Take a photo of a barcode or cover
ghostboyreads's reviews
712 reviews
I Wished by Dennis Cooper
As a reviewer, it's impossible for me to be unbiased about Dennis Cooper. Everything he writes is effective, but, I Wished hits with the power of a speeding freight train. What we have here, in this delightfully grim little novel, is the perfect portrait of grief, something that shows a real, genuine sensitivity. I Wished is an ode to those we hold dear, a sonnet for the ones that could never love us back, a lamenting of the ones we lost. A completely profound novel, something that just simply begs to be read, Cooper's writing here is stripped down entirely, he's never needed fancy tricks but, I Wished is his most sparsely written offering. It's inconceivable, to properly express my adoration of this novel without delving into my own grief - beautiful stuff, this is what literature is about, this is the reason I read.
"This is a novel that only wants to really, really matter to him in the hope that, if it does, that'll mean he loves me too because he'll know I could do anything I want right now, and I wrote this. I worship the flowing lava and whatever else a billion years ago that eventually formed the ground he walks on."
4.5
"George is, I don't know, sitting, slumped forward. Blood is pouring from his mouth and nose. I was told that. There's a crater in his head. The top back part. It's full of mangled brains and skull and blood. He fired into his mouth, I was told, and so it would have to be there. The crater can't talk or do anything. It needs an artist."
I wished, is, perhaps Dennis Cooper's most personal, and most powerful novel to date. This is, without a doubt, Cooper at his most vulnerable. This is Cooper cutting his heart out, and slathering it across the page until it's one obtrusive, pulpy smear we're forced to contend with. I Wished is deeply sad, and so very painful to experience, and it's what feels like Cooper's most intimate of novels. It's a rare delight in literature, to be spoken to so openly and authentically, to feel as if you're included in something so intensely private. At once both horrible and beautiful, this is a heartbreakingly sincere novel, it's just so completely devastating, it feels like having your innards ripped out and chewed upon by a gaggle of starving hyenas. There's just something about this novel that makes you feel completely fucking violated once it's all over.
Cooper, here, feels tamed in terms of the pure content he's sharing with us, yet, it's actually his most brutal and disturbing book to date, and that's due to how unflinchingly honest this novel is. While I Wished, does feel like a coda to the George Miles Cycle, it's not, not really, at least Cooper himself says that wasn't the intention here. Whatever it may be, it feels like being eviscerated - ever since finishing I Wished, I feel hollowed out, and empty, and what a magical thing it is, for a novel to gift us with such strong feelings. Entirely enrapturing, this novel moves away from the hallucinatory detached feeling that comes with Cooper's other novels, and leaves us with something much more surreal yet, grounded. I Wished is the greatest love story ever told. Like gazing upon my own obsessive, aching soul, it's a haunting thing to experience.
I wished, is, perhaps Dennis Cooper's most personal, and most powerful novel to date. This is, without a doubt, Cooper at his most vulnerable. This is Cooper cutting his heart out, and slathering it across the page until it's one obtrusive, pulpy smear we're forced to contend with. I Wished is deeply sad, and so very painful to experience, and it's what feels like Cooper's most intimate of novels. It's a rare delight in literature, to be spoken to so openly and authentically, to feel as if you're included in something so intensely private. At once both horrible and beautiful, this is a heartbreakingly sincere novel, it's just so completely devastating, it feels like having your innards ripped out and chewed upon by a gaggle of starving hyenas. There's just something about this novel that makes you feel completely fucking violated once it's all over.
Cooper, here, feels tamed in terms of the pure content he's sharing with us, yet, it's actually his most brutal and disturbing book to date, and that's due to how unflinchingly honest this novel is. While I Wished, does feel like a coda to the George Miles Cycle, it's not, not really, at least Cooper himself says that wasn't the intention here. Whatever it may be, it feels like being eviscerated - ever since finishing I Wished, I feel hollowed out, and empty, and what a magical thing it is, for a novel to gift us with such strong feelings. Entirely enrapturing, this novel moves away from the hallucinatory detached feeling that comes with Cooper's other novels, and leaves us with something much more surreal yet, grounded. I Wished is the greatest love story ever told. Like gazing upon my own obsessive, aching soul, it's a haunting thing to experience.
"I wrote the books thinking George would read the Cycle and go, "Wow, you think I have so many possibilities, you find me so inspiring, you wanted me to die young so much more spectacularly than the boring way I wanted to, you must love me, I mean you'd have to, and I must love you too, how could I not after all the work you've done, and I do," but he killed himself before the first of them was even published."
As a reviewer, it's impossible for me to be unbiased about Dennis Cooper. Everything he writes is effective, but, I Wished hits with the power of a speeding freight train. What we have here, in this delightfully grim little novel, is the perfect portrait of grief, something that shows a real, genuine sensitivity. I Wished is an ode to those we hold dear, a sonnet for the ones that could never love us back, a lamenting of the ones we lost. A completely profound novel, something that just simply begs to be read, Cooper's writing here is stripped down entirely, he's never needed fancy tricks but, I Wished is his most sparsely written offering. It's inconceivable, to properly express my adoration of this novel without delving into my own grief - beautiful stuff, this is what literature is about, this is the reason I read.
"This is a novel that only wants to really, really matter to him in the hope that, if it does, that'll mean he loves me too because he'll know I could do anything I want right now, and I wrote this. I worship the flowing lava and whatever else a billion years ago that eventually formed the ground he walks on."
We Spread by Iain Reid
There are so few novels out there that can capture the terror of the mundane and the ordinary as strongly as this one does. We Spread does a uniquely brilliant job of dropping us right into the mind of our protagonist, leaving us feeling as lost and as confused as they do. Both gorgeous and ugly, this feels like an intensely personal novel. It explores, what is, a very real fear for so many of us. Sometimes, when horror is rooted in reality, it's just that much more effective, and that's where We Spread really shines, this isn't horror of monsters or paranormal entities, this is a muted, quiet kind of horror, a murmuring in the background, something that resonates deeply within our souls.
"As we grew older, we spent more time apart, even when we were both home in the apartment. He despised aging and didn't trust his crumbling body. The love I'd felt for him faded and detached. There was nothing to hold it in place. No more mystery. Nothing to learn. Wonder was replaced with awareness. By the end, it wasn't just familiarity. I had a total and complete understanding of him."
4.0
"I move my sleeve up a bit more, to reveal another mark, this one bigger, and protruding from my skin in three dimensions, like fungus, like lichens. Horrified, I lift my shirt more to reveal that almost all of my torso is covered with the bulging fungus. "
We Spread is an insanely tender and compassionate horror novel. As is traditional of the genre, it's a slow moving thing, something that begins in a rather benign fashion. But, that's where what is typical ends with this novel, it's something so uniquely powerful that it's more experienced than read. Something difficult to review and even more challenging to explain, We Spread does, as all great novels do: It forces us to gaze upon our greatest fears and insecurities, it evokes strong and uneasy feelings within us, ones that, aren't exactly pleasant to experience. And, that's the thing, it's not a nice book to read, when it came time for me to once again pick up We Spread, I didn't want to, not because it's a bad book, but because I was becoming desperate to avoid how horrific and lonely it really is.
This is such an unbelievably depressing novel, it's a complete sucker-punch to the gut. Disjointed and strange, with sparse prose and yet somehow, oh so beautifully written, We Spread just feels so damn horrific, akin to experiencing the worst fever dream imaginable, and then having to accept that it's become your reality. It's all very fragmented, surreal and hazy, the sort of novel that's entirely open to interpretation. There's no clear-cut answer here, everything is off-kilter and extremely wrong but, it's hard to place exactly why, even the ending leaves itself intentionally vague and encourages readers to form their own conclusions. So distressing and so isolating, We Spread is so much more than just another horror novel, this is truly, something special.
We Spread is an insanely tender and compassionate horror novel. As is traditional of the genre, it's a slow moving thing, something that begins in a rather benign fashion. But, that's where what is typical ends with this novel, it's something so uniquely powerful that it's more experienced than read. Something difficult to review and even more challenging to explain, We Spread does, as all great novels do: It forces us to gaze upon our greatest fears and insecurities, it evokes strong and uneasy feelings within us, ones that, aren't exactly pleasant to experience. And, that's the thing, it's not a nice book to read, when it came time for me to once again pick up We Spread, I didn't want to, not because it's a bad book, but because I was becoming desperate to avoid how horrific and lonely it really is.
This is such an unbelievably depressing novel, it's a complete sucker-punch to the gut. Disjointed and strange, with sparse prose and yet somehow, oh so beautifully written, We Spread just feels so damn horrific, akin to experiencing the worst fever dream imaginable, and then having to accept that it's become your reality. It's all very fragmented, surreal and hazy, the sort of novel that's entirely open to interpretation. There's no clear-cut answer here, everything is off-kilter and extremely wrong but, it's hard to place exactly why, even the ending leaves itself intentionally vague and encourages readers to form their own conclusions. So distressing and so isolating, We Spread is so much more than just another horror novel, this is truly, something special.
"Perhaps this physical decline was inevitable. It's what he dreaded most: seeing a depleted shape looking back in the mirror, the feeling that he'd lost his chance to create. Could he have done anything to stop it? Could I? To reverse it? The finish line always, eventually, arrives. It has to. That's life. It's the tragedy of lie: the end comes for us all. People on the sidewalk pass me by, stepping around me, without eye contract or acknowledgement."
There are so few novels out there that can capture the terror of the mundane and the ordinary as strongly as this one does. We Spread does a uniquely brilliant job of dropping us right into the mind of our protagonist, leaving us feeling as lost and as confused as they do. Both gorgeous and ugly, this feels like an intensely personal novel. It explores, what is, a very real fear for so many of us. Sometimes, when horror is rooted in reality, it's just that much more effective, and that's where We Spread really shines, this isn't horror of monsters or paranormal entities, this is a muted, quiet kind of horror, a murmuring in the background, something that resonates deeply within our souls.
"As we grew older, we spent more time apart, even when we were both home in the apartment. He despised aging and didn't trust his crumbling body. The love I'd felt for him faded and detached. There was nothing to hold it in place. No more mystery. Nothing to learn. Wonder was replaced with awareness. By the end, it wasn't just familiarity. I had a total and complete understanding of him."
No Place to Bury the Dead: A Novel by Karina Sainz Borgo
It's a novel entirely consumed by grief, and it's all very dreamlike and surreal, a story of metaphors and imagination, the pandemic that fuels the narrative and the border crossings are not only literal but allegorical too, there's something so sinister and spectral about this book, reality and purgatory walk hand in hand here. Completely unflinching and uncompromising, No Place to Bury the Dead refuses to shy away from anything, it so richly displays its truth, and bares it soul for all to see. Everything about this novel is horrible, and crushing and because of what an immersive tale it is, it's so easy to be swept away by the tormenting nature of this story. Boundary blurring and harrowing, this is grief literature at its very best.
"Two German shepherds were barking, tied to a post. He could smell gasoline. The murmurs of a transistor radio and evangelical music could be heard over the cicadas. Maybe everyone had died, and this was a ghost chorus. The cages in the dog pen were empty, their gates thrown open. Tools, drums, and sealed boxes of fertilizer were heaped in the shed."
4.0
"Sand had muted the light, and wind needled in our ears, a moan that seemed to rise through fissures in the ground. That breeze was a warning, a dense, strange dust storm, like madness or pain. The end of the world was a mountain of dust, formed from the bones we had left behind on our journey here."
No Place to Bury the Dead is perhaps one of the bleakest, most volatile and depressing pieces of fiction that I've ever had the pleasure of reading. Sadness seems to entirely envelop the text, and melancholy hangs heavy over each page. Despair, violence and utter hopelessness are the backbone of this novel, making each of the incredibly short chapters feel like being repeatedly punched in the face. The plot of No Place to Bury the Dead is a gritty and sorrowful one, one that's completely filled with brutality and heartbreak, but, also, absolutely masterful storytelling. Karina Sainz Borgo has crafted something magical, something otherworldly and ethereal here, this is, truly, a fantastic novel. It may be an entire world away from anything I'd typically read, but, it felt vital to experience.
It's absolutely beautifully written, the prose is completely fucking stunning, it's remarkable how vibrant, how vivid of a novel this is for something so bleak and devastating. Everything that I find worthy of adoration in Latin stories is on display here. No Place to Bury the Dead paints a stunning yet stark portrait of an unnamed Latin American country, it gifts a voice to often overlooked and undervalued lives, and it does so with such elegance that, it's truly beyond words. It's a powerful and riveting thing, at times so visceral and raw that it feels like bearing witness to something you shouldn't be, like gazing upon a car crash or, worse, being a part of the collision. Sheer brilliance of this level is a rarity, a scarce commodity to be cherished.
No Place to Bury the Dead is perhaps one of the bleakest, most volatile and depressing pieces of fiction that I've ever had the pleasure of reading. Sadness seems to entirely envelop the text, and melancholy hangs heavy over each page. Despair, violence and utter hopelessness are the backbone of this novel, making each of the incredibly short chapters feel like being repeatedly punched in the face. The plot of No Place to Bury the Dead is a gritty and sorrowful one, one that's completely filled with brutality and heartbreak, but, also, absolutely masterful storytelling. Karina Sainz Borgo has crafted something magical, something otherworldly and ethereal here, this is, truly, a fantastic novel. It may be an entire world away from anything I'd typically read, but, it felt vital to experience.
It's absolutely beautifully written, the prose is completely fucking stunning, it's remarkable how vibrant, how vivid of a novel this is for something so bleak and devastating. Everything that I find worthy of adoration in Latin stories is on display here. No Place to Bury the Dead paints a stunning yet stark portrait of an unnamed Latin American country, it gifts a voice to often overlooked and undervalued lives, and it does so with such elegance that, it's truly beyond words. It's a powerful and riveting thing, at times so visceral and raw that it feels like bearing witness to something you shouldn't be, like gazing upon a car crash or, worse, being a part of the collision. Sheer brilliance of this level is a rarity, a scarce commodity to be cherished.
"In the mountains, people believed in apparitions. Roads were dotted with crosses, Madonnas, and small cement alters topped with candles in memory of accident victims, a vigil of guttering flames in the gloom. The most dangerous curves inspired specters and legends: the woman in white here, the headless man there, the boy ghost, the adolescent who asked to be given a lift to the border. This last one was the most feared. It was said to be the soul in torment of a young man who tried, over and again, to hitch a ride along the stretch of road he was yet to travel the night he was run over."
It's a novel entirely consumed by grief, and it's all very dreamlike and surreal, a story of metaphors and imagination, the pandemic that fuels the narrative and the border crossings are not only literal but allegorical too, there's something so sinister and spectral about this book, reality and purgatory walk hand in hand here. Completely unflinching and uncompromising, No Place to Bury the Dead refuses to shy away from anything, it so richly displays its truth, and bares it soul for all to see. Everything about this novel is horrible, and crushing and because of what an immersive tale it is, it's so easy to be swept away by the tormenting nature of this story. Boundary blurring and harrowing, this is grief literature at its very best.
"Two German shepherds were barking, tied to a post. He could smell gasoline. The murmurs of a transistor radio and evangelical music could be heard over the cicadas. Maybe everyone had died, and this was a ghost chorus. The cages in the dog pen were empty, their gates thrown open. Tools, drums, and sealed boxes of fertilizer were heaped in the shed."
Soft Ceremonies by Charlene Elsby, Jon Steffens, Joe Koch
There aren't many authors out there who could pull off what it is that Soft Ceremonies aims to achieve, but these four, they manage it, deftly, wonderfully. This is experimental horror fiction at its very finest, it's the future of horror in a neat and compact little offering. Eerily haunting and absolutely devastating, Soft Ceremonies is exactly the kind of novel that will make you want to puke and then pluck out your eyeballs. It's surreal, disturbing and horrible to experience but, it's so bloody great. Soft Ceremonies, is, despite it's slim length, a very powerful book. As with any collection, there's always going to be a story or two that stand above the rest. While every story in this book was amazing, it's Charlene Elsby's entry that takes the top spot.
"Tears run until there's nothing left. They always come back, but the time spent after they're gone - either numbness or some kind of brief acceptance or simply unable to cry any more - is the best it ever gets."
4.0
"Benjamin keeps on pounding his head, flinging blood in the cool compartment, pulping his scalp into a mild concussive state where he locates the bright stars that obliterate the terrifying oblong heads, the weird nativity scenes, thankfully, yes, too bright and flashing, but gone, finally, yes."
As experimental and as stylized as is possible of a horror novel, Soft Ceremonies is a collection of four extremely short yet, extremely weird horror stories. This is, artistic horror, unique, strange and super intense, these stories are designed to get under your skin and really, really bother you. Despite how short each of these stories are, every single one of them is so damn impactful, insanely so, to a point they all feel like rabid, snarling dogs with sharp fangs and poisoned drool. This is highly fascinating stuff, it only feels right to call this aesthetic horror, but, that's not a condemnation of the work - it's just, there's no other words with which to describe it. There are some truly nasty stories in this collection, they're all very vague and odd, feeling much more like drug induced vignettes than stories.
No matter how fanciful these tales become, somehow, they manage to feel rooted in reality. Filth Loot's horror always purposefully shoots off into the weird side of things, Soft Ceremonies being no exception to this. This collection contains nothing of the typical, nothing conventional, what it does contain is highly innovative, speculative stories from some of the best voices in modern horror. A fair bit of range is covered here, despite it being only 86 pages, we experience grief horror, religious horror, some really traumatic body horror, horror that's subtle and muted and even horror that's disgustingly beautiful. A visceral and vivid void of a book, Soft Ceremonies plunges the depths of the weird and wonderful, and truly tests our limits for the unfamiliar, the radical.
As experimental and as stylized as is possible of a horror novel, Soft Ceremonies is a collection of four extremely short yet, extremely weird horror stories. This is, artistic horror, unique, strange and super intense, these stories are designed to get under your skin and really, really bother you. Despite how short each of these stories are, every single one of them is so damn impactful, insanely so, to a point they all feel like rabid, snarling dogs with sharp fangs and poisoned drool. This is highly fascinating stuff, it only feels right to call this aesthetic horror, but, that's not a condemnation of the work - it's just, there's no other words with which to describe it. There are some truly nasty stories in this collection, they're all very vague and odd, feeling much more like drug induced vignettes than stories.
No matter how fanciful these tales become, somehow, they manage to feel rooted in reality. Filth Loot's horror always purposefully shoots off into the weird side of things, Soft Ceremonies being no exception to this. This collection contains nothing of the typical, nothing conventional, what it does contain is highly innovative, speculative stories from some of the best voices in modern horror. A fair bit of range is covered here, despite it being only 86 pages, we experience grief horror, religious horror, some really traumatic body horror, horror that's subtle and muted and even horror that's disgustingly beautiful. A visceral and vivid void of a book, Soft Ceremonies plunges the depths of the weird and wonderful, and truly tests our limits for the unfamiliar, the radical.
"When I arrived he showed me the cracks in the foundation and how the water gets in. He said that I'm the same - that it doesn't matter what caused them, that's how they are, and their weakness no matter the source is where evil goes, to fill the gaps, to make someone feel full and whole and in control when it fact it's better for some houses to crumble, some structures to fall apart, some people to dissemble and die."
There aren't many authors out there who could pull off what it is that Soft Ceremonies aims to achieve, but these four, they manage it, deftly, wonderfully. This is experimental horror fiction at its very finest, it's the future of horror in a neat and compact little offering. Eerily haunting and absolutely devastating, Soft Ceremonies is exactly the kind of novel that will make you want to puke and then pluck out your eyeballs. It's surreal, disturbing and horrible to experience but, it's so bloody great. Soft Ceremonies, is, despite it's slim length, a very powerful book. As with any collection, there's always going to be a story or two that stand above the rest. While every story in this book was amazing, it's Charlene Elsby's entry that takes the top spot.
"Tears run until there's nothing left. They always come back, but the time spent after they're gone - either numbness or some kind of brief acceptance or simply unable to cry any more - is the best it ever gets."
And He Shall Appear by Kate van der Borgh
Something that this book does extremely well, and something that I damn well adore in literature, is when authors write their passions, when they fearlessly weave their hearts into the text. Music, which, is clearly, a subject the author is well versed on, is such an integral, important part of this story. All of the greatest stories are self-obsessed, it's a quality I highly admire in writing, and something I loved in And He Shall Appear. This is a fantastic novel, and one that's highly enjoyable, even if it's not particularly revolutionary. Despite what the synopsis would have you believe, this is way more than just a tale of an amateur magician, there's something delightfully creepy underneath it all. A familiar sort of novel, but a brilliant one, all the same.
"Maybe one day, terribly awake, I'd catch an uncertain glimpse of him shifting through a crowd at a train station, or I'd pass him at a pedestrian crossing in the driving rain. Perhaps I'd find him waiting in the stairwell outside the flat. Who would he be, then? Would he return to me as the tortured soul or the scene-stealing showman, the conqueror or the conquered?"
4.0
"Music is like pain. You forget what it was to experience it in the moment. You only know that there was no such thing as time, and your whole self was splintered into fragments, connected to everything that ever mattered and ever would."
Dark Academia is such a difficult sub-genre to break into, and it's an even harder one to get right. Naturally, any novel like this one, that ventures into this highly saturated sub-genre, is going to get endlessly compared to The Secret History. Thankfully, And He Shall Appear does enough to make it stand upon its own two feet. Leaning heavily into the academic side of things, there's this rippling undercurrent of danger that runs throughout this novel, but, it's not overt or in our faces, it's simply there, lingering below the surface. Fantastically open to interpretation, And He Shall Appear shows just how to write an unreliable narrator correctly, depending on how much trust we wish to place in our narrator, it can entirely change what it is that happened.
This is a fantastic example of how to debut, there's just, so, so much to love here. It's a confusing, befuddling and perplexing enigma of a novel, one that seems to have layers of greatness to it. What starts as a dark academia novel of obsessive friendships quickly descends into something far more sinister and magical, something that's all queer yearning and devastating deaths. There's a real hazy, dreamlike quality that lingers around this novel, making everything feel muted in a rather powerful and intimate way, there's still an intense vividity to the storytelling, and the prose is still haunting and mesmerizing, it just feels like one of the most memorable nightmares of your life. There's something so very sad and tragic about And He Shall Appear, it has a real air of misery.
Dark Academia is such a difficult sub-genre to break into, and it's an even harder one to get right. Naturally, any novel like this one, that ventures into this highly saturated sub-genre, is going to get endlessly compared to The Secret History. Thankfully, And He Shall Appear does enough to make it stand upon its own two feet. Leaning heavily into the academic side of things, there's this rippling undercurrent of danger that runs throughout this novel, but, it's not overt or in our faces, it's simply there, lingering below the surface. Fantastically open to interpretation, And He Shall Appear shows just how to write an unreliable narrator correctly, depending on how much trust we wish to place in our narrator, it can entirely change what it is that happened.
This is a fantastic example of how to debut, there's just, so, so much to love here. It's a confusing, befuddling and perplexing enigma of a novel, one that seems to have layers of greatness to it. What starts as a dark academia novel of obsessive friendships quickly descends into something far more sinister and magical, something that's all queer yearning and devastating deaths. There's a real hazy, dreamlike quality that lingers around this novel, making everything feel muted in a rather powerful and intimate way, there's still an intense vividity to the storytelling, and the prose is still haunting and mesmerizing, it just feels like one of the most memorable nightmares of your life. There's something so very sad and tragic about And He Shall Appear, it has a real air of misery.
"We came together a few nights later, fellows looking on, the saints gazing down from sunless glass. I have no memory of whether we were triumphant or merely tolerable. Because, with Bryn, memory is slippery. Like, what colour was his hair, exactly? I know it shone darkly, like new leather shoes. But while in some of my memories it has a reddish cast, in others it appears completely black. And what about his eyes? Not blue or green. Certainly not brown. In my mind, they're the colour of shadows moving across an icy field, darkening and lightening with the rise and fall of the ground."
Something that this book does extremely well, and something that I damn well adore in literature, is when authors write their passions, when they fearlessly weave their hearts into the text. Music, which, is clearly, a subject the author is well versed on, is such an integral, important part of this story. All of the greatest stories are self-obsessed, it's a quality I highly admire in writing, and something I loved in And He Shall Appear. This is a fantastic novel, and one that's highly enjoyable, even if it's not particularly revolutionary. Despite what the synopsis would have you believe, this is way more than just a tale of an amateur magician, there's something delightfully creepy underneath it all. A familiar sort of novel, but a brilliant one, all the same.
"Maybe one day, terribly awake, I'd catch an uncertain glimpse of him shifting through a crowd at a train station, or I'd pass him at a pedestrian crossing in the driving rain. Perhaps I'd find him waiting in the stairwell outside the flat. Who would he be, then? Would he return to me as the tortured soul or the scene-stealing showman, the conqueror or the conquered?"
My Darling Dreadful Thing by Johanna van Veen
What makes everything so much better, is knowing that My Darling Dreadful Thing is a debut novel yet, it's written with a slick confidence, something not often found in authors until they're a few books deep into their career. At its very core, this is a love story. Yes, there are eerie, spine-chilling, blood-curdling moments sprinkled here and there, but, central to the story, the most vital part of it all is this tale of love. This novel grabs readers by the throats and takes them on such a wondrous, gorgeous journey. Intensely atmospheric and enthralling, this is a novel in which happiness is a fleeting thing, it's all very macabre and depressing. There are some lovely moments, but, they seem to be in a state of accelerated decay.
"Closer and closer they crept and crawled, until they were pressed against the glass, their lurid faces full of quiet menace. And I saw that one of them wasn't a plaster saint but Thomas's corpse, clambered out of the bog. Behind me, I heard the glass crack. The hairs on my body rose. I whipped around to see, but then the glass broke, and in they came."
4.0
"She looked at me with eyes so black, I wondered how she could even see. "How else does one show the strength and sincerity of one's love if not through suffering and sacrifice?" My glorious, imperfect Ruth, who had been stabbed and hit and strangled and drowned. How could I have expected her to understand love in any other terms?"
My Darling Dreadful Thing is the epitome of the traditional Gothic tale, it's this dark, decadent, extremely rich and romantic story that has this horrible undercurrent of terror just lingering below its surface. The supernatural bleeds so wonderfully into the natural world in this delightful yet, soul-crushing novel. Leaning heavily into the tropes that make the genre so excellent, My Darling Dreadful Thing provides us readers with every gothic literature lovers dream - there's the spirits, the crumbling old manor, the seances, the crimes of passion, it's all here, and it's slathered in so many references to other pieces of Gothic media. So gorgeously written, once you begin reading My Darling Dreadful Thing, it becomes a challenge to put it down.
Johanna van Veen writes with some horrifically beautiful prose, somehow it's at once both haunting and hypnotizing, while also managing to convey such a strong feeling of sadness. It's one of those novels that seems to sink its hooks into you and pull you deeper and deeper. A marvelous thing, disgusting yet beautiful, this evocative yet spine-chilling gothic is one that flips any expectations upon their head. Everything here is so perfectly balanced, the blend of light horror elements, the romantic yet extremely grizzly storyline, the intoxicating but sickening language, it all hits at once, and it's all so dizzying and so very brilliant. Completely and utterly divine, beguiling, and so very cruel, this is a truly fantastic novel.
My Darling Dreadful Thing is the epitome of the traditional Gothic tale, it's this dark, decadent, extremely rich and romantic story that has this horrible undercurrent of terror just lingering below its surface. The supernatural bleeds so wonderfully into the natural world in this delightful yet, soul-crushing novel. Leaning heavily into the tropes that make the genre so excellent, My Darling Dreadful Thing provides us readers with every gothic literature lovers dream - there's the spirits, the crumbling old manor, the seances, the crimes of passion, it's all here, and it's slathered in so many references to other pieces of Gothic media. So gorgeously written, once you begin reading My Darling Dreadful Thing, it becomes a challenge to put it down.
Johanna van Veen writes with some horrifically beautiful prose, somehow it's at once both haunting and hypnotizing, while also managing to convey such a strong feeling of sadness. It's one of those novels that seems to sink its hooks into you and pull you deeper and deeper. A marvelous thing, disgusting yet beautiful, this evocative yet spine-chilling gothic is one that flips any expectations upon their head. Everything here is so perfectly balanced, the blend of light horror elements, the romantic yet extremely grizzly storyline, the intoxicating but sickening language, it all hits at once, and it's all so dizzying and so very brilliant. Completely and utterly divine, beguiling, and so very cruel, this is a truly fantastic novel.
"So much of what happened then has blurred together, the way raindrops do when they've lain against a windowpane for a while and gravity drags them down. But some things stand out vividly, the images, the sounds and smells and textures, all of it so sharp and crisp that, at times, it seems to bleed over into the now. I can feel Agnes's soft breaths against my throat and upon my cheeks then, I can taste the bitterness of pills blooming on my tongue, I can smell putrefaction."
What makes everything so much better, is knowing that My Darling Dreadful Thing is a debut novel yet, it's written with a slick confidence, something not often found in authors until they're a few books deep into their career. At its very core, this is a love story. Yes, there are eerie, spine-chilling, blood-curdling moments sprinkled here and there, but, central to the story, the most vital part of it all is this tale of love. This novel grabs readers by the throats and takes them on such a wondrous, gorgeous journey. Intensely atmospheric and enthralling, this is a novel in which happiness is a fleeting thing, it's all very macabre and depressing. There are some lovely moments, but, they seem to be in a state of accelerated decay.
"Closer and closer they crept and crawled, until they were pressed against the glass, their lurid faces full of quiet menace. And I saw that one of them wasn't a plaster saint but Thomas's corpse, clambered out of the bog. Behind me, I heard the glass crack. The hairs on my body rose. I whipped around to see, but then the glass broke, and in they came."
Ripcord by Nate Lippens
It's a novel of self-examination and emotional warfare, it makes you feel as if your soul has been stripped from your body and laid bare for all to witness. There's such a vulnerability woven into the text, Ripcord details a life that's simply a persistent cycle of disappointments, it's really rather remarkable, how it feels too long, and too short, all at once. Despite the lack of a plot, Ripcord isn't a novel that's just about nothing. It so beautifully explores class, sexuality, romantic shortcomings, addiction, loss and even the anger that comes with that loss. It's a rage fueled novel, but, not openly so, there's that quiet sort of rage that simmers below the surface. It's in no way a happy book, but it's a book I'm happy to have experienced, all the same.
"I knew what I was doing. I have always known what I was doing. Even when I was lying to myself and destroying myself, I knew what I was doing. "
4.0
"On the bridge before dawn, the barrier was six feet high. I stood on my toes and took the measure of my own self-destruction."
Ripcord is a novel without much of a plot. It's a kaleidoscopic whirlwind of fractured vignettes, rather than there being any kind of set in stone story here, it's more a series of musings and reflections upon queer culture and messed up friendships, all told with some beautiful and rather tender writing. It's vital to know that Ripcord is not intended to be a happy novel, it's a distressing and heartbreaking thing, there's simply a lot of turmoil across these pages. It's an indescribable but excellent beast of a novel, one that's so extremely authentic and entirely full of humanity. Impactful and savage, there's more passion and tragedy packed into Ripcord's 160 pages than there are in many novels that triple it in page count.
Nate Lippens is one of those authors who has the incredible gift of making you feel seen by the literature you're consuming. He's also an author who writes in such a fantastically honest way about life, when, life doesn't feel all that great. Ripcord was amazing, crushing, yes, but absolutely brilliant. For lack of a better term, it's a very hazy novel, it's all fuzzy around the edges and, at times, a little muted, but it's in that comforting way that a subtle high envelops your brain, strange, yet welcoming. Books like Ripcord are very special things, they must be experienced to be understood. And, that's what makes it so difficult to review, and recommend a book like Ripcord - a book so relentless in its own brutality, yet in this nameless, unspeakable kind of way.
Ripcord is a novel without much of a plot. It's a kaleidoscopic whirlwind of fractured vignettes, rather than there being any kind of set in stone story here, it's more a series of musings and reflections upon queer culture and messed up friendships, all told with some beautiful and rather tender writing. It's vital to know that Ripcord is not intended to be a happy novel, it's a distressing and heartbreaking thing, there's simply a lot of turmoil across these pages. It's an indescribable but excellent beast of a novel, one that's so extremely authentic and entirely full of humanity. Impactful and savage, there's more passion and tragedy packed into Ripcord's 160 pages than there are in many novels that triple it in page count.
Nate Lippens is one of those authors who has the incredible gift of making you feel seen by the literature you're consuming. He's also an author who writes in such a fantastically honest way about life, when, life doesn't feel all that great. Ripcord was amazing, crushing, yes, but absolutely brilliant. For lack of a better term, it's a very hazy novel, it's all fuzzy around the edges and, at times, a little muted, but it's in that comforting way that a subtle high envelops your brain, strange, yet welcoming. Books like Ripcord are very special things, they must be experienced to be understood. And, that's what makes it so difficult to review, and recommend a book like Ripcord - a book so relentless in its own brutality, yet in this nameless, unspeakable kind of way.
"I'm in an abusive relationship with time. I haven't left my apartment in a week. I'm embarrassed to say it but not to live it. I wouldn't call my self-exile a withdrawal. I've been through withdrawal a few times and that was about missing something, wanting something I couldn't have anymore. I do not feel that way about people."
It's a novel of self-examination and emotional warfare, it makes you feel as if your soul has been stripped from your body and laid bare for all to witness. There's such a vulnerability woven into the text, Ripcord details a life that's simply a persistent cycle of disappointments, it's really rather remarkable, how it feels too long, and too short, all at once. Despite the lack of a plot, Ripcord isn't a novel that's just about nothing. It so beautifully explores class, sexuality, romantic shortcomings, addiction, loss and even the anger that comes with that loss. It's a rage fueled novel, but, not openly so, there's that quiet sort of rage that simmers below the surface. It's in no way a happy book, but it's a book I'm happy to have experienced, all the same.
"I knew what I was doing. I have always known what I was doing. Even when I was lying to myself and destroying myself, I knew what I was doing. "
The Lamb by Lucy Rose
Brutal, completely and utterly unhinged, authentic and honest, Lucy Rose's The Lamb is all of these things and so much more. Not only does it navigate so many difficult to consume topics in such a short space of time, it does so without ever weakening them. It's such a fascinating story, and though, most of the characters aside from Margot are largely difficult to like, they're so extremely interesting. As awful as it is to be stuck within this situation, you can't help but want to stay. The Lamb so vividly captures that specific feeling of isolation and what it's like to be trapped within your own circumstances. Much like its opening passage, the ending of this novel is amazing too, its perhaps the best passage in this entire story. This is simply a beautiful and haunting novel.
"The night I wore Mama's lipstick, I had a dream that I pulled out her teeth so she couldn't smile anymore. I didn't want to see those teeth. She was still as I held open her jaw and pulled them out one by one. 'I love you, Mama,' I said. 'You don't have to be hungry anymore.'"
4.0
"On my fourth birthday, I plucked six severed fingers from the shower drain. The tub yellowed near the plughole and there was a peachy hue up the curve of the bath. It was the same colour as my skin. Milky and a little buttery, like the outer edges of a bruise."
At once both beautiful and hideous, The Lamb is a harrowing, intense, and honestly, superbly disgusting reading experience. Here, alluring and gorgeous prose collide with a horrific subject matter, resulting in a wonderful and ruinous story. This novel has, what must be, one of the very best opening passages to exist. Right away, you're shown what you're getting into, you're exposed to something gruesome and sickening. Nothing is shied away from, the horrible, crushing and claustrophobic reality of this novel is apparent from the very first page. The Lamb is so, so very sad, a heavy sense of bleakness weighs this novel down, and, it's impossible to escape just how sorrowful of a story this is. It's a slow moving thing, a maddening look at desperation, desire and love, it's a beast of a novel.
Interspersed throughout all of the horror and the cannibalism, there lies the heart of this novel, a sapphic love story that becomes the undoing of everything. The Lamb does so many things extremely well, how it portrays love might be one of its greatest strengths. Here, love is messy and complicated, in fact, nothing is ever simple in The Lamb - even the language has subtle shifts with Margot going from loving descriptions of her mother to seeing her as something more monstrous and foul as the story progresses. This book is so vile, and so upsetting. On its surface, it's about hunger, but thankfully, doesn't have a central food motif, the hunger is simply a vessel for us to explore a void that can never be filled.
At once both beautiful and hideous, The Lamb is a harrowing, intense, and honestly, superbly disgusting reading experience. Here, alluring and gorgeous prose collide with a horrific subject matter, resulting in a wonderful and ruinous story. This novel has, what must be, one of the very best opening passages to exist. Right away, you're shown what you're getting into, you're exposed to something gruesome and sickening. Nothing is shied away from, the horrible, crushing and claustrophobic reality of this novel is apparent from the very first page. The Lamb is so, so very sad, a heavy sense of bleakness weighs this novel down, and, it's impossible to escape just how sorrowful of a story this is. It's a slow moving thing, a maddening look at desperation, desire and love, it's a beast of a novel.
Interspersed throughout all of the horror and the cannibalism, there lies the heart of this novel, a sapphic love story that becomes the undoing of everything. The Lamb does so many things extremely well, how it portrays love might be one of its greatest strengths. Here, love is messy and complicated, in fact, nothing is ever simple in The Lamb - even the language has subtle shifts with Margot going from loving descriptions of her mother to seeing her as something more monstrous and foul as the story progresses. This book is so vile, and so upsetting. On its surface, it's about hunger, but thankfully, doesn't have a central food motif, the hunger is simply a vessel for us to explore a void that can never be filled.
"I took my knife and fork and pulled the meat apart. It was tender. So tender. I'd thought Eden had given me a gamey piece, but I'd been wrong. She had given me something beautiful. When I put it on my tongue, it fell apart at the first bite. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted in my short life. I wondered if this was what Mama had felt when she'd dipped her fingers into the brain of her first stray."
Brutal, completely and utterly unhinged, authentic and honest, Lucy Rose's The Lamb is all of these things and so much more. Not only does it navigate so many difficult to consume topics in such a short space of time, it does so without ever weakening them. It's such a fascinating story, and though, most of the characters aside from Margot are largely difficult to like, they're so extremely interesting. As awful as it is to be stuck within this situation, you can't help but want to stay. The Lamb so vividly captures that specific feeling of isolation and what it's like to be trapped within your own circumstances. Much like its opening passage, the ending of this novel is amazing too, its perhaps the best passage in this entire story. This is simply a beautiful and haunting novel.
"The night I wore Mama's lipstick, I had a dream that I pulled out her teeth so she couldn't smile anymore. I didn't want to see those teeth. She was still as I held open her jaw and pulled them out one by one. 'I love you, Mama,' I said. 'You don't have to be hungry anymore.'"
The Dream Killer by Adam Cosco
There's a real complexity to The Dream Killer, there are so many twists that will completely eviscerate your entire thought process. The book itself is broken down into three scenes, and the transitions between these scenes are pretty jagged and harsh, but this is a clearly intentional move by the author - it makes it like experiencing three interlocking stories at once, while also being deep in the trenches of the worst fever dream you'll ever have. The premise of this novel is insanely cool, but, it doesn't hold a candle to actually experiencing the demented journey of self-discovery you'll be taken on with The Dream Killer. So easily devourable, this is a wild ride, one that every ardent horror fan must experience for themselves.
"The knife parts flesh with a soft resistance, the sound a sickening whisper against the stillness. Each line he carves into her skin feels like an eternity, the symbol slowly taking form - a triangle with three dots, etched with trembling precision."
4.0
"Rain lashes down in relentless waves soaking the city in liquid chaos. Ethan trudges along the deserted sidewalk, blood streaking his drenched clothes, his breaths shallow. The streetlights above flicker erratically, casting distorted halos onto the pavement. Each step drags him deeper into the night, where the rain seems alive, whispering conspiracies he can't quite piece together."
Disclaimer: I received a free copy of this book from the author in exchange for an honest review. This has in no way affected my rating, and the below thoughts are mine, and mine alone.
The Dream Killer is an absolutely wild book, it's the sort of novel that demands your attention, subtle shifts in the storytelling swirl together with this sort of fractured, fragmented, chaotic plot, making things really, really weird. It sets out to intentionally confuse you, reading this book will have you questioning your sanity, it'll have you asking if the world around you is even real. Hallucinogenic and strange, The Dream Killer feels like one of the most intense acid trips in the world, it's all so dreamlike and ethereal, haunting and terrifying. You read the synopsis, you think you know what you're getting yourself into, but you really, really don't - Adam Cosco is the master of pulling the rug from under our feet.
Extremely early on in this novel, it's apparent that Adam Cosco is hyper passionate about the horror genre, this is clearly, an author, who loves horror - the adoration of the craft seems etched into every single word. Many fantastic horror influences make up The Dream Killer, yet, it's still wholly unique and entirely its own thing. It's captivating, so imaginative and refreshing and so very vibrant. There's such a strong voice that's present throughout the book, this is a story that begs to be narrated, that takes our hand and removes us from our own reality, dumping us firmly in its own. This is a passionate novel, it's one that's entirely for the horror fans, for those of us that want to relive the very best horror memories, while also experiencing something new.
Disclaimer: I received a free copy of this book from the author in exchange for an honest review. This has in no way affected my rating, and the below thoughts are mine, and mine alone.
The Dream Killer is an absolutely wild book, it's the sort of novel that demands your attention, subtle shifts in the storytelling swirl together with this sort of fractured, fragmented, chaotic plot, making things really, really weird. It sets out to intentionally confuse you, reading this book will have you questioning your sanity, it'll have you asking if the world around you is even real. Hallucinogenic and strange, The Dream Killer feels like one of the most intense acid trips in the world, it's all so dreamlike and ethereal, haunting and terrifying. You read the synopsis, you think you know what you're getting yourself into, but you really, really don't - Adam Cosco is the master of pulling the rug from under our feet.
Extremely early on in this novel, it's apparent that Adam Cosco is hyper passionate about the horror genre, this is clearly, an author, who loves horror - the adoration of the craft seems etched into every single word. Many fantastic horror influences make up The Dream Killer, yet, it's still wholly unique and entirely its own thing. It's captivating, so imaginative and refreshing and so very vibrant. There's such a strong voice that's present throughout the book, this is a story that begs to be narrated, that takes our hand and removes us from our own reality, dumping us firmly in its own. This is a passionate novel, it's one that's entirely for the horror fans, for those of us that want to relive the very best horror memories, while also experiencing something new.
"The muffled shouting from the trailer spills into the night air, jagged and raw, like the dissonant chords of an unfinished symphony. A few crew members linger nearby, their faces pale under the stark floodlights. Their wary glances flick toward the source of the noise, curiosity warring with apprehension. No one dares to move closer. It's an unspoken rule on set - some storms aren't meant to be weathered, just waited out."
There's a real complexity to The Dream Killer, there are so many twists that will completely eviscerate your entire thought process. The book itself is broken down into three scenes, and the transitions between these scenes are pretty jagged and harsh, but this is a clearly intentional move by the author - it makes it like experiencing three interlocking stories at once, while also being deep in the trenches of the worst fever dream you'll ever have. The premise of this novel is insanely cool, but, it doesn't hold a candle to actually experiencing the demented journey of self-discovery you'll be taken on with The Dream Killer. So easily devourable, this is a wild ride, one that every ardent horror fan must experience for themselves.
"The knife parts flesh with a soft resistance, the sound a sickening whisper against the stillness. Each line he carves into her skin feels like an eternity, the symbol slowly taking form - a triangle with three dots, etched with trembling precision."
Voyage of the Damned by Frances White
The characters in this book all feel very comfortable, very familiar. It felt entirely like spending time with people you've already met, I see now, upon completing the novel that this is a good thing, they're instantly lovable, even the ones that irritate you and get under your skin. There's a whole heaping of edgy, sometimes immature, but always super engaging humor rippling throughout the book, that actually does help to alleviate from all the death and destruction. Voyage of the Damned is vibrant and engrossing, it's oftentimes an emotional experience. Those older readers amongst us may guess what the twists and turns are, but, that doesn't make them any less exciting to experience. It's a super comforting novel, even with all the political rivalry, explosions and fire.
"I know those eyes. I see them in the gloom of a storm. I see them in the blackness of the deepest parts of the ocean. I see them in the dark places of my mind, where only silence and surrender live. I know Ravi's eyes better than my own."
4.0
"In Fish Province, the sound of the sea is a constant rhythm. We live atop the ocean, in stilted houses and on floating islands connected by rope bridges. The relentless back and forth of waves greeted my birth and lulled me to sleep every night."
First and foremost, Voyage of the Damned is, at its core, a YA novel - one that's aimed at a slightly younger reader, while this certainly didn't impact my enjoyment of the novel, it feels like it's something that should be pointed out. This is an incredibly fun, highly entertaining and blisteringly quick story. It's a sort of locked room murder mystery, but, on a ship, and then it's also a story full of magic and brutality. Think a collision of Agatha Christie and the fantasy genre, Voyage of the Damned has a lot going for it, it's a genuine page-turner, gripping and violent, there seems to never be a dull moment, and though, there is a romance that's central to the plot, it's not so intrusive as to take away from the story.
Despite being a huge amount of fun, Voyage of the Damned actually does deal with some rather heavy topics, and they're all handled really beautifully. The story carefully navigates disabilities, the class divide, what it feels like to be othered by those around you, it deeply explores loss and the destructive nature of grief, but, the single greatest thing about Voyage of the Damned is that it features an entirely queer normative cast with non-binary, trans, and bisexual characters taking the spotlight, all without the need to make this a book of trauma porn. Never are any of the characters defining traits their queerness, not once does this story preach to you, it's simply there to elevate the story. This is a real stabby little book, but underneath that, is nestled a heart-warming and lovely tale.
First and foremost, Voyage of the Damned is, at its core, a YA novel - one that's aimed at a slightly younger reader, while this certainly didn't impact my enjoyment of the novel, it feels like it's something that should be pointed out. This is an incredibly fun, highly entertaining and blisteringly quick story. It's a sort of locked room murder mystery, but, on a ship, and then it's also a story full of magic and brutality. Think a collision of Agatha Christie and the fantasy genre, Voyage of the Damned has a lot going for it, it's a genuine page-turner, gripping and violent, there seems to never be a dull moment, and though, there is a romance that's central to the plot, it's not so intrusive as to take away from the story.
Despite being a huge amount of fun, Voyage of the Damned actually does deal with some rather heavy topics, and they're all handled really beautifully. The story carefully navigates disabilities, the class divide, what it feels like to be othered by those around you, it deeply explores loss and the destructive nature of grief, but, the single greatest thing about Voyage of the Damned is that it features an entirely queer normative cast with non-binary, trans, and bisexual characters taking the spotlight, all without the need to make this a book of trauma porn. Never are any of the characters defining traits their queerness, not once does this story preach to you, it's simply there to elevate the story. This is a real stabby little book, but underneath that, is nestled a heart-warming and lovely tale.
"I didn't go into the water to drown. But when I was drowning I was grateful. It was a gift. An opening and an ending. The end of living with this coral version of my mother, cutting me with her sharp edges. The end of the knowledge of what I was - not strong enough. Not worthy enough to bear the Goddess's Blessing. The end of a life where nobody cared if the sea claimed me."
The characters in this book all feel very comfortable, very familiar. It felt entirely like spending time with people you've already met, I see now, upon completing the novel that this is a good thing, they're instantly lovable, even the ones that irritate you and get under your skin. There's a whole heaping of edgy, sometimes immature, but always super engaging humor rippling throughout the book, that actually does help to alleviate from all the death and destruction. Voyage of the Damned is vibrant and engrossing, it's oftentimes an emotional experience. Those older readers amongst us may guess what the twists and turns are, but, that doesn't make them any less exciting to experience. It's a super comforting novel, even with all the political rivalry, explosions and fire.
"I know those eyes. I see them in the gloom of a storm. I see them in the blackness of the deepest parts of the ocean. I see them in the dark places of my mind, where only silence and surrender live. I know Ravi's eyes better than my own."