and Folklore, Vampire, Zombie

Audience: Adult

Diversity: Latiné, Puerto Rican, Mexican, Ecuadorian, Columbian, Argentinian

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Amputation, Animal Abuse, Body Shaming, Bullying, Child Abuse, Child Death, Classism, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Illness, Incest, Physical Abuse, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Slut-Shaming, Suicide, Victim Blaming, Violence

Blurb

Dive into the chilling depths of Latiné horror with this groundbreaking anthology, edited by Bram Stoker Award winner Cynthia Pelayo, where each story reimagines immigration, colonization, faith, and folklore as the fears we inherit and carry across borders and generations.

Something followed us home. It crawled in with our prayers, slipped into our beds, watched from mirrors, waited in water, and learned our names.

Gathering chilling work from some of today’s most acclaimed Latiné voices, this horror anthology moves through haunted households, brutal landscapes, sacred spaces turned dangerous, and bodies claimed by forces both ancient and intimate. The dead murmur behind locked doors. Bones rebuild themselves under merciless suns. Love becomes a doorway for demonic hunger. Blood, devotion, and memory intertwine as the past presses back with teeth.

Something Followed Us Home is an unnerving, visceral, and impossible-to-shake collection that proves that what is carried forward does not remain quiet, and what follows us rarely leaves without taking something in return.

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 liked that both the English and Spanish language versions of the book are being released on the same day. Readers of Lo que nos siguió a casa will be able to read some of the stories in their original Spanish, while English readers will have some stories that were translated. Because the authors come from across the Latiné diaspora, there may be something new for everyone, while also including more universal themes like feminism, colonization, and family.

While I was familiar with authors such as Cynthia Pelayo (who also edited the collection), Ann Dávila Cardina, Agustina Bazterrica, Zoraida Cordova and Isabel Cañas I was delighted to also be introduced to new authors such as Carolina Flórez-Cerchiaro and Ananda Lima. I couldn’t believe how good all the stories were! There were really only one or two that I didn’t vibe with. I liked the stories that included figures from folklore like la Huesera (The Hand that Feeds by Isabel Cañas) and El Silbón (Fidelity by Alex Segura). El Jíbaro de Puerto Rico by Cynthia Pelayo was definitely one of my favorites, a bittersweet ghost story that teaches readers about the dark history in Puerto Rico, from its colonization by the Spanish, to slavery, to the American invasion. Her First Cruise Ship by Ann Dávila Cardinal was another, a humorous zombie story about undead tourists in Puerto Rico that critiques the tourism industry. It also has themes of classism and privilege. It will definitely make you think twice about how you behave when visiting another country!

While all the countries in Latin America each have their own unique cultures and histories one thing they share is a history of colonization by the Spanish and the Portuguese. These European invaders forced their languages and religion on the Indigenous people living there and brought disease, violence, slavery, destruction and later political and financial instability and war. That’s not even counting the damage done by the United States during the 19th and 20th centuries. Colonialism in Latin American countries is a reoccurring theme throughout the anthology explored in stories like the previously mentioned El Jíbaro de Puerto Rico and The Return of La Muelona by Carolina Flórez-Cerchiaro. This story is about how banana plantation owners continue the history of exploitation that began with the Spanish conquerors and how one woman gets her revenge. Other tales of revenge include Whispers from the Root by Lilliam Rivera and We are Gathered Here Together by Diana Rodriguez Wallace which address the corruption and cruelty of the wealthy and bullying, respectively. All were intensely satisfying to read as I’m a sucker for a good revenge story.

Many of the stories aren’t what I’d typically think of as “horror.” Some are more magical realism or speculative fiction like Pomelo and The World from Above and the World from Down Below. The Hand that Feeds is closer to a dark fairy tale. There are also some horror comedies like We are Gathered Here Together, My Boyfriend, and Her First Cruise Ship. However, stories like Luz Y Fer, Blue Flowers, and Specter are what I would think of as more “traditional” horror stories. I liked that every author has their own idea of what makes a story horror. There were traditional horror staples like vampires, killers, ghosts and zombies, but also religious mania, greed, sexism, and loneliness which can be equally, if not more, horrifying. The stories ranged from straight forward to more experimental. Some of the stories address the immigrant experience, while others take place in the main character’s home country, whether that be the United States or somewhere in Latin America. Settings include NYC, Puerto Rico, and Mexico City.  I have to say, I really liked how much variety there was, emphasizing the many experiences across the diaspora.  This creepy collection will have something for everyone, whether it be secret cults of children’s authors, plagues of spontaneous pregnancies, or a desperate father trying to bring back his dead daughter.

Tags: Adult, Anthology, Argentinian, BIPOC, Book Review, Columbian, Dark Fantasy, Ecuadorian, Highly Recommended, Hispanic/Latinx, Historic Horror, Horror Comedy, Latine/Latino, Mexican, Monster, Myths and Folklore, Own Voices, Puerto Rican, Vampires, Zombies
In These Gilded, Ghostly Hearts by Gwendolyn Kiste

In These Gilded, Ghostly Hearts by Gwendolyn Kiste

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Creature Publishing

Genre: Ghosts/Haunting, Gothic, Historic Horror, Romance

Audience: Adult

Diversity: Lesbian main character and bisexual side character

Takes Place in: New York

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Child Abuse, Death,  Forced Captivity, Homophobia, Suicide

Blurb

In 1955, Daisy Buchanan is found dead in an abandoned West Egg mansion, but her daughter Mel knows she’s really been gone for years. No one knows whether Daisy was murdered, or if it was a simpler, slower death: her yearslong spiral of alcohol, abuse, and helplessness. But when Mel enters the estate, she finds Daisy’s ghost, somehow frozen at twenty-three, and a charming, bleeding phantom that used to be Jay Gatsby.

To free her mother, Mel must carve a path through family secrets and decaying revelers: deep into Gatsby’s starving house as it gorges itself on unfulfilled love and grows stronger every night.

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 year is 1955. Daisy Buchanan is dead, her body discovered in Jay Gatsby’s abandoned estate in West Egg. Daisy’s now adult daughter, Pamela “Mel” Buchanan, and one of Daisy’s few remaining friends, Jordan Baker, travel from New York City to investigate the mysterious death. They learn that Daisy was working with a predatory spiritualist named Harrison to summon the ghost of her lost lover, Jay Gatsby. Harrison convinces the two women to return to Gatsby’s old home, now dripping with ectoplasm, and complete the séance with him. Soon the mansion is filled with ghosts, partygoers from bygone days, Gatsby himself, and Daisy. The partygoers are Stone Tape hauntings, a mere echo of the past. Gatsby’s ghost, on the other hand, is an intelligent haunting who is able to interact with Mel, who soon learns his obsession with Daisy has continued after his death.

Mel and Daisy have a complicated mother/daughter relationship. No matter how badly their mother treats them, children still crave their mother’s love. Mel is parentified by Daisy who is helpless and broken after losing her lover Gatsby, her husband Tom, and her lifestyle. Mel explains “Once the cash dried up and she wasn’t a rich girl anymore, she practically dissolved into sea foam before my eyes.” Daisy is not a resilient woman–understandable since she was raised to be a pretty bauble on a rich man’s arm. Daisy was a fairly passive character in Fitzgerald’s novel, a beautiful woman for Gatsby to idolize and Tom to possess. It was satisfying, however, to read that toxic alpha-male Tom threw himself off the Brooklyn Bridge after losing everything in the stock market crash of ’29. A fitting end to an awful man. Unfortunately, it means he leaves his wife and daughter penniless and alone. Kiste often writes books for “lost” women and girls who are trapped in the past and mistreated by an uncaring society who doesn’t understand them. The Marys in Pretty Marys All in a Row, the Rust Maidens in the novel of the same name, Talitha Velkwood and her friends in The Haunting of Velkwood, and now Mel and Daisy Buchanan.

You don’t necessarily have to have any knowledge of The Great Gatsby prior to reading In These Gilded, Ghostly Hearts but it does certainly help to be able to familiarize yourself with the characters and themes. There are also lots of fun little callbacks to the original book, like Gatsby’s automatic orange juicer machine. Just don’t make the same mistake I did and try and compare the writing in the two. I re-read F. Scott Fitzgerald’s famous work right before Kiste’s so I’d have a refresher and I do think it made me more judgmental of the writing in the latter. Don’t get me wrong, I generally love Kiste’s writing, two of my favorites being Pretty Marys All in a Row and The Haunting of Velkwood. I’m not at all implying that this is not a well-written story. But very few books are going to be able to stand up to one of the “Great American Novels” and trying to compare the two is a disservice to Kiste’s novella.

While Gatsby is written as a sympathetic character in the original book, I like how Kiste points out how incredibly creepy his obsession with Daisy is. Some might view his grand gestures as romantic but honestly, they always felt like borderline incel behavior to me. Gatsby views Daisy as a prize to be won rather than a person, and if he has enough money of course she’ll leave Tom for him. The main reason we’re sympathetic to Gatsby is because Tom is portrayed as the bigger asshole with no redeeming qualities, and because Nick sees Gatsby as sympathetic. Daisy is “supposed” to choose the heroic Gatsby over the brutish Tom, and when she doesn’t, she’s cast as the villain. Yet, does she really have a choice?  Herstory and Daisy Buchanan by Leland S. Person, Jr. quotes the numerous men who have described Daisy as “vulgar and inhuman,” a “Dark Destroyer,” and the “anti-virgin…the prototype of the blasphemous portraits of the Fair Goddess as bitch” who “preyed on” Gatsby. Yikes! But Person viewed Daisy as more victim than conniving, selfish woman. She’s a woman in the 1920s, from an old money family who’s expected to marry an old money man, not some nouveau riche who may or may not have a criminal history. Daisy has no way of earning a living herself, she’s completely dependent on men for her financial security, and always had been. She’s also under immense societal expectations; she can’t simply leave her husband to have the life she wants with Gatsby. We also known Tom is abusive, as shown when he breaks his mistress’ nose.Leaving him was unlikely to be easy. I don’t think any of that necessarily makes her a good person; she’s just an imperfect victim. And this seems to be the characterization that Kiste goes with. Daisy wasn’t a good mother, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve sympathy or Gatsby’s obsessive idolization. Similarly, as a lesbian, Mel is also unable to be with the ones she loves, first Jordan and then her coworker, Vera.

I loved how queer Kiste’s book was. Mel is gay, Jordan bisexual, and Tom’s implied crush on Gatsby is no longer subtext. In These Gilded, Ghostly Hearts takes place during the Lavender Scare of the 1950s, an anti-LGBTQ+ witch hunt, so Mel lives in constant fear of having her sexuality discovered. At one point she and Jordan go to the Bagatelle on University Place. The Bag, as it was more commonly known, was a real lesbian bar that was popular in the 1950s. I love that little bit of realism that Kiste added to the story. Audre Lorde and Ann Bannon both wrote about the bar and how it shaped their pre-Stonewall experience. The Bag was owned by the mafia and frequently raided by police. A red light would go off to warn patrons when they vice squad showed up, which happens to Mel at the bag one night.

Kiste is not the first to write about the Great Gatsby through a queer lens. In 1963 Lionel Trilling characterized Jordan Baker as “vaguely guilty, vaguely homosexual.” Nearly thirty years later The International Fiction Review published The Sexual Drama of Nick and Gatsby by Edward Wasiolek who argued that Nick has “homosexual  leanings” and intense feelings for Gatsby. The Chosen and the Beautiful by Nghi Vo (author of The Empress of Salt and Fortune) also imagines Jordan and Gatsby as bisexual, and Nick and Gatsby have a fling. Self-Made Boys: A Great Gatsby Remix by Anna-Marie McLemore and The Pursued and the Pursuing by AJ Odasso explore a queer relationship between Gatsby and Nick.

Kiste’s writing can best be described as “haunting;” beautiful, unsettling, nostalgic, and melancholy, lending itself well to a ghost story. Her stories are less “in your face” horror with gore and blood and instead rely on atmosphere to create a general sense of unease commonly found in gothic horror. For some readers, it may feel like the pacing is dragging, as there’s no sense of urgency and not a lot of action because this isn’t that kind of book. This is a novella meant to be savored rather than rushed through. So, while it won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, I think fans of slow burn horror and character driven story will enjoy In These Gilded Ghostly Hearts.

I did feel like the book needed a little more show and a little less tell. It seemed like Mel was constantly explaining things to the audience that didn’t necessarily need to be spelled out. At the same time, I thought it was awesome that Mel was middle aged and Jordan in her fifties. It’s so rare to find older women protagonists in fiction. Male protagonists have a wide range of ages, but women seem to always skew young. What’s more, neither character is a wife or mother. While I don’t think In These Gilded, Ghostly Hearts is as strong as some of Kiste’s other novels and novellas, it’s still a solid, spooky read perfect for autumn.

 

Tags: Adult, Bisexual, Book Review, Ghosts/Haunting, Gothic, Historic Horror, Lesbian, LGBTQIA, Own Voices, Romance
This Movie Doesn’t End the Way We Want by Hailey Piper

This Movie Doesn’t End the Way We Want by Hailey Piper

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Titan Books

Genre: Eldritch Horror, Monster, Mystery,

Audience: Adult

Diversity: Lesbian author and main characters, trans woman author

Takes Place in: Maryland

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Body Shaming, Child Death, Child Endangerment, Death, Kidnapping, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence

Blurb

In November 1994, three girls visit their local movie theater to see an obscure film. Only one of them is ever seen again.

Thirty years later, Val McQueen has never forgotten the day she lost her little sister and best friend, but she’s closed the curtain on it, certain she’s moved on despite her parents’ resentment and hounding by true crime enthusiasts.

That is until a stranger’s murder brings it all screaming back—a terror she’s tried to tell herself is only a movie. Enlisting the help of cinephile and former classmate Roxie de la Fontaine to find the film, Val soon realizes that hers is not the only pursuit. Someone, or something involved with the movie is on the hunt, too…

… For the girl who got away all those years ago.

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.

It’s 1994, and Valerie McQueen loves going to the movies. It’s her favorite way to escape her chaotic home life and her parents’ constant fighting. On this particular evening, she’s accompanied by her little sister, Ashley, and best friend, Colette. Colette wants to see Interview with the Vampire, but Valerie convinces the girls to go see a schlocky B-move she’s never heard of before: Blood-Curse of the Toad Man. At first, they’re the only ones in the theater watching the cheesy monster flick, but soon Valerie notices a stranger seated behind them wearing a trench coat and a fedora that obscures their face. The stranger seems to be moving closer, which freaks Valerie out, and she runs out of the theater. When she finally plucks up the courage to return, Colette and Ashley are gone. The police investigate but the girls are never found.

Thirty years later, Valerie (who now goes by Val) is still struggling with her survivor’s guilt, working as a tattoo artist, and getting into bar fights. Ever since that tragic night, Val hasn’t been able to bring herself to watch another movie. She chooses to self-isolate with no social media presence, only one real friend, and little contact with her parents, who blame her for Ashley’s disappearance. To cope with her unresolved trauma and guilt, Val tries to live in the moment to avoid thinking about the past. Unfortunately, the past has a way of catching up with you, and it appears Blood-Curse isn’t ready to let her go yet. Kate, a true crime podcaster, shows up at Val’s workplace posing as a tattoo client and tries to talk to Val about the worst night of her life.

When Val understandably gets pissed and walks away, Kate reacts poorly, demanding Val speak to her, as she paid for a tattoo. Kate is more interested in the entertainment value of the unsolved crime than she is in protecting Val and her parents from further pain. Kate pops up periodically throughout the book to prove what a shitty person she is, and it feels like her character is Piper’s way of criticizing the true crime genre. A common criticism of the true crime genre is that it’s exploitative, voyeuristic, and can re-traumatize victims and/or their families who are trying to move on, and Kate represents all of these things.

Later, when Val goes to meet a woman from the bar, she discovers the woman’s hotel room destroyed, the woman missing, and two lines from the creepy song from Blood-Curse of the Toad Man written on a scrap of paper. Realizing the only way to make the disappearances stop is to learn more about Blood-Curse of the Toad Man, Val ends up reaching out to Roxie, a girl who was kind to her after Ashley and Colette went missing who now does freelance work hunting down lost media. Despite Val’s warnings to be careful, Roxie is intrigued when she tells her about the cursed film and immediately dives right in to researching it. It’s at this point the book starts alternating between Val and Roxie’s points of view.

I love the idea of a movie that kills you, which is what immediately drew me to Piper’s latest work. Although the film Ringu (1998) and the book by Koji Suzuki it was based upon popularized the idea of a killer film, you could argue that the idea goes all the way back to 1895 when The King in Yellow was published. This short story collection by Robert W. Chambers centers around a cursed play that can drive anyone who reads it mad and would later inspire writer H.P. Lovecraft to write The Whisperer in Darkness. Interestingly, Piper has also published a book entitled A Game in Yellow based on the mythos created by Chambers. Like Lovecraft, Piper also excels in cosmic horror as seen in her books Queen of Teeth (which won a Bram Stoker Awards in 2021), The Worm and His Kings, and the aforementioned A Game in Yellow. In This Movie Doesn’t End the Way We Want, the story starts out as a simple horror story but later morphs into cosmic horror, creating one of the most unique explanations for a “cursed” film I’ve ever seen.

There are lots of 80s and 90s movie references, like Never Ending Story (1984), Ghost Busters (1984), Labyrinth (1986), Moonwalker (1988), Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988), and Devil in a Blue Dress (1995). Even the isekai anime Escaflowne (1996) gets a shout out. There are also references to more modern movies like Sinister (2012), older ones like Chinatown (1974), and even relatively obscure films like Manos: The Hands of Fate (1966), popularized in the nineties by MST3K. This is definitely a book for millennial movies fans. Speaking of which, I loved that both Roxie and Val are in their forties. You don’t see a lot of forty-something women as horror protagonists. While the book plays tribute to these nostalgic films,  it simultaneously warns us against dwelling too much on the past.

Val can’t move on properly because she tries to ignore what happened instead of facing it and finding a way to move on. She thinks she’s “letting go” by not thinking about the past, when in realty Val is trapped in it. Similarly, Val’s parents haven’t moved on from that horrible day in 1994 and focus all their attention on mourning the daughter they lost rather than loving the one they have. Roxie is also critical of nostalgia, as much of her job involves hunting down old commercials and TV shows for clients who are willing to spend big bucks on a small reminder of their childhood. Remembering the past does not mean getting stuck in it, unable to move on. It gave me I Saw the TV Glow (2024) vibes, reminding me of the protagonist’s obsession with fictional TV show The Pink Opaque then later discovering that nostalgia had warped his perspective of the show.

I’m a fan of horror mysteries, especially those that involve researching the past, so this book drew me right in. It’s filled with plenty of twists and turns to keep the reader guessing, which I really enjoyed. It also made me happy that both Val and Roxie were lesbians. Val would have brief flings with women thanks to her “only focus on the present” mindset while Roxie is happily married. I liked that the film hides its true nature behind a silly premise, I mean, who is going to take a movie called Blood-Curse of the Toad Man seriously? But the campy film becomes increasingly sinister the more Val and Roxie learn about it. But most of all I liked how the book continued to sit with me long after I finished it. Another great horror story from Piper!

Tags: Adult, Book Review, Eldritch, Lesbian, LGBTQIA, Monster, Mystery, Own Voices, Recommended, Trans
Shadows Over Ravenkirk by Vivian Moira Valentine

Shadows Over Ravenkirk by Vivian Moira Valentine

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Blue Fortune Enterprises

Genre: Dark Fantasy, Gothic, Mystery, Occult

Audience: Adult

Diversity: Trans, lesbian main character and author

Takes Place in: Maine

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Classicism, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Medical Procedures, Physical Abuse, Torture, Transphobia, Verbal/Emotional Abuse

Blurb

Victoria Williams, a struggling photographer from Boston, receives a letter informing her of a surprise inheritance. Wilhelmina Bruttenholm of Ravenkirk, Maine, has recently passed away and left her a bequest. Victoria doesn’t know who Wilhelmina is-to her knowledge, she doesn’t know anyone in Ravenkirk-but she travels to Maine anyway to attend the will reading.

But who is this family and what do they really want of her? Struggling to understand the events happening in this unique little town, Victoria is confronted with secrets, magic, and Samantha, one very sweet tarantula. And while she must face the truth about her own mysterious family history, she will have to do so carefully. Because murder abounds in Ravenkirk and nobody is who they appear to be.

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’m doing something a little different for this review and reviewing the first two books in the Shadows Over Ravenkirk series by Vivian Moira Valentine instead of just one book, as I feel the two novellas work better when read together. The overall story is just so big, with so many elements and characters, that I think the series would have worked better as a couple full length novels rather than a bunch of novellas. Of course, that might also be because I’m not a patient person and I want to read the rest of the story now and I’m already impatient for the third book to come out because the second ended on a cliffhanger.

The first Shadows Over Ravenkirk book gives cozy mystery vibes. I hesitate to use the term “cozy horror” as it’s so controversial, with valid points made on both the pro and con sides. Personally, I feel if someone’s comfort film can be Nightmare on Elm Street or they listen to Tales to Terrify to help them fall asleep, then I don’t see why people can’t also find a horror story about a small gothic town “cozy” without sacrificing the elements that make it horror. But I know plenty of folks hate the term so I’ll refrain from labeling the book as such. What I will say is that Valentine’s books quickly became a comfort read for me at a time I really needed it.

In it, we’re introduced to Victoria Williams, a trans, lesbian, goth girl from Boston (yay Boston!). She’s been summoned to the will reading of the mysterious Wilhelmina Bruttenholm, despite not having known the woman in life. With nothing to lose, Victoria sets off to the small seaside town of Ravenkirk, Maine for the reading. While trying to enjoy her book–Ghost Flower by Jessica Conwell–on the train, Victoria is interrupted by a vulpine young man, the deuteragonist of the story, Nicodemus Ruthven. He’s friendly, and thankfully not transphobic as Victoria initially fears, but he also seems to be unpredictable with a dangerous edge to him that makes her nervous.

He may be a rich asshole but I kind of like Nicodemus. Maybe “like” is too strong a word. I’m more fascinated by him. I enjoy a complex, morally gray character, and I love how snarky Nicodemus is, especially toward his awful family. Speaking of his family, the Ruthvens are Ravenkirk’s old money family who are used to being in control. They’re pretty evil (because rich people are inherently evil) and are not at all happy to see Nicodemus return to Ravenkirk, as he was banished from the town for a yet undisclosed reason. But he has returned for Wilhelmina Bruttenholm’s funeral as an invited guest, much to everyone’s shock and dismay.

Victoria meets some other colorful characters in the town, three of whom she immediately starts crushing on. There’s Tabitha Swann, who used to work for Wilhelmina and gives Victoria a ride to her hotel;Bianca Burke, who was hired by Wilhelmina to act as Victoria’s bodyguard while she’s in town;and finally, Thorn Hale, a non-binary femme who works as the hotel’s cook. Victoria also adopts a tarantula named Samantha. The town seems to be divided into factions, none of whom trust the other, so trying to make friends with the townsfolk is tricky. The book felt a little like a queer dating sim where the reader is left to wonder which hot femme Victoria will pick.

Valentine spends a lot of time introducing characters and developing the town. The world building in this story is AMAZING and very in-depth, and I’m a sucker for good world building. Ravenkirk feels like a town trapped in the past, despite the story being set in the modern day, and it reminded me of the strange New England locations Lovecraft invented, like Miskatonic University and the town of Arkham. Valentine clearly put a lot of thought into the setting and the characters. And there are A LOT of characters in Shadows Over Ravenkirk, especially in the second book. So many, in fact, that it can be confusing trying to keep everyone straight. Fortunately, there’s a list at the beginning of the book with short character descriptions to help keep everyone straight.

There are the Talbots, one of the three major families and the local farmers of Ravenkirk. The Gilmans (fishermen and dockworkers) who give The Shadow over Innsmouth vibes, and from the short preview in the end of the second novella, it seems they’ll be the focus of the third book. And of course, the Ruthvens. Then there are the people who work at the hotel Victoria is staying at, the members of a strange cult called “The Yonders,” and Wilhelmina Bruttenholm’s confidants, none of whom seem to trust each other. The downside to having so many characters in such a short book means that there’s not as much time to develop them. Again, this is why I think the two books work better when read together, as the first novella just feels like we’re getting a bunch of quick character introductions and we don’t really get any action until the last third of the book. It feels more like the first few chapters of a much longer story with the setup but not offering much in the way of a resolution. The book is over before the plot has a chance to get going.

The second book leans more into the story’s horror elements with much more violence (including a torture scene that’s cut short) and some hot sex scenes. Instead of Victoria and her friends, the main focus has switched over to the messed-up Ruthven family, fleshing out already existing characters and introducing new ones. Nicodemus takes up residence in the abandoned Mooncroft Manor, the ancestral home of the Ruthvens, who left because their dwindling fortunes made the upkeep too expensive. Nicodemus invites the various cousins to stay with him to help him with his yet unknown plan to restore the Ruthvens to their former glory. The cousins are all varying degrees of evil; one of them makes snuff films, another creates mind altering drugs, and yet another re-animates corpses to be his “servants.”

The second book was also more focused on setting up overarching plot, giving the reader more questions than answers. But rather than leave me frustrated (okay, maybe just a little frustrated), it just left me desperate to read more! That’s right, this series has me completely hooked and I cannot wait for the third book to come out. I need to know what happens next. I absolutely adored Valentine’s voice. She excels at creating atmosphere and intriguing characters. I feel like this is a series, while not necessarily aimed at teens (especially with the graphic sex scenes in the second book), I would’ve loved as a young adult. In terms of representation, the cast is very diverse, especially when it comes to trans and non-binary characters. I can’t wait to read more!

Tags: Adult, Book Review, Dark Fantasy, Gothic, Highly Recommended, Lesbian, LGBTQIA, Mystery, Occult, Own Voices, Trans
My Monsters Ain’t Like Yours by R.J. Joseph

My Monsters Ain’t Like Yours by R.J. Joseph

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Quill & Crow Publishing House

Genre: Eldritch Horror, Folk Horror, Ghosts/Haunting, Historic Horror, Monster, Zombie

Audience: Adult

Diversity: Black, African/American characters and author, queer and bisexual characters

Takes Place in: Texas

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Body Shaming, Cannibalism, Child Abuse, Child Death, Child Endangerment, Childbirth, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Incest, Miscarriage, Oppression, Pedophilia, Physical Abuse, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sexism, Sexual Abuse, Slut-Shaming, Suicide, Torture, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence, Vomit 

Blurb

At its core, the horror genre is an effective vehicle for exploring human behavior. From within its terrifying boundaries, and lack thereof, we can examine monstrosity. We can determine how monsters are labeled, analyze the actions of those deemed monstrous, and prophesy the impacts this labeling and actions have on the world around us.

Monsters are personal. Monsters are universal. These facts create an intriguing juxtaposition where the things deemed monstrous or frightening can be shaped by personal experiences, while also representing many aspects of the human condition; our fears are much more similar than dissimilar. This means my monsters are absolutely like yours: they are our collective nightmares.

My Monsters Ain’t Like Yours reflects this irony through Black feminist intersectional horror at its rawest.

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.

While many of the monsters in the collection are supernatural (Suffer the Little Children, The Crazy   with Daisy, Higher Education, Something Wicked Came for Me, Welcome, Skinny Minnie, Sweet Sunday Supper Smile, etc.) the most terrifying ones are the human monsters (Regrets Never Die, The Collector, Sweet Sunday Supper Smile, Her Heart’s Desire, No Tricks Only Treats, The Preying Family, Sad, Spooky Sally, etc.). Interestingly, some of the supernatural monsters are friendly and helpful creatures/spirits who protect the protagonists from other monsters, both literal and figurative. Humans, after all, are much worse than some imagined creature. Then there are the metaphorical “monsters” of grief, loneliness, and trauma that haunt the protagonists.

There are a lot of bad heterosexual relationships in the anthology.  These range from Where the Horizon Kisses the Sky in which the husband is neglectful, Endless Possibilities where he’s a selfish loser, to Her Heart’s Desire where he’s outright abusive towards his wife. In all these stories the wife yearns for something better and uses supernatural means to get it, with varying degrees of success. In The Badly Terrible, Absolute Worst she doesn’t even get that chance. But queer relationships, like in The Crazy with Daisy and Witness Bearer, are shown in a more positive light.  A report by the Institute for Women’s Policy Research and the National Domestic Worker’s Alliance states that “More than 40 percent of Black women experience physical violence by an intimate partner during their lifetimes (41.2 percent), compared with 31.5 percent of all women.” And a study published in the Lancet reported that Black women are also nearly six times as likely to be murdered than white women. Thankfully there are resources like Ujima that support Black women who are in domestic violence situations, even as the justice system continues to fail them.

In Endless Possibilities and Her Heart’s Desire the wife herself becomes a monster to escape her bad marriage, and in the latter, get revenge on her horrible husband. Then there’s Tanita in The Collector, a serial killer who murders for the fun of it. There’s something incredibly satisfying about women embracing their monstrosity and rage, especially Black women. Those with marginalized identities are often cast as monsters in other people’s stories so why not reclaim the title? I especially like that feminine monstrosity in Endless Possibilities and Her Heart’s Desire is not tied to sexuality. While I appreciate women like Tanita reclaiming their sexuality and using it to seduce and murder men à la Jennifer’s Body (2009) and The Hunger (1983) sometimes it feels like the majority of female monsters are temptresses ( leading men to their death. And it can start to get a little old.

Can’t they just be horrible and violent without wanting to have sex with their victim? Plus, there’s the unfortunate implication that women who have sex on their own terms are evil and they go against the natural order of things by overpowering men. So, I appreciated that Joseph gave us some nice variety. The book even has monstrous children (#GIRLMOM and Suffer the Little Children) though in both cases the children are embraced by the main character rather than shunned for the monstrosity.

Sweet Sunday Supper Smile and No Tricks Only Treats are stories containing child abuse, though the abusers get their comeuppance in both. Then there’s Sad, Spooky Sally which is especially disturbing, so much so that it comes with its own set of content warnings before the chapter, rather than in the index. It’s an absolutely heart-breaking story with a bittersweet ending and one of my favorites in the collection. But it’s also very triggering, so make sure you check out those content warnings before reading it. The same goes for Regrets Never Die and Witness Bearer. They’re both very dark, with the latter being about a girl who can see the worst things a person has ever done. She witnesses some truly awful memories, so I appreciate that Joseph included content warnings for all the stories in the book’s index.

Those who Teach Pay Knowledge Forward stood out in the collection, as it was sweet rather than scary, A ghost story where the ghosts aren’t the source of fear. It also had a nice message about helping to educate the next generation so they can succeed. I love how so many of the Black women in the collection are intelligent and well educated, ranging from college students (The Collector) and graduate students (Whole New World), to teachers (Those Who Teach Pay Knowledge Forward) and college professors (Grand Opening, Higher Education, Something Wicked Came for Me). The young woman in Important Things is sent on an all expenses paid trip to Palm Springs for a symposium because she excels in her high school classes. In 1995 14% of Black women between 25 to 34 held a bachelor’s degree compared to 38% in 2024 according to the Pew Research Center.

There are so many great stories in the collection, I’d be pressed to pick a favorite, though I did especially enjoy Regrets Never Die, #GIRLMOM, Endless Possibilities, Those Who Teach Pay Knowledge Forward, and Something Wicked Came for Me. While Black women and children’s trauma is a reoccurring theme of My Monsters Ain’t Like Yours, it’s not the only focus of the anthology. If every story were about Black trauma and abuse, it honestly may have been too much for me. Instead, Joseph includes a bunch of fun, spooky stories to offset the heavier stuff so the collection never feels too dark and depressing. Instead, we get a nice balance.

I really liked this because while horror is a great way to process trauma, Black horror shouldn’t be pigeonholed into stories of Black pain. I love Get Out (2017), it’s one of my favorite films, but if that was the only kind of Black horror story told by Hollywood, it would start to feel like the suffering of Black people was being fetishized for entertainment. There’s a reason why Peele’s next two films, Us (2019) and Nope (2022) aren’t rooted in Black trauma. So, while there are plenty of stories about abuse, bad relationships, and the general mistreatment of Black women and children, there are also enough tales about living mannequins, small fanged creatures, and ghosts to offer the reader a breather.

Tags: Adult, African American, Anthology, BIPOC, Bisexual, Black, Book Review, Eldritch, Folk Horror, Ghosts/Haunting, Historic Horror, LGBTQIA, Monster, Own Voices, Queer, Recommended, Zombies
Until the Last Light Goes Out by Courtney Gould

Until the Last Light Goes Out by Courtney Gould

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Wednesday Books

Genre: Ghosts/Haunting, Gothic

Audience: Young Adult

Diversity: Queer main character and side characters

Takes Place in: Miami

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Bullying, Child Death, Child Endangerment, Childbirth, Death, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Homophobia, Violence

Blurb

You may not escape, but the truth will.

Twenty-five years ago, the Ripley Memorial High School senior class entered the luxurious Kaleidoscope Key resort deep in the remote Florida Keys. Despite international intrigue and years of investigation, no one truly knows how the 183 students died. And they never will, since the five survivors of the massacre have never spoken a word about what happened to them that night.

Paige Keller, daughter of one of the Kaleidoscope Key Massacre’s infamous survivors, has grown up determined to steer her life away from the resort and the unsolved mysteries her ex-best friend, KJ, can’t leave alone. Paige has moved to a fancy new college and it seems that, finally, she’s banished the shadows of Kaleidoscope Key completely. But when she’s called home on the 25th anniversary of the massacre, she finds that KJ has gone missing.

Paige knows there’s only one place KJ could be: her obsession, the now-abandoned resort. When Paige and the remaining Survivors’ Kids go in after her, they’re forced to confront their―and their parents―pasts once and for all.

Kaleidoscope Key is waiting, and it’s starving. Once they find their way inside, there may not be a way out. And one way or another, the truth of the massacre will come to light.

Captivating and chilling, Courtney Gould’s Until The Last Light Goes Out is a horror story, a love story, and an ode to the pain passed between generations that you won’t soon forget.

On May 21st, 2001, the senior class at Ripley Memorial high school, along with staff and chaperones, were found dead in their beds at the newly opened Kaleidoscope resort. Only five students survived. Too traumatized to explain what happened, the “Kaleidoscope Massacre” (as it came to be called) remained a mystery for 25 years. Thirteen years later, Casey, one of the massacre’s survivors, returns to the Kaleidoscope for reasons unknown and is found dead inside the resort the next day leaving her daughter, Paige, all alone.

Cut to the present day. Paige, now in college, has returned to Miami for the 25-year memorial of the massacre. When speaking to the children of the other four survivors Paige learns her former best friend, KJ, has been missing for a month. Even though the two had a falling out, Paige will do anything in her power to find KJ, even if it means returning to the site of her mother’s murder. She gets her chance when the son of the Kaleidoscope’s current owner tells Paige that he’s headed there to film some urban exploring videos. But what she discovers at the abandoned hotel is much more than she bargained for.

Patented in 1817 by Scottish inventor David Brewster, the kaleidoscope is a toy made of mirrors enclosed in a cardboard tube that when turned creates ever-changing mandala-like patterns by reflecting the colored glass at one end of the tube. The name kaleidoscope, derived from ancient Greek, translates roughly as “to look at beautiful forms.” An appropriate name for the resort, as the Kaleidoscope is itself dynamic, constantly morphing into something new. But, beneath its surface, beauty hides something sinister and hungry. A neon gothic nightmare that feeds on pain and plays mind games, the Kaleidoscope resort is its own character. Fans of liminal space stories such as Backrooms and Exit 8 will enjoy the never-ending maze that is the Kaleidoscope.

Paige, who’s pragmatic and logical with a need to always be right, deals with the Kaleidoscope by simply ignoring its existence and trying to get as far away as possible. Paige is also the last to admit that something supernatural is going on, much to KJ’s frustration. On the opposite end on the spectrum is KJ who’s obsessed with discovering the resort’s secrets to try and help her mother Tess, who was completely broken from her experience there. Neither has a healthy coping mechanism for the generational trauma they’ve been burdened with. Both girls need to find a healthy middle ground so they can work together to try and find a way out.

I found myself very emotionally invested in the fates of Paige and KJ and loved watching them grow as characters. The sons of the other survivors? Not so much. It was hard to care about the boys being in danger when we never really got the chance to know them, mostly through Paige’s descriptions of them rather than learning for ourselves through their dialogue and actions. It also meant we couldn’t tell if their behavior was “out of character” or just the hotel making them behave a certain way.

The story bounces back and forth between the past, when Casey and her friends first visit the Kaleidoscope for senior night, and the present, when their children are trapped. As the book progresses, the timelines start to blur, emphasizing the liminal space within which they find themselves trapped. Casey’s story focuses on her relationship with her best friend, Tess, who’s rebellious and desperate to be one of the popular girls. Then there’s her other best friend, Summer, an introverted “good girl” who’s been recently outed as a lesbian, leading to her being bullied. Casey is torn between her loyalties to both friends as Tess tries to push Summer out of their friend group for being “uncool.” Instead of standing up to Tess like she should, Casey simply does nothing, unwilling to lose Summer, but not wanting to lose Tess either. Friendship and loyalty are major themes in Until the Last Light Goes Out, with both Casey and Paige fighting to keep their friendships with Summer and KJ respectively after abandoning them. To Gould’s credit, the relationships never feel reduced to superficial “teen drama,” and you can feel the emotional impact they have on their characters. 

When I first read that the mass deaths in 2001 were called “the Kaleidoscope massacre” I was expecting blood and body parts everywhere, but no, everyone just died in their sleep. The story is pretty safe for more squeamish horror fans, or those just looking for a haunted house (or in this case hotel) story. There are a few scenes where people get stabbed or killed, but the gore isn’t excessive or described in great detail, and a lot of it happens “off screen.”

The story is suspenseful and, for the most part, managed to hold my attention for long periods of time. Towards the middle, things started to feel a little repetitive (you can only wander down so many endless corridors before things start to drag) and the pacing suffered for it. I think the book would have benefited from some tightening up in the second act, but otherwise things moved along well, and towards the end I found I couldn’t put it down. I personally felt that the last chapter, which elaborated on the ending, was unneeded and it would’ve worked better if things were left vague. I believe most readers could’ve inferred what happened on their own. Maybe some editor decided that teens lack media literacy and needed an explanation spoon-fed to them. Despite a few flaws, Until the Last Light Goes Out is deeply moving and has the emotional depth that young adults deserve, but that so much Y/A is lacking.

 

Tags: Book Review, Ghosts/Haunting, Gothic, Lesbian, LGBTQIA, Queer, Recommended, Young Adult
Deadbeat by Maxim Volk

Deadbeat by Maxim Volk

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Slashic Horror Press

Genre: Comedy Horror, Zombie

Audience: Adult

Diversity: Gay man author and main character

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Body Shaming, Cannibalism, Child Death, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Gore, Homophobia, Mental Illness, Necrophilia, Pedophilia, Physical Abuse, Police Harassment, Slurs, Vomit 

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.

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.

Your husband Matt expects you to remain monogamous despite constantly going on business trips. Worse, he doesn’t even like video sex because he’s worried someone will hack your phone, though you tell him that it’s a ridiculous paranoia. He won’t even let allow you a quickie before his trip because he’s worried about “smelling like sex” on the plane. You’re feeling pissed off, neglected, and sexually frustrated. You’ve cheated on him before while he’s away on trips, but you assume he’s also cheating on you while he’s away. So now you have a decision to make. Blow off some steam with a casual hook up or be a faithful husband and stay home. You end up dead either way,though how you meet your untimely end varies depending on your choice, ranging from carbon monoxide poisoning to getting murdered in a snuff film. You think it’s all over until you wake up in a basement surrounded by robed figures saying they’ve resurrected you. And you’re hungry. So very hungry. Now all you have to worry about is your insatiable appetite for human flesh, your decaying body, and avoiding Zombie Hunter Rome Samuel.

Deadbeat is a “choose your own adventure” style erotic horror novella. You can run into bigfoot, try to be the Dexter Morgan of zombies/a zombie superhero, eat some cops (because ACAB), or get revenge on a councilman who didn’t approve your backyard pool even after trading sexual favors. My favorite storyline was, in a twist right out of Thirty Rock’s Reunion episode, when the reader discovers that your high school “bully” (whose name you can’t even remember) was actually a good guy who just didn’t put up with your asshole behavior. And you character is an asshole. This may be a turn off for some readers, but personally, I love problematic queer characters. I also loved how we get a reference to “that social media app that has become overrun with Nazis” (Twitter) and digs at AI being used in porn (AI sucks and people who use it are losers). That doesn’t mean this story can’t get dark, though. One of the storylines involves a trafficking ring that kidnaps children, and they aren’t rescued if you don’t make the right decisions.

Deadbeat also addresses something I’ve always wondered about in zombie stories. Stomach acid and bile are no longer produced after death, so how do the undead digest things? Apparently, they can’t because you throw up everything after devouring someone, leaving you hungry again. I thought it was clever how Volk considered some of the science behind the living dead. For example, when you awaken, you find all your blood has been replaced with embalming fluid.

For erotic horror, the sex scenes are super short. I guess that makes sense for a novella, but it means it’s hard to get in the mood, so all the sex and dicks just feel kind of distracting rather than sexy. Of course, I’m also not a gay man, so not really the target audience. Over all it’s a very silly little book, which may take some people out of the story, but I personally thought Deadbeat was tons of fun.

Tags: Adult, Book Review, Gay, Horror Comedy, LGBTQIA, Own Voices, Recommended, Zombies

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