Testament by Jose Nateras

Testament by Jose Nateras

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: NineStar Press

Genre: Ghosts/Haunting, Psychological Horror

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Gay Main character and side characters, Bisexual side character, Hispanic/Latinx (Mexican American) Main Character, Asian-American side character, Black side character

Takes Place in: Chicago, IL, USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Gaslighting, Homophobia, Mental Illness, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self-Harm, Suicide

Blurb

Gabe Espinosa, is trying to dig himself out of the darkness. Struggling with the emotional fallout of a breakup with his ex-boyfriend, Gabe returns to his job at The Rosebriar Room; the fine dining restaurant at the historic Sentinel Club Chicago Hotel. Already haunted by the ghosts of his severed relationship, he’s drastically unprepared for the ghosts of The Sentinel Club to focus their attentions on him as well.

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.

Once upon a time during a LGBTQ+ group therapy session, someone dropped one of those truth bombs that totally changed my perspective on things. “If you’re a minority in American you have trauma. You may not even be aware of it, but it’s there.” Holy. Shit. Suddenly the fact that I always felt stressed, anxious, and depressed made sense. I realized the headaches, stomach problems, chronic fatigue, and back and neck pain (for which I’d spent thousands of dollars seeing specialists only to be told they didn’t know what was wrong with me) were all due to minority stress. Well fuck.

Comic-style illustration of woman holding head and saying

Mind. Blown.

Testament is a horror story about trauma and minority stress, and the protagonist Gabe’s struggles were achingly familiar.  He worries about how to let new people know he’s gay in a way that feels natural, finding a boyfriend who doesn’t see him as “exotic” or call him “papi,” and working around a bunch of rich White people. And poor Gabe works in rich douche central, a swanky hotel that once functioned as a members-only men’s club called The Sentinel Club. As if working around so many White folk isn’t unnerving enough, the hotel also seems to be home to something supernatural and sinister. Something that has its attentions turned on Gabe.

**trigger warning: discussion of suicide and mental health**

Reeling from a suicide attempt after a bad breakup Gabe is not in the best place mentally. He’s incredibly hard on himself, constantly calling himself “worthless” and “pathetic.” He pushes people away assuming they don’t care and refuses to ask for help. As someone who has had their own battles with depression, this also felt achingly familiar. It was also incredibly well done. Writers tend to portray depression as someone staying in bed for days in a state of ennui and despair, unable to move and refusing to eat. But that kind of severe depressive episode is hardly commonplace. Most folks suffering from depression are still (at least partially) functional and go to great lengths to hide their illness in front of others, which is why it’s so difficult to recognize when someone’s actually depressed. Gabe gets dressed, goes to work and forces himself to smile and act like everything is fine while his brain screams insults at him and everything reminds him of his ex. 

**end of trigger warning **

What’s especially brilliant is how Nateras uses Gabe’s haunting to mimic his mental state. Gabe is trapped both by his past and the entity that latches on to him and follows him everywhere. It will seemingly disappear before suddenly and violently announcing its presence, much like his depression and PTSD. In fact, most of the horror in the story comes from Gabe wrestling with his inner demons rather than the outer ones. It’s not quite gothic fiction, but I’d definitely call it gothic-adjacent with its slow burn horror and tumultuous emotions. Of course, if you dislike the slower pace of gothic horror and its focus on the characters rather than the haunting, you may not enjoy Testament. Fortunately, it’s a quick read, so even if you get bored quickly like I do you’ll probably be fine. 

There’s a lot of discussion about the evils of privilege, power, and money. And they are evil. They corrupt and hurt those without. And while no, not all White people are evil, there’s no way of telling the good from the bad with a glance, and a lifetime of negative experiences sets off every alarm bell in my head. There’s nothing quite like the fear you experience when you realize you’re the only person of color in a sea of privileged White folk, even if they’re the “nice” liberal kind. Such situations immediately make me uncomfortable and anxious, even as a White-passing Black person. I jokingly call it that Get Out feeling. There’s a particular scene in the book I found especially frightening when Gabe gets on a subway car, discovers he’s the only non-White person there, and he’s surrounded by wealthy-looking men. It’s terrifying. Nateras knows it and uses the scene to make the book even scarier. He does it so well I want to shove Testament into White people’s faces and yell “See? This. This is how I feel all the time.”

Sadly not the worst date he’s been on with a White guy

I could go on and on about how the book uses minority stress to create horror and how the haunting is a metaphor for privileged White men who hurt BIPOC, but it would get into spoiler territory and I really want you to read this book. So, I’ll end it here with a warning, beware of White gentleman’s clubs because you never know what kind of evil lurks there.

Children of Chicago by Cynthia Pelayo

Children of Chicago by Cynthia Pelayo

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Agora

Genre: Dark Fantasy, Demon, Killer/Slasher, Myth and Folklore, Thriller

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Bisexual main character, Puerto Rican main character and author, Latine characters

Takes Place in: Chicago, IL, USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Child Death, Death, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Illness, Kidnapping, Mental Illness, Physical Abuse, Police Harassment, Suicide, Violence

Blurb

This horrifying retelling of the Pied Piper fairytale set in present-day Chicago is an edge of your seat, chills up the spine, thrill ride. ‪ When Detective Lauren Medina sees the calling card at a murder scene in Chicago’s Humboldt Park neighborhood, she knows the Pied Piper has returned. When another teenager is brutally murdered at the same lagoon where her sister’s body was found floating years before, she is certain that the Pied Piper is not just back, he’s looking for payment he’s owed from her. Lauren’s torn between protecting the city she has sworn to keep safe, and keeping a promise she made long ago with her sister’s murderer. She may have to ruin her life by exposing her secrets and lies to stop the Pied Piper before he collects.

And I chiefly use my charm
On creatures that do people harm,
The mole and toad and newt and viper;
And people call me the Pied Piper.
– The Pied Piper of Hamelin by Robert Browning (1812-1889)

“The Pied Piper of Hamelin”by Augustin von Mörsperg, 1592

My dad was born and raised on the Southside Chicago and will tell anyone who will listen that his birthplace is the best city in the world. My wife, on the other hand, firmly believes Chicago is akin to LA in the ‘90s. When I did finally manage to lure her there with the promise of deep-dish pizza and the Museum of Science and Industry she did admit the Windy City was a pretty cool place and not at scary as she was expecting (even after we stumbled onto an illegal street race). Although the crime rate there is higher than the national average, Chicago is hardly the crime and drug filled dystopia my wife and other outsiders seem to believe it is. In fact, its violent crime rates are far lower than those of Anchorage, Wichita, and Milwaukee. The dangerous reputation may have come from Chicago’s fascinating history of crime, gangsters, and serial killers or even the many tragedies that have befallen the White City in the past. Modern-day boogiemen like the Lipstick Killer, John Wayne Gacy, the Ripper Crew, and Richard Speck all called Chicago their home. The Blue Beard-esque H. H. Holmes built his murder castle in Englewood. The city’s most notorious gangster, Al Capone, has morphed into something of a folk hero and tragedies like the Great Chicago Fire and the Haymarket affair have taken on almost a legendary status. Dark rumors surround the abandoned Edgewater Medical Center. Stories like these have shaped Chicago’s history and how it’s perceived by the rest of the country: a gothic city haunted by the past. But darkness and death aren’t all the city has to offer.

Fairy tales, at least the original versions and not the Disney-fied ones, are often a child’s first introduction to the world of horror. Beautiful and sinister stories full of threats of death and assault, mutilation, hungry wolves, and dark forests have been used to frighten children for generations. Fairy tales are beautiful roses and sharp thorns, poisonous treats, beauty and blood. They also share many of the same elements as gothic fiction. Sometime in the distant past, a helpless woman is placed in a dark and dangerous setting (now a castle instead of a forest), where she is threatened by supernatural forces until rescued by the hero. Orphans and peasant girls are made to suffer before finally coming into riches. Animals no longer speak, but still bring portents of doom. Nature is wild, dangerous, and unpredictable. Both have themes of revenge, isolation, rags to riches, abuse, and women who are under constant threat as the men in her life fight over her body. Bluebeard, and other versions of the Aarne–Thompson type 312 tale, are the perfect example of a gothic fairy tale. In the story a woman leaves her family to marry a mysterious stranger and goes to live in his isolated and lonely castle. But locked away in a castle is a dark and dangerous secret. The wife can go in any room, but one, which contains the bodies of the stranger’s previous, murdered wives.

In the original version of Cinderella, the Little Mermaid, and Sleeping Beauty, the step sisters cut off parts of their feet and birds pecked out their eyes, the mermaid’s tongue was cut out and every step she took on land was agony, and Sleeping Beauty was raped and impregnated with twins by a married king while she slept.

Cynthia Pelayo draws on the city’s history to create her gothic urban fairy tale, Children of Chicago. The city stands in for the dark forest, a vaguely supernatural setting where unwary children disappear and gang members prowl the street like big bad wolves. The book follows recently orphaned Lauren Medina, a deeply troubled police detective hunting a serial killer known only as The Pied Piper– a shadowy boogeyman who preys on children then vanishes into the night. It’s rumored he can be summoned by burning a black candle and speaking a spell in front of a mirror. Throughout the story, Lauren is unstable and brimming over with barely-contained emotion, a staple of any good Gothic tale, as she wrestles with her missing memories of her sister’s death. Lauren breaks the typical female fairy tale mold where women were relegated to witches, wise women, virginal damsels, and evil stepmothers. She’s not exactly evil, but she isn’t pure and heroic either, instead she’s but a rare example of a female Byronic hero intentionally written to be tragic, unlikeable, morally gray, and hiding a dark past, much like the heroes found in gothic horror. In fact, few of the women in the story fall into any of the aforementioned roles. Stepmothers aren’t necessarily evil, even if their angry stepdaughters perceive them as such. Damsels in distress may possess more agency than they seem to, and villainous women can also be victims. I genuinely enjoyed seeing a female character (who wasn’t intended to be liked) embrace her darkness and struggle with her morality. Just as much horror came from Lauren’s psychological trauma and instability as it did from the threat of the supernatural.

While Lauren initially came across as “the young female cop with a dark past and something to prove” trope (aka Jodie Foster in Silence of the Lambs), it soon became clear that unlike Clarice Starling, we’re not necessarily supposed to root for her. And unlike every maverick detective in an ‘80s buddy-cop comedy, Lauren’s flagrant disregard for the rules in order to get her guy aren’t justified, but instead dangerous and unjust. Though, much like police in the real world, she’s able to get away with it. I appreciate that Pelayo avoided turning her crime drama into “copaganda” by making Lauren a protagonist, but not a hero. I admit I used to enjoy shows like Brooklyn 99, Lucifer, and Law & Order SVU (yes, I’m old) even though I recognized how incredibly problematic they were. But ever since 2020 I’ve more or less lost my taste for any media that portrays a corrupt system as a heroic force for good, justified in flouting the law. It no longer feels like harmless fantasy when you realize how many people actually believe that cop shows reflect real life and officers only target “bad guys” as oppose to anyone they don’t like (mostly BIPOC, the poor, and the mentally ill). So, reading a crime story where the police weren’t heroes was a relief. In fact, Lauren’s only redeeming quality is that she has a soft spot for troubled teens, ever since the mysterious death of her own sister.

Brimming with references to Chicago’s history, it’s clear that Pelayo loves her home while still recognizing its flaws. In fact, the novel feels just as much a crime story as it does a guide to the dark and fantastical parts of the Windy City. She holds a Master of Fine Arts in Writing from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago and it shows in her writing. Throughout Children of Chicago Pelayo references the original, dark versions of famous and not-so famous fairytales, from Cinderella to the Singing Bone, adding to her own story’s dark atmosphere balancing on the edge of reality and fantasy. Pelayo’s novel is full of missing mothers, an unjust society where the most vulnerable suffer, magic mirrors, plenty of gore, spells, and a moral message. But overall, it’s a subversion of the classic fairy tale formula where the good are rewarded, the evil are punished, and morality is clearly defined. In Children of Chicago the “heroes” are neither pure-hearted nor moral, evil escapes justice while the innocent suffer, and no one is getting a happy ending.

It’s unfortunate that the darkest parts of Chicago’s history have shaped so much of its reputation when the Windy City has so much to offer. As my wife soon discovered on her first visit, the city is full or art, beauty, and wonder. Pelayo doesn’t just show the city’s dark side, she shows its magic as well. “Fairy tales are in our blood as Chicagoans” one of the books characters explains. Walt Disney, L. Frank Baum, Ray Bradbury, and Gwnedolyn Brooks were all inspired by the city to create their own fairy tales. Colleen Moore created her famous Fairy Castle and donated it to The Chicago Museum of Science and Industry. Children gathered pennies to create the Rock-a-Bye Lady from Eugene Field’s poem. The haunting beauty of the SheddAquarium feels like you’ve stepped into another world. The city even has a secret Little Mermaid inspired bar! It’s this beauty, contrasted with the allure of danger, that makes Chicago as wonderous as any fairytale.

Anoka by Shane Hawk

Anoka by Shane Hawk

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Self-Published

Genre: Body Horror, Folk Horror, Monster, Myth and Folklore, Occult, Werewolf

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Biracial Cheyenne author, Dakota characters, non-binary character

Takes Place in: Anoka, Minnesota, USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Cannibalism, Child Death, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Gore, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Slurs, Suicide, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence

Blurb

Welcome to Anoka, Minnesota, a small city just outside of the Twin Cities dubbed “The Halloween Capital of the World” since 1937. Here before you lie several tales involving bone collectors, pagan witches, werewolves, skeletal bison, and cloned children. It is up to you to decipher between fact and fiction as the author has woven historical facts into his narratives. With his debut horror collection, Cheyenne & Arapaho author Shane Hawk explores themes of family, grief, loneliness, and identity through the lens of indigenous life.

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.

Apparently Anoka, Minnesota is the “Halloween Capital of the World” because they’ve been having giant Halloween parades since 1920. Out of civic pride, I want to argue that Salem is the Halloween Capital and our town is better because we have real witches and Salem Horror Fest and the oldest candy company in America. On the other hand, I would also like tourists to stop blocking the traffic, drunkenly climbing on the witch statue, and crowding my favorite restaurants every October (that’s my job), so maybe it would be better if they all headed to Anoka instead. I don’t think anyone will want to go anywhere near the Minnesota city after reading Shane Hawk’s Indigenous horror anthology of the same name, though. The stories in Anoka are loosely tied together by their location in an alternative version of the town where dark magic and monsters lurk. An evil tome known simply as “the book” and strange green swirls also make multiple appearances throughout the anthology.

A comic of a person hanging off a statue of a witch saying

Hawk gives a different and unique voice to each of his characters so every story feels different from the others. His writing reminded me of a talented artist who can draw in multiple styles and shift easily from realism to the simple lines of a cartoon. My favorite thing about his book is how so many of the stories felt like pre-comics code horror anthology comics like Eerie, Black Cat, and The Haunt of Fear or modern-day creepypastas with terrifying twists. Some stories were fun and weird, others tragic reflections of human nature. But all of them were creepy, the kind of creepy that makes you aware of how many noises an old house makes at night or has you shouting out loud at the characters not to go into the room where the monster is waiting.

American Indians tragically have the highest infant mortality rate in the U.S. (again due to trauma, poverty and a lack of adequate healthcare), so much of Hawk’s anthology touches on themes of child death and the trauma that goes with such a great loss. In two stories, Orange and Wounded, the death of a child in the past moves the main characters to do something terrible. Soilborne is a metaphor for the loss of the child-parent connection and how devastating that can be. In Imitate, the protagonist has to rush to save his son, Tate, from an unknown horror that’s taken his form. There’s no way of knowing if Tate is even still alive, and the whole story is exceedingly stressful to read. Honestly, Imitate would have worked just fine as microfiction and Hawk could have easily ended it after the first page or so. But instead, he decides to pile on even more terror by turning it into a suspenseful short story where we’re forced to watch a father slowly lose his mind. It’s definitely one of the anthology’s stronger and spookier tales.

My absolute favorite story in the collection is Dead America about a writer named Chaska whose family is followed by death. This is sadly not uncommon for Native families as generational trauma, poverty, and a lack of adequate healthcare has lead to poor health and high death rates from heart disease, diabetes, and suicide. The story gets its name from Chaska’s hobo nickel which depicts the skull of a dead Indian chief in full headdress on one side and Columbus’ three ships on the other. “When betting a coin offers someone a fifty-fifty chance of winning and losing. The nickel was a metaphor for the predicament of Indian existence: fucked no matter which side the coin landed on” the author explains. He’s about to find out how right he is when Asibikaashi the Spider Woman decides to make the Dakota author suffer for his sins.

This story is SCARY. All of my notes for Dead America consist of “nope, nope, nopeity-nope nope, fuck this, nope.” I’m not someone who’s usually bothered by spiders under normal circumstances. I think they’re kind of cute and I love that they eat any bugs that get into the house, but Chaska’s punishment left me terrified of arachnids. If you have any form of arachnophobia, I can guarantee you’ll be in for some nasty nightmares and might want to skip this story entirely. But if you’re feeling brave, it’s one of the strongest stories in the collection and worth checking out. The story also touches on themes of profiting off the personal stories of others, very similar to how Ward Churchill, Asa Earl Carter, Mary Summer Rain and others pretended to be Native for fame and money.

It’s important to note that in Ojibwe stories Asibikaashi, aka Grandmother Spider, is a benevolent deity and helper of humanity whose spiderweb charms, popularly known as “Dream Catchers“, were woven by women as a form of protection for infants. I couldn’t find any references to her punishing the wicked (of course I couldn’t find many references to her at all that weren’t written by White new agers).

Hawk’s final story, Transformation, is about a non-binary werewolf who hunts for her community and runs into trouble at Anoka’s annual Halloween parade. Having a trans werewolf feels perfect because werewolves are the ideal metaphor for someone with a fluid identity. Sometimes you’re a wolf, others a human, and occasionally you’re something in between, but you’re always a werewolf regardless of what form you take that day. Just because I’m femme one day, it doesn’t negate the fact that I’m non-binary; I’m still an enby when I’m feeling more trans-masculine. Like the story title, werewolves can also represent transition. The wolf can be seen as the true self, hidden under a dull human skin that’s forced to conform to society’s rigid standards. Becoming the wolves gives you the opportunity to experience freedom. If that transformation is unwanted, it can be compared to a menstrual cycle that causes dysphoria each month or unwanted body hair. “Jenny” a transwoman who identifies with werewolves is quoted on the queer horror blog, Gender Terror: “The titanic proportion of my body and the hair that I continually fight back terrify me, and makes me the target of many suspicious onlookers. And just like werewolves, I have no control over what my body does. Feeling like a prisoner to how your body changes is a special torment I think a lot of transgender people share with werewolves.” So is it any wonder writers like Hal Schrieve, Allison Moon, Suzanne Walker,  Ashlynn Barker, and numerous self-published erotic authors like Noah Harris have all explored the idea of a trans werewolf? Heck “were-woman” is slang for someone who “transforms” into a woman at night (though this terminology can be problematic). Hawk’s non-binary werewolf character seemed so cool I was disappointed that their story wasn’t longer. There was so much going on in Transformation it felt like it would’ve worked much better as a novella rather than a short story. Honestly, I’d read a full novel about the nostalgic werewolf, Halloween parades, and Wendigo. That’s my one major complaint about Anoka: it’s too short! The concept was so cool I was disappointed we didn’t get to explore more of Hawk’s alternate universe. I wanted to learn more about The Book and the creepy town filled with dark magic and monsters.

A comic-style illustration of a werewolf wearing underwear made from the trans flag colors.

What impressed me the most about the story collection is how Hawk was able to handle the subjects of child loss, sexual assault, substance abuse and missing and murdered Indigenous women, especially in his story Wounded, in a way that felt respectful rather than exploitative. Anoka is a fun, frightening ride that draws attention to many of the issues plaguing American Indians today, and I hope we’ll get to hear even more stories from the spooky little town in Hawk’s future books.

The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline

The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Dancing Cat Books

Genre: Apocalypse/Disaster, Body Horror, Sci-Fi Horror

Audience: Y/A

Diversity: American/Indian and Indigenous characters (Mostly Métis, Anishinaabe, and Cree), Black/Indo-Caribbean/Biracial character, gay male characters

Takes Place in: Toronto, Canada

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Amputation, Child Abuse, Child Death, Child Endangerment, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Kidnapping, Medical Torture/Abuse, Pedophilia, Police Harassment, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sexual Abuse, Slurs, Suicide, Violence

Blurb

In a futuristic world ravaged by global warming, people have lost the ability to dream, and the dreamlessness has led to widespread madness. The only people still able to dream are North America’s Indigenous people, and it is their marrow that holds the cure for the rest of the world. But getting the marrow, and dreams, means death for the unwilling donors. Driven to flight, a fifteen-year-old and his companions struggle for survival, attempt to reunite with loved ones and take refuge from the “recruiters” who seek them out to bring them to the marrow-stealing “factories.”

***CONTENT WARNING: In this review I will be discussing Indigenous American (Canadian, Mexican, and the US) history and residential schools/Indian boarding schools, with a primary focus on Canada where the Marrow Thieves takes place. I will be touching on genocide, forced assimilation, abuse, sexual assault, trauma, and addiction. There will also be images of verbal abuse and the effects of trauma. Please proceed with caution and take breaks if you need to. For my Indigenous readers: if you feel at all distressed or disturbed while reading this, or just need support in general, there are resources for the US and Canada here and here respectively. If you need extra help you can also find Indigenous-friendly therapists here and here to talk to. If you are a abuse survivor, are being abused, or know someone who is, please go here. There are further links at the end of the review. Please reach out if you need to!***

I have tried to use mainly Indigenous created articles, websites, books, films, and interviews for reference when writing this review. I have also included multiple quotes from residential school survivors, as I felt I could not do justice to their vastly different experiences without using their own words. However, I can only cover a fraction of a long and complex history. I strongly encourage everyone to check out the books, videos, and podcasts I have listed at the end of the review. Kú’daa Dr. Debbie Reese for providing such an excellent list of suggestions for residential school resources! They were a huge help in this review. And speaking or Dr. Reese, check out her review of The Marrow Thieves as well as Johnnie Jae’s Native book list. And another big thank you to Tiff Morris for being my sensitivity reader for this review. Your help and advice was invaluable! Wela’lin!

When I first read The Marrow Thieves years ago it didn’t impact me the way it does now. Back in 2017 a worldwide pandemic still existed solely in the realm of science fiction. Much like a giant asteroid destroying the earth, it was technically possible but so unlikely that such a scenario wasn’t worth worrying about. Re-reading the dystopian horror novel in 2020 was a completely different and utterly terrifying experience. Even knowing how the story would end was not enough to quell my anxiety and I felt on edge the entire time. The fact that Cherie Dimaline’s used real world atrocities committed against Indigenous people just makes the story feel even more plausible and horrifying. Water rights, violence against Indigenous women, cultural appropriation, climate change, cultural erasure, and the trauma caused by residential schools are all referenced.

The book opens with the protagonist Frenchie, a young Métis boy, watching helplessly as his Brother Mitch is beaten and kidnapped by Recruiters, a group of government thugs tasked with capturing Indigenous people for the purpose of extracting their bone marrow. Now alone, and with no idea how to survive on his own Frenchie has to be rescued from starvation by a small band of Indigenous (mostly Anishinaabe and Métis) travelers. The group welcomes the young boy as one of their own, and he soon comes to see them as an adoptive family as the ragtag bunch works together to survive and protect each other.

Miig is the patriarch of the group, an older gay gentleman who likes to speak in metaphor and teaches the older kids Indigenous history through storytelling. He also trains Frenchie and the others to hunt, travel undetected, and generally survive in their harsh new reality. Miig might seem cold at first but he genuinely loves the kids, he just prefers to show it through actions rather than words. Dimaline did an excellent job writing Miig and he felt like a real person rather that a lazy gay stereotype. I absolutely adore his character. He’s got the whole “gruff but kind dad” thing going. Minerva is another one of my favorites, a cool and cheerful Elder who acts as the heart of the group and teaches the girls Anishinaabemowin, as most of the kids have lost their original languages. She keeps all of them to the past. Minerva also raised the youngest member of the group, Riri, a curious and spunky 7-year-old who ends up bonding with Frenchie. Riri was only a baby when she was rescued and has no memory of a time before they were forced into a nomadic lifestyle in order to avoid the Recruiters so, unlike the others, she has nothing to miss. Cheerful and lively Riri never fails to raise everyone’s spirits or give them hope for a better future.

The rest of the kids range from nine to young adulthood. Wab is the eldest girl, beautiful and fierce and “as the woman of the group she was in charge of the important things.” Then there’s Chi-boy, a Cree teenager who rarely speaks. The youngest are the twins Tree and Zheegwan, followed by Slopper, a greedy 9-year-old from the east coast who likes to complain and brings his adoptive family the levity they all need. Later on they’re joined by Rose, a biracial Black/White River First Nation teen who Frenchie immediately develops a crush on. And I can’t really blame him because Rose is a total bad ass. All of them have lost people to the residential schools and some, like the twins, were even victims of “marrow thieves” themselves. But they all support each other and survive despite the difficulties they’ve faced.

No one knows what caused the dreamless disease rapidly infecting the country, an illness that causes the victim to stop dreaming and slowly descend into madness, only that Indigenous people are immune. And yes, I do appreciate the irony of a plague that only affects Colonizers. Perhaps it’s divine retribution for Jeffery Amherst’s (yes that Amherst) germ warfare. When their immunity is discovered people begin to flock to Native nations begging for help. But Indigenous people are understandably reluctant, having been burned too many times before. They don’t want to share their sacred ceremonies and traditions with outsiders, and for very good reason. Non-Natives quickly get tired of asking and do what they do best: take what they want, in this case Indigenous practices and later Indigenous bodies. The few survivors who do manage to escape the new residential schools often return with parts of themselves missing, an apt metaphor for real residential schools. Although set in a fictional future The Marrow Thieves dives into a past that Colonialism has actively tried to suppress.

Indigenous history is rarely taught in either US or Canadian schools (outside of elective courses) and what is taught is often grossly inaccurate. To quote Dr. Debbie Reese’s post about representation in the best-selling paperbacks of all time: “23,999,617 readers (children, presumably) have read about savage, primitive, heroic, stealthy, lazy, tragic, chiefs, braves, squaws, and papooses.” In America we’re taught that the Wampanoag (who are never mentioned by name) showed up to save their pilgrims friends from starvation and celebrate the first Thanksgiving, with no mention of the English massacre of the Pequot, Natives being sold into slavery, or the Colonists’ grave robbing. After 1621, mentions of American Indians are scarce to non-existent. There might be a brief paragraph here and there in a high school textbook about the Iroquois Nation siding with the British in the Revolutionary War, or the Trail of Tears.

A 2015 study of US history classes, grades K-12, showed that over 86% of schools didn’t teach modern (post-1900) Indigenous history and American Indians were largely portrayed “as barriers to America progress. As a result, students might think that Indigenous People are gone for one reason—they were against the creation of the United States.” Few students are ever told about the mass genocide of American Indians, smallpox blankets, the government’s unlawful seizure of Native land, the many broken treaties, destruction of culture, and forced experimentation. American Indian writer and activist Suzan Shown Harjo points out in an interview “When you move a people from one place to another, when you displace people, when you wrench people from their homelands, wasn’t that genocide? We don’t make the case that there was genocide. We know there was, yet here we are.” You would think that American history would dedicate more than a paragraph to THE PEOPLE WHO FUCKING LIVED IN AMERICA. I’m not that familiar with the Canadian education system, but according to Métis writer and legal scholar Chelsea Vowel they’re not much better at teaching the history of First Nation, Inuit, and Métis people. The omission of Indigenous Americans and Canadians from history lessons is just another form of erasure that contributes to the continued systemic oppression of First Peoples by a racist and colonialist system.

A White teacher stands in front of her class and is pointing to racist, stereotypical cartoon images of Pilgrims and Indians. The teacher says “The Indians helped the pilgrims and they became best friends! Then the Indians all voluntarily left so we could found America. Too bad there aren’t any Indians anymore!” The only non-White child in the class, a Native girl raises her hand and say “Um, actually the Wampanoag and lots of other American Indian tribes are still around even though the colonizers tried to get rid of us and stole our land. I’m Seneca and my family and I are still here.” The cheerful teacher says “I said…” then she turns menacing “…The Indians and Pilgrims were FRIENDS and they left voluntarily. So stop making things up. Now it’s time to make construction paper Indian head dresses kids!”

The sad thing is, the “Pilgrim and Indian” drawings are based on actual, present day “lessons” from teaching websites. This comic is loosely based on my experience as the only Black kid in class when we learned about the Civil War. The Seneca girl is wearing a “Every Child Matters” orange shirt for Residential Schools survivors.

White supremacist Andrew Jackson believed American Indians had “neither the intelligence, the industry, the moral habits, not the desire of improvement” and used this to justify the numerous acts of Cultural Genocide he committed. One of the worst was the Indian Removal Act, which forced the Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Creek and Seminole to choose between assimilation or leaving their homelands. Justin Giles, assistant director of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation Museum, describes it as, “You can have one of two things: you can keep your sovereignty, but you can’t keep your land. If you keep your land you have to assimilate and no longer be Indian… you can’t have both.” While reading The Marrow Thieves, I was struck by how much the world Dimaline created felt like a futuristic Nazi Germany. It makes sense considering “American Indian law played a role in the Nazi formulation of Jewish policies and laws” according to professor of law Robert J. Miller. Good job America, you helped create the Holocaust. I’m sure Andrew Jackson would be proud.

But people tend to object to mass murder and breaking treaties, even in the 1830’s. Jackson’s Indian Removal Act was controversial and drew a great deal of criticism, most notably from Davy Crockett and Ralph Waldo Emerson. Christian missionary and activist Jeremiah Evarts wrote a series of famous essays against the Removal Act that accused Jackson of lacking in morality. So even back then folks hated the 7th president for being a lying, racist piece of shit. Of course that didn’t necessarily mean they were accepting of the people they saw as “savages.” A line from They Called it Prairie Light sums it up best: “Europeans were at first skeptical of the humanity of the inhabitants of the American continents, but most were soon persuaded that these so-called Indians had souls worthy of redemption.”  So how could they “kill” Indians without actually killing them and looking like the bad guys? Richard Henry Pratt came up with the solution. Changing everything about Indigenous people to make them as close to Whiteness as possible.

“A great general has said that the only good Indian is a dead one. In a sense, I agree with the sentiment but only in this: that all the Indian there is in the race should be dead. Kill the Indian in him, and save the man.” – Richard Henry Pratt

Pratt was a former Brigadier General who had fought in the Union during the Civil War. He spoke out against racial segregation, lead an all Black regiment known as the “Buffalo Soldiers” in 1867 (yes, the ones from the Bob Marley song), and unlike Jackson, actually viewed the American Indians as people. Unfortunately, like most “White Saviors,” Pratt was ignorant, misguided and believed Euro-Americans were superior. “Federal commitment to boarding schools and their ‘appropriate’ education for Native Americans sprouted from the enduring rootstock of European misperceptions of America’s natives.” (Tsianina Lomawaima). And so Pratt decided the best way to help American Indians was to remove children from their homes to teach them “the value of hard work” and the superiority of Euro-American culture. Pratt had already practiced turning Cheyenne prisoners of war at Fort Marion into “good Indians” and he was convinced an Indian school would be equally successful. So in 1879 he founded the Carlisle Indian Industrial School, the first Indian boarding school in the US.

“Soon, they needed too many bodies, and they turned to history to show them how to best keep us warehoused, how to best position the culling. That’s when the new residential schools started growing up from the dirt like poisonous brick mushrooms. We go to the schools and they leach the dreams from where our ancestors hid them, in the honeycombs of slushy marrow buried in our bones. And us? Well, we join our ancestors, hoping we left enough dreams behind for the next generation to stumble across.”

Miig telling the kids how the bone marrow harvesting started.

“Civilizing” American Indian children by separating them from their cultural roots and teaching them Eurocentric values was not a new idea: The Catholic church had already been doing it for years. But it was Pratt who made it widespread. At the school, students were forced to cut their long hair, adopt White names and clothing, speak only in English, and convert to Christianity. Failure to comply would be met with corporal punishment from Pratt, who ran the school like an army barrack. Understandably, Indigenous people —   who had no reason to trust a nation of treaty breakers —    were initially reluctant to send their children away from their families to go to school. But Pratt convinced Lakota chief Siŋté Glešká aka Spotted Tail (one of three chiefs who had travelled to Washington to try and convince President Grant to honor the treaties the US had made) that an English education was essential to survival in an increasingly Euro-centric America. He argued that if Spotted Tail and his people were able to read the treaties they signed, they never would’ve been forced from their land. He would teach the students so they could return home and in turn help their people. Reluctantly the chief agreed to send the children Dakota Rosebud reservation, including his own sons, to Carlise. Ten years later Pratt’s “save the Indian” goal became a National policy and Natives no longer had a choice in the matter.

“As girls, Martha and young Frances found the atmosphere of the school alien, unfriendly, and oppressive. Both had been raised by nurturing parents of the leadership class, and neither had been abused as a child. They had learned the traditions and laws of their tribes, but the church had not had a strong presence on the San Manuel Reservation. When the girls entered the St. Boniface school, their parents had agreed to their enrollment so that they could cope better with an ever-changing society dominated by non-Indians. Furthermore, their parents expected them to be future leaders of the tribe and felt that training at an off-reservation boarding school would better prepare them for tribal responsibilities.” (Trafzer)

Canada was also pushing for assimilation and, using Pratt’s Residential School model, began to develop their own “off-reserve” schools. In 1920 Duncan Campbell Scott, the Deputy Superintendent of Indian Affairs for Canada from 1913 to 1932, passed the Indian Act. The bill made school attendance mandatory for all Indigenous children under the age of 15. Anyone who refused could be arrested and their children taken away by truant officers, the basis for Dimaline’s Recruiters. Residential school survivor Howard Stacy Jones describes how she was snatched by Mounted Police from her public school in Port Renfrew British Columbia and brought to a residential school: “I was kidnapped when I was around six years old, and this happened right in the schoolyard. My auntie and another witnessed this… saw me fighting, trying to get away from the two RCMP officers that threw me in the back seat of the car and drove away with me. My mom didn’t know where I was for three days.”

Scott famously said “I want to get rid of the Indian problem. . . Our objective is to continue until there is not a single Indian in Canada that has not been absorbed into the body politic and there is no Indian question, and no Indian Department, that is the whole object of this Bill.” Schools in the US and Canada did have some dissimilarities. While the U.S. moved away from mission schools in favor of government run ones, most Canadian residential schools continue to be run by Christian missionaries and supported by several churches. As a result, federal control was weaker in Canada and the goal of converting Indigenous people to Catholicism and Protestantism remained at the forefront. Interestingly, during my research I found that Indigenous people reported a wide variety of experiences in US residential schools ranging from positive to negative, whereas the stories about Canadian ones were overwhelmingly negative.  It’s possible that the Canadian residential schools were somehow worse than US ones, possibly due to the strong influence of the state and little government regulation, but I don’t want to draw conclusions on a topic I simply don’t know enough about. Besides it’s not my place to compare the experiences of survivors like that.

Still, I was genuinely surprised to find so many positive memories reported by former US residential school students who felt they benefited from their time there. While conducting interviews for They Called it Prairie Light Tsianina Lomawaima revealed that former Chilocco students had nothing but good things to say about L. E. Correll, the school’s superintendent from 1926 to 1952. “The participants in this research concurred unanimously in their positive assessment of Correll’s leadership, a testimonial to his commitment to students and the school. Alumni references to Mr. Correll… all share a positive tone. He is described as Chilocco’s ‘driving force,’ ‘wonderful,’ [and] ‘a fine man, we called him ‘Dad Correll.'” I bring this up not to minimize the damage the schools did nor excuse the atrocities they committed, but to illustrate the complexity of this topic. It would also be disingenuous not include the wide range of experiences at these schools. Another student at Chilocco wrote a letter to a North Dakota Agency complaining of a broken collarbone and not enough to eat only to be told to stop “whining about little matters.” Another student refused to Chilocco explaining, “I could stay there [at Chilocco) if they furnished clothing and good food. I don’t like to have bread and water three times a day, and beside work real hard, then get old clothes that been wear for three years at Chilocco [sic]. I rather go back to Cheyenne School.”

Regardless, all the schools caused lasting damage to Indigenous culture and communities. What Canada and the US claimed called assimilation “more accurately should be called ethnic cleansing…” explains Dr. Jennifer Nez Denetdale a Najavo Professor of American Studies at the University of New Mexico. Pratt may have had good intentions, but remember what they say the road to hell is paved with. Much like voluntourism today attempts to “help” American Indians through assimilation were rooted in colonialism and hurt more than they helped. Forrest S. Cuch, former director of the Utah Division of Indian Affairs describes the damage done to his tribe, the Utes. “Assimilation affected the Utes in a very tragic way. It was so ineffective that it did not train us to become competent in the White World and it took us away from our own culture, so much so that we weren’t even competent as Indians anymore.” “Children do not understand their language and they’re Navajos. This was done to us.” explained Navajo/Dine elder Katherine Smith. Assimilation was nothing short of Cultural genocide as defined by the 2015 the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada:

“…the destruction of those structures and practices that allow the group to continue as a group. States that engage in cultural genocide set out to destroy the political and social institutions of the targeted group… Languages are banned. Spiritual leaders are persecuted, spiritual practices are forbidden, and objects of spiritual value are confiscated and destroyed. And, most significantly to the issue at hand, families are disrupted to prevent the transmission of cultural values and identity from one generation to the next.”

Residential boarding schools are yet another atrocity that remains suspiciously absent from American and Canadian history books, but they are popular in Indigenous horror (Rhymes for Young Ghouls, The Candy Meister, These Walls), and for good reason. Survivors describe deplorable living conditions, rampant abuse, rape, starvation, and being torn away from their families and culture. Homesickness was a common problem for young children who had spent their entire lives surrounded by family. Ernest White Thunder, the son of chief White Thunder, became so homesick and depressed he refused to eat or take medicine until he finally died.

“Students arriving at Chilocco [Residential School] met the discrepancies between institutional life and family life at every turn. Military discipline entailed a high level of surveillance of students but constant adult supervision and control was impossible. The high ratio of students to adults and the comprehensive power wielded by those few adults compromised any flowering of surrogate parenting. In the dormitories, four adults might be responsible for over two hundred children. The loss of the parent/child relationship and the attenuated contact with school personnel reinforced bonds among the students, who forged new kinds of family ties within dorm rooms, work details, and gang territories. Dormitory home life-siblings and peers, living quarters and conditions, food and clothing, response to discipline-dominates narratives.”  (Tsianina Lomawaima)

Running away was common and could end tragically. Kathleen Wood shared one of her memories of students who ran away: “There were three boys that ran away from [Chuska Boarding School]. They wanted to go home… They were three brothers, they were from Naschitti. They ran away from here as winter… They did find the boys after a while, but the sad part is all three boys lost their legs.” Not everyone survived their attempts to return home, as was the tragic case for Chanie “Charlie” Wenjack (trigger warning for description of child death). At the Fort William Indian Residential School 6 children died and 16 more disappeared.

Indigenous children first entering residential school would often have their long hair cut short, an undoubtedly traumatic experience for many children. For the Cheyenne the cutting of hair is done as a sign of mourning and death. Roy Smith, a member of the Navajo Nation (Diné) where long hair is an essential part of one’s identity, describes his experience: “They all looked at me when they were giving me my haircut… My long hair falling off. And I was really hurt. The teaching from my grandfather was… your long hair is your strength, and your long hair is your wisdom, your knowledge.” Hair is also holds spiritual importance to the Nishnawbe Aski. An anonymous Nishnawbe Aski School survivor was left deeply hurt be her hair cut:

“When I was a girl. I had nice long black hair. My mother used to brush my hair for me and make braids. I would let the braids hang behind me or I would move them over my shoulders so they hung down front. I liked it when they were in front because I could see those little colored ribbons and they reminded me of my mother. Before I left home for residential school at Kenora my mother did my hair up in braids so I would look nice when I went to school. The first thing they did when I arrived at the school was to cut my braids off and throw them away. I was so hurt by their actions and I cried. It was as if they threw a part of me away – discarded in the garbage.” – Anonymous

***Content warning, descriptions of child abuse and sexual assault and an image of verbal abuse of a child below***

Students were severely beaten for not displaying unquestioning obedience and sometimes for no reason at all. Those in charge would constantly reinforce the message that Indigenous people were stupid, worthless, and inferior to Whites, destroying the children’s sense of self-worth. Some students were forced to kneel for long stretches of time, hold up heavy books in their outstretched arms, or locked in the basement for hours. Children would be force-fed spoiled meat and fish until they vomited, then forced to eat their own vomit. Some were even electrocuted. Chief Edmund Metatawabin recalls his experience at St. Anne’s Indian Residential School:

There was [an electric chair with] a metal handle on both sides you have to hold on to and there were brothers and sisters sitting around in the boys’ room. And of course the boys were all lined up. And somebody turned the power on and you can’t let go once the power goes on. You can’t let go… my feet were flying in front of me and I heard laughter. The nuns and the brothers were all laughing.” – Edmund Metatawabin

From 1992 until 1998 Ontario Provincial Police launched an investigation into the abuse at St. Anne’s Residential School after Chief Edmund Metatawabin presented them with evidence of the crimes. The police took statements from 700 St. Anne’s survivors, many of whom described incidents of sexual assault and abuse involving priests, nuns, and other staff. During her interview one survivor said “This shouldn’t have happened to us. They’re God’s workers, they were to look after us.” (link contains graphic descriptions of abuse). One figure estimates that one in five  students were sexually abused when attending residential school. But schools would cover up the abuse, and anyone who complained was intimidated into silence.

A priest is forcing a ball and chain, representing trauma, to a little girl in a residential school uniform. She is surrounded by red and orange speech bubbles saying cruel things like "Dirty Indian!," "Shut up! Stupid Girl! Do as you're told!," "Savage!," and "You're going to hell for your pagan beliefs. You need religion."

The verbal abuse shown here is paraphrased from actual things said to Residential school survivals. They are taken from interviews and autobiographies. If you or someone you know is being abused, go here. Learn more about forms of abuse here.

All this pain and suffering was committed under the pretense of “civilizing” Native people, when in reality it was Cultural Genocide driven by White supremacy. “The whole move was to make Indian children white… Of course, at the end of the school experience, the children still weren’t white. They were not accepted by White mainstream America. When they went back to their tribal homelands, they didn’t fit in at home anymore either.” says Kay McGowan, who teaches cultural anthropology at Eastern Michigan University. Inuvialuit author Margaret Pokiak-Fenton describes how her mother did not even recognize her when she returned home in her children’s book Not my Girl. As if the rejection wasn’t heart breaking enough, Margaret had forgotten much of her own language and struggled to communicate with her family. Another residential school survivor, Elaine Durocher, says “They were there to discipline you, teach you, beat you, rape you, molest you, but I never got an education…. [instead] it taught me how to lie, how to manipulate, how to exchange sexual favors for cash, meals, whatever the case may be.” In a video for Women’s Centre she volunteers at she discusses how “The teachers were always hitting us because we were just ‘stupid Indians'”.

***End of content warning***

“[People] need to know that it was an event that happened to a lot of kids, that it wasn’t just a few; it was literally thousands of kids that suffered. I’ve come to realize that there were also others where the experience for them was actually very good, and I don’t question that. I can only relate to mine. Mine wasn’t a good one, and I know a lot of really good friends who also did not have a good experience.” – Joseph Williams

In The Marrow Thieves the government and the church join forces to perform experiments on prisoners, and later Indigenous people, in order to find a cure for the dreamless plague. And if you were hoping that was just a metaphor for destroying cultural identities and real residential schools never sunk so low as to experiment on helpless children, well, you’d be wrong. Science has a dark history of exploiting the most vulnerable populations for unethical experiments. In the U.S. alone enslaved women were tortured and mutilated by the father of gynecology  without any form of anesthesia (1845-1849), the government backed Tuskegee syphilis experiment (1932-1972) infected hundreds of Black men without their knowledge or consent, a stuttering experiment (1939) performed on orphans is now known as “The Monster Study,” elderly Jewish patients were injected with liver cancer cells (1963) to “discover the secret of how healthy bodies fight the invasion of malignant cells,” and inmates in the Holmesburg Prison were used to test the effects of various toxic chemicals on skin (1951-1974).

In the 1920s experimental eyes surgeries to treat trachoma were conducted on Southwestern US Natives. The contagious eye disease became an epidemic on Southwestern reservations, affecting up to 40% of some tribal groups. “Some tribes, such as the Navajo, experienced no “sore eyes” prior to their defeat by the United States, yet once confined to the reservation, they witnessed a significant increase in unexplained eye problems.” (Trennert) GEE I WONDER WHY. Maybe it had something to do with being forced to live in poverty on shitty reservations where their access to healthcare and sanitation was limited? The government decided to “help” by once again making it worse. The Indian office opened an eye clinic and hired the Otolaryngologist Dr. Ancil Martin to run it. Dr. Martin began the student treatment program before he had any idea how to cure trachoma. He decided to test out a surgical procedure called “grattage” which involved cutting the granules off the eyelids (without anesthesia of coure). One little girl described the experience: “During the operation they cut off little rough things from under the eyelid. It was a grisly scene, with blood running all over. The children had to be held down tight.” (Trennert) Unfortunately the experimental treatment only provided temporary relief and those children who recovered where left with permanent damage to their eyelids. Later, as part of the “Southwestern Trachoma Campaign,” ophthalmologist Dr. Webster Fox convinced the Indian Office to take even more drastic measures and surgically remove the tarsus (the plate of connective tissue inside each eyelid that contributes to the eyelids form and support). His reasoning for this was because he did not believe Indians would submit to prolonged treatment and it was better to “remove the disease more quickly and with less deformity than the way Nature goes about it.” Yikes.

In case you were hoping this was a tragic but isolated incident, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. When giving testimony to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada survivors consistently described an environment where “hunger was never absent.” Residential school meals were typical low in calories (they ranged from 1000 to 1450 calories per day, undernourishment is considered less than 1,800 calories per day), vegetables, fruit, protein, and fat, all essential parts of a growing child’s diet. “We cried to have something good to eat before we sleep. A lot of the times the food we had was rancid, full of maggots, stink. Sometimes we would sneak away from school to go visit our aunts or uncles, just to have a piece of bannock.” explained school survivor Andrew Paul. Food-borne illnesses were another common occurrence. Although at least partly due to negligence or a lack of funds some schools intentionally withheld food to see how the children’s bodies would react to malnutrition, especially as they fought off viruses and infections. “When investigators came to the schools in the mid-1940s they discovered widespread malnutrition at both of the schools” explained food historian Dr. Ian Mosby. ” “In the 1940s, there were a lot of questions about what are human requirements for vitamins… Malnourished aboriginal people became viewed as possible means of testing these theories.” Mosby said an interview with the Toronto Star. And so Indigenous Canadian children became unwitting guinea pigs in an unethical study. Between 1942 and 1952 Dr. Percy Moore, head of the superintendent for medical services for the Department of Indian Affairs, and Dr. Frederick Tisdall, former president of the Canadian Pediatric Society performed illicit nutrition experiments on students at St. Mary’s School. Milk and dairy rations were withheld. Instead children were given a fortified flour mixture containing B vitamins and bone meal. The experimental supplement impacted their development and caused children to become dangerously anemic, and continued to have negative effects on them as adults. Incidentally, this experimental flour mix was illegal in the rest of Canada.

A decade later the U.S. Air Force’s Arctic Aeromedical Laboratory in Fairbanks wanted to study the role the thyroid gland played in acclimating humans to cold in hopes of improving their operational capability in cold environments. The hypothesis was that Alaskan Natives were somehow physically better adapted to cold environments than White people This is another example of scientific racism as the study didn’t bother looking at the White inhabitants of the Arctic Circle:  Greenlanders, who hypothetically should have a similar resistance to the cold. Instead, they chose to focus on Alaskan Natives almost as if they were a different species. The othering didn’t end there. Participants (84 Inuit, 17 Athabascan Indians, and 19 White service members) were given a medical tracer, the radioisotope iodine 131 to measure thyroid function. Guess who wasn’t told they were part of the experiment? Instead of informing the Indigenous test subjects they were participating in a research study as would’ve been required by the recently created Nuremberg Code (the first point in the code literally says “The voluntary consent of the human subject is absolutely essential”), the scientists just said “Fuck it, we do what we want!” I mean, it’s not like someone might want to know they were being given RADIOACTIVE MATERIAL or anything right? Not only did the experiment offer no potential benefit to the Alaskan Natives who participated but the original hypothesis was disproven. The Airforce provided no follow up tests or treatment for the test subjects to insure they hadn’t suffered any long-term effects.

Students at Kenora residential school were used as test subjects for ear infection drugs, again without their knowledge or consent. School nurse Kathleen Stewart wrote in her report “The most conspicuous evidence of ear trouble at Cecilia Jeffrey School has been the offensive odor of the children’s breath, discharging ears, lack of sustained attention, poor enunciation when speaking and loud talking,” In a follow-up report she noted three children “were almost deaf with no ear drums, six had [hearing in] one ear gone.”

Human research violations aren’t just a problem of the distant past before the IRB was established. In 1979 Native leaders asked researchers to help them assess the drinking problem in their community in Barrow, Alaska. They were hoping to cooperate with them to find a solution. Instead the researchers went ahead and publicly shared the results of the Barrow Alcohol Study with news outlets. Because the study implied the majority of adults in Barrow were alcoholics (which was inaccurate), left out the socioeconomic context which led to drinking problems, and then announced the results without representatives from the tribal community, it caused both a great deal of shame and direct financial harm. Starting in the 1990s, Arizona State University obtained blood from the Havasupai tribe under false pretenses. Instead of using the samples for diabetes research like they had promised the tribal members, researchers used the Havasupai’s DNA for a wide range of genetic studies. This continued until 2003 when a Havasupai college student discovered how the blood was being used without permission. Carletta Tilousi explained in an NPR Interview “Part of it is it was a part of my body that was taken from me, a part of my blood and a part of our bodies as Native-Americans are very sacred and special to us and we should respect it.”

Keeping all this in mind the dystopian future that Dimaline created suddenly doesn’t seem so far-fetched. Indigenous people have already had their land stolen, their graves robbed, their children kidnapped, and their culture appropriated. They’ve even had their blood taken under false pretenses. Indigenous children held prisoner in residential schools were deliberately starved and denied access to basic healthcare all in the name of science. The Marrow Thieves feels especially poignant right now, with the Americas experiencing (at the time of writing this) some of the highest Covid-19 rates in the world. Who would we sacrifice to find a cure? Pfizer, the company responsible for making one of the two currently available Covid vaccines did illegal human research as recently as the 90’s. “What does it mean when the disproportionate disease burden currently faced by Indigenous communities is, in large part, the product of a residential system that the TRC has found was nothing short of a cultural genocide?” asks Mosby. “In part, it means that we need to rethink the current behavioral and pharmacologic approaches… in Indigenous communities. In their place, we need more community-driven, trauma-informed and culturally appropriate interventions… [and] also acknowledge the role of residential schools in determining the current health problems faced by residential school survivors and their families…[M]ost importantly, we need to demand that the next generation of Indigenous children have access to the kinds of plentiful, healthy, seasonal and traditional foods that were denied to their parents and grandparents, as a matter of government policy” he argues.

The worst part about the residential school is that even after they closed, their legacy remained and the damage they did would affect future generations. A report entitled Indigenous Communities and Family Violence: Changing the Conversation states “The [Royal Commission on Aboriginals Peoples] named residential schools as a significant cause of family violence in Indigenous communities… and the intergenerational impacts of residential schools on the prevalence continues to be recognized…”. Many of the abused students became abusers themselves, taking out their pain, fear, and frustration on the younger children. After leaving the school, survivors continued to suffer from low self esteem, hopelessness, painful memories and severe mental, social, and emotional damage. Boarding school trauma was then passed down from parent to child and the cycle of abuse would continue.  Because the children were deprived of affection and family during their formative years, many of them left residential school emotionally stunted and unable to openly express love, even towards their own children.

“Few [students] came out of residential schools having learned good boundaries, and good boundaries included some sense of self-determination, sovereignty over your own body. They didn’t have any control over that, and they didn’t see people around with appropriate behavior and being respectful of them as human beings, that they were sacred. And they were abused. Children learn what they live and that was their life.” – Sylvia Maracle, executive director of the Ontario Federation of Indigenous Friendship Centres.

Add in loss of land, racism, poverty, and a lack of healthcare and support and you’re left with a complex system of trauma that’s stacked against Indigenous people and their recovery. A report prepared for the Aboriginal Healing Foundation entitled Aboriginal Domestic Violence in Canada states:

 “Social and political violence inflicted upon Aborigional children, families and communities by the state and the churches through the residential school system not only created the patterns of violence communities are now experiencing but also introduced the family and community to behaviors that are impeding collective recovery.”

In her award-winning autobiography They Called Me Number One writer and former Xat’sull chief Bev Sellars discusses the long-lasting damage to her done by St. Joseph’s Mission.  Sellars watched helplessly as her brother’s personality completely changed as a result of sexual abuse and he began to take out his rage and pain on her. Sellar’s own trauma affected the way she interacted with her three children. She practiced an authoritarian style of parenting she had learned from the school and expected her children to hide their pain instead of expressing it as she was forced to do. Because the only touch Sellars experienced at the residential school was painful and abusive she feared any form of physical contact and was unable to hug anyone until her own children were grown. She continued to fear disobeying any White person or authority figure and made her want her children to behave perfectly in front of Whites.

She describes how she suffered from panic attacks, migraines, nightmares, memory problems, emotional numbness, angry outbursts, shame and phobias after attending the residential school. Because her complaints of mistreatment were dismissed and summarily punished by those in charge, Sellars developed a learned helplessness and “why bother?” attitude. Years of brainwashing by the nuns and priests caused Sellars to see “the world through the tunnel vision of the mission” and led her to believe she was inferior because she was Indigenous. Those familiar with trauma will recognize these as PTSD symptoms commonly seen in survivors. Unfortunately, emotional and mental health were still poorly understood in the 1960s and medical services are limited on reservations forcing survivors like Sellars to find other ways to numb their pain.

***Content warning for image of depressive thoughts below***

The girl from earlier is now a grown woman. She looks depressed, is wearing dark clothing, and hugging herself. The ball and chain that represents trauma are chained around her ankle. Dark thoughts fill her head like: “I must have deserved it,” “Nothing will ever get better, what’s the point?,” “Maybe there really is something wrong with being Native…,””The pain will never stop. I’m so tired of it, I just want to be numb,” and “Everyone hurts me, I can’t trust anyone. I’m all alone.”

The ball and chain represent the trauma the residential school survivor has to carry around with her. Her thoughts are based on those common to people with trauma. Please contact a mental health provider (listed at the beginning and end of the review) if you have similar thoughts.

***End of content warning***

In The Marrow Thieves Wab eventually shares how her mother became addicted to alcohol and later crack cocaine. The stress of living in a dirty, overcrowded military state while trying not to starve or get taken away by the school staff became too much for her. Wab wonders if her mother could feel herself dying and just gave up. Alcohol and drugs are frequently abused by those who’ve experienced trauma or have untreated mental illness. In fact, childhood abuse is prevalent among alcoholics, and children who experience trauma are four to twelve times more likely to engage in substance abuse. Sellars’ brother never recovered from the sexual abuse he experienced at the hands of the priests and developed an addiction to alcohol. Others survivors die by suicide. According to the CDC the suicide rate among adolescent American Indians is more than twice the U.S. average and the highest of any ethnic groups. Amanda Blackhorse explains “…we’re still feeling the effects of boarding schools today… and it has completely demolished the Indigenous familial system. And many of our people are suffering and they don’t… realize that they are suffering from the boarding school system. Many of us don’t even understand it…”

However, while alcoholism is definitely a problem in Native populations the stereotype of the “drunken Indian” is no more than a harmful myth. Indigenous people aren’t “genetically more susceptible to alcoholism” and American Indians are actually more likely to abstain from alcohol that Whites.

 “The participants in this study talked about historical trauma as an ongoing problem that is at the root of substance abuse issues in their families and communities. Further, the participants believed their experiences to be shared or common among other AI families and communities. Feelings about historical trauma among the participants, their families, and/or their communities included disbelief that these events could have happened, sadness, and fear that such events could recur; however, there also were messages about strength and survival.” – Laurelle L. Myhra

This huge, horrible thing that scarred thousands of survivors and had long lasting effects for Indigenous populations is almost entirely unknown outside of Native, Inuit and Métis communities, and the Canadian Government continues to underfund education and health services for Indigenous children. But there are many Indigenous people, like Bev Sellars, who are not just surviving, but flourishing, and in turn helping others to recover. Indigenous founded and run groups such as The National Indigenous Women’s Resource Center, Freedom Lodge, Indigenous Circle of Wellness, and Biidaaban Healing Lodge, are all working to heal generational trauma by combining traditional Indigenous healing practices and modern trauma-informed therapy to create a holistic approach to wellness and mental health. Horror and Apocalyptic Fiction has also given Indigenous creators a way to process this generational trauma and make a wider audience aware of these historical atrocities. But even with everything Indigenous people have suffered through, they’re still here. The Marrow Thieves similarly ends on a hopeful note with Frenchie and his friends holding their heads high as they march into the future.

The woman is now older, wearing bright clothing, and looks happy. She has a Native-made T-shirt that says “you are sacred.” The speech and though bubbles all have bright colors. People are giving the woman positive affirmations like “You aren’t alone,” “You deserve to be happy,” and “Don’t measure yourself by colonizer standards.” Her thoughts are happy now instead of dark. The woman thinks “I don’t need permission to speak, exist, or take up space,” “My language, beliefs, and culture are not ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’,” “What was done to me was not my fault and it does not define me,” and “I am strong. I am brave. I have value.”

The girl from the residential school is all grown up, and with the support from her community has started to heal. Her trauma, now represented by a balloon to show the “weight” of it is now gone, is still there but is no longer impeding her ability to enjoy life. She finally feels free to celebrate her Chippewa culture and heritage, as reflected by her bright clothing and long braids. Her T-shirt is from Choctaw journalist and artist Johnnie Jae’s collection. Her skirt is based on the work of Chippewa fashion designer Delina White. Her scarf has a floral Chippewa design.

Sources:

Unspoken: America’s Native American Boarding Schools, PBS, 2016

The Indian Problem, The Smithsonian, 2016

In the White Man’s Image, PBS, 1992

Bopp, J., Bopp, M., and Lane, P.  Aboriginal Domestic Violence in Canada. The Aboriginal Healing Foundation. 2003. https://epub.sub.uni-hamburg.de/epub/volltexte/2009/2900/pdf/aboriginal_domestic_violence.pdf

Dunbar-Ortiz, Roxanne. An Indigenous People’s History of the United States. Boston: Beacon Press, 2014.

Fortunate Eagle, Adam. Pipestone: My Life in an Indian Boarding School. University of Oklahoma Press, 2010.

Health Justice, Daniel. Why Indigenous Literature Matters. Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2018.

Holmes, C. and Hunt, S. Indigenous Communities and Family Violence: Changing the Conversation. National Collaborating Center for Aboriginal Health, 2017.  https://www.nccih.ca/docs/emerging/RPT-FamilyViolence-Holmes-Hunt-EN.pdf

Jordan-Fenton, C. and Pokiak-Fenton, M. Not My Girl. Annick Press, 2014.

Jordan-Fenton, C. and Pokiak-Fenton, M. Fatty Legs. Annick Press, 2010.

Mihesuah, Devon A. American Indians Stereotypes & Realities. 1996. Reprint. Atlanta: Clarity Press, 2009.

Mihesuah, Devon A. So you Want to Write About American Indians?: A Guide for Writers, Students, and Scholars. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2005.

Pember, Mary Annette. “Death by Civilization.” Atlantic, 8 March. 2019.

https://www.theatlantic.com/education/archive/2019/03/traumatic-legacy-indian-boarding-schools/584293/

Robertson, David Alexander. Sugar Falls: A Residential School Story. Highwater Press, 2012.

Sellars, Bev. They Called Me Number One: Secrets and Survival at an Indian Residential School. Talonbooks, 2013.

Sterling, Sherling. My Name is Seepeetza. Groundwood Books, 1992.

Trafzer, C. E., Keller, J.A., eds. Boarding School Blues: Revisiting American Indian Educational Experiences. Bison Books, 2006.

Treuer, Anton. Everything You Wanted to Know about Indians But Were Afraid to Ask. St Paul: Minnesota Historical Society Press, 2012.

Tsianina Lomawaima, K. They Called It Prairie Light: The Story of Chilocco Indian School. University of Nebraska Press, 1995.

Robinson-Desjarlais, Shaneen (host). Residential Schools Podcast Series. Audio podcast, February 21, 2020. https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/residential-schools-podcast-series

Dawson, Alexander S. “Histories and Memories of the Indian Boarding Schools in Mexico, Canada, and the United States.” Latin American Perspectives 39, no. 5 (2012): 80-99. http://www.jstor.org/stable/41702285.

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Harper Voyager

Genre: Psychological Horror, Sci-Fi Horror, Thriller

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Lesbian/queer characters and author, Biracial Black character 

Takes Place in: another planet

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Medical Torture/Abuse, Medical Procedures, Mental Illness,  Self-Harm, Attempted Suicide, Verbal/Emotional Abuse

Blurb

“This claustrophobic, horror-leaning tour de force is highly recommended for fans of Jeff VanderMeer’s Annihilation and Andy Weir’s The Martian.” — Publishers Weekly (starred review)
***

A thrilling, atmospheric debut with the intensive drive of The Martian and Gravity and the creeping dread of Annihilation, in which a caver on a foreign planet finds herself on a terrifying psychological and emotional journey for survival.

When Gyre Price lied her way into this expedition, she thought she’d be mapping mineral deposits, and that her biggest problems would be cave collapses and gear malfunctions. She also thought that the fat paycheck—enough to get her off-planet and on the trail of her mother—meant she’d get a skilled surface team, monitoring her suit and environment, keeping her safe. Keeping her sane.

Instead, she got Em.
Em sees nothing wrong with controlling Gyre’s body with drugs or withholding critical information to “ensure the smooth operation” of her expedition. Em knows all about Gyre’s falsified credentials, and has no qualms using them as a leash—and a lash. And Em has secrets, too . . .
As Gyre descends, little inconsistencies—missing supplies, unexpected changes in the route, and, worst of all, shifts in Em’s motivations—drive her out of her depths. Lost and disoriented, Gyre finds her sense of control giving way to paranoia and anger. On her own in this mysterious, deadly place, surrounded by darkness and the unknown, Gyre must overcome more than just the dangerous terrain and the Tunneler which calls underground its home if she wants to make it out alive—she must confront the ghosts in her own head.

But how come she can’t shake the feeling she’s being followed?

The Luminous Dead is a survival horror story with only two characters, one location, and no antagonist. It’s also one of the most stressful horror stories I’ve ever read. Starling is a master of playing with the reader’s paranoia, building up the suspense and atmosphere until you’re jumping at every sound and shadow. Ironically, The Luminous Dead also managed to calm me down considerably when I was dealing with my own stressful situation (horror is great for anxiety): spending the night in the ER awaiting an emergency cholecystectomy (after my wife told me it was nothing and we weren’t spending $4,000 at the ER just because I had stomach cramps that were probably just from drinking milk, and why hadn’t I just taken the Lactaid tablets she bought me). After managing to survive a severely infected gallbladder, I assumed that 2020 could only be uphill from there. Poor, naïve past me.  

In the first panel I'm lying in a hospital bed looking worn out. "Well at least 2020 can't be any worse than 2019." I say. In the second panel I'm sleeping peacfully, when suddenly I'm woken up in the third panel by evil laughter. In the 4th panel the demonic laughing continues while I hide under the blankets and ask "Where is that laughing coming from?"

Well at least none of my organs exploded in 2020, so there’s that…

In the future, humanity has spread out across the stars, but sadly it’s not the socialist utopia dreamed of in Star Trek. Gyre lives on a barren, back-water mining planet where poverty is rampant and the only escape is to take a job as a caver for wealthy mining companies. It’s not a pleasant job. On top of spending days or even weeks in a self-contained suit with little human interaction, breathing recycled air, and being fed through a stomach stoma, these subterranean explorers have to contend with falls, cave-ins, and underground flooding. Worst of all are the Tunnelers – giant alien worms that burrow through solid stone. Not many cavers survive, but those who do can expect a huge payout. In Gyre’s case, it’s enough to get her off-world to find the mother who abandoned her as a child. Desperate, uncertified, and inexperienced, she accepts an especially sketchy caving job that doesn’t ask too many questions. It’s not until Gyre has already begun her descent into the subterranean labyrinth she’s been hired to explore that she discovers she may have made a grave mistake. Instead of having an entire team topside to monitor her vitals, feed her info, and watch her while she sleeps, which is the standard, she has only one woman, Em. Cold, efficient, controlling, and stingy with details, Em is not above obfuscating data and manipulating her cavers to get the job done. Not exactly someone you want to trust with your life. Em seems to genuinely want to protect Gyre even if her methods are questionable, but that hardly excuses the lying and manipulation which only serve to exacerbate the young caver’s trust issues. Not that Gyre is much better. Her desperation means she’s willing to make some morally questionable decisions, and her stubbornness leads to her making bad ones.

A drawing of Gyre in her suit. She's in the cave and is looking at two skulls on the ground, horrified. Em is on the intercom saying "Don't worry Gyre, it's perfectly safe. Trust me!"

The background is from a cave in the Dominican Republic I visited back in February 2020. There weren’t any skulls in it though. *sigh* I miss travel.

As if paranoia, isolation, and giant monsters aren’t scary enough, Starling adds another twist: there may or may not be something sinister going on in the cave as Gyre’s senses start to play tricks on her. Maybe it’s another one of Em’s deceptions. For most of the book, you’re genuinely unsure of where the biggest threat is coming from: the cave, Em, or Gyre’s own mindknowing she’s all alone in the dark unknown (or is she?) with only one less-than-trustworthy guide. Although Gyre never fully trusts Em, the two begin to form a distrustful, dysfunctional relationship over time as they reveal and struggle with past traumas. And yes, their trauma bond is just as maladjusted as it sounds. It’s both fascinating and horrifying to watch these two deeply flawed, fucked up people grow closer. Part of me was rooting for Gyre and Em because, when everything is awful, people deserve every bit of happiness they can get. But the more rational part of me was horrified. Shared suffering does not mean two people will be compatible and without trust issues, and on top of Em’s willingness to put Gyre in danger, there are the hallmarks of a toxic relationship. To Starling’s credit, she doesn’t try to create an idealized romance, or even imply that their bond is healthy like certain romance books that will remain nameless tend to do *cough*Twilight*cough*. Instead she aims to create two realistic, flawed characters who are doing their best in a bad situation. I’m a huge fan of antiheroes and morally gray characters in fiction (in real life they’re just assholes) because they’re rarely bland or boring, and Gyre and Em are anything but dull. Watching a caver with trust issues put her life in the hands of a woman who lies just makes the story all the more suspenseful.

Part of the reason Gyre acts the way she does is because she grew up in survival mode. Living in a barren, capitalist hellhole will do that to a person. Like any good work of science fiction, The Luminous Dead uses fictional characters in a fictional setting to draw attention to some very real-world ethical dilemmas. In this case, it’s the exploitation of the poor and vulnerable in a Capitalist society. Dubbed 3K jobs in Japan (kitanai, kiken, kitsui or dirty, dangerous, and difficult in English) this sort of work has traditionally been given to immigrants, migrant workers, and other vulnerable populations who have few options available to earn a living and are less likely to complain about unsafe working environments. Dangerous jobs that require specialized skills and training, such as construction and steel working jobs, pay better salaries and are more likely to be OSHA compliant, but rarely pay enough to offset the risk. Sex work can be a 3K job that pays well, but leaves sex workers open to arrest, abuse, and disease without legal protections in place. While workers aren’t being forced into these jobs per se (as opposed to victims of trafficking, domestic servitude, debt bondage, and other forms of slavery) they’re not usually done by people who have other options available. In The Luminous Dead, caver jobs are only ever taken by those in poverty (the wealthy would never risk their lives doing such dangerous work) and no one continues caving after they’ve made enough to escape. So is it really a choice when you’re between Scylla and Charybdis?

A drawing of Odysseus' ship passing between Scylla (a monstrous woman with six dog's heads around her waist and six serpents head's with shark's teeth coming out of her back) and Charybdis (a giant whirlpool). Someone on the ship is saying "FML".

Scylla wasn’t that big but she’s also not real so I can draw her however I want lol

I can’t describe much more of the plot, as spoilers would ruin the suspense Starling worked so hard to create, but suffice it to say that The Luminous Dead is, at its core, about the trauma of losing a mother, whether from abandonment or death, and how anger and grief can destroy you. If you love isolation horror, definitely pick up a copy of your own.

Cirque Berserk by Jessica Guess

Cirque Berserk by Jessica Guess

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Unnerving Magazine

Genre: Killer/Slasher, Myth and Folklore, Occult, Demons

Audience: Y/A

Diversity: Black main character and author, Native Oglala Lakota main character, character with syndactyly

Takes Place in: Florida, USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Abelism, Alcohol Abuse, Animal Death, Child Abuse, Death, Forced Captivity, Gore, Kidnapping, Physical Abuse, Racism, Sexual Abuse (Voyeurism), Slurs, Slut-Shaming, Torture, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence 

Blurb

The summer of 1989 brought terror to the town of Shadows Creek, Florida in the form of a massacre at the local carnival, Cirque Berserk. One fateful night, a group of teens killed a dozen people then disappeared into thin air. No one knows why they did it, where they went, or even how many of them there were, but legend has it they still roam the abandoned carnival, looking for blood to spill.

Thirty years later, best friends, Sam and Rochelle, are in the midst of a boring senior trip when they learn about the infamous Cirque Berserk. Seeking one last adventure, they and their friends journey to the nearby Shadows Creek to see if the urban legends about Cirque Berserk are true. But waiting for them beyond the carnival gates is a night of brutality, bloodshed, and betrayal.

Will they make they it out alive, or will the carnival’s past demons extinguish their futures?

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.

Put on your sequins and neon spandex, grab a New Coke, and turn up that Whitney Houston cassette because it’s time to take a look at Jessica Guess‘s tribute to eighties’ slashers, Cirque Berserk! Guess’s new horror novella is the perfect ode to trashy, B-horror movies of the yuppie decade à la The Funhouse, Evilspeak, and Prom Night. Praised by one of my favorite horror authors, Stephen Graham Jones, Cirque Berserk hits most of the squares on the “teen scream” Bingo card, but still feels fresh and original. Guess has fun playing with the classic slasher clichés while subverting more problematic tropes like the “black best friend” and the “nice guy” being rewarded with a hot girl. She fills her story with plenty of self-aware humor and the kind of affectionate mocking that can only come from a true horror fan, which balances well with the more serious scenes of racism, sexism, and abuse. The result is a fun, nostalgic, carnival ride with a deeply emotional narrative hidden just beneath all the glitter, gore, and a bad-ass Black protagonist.

A black and red bingo card that says "Teen Scream Bingo." The squares include various slasher cliche's like "corny puns," "abandoned location," "Black best friend," and "masked murderer."

The eighties have made a come back in horror recently with popular TV shows (Stranger Things, American Horror Story: 1984), movies (the It reboot, The Final Girls), and novels (Grady Hendrix’s My Best Friend’s Exorcism) all drawing inspiration from the decade that gave rise to the slasher film, and it’s no wonder why. Not only do they have the nostalgia factor going for them as Gen Xers have their midlife crises, but they’ve got a ton of amazing source material to work from. Eighties audiences were blessed with a plethora of classic horror movies: grotesque monsters (The Thing, Aliens, Scanners, American Werewolf in London), final girls who fought back, (Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street, Hell Raiser, Aliens), self-aware humor (Elvira, Monster Squad, Fright Night) cool, sexy vampires (Lost Boys, Near Dark, The Hunger) and horror franchises (Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Friday the 13th, The Evil Dead) graced the silver screen. Hell, even the remakes were good. Both The Fly and The Thing arguably surpassed their originals.

But what was it about the decade of greed that inspired so many amazing films? To understand eighties horror, you need to understand that the 1980’s were an age of excess, greed, rapid technological advancement, and reactionary conservatism. As late writer/director Stuart Gordan explained in the Shudder documentary In Search of Darkness: A Journey Into Iconic 80’s Horror, “horror thrives when there’s a repressive government” and the Reagan years certainly qualified. Additionally, public uncertainty and fear lead to the genre’s rise in popularity, just as it did during the Great Depression resulting in Universal’s famous Golden Age monsters. Meanwhile, advancements in technology and the increased affordability of personal computers led to some groundbreaking special effects and makeup (The Thing, Scanners, The Fly, American Werewolf in London). This decade was the perfect balance of repression and paranoia for horror films to flourish.

The rise of the “New Right” in the late seventies and eighties brought with it a push to return to “traditional American values” (i.e. being sexist, racist, homophobic, and slut-shaming with impunity). Everywhere you looked, the crack cocaine epidemic was sweeping the nation, AIDS was desolating the population, hardcore porn was easily accessible on video, the rich were getting greedier and richer, and divorce rates had peaked. With more women entering the workforce and an increasing number of newly-single kids were suddenly being left at home unsupervised. The public might have been content with leaving their kids at home, but a generation of ‘suddenly being left unsupervised for long periods of time’ were exposed to a plethora of violence and sex in media. Concern for the latchkey generation was only made worse by the abduction and murder of six-year-old Adam Walsh. The tragic case “created a nation of petrified kids and paranoid parents” who saw danger in every stranger they encountered. The media-fueled mass hysteria eventually led to a rash of Satanic panic.

It was enough to make any God-fearing White conservative clutch their pearls! Rather than blame Reagan for taking away childcare funding and completely botching the response to drugs and AIDS, or recognize that the risk strangers pose to children is minimal at best a vocal group of conservatives decided it was the loss of a nuclear family, declining morals, and demonic media that had left everything such a mess. Even if you didn’t buy into the whole “little Timmy will get murdered by Satanists because his mommy had to rejoin the workforce” school of thought, it was hard to deny the world was pretty scary, what with global warming, Jeffrey Dahmer, the cold war, and deadly invisible illnesses. Why couldn’t we go back to the way they were in the fifties when bad things only happened to minorities and women weren’t constantly going on about equal rights? Back before all teens were watching heavy metal videos on MTV, popping third generation birth control pills, and playing Super Mario Bros on their NES (or whatever they were into back then. Doing whippets maybe? I dunno, I was like 4 at the time). Cue a wave of 1950’s nostalgia and horror films that capitalized on the public’s fear for the safety of unsupervised kids.

A flow chart with images that shows the various events in the 80's that led to the rise in slasher horror as described in the review.

Most slashers followed a basic formula. A group of unsupervised teenagers with poor decision making skills all did “Bad Things TM” until an evil man would show up and kill everyone but the clever, resourceful, virginal hero because they were too pure to be defeated by evil. The story was simple, yet effective — at least in its ability to terrify audiences. I doubt anyone waited for their wedding night because they were afraid Jason would show up for a murderous version of coïtus interruptus. Ironically the conservative adults whose fear and values inspired the horror Renaissance were also its main detractors. Probably because filmmakers were interested in making money, not PSAs about morality, and tits and blood sell. The so-called golden age of slashers began in 1978 with Halloween and ended in 1984 with A Nightmare on Elm Street. Unfortunately sequelitis and low budget direct-to-video horror flicks marked the end of the era, but thankfully schlock could be just as entertaining in all it’s goofy, cheesy glory. When 80’s horror is good, it’s really good, but when it’s bad it’s amazing. And it’s these B-movie slashers that make Cirque Berserk such a fun read. Guess understands that while The Shining may be the Michelin star-winning gourmet meal of eighties horror and the franchise slasher films are the family restaurants with mass appeal, movies like Basket Case and Slumber Party Massacre 2 are greasy fast-food burgers you cram in your maw at 3 A.M. in the CVS parking lot. Yes, they’re terrible for you, and yes you regret it the next day when you wake up with a hangover and smell like dumpster fries, but god damn if those weren’t some delicious fucking burgers. Cirque Berserk is what happens when you have a talented chef prepare those greasy, salty, fast-food burgers. It’s fast, fun, and you won’t be able to put it down until you’ve devoured the whole thing.
Guess cleverly subverts the standard slasher story line while still paying homage to many of its elements. There’s a cast of stereotypical teens whose bad judgement lands them in an abandoned amusement park with a masked killer despite the warnings from the wise old woman at the gas station. There’s stupid teen drama, bad puns, and buckets of blood. Guess even adds a Satanic subplot where a group of disenfranchised teens summon the demon Lilith to grant them wishes, poking fun at Yuppie parents’ unfounded fear that their kids were listening to Stairway to Heaven backwards and using D&D to summon demons. The story is full of self-aware humor, my favorite example of which involves one of the characters pointing out how weird it is that no one is carrying a gun in Florida. Curses and murderous Satan worshipers are well within the realm of possibility, but no one packing heat in a Southern “stand your ground” state is way too weird. Guess manages to give us all this and still make her story genuinely scary. And for what felt like a pretty standard slasher set-up, I was actually caught off guard by a plot twist.

When it comes to her villains, however, Guess dispenses with the usual “irredeemably evil for the heck of it” masked murderers typical in slashers. Instead, she gives us a group of tragic figures who sell their humanity for a chance at freedom. It’s appropriate that the teen killers summoned Lilith to grant them freedom, a figure who chose to become a demon rather than submit to the will of a man. As another famous Abrahamic rebel declares in Paradise Lost “Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.” The Alphabet of Ben Sira describes Lilith as Adam’s first wife, created as his equal. After getting fed up with her husband’s misogyny and bad sex, Liltith decides dick really isn’t worth all this bullshit and flies off into the night, choosing to become a demon rather than submit to male authority. Modern Jewish feminists, such as Judith Plaskow, interpret her as “a female symbol for autonomy, sexual choice, and control of one’s own destiny.” In her midrash, The Coming of Lilith, Plaskow writes “Lilith not only embodies people’s fears of how attraction to others can ruin their marriages, or of how risky childbearing and raising children are, but also represents a woman whom society cannot control—a woman who determines her own sexual partners, who is wild and unkempt, and who does not have the natural consequences of sexual activity, children.” Demon or no, Lilith sounds like my kind of woman.

But my absolute favorite part of Cirque Berserk is Guess’ tough-as-nails and whip-smart protagonist, Rochelle, who is anything but your typical final girl. Guess got the name from Rachel True’s character in The Craft, whose frequent erasure from horror conventions and panel discussions Guess even wrote about here. She explains that this was her way of honoring True. “I love The Craft and I got the idea for Cirque Berserk a little after watching Horror Noir and hearing what Rachel said about being typecast as the best friend and always having to say “are you okay” a million different ways. My Rochelle is a response to that.” And I say she’s the perfect response! But what else would you expect from Guess, creator of the Black Girl’s Guide to Horror blog? Cirque Berserk is a novella for Black and Indigenous horror fans who are sick of getting cast as victims, and hero helpers. As Guess states on her website:

“Horror is for everyone, but it doesn’t always feel that way with the lack of representation in the genre. Final Girls? White. Heroes? White. Villains? White. Masters of Horror? Mostly all white. Even those who talk about horror are all for the most part White. [My site] is the answer to the too white, too male, too cis, too straight genre that so many of us love but don’t see much of ourselves in.”

A teenage Black girl with natural hair. She's wearing roller skates, blowing green bubble gum, and has a bat slung over her shoulders. She surrounded by images of roller skates, a bloody knife, symbols for the demon Lilith, and a murder mix tape. The art is colored in pinks, teals, greens, blues, and purples. All colors that were popular in the eighties.

The novella has very few problems. I felt like some of the descriptions were a bit lacking  and Guess has a tendency to “tell” rather than “show.” The word choices could also get repetitive (for example using “said” repeatedly), but these are both fairly minor nitpicks for what’s otherwise a very strong story. I also wish we’d been given a little more time with the victims before they started getting picked off one by one, but I otherwise can’t complain about the novella’s pacing. Building suspense is a great way to make your story scary, but sometimes you want a horror book that gets straight to the killing spree instead of dicking you around for ten gore-free chapters. And Guess knows how to give the reader that instant blood-soaked satisfaction we crave. Her book was the perfect length: long enough to get its point across without letting the story drag. It may not be as fancy or polished as some award-winning, gourmet novel, but who gives a fuck? You know which one you’re going to be craving at 3 AM.

The House of Erzulie by Kirsten Imani Kasai

The House of Erzulie by Kirsten Imani Kasai

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Shade Mountain Press

Genre: Gothic, Historic Horror, Myth and Folklore

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Black/biracial main characters and author, mentally ill main characters

Takes Place in: Philadelphia and New Orleans, USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Animal Death, Body Shaming, Child Abuse, Child Death, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Illness, Kidnapping, Medical Torture/Abuse, Medical Procedures, Miscarriage, Mental Illness, Oppression, Pedophilia, Physical Abuse, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self-Harm, Sexism, Sexual Abuse, Slurs, Slut-Shaming, Torture, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence, Xenophobia 

Blurb

The House of Erzulie tells the eerily intertwined stories of an ill-fated young couple in the 1850s and the troubled historian who discovers their writings in the present day. Emilie St. Ange, the daughter of a Creole slaveowning family in Louisiana, rebels against her parents’ values by embracing spiritualism, women’s rights, and the abolition of slavery. Isidore, her biracial, French-born husband, is an educated man who is horrified by the brutalities of plantation life and becomes unhinged by an obsessive affair with a notorious New Orleans voodou practitioner. Emilie’s and Isidore’s letters and journals are interspersed with sections narrated by Lydia Mueller, an architectural historian whose fragile mental health further deteriorates as she reads. Imbued with a sense of the uncanny and the surreal, The House of Erzulie also alludes to the very real horrors of slavery, and makes a significant contribution to the literature of the U.S. South, particularly the tradition of the African-American Gothic novel.

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 House of Erzulie is an exquisitely written, thought-provoking work of Southern Gothic fiction that explores themes of identity, love, obsession, and oppression while blurring the line between reality and the supernatural. Kasai’s book also forced me to acknowledge and confront my own complicated feelings and insecurities about my identity as a light-skinned, biracial Black person and reflect on the colorism within the Black community.

Lydia is a professor of history trapped in a bad marriage with her former advisor Lance, a selfish, serial philanderer who prefers his women young, docile, and naive. Their teenage son is emotionally distant and rarely home. Struggling with depression and a desire to self-harm, Lydia tries to cope with her emotional pain and feelings of isolation by throwing herself into her job, the one area of her life that isn’t falling apart. Ironically, it’s her work, the last vestige of stability in Lydia’s life, that finally destroys her fragile mental health.

At first Lydia thinks nothing of the journals she receives in a packet of historical documents belonging to the once grand Bilodeau plantation in New Orleans. After all, she’s been hired to aid in the restoration of the dilapidated building, even if she finds the monument to slavery distasteful. It’s only on a whim that she chooses to peruse the diaries of Emilie Bilodeau, the progressive daughter of a slave-owning family, and her husband Isidore Saint-Ange, a free-born biracial Frenchman. But as she learns more about the tragic couple’s lives Lydia finds herself strongly empathizing with Emilie’s loneliness and crumbling marriage. But it is Isidore’s journal that finally pushes her over the edge. Once logical and purely scientific in his approach to the world, Isidore becomes increasingly paranoid as a series of poor decisions and bad luck destroy his life. Eventually succumbing to madness, Isidore is imprisoned in an insane asylum convinced he is the victim of supernatural forces. As her own life turns to chaos, Lydia finds herself mirroring Isidore’s destructive actions.

The House of Erzulie has all the elements of a first-rate Gothic story; a distressed heroine kept trapped and powerless. A passionate but ultimately doomed romance. Hints of the supernatural in the form of spirits, curses, and prophetic nightmares that may or may not be products of the antihero’s imagination. A once great home falling into ruin as disease, death, and madness ravage its inhabitants, all set against the backdrop of one of America’s greatest atrocities. Kasai is careful to emphasize how appalling and inhumane the practice of chattel slavery is without using a historical tragedy for cheap scares or trauma porn. Instead Isidore’s rapidly declining mental state reflected in the plantation’s decay and the multiple misfortunes befalling the Bilodeaus is what makes the novel so frightening. I must admit I found it incredibly satisfying to watch such unsympathetic characters suffer karmic retribution (Emilie being the exception) the more gruesome and agonizing the better though I’m sure not all readers will share my taste for schadenfreude. Kasai’s writing is superb, her carefully crafted prose flows like poetry and evoked strong emotions in me. I’ll share one of my favorite passages here:

They say “love is not a cup of sugar that gets used up” but it is. Spoonful by spoonful, grain by grain, the greedy, the needy, and the hungry consume it and demand more until the bowl is empty. Then they run away, jonesing for a fix from another source. Each betrayal, every insult or injury depletes the loving cup and leaves the holder bitter. It’s a bitterness I can taste, and it sits on my tongue like the foulest medicine.

Kasai also did extensive research for her novel, as is obvious from the story’s numerous references to historical events and the accuracy with which mid-19th century healthcare is depicted. The Spiritualist movement (which Kasai notes provided one of the few public platforms for women at the time), the yellow fever epidemic of 1853, and the anti-Spanish riots of 1851 all make appearances in The House of Erzulie. But it’s the lives of her gens de couleur libres, or “free people of color” characters that deserve special attention. While I was initially disappointed by how little attention the narrative paid to the stories and voices of the slaves, it was a nice change of pace to read a novel that focused on the lives of free Black characters. Despite the significant role they played in US history, wealthy, free Blacks in the antebellum South rarely make an appearance in historical fiction.

The majority of the novel is set in Louisiana, once home to the largest population of gens de couleur libres in the US. Forming an intermediate class below White colonizers but above slaves, free Blacks achieved more rights, wealth, and education in the French settlement than in any of the British colonies. Professor Amy R. Sumpter notes in her article Segregation of the Free People of Color and the Construction of Race in Antebellum New Orleans that before the state currently called Louisiana was stolen “acquired” by the US in 1803 “the cultural blending of French, Spanish, and African traditions… created an atmosphere of racial openness in Louisiana and particularly New Orleans that stood apart from much of the rest of the South. Aspects of the unique racial atmosphere included a tripartite racial structure and racial fluidity.” Much of this was due to the Code Noir, an edict originally issued by King Louis XIV in 1724 that defined the legal status of both slaves and free blacks and imposed regulations on slave ownership. While no less cruel and inhumane than any of the other laws governing the enslavement of human beings, the code did make allowances not found in the rest of country.

The US followed a strict “one drop” rule that classified anyone with Black ancestry as Black. Mixed raced individuals were given offensive labels depending on their percentage of “Black blood”. “Mulattos” were biracial with one Black parent and one White. “Quadroons” were a quarter Black, “octoroons”(also called “mustees”) one-eighth, and “quintroons” (or “mustefinos”) one-sixteenth. In her acclaimed essay Whiteness as Property civil rights professor Cheryl Harris explains that this complicated system was “designed to accomplish what mere observation could not: That even Blacks who did not look Black were kept in their place.” English colonies also practiced partus sequitur ventrem (Latin for “the offspring follows the womb”) a law that gave a child the same legal status as their mother. So a mixed-race child born to an enslaved mother would be born into slavery, while the child of a free woman would also be free.

An old daguerreotype photo depicting a light-skinned boy with European features. A large American flag is draped off to the left of the image, covering the floor and the stool the boy is sitting on. Under the photo the following has been typed: Freedom's Banner, CHARLEY, A Slave Boy from New Orleans.

Charley Taylor was the “quadroon” son of White slave-owner Alexander Scott Withers and a biracial slave named Lucy Taylor. Because his mother was a slave Charley was also born into slavery and sold by his father to a New Orleans plantation. Abolitionists often used images of White-passing slaves to elicit sympathy as White audiences were more likely to be identify with the suffering of people who looked like them.

Most of the main characters in The House of Eruzile are upper class gens de couleur libres all of whom approach their Blackness and privilege differently. Emilie’s father, Monsieur Bilodeau, is a willing and enthusiastic participant in the slave economy and chooses to idolize Whiteness, despite having a Black grandmother. It’s a sad fact that some free Blacks became slave owners themselves, and many of them lived in Louisiana. While I can’t pretend to know the motivations of long-dead men, Kasai makes it clear that M. Bilodeau does it because he’s greedy, racist scum, a twisted amalgamation of Uncle Tom and Simon Legree. Isidore is shocked and disgusted by the treatment of the slaves on his in-laws plantation (slavery would’ve just been abolished in France), but is unwilling to risk his own privilege and wealth by objecting or leaving. Well-educated and used to a comfortable existence Isidore married into the Bilodeau family so he could continue enjoying a life of leisure rather than be forced to get a job. He does his best to ignore the suffering of the plantation’s slaves, as if this will somehow absolve him of his participation in a racist and inhumane system. Emilie, on the other hand, uses what little power she has to advocate for her family’s slaves, including her great-great-aunt Clothilde (yup, her dad wouldn’t even free his own family-members) and becomes involved in the abolitionist movement. She does her best to try to convince her husband to move North and free the Bilodeau slaves once they inherit the plantation but is always shot down. Finally, there’s P’tite Marie, the light-skinned daughter of Marie Laveau, a free-woman with significant influence.

While Kasai is undoubtedly a talented writer, I was troubled by the way she portrayed P’tite Marie as a one-dimensional Jezebel who uses voodoo to literally enchant her lovers. Her characterization is in sharp contrast to Emilie’s role as the virtuous mother, bringing to mind the deeply problematic Madonna/whore dichotomy. P’tite Marie would certainly have been exploited by men who fetishized free Black women, as is evident from the stories of Quadroon Balls, plaçages and “fancy maids,” so implying that she is sort of succubus who takes advantage of men didn’t sit right with me. Admittedly, we only get to view P’tite Marie through the lens of an unreliable, misogynist narrator who is seemingly incapable of accepting responsibility for his own actions and who is quick to blame her for his philandering. Still, it would’ve been nice to learn more about P’tite Marie as a person rather than a sexual fantasy. Personally, I would have much preferred if P’tite Marie and Emilie had realized that all the men in their lives were awful and decide to run away together.

The house in the background is based on the Oak Alley Plantation in New Orleans. Now a museum, Oak Alley boasts tours of the facility, a beautiful venue for weddings and reunions, a well-reviewed restaurant, and overnight cottages. What could be more relaxing than sipping mint juleps at the site of significant human right’s abuses and suffering? Maybe Auschwitz should start doing weddings.

Emilie was another character I took issue with. I found her naivety grating rather than endearing, and it concerned me that the Whitest character in the book was written to be the most sympathetic. To Kasai’s credit she does a wonderful job creating a mixed-race Gothic heroine without making her a tragic mulatta. Emilie is still a tragic character, but none of that is related to her identity. She is not ashamed of being mixed and is astutely aware of her good fortune. She uses her privilege to help others and would gladly give up her wealth if it meant freedom for the Bilodeau’s slaves. Instead of lamenting the “single drop of midnight in her veins” Emilie’s greatest source of ignominy is her family’s arrogance and lack of empathy. As she matures, she begins pushing back more aggressively against the injustices she perceives. And yet, I still deeply disliked her. But more on that in a moment.

Emilie was not the only character that inspired a strong reaction from me. Lydia, like many mixed race folks, has a complicated relationship with the White grandparents who raised her, and her family problems resonated deeply with me. I don’t even know most of my White family, nor do I want to, as they’re racists who disowned my mother for marrying my Black father. My mother is amazing and dedicated to anti-racism work, but I feel nothing but contempt for the biological family that labeled me a “jigaboo baby.” Meanwhile Isidore and M. Bilodeau reminded me of the worse aspects of the mixed community; those who choose inaction, thereby becoming complicit in the system of White supremacy, and the self-hating Blacks who reject their race and actively promote racism and colorism to get ahead. I could easily imagine the reprehensible M. Bilodeau in a blue vein society wearing a “Make America Great Again” hat while defending voter suppression and laughing at racist jokes. Emilie’s father is clearly an irredeemable villain who has no qualms about abusing his slaves, while Isidore is given more complexity and a conscience. Unfortunately, his guilt has no effect on his actions, and I was hard-pressed to dredge up even a shred of sympathy for Isidore and his hypocrisy. This is a perfect example of why intent doesn’t matter. While Isidore may not be an unrepentant racist like his father-in-law both men selfishly used their privilege for their own benefit at the expense of other Black people. It’s hard to say if his inaction makes him more or less morally reprehensible that his monstrous father-in-law.

I suspect that the reason I felt so much animosity towards Emilie, even though Isidore and M. Bilodeau are much more reprehensible, may stem from my own experience and insecurities as a White-passing Black person. I struggle daily with the guilt and resentment I feel knowing that while I’m undoubtedly oppressed by a White supremacist system, it also gives me an unearned advantage over others. I, and others like me, enjoy higher wages and are perceived as more intelligent while those with darker skin are given longer prison sentences, are three times more likely to be suspended from school and struggle to find partners. My grandfather could join Black fraternities that implemented paper bag tests, and probably used his light complexion to secure jobs as a physician. His grandparents were house slaves (and the children of their owner) like the ones described by James Stirling in The Life of Plantation Field Hands and Malcom X in his Message to Grassroots speech. Not only am I treated better by Whites (who were responsible for this racist caste system in the first place) but even the black community puts a high-value on my pale skin. Colorism is so deeply ingrained in society that skin-whitening creams are a $20 billion industry. My Black grandmother used to keep my father and his sister out of the sun so they wouldn’t be “too dark.” There’s a #Teamlightskin hashtag on Twitter. A color-struck, light-skinned manager at Applebee’s called his darker skinned employee racist slurs and suggested he bleach his skin. My passing privilege (most people assume I’m Jewish, Italian or Latinx until I correct them) and proximity to Whiteness means I can easily avoid the racist aggression the rest of my family experiences on a daily basis.

This a fake graph, but it’s based on actual data.

Because Emilie is so White, I instinctively questioned whether she could even be considered Black, just as my own melanin-deficient skin often makes others question my identity. While I can easily dismiss comments of “you’re not really Black” from Whites who are pissed I told them not to say the n-word (I could be Whiter than Conan O’Brien and you still can’t fucking say it Karen), it’s a lot harder when the remarks come from other Black people who make it clear they don’t want me in their spaces. But as much as I’m tempted to self-indulgently sulk, I can’t ignore the very valid concerns of darker skinned Black folk who are frequently pushed aside in favor of people like me. Yes, I, and other light-skinned BIPOC may deal with frequent microaggressions and sometimes even outright hostility, but we’re still much more welcomed by a racist society then we would be if our skin were darker. Given all this it’s no wonder my intrusion on BIPOC spaces is often called into question. Yes, I have racial trauma, but is it right for me to complain to those who are clearly dealing with so much more? It would be like crying about having my purse stolen to someone whose had their home burnt down and lost everything. Denying that I have privilege is incredibly harmful to the Black community as are comments like “we’re all Black, why are we dividing ourselves even more?”  Tonya Pennington does an excellent job encapsulating my feelings on the matter in their article for The Black Youth Project:

…despite my empathy for [Ayesha Curry], I disagree with her conclusion for why she isn’t accepted by the Black community. Both of us are light-skinned, and we know light-skinned Black people are often considered more desirable than dark skin Black women because of colorism. As much as she may have been picked on for being “different,” like me, it’s inevitable that she also experienced a host of privileges both within and outside the Black community for the same thing.

To be clear, in my personal experience most other Black people have been extremely welcoming to me and are sympathetic to the unique challenges of being mixed race. I am eternally grateful to everyone who has shown me such support and compassion, even when dealing with their own problems. They didn’t need to, and it was incredibly kind. I try my best to avoid demanding pity, taking over conversations, or otherwise making things about me when I’m in Black spaces. To do otherwise would be reprehensible. I know I have it a lot easier that others, and it’s my responsibility to use my light-skinned privilege to combat systemic racism when I can.

As Afropunk writer Erin White explains “Light skin people have a responsibility to call out colorism and be honest about the privileges they benefit from.” Blogger Amanda Bonam, founder of The Black & Project even gives examples on how she confronts her own light-skinned privilege. Unfortunately, the best ways to oppose colorism isn’t always obvious, and even good intentions can be harmful if one isn’t cautious. Like all allies we walk a fine line, confronting colorism without speaking over those without light-skinned privilege. For instance, as a person with light-skinned privilege, I constantly worry that I’m either not doing enough, or else I’m so vocal that I’m silencing other Black voices. Like my “white-passing” guilt, I push these worries down because, again, it’s not about me and those emotions are unhelpful. But they still exist no matter how much I try to deny them, because that’s how feelings work. Which brings me back to Emilie, because in her I saw my own insecurities.

Mentally I condemned Emilie for what I saw as meager attempts to help the Bilodeau’s slaves, despite benefiting so much from colorism. When Emilie bemoaned the fact she couldn’t do more, I bristled at how she seemed to be selfishly focused on her own suffering. I cast her in the role of White savior whose negligible struggles and accomplishments were lauded above those of the Black characters. Except Emile isn’t White, at least she wouldn’t have been in 1850. Hypodescent rules would have meant she’d be labelled Black by society, and there was certainly no benefit to having a Black great-grandparent in antebellum Louisiana. And how much could she have possibly done to help the slaves? Emilie was a woman, with no power and her resources were completely controlled by the men in her life. When she spoke out she was ignored. She couldn’t purchase anyone’s freedom as Isidore had complete control of her finances. The laws were not on her side. Much of the novel’s focus is on Emilie’s feelings, but it’s also written as a diary, where she would have recorded her personal thoughts, struggles, and misgivings. There’s no indication she was putting her feelings over those of the slaves; to the contrary Emilie seems to hide her guilt and frustration from everyone save her White abolitionist friend.

So did I judge Emilie, Kasai’s heroine, unfairly because I projected so much of myself onto her? Or was I right to be critical of a light-skinned character who once again is given the spotlight over dark-skinned Black folk? As of now, that’s not an answer I can provide. Instead I encourage the reader to draw their own conclusions about Emilie. All I know is that any book that can provoke so much both emotionally and intellectually is well worth a read.

The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion by Margaret Killjoy

The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion by Margaret Killjoy

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Tor

Genre: Demon, Occult

Audience: Y/A

Diversity: Gay, lesbian, and bisexual characters,Trans character and author, Black character, Latine/Hispanic character, Character with anxiety disorder

Takes Place in: Iowa, USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Animal Death, Forced Captivity, Gore, Oppression, Police Harassment, Mentions of Rape/Sexual Assault and Abuse, Suicide, Violence 

Blurb

Searching for clues about her best friend’s mysterious suicide, Danielle ventures to the squatter, utopian town of Freedom, Iowa, and witnesses a protector spirit — in the form of a blood-red, three-antlered deer — begin to turn on its summoners. She and her new friends have to act fast if they’re going to save the town — or get out alive.

I’ll admit, I really didn’t know much about Anarchism or the squatter/crusty punk/traveler lifestyle (which are all different, but overlap) before picking up The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion. I had a vague notion that Anarchists didn’t like the government, but I always pictured them as some sort of cishet white boys, oblivious to their own privilege, who would disrupt otherwise peaceful protests by smashing windows and setting things on fire. Heck, if you google Anarchist, one of the synonyms that pops up at the top of the page is “terrorist”. Of course, I started to question my long-held prejudices when I noticed some of my Facebook friends, many of whom are minorities, identified as anarchists. These were people who frequently posted about human rights, non-violence, and green-living – a far cry from the violent images of Anarchists I’d seen in TV shows and movies. It was Margaret Killjoy’s novella that finally familiarized me with the movement and the people in it and encouraged me to do my research.

Killjoy, drawing from her own experience as a travelling Anarchist, created a diverse cast of anti-capitalists punks. The main character, Danielle, suffers from one of the most realistically portrayed anxiety attacks I’ve ever seen in fiction. Her mental illness isn’t glamorized or downplayed, nor is she depicted as a “crazy, weird girl”. She develops a crush on Brynn, a bisexual woman, who offers to snuggle with her in bed, without any sort of pressure or expectation. Vulture, a queer, black, femme trans-man, introduces himself  to Danielle by asking what pronouns she uses. Most of the anarchists depicted in the book are peaceful, only resorting to violence in cases of self-defense, and limiting their minimal criminal activity to squatting in abandoned buildings and shoplifting necessities from big box stores. They’re idealists, but they’re also flawed and human. Some of the younger characters can be heavy handed about declaring how punk/counter culture they are, still too insecure to realize they don’t need to prove anything to anyone. One of the story’s antagonists actually calls someone a poser like it’s the sickest burn in the world. Vulture is obsessed with posting everything to Instagram, while his partner behaves like he’s in some sort of dramatic art film. The characters bicker, disagree, and even get into scuffles, and it all feels incredibly genuine and authentic.

When Danielle first stumbles across the Anarchist commune where her deceased friend, Clay, was living, it seems like an Anarchists Utopia. There’s no capitalism, money, oppressive laws, or ruling bodies. Everyone helps each other out by sharing their food and resources, the town functions on trust alone, and all issues are solved through group consensus with the aid of mediators. There’s also a blood-red demon deer named Uliksi who reanimates dead animals and has a penchant for ripping out hearts. Clay co-founded Freedom with the best of intentions, but the wide-eyed idealist failed to consider the fact that any political system can be corrupted, no matter how perfect it seems. There’s a reason Utopia is based on the Greek “ou topos” which means “no place”. It’s because human nature is inherently flawed, making perfection impossible. Since the Golden Age and the Garden of Eden, somebody is always ruining paradise for everyone else, and the town of Freedom is no exception. In this case, it’s entitled fuckboys who use violence and threats to impose their will on everyone, turning the town from an Anarchist haven to a totalitarian dictatorship. Almost a year before Danielle’s arrival in Freedom, a man named Desmond took over the town, murdered those who disagreed with him, and prevented anyone from leaving. Terrified and desperate, Clay and his friends Rebecca, Anchor, and Doomsday resorted to summoning a demon named Uliski, a three-antlered deer with blood red fur, to stop the want-to-be despot. Most of you are realizing immediately that this plan will inevitably backfire because, much like trying to form a Utopian society, demon summoning never ends well.  Personally, I wouldn’t know because my wife won’t even let me summon a single adorable, little owl even though I’m pretty sure (like 80% sure) it would turn out fine, not that I’m bitter about it or anything. Anyway…. Clay and his crew figure “fuck it, we’ll deal with the consequences later” and let Uliski rip out Desmond’s heart.

First panel: I’m standing in a summoning circle with a long-legged owl demon wearing a crown and boots. My wife is reacting in horror and asking “What are you… did you just summon a demon!?!” 2nd panel: I hug the demon and ask “Can I keep him? He’ll be good! I’ll train him, and him, and feed him souls every day!” 3rd panel: My annoyed wife snaps “No! Put. It. Back.” While I plead “But we love each other! Stolas will be sad if I send him back! Pleaaaase? He’s so polite and smart! He knows all about plants, precious stones, and astronomy.” Stolas turns his head upside down.  4th panel: “Watch!” I shout enthusiastically “Prince Stolas, what star is that outside?” “That is the Sun” Stolas responds. “Good Boy! Such a smart little demon fluffy face!” My wife is not impressed. 5th panel: Stolas explains “Take mistletoe to treat an inflammation of black bile and enhance fertility” while I hug him tightly.  My wife points out “That’s not even remotely correct.”

According to the Ars Goetia, Prince Stolas is Great Prince of Hell who commands twenty-six legions of demons and imparts knowledge on those who summon him. He’s also super cute. Please do not take Mistletoe. It is very toxic.

Instead of fucking off back to the Underworld, or wherever it is endless spirits live, Uliski decides to stick around to continue his mission of hunting the vengeful and hateful who wield power over others, and reanimating animal corpses because he wasn’t already creepy enough already. At first, everyone is so glad that Desmond has been stopped and peace restored, they don’t really question the demon living in their town and even come to revere him. But Clay warns that Uliski will eventually turn on his summoners after one year, which leads us to Danielle’s arrival. She has a rather traumatic welcome after witnessing the bloodthirsty buck rip out Anchor’s heart, encountering a bunch of zombie wildlife, and dealing with town’s crazy drama, but instead of hauling ass out of the Animal Farm version of Dawn of the Dead, she resolves to stay and search for answers behind Clay’s suicide. Meanwhile, Freedom is in an uproar over whether or not their demonic protector should be dismissed, with half the town believing he’s keeping them safe and only kills when it’s justified, and the other half pointing out that murder may not be the best way to keep the peace. Once again, the town seems headed towards a Dystopian nightmare, with Uliski’s remaining summoners afraid for their lives, and a new charming and arrogant young man looking to “save” Freedom by enforcing his will on others.

 

A gold-trimmed pen and ink drawing of a red deer with three antlers, two on the right and one on the left. The prongs of the antlers turn into veins which are connected to a human heart, surrounded by a fractured rib cage. Between the deer's antlers is the sigil for the goetic demon Furfur and the alchemical symbol for fire, painted gold.

Uliski the demon deer

This is a story about how power causes corruption, especially when it’s wielded by violent young men dripping with privilege. While the novella is very pro-Anarchist, Killjoy keeps it from feeling too much like heavy handed propaganda by presenting a balanced view of her socio-political beliefs and chooses realism (well, other than the supernatural elements of course) over romanticism. The town of Freedom is presented as both an ideal and a warning; a community based on equality and cooperation is something to strive for, but, like any system, it can easily be corrupted by selfishness and fear even when everyone has the best of intentions. Hierarchies started to form without anyone realizing, and once those hierarchies were enforced through violence Freedom went from Anarchism to Authoritarianism, much like what happened after the Russian revolution.

As much as I loved The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion, I felt it would have worked much better as a full-length novel, rather than a novella. The world building, story set up, character development, and ending all seemed too rushed and I was left feeling underwhelmed and longing for more. The concept is so cool, a demon deer turning on its summoners as a revolution slowly brews from with the town, that I wanted to spend more time there and learn about all the characters and what brought them to Freedom. I especially wanted to see more of Danielle and Brynn’s relationship develop. These reasons are why I much prefer the sequel, The Barrow Will Send What It May. By the second book, Killjoy has already established the world and the main players in it and is able to spend more time on developing her characters, building suspense, and giving Danielle and Brynn time to explore their feelings for each other. It’s for these reasons that I strongly suggest reading the two novellas together. The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion feels incomplete on its own, but works well as the first chapter to an overarching story, and this is why I truly hope we will see many more chapters in the Danielle Cain series. I want to read a full-length novel about a band of Anarchists travelling from town to town solving mysteries and fighting demons, Scooby-Doo and Supernatural style, even if it is separated into several short stories. Killjoy clearly has many more stories to tell, and I look forward to reading them.

Five people in punk clothing colored to resemble the characters from Scooby-Doo. Furthest to the left is Danielle, a White woman with short, blonde hair. Next is Vulture, a tall, Black trans man with long hair and one half of his head shaved. Thursday, a Latino man in a leather vest is the middle, then Brynn, a White woman with red hair, a tattooed line on her forehead, and glasses. Her pants are covered in lgbtq, anarchist, and feminist patches. On the left is a chubby White woman, Doomsday with bobbed, brown hair.

Left to right are Danielle (as Scooby), Vulture (as Fred), Thursday (as Shaggy), Brynn (as Daphne), and Doomsday (as Velma). Anarchist Mystery Gang!

 
The Between by Tananarive Due

The Between by Tananarive Due

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Harper Collins

Genre: Psychological, Thriller

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Black Characters (African American and Ghanaian) and author, Hispanic/Latino character (Puerto Rican), Character with possible Mental Illness

Takes Place in: Miami, Florida, USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Child Abuse, Child Death, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Gaslighting, Homophobia, Mental Illness, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault mentioned, Stalking, Slurs, Suicidal thoughts, Verbal/Emotional Abuse 

Blurb

When Hilton was just a boy, his grandmother sacrificed her life to save him from drowning. Thirty years later, he begins to suspect that he was never meant to survive that accident, and that dark forces are working to rectify that mistake.

When Hilton’s wife, the only elected African-American judge in Dade County, FL, begins to receive racist hate mail, he becomes obsessed with protecting his family. Soon, however, he begins to have horrible nightmares, more intense and disturbing than any he has ever experienced. Are the strange dreams trying to tell him something? His sense of reality begins to slip away as he battles both the psychotic threatening to destroy his family and the even more terrifying enemy stalking his sleep.

Chilling and utterly convincing, The Between follows the struggles of a man desperately trying to hold on to the people and life he loves, but may have already lost. The compelling plot holds readers in suspense until the final, profound moment of resolution.

I admit, I’m a huge Tananarive Due fan. I love her books, I love her academic work, I love reading her tweets, and I especially love how she’s always willing to share her wisdom and encourage other writers. When I was watching Black horror films for my Horror Noire timeline and Morbidly Beautiful review Due was kind enough to engage with me on Twitter and offer movie recommendations, insights, and feedback for my articles. Here was this amazing author who I admired so much not only chatting with me about our shared love of horror, but taking the time to help me out! If I ever get the chance to meet her in person, I’d probably faint. Needless to say, trying to pick a book to review by one of the most influential Black horror authors out there was a daunting task. Should I write about one of her best-known novels, My Soul to Keep from the popular African Immortals series? Or should I review my personal favorite, The Good House (which I’ve been known to throw at random friends and family members, insisting they read it)? After much back and forth, I finally decided I should start at the beginning and shine the spotlight on her very first novel which doesn’t get nearly as much recognition as it deserves: The Between. This award-winning psychological thriller stars family man Hilton as he loses his grasp on reality while watching his perfect life fall apart after his wife, Dede, receives a racist death threat at her job. In addition to being a truly creepy piece of speculative fiction, it’s also nice to see such a strong, loving, successful Black family dealing with issues like code-switching in a mostly white neighborhood, the Black community’s views on homosexuality and mental illness, and the differences in culture between Africans and Black Americans.

Before diving into the plot of Due’s very first novel, let’s have a quick physics lesson because I can’t review a sci-fi story without at least a little bit of science. Many of you may already be familiar with the many-worlds theory: an interpretation of quantum physics which essentially states that everything that could have possibly happened, but did not, has occurred in a different, alternate timeline, creating a vast multiverse where universes branch into more universes with each possible outcome. For example, flipping a coin would create two separate universes, one where it lands on heads and another where it lands on tails. Some of these universes would be nearly identical to our own, like the two timelines seen in the movie Sliding Doors, while others would hardly be recognizable, like the alternate history in The Man in the High Castle by Philip K Dick where the allies lose WWII, or the two-dimensional world from Edwin Abbott Abbott’s satirical novella, Flatland. However, we are only capable of perceiving the universe that we’re currently in. That’s the main, overly simplified, gist of it anyway. Here’s a great video that further explains this complex concept in an easy to understand way. Now you can impress your friends with your physics knowledge!

The many-worlds theory is especially popular with science and speculative fiction writers and shows up in everything from novels (Mid-World from Stephen King’s Dark Tower series) and comics (the Bizarro World in Superman) to films (Spider-Man into the Spider-Verse) and TV shows (Star Trek‘s Mirror Universe). The Between differs from most of these examples because, in true Schrödinger’s cat fashion, a multiverse may or may not play an important role in the book, and it all starts when Hilton’s grandmother dies the first time. Seven-year old Hilton James discovers his Nana’s cold, dead body on the kitchen floor and runs to get help, only to return and discover she’s alive and well. Her second, and final, death occurs when she drowns trying to save him. Struggling with survivor’s guilt, Hilton becomes obsessed with saving everyone and grows up to run a rehab clinic for low-income people suffering from drug addiction. While a noble calling, spending his every waking moment helping the less fortunate at the expense of him family puts a serious strain on Hilton’s relationship with his wife, Dede, whose jealousy causes her to suspect the worst. Worse still, Hilton is plagued by morbid nightmares in which a voice asks him “How many times do you think you can die?” Believing “we’re always closest to death when we sleep” the nightmares result in somniphobia and severe insomnia. Marriage counseling improves his relationship with his wife, and hypnotherapy helps Hilton sleep, but his nightmares soon resurface with a vengeance after Dede receives a racist, threatening letter shortly after being elected as a judge. Seemingly prophetic dreams full of his Nana’s decaying corpse, his children dying, and his own, mutilated body telling him he’s running out of time plague Hilton until he starts staying up all night, wandering the house, rather than returning to his cadaver-filled dream land. Unsurprisingly, Hilton’s mental health takes a turn for the worse.

Seemingly unsatisfied with simply haunting Hilton’s nightmares, portents of death start appearing to him during the day. After waking up with a sense of dread, Hilton insists the family go to church, only to be met with a new preacher ranting about the water of life from Revelations and meeting Jesus when you face eternity. Cheerful! The day gets worse when his young son, Jamil, is traumatized after witnessing some older boys kill a duckling. Then, Hilton accidentally rear-ends a hearse because the universe is not fucking around with the foreboding omens. A few days later, his adolescent daughter, Kaya, has her first period which Hilton’s commemorates by taking her to the hospital to meet one of his clients, Antoinette, a teenage girl dying of AIDS. I know I’m not a parent, but I feel like reminding your child of their own impending mortality is probably not the best way to celebrate their menarche. And just to make sure Hilton really gets it, because Death doesn’t do subtle, they’re stopped by a funeral procession on their way back from seeing Antoinette. Did I mention it’s raining? Of course it’s raining. I’m surprised a murder of crows didn’t fly overhead and blot out the sun while chanting “doooooooom”. No wonder Hilton becomes convinced Death is stalking him. The symbolism may seem heavy handed, and in the hands of a less talented writer would’ve come off as cheesy, but in Due’s case it works incredibly well to emphasize the depths of Hilton’s paranoia and his loosening grip on reality and set up two equally creepy explanations for what’s happening.

 
Death, represented by a skeleton wearing a dark robe, is hiding behind a tree in a park so they can spy on Hilton. Death is snickering. Hilton, a middle-aged Black man wearing a brightly colored 90’s shirt, is in the foreground looking nervous and shuddering. He doesn’t see Death, but he senses them.

What I imagined Death doing throughout the book

It’s implied that Hilton is a “traveler”, someone with the ability to escape death and bad decisions by traveling through “doorways” from his current reality to one with a more favorable outcome. It’s how he brought Nana back to life and survived drowning as a child. He does it again when he rear-ends the hearse to save his family. Of course, not every timeline he jumps into is exactly identical. Hilton begins to notice more and more inconsistencies in his everyday life, from events that repeat themselves to encounters that seemingly never occurred no matter how clearly he remembers them and even visions of deaths that never happened. On top of this, you can only cheat the system for so long before you get caught. Some unknown force, sensing that Hilton isn’t supposed to be alive, is making subtle alterations to the timeline to “correct” this. Between his menacing nightmares and threatening letters that continue to arrive at Dede’s office, and eventually their home, Hilton’s concern for his family’s safety warps into full blown paranoia. Even after putting his children under lockdown, buying a rifle, security lighting, and a guard dog, Hilton continues to see danger around every corner, thanks in no small part to his lack of sleep. He goes from his normal calm and sensitive self to a scared, angry man who lashes out at his family and friends.

Hilton may see signs that Death is lurking around every corner, but the rest of his family isn’t making the same connection between a dead duckling and their patriarch’s distracted driving. Maybe something supernatural is going on and the universe is trying to send the poor man a warning about abusing the natural order of things, but there’s also a strong argument to be made that Hilton is merely suffering from Apophenia, assigning meaning to unrelated coincidences. Apophenia is also a major symptom of paranoid schizophrenia, along with a fear that someone or something is out to get you, an inability to tell what is and isn’t real, a voice (or voices) in your head, and major changes to mood and sleeping habits, all of which Hilton has started to display. Those prone to schizophrenia can have a psychotic episode triggered by a stressful life event, like, say, having a racist stalker sending threatening letters to your wife.

Hilton is crouched behind a cement and barbed wire barrier, surrounded by security cameras and “Keep Out” signs. He’s wearing an army helmet and holding a rifle, ready to shoot any intruders. His teenage daughter stands behind him looking concerned, and asks “Dad, don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid?”

The Between is set in the 90’s, but all my memories of that particular decade seem to be either Pokémon or Harry Potter related and I don’t really remember what we were wearing back then. So I just put Hilton and his daughter in 90’s sitcom clothes and called it a day.

As we watch Hilton’s mind unravel as he desperately tries to prevent some horrible, unknown disaster he’s convinced will happen, there’s a strong sense of urgency and dread. However, it’s unclear if supernatural forces are at work and Hilton is the only person who can see the truth, or if he really is just paranoid and his visions are a result of his fears made manifest by mental illness. Are his lapses in memory and reoccurring nightmares a result of a mental illness combined with guilt, or some sort of supernatural force?  Is the racist stalker leaving poison pen letters for his wife the only thing threatening Hilton’s family, or is Death playing a drawn out game of Final Destination? Will he lose everything due to a curse, or his own actions? With the line between dreams and the real world becoming more and more blurred, it’s difficult for the reader to determine how much of what happens is in Hilton’s head, and whose version of reality is the truth until the very end. Hilton is not the most reliable of narrators, making it difficult to determine whether or not something supernatural is going on, but like The Turn of the Screw, not knowing if it’s the narrator’s sanity slippage or the work of spirits is part of the appeal and both possibilities are equally terrifying. Due hit the ground running with her very first novel and her fiction has only gotten better from there.

Horror Noire: Blacks in American Horror Films from the 1890s to Present by Robin R. Means Coleman

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Erewhon Books

Genre: type here

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: type here

Takes Place in: type here

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): content warnings

Blurb

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

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

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

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

To celebrate the release of the Horror Noire on Shudder last month, and the recent premiere of Jordan Peele’s sophomore film Us, I decided to read Dr. Robin R. Means Coleman’s book on which the documentary is based. I’ve already reviewed the documentary over at Morbidly Beautiful, so I won’t rehash it too much here, but suffice it to say it’s a MUST watch for any horror fan. With interviews from Black horror directors, writers, actors, and academics, it’s wonderful to see so many Black voices all sharing their experiences and voicing their opinions on famous Black horror films. The only downside is the limitations of the medium, that is, the documentary just doesn’t have the time to go into the full history of Black horror or discuss every Black horror movie. Which is why you should definitely read the book! Horror Noire: Blacks in American Horror Films from the 1890s to Present (or at least the aughts, when the book was published) gets to fully explore all the fun details that couldn’t be included in the documentary, from the birth of zombie movies to the evolution of Black women in horror from eye candy to demon slayers.

Using Dr. Coleman’s book as a basis, I’ve created a timeline of over thirty Black horror films that I feel best illustrate the evolution of Black representation in American horror films. For a more in-depth study into the topic (and a list of recommended viewing and reading), check out this great Horror Noire Syllabus created by Dr. Coleman, Tananarive Due, and the Graveyard Shift Sisters.

The Undertaker’s Daughter (1915) – The Lubin Manufacturing Company used Black actors in their horror comedy short, The Undertaker’s Daughter. Prior to this, Black characters were almost exclusively played by White men in Blackface who portrayed them as lazy, foolish, and cowardly for comedic effect. These racist caricatures, commonly known by the dehumanizing slur “coon”, were a mainstay in minstrel shows, and appeared in films produced and written by Whites for White audiences.

Birth of a Nation (1915) – In 1915 the White supremacist propaganda film Birth of a Nation was released with president Wilson’s endorsement. This time Black men were not merely portrayed as lazy buffoons, but violent, lecherous creatures who preyed on White women, a dangerous stereotype that had already resulted in the murders of thousands of Black men and children. Lynching for “eye rape” would continue well into the 1950s [1]. The image of the predatory Black man popularized by Birth of a Nation would continue to appear as a horror film “monster” for decades to come as White men lived out film fantasies of violently protecting damsels in distress.

Shadowed by the Devil (1916) –  In response to the blatantly offensive depictions of African Americans in Birth of a Nation Black-owned film studios like the Lincoln Motion Picture Company and Frederick Douglass Film Company were founded to tell positive Black stories by and for Black people. Called “race films,” these movies featured all Black casts portraying complex, realistic characters. One such race film, the now lost Shadowed by the Devil, is a frightening morality tale that focused on what it means to be a good person. Sadly, most of these studios would go under during the Great Depression.

Mercy, the Mummy Mumbled

Mercy, the Mummy Mumbled (1918) – The Ebony Film Corporation, a White-owned company, attempted to cash in on Black audiences by producing their own “race films” which included five comedy horror shorts. Unfortunately, Ebony relied on tired, racist tropes for their humor which outraged Black viewers and prompted complaints in the Chicago Defender, a popular Black newspaper.

A Son of Satan (1924) – Oscar Micheaux, founder of the Micheaux Film Corporation, was the first Black feature filmmaker in America. He made over forty films during his thirty-year career. His “fright films” more closely resembled “true” horror movies. Micheaux cleverly booked and advertised A Son of Satan without approval from the Virginia film board (who objected to scenes of Black men “carousing,” murder, and the killing the leader of “a hooded organization,” a thinly veiled allusion to the Klan), in order to avoid censorship of his movie and maximize profit.

Black Moon (1934) – From 1915 to 1934 the US military forcibly occupied Haiti. White Marines ignorantly viewed the Haitian’s religious practices as primitive and evil, and shared outlandish stories about human sacrifice, cannibalism, and raising the dead when they returned home. These fantastical accounts would inspire the “Voodoo” and jungle films of the 1930’s where “savage natives” controlled zombies and threatened the virtue of beautiful White women.  In Black Moon, the White Juanita is so corrupted by Black culture that she goes insane and her husband is forced to kill her.

Chloe, Love is Calling You

Chloe, Love is Calling You (1934) – In the Voodoo horror film Chloe, Love is Calling You the titular White-passing Chloe is cast as a tragic heroine because she’s biracial. She’s often threatened by the Black men who either want to rape or sacrifice her, and is so disgusted by her own alleged Blackness that she frequently flies into hysterics and throws herself into danger. The moment Chloe discovers she’s actually White she abandons the Black “mammy” who raised her without a second thought. Even though the film does not shy away from discussing racial violence and lynchings, it still implies Whiteness as superior and condemns any Black people who desire revenge for the treatment they’ve received.

The Devil’s Daughter (1939) – “Jungle Films” portrayed Black Americans as more intelligent, sophisticated and “loyal” to Whites than Voodoo practicing Africans and Caribbeans. The Devil’s Daughter, which was targeted towards Black audiences, pit the Jamaican daughter of a Voodooist against her Harlemite half-sister for control of their family plantation. The sister from Harlem is cosmopolitan and bourgeois, but gullible and out-of-touch with her roots, while the Jamaican sister is rough around the edges but more down-to-earth. In the end the two women come to a mutual understanding and respect.

Son of Ingagi

Son of Ingagi (1940) – The original Ingagi was a racist exploitation film billed as an African documentary that implied that Congolese women bred with gorillas to produce monstrous hybrid offspring. African American actor Spencer Williams Jr. wanted to create a film with better representation for Black audiences so he wrote and starred in Son of Ingagi, the first science fiction horror film to feature an all-Black cast [2]. Unlike its “prequel,” the gorilla in Williams’ film was just a monster, not a metaphor, and the movie’s Black stars were cast in more distinguished roles. Williams plays a detective, while actress Laura Bowman portrays Dr. Helen Jackson, a brilliant and wealthy researcher.

The Blood of Jesus (1941) –  In addition to writing and producing several race films, Spencer Williams Jr. also directed the religious morality horror movie The Blood of Jesus. In it, the pious Martha is tempted by a demon who shows her the excitement of Northern city life. She ultimately rejects the flashy clothing and jive in favor of her more modest and virtuous Southern lifestyle, thus saving her soul from damnation. The moral superiority of Southern Blacks compared to their “sinful” Northern cousins was a frequent theme in religious horror movies.

King of the Zombies

King of the Zombies (1941) – As the popularity of horror films was waning, most likely due to the very real horrors of WWII, so too were opportunities for Black actors in film. Many found themselves choosing between playing a comedic coon archetype in roles reminiscent of Minstrel Shows or going without work. Mantan Moreland was one of many Black actors who made a successful career out of playing such characters in horror comedies like King of the Zombies, and he was frequently cast in central roles, receiving top billing next to his White costars. But his fame came at the cost of furthering harmful Black stereotypes.

Monster from Green Hell (1957) – Xenophobia and Cold War fears shaped the horror films of the 1950s, which were filled with extraterrestrial invaders and science experiments gone wrong, but very few Black characters. Even though roles were scarce, Black actors like Joel Fluellen still advocated for better representation in film and TV. In Monster from Green Hell, Fluellen’s character, Arobi, is an intelligent and well-spoken African man whom the White scientists respect and consult for advice. While the film is still deeply problematic Fluellen proved that Black actors could play important roles in horror movies without relying on tired, racist tropes.

The Leech Woman (1960) – As hard as it was for Black actors to find work, it was even harder for Black actresses. It was especially rare for Black women to land a central role in a White film. In The Leech Woman, Estelle Henry plays Malla, a 152-year-old former slave whose people hold the secret to eternal youth and long life. Malla’s character was still saddled with stereotypes, being African made her “exotic” and knowledgeable about magic, but she was also progressive in her own right. A smart, tough, fierce feminist, Malla protested the ageism shown to older women and convinced a sleazy White doctor to pay for her trip back to her homeland.

Night of the Living Dead

Night of the Living Dead (1968) – The same year the Civil Rights Act was signed into law, George Romero released his revolutionary zombie film, Night of the Living Dead. The low-budget flick starred African-American actor Duane Jones as its protagonist Ben, the very first Black lead in a horror film not targeted solely to Black audiences. Ben was no frightened Stepin Fetchit or voodoo priest, but a charismatic and confident survivor whose quick thinking and coolness under pressure keep him alive until the end of the film. Equally remarkable, the zombies Ben fights aren’t the result of Voodoo or African magic, but were instead reanimated by space radiation. When Ben finally does meet his demise, it’s at the hands of a White (living) mob, an all too familiar image for Black audiences, especially during the 1960s. The film was a box office success, largely due to its popularity with Black moviegoers.[3] This would lead to a series of sequels, which also featured Black characters in important roles.

Blacula

Blacula (1972) – During the 70’s a sub-genre of the exploitation film emerged called Blaxploitation. These movies, often created by White writers and directors for Black audiences, drew inspiration from Black power ideologies and frequently centered around overcoming White oppressors.  Unfortunately, the genre was also deeply homophobic, exploitative of women, and condemned by many Black organizations for its use of criminal stereotypes. Blacula was the first, and most famous blaxploitation horror film, about an erudite African prince who is transformed into a vampire and ironically begins to prey on Black communities. The film’s success lead its production company, AIP, to continue creating Black horror films.

Ganja and Hess (1973) – The art house film Ganja and Hess starred Duane Jones –of Night of the Living Dead fame — as Dr. Hess Green, a wealthy archaeologist. Dr. Green’s sophistication and elegance made him the polar opposite of the hypermasculine, violent men in Blaxploitation films who earned their money through illegal means. Despite winning the critic’s choice prize at the Cannes film festival, Ganja and Hess’ producers were unhappy with the movie and suppressed it. They had wanted something similar to Blacula, and weren’t sure what to do with a vampire story about addiction that lacked the Blaxploitation tropes with which audiences were familiar.

Scream, Blacula, Scream

Scream, Blacula, Scream (1973) –  While White “final girls” were portrayed as virginal and pure, Black heroines were hypersexualized for a straight, male audience. So it was unusual when Pam Grier, who was frequently cast as a seductive sex idol in other Blaxploitation films like Foxy Brown and Coffy, got to play a conservatively dressed heroine named Lisa in Scream, Blacula, Scream. Lisa is elected leader of her Voodoo group, and uses her skills to try and free Blacula from the curse placed on him by the White Dracula. She is also a protector who saves her boyfriend from the angry vampire.

Abby (1974) – Abby is a low-budget Exorcist knock-off that was, as the New York Times put it, “more silly than shocking” and never quite reached the levels of cult classic that Blacula did. The titular Abby, a pious minister’s wife, becomes possessed by a being claiming to be the Yoruba Orisha, Eshu. Unlike Pazuzu from The Exorcist, Eshu seems more interested in sex and swearing than destruction, which leads to some very silly scenes. Even though the being possessing is supposedly Yoruba in origin, African religious beliefs are never condemned or portrayed as evil, and the film makers clearly put effort into their research. Eventually, the heroes use a combination of Christian and Yoruba beliefs to free Abby.

Sugar Hill

Sugar Hill (1974) – Diana “Sugar” Hill is the perfect example of the regressive treatment Black women often received in Blaxploitation films. After the murder of her boyfriend at the hands of a “Whitey” crime boss, Sugar is desperate for revenge, but unable to seek it without help. She makes a deal with Baron Samedi, the Vodou loa (god) of death and sex, offering herself in exchange for the murders of those responsible for “killing her man.” Sporting tight, revealing outfits, Sugar seduces and tempts her victims before Samedi’s zombies kill them off, wielding her sexuality like a weapon. She also spends most of the film flirting with her ex-boyfriend implying Sugar cannot be without a man.

The Shining (1980) – By the eighties, blaxploitation had fallen out of favor, and when Black actors did appear in film, they were surrounded by Whites and White culture, and paired up with White actors in “buddy films”. Horror films were no exception, and Black characters were reduced to sacrifices so their White friends could survive. An example of this is Dick Halloran, played by Scatman Crothers, in Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining who is pointlessly killed while attempting to aid the film’s White family. Even worse, Dick is also a “Magical Negro” a wise Black man with magical powers who exists only to help the White characters with their problems. Magical negroes arose from a misguided attempt by White writers and filmmakers to counter traditional racist tropes. Unfortunately, all this did is create new stereotypes.

The Thing

The Thing (1982) – In John Carpenter’s The Thing, Keith David’s character, Childs, shares many similarities to Ben from Night of the Living Dead. Instead of being a “scared negro” or self-sacrificing Black, both characters are distrustful, resourceful hot-heads who question the authority of the White men they’re trapped with and live to the end of the film. But while Ben has only just met his fellow zombie survivors and has no reason to trust them, Childs has presumably worked alongside and lived with his colleagues for months, yet is still cold to them. The hostility amongst the group could be explained by both racial and class tension. By the end of the film, Childs and Kurt Russell’s character, MacReady, are presumably the only two survivors and now on equal footing.

The Serpent and the Rainbow (1988) – Although The Serpent and the Rainbow does have a more accurate representation of Vodou than most movies (at least the ones not targeted to Black audiences), its portrayal of Haitians is hardly a step up from the jungle films of the 30s. Despite taking place in Haiti and centering around a Black religion, the protagonist is a White man named Dennis who plans to take “zombie powder” back to the States for a pharmaceutical company. Dennis is perfectly willing to appropriate a cultural practice for profit, which he has no intention of sharing with the Haitians who aid him, yet he’s still cast as a hero. Throughout the film “evil” Haitians use Vodou to harass and threaten Dennis in an attempt to make him return home without the drug.

People Under the Stairs

The People Under the Stairs (1991) – In the eighties, urban areas were portrayed as violent, drug stricken, impoverished, and largely inhabited by Black Americans, which led to White flight to wealthy suburbs and a new form of segregation. In Wes Craven’s The People Under the Stairs, a Black child from the ghetto becomes trapped in a suburban mansion belonging to a pair of serial killer slum lords. The incestuous couple, known only as Mom and Dad, are able to conceal their crimes and depravity because they are wealthy and White. Even when police are called to investigate the couple’s home, they perform only a precursory search and leave without suspicion, never noticing the basement full of dead bodies and kidnapped, tortured children.

Candyman (1992) – Clive Barker’s Candyman film was another movie that exploited fears of the inner city, combined with the threat of a supernatural killer like Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees. The Candyman, played by Tony Todd, was the vengeful spirit of a Black artist from the late 1800s who was tortured and lynched after falling in love with a White woman. Strangely, he chooses to prey on a poor, Black community rather than seek revenge on wealthy Whites like the ones who killed him. Unlike other Black monsters, Candyman was suave, sophisticated, and even sympathetic, but he still played on fears of the Black Boogeyman by lusting after the White female protagonist. Equally problematic, the White woman gets to be the film’s hero, saving the poor, Black characters who literally turn to her as a saint and savior.

Tales from the Hood

Tales from the Hood (1995) – While the name of the anthology brings to mind the campy and often humorous TV series Tales from the Crypt, Tales from the Hood is actually a sobering, social commentary in the same vein as other morality horror films about retribution. In a subversion of the Voodoo films from the thirties, zombies and Vodou are used as protection against the real monsters, racist politicians, corrupt cops, violent gangs, and abusers. While the movie does contain plenty of strange creatures and cheesy special effects, it’s the real-world imagery that’s truly frightening; a Black man getting violently beaten and murdered by cops while Billy Holiday’s Strange Fruit plays hauntingly in the background, flashes of grainy photos showing lynchings, or a child cowering as his mother is beaten bloody by her boyfriend.

Beloved (1998) – Based on the Pulitzer prize book of the same name and boasting an all-star Black cast including Oprah Winfrey and Danny Glover, the Southern Gothic film Beloved was praised by critics and audiences alike, a rare feat for a horror film. Instead of relying on zombies or supernatural killers for cheap thrills, the movie’s terror came from its uncompromising depiction of slavery and the painful legacy it leaves. Previously, Voodoo films had simply glossed over the cruelty that had brought Blacks to America and the Caribbean, preferring to further a colonial fantasy of Whites “civilizing” Africans.

Bones (2001) – Rap music has long been influenced by, and paid tribute to, horror from Will Smith’s family friendly Nightmare on My Street in 1988 to the successful horrocore hip hop band Geto Boys in the 90’s. Rappers, like Ice-T and Coolio, even began acting in horror films.[4] So it should come as no surprise that the music genre would eventually inspire horror. One of the few hip-hop horror movies to have a theatrical release was Snoop Dogg’s Bones, directed by Ernest Dickerson of Juice fame. The movie was an homage to Blaxploitation films, and boasted Pam Grier as the love interest of Snoop’s “gentleman pimp” character, Jimmy Bones.

Alien vs Predator

Alien vs Predator (2004) – Black women were beginning to appear more frequently in horror films, and not just as the Seventies sex pots or victims, but as surviving women who fought monsters. In Tales from the Crypt: Demon Knight, another Ernest Dickerson movie, Jada Pinkett defied audience expectations by not only surviving but becoming the movie’s heroine despite pressure from the studio to cast a white actress as the “final girl.” In the first crossover film of the Alien and Predator franchises Lex, played by Sanaa Lathan, is not only a “final girl,” surviving attacks from both alien species, but a bad-ass action heroine. Lex becomes the first human in the Predator films to earn the honor of being marked as a warrior by a Predator after she helps him to kill three Xenomorphs, something not even Schwarzenegger could accomplish.

Bloodz vs Wolvez (2006) – The aughts would see the release of dozens of low-budget, direct-to-DVD hip hop horror movies. The films were aimed at younger audiences and often used postmodern spelling like Vampz or Cryptz.  In one such movie, Bloodz v. Wolvez a vampire king named Asiman is attempting to broker a peace between two rival gangs, the working class werewolves (Wolvez) and the wealthy vampires (Bloodz). The sophisticated vampires look down on the Wolvez while also envying their ability to walk in the daylight, while the werewolves view the Bloodz with contempt for assimilating with humanity and acting superior. But even with the all the wealth and power Asiman has acquired since escaping slavery centuries ago, he is still seen as “lesser” by Whites, as is highlighted when a White patron of the vampire king’s club asks him to caddy for him in a golf game.

Attack the Block

Attack the Block (2011) – At first glance it appears that John Boyega’s character in Attack the Block, Moses, will be a threatening “Black boogeyman” type character after he robs a White woman, or perhaps a Blaxploitation-style glamorized criminal. Instead, Moses is a complex, flawed character who cares deeply about his “block,” is protective of his friends, and struggles with his anger and impulsiveness. A Black girl rightfully calls Moses out for robbing an unarmed woman, but also confronts his victim about her privilege and calling the police on Black teenagers. The two end up cooperating to defeat an alien attack that threatens their impoverished neighborhood.

The Girl with all the Gifts (2016) – The film takes place in a near-future dystopia where humans have been driven underground by a pathogenic fungus that turns people into zombies called “Hungries.” A group of hybrid children, who crave living flesh like the Hungries but retain their human intelligence and emotions, are being used to create a cure. While Melanie, an especially intelligent and gifted hybrid child is initially happy to cooperate with the soldiers and scientists who hold her captive, she refuses to let herself be killed to develop a cure. While the older generation sees the hybrid children as monsters to be cured or controlled, Melanie realizes that she and the others are merely a new species, who have just as much right to live and thrive as humans. Like with Night of the Living Dead, the role of Melanie in The Girl with all the Gifts was not specifically written for a Black actor, it just so happened that Sennia Nanua had the best audition, but by casting a Black lead the film gained added social commentary.

Get Out

Get Out (2017) – Jordan Peele became the first Black person to win an Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay with his groundbreaking Black horror film, Get Out. Rich with imagery, the movie centers around racism in America and Black fears, making subtle references to past and present atrocities such as slave auctions, medical experimentation on Black people, and police brutality. It also turns the “Black buck” trope on its head. The protagonist, Chris, is never portrayed as sexually aggressive. Instead, it’s the sociopathic White woman who preys upon Black men by seducing them and hunts Chris down with a shotgun. This inversion of horror movie cliches is further underlined by the dead deer (aka Bucks) displayed around the White family’s luxuriant home. The film also introduced audiences to “The Sunken Place,” a literal pit of despair that leaves its victims trapped, silenced, and powerless, the perfect metaphor for the feeling of helplessness Black people experience living in a world where they’re constantly oppressed and surrounded by racism[5].

The First Purge (2018) – The Purge franchise is about a near-future totalitarian America where once a year all crime, including murder, is legal for a 12-hour period. The First Purge, the prequel to the series, focuses on the initial experiment which eventually leads to a Nationwide Purge. With echoes of the Tuskegee syphilis experiment, the detached, white scientists purposely target low income minorities for their unethical study. When the White men running the political party funding the purge sees that the Staten Island residents aren’t killing each other like they’d hoped, they send in masked mercenaries dressed as Klansmen and Nazis to slaughter the poor to make their experiment seem successful. They even enter a Black church to slaughter everyone seeking shelter inside.

Us (2019) – Jordan Peele’s sophomore film was another critical and commercial success for the director, proving once again that Black stories can be just as loved and popular as White ones. Peele not only produced another unique horror film, but demonstrated that Black horror isn’t limited to racial commentary. Black history and Black horror are inextricably linked, and many popular Black horror films like Get Out, Beloved, Tales from the Hood, etc. draw on the very real horrors of White supremacy to elicit terror from their audiences. In many ways, Black horror is a form of catharsis, vividly depicting Black pain but also showing its heroes fighting back and even defeating more tangible monsters. But limiting Black stories to tales of American racism and oppression can also be problematic. Us is still very much a Black narrative, steeped in Black culture, but without Whiteness defining the characters or story.

All the films on this list are available to own, rent and/or watch online with the exception of The Undertaker’s Daughter, Shadowed by the Devil, and A Son of Satan which are, sadly, lost films. Mercy, the Mummy Mumbled can be viewed on YouTube, but is badly degraded.

References
1. https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/emmett-lynching-america/
2. https://www.allmovie.com/movie/son-of-ingagi-v45617/review
3. https://www.jstor.org/stable/1225699?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents
4. http://www.blackhorrormovies.com/rappers/
5. https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/get-out-what-black-america-knows-about-the-sunken_us_58c199f8e4b0c3276fb7824a

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Testament by Jose Nateras

Testament by Jose Nateras

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: NineStar Press

Genre: Ghosts/Haunting, Psychological Horror

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Gay Main character and side characters, Bisexual side character, Hispanic/Latinx (Mexican American) Main Character, Asian-American side character, Black side character

Takes Place in: Chicago, IL, USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Gaslighting, Homophobia, Mental Illness, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self-Harm, Suicide

Blurb

Gabe Espinosa, is trying to dig himself out of the darkness. Struggling with the emotional fallout of a breakup with his ex-boyfriend, Gabe returns to his job at The Rosebriar Room; the fine dining restaurant at the historic Sentinel Club Chicago Hotel. Already haunted by the ghosts of his severed relationship, he’s drastically unprepared for the ghosts of The Sentinel Club to focus their attentions on him as well.

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.

Once upon a time during a LGBTQ+ group therapy session, someone dropped one of those truth bombs that totally changed my perspective on things. “If you’re a minority in American you have trauma. You may not even be aware of it, but it’s there.” Holy. Shit. Suddenly the fact that I always felt stressed, anxious, and depressed made sense. I realized the headaches, stomach problems, chronic fatigue, and back and neck pain (for which I’d spent thousands of dollars seeing specialists only to be told they didn’t know what was wrong with me) were all due to minority stress. Well fuck.

Comic-style illustration of woman holding head and saying

Mind. Blown.

Testament is a horror story about trauma and minority stress, and the protagonist Gabe’s struggles were achingly familiar.  He worries about how to let new people know he’s gay in a way that feels natural, finding a boyfriend who doesn’t see him as “exotic” or call him “papi,” and working around a bunch of rich White people. And poor Gabe works in rich douche central, a swanky hotel that once functioned as a members-only men’s club called The Sentinel Club. As if working around so many White folk isn’t unnerving enough, the hotel also seems to be home to something supernatural and sinister. Something that has its attentions turned on Gabe.

**trigger warning: discussion of suicide and mental health**

Reeling from a suicide attempt after a bad breakup Gabe is not in the best place mentally. He’s incredibly hard on himself, constantly calling himself “worthless” and “pathetic.” He pushes people away assuming they don’t care and refuses to ask for help. As someone who has had their own battles with depression, this also felt achingly familiar. It was also incredibly well done. Writers tend to portray depression as someone staying in bed for days in a state of ennui and despair, unable to move and refusing to eat. But that kind of severe depressive episode is hardly commonplace. Most folks suffering from depression are still (at least partially) functional and go to great lengths to hide their illness in front of others, which is why it’s so difficult to recognize when someone’s actually depressed. Gabe gets dressed, goes to work and forces himself to smile and act like everything is fine while his brain screams insults at him and everything reminds him of his ex. 

**end of trigger warning **

What’s especially brilliant is how Nateras uses Gabe’s haunting to mimic his mental state. Gabe is trapped both by his past and the entity that latches on to him and follows him everywhere. It will seemingly disappear before suddenly and violently announcing its presence, much like his depression and PTSD. In fact, most of the horror in the story comes from Gabe wrestling with his inner demons rather than the outer ones. It’s not quite gothic fiction, but I’d definitely call it gothic-adjacent with its slow burn horror and tumultuous emotions. Of course, if you dislike the slower pace of gothic horror and its focus on the characters rather than the haunting, you may not enjoy Testament. Fortunately, it’s a quick read, so even if you get bored quickly like I do you’ll probably be fine. 

There’s a lot of discussion about the evils of privilege, power, and money. And they are evil. They corrupt and hurt those without. And while no, not all White people are evil, there’s no way of telling the good from the bad with a glance, and a lifetime of negative experiences sets off every alarm bell in my head. There’s nothing quite like the fear you experience when you realize you’re the only person of color in a sea of privileged White folk, even if they’re the “nice” liberal kind. Such situations immediately make me uncomfortable and anxious, even as a White-passing Black person. I jokingly call it that Get Out feeling. There’s a particular scene in the book I found especially frightening when Gabe gets on a subway car, discovers he’s the only non-White person there, and he’s surrounded by wealthy-looking men. It’s terrifying. Nateras knows it and uses the scene to make the book even scarier. He does it so well I want to shove Testament into White people’s faces and yell “See? This. This is how I feel all the time.”

Sadly not the worst date he’s been on with a White guy

I could go on and on about how the book uses minority stress to create horror and how the haunting is a metaphor for privileged White men who hurt BIPOC, but it would get into spoiler territory and I really want you to read this book. So, I’ll end it here with a warning, beware of White gentleman’s clubs because you never know what kind of evil lurks there.

Children of Chicago by Cynthia Pelayo

Children of Chicago by Cynthia Pelayo

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Agora

Genre: Dark Fantasy, Demon, Killer/Slasher, Myth and Folklore, Thriller

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Bisexual main character, Puerto Rican main character and author, Latine characters

Takes Place in: Chicago, IL, USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Child Death, Death, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Illness, Kidnapping, Mental Illness, Physical Abuse, Police Harassment, Suicide, Violence

Blurb

This horrifying retelling of the Pied Piper fairytale set in present-day Chicago is an edge of your seat, chills up the spine, thrill ride. ‪ When Detective Lauren Medina sees the calling card at a murder scene in Chicago’s Humboldt Park neighborhood, she knows the Pied Piper has returned. When another teenager is brutally murdered at the same lagoon where her sister’s body was found floating years before, she is certain that the Pied Piper is not just back, he’s looking for payment he’s owed from her. Lauren’s torn between protecting the city she has sworn to keep safe, and keeping a promise she made long ago with her sister’s murderer. She may have to ruin her life by exposing her secrets and lies to stop the Pied Piper before he collects.

And I chiefly use my charm
On creatures that do people harm,
The mole and toad and newt and viper;
And people call me the Pied Piper.
– The Pied Piper of Hamelin by Robert Browning (1812-1889)

“The Pied Piper of Hamelin”by Augustin von Mörsperg, 1592

My dad was born and raised on the Southside Chicago and will tell anyone who will listen that his birthplace is the best city in the world. My wife, on the other hand, firmly believes Chicago is akin to LA in the ‘90s. When I did finally manage to lure her there with the promise of deep-dish pizza and the Museum of Science and Industry she did admit the Windy City was a pretty cool place and not at scary as she was expecting (even after we stumbled onto an illegal street race). Although the crime rate there is higher than the national average, Chicago is hardly the crime and drug filled dystopia my wife and other outsiders seem to believe it is. In fact, its violent crime rates are far lower than those of Anchorage, Wichita, and Milwaukee. The dangerous reputation may have come from Chicago’s fascinating history of crime, gangsters, and serial killers or even the many tragedies that have befallen the White City in the past. Modern-day boogiemen like the Lipstick Killer, John Wayne Gacy, the Ripper Crew, and Richard Speck all called Chicago their home. The Blue Beard-esque H. H. Holmes built his murder castle in Englewood. The city’s most notorious gangster, Al Capone, has morphed into something of a folk hero and tragedies like the Great Chicago Fire and the Haymarket affair have taken on almost a legendary status. Dark rumors surround the abandoned Edgewater Medical Center. Stories like these have shaped Chicago’s history and how it’s perceived by the rest of the country: a gothic city haunted by the past. But darkness and death aren’t all the city has to offer.

Fairy tales, at least the original versions and not the Disney-fied ones, are often a child’s first introduction to the world of horror. Beautiful and sinister stories full of threats of death and assault, mutilation, hungry wolves, and dark forests have been used to frighten children for generations. Fairy tales are beautiful roses and sharp thorns, poisonous treats, beauty and blood. They also share many of the same elements as gothic fiction. Sometime in the distant past, a helpless woman is placed in a dark and dangerous setting (now a castle instead of a forest), where she is threatened by supernatural forces until rescued by the hero. Orphans and peasant girls are made to suffer before finally coming into riches. Animals no longer speak, but still bring portents of doom. Nature is wild, dangerous, and unpredictable. Both have themes of revenge, isolation, rags to riches, abuse, and women who are under constant threat as the men in her life fight over her body. Bluebeard, and other versions of the Aarne–Thompson type 312 tale, are the perfect example of a gothic fairy tale. In the story a woman leaves her family to marry a mysterious stranger and goes to live in his isolated and lonely castle. But locked away in a castle is a dark and dangerous secret. The wife can go in any room, but one, which contains the bodies of the stranger’s previous, murdered wives.

In the original version of Cinderella, the Little Mermaid, and Sleeping Beauty, the step sisters cut off parts of their feet and birds pecked out their eyes, the mermaid’s tongue was cut out and every step she took on land was agony, and Sleeping Beauty was raped and impregnated with twins by a married king while she slept.

Cynthia Pelayo draws on the city’s history to create her gothic urban fairy tale, Children of Chicago. The city stands in for the dark forest, a vaguely supernatural setting where unwary children disappear and gang members prowl the street like big bad wolves. The book follows recently orphaned Lauren Medina, a deeply troubled police detective hunting a serial killer known only as The Pied Piper– a shadowy boogeyman who preys on children then vanishes into the night. It’s rumored he can be summoned by burning a black candle and speaking a spell in front of a mirror. Throughout the story, Lauren is unstable and brimming over with barely-contained emotion, a staple of any good Gothic tale, as she wrestles with her missing memories of her sister’s death. Lauren breaks the typical female fairy tale mold where women were relegated to witches, wise women, virginal damsels, and evil stepmothers. She’s not exactly evil, but she isn’t pure and heroic either, instead she’s but a rare example of a female Byronic hero intentionally written to be tragic, unlikeable, morally gray, and hiding a dark past, much like the heroes found in gothic horror. In fact, few of the women in the story fall into any of the aforementioned roles. Stepmothers aren’t necessarily evil, even if their angry stepdaughters perceive them as such. Damsels in distress may possess more agency than they seem to, and villainous women can also be victims. I genuinely enjoyed seeing a female character (who wasn’t intended to be liked) embrace her darkness and struggle with her morality. Just as much horror came from Lauren’s psychological trauma and instability as it did from the threat of the supernatural.

While Lauren initially came across as “the young female cop with a dark past and something to prove” trope (aka Jodie Foster in Silence of the Lambs), it soon became clear that unlike Clarice Starling, we’re not necessarily supposed to root for her. And unlike every maverick detective in an ‘80s buddy-cop comedy, Lauren’s flagrant disregard for the rules in order to get her guy aren’t justified, but instead dangerous and unjust. Though, much like police in the real world, she’s able to get away with it. I appreciate that Pelayo avoided turning her crime drama into “copaganda” by making Lauren a protagonist, but not a hero. I admit I used to enjoy shows like Brooklyn 99, Lucifer, and Law & Order SVU (yes, I’m old) even though I recognized how incredibly problematic they were. But ever since 2020 I’ve more or less lost my taste for any media that portrays a corrupt system as a heroic force for good, justified in flouting the law. It no longer feels like harmless fantasy when you realize how many people actually believe that cop shows reflect real life and officers only target “bad guys” as oppose to anyone they don’t like (mostly BIPOC, the poor, and the mentally ill). So, reading a crime story where the police weren’t heroes was a relief. In fact, Lauren’s only redeeming quality is that she has a soft spot for troubled teens, ever since the mysterious death of her own sister.

Brimming with references to Chicago’s history, it’s clear that Pelayo loves her home while still recognizing its flaws. In fact, the novel feels just as much a crime story as it does a guide to the dark and fantastical parts of the Windy City. She holds a Master of Fine Arts in Writing from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago and it shows in her writing. Throughout Children of Chicago Pelayo references the original, dark versions of famous and not-so famous fairytales, from Cinderella to the Singing Bone, adding to her own story’s dark atmosphere balancing on the edge of reality and fantasy. Pelayo’s novel is full of missing mothers, an unjust society where the most vulnerable suffer, magic mirrors, plenty of gore, spells, and a moral message. But overall, it’s a subversion of the classic fairy tale formula where the good are rewarded, the evil are punished, and morality is clearly defined. In Children of Chicago the “heroes” are neither pure-hearted nor moral, evil escapes justice while the innocent suffer, and no one is getting a happy ending.

It’s unfortunate that the darkest parts of Chicago’s history have shaped so much of its reputation when the Windy City has so much to offer. As my wife soon discovered on her first visit, the city is full or art, beauty, and wonder. Pelayo doesn’t just show the city’s dark side, she shows its magic as well. “Fairy tales are in our blood as Chicagoans” one of the books characters explains. Walt Disney, L. Frank Baum, Ray Bradbury, and Gwnedolyn Brooks were all inspired by the city to create their own fairy tales. Colleen Moore created her famous Fairy Castle and donated it to The Chicago Museum of Science and Industry. Children gathered pennies to create the Rock-a-Bye Lady from Eugene Field’s poem. The haunting beauty of the SheddAquarium feels like you’ve stepped into another world. The city even has a secret Little Mermaid inspired bar! It’s this beauty, contrasted with the allure of danger, that makes Chicago as wonderous as any fairytale.

Anoka by Shane Hawk

Anoka by Shane Hawk

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Self-Published

Genre: Body Horror, Folk Horror, Monster, Myth and Folklore, Occult, Werewolf

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Biracial Cheyenne author, Dakota characters, non-binary character

Takes Place in: Anoka, Minnesota, USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Cannibalism, Child Death, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Gore, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Slurs, Suicide, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence

Blurb

Welcome to Anoka, Minnesota, a small city just outside of the Twin Cities dubbed “The Halloween Capital of the World” since 1937. Here before you lie several tales involving bone collectors, pagan witches, werewolves, skeletal bison, and cloned children. It is up to you to decipher between fact and fiction as the author has woven historical facts into his narratives. With his debut horror collection, Cheyenne & Arapaho author Shane Hawk explores themes of family, grief, loneliness, and identity through the lens of indigenous life.

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.

Apparently Anoka, Minnesota is the “Halloween Capital of the World” because they’ve been having giant Halloween parades since 1920. Out of civic pride, I want to argue that Salem is the Halloween Capital and our town is better because we have real witches and Salem Horror Fest and the oldest candy company in America. On the other hand, I would also like tourists to stop blocking the traffic, drunkenly climbing on the witch statue, and crowding my favorite restaurants every October (that’s my job), so maybe it would be better if they all headed to Anoka instead. I don’t think anyone will want to go anywhere near the Minnesota city after reading Shane Hawk’s Indigenous horror anthology of the same name, though. The stories in Anoka are loosely tied together by their location in an alternative version of the town where dark magic and monsters lurk. An evil tome known simply as “the book” and strange green swirls also make multiple appearances throughout the anthology.

A comic of a person hanging off a statue of a witch saying

Hawk gives a different and unique voice to each of his characters so every story feels different from the others. His writing reminded me of a talented artist who can draw in multiple styles and shift easily from realism to the simple lines of a cartoon. My favorite thing about his book is how so many of the stories felt like pre-comics code horror anthology comics like Eerie, Black Cat, and The Haunt of Fear or modern-day creepypastas with terrifying twists. Some stories were fun and weird, others tragic reflections of human nature. But all of them were creepy, the kind of creepy that makes you aware of how many noises an old house makes at night or has you shouting out loud at the characters not to go into the room where the monster is waiting.

American Indians tragically have the highest infant mortality rate in the U.S. (again due to trauma, poverty and a lack of adequate healthcare), so much of Hawk’s anthology touches on themes of child death and the trauma that goes with such a great loss. In two stories, Orange and Wounded, the death of a child in the past moves the main characters to do something terrible. Soilborne is a metaphor for the loss of the child-parent connection and how devastating that can be. In Imitate, the protagonist has to rush to save his son, Tate, from an unknown horror that’s taken his form. There’s no way of knowing if Tate is even still alive, and the whole story is exceedingly stressful to read. Honestly, Imitate would have worked just fine as microfiction and Hawk could have easily ended it after the first page or so. But instead, he decides to pile on even more terror by turning it into a suspenseful short story where we’re forced to watch a father slowly lose his mind. It’s definitely one of the anthology’s stronger and spookier tales.

My absolute favorite story in the collection is Dead America about a writer named Chaska whose family is followed by death. This is sadly not uncommon for Native families as generational trauma, poverty, and a lack of adequate healthcare has lead to poor health and high death rates from heart disease, diabetes, and suicide. The story gets its name from Chaska’s hobo nickel which depicts the skull of a dead Indian chief in full headdress on one side and Columbus’ three ships on the other. “When betting a coin offers someone a fifty-fifty chance of winning and losing. The nickel was a metaphor for the predicament of Indian existence: fucked no matter which side the coin landed on” the author explains. He’s about to find out how right he is when Asibikaashi the Spider Woman decides to make the Dakota author suffer for his sins.

This story is SCARY. All of my notes for Dead America consist of “nope, nope, nopeity-nope nope, fuck this, nope.” I’m not someone who’s usually bothered by spiders under normal circumstances. I think they’re kind of cute and I love that they eat any bugs that get into the house, but Chaska’s punishment left me terrified of arachnids. If you have any form of arachnophobia, I can guarantee you’ll be in for some nasty nightmares and might want to skip this story entirely. But if you’re feeling brave, it’s one of the strongest stories in the collection and worth checking out. The story also touches on themes of profiting off the personal stories of others, very similar to how Ward Churchill, Asa Earl Carter, Mary Summer Rain and others pretended to be Native for fame and money.

It’s important to note that in Ojibwe stories Asibikaashi, aka Grandmother Spider, is a benevolent deity and helper of humanity whose spiderweb charms, popularly known as “Dream Catchers“, were woven by women as a form of protection for infants. I couldn’t find any references to her punishing the wicked (of course I couldn’t find many references to her at all that weren’t written by White new agers).

Hawk’s final story, Transformation, is about a non-binary werewolf who hunts for her community and runs into trouble at Anoka’s annual Halloween parade. Having a trans werewolf feels perfect because werewolves are the ideal metaphor for someone with a fluid identity. Sometimes you’re a wolf, others a human, and occasionally you’re something in between, but you’re always a werewolf regardless of what form you take that day. Just because I’m femme one day, it doesn’t negate the fact that I’m non-binary; I’m still an enby when I’m feeling more trans-masculine. Like the story title, werewolves can also represent transition. The wolf can be seen as the true self, hidden under a dull human skin that’s forced to conform to society’s rigid standards. Becoming the wolves gives you the opportunity to experience freedom. If that transformation is unwanted, it can be compared to a menstrual cycle that causes dysphoria each month or unwanted body hair. “Jenny” a transwoman who identifies with werewolves is quoted on the queer horror blog, Gender Terror: “The titanic proportion of my body and the hair that I continually fight back terrify me, and makes me the target of many suspicious onlookers. And just like werewolves, I have no control over what my body does. Feeling like a prisoner to how your body changes is a special torment I think a lot of transgender people share with werewolves.” So is it any wonder writers like Hal Schrieve, Allison Moon, Suzanne Walker,  Ashlynn Barker, and numerous self-published erotic authors like Noah Harris have all explored the idea of a trans werewolf? Heck “were-woman” is slang for someone who “transforms” into a woman at night (though this terminology can be problematic). Hawk’s non-binary werewolf character seemed so cool I was disappointed that their story wasn’t longer. There was so much going on in Transformation it felt like it would’ve worked much better as a novella rather than a short story. Honestly, I’d read a full novel about the nostalgic werewolf, Halloween parades, and Wendigo. That’s my one major complaint about Anoka: it’s too short! The concept was so cool I was disappointed we didn’t get to explore more of Hawk’s alternate universe. I wanted to learn more about The Book and the creepy town filled with dark magic and monsters.

A comic-style illustration of a werewolf wearing underwear made from the trans flag colors.

What impressed me the most about the story collection is how Hawk was able to handle the subjects of child loss, sexual assault, substance abuse and missing and murdered Indigenous women, especially in his story Wounded, in a way that felt respectful rather than exploitative. Anoka is a fun, frightening ride that draws attention to many of the issues plaguing American Indians today, and I hope we’ll get to hear even more stories from the spooky little town in Hawk’s future books.

The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline

The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Dancing Cat Books

Genre: Apocalypse/Disaster, Body Horror, Sci-Fi Horror

Audience: Y/A

Diversity: American/Indian and Indigenous characters (Mostly Métis, Anishinaabe, and Cree), Black/Indo-Caribbean/Biracial character, gay male characters

Takes Place in: Toronto, Canada

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Amputation, Child Abuse, Child Death, Child Endangerment, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Kidnapping, Medical Torture/Abuse, Pedophilia, Police Harassment, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sexual Abuse, Slurs, Suicide, Violence

Blurb

In a futuristic world ravaged by global warming, people have lost the ability to dream, and the dreamlessness has led to widespread madness. The only people still able to dream are North America’s Indigenous people, and it is their marrow that holds the cure for the rest of the world. But getting the marrow, and dreams, means death for the unwilling donors. Driven to flight, a fifteen-year-old and his companions struggle for survival, attempt to reunite with loved ones and take refuge from the “recruiters” who seek them out to bring them to the marrow-stealing “factories.”

***CONTENT WARNING: In this review I will be discussing Indigenous American (Canadian, Mexican, and the US) history and residential schools/Indian boarding schools, with a primary focus on Canada where the Marrow Thieves takes place. I will be touching on genocide, forced assimilation, abuse, sexual assault, trauma, and addiction. There will also be images of verbal abuse and the effects of trauma. Please proceed with caution and take breaks if you need to. For my Indigenous readers: if you feel at all distressed or disturbed while reading this, or just need support in general, there are resources for the US and Canada here and here respectively. If you need extra help you can also find Indigenous-friendly therapists here and here to talk to. If you are a abuse survivor, are being abused, or know someone who is, please go here. There are further links at the end of the review. Please reach out if you need to!***

I have tried to use mainly Indigenous created articles, websites, books, films, and interviews for reference when writing this review. I have also included multiple quotes from residential school survivors, as I felt I could not do justice to their vastly different experiences without using their own words. However, I can only cover a fraction of a long and complex history. I strongly encourage everyone to check out the books, videos, and podcasts I have listed at the end of the review. Kú’daa Dr. Debbie Reese for providing such an excellent list of suggestions for residential school resources! They were a huge help in this review. And speaking or Dr. Reese, check out her review of The Marrow Thieves as well as Johnnie Jae’s Native book list. And another big thank you to Tiff Morris for being my sensitivity reader for this review. Your help and advice was invaluable! Wela’lin!

When I first read The Marrow Thieves years ago it didn’t impact me the way it does now. Back in 2017 a worldwide pandemic still existed solely in the realm of science fiction. Much like a giant asteroid destroying the earth, it was technically possible but so unlikely that such a scenario wasn’t worth worrying about. Re-reading the dystopian horror novel in 2020 was a completely different and utterly terrifying experience. Even knowing how the story would end was not enough to quell my anxiety and I felt on edge the entire time. The fact that Cherie Dimaline’s used real world atrocities committed against Indigenous people just makes the story feel even more plausible and horrifying. Water rights, violence against Indigenous women, cultural appropriation, climate change, cultural erasure, and the trauma caused by residential schools are all referenced.

The book opens with the protagonist Frenchie, a young Métis boy, watching helplessly as his Brother Mitch is beaten and kidnapped by Recruiters, a group of government thugs tasked with capturing Indigenous people for the purpose of extracting their bone marrow. Now alone, and with no idea how to survive on his own Frenchie has to be rescued from starvation by a small band of Indigenous (mostly Anishinaabe and Métis) travelers. The group welcomes the young boy as one of their own, and he soon comes to see them as an adoptive family as the ragtag bunch works together to survive and protect each other.

Miig is the patriarch of the group, an older gay gentleman who likes to speak in metaphor and teaches the older kids Indigenous history through storytelling. He also trains Frenchie and the others to hunt, travel undetected, and generally survive in their harsh new reality. Miig might seem cold at first but he genuinely loves the kids, he just prefers to show it through actions rather than words. Dimaline did an excellent job writing Miig and he felt like a real person rather that a lazy gay stereotype. I absolutely adore his character. He’s got the whole “gruff but kind dad” thing going. Minerva is another one of my favorites, a cool and cheerful Elder who acts as the heart of the group and teaches the girls Anishinaabemowin, as most of the kids have lost their original languages. She keeps all of them to the past. Minerva also raised the youngest member of the group, Riri, a curious and spunky 7-year-old who ends up bonding with Frenchie. Riri was only a baby when she was rescued and has no memory of a time before they were forced into a nomadic lifestyle in order to avoid the Recruiters so, unlike the others, she has nothing to miss. Cheerful and lively Riri never fails to raise everyone’s spirits or give them hope for a better future.

The rest of the kids range from nine to young adulthood. Wab is the eldest girl, beautiful and fierce and “as the woman of the group she was in charge of the important things.” Then there’s Chi-boy, a Cree teenager who rarely speaks. The youngest are the twins Tree and Zheegwan, followed by Slopper, a greedy 9-year-old from the east coast who likes to complain and brings his adoptive family the levity they all need. Later on they’re joined by Rose, a biracial Black/White River First Nation teen who Frenchie immediately develops a crush on. And I can’t really blame him because Rose is a total bad ass. All of them have lost people to the residential schools and some, like the twins, were even victims of “marrow thieves” themselves. But they all support each other and survive despite the difficulties they’ve faced.

No one knows what caused the dreamless disease rapidly infecting the country, an illness that causes the victim to stop dreaming and slowly descend into madness, only that Indigenous people are immune. And yes, I do appreciate the irony of a plague that only affects Colonizers. Perhaps it’s divine retribution for Jeffery Amherst’s (yes that Amherst) germ warfare. When their immunity is discovered people begin to flock to Native nations begging for help. But Indigenous people are understandably reluctant, having been burned too many times before. They don’t want to share their sacred ceremonies and traditions with outsiders, and for very good reason. Non-Natives quickly get tired of asking and do what they do best: take what they want, in this case Indigenous practices and later Indigenous bodies. The few survivors who do manage to escape the new residential schools often return with parts of themselves missing, an apt metaphor for real residential schools. Although set in a fictional future The Marrow Thieves dives into a past that Colonialism has actively tried to suppress.

Indigenous history is rarely taught in either US or Canadian schools (outside of elective courses) and what is taught is often grossly inaccurate. To quote Dr. Debbie Reese’s post about representation in the best-selling paperbacks of all time: “23,999,617 readers (children, presumably) have read about savage, primitive, heroic, stealthy, lazy, tragic, chiefs, braves, squaws, and papooses.” In America we’re taught that the Wampanoag (who are never mentioned by name) showed up to save their pilgrims friends from starvation and celebrate the first Thanksgiving, with no mention of the English massacre of the Pequot, Natives being sold into slavery, or the Colonists’ grave robbing. After 1621, mentions of American Indians are scarce to non-existent. There might be a brief paragraph here and there in a high school textbook about the Iroquois Nation siding with the British in the Revolutionary War, or the Trail of Tears.

A 2015 study of US history classes, grades K-12, showed that over 86% of schools didn’t teach modern (post-1900) Indigenous history and American Indians were largely portrayed “as barriers to America progress. As a result, students might think that Indigenous People are gone for one reason—they were against the creation of the United States.” Few students are ever told about the mass genocide of American Indians, smallpox blankets, the government’s unlawful seizure of Native land, the many broken treaties, destruction of culture, and forced experimentation. American Indian writer and activist Suzan Shown Harjo points out in an interview “When you move a people from one place to another, when you displace people, when you wrench people from their homelands, wasn’t that genocide? We don’t make the case that there was genocide. We know there was, yet here we are.” You would think that American history would dedicate more than a paragraph to THE PEOPLE WHO FUCKING LIVED IN AMERICA. I’m not that familiar with the Canadian education system, but according to Métis writer and legal scholar Chelsea Vowel they’re not much better at teaching the history of First Nation, Inuit, and Métis people. The omission of Indigenous Americans and Canadians from history lessons is just another form of erasure that contributes to the continued systemic oppression of First Peoples by a racist and colonialist system.

A White teacher stands in front of her class and is pointing to racist, stereotypical cartoon images of Pilgrims and Indians. The teacher says “The Indians helped the pilgrims and they became best friends! Then the Indians all voluntarily left so we could found America. Too bad there aren’t any Indians anymore!” The only non-White child in the class, a Native girl raises her hand and say “Um, actually the Wampanoag and lots of other American Indian tribes are still around even though the colonizers tried to get rid of us and stole our land. I’m Seneca and my family and I are still here.” The cheerful teacher says “I said…” then she turns menacing “…The Indians and Pilgrims were FRIENDS and they left voluntarily. So stop making things up. Now it’s time to make construction paper Indian head dresses kids!”

The sad thing is, the “Pilgrim and Indian” drawings are based on actual, present day “lessons” from teaching websites. This comic is loosely based on my experience as the only Black kid in class when we learned about the Civil War. The Seneca girl is wearing a “Every Child Matters” orange shirt for Residential Schools survivors.

White supremacist Andrew Jackson believed American Indians had “neither the intelligence, the industry, the moral habits, not the desire of improvement” and used this to justify the numerous acts of Cultural Genocide he committed. One of the worst was the Indian Removal Act, which forced the Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Creek and Seminole to choose between assimilation or leaving their homelands. Justin Giles, assistant director of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation Museum, describes it as, “You can have one of two things: you can keep your sovereignty, but you can’t keep your land. If you keep your land you have to assimilate and no longer be Indian… you can’t have both.” While reading The Marrow Thieves, I was struck by how much the world Dimaline created felt like a futuristic Nazi Germany. It makes sense considering “American Indian law played a role in the Nazi formulation of Jewish policies and laws” according to professor of law Robert J. Miller. Good job America, you helped create the Holocaust. I’m sure Andrew Jackson would be proud.

But people tend to object to mass murder and breaking treaties, even in the 1830’s. Jackson’s Indian Removal Act was controversial and drew a great deal of criticism, most notably from Davy Crockett and Ralph Waldo Emerson. Christian missionary and activist Jeremiah Evarts wrote a series of famous essays against the Removal Act that accused Jackson of lacking in morality. So even back then folks hated the 7th president for being a lying, racist piece of shit. Of course that didn’t necessarily mean they were accepting of the people they saw as “savages.” A line from They Called it Prairie Light sums it up best: “Europeans were at first skeptical of the humanity of the inhabitants of the American continents, but most were soon persuaded that these so-called Indians had souls worthy of redemption.”  So how could they “kill” Indians without actually killing them and looking like the bad guys? Richard Henry Pratt came up with the solution. Changing everything about Indigenous people to make them as close to Whiteness as possible.

“A great general has said that the only good Indian is a dead one. In a sense, I agree with the sentiment but only in this: that all the Indian there is in the race should be dead. Kill the Indian in him, and save the man.” – Richard Henry Pratt

Pratt was a former Brigadier General who had fought in the Union during the Civil War. He spoke out against racial segregation, lead an all Black regiment known as the “Buffalo Soldiers” in 1867 (yes, the ones from the Bob Marley song), and unlike Jackson, actually viewed the American Indians as people. Unfortunately, like most “White Saviors,” Pratt was ignorant, misguided and believed Euro-Americans were superior. “Federal commitment to boarding schools and their ‘appropriate’ education for Native Americans sprouted from the enduring rootstock of European misperceptions of America’s natives.” (Tsianina Lomawaima). And so Pratt decided the best way to help American Indians was to remove children from their homes to teach them “the value of hard work” and the superiority of Euro-American culture. Pratt had already practiced turning Cheyenne prisoners of war at Fort Marion into “good Indians” and he was convinced an Indian school would be equally successful. So in 1879 he founded the Carlisle Indian Industrial School, the first Indian boarding school in the US.

“Soon, they needed too many bodies, and they turned to history to show them how to best keep us warehoused, how to best position the culling. That’s when the new residential schools started growing up from the dirt like poisonous brick mushrooms. We go to the schools and they leach the dreams from where our ancestors hid them, in the honeycombs of slushy marrow buried in our bones. And us? Well, we join our ancestors, hoping we left enough dreams behind for the next generation to stumble across.”

Miig telling the kids how the bone marrow harvesting started.

“Civilizing” American Indian children by separating them from their cultural roots and teaching them Eurocentric values was not a new idea: The Catholic church had already been doing it for years. But it was Pratt who made it widespread. At the school, students were forced to cut their long hair, adopt White names and clothing, speak only in English, and convert to Christianity. Failure to comply would be met with corporal punishment from Pratt, who ran the school like an army barrack. Understandably, Indigenous people —   who had no reason to trust a nation of treaty breakers —    were initially reluctant to send their children away from their families to go to school. But Pratt convinced Lakota chief Siŋté Glešká aka Spotted Tail (one of three chiefs who had travelled to Washington to try and convince President Grant to honor the treaties the US had made) that an English education was essential to survival in an increasingly Euro-centric America. He argued that if Spotted Tail and his people were able to read the treaties they signed, they never would’ve been forced from their land. He would teach the students so they could return home and in turn help their people. Reluctantly the chief agreed to send the children Dakota Rosebud reservation, including his own sons, to Carlise. Ten years later Pratt’s “save the Indian” goal became a National policy and Natives no longer had a choice in the matter.

“As girls, Martha and young Frances found the atmosphere of the school alien, unfriendly, and oppressive. Both had been raised by nurturing parents of the leadership class, and neither had been abused as a child. They had learned the traditions and laws of their tribes, but the church had not had a strong presence on the San Manuel Reservation. When the girls entered the St. Boniface school, their parents had agreed to their enrollment so that they could cope better with an ever-changing society dominated by non-Indians. Furthermore, their parents expected them to be future leaders of the tribe and felt that training at an off-reservation boarding school would better prepare them for tribal responsibilities.” (Trafzer)

Canada was also pushing for assimilation and, using Pratt’s Residential School model, began to develop their own “off-reserve” schools. In 1920 Duncan Campbell Scott, the Deputy Superintendent of Indian Affairs for Canada from 1913 to 1932, passed the Indian Act. The bill made school attendance mandatory for all Indigenous children under the age of 15. Anyone who refused could be arrested and their children taken away by truant officers, the basis for Dimaline’s Recruiters. Residential school survivor Howard Stacy Jones describes how she was snatched by Mounted Police from her public school in Port Renfrew British Columbia and brought to a residential school: “I was kidnapped when I was around six years old, and this happened right in the schoolyard. My auntie and another witnessed this… saw me fighting, trying to get away from the two RCMP officers that threw me in the back seat of the car and drove away with me. My mom didn’t know where I was for three days.”

Scott famously said “I want to get rid of the Indian problem. . . Our objective is to continue until there is not a single Indian in Canada that has not been absorbed into the body politic and there is no Indian question, and no Indian Department, that is the whole object of this Bill.” Schools in the US and Canada did have some dissimilarities. While the U.S. moved away from mission schools in favor of government run ones, most Canadian residential schools continue to be run by Christian missionaries and supported by several churches. As a result, federal control was weaker in Canada and the goal of converting Indigenous people to Catholicism and Protestantism remained at the forefront. Interestingly, during my research I found that Indigenous people reported a wide variety of experiences in US residential schools ranging from positive to negative, whereas the stories about Canadian ones were overwhelmingly negative.  It’s possible that the Canadian residential schools were somehow worse than US ones, possibly due to the strong influence of the state and little government regulation, but I don’t want to draw conclusions on a topic I simply don’t know enough about. Besides it’s not my place to compare the experiences of survivors like that.

Still, I was genuinely surprised to find so many positive memories reported by former US residential school students who felt they benefited from their time there. While conducting interviews for They Called it Prairie Light Tsianina Lomawaima revealed that former Chilocco students had nothing but good things to say about L. E. Correll, the school’s superintendent from 1926 to 1952. “The participants in this research concurred unanimously in their positive assessment of Correll’s leadership, a testimonial to his commitment to students and the school. Alumni references to Mr. Correll… all share a positive tone. He is described as Chilocco’s ‘driving force,’ ‘wonderful,’ [and] ‘a fine man, we called him ‘Dad Correll.'” I bring this up not to minimize the damage the schools did nor excuse the atrocities they committed, but to illustrate the complexity of this topic. It would also be disingenuous not include the wide range of experiences at these schools. Another student at Chilocco wrote a letter to a North Dakota Agency complaining of a broken collarbone and not enough to eat only to be told to stop “whining about little matters.” Another student refused to Chilocco explaining, “I could stay there [at Chilocco) if they furnished clothing and good food. I don’t like to have bread and water three times a day, and beside work real hard, then get old clothes that been wear for three years at Chilocco [sic]. I rather go back to Cheyenne School.”

Regardless, all the schools caused lasting damage to Indigenous culture and communities. What Canada and the US claimed called assimilation “more accurately should be called ethnic cleansing…” explains Dr. Jennifer Nez Denetdale a Najavo Professor of American Studies at the University of New Mexico. Pratt may have had good intentions, but remember what they say the road to hell is paved with. Much like voluntourism today attempts to “help” American Indians through assimilation were rooted in colonialism and hurt more than they helped. Forrest S. Cuch, former director of the Utah Division of Indian Affairs describes the damage done to his tribe, the Utes. “Assimilation affected the Utes in a very tragic way. It was so ineffective that it did not train us to become competent in the White World and it took us away from our own culture, so much so that we weren’t even competent as Indians anymore.” “Children do not understand their language and they’re Navajos. This was done to us.” explained Navajo/Dine elder Katherine Smith. Assimilation was nothing short of Cultural genocide as defined by the 2015 the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada:

“…the destruction of those structures and practices that allow the group to continue as a group. States that engage in cultural genocide set out to destroy the political and social institutions of the targeted group… Languages are banned. Spiritual leaders are persecuted, spiritual practices are forbidden, and objects of spiritual value are confiscated and destroyed. And, most significantly to the issue at hand, families are disrupted to prevent the transmission of cultural values and identity from one generation to the next.”

Residential boarding schools are yet another atrocity that remains suspiciously absent from American and Canadian history books, but they are popular in Indigenous horror (Rhymes for Young Ghouls, The Candy Meister, These Walls), and for good reason. Survivors describe deplorable living conditions, rampant abuse, rape, starvation, and being torn away from their families and culture. Homesickness was a common problem for young children who had spent their entire lives surrounded by family. Ernest White Thunder, the son of chief White Thunder, became so homesick and depressed he refused to eat or take medicine until he finally died.

“Students arriving at Chilocco [Residential School] met the discrepancies between institutional life and family life at every turn. Military discipline entailed a high level of surveillance of students but constant adult supervision and control was impossible. The high ratio of students to adults and the comprehensive power wielded by those few adults compromised any flowering of surrogate parenting. In the dormitories, four adults might be responsible for over two hundred children. The loss of the parent/child relationship and the attenuated contact with school personnel reinforced bonds among the students, who forged new kinds of family ties within dorm rooms, work details, and gang territories. Dormitory home life-siblings and peers, living quarters and conditions, food and clothing, response to discipline-dominates narratives.”  (Tsianina Lomawaima)

Running away was common and could end tragically. Kathleen Wood shared one of her memories of students who ran away: “There were three boys that ran away from [Chuska Boarding School]. They wanted to go home… They were three brothers, they were from Naschitti. They ran away from here as winter… They did find the boys after a while, but the sad part is all three boys lost their legs.” Not everyone survived their attempts to return home, as was the tragic case for Chanie “Charlie” Wenjack (trigger warning for description of child death). At the Fort William Indian Residential School 6 children died and 16 more disappeared.

Indigenous children first entering residential school would often have their long hair cut short, an undoubtedly traumatic experience for many children. For the Cheyenne the cutting of hair is done as a sign of mourning and death. Roy Smith, a member of the Navajo Nation (Diné) where long hair is an essential part of one’s identity, describes his experience: “They all looked at me when they were giving me my haircut… My long hair falling off. And I was really hurt. The teaching from my grandfather was… your long hair is your strength, and your long hair is your wisdom, your knowledge.” Hair is also holds spiritual importance to the Nishnawbe Aski. An anonymous Nishnawbe Aski School survivor was left deeply hurt be her hair cut:

“When I was a girl. I had nice long black hair. My mother used to brush my hair for me and make braids. I would let the braids hang behind me or I would move them over my shoulders so they hung down front. I liked it when they were in front because I could see those little colored ribbons and they reminded me of my mother. Before I left home for residential school at Kenora my mother did my hair up in braids so I would look nice when I went to school. The first thing they did when I arrived at the school was to cut my braids off and throw them away. I was so hurt by their actions and I cried. It was as if they threw a part of me away – discarded in the garbage.” – Anonymous

***Content warning, descriptions of child abuse and sexual assault and an image of verbal abuse of a child below***

Students were severely beaten for not displaying unquestioning obedience and sometimes for no reason at all. Those in charge would constantly reinforce the message that Indigenous people were stupid, worthless, and inferior to Whites, destroying the children’s sense of self-worth. Some students were forced to kneel for long stretches of time, hold up heavy books in their outstretched arms, or locked in the basement for hours. Children would be force-fed spoiled meat and fish until they vomited, then forced to eat their own vomit. Some were even electrocuted. Chief Edmund Metatawabin recalls his experience at St. Anne’s Indian Residential School:

There was [an electric chair with] a metal handle on both sides you have to hold on to and there were brothers and sisters sitting around in the boys’ room. And of course the boys were all lined up. And somebody turned the power on and you can’t let go once the power goes on. You can’t let go… my feet were flying in front of me and I heard laughter. The nuns and the brothers were all laughing.” – Edmund Metatawabin

From 1992 until 1998 Ontario Provincial Police launched an investigation into the abuse at St. Anne’s Residential School after Chief Edmund Metatawabin presented them with evidence of the crimes. The police took statements from 700 St. Anne’s survivors, many of whom described incidents of sexual assault and abuse involving priests, nuns, and other staff. During her interview one survivor said “This shouldn’t have happened to us. They’re God’s workers, they were to look after us.” (link contains graphic descriptions of abuse). One figure estimates that one in five  students were sexually abused when attending residential school. But schools would cover up the abuse, and anyone who complained was intimidated into silence.

A priest is forcing a ball and chain, representing trauma, to a little girl in a residential school uniform. She is surrounded by red and orange speech bubbles saying cruel things like "Dirty Indian!," "Shut up! Stupid Girl! Do as you're told!," "Savage!," and "You're going to hell for your pagan beliefs. You need religion."

The verbal abuse shown here is paraphrased from actual things said to Residential school survivals. They are taken from interviews and autobiographies. If you or someone you know is being abused, go here. Learn more about forms of abuse here.

All this pain and suffering was committed under the pretense of “civilizing” Native people, when in reality it was Cultural Genocide driven by White supremacy. “The whole move was to make Indian children white… Of course, at the end of the school experience, the children still weren’t white. They were not accepted by White mainstream America. When they went back to their tribal homelands, they didn’t fit in at home anymore either.” says Kay McGowan, who teaches cultural anthropology at Eastern Michigan University. Inuvialuit author Margaret Pokiak-Fenton describes how her mother did not even recognize her when she returned home in her children’s book Not my Girl. As if the rejection wasn’t heart breaking enough, Margaret had forgotten much of her own language and struggled to communicate with her family. Another residential school survivor, Elaine Durocher, says “They were there to discipline you, teach you, beat you, rape you, molest you, but I never got an education…. [instead] it taught me how to lie, how to manipulate, how to exchange sexual favors for cash, meals, whatever the case may be.” In a video for Women’s Centre she volunteers at she discusses how “The teachers were always hitting us because we were just ‘stupid Indians'”.

***End of content warning***

“[People] need to know that it was an event that happened to a lot of kids, that it wasn’t just a few; it was literally thousands of kids that suffered. I’ve come to realize that there were also others where the experience for them was actually very good, and I don’t question that. I can only relate to mine. Mine wasn’t a good one, and I know a lot of really good friends who also did not have a good experience.” – Joseph Williams

In The Marrow Thieves the government and the church join forces to perform experiments on prisoners, and later Indigenous people, in order to find a cure for the dreamless plague. And if you were hoping that was just a metaphor for destroying cultural identities and real residential schools never sunk so low as to experiment on helpless children, well, you’d be wrong. Science has a dark history of exploiting the most vulnerable populations for unethical experiments. In the U.S. alone enslaved women were tortured and mutilated by the father of gynecology  without any form of anesthesia (1845-1849), the government backed Tuskegee syphilis experiment (1932-1972) infected hundreds of Black men without their knowledge or consent, a stuttering experiment (1939) performed on orphans is now known as “The Monster Study,” elderly Jewish patients were injected with liver cancer cells (1963) to “discover the secret of how healthy bodies fight the invasion of malignant cells,” and inmates in the Holmesburg Prison were used to test the effects of various toxic chemicals on skin (1951-1974).

In the 1920s experimental eyes surgeries to treat trachoma were conducted on Southwestern US Natives. The contagious eye disease became an epidemic on Southwestern reservations, affecting up to 40% of some tribal groups. “Some tribes, such as the Navajo, experienced no “sore eyes” prior to their defeat by the United States, yet once confined to the reservation, they witnessed a significant increase in unexplained eye problems.” (Trennert) GEE I WONDER WHY. Maybe it had something to do with being forced to live in poverty on shitty reservations where their access to healthcare and sanitation was limited? The government decided to “help” by once again making it worse. The Indian office opened an eye clinic and hired the Otolaryngologist Dr. Ancil Martin to run it. Dr. Martin began the student treatment program before he had any idea how to cure trachoma. He decided to test out a surgical procedure called “grattage” which involved cutting the granules off the eyelids (without anesthesia of coure). One little girl described the experience: “During the operation they cut off little rough things from under the eyelid. It was a grisly scene, with blood running all over. The children had to be held down tight.” (Trennert) Unfortunately the experimental treatment only provided temporary relief and those children who recovered where left with permanent damage to their eyelids. Later, as part of the “Southwestern Trachoma Campaign,” ophthalmologist Dr. Webster Fox convinced the Indian Office to take even more drastic measures and surgically remove the tarsus (the plate of connective tissue inside each eyelid that contributes to the eyelids form and support). His reasoning for this was because he did not believe Indians would submit to prolonged treatment and it was better to “remove the disease more quickly and with less deformity than the way Nature goes about it.” Yikes.

In case you were hoping this was a tragic but isolated incident, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. When giving testimony to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada survivors consistently described an environment where “hunger was never absent.” Residential school meals were typical low in calories (they ranged from 1000 to 1450 calories per day, undernourishment is considered less than 1,800 calories per day), vegetables, fruit, protein, and fat, all essential parts of a growing child’s diet. “We cried to have something good to eat before we sleep. A lot of the times the food we had was rancid, full of maggots, stink. Sometimes we would sneak away from school to go visit our aunts or uncles, just to have a piece of bannock.” explained school survivor Andrew Paul. Food-borne illnesses were another common occurrence. Although at least partly due to negligence or a lack of funds some schools intentionally withheld food to see how the children’s bodies would react to malnutrition, especially as they fought off viruses and infections. “When investigators came to the schools in the mid-1940s they discovered widespread malnutrition at both of the schools” explained food historian Dr. Ian Mosby. ” “In the 1940s, there were a lot of questions about what are human requirements for vitamins… Malnourished aboriginal people became viewed as possible means of testing these theories.” Mosby said an interview with the Toronto Star. And so Indigenous Canadian children became unwitting guinea pigs in an unethical study. Between 1942 and 1952 Dr. Percy Moore, head of the superintendent for medical services for the Department of Indian Affairs, and Dr. Frederick Tisdall, former president of the Canadian Pediatric Society performed illicit nutrition experiments on students at St. Mary’s School. Milk and dairy rations were withheld. Instead children were given a fortified flour mixture containing B vitamins and bone meal. The experimental supplement impacted their development and caused children to become dangerously anemic, and continued to have negative effects on them as adults. Incidentally, this experimental flour mix was illegal in the rest of Canada.

A decade later the U.S. Air Force’s Arctic Aeromedical Laboratory in Fairbanks wanted to study the role the thyroid gland played in acclimating humans to cold in hopes of improving their operational capability in cold environments. The hypothesis was that Alaskan Natives were somehow physically better adapted to cold environments than White people This is another example of scientific racism as the study didn’t bother looking at the White inhabitants of the Arctic Circle:  Greenlanders, who hypothetically should have a similar resistance to the cold. Instead, they chose to focus on Alaskan Natives almost as if they were a different species. The othering didn’t end there. Participants (84 Inuit, 17 Athabascan Indians, and 19 White service members) were given a medical tracer, the radioisotope iodine 131 to measure thyroid function. Guess who wasn’t told they were part of the experiment? Instead of informing the Indigenous test subjects they were participating in a research study as would’ve been required by the recently created Nuremberg Code (the first point in the code literally says “The voluntary consent of the human subject is absolutely essential”), the scientists just said “Fuck it, we do what we want!” I mean, it’s not like someone might want to know they were being given RADIOACTIVE MATERIAL or anything right? Not only did the experiment offer no potential benefit to the Alaskan Natives who participated but the original hypothesis was disproven. The Airforce provided no follow up tests or treatment for the test subjects to insure they hadn’t suffered any long-term effects.

Students at Kenora residential school were used as test subjects for ear infection drugs, again without their knowledge or consent. School nurse Kathleen Stewart wrote in her report “The most conspicuous evidence of ear trouble at Cecilia Jeffrey School has been the offensive odor of the children’s breath, discharging ears, lack of sustained attention, poor enunciation when speaking and loud talking,” In a follow-up report she noted three children “were almost deaf with no ear drums, six had [hearing in] one ear gone.”

Human research violations aren’t just a problem of the distant past before the IRB was established. In 1979 Native leaders asked researchers to help them assess the drinking problem in their community in Barrow, Alaska. They were hoping to cooperate with them to find a solution. Instead the researchers went ahead and publicly shared the results of the Barrow Alcohol Study with news outlets. Because the study implied the majority of adults in Barrow were alcoholics (which was inaccurate), left out the socioeconomic context which led to drinking problems, and then announced the results without representatives from the tribal community, it caused both a great deal of shame and direct financial harm. Starting in the 1990s, Arizona State University obtained blood from the Havasupai tribe under false pretenses. Instead of using the samples for diabetes research like they had promised the tribal members, researchers used the Havasupai’s DNA for a wide range of genetic studies. This continued until 2003 when a Havasupai college student discovered how the blood was being used without permission. Carletta Tilousi explained in an NPR Interview “Part of it is it was a part of my body that was taken from me, a part of my blood and a part of our bodies as Native-Americans are very sacred and special to us and we should respect it.”

Keeping all this in mind the dystopian future that Dimaline created suddenly doesn’t seem so far-fetched. Indigenous people have already had their land stolen, their graves robbed, their children kidnapped, and their culture appropriated. They’ve even had their blood taken under false pretenses. Indigenous children held prisoner in residential schools were deliberately starved and denied access to basic healthcare all in the name of science. The Marrow Thieves feels especially poignant right now, with the Americas experiencing (at the time of writing this) some of the highest Covid-19 rates in the world. Who would we sacrifice to find a cure? Pfizer, the company responsible for making one of the two currently available Covid vaccines did illegal human research as recently as the 90’s. “What does it mean when the disproportionate disease burden currently faced by Indigenous communities is, in large part, the product of a residential system that the TRC has found was nothing short of a cultural genocide?” asks Mosby. “In part, it means that we need to rethink the current behavioral and pharmacologic approaches… in Indigenous communities. In their place, we need more community-driven, trauma-informed and culturally appropriate interventions… [and] also acknowledge the role of residential schools in determining the current health problems faced by residential school survivors and their families…[M]ost importantly, we need to demand that the next generation of Indigenous children have access to the kinds of plentiful, healthy, seasonal and traditional foods that were denied to their parents and grandparents, as a matter of government policy” he argues.

The worst part about the residential school is that even after they closed, their legacy remained and the damage they did would affect future generations. A report entitled Indigenous Communities and Family Violence: Changing the Conversation states “The [Royal Commission on Aboriginals Peoples] named residential schools as a significant cause of family violence in Indigenous communities… and the intergenerational impacts of residential schools on the prevalence continues to be recognized…”. Many of the abused students became abusers themselves, taking out their pain, fear, and frustration on the younger children. After leaving the school, survivors continued to suffer from low self esteem, hopelessness, painful memories and severe mental, social, and emotional damage. Boarding school trauma was then passed down from parent to child and the cycle of abuse would continue.  Because the children were deprived of affection and family during their formative years, many of them left residential school emotionally stunted and unable to openly express love, even towards their own children.

“Few [students] came out of residential schools having learned good boundaries, and good boundaries included some sense of self-determination, sovereignty over your own body. They didn’t have any control over that, and they didn’t see people around with appropriate behavior and being respectful of them as human beings, that they were sacred. And they were abused. Children learn what they live and that was their life.” – Sylvia Maracle, executive director of the Ontario Federation of Indigenous Friendship Centres.

Add in loss of land, racism, poverty, and a lack of healthcare and support and you’re left with a complex system of trauma that’s stacked against Indigenous people and their recovery. A report prepared for the Aboriginal Healing Foundation entitled Aboriginal Domestic Violence in Canada states:

 “Social and political violence inflicted upon Aborigional children, families and communities by the state and the churches through the residential school system not only created the patterns of violence communities are now experiencing but also introduced the family and community to behaviors that are impeding collective recovery.”

In her award-winning autobiography They Called Me Number One writer and former Xat’sull chief Bev Sellars discusses the long-lasting damage to her done by St. Joseph’s Mission.  Sellars watched helplessly as her brother’s personality completely changed as a result of sexual abuse and he began to take out his rage and pain on her. Sellar’s own trauma affected the way she interacted with her three children. She practiced an authoritarian style of parenting she had learned from the school and expected her children to hide their pain instead of expressing it as she was forced to do. Because the only touch Sellars experienced at the residential school was painful and abusive she feared any form of physical contact and was unable to hug anyone until her own children were grown. She continued to fear disobeying any White person or authority figure and made her want her children to behave perfectly in front of Whites.

She describes how she suffered from panic attacks, migraines, nightmares, memory problems, emotional numbness, angry outbursts, shame and phobias after attending the residential school. Because her complaints of mistreatment were dismissed and summarily punished by those in charge, Sellars developed a learned helplessness and “why bother?” attitude. Years of brainwashing by the nuns and priests caused Sellars to see “the world through the tunnel vision of the mission” and led her to believe she was inferior because she was Indigenous. Those familiar with trauma will recognize these as PTSD symptoms commonly seen in survivors. Unfortunately, emotional and mental health were still poorly understood in the 1960s and medical services are limited on reservations forcing survivors like Sellars to find other ways to numb their pain.

***Content warning for image of depressive thoughts below***

The girl from earlier is now a grown woman. She looks depressed, is wearing dark clothing, and hugging herself. The ball and chain that represents trauma are chained around her ankle. Dark thoughts fill her head like: “I must have deserved it,” “Nothing will ever get better, what’s the point?,” “Maybe there really is something wrong with being Native…,””The pain will never stop. I’m so tired of it, I just want to be numb,” and “Everyone hurts me, I can’t trust anyone. I’m all alone.”

The ball and chain represent the trauma the residential school survivor has to carry around with her. Her thoughts are based on those common to people with trauma. Please contact a mental health provider (listed at the beginning and end of the review) if you have similar thoughts.

***End of content warning***

In The Marrow Thieves Wab eventually shares how her mother became addicted to alcohol and later crack cocaine. The stress of living in a dirty, overcrowded military state while trying not to starve or get taken away by the school staff became too much for her. Wab wonders if her mother could feel herself dying and just gave up. Alcohol and drugs are frequently abused by those who’ve experienced trauma or have untreated mental illness. In fact, childhood abuse is prevalent among alcoholics, and children who experience trauma are four to twelve times more likely to engage in substance abuse. Sellars’ brother never recovered from the sexual abuse he experienced at the hands of the priests and developed an addiction to alcohol. Others survivors die by suicide. According to the CDC the suicide rate among adolescent American Indians is more than twice the U.S. average and the highest of any ethnic groups. Amanda Blackhorse explains “…we’re still feeling the effects of boarding schools today… and it has completely demolished the Indigenous familial system. And many of our people are suffering and they don’t… realize that they are suffering from the boarding school system. Many of us don’t even understand it…”

However, while alcoholism is definitely a problem in Native populations the stereotype of the “drunken Indian” is no more than a harmful myth. Indigenous people aren’t “genetically more susceptible to alcoholism” and American Indians are actually more likely to abstain from alcohol that Whites.

 “The participants in this study talked about historical trauma as an ongoing problem that is at the root of substance abuse issues in their families and communities. Further, the participants believed their experiences to be shared or common among other AI families and communities. Feelings about historical trauma among the participants, their families, and/or their communities included disbelief that these events could have happened, sadness, and fear that such events could recur; however, there also were messages about strength and survival.” – Laurelle L. Myhra

This huge, horrible thing that scarred thousands of survivors and had long lasting effects for Indigenous populations is almost entirely unknown outside of Native, Inuit and Métis communities, and the Canadian Government continues to underfund education and health services for Indigenous children. But there are many Indigenous people, like Bev Sellars, who are not just surviving, but flourishing, and in turn helping others to recover. Indigenous founded and run groups such as The National Indigenous Women’s Resource Center, Freedom Lodge, Indigenous Circle of Wellness, and Biidaaban Healing Lodge, are all working to heal generational trauma by combining traditional Indigenous healing practices and modern trauma-informed therapy to create a holistic approach to wellness and mental health. Horror and Apocalyptic Fiction has also given Indigenous creators a way to process this generational trauma and make a wider audience aware of these historical atrocities. But even with everything Indigenous people have suffered through, they’re still here. The Marrow Thieves similarly ends on a hopeful note with Frenchie and his friends holding their heads high as they march into the future.

The woman is now older, wearing bright clothing, and looks happy. She has a Native-made T-shirt that says “you are sacred.” The speech and though bubbles all have bright colors. People are giving the woman positive affirmations like “You aren’t alone,” “You deserve to be happy,” and “Don’t measure yourself by colonizer standards.” Her thoughts are happy now instead of dark. The woman thinks “I don’t need permission to speak, exist, or take up space,” “My language, beliefs, and culture are not ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’,” “What was done to me was not my fault and it does not define me,” and “I am strong. I am brave. I have value.”

The girl from the residential school is all grown up, and with the support from her community has started to heal. Her trauma, now represented by a balloon to show the “weight” of it is now gone, is still there but is no longer impeding her ability to enjoy life. She finally feels free to celebrate her Chippewa culture and heritage, as reflected by her bright clothing and long braids. Her T-shirt is from Choctaw journalist and artist Johnnie Jae’s collection. Her skirt is based on the work of Chippewa fashion designer Delina White. Her scarf has a floral Chippewa design.

Sources:

Unspoken: America’s Native American Boarding Schools, PBS, 2016

The Indian Problem, The Smithsonian, 2016

In the White Man’s Image, PBS, 1992

Bopp, J., Bopp, M., and Lane, P.  Aboriginal Domestic Violence in Canada. The Aboriginal Healing Foundation. 2003. https://epub.sub.uni-hamburg.de/epub/volltexte/2009/2900/pdf/aboriginal_domestic_violence.pdf

Dunbar-Ortiz, Roxanne. An Indigenous People’s History of the United States. Boston: Beacon Press, 2014.

Fortunate Eagle, Adam. Pipestone: My Life in an Indian Boarding School. University of Oklahoma Press, 2010.

Health Justice, Daniel. Why Indigenous Literature Matters. Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2018.

Holmes, C. and Hunt, S. Indigenous Communities and Family Violence: Changing the Conversation. National Collaborating Center for Aboriginal Health, 2017.  https://www.nccih.ca/docs/emerging/RPT-FamilyViolence-Holmes-Hunt-EN.pdf

Jordan-Fenton, C. and Pokiak-Fenton, M. Not My Girl. Annick Press, 2014.

Jordan-Fenton, C. and Pokiak-Fenton, M. Fatty Legs. Annick Press, 2010.

Mihesuah, Devon A. American Indians Stereotypes & Realities. 1996. Reprint. Atlanta: Clarity Press, 2009.

Mihesuah, Devon A. So you Want to Write About American Indians?: A Guide for Writers, Students, and Scholars. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2005.

Pember, Mary Annette. “Death by Civilization.” Atlantic, 8 March. 2019.

https://www.theatlantic.com/education/archive/2019/03/traumatic-legacy-indian-boarding-schools/584293/

Robertson, David Alexander. Sugar Falls: A Residential School Story. Highwater Press, 2012.

Sellars, Bev. They Called Me Number One: Secrets and Survival at an Indian Residential School. Talonbooks, 2013.

Sterling, Sherling. My Name is Seepeetza. Groundwood Books, 1992.

Trafzer, C. E., Keller, J.A., eds. Boarding School Blues: Revisiting American Indian Educational Experiences. Bison Books, 2006.

Treuer, Anton. Everything You Wanted to Know about Indians But Were Afraid to Ask. St Paul: Minnesota Historical Society Press, 2012.

Tsianina Lomawaima, K. They Called It Prairie Light: The Story of Chilocco Indian School. University of Nebraska Press, 1995.

Robinson-Desjarlais, Shaneen (host). Residential Schools Podcast Series. Audio podcast, February 21, 2020. https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/residential-schools-podcast-series

Dawson, Alexander S. “Histories and Memories of the Indian Boarding Schools in Mexico, Canada, and the United States.” Latin American Perspectives 39, no. 5 (2012): 80-99. http://www.jstor.org/stable/41702285.

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Harper Voyager

Genre: Psychological Horror, Sci-Fi Horror, Thriller

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Lesbian/queer characters and author, Biracial Black character 

Takes Place in: another planet

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Medical Torture/Abuse, Medical Procedures, Mental Illness,  Self-Harm, Attempted Suicide, Verbal/Emotional Abuse

Blurb

“This claustrophobic, horror-leaning tour de force is highly recommended for fans of Jeff VanderMeer’s Annihilation and Andy Weir’s The Martian.” — Publishers Weekly (starred review)
***

A thrilling, atmospheric debut with the intensive drive of The Martian and Gravity and the creeping dread of Annihilation, in which a caver on a foreign planet finds herself on a terrifying psychological and emotional journey for survival.

When Gyre Price lied her way into this expedition, she thought she’d be mapping mineral deposits, and that her biggest problems would be cave collapses and gear malfunctions. She also thought that the fat paycheck—enough to get her off-planet and on the trail of her mother—meant she’d get a skilled surface team, monitoring her suit and environment, keeping her safe. Keeping her sane.

Instead, she got Em.
Em sees nothing wrong with controlling Gyre’s body with drugs or withholding critical information to “ensure the smooth operation” of her expedition. Em knows all about Gyre’s falsified credentials, and has no qualms using them as a leash—and a lash. And Em has secrets, too . . .
As Gyre descends, little inconsistencies—missing supplies, unexpected changes in the route, and, worst of all, shifts in Em’s motivations—drive her out of her depths. Lost and disoriented, Gyre finds her sense of control giving way to paranoia and anger. On her own in this mysterious, deadly place, surrounded by darkness and the unknown, Gyre must overcome more than just the dangerous terrain and the Tunneler which calls underground its home if she wants to make it out alive—she must confront the ghosts in her own head.

But how come she can’t shake the feeling she’s being followed?

The Luminous Dead is a survival horror story with only two characters, one location, and no antagonist. It’s also one of the most stressful horror stories I’ve ever read. Starling is a master of playing with the reader’s paranoia, building up the suspense and atmosphere until you’re jumping at every sound and shadow. Ironically, The Luminous Dead also managed to calm me down considerably when I was dealing with my own stressful situation (horror is great for anxiety): spending the night in the ER awaiting an emergency cholecystectomy (after my wife told me it was nothing and we weren’t spending $4,000 at the ER just because I had stomach cramps that were probably just from drinking milk, and why hadn’t I just taken the Lactaid tablets she bought me). After managing to survive a severely infected gallbladder, I assumed that 2020 could only be uphill from there. Poor, naïve past me.  

In the first panel I'm lying in a hospital bed looking worn out. "Well at least 2020 can't be any worse than 2019." I say. In the second panel I'm sleeping peacfully, when suddenly I'm woken up in the third panel by evil laughter. In the 4th panel the demonic laughing continues while I hide under the blankets and ask "Where is that laughing coming from?"

Well at least none of my organs exploded in 2020, so there’s that…

In the future, humanity has spread out across the stars, but sadly it’s not the socialist utopia dreamed of in Star Trek. Gyre lives on a barren, back-water mining planet where poverty is rampant and the only escape is to take a job as a caver for wealthy mining companies. It’s not a pleasant job. On top of spending days or even weeks in a self-contained suit with little human interaction, breathing recycled air, and being fed through a stomach stoma, these subterranean explorers have to contend with falls, cave-ins, and underground flooding. Worst of all are the Tunnelers – giant alien worms that burrow through solid stone. Not many cavers survive, but those who do can expect a huge payout. In Gyre’s case, it’s enough to get her off-world to find the mother who abandoned her as a child. Desperate, uncertified, and inexperienced, she accepts an especially sketchy caving job that doesn’t ask too many questions. It’s not until Gyre has already begun her descent into the subterranean labyrinth she’s been hired to explore that she discovers she may have made a grave mistake. Instead of having an entire team topside to monitor her vitals, feed her info, and watch her while she sleeps, which is the standard, she has only one woman, Em. Cold, efficient, controlling, and stingy with details, Em is not above obfuscating data and manipulating her cavers to get the job done. Not exactly someone you want to trust with your life. Em seems to genuinely want to protect Gyre even if her methods are questionable, but that hardly excuses the lying and manipulation which only serve to exacerbate the young caver’s trust issues. Not that Gyre is much better. Her desperation means she’s willing to make some morally questionable decisions, and her stubbornness leads to her making bad ones.

A drawing of Gyre in her suit. She's in the cave and is looking at two skulls on the ground, horrified. Em is on the intercom saying "Don't worry Gyre, it's perfectly safe. Trust me!"

The background is from a cave in the Dominican Republic I visited back in February 2020. There weren’t any skulls in it though. *sigh* I miss travel.

As if paranoia, isolation, and giant monsters aren’t scary enough, Starling adds another twist: there may or may not be something sinister going on in the cave as Gyre’s senses start to play tricks on her. Maybe it’s another one of Em’s deceptions. For most of the book, you’re genuinely unsure of where the biggest threat is coming from: the cave, Em, or Gyre’s own mindknowing she’s all alone in the dark unknown (or is she?) with only one less-than-trustworthy guide. Although Gyre never fully trusts Em, the two begin to form a distrustful, dysfunctional relationship over time as they reveal and struggle with past traumas. And yes, their trauma bond is just as maladjusted as it sounds. It’s both fascinating and horrifying to watch these two deeply flawed, fucked up people grow closer. Part of me was rooting for Gyre and Em because, when everything is awful, people deserve every bit of happiness they can get. But the more rational part of me was horrified. Shared suffering does not mean two people will be compatible and without trust issues, and on top of Em’s willingness to put Gyre in danger, there are the hallmarks of a toxic relationship. To Starling’s credit, she doesn’t try to create an idealized romance, or even imply that their bond is healthy like certain romance books that will remain nameless tend to do *cough*Twilight*cough*. Instead she aims to create two realistic, flawed characters who are doing their best in a bad situation. I’m a huge fan of antiheroes and morally gray characters in fiction (in real life they’re just assholes) because they’re rarely bland or boring, and Gyre and Em are anything but dull. Watching a caver with trust issues put her life in the hands of a woman who lies just makes the story all the more suspenseful.

Part of the reason Gyre acts the way she does is because she grew up in survival mode. Living in a barren, capitalist hellhole will do that to a person. Like any good work of science fiction, The Luminous Dead uses fictional characters in a fictional setting to draw attention to some very real-world ethical dilemmas. In this case, it’s the exploitation of the poor and vulnerable in a Capitalist society. Dubbed 3K jobs in Japan (kitanai, kiken, kitsui or dirty, dangerous, and difficult in English) this sort of work has traditionally been given to immigrants, migrant workers, and other vulnerable populations who have few options available to earn a living and are less likely to complain about unsafe working environments. Dangerous jobs that require specialized skills and training, such as construction and steel working jobs, pay better salaries and are more likely to be OSHA compliant, but rarely pay enough to offset the risk. Sex work can be a 3K job that pays well, but leaves sex workers open to arrest, abuse, and disease without legal protections in place. While workers aren’t being forced into these jobs per se (as opposed to victims of trafficking, domestic servitude, debt bondage, and other forms of slavery) they’re not usually done by people who have other options available. In The Luminous Dead, caver jobs are only ever taken by those in poverty (the wealthy would never risk their lives doing such dangerous work) and no one continues caving after they’ve made enough to escape. So is it really a choice when you’re between Scylla and Charybdis?

A drawing of Odysseus' ship passing between Scylla (a monstrous woman with six dog's heads around her waist and six serpents head's with shark's teeth coming out of her back) and Charybdis (a giant whirlpool). Someone on the ship is saying "FML".

Scylla wasn’t that big but she’s also not real so I can draw her however I want lol

I can’t describe much more of the plot, as spoilers would ruin the suspense Starling worked so hard to create, but suffice it to say that The Luminous Dead is, at its core, about the trauma of losing a mother, whether from abandonment or death, and how anger and grief can destroy you. If you love isolation horror, definitely pick up a copy of your own.

Cirque Berserk by Jessica Guess

Cirque Berserk by Jessica Guess

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Unnerving Magazine

Genre: Killer/Slasher, Myth and Folklore, Occult, Demons

Audience: Y/A

Diversity: Black main character and author, Native Oglala Lakota main character, character with syndactyly

Takes Place in: Florida, USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Abelism, Alcohol Abuse, Animal Death, Child Abuse, Death, Forced Captivity, Gore, Kidnapping, Physical Abuse, Racism, Sexual Abuse (Voyeurism), Slurs, Slut-Shaming, Torture, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence 

Blurb

The summer of 1989 brought terror to the town of Shadows Creek, Florida in the form of a massacre at the local carnival, Cirque Berserk. One fateful night, a group of teens killed a dozen people then disappeared into thin air. No one knows why they did it, where they went, or even how many of them there were, but legend has it they still roam the abandoned carnival, looking for blood to spill.

Thirty years later, best friends, Sam and Rochelle, are in the midst of a boring senior trip when they learn about the infamous Cirque Berserk. Seeking one last adventure, they and their friends journey to the nearby Shadows Creek to see if the urban legends about Cirque Berserk are true. But waiting for them beyond the carnival gates is a night of brutality, bloodshed, and betrayal.

Will they make they it out alive, or will the carnival’s past demons extinguish their futures?

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.

Put on your sequins and neon spandex, grab a New Coke, and turn up that Whitney Houston cassette because it’s time to take a look at Jessica Guess‘s tribute to eighties’ slashers, Cirque Berserk! Guess’s new horror novella is the perfect ode to trashy, B-horror movies of the yuppie decade à la The Funhouse, Evilspeak, and Prom Night. Praised by one of my favorite horror authors, Stephen Graham Jones, Cirque Berserk hits most of the squares on the “teen scream” Bingo card, but still feels fresh and original. Guess has fun playing with the classic slasher clichés while subverting more problematic tropes like the “black best friend” and the “nice guy” being rewarded with a hot girl. She fills her story with plenty of self-aware humor and the kind of affectionate mocking that can only come from a true horror fan, which balances well with the more serious scenes of racism, sexism, and abuse. The result is a fun, nostalgic, carnival ride with a deeply emotional narrative hidden just beneath all the glitter, gore, and a bad-ass Black protagonist.

A black and red bingo card that says "Teen Scream Bingo." The squares include various slasher cliche's like "corny puns," "abandoned location," "Black best friend," and "masked murderer."

The eighties have made a come back in horror recently with popular TV shows (Stranger Things, American Horror Story: 1984), movies (the It reboot, The Final Girls), and novels (Grady Hendrix’s My Best Friend’s Exorcism) all drawing inspiration from the decade that gave rise to the slasher film, and it’s no wonder why. Not only do they have the nostalgia factor going for them as Gen Xers have their midlife crises, but they’ve got a ton of amazing source material to work from. Eighties audiences were blessed with a plethora of classic horror movies: grotesque monsters (The Thing, Aliens, Scanners, American Werewolf in London), final girls who fought back, (Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street, Hell Raiser, Aliens), self-aware humor (Elvira, Monster Squad, Fright Night) cool, sexy vampires (Lost Boys, Near Dark, The Hunger) and horror franchises (Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Friday the 13th, The Evil Dead) graced the silver screen. Hell, even the remakes were good. Both The Fly and The Thing arguably surpassed their originals.

But what was it about the decade of greed that inspired so many amazing films? To understand eighties horror, you need to understand that the 1980’s were an age of excess, greed, rapid technological advancement, and reactionary conservatism. As late writer/director Stuart Gordan explained in the Shudder documentary In Search of Darkness: A Journey Into Iconic 80’s Horror, “horror thrives when there’s a repressive government” and the Reagan years certainly qualified. Additionally, public uncertainty and fear lead to the genre’s rise in popularity, just as it did during the Great Depression resulting in Universal’s famous Golden Age monsters. Meanwhile, advancements in technology and the increased affordability of personal computers led to some groundbreaking special effects and makeup (The Thing, Scanners, The Fly, American Werewolf in London). This decade was the perfect balance of repression and paranoia for horror films to flourish.

The rise of the “New Right” in the late seventies and eighties brought with it a push to return to “traditional American values” (i.e. being sexist, racist, homophobic, and slut-shaming with impunity). Everywhere you looked, the crack cocaine epidemic was sweeping the nation, AIDS was desolating the population, hardcore porn was easily accessible on video, the rich were getting greedier and richer, and divorce rates had peaked. With more women entering the workforce and an increasing number of newly-single kids were suddenly being left at home unsupervised. The public might have been content with leaving their kids at home, but a generation of ‘suddenly being left unsupervised for long periods of time’ were exposed to a plethora of violence and sex in media. Concern for the latchkey generation was only made worse by the abduction and murder of six-year-old Adam Walsh. The tragic case “created a nation of petrified kids and paranoid parents” who saw danger in every stranger they encountered. The media-fueled mass hysteria eventually led to a rash of Satanic panic.

It was enough to make any God-fearing White conservative clutch their pearls! Rather than blame Reagan for taking away childcare funding and completely botching the response to drugs and AIDS, or recognize that the risk strangers pose to children is minimal at best a vocal group of conservatives decided it was the loss of a nuclear family, declining morals, and demonic media that had left everything such a mess. Even if you didn’t buy into the whole “little Timmy will get murdered by Satanists because his mommy had to rejoin the workforce” school of thought, it was hard to deny the world was pretty scary, what with global warming, Jeffrey Dahmer, the cold war, and deadly invisible illnesses. Why couldn’t we go back to the way they were in the fifties when bad things only happened to minorities and women weren’t constantly going on about equal rights? Back before all teens were watching heavy metal videos on MTV, popping third generation birth control pills, and playing Super Mario Bros on their NES (or whatever they were into back then. Doing whippets maybe? I dunno, I was like 4 at the time). Cue a wave of 1950’s nostalgia and horror films that capitalized on the public’s fear for the safety of unsupervised kids.

A flow chart with images that shows the various events in the 80's that led to the rise in slasher horror as described in the review.

Most slashers followed a basic formula. A group of unsupervised teenagers with poor decision making skills all did “Bad Things TM” until an evil man would show up and kill everyone but the clever, resourceful, virginal hero because they were too pure to be defeated by evil. The story was simple, yet effective — at least in its ability to terrify audiences. I doubt anyone waited for their wedding night because they were afraid Jason would show up for a murderous version of coïtus interruptus. Ironically the conservative adults whose fear and values inspired the horror Renaissance were also its main detractors. Probably because filmmakers were interested in making money, not PSAs about morality, and tits and blood sell. The so-called golden age of slashers began in 1978 with Halloween and ended in 1984 with A Nightmare on Elm Street. Unfortunately sequelitis and low budget direct-to-video horror flicks marked the end of the era, but thankfully schlock could be just as entertaining in all it’s goofy, cheesy glory. When 80’s horror is good, it’s really good, but when it’s bad it’s amazing. And it’s these B-movie slashers that make Cirque Berserk such a fun read. Guess understands that while The Shining may be the Michelin star-winning gourmet meal of eighties horror and the franchise slasher films are the family restaurants with mass appeal, movies like Basket Case and Slumber Party Massacre 2 are greasy fast-food burgers you cram in your maw at 3 A.M. in the CVS parking lot. Yes, they’re terrible for you, and yes you regret it the next day when you wake up with a hangover and smell like dumpster fries, but god damn if those weren’t some delicious fucking burgers. Cirque Berserk is what happens when you have a talented chef prepare those greasy, salty, fast-food burgers. It’s fast, fun, and you won’t be able to put it down until you’ve devoured the whole thing.
Guess cleverly subverts the standard slasher story line while still paying homage to many of its elements. There’s a cast of stereotypical teens whose bad judgement lands them in an abandoned amusement park with a masked killer despite the warnings from the wise old woman at the gas station. There’s stupid teen drama, bad puns, and buckets of blood. Guess even adds a Satanic subplot where a group of disenfranchised teens summon the demon Lilith to grant them wishes, poking fun at Yuppie parents’ unfounded fear that their kids were listening to Stairway to Heaven backwards and using D&D to summon demons. The story is full of self-aware humor, my favorite example of which involves one of the characters pointing out how weird it is that no one is carrying a gun in Florida. Curses and murderous Satan worshipers are well within the realm of possibility, but no one packing heat in a Southern “stand your ground” state is way too weird. Guess manages to give us all this and still make her story genuinely scary. And for what felt like a pretty standard slasher set-up, I was actually caught off guard by a plot twist.

When it comes to her villains, however, Guess dispenses with the usual “irredeemably evil for the heck of it” masked murderers typical in slashers. Instead, she gives us a group of tragic figures who sell their humanity for a chance at freedom. It’s appropriate that the teen killers summoned Lilith to grant them freedom, a figure who chose to become a demon rather than submit to the will of a man. As another famous Abrahamic rebel declares in Paradise Lost “Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.” The Alphabet of Ben Sira describes Lilith as Adam’s first wife, created as his equal. After getting fed up with her husband’s misogyny and bad sex, Liltith decides dick really isn’t worth all this bullshit and flies off into the night, choosing to become a demon rather than submit to male authority. Modern Jewish feminists, such as Judith Plaskow, interpret her as “a female symbol for autonomy, sexual choice, and control of one’s own destiny.” In her midrash, The Coming of Lilith, Plaskow writes “Lilith not only embodies people’s fears of how attraction to others can ruin their marriages, or of how risky childbearing and raising children are, but also represents a woman whom society cannot control—a woman who determines her own sexual partners, who is wild and unkempt, and who does not have the natural consequences of sexual activity, children.” Demon or no, Lilith sounds like my kind of woman.

But my absolute favorite part of Cirque Berserk is Guess’ tough-as-nails and whip-smart protagonist, Rochelle, who is anything but your typical final girl. Guess got the name from Rachel True’s character in The Craft, whose frequent erasure from horror conventions and panel discussions Guess even wrote about here. She explains that this was her way of honoring True. “I love The Craft and I got the idea for Cirque Berserk a little after watching Horror Noir and hearing what Rachel said about being typecast as the best friend and always having to say “are you okay” a million different ways. My Rochelle is a response to that.” And I say she’s the perfect response! But what else would you expect from Guess, creator of the Black Girl’s Guide to Horror blog? Cirque Berserk is a novella for Black and Indigenous horror fans who are sick of getting cast as victims, and hero helpers. As Guess states on her website:

“Horror is for everyone, but it doesn’t always feel that way with the lack of representation in the genre. Final Girls? White. Heroes? White. Villains? White. Masters of Horror? Mostly all white. Even those who talk about horror are all for the most part White. [My site] is the answer to the too white, too male, too cis, too straight genre that so many of us love but don’t see much of ourselves in.”

A teenage Black girl with natural hair. She's wearing roller skates, blowing green bubble gum, and has a bat slung over her shoulders. She surrounded by images of roller skates, a bloody knife, symbols for the demon Lilith, and a murder mix tape. The art is colored in pinks, teals, greens, blues, and purples. All colors that were popular in the eighties.

The novella has very few problems. I felt like some of the descriptions were a bit lacking  and Guess has a tendency to “tell” rather than “show.” The word choices could also get repetitive (for example using “said” repeatedly), but these are both fairly minor nitpicks for what’s otherwise a very strong story. I also wish we’d been given a little more time with the victims before they started getting picked off one by one, but I otherwise can’t complain about the novella’s pacing. Building suspense is a great way to make your story scary, but sometimes you want a horror book that gets straight to the killing spree instead of dicking you around for ten gore-free chapters. And Guess knows how to give the reader that instant blood-soaked satisfaction we crave. Her book was the perfect length: long enough to get its point across without letting the story drag. It may not be as fancy or polished as some award-winning, gourmet novel, but who gives a fuck? You know which one you’re going to be craving at 3 AM.

The House of Erzulie by Kirsten Imani Kasai

The House of Erzulie by Kirsten Imani Kasai

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Shade Mountain Press

Genre: Gothic, Historic Horror, Myth and Folklore

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Black/biracial main characters and author, mentally ill main characters

Takes Place in: Philadelphia and New Orleans, USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Alcohol Abuse, Animal Death, Body Shaming, Child Abuse, Child Death, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Illness, Kidnapping, Medical Torture/Abuse, Medical Procedures, Miscarriage, Mental Illness, Oppression, Pedophilia, Physical Abuse, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self-Harm, Sexism, Sexual Abuse, Slurs, Slut-Shaming, Torture, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence, Xenophobia 

Blurb

The House of Erzulie tells the eerily intertwined stories of an ill-fated young couple in the 1850s and the troubled historian who discovers their writings in the present day. Emilie St. Ange, the daughter of a Creole slaveowning family in Louisiana, rebels against her parents’ values by embracing spiritualism, women’s rights, and the abolition of slavery. Isidore, her biracial, French-born husband, is an educated man who is horrified by the brutalities of plantation life and becomes unhinged by an obsessive affair with a notorious New Orleans voodou practitioner. Emilie’s and Isidore’s letters and journals are interspersed with sections narrated by Lydia Mueller, an architectural historian whose fragile mental health further deteriorates as she reads. Imbued with a sense of the uncanny and the surreal, The House of Erzulie also alludes to the very real horrors of slavery, and makes a significant contribution to the literature of the U.S. South, particularly the tradition of the African-American Gothic novel.

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 House of Erzulie is an exquisitely written, thought-provoking work of Southern Gothic fiction that explores themes of identity, love, obsession, and oppression while blurring the line between reality and the supernatural. Kasai’s book also forced me to acknowledge and confront my own complicated feelings and insecurities about my identity as a light-skinned, biracial Black person and reflect on the colorism within the Black community.

Lydia is a professor of history trapped in a bad marriage with her former advisor Lance, a selfish, serial philanderer who prefers his women young, docile, and naive. Their teenage son is emotionally distant and rarely home. Struggling with depression and a desire to self-harm, Lydia tries to cope with her emotional pain and feelings of isolation by throwing herself into her job, the one area of her life that isn’t falling apart. Ironically, it’s her work, the last vestige of stability in Lydia’s life, that finally destroys her fragile mental health.

At first Lydia thinks nothing of the journals she receives in a packet of historical documents belonging to the once grand Bilodeau plantation in New Orleans. After all, she’s been hired to aid in the restoration of the dilapidated building, even if she finds the monument to slavery distasteful. It’s only on a whim that she chooses to peruse the diaries of Emilie Bilodeau, the progressive daughter of a slave-owning family, and her husband Isidore Saint-Ange, a free-born biracial Frenchman. But as she learns more about the tragic couple’s lives Lydia finds herself strongly empathizing with Emilie’s loneliness and crumbling marriage. But it is Isidore’s journal that finally pushes her over the edge. Once logical and purely scientific in his approach to the world, Isidore becomes increasingly paranoid as a series of poor decisions and bad luck destroy his life. Eventually succumbing to madness, Isidore is imprisoned in an insane asylum convinced he is the victim of supernatural forces. As her own life turns to chaos, Lydia finds herself mirroring Isidore’s destructive actions.

The House of Erzulie has all the elements of a first-rate Gothic story; a distressed heroine kept trapped and powerless. A passionate but ultimately doomed romance. Hints of the supernatural in the form of spirits, curses, and prophetic nightmares that may or may not be products of the antihero’s imagination. A once great home falling into ruin as disease, death, and madness ravage its inhabitants, all set against the backdrop of one of America’s greatest atrocities. Kasai is careful to emphasize how appalling and inhumane the practice of chattel slavery is without using a historical tragedy for cheap scares or trauma porn. Instead Isidore’s rapidly declining mental state reflected in the plantation’s decay and the multiple misfortunes befalling the Bilodeaus is what makes the novel so frightening. I must admit I found it incredibly satisfying to watch such unsympathetic characters suffer karmic retribution (Emilie being the exception) the more gruesome and agonizing the better though I’m sure not all readers will share my taste for schadenfreude. Kasai’s writing is superb, her carefully crafted prose flows like poetry and evoked strong emotions in me. I’ll share one of my favorite passages here:

They say “love is not a cup of sugar that gets used up” but it is. Spoonful by spoonful, grain by grain, the greedy, the needy, and the hungry consume it and demand more until the bowl is empty. Then they run away, jonesing for a fix from another source. Each betrayal, every insult or injury depletes the loving cup and leaves the holder bitter. It’s a bitterness I can taste, and it sits on my tongue like the foulest medicine.

Kasai also did extensive research for her novel, as is obvious from the story’s numerous references to historical events and the accuracy with which mid-19th century healthcare is depicted. The Spiritualist movement (which Kasai notes provided one of the few public platforms for women at the time), the yellow fever epidemic of 1853, and the anti-Spanish riots of 1851 all make appearances in The House of Erzulie. But it’s the lives of her gens de couleur libres, or “free people of color” characters that deserve special attention. While I was initially disappointed by how little attention the narrative paid to the stories and voices of the slaves, it was a nice change of pace to read a novel that focused on the lives of free Black characters. Despite the significant role they played in US history, wealthy, free Blacks in the antebellum South rarely make an appearance in historical fiction.

The majority of the novel is set in Louisiana, once home to the largest population of gens de couleur libres in the US. Forming an intermediate class below White colonizers but above slaves, free Blacks achieved more rights, wealth, and education in the French settlement than in any of the British colonies. Professor Amy R. Sumpter notes in her article Segregation of the Free People of Color and the Construction of Race in Antebellum New Orleans that before the state currently called Louisiana was stolen “acquired” by the US in 1803 “the cultural blending of French, Spanish, and African traditions… created an atmosphere of racial openness in Louisiana and particularly New Orleans that stood apart from much of the rest of the South. Aspects of the unique racial atmosphere included a tripartite racial structure and racial fluidity.” Much of this was due to the Code Noir, an edict originally issued by King Louis XIV in 1724 that defined the legal status of both slaves and free blacks and imposed regulations on slave ownership. While no less cruel and inhumane than any of the other laws governing the enslavement of human beings, the code did make allowances not found in the rest of country.

The US followed a strict “one drop” rule that classified anyone with Black ancestry as Black. Mixed raced individuals were given offensive labels depending on their percentage of “Black blood”. “Mulattos” were biracial with one Black parent and one White. “Quadroons” were a quarter Black, “octoroons”(also called “mustees”) one-eighth, and “quintroons” (or “mustefinos”) one-sixteenth. In her acclaimed essay Whiteness as Property civil rights professor Cheryl Harris explains that this complicated system was “designed to accomplish what mere observation could not: That even Blacks who did not look Black were kept in their place.” English colonies also practiced partus sequitur ventrem (Latin for “the offspring follows the womb”) a law that gave a child the same legal status as their mother. So a mixed-race child born to an enslaved mother would be born into slavery, while the child of a free woman would also be free.

An old daguerreotype photo depicting a light-skinned boy with European features. A large American flag is draped off to the left of the image, covering the floor and the stool the boy is sitting on. Under the photo the following has been typed: Freedom's Banner, CHARLEY, A Slave Boy from New Orleans.

Charley Taylor was the “quadroon” son of White slave-owner Alexander Scott Withers and a biracial slave named Lucy Taylor. Because his mother was a slave Charley was also born into slavery and sold by his father to a New Orleans plantation. Abolitionists often used images of White-passing slaves to elicit sympathy as White audiences were more likely to be identify with the suffering of people who looked like them.

Most of the main characters in The House of Eruzile are upper class gens de couleur libres all of whom approach their Blackness and privilege differently. Emilie’s father, Monsieur Bilodeau, is a willing and enthusiastic participant in the slave economy and chooses to idolize Whiteness, despite having a Black grandmother. It’s a sad fact that some free Blacks became slave owners themselves, and many of them lived in Louisiana. While I can’t pretend to know the motivations of long-dead men, Kasai makes it clear that M. Bilodeau does it because he’s greedy, racist scum, a twisted amalgamation of Uncle Tom and Simon Legree. Isidore is shocked and disgusted by the treatment of the slaves on his in-laws plantation (slavery would’ve just been abolished in France), but is unwilling to risk his own privilege and wealth by objecting or leaving. Well-educated and used to a comfortable existence Isidore married into the Bilodeau family so he could continue enjoying a life of leisure rather than be forced to get a job. He does his best to ignore the suffering of the plantation’s slaves, as if this will somehow absolve him of his participation in a racist and inhumane system. Emilie, on the other hand, uses what little power she has to advocate for her family’s slaves, including her great-great-aunt Clothilde (yup, her dad wouldn’t even free his own family-members) and becomes involved in the abolitionist movement. She does her best to try to convince her husband to move North and free the Bilodeau slaves once they inherit the plantation but is always shot down. Finally, there’s P’tite Marie, the light-skinned daughter of Marie Laveau, a free-woman with significant influence.

While Kasai is undoubtedly a talented writer, I was troubled by the way she portrayed P’tite Marie as a one-dimensional Jezebel who uses voodoo to literally enchant her lovers. Her characterization is in sharp contrast to Emilie’s role as the virtuous mother, bringing to mind the deeply problematic Madonna/whore dichotomy. P’tite Marie would certainly have been exploited by men who fetishized free Black women, as is evident from the stories of Quadroon Balls, plaçages and “fancy maids,” so implying that she is sort of succubus who takes advantage of men didn’t sit right with me. Admittedly, we only get to view P’tite Marie through the lens of an unreliable, misogynist narrator who is seemingly incapable of accepting responsibility for his own actions and who is quick to blame her for his philandering. Still, it would’ve been nice to learn more about P’tite Marie as a person rather than a sexual fantasy. Personally, I would have much preferred if P’tite Marie and Emilie had realized that all the men in their lives were awful and decide to run away together.

The house in the background is based on the Oak Alley Plantation in New Orleans. Now a museum, Oak Alley boasts tours of the facility, a beautiful venue for weddings and reunions, a well-reviewed restaurant, and overnight cottages. What could be more relaxing than sipping mint juleps at the site of significant human right’s abuses and suffering? Maybe Auschwitz should start doing weddings.

Emilie was another character I took issue with. I found her naivety grating rather than endearing, and it concerned me that the Whitest character in the book was written to be the most sympathetic. To Kasai’s credit she does a wonderful job creating a mixed-race Gothic heroine without making her a tragic mulatta. Emilie is still a tragic character, but none of that is related to her identity. She is not ashamed of being mixed and is astutely aware of her good fortune. She uses her privilege to help others and would gladly give up her wealth if it meant freedom for the Bilodeau’s slaves. Instead of lamenting the “single drop of midnight in her veins” Emilie’s greatest source of ignominy is her family’s arrogance and lack of empathy. As she matures, she begins pushing back more aggressively against the injustices she perceives. And yet, I still deeply disliked her. But more on that in a moment.

Emilie was not the only character that inspired a strong reaction from me. Lydia, like many mixed race folks, has a complicated relationship with the White grandparents who raised her, and her family problems resonated deeply with me. I don’t even know most of my White family, nor do I want to, as they’re racists who disowned my mother for marrying my Black father. My mother is amazing and dedicated to anti-racism work, but I feel nothing but contempt for the biological family that labeled me a “jigaboo baby.” Meanwhile Isidore and M. Bilodeau reminded me of the worse aspects of the mixed community; those who choose inaction, thereby becoming complicit in the system of White supremacy, and the self-hating Blacks who reject their race and actively promote racism and colorism to get ahead. I could easily imagine the reprehensible M. Bilodeau in a blue vein society wearing a “Make America Great Again” hat while defending voter suppression and laughing at racist jokes. Emilie’s father is clearly an irredeemable villain who has no qualms about abusing his slaves, while Isidore is given more complexity and a conscience. Unfortunately, his guilt has no effect on his actions, and I was hard-pressed to dredge up even a shred of sympathy for Isidore and his hypocrisy. This is a perfect example of why intent doesn’t matter. While Isidore may not be an unrepentant racist like his father-in-law both men selfishly used their privilege for their own benefit at the expense of other Black people. It’s hard to say if his inaction makes him more or less morally reprehensible that his monstrous father-in-law.

I suspect that the reason I felt so much animosity towards Emilie, even though Isidore and M. Bilodeau are much more reprehensible, may stem from my own experience and insecurities as a White-passing Black person. I struggle daily with the guilt and resentment I feel knowing that while I’m undoubtedly oppressed by a White supremacist system, it also gives me an unearned advantage over others. I, and others like me, enjoy higher wages and are perceived as more intelligent while those with darker skin are given longer prison sentences, are three times more likely to be suspended from school and struggle to find partners. My grandfather could join Black fraternities that implemented paper bag tests, and probably used his light complexion to secure jobs as a physician. His grandparents were house slaves (and the children of their owner) like the ones described by James Stirling in The Life of Plantation Field Hands and Malcom X in his Message to Grassroots speech. Not only am I treated better by Whites (who were responsible for this racist caste system in the first place) but even the black community puts a high-value on my pale skin. Colorism is so deeply ingrained in society that skin-whitening creams are a $20 billion industry. My Black grandmother used to keep my father and his sister out of the sun so they wouldn’t be “too dark.” There’s a #Teamlightskin hashtag on Twitter. A color-struck, light-skinned manager at Applebee’s called his darker skinned employee racist slurs and suggested he bleach his skin. My passing privilege (most people assume I’m Jewish, Italian or Latinx until I correct them) and proximity to Whiteness means I can easily avoid the racist aggression the rest of my family experiences on a daily basis.

This a fake graph, but it’s based on actual data.

Because Emilie is so White, I instinctively questioned whether she could even be considered Black, just as my own melanin-deficient skin often makes others question my identity. While I can easily dismiss comments of “you’re not really Black” from Whites who are pissed I told them not to say the n-word (I could be Whiter than Conan O’Brien and you still can’t fucking say it Karen), it’s a lot harder when the remarks come from other Black people who make it clear they don’t want me in their spaces. But as much as I’m tempted to self-indulgently sulk, I can’t ignore the very valid concerns of darker skinned Black folk who are frequently pushed aside in favor of people like me. Yes, I, and other light-skinned BIPOC may deal with frequent microaggressions and sometimes even outright hostility, but we’re still much more welcomed by a racist society then we would be if our skin were darker. Given all this it’s no wonder my intrusion on BIPOC spaces is often called into question. Yes, I have racial trauma, but is it right for me to complain to those who are clearly dealing with so much more? It would be like crying about having my purse stolen to someone whose had their home burnt down and lost everything. Denying that I have privilege is incredibly harmful to the Black community as are comments like “we’re all Black, why are we dividing ourselves even more?”  Tonya Pennington does an excellent job encapsulating my feelings on the matter in their article for The Black Youth Project:

…despite my empathy for [Ayesha Curry], I disagree with her conclusion for why she isn’t accepted by the Black community. Both of us are light-skinned, and we know light-skinned Black people are often considered more desirable than dark skin Black women because of colorism. As much as she may have been picked on for being “different,” like me, it’s inevitable that she also experienced a host of privileges both within and outside the Black community for the same thing.

To be clear, in my personal experience most other Black people have been extremely welcoming to me and are sympathetic to the unique challenges of being mixed race. I am eternally grateful to everyone who has shown me such support and compassion, even when dealing with their own problems. They didn’t need to, and it was incredibly kind. I try my best to avoid demanding pity, taking over conversations, or otherwise making things about me when I’m in Black spaces. To do otherwise would be reprehensible. I know I have it a lot easier that others, and it’s my responsibility to use my light-skinned privilege to combat systemic racism when I can.

As Afropunk writer Erin White explains “Light skin people have a responsibility to call out colorism and be honest about the privileges they benefit from.” Blogger Amanda Bonam, founder of The Black & Project even gives examples on how she confronts her own light-skinned privilege. Unfortunately, the best ways to oppose colorism isn’t always obvious, and even good intentions can be harmful if one isn’t cautious. Like all allies we walk a fine line, confronting colorism without speaking over those without light-skinned privilege. For instance, as a person with light-skinned privilege, I constantly worry that I’m either not doing enough, or else I’m so vocal that I’m silencing other Black voices. Like my “white-passing” guilt, I push these worries down because, again, it’s not about me and those emotions are unhelpful. But they still exist no matter how much I try to deny them, because that’s how feelings work. Which brings me back to Emilie, because in her I saw my own insecurities.

Mentally I condemned Emilie for what I saw as meager attempts to help the Bilodeau’s slaves, despite benefiting so much from colorism. When Emilie bemoaned the fact she couldn’t do more, I bristled at how she seemed to be selfishly focused on her own suffering. I cast her in the role of White savior whose negligible struggles and accomplishments were lauded above those of the Black characters. Except Emile isn’t White, at least she wouldn’t have been in 1850. Hypodescent rules would have meant she’d be labelled Black by society, and there was certainly no benefit to having a Black great-grandparent in antebellum Louisiana. And how much could she have possibly done to help the slaves? Emilie was a woman, with no power and her resources were completely controlled by the men in her life. When she spoke out she was ignored. She couldn’t purchase anyone’s freedom as Isidore had complete control of her finances. The laws were not on her side. Much of the novel’s focus is on Emilie’s feelings, but it’s also written as a diary, where she would have recorded her personal thoughts, struggles, and misgivings. There’s no indication she was putting her feelings over those of the slaves; to the contrary Emilie seems to hide her guilt and frustration from everyone save her White abolitionist friend.

So did I judge Emilie, Kasai’s heroine, unfairly because I projected so much of myself onto her? Or was I right to be critical of a light-skinned character who once again is given the spotlight over dark-skinned Black folk? As of now, that’s not an answer I can provide. Instead I encourage the reader to draw their own conclusions about Emilie. All I know is that any book that can provoke so much both emotionally and intellectually is well worth a read.

The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion by Margaret Killjoy

The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion by Margaret Killjoy

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Tor

Genre: Demon, Occult

Audience: Y/A

Diversity: Gay, lesbian, and bisexual characters,Trans character and author, Black character, Latine/Hispanic character, Character with anxiety disorder

Takes Place in: Iowa, USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Animal Death, Forced Captivity, Gore, Oppression, Police Harassment, Mentions of Rape/Sexual Assault and Abuse, Suicide, Violence 

Blurb

Searching for clues about her best friend’s mysterious suicide, Danielle ventures to the squatter, utopian town of Freedom, Iowa, and witnesses a protector spirit — in the form of a blood-red, three-antlered deer — begin to turn on its summoners. She and her new friends have to act fast if they’re going to save the town — or get out alive.

I’ll admit, I really didn’t know much about Anarchism or the squatter/crusty punk/traveler lifestyle (which are all different, but overlap) before picking up The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion. I had a vague notion that Anarchists didn’t like the government, but I always pictured them as some sort of cishet white boys, oblivious to their own privilege, who would disrupt otherwise peaceful protests by smashing windows and setting things on fire. Heck, if you google Anarchist, one of the synonyms that pops up at the top of the page is “terrorist”. Of course, I started to question my long-held prejudices when I noticed some of my Facebook friends, many of whom are minorities, identified as anarchists. These were people who frequently posted about human rights, non-violence, and green-living – a far cry from the violent images of Anarchists I’d seen in TV shows and movies. It was Margaret Killjoy’s novella that finally familiarized me with the movement and the people in it and encouraged me to do my research.

Killjoy, drawing from her own experience as a travelling Anarchist, created a diverse cast of anti-capitalists punks. The main character, Danielle, suffers from one of the most realistically portrayed anxiety attacks I’ve ever seen in fiction. Her mental illness isn’t glamorized or downplayed, nor is she depicted as a “crazy, weird girl”. She develops a crush on Brynn, a bisexual woman, who offers to snuggle with her in bed, without any sort of pressure or expectation. Vulture, a queer, black, femme trans-man, introduces himself  to Danielle by asking what pronouns she uses. Most of the anarchists depicted in the book are peaceful, only resorting to violence in cases of self-defense, and limiting their minimal criminal activity to squatting in abandoned buildings and shoplifting necessities from big box stores. They’re idealists, but they’re also flawed and human. Some of the younger characters can be heavy handed about declaring how punk/counter culture they are, still too insecure to realize they don’t need to prove anything to anyone. One of the story’s antagonists actually calls someone a poser like it’s the sickest burn in the world. Vulture is obsessed with posting everything to Instagram, while his partner behaves like he’s in some sort of dramatic art film. The characters bicker, disagree, and even get into scuffles, and it all feels incredibly genuine and authentic.

When Danielle first stumbles across the Anarchist commune where her deceased friend, Clay, was living, it seems like an Anarchists Utopia. There’s no capitalism, money, oppressive laws, or ruling bodies. Everyone helps each other out by sharing their food and resources, the town functions on trust alone, and all issues are solved through group consensus with the aid of mediators. There’s also a blood-red demon deer named Uliksi who reanimates dead animals and has a penchant for ripping out hearts. Clay co-founded Freedom with the best of intentions, but the wide-eyed idealist failed to consider the fact that any political system can be corrupted, no matter how perfect it seems. There’s a reason Utopia is based on the Greek “ou topos” which means “no place”. It’s because human nature is inherently flawed, making perfection impossible. Since the Golden Age and the Garden of Eden, somebody is always ruining paradise for everyone else, and the town of Freedom is no exception. In this case, it’s entitled fuckboys who use violence and threats to impose their will on everyone, turning the town from an Anarchist haven to a totalitarian dictatorship. Almost a year before Danielle’s arrival in Freedom, a man named Desmond took over the town, murdered those who disagreed with him, and prevented anyone from leaving. Terrified and desperate, Clay and his friends Rebecca, Anchor, and Doomsday resorted to summoning a demon named Uliski, a three-antlered deer with blood red fur, to stop the want-to-be despot. Most of you are realizing immediately that this plan will inevitably backfire because, much like trying to form a Utopian society, demon summoning never ends well.  Personally, I wouldn’t know because my wife won’t even let me summon a single adorable, little owl even though I’m pretty sure (like 80% sure) it would turn out fine, not that I’m bitter about it or anything. Anyway…. Clay and his crew figure “fuck it, we’ll deal with the consequences later” and let Uliski rip out Desmond’s heart.

First panel: I’m standing in a summoning circle with a long-legged owl demon wearing a crown and boots. My wife is reacting in horror and asking “What are you… did you just summon a demon!?!” 2nd panel: I hug the demon and ask “Can I keep him? He’ll be good! I’ll train him, and him, and feed him souls every day!” 3rd panel: My annoyed wife snaps “No! Put. It. Back.” While I plead “But we love each other! Stolas will be sad if I send him back! Pleaaaase? He’s so polite and smart! He knows all about plants, precious stones, and astronomy.” Stolas turns his head upside down.  4th panel: “Watch!” I shout enthusiastically “Prince Stolas, what star is that outside?” “That is the Sun” Stolas responds. “Good Boy! Such a smart little demon fluffy face!” My wife is not impressed. 5th panel: Stolas explains “Take mistletoe to treat an inflammation of black bile and enhance fertility” while I hug him tightly.  My wife points out “That’s not even remotely correct.”

According to the Ars Goetia, Prince Stolas is Great Prince of Hell who commands twenty-six legions of demons and imparts knowledge on those who summon him. He’s also super cute. Please do not take Mistletoe. It is very toxic.

Instead of fucking off back to the Underworld, or wherever it is endless spirits live, Uliski decides to stick around to continue his mission of hunting the vengeful and hateful who wield power over others, and reanimating animal corpses because he wasn’t already creepy enough already. At first, everyone is so glad that Desmond has been stopped and peace restored, they don’t really question the demon living in their town and even come to revere him. But Clay warns that Uliski will eventually turn on his summoners after one year, which leads us to Danielle’s arrival. She has a rather traumatic welcome after witnessing the bloodthirsty buck rip out Anchor’s heart, encountering a bunch of zombie wildlife, and dealing with town’s crazy drama, but instead of hauling ass out of the Animal Farm version of Dawn of the Dead, she resolves to stay and search for answers behind Clay’s suicide. Meanwhile, Freedom is in an uproar over whether or not their demonic protector should be dismissed, with half the town believing he’s keeping them safe and only kills when it’s justified, and the other half pointing out that murder may not be the best way to keep the peace. Once again, the town seems headed towards a Dystopian nightmare, with Uliski’s remaining summoners afraid for their lives, and a new charming and arrogant young man looking to “save” Freedom by enforcing his will on others.

 

A gold-trimmed pen and ink drawing of a red deer with three antlers, two on the right and one on the left. The prongs of the antlers turn into veins which are connected to a human heart, surrounded by a fractured rib cage. Between the deer's antlers is the sigil for the goetic demon Furfur and the alchemical symbol for fire, painted gold.

Uliski the demon deer

This is a story about how power causes corruption, especially when it’s wielded by violent young men dripping with privilege. While the novella is very pro-Anarchist, Killjoy keeps it from feeling too much like heavy handed propaganda by presenting a balanced view of her socio-political beliefs and chooses realism (well, other than the supernatural elements of course) over romanticism. The town of Freedom is presented as both an ideal and a warning; a community based on equality and cooperation is something to strive for, but, like any system, it can easily be corrupted by selfishness and fear even when everyone has the best of intentions. Hierarchies started to form without anyone realizing, and once those hierarchies were enforced through violence Freedom went from Anarchism to Authoritarianism, much like what happened after the Russian revolution.

As much as I loved The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion, I felt it would have worked much better as a full-length novel, rather than a novella. The world building, story set up, character development, and ending all seemed too rushed and I was left feeling underwhelmed and longing for more. The concept is so cool, a demon deer turning on its summoners as a revolution slowly brews from with the town, that I wanted to spend more time there and learn about all the characters and what brought them to Freedom. I especially wanted to see more of Danielle and Brynn’s relationship develop. These reasons are why I much prefer the sequel, The Barrow Will Send What It May. By the second book, Killjoy has already established the world and the main players in it and is able to spend more time on developing her characters, building suspense, and giving Danielle and Brynn time to explore their feelings for each other. It’s for these reasons that I strongly suggest reading the two novellas together. The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion feels incomplete on its own, but works well as the first chapter to an overarching story, and this is why I truly hope we will see many more chapters in the Danielle Cain series. I want to read a full-length novel about a band of Anarchists travelling from town to town solving mysteries and fighting demons, Scooby-Doo and Supernatural style, even if it is separated into several short stories. Killjoy clearly has many more stories to tell, and I look forward to reading them.

Five people in punk clothing colored to resemble the characters from Scooby-Doo. Furthest to the left is Danielle, a White woman with short, blonde hair. Next is Vulture, a tall, Black trans man with long hair and one half of his head shaved. Thursday, a Latino man in a leather vest is the middle, then Brynn, a White woman with red hair, a tattooed line on her forehead, and glasses. Her pants are covered in lgbtq, anarchist, and feminist patches. On the left is a chubby White woman, Doomsday with bobbed, brown hair.

Left to right are Danielle (as Scooby), Vulture (as Fred), Thursday (as Shaggy), Brynn (as Daphne), and Doomsday (as Velma). Anarchist Mystery Gang!

 
The Between by Tananarive Due

The Between by Tananarive Due

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Harper Collins

Genre: Psychological, Thriller

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Black Characters (African American and Ghanaian) and author, Hispanic/Latino character (Puerto Rican), Character with possible Mental Illness

Takes Place in: Miami, Florida, USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Child Abuse, Child Death, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Gaslighting, Homophobia, Mental Illness, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault mentioned, Stalking, Slurs, Suicidal thoughts, Verbal/Emotional Abuse 

Blurb

When Hilton was just a boy, his grandmother sacrificed her life to save him from drowning. Thirty years later, he begins to suspect that he was never meant to survive that accident, and that dark forces are working to rectify that mistake.

When Hilton’s wife, the only elected African-American judge in Dade County, FL, begins to receive racist hate mail, he becomes obsessed with protecting his family. Soon, however, he begins to have horrible nightmares, more intense and disturbing than any he has ever experienced. Are the strange dreams trying to tell him something? His sense of reality begins to slip away as he battles both the psychotic threatening to destroy his family and the even more terrifying enemy stalking his sleep.

Chilling and utterly convincing, The Between follows the struggles of a man desperately trying to hold on to the people and life he loves, but may have already lost. The compelling plot holds readers in suspense until the final, profound moment of resolution.

I admit, I’m a huge Tananarive Due fan. I love her books, I love her academic work, I love reading her tweets, and I especially love how she’s always willing to share her wisdom and encourage other writers. When I was watching Black horror films for my Horror Noire timeline and Morbidly Beautiful review Due was kind enough to engage with me on Twitter and offer movie recommendations, insights, and feedback for my articles. Here was this amazing author who I admired so much not only chatting with me about our shared love of horror, but taking the time to help me out! If I ever get the chance to meet her in person, I’d probably faint. Needless to say, trying to pick a book to review by one of the most influential Black horror authors out there was a daunting task. Should I write about one of her best-known novels, My Soul to Keep from the popular African Immortals series? Or should I review my personal favorite, The Good House (which I’ve been known to throw at random friends and family members, insisting they read it)? After much back and forth, I finally decided I should start at the beginning and shine the spotlight on her very first novel which doesn’t get nearly as much recognition as it deserves: The Between. This award-winning psychological thriller stars family man Hilton as he loses his grasp on reality while watching his perfect life fall apart after his wife, Dede, receives a racist death threat at her job. In addition to being a truly creepy piece of speculative fiction, it’s also nice to see such a strong, loving, successful Black family dealing with issues like code-switching in a mostly white neighborhood, the Black community’s views on homosexuality and mental illness, and the differences in culture between Africans and Black Americans.

Before diving into the plot of Due’s very first novel, let’s have a quick physics lesson because I can’t review a sci-fi story without at least a little bit of science. Many of you may already be familiar with the many-worlds theory: an interpretation of quantum physics which essentially states that everything that could have possibly happened, but did not, has occurred in a different, alternate timeline, creating a vast multiverse where universes branch into more universes with each possible outcome. For example, flipping a coin would create two separate universes, one where it lands on heads and another where it lands on tails. Some of these universes would be nearly identical to our own, like the two timelines seen in the movie Sliding Doors, while others would hardly be recognizable, like the alternate history in The Man in the High Castle by Philip K Dick where the allies lose WWII, or the two-dimensional world from Edwin Abbott Abbott’s satirical novella, Flatland. However, we are only capable of perceiving the universe that we’re currently in. That’s the main, overly simplified, gist of it anyway. Here’s a great video that further explains this complex concept in an easy to understand way. Now you can impress your friends with your physics knowledge!

The many-worlds theory is especially popular with science and speculative fiction writers and shows up in everything from novels (Mid-World from Stephen King’s Dark Tower series) and comics (the Bizarro World in Superman) to films (Spider-Man into the Spider-Verse) and TV shows (Star Trek‘s Mirror Universe). The Between differs from most of these examples because, in true Schrödinger’s cat fashion, a multiverse may or may not play an important role in the book, and it all starts when Hilton’s grandmother dies the first time. Seven-year old Hilton James discovers his Nana’s cold, dead body on the kitchen floor and runs to get help, only to return and discover she’s alive and well. Her second, and final, death occurs when she drowns trying to save him. Struggling with survivor’s guilt, Hilton becomes obsessed with saving everyone and grows up to run a rehab clinic for low-income people suffering from drug addiction. While a noble calling, spending his every waking moment helping the less fortunate at the expense of him family puts a serious strain on Hilton’s relationship with his wife, Dede, whose jealousy causes her to suspect the worst. Worse still, Hilton is plagued by morbid nightmares in which a voice asks him “How many times do you think you can die?” Believing “we’re always closest to death when we sleep” the nightmares result in somniphobia and severe insomnia. Marriage counseling improves his relationship with his wife, and hypnotherapy helps Hilton sleep, but his nightmares soon resurface with a vengeance after Dede receives a racist, threatening letter shortly after being elected as a judge. Seemingly prophetic dreams full of his Nana’s decaying corpse, his children dying, and his own, mutilated body telling him he’s running out of time plague Hilton until he starts staying up all night, wandering the house, rather than returning to his cadaver-filled dream land. Unsurprisingly, Hilton’s mental health takes a turn for the worse.

Seemingly unsatisfied with simply haunting Hilton’s nightmares, portents of death start appearing to him during the day. After waking up with a sense of dread, Hilton insists the family go to church, only to be met with a new preacher ranting about the water of life from Revelations and meeting Jesus when you face eternity. Cheerful! The day gets worse when his young son, Jamil, is traumatized after witnessing some older boys kill a duckling. Then, Hilton accidentally rear-ends a hearse because the universe is not fucking around with the foreboding omens. A few days later, his adolescent daughter, Kaya, has her first period which Hilton’s commemorates by taking her to the hospital to meet one of his clients, Antoinette, a teenage girl dying of AIDS. I know I’m not a parent, but I feel like reminding your child of their own impending mortality is probably not the best way to celebrate their menarche. And just to make sure Hilton really gets it, because Death doesn’t do subtle, they’re stopped by a funeral procession on their way back from seeing Antoinette. Did I mention it’s raining? Of course it’s raining. I’m surprised a murder of crows didn’t fly overhead and blot out the sun while chanting “doooooooom”. No wonder Hilton becomes convinced Death is stalking him. The symbolism may seem heavy handed, and in the hands of a less talented writer would’ve come off as cheesy, but in Due’s case it works incredibly well to emphasize the depths of Hilton’s paranoia and his loosening grip on reality and set up two equally creepy explanations for what’s happening.

 
Death, represented by a skeleton wearing a dark robe, is hiding behind a tree in a park so they can spy on Hilton. Death is snickering. Hilton, a middle-aged Black man wearing a brightly colored 90’s shirt, is in the foreground looking nervous and shuddering. He doesn’t see Death, but he senses them.

What I imagined Death doing throughout the book

It’s implied that Hilton is a “traveler”, someone with the ability to escape death and bad decisions by traveling through “doorways” from his current reality to one with a more favorable outcome. It’s how he brought Nana back to life and survived drowning as a child. He does it again when he rear-ends the hearse to save his family. Of course, not every timeline he jumps into is exactly identical. Hilton begins to notice more and more inconsistencies in his everyday life, from events that repeat themselves to encounters that seemingly never occurred no matter how clearly he remembers them and even visions of deaths that never happened. On top of this, you can only cheat the system for so long before you get caught. Some unknown force, sensing that Hilton isn’t supposed to be alive, is making subtle alterations to the timeline to “correct” this. Between his menacing nightmares and threatening letters that continue to arrive at Dede’s office, and eventually their home, Hilton’s concern for his family’s safety warps into full blown paranoia. Even after putting his children under lockdown, buying a rifle, security lighting, and a guard dog, Hilton continues to see danger around every corner, thanks in no small part to his lack of sleep. He goes from his normal calm and sensitive self to a scared, angry man who lashes out at his family and friends.

Hilton may see signs that Death is lurking around every corner, but the rest of his family isn’t making the same connection between a dead duckling and their patriarch’s distracted driving. Maybe something supernatural is going on and the universe is trying to send the poor man a warning about abusing the natural order of things, but there’s also a strong argument to be made that Hilton is merely suffering from Apophenia, assigning meaning to unrelated coincidences. Apophenia is also a major symptom of paranoid schizophrenia, along with a fear that someone or something is out to get you, an inability to tell what is and isn’t real, a voice (or voices) in your head, and major changes to mood and sleeping habits, all of which Hilton has started to display. Those prone to schizophrenia can have a psychotic episode triggered by a stressful life event, like, say, having a racist stalker sending threatening letters to your wife.

Hilton is crouched behind a cement and barbed wire barrier, surrounded by security cameras and “Keep Out” signs. He’s wearing an army helmet and holding a rifle, ready to shoot any intruders. His teenage daughter stands behind him looking concerned, and asks “Dad, don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid?”

The Between is set in the 90’s, but all my memories of that particular decade seem to be either Pokémon or Harry Potter related and I don’t really remember what we were wearing back then. So I just put Hilton and his daughter in 90’s sitcom clothes and called it a day.

As we watch Hilton’s mind unravel as he desperately tries to prevent some horrible, unknown disaster he’s convinced will happen, there’s a strong sense of urgency and dread. However, it’s unclear if supernatural forces are at work and Hilton is the only person who can see the truth, or if he really is just paranoid and his visions are a result of his fears made manifest by mental illness. Are his lapses in memory and reoccurring nightmares a result of a mental illness combined with guilt, or some sort of supernatural force?  Is the racist stalker leaving poison pen letters for his wife the only thing threatening Hilton’s family, or is Death playing a drawn out game of Final Destination? Will he lose everything due to a curse, or his own actions? With the line between dreams and the real world becoming more and more blurred, it’s difficult for the reader to determine how much of what happens is in Hilton’s head, and whose version of reality is the truth until the very end. Hilton is not the most reliable of narrators, making it difficult to determine whether or not something supernatural is going on, but like The Turn of the Screw, not knowing if it’s the narrator’s sanity slippage or the work of spirits is part of the appeal and both possibilities are equally terrifying. Due hit the ground running with her very first novel and her fiction has only gotten better from there.

Horror Noire: Blacks in American Horror Films from the 1890s to Present by Robin R. Means Coleman

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Erewhon Books

Genre: type here

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: type here

Takes Place in: type here

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): content warnings

Blurb

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

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

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

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

To celebrate the release of the Horror Noire on Shudder last month, and the recent premiere of Jordan Peele’s sophomore film Us, I decided to read Dr. Robin R. Means Coleman’s book on which the documentary is based. I’ve already reviewed the documentary over at Morbidly Beautiful, so I won’t rehash it too much here, but suffice it to say it’s a MUST watch for any horror fan. With interviews from Black horror directors, writers, actors, and academics, it’s wonderful to see so many Black voices all sharing their experiences and voicing their opinions on famous Black horror films. The only downside is the limitations of the medium, that is, the documentary just doesn’t have the time to go into the full history of Black horror or discuss every Black horror movie. Which is why you should definitely read the book! Horror Noire: Blacks in American Horror Films from the 1890s to Present (or at least the aughts, when the book was published) gets to fully explore all the fun details that couldn’t be included in the documentary, from the birth of zombie movies to the evolution of Black women in horror from eye candy to demon slayers.

Using Dr. Coleman’s book as a basis, I’ve created a timeline of over thirty Black horror films that I feel best illustrate the evolution of Black representation in American horror films. For a more in-depth study into the topic (and a list of recommended viewing and reading), check out this great Horror Noire Syllabus created by Dr. Coleman, Tananarive Due, and the Graveyard Shift Sisters.

The Undertaker’s Daughter (1915) – The Lubin Manufacturing Company used Black actors in their horror comedy short, The Undertaker’s Daughter. Prior to this, Black characters were almost exclusively played by White men in Blackface who portrayed them as lazy, foolish, and cowardly for comedic effect. These racist caricatures, commonly known by the dehumanizing slur “coon”, were a mainstay in minstrel shows, and appeared in films produced and written by Whites for White audiences.

Birth of a Nation (1915) – In 1915 the White supremacist propaganda film Birth of a Nation was released with president Wilson’s endorsement. This time Black men were not merely portrayed as lazy buffoons, but violent, lecherous creatures who preyed on White women, a dangerous stereotype that had already resulted in the murders of thousands of Black men and children. Lynching for “eye rape” would continue well into the 1950s [1]. The image of the predatory Black man popularized by Birth of a Nation would continue to appear as a horror film “monster” for decades to come as White men lived out film fantasies of violently protecting damsels in distress.

Shadowed by the Devil (1916) –  In response to the blatantly offensive depictions of African Americans in Birth of a Nation Black-owned film studios like the Lincoln Motion Picture Company and Frederick Douglass Film Company were founded to tell positive Black stories by and for Black people. Called “race films,” these movies featured all Black casts portraying complex, realistic characters. One such race film, the now lost Shadowed by the Devil, is a frightening morality tale that focused on what it means to be a good person. Sadly, most of these studios would go under during the Great Depression.

Mercy, the Mummy Mumbled

Mercy, the Mummy Mumbled (1918) – The Ebony Film Corporation, a White-owned company, attempted to cash in on Black audiences by producing their own “race films” which included five comedy horror shorts. Unfortunately, Ebony relied on tired, racist tropes for their humor which outraged Black viewers and prompted complaints in the Chicago Defender, a popular Black newspaper.

A Son of Satan (1924) – Oscar Micheaux, founder of the Micheaux Film Corporation, was the first Black feature filmmaker in America. He made over forty films during his thirty-year career. His “fright films” more closely resembled “true” horror movies. Micheaux cleverly booked and advertised A Son of Satan without approval from the Virginia film board (who objected to scenes of Black men “carousing,” murder, and the killing the leader of “a hooded organization,” a thinly veiled allusion to the Klan), in order to avoid censorship of his movie and maximize profit.

Black Moon (1934) – From 1915 to 1934 the US military forcibly occupied Haiti. White Marines ignorantly viewed the Haitian’s religious practices as primitive and evil, and shared outlandish stories about human sacrifice, cannibalism, and raising the dead when they returned home. These fantastical accounts would inspire the “Voodoo” and jungle films of the 1930’s where “savage natives” controlled zombies and threatened the virtue of beautiful White women.  In Black Moon, the White Juanita is so corrupted by Black culture that she goes insane and her husband is forced to kill her.

Chloe, Love is Calling You

Chloe, Love is Calling You (1934) – In the Voodoo horror film Chloe, Love is Calling You the titular White-passing Chloe is cast as a tragic heroine because she’s biracial. She’s often threatened by the Black men who either want to rape or sacrifice her, and is so disgusted by her own alleged Blackness that she frequently flies into hysterics and throws herself into danger. The moment Chloe discovers she’s actually White she abandons the Black “mammy” who raised her without a second thought. Even though the film does not shy away from discussing racial violence and lynchings, it still implies Whiteness as superior and condemns any Black people who desire revenge for the treatment they’ve received.

The Devil’s Daughter (1939) – “Jungle Films” portrayed Black Americans as more intelligent, sophisticated and “loyal” to Whites than Voodoo practicing Africans and Caribbeans. The Devil’s Daughter, which was targeted towards Black audiences, pit the Jamaican daughter of a Voodooist against her Harlemite half-sister for control of their family plantation. The sister from Harlem is cosmopolitan and bourgeois, but gullible and out-of-touch with her roots, while the Jamaican sister is rough around the edges but more down-to-earth. In the end the two women come to a mutual understanding and respect.

Son of Ingagi

Son of Ingagi (1940) – The original Ingagi was a racist exploitation film billed as an African documentary that implied that Congolese women bred with gorillas to produce monstrous hybrid offspring. African American actor Spencer Williams Jr. wanted to create a film with better representation for Black audiences so he wrote and starred in Son of Ingagi, the first science fiction horror film to feature an all-Black cast [2]. Unlike its “prequel,” the gorilla in Williams’ film was just a monster, not a metaphor, and the movie’s Black stars were cast in more distinguished roles. Williams plays a detective, while actress Laura Bowman portrays Dr. Helen Jackson, a brilliant and wealthy researcher.

The Blood of Jesus (1941) –  In addition to writing and producing several race films, Spencer Williams Jr. also directed the religious morality horror movie The Blood of Jesus. In it, the pious Martha is tempted by a demon who shows her the excitement of Northern city life. She ultimately rejects the flashy clothing and jive in favor of her more modest and virtuous Southern lifestyle, thus saving her soul from damnation. The moral superiority of Southern Blacks compared to their “sinful” Northern cousins was a frequent theme in religious horror movies.

King of the Zombies

King of the Zombies (1941) – As the popularity of horror films was waning, most likely due to the very real horrors of WWII, so too were opportunities for Black actors in film. Many found themselves choosing between playing a comedic coon archetype in roles reminiscent of Minstrel Shows or going without work. Mantan Moreland was one of many Black actors who made a successful career out of playing such characters in horror comedies like King of the Zombies, and he was frequently cast in central roles, receiving top billing next to his White costars. But his fame came at the cost of furthering harmful Black stereotypes.

Monster from Green Hell (1957) – Xenophobia and Cold War fears shaped the horror films of the 1950s, which were filled with extraterrestrial invaders and science experiments gone wrong, but very few Black characters. Even though roles were scarce, Black actors like Joel Fluellen still advocated for better representation in film and TV. In Monster from Green Hell, Fluellen’s character, Arobi, is an intelligent and well-spoken African man whom the White scientists respect and consult for advice. While the film is still deeply problematic Fluellen proved that Black actors could play important roles in horror movies without relying on tired, racist tropes.

The Leech Woman (1960) – As hard as it was for Black actors to find work, it was even harder for Black actresses. It was especially rare for Black women to land a central role in a White film. In The Leech Woman, Estelle Henry plays Malla, a 152-year-old former slave whose people hold the secret to eternal youth and long life. Malla’s character was still saddled with stereotypes, being African made her “exotic” and knowledgeable about magic, but she was also progressive in her own right. A smart, tough, fierce feminist, Malla protested the ageism shown to older women and convinced a sleazy White doctor to pay for her trip back to her homeland.

Night of the Living Dead

Night of the Living Dead (1968) – The same year the Civil Rights Act was signed into law, George Romero released his revolutionary zombie film, Night of the Living Dead. The low-budget flick starred African-American actor Duane Jones as its protagonist Ben, the very first Black lead in a horror film not targeted solely to Black audiences. Ben was no frightened Stepin Fetchit or voodoo priest, but a charismatic and confident survivor whose quick thinking and coolness under pressure keep him alive until the end of the film. Equally remarkable, the zombies Ben fights aren’t the result of Voodoo or African magic, but were instead reanimated by space radiation. When Ben finally does meet his demise, it’s at the hands of a White (living) mob, an all too familiar image for Black audiences, especially during the 1960s. The film was a box office success, largely due to its popularity with Black moviegoers.[3] This would lead to a series of sequels, which also featured Black characters in important roles.

Blacula

Blacula (1972) – During the 70’s a sub-genre of the exploitation film emerged called Blaxploitation. These movies, often created by White writers and directors for Black audiences, drew inspiration from Black power ideologies and frequently centered around overcoming White oppressors.  Unfortunately, the genre was also deeply homophobic, exploitative of women, and condemned by many Black organizations for its use of criminal stereotypes. Blacula was the first, and most famous blaxploitation horror film, about an erudite African prince who is transformed into a vampire and ironically begins to prey on Black communities. The film’s success lead its production company, AIP, to continue creating Black horror films.

Ganja and Hess (1973) – The art house film Ganja and Hess starred Duane Jones –of Night of the Living Dead fame — as Dr. Hess Green, a wealthy archaeologist. Dr. Green’s sophistication and elegance made him the polar opposite of the hypermasculine, violent men in Blaxploitation films who earned their money through illegal means. Despite winning the critic’s choice prize at the Cannes film festival, Ganja and Hess’ producers were unhappy with the movie and suppressed it. They had wanted something similar to Blacula, and weren’t sure what to do with a vampire story about addiction that lacked the Blaxploitation tropes with which audiences were familiar.

Scream, Blacula, Scream

Scream, Blacula, Scream (1973) –  While White “final girls” were portrayed as virginal and pure, Black heroines were hypersexualized for a straight, male audience. So it was unusual when Pam Grier, who was frequently cast as a seductive sex idol in other Blaxploitation films like Foxy Brown and Coffy, got to play a conservatively dressed heroine named Lisa in Scream, Blacula, Scream. Lisa is elected leader of her Voodoo group, and uses her skills to try and free Blacula from the curse placed on him by the White Dracula. She is also a protector who saves her boyfriend from the angry vampire.

Abby (1974) – Abby is a low-budget Exorcist knock-off that was, as the New York Times put it, “more silly than shocking” and never quite reached the levels of cult classic that Blacula did. The titular Abby, a pious minister’s wife, becomes possessed by a being claiming to be the Yoruba Orisha, Eshu. Unlike Pazuzu from The Exorcist, Eshu seems more interested in sex and swearing than destruction, which leads to some very silly scenes. Even though the being possessing is supposedly Yoruba in origin, African religious beliefs are never condemned or portrayed as evil, and the film makers clearly put effort into their research. Eventually, the heroes use a combination of Christian and Yoruba beliefs to free Abby.

Sugar Hill

Sugar Hill (1974) – Diana “Sugar” Hill is the perfect example of the regressive treatment Black women often received in Blaxploitation films. After the murder of her boyfriend at the hands of a “Whitey” crime boss, Sugar is desperate for revenge, but unable to seek it without help. She makes a deal with Baron Samedi, the Vodou loa (god) of death and sex, offering herself in exchange for the murders of those responsible for “killing her man.” Sporting tight, revealing outfits, Sugar seduces and tempts her victims before Samedi’s zombies kill them off, wielding her sexuality like a weapon. She also spends most of the film flirting with her ex-boyfriend implying Sugar cannot be without a man.

The Shining (1980) – By the eighties, blaxploitation had fallen out of favor, and when Black actors did appear in film, they were surrounded by Whites and White culture, and paired up with White actors in “buddy films”. Horror films were no exception, and Black characters were reduced to sacrifices so their White friends could survive. An example of this is Dick Halloran, played by Scatman Crothers, in Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining who is pointlessly killed while attempting to aid the film’s White family. Even worse, Dick is also a “Magical Negro” a wise Black man with magical powers who exists only to help the White characters with their problems. Magical negroes arose from a misguided attempt by White writers and filmmakers to counter traditional racist tropes. Unfortunately, all this did is create new stereotypes.

The Thing

The Thing (1982) – In John Carpenter’s The Thing, Keith David’s character, Childs, shares many similarities to Ben from Night of the Living Dead. Instead of being a “scared negro” or self-sacrificing Black, both characters are distrustful, resourceful hot-heads who question the authority of the White men they’re trapped with and live to the end of the film. But while Ben has only just met his fellow zombie survivors and has no reason to trust them, Childs has presumably worked alongside and lived with his colleagues for months, yet is still cold to them. The hostility amongst the group could be explained by both racial and class tension. By the end of the film, Childs and Kurt Russell’s character, MacReady, are presumably the only two survivors and now on equal footing.

The Serpent and the Rainbow (1988) – Although The Serpent and the Rainbow does have a more accurate representation of Vodou than most movies (at least the ones not targeted to Black audiences), its portrayal of Haitians is hardly a step up from the jungle films of the 30s. Despite taking place in Haiti and centering around a Black religion, the protagonist is a White man named Dennis who plans to take “zombie powder” back to the States for a pharmaceutical company. Dennis is perfectly willing to appropriate a cultural practice for profit, which he has no intention of sharing with the Haitians who aid him, yet he’s still cast as a hero. Throughout the film “evil” Haitians use Vodou to harass and threaten Dennis in an attempt to make him return home without the drug.

People Under the Stairs

The People Under the Stairs (1991) – In the eighties, urban areas were portrayed as violent, drug stricken, impoverished, and largely inhabited by Black Americans, which led to White flight to wealthy suburbs and a new form of segregation. In Wes Craven’s The People Under the Stairs, a Black child from the ghetto becomes trapped in a suburban mansion belonging to a pair of serial killer slum lords. The incestuous couple, known only as Mom and Dad, are able to conceal their crimes and depravity because they are wealthy and White. Even when police are called to investigate the couple’s home, they perform only a precursory search and leave without suspicion, never noticing the basement full of dead bodies and kidnapped, tortured children.

Candyman (1992) – Clive Barker’s Candyman film was another movie that exploited fears of the inner city, combined with the threat of a supernatural killer like Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees. The Candyman, played by Tony Todd, was the vengeful spirit of a Black artist from the late 1800s who was tortured and lynched after falling in love with a White woman. Strangely, he chooses to prey on a poor, Black community rather than seek revenge on wealthy Whites like the ones who killed him. Unlike other Black monsters, Candyman was suave, sophisticated, and even sympathetic, but he still played on fears of the Black Boogeyman by lusting after the White female protagonist. Equally problematic, the White woman gets to be the film’s hero, saving the poor, Black characters who literally turn to her as a saint and savior.

Tales from the Hood

Tales from the Hood (1995) – While the name of the anthology brings to mind the campy and often humorous TV series Tales from the Crypt, Tales from the Hood is actually a sobering, social commentary in the same vein as other morality horror films about retribution. In a subversion of the Voodoo films from the thirties, zombies and Vodou are used as protection against the real monsters, racist politicians, corrupt cops, violent gangs, and abusers. While the movie does contain plenty of strange creatures and cheesy special effects, it’s the real-world imagery that’s truly frightening; a Black man getting violently beaten and murdered by cops while Billy Holiday’s Strange Fruit plays hauntingly in the background, flashes of grainy photos showing lynchings, or a child cowering as his mother is beaten bloody by her boyfriend.

Beloved (1998) – Based on the Pulitzer prize book of the same name and boasting an all-star Black cast including Oprah Winfrey and Danny Glover, the Southern Gothic film Beloved was praised by critics and audiences alike, a rare feat for a horror film. Instead of relying on zombies or supernatural killers for cheap thrills, the movie’s terror came from its uncompromising depiction of slavery and the painful legacy it leaves. Previously, Voodoo films had simply glossed over the cruelty that had brought Blacks to America and the Caribbean, preferring to further a colonial fantasy of Whites “civilizing” Africans.

Bones (2001) – Rap music has long been influenced by, and paid tribute to, horror from Will Smith’s family friendly Nightmare on My Street in 1988 to the successful horrocore hip hop band Geto Boys in the 90’s. Rappers, like Ice-T and Coolio, even began acting in horror films.[4] So it should come as no surprise that the music genre would eventually inspire horror. One of the few hip-hop horror movies to have a theatrical release was Snoop Dogg’s Bones, directed by Ernest Dickerson of Juice fame. The movie was an homage to Blaxploitation films, and boasted Pam Grier as the love interest of Snoop’s “gentleman pimp” character, Jimmy Bones.

Alien vs Predator

Alien vs Predator (2004) – Black women were beginning to appear more frequently in horror films, and not just as the Seventies sex pots or victims, but as surviving women who fought monsters. In Tales from the Crypt: Demon Knight, another Ernest Dickerson movie, Jada Pinkett defied audience expectations by not only surviving but becoming the movie’s heroine despite pressure from the studio to cast a white actress as the “final girl.” In the first crossover film of the Alien and Predator franchises Lex, played by Sanaa Lathan, is not only a “final girl,” surviving attacks from both alien species, but a bad-ass action heroine. Lex becomes the first human in the Predator films to earn the honor of being marked as a warrior by a Predator after she helps him to kill three Xenomorphs, something not even Schwarzenegger could accomplish.

Bloodz vs Wolvez (2006) – The aughts would see the release of dozens of low-budget, direct-to-DVD hip hop horror movies. The films were aimed at younger audiences and often used postmodern spelling like Vampz or Cryptz.  In one such movie, Bloodz v. Wolvez a vampire king named Asiman is attempting to broker a peace between two rival gangs, the working class werewolves (Wolvez) and the wealthy vampires (Bloodz). The sophisticated vampires look down on the Wolvez while also envying their ability to walk in the daylight, while the werewolves view the Bloodz with contempt for assimilating with humanity and acting superior. But even with the all the wealth and power Asiman has acquired since escaping slavery centuries ago, he is still seen as “lesser” by Whites, as is highlighted when a White patron of the vampire king’s club asks him to caddy for him in a golf game.

Attack the Block

Attack the Block (2011) – At first glance it appears that John Boyega’s character in Attack the Block, Moses, will be a threatening “Black boogeyman” type character after he robs a White woman, or perhaps a Blaxploitation-style glamorized criminal. Instead, Moses is a complex, flawed character who cares deeply about his “block,” is protective of his friends, and struggles with his anger and impulsiveness. A Black girl rightfully calls Moses out for robbing an unarmed woman, but also confronts his victim about her privilege and calling the police on Black teenagers. The two end up cooperating to defeat an alien attack that threatens their impoverished neighborhood.

The Girl with all the Gifts (2016) – The film takes place in a near-future dystopia where humans have been driven underground by a pathogenic fungus that turns people into zombies called “Hungries.” A group of hybrid children, who crave living flesh like the Hungries but retain their human intelligence and emotions, are being used to create a cure. While Melanie, an especially intelligent and gifted hybrid child is initially happy to cooperate with the soldiers and scientists who hold her captive, she refuses to let herself be killed to develop a cure. While the older generation sees the hybrid children as monsters to be cured or controlled, Melanie realizes that she and the others are merely a new species, who have just as much right to live and thrive as humans. Like with Night of the Living Dead, the role of Melanie in The Girl with all the Gifts was not specifically written for a Black actor, it just so happened that Sennia Nanua had the best audition, but by casting a Black lead the film gained added social commentary.

Get Out

Get Out (2017) – Jordan Peele became the first Black person to win an Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay with his groundbreaking Black horror film, Get Out. Rich with imagery, the movie centers around racism in America and Black fears, making subtle references to past and present atrocities such as slave auctions, medical experimentation on Black people, and police brutality. It also turns the “Black buck” trope on its head. The protagonist, Chris, is never portrayed as sexually aggressive. Instead, it’s the sociopathic White woman who preys upon Black men by seducing them and hunts Chris down with a shotgun. This inversion of horror movie cliches is further underlined by the dead deer (aka Bucks) displayed around the White family’s luxuriant home. The film also introduced audiences to “The Sunken Place,” a literal pit of despair that leaves its victims trapped, silenced, and powerless, the perfect metaphor for the feeling of helplessness Black people experience living in a world where they’re constantly oppressed and surrounded by racism[5].

The First Purge (2018) – The Purge franchise is about a near-future totalitarian America where once a year all crime, including murder, is legal for a 12-hour period. The First Purge, the prequel to the series, focuses on the initial experiment which eventually leads to a Nationwide Purge. With echoes of the Tuskegee syphilis experiment, the detached, white scientists purposely target low income minorities for their unethical study. When the White men running the political party funding the purge sees that the Staten Island residents aren’t killing each other like they’d hoped, they send in masked mercenaries dressed as Klansmen and Nazis to slaughter the poor to make their experiment seem successful. They even enter a Black church to slaughter everyone seeking shelter inside.

Us (2019) – Jordan Peele’s sophomore film was another critical and commercial success for the director, proving once again that Black stories can be just as loved and popular as White ones. Peele not only produced another unique horror film, but demonstrated that Black horror isn’t limited to racial commentary. Black history and Black horror are inextricably linked, and many popular Black horror films like Get Out, Beloved, Tales from the Hood, etc. draw on the very real horrors of White supremacy to elicit terror from their audiences. In many ways, Black horror is a form of catharsis, vividly depicting Black pain but also showing its heroes fighting back and even defeating more tangible monsters. But limiting Black stories to tales of American racism and oppression can also be problematic. Us is still very much a Black narrative, steeped in Black culture, but without Whiteness defining the characters or story.

All the films on this list are available to own, rent and/or watch online with the exception of The Undertaker’s Daughter, Shadowed by the Devil, and A Son of Satan which are, sadly, lost films. Mercy, the Mummy Mumbled can be viewed on YouTube, but is badly degraded.

References
1. https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/emmett-lynching-america/
2. https://www.allmovie.com/movie/son-of-ingagi-v45617/review
3. https://www.jstor.org/stable/1225699?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents
4. http://www.blackhorrormovies.com/rappers/
5. https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/get-out-what-black-america-knows-about-the-sunken_us_58c199f8e4b0c3276fb7824a

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