This review is based on a physical ARC provided by the author.
REVIEW
I had such a blast with Feeders; it was my holiday read, and I absolutely devoured it.
Like the last Stephens book I read, The Girls in the Cabin, the tension is immaculate. Stephs does not skimp on the gore and violence without going too overboard–it’s all in the small details. Like my art teacher in high school stressed, a little paint goes a long way. Stephens is also excellent at writing characters who we both root for and want to see how far they’ll stretch before breaking; I love his dialogue especially.
I loved Brynn as our main character–she’s determined, rough around the edges, and unafraid to stab a bitch. Our side characters are excellent as well (especially the younger brother; as an older sibling myself, I’m always fond of younger sibling characters).
Of the two books of his I’ve read, familial themes are something that tend to be central to his work, and I’ve noticed a common structure. The father is distant or struggling to connect with his children due to his past mistakes or transgressions. The mother is dead, with some portion of guilt for her death laid at the father’s feet. The older sibling holds this grudge against her father, but eventually forgives him once he puts his life on the line for her. The older sibling is extremely protective of the younger sibling, who is a total sweetheart and usually ends up being one of my favorite characters.
The monsters in this book, the titular feeders, are pretty neat. I’m not normally one for environmental creature feature horror (the issues I have with the genre are long), but the use of a near supernatural species of drilling, semi-sapient, meat-eating bugs not only circumnavigates those problems but also makes for genuinely frightening monsters.
That said, while I was totally along for the ride during reading, once it was over and I had some time to think about it, I had several questions about the feeders that left me feeling a little dissatisfied. Plot spoilers behind spoiler tag!!
Primarily, I was confused about the feeder’s biology. They’re horror monsters, so I don’t expect something 100% real or accurate, but there were some elements that made me think back and go “wait, what?”.
For example, their diet. They feed on oil, and due to over-drilling, they rise to the surface to eat people (and only people). I’m willing to buy the jump from oil to flesh–it’s horror–but why did the feeders then also evolve to have venom? Venom is not necessary for them to eat oil, I doubt they’ve got many natural predators, and it’s not their primary way of eating people, either–they just chow down on flesh like piranhas. So why the venom? What’s the point, biologically? There were hints that I interpreted as the venom being some kind of result of or interfacing for a feeder hive mind (explaining why the vaccine did what it did to Brynn). I wish that this element–and the feeder’s intelligence–had been explored a little more. Maybe it will be in a sequel?
FINAL THOUGHTS
This was my second Stephens book, and my favorite of his (at least, so far).
His real strength is, I think, his control of tension and pacing–at every turn he seems to ask “What’s the worst thing that could happen right now?” and then committing to it. The rare moments of (relative) peace are just long enough to allow you to catch your breath before the horror begins anew. I don’t often find a thriller that is actually thrilling, but Stephens has managed to thrill me two for two so far. I can’t wait to see what he writes next!
If you want a quick, thrilling read that is reminiscent of 90s creature-features, then I heavily Feeders. I do suggest checking the content warnings, though; the gore is extreme, and the book has heavy themes of drug addiction, domestic abuse, and mental illness.
Thank you to Caleb Stephens for sending me a review copy!! User-defined content warnings are available via Storygraph.
This review is based on a physical review copy provided by the author.
REVIEW
As a lesbian who grew up attending church in the South, this memoir saw me. So many of Kadlec’s own experiences mirror my own, and her examination of the roles white fundamentalism and evangelical Christianity play in American culture made me make so many connections in my own life (like “oh, yeah, that was fucked up—who let this happen??”).
For example, Kadlec discusses her experience with purity culture. As soon as she pointed out that purity culture gave her, as a teen who had no suspicion about her queerness, an excuse to avoid dating boys, I sat straight up in my chair, because holy shit, that happened to me too!
I was raised Methodist, but unlike Kadlec, was not deeply invested in the faith. (I read and reread my favorite booksthrough services and hid in the bathroom during youth group.) Purity culture was a Thing in the church for sure, but my tendency to read books through service and youth group protected me from internalizing too much.
The middle school I went to was public, so it wasn’t officially Christian, but it was, fundamentally, Christian anyway. There were three churches a block down and youth group pastors would regularly come into the cafeteria during lunch to invite non-Christian kids to youth group.
In sixth grade, we had a sex ed class. The boys were sent off to the cafeteria, while the girls shuffled into the gym’s pull-out bleachers.
I grew up in Alabama, so this sex ed class wasn’t a good one. The educator told us that women think like spaghetti and men think like waffles. After signing a paper that said we’d wait until marriage, we were given bracelets (cheap rubber, nothing fancy, with some slogan about abstinence). The V-Card metaphor was explained, with the educator telling us that giving our husband our V-Card on our wedding night would be the best moment of our lives.
I look back and laugh about it—how could I not?
Thing is, all of this “sex ed” was actually right from the fundie playbook. The spaghetti-waffle metaphor is from a book by Bill and Pam Farrel, a married Christian couple who have also contributed writing to the deeply fundamentalist, anti-LGBTQ+ "Focus on the Family." The bracelets were, essentially, purity rings, and the paper we signed was the True Love Waits pledge with a secular veneer. The heavy focus on keeping our “V-Card” is, well, abstinence until marriage (which of course will happen and will be with a man).
Luckily, I was raised by a family who fully rejected purity culture, and laughed when I talked about the Waffle-Spaghetti thing, so I escaped without internalizing too much.
Still, though, I remember imagining this purity card. A white business card, made of thick cardstock, with silver embossed edges. I thought about throwing it away, until I realized: abstinence means I’m not expected to date. And I felt relieved.
In a culture where I was surrounded by the pressure to show interest in men, it was almost a shield. It was something that I could use as a framework to understand my disinterest in men—I wasn’t supposed to be interested in them until it’s time to marry one.
Now, this was before I even knew that gay people existed. I didn’t know how or why the idea of marrying a man was so revolting to me, but it was, and I just wanted to ignore it.
Mind you, the very system that gave me something to shield myself with was also responsible for creating that need in the first place.
The only future I could envision for myself was one without community, because heterosexuality, a nuclear family, and Christianity were requirements I knew I’d never meet, even if I didn’t know how to articulate that yet.
The fact that evangelical and fundamentalist beliefs are part of the school system in America, especially in the South, is something I have been aware of for a long time. I’d never really reflected on its impact on me, though.
Reading this book was a healing experience. Kadlec’s experience as a lesbian is one I connected with, but there were so many others I deeply related to—her search for spirituality, her desire to push back against the idea that rural and religious means uneducated, her knowledge that coming out meant losing people.
Kadlec does such a wonderful job of examining, of processing and deconstructing the ways in which fundamentalism and evangelicalism has infected American culture and politics. She not only does this through her memoir sections, but also through more academic, critical sections, which are sprinkled throughout the memoir.
A point I found fascinating was Kadlec’s discussion of how Christianity makes martyrs, and how those martyrs are then used to create propaganda. For example, Cassie Bernall, whose martyrization is encapsulated in a question asked in Bible studies and sermons alike: “If a shooter pointed a gun at you and asked if you were Christian, would you say yes?”
However, Kadlec notes, this martyrization does not happen to non-white Christians killed for their faith. In fact, many times, when Black Christians are killed for their faith—such as the victims of the The 16th Street Baptist Church bombing—they are not held in the same reverence. This is unsurprising, considering the role white Christianity played in opposing segregation.
(While on this topic, I also recommend Shanspeare’s excellent video “Tradwives and the White Supremacists Who Love Them” for more on white supremacy, heterosexuality, gender, and racism. https://youtu.be/jgQeoMEj0NY?si=DY_50UgwnDiYO9s6)
This is one of the many moments in Heretic where Kadlec analyzes how fundamentalism and evangelicalism support white supremacy, as well as the ways in which Christian opposition to social progress flows into one another—opposition to segregation flowed into opposition to abortion which flowed into opposition to gay rights which have, of course, flowed into the opposition to trans rights, all of which the church has used as fuel for their fire.
The only way we can fight this fire, Kadlec says, is by building something new—a community based not on religion or on legislature but on intersectional queer joy.
As Kadlec quotes from artist Micah Bazant, “No Pride For Some of Us Without Liberation For All of Us.” (https://www.micahbazant.com/marsha-p-johnson)
FINAL THOUGHTS
I’m going to wrap up the review now before I go on for another thousand words.
Heretic is amazing. I suggest it heavily to anyone interested in queer memoirs or are, like me, interested in interrogating the influence of fundamentalism and evangelicalism on American culture.
Readers who love Carmen Maria Machado’s In the Dream House need to pick up Heretic next. And when you do, let me know what you thought—I’m desperate to talk about this book!
To Jeanna Kadlec for reaching out to offer a review copy—thank you, truely.
Graphic: Body shaming, Child abuse, Domestic abuse, Emotional abuse, Homophobia, Misogyny, Racism, Sexism, Sexual assault, Sexual content, Sexual violence, Grief, Religious bigotry, Lesbophobia, Sexual harassment, Classism
_This audiobook was received as an ARC through Netgalley._
The narrator is fantastic (seriously, she did such a good job with character voices--she's an amazing actress). However, due to life, I just haven't had time to listen to it. Enough time has passed that I'd need to restart entirely to refresh the plot.
I did love what I read and want to return some day! The writing and character work were excellent.
This review is based on a digital ARC recieved via Netgalley.
A super fun collection of short stories based on Japanese urban legends, connected by the titular, mysterious horror collector, who shows up in each story as a side character.
I think this collection would be perfect for a middle grade reader who likes anime or manga, books like Goosebumps, and movies like Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. I probably would have been too scared to read it as a kid myself, especially since the stories are not shy about killing off their protagonists. (Not graphically, of course, but still. Whether or not the main character survives is entirely up to chance.)
First ten percent was almost pure infodump, heavy on the tell, skimpy on the show. It didn’t pull me in.
Also, despite the authors letter opening with a discussion about the war crimes committed by Japan (with specific mention of Unit 731), the bad guys are, for some reason, Rome? But a version of Rome that’s Definitely Not Just Britain, which is something I personally dislike—if you say Rome, I want Rome, not Britain with a splash of paint over it.
[Edit: Watching and reading reviews now, I'm so glad I DNF'd this.]
Let’s go with the obvious answer and say the beginning.
The beginning is strong. Our protagonist, Shaun, has just committed murder via arson. Shaun does this in a bid to protect his mother, who has been abused by her husband for over a decade; despite severely injuring and almost killing her a few times, he's gotten away with the abuse due to being a cop. After burning the family home down with his sleeping stepfather inside, Shaun flees to his grandfather’s old hunting cabin to lay low.
I liked this beginning! The stakes are high, and Shaun quickly becomes a protagonist I’m rooting for. I especially liked the way Shaun handles his mental health, as he used breathing exercises and other coping skills to handle the stress. The tension in this section was good, too—Shaun’s personal life was a focus and the setting, an almost completely abandoned town, was eerily intriguing. Honestly, the only reason this book reaches two stars for me is because of this decent beginning.
However, once the actual plot of the book began, the book nosedived for me. The pacing and plot are a mess.
Shaun is kidnapped by a doctor, drugged, and kept tied up in a room. Most of the plot is delivered via either people monologuing at Shaun, telling him things that, quite frankly, they have no reason to tell him. The villain is way too willing to explain what she's doing and why for absolutely no reason, and at a certain point, it gets very repetitive. Like, yes, I get it--the bad guy is doing lobotomies because her grandfather did them and she's mad she got bullied in med school.
Eventually, Shaun gets moved to a table where he sits, paralyzed, with three other teens. The plot is then continued to be delivered via conversations around a table, which is marginally better, but still a struggle to get through after a while. Another reviewer (brittanylee0302) described the plot as being "characters just [sitting] at a table chatting [and] slipp[ing] in [and] out of consciousness." I can't put it into better words, because, yeah. That's pretty much all it is.
There are a few chapters where we POV hop into another character's head (usually into the bad guy's head or into Cassidy's head), but these chapters usually just re-iterate information we already know. Honestly, I don't know why Shaun is the main character, not Cassidy; she's got a way more interesting backstory than him, and if we'd followed her, we wouldn't be sitting at a table for most of the plot.
Once the table kids finally decide to escape and there's actually some action, the plot gets a little better, but then takes an unfortunate left into "Very Outdated YA Vibes" zone with the introduction of the other escapees, who have all named themselves after the medications they used to take. I get the vibes, but these feel like teens from a very different era than the current one.
Speaking of outdated YA vibes, the whole book reads like something that was written in the early 2000s, and not in a good way, especially considering the villains.
One of the villains, the man in charge of administering medicine and menial labor, falls directly into one of my most disliked tropes: the big, mentally disabled guy who serves the actual bad guy, and usually has some kind of third-act turnaround. This is an extremely dated trope which is made worse by the fact that it is made explicit (with some on-page assault) that he sexually abuses the teens in his care. The doctor, too, has physical differences that are pointed out a few times.
Meanwhile, while most of our protagonists deal with some form of mental illness, none of them are disabled, and it is heavily hinted at several times that these mental illnesses are entirely misdiagnosed.
For all my issues with YA, the push for better representation and sensitivity isn't one of them. This books reads like one that was written before conversations about representation in YA became what it is today.
I won't get into the ending because, frankly, it's boring and predictable (burning down the asylum? very original) and it hints at a sequel I seriously doubt anyone will want.
The main plot that is revealed is that there is a grand conspiracy across the USA to funnel troubled teens into what is, essentially, a mad doctor study with two goals: eradicate the current generation and perfect lobotomies in order to prevent teens from being troubled.
Here's the thing: the idea that parents and guardians are willing to, essentially, send their children to a living horror in order to "fix" them isn't impossible. Wilderness camps exist. The issue here, for me, lies in the execution.
The idea of "eradicating" the current generation (dubbed "Generation Annihilation") is almost throw-away; it's stated several times that it's one of the goals of the study, but how that will be accomplished with a grand total of three people on staff is never explored, and frankly, seems like it only exists because it makes for a killer title.
The kids are kept via a drug that makes them extremely thirsty and unable to move; however, they are never fed and rarely provided water. How on earth are all these kids alive? Some of them have been kept in this paralyzed state for months. The second the logistics of this drug are considered, the idea of the drug starts to immediately crumble.
The author is a social worker, and I presume that has something to do with the themes and writing of this book. I'm not the expert on the topic that she is, so I'm not going to make any statements about the real world situation of teens in the system. In terms of Generation Annihilation, however, I felt the handling of mental health, physical difference, disability, and commentary on the system and wilderness programs were not well-executed.
I was a scaredy-cat, so I probably would have been completely unable to read it as a middle schooler--especially since Henderson's illustrations are absolutely terrifying! Not gonna lie, I'd love a movie or TV series adaptation of it.
If you loved the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark movie or the books, then you'll love this book!
This collection was such a treat. I not only got to read authors I already know and love (an amazing introduction by the author of My Heart is a Chainsaw, Stephen Graham Jones, and a fun werewolf story by author of Man Made Monsters, Andrea L. Rodgers) but also got introductions to a huge roster of new-to-me writers that I'm just dying to get to know better.
For folks who want a really meaty dark fiction collection to sink their teeth into, Never Whistle At Night is perfect. There are 26 stories, running the gamut from the extremely dark and extremely real ("Sundays" by David Heska Wanbli Weiden) to the darkly fantastical yet no less real ("Eulogy for a Brother, Resurrected" by Carson Faust).
All of the stories were fantastic (see my personal ratings below, under the spoiler tag), but my personal stand out favorites were "Navajos Don't Wear Elk Teeth" by Conley Lyons, "Heart-Shaped Clock" by Kelli Jo Ford, "Sundays" by David Heska Wanbli Weiden, and "Collections" by Amber Blaeser-Wardzala.
"Kushtuka" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐ "White Hills" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Navajos Don't Wear Elk Teeth" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Wingless" - ⭐⭐⭐ "Quantum" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Hunger" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Tick Talk" - ⭐⭐⭐ "The Ones Who Killed Us" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Snakes Are Born in the Dark" - ⭐⭐⭐ "Before I Go" - ⭐⭐⭐ "Night in the Chrysalis" - ⭐⭐⭐ "Behind Colin's Eyes" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Heart-Shaped Clock" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Scariest. Story. Ever." - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Human Eaters" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐ "The Longest Street in the World" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Dead Owls" - ⭐⭐⭐ "The Prepper" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Uncle Robert Rides the Lightning" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Sundays" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Eulogy for a Brother, Resurrected" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Night Moves" - ⭐⭐⭐ "Capgras" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐ "The Scientist's Horror Story" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Collections" - ⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Limbs" - ⭐⭐⭐
Thank you to the wonderful people behind Never Whistle at Night for providing a digital ARC via Netgalley!