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A review by bigmads
Cuckoo by Gretchen Felker-Martin
5.0
This book made me sick to my stomach in the best way possible. Felker-Martin's Cuckoo is unrelenting. Her style takes the "fuck you" punk grime of Poppy Z. Brite, the psychosexual horror of Clive Barker, and the nonstop overstimulation of the Wachowski sisters at their best and distills that all into something uniquely her own.
Cuckoo is the best horror story about adolescent trauma coming home to roost since "It," and manages it with brutal narrative efficiency. In the mix of profane cosmic body horror, which could make a diehard Cronenberg fanboy blush, the reader never loses the human story in the metaphor. The author deftly sidesteps the usual trap: this is one place where a particularly monstrous thing is happening. We are reminded repeatedly that even without the machinations of extra dimensional abominations, countless adolescents are pushed into unlicensed fly-by-night camps to endure unnameable forms of abuse to be "fixed" each year.
Fat camps, "troubled youth" programs, and anti-queer "conversion therapy" aren't just backgrounds for horror stories, they're repulsive dens of abuse that destroy young lives by the thousands. This book will drill an understanding of that violation of personhood into your skull with a cordless DeWalt and a steady hand. Despite this, it never feels preachy or like the sort of "thesis horror" that's desperate for critical acceptance. This book left me raw and shaking and all I can do is grovel and thank it.
In the landscape of contemporary horror, no one is doing it like Gretchen Felker-Martin.
Cuckoo is the best horror story about adolescent trauma coming home to roost since "It," and manages it with brutal narrative efficiency. In the mix of profane cosmic body horror, which could make a diehard Cronenberg fanboy blush, the reader never loses the human story in the metaphor. The author deftly sidesteps the usual trap: this is one place where a particularly monstrous thing is happening. We are reminded repeatedly that even without the machinations of extra dimensional abominations, countless adolescents are pushed into unlicensed fly-by-night camps to endure unnameable forms of abuse to be "fixed" each year.
Fat camps, "troubled youth" programs, and anti-queer "conversion therapy" aren't just backgrounds for horror stories, they're repulsive dens of abuse that destroy young lives by the thousands. This book will drill an understanding of that violation of personhood into your skull with a cordless DeWalt and a steady hand. Despite this, it never feels preachy or like the sort of "thesis horror" that's desperate for critical acceptance. This book left me raw and shaking and all I can do is grovel and thank it.
In the landscape of contemporary horror, no one is doing it like Gretchen Felker-Martin.