Own Voices | Diversity in Horror Fiction

The Scald Crow by Grace Daly

Formats: Print, digital

Genre: Myth and Folklore

Audience: Adult

Diversity: Bisexual main character with chronic pain, Black Lesbian side character

Takes Place in: Illinois

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Ableism, Child Abuse, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Illness, Medical Procedures, Mental Illness, Racism, Slut-Shaming, Stalking, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Victim Blaming, Violence

Blurb

Shot through with gallows humor and speaking in the voice of a trusted best friend, this self-deprecating horror novel explores medical trauma through Irish folklore, asking “Can a sick woman ever be trusted?”

Brigid—that’s the Irish Breej, not “Bridge-id,” though it’s not like she’d correct you—has had a rough go of it. Her mother abused her when she was little, her best friend (and secret crush) is too busy chasing some blonde to answer Brigid’s calls, and she lost her job thanks to chronic pelvic pain with no identifiable cause. As a self-doubting, disabled adult, she’s certain that everything that has happened to her is her fault.

When her mother goes missing and Brigid’s only option is to move back into her childhood home in the idyllic Midwestern town of St. Charles, Illinois, the uncanny begins: A particular crow that once harassed her reappears, following her everywhere. A painting of Jesus keeps coming back, no matter how many times she throws it away. Frozen body parts show up in places rubber band balls and door stoppers ought to be. Every night she dreams that her real mother is dead and decaying in the closet, and the identical mother who raised her is not her mother. But it’s all in Brigid’s head. It’s all her fault. It must be. What other explanation could there be?

To survive, she’ll need to ignore what her mother and her chronic-pain doctors have always told her: that her perception of reality can’t be trusted.

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.

Brigid (who uses the Irish pronunciation “Breej” rather than Anglicized “Bridge-id”) struggles with chronic pelvic pain coupled with IBS that makes it incredibly difficult for her to perform everyday tasks. Due to her chronic pain, Brigid can no longer work, and her disability payments are barely covering the cost of living. She’s on the verge of losing her apartment and becoming homeless (of the hundreds of thousands of Americans who experience homelessness roughly half of them have some form of disability). So, when her abusive mother mysteriously disappears and leaves Brigid her childhood home, she thinks her luck might finally be turning around. Unfortunately, returning to the house not only brings up bad memories for Brigid, but it begins to make her question her sanity as well. Things seem to move around the apartment. Objects she thought she threw out reappear making Brigid question her memory. She finds mysterious meat in the fridge and what, from her description, appears to be a phalange in the garbage disposal.

One day she wakes up to discover garbage spread across the floor and the mysterious piece of meat hanging from the ceiling. Brigid tries to tell the police about the apparent vandalism, but they’re unsurprisingly useless. Strangest of all, a scald crow appears to be following Brigid and spying on her. Scald crows, more commonly known as hooded crows, are found in the UK, so what one is doing in Illinois is anyone’s guess. In Irish folklore the hooded crow, or Badb in Irish, represents the Morrígan, a terrifying goddess of war, sovereignty, and fate. Like the Greek goddess Hecate, the Morrigan is often depicted as a tripartite goddess, three sisters named Badb, Macha, and Nemain. The hooded crow also appears at the death of the demigod Cú Chulainn. Brigid is fascinated by Irish mythology; she remembers reading it with her father before he disappeared, it still brings her comfort on her bad pain days, and she begins to wonder if the crow is more than just a crow. Of course, no one believes her.

Brigid is used to being gaslit, both by her abusive mother and medical providers who question her mysterious pelvic pain. So, when things start getting weird at the house, Bridgid believes it’s all in her head. She also thinks her pain is “all in her head,” even though any decent healthcare provider would tell her that psychosomatic pain doesn’t mean the pain is made up or fake. Unfortunately, as anyone with a chronic condition will tell you, there are a LOT of terrible healthcare providers who treat chronic pain as imaginary. It’s not like on medical TV shows where doctors fight to find a diagnosis and treat the patient no matter what. In the real would, if providers can’t easily diagnose you, they decide you’re no longer their problem or you’re making it up.

My father, a gastroenterologist, often sees patients who have spent years trying to find a diagnosis for their digestive issues before they end up in his office. Most of these patients have seen multiple other specialists who simply gave up on them after discovering they weren’t easy to diagnose. A patient of his told me she spent 10 years looking for a cause of her digestive issues before my dad diagnosed her as having a zoonotic disease from working with swine, something no one else had bothered to test for. Judging by this Reddit thread this is not an uncommon experience for people with chronic illnesses. Brigid has already had one exploratory surgery that came up with nothing, and has pretty much given up any hope of finding a cure for her chronic pain.

Keep in mind people with disabilities are not a monolith, and every individual has a different relationship with their disability. Not every person with a disability wants a cure and assuming all disabilities should be “cured” (i.e. assuming a disability is a defect that keeps someone from being “normal”) is ableist. For example, most autistic people don’t want a cure as autism is not a disease. Many Deaf people feel the same way. Accommodations and addressing ableism are what they want, not a cure. But again, everyone feels differently. Some people may want certain aspects or comorbidities of their disability to go away, but not others. For example, an Autistic friend of mine is perfectly fine with his autism, but hates his anxiety disorder and takes medication to mitigate it. He would be thrilled if his anxiety was cured. But some people with disabilities DO want a cure, and that’s also okay. Brigid’s disability causes her to physically suffer a great deal, and accommodations can’t really mitigate her pain, so she doesn’t like it and wants it gone.

Like many folks with a chronic illness and/or pain, Brigid has a limited amount of energy to get things done and must plan her whole life around her pain flares. She is often too tired by the end of the day to cook anything healthy for dinner and usually just gets a microwave pizza or burrito because that’s all she can handle when her pain gets bad. She must plan her days carefully around her pain, which makes unpacking and cleaning her mother’s house difficult. Spoon theory is a metaphor created by Christine Miserandino to describe the amount of energy a person with a chronic illness has for every day tasks. Each activity costs a certain amount of “spoons.” Simple things like brushing your teeth or watching TV “cost” less spoons while more complex tasks like going to school or work, cleaning the house, or exercising require more spoons. The number of spoons someone has on any given day can vary, so activities need to be planned around the number of spoons available. People with chronic illnesses, pain, depression, etc. have less spoons that someone who is able-bodied and neurotypical,so they need to be especially careful about how they plan their days. They may only have a few spoons on especially bad days, so they need to get as much done as possible on good days. When Brigid’s pain is less severe, she tries to get as much cleaning and unpacking done as possible, even though it will make her pain worse later.

Brigid doesn’t just have physical symptoms to contend with. She also struggles with trauma from the emotional abuse she endured from her mother for years. Brigid thinks she’s unlovable and deserves the abuse from Mammy because she was a “difficult” child. This has left her with a lot of shame and self-hatred. Her friend, Emma, points out that, in truth, Brigid is too agreeable and will go along with anything, even if it hurts her. Brigid’s people pleasing along with her lack of self-compassion are both common in abuse survivors. Brigid doesn’t recognize what happened to her as abuse, however, since it was never physical.

Brigid often dreams that an evil mother came and killed her “real” mother, who used to be kind and loving. There’s a Freudian theory that a child can’t comprehend her previously loving and kind mother becoming cruel and abusive, so she thinks her mother has been replaced somehow. In Bruno Bettelheim’s The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales the author argues that children separate their mother into their “good” mother (when she’s kind and nurturing) and “bad” mother (when she punishes them or doesn’t give them what they want). This is represented in Grimm’s Fairy Tales by the usually deceased good mother, and the wicked stepmother, who provides a transference object for the child’s hate.

Brigid’s mother being replaced by a bad version also brings to mind the story of changelings. In European folklore, a changeling is supernatural substitute that was left by fairies, demons, elves, or trolls in place of a human, usually a child. In Ireland, the belief in changelings continued to endure at least as late as 1895, when Bridget Cleary, who worked as a dressmaker, was murdered by her husband, Michael Cleary. At his trial Michael claimed that his wife had been replaced by a fairy and he had to burn the changeling alive to get his wife back. If you’re a fan of Aaron Mahnke, episode 11 of his podcast, Lore, tells the story of Bridget Cleary (I highly recommend it).

There’s a modern theory proposed by such scholars as D. L. Ashliman, Lorna Wing, and Davids Potter that the changeling myth arose as a way to explain neurodivergence or other disabilities in children. Unfortunately, this could lead to abuse and even infanticide as parents believed the child was not their own. In 1826, again in Ireland, Ann Roche drowned her four-year-old grandson, Michael Leahy, believing him to be a changeling because he could neither speak or stand. Roche believed that holding him under water would cast out the fairy which would allow her grandson to act like a “normal” child. Sadly, even today, children with disabilities are at least three times more likely to be victims of abuse or neglect than children without disabilities (and the number may actually be higher due to many children with disabilities being unable to directly report). When children with disabilities are murdered by their caregivers people will often excuse the murder and paint the murderers as victims because their child was a burden. Moral philosopher and terrible human being Peter Singer argued in his book Practical Ethics (1979), that it is morally justified to kill babies with disabilities. He also claims that it’s totally okay to kill a baby with a disability if the parents replace them with a non-disabled baby.

“When the death of a disabled infant will lead to the birth of another infant with better prospects of a happy life, the total amount of happiness will be greater if the disabled infant is killed. The loss of happy life for the first infant is outweighed by the gain of a happier life for the second.”

Gross. Sadly, Brigid has internalized the belief that her disability makes her “a burden,” despite what her therapist and best friend tell her.

I liked that Brigid’s Black best friend and crush, Emma, was not relegated to the role of “just there to support the white girl with no needs of her own.” When Brigid was relying too much on her for emotional support Emma was quick to set a boundary and tell her BFF (not unkindly) that this was probably something better discussed with her therapist, Carol. Emma makes time for Brigid, but isn’t always available when she calls, as Emma is busy with her own life which includes romantic turmoil, pottery class, dealing with the rich white parents she nannies for, and her beloved cats. She will even call Brigid for support when she’s struggling with her love life, so the friendship doesn’t feel one-sided (even if Brigid, in her insecurity, worries that it is).

I also appreciated that although Emma works as a nanny for rich white people, she does so without falling into the harmful Black mammy (not to be confused with what Brigid calls her mother) trope. She does the work because she’s paid well (very well) by wealthy parents, but still recognizes the inherent racism in liberal white parents hiring a Black nanny so their kids will respect other races while also expecting her to do the work they consider below them. Emma is a curvy woman, but not desexualized at all. In fact, Brigid often remarks on how stylish and sexy she is. Again, Daly could have made Emma little more than a trope, this time the Jezebel, but manages to avoid it by making Emma a well-rounded character. She is more likely to speak her mind than Brigid, but isn’t “loud and sassy,” and struggles with her own insecurities. Although Emma doesn’t appear often in the book, she still gets her own romantic storyline, and even some character development when she recognizes she’s being biphobic by refusing to date women who have only dated men before. I’m also happy to report that “Black” was always capitalized when talking about race.

I loved Daly’s dark sense of humor because sometimes all you can do is laugh about it when things are terrible, as Brigid often does to deflect. I also loved Brigid’s character, felt strongly for her, and wanted so badly for her to have a happy ending, even though I know those are rare in real life. The pacing is a little slow in the beginning compared to the end, but that’s really the only criticism I have. This story is not for the squeamish, as Brigid suffers from both gastrointestinal distress and difficult periods and both are described in painful detail. Honestly, I appreciated that Daly did not shy away from talking about poop and menstrual blood as it let the reader see the full extent of what Brigid goes through on a daily basis. As someone with my own pelvic and digestive problems (that are thankfully nowhere near as severe or painful as Brigid’s) it was refreshing to see symptoms I’ve experienced myself described without shame. Scald Crow was one of those books that managed to made me laugh out loud, choke back tears, and shiver with apprehension. Definitely a fun and spooky read.

Tags: Adult, Bisexual, Book Review, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Disability, LGBTQIA, Myths and Folklore, Own Voices

Fever Dreams of a Parasite by Pedro Íñiguez

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Raw Dog Screaming Press

Genre: Body Horror, Eco Horror, Eldritch Horror, Folk Horror, Ghosts/Haunting, Historic Horror, Killer/Slasher, Monster, Sci-Fi Horror, Zombie

Audience: Adult

Diversity: Mexican American author and characters, Mexican characters

Takes Place in: Mainly Mexico and California

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Ableism, Alcohol Abuse, Amputation, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Body Shaming, Cannibalism, Child Death, Child Endangerment, Childbirth, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Gore, Kidnapping, Miscarriage, Mental Illness, Physical Abuse, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sexism, Stalking, Suicide, Torture, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence, Xenophobia

Blurb

Íñiguez weaves haunting tales that traverse worlds both familiar and alien in Fever Dreams of a Parasite. Paying homage to Lovecraft, Ligotti, and Langan, these cosmic horror, weird fiction, and folk-inspired stories explore tales of outsiders, killers, and tormented souls as they struggle to survive the lurking terrors of a cold and cruel universe. With symbolism and metaphor pulled from his Latino roots, Iniguez cuts deep into the political undercurrent to expose an America rarely presented in fiction. Whether it’s the desperation of poverty, the fear of deportation or the countless daily slights endured by immigrants, every story is precisely rendered, often with a twist that allows us to see the mundane with fresh eyes.

Most of the stories in this anthology fall in the cosmic horror genre, but each story is entirely unique. There are, however, a few repeated themes; families, poverty and classism, people down on their luck, and those who take advantage of them. Monsters are a staple throughout the book, though most of the stories don’t really explain what the monster is. Are the dog-creatures werewolves? Is the blood sucking child a vampire? What in the world are those maggot monsters in Midnight Frequencies? What the hell is the old man with the fangs? Who knows! I can guess, but sometimes it’s scarier not to know. Even with all the different strange creatures, there’s often a human enabling it, once again proving that humans are the worst monsters of all. The anthology explores various themes and contemporary issues like the California wildfires, environmental destruction, addiction, the damage done by both the cartel and the US in the poverty-stricken areas of Mexico, how desperate immigrants are exploited, predatory landlords, and even increasingly adversarial political TV commentators.

The first story, titled Nightmare of a Million Faces, is about Anastasia Mendez, an unemployed porn star who just left an abusive relationship with her ex-boyfriend/manager/fellow porn star, Robert. Even without the monster appearing at the end the story is already disturbing as it focuses on how women’s bodies are often controlled. In Anastasia’s case, Robert decides(as her manager) who she has sex with and what roles she takes, and as her boyfriend, he coerces her into having an abortion she doesn’t want when he gets her pregnant. Even though the story is short, much of it focuses on fleshing out Anastasia’s character so you feel invested in her survival by the end of it.

I liked that Nightmare of a Million Faces focused on the flaws in the mainstream porn industry without condemning sex work itself. And while Robert was controlling, Anastasia chose to work in porn before she met him, and even after they broke up, sex work wasn’t something she was forced to do. It’s also very pro-choice, despite focusing on an abortion Anastasia didn’t want. People with uteruses shouldn’t be forced to abort any more than they should be forced to give birth. Women of color like Anastasia are at especially high risk of reproductive coercion.

Birthday Boy is one of my favorite stories in the collection. It’s about a child whose fantasies shield him from the horrors around him and the atrocities committed about his father. The story is quite short, but effective, and the ending feels like a gut punch. Many of the characters are either parents or about to become parents, and there’s a certain horror in knowing they must protect their children from the monsters. Some are men whose wives have left them and taken their children, like in Midnight Shoeshine. Others, like the father in Postcards from Saguaroland, have left on their own to try and secure a better life for their families. Then, there’s Frank from Roots in Kon Tum, who abandoned the woman he impregnated in Vietnam and started a new family in the US. Effigies of Monstrous Things is about a single father trying to raise his daughters after his wife’s disappearance. Shantytown and Caravan are both stories about single mothers living in poverty struggling to take care of their only child, and The Body Booth is about an expectant mother who has chosen to raise her child alone. The House of Laments is one of the few stories with a happily married couple in which Rodrigo and Julia are expecting a baby after suffering multiple miscarriages. Some of the stories are focused on other types of familial relationships, like the grieving siblings in The Cellar and the seal hunting uncle and nephew in Skins.

The story from which the anthology gets its title is written like a magazine profile on an elderly fashion designer named Alberto Madrigal, whose designs are based on traditional Mexican fashion. When he first immigrated to the United States, before he became famous, other designers called him a “parasite” and accused him of stealing jobs. But now he’s hired by famous celebrities, like heavy metal star Kane Krieger, who has just had his directorial debut. His horror film, called Fever Dreams of a Parasite, is about a man tormented by dreams that may come from another world and slowly drive him to madness. The critics have panned Krieger’s film at advanced screenings, and he wants to wear something to the premiere that will be a big “fuck you” to the critics. Madrigal struggles to create a suit until he’s inspired by a nightmare and the fleas on his dog’s back. I liked the unique epistolary style of this story. Postcards from Saguaroland is another notable example of Íñiguez deviating from his typical story structure, with a non-linear story that starts with the reveal of the monster.

There was one story I had a few issues with, The Savage Night. When I first started reading it I thought it was about an unnamed Indigenous tribe, because the main character was referred to as the tribe’s medicine man, in which case many of the tropes used in the story and the title would have been problematic. Fortunately, it turned out to be about Paleolithic humans in which case a writer has a lot more creative freedom. Still, I would have used a different term for the tribes’ spiritual healer as “medicine man” seems to be specific to American Indians.

The Last Train out of Calico is much better in terms of representation. Although Lakota train robber Warren Blackhawk has hints of “the stoic Indian” it’s nice to see a morally gray American Indian character. American Indians are usually painted as either the “noble savage” or someone on horseback whooping and killing cowboys. So, it’s nice to see a sympathetic character who’s just a guy who robs trains with his friends.

Other things I liked: Black was capitalized when referring to race and the Spanish wasn’t italicized. A woman with substance use disorder was portrayed sympathetically as a struggling mom who loves her child but is also battling a disease, rather than a weak and immoral person.

The anthology felt like Lovecraft meets the Twilight Zone, which I loved. It’s full of fun, bite-size horror stories full of tragic characters struggling against an uncaring world, whose desperation and hopelessness you can really feel. Íñiguez’s collection is bleak with a strange, dream-like quality to it, full of the weird and grotesque.

Tags: Adult, Anthology, BIPOC, Body Horror, Book Review, Eco Horror, Eldritch, Hispanic/Latinx, Historic Horror, Mexican, Mexican American, Monster, Own Voices, Sci-Fi, Vampires

The Unfinished by Cheryl Isaacs

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

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: HarperCollins

Genre: Demon, Eco Horror, Folk Horror

Audience: Young Adult

Diversity: Kanien’kehá:ka (Mohawk) main character and author, Jamacian-American side character

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

Blurb

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve Awoken Her by Ana Dávila Cardinal

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

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: HarperCollins

Genre: Eldritch Horror, Mystery

Audience: Young Adult

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

Takes Place in: The Hamptons, NY

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

Blurb

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another Elizabeth by Elle Mitchell

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Little Key Press

Genre: Killer/Slasher

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Main character and authors with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (hEDS), bisexual main character

Takes Place in: Oregon

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Ableism, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Body Shaming, Imagined Cannibalism, Imagined Child Abuse, Imagined Child Death, Death, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Mental Illness, Pedophilia, Physical Abuse, Police Harassment, Self-Harm, Slurs, Sexism, Suicide, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence

Blurb

Another Elizabeth is a gripping literary psychological crip horror novel that readers will sink their teeth into. Fans of dark humor and challenging fiction will be thrilled to delve into the mind of a deeply flawed disabled woman with a desire to kill.

Elizabeth’s life is taking a turn.
She has three jobs, a boyfriend that loves her too much, and a recent diagnosis of Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. She’s coming apart at the seams. Now all she cares about is keeping her promise to her younger self before her body fails her—kill without getting caught.

Will she physically be able to satisfy her urge while maintaining her carefully built façade of normalcy? And if so, will she be able to stop with just one victim?

Inspiration porn is a real problem when it comes depicting people with disabilities. The term was originally coined by disability activist and comedian Stella Young. As Young puts it in her 2014 TED talk in Sydney, “We’re not real people. We are there to inspire.” She explains that we have been sold the lie that disability is a bad thing, and therefore living with a disability makes you exceptional. One of the reasons I love Another Elizabeth is because I thought of inspiration porn while I was reading it and what the reactions of able-bodied people might be. Elizabeth has Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (hEDS), which, if you’re not familiar, is a genetic condition that causes connective tissue to weaken resulting in hypermobility in the joints and chronic pain. She works at a grocery store called Juno Foods with her boyfriend, teaches ESL classes, and kills people who piss her off. That’s right, Elizabeth “overcomes” her invisible disability despite struggling with pain and weakness to become a serial killer! How inspirational!

A drawing of Elizabeth wearing a gray T-shirt and jeans and leaning on a purple cane. In her other hand she holds a bloody knife. Her clothing is covered in blood. Behind her is a black, blood spattered background with bloody red lettering that reads "the only disability in life is a bad attitude."

All joking aside, I loved reading a book where the main character has disability, written by someone with a disability (and not some well-meaning ally) that isn’t meant to inspire non-disabled people or demonize people with disabilities. Elizabeth is a great character. She shows hints of being a sociopath, is an expert manipulator, and often fantasizes about hurting others. When her doctor suggests she start using a cane, Elizabeth immediately wonders if she’ll use it for anything other than bashing people’s brains in. Even innocent things bring out the darkness in Elizabeth. When she sees babies, she imagines how easy it would be to break their fingers, and when she makes candy, she fantasizes about putting poison in it.

Yet she still seems to care about her friend, her ESL students, and her himbo boyfriend on some level, so she’s not completely heartless. Or at least Elizabeth admits she wouldn’t murder any of them. Awwwwww. In fact, she only kills people who she believes deserve it, like an ableist woman who abandoned her family after her husband became paralyzed, an obnoxious coworker, and maybe the odd pedestrian here and there. The fact that she happens to like their teeth is just a bonus. In her free time Elizabeth watches forensics shows and reads true crime novels for inspiration. This means she is meticulous about covering her tracks. I found myself greatly appreciating Elizabeth’s hyper-competence when it came to crime, carefully planning each murder down to the very last detail. Elizabeth is also someone who is usually good at whatever she tries, despite putting little effort into it, and this seems to apply to being a serial killer. Because she can’t physically overpower her victims, Elizabeth gets very creative finding ways to make her murders more accessible.

Villains with disabilities in fiction are often portrayed in a problematic way, at least when written by the non-disabled. They are the monstrous “other,” whose moral corruption manifests physically as disability. Jan Grue, is a Norwegian academic, author and actor (best known for role as Ivar Salvesen in Occupied) who uses a wheelchair. In his Guardian article The Disabled Villain: Why Sensitivity Reading Can’t Kill Off This Ugly Trope Grue writes “This particular trope, wherein a character’s moral and physiological natures mirror each other, is as universal as it is ancient. It is reflected in the philosophy of Plato, in commonplace phrases like ‘a healthy mind in a healthy body,’ and in the foundational texts of the cultural canon. In Buddhist tradition, too, disability has been construed as an impediment to understanding and enlightenment – and even, for some, as a punishment for actions in a past life.”

The Take’s video Why the “Disabled Villain” Trope is So Offensive, explains that disability is “used as a metaphor for villainy or moral failing.” In an interview with Den of Geek after the release of Skyfall, producer Michael G. Wilson explains, “It’s very much a Fleming device that he uses throughout the stories – the idea that physical deformity and personality deformity go hand in hand in some of these villains. Sometimes it’s a motivating factor in their life, and what makes them the way they are.” In other words, those with disabilities are assumed to despise their condition because being disabled is undesirable, and they seek to harm the able bodied. Unfortunately, this metaphor can cause real-life harm, as it reinforces the idea that having a disability is “bad” and difference is “scary.” Horror is especially notorious for using the “Evil Cripple” trope, with famous villains like Freddy, Jason, and Leatherface all sporting physical disfigurements. Other famous examples of disabled villains are the Phantom from The Phantom of the Opera, multiple James Bond antagonists, Mr. Glass in Unbreakable, Mason Verger from Hannibal, Captain Hook from Peter Pan, Mr. Potter from It’s a Wonderful Life, and Darth Vader from Star Wars.

Mr. Glass from Unbreakable (top left), The Phantom from the Phantom of the Opera (top right), Captain Hook from Hook, Raoul Silva from Skyfall, Freddy Krueger from Nightmare on Elm Street (bottom left), and Mason Verger from Hannibal (bottom right). None of the characters pictured here are portrayed by disabled or disfigured actors.

lizabeth is a villain protagonist with a disability, she’s an incredibly well written, well-rounded character. She’s an evil (or at least morally gray) character who also has a disability, rather than a character who is evil because of a disability. Most importantly, Elizabeth is written in such a way that the audience is rooting for her sociopath self and able to relate to her. (Or at least I was. Who among us hasn’t fantasized about killing awful people?) Usually, villains with disabilities are written in such a way that they feel alien and are frightening in their strangeness, and this is accentuated by their disability or disfigurement. Instead of seeming scary because of her disability, Elizabeth finds the opposite to be true. People assume she’s helpless: something she uses to her advantage. When suspicion falls on her, Elizabeth plays up her disability, relying on other people’s ableism so they think she’s innocent. It also helps that the author has hEDS herself, so the book is Own Voices and Elizabeth’s character just hits differently.

Because the narration is first person, we get to see Elizabeth’s detached way of looking at the world and her twisted way of thinking. We get an intimate look at her struggles, both keeping her “other life” a secret and trying to kill victims when she’s not as strong as an able-bodied male killer. And of course, we get to learn about her frustration when dealing with her chronic pain and her boyfriend’s annoying abundance of concern for her. He’s convinced that she’s too fragile to function, yet doesn’t have the same concern for her comfort during sex. Side note, I love that Elizabeth gets to have hot sex scenes with her boyfriend. People with disabilities almost never get to have sex in fiction. In fact, outside of Mat Fraser in American Horror Story, George Robinson in Sex Education, and Peter Dinklage in Game of Thrones, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone with a disability have sex in popular media (and of course those examples are all white, cisgendered men with conventionally attractive faces).

Another Elizabeth is a fascinating look into a twisted mind with a character that you can’t help but root for despite the fact she’s a serial killer who manipulates others. The story is the perfect length, not so long that it drags but not so short that it feels rushed. The second half of the book is especially exciting and the story is interspersed with bits of dark humor.

Tags: Adult, Book Review, Chronic Illness, Disability, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, Killer/Slasher, Own Voices, Physical Disability, Recommended

Crescentville Haunting by M.N. Bennet

Formats: digital

Publisher: Self published

Genre: Ghosts/Haunting, Monster, Occult, Romance, Vampire, Werewolf, Zombie

Audience: Y/A

Diversity: Bisexual main character, non-binary minor character, Black major character

Takes Place in: LA, California

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

Blurb

Determined to pass junior year, Logan won’t let Henry distract him—much. Logan’s focusing on all things human, which means his swoony vampire ex-boyfriend will have to file his own fangs for a change. When he goes to the school bonfire and runs into Henry, wandering into the woods seems like a great escape. Until he’s bitten by a wicked Crone with some twisted magical munchies.

Logan is certain his ex-free human future is done when he’s dragged off to a scientific institution for study. There, he’s presented with an opportunity to keep his life, family, and future. All he has to do is stick to human ideology, since all things paranormal are illegal. But complications arise when the Crone begins to haunt him and Logan realizes that if he wants to get his life back, he has to navigate his lingering feelings for Henry.

With the Crone set on devouring him and the institution ready to obliterate him for any missteps, Logan must decide between pursuing the human future his family wants—one that he thought he wanted too—or the chance to embrace Henry, even if the world isn’t ready.

Logan just wants a safe, normal, drama-free junior year, and that means avoiding his vampire ex, Henry, at all costs. Which is easier said than done. Logan may be shy and awkward, but Henry is his complete opposite: confident, outgoing, and suave. When his best friend Kiera (a phantom) drags him to a bonfire party that’s supposed to help Logan relax, he discovers that trouble has a way of following him. Not only is Henry there, but Logan is attacked (for the second time since he first started dating Henry) by a powerful creature, this time a monstrous witch known as the “Crone.” After sustaining a bite from the Crone, Henry’s life changes forever.

Henry and Kiera are known as Vices, a group of monsters including phantoms, witches, vampires, trolls, sirens, and werewolves that are forced to live in the shadows due to public fear and draconian laws. The Crone is a sin, a powerful Vice that feeds on other Vices and can turn humans into undead monstrosities called Hauntings (think zombies and ghouls) with a single bite. After Henry’s attack he’s whisked away by SPU agents (the special police force in charge of catching and neutralizing Sins) to a secure facility designed to treat Hauntings, but to everyone’s surprise he doesn’t transform into a Haunting. It turns out Henry is a rare form of Vice, known as a Viceling, more human than Vice. The lore of Crescentville Haunting can get confusing in places, and there’s a lot of backstory. So much so that I actually checked to see if there was a prequel I had missed. But it’s no worse that any other fantasy novel with rich world building. If you can remember the rules of Quidditch, you can remember the magical classification system Bennet has created.

The characters are relatable and their voices sound authentic. The romance is steamy without being explicit and felt age appropriate for younger teens. It should be noted that while the book contains a paranormal romance, it’s not the central theme of the story. Instead, we focus on Logan’s struggles with his new identity and trying to fit into a human-centric world– an analogy for trying to fit into a heteronormative society when you’re LGBTQIA+. In Monsters in the closet: Homosexuality and the Horror Film Harry M. Benshoff writes “monster is to ‘normality’ as homosexual is to heterosexual.” LGBTQIA+ scholars have long equated queerness with fictional monsters and stories like Crescentville Haunting reclaim the “monstrous queer.” In Bennett’s story, the “homosexual vampire” is the hero rather than the villain, with the humans representing an oppressive heteronormative society and the facility attempting to “cure” Logan of his monstrousness a metaphor for conversion therapy. In addition to romance, the book also has plenty of horror, violence, and suspense, all courtesy of the Crone who continues to haunt Logan after the initial attack.

Overall, this was a fun read with a good world building, a cute relationship, and teens who actually sounded and acted like teens.

Tags: Bisexual, Book Review, Ghosts/Haunting, LGBTQIA, Monster, Occult, Own Voices, Recommended, Romance, vampire, Werebeast, Zombies

Cacy & Kiara and the Curse of the Ki’i by Roy Chang

Formats: Print

Publisher: Beach House

Genre: Ghosts/Haunting, Thriller, Comedy, Myths and Folklore

Audience: Children

Diversity: Asian American characters, Hapa characters, Native Hawaiian characters, Pacific Islander characters, Korean American Characters

Takes Place in: Hawai’i, USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Bullying, Animal Death, Child Endangerment, Violence, Death

Blurb

Cacy and Kiara are sixth grade cousins who couldn’t be more different from each other. When their two schools take the same field trip to Hawai‘i Volcanoes National Park, Cacy and Kiara are thrown into an adventure filled with mystery and murder.

In order to save the park–and themselves–from certain destruction, they call upon their family ‘aumäkua (personal gods), receive guidance from the Goddesses Hi‘iaka and Pele, and befriend the inhabitants of a secret Menehune village.

Throughout their adventure, they learn the power of their connection to ancient Hawai‘i and the importance of working together.

Over sixty manga-style illustrations accompany the story adding another layer of action to an already action-packed tale.

Happy Asian-Pacific American Heritage Month! With the recent popularity of Pokemon Sun and Moon, and Disney’s Moana, I figured I’d cover a Polynesian book this time. Luckily, I recently visited the big island of Hawaiʻi* with my wife (we were on our honeymoon, and as a newlywed I have to mention my marriage approximately 50,000 times) and made a stop at Basically Books while in downtown Hilo, because no honeymoon is complete without picking up a few scary stories at the local bookstore!

Of course I had to get something by Glen Grant and Rick Carroll, two of Hawaii’s most prominent horror authors, but I also picked up a children’s chapter book by a local comic artist, Roy Chang, entitled Cacy & Kiara and the Curse of the Ki’i. Although it’s much more of a crime thriller than straight horror, (though it does have its moments, like the ghostly hitchhiker *shudder*), I enjoyed it enough that I wanted to include it on the site. The story stars two 11-year-old cousins, the brave and brash Cacy, and the intelligent, yet aloof Kiara, who stumble upon a crime in progress and accidentally release the curse of a long forgotten idol. Now they’re in a race against time to undo the curse before Pele destroys the island in her anger. Oh, and they’re being chased by an international crime syndicate who wants the idol for themselves, just in case you thought things were too easy. Luckily the girls are aided on their adventure by the Menehune, ʻaumākua, and other figures from Hawaiian mythology.

When I first started reading Chang’s book, I thought it was self published. The entire thing was riddled with run-on sentences, awkward phrasing, grammatical errors, and even a few typos. But nope! Cacy & Kiara went through an actual publishing house, which means, presumably, there was some sort of a professional editing process. Though, in this case, “professional editing process” most likely means that they waited until the last minute, panicked, and decided to just run the manuscript through spell check. That, or someone accidentally hired a walrus in a hat and made them an editor. Granted, Beach House is a small publisher, but you’d think that would mean their projects would get more attention and care, not less.

A walrus, wearing a hat, is sitting at a desk with a mug that says “#1 EDTOR” with backwards letters. In front of the walrus two people are arguing. A man in a suit is scolding a Hawaiian woman “How dare you question Mr. Odobenus? He’s been with this company for years! The woman has her arms throw out in frustration and yells back “But sir, Mr. Odobenus doesn’t know the difference between simple past tense and present perfect tense, and he’s constantly forgetting to add commas! Plus, he’s a freaking walrus!”

Yeah, I’m going with the Walrus theory.

Poor editing aside, the book isn’t bad. It’s creative, humorous, and I love the concept behind it. But Chang is clearly a much better artist than author, used to telling his stories through images rather than words. His art is so full of energy and expression that it does a much better job at capturing his creative ideas than the long, awkward, blocks of text he writes. In all honestly, I’d love to see the story done as a graphic novel because the ideas behind it are solid, the action scenes captivating, and the characters of Cacy and Kiara are bursting with energy and life. It’d be interesting to compare his Steampunk comic book series, Highball and Pepe, with Cacy & Kiara and see which one does a better job at telling the story. But, Chang, for the love of all that is holy, please erase your pencil lines! It just makes the art look messy and unfinished. Maybe the editor just published the rough draft instead of waiting for the final product? Because his other artwork doesn’t seem to suffer from the same problem.

A picture of Mr. Odobenus, the walrus wearing a hat. He has a goofy grin on his face and is blowing a raspberry.

I think we all know who to blame here.

But, when I finally put down my red pen and stopped nitpicking, I really enjoyed the book. About halfway through I got caught up in the action and suspense, and the novel really hit its stride. It made me think of the awesome cartoons from the 80’s – sure the writing was absurd and hackneyed, and the animation was full of errors, but we didn’t care! The action, fun characters, and creativity is what made us love them, and what made such an impression on us as kids. I can just picture Cacy and Kiara teaming up with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or piloting a nēnē goose mecha. Honestly, the book is intended for kids, and most kids are not going to care about Oxford commas or the flow of dialogue when Kiara’s flying a giant owl and Cacy is trapped in a truck that’s about to explode.

A picture of the two characters from the story, Cacy and Kiara. Cacy, a husky girl with pigtails and a wide grin, is wearing a shirt and jeans, with a pink backpack and a bat swung over her shoulder. Next to Cacy is her slightly taller, slender, bespectacled cousin, Kiara. Kiara’s hair is cut in a bob, and she’s wearing a blue school uniform. Her arms are crossed and she’s holding a strange, remote-control-looking device.

I would so watch this cartoon.

Even better, Chang has made the story educational without being preachy, unlike some of our childhood favorites (looking at you Captain Planet). This would be an awesome book to hand to a kid before a visit to Hawaiʻi Volcanoes National Park, because learning about Hawaiian myths and ecology is a lot more fun when it involves high speed chases and international crime syndicates. There’s even a glossary of terms in the back (though I question why eruption was included but musubi wasn’t). Anyone familiar with the Big Island will be delighted to see references to popular locations such as Ken’s House of Pancakes, the Thurston Lava Tube, the Volcano House, and Pu`uhonua O Hōnaunau (all places I got to visit during my honeymoon). So, if you want to read an awesome adventure story about two spunky, tween girls, while learning about the big island of Hawai’i (and you’re not a huge grammarian) I would definitely recommend this book.

*At the time of writing this I didn’t realize how much tourism is hurting Hawaii, even before Covid and the water shortage, and how most Native Hawaiians don’t want people visiting their illegally occupied land.

Tags: Asian, Asian American, BIPOC, Book Review, Children, Chinese, Ghosts/Haunting, Horror Comedy, Japanese, Korean, Myths and Folklore, Native Hawaiian, Own Voices, Pacific Islander, Recommended, Thriller

The Drowning Girl by Caitlín R. Kiernan

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Penguin

Genre: Monster, Werewolf, Romance, Ghosts/Haunting, Psychological Horror, Mystery

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Lesbian characters, trans character, mentally ill character

Takes Place in: Northeastern USA

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Mentions of Transphobia, Suicide, Emotional Abuse

Please note, I found out recently that Caitlín R. Kiernan has expressed racist and Zionist views on Twitter, explored here. I will leave the reivew up for now, but can no longer reccomend her books.

The Drowning Girl is a beautifully written, psychological horror novel about a young woman, Imp, whose schizophrenia is making it difficult for her to determine the nature of the mysterious woman haunting her. Is she a siren using her charm to lure Imp to disaster? A werewolf? A human stalker who can blur the lines of reality? Imp struggles to sort out the truth before she loses herself. Queer romance, myths, and art combine to create this award winning novel.

So did I like it? Well……. Sort of?

In theory I should have loved it. It takes place on my home turf of New England, the main character is a queer artist (like me!), she’s dating an incredibly well written trans character, the story has a creepy mystery, gorgeous imagery, and one of the best representations of mental illness I’ve ever read. But I struggled to get through the Drowning Girl. I’d pick it up, read a chapter, and then forget about it for a month. I don’t know why I didn’t devour this book as quickly as I do others, there wasn’t really anything I disliked about it, and it wasn’t boring, but it just didn’t seem to capture my attention. It reminded me of one of those award winning art films that critics love and you have to sit through in college film classes. There’s nothing bad about it per se, but you’d still rather be watching Bad Boys II, or some other equally ridiculous action flick.

In the first panel I'm in the hallway of a movie theater looking at a poster for "The English Patient" and saying "Oooh, I heard this was a great film!" In the next panel I'm in the theater looking completely disinterested, and repeating "bored, bored, bored, bored" over and over as I suffer through the movie.

Ugh, I should’ve just watched Sharknado again.

Maybe I’m just not sophisticated enough to appreciate the non-linear, stream of conciseness (i.e. all over the place) writing, or perhaps I’m too clueless to fully comprehend the subtly and symbolism of the story. But I found it really jarring to have Imp describe her girlfriend, Abalyn, play Kingdom Hearts one minute, and then have a poetic, jumbled passage full of fairy tale metaphors the next. And I get it, the writing style is intended to represent Imp’s mental illness by showing the disorganization of her thought process, the random associations she makes where none exist, and her difficulty remembering what’s real and what’s imagined. But that doesn’t always make for an enjoyable read.

I guess I’m just incredibly picky when it comes to “artsy” prose and magical realism. When it works, it works well, but when it doesn’t, it just becomes a confusing, irritating erratic mess, and with the Drowning Girl it was kind of a crap shoot.

I'm floating upside down in blue space, surrounded by dreamlike imagery of a crow wearing a cloak, a close-up of a crescent moon, a wolf's skull, pills, a crab, and a mermaid with pale, corpse-like skin. The mermaid's human half is intact but her fish half is nothing but bone. Her organs hang out of her human torso. I look confused and mutter

WTF is going on? Did I take expired cold medicine again?

Since I’m starting to feel bad for picking on this book so much (and it’s by no means a bad book), I want to address one of the things I did really like about the story, how Imp’s mental illness was treated. It wasn’t romanticized, it was just a part of her that could make her life more challenging, but not horrible. Medication made her illness manageable, but didn’t make it disappear entirely, and she was able to continue working, date, hang out with friends, pursue hobbies, and lived on her own. She would go through rough patches, some she could handle on her own, and some she couldn’t. Her therapist was supportive, without telling Imp what to do. Overall, I felt like it was a very realistic depiction of a woman with a mental illness, which is rather uncommon in fiction where the mentally ill are usually written as either asylum inmates, criminals, or manic pixie dream girls.

Overall, I really, really wanted to love this one. It had all the right ingredients, rave reviews, a talented author, but the final result was disappointing, at least for me. It wasn’t bad, but I just couldn’t bring myself to give it a “highly recommended”. That doesn’t mean other people won’t find this book amazing, and I strongly encourage others, especially those with more sophisticated taste than mine, to give it a read. Because you may love it. Or you may find it “meh”, but at least you won’t regret reading it.

Tags: Adult, Book Review, Disability, Ghosts/Haunting, Lesbian, LGBTQIA, Mental Illness, Monster, Mystery, Own Voices, Psychological Horror, Recommended, Romance, Trans, Werebeast

A Banquet for Hungry Ghosts by Ying Chang Compestine

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Tumbling Dumpling Media

Genre: Monster, Killer/Slasher, Crime, Ghosts/Haunting, Psychological Horror, Blood & Guts, Historic Horror, Anthology

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Chinese and Chinese American characters

Takes Place in: China

Content Warnings (Highlight to view): Physical Abuse, Animal Death, Animal Abuse, Child Endangerment, Child Death, Body shaming, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Cannibalism, Gore, Torture, Medical Torture, Violence, Death

There are many types of Chinese ghosts, including the spirits of deceased loved ones who may bring blessing and good fortune if properly honored, vengeful specters searching for those who wronged them in life, playful and troublesome spooks, and Hungry Ghosts, unhappy spirits with insatiable appetites. During the seventh month of the Chinese calendar, known as Ghost Month, the gates to hell are open and these spirits are able to cross over to the realm of the living. To avoid hauntings and misfortune, people will leave offerings of food in the hopes of appeasing the Hungry Ghosts who wander the streets at night. If these spirits are pleased with the food offered to them, they may leave the household in peace. But what if the Hungry Ghosts aren’t placated?

A skeletal-looking Japanese ghost with pale blue skin, flaming red hair, bulging eyes, and a distended belly is glaring at a Chinese woman who gave him a cookie and scolding "Is this Oatmeal Raisin? What is wrong with you? Raisins don't belong in cookies! You are soooo getting haunted now!" The woman yells "Nooooooooooooo!" in comical despair.

He’ll eat garbage, but he draws the line at oatmeal raisin.

He’ll eat garbage, but he draws the line at oatmeal raisin.Author Ying Chang Compestine explores both Chinese cuisine and angry spirits in her book, A Banquet for Hungry Ghosts. Ah, delicious food and gruesome horror, two of my favorite things! Admittedly, not things you’d usually think of combining, but hey, I’m not complaining. Each ghost story is dedicated to a food you might typically find in a traditional Chinese eight course banquet, and includes a recipe at the end. Okay, so maybe those with weaker stomachs may not want to try whipping up a batch of Tea Eggs right after reading about some poor guy getting disemboweled. But I’m the kind of person who can watch surgery videos while eating breakfast, so I wasn’t put off my appetite. If anything, the book made me crave cha siu bao the entire time. Oh, and by the way, the steamed dumpling recipe? Sooooooo good. I’ve got to try making the Jasmine Almond cookies next.

I'm reading "A Banquet for Hungry Ghosts" and exclaim in wonder "Woah, the inn keeper chopped people up and made them into dumplings!?" The next panel shows me biting my lip, looking conflicted, and saying "Damn it, now I want dumplings".

I also get hungry watching Hannibal. Don’t judge me.

In addition to recipes, each chapter also includes an afterword that expands on aspects of Chinese culture and history discussed in the story. There’s information on the rules of Mahjong, Mantis fighting, Qingming (Tomb Sweeping Day), the Cultural Revolution, and even anecdotes from Compestine’s own life growing up in China. Also ablation surgery, arsenic poisoning, and ancient Chinese tombs containing the victims of human sacrifice. Fun, right? Hey, it’s a book of scary stories after all, it’s to be expected. Every country has its share of atrocities from the past and present, and Compestine adds even more horror to her already spooky ghost stories by including some of China’s darker practices, such as illegal organ harvesting from prisoners and corruption at Buddhist monasteries. It’s actually quite clever how Compestine addresses certain Chinese social issues by turning them into ghost stories. At least in fiction, we get the satisfaction of seeing justice done, albeit by Hungry Ghost who enact terrible, and often gruesome vengeance.As horrific as I’ve made the book sound, it is actually intended for children. Like a more educational, Chinese, epicurean version of Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, complete with its own gorgeous, creepy, black and white illustrations. I know the blood and guts may be too much for some children (though it’s not much worse than your standard German fairy tale or Roald Dahl story) but the gore is definitely going to appeal to others. Hey, whatever gets them to read, right? Plus, it’s educational, so that’s always good. Even adults will find the stories informative; while reading Banquet for Hungry Ghosts I frequently found myself running off to Google the construction of the Great Wall or Chinese medical practices.Although the overall stories were rich and interesting, the writing could be a little simplistic, which, unfortunately, I felt detracted from the horror and kept me from giving this book the four stars it otherwise would have earned. But, again, it is a kid’s book, and it’s difficult to write something that’s elegant, interesting, and easy to read. Children reading A Banquet for Hungry Ghosts are already going to have enough trouble trying to sound out “Hemorrhagic shock”, no need to make the writing too flowery and complex. So let’s just say I’d give the writing three stars for adults and four stars for kids.My only other complaint is that the author also tended to rely heavily on gore to create scares. Being gross and being scary are two different things, and you can’t just add blood to a story and expect it to be frightening. If that were true, I could just read a medical textbook to give myself nightmares.

A mother is reading to her son a "bed time story" out of a dull, dry, medical text book. She drones on about "an X-linked, recessive, genetic deficiency which affects the plasma clotting factor VIII, by either producing a dysfunctional version of the protein." Annoyed, the boy responds "Moooom! This isn't scary!"

What are you talking about kid? Hemorrhaging is terrifying.

Like any horror anthology, some stories are much better than others. “Tofu with Chili-Garlic Sauce”, “Steamed Dumplings”, and “Beef Stew” were all excellent. “Long-Life Noodles” and “Jasmine Almond Cookies”? Not so much. But overall this is still a great book, and the combination of ghost stories, history, and cuisine make a fun and unique combination. A must read for both young horror fans and foodies.

Tags: Anthology, Asian, BIPOC, Blood & Guts, Book Review, Children, Chinese, Ghosts/Haunting, Historic Horror, Killer/Slasher, Monster, Myths and Folklore, Own Voices, Recommended

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The Scald Crow by Grace Daly

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Creature Publishing

Genre: Myth and Folklore

Audience: Adult

Diversity: Bisexual main character with chronic pain, Black Lesbian side character

Takes Place in: Illinois

Blurb

To survive, she’ll need to ignore what her mother and her chronic-pain doctors have always told her: that her perception of reality can’t be trusted.

Gross. Sadly, Brigid has internalized the belief that her disability makes her “a burden,” despite what her therapist and best friend tell her.

Tags: Adult, Bisexual, Book Review, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Disability, LGBTQIA, Myths and Folklore, Own Voices

Fever Dreams of a Parasite by Pedro Íñiguez

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Raw Dog Screaming Press

Genre: Body Horror, Eco Horror, Eldritch Horror, Folk Horror, Ghosts/Haunting, Historic Horror, Killer/Slasher, Monster, Sci-Fi Horror, Zombie

Audience: Adult

Diversity: Mexican American author and characters, Mexican characters

Takes Place in: Mainly Mexico and California

Blurb

Tags: Adult, Anthology, BIPOC, Body Horror, Book Review, Eco Horror, Eldritch, Hispanic/Latinx, Historic Horror, Mexican, Mexican American, Monster, Own Voices, Sci-Fi, Vampires

The Unfinished by Cheryl Isaacs

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

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: HarperCollins

Genre: Demon, Eco Horror, Folk Horror

Audience: Young Adult

Diversity: Kanien’kehá:ka (Mohawk) main character and author, Jamacian-American side character

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

Blurb

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve Awoken Her by Ana Dávila Cardinal

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

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: HarperCollins

Genre: Eldritch Horror, Mystery

Audience: Young Adult

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

Takes Place in: The Hamptons, NY

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

Blurb

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

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

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

Another Elizabeth by Elle Mitchell

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Little Key Press

Genre: Killer/Slasher

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Main character and authors with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (hEDS), bisexual main character

Takes Place in: Oregon

Blurb

Will she physically be able to satisfy her urge while maintaining her carefully built façade of normalcy? And if so, will she be able to stop with just one victim?