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
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
Funerals Are for the Living by Sami Ellis

Funerals Are for the Living by Sami Ellis

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Amulet Books

Genre: Occult, Thriller

Audience: Young Adult

Diversity: Black, queer main character and author, main character with anxiety and depression

Takes Place in: North Carolina

Content Warnings (Highlight to view):  Alcohol Abuse, Body Shaming, Cannibalism, Child Abuse, Child Death, Child Endangerment, Death, Forced Captivity, Kidnapping, Mental Illness, Physical Abuse, Police Harassment, Racism, Slut-Shaming, Stalking, Suicide, Torture, Violence, Vomit

Blurb

New from the author of Dead Girls Walking comes a YA horror about a girl kidnapped by a racist cult after investigating the supernatural happenings at her sister’s gravesite

A month ago, Junie Daniels was in a car crash that left her with a dead sister, fragmented memories of the accident, and a mother too checked-out to plan a funeral. The cheapest grave plot Junie can find is in the next town over. Sure, Williamsville is still proudly named after a slave master who was rumored to dabble in dark magic—but this North Carolina, after all.

When unexplained occurrences start happening at the graveyard, though, Junie and her best friend, Omari, investigate. And it’s not long before Junie and Omari are taken…

Williamsville wants both Daniels girls. But Junie will do anything to protect her sister—even if it’s only her corpse.

Sisters Junie and Jay were as different as can be. Jay was outgoing, popular, and an activist who lived her life out loud. In comparison Junie is introverted, quiet, and only has one friend, Omari. Jay has to drag Junie to parties just to keep her from sitting alone in their shared room. So, when Jay is killed in a car accident that Junie survives, Junie can’t help but think the wrong sister died. While her mom is depressed to the point of catatonia, Junie is forced to use her college savings to plan her sister’s funeral herself. Instead of buying a plot in Daniels, where they live, Junie has Jay buried in the neighboring town of Williamsville after finding a flyer advertising a cheap plot on the windshield of her mom’s car.

Like the two sisters, Daniels and Williamsville are polar opposites. Williamsville was founded by slave owner William Graham, who terrorized the town and killed his slaves for fun. Basically, Graham is Simon Legree and Madame LaLaurie combined. The creepy, desolate town is still mostly white to this day. Meanwhile Daniels was founded by Black sharecroppers who refused to live on the land where their ancestors were enslaved. It’s small but lively and has a strong sense of community. But it’s a community Junie does not feel a part of due to her introversion and low self-esteem. And honestly, I get it. It’s hard to think other people like you when you don’t even like yourself, and it can be scary trying to connect with others when you’re not naturally outgoing.

Junie knows everyone loved Jay, who was very active in the community, and Omari, who is friends with everyone. But she thinks of herself as a third wheel, a cheap imitation of her more popular little sister. Junie seems to struggle with depression and anxiety, which definitely play a role in her self-isolation. But Junie is also kind of mean. Time and again we see people in the community try to reach out to her as she pushes them away. When her neighbors call after her, asking how she and her mom are doing, Junie ignores them. When her sparring partner and crush, Neveña, tries to be friends with her, Junie coldly rejects her. And when Jay dragged her to a party before her death, Junie sat in the corner and sulked the entire time. But community is important. Especially when you’re marginalized.

It’s her disconnect from the community that stops Junie from reaching out for help when she and her mom are clearly struggling. Unfortunately, Junie decides she can handle everything by herself without any support. Junie is so completely turned off by the entire town showing up to mourn Jay (she refers to them as “sloppy sad”) that she decides to have a second, more reserved funeral at Jay’s grave, just her and Omari. It’s there that Junie notices something is wrong with the soil. The white graves are covered in lush, green grass, but Jay’s is just off colored soil that immediately kills the roses Omari places on the grave. Pissed off by the “racist dirt” the Williamsville church clearly gave her, Junie vows to return and fix it. Omari suggests contacting a lawyer and suing the church or at least getting help from his Uncle York who owns a local flower shop. But Junie doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact that her mom hasn’t left her room for a month and can’t take care of her daughter, because CPS might get involved. After hearing a strange noise in the graveyard, Omari decides that’s their cue to leave the creepy-ass town and go home.

Things continue to go poorly for Junie. Her mixed martial arts coach tells Junie she can’t go to the state MMA championship because of how much she’s been slacking off, despite the fact she’s gone every year. She finds an eviction notice on her door due to non-payment. And when Junie’s mother finally musters the energy to get out of bed and returns to work, they let her go, which she deals with by getting drunk. Junie is already feeling down when her mom drops a bombshell.

Junie already knows that the town of Daniels was named after her great-grandpa, but what she didn’t know is that she’s also a descendent of William Graham. While it’s not uncommon for Black people to be descended from white slave owners, since enslaved women were routinely raped by white men (my own last name comes from the white man who owned my great-great grandparents, his own children), it’s still horrifying to discover she’s related to such a monster. Apparently, Graham had multiple families, and sired many offspring, the descendants of whom are actually proud of their heritage. Junie’s mom warns her never to return to Williamsville, even though her sister is buried there.

There’s a reason Junie’s mom doesn’t want her going to Williamsville. It’s what’s known as a Sundown Town, a community that keeps non-whites (usually Black people) from living there through a combination of racist laws, racial covenants,  violence, and intimidation. Black folks could work there during the day but were expected to leave before sundown. While the Civil Rights and Fair Housing Acts of 1968 made Sundown Towns technically illegal, housing discrimination, gentrification, policing, and the lasting effects of redlining,  continued the tradition. Keep in mind Sundown Towns can be found all over the US, even in supposedly  “liberal” states. But Junie ignores her mom and drags Omari back to Jay’s grave to deal with the racist soil problem. It turns out she should have listened to her mom because the two teens end up kidnapped by a cult of William Graham’s white descendants, led by the sinister Sister Erica.

It’s no accident that one of the main villains is a white woman. Sister Erica reminds me of the white women who sell out BIPOC women to uphold the white supremacist patriarchy, like the 53–55% of white women who voted for Trump (compared to 7-10% of Black women). I find it particularly satisfying to see women like Pam Bondi or Kristi Noem betrayed by the white patriarchy they supported because they though it made them special and safe. So, of course I was excitedly waiting for Sister Erica to get hers. Maybe it’s petty and cruel of me to enjoy the suffering of others like that, but honestly, I don’t fucking care. People who happily intentionally hurt already marginalized people deserve to be laughed at when the leopards inevitably eat their face.

The first thing I noticed while reading Funerals are for the Living is how much I enjoyed the writing style. Ellis uses AAVE (African-American Vernacular English) liberally throughout the book, and I fucking love it. The editor didn’t remove the double negatives or the “done beens” in the name of “proper” grammar, so the characters sound like real people at ease in their environment instead of Black folks forced to code-switch. AAVE and other English dialects have their own grammar rules and are not “broken English” any more than American English is a broken form of British English. But racist grammar snobs still act like it is. For me, reading characters use AAVE felt familiar and comforting, after all it’s how my Black family speaks when they’re around each other and don’t have to code-switch for work. If they’re speaking in AAVE that means it’s a safe space.

I love how Ellis described Junie’s Black skin as “summer colored,” a welcome departure from white authors comparing Black skin to food. In fact, the only time Black skin is compared to food in the book is when Sister Erica does it while fetishizing a Black man, and you can practically feel Junie and Omari cringe. It’s also a nice change of pace that the white characters are the ones who are dirty, have bad hair, and act “primal”. And it’s just nice to have a book that’s clearly made for Black readers and isn’t forced to make things more digestible to try and appeal to a white audience.

I thought Junie was a great protagonist. She doesn’t really excel at anything, she’s not as smart Omari or as outgoing and strong as her sister Jay, nor is she much of a martial artist like Neveña. She’s also not particularly nice and only has one real friend because of it. She felt like an everyday, average teenager who was going through some shit. But despite all her faults she is very loyal to the few lucky people she cares about. While the cult represents unquestioning obedience of the white patriarchy, Junie represents rebellion against oppression. She starts out as someone who just lets things happen to her but becomes more of a fighter (like Jay) over the course of the book. I also liked Ellis’ unflinching portrayal of grief in Funerals are for the Living, in addition to Black mental health. One of the major morals of the story is that it’s okay to ask for help, which brings us back to the importance of community. It’s something Junie and Jay used to fight about, Jay wanted their mom to see a therapist while Junie just wanted to leave her be and hope it got better on its own (which of course it doesn’t). Medical racism and stigma keep Black people from receiving therapy that acknowledges their unique needs, like the trauma caused by everyday racism.

Funerals are for the Living gave me Get Out vibes, but set in the backwoods of rural North Carolina rather than the wealthy suburbs of upstate New York. You know you can’t trust these seemingly friendly white people, and something is very off, you just don’t know what it is yet. There are some really creepy scenes, like when characters are tortured or you realize just how brainwashed the members of the cult (mostly young people and children) are. Then there are more subtle chills like finding the slave mural in the church or knowing the racist police won’t save you if you call them for help.

Despite the overall dark and sometimes depressing tone of the book, there’s still some great moments of dark humor. I laughed out loud when Junie yelled that the church scammed her with a “Temu Grave,” or when she worried that the white cult would turn her and Omari into chili with no seasoning. I personally felt the book had a few pacing issues and could drag in some parts, but when it hit its stride, it really hit its stride and I found I couldn’t put it down. The mystery element of the book is really gripping, and I never knew what was going to happen next. I did feel like the supernatural parts of the story were kind of shoehorned in, and I’m not sure if they were strictly necessary since the book was chilling enough with just the racist cult. They didn’t necessarily detract from the story, I just don’t think they really added anything either. Overall, Funerals are for the Living is a well-crafted and moving piece of young adult fiction that doesn’t speak down to its young audience and trusts them with heavy topics.

Tags: African American, Anxiety Disorder, BIPOC, Black, Book Review, Depression, Disability, Lesbian, LGBTQIA, Mental Illness, Own Voices, Recommended, Young Adult
Dead First by Johnny Compton

Dead First by Johnny Compton

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: G.P. Putnam’s Son

Genre:  Ghosts & Hauntings, Mystery, Occult

Audience: Adult

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

Takes Place in: Texas

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Amputation, Child Death, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Gore, Kidnapping, Mental Illness, Police Harassment, Racism, Self-Harm, Suicide, Torture, Violence

Blurb

When private investigator Shyla Sinclair is invited to the looming mansion of mysterious Texan tycoon Saxton Braith, she’s more than a little suspicious. The last thing she expects to see that night is Braith’s assistant driving an iron rod straight through the back of his skull. Scratch that—the last thing she expects to see is Braith’s resurrection afterward.

Braith can’t die, it turns out, but he has no explanation for his immortality, and very few intact memories of his past. Which is why he wants to pay Shyla millions to investigate him, and bring his long-buried history to light.

Shyla can’t help but be intrigued, but she’s also trapped by the offer. Braith has made it clear that he knows she’s the only person he can trust with his secret, because he knows all about hers.

Bold, atmospheric, and utterly frightening, Johnny Compton’s Dead First is spine-chilling supernatural horror about the pursuit of power and the undying need for reckoning.

Private investigator Shyla has just finished a case for a man named Massimo Dante, who thought he was the antichrist. He paid her well enough that she was able to buy herself a house and help her cousins out financially. She doesn’t need to accept billionaire Sexton Braith’s case, but curiosity gets the better of her. Braith wants Shyla to determine why he’s immortal, which his trusted chauffer, Remy, demonstrates by shoving a fire poker through his skull. Thoroughly freaked out, Shyla is ready to turn him down. Yet, Braith implies he knows her biggest secret–that she killed a man when she was young–and will bring it to light if she doesn’t help him. Little does Shyla know that Braith is hiding his own, much darker, secrets.

I was instantly hooked by the premise for Dead First. I’m a sucker for horror mysteries. While the first half of the book felt a bit slow for my taste, the pace really picks by the midpoint, and each reveal feels more horrific than the last. What starts out as a supernatural mystery eventually morphs into full blown horror. Interesting to note, Dead First seems to take place in the same world as Compton’s Bram Stoker Award nominated novel The Spite House, as there’s a passing reference to The Spite House at the very end of the book.

I liked how Shyla was more morally ambiguous than most protagonists. She’s willing to do some pretty messed up stuff for the ones she loves and to protect her secret. She’s driven by revenge and you can tell her anger is poisoning her, but she’s unwilling to let go of it. Shyla has trouble opening up to others and past experiences have hardened her. This is part of why she broke up with her girlfriend, Jinh. Shyla’s relationship with Jinh is complicated, to say the least. The two clearly still care for each other, but Shyla seems scared to get too close. Shyla first met her ex when she went on Jinh’s podcast, a blend of true crime and supernatural lore that has fans all over the world. Jinh has the ability to speak to the dead, though Shyla doesn’t really believe in Jinh’s power. While I liked Jinh, I felt like her character could have used more development.

I appreciated how the racism in the book is very subtle. You’re not hit over the head with it, but it’s there, hinted at and never outright stated.  For example, Shyla is always concerned about being harassed by the police. If you are a non-Black person who was somehow in a coma all through 2020, or just completely unaware of how cops treat Black people, you might not pick up on it. But it’s obvious Shyla must worry about cops and the busybodies who call them because she’s Black, even if it’s never spelled out for the audience. I liked that Dead First doesn’t feel like it’s written for non-Black people to learn about the horrors of racism. Instead, it assumes the reader is already aware of the systemic racism Black people deal with every day and Compton doesn’t have to delve in to it because it’s not part of the story. As much as I appreciate racism as horror stories, it’s also nice to read Black stories that aren’t focused on racism and Black trauma. Shyla does have trauma, but it has nothing to do with her race (other than the police not working as hard to find a missing Black child).

While the book initially feels more like a supernatural mystery thriller than straight horror, there’s still plenty of gore and some genuinely frightening moments in the second half of the book.  I personally enjoyed it, but I can see the mystery crowd being turned off by the violence and torture, while horror fans may not want to wait through the detective procedural parts of the story to get to the scary stuff. But I believe readers will enjoy the tense, haunted atmosphere, one of the story’s strongest points.

 

 

Tags: Adult, African American, Asian, Asian American, BIPOC, Bisexual, Black, Book Review, Ghosts/Haunting, Korean, Korean-American, LGBTQIA, Mystery, Occult, Own Voices, Recommended
Greedy by Callie Kazumi

Greedy by Callie Kazumi

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Bantam

Genre: Psychological Horror

Audience: Adult

Diversity: Multiracial (hafu) Japanese-British author and major character, Japanese minor characters

Takes Place in: Japan

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Animal Death, Body Shaming, Bullying, Cannibalism, Child Death, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Eating Disorder, Suicide, Violence, Vomit

Blurb

They will kill me soon, Edward Cook thinks. And when the Yakuza are unable to collect what he owes, Ed realizes, theyʼll go after his wife and child next. Broke, desperate, and unemployed, he stumbles upon an unusual ad: Chef wanted! Private chef for a high-profile businesswoman. One million yen per day.

Ed accepts the job. He hasnʼt earned any Michelin stars, but he knows his way around a kitchen. Leaving his life in Tokyo behind, he departs for an opulent estate in the mountains owned by the enigmatic and reclusive Hazeline Yamamoto, a disgraced socialite with a predatorʼs smile and an exacting palate. Hazelineʼs world is one of taste, connoisseurship, and experimentation—she is a certified gourmand. But when you can afford filet mignon for every meal, you begin to seek out the strange and forbidden.

The closer Ed gets to Hazeline and the brighter future that she promises—if he remains loyal—the nearer he is to realizing the chilling truth about her altruism. In this shadow world of unimaginable wealth, there are worse monsters than two-bit gangsters. The wind blowing through Hazeline’s home carries the sound of screaming, and Ed finds himself feeding all kinds of beasts.

Perfect for fans of Parasite and The Menu—enticing as a starter, meaty as a main dish, and full of satisfying just-desserts—Greedy is a suspenseful poison-pen note to classism and an ode to Japanese cuisine, a horror-tinged thriller unsuitable for vegetarians but full of shocking delights for every reader.

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.

Food-centric horror always makes me hungry, and this one had me craving meat. There’s a reason the cover warns it’s not safe for vegetarians.

Ed is a British ex-pat living in Japan with his Japanese wife, Sayuri, and their young daughter, Kaori. After traveling to Japan and falling head over heels for Sayuri, he lands a sales job at an English-speaking company. Unfortunately, COVID hits the company hard, and Ed gets laid off. Instead of job hunting, he starts spending the day at pachinko parlors and soon becomes addicted to the rush of gambling. Now Ed has wasted their savings, developed a significant gambling debt, and gotten involved with the yakuza, all of which he hides from his wife. He knows Sayuri will never forgive him if she finds out, but his lack of a job and the financial strain on their family is already causing marital tension. Desperate for money, Ed finally spots a job ad in the newspaper which may be the answer to his prayers. A high-profile businesswoman needs a discreet personal chef and is willing to pay one million yen a day (around $6,345 USD) to the right person. While not officially trained in the culinary arts, Ed spent time working as a sous chef at a few terrible restaurant chains in England and his wife has taught him to cook Japanese dishes, so he figures he can bullshit his way through an interview.

I liked how Ed is a flawed yet sympathetic character. His addiction was presented not as a moral failing (that would be Ed’s decision to lie to his wife), but as an illness. Most forms of gambling are illegal in Japan, but gambling addiction is still a huge problem, especially after COVID-19 when more people turned to overseas online gambling. Currently, it’s estimated that there are about 1.97 million people in Japan who actively use online casinos. Some even take yami baito or “dark part-time jobs” to pay for their gambling debt. These jobs, often advertised online, promise lots of quick cash for seemingly easy tasks, but don’t mention they require illegal activities. You would think that Ed would be concerned that this too good to be true job as a personal chef might actually be a yami baito, but as we quickly learn, Ed tends to ignore clear warning signs.

*trigger warning for discussions of body size and eating disorders*

It turns out the high-profile business woman is none other than Hazeline Yamamoto, a wealthy recluse and the widow of billionaire Botan Yamamoto. Ed is surprised by how Western Hazeline is, rejecting both restraint and conformity, things typically valued in Japanese society. She tells Ed about being growing up hāfu in Japan, a term used to describe people who have one Japanese parent and one non-Japanese parent. Like the author, who is the daughter of a Japanese mother born and raised in Brazil and a Scottish and Columbian father, both Hazeline Yamamoto and Ed’s daughter have one Japanese parent and one non-Japanese parent. In Hazeline’s case her mother was a British model and her father a Japanese businessman. On top of the struggles of being mixed race in a homogenous society, Hazeline was also bigger than her Japanese classmates. She was bullied for being “chubby” and not fitting into Japanese clothing, despite not being overweight by western standards.

In Japan, less than 40% of adults are considered overweight, and Japan has one of the lowest obesity rates in the world, most likely due to walkable cities and the traditional Japanese diet being so healthy.  The average size for a Japanese woman is 1.58 m (5’2”) and 55.3 kg (122 lbs) according to World Data, while women in the UK are on average 1.64 m (5’4”) and 73.6 kg (162 lbs).

On the flip side, over 10% of Japanese women are underweight, and for women in their twenties, one in five are underweight. Hazeline felt so pressured to be thin that, in order to fit in, she became anorexic. There’s unfortunately a lot of stigma surrounding eating disorders in Japan and a lack of support for those who have them.

But after her husband died, Hazeline realized she was sick and tired of being hungry all the time and living as a hermit meant there was no one to care about Hazeline’s body. She tells Ed that the only joy she had left is from the food she consumes. “What use is dying skinny and hungry? When I join Lucifer, I shall be plump and happy, and I can’t bring myself to give a damn what anyone thinks about it.” And that’s where Ed comes in.

*end trigger warning*

Hazeline wants Ed to prepare her exquisite, inventive meals. As Hazeline puts it “I don’t eat to survive, I eat to savor. It should always be worth it, every mouthful a justification for my body.” She especially loves meat and tells Ed “…a meal without meat is merely a side dish.” When Ed serves her duck with plum jam as part of his interview, Hazeline very proudly tells him how she killed and gutted it herself. Kazumi touches on the Burakumin during her story, a historically “outcaste” or “untouchable” social class, occupying the lowest level of the feudal Japanese social hierarchy.

The Burakumin are those descended from people employed in occupations considered taboo by orthodox Shintō and Buddhism beliefs about not killing living things or touching the dead. So, undertakers, executioners, leatherworkers, and, of course, butchers. Discrimination against those who work as butchers continues in Japan to this day. So, it’s weird that Hazeline has a philosophy that it’s good practice to kill your meals yourself. As the final step of his interview Ed must slaughter a chicken for food.

I didn’t like that the Japanese words were italicized. When non-English words are italicized, I feel it labels them as “exotic” and other. Editor Natalia Iwanek goes into detail about why italicizing non-English words is problematic here. I suspect, however, that this was the editor’s decision rather than the author’s. There is a glossary in the back of the book of Japanese words used in the book, which is helpful as Kazumi doesn’t have to interrupt the flow of the story to explain the words to an English-speaking audience who may not be familiar with what an izakaya is or what majide means.

It’s pretty evident what the “big reveal” of the book is early on, and most readers will quickly figure out what Ed is trying so hard to deny. Somehow, that makes it even more suspenseful because you KNOW what’s going to happen, but that doesn’t stop you from praying it won’t. It’s horrible, like watching a car crash in slow motion. You’re screaming at Ed to figure it out and get out of there, but he keeps dismissing the very apparent red flags. Even though there wasn’t any obvious horror until the end of the book, and not much on-page violence, my anxiety levels were through the roof, dreading what was coming. Greedy is a book that I absolutely devoured (pun intended).

Tags: Adult, Asian, Asian British, BIPOC, Book Review, Japanese, Own Voices, Psychological Horror, Recommended
The Valley of Vengeful Ghosts by Kim Fu

The Valley of Vengeful Ghosts by Kim Fu

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher:  Tin House

Genre:  Gothic, Psychological Horror

Audience: Adult

Diversity: Chinese American author and main character

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Animal Death, Child Abuse, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Illness, Incest, Kidnapping, Medical Torture/Abuse, Medical Procedures, Miscarriage, Necrophilia, Oppression, Mental Illness,  Physical Abuse, Rape/Sexual Assault, Suicide

Blurb

In the aftermath of her mother’s death, Eleanor is unmoored. For years, her mother orchestrated every detail of her life—from meals, to laundry, to finances—as Eleanor focused on her career as an online therapist. Left to navigate the world on her own, Eleanor clings to her mother’s final directive: use her inheritance to buy a house.

Desperate to obey her mother one last time, Eleanor impulsively buys a model home in a valley-turned-construction site, a picturesque development steeped in a shadowy history. It feels like a fresh start, until the rain comes—an endless, torrential downpour. As water seeps in through the house’s cracks, the line between what is real and what is not begins to blur. Haunted by the stories of her clients, a stream of workmen and bureaucrats she can’t trust, and visions of ghosts from her past and present, Eleanor’s reality unravels, and she is forced to reckon with the secrets she’s buried and the choices she’s made.

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 Valley of Vengeful Ghosts is a horror story about every millennial’s worst nightmare: being expected to navigate the world of adulthood without any guidance or support, and buying a home.

Eleanor Fan is a therapist whose mother, Lele, has recently passed away from cancer. Her dying wish was for her daughter to buy a house. Like many millennials, owning her own home seemed like an impossibility for Eleanor until her frugal mother passed and left her enough for a modest house. But even with her inheritance, Eleanor is struggling to find somewhere livable. Her first realtor, Mary, only shows her crappy, one bedroom condos, and Eleanor is outbid each time she applies. Her new realtor, Matt, drives her through a dying town, into the forest and shows her a model home in a newly developed area. The developer went bankrupt after building the model homes, and the new developer is waiting for the summer to continue building. Eleanor loves the house, though is unsure about buying.Matt encourages her to jump on the opportunity as soon as possible, which means waiving the inspection (huge red flag). What seems like a dream come true turns into a nightmare when the house quickly becomes unlivable.

I’m lucky enough to be married to a super competent gen Xer who knows how to repair most anything, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have bothered with home ownership, even if I lived in an alternate universe where I could have afforded one on my own. I don’t know how to fix a cracked pipe, install a dishwasher, or build a bookshelf that wasn’t purchased from Ikea (all things my wife has done easily). I’ve never even mowed a lawn or cleaned gutters! And forget taking care of it, just trying to purchase a home can be a confusing nightmare. There’s the whole process of applying for a mortgage, finding the right real estate agent, putting in a bid on the house, hiring a home inspector, figuring out internet service and all that crap. It’s overwhelming! No wonder Eleanor has no idea what she’s doing.

The house she buys was cheaply and quickly made to look good, not actually serve as a home. And even if it was? Some of the design choices were made with form over function in mind, like the giant floor to ceiling windows with no blinds or curtains. Not only do the windows lack insulation, there’s zero privacy (thank God Eleanor lives in the middle of nowhere), and there will be a ton of light during the day, whether she wants it or not. Unfortunately, Eleanor didn’t consider any of these things before buying the house, and when she does finally notice the above issues and tries to solve them with curtains, she learns that curtains are really freaking expensive. And that’s just the start of the problems. With a seemingly endless rain pouring down on her new home comes numerous leaks that start as a trickle under the windows but quickly start damaging the home. The rain gets in the front door lock and jams it, forcing Eleanor to call a sketchy locksmith who charges her $600 and then makes vague threats about what will happen if she doesn’t pay.

There are a lot of creepy men in The Valley of Vengeful Ghosts. Eleanor’s grad school mentor raped her. her work colleague, Teddy, lusts after her even though Eleanor sees him as a father figure (his wife even assumes they slept together). Her real estate agent, Matt, clearly conned her. One of Elanor’s new patients, Jared, is a raging misogynist who refers to women as “females” and wants to use Eleanor to practice talking to women yet constantly speaks down to her and ignores her. Eleanor just doesn’t seem to have good luck with men. There is her ex, who by all accounts seems like a decent guy, but he wants nothing to do with her because of her weird attachment to her mother.

Millennials like Eleanor have had it rough. We reached adulthood during the Great Recession of 2008, and many of us were forced to move back in with our Boomer parents (assuming that was even an option). Even those of us with college degrees, something we were told by adults we had to get if we wanted to a good paying job, weren’t having any luck. The jobs we’d been prepared for weren’t hiring people without experience, and retail and food service jobs didn’t want someone they considered “overqualified.” Meanwhile, we had a ton of student debt we couldn’t pay off, wages were stagnant, and the cost of living was soaring. That means we were forced to put off typical adult milestones like marriage, having kids, and yes, buying a house. With schools getting rid of shop and home economics courses many of us also weren’t taught how to fix a car, sew a button, or a cook a meal (thanks Ronald Regan).

Eleanor’s mom completely failed in preparing her daughter for the real world. After Eleanor is raped by her grad school mentor she drops out of her PhD program and regresses emotionally (something Teddy points out is common after trauma) and her mother comes to take care of her. She handles Eleanor’s money and keeps the books for her practice as dealing with money bores and frightens Eleanor (all her bank accounts are joint accounts with her mother). Lele cleans Eleanor’s apartment, takes out her trash, buys her groceries, cooks her meals, and does her laundry for her.  Eleanor is so coddled that her mother even feeds her apple slices like a baby bird while she’s working and clips her toenails. The irony is not lost on me that Eleanor works as a therapist, helping other people with their lives, when she can’t even get her own shit together and would definitely benefit from some therapy herself.

Isolation is a recurring theme throughout the story. Eleanor is physically isolated in the valley where she lives and where the rain never seems to end, but also emotionally isolated from others after the passing of her mother. She has no romantic partner, no real friends, and only a distant aunt for family. She doesn’t even see her patients in person anymore, instead opting to focus solely on telehealth. The story is strongly implied to take place right after COVID, when everyone was feeling the despair that comes from isolation. But it seems Eleanor never really connected to people after the pandemic.

I should point out that, despite the title, this is not a haunted house story. The “ghosts” are people that Eleanor knows (or knew) that appear in her mind and talk to her, more hallucination than specter. But while there are no literal ghosts, Fu still instills tension with modern fears like home ownership, isolation, climate change, and losing one’s parents.  It feels like a gothic novel, except the house isn’t old and decaying but new and decaying, while the never-ending rain, which is slowly eroding the surrounding landscape, creates an oppressive atmosphere. There isn’t really a plot so much as a series of events that unfolds in Eleanor’s life as we watch her mental state fall apart along with her home, but it still grabbed my attention and never felt like the story dragged.

Tags: Adult, Asian, Asian Canadian, BIPOC, Book Review, Gothic, Hong Konger, Own Voices, Psychological Horror, Recommended
These Bodies Ain’t Broken Edited by Madeline Dyer

These Bodies Ain’t Broken Edited by Madeline Dyer

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Page Street Publishing

Genre: Body Horror, Demon, Historic Horror, Monster, Myths and Folklore, Romance, Vampire

Audience: Young Adult

Diversity: Authors and characters with disabilities including ADHD, anxiety, agoraphobia, Autism, celiac disease, chronic pain, Crohn’s disease, diabetes, Down syndrome, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, Fibromyalgia, mast cell activation syndrome (MCAS), neurofibromatosis, postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS), PTSD, and substance use disorder. Non-binary main character and author, agender main character, biracial Haitian side character, bisexual main character.

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Ableism, Amputation,  Animal Death, Body Shaming, Bullying, Cannibalism, Child Abuse, Child Death, Classism, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Gore, Homophobia, Illness, Kidnapping, Medical Procedures, Oppression, Mental Illness, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm, Sexism, Slurs,  Suicide, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Victim Blaming, Violence

Blurb

A monstrous transformation within your own body.
A sacrificial imprisonment.
A fight to the death against an ancient evil.

These stories showcase disabled characters winning against all odds.

Outsmarting deadly video games, hunting the predatory monster in the woods, rooting out evil within their community, finding love and revenge with their newly turned vampire friend—this anthology upends expectations of the roles disabled people can play in horror. With visibly and invisibly disabled characters whose illnesses include Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, Crohn’s disease, diabetes, PTSD, and more, each entry also includes a short essay from the author about the conditions portrayed in their stories to further contextualize their characters’ perspectives. From breaking ancient curses to defying death itself, these 13 horror stories cast disabled characters as heroes we can all root for.

Contributors include bestselling and award-winning as well as emerging authors: Dana Mele, Lillie Lainoff, Soumi Roy, Anandi, Fin Leary, S.E. Anderson, K. Ancrum, Pintip Dunn, Lily Meade, Mo Netz, P.H. Low, and Carly Nugent.

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.

Horror isn’t exactly known for having good disability rep, so it was great having an anthology written by authors with disabilities because there was so much variety in representation. There was everything from Crohn’s disease to Ehlers-Danlos syndrome to PTSD. In some stories, a character’s disability played a huge role (Baby Teeth, Within the Walls, The Worst of It), and it’s only mentioned in passing in others (When the Night Calls, Kissed by Death). At the end of each story, the author would write about how they chose to represent disability in their work, and some even shared their experiences with their own disabilities and how they related to their stories.

I loved that both invisible and visible disabilities were featured. I have invisible disabilities myself (ADHD and mental illness), but for a long time I didn’t consider myself disabled because, like many people, I thought the only disabilities that existed were visible. This caused me a great deal of stress because I was always trying to compare myself to neurotypical people. It never occurred to me to ask for accommodations because I thought I should be able to “power through” any challenges on willpower alone. Engaging with the disability community online helped me be more accepting of my own disability. I learned that I wasn’t “broken,” the difficulties I had were not moral failings, and having a disability is not a “bad” thing. I discovered that the things I struggled with due to ADHD and mental illness were not my fault, it was just a difference in brain chemistry that I was born with. Accepting my disability meant I also accepted help and learned to function with my disability instead of always fighting against it. It was empowering. So, reading stories about ADHD and mental health in a disability anthology felt incredibly validating. Not only that, but these characters with disabilities got to be the heroes. It was awesome reading about a woman with ADHD get revenge on the men who wronged her and a non-binary person whose mental illness was not the source of horror in the story. Another great thing about These Bodies Ain’t Broken is the amount of intersectionality. There were queer characters, non-binary characters, Asian characters, etc.

This review would be unreasonably long if I examined every story in the collection I will focus on a few that stood out to me. When the Night Calls by Soumi Roy takes place in 19th century Bengal. Charu is a newly married 16-year-old girl whose best friend Malati, an educated city girl who is fiercely independent, has disappeared without a trace. Malati’s cold husband claims that his wife was lured into the forest and taken by the Nishi Daak for being so willful. He says it was Malati’s own fault she was taken, but Charu isn’t sure what to believe. Malati always told her the Nishi Daak was just a story told to keep women in line. Although Charu does her best to be an obedient wife and daughter-in-law her curiosity gets the better of her and she stumbles across the terrible secret kept by the village men; the reason women and girls of the village keep disappearing. This bloody story of feminine vengeance and Bengali monsters was an extremely satisfying read. I also enjoyed it as Charu and I share a disability, ADHD (although it’s not named it the story the author reveals that Charu is neurodiverse). I related to the frustration of making mistakes, even when you’re trying your hardest, and how painful it is when people around you attribute this to laziness or “just not paying attention.”

The first line of Thy Creature by Lillie Lainoff draws you in immediately. “The hardest thing about coming back to life is remembering how to breathe.” Told in the second person, this Frankenstein inspired tale tells the story of a girl brought back to life by her college boyfriend, Cal, after she dies in a hiking accident. Despite being a mediocre boyfriend at best, the protagonist seems perfectly happy to settle and set her expectations low when it comes to Cal, especially since she now owes him for bringing her back to life. The story reminded me so much of all the straight women who settle for awful men because they don’t think they deserve better. Hey, there’s a reason single women are happier.

Dating while disabled comes with its own set of challenges especially when dating someone without a disability. The non-disabled person may only date someone with a disability out of pity or because they fetishize their disability. This also applies to anyone who isn’t skinny, white, cisgender, etc. (aka has their own category on Pornhub), so heaven help you if you belong to more than one of those marginalized groups (intersectionality). Then there’s all the misconceptions, like the assumption that people with disabilities aren’t sexual (obviously Ace people with disabilities exist, but that’s a sexual orientation, and has nothing to do with their disabilities). As Lainoff’s protagonist slowly builds confidence, she also learns she doesn’t have to settle just because she has a disability and that maybe her boyfriend isn’t all that great.

In Ravenous by Carly Nugent, the protagonist, Linden, is struggling with depression and passive suicidal ideation. She refuses to monitor her blood sugar or manage her diabetes which has already landed her in the ER once. Linden has decided she’s just going not to accept her diabetes, forcing her mother to help her manage most of it, and she’d rather die from it than live with it. I like that Nugent wrote about the difficulty someone with a chronic illness goes through when they’re first diagnosed. Linden is still in the denial and depression stages of her grief after learning her life will never be the same. But over the course of the story, she learns to accept that she has diabetes, and it doesn’t mean her life is over. I love that the author didn’t portray disability in a negative light while also acknowledging that yes, finding out that you’re going to have to manage a chronic illness for the rest of your life can really suck.

Another story I really liked was House of Hades by Dana Mele. House of Hades is a virtual world filled with gamers and virtual replicas of the dead. The tech was originally funded by some billionaire who wanted to live forever. But when he learned that you can’t really become an immortal machine, he sold the program, which was used it to create House of Hades. They call the digital clones “ghosts,” which include historical figures like Shakespeare and Marie Antoinette. The game is so realistic that if you die in the game you can die in real life (so Matrix rules) unless you “wake up,” which is why the game requires a buddy system. The voice command “wake up” triggers the exit protocol. Unfortunately, you need someone else to trigger it for you, you can’t exit yourself, which seems like a serious design flaw.

Ode and Era are two gamers who like to hang out in House of Hades. Ode is currently grounded, and isn’t supposed to be playing the game because they’ve been abusing pills and recently had an overdose on a drug called V (aka Viper, the story’s fictional drug). Their parents recently got divorced and they’re struggling with it. When they go back to Hades with Era, Ode is shocked to discover they’ve been separated. Now Ode is all alone in a dark little town, seemingly empty, but something is watching them. They are forced to solve puzzles and play the town’s strange game to try and find Era and a way out.

I thought the setting was very creative, and I like that the protagonist was non-binary like me. In the story notes Mele explains how she didn’t like the way horror villains were always portrayed as mentally ill. As someone with my own mental illness and who has spent time inpatient at mental health hospitals (or as I like to call it “a grippy sock vacation”) it hurts when I hear people talk about the “dangerous crazies” in the psych ward or explain away a person’s terrible behavior (racism, violence, abuse, etc.) by saying “they’re crazy.” They’re not mentally ill, they’re just awful people! And mentally ill people are more likely to be the victims of violent crime than commit it. Only a very small percent of violent crimes (around 5%) are committed by people with mental illness. Yet the myth of the “crazed killer” prevails in horror. So, I appreciate that Mele made her protagonist mentally ill.

One of my favorite stories in the collection was The Weepers and Washer-Women of Lake Lomond by Madeline Dyer (the editor of the anthology), though I think the story would have worked better if it was a full-length novel. It was like I was being served this amazing meal, but I had to shove it in my mouth in five minutes when I really wanted to savor it. It didn’t necessarily feel rushed, I just think I would have enjoyed it more if I had had more time with the characters, the setting, and the lore because it was all so great! In the story the protagonist, Bianca, who has multiple disabilities including Ehlers-Danlos, POTS, and MCAS, is pretending to be her twin sister, Remi, so she can take part in the World Kickboxing Championship on the island of Loch Lomond. Bianca is convinced the island had something to do with the death or their cousin, Mari, who competed on Loch Lomond a ten years prior. Remi’s boyfriend, Blake, does not think this is a good idea, but Bianca, who hates being treated like she’s “broken,” is determined. She’s thought of everything; Remi faked an injury months ago to explain away Bianca’s crutches. The competition takes place in pitch dark, the organizers claiming that it’s to make it more fair for blind and low-vision competitors (a blind girl won the championship last time), so no one will see Bianca using a mobility aid. And she only needs to stay in the competition long enough to find out what happened to Mari, so Bianca doesn’t necessarily have to win her first match.

I can understand Blake’s hesitation to help Bianca go through with her plan, because at first, I thought Bianca was foolish to try and pretend to be her sister. While both sister’s have Ehlers-Danlos, Remi only got stretchy joints, while Bianca got the whole shebang that can come with the condition. How would Bianca be able to compete in such a physically demanding competition? And immediately after arriving on the island,things start to go wrong. There’s no food that Bianca can safely eat, and the training masters confiscate her medication and medical drinks claiming it will give her an “unfair advantage.” Dizzy with fatigue and illness she tries to bow out of the championship, but is forced to compete. And when she enters the dark arena, the training master takes Bianca’s crutches. Worst of all, her opponent doesn’t seem quite human. I thought she was guaranteed to be monster chow. But then her disability ends up being the reason she survives. *spoiler* Because Bianca’s crutches (presumably made of durable steel, which contains iron) can hurt her adversaries. As Bianca says at the end of the story “I’m Bianca. And that’s how I’m alive. Because I’m disabled. Because I need mobility aids. Because I fought with my crutch.” *spoiler ends* I absolutely love this twist. Disabilities are often to assumed to be a “weakness” but it ends up being Bianca’s strength.

Three of the stories used the second person point of view, which is when the story addresses the reader directly using the pronoun “you” when describing the protagonists’ actions (i.e. you shook in fear when faced with the monster from your dreams). This is a tricky to do, and doesn’t always work well, as you’re basically telling the reader what they’re doing and feeling. But it’s also more intimate and the reader gets a greater feel for what the protagonist is going through. I liked that some of the authors used this for their storytelling. It gives  you more of a feel for what it’s was like living with a specific disability.

While not all the stories in the collection were as strong as others, I think this is a solid anthology. It was great to both see myself in characters and learn about different types of disabilities, as there’s so much variation. I also love that the stories defied stereotypes like disabled people not being worthy of love, or mentally ill people being dangerous. The only thing that surprised me was that there were no stories by authors who were blind, low vision, or Deaf/deaf, and there was only one story with a character who used a wheelchair. Perhaps Madeline Dyer wanted to focus on disabilities which don’t get as much media attention or she simply wasn’t able to get authors to represent those disabilities. This isn’t really a criticism, just something that surprised me. Perhaps I just need to reexamine my own biases when it comes to disabilities.

Tags: ADHD, Agender, agoraphobia, Anthology, Anxiety Disorder, Autism, BIPOC, Biracial, Bisexual, Body Horror, Book Review, Cane user, Celiac Disease, Chronic Pain, Crohn’s disease, Demon, diabetes, Disability, Down syndrome, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, Fibromyalgia, Haitian, Historic Horror, LGBTQIA, MCAS, Monster, Myths and Folklore, Neurodiversity, neurofibromatosis, Non-binary, Own Voices, POTS, PTSD, Recommended, Romance, Substance Use Disorder, Trans, vampire, Wheelchair user, Young Adult

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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
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
Funerals Are for the Living by Sami Ellis

Funerals Are for the Living by Sami Ellis

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Amulet Books

Genre: Occult, Thriller

Audience: Young Adult

Diversity: Black, queer main character and author, main character with anxiety and depression

Takes Place in: North Carolina

Content Warnings (Highlight to view):  Alcohol Abuse, Body Shaming, Cannibalism, Child Abuse, Child Death, Child Endangerment, Death, Forced Captivity, Kidnapping, Mental Illness, Physical Abuse, Police Harassment, Racism, Slut-Shaming, Stalking, Suicide, Torture, Violence, Vomit

Blurb

New from the author of Dead Girls Walking comes a YA horror about a girl kidnapped by a racist cult after investigating the supernatural happenings at her sister’s gravesite

A month ago, Junie Daniels was in a car crash that left her with a dead sister, fragmented memories of the accident, and a mother too checked-out to plan a funeral. The cheapest grave plot Junie can find is in the next town over. Sure, Williamsville is still proudly named after a slave master who was rumored to dabble in dark magic—but this North Carolina, after all.

When unexplained occurrences start happening at the graveyard, though, Junie and her best friend, Omari, investigate. And it’s not long before Junie and Omari are taken…

Williamsville wants both Daniels girls. But Junie will do anything to protect her sister—even if it’s only her corpse.

Sisters Junie and Jay were as different as can be. Jay was outgoing, popular, and an activist who lived her life out loud. In comparison Junie is introverted, quiet, and only has one friend, Omari. Jay has to drag Junie to parties just to keep her from sitting alone in their shared room. So, when Jay is killed in a car accident that Junie survives, Junie can’t help but think the wrong sister died. While her mom is depressed to the point of catatonia, Junie is forced to use her college savings to plan her sister’s funeral herself. Instead of buying a plot in Daniels, where they live, Junie has Jay buried in the neighboring town of Williamsville after finding a flyer advertising a cheap plot on the windshield of her mom’s car.

Like the two sisters, Daniels and Williamsville are polar opposites. Williamsville was founded by slave owner William Graham, who terrorized the town and killed his slaves for fun. Basically, Graham is Simon Legree and Madame LaLaurie combined. The creepy, desolate town is still mostly white to this day. Meanwhile Daniels was founded by Black sharecroppers who refused to live on the land where their ancestors were enslaved. It’s small but lively and has a strong sense of community. But it’s a community Junie does not feel a part of due to her introversion and low self-esteem. And honestly, I get it. It’s hard to think other people like you when you don’t even like yourself, and it can be scary trying to connect with others when you’re not naturally outgoing.

Junie knows everyone loved Jay, who was very active in the community, and Omari, who is friends with everyone. But she thinks of herself as a third wheel, a cheap imitation of her more popular little sister. Junie seems to struggle with depression and anxiety, which definitely play a role in her self-isolation. But Junie is also kind of mean. Time and again we see people in the community try to reach out to her as she pushes them away. When her neighbors call after her, asking how she and her mom are doing, Junie ignores them. When her sparring partner and crush, Neveña, tries to be friends with her, Junie coldly rejects her. And when Jay dragged her to a party before her death, Junie sat in the corner and sulked the entire time. But community is important. Especially when you’re marginalized.

It’s her disconnect from the community that stops Junie from reaching out for help when she and her mom are clearly struggling. Unfortunately, Junie decides she can handle everything by herself without any support. Junie is so completely turned off by the entire town showing up to mourn Jay (she refers to them as “sloppy sad”) that she decides to have a second, more reserved funeral at Jay’s grave, just her and Omari. It’s there that Junie notices something is wrong with the soil. The white graves are covered in lush, green grass, but Jay’s is just off colored soil that immediately kills the roses Omari places on the grave. Pissed off by the “racist dirt” the Williamsville church clearly gave her, Junie vows to return and fix it. Omari suggests contacting a lawyer and suing the church or at least getting help from his Uncle York who owns a local flower shop. But Junie doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact that her mom hasn’t left her room for a month and can’t take care of her daughter, because CPS might get involved. After hearing a strange noise in the graveyard, Omari decides that’s their cue to leave the creepy-ass town and go home.

Things continue to go poorly for Junie. Her mixed martial arts coach tells Junie she can’t go to the state MMA championship because of how much she’s been slacking off, despite the fact she’s gone every year. She finds an eviction notice on her door due to non-payment. And when Junie’s mother finally musters the energy to get out of bed and returns to work, they let her go, which she deals with by getting drunk. Junie is already feeling down when her mom drops a bombshell.

Junie already knows that the town of Daniels was named after her great-grandpa, but what she didn’t know is that she’s also a descendent of William Graham. While it’s not uncommon for Black people to be descended from white slave owners, since enslaved women were routinely raped by white men (my own last name comes from the white man who owned my great-great grandparents, his own children), it’s still horrifying to discover she’s related to such a monster. Apparently, Graham had multiple families, and sired many offspring, the descendants of whom are actually proud of their heritage. Junie’s mom warns her never to return to Williamsville, even though her sister is buried there.

There’s a reason Junie’s mom doesn’t want her going to Williamsville. It’s what’s known as a Sundown Town, a community that keeps non-whites (usually Black people) from living there through a combination of racist laws, racial covenants,  violence, and intimidation. Black folks could work there during the day but were expected to leave before sundown. While the Civil Rights and Fair Housing Acts of 1968 made Sundown Towns technically illegal, housing discrimination, gentrification, policing, and the lasting effects of redlining,  continued the tradition. Keep in mind Sundown Towns can be found all over the US, even in supposedly  “liberal” states. But Junie ignores her mom and drags Omari back to Jay’s grave to deal with the racist soil problem. It turns out she should have listened to her mom because the two teens end up kidnapped by a cult of William Graham’s white descendants, led by the sinister Sister Erica.

It’s no accident that one of the main villains is a white woman. Sister Erica reminds me of the white women who sell out BIPOC women to uphold the white supremacist patriarchy, like the 53–55% of white women who voted for Trump (compared to 7-10% of Black women). I find it particularly satisfying to see women like Pam Bondi or Kristi Noem betrayed by the white patriarchy they supported because they though it made them special and safe. So, of course I was excitedly waiting for Sister Erica to get hers. Maybe it’s petty and cruel of me to enjoy the suffering of others like that, but honestly, I don’t fucking care. People who happily intentionally hurt already marginalized people deserve to be laughed at when the leopards inevitably eat their face.

The first thing I noticed while reading Funerals are for the Living is how much I enjoyed the writing style. Ellis uses AAVE (African-American Vernacular English) liberally throughout the book, and I fucking love it. The editor didn’t remove the double negatives or the “done beens” in the name of “proper” grammar, so the characters sound like real people at ease in their environment instead of Black folks forced to code-switch. AAVE and other English dialects have their own grammar rules and are not “broken English” any more than American English is a broken form of British English. But racist grammar snobs still act like it is. For me, reading characters use AAVE felt familiar and comforting, after all it’s how my Black family speaks when they’re around each other and don’t have to code-switch for work. If they’re speaking in AAVE that means it’s a safe space.

I love how Ellis described Junie’s Black skin as “summer colored,” a welcome departure from white authors comparing Black skin to food. In fact, the only time Black skin is compared to food in the book is when Sister Erica does it while fetishizing a Black man, and you can practically feel Junie and Omari cringe. It’s also a nice change of pace that the white characters are the ones who are dirty, have bad hair, and act “primal”. And it’s just nice to have a book that’s clearly made for Black readers and isn’t forced to make things more digestible to try and appeal to a white audience.

I thought Junie was a great protagonist. She doesn’t really excel at anything, she’s not as smart Omari or as outgoing and strong as her sister Jay, nor is she much of a martial artist like Neveña. She’s also not particularly nice and only has one real friend because of it. She felt like an everyday, average teenager who was going through some shit. But despite all her faults she is very loyal to the few lucky people she cares about. While the cult represents unquestioning obedience of the white patriarchy, Junie represents rebellion against oppression. She starts out as someone who just lets things happen to her but becomes more of a fighter (like Jay) over the course of the book. I also liked Ellis’ unflinching portrayal of grief in Funerals are for the Living, in addition to Black mental health. One of the major morals of the story is that it’s okay to ask for help, which brings us back to the importance of community. It’s something Junie and Jay used to fight about, Jay wanted their mom to see a therapist while Junie just wanted to leave her be and hope it got better on its own (which of course it doesn’t). Medical racism and stigma keep Black people from receiving therapy that acknowledges their unique needs, like the trauma caused by everyday racism.

Funerals are for the Living gave me Get Out vibes, but set in the backwoods of rural North Carolina rather than the wealthy suburbs of upstate New York. You know you can’t trust these seemingly friendly white people, and something is very off, you just don’t know what it is yet. There are some really creepy scenes, like when characters are tortured or you realize just how brainwashed the members of the cult (mostly young people and children) are. Then there are more subtle chills like finding the slave mural in the church or knowing the racist police won’t save you if you call them for help.

Despite the overall dark and sometimes depressing tone of the book, there’s still some great moments of dark humor. I laughed out loud when Junie yelled that the church scammed her with a “Temu Grave,” or when she worried that the white cult would turn her and Omari into chili with no seasoning. I personally felt the book had a few pacing issues and could drag in some parts, but when it hit its stride, it really hit its stride and I found I couldn’t put it down. The mystery element of the book is really gripping, and I never knew what was going to happen next. I did feel like the supernatural parts of the story were kind of shoehorned in, and I’m not sure if they were strictly necessary since the book was chilling enough with just the racist cult. They didn’t necessarily detract from the story, I just don’t think they really added anything either. Overall, Funerals are for the Living is a well-crafted and moving piece of young adult fiction that doesn’t speak down to its young audience and trusts them with heavy topics.

Tags: African American, Anxiety Disorder, BIPOC, Black, Book Review, Depression, Disability, Lesbian, LGBTQIA, Mental Illness, Own Voices, Recommended, Young Adult
Dead First by Johnny Compton

Dead First by Johnny Compton

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: G.P. Putnam’s Son

Genre:  Ghosts & Hauntings, Mystery, Occult

Audience: Adult

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

Takes Place in: Texas

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Amputation, Child Death, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Gore, Kidnapping, Mental Illness, Police Harassment, Racism, Self-Harm, Suicide, Torture, Violence

Blurb

When private investigator Shyla Sinclair is invited to the looming mansion of mysterious Texan tycoon Saxton Braith, she’s more than a little suspicious. The last thing she expects to see that night is Braith’s assistant driving an iron rod straight through the back of his skull. Scratch that—the last thing she expects to see is Braith’s resurrection afterward.

Braith can’t die, it turns out, but he has no explanation for his immortality, and very few intact memories of his past. Which is why he wants to pay Shyla millions to investigate him, and bring his long-buried history to light.

Shyla can’t help but be intrigued, but she’s also trapped by the offer. Braith has made it clear that he knows she’s the only person he can trust with his secret, because he knows all about hers.

Bold, atmospheric, and utterly frightening, Johnny Compton’s Dead First is spine-chilling supernatural horror about the pursuit of power and the undying need for reckoning.

Private investigator Shyla has just finished a case for a man named Massimo Dante, who thought he was the antichrist. He paid her well enough that she was able to buy herself a house and help her cousins out financially. She doesn’t need to accept billionaire Sexton Braith’s case, but curiosity gets the better of her. Braith wants Shyla to determine why he’s immortal, which his trusted chauffer, Remy, demonstrates by shoving a fire poker through his skull. Thoroughly freaked out, Shyla is ready to turn him down. Yet, Braith implies he knows her biggest secret–that she killed a man when she was young–and will bring it to light if she doesn’t help him. Little does Shyla know that Braith is hiding his own, much darker, secrets.

I was instantly hooked by the premise for Dead First. I’m a sucker for horror mysteries. While the first half of the book felt a bit slow for my taste, the pace really picks by the midpoint, and each reveal feels more horrific than the last. What starts out as a supernatural mystery eventually morphs into full blown horror. Interesting to note, Dead First seems to take place in the same world as Compton’s Bram Stoker Award nominated novel The Spite House, as there’s a passing reference to The Spite House at the very end of the book.

I liked how Shyla was more morally ambiguous than most protagonists. She’s willing to do some pretty messed up stuff for the ones she loves and to protect her secret. She’s driven by revenge and you can tell her anger is poisoning her, but she’s unwilling to let go of it. Shyla has trouble opening up to others and past experiences have hardened her. This is part of why she broke up with her girlfriend, Jinh. Shyla’s relationship with Jinh is complicated, to say the least. The two clearly still care for each other, but Shyla seems scared to get too close. Shyla first met her ex when she went on Jinh’s podcast, a blend of true crime and supernatural lore that has fans all over the world. Jinh has the ability to speak to the dead, though Shyla doesn’t really believe in Jinh’s power. While I liked Jinh, I felt like her character could have used more development.

I appreciated how the racism in the book is very subtle. You’re not hit over the head with it, but it’s there, hinted at and never outright stated.  For example, Shyla is always concerned about being harassed by the police. If you are a non-Black person who was somehow in a coma all through 2020, or just completely unaware of how cops treat Black people, you might not pick up on it. But it’s obvious Shyla must worry about cops and the busybodies who call them because she’s Black, even if it’s never spelled out for the audience. I liked that Dead First doesn’t feel like it’s written for non-Black people to learn about the horrors of racism. Instead, it assumes the reader is already aware of the systemic racism Black people deal with every day and Compton doesn’t have to delve in to it because it’s not part of the story. As much as I appreciate racism as horror stories, it’s also nice to read Black stories that aren’t focused on racism and Black trauma. Shyla does have trauma, but it has nothing to do with her race (other than the police not working as hard to find a missing Black child).

While the book initially feels more like a supernatural mystery thriller than straight horror, there’s still plenty of gore and some genuinely frightening moments in the second half of the book.  I personally enjoyed it, but I can see the mystery crowd being turned off by the violence and torture, while horror fans may not want to wait through the detective procedural parts of the story to get to the scary stuff. But I believe readers will enjoy the tense, haunted atmosphere, one of the story’s strongest points.

 

 

Tags: Adult, African American, Asian, Asian American, BIPOC, Bisexual, Black, Book Review, Ghosts/Haunting, Korean, Korean-American, LGBTQIA, Mystery, Occult, Own Voices, Recommended
Greedy by Callie Kazumi

Greedy by Callie Kazumi

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Bantam

Genre: Psychological Horror

Audience: Adult

Diversity: Multiracial (hafu) Japanese-British author and major character, Japanese minor characters

Takes Place in: Japan

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Animal Death, Body Shaming, Bullying, Cannibalism, Child Death, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Eating Disorder, Suicide, Violence, Vomit

Blurb

They will kill me soon, Edward Cook thinks. And when the Yakuza are unable to collect what he owes, Ed realizes, theyʼll go after his wife and child next. Broke, desperate, and unemployed, he stumbles upon an unusual ad: Chef wanted! Private chef for a high-profile businesswoman. One million yen per day.

Ed accepts the job. He hasnʼt earned any Michelin stars, but he knows his way around a kitchen. Leaving his life in Tokyo behind, he departs for an opulent estate in the mountains owned by the enigmatic and reclusive Hazeline Yamamoto, a disgraced socialite with a predatorʼs smile and an exacting palate. Hazelineʼs world is one of taste, connoisseurship, and experimentation—she is a certified gourmand. But when you can afford filet mignon for every meal, you begin to seek out the strange and forbidden.

The closer Ed gets to Hazeline and the brighter future that she promises—if he remains loyal—the nearer he is to realizing the chilling truth about her altruism. In this shadow world of unimaginable wealth, there are worse monsters than two-bit gangsters. The wind blowing through Hazeline’s home carries the sound of screaming, and Ed finds himself feeding all kinds of beasts.

Perfect for fans of Parasite and The Menu—enticing as a starter, meaty as a main dish, and full of satisfying just-desserts—Greedy is a suspenseful poison-pen note to classism and an ode to Japanese cuisine, a horror-tinged thriller unsuitable for vegetarians but full of shocking delights for every reader.

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.

Food-centric horror always makes me hungry, and this one had me craving meat. There’s a reason the cover warns it’s not safe for vegetarians.

Ed is a British ex-pat living in Japan with his Japanese wife, Sayuri, and their young daughter, Kaori. After traveling to Japan and falling head over heels for Sayuri, he lands a sales job at an English-speaking company. Unfortunately, COVID hits the company hard, and Ed gets laid off. Instead of job hunting, he starts spending the day at pachinko parlors and soon becomes addicted to the rush of gambling. Now Ed has wasted their savings, developed a significant gambling debt, and gotten involved with the yakuza, all of which he hides from his wife. He knows Sayuri will never forgive him if she finds out, but his lack of a job and the financial strain on their family is already causing marital tension. Desperate for money, Ed finally spots a job ad in the newspaper which may be the answer to his prayers. A high-profile businesswoman needs a discreet personal chef and is willing to pay one million yen a day (around $6,345 USD) to the right person. While not officially trained in the culinary arts, Ed spent time working as a sous chef at a few terrible restaurant chains in England and his wife has taught him to cook Japanese dishes, so he figures he can bullshit his way through an interview.

I liked how Ed is a flawed yet sympathetic character. His addiction was presented not as a moral failing (that would be Ed’s decision to lie to his wife), but as an illness. Most forms of gambling are illegal in Japan, but gambling addiction is still a huge problem, especially after COVID-19 when more people turned to overseas online gambling. Currently, it’s estimated that there are about 1.97 million people in Japan who actively use online casinos. Some even take yami baito or “dark part-time jobs” to pay for their gambling debt. These jobs, often advertised online, promise lots of quick cash for seemingly easy tasks, but don’t mention they require illegal activities. You would think that Ed would be concerned that this too good to be true job as a personal chef might actually be a yami baito, but as we quickly learn, Ed tends to ignore clear warning signs.

*trigger warning for discussions of body size and eating disorders*

It turns out the high-profile business woman is none other than Hazeline Yamamoto, a wealthy recluse and the widow of billionaire Botan Yamamoto. Ed is surprised by how Western Hazeline is, rejecting both restraint and conformity, things typically valued in Japanese society. She tells Ed about being growing up hāfu in Japan, a term used to describe people who have one Japanese parent and one non-Japanese parent. Like the author, who is the daughter of a Japanese mother born and raised in Brazil and a Scottish and Columbian father, both Hazeline Yamamoto and Ed’s daughter have one Japanese parent and one non-Japanese parent. In Hazeline’s case her mother was a British model and her father a Japanese businessman. On top of the struggles of being mixed race in a homogenous society, Hazeline was also bigger than her Japanese classmates. She was bullied for being “chubby” and not fitting into Japanese clothing, despite not being overweight by western standards.

In Japan, less than 40% of adults are considered overweight, and Japan has one of the lowest obesity rates in the world, most likely due to walkable cities and the traditional Japanese diet being so healthy.  The average size for a Japanese woman is 1.58 m (5’2”) and 55.3 kg (122 lbs) according to World Data, while women in the UK are on average 1.64 m (5’4”) and 73.6 kg (162 lbs).

On the flip side, over 10% of Japanese women are underweight, and for women in their twenties, one in five are underweight. Hazeline felt so pressured to be thin that, in order to fit in, she became anorexic. There’s unfortunately a lot of stigma surrounding eating disorders in Japan and a lack of support for those who have them.

But after her husband died, Hazeline realized she was sick and tired of being hungry all the time and living as a hermit meant there was no one to care about Hazeline’s body. She tells Ed that the only joy she had left is from the food she consumes. “What use is dying skinny and hungry? When I join Lucifer, I shall be plump and happy, and I can’t bring myself to give a damn what anyone thinks about it.” And that’s where Ed comes in.

*end trigger warning*

Hazeline wants Ed to prepare her exquisite, inventive meals. As Hazeline puts it “I don’t eat to survive, I eat to savor. It should always be worth it, every mouthful a justification for my body.” She especially loves meat and tells Ed “…a meal without meat is merely a side dish.” When Ed serves her duck with plum jam as part of his interview, Hazeline very proudly tells him how she killed and gutted it herself. Kazumi touches on the Burakumin during her story, a historically “outcaste” or “untouchable” social class, occupying the lowest level of the feudal Japanese social hierarchy.

The Burakumin are those descended from people employed in occupations considered taboo by orthodox Shintō and Buddhism beliefs about not killing living things or touching the dead. So, undertakers, executioners, leatherworkers, and, of course, butchers. Discrimination against those who work as butchers continues in Japan to this day. So, it’s weird that Hazeline has a philosophy that it’s good practice to kill your meals yourself. As the final step of his interview Ed must slaughter a chicken for food.

I didn’t like that the Japanese words were italicized. When non-English words are italicized, I feel it labels them as “exotic” and other. Editor Natalia Iwanek goes into detail about why italicizing non-English words is problematic here. I suspect, however, that this was the editor’s decision rather than the author’s. There is a glossary in the back of the book of Japanese words used in the book, which is helpful as Kazumi doesn’t have to interrupt the flow of the story to explain the words to an English-speaking audience who may not be familiar with what an izakaya is or what majide means.

It’s pretty evident what the “big reveal” of the book is early on, and most readers will quickly figure out what Ed is trying so hard to deny. Somehow, that makes it even more suspenseful because you KNOW what’s going to happen, but that doesn’t stop you from praying it won’t. It’s horrible, like watching a car crash in slow motion. You’re screaming at Ed to figure it out and get out of there, but he keeps dismissing the very apparent red flags. Even though there wasn’t any obvious horror until the end of the book, and not much on-page violence, my anxiety levels were through the roof, dreading what was coming. Greedy is a book that I absolutely devoured (pun intended).

Tags: Adult, Asian, Asian British, BIPOC, Book Review, Japanese, Own Voices, Psychological Horror, Recommended
The Valley of Vengeful Ghosts by Kim Fu

The Valley of Vengeful Ghosts by Kim Fu

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher:  Tin House

Genre:  Gothic, Psychological Horror

Audience: Adult

Diversity: Chinese American author and main character

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Animal Death, Child Abuse, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Illness, Incest, Kidnapping, Medical Torture/Abuse, Medical Procedures, Miscarriage, Necrophilia, Oppression, Mental Illness,  Physical Abuse, Rape/Sexual Assault, Suicide

Blurb

In the aftermath of her mother’s death, Eleanor is unmoored. For years, her mother orchestrated every detail of her life—from meals, to laundry, to finances—as Eleanor focused on her career as an online therapist. Left to navigate the world on her own, Eleanor clings to her mother’s final directive: use her inheritance to buy a house.

Desperate to obey her mother one last time, Eleanor impulsively buys a model home in a valley-turned-construction site, a picturesque development steeped in a shadowy history. It feels like a fresh start, until the rain comes—an endless, torrential downpour. As water seeps in through the house’s cracks, the line between what is real and what is not begins to blur. Haunted by the stories of her clients, a stream of workmen and bureaucrats she can’t trust, and visions of ghosts from her past and present, Eleanor’s reality unravels, and she is forced to reckon with the secrets she’s buried and the choices she’s made.

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 Valley of Vengeful Ghosts is a horror story about every millennial’s worst nightmare: being expected to navigate the world of adulthood without any guidance or support, and buying a home.

Eleanor Fan is a therapist whose mother, Lele, has recently passed away from cancer. Her dying wish was for her daughter to buy a house. Like many millennials, owning her own home seemed like an impossibility for Eleanor until her frugal mother passed and left her enough for a modest house. But even with her inheritance, Eleanor is struggling to find somewhere livable. Her first realtor, Mary, only shows her crappy, one bedroom condos, and Eleanor is outbid each time she applies. Her new realtor, Matt, drives her through a dying town, into the forest and shows her a model home in a newly developed area. The developer went bankrupt after building the model homes, and the new developer is waiting for the summer to continue building. Eleanor loves the house, though is unsure about buying.Matt encourages her to jump on the opportunity as soon as possible, which means waiving the inspection (huge red flag). What seems like a dream come true turns into a nightmare when the house quickly becomes unlivable.

I’m lucky enough to be married to a super competent gen Xer who knows how to repair most anything, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have bothered with home ownership, even if I lived in an alternate universe where I could have afforded one on my own. I don’t know how to fix a cracked pipe, install a dishwasher, or build a bookshelf that wasn’t purchased from Ikea (all things my wife has done easily). I’ve never even mowed a lawn or cleaned gutters! And forget taking care of it, just trying to purchase a home can be a confusing nightmare. There’s the whole process of applying for a mortgage, finding the right real estate agent, putting in a bid on the house, hiring a home inspector, figuring out internet service and all that crap. It’s overwhelming! No wonder Eleanor has no idea what she’s doing.

The house she buys was cheaply and quickly made to look good, not actually serve as a home. And even if it was? Some of the design choices were made with form over function in mind, like the giant floor to ceiling windows with no blinds or curtains. Not only do the windows lack insulation, there’s zero privacy (thank God Eleanor lives in the middle of nowhere), and there will be a ton of light during the day, whether she wants it or not. Unfortunately, Eleanor didn’t consider any of these things before buying the house, and when she does finally notice the above issues and tries to solve them with curtains, she learns that curtains are really freaking expensive. And that’s just the start of the problems. With a seemingly endless rain pouring down on her new home comes numerous leaks that start as a trickle under the windows but quickly start damaging the home. The rain gets in the front door lock and jams it, forcing Eleanor to call a sketchy locksmith who charges her $600 and then makes vague threats about what will happen if she doesn’t pay.

There are a lot of creepy men in The Valley of Vengeful Ghosts. Eleanor’s grad school mentor raped her. her work colleague, Teddy, lusts after her even though Eleanor sees him as a father figure (his wife even assumes they slept together). Her real estate agent, Matt, clearly conned her. One of Elanor’s new patients, Jared, is a raging misogynist who refers to women as “females” and wants to use Eleanor to practice talking to women yet constantly speaks down to her and ignores her. Eleanor just doesn’t seem to have good luck with men. There is her ex, who by all accounts seems like a decent guy, but he wants nothing to do with her because of her weird attachment to her mother.

Millennials like Eleanor have had it rough. We reached adulthood during the Great Recession of 2008, and many of us were forced to move back in with our Boomer parents (assuming that was even an option). Even those of us with college degrees, something we were told by adults we had to get if we wanted to a good paying job, weren’t having any luck. The jobs we’d been prepared for weren’t hiring people without experience, and retail and food service jobs didn’t want someone they considered “overqualified.” Meanwhile, we had a ton of student debt we couldn’t pay off, wages were stagnant, and the cost of living was soaring. That means we were forced to put off typical adult milestones like marriage, having kids, and yes, buying a house. With schools getting rid of shop and home economics courses many of us also weren’t taught how to fix a car, sew a button, or a cook a meal (thanks Ronald Regan).

Eleanor’s mom completely failed in preparing her daughter for the real world. After Eleanor is raped by her grad school mentor she drops out of her PhD program and regresses emotionally (something Teddy points out is common after trauma) and her mother comes to take care of her. She handles Eleanor’s money and keeps the books for her practice as dealing with money bores and frightens Eleanor (all her bank accounts are joint accounts with her mother). Lele cleans Eleanor’s apartment, takes out her trash, buys her groceries, cooks her meals, and does her laundry for her.  Eleanor is so coddled that her mother even feeds her apple slices like a baby bird while she’s working and clips her toenails. The irony is not lost on me that Eleanor works as a therapist, helping other people with their lives, when she can’t even get her own shit together and would definitely benefit from some therapy herself.

Isolation is a recurring theme throughout the story. Eleanor is physically isolated in the valley where she lives and where the rain never seems to end, but also emotionally isolated from others after the passing of her mother. She has no romantic partner, no real friends, and only a distant aunt for family. She doesn’t even see her patients in person anymore, instead opting to focus solely on telehealth. The story is strongly implied to take place right after COVID, when everyone was feeling the despair that comes from isolation. But it seems Eleanor never really connected to people after the pandemic.

I should point out that, despite the title, this is not a haunted house story. The “ghosts” are people that Eleanor knows (or knew) that appear in her mind and talk to her, more hallucination than specter. But while there are no literal ghosts, Fu still instills tension with modern fears like home ownership, isolation, climate change, and losing one’s parents.  It feels like a gothic novel, except the house isn’t old and decaying but new and decaying, while the never-ending rain, which is slowly eroding the surrounding landscape, creates an oppressive atmosphere. There isn’t really a plot so much as a series of events that unfolds in Eleanor’s life as we watch her mental state fall apart along with her home, but it still grabbed my attention and never felt like the story dragged.

Tags: Adult, Asian, Asian Canadian, BIPOC, Book Review, Gothic, Hong Konger, Own Voices, Psychological Horror, Recommended
These Bodies Ain’t Broken Edited by Madeline Dyer

These Bodies Ain’t Broken Edited by Madeline Dyer

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Page Street Publishing

Genre: Body Horror, Demon, Historic Horror, Monster, Myths and Folklore, Romance, Vampire

Audience: Young Adult

Diversity: Authors and characters with disabilities including ADHD, anxiety, agoraphobia, Autism, celiac disease, chronic pain, Crohn’s disease, diabetes, Down syndrome, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, Fibromyalgia, mast cell activation syndrome (MCAS), neurofibromatosis, postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS), PTSD, and substance use disorder. Non-binary main character and author, agender main character, biracial Haitian side character, bisexual main character.

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Ableism, Amputation,  Animal Death, Body Shaming, Bullying, Cannibalism, Child Abuse, Child Death, Classism, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Gore, Homophobia, Illness, Kidnapping, Medical Procedures, Oppression, Mental Illness, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm, Sexism, Slurs,  Suicide, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Victim Blaming, Violence

Blurb

A monstrous transformation within your own body.
A sacrificial imprisonment.
A fight to the death against an ancient evil.

These stories showcase disabled characters winning against all odds.

Outsmarting deadly video games, hunting the predatory monster in the woods, rooting out evil within their community, finding love and revenge with their newly turned vampire friend—this anthology upends expectations of the roles disabled people can play in horror. With visibly and invisibly disabled characters whose illnesses include Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, Crohn’s disease, diabetes, PTSD, and more, each entry also includes a short essay from the author about the conditions portrayed in their stories to further contextualize their characters’ perspectives. From breaking ancient curses to defying death itself, these 13 horror stories cast disabled characters as heroes we can all root for.

Contributors include bestselling and award-winning as well as emerging authors: Dana Mele, Lillie Lainoff, Soumi Roy, Anandi, Fin Leary, S.E. Anderson, K. Ancrum, Pintip Dunn, Lily Meade, Mo Netz, P.H. Low, and Carly Nugent.

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.

Horror isn’t exactly known for having good disability rep, so it was great having an anthology written by authors with disabilities because there was so much variety in representation. There was everything from Crohn’s disease to Ehlers-Danlos syndrome to PTSD. In some stories, a character’s disability played a huge role (Baby Teeth, Within the Walls, The Worst of It), and it’s only mentioned in passing in others (When the Night Calls, Kissed by Death). At the end of each story, the author would write about how they chose to represent disability in their work, and some even shared their experiences with their own disabilities and how they related to their stories.

I loved that both invisible and visible disabilities were featured. I have invisible disabilities myself (ADHD and mental illness), but for a long time I didn’t consider myself disabled because, like many people, I thought the only disabilities that existed were visible. This caused me a great deal of stress because I was always trying to compare myself to neurotypical people. It never occurred to me to ask for accommodations because I thought I should be able to “power through” any challenges on willpower alone. Engaging with the disability community online helped me be more accepting of my own disability. I learned that I wasn’t “broken,” the difficulties I had were not moral failings, and having a disability is not a “bad” thing. I discovered that the things I struggled with due to ADHD and mental illness were not my fault, it was just a difference in brain chemistry that I was born with. Accepting my disability meant I also accepted help and learned to function with my disability instead of always fighting against it. It was empowering. So, reading stories about ADHD and mental health in a disability anthology felt incredibly validating. Not only that, but these characters with disabilities got to be the heroes. It was awesome reading about a woman with ADHD get revenge on the men who wronged her and a non-binary person whose mental illness was not the source of horror in the story. Another great thing about These Bodies Ain’t Broken is the amount of intersectionality. There were queer characters, non-binary characters, Asian characters, etc.

This review would be unreasonably long if I examined every story in the collection I will focus on a few that stood out to me. When the Night Calls by Soumi Roy takes place in 19th century Bengal. Charu is a newly married 16-year-old girl whose best friend Malati, an educated city girl who is fiercely independent, has disappeared without a trace. Malati’s cold husband claims that his wife was lured into the forest and taken by the Nishi Daak for being so willful. He says it was Malati’s own fault she was taken, but Charu isn’t sure what to believe. Malati always told her the Nishi Daak was just a story told to keep women in line. Although Charu does her best to be an obedient wife and daughter-in-law her curiosity gets the better of her and she stumbles across the terrible secret kept by the village men; the reason women and girls of the village keep disappearing. This bloody story of feminine vengeance and Bengali monsters was an extremely satisfying read. I also enjoyed it as Charu and I share a disability, ADHD (although it’s not named it the story the author reveals that Charu is neurodiverse). I related to the frustration of making mistakes, even when you’re trying your hardest, and how painful it is when people around you attribute this to laziness or “just not paying attention.”

The first line of Thy Creature by Lillie Lainoff draws you in immediately. “The hardest thing about coming back to life is remembering how to breathe.” Told in the second person, this Frankenstein inspired tale tells the story of a girl brought back to life by her college boyfriend, Cal, after she dies in a hiking accident. Despite being a mediocre boyfriend at best, the protagonist seems perfectly happy to settle and set her expectations low when it comes to Cal, especially since she now owes him for bringing her back to life. The story reminded me so much of all the straight women who settle for awful men because they don’t think they deserve better. Hey, there’s a reason single women are happier.

Dating while disabled comes with its own set of challenges especially when dating someone without a disability. The non-disabled person may only date someone with a disability out of pity or because they fetishize their disability. This also applies to anyone who isn’t skinny, white, cisgender, etc. (aka has their own category on Pornhub), so heaven help you if you belong to more than one of those marginalized groups (intersectionality). Then there’s all the misconceptions, like the assumption that people with disabilities aren’t sexual (obviously Ace people with disabilities exist, but that’s a sexual orientation, and has nothing to do with their disabilities). As Lainoff’s protagonist slowly builds confidence, she also learns she doesn’t have to settle just because she has a disability and that maybe her boyfriend isn’t all that great.

In Ravenous by Carly Nugent, the protagonist, Linden, is struggling with depression and passive suicidal ideation. She refuses to monitor her blood sugar or manage her diabetes which has already landed her in the ER once. Linden has decided she’s just going not to accept her diabetes, forcing her mother to help her manage most of it, and she’d rather die from it than live with it. I like that Nugent wrote about the difficulty someone with a chronic illness goes through when they’re first diagnosed. Linden is still in the denial and depression stages of her grief after learning her life will never be the same. But over the course of the story, she learns to accept that she has diabetes, and it doesn’t mean her life is over. I love that the author didn’t portray disability in a negative light while also acknowledging that yes, finding out that you’re going to have to manage a chronic illness for the rest of your life can really suck.

Another story I really liked was House of Hades by Dana Mele. House of Hades is a virtual world filled with gamers and virtual replicas of the dead. The tech was originally funded by some billionaire who wanted to live forever. But when he learned that you can’t really become an immortal machine, he sold the program, which was used it to create House of Hades. They call the digital clones “ghosts,” which include historical figures like Shakespeare and Marie Antoinette. The game is so realistic that if you die in the game you can die in real life (so Matrix rules) unless you “wake up,” which is why the game requires a buddy system. The voice command “wake up” triggers the exit protocol. Unfortunately, you need someone else to trigger it for you, you can’t exit yourself, which seems like a serious design flaw.

Ode and Era are two gamers who like to hang out in House of Hades. Ode is currently grounded, and isn’t supposed to be playing the game because they’ve been abusing pills and recently had an overdose on a drug called V (aka Viper, the story’s fictional drug). Their parents recently got divorced and they’re struggling with it. When they go back to Hades with Era, Ode is shocked to discover they’ve been separated. Now Ode is all alone in a dark little town, seemingly empty, but something is watching them. They are forced to solve puzzles and play the town’s strange game to try and find Era and a way out.

I thought the setting was very creative, and I like that the protagonist was non-binary like me. In the story notes Mele explains how she didn’t like the way horror villains were always portrayed as mentally ill. As someone with my own mental illness and who has spent time inpatient at mental health hospitals (or as I like to call it “a grippy sock vacation”) it hurts when I hear people talk about the “dangerous crazies” in the psych ward or explain away a person’s terrible behavior (racism, violence, abuse, etc.) by saying “they’re crazy.” They’re not mentally ill, they’re just awful people! And mentally ill people are more likely to be the victims of violent crime than commit it. Only a very small percent of violent crimes (around 5%) are committed by people with mental illness. Yet the myth of the “crazed killer” prevails in horror. So, I appreciate that Mele made her protagonist mentally ill.

One of my favorite stories in the collection was The Weepers and Washer-Women of Lake Lomond by Madeline Dyer (the editor of the anthology), though I think the story would have worked better if it was a full-length novel. It was like I was being served this amazing meal, but I had to shove it in my mouth in five minutes when I really wanted to savor it. It didn’t necessarily feel rushed, I just think I would have enjoyed it more if I had had more time with the characters, the setting, and the lore because it was all so great! In the story the protagonist, Bianca, who has multiple disabilities including Ehlers-Danlos, POTS, and MCAS, is pretending to be her twin sister, Remi, so she can take part in the World Kickboxing Championship on the island of Loch Lomond. Bianca is convinced the island had something to do with the death or their cousin, Mari, who competed on Loch Lomond a ten years prior. Remi’s boyfriend, Blake, does not think this is a good idea, but Bianca, who hates being treated like she’s “broken,” is determined. She’s thought of everything; Remi faked an injury months ago to explain away Bianca’s crutches. The competition takes place in pitch dark, the organizers claiming that it’s to make it more fair for blind and low-vision competitors (a blind girl won the championship last time), so no one will see Bianca using a mobility aid. And she only needs to stay in the competition long enough to find out what happened to Mari, so Bianca doesn’t necessarily have to win her first match.

I can understand Blake’s hesitation to help Bianca go through with her plan, because at first, I thought Bianca was foolish to try and pretend to be her sister. While both sister’s have Ehlers-Danlos, Remi only got stretchy joints, while Bianca got the whole shebang that can come with the condition. How would Bianca be able to compete in such a physically demanding competition? And immediately after arriving on the island,things start to go wrong. There’s no food that Bianca can safely eat, and the training masters confiscate her medication and medical drinks claiming it will give her an “unfair advantage.” Dizzy with fatigue and illness she tries to bow out of the championship, but is forced to compete. And when she enters the dark arena, the training master takes Bianca’s crutches. Worst of all, her opponent doesn’t seem quite human. I thought she was guaranteed to be monster chow. But then her disability ends up being the reason she survives. *spoiler* Because Bianca’s crutches (presumably made of durable steel, which contains iron) can hurt her adversaries. As Bianca says at the end of the story “I’m Bianca. And that’s how I’m alive. Because I’m disabled. Because I need mobility aids. Because I fought with my crutch.” *spoiler ends* I absolutely love this twist. Disabilities are often to assumed to be a “weakness” but it ends up being Bianca’s strength.

Three of the stories used the second person point of view, which is when the story addresses the reader directly using the pronoun “you” when describing the protagonists’ actions (i.e. you shook in fear when faced with the monster from your dreams). This is a tricky to do, and doesn’t always work well, as you’re basically telling the reader what they’re doing and feeling. But it’s also more intimate and the reader gets a greater feel for what the protagonist is going through. I liked that some of the authors used this for their storytelling. It gives  you more of a feel for what it’s was like living with a specific disability.

While not all the stories in the collection were as strong as others, I think this is a solid anthology. It was great to both see myself in characters and learn about different types of disabilities, as there’s so much variation. I also love that the stories defied stereotypes like disabled people not being worthy of love, or mentally ill people being dangerous. The only thing that surprised me was that there were no stories by authors who were blind, low vision, or Deaf/deaf, and there was only one story with a character who used a wheelchair. Perhaps Madeline Dyer wanted to focus on disabilities which don’t get as much media attention or she simply wasn’t able to get authors to represent those disabilities. This isn’t really a criticism, just something that surprised me. Perhaps I just need to reexamine my own biases when it comes to disabilities.

Tags: ADHD, Agender, agoraphobia, Anthology, Anxiety Disorder, Autism, BIPOC, Biracial, Bisexual, Body Horror, Book Review, Cane user, Celiac Disease, Chronic Pain, Crohn’s disease, Demon, diabetes, Disability, Down syndrome, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, Fibromyalgia, Haitian, Historic Horror, LGBTQIA, MCAS, Monster, Myths and Folklore, Neurodiversity, neurofibromatosis, Non-binary, Own Voices, POTS, PTSD, Recommended, Romance, Substance Use Disorder, Trans, vampire, Wheelchair user, Young Adult

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