Have You Read This? Night of the Mannequins by Stephen Graham Jones

There are some works of fiction that defy mere summary. These kinds of works are so outlandish that

summarizing them for the benefit of someone unfamiliar with the author’s work is liable to raise some eyebrows. It is also one of the great things about speculative fiction. A story can have completely unreal elements as long as its grounded in some reality. Joe Lansdale demonstrated his understanding of this when he wrote "Bubba Ho-Tep," making his mummy-fighting, rest-home-dwelling Elvis a deeply nuanced protagonist. Stephen Graham Jones also understands the grounding within reality, as demonstrated by his novella Night of the Mannequins.

I am hesitant to go into details about the actual plot of this tale because half the fun of reading this is trying to wrap your mind around the sheer lunacy of the plot. I can go into some detail about what this book includes: mannequins (a given), slasher films, sacrifices, kaiju-sized monsters, coming of age. The story focuses on a group of friends whose relatively innocent prank involving a mannequin goes way out of control, leading to death, destruction, and the collapse of friendships.

The book is narrated by Sawyer, a very entertaining but unreliable narrator, who tells the tale from introducing his friends, to the prank that was the first domino, to the aforementioned death and destruction. Reading this made me wonder what talking to Stephen Graham Jones is like. Not so much when he narrates his fiction, but when he just tells a story, sitting in a bar, recalling what happened to a cousin’s cousin or a great aunt’s friend. He displays a definite gift for description in an almost stream-of-conscience way that creates a truly unique literary voice. This tale owes a lot to slashers and Godzilla but you don’t need to be an overwhelming fan of both genres to appreciate the craft Jones brings to this story.

Have You Read This? Basketful of Heads by Joe Hill, Leomacs, and Dave Stewart

 Looking once more at the offerings by Hill House Comics, it's high time I got to Joe Hill's main contribution to these titles, largely because it was the one that peaked my interest in Joe Hill's return to the graphic novel format. The cover of Basketful of Heads features a figure wearing a yellow rain slicker, face obscured in shadow. One arm holds a wicker basket with an America flag draped over it (one can assume it is the aforementioned basketful of heads). The other hand holds an archaic looking battleaxe (one can assumed it was used to sever the heads residing in the basket). Just by looking at the cover, you know what the story is about and what the major appeal of the book is. 

There is a story to the basketful of heads. It takes place on the island of Brody Island (if you watched Jaws, you'll either love the constant references to the movie or roll your eyes at them). It also features two young lovers June and Liam, who are trying to decide what to do with the rest of their lives as summer winds down on the island and all the tourists leave for the summer. She and Liam are then tangled up in a plot involving murder, corruption, and escaped convicts. Liam is captured and June, in fighting off a man in a prison jumpsuit, discovers an axe that has a strange enchantment: whenever you cut off someone's head with it, the head remains alive. June tries to track down Liam using the enchanted axe and her collection of severed heads that reveal more and more of the story. 

Yes, there is a mystery here, but it's not one that leaves a great many jaw-on-the-floor surprise twists. The only real mystery is how someone in the scene is going to lose their head and be added to the basket. However, the story isn't really the point. Joe Hill did the right thing calling this story Basketful of Heads because the title is basically the point. Sure, Hill shows his flair for dialogue and interesting characters that helped fuel the success of his seminal work Locke & Key, but this story is all about the hijinks one can get up to with a severed head. There's no Agatha Christie level of mystery here, or even a Flannery O'Connor deep dive into the human soul. This book is for fans of movies like Re-Animator and Evil
Dead that explores some really fun body horror humor. Even the art by Leomacs and Stewart harkens back to DC's Vertigo titles, which showed many adult situations in ink and paint. This book has a particular audience, but Joe Hill seems to know exactly what that audience wants. 

New Arrival: The Dollhouse Family

 If many horror stories are to be believed, childhood things should not only be put away when one gets older, but maybe even burned to ash, followed by a salting of the earth it was burned on. The closet in your bedroom? There's a monster in it. Your favorite toy? There's something evil looking at you from that toy's glass eyes. Childhood is often looked at through the rose-colored lens of nostalgia, so horror just loves coming in and flipping that love of childhood and its memories on its head. If your home currently has a dollhouse in it and you read M. R. Carey's The Dollhouse Family from Hill House Comics, you'll probably consider selling it on Ebay. Or burning it. 

The Dollhouse Family is a generation-spanning tale featuring a antique dollhouse, an ageless family that lives inside it, and a girl whose life is fundamentally altered by it. Young Alice receives the dollhouse as a six-year-old and it becomes an oasis from her turbulent home life. By speaking some magic words, she is able to enter the dollhouse and spend time with her loving surrogate family. But such magical things often has very large price tags, and what lives beyond the Black Door will eventually try to collect. An adult Alice soon finds that what lives in the Dollhouse seeks entry into our world. 

Less like an actual dollhouse and more like a grandfather clock, this story has a lot of moving parts, from Alice's ancestor, to the family that occupies the Dollhouse, to Alice's struggles as a single mother. These plot points all vie for attention, but adult Alice's struggles as a mother from a broken home resonate the most as she finds herself doing the best for her daughter, even as she must come to terms with what the Dollhouse actually is. M. R. Carey, much in the same way he wrote about zombies in The Girl With All The Gifts, doesn't go for the low-hanging fruit of haunted dollhouse. This tale involves demon hunting, domestic terrorism, as well as whether it's preferable to live in a safe fantasy versus a painful reality. Add the art from Peter Gross and Vince Locke that introduces an Adult Coraline vibe, and you have a very twisting and twisted fairy tale for adults. The ending may be too out there for some, but the journey of Alice's family shows strong bonds and abiding love that no demonic children's toy can kill.
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Have You Read This? Andy Davidson's The Boatman's Daughter

Read and find out 
what happened to this guy

Like westerns, fantasy, and science fiction, Southern Gothic fiction uses the environment as another character. Often full of tall grasses that seem to soak up the sweltering heat, lush and massive trees where evil lurks behind and within, and murky marshlands, swimming with hidden dangers, this landscape serves as both the backdrop for the characters’ various misdeeds and its own character, as much alive as the people who plot and murder within its confines. This is the setting of Andy Davidson’s latest book The Boatman’s Daughter, a beautifully fantastic, Southern gothic tale of dark magic and darker stains upon the soul.

The protagonist Miranda Crabtree grew up in the swamps of Arkansas. After losing her father at an early age, she is adopted by a mysterious witch, earning herself an adopted brother, and soon begins working with a cast of shady characters. Miranda’s world is upended when a mysterious girl comes into the swamp. The girl has strange powers, and some bad men want her, men willing to burn down or tear through whatever gets in their way. The girl’s entry into Miranda’s life also upends everything she thought she knew about her life and her makeshift family, even as she strives to defend both.

The Southern gothic tradition boasts such luminaries as Flannery O’Connor and William Faulkner, and even if Andy Davidson’s writing doesn’t transcend the prose of these luminaries, he shows his love for the genre, perhaps even an innate understanding of it, through the prose he writes. The land that he writes about is as textured and thrumming with menacing as the diabolical preacher Billy Cotton and the sadistic constable Charlie Riddle. The book could take place a year ago, five years ago, and even twenty years ago, the setting so alien and separate from what we know that the intrusion from the outside world, the world beyond the swamp, is minimal. Davidson’s prose draws you into this world, as fantastical as anything Frodo walked through, but grounded in a gritty reality familiar to fans of noir and suspense. Readers will marvel at the spectacle of the world Davidson paints even as they watch their steps for water moccasins.

New Arrival: The Low, Low Woods

When I first heard about Hill House Comics, the DC horror comics imprint spearheaded by Joe Hill, I was excited. Like kid-on-Christmas excited. I have very fond memories of Locke & Key, Hill’s first foray into comics and where I discovered he was more than just Stephen King’s son. Hill has time and again proved himself superior to his father when it comes to weaving the fantastical into his fiction. However, I discovered that he would not be writing the comics, but my disappointment was short-lived upon discovering that the writers are some of the most well-known in speculative fiction, providing their own unique tales within a graphic novel format. Such a tale is Carmen Maria Machado’s rural horror The Low, Low Woods.

The story focuses on the small town of Shudder-To-Think, Pennsylvania, a town like many mining towns where the mines make money at the cost of human lives. People die in the mines, people get sick in the mines, but the town also has skinless men, monstrous hybrids, and periodic amnesia among its female population. Best friends El and Vee try to find out the secret that has been haunting the town all while trying to escape the fate that has befallen all the women in Shudder-To-Think.

Carmen Maria Machado, author of Her Body and OtherParties, has a lot of moving parts in this story. Everything from bizarre body horror to the deep friendship between Vee and El. This friendship is not only by the town’s secrets but also by another force that has pulled apart the tapestry of friendships: making plans after high school. Machado’s ear for dialogue fleshes out so many of the characters in this piece, just as DaNi's artwork seeks to twist that shape into disturbing contortions. Think Jock’s artwork in Wytches and you’ll have an idea of the realistic yet at times surreal artwork in these pages.

For those that have read Machado’s previous works and expecting some horror mined from a woman’s experience, Machado doesn’t disappoint here. When the mystery is revealed, it becomes apparent that the evil in this town is not just supernatural and it will take more than putting a wooden stake through a ribcage to end it. Machado’s work explores the notion of traumatic memories, whether it is best to remember and potentially grow stronger from experiencing them, or is it better to discard these memories and move forward? Fighting and defeating the monster is often the definitive end of stories of supernatural evil, will all that’s left is to stand in the sunshine of a new day. If anything, the ending lets the reader know that the fight, and the subsequent healing, is just beginning.

Screen to Scream: Near Dark and In the Valley of the Sun

Bill Paxton's Severen looks like me 
eating hot wings.

Vampires have often been portrayed in movies and books as sensitive, brooding, and sexy monsters. There are some media, however, that show them to be just monsters, monsters that happen to feed on blood and violence. They may make these vampires compelling, but they never let the reader/viewer forget what they are. Two such examples of this are examples of a mashup genre people might call Vampire Westerns: the gritty 80’s movie Near Dark and Andy Davidson’s debut novel In the Valley of the Sun.

Near Dark, acclaimed director Kathryn Bigelow's best kept secret of a vampire movie, stars Adrian Pasdar as Caleb Colton, a nice guy cowboy who falls for drifter Mae. Mae (Jenny Wright) has a secret, however, and all it takes is one bite before Caleb is indoctrinated into her vampire family, including patriarch Jesse Hooker (Lance Henriksen) and scene-chewer Severen (Bill "Game Over, Man" Paxton). The family takes Caleb in, even taking him out to dinner. Of course, dinner involves starting and subsequently consuming bloodbath at a local bar. Not partaking, Caleb still holds onto his humanity, even as he tries to both save his younger sister and help his new girlfriend as the family comes looking for them. Long before Twilight, Caleb and Mae exemplified a vampire romance and all the internal conflict and bodily bloodshed it entails, especially as both young lovers try to quell their murderous urges. 

Travis Stillwell, the protagonist of Davidson’s novel, knows something about fighting these urges, but he is also no stranger to killing. Not only is he a Vietnam veteran whose seen his fair share of death, he’s brought it to many young girls throughout Texas. He is given eternal life by Rue, a vampire who shares her blood with him and insinuates herself into his existence. Rather than use his vampiric abilities to sate his hunger with the blood of young women, he focuses on one family, a single mother and her son. Near Dark is horror, but it also has a few action movie moments, like a Terminator moment involving a semi-truck. It moves quickly from one scene to the next while In the Valley of the Sun focuses on Travis, the mother, and the Texas Ranger trying to stop him, fleshing out these characters while drawing them closer until the understated Western-like showdown that serves as the novel's climax. Near Dark features flaming vampires in the sun while In the Valley of the Sun features people and vampires exploding with unrequited passions. 

Fearsome Five: Five Staycation Books

Remember when asshole jellyfish 
were the least of our problems?

People probably had lots of vacation plans for 2020, if they started planning back in February.  And even then, many had probably held out hope that the pandemic would release its grip on the world and those vacation plans could still happen this year. We've plummeted into August and summer is flying by, but COVID-19 looks to have made itself at home in our lives and in our minds. Travel might be out of the question, but look at all the stories out there of trips outside of one's hometown, outside of their home, that go completely off the rails. Horror stories have proven time and time again that travel is overrated, maybe even dangerous.  Need proof? Here are five examples: 

Castaways by Brian Keene. When people think of vacations, some might think of sandy beaches, ocean waves, picturesque sunsets, and palm trees gently swaying in the breeze. The beach is where many people go to forget their troubles, but the people in Brian Keene’s novel discover worse issues than sunburn on their tropical island excursion. Sure, there's a reality show competition, but there are also the other inhabitants of that island who aren't exactly welcoming to tourists. 

Travelers’ Rest by Keith Lee Morris. Not interested in the beach? There's always the open road, seeing every part of this country, from beautiful mesas to majestic forests, but there's the possibility of stopping at a place that wouldn't mind you staying for a spell . . . or forever. Traveler's Rest looks like a welcome break from a long winter's drive, but for the Addison family, the hotel is actually a place where reality breaks way more than the Wi-Fi. Just like some people need working Wi-Fi, some people insist on a working reality. 

The Troop by Nick Cutter. Some people don't need a working Wi-Fi and might find themselves renewed by being away from the screens that constantly war for our meager attention spans. Return to nature, enjoy a roaring campfire, sleep under the stars. But anyone who remembers the line about nature being "red with tooth and claw" surely knows that nature isn't always relaxing. In fact, nature can often try to kill you. The stalker of the scout troop in Cutter's Lord of the Flies coated in body horror is no giant monster, but something small enough to get inside you, small enough to gnaw its way into your core. Visit these woods and you'll be hungry for more than just some time away from your iPhone.  

FantasticLand by Mike Bockoven. Maybe escaping into nature isn't your thing. Maybe you're searching for something more . . . fantastic. Time to go to a land which promises rides and games and fun galore, a place where "fun in guaranteed." But what happens when the system that makes all the rides, games, and fun run breaks down? A place full of dreams can easily turn into one full of nightmares once the power goes out and the authorities are nowhere to be seen. I mean, the teens that get trapped in FantasticLand make do by forming gangs, battling for supplies, and even getting into some recreational cannibalism. Aren't those turkey legs at Disney World great? 

Worst Laid Plans: An Anthology of Vacation Horror by Samantha Kolesnik (editor). If I missed something, it's more than likely covered in this anthology edited by the author of the disturbing debut novel True Crime. Meeting new people you wouldn't otherwise? V. Castro's story suggests that's a bad idea. Still think the beach is a great place to relax? Hailey Piper might suggest anywhere else. Want to learn more about our reptile friends? The story from Malcolm Mills shows one can know too much. The introduction to this collection is written by horror reviewer and blog celebrity Mother Horror, who I'm guessing would suggest you just stay home and read.

Have You Read This? Doorways to the Deadeye by Eric J. Guignard

One of the reasons I love to read fiction is because I know that fiction is more than words on paper, more than the descriptions attributed to a character or a scene. Stories, whether they're novels, novellas, short stories, or heck, even limericks, become more than the words that compose them. They grow from mere words into people, worlds, universes when they are read, pondered, absorbed, and especially shared. I happen to be a particular fan of this particular brand of metafiction (shout out, of course, to Clive Barker's story "The Forbidden," which in turn birthed Candyman). Eric J. Guignard takes this idea of fiction becoming real and creates a fantastic and exciting universe in his novel Doorways to the Deadeye. 

Guignard focuses not on literature, per se, but on uniquely American legends. These aren't tales of Pecos Bill and Paul Bunyan, however. These are tales of gangsters, lawmen, heroes, and Luke Thatcher, riding the rails in Depression-era America discovers through the Hobo Code that these legends gain flesh-and-blood reality in a world of Anathasia, also called the Deadeye. Luke Thacker is no Pecos Bill but he becomes one as he unlocks the secrets of this other world, using it to help the love of his life and to protect it from those legends who seek to do it harm. In Anathasia, the more the living remember you, the more powerful you become, and there are those who seek to expand their legend to the point where it supersedes all other folklore. 

This is a great book for people who love their worlds fun and fantastical. Guignard has also avoided pigeonholing the various legends Luke encounters into the tropes their legends happen to fit. In other words, nefarious gangsters can become your allies, stalwart lawmen might be hunting you, and the greatest enemy of all is one of our nation's founding fathers. Apart from creating a consistent yet entertaining universe in the Deadeye, Guignard fills his tale with characters brimming with personalities, especially the legends who have tics and quirks they might not have been initially known for. One of the joys of reading this book was to wait and see what legend Guignard reinterprets next. While this book definitely falls more on the fantastical than horror, there is a scene involving a very unassuming yet infamous axe murderer that would make any gorehound salivate. Overall, this is a book for fans of horror and fantasy as well as for people who believe fervently in the power of imagination. 

Have You Read This? Into Bones Like Oil by Kaaron Warren

Many people describe the overall purpose of the horror story as creating emotions like fear, dread, and terror in the reader. There are also readers like Paul Tremblay who create disquiet, the feeling taht something is not quite right, and that whatever is "not quite right" could lead to something truly awful. Rather than relying on jump scares or moments that grab the reader by the throat, these authors of disquiet create scenes that settle like a miasma over readers, causing them discomfort while pulling them deeper into the universe the writer has created. Kaaron Warren goes all into creating atmosphere with her novella Into Bones Like Oil.
The premise of the book sets it apart from the average ghost story. Protagonist Dora is the latest resident of the Angelsea rooming house, which is located near an old shipwreck. Broken people come to the Angelsea, including Dora, who has recently lost her daughters, but the Angelsea is also home to a unique brand of ghosts, ones that speak through the living while they sleep. You can probably get a good night's sleep at the Angelsea, but expect a ghost to use you as its mouthpiece and whisper its secrets to anyone willing to watch and listen to you sleep.
The book goes all in on atmosphere. The characters are profoundly miserable, with even their social gatherings full of a kind of sickly tension that remains throughout the encounter. Day and night also have very little difference between them; everything being a dreary overcast of the soul. Even he ghosts themselves aren't the most frightening thing in this book; rather, they are treated like a morbid feature of the hotel, but still a feature as mundane as the view from the balcony or the continental breakfast, which lies one of the more fascinating aspects of the book. Much like Micah Dean Hicks's Break the Bodies, Haunt the Bones, the spirits are fully ingrained into this shadow universe full of magical realism. Angelsea owner Roy is more disturbing than the ghosts that speak through the emotionally dead yet living people who rent his rooms. Not only does Roy pump the spirits for information about the shipwreck, he is willing to cut deals with his living tenants to get the ghosts to speak through them. Basically, Roy has no problems exploiting the living and the dead and the living all cater to Roy's need to hear the dead speak.
The book is not a plot-driven piece; there is no grand climax or eureka moments for these characters. Nobody really learns anything and the denouement is truly minimal. I actually listened to this book on audio during a long drive. It was raining and the sky was a dismal gray that makes a story like this feel appropriate. Finally finishing the book was more like coming up for air rather than the satisfaction of unraveling a story. This book is not for readers whose reason for reading is opening up a story like it's a puzzle box. This novella,which makes Into Bones Like Oil only the briefest dive into sadness, is for readers who like their stories to take them to other places, if only for a little while.

New Arrival: The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones

Who doesn't love a good ghost story? That may depend on the individual and what stories they've witnessed. For every The Haunting of Hill House or The Turn of the Screw, there are a thousand examples of poorly-written, doomed-to-be-direct-to-video dreck. A good ghost story is more than just creaking staircases and jump scares. A good ghost story has real emotion, a well-laden atmosphere, and a spirit with a clear motivation, whether its malice or revenge, or even both. Adding to the list of great ghost stories is Stephen Graham Jones, whose latest The Only Good Indians shows a unique ghost story that is miles ahead of the multitude of mundane bump-in-the-night tales.
I classify this tale as a ghost story, but the antagonist isn't wearing a white flowing gown nor do they rattle any chains. The spirit that follows four Native American best friends is just as much of a character as the four men who transgressed by hunting on the wrong land. The book doesn't seem to have a first-person or third person narrator, but weaves its way through the narratives and lives (or unlives) of the four men and one vengeful spirit in such as way as to not be jarring at all. Rather, the reader becomes like a spirit that travels behind the eyes and into the minds of the various people that are tied together in this story.
The book unveils many issues, ranging from cultural identity to the strength, for better or worse, of tradition, but it also showcases Stephen Graham Jones as a top-notch storyteller. Somehow offering sumptuous description without flowery words, Jones's words maintain that tricky balance of moving the reader through the story at a quick pace while also immersing them in life on the Reservation and beyond. No character in this story feels underdeveloped or one-dimensional and when tragedy befalls them, the reader might audibly gasp in shock at the brutality and the emotion of their passing. Rare is the author who can balance between brutality and beauty, of storycraft and carnage, but Stephen Graham Jones, called the Jordan Peele of horror fiction, looks at modern issues in a way that makes everyone want to look as well.

Have You Read This? Kin by Kealan Patrick Burke

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre ends with the heroine Sally escaping by diving into the bed of a pickup truck. She's laughing maniacally, victoriously, as the truck drives away from the site of the massacre while Leatherface, the man responsible for most of the movie's bloodshed, can only swing his buzzing chainsaw in the air impotently, defeated. The movie ends on that note of triumph, but what if there was more to the story? Would the movie still have its impact if it followed Leatherface having to tell his family his prey escaped? Or followed Sally through her attempts to process what happened to her friends, the ones murdered by Leatherface's sadistic clan? Kealan Patrick Burke explores these questions, as well as the overall effect of trauma, in his ode to cannibal backwoods killers Kin.
Unlike Chainsaw, Kin begins with heroine Claire Lambert's harrowing escape from the diabolical Merrill family. She is naked, missing extremities, including her eye, and her body is running completely on instinct after escaping her captivity. Make no mistake that Burke does not shy away from the gory details, from describing the family's preparation of victims to the effects that horrors, like the ones the Merrills perpetrate on everyone, affect everyone in their orbit. Burke adds multiple stories, from the family that rescued Claire when they drove by, to a brother whose come home from a war only to start a new one when he discovers his brother, Claire's boyfriend, was one of those killed in the massacre. Now outside forces wanting retribution are bearing down on the Merrill clan, which is ruled with an iron fist and a Bible by Papa-In-Gray. Papa-in-Gray has trained his boys to hunt and to fight, to protect what is theirs and take what they want. It is truly unknown, as you read, who will walk away from the book's final showdown
One of the hardest balancing acts to maintain with books that don't shy away from violence is balancing it with some empathy. The advent of the movie genre "torture porn" shows the results of violence without empathy. Luckily, Burke knows how to make characters the reader can sympathize with. Even the mostly despicable members of the Merrill family show themselves to be more than cardboard monsters, particularly Luke, the son who is starting to question Papa-In-Gray's authority. If this were merely another book full of violent deaths and depictions of brutality that would make a med school student nauseous, I couldn't recommend this book, but Burke does know the craft of writing, making beautiful sentences, and showing us characters whose need for vengeance is as strong as their need to heal. While this book is not everyone's cup of bloody tea, Kin goes well beyond violence for violence's sake.

Screen to Scream: In the Tall Grass

I sometimes feel a little self-conscious about admitting my fandom of Stephen King and Joe Hill, the maligned and allegedly aggrandized master of the macabre and his boy Joe, a regular chip off the old tombstone, who's getting as much name recognition as his father through a similar amount of media saturation. Yes, there are many indie authors out there breaking boundaries and tearing down walls (and Stephen didn't help his case with THAT tweet!) and many might think that Stephen's horror belongs in the past, but I do owe something to Uncle Stephen for turning me onto horror. I also owe Joe Hill, a storyteller who in many respects has surpassed his father, for showing me how magic and awe can still be woven into a story, almost a throwback to Ray Bradbury and . . . well, his dad. I usually turn to a Gabino Iglesias or Nick Cutter for stories that hit like a sucker punch to the gut whereas a Stephen King/Joe Hill tale might be like a trip through a neighbor's haunted house on Halloween, a neighbor that's maybe a dentist when it's not Halloween. I enjoy their fiction but their stories don't necessarily shock me. Then I read "In the Tall Grass" (from Hill's Full Throttle collection) and I saw the Netflix movie based on the story.
The story begins like a typical Stephen King or Joe Hill story: normal-seeming Cal and Becky Demuth are driving along, their deep yet placid brother/sister relationship explained in the introduction. Becky is pregnant and Cal, the dutiful brother, is driving his sister to San Diego to stay with relatives while she has the baby. Then they hear a young boy's cry for help emanating from a sea of tall grass. Stopping to offer assistance, Cal gives a "Captain Cal to the rescue" before he runs headlong into it, followed by Becky who loses her signal and soon her way. The siblings, separated, are lead not only away from each other, but toward a dark fate thanks to whatever lurks in the grass and the power it has over those who enter its domain. The Netflix movie manages to add onto this premise by including the baby's father as well as a time travel narrative that's difficult to follow at times, but both stories become very dark very quick. What starts off as a fun spooky tale becomes darker and more disturbing as the violence is taken to unexpected places. "In the Tall Grass" is about isolation, madness, and even a little folk horror, but both movie and book both show a major strength of both father and son, creating fleshed-out and empathetic characters that the readers' hearts will break for once the horror closes in on them. What makes this story different is the sheer level of savagery the characters endure, not in a gratuitous way but one that shows just how unrelenting, ancient, and barbaric the thing in the grass is. It's a story that shows that father and son can break out the buckets of blood when they need to, but you should experience both for yourself. Just be sure to have a Ray Bradbury or Neil Gaiman palate cleanser story on standby.

Have You Read This? The Bone Weaver's Orchard by Sarah Read

Fans of Harry Potter, as well as many young adult and juvenile books, may be familiar with the trope dealing with the transformative power of a new school/new environment. After living with his aunt and uncle who treat him like an afterthought at best and like a whipped dog at worst, Harry is whisked off to Hogwarts where he finds fame, friendship, and perhaps more importantly, acceptance. But Charley Wilson finds something altogether different in Sarah Read's The Bone Weaver's Orchard when he is sent off to school.
With his mother dead and his father serving in the military, Charley is sent to the Old Cross School for Boys. While Harry Potter enters Hogwarts a celebrity thanks to being "The Boy Who Lived," Charley enters the school as a boy struggling to find a place away from his family. He is able to confide in people like gardener Sam Forster and and motherly Matron Grace, but Charly is still regarded as a troublemaker by many of his teachers and fellow classmates. What purpose he does find begins when a potential friend winds up missing, leading Charley on a mystery involving dark, crumbling corridors, Gothic ruins, and ghastly secrets.
As I read this book, after I tried to stop comparing it to Harry Potter, it reminded me of Disney movies during the 70's and 80's that, before the animated era of talking crabs and blue genies, made live-action movies that terrified a generation. The book started out as something that could have been in the juvenile section of the library, particularly with the child protagonist struggling to solve a mystery that many of his peers and authority figures tell him to ignore. It soon became something genuinely frightening as the school does have some very dark and disturbing secrets, as violent and terrifying as anything dreamed up by Mary Shelley or Clive Barker. Once again going back to the Harry Potter analogy, Sarah Read offers up some real literary magic to combine so many influences from both children's and adult literature to create the story of a plucky, young hero who, while dealing with his own traumas, tries to survive what is waiting out in the burned, dilapidated halls of Old Cross, thus creating a book that serves as the perfect bridge for young adult horror readers who are looking for a genuinely terrifying and disturbing experience.

Fearsome Five: Five Books Coming Out in April

Hey, everyone. It's been a while. I've been hunkered down amidst the dark stacks, trying to stay safe, get some work done, and avoid any Wiki holes that will make me an expert on, say, Thundercats trivia and little else. It's the old paradox about having too much time, finding the best way to be the most productive. After stockpiling toilet paper and watching the entirety of Tiger King on Netflix, I figured it was high time to get back to talking about the genre that is near and dear to my pumping, gore-soaked heart. And what better way to reconnect (while maintaining social distancing, of course) is to look around and see five scary books that are coming out this April.
Eden by Tim Lebbon Horror with an ecological message is rare, but this entry offers up an interesting sci-fi premise. The world has gotten so polluted that humanity has literally given back to nature areas known as the Virgin Zones, which are allowed to flourish with exotic fauna and wildlife, essentially a replacement for the rainforest and other lands we've destroyed. These areas are typically untouched, until a group explores one of these zones, Eden, and discovers that what humanity gave up, nature will fiercely preserve with the weapons at its disposal.
The Wise Friend by Ramsey Campbell Fans of a more subtle brand of horror tend to gravitate toward Ramsey Campbell, and this title is sure not to disappoint. An English professor knows his beloved Aunt Thelma is a famous artist whose work had grown darker before she finally committed suicide. What he learns is that the occult and her visits to sites of magical power may have had a hand in her death. When his teenage son begins to follow in his aunt's footsteps, will the father be able to save the son? And himself?
Velocities: Stories by Kathe Koja How do you feel about short story collections? How about creepy dolls? Artists and their dark inspirations? Short story collections are like the buffets of fiction; gives you the ability to sample bite-sized examples of an artist's talent. This collection features 13 never before published stories that are all distinctly Kathe Koja, and you know you've made it when your own name becomes an adjective.
The Ancestor by Danielle Trussoni A Gothic sci-fi tale that starts out like a dream come true, until it becomes a nightmare, of course. Alberta "Bert" Monroe discovers that she's inherited a noble title, a lot of cash, and a castle in Italy, she discovers a branch of her family tree that she never knew existed. But after indulging in the sudden fortune and fame, she discovers that belonging to the Montebianco family exerts a very high price that, despite her newfound wealth, she may be unable to pay.
The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires by Grady Hendrix Fans of Steel Magnolias and Fright Night will love this uniquely horrific mashup that is unquestionably Grady Hendrix (see what I did there?). Patricia Campbell is a harried housewife and mother whose idea of unwinding is talking true crime with her true crime book club. When a stranger moves into her neighborhood and children turn up missing, Patricia discovers something far more sinister that what Agatha Raisin deals with.

Have You Read This? The Deep by Alma Katsu

The sinking of the Titanic is one of the most notorious disasters in human history. It has permeated our collective consciousness so much that one could easily find several books about the disaster, a few dozen documentaries concerning the doomed ship, or Google the millions of times it has been referenced in popular culture, and that was even before Rose promised Jack that her heart would go on (I admit I never watched the entire Titanic movie). To take the well-known disaster and example of humanity's hubris and try to make it the backdrop of a novel is therefore a brave undertaking. How does the author avoid doing what has already been done before? Alma Katsu, pioneer of the historical horror genre, has managed to create something new and interesting with her latest book The Deep.
One of the things she does differently is add into the narrative Titanic's sister ship the Britannic, which was recommissioned as a sort of floating hospital and met a similar fate to her sister ship. Katsu's narrative not only jumps back and forth between the maiden voyage of the Titanic and the final voyage of the Britannic, there are also many characters that she reveals to the reader, from two boxers/grifters/starcrossed lovers to a woman whose relationship with her much older husband is more like a business merger than one born of love, to the stars of Katsu's drama, mysterious nurse Annie Hebley and Mark Fletcher, a father with a new baby girl and a dark secret.
Katsu's biggest strength as a writer is her ability to research. Stephen King once said that he needed just enough truth to lie convincingly when writing fiction, but Katsu gives plenty of facts, from people to early 20th century nautical trivia, to create a very real historical setting. Readers will come to the book knowing about the Titanic, which already creates a sense of looming disaster/tension from the first page, but Katsu's level of knowledge makes sure that readers can stay immersed in that setting for as long as they wish. Another strength on display in this book is Katsu's knack for character development. The book jumps around to different people and different perspectives but managed not to make them all feel one-dimensional. The two boxers Dai and Les were easily two of my favorites that I was honestly rooting for. Katsu managed to do this character juggling act throughout the whole book, right till the tragic ending of both ships. The perfect book for fans of historical horror who like a little of the fantastic, The Deep is a book into which you'll happily immerse yourself.

Screen to Scream: The Wind and The Hunger

Horror often involves isolation. If not specifically about isolation, then authors and story creators will put their protagonists in situations that cuts them off from their fellow humans, often physically separated by the environment. While the fact of our digitally connected world may stretch the believability of this isolation (how many places are too far away from cell towers?), this isolation is often internal as well. This is the case for two tales of people foolishly following manifest destiny: the movie The Wind: Demons of the Prairie as well as Alma Katsu's novel The Hunger.
Both movie and book take place on the American prairie and both are relatively understated horror (cannibalism and child death notwithstanding). Not exactly buckets of blood, but both have plenty of foreboding atmosphere. The Wind features Lizzy and her husband Isaac, settlers who have learned to survive the desolate landscape. Soon, they make the acquaintance of another couple Emma and Gideon, who have left a life of comfort behind. The four become friends, but Lizzy hears thing in the howling wind. She sees how what lurks out there affects Emma and it soon starts to affect Lizzie as well. She begins to have her own supernatural experiences while her husband is away and soon her trust in Isaac erodes. There are indeed demons on this prairie and those demons have infiltrated Lizzie's mind and work steadily to destroy her faith and the life she has built with her husband. Told in a non-chronological narrative, the story jumps around in places, meaning you'll have to pay attention to get the whole story, but even if you watch diligently, the movie may leave you with more questions than answers, particularly as to the reality of the events that took place.
The Hunger is a book similar in subject and tone to The Wind. Both books take place on the prairie and both books feel free to play with narrative structure. While The Wind jumps around from one part of the story to the next, Katsu's reimagining of the Donner Party pulls in a lot of epistolary examples from letters and journal entries to explore the lives of the party members before they made their fateful journey. Another similarity both book and movie share is the use of approaching tragedy to create tension. Even readers who haven't read about the Donner Party will have an idea what ultimately befell the settlers in The Hunger, and The Wind starts straight away with a blood-soaked Lizzy and a husband desperate to know what happened. Katsu's book also forces the reader to pay attention as she introduces many characters and backstories, many of which based on real people. However, this plethora of characters shouldn't dissuade readers from picking this book up after watching The Wind. Katsu is deft at not only fleshing out these different characters but tying up their tragic stories by the book's end.

New Arrival: The Garden of Bewitchment by Catherine Cavendish

As an undergraduate English major, I was introduced to many books that I otherwise would not have read. Even if I didn't really appreciate reading them at the time, the same way kids don't always appreciate the green vegetables they were forced to consume, I find that I am still a better writer and better librarian for it. This is especially true upon discovering Gothic classics like Wuthering Heights or Wieland, Or, The Transformation, or the expanded universe of Poe's writings beyond "The Tell-Tale Heart." I discovered these stories and still remember them fondly. In reading Catherine Cavendish's The Garden of Bewitchment, it was like a trip back to when I first discovered these stories and what made them special.
The story is set up like many Gothic page-turners: in 1893, two sisters Claire and Evelyn Wainwright have moved to a quiet cottage on the English countryside, but a mysterious game is waiting for them, a magical game called the Garden of Bewitchment. The game allows you to make your own garden, complete with house and with little cardboard people inside, but there are also things waiting for Claire and Evelyn in the house, and in the garden. What is waiting for them wants the sisters to stay awhile, possibly forever.
More fun than downright terrifying, this book often feels like a kitchen sink of Gothic and horror conventions, everything from mysterious but genial stranger Matthew Dixon to Bramwell Bronte, a specter who is also Claire's paramour, but these differing elements, from fantastical board games to serpentine Old World gods, come together in a fun and lively way. Even the sisters' love of Bronte's literature and their own writing endeavors show that Cavendish is well-versed in Gothic horror and doesn't mind addressing it in an almost meta way. Fans of classic stories from Poe, Hawthorne, Lovecraft, and Bronte, whether or not they discovered these writers in a college-level English course, will find something to love in this garden, which Catherine Cavendish has planted with an evident love for Gothic literature.

Have You Read This? Horde

Many people are familiar with the psychological phenomenon known as hoarding. Many are familiar with it because of shows like Hoarders, which reveals our morbid fascination with watching people whose lives are overtaken by their possessions. Objects can have meaning beyond their function, but becoming overly attached to so many things can pollute one's living space, to which the subjects on the show can attest. However, it's also surprising that very few horror stories have tackled this phenomenon since it involves both a psychological compulsion and an environment that slowly turns against its owner. An exception to this dearth of coverage, and a well-conceived one, is the new graphic novel Horde by Marguerite Bennett and Leila Leiz.
The story focuses on Ruby Ando, a young woman tasked with helping her mother Mia clear her hoarding house of its massive collection of treasures and trinkets that Mia seems to love more than her flesh and blood. Mia loves them so much, in fact, that these items become alive and very possessive of Mia. Of course, Ruby doesn't know this until she shows her anger toward the house and the house retaliates by pulling Ruby deeper into its clutches but also deeper into her Mother's mindscape, a literal maze full of monsters and memories that will either absorb Ruby into their ranks or simply dispose of her.
Bennett's story is rich in symbolism as she creates a fantasy world that not only keeps Mia trapped in memories of the past but actively tries to stop Ruby from freeing her. Ruby even has a dead cat that serves as her Virgil-like guide through the layers of her mother's psyche. Bennett has created a world that is fed by Mia's misguided love for her possessions while those possessions, given a semblance of life, allow Mia to avoid living beyond her collection, a symbiotic relationship that ensures Mia's imprisonment. I would also be remiss to not mention Leila Leiz's disturbing artwork, whether it involves furniture and household items becoming monsters or people becoming mere treasures themselves. Seeing someone become a vase has never been more horrifying as it is depicted in the book. My only critique of this book, if it is a critique in fact, is that it seemed too short. There seemed to be a much more developed world not yet explored, but Bennett does provide some emphatic resolution that prevents anything like a sequel from happening. That simply means, though, that I, as a reader, must resign myself to eagerly anticipating more collaborations from Bennett and Leiz.

Screen to Scream: We Have Always Lived in the Castle

Since it is Women in Horror Month, I thought I'd look at a classic female author, one who has had a great influence on the horror genre as a whole. People might have been introduced to Shirley Jackson in school from her short story "The Lottery," which may have been their introduction to the twist ending. There are others who know her for The Haunting of Hill House, which birthed at least two movies and a crazy awesome Netflix series. However, I have recently discovered Jackson's last tale and, in my opinion, her most disturbing, We Have Always Lived in the Castle. I have also discovered a recently made movie adaptation featuring some well-known stars.
We Have Always Lived in the Castle invokes its terror in much the same way Hill House did: by having a unreliable narrator relay the story, but the audience only realizes how unreliable she is as the story progresses. Hill House's Eleanor Vance is seen for the most part as sheltered and awkward until the house tightens its grip on her. The narrator in We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Merricat Blackwood, begins the novel by announcing she is 18 years old and is sadly not a werewolf. From there, the reader is introduced to her eccentric family, her doting sister Constance, and her invalid uncle Julian, who drifts in and out of the present while working on his true crime book involving the family. It is through interactions with these characters that the reader discovers that the rest of the Blackwood clan was poisoned. Their existence is an unusual one but structured, which is just how Merricat likes it. Then cousin Charles arrives and upends Merricat's orderly existence. Charles's increasingly boorish and domineering behavior, along with the festering resentment from the nearby village create a powderkeg that ultimately explodes, but like the title implies, Merricat remains, eternal, unknowable, a violent trap just waiting to be sprung.
The 2018 movie surprisingly follows the book with a few additions to the plot to tell this story visually. From American Horror Story's Taissa Farmiga and Baywatch's Alexandria Daddario to Winter Soldier Sebastian Stan and generally creepy dad Crispin Glover, this movie can actually be called star-studded. The direction and cinematography reminds me of many quirky directors, such as the title cards reminiscent of a Wes Anderson film and the Danny Elfman-sounding soundtrack that'd seem right at home in a Tim Burton film. The actors also portray their characters as slightly off, particularly Farmiga's twitchy and antisocial mannerism she gives to Merricat. Director Stacie Passon's tale and camera work reminded me of a darker version of the series Pushing Daisies, even as the story takes some dark turns. She also changes to the story that render Charles a much larger douchebag than in the book, and the ending though creepy ends up being more weird than horrifying. Jackson's original story is the more terrifying because it unfolds like a piece of origami, each section opening revealing another part of the whole story, another damaged fragment of Merricat's psyche, but what's really going on isn't revealed until the paper is completely unfolded. The movie is a passable and entertaining homage to Jackson's work but the original book remains a masterclass in storytelling, demonstrating how an unreliable narrator, in what they say and don't say, reveals so much about the story.   

Have You Read This? Doll Crimes by Karen Runge

Librarians concerned about selecting horror for libraries are often concerned about getting a book that crosses the boundaries of violence and/or good taste. They may feel more comfortable with more mainstream choices like Stephen King but might balk when having to determine if The Girl Next Door should go into the collection. My own thoughts are that horror, great horror, should push some boundaries and that libraries are responsible for selecting a wide range of materials, including horror. One example of such a book that should be in a library's collection is Karen Runge's novel Doll Crimes, a book that brazenly and beautifully tells a horrifying and heartbreaking story.
The female protagonist in this story travels the country with her mother, using their good looks and street smarts to live off the kindness of male strangers. Told through the young girl's perspective, the reader gets a sense of this girl's hopes, dreams, and violent imaginings because the world she lives in, this vagabond lifestyle shared with her mother, slowly loses its romantic sheen over the course of the book. The readers are introduced, little by little, to what the mother does to get by as well as what it does to her daughter. By the end of the book, the daughter grows as a person, but not necessarily a well-adjusted one.
What makes Doll Crimes such an extreme book is not the level of violence, really hardly any actual blood is spilled in the novel, but this book does delve into some dark corners of the human psyche through the unreliable view of the daughter and the slow realization of the tragedy that her life has become. I have made a lot of comparisons to The Girl Next Door in this review, and the actual physical violence in Doll Crimes is considerably less than that work, but Runge's work will also tear at the reader's heart as they see a young girl broken by the people that were supposed to be protecting her.

Fearsome Five: Top Five Reimaginings of Frankenstein

On February 1st, 1851, Mary Shelley passed away but not before she cemented her legacy in the burgeoning horror genre. Frankenstein, her seminal story about monsters and the men that don't think about the consequences of creating them, lives on in everything from classic movies to cereal mascots. Its longevity is, in part, because this story, like all good horror and science fiction, hits on some timeless and timely themes, ranging from relationships with creators (parents?) to hubris disguised as the pursuit of science, has allowed this tale to come back in a myriad of forms, like its monster, pieced together from our own experiences, cultures, and folklore. On this, the anniversary of her death, to celebrate the monster she has brought to life and we keep resuscitating, here are my top five Frankenstein-inspired reading suggestions.
5) Made Men: Getting the Gang Back Together: It's a continuation of the Frankenstein mythos with a little Kill Bill and Lethal Weapon thrown into the mix. Easily one of the more original takes, this graphic novel, written by Paul Tobin of Colder fame, features Jutte, a police officer and ancestor of the infamous Doctor Frankenstein. When a bust goes wrong, she brings her team back from the dead, more or less, and back together to get revenge on the lowlifes that tried to kill them. This book features hard-boiled modern noir and a guy with a lion's head, if you're into one or the other. Or even both.
4) Monster: A Novel of Frankenstein: David Zeltserman's novel is told from the monster's perspective, and he turns out to be more sympathetic in many ways than in the original story. The monster, named Friedrich, evolves throughout the story into a hero who must stop the evil doctor Victor Frankenstein, a depraved individual and the man responsible for Friedrich's resurrection. Friedrich has his share of supernatural adventures, encountering vampires and Satanists, but still manages to keep the focus on the dichotomy between the monster at its maker. 
3) Mary Shelley Monster Hunter: Vol. 1 Abomination: Not only does this graphic novel retell the Frankenstein story but also weaves within it the story of its creator. The tale begins in a Mary Shelley museum and goes back to Mary Shelley's inspiration for the tale, a trip with her fiancee Percy Shelley as well as their companion Lord Byron. Forced out of their accommodations, the group must spend the winter in the castle of Dr. Victoria Frankenstein, where Shelley discovers her real-life attempts to create life. This feminist take, with the doctor and monster maker being a woman, doesn't skimp on the horror and suspense, and authors Adam Glass and Olivia Cuartero-Briggs create something unique while paying homage to a well-known story. It's a tightrope they seem to walk with ease.
2) Frankenstein in Baghdad: Ahmed Saadawi takes the familiar tale far from its European roots and creates a timely fantastic tale in the process. Hadi scavenges up the parts of people and stitches them together in order for the dead to be recognized by the government and given a proper burial. However, Hadi soon discovers that his creation gets a mind of its own, a mind centered on revenge and on keeping itself alive by stealing replacement parts. This story excels in showing the struggles of war-torn Iraq using the lens of the fantastic.
1) Victor LaValle's Destroyer: Another timely retelling/continuation of the Frankenstein mythos that leans into the tragedy of police shootings, the tension of contemporary race relations, and the all-too familiar narrative of lives taken too soon. Dr. Baker is a mother who loses her young son to a police shooting. Of course, as a scientist and a descendant of Dr. Frankenstein's, she has the tools to rectify this situation and seek revenge on the world that allowed this tragedy to happen. Expect lots of superscience and secret government organizations, but LaValle's work also forces us to look at what our society has become and whether or not we can do anything about it.

New Arrival: We Are Monsters by Brian Kirk

Nightmares are terrifying, as well as great inspiration for horror, because a) they are a movie reel of terrifying imagery and symbolism--especially if you believe in dream analysis--and b) they unravel in a disjointed, haphazard way along with other logical aspects of the waking world, leading to c) an environment where we have little to no control. Such an environment is a breeding ground for horror, as Freddy Krueger would attest. But there's another new King of Nightmares on the horizon named Brian Kirk, who establishes his reign with his latest novel, We Are Monsters.
The story begins with psychiatrist Alex creating a chemical cure for schizophrenia. People familiar with how science works in these kinds of stories know that it's basically Murphy's Law times a million, that anything bad that can happen will and it will be catastrophic. In his rush to test this formula, he experiments first on his brother Jerry and then on a notorious killer whose mental issues are seemingly given form and substance, along with the nightmares of other hospital staff and its patients. If horror stories are thought of as roller coasters, this book is definitely a fun house where the floor moves and the walls are mirrors offering only twisted reflections. This book can be considered a metaphorical swipe at an industry and society that overly medicates, which may turn off people who like their fiction without opinions (not the best fiction), but it does so without any overt monologues.
People familiar with Brian Kirk's Will Haunt You know that Brian excels at creating an environment where the lead character, nor the reader, cannot trust anyone or anything. What they've expected about the world and its safety, in Kirk's fiction universes, should not be taken for granted. The Fun House aspect of the book mentioned before takes a bit to get there. Kirk lays the storytelling groundwork, setting up the plot and its bananas conclusion while letting the readers get to know the characters before the tentacles of this well-crafted nightmare pulls them in. Perhaps a better analogy for this book then is an elaborate domino set-up. Kirk takes his sweet time placing the dominoes, but they create quite the spectacle when they finally fall. If Brian Kirk is the new King of Nightmares, long may he reign (or at least keep writing).

Have You Read This? The Twisted Ones

Folk horror seems to be a trend right now. Whether that's a backlash to the encroachment of technological advancement, with people sacrificing traditions on the altar of Apple, or the evolution of writers who like Stephen King had found supernatural horror in a very familiar small town America, folk horror has been receiving attention in both the movies and in novels. Before continuing with this review, however, I should offer some defining characteristics of folk horror:

1. Typically a rural setting. 
2. A religion or ideology that goes beyond traditional Christianity (or completely twisting Christianity out of shape, as in "Children of the Corn"). 
3. The land or earth is involved in the religion/ideology the story references. This may also lead to a kind of ritual. 

These elements are present in T. Kingfisher's The Twisted Ones, which relies heavily on local folklore while also referencing cosmic horror.
The story focuses on Mouse, a woman who is tasked with cleaning out her grandmother's house. Joined by her dog Bongo, she encounters a house that is overflowing with clutter as well as a secret world in the woods behind her grandmother's house. With only some quirky local characters, some bizarre stones, and the words of a stepgrandfather she barely knew to guider her, Mouse is gradually pulled into this world and attracts the interest of the eponymous twisted ones.
The character of Mouse is a very sympathetic character and a humorous first person narrator. Her humor is something that doesn't distract from the creepy atmosphere of the novel but endears us to her struggles both supernatural and mundane. Another surprising positive in the book is the relationship she has with her dog Bongo. Some may find it distracting that she talks about her dog, but Kingfisher shows Mouse's obvious love for her best friend and Bongo also gets the opportunity to return that love by helping his master discover who the twisted ones and their masters are.
The twisted ones and their masters are also an appeal of the book, particularly for those who like world-building and who likes their worlds weird. The twisted ones are given names by everyone else, from effigies to poppets, but they are all unique, terrifying, and described well by Kingfisher. Made from everything from wire to bones, stones to wasps' nest, the images of these junk and corpse piles animated and full of intent provides some disturbing images that make me look forward to a graphic novel adaptation.
These two elements, the relatable Mouse and her experiences with the bizarrely unrelatable twisted ones, creates a dynamic that kept me reading until the last page. The rural setting offers an anchor for Mouse, but it's ultimately the love of her friends, both two-legged, and four that ultimately gives the book its center.

Twisted Minds: Christopher Buehlman

With my column Twisted Minds, I like to showcase artists/writers who I feel haven't been given the attention they deserve, creators that have fallen under the radar for whatever reason but are still producing quality, entertaining work. I don't measure the reviews they've gotten on Amazon or Goodreads, however. These are really authors that have slipped under my own personal radar and I am joyfully discovering their body of work. Christopher Buehlman has been publishing novels since 2011 but I have just now discovered him. I feel that readers looking for fresh and fun reinventions of classic horror tropes should discover him as well.

Christopher Buehlman

I first discovered his book The Lesser Dead and immediately fell in love with vampire vagabond Joey Peacock, a perpetually young lover of the nightlife who guides readers through late '70s New York and its nocturnal hunters of blood and good times. The book begins with a tone reminiscent of the autobiographies of bon vivants just now recovering from the hangover while knowing they had so much fun. Then the book becomes straight horror as some new, more frightening predators move in. You won't believe a phrase like "Let's make a rabbit of him" can be bone-chilling until you read this book.
I next checked out the novel's sort-of sequel The Suicide Motor Club. I say sort-of sequel because it still features vampires but many of these vampires do not invoke any sympathy, especially the leader of the eponymous club Luther Nixon. Luther is a former ridgerunner/race car driver who, along with his crew, run drivers off the road only to feast on the remains. He is crass, loud, and swimming in confidence thanks to his vampiric "charm," which mentally subjugates his victims when he needs them to forget his crew's presence or to simply humiliate and debase them before feeding. The Club soon run across mother Judith and her family, destroying her life and stealing her child. When life as a nun doesn't give Judith the peace she craves, she is recruited as a weapon by a group of vampire hunters. Think about what would happen if the paper scripts for Kill Bill and From Dusk Till Dawn fell down some stairs, were scattered, and then scooped back together into one larger movie.
I recently finished Those Across the River, Buehlman's first novel. It features Frank Nichols and his wife Eudora, a couple from Chicago who have moved down to Georgia to start a new life in a house he inherited. It sounds like the set-up to a conventional ghost story, but this is not a ghost story. It has elements of Southern Gothic, some folk horror, and a heavy dash of monster mayhem. To tell any more about the plot would reveal the twist in the book, but it does give a tragic update to a classic monster, one that's quite different from the power fantasies many paranormal romances, for example, indulge in.
These three books showcase Buehlman's talents for weaving seemingly unconnected plot threads into a rich tapestry that readers can appreciate once they reach the final page. For writers that love a good plot, these books offer an example of how to create one with multiple plot points. For writers (and readers) who love character development, these books also create three-dimensional characters that you fall in love with only to have their tragic circumstances, which are laid like landmines within the plot, break your heart. Like riding a roller coaster, you may feel a little queasy after reading them (particularly if you're squeamish, for Buehlman doesn't shy away from the violence), but the thrills will keep you coming back for more.

Have You Read This? Hex Wives

I have seen and read pieces that talk about “elevated” horror, as though implying that the genre as a whole has relied simply on the evisceration of victims and the trashing of taboos for the sake of shock. I find this critical snubbing of horror ironic considering that even gory films like Friday the 13th and its glut of sequels were analyzed for their sociopolitical commentary as Jason Voorhees killing mainly teenagers who engage in premarital sex, drug use, and other so-called deviant behavior. Perhaps the term is more in vogue now because movies like Get Out and books like Micah Dean Hicks Break the Bodies, Haunt the Bones are simply deciding to forgo a lot of the subtext and firmly establish the true sources of their terrors, whether from domineering social and economic classes, race relations, or the current political climate. One such story is Ben Blacker’s graphic novel Hex Wives.

The story involves two warring factions that have been fighting for hundreds of years. On one side is a coven of witches whose dark magic allows them to reincarnate and gives them X-Men like superpowers. The other is the male hunters, known as the Architects, who have tried to subdue them. Since killing them just means they reincarnate into a different form and since they have shown they can be dangerous, the Architects somehow capture these women and brainwash them into behaving like ‘50s housewives, complete with daily regiments of cooking, cleaning, and simply taking care of their men. The story’s dramatic tension is maintained through the women slowly discovering their identities and their legacy. When they finally and emphatically embrace their supernatural powers and rise up, the moment should give the reader a little satisfaction after all the buildup.

Forcing these women to act like stereotypical ‘50s housewives automatically sets up a conflict between these women and the patriarchy represented by the Architects, which may send many who use the phrase Social Justice Warrior as a pejorative straight to their keyboards, and the art style actually leans into this. The art style of Mirka Andolfo, which is very reminiscent of housewife/assassin tale Lady Killer, lends a ‘50s art deco authenticity to the book. The art also gruesomely depicts the carnage that these women create upon realizing what was done to them. One thing that does seem odd about this story is that this first arc seemingly wraps up the main conflict, and (SPOILER ALERT! DON’T READ FURTHER IF YOU DON’T WANT SPOILERS!) that leads to a road trip narrative as these witches search for more answers that they have forgotten, but it seems like a difficult task to keep up the tension that made this initial collection such a quick read.