readthesparrow's reviews
250 reviews

(2 stars - sorry if I sound mean, I

got infected with the nightmare vegan disease

)
Thank you to Thomas & Mercer for providing a digital advance review copy through Netgalley in exchange for this review.

REVIEW
I'm going to be honest: there's not a lot in Mothered that I particularly enjoyed. The pacing, story, prose, and characters were not at all what I want from a horror book. There were exactly two characters I actually liked (which is stretching it, since one of them is a cat) and one horror moment that I found to be memorable and actually creepy. While it was a fast read, if I hadn't gotten this book through Netgalley I almost certainly would have DNF'd it pretty quickly (and that is if I had picked it up at all, since it would have failed the page 99 test).

As it opens and ends the story, I may as well discuss the prologue and epilogue. These two follow a therapist named Silas, who claims he is excited to work with a patient due to the brutality of the murder. It's obfuscated which of the two women, Jackie or Grace, committed homicide. (Keep a pin in this, we'll be returning to it.) Due to this setup, I was assuming that the main bulk of the narrative would be in the narrative frame of a patient speaking to their therapist (a la Frankenstein sharing his story with the captain). It's not. The prologue and epilogue might as well have not been there; they add little to nothing to the narrative and just disappoint me by hinting towards an interesting framing then snatching it away in favor of completely normal close third person.

The completely normal third person was. A Choice. It works fine--I do like close third--but it feels like a strange choice to make after that prologue setup. Why not go with first person? Additionally, the prose in general was rather basic. It was easy to read but not particularly interesting, something that would have been fine if it had been telling a more interesting, cohesive, enjoyable story. But it wasn't, so I'm complaining about it.

The prose also would have been excusable if the characters were enjoyable to read. They weren't. Grace as a protagonist could have been interesting; she has a lot of childhood trauma, but does genuinely try to help those around her, and has the bizarre hobby of catfishing women online, which she describes as intentionally trying to help build their self esteem and improve their lives. The interesting elements of her, however, aren't really fleshed out enough, and what we're left with is not very engaging. Part of that issue is with the dialogue; it is middling at best and stilted, awkward, or shallow at worst. There's not as much of it as one would think for a story about a toxic mother-daughter relationship stuck in close quarters.

The pacing. God, the pacing. The pacing was strange, due to the fact that a bulk of the narrative is dream sequences and

the narrative jumps forward in time rather suddenly between chapter breaks in order to dump the reader into these dreams without indicating that they're dreams. For example, chapter 14 ends with Grace texting her best friend Miguel; chapter 15 begins with her having been hired by her old boss and visiting the new salon space. From that first paragraph, it's obvious that it's a dream, meaning that the reader knows whatever is going to happen isn't real and doesn't really matter. While suddenly jumping from reality to a dream can be a valuable strategy--and it did actually work the first time--after that, since I always knew what the author was trying to pull, I could figure out when a dream sequence was happening pretty quickly.

The pacing during the non-dream segments felt too quick, too, like the narrative was just trying to hurry and get to the next dream sequence.

Finally, for a mystery/thriller novel, it is not very mysterious or thrilling. While there is certainly a hidden past tragedy that is eventually revealed, the actual reveal is... kind of boring. The narrative takes, in my opinion, the most uninteresting route. One example of this, as I mentioned earlier, is

the intentional obfuscation of who killed who. Because the narrative follows Grace in close third person and never follows Jackie or anyone else, that indicates to the reader that she will probably be the one doing the murder, because protagonists don't usually die. However, there is always room for the narrative to turn that on its head and have Jackie be the one doing the murder, or at least have something more complex happen. But, no, that setup of not knowing who dies is never cashed out.

It just follows the most obvious route and calls it a day.

THE DREAMS
I love dreams in horror. There's real potential there in terms of explore unreality, watching the line between waking and dreaming blur, or having one encroach into the other. The premise of having horrible nightmares wasn't the issue. It was the execution.

The horror elements were almost entirely restricted to dreams for the bulk of the narrative. Although there were one or two moments of horror that I found genuinely intriguing, memorable, or creepy (for example,

the "Mona needs a calfskin bag" dream

), most of the rest of them were tropey, predictable, or overdone. While I bought that these dreams were upsetting for the character, they were not particularly upsetting to me (and, in fact, got old fast). The use of dream horror is, to me, something that has to be done subtly, carefully, and sparingly, especially when we have an unreliable protagonist. Grace's dreams are none of those things.

Even the horror of their toxic relationship and the childhood trauma was restricted to these dreams as well; while there are some moments of toxcitiy, gaslighting, or emotional manipulation, the levels of intensity never quite reach the intensity needed to make that final snap that leads to the murder feel satisfying.The few horrifying elements that are outside of the dreams are hallucinations that Grace dismisses as such pretty quickly (and those hallucinations aren't even good ones; they're even tropier than the dreams).

Pretty much all plot development relating to Hope, their familial past, and Grace's anxieties was also done in dreams. The only element of the mystery that we only get from real life was the box. Her relationship with Hope was only ever developed in depth through these dreams. Her mother is, in these dreams, referred to as "Mommy" (something that was offputting and not in a creepy way, just in a vaguely amusing way), and most of their past relationship is worked and explored in them (save for one or two moments where Jackie apologizes for being a bad mother but those conversations are incredibly short and way less in depth than they could have been).

All that said, the dream scenes were far better written than the scenes that took place in reality. If they'd had better connective tissue and were more subtley handled, they could have been very effective. As it is, they're disappointing and overused.

REALITY
From the premise of this book, I was expecting a book about a toxic mother-daughter relationship. I expected the narrative to explore that relationship in-depth and watch it worsen as two people with a complicated relationship are forced to stay together in close quarters for an unknown length of time. I wanted to watch them try to navigate that. I wanted conversations about Grace's childhood! I wanted them to have long conversations that balloon out of control! I wanted a slow build of tension and complex hatred! I wanted gaslighting, damn it!

There were a few times where we got a glimpse of this--for example, the dinner party with Miguel--where there was subtle friction between actions and intention between the two, with some push-and-pull between Grace and her mother. For the most part, though, their interactions were not all that complex, did not have subtextual implications, and were so direct and unnuanced it just was never all that interesting. While Grace certainly had reasons to doubt the reality around her, as a reader, I did not have any reason to believe what she was being told by her mother was untrue.

On all accounts, even down to the title, Mothered is supposed to be about a toxic mother-daughter relationship ending in matricide. However, the mother-daughter relationship isn't what the book is about. It's about:

- A weird disease that causes nightmares about trauma, sleepwalking, an obsession with truth, and turns you vegan.
- Growing up with a single parent and the neglect that resulted from that.
- Having a disabled twin who requires constant attention and care.
- The pandemic, which didn't really work for me. (If it had been a book set during the pandemic, it might have worked. The difference between the two is a bit difficult to explain, but it's something that made a huge difference. Pandemic fiction is hard to write well and usually completely uninteresting to me.)
- An ace woman's relationship with her gay best friend and the ways in which they care deeply for one another.
- A woman who catfishes other woman as a handsome man as a weird hobby, but only because she wants them to sort out their lives.

The book tries to juggle too much in the 300-ish pages it has. As a result, the narrative becomes muddled and shallow, with the titular thematic of mother shoved to the side.

Before I close out, I just want to complain about the whole mystery illness plot point. It's another unnecessary, underdeveloped plot element that muddies the narrative waters even further. The final hook it provides in the epilogue (the therapist is like "oh no I'm having nightmares... just like Grace did!!!") was so cheesy I actually laughed out loud. It became doubly funny when I realized one of the symptoms of the disease is becoming a vegan. I'm sorry, but I genuinely cannot take the narrative seriously enough to be thrilled or frightened.

FINAL THOUGHTS
While I can see why other folks enjoyed this novel, it's absolutely not to my taste when it comes to horror, thriller, or adult fiction. Further, in my opinion, I think it's ineffective in what it's trying to do. I requested Mothered because I always heard such great things about Baby Teeth; unfortunately, I think this has indicated she's not an author for me.

Thank you again to Thomas & Mercer for providing a digital advance review copy through Netgalley.

If you're interested in reading Mothered, it releases March 1, 2023.

Screaming crying yelling crawling along the floor stripping the wallpaper from the walls howling banging my fists against the doors sobbing wailing ripping my own heart out with both hands 

(I was provided a digital review copy by the publisher through Netgalley in exchange for a review.)

I really wanted to like this collection. This was my first introduction to LaRocca, and while I had heard conflicting opinions in horror circles (you either love his work or really don't), I was pretty sure I'd fall into the camp of enjoying it. I usually like horror authors whose work is controversial and style bizarre. However, while LaRocca's collection voice in this collection was certainly strong, elements of it such as the use of metaphor and line pacing were obtrusive or distracting from the tension, character, and thematics that otherwise were so strong.

The reason why I want to talk about voice in this collection is because the introduction, written by Chuck Wendig, waxes poetic about how strong LaRocca's voice is. Wendig claims that LaRocca's voice is so strong because he has empathy for his characters, because his stories revolve around queerness and sacrifice and transformation and viscera. "The dark magic at the core of this collection," Wendig says as the introduction comes to an end, is from a "sentence found in the titular tale of the collection: Anything that's worth doing always hurts."

I do agree with Wendig on his analysis of LaRocca's work. If not for the strong thematics, his care in portraying his characters, and the visceral imagery LaRocca just knows how to present, I would have probably DNF'd this collection. The sticking point here is the prose.

I don't like LaRocca's prose. I'm sorry, but it really turned me off. Usually I love purple prose and indulgent descriptions, especially in short stories, especially when that prose is more blood red than purple. But I think my thoughts can best be summed up by a note I made while reading the short story "You're Not Supposed to Be Here": My god would it kill you to write a paragraph without a metaphor? Once I noticed how many metaphors LaRocca uses--and never short and sweet ones--I couldn't not notice and be annoyed. I counted over 110 metaphors; the book is 147 pages total, with 115 of those pages being the actual short stories. That's around a metaphor a page; in some sections, there would be multiple metaphors per page.

And, look, again, I love a good metaphor. I wouldn't even say any of the metaphors were necessarily bad. They were all evocative, all clear, but a lot of them were just a little too much.

For example, in "The Strange Thing We Become," the scene with the Morse code machine (page 50 in my review copy) has seven metaphors and similes. Seven! At some point it's fluff. It's distracting. I don't need to know that "the machine chirped like a furious sparrow," just say that it chirped. The word chirped is doing enough lifting there! All those metaphors are exhausting. They're annoying. They're intrusive, and not in a good creepy horror way, in a "please just get to the point dear God" type way. 

If the prose was improved, this collection could have been a 3-4 star read. As it is, the metaphors crop up everywhere in the prose like the mycelium of an invasive species of fungus rendering the prose more difficult to read than something black and white and red all over and more unevenly paced than a horse with five legs. 

I have another book of his. I dearly hope that either those metaphors have been pruned over the years or his style has changed, because if not I'll be very sad because I very much would like to enjoy his work.

Absolutely excellent criticism. A bit outdated, though, and since I despise Freud I have to take off half a star on principle.

(This review was written based upon an advanced digital review copy provided through Netgalley.)

REVIEW
The Monsters in Our Shadows is a decent speculative horror with likable, engaging characters. In terms of setting, barebones plot elements, and occasionally tone, it reminded me quite a bit of Fallout, specifically 1 and 3. A protagonist leaves their isolated home to venture into a dangerous, unfamiliar apocalyptic landscape in search of a scientific resource that will save their home. If you enjoy narratives about travelling through a destroyed world and having to navigate what humanity means when most of the population is dead, you'll enjoy The Monsters in Our Shadows.

I also will say that the characters were enjoyable (save for one, Ribs, who I disliked due to issues with his character tropes). Anthem does his best to treat those he is responsible for Exiling with respect and kindness (sometimes to the point of putting himself and others in danger). He's a good father and he is concerned with his daughter's safety before his own. Children in fiction are hard to write and become irritating so easily, but Melody is written appropriately for her age and clearly has her own character beyond "child." Zoe, too, is an interesting character. When she first showed up I was so worried she was going to be a manic pixie dream girl and have a romantic thing with Anthem, but she doesn't, thank God. Even the side characters are likable; Mrs. Juliet Daniels is perfectly written, and other side characters like Sal (who only shows up twice) are actually memorable, something that's hard to do.

I enjoyed the world and the concept, but--in my opinion--it suffers from having predictable plot twists and flimsy, clumsily executed lore.

ANACHRONISMS
Okay, I know this is a strange complaint to have. It's also my pettiest, so it's going first. The book is set in a fictional post apocalyptic world, in which the tiny town of Atlas is barely surviving on crickets and ice cream. Though it's difficult to pin down an exact timline from memory, based on

the painting at Doubleday's house, Shivers first appeared at least four generations before Anthem's (so approximately a century before the book's events).

Yet there were things mentioned by the close third person narration or by Anthem directly that threw me off; for example, at some point, Anthem is reminded that "[salvation] was an impossble fantasy, like being pulled under by a sea of tar and thinking water wings might lift you up." How does he know what water wings are? Does Atlas have a pool or lake to swim in? Nothing like that is mentioned. How would water wings, those flimsy plastic things, last that long in concept or use for it to be something that metaphorically makes sense as a comparison? Even if it was meant to be only for the reader, not to be understood as something Anthem is thinking (which isn't likely considering context and the use of close third person), it still took me out of the narrative because it made me wonder whether water wings did still exist in this world; if so, why?

If this only happened once, it'd be something I'd have forgotten. But at the end of the book, Anthem directly states that something is a "superpower," something the people around him seem to understand. And, look, I don't doubt that the whole superhero thing was passed down as stories through generations, if there were solid family structures. But several times throughout the book, it's made clear that family units are fragile and easily, often interrupted. Atlas is also not a city where artistic expression thrives; thus, would oral storytelling about superheroes be enough of a thing to safely pass down the concept strongly enough for it to be understandable and appealing? The comics also could have been scavenged, but

the world ended at least 100 years prior sometime after 2025. Most print books aren’t going to survive for 100 years in an abandoned environment where they could be exposed to any manner of things without humans to intervene. No library is mentored either. Additionally, by that point lot of people would have been reading comic books digitally, and since computers aren’t mentioned, we can assume the populace no longer has access to them.

History books are mentioned, though; maybe he learned about superheroes alongside “singing boxes” and “dancing picture screens.”

Look, maybe I'm thinking too hard. But in an apocolyptic world, what survives and what doesn't matters, even if those things are just concepts, because it tells the reader a lot about the culture, history, and values of that world.

PETTY COMPLAINTS OVER, TIME FOR PLOT TWISTS
From this point on, there will be major spoilers for the plot. Be warned!

Okay. So. My main issue with the plot twists (both ones that are short term twists and long term twists) being so obvious is that they make Anthem seem kind of dumb. And, look, I love a dumb protagonist. It doesn't make me dislike Anthem by any means--he's a good father, he's kind, he's patient, and he's loner. I like those character traits. Him being a little oblivious and completely trusting of everyone around him to a fault is only icing on the cake. The issue here is that I don't think him being *that* oblivious was intentional.

For example, there's a point where Anthem is called to exile a woman.

The husband lets Anthem into the house; his hand is all messed up and bleeding, and he keeps telling Anthem to hurry up. Anthem goes upstairs to where the wife is locked in a room with the Shiver and manages to get the door open. Inside, the Shiver is completely ignoring the woman and is instead digging through the floor. There are buckets scattered around the room. Anthem still doesn't get what's going on despite his years of observing Shiver and human behavior, and tries talking to the woman (who is terrified out of her mind, obviously).

I understood what was happening the second Anthem entered the house, based purely on the information about Shivers that the narrative has made clear that Anthem understands.

So it was weird that he thought something might be off but had no idea what it was until the Shiver broke out of the room and went after the husband.

Also, in the beginning of the book, when Shivers are being established, Anthem talks about how he's been searching for a way to hold them off, kill them, or prevent them from attacking for years. He's got a notebook full of notes from interviews he's done with people he's about to Exile. When I was reading this, the solution seemed obvious to me.

Why not try feeding it? The problem is it's hungry, and it wants to eat its host, so... I mean, the solution seemed really obvious. And, of course, feeding them is revealed in the last third of the book to indeed be a solution to the issue. So why hadn't Anthem even considered it before?

There were a few other plot points that turned out to be predictable

(the Shivers ending up being controllable, the "haven" Doubleday was making just being a sacrificial field, Rib luring Anthem into danger).

I wouldn't have as big of an issue with the predictablility of the plot twists if they weren't so easily fixable and they didn't make Anthem seem like he doesn't have basic common sense. For example, how to fix the husband situation;

have Anthem realize what's going on immediately upon entering the house. It's far more interesting that way, too; now we get to see him try to figure out how to get the Shiver and the husband out of the house without harming the wife. Does he trick the husband? Force him? Nothing plot-wise would have to change, either. The plan could still fail, resulting in the chase, or the Shiver could burst through the ceiling (which would have been cool as fuck, pardon my French) and the husband could still run, also resulting in the chase.

The whole

feeding them blood thing to take the edge off their hunger is also easily adjustable to make it less easily predictable. All that needs to happen is Anthem reflecting on a case where he saw that happen, creating a horribly strong Shiver that resulted in something horrible happening. It doesn't even need to be a case he'd seen, just one he'd heard of. That way, the reader is misdirected, making the plot twist with the IV tube solution more surprising and more interesting because it adds another layer of uncertainty to Anthem's understanding of how Shivers work.

To wrap up this section, I'm making a petty complaint about the city's name, Atlas. It's very similar to Anthem (they both start with A and are two syllables), meaning that when I sat down to write this review I couldn't remember which was which and had to double check.

Additionally, if you know anything about Greek mythology, this makes the twist about what's going on with the city (spoiler, there's a giant Shiver hanging out on top of it) really obvious the second Anthem leaves the city and spots something in the clouds. Most people probably wouldn't notice that connection because, to be honest, Atlas isn't the most interesting Greek myth (and most people connect the word Atlas with maps, not with the mythology),

so honestly the Atlas/Anthem thing is more of a problem for me.

SIDE NOTE, RIB
Rib's character wasn't as bad as it could have been, but I hate the

cannibal savage

trope with such dedication I have to complain about it. I'm not going to get into all the deep-seated issues with this trope (it has a long racist, classist history) because it's too much for a book review and there's already plenty of writing out there analyzing it in-depth. Instead I'll just discuss Rib in terms of his position in the book at a more surface level.

First of all, Rib (and

his cannibal cadre, the Skulls

) all speak in severely broken English. Besides the issues with this relating to the trope's history as stated above, it's also just boring. The idea of how language would develop after the apocalpyse among differing factions is so interesting, but that wasn't explored at all in this novel. Additionally, it seems that

the cannibals

didn't only use this broken English with Anthem but also among each other, meaning it's their primary language, which is confusing because... why? Loss of human language is symbolic of

how they've lost their humanity by resorting to cannibalism, yes, but it doesn't make sense logistically.

Rib and

the Skulls

are also described as seriously deformed; Ribs is missing several parts of his face and is occasionally described as walking more like an ape. Like the language, this is meant to indicate

how inhuman they’ve become through the act of cannibalism.

Like the language, this is something that not only has a long and unfortunate history of ties to real world dehumanization of real people, but also is boring.

We have

weird supernatural parasitic creatures as a major plot element,

and we went with the overdone

mutant cannibal

option? It would have been so much cooler if they’d

formed a physical symbiotic relationship with Shivers—ex., fusing with them or something.

It’s way scarier, way more interesting, and way more unique.

THE LORE
Let's talk about the lore.

First, I'm going to get this out of the way.

While the Shivers are obviously a symbol for mental illness/trauma from the beginning, that connect is moreso an underlying element in the beginning. The parallels between Shivers and mental illness aren't subtle by any means, but they're also handled relatively well and aren't being clumsily shoved in the reader's face. This falls away by the end of the book, however, with Anthem giving a long speech detailing how hard it is to live with a Shiver; that it's "okay to not be okay," that it's survivable, how it's hard to get out of bed, choose to keep going, but all that stuff makes you a stronger person. He ends the speech shouing that he Shiver's aren't "afflictions" but rather "superpowers" that can give people with them a "deeper experience."

Yeah, it kind of loses the whole menal illness symbology by the end a little. By making the comparison so blatant, the metaphor gets messy. I hate it when mental illness, even a metaphorical symbol of it, is something that makes a character stronger or is compared to a superpower; I find it trite, overdone, and not helpful.

That said, there were good parts of this speech. I liked the part

where he talks about giving a little bit of attention to it, acknowledging it, and that Shivers are a part of people who have them. That they can be lived with. It's just that a lot of the speech felt... I know I already said trite, but it's trite. It's trying too hard. I know that sounds mean, but it's a story beat I really do not enjoy.

Anyway. Getting off track.

The lore about the Shivers is really confusing.

They're animalistic beasts; some can swim, many can climb walls or hang of ceilings, and they are voracious. We see one digging through concrete at one point. However, the people inside Atlas are completely safe from the ones outside, who seemingly just don't seem interested in getting into Atlas.

At the end of the book, it's revealed that

the Architect's great-great-grandfather's Shiver was fed in much the same manner as Atlas and Zoe feed theirs. It grew huge, and when he died, it ended up hovering over the city and feeding on the Exiles who get cast out. It's called the Goliath (though I wish they'd called it Titan instead; Goliath, after all, is a Biblical thing, and if the city is called Atlas it would make more sense for the giant Shiver's name to also be Greek in origin to match. But I digress). Doubleday states that when Anthem Exiled folks, he was feeding the Goliath.

This is where things get confusing.

See,

when people are exiled, their Shivers eat them; they consume them utterly, leaving almost nothing behind. Additionally, when Anthem was exiled and left drugged in a field for several hours, Goliath didn't eat him. Therefore, I assumed that the logical conclusion was that the Goliath doesn’t eat the hosts, but the Shivers. That would explain why, despite there being a hundred years worth of people with Shivers being banished outside the walls, there weren't actually any Shivers to be found nearby Atlas. (Anthem assumes this is because they went elsewhere to find food, something that kind of makes sense but not enough sense to be completely buyable.)

However, when

the Goliath goes after the city, it exclusively attacks people without Shivers, yoinking them up into the foggy sky eldritch horror style. This implies that it feeds off people, not Shivers. It also explicitly avoids going after people with Shivers, no matter how small those Shivers are. Anthem uses the fact that Shivers will fight to protect their host from other Shivers to save the people of Anthem, gathering them all into one place and having the little crowd of Shivers duke it out with Goliath, who eventually retreats.

So...

what was the Goliath eating when Exiles happened? If it was eating the Shivers that were Exiled, why didn't it eat the Shivers and their hosts while devouring Anthem? Or why did it attack and eat Shiverless people if its diet is now Shivers? If it was eating the exiled people, 1) how and 2) why didn't it eat Anthem?

What we do have concerning the lore of Shivers is cool, and I like the idea with

Goliath

. It just falls apart if you try to think about it, unfortunately, making it a weak end to a relatively good book.

FINAL THOUGHTS
The Monsters in Our Shadows is a decent horror specfic novel that starts off very strong but has a weak end and spotty but interesting lore. It’s really a shame—that first chapter is an amazing mix of character, plot, and exposition, all balanced with a real sense of tension and sadness. The last chapter pales in comparison.

I'm excited to see more from this author; his character work is fantastic and his worldbuilding is interesting despite its weak spots. Honestly, I think I’m being so harsh on it because it is genuinely good. I devoured it in four days and I would absolutely read a sequel (if one is ever written). I’m just left with a lot of questions that should have been answered by the conclusion. I want to know the answers because the rest of the book was so enjoyable.

If you’re interested in the Monsters in Our Shadows, it releases on 28 February 2023. You can find more information about the title here (https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-monsters-in-our-shadows-edward-j-cembal/1142873723).

My kindle finally kicked the bucket lmao and I’m not bothering with Amazon any more

REVIEW
(disclaimer: I recieved a digital review copy of Briardark through Netgalley in exchange for a review.)
Whatever I expected from Briardark, it wasn't this.

To tell the truth, I went in not knowing what to expect; the publishers introduce it as "perfect for fans of LOST and House of Leaves," two properties which I haven't yet touched (I know, I know, HoL is on my TBR this year). Based on my scant knowledge of these properties I assumed that meant people would be lost in a weird place.

In Briardark, people sure are lost in a weird place, but it gets so much wilder and bizarre than I could have ever dreamed of. Typically when a book is shilled as a horror thriller, it's just a horror book with a bit of thriller or a thriller book lumped into the horror category because it's a thriller. This, however, is a true horror thriller; the twists in this book are insane, and this is from someone who usually sees "twists" coming from a million miles away. Every single one not only ramps up the tension but also does something clever to tweak an aspect of reality we thought we could trust. Harian is also very patient when it comes to the reveal. Nothing's ever rushed, and the payoff for elements introduced or revealed can take chapters, if not hundreds of pages.

It's a quick read, too, despite its length (350+ pages, 10+ hour audiobook!). The pacing is excellent, knowing when to slow and take in the view and when to hurtle forward over the edge. Several times while reading, I would go to update my reading progress and realize that I'd only read five pages, but with all that had happened I'd expected 20+. In Briardark, stuff just keeps happening and doesn't stop.

THE PEOPLE
While the blurb implies that there will only be two POVs, Briardark actually gives every character in Seina's team a POV. Siena and Holden are the main characters, yes, and most of the narrative is told from their perspective, but the narrative also isn't afraid to shift over to another character when necessary--usually when folks split up (or get split up). The reader isn't being shuffled around character's heads willy-nilly.

Normally I'm not a fan of multiple POVs; for me, more than two POV characters is pushing it. Briardark, however, does a really excellent job of handling multiple POVs. It establishes the characters firmly from Siena's POV first, allowing readers to become familiar with who they are before swapping. Also (and this important), every character is both unique and enjoyable.

Out of all the cast, Cam is my favorite. She's a well written lesbian character, something I always appreciate and rarely see. She's allowed to have a close, meaningful relationship with Siena, a straight woman, without ever being attracted to her. Siena never even considers the possibility. Cam's capable, respected in her field and her colleagues, and the trauma she has from her involvement with Briardark in the past is handled really well. I know these things can seem low bar to hurdle, but I'm starved for good lesbian rep, especially in horror/thriller books. I really hope to see more from her in the second book--her plotline was, to me, one of the ones I'm most invested in.

THE PLACE
The establishment of place is beautifully done. The book is set in an absolutely awe-inspiring wilderness. Despite the fact I would definitely die immediately (and not even due to anything eldritch, just from the hiking), I'd love to visit.

One of the best pieces of advice I got from my writing classes was to treat place as another character. It's just as important as the human characters in a story, if not more so; the Deadswitch Wild, Briardark, even individual rooms all have their own character. This, of course, goes double for when the wild starts to get weird and eldritch (in more ways than one).

Honestly, I'm usually not one to be pro-map in books. I think they're fine, but I usually don't use them. I think that Briardark would benefit greatly from having a map included; maybe not necessarily in the beginning, but several maps are mentioned over the course of the book, and I was just dying for them to be included as an illustration or in the back. I read an advanced digital reader's copy through Netgalley, so they may be included in the final product. If not, I really hope the second book comes with a map or gets map illustrations. The textual description of them was well-done, of course, making them not strictly necessary, but they'd be cool.

That said, a lot of what is set up in this first book lore-wise recieves no payoff. It's the first book in a series (thank God), so having to wait for reveals is to be expected, but it's going to be hard to wait. Luckily, the second book, Waywarden, comes out in 2024. I can't wait to return to the Briardark in a year.

FINAL THOUGHTS
I can't say if the comparison to LOST or House of Leaves is accurate. What I can say is that if you enjoyed titles like The Dark Between the Trees or short stories like "A Tale of the Ragged Mountains" and "A Psychological Shipwreck" you'll love Briardark even more. It's weird, tense, and has some fantastic characters I can't wait to read more about.

Briardark released 16 January 2023. If you're interested in the book, check out the official website (https://briardark.com/), request the book from your local library, or buy yourself a copy!