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650 reviews
Ghost Station by S.A. Barnes
As a novel, Ghost Station is a skin-crawling, haunting, absolutely terrifying experience that will have you teetering on the edge of your seat. Every page is soaked in an eerie and sinister vibe, it's so damn cloying and choking. Although the pacing of this one is much closer to your typical horror novel than a thriller, it's so damn enjoyable that it's near impossible to be disappointed. The sprawling, consuming, pitch perfect descriptions of the locations make this novel so beautifully cinematic. At the best of times, the lines between horror and thriller, between sci-fi and horror, between thriller and action novel are blurred and really rather thin, Barnes uses this to her advantage, trampling over any perceived genre boundary to create a supernova of a story.
"The skin on his forearm is sliced and raised in flaps, dangling like loosened bits of bark on his namesake tree, revealing the pink marbled muscle and tendons. But worse than that? The ragged chunks, like hacking cuts or bites, missing from both."
4.0
"Panic chews at the drug-induced calmness still drifting through her veins. Her hands, her legs, don't seem to exist at all, for all that she can feel them. And when she tries to open her eyes again, her eyelids flutter but remain closed. It is a terrifying feeling, to not be in control of your body when your mind is awake. Like being buried alive, encased within your own flesh and bone."
Ghost Station is a slow moving but exceedingly entertaining and highly fun space thriller wrapped up in horror packaging. These sort of space disaster novels live and die by their atmospheric tension - With Ghost Station, not only has S.A. Barnes absolutely nailed the dread inducing atmosphere that these novels require, but she's delivered something so isolating and claustrophobic. It's a very linear kind of novel, adding a strange sense of intimacy to the setting, we're given much more time to focus on the soul-shattering events of the novel, and it's all so delightfully creepy and unsettling. Ghost Station is an immaculate example of a space thriller done right, highly tense, extremely suspenseful and so easily devourable, it makes for a hugely enjoyable experience.
While it never fully commits to being an all-out horror novel, Ghost Station does take every single thing that's brilliant about the sci-fi genre, and reskins it into something much more unnerving and disturbing. It's certainly scary enough to keep horror readers interested, everything is so vivid and grotesque. There's a harsh, inescapable sense of place to this novel, it becomes all too easy to lose yourself within it, all too easy to see yourself stood right next to the protagonists while the plot explodes. Space exploration, sci-fi, horror and thriller elements are so skillfully blended together to create one of this year's most inhalable novels.
Ghost Station is a slow moving but exceedingly entertaining and highly fun space thriller wrapped up in horror packaging. These sort of space disaster novels live and die by their atmospheric tension - With Ghost Station, not only has S.A. Barnes absolutely nailed the dread inducing atmosphere that these novels require, but she's delivered something so isolating and claustrophobic. It's a very linear kind of novel, adding a strange sense of intimacy to the setting, we're given much more time to focus on the soul-shattering events of the novel, and it's all so delightfully creepy and unsettling. Ghost Station is an immaculate example of a space thriller done right, highly tense, extremely suspenseful and so easily devourable, it makes for a hugely enjoyable experience.
While it never fully commits to being an all-out horror novel, Ghost Station does take every single thing that's brilliant about the sci-fi genre, and reskins it into something much more unnerving and disturbing. It's certainly scary enough to keep horror readers interested, everything is so vivid and grotesque. There's a harsh, inescapable sense of place to this novel, it becomes all too easy to lose yourself within it, all too easy to see yourself stood right next to the protagonists while the plot explodes. Space exploration, sci-fi, horror and thriller elements are so skillfully blended together to create one of this year's most inhalable novels.
"The blue-gray light paints everything in shadow, turning everything into muddy, indistinguishable versions of itself. Drifts of snow and chunks of ice take on an ominous quality, as if they're hiding something instead of just existing. Her helmet light, automatically triggered by the dim conditions, casts a bright halo around her, but every time she moves, or the wind moves her, jagged shadows dance in the periphery. It's enough to make her wish for a sunrise, one that's never going to come."
As a novel, Ghost Station is a skin-crawling, haunting, absolutely terrifying experience that will have you teetering on the edge of your seat. Every page is soaked in an eerie and sinister vibe, it's so damn cloying and choking. Although the pacing of this one is much closer to your typical horror novel than a thriller, it's so damn enjoyable that it's near impossible to be disappointed. The sprawling, consuming, pitch perfect descriptions of the locations make this novel so beautifully cinematic. At the best of times, the lines between horror and thriller, between sci-fi and horror, between thriller and action novel are blurred and really rather thin, Barnes uses this to her advantage, trampling over any perceived genre boundary to create a supernova of a story.
"The skin on his forearm is sliced and raised in flaps, dangling like loosened bits of bark on his namesake tree, revealing the pink marbled muscle and tendons. But worse than that? The ragged chunks, like hacking cuts or bites, missing from both."
Rabbits by Hugo Rifkind
How lovely it was to experience a slice of Dark Academia that challenges typical convention by being cast not stateside, but in Scotland instead. Rabbits is part The Secret History, part Saltburn, part These Violent Delights, and part the best bits of a genre stretched all too thin and losing its meaning. It's a return to what Dark Academia should be, a murder mystery dedicated to the epicurean elite. Everything contained within Rabbits is about superiority, or at least, the fragile perception of it. In the end, it's a tale as old as time, the unhinged behavior of teenage boys with too much money, the discarding of empathy that comes with feeling untouchable.
Despite the drama of it all, it's in no way, a fast-paced story. In fact, everything stretches out in a rather slothful manner. By no means is this the perfect dark academia novel, in fact, perhaps it's much better described as a murder mystery suffused with academic undertones, regardless, it's an enjoyable, wonderful, soulful novel.
"Do long summer evenings ever make you depressed? I know they're not supposed to. They do me, though, and I think it started then, after Alan had gone. The warmer the night, the greater the scented potential, the bleaker I felt."
4.0
"When the shotgun went off under Johnnie Burchill's brother's chin, word had it, the top of his head came off like the top of a turnip lantern. Then it got stuck, by means of a jagged triangle of bone, into the upholstery of the roof of the Land Rover. A thing like that spreads around. The story, I mean. Not the head."
A hedonistic whirlwind of a novel, Rabbits so delightfully captures the testosterone fueled awkwardness of youth, the fierceness of loyalties tested, it captures so very beautifully the anxiety ridden ferality of being young and it does so with this blissful, drugged up numbness. It's aristocratic excessiveness in a novel, it's a hugely entertaining thing, a story of friendships, murder, danger and drug fueled stupefaction. It's a novel of being an outsider in a place where you do not belong, and, it's a highly self-indulgent thing, as perhaps all the greatest novels are. Knowing absolutely nothing of the author, or the novel itself, going into this, the only idea I had of it was "Saltburn with kilts" - what a fantastic surprise it was. It's a hidden delight, a gem shining amongst the dirt. The whole thing is slightly fuzzy around the edges, blurring and swirling, forever shifting what it's really about.
Certainly, this kaleidoscopic story deserves to be more well known than what it is. And, it's clear, that with this novel, Rifkind has written about what he knows most intimately - aristocratic success and posh boarding school experiences. Told to us by an only sometimes lovable, slightly unreliable narrator, Rabbits takes on the form of a fictional autobiography, one that's populated by extremely unlikeable, irritating, arrogant and at worst, utterly detestable people who only seem to sink lower as the story unfurls. Rabbits offers up a stark and shocking glimpse at a world fueled by parties, drugs, careless attitudes and far, far too many guns. It's all so very compulsively readable, a blazing blur, tinged with a smoky haze in which its mystery hides.
A hedonistic whirlwind of a novel, Rabbits so delightfully captures the testosterone fueled awkwardness of youth, the fierceness of loyalties tested, it captures so very beautifully the anxiety ridden ferality of being young and it does so with this blissful, drugged up numbness. It's aristocratic excessiveness in a novel, it's a hugely entertaining thing, a story of friendships, murder, danger and drug fueled stupefaction. It's a novel of being an outsider in a place where you do not belong, and, it's a highly self-indulgent thing, as perhaps all the greatest novels are. Knowing absolutely nothing of the author, or the novel itself, going into this, the only idea I had of it was "Saltburn with kilts" - what a fantastic surprise it was. It's a hidden delight, a gem shining amongst the dirt. The whole thing is slightly fuzzy around the edges, blurring and swirling, forever shifting what it's really about.
Certainly, this kaleidoscopic story deserves to be more well known than what it is. And, it's clear, that with this novel, Rifkind has written about what he knows most intimately - aristocratic success and posh boarding school experiences. Told to us by an only sometimes lovable, slightly unreliable narrator, Rabbits takes on the form of a fictional autobiography, one that's populated by extremely unlikeable, irritating, arrogant and at worst, utterly detestable people who only seem to sink lower as the story unfurls. Rabbits offers up a stark and shocking glimpse at a world fueled by parties, drugs, careless attitudes and far, far too many guns. It's all so very compulsively readable, a blazing blur, tinged with a smoky haze in which its mystery hides.
"A whole doomed world teetering on the edge of an entropy. I recognised even then, and perhaps even reveled in, but without ever quite grasping what entropy entails. And it has taught me, I suppose, that you can't cling on to things that are crumbling. Because you will break your nails, and you will fall, and then you will look back up and wonder how it can be that something which once seemed as solid as stone itself is now barely there at all."
How lovely it was to experience a slice of Dark Academia that challenges typical convention by being cast not stateside, but in Scotland instead. Rabbits is part The Secret History, part Saltburn, part These Violent Delights, and part the best bits of a genre stretched all too thin and losing its meaning. It's a return to what Dark Academia should be, a murder mystery dedicated to the epicurean elite. Everything contained within Rabbits is about superiority, or at least, the fragile perception of it. In the end, it's a tale as old as time, the unhinged behavior of teenage boys with too much money, the discarding of empathy that comes with feeling untouchable.
Despite the drama of it all, it's in no way, a fast-paced story. In fact, everything stretches out in a rather slothful manner. By no means is this the perfect dark academia novel, in fact, perhaps it's much better described as a murder mystery suffused with academic undertones, regardless, it's an enjoyable, wonderful, soulful novel.
"Do long summer evenings ever make you depressed? I know they're not supposed to. They do me, though, and I think it started then, after Alan had gone. The warmer the night, the greater the scented potential, the bleaker I felt."
We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver
The entirety of this novel feels like ripping the teeth from your mouth, it's just such a harrowing thing. Every character is entirely detestable, no one here is any good, at all, yet they're so perfectly written, somehow sympathetic and grotesque. Despite the often overexaggerated, over articulate writing, it's a very readable novel, at once both elegant and disgusting. It's just such a devastating thing, explaining how one feels about this novel without resorting to incoherent screaming seems next to impossible, what a repulsive, ugly thing this book is. It's simply overkill, but in the best possible way.
"As for saving yourself, maybe it just wasn't in you. Stark in the glare of the floods, sharpened by the shadow cast by the shaft in your neck, the expression on your face - it was just so disappointed."
4.5
"Kevin honked, that hard, joyless laugh forced through his nose. And said something like, Are you kidding? They fucking worship me, Mumsey. There's not a juve in this joint who hasn't taken out fifty dickheads in his peer group before breakfast - in his head. I'm the only one with the stones to do it in real life."
There's something so very sublime and exceptional about We Need to Talk About Kevin. It's one of those novels that starts almost painfully slow, in an entirely unhurried and sedated pace, but, that eventually moves towards a cosmic explosion of an ending. Told entirely as rather pretentious letters from Kevin's mother, it's a shining example of another novel that dares to abandon conventionality, there's no typical structure here, in fact it's a series of ramblings that form a sickening and compelling narrative. Let me be clear, this is a deeply uncomfortable book. It's unsettling and horrific, akin to witnessing a multiple car collision at high speeds, you can't look away, you mustn't even if it's entirely too disturbing to envision.
We Need to Talk About Kevin is not, in any way, an enjoyable experience - it's twisted and brutal and fucking agonizing to sit through, yet it's one of the most enrapturing novels ever written, often times, the best works of literature are the most tortuous. It's so profoundly affecting and unique, we all know already what has happened, we have all the answers and we know where the story must take us, yet... It's so damn surprising. Lionel Shriver has a stunning command of language, there are ugly, hideous things written here yet she manages to capture such beauty in her words. Perhaps more frightening than even a horror novel, We Need to Talk About Kevin is so much more than another piece of fiction. This is art in print form, this, I believe, is what literature is all about.
There's something so very sublime and exceptional about We Need to Talk About Kevin. It's one of those novels that starts almost painfully slow, in an entirely unhurried and sedated pace, but, that eventually moves towards a cosmic explosion of an ending. Told entirely as rather pretentious letters from Kevin's mother, it's a shining example of another novel that dares to abandon conventionality, there's no typical structure here, in fact it's a series of ramblings that form a sickening and compelling narrative. Let me be clear, this is a deeply uncomfortable book. It's unsettling and horrific, akin to witnessing a multiple car collision at high speeds, you can't look away, you mustn't even if it's entirely too disturbing to envision.
We Need to Talk About Kevin is not, in any way, an enjoyable experience - it's twisted and brutal and fucking agonizing to sit through, yet it's one of the most enrapturing novels ever written, often times, the best works of literature are the most tortuous. It's so profoundly affecting and unique, we all know already what has happened, we have all the answers and we know where the story must take us, yet... It's so damn surprising. Lionel Shriver has a stunning command of language, there are ugly, hideous things written here yet she manages to capture such beauty in her words. Perhaps more frightening than even a horror novel, We Need to Talk About Kevin is so much more than another piece of fiction. This is art in print form, this, I believe, is what literature is all about.
"Once I was no longer fussing with my coat, he said, you may be fooling the neighbors and the guards and Jesus and your gaga mother with these goody-goody visits of yours, but you're not fooling me. Keep it up if you want a gold star. But don't be dragging your ass back here on my account. Then he added, because I hate you."
The entirety of this novel feels like ripping the teeth from your mouth, it's just such a harrowing thing. Every character is entirely detestable, no one here is any good, at all, yet they're so perfectly written, somehow sympathetic and grotesque. Despite the often overexaggerated, over articulate writing, it's a very readable novel, at once both elegant and disgusting. It's just such a devastating thing, explaining how one feels about this novel without resorting to incoherent screaming seems next to impossible, what a repulsive, ugly thing this book is. It's simply overkill, but in the best possible way.
"As for saving yourself, maybe it just wasn't in you. Stark in the glare of the floods, sharpened by the shadow cast by the shaft in your neck, the expression on your face - it was just so disappointed."
Palace of Shadows by Ray Celestin
This is as much a story of tortured ghosts that haunt a colossal house as it is a story of the deeply flawed and traumatized characters that populate it. Every character, every single one, feels so vulnerable, and expressive and real. At it's core, this is, really, a historical fiction novel with tints of gothic wonder. It's all so chaotic and desperate, it's a sinister thing, acting as a spine-chilling ghost story, and a light gothic tragedy with splashings of magical realism. Palace of Shadows is the perfect sort of novel for those that like things unsettling and creepy, but don't like their scares too intense or gory.
"I see them all, crawling over the moors in their thousands. A legion of the mutilated and maimed. I see them scratching through the dark, scaling walls, trying to rip down the house. They scream in a hundred foreign tongues. They want their revenge, but they will be denied."
3.0
"I am of the opinion that religion's defining feature is the apocalypse story, the account of how the world will end. For a universe that continues on eternally, adding ever more souls to creation, diminishes the worth of every soul. And so religions provide meaning by providing an end. They fix themselves to a future inferno, and from it build back the scaffold of their belief into the past."
Palace of Shadows is a dark and decadent gothic novel that's cast against a grim, grimy and desolate Yorkshire Moors backdrop. Overshadowing that, however, is the house in which this story is set, which becomes the novel's most important character, even more so than the characters themselves. It's left me really rather torn, on the one hand, this is an excellent gothic tale that flings us into some fascinating topics, it allows us to latch onto, and delve into the nature of madness and grief, and it feels so vivid and captivating. At times, however, it also feels so very... Standard, so regular. It's absolutely buzzing with the most tantalizing of ideas, it just, doesn't fully execute them all.
Celestin's writing, as always, is brilliant, it's beautiful and sublime and so very evocative. He's an author that's so clearly flowing with talent, and he's created a labyrinthine story, one that sprawls outwards and unfurls before us. It's all so very Piranesi, and it's utterly drenched in this dread that just settles over everything, it's page after page of sophisticated text and poetic prose and gothic charm. It ticks every single box that a gothic historical fiction novel should, and it's so rich in decadent, gorgeous scares... I just wish that it had expanded itself into something more surreal.
Palace of Shadows is a dark and decadent gothic novel that's cast against a grim, grimy and desolate Yorkshire Moors backdrop. Overshadowing that, however, is the house in which this story is set, which becomes the novel's most important character, even more so than the characters themselves. It's left me really rather torn, on the one hand, this is an excellent gothic tale that flings us into some fascinating topics, it allows us to latch onto, and delve into the nature of madness and grief, and it feels so vivid and captivating. At times, however, it also feels so very... Standard, so regular. It's absolutely buzzing with the most tantalizing of ideas, it just, doesn't fully execute them all.
Celestin's writing, as always, is brilliant, it's beautiful and sublime and so very evocative. He's an author that's so clearly flowing with talent, and he's created a labyrinthine story, one that sprawls outwards and unfurls before us. It's all so very Piranesi, and it's utterly drenched in this dread that just settles over everything, it's page after page of sophisticated text and poetic prose and gothic charm. It ticks every single box that a gothic historical fiction novel should, and it's so rich in decadent, gorgeous scares... I just wish that it had expanded itself into something more surreal.
"A sense of revulsion shivered through me as I saw that the driver was right, it was a house. Not a grouping of separate buildings as I had initially thought, but a single, coagulated structure. Monstrous and abhorrent, it rippled haphazardly across the moor in an unbroken wave. It flowed over depressions, crested hills and ran madly all the way to the cliffs, where it disappeared in a mist of fog and sea spray that hit its full extent."
This is as much a story of tortured ghosts that haunt a colossal house as it is a story of the deeply flawed and traumatized characters that populate it. Every character, every single one, feels so vulnerable, and expressive and real. At it's core, this is, really, a historical fiction novel with tints of gothic wonder. It's all so chaotic and desperate, it's a sinister thing, acting as a spine-chilling ghost story, and a light gothic tragedy with splashings of magical realism. Palace of Shadows is the perfect sort of novel for those that like things unsettling and creepy, but don't like their scares too intense or gory.
"I see them all, crawling over the moors in their thousands. A legion of the mutilated and maimed. I see them scratching through the dark, scaling walls, trying to rip down the house. They scream in a hundred foreign tongues. They want their revenge, but they will be denied."
These Violent Delights by Micah Nemerever
It's a novel of subtle cruelties that are woven into a slowly unfurling text. Obsessive love blurs into hurt and suffering lurks around every corner. It's a novel of broken, horrible, twisted, god awful people. Both Paul and Julian are hardly ever likable, in fact, they spend most of their story being abhorrent, detestable people. Yet, so fantastically are they captured upon the page that it's impossible not to read on. These Violent Delights is a story of violent obsession, of unreliable narration and unending savagery. Nothing here is healthy, or right, or good in any way, but my god, is it the most exhilarating thing. As a book, it's all so raw and real and human, it absolutely guts the reader. It's a wickedly beautiful thing, a slow building, hyper destructive apocalypse of a novel.
"He had no words left in his head, no ideas. He barely thought about Julian at all. All he could think about was throwing himself against a wall, over and over, until he'd smashed himself into shards so fine that the void inside him could finally slip free."
4.0
"The numbness bleeds into Charlie's vision. He sees everything through the veil of a dream. The widening black between the streetlights, the silent strangers alongside him looking out into the dark. They're kids - just kids. He doesn't understand, and he never will. The boys still won't meet each other's eyes. They're afraid, both of them, of what they might see."
Oh, how I shall never tire of toxic, terrible people and their obsessions with each other. How I shall never tire of the most pretentious, unbearable, violent and torturous tales of queer love. In an age where the phrase has lost all meaning, These Violent Delights is a shining example of how one correctly enthralls readers with Dark Academia. Steeped in utterly gorgeous prose and philosophical musings, this is a real delight of a novel. It's one of those soul-shattering novels of bliss, drenched in poignancy and danger. As delightful as it is deranged, as unhinged as it is tender and intimate, These Violent Delights feels like a deeply personal novel. It's an intense, all-consuming experience, enrapturing and blissful.
This is a debut novel. It's a debut. Let that truly sink in, as a debut of this caliber is a real rarity. There's such a vast maturity and confidence to the prose, one that's almost impossible to find in other, similar works of fiction. These Violent Delights is a demanding novel, requiring unwavering attention from its reader. So harshly captivating and intensely beautiful, it's absolutely excruciating how amazing, how fantastic of a book this really is. It's crushing, captivating, bewitching, it's messy and twisted and all so chaotic. This is a spiraling intoxicating pit of darkness and despair in print form.
Oh, how I shall never tire of toxic, terrible people and their obsessions with each other. How I shall never tire of the most pretentious, unbearable, violent and torturous tales of queer love. In an age where the phrase has lost all meaning, These Violent Delights is a shining example of how one correctly enthralls readers with Dark Academia. Steeped in utterly gorgeous prose and philosophical musings, this is a real delight of a novel. It's one of those soul-shattering novels of bliss, drenched in poignancy and danger. As delightful as it is deranged, as unhinged as it is tender and intimate, These Violent Delights feels like a deeply personal novel. It's an intense, all-consuming experience, enrapturing and blissful.
This is a debut novel. It's a debut. Let that truly sink in, as a debut of this caliber is a real rarity. There's such a vast maturity and confidence to the prose, one that's almost impossible to find in other, similar works of fiction. These Violent Delights is a demanding novel, requiring unwavering attention from its reader. So harshly captivating and intensely beautiful, it's absolutely excruciating how amazing, how fantastic of a book this really is. It's crushing, captivating, bewitching, it's messy and twisted and all so chaotic. This is a spiraling intoxicating pit of darkness and despair in print form.
"Only fear had ever held him back. He wanted to tear through Julian's skin and map the shapes of liver and lungs, to memorize the path of every artery with his fingertips. He wanted to break Julian's body open and move inside it alongside him, rib cages interlaced around a single heart. There was an emptiness inside Paul that would take and never stop taking. He should never have believed that Julian couldn't tell it was there."
It's a novel of subtle cruelties that are woven into a slowly unfurling text. Obsessive love blurs into hurt and suffering lurks around every corner. It's a novel of broken, horrible, twisted, god awful people. Both Paul and Julian are hardly ever likable, in fact, they spend most of their story being abhorrent, detestable people. Yet, so fantastically are they captured upon the page that it's impossible not to read on. These Violent Delights is a story of violent obsession, of unreliable narration and unending savagery. Nothing here is healthy, or right, or good in any way, but my god, is it the most exhilarating thing. As a book, it's all so raw and real and human, it absolutely guts the reader. It's a wickedly beautiful thing, a slow building, hyper destructive apocalypse of a novel.
"He had no words left in his head, no ideas. He barely thought about Julian at all. All he could think about was throwing himself against a wall, over and over, until he'd smashed himself into shards so fine that the void inside him could finally slip free."
One of the Good Guys by Araminta Hall
One of the Good Guys is entirely about the journey. It almost requires that readers flick back through and piece together all the clues they've missed. It almost feels like the plot of a soap opera, not entirely realistic and kind of ridiculous but still wildly entertaining. It's a difficult book to review, as a mystery thriller it's pretty bog-standard and the writing isn't particularly groundbreaking either, but in its exploration of sensitive issues, it's bold and fearless, standing out amongst the crowd in how vividly it dares discuss such things. You may not find pages of poetic ramblings here, but what you will find is a fresh, daring take on a tale that's known all too well.
"I'm worried about what might happen if we start another round too soon, not just to my body, but also to my mind. I've started getting these weird compulsions to dig into my skin and see what lies beneath."
3.0
"I slipped down the side passage, past the dark, empty kitchen, where the light from the moon revealed the remnants of Leonora's supper, some bread and cheese. There's something intensely personal about seeing what a person puts into their body, almost more personal, I think, than seeing their naked form."
One of The Good Guys is a multi-layered kind of novel. On its surface, it's a thriller, but once you scratch beneath there's a complex and thought-provoking and powerful story laying in wait. It acts as almost a mixed media approach to a book, utilizing a lot of podcast excerpts and group chat messages to reveal its mystery. From the very first page there's this intense wrongness to it all, everything is just instantly, very off. As a thriller it never becomes overly complex, and never really drags in any particular section of the novel. Equal parts compelling social commentary and edge of your seat domestic thriller, One of the Good Guys is a visionary, entertaining thrill-ride.
From all sides, it's such a miserable thing. Everyone we're forced to share a perspective with is an entirely abhorrent and toxic person, which is, exactly the point and it's not to the detriment of the novel either. It's a tale full of unreliable narrators and manipulators. Everyone, and I mean, everyone in this novel, takes a fat dump on moral boundaries. Despite this being a thriller, there's almost no mystery here. In fact, the core narrative of the tale is the dialogue, the discussions it opens up, the mystery of the missing girls sits on the back burner, simmering away behind the scenes. Rather than a dramatic whodunit, One of the Good Guys provides an experience that will have you sitting back and questioning everything.
One of The Good Guys is a multi-layered kind of novel. On its surface, it's a thriller, but once you scratch beneath there's a complex and thought-provoking and powerful story laying in wait. It acts as almost a mixed media approach to a book, utilizing a lot of podcast excerpts and group chat messages to reveal its mystery. From the very first page there's this intense wrongness to it all, everything is just instantly, very off. As a thriller it never becomes overly complex, and never really drags in any particular section of the novel. Equal parts compelling social commentary and edge of your seat domestic thriller, One of the Good Guys is a visionary, entertaining thrill-ride.
From all sides, it's such a miserable thing. Everyone we're forced to share a perspective with is an entirely abhorrent and toxic person, which is, exactly the point and it's not to the detriment of the novel either. It's a tale full of unreliable narrators and manipulators. Everyone, and I mean, everyone in this novel, takes a fat dump on moral boundaries. Despite this being a thriller, there's almost no mystery here. In fact, the core narrative of the tale is the dialogue, the discussions it opens up, the mystery of the missing girls sits on the back burner, simmering away behind the scenes. Rather than a dramatic whodunit, One of the Good Guys provides an experience that will have you sitting back and questioning everything.
"I shiver because my memories of the night are way too sharp, like a knife against my skin. It feels horribly lonely to think that we could have experienced such different versions of the same moment. An image flashes into my mind of Cole waking next to my bloodied corpse."
One of the Good Guys is entirely about the journey. It almost requires that readers flick back through and piece together all the clues they've missed. It almost feels like the plot of a soap opera, not entirely realistic and kind of ridiculous but still wildly entertaining. It's a difficult book to review, as a mystery thriller it's pretty bog-standard and the writing isn't particularly groundbreaking either, but in its exploration of sensitive issues, it's bold and fearless, standing out amongst the crowd in how vividly it dares discuss such things. You may not find pages of poetic ramblings here, but what you will find is a fresh, daring take on a tale that's known all too well.
"I'm worried about what might happen if we start another round too soon, not just to my body, but also to my mind. I've started getting these weird compulsions to dig into my skin and see what lies beneath."
All Involved by Ryan Gattis
It is with a disgusting level of clarity that All Involved highlights the impacts of street violence. This is a ferocious novel, a snarling beast ready to tear through your bones. It's a true powerhouse, and an emotional investment of a reading experience. There's nothing uplifting here, nothing happy or feel-good about it. Most of this novel will have you wanting to fling yourself in front of a speeding bus. Gattis treats us to several interlocking stories that weave together to create a larger narrative of a city on fire. While we do spend most of our time with murderers, gangsters, the mentally unstable and simple petty opportunists, Gattis does a fantastic job of highlighting their humanity also. All Involved is quintessential American crime writing, the stench of gasoline and smoke is so etched into the fabric of this story, you'll smell it for years to come.
"He wasn't happy to hear we'd been looking for fires to stare at. There was no way to explain to him that it was worth it, that I saw birds and dragons rising from the flames and flying up into the air, thousands and thousands of them turning black and becoming the night sky."
4.0
"Big and round and cold, I feel the shotgun barrel kiss on the back of my neck. I try saying a prayer. I try saying, our father who art in heaven and all that, I try saying, hallowed be thy name, but the right words get stuck down in my chest and I can't find them, so I just breathe out, letting go of all the air inside me as I close my eyes instead."
All Involved is a damn fine crime novel. This is some next level, serious, masterful, biblical level crime writing. It's a tale of many voices, of brutality and street violence, of revenge and justice, a tale that's tainted with a crushing bleakness. There's this unavoidable despair hanging off the entire novel and it's all so affecting and ruinous yet so compelling and addictive it's impossible not to adore this novel. There's an intensity to this novel that's so lacking in other works of crime fiction, and you don't even realize what you're missing until you experience All Involved. This intensity, this savagery vibrates so harshly throughout the novel it blurs around the edges. It's a stylized, grainy and courageous story. This is a modern day crime classic, and this is what American crime literature should be.
Ryan Gattis has created a masterpiece here. He's painted a dark, gritty portrait of a city on the brink of utter destruction. All Involved is a Molotov Cocktail hitting you in the face in the middle of a snowy night, it's sharing an acid bath with a toaster, there's some real grit here and it serves to heighten our nerves and reduce us to a shaking wreck. In its depiction of violence, it's sickening and piercing, the violence is a constant, unending thing yet never once does it border into the ridiculous. In fact, it's all so very real. The characters who populate this novel aren't likeable in the slightest, it's a story full of horrible people doing even worse things, making bad choices and ruining lives. Yet, somehow, you can't help but root for them. Gattis has skillfully crafted a sympathetic portrait of the most detestable of characters.
All Involved is a damn fine crime novel. This is some next level, serious, masterful, biblical level crime writing. It's a tale of many voices, of brutality and street violence, of revenge and justice, a tale that's tainted with a crushing bleakness. There's this unavoidable despair hanging off the entire novel and it's all so affecting and ruinous yet so compelling and addictive it's impossible not to adore this novel. There's an intensity to this novel that's so lacking in other works of crime fiction, and you don't even realize what you're missing until you experience All Involved. This intensity, this savagery vibrates so harshly throughout the novel it blurs around the edges. It's a stylized, grainy and courageous story. This is a modern day crime classic, and this is what American crime literature should be.
Ryan Gattis has created a masterpiece here. He's painted a dark, gritty portrait of a city on the brink of utter destruction. All Involved is a Molotov Cocktail hitting you in the face in the middle of a snowy night, it's sharing an acid bath with a toaster, there's some real grit here and it serves to heighten our nerves and reduce us to a shaking wreck. In its depiction of violence, it's sickening and piercing, the violence is a constant, unending thing yet never once does it border into the ridiculous. In fact, it's all so very real. The characters who populate this novel aren't likeable in the slightest, it's a story full of horrible people doing even worse things, making bad choices and ruining lives. Yet, somehow, you can't help but root for them. Gattis has skillfully crafted a sympathetic portrait of the most detestable of characters.
"I drink to stop seeing my brother's face like that. I drug up to stop seeing his neck all open. It's all I can do. The only thing that works for sleep is for me to black out, but then when I open my eyes and it's hours later, it don't matter. Everything's still there, right back in my head, and I got an ache all over and I'm still on fire. Is what it is."
It is with a disgusting level of clarity that All Involved highlights the impacts of street violence. This is a ferocious novel, a snarling beast ready to tear through your bones. It's a true powerhouse, and an emotional investment of a reading experience. There's nothing uplifting here, nothing happy or feel-good about it. Most of this novel will have you wanting to fling yourself in front of a speeding bus. Gattis treats us to several interlocking stories that weave together to create a larger narrative of a city on fire. While we do spend most of our time with murderers, gangsters, the mentally unstable and simple petty opportunists, Gattis does a fantastic job of highlighting their humanity also. All Involved is quintessential American crime writing, the stench of gasoline and smoke is so etched into the fabric of this story, you'll smell it for years to come.
"He wasn't happy to hear we'd been looking for fires to stare at. There was no way to explain to him that it was worth it, that I saw birds and dragons rising from the flames and flying up into the air, thousands and thousands of them turning black and becoming the night sky."
The Daughter of Doctor Moreau by Silvia Moreno-Garcia
2.5
"Montgomery, indebted as he was himself, understood that it was easy to lose control of one's life, that the reins could be yanked away with a smooth brutality. If he'd been a braver man, Montgomery might have put a bullet to his own head. But as he'd explained to Moreau, he wasn't brave. He was a perfect coward."
2.5
The Daughter of Doctor Moreau acts as a super slow burning, sort of feminist retelling of The Island of Dr. Moreau. In terms of an actual retelling, it's actually pretty interesting and refreshing refraining from delving too deep into the realm of science fiction and instead opting to keep things loosely within its historical fiction bubble. Despite being a rather straightforward and typical read, the writing was still lyrical, lovely and captivating, which is the standard for a Moreno-Garcia novel. There's some absolutely fantastic things here, the exploration of colonization and the class divide is executed masterfully, it just never felt all that compelling or engaging as a novel.
The thing is, it's a fantastic novel. It's just simply a regular piece of historical fiction with some very light fantasy elements woven into the story. I feel certain that for many, this book will be a hit, for me, however, I feel rather apathetic about it. Sure, there's some standout moments of hyper-creativity, and perhaps it's an improvement upon the story it's based upon... But, there's just something missing from it all. There's no doubt that Moreno-Garcia is a talented storyteller, who has created an empowering spin on a much beloved classic. It just... Wasn't for me. I fear that it's a case of wrong book, wrong reader, which is a damn shame, as the writing is intoxicating and gorgeous.
"They both stared at the creature behind the glass, at the way its back was arched, and the backbone that seemed to stick out, razorlike, all the nubs tracing a long line against the taut skin. The eyes... She wondered what was the color of the hybrid's eyes. "
2.5
The Daughter of Doctor Moreau acts as a super slow burning, sort of feminist retelling of The Island of Dr. Moreau. In terms of an actual retelling, it's actually pretty interesting and refreshing refraining from delving too deep into the realm of science fiction and instead opting to keep things loosely within its historical fiction bubble. Despite being a rather straightforward and typical read, the writing was still lyrical, lovely and captivating, which is the standard for a Moreno-Garcia novel. There's some absolutely fantastic things here, the exploration of colonization and the class divide is executed masterfully, it just never felt all that compelling or engaging as a novel.
The thing is, it's a fantastic novel. It's just simply a regular piece of historical fiction with some very light fantasy elements woven into the story. I feel certain that for many, this book will be a hit, for me, however, I feel rather apathetic about it. Sure, there's some standout moments of hyper-creativity, and perhaps it's an improvement upon the story it's based upon... But, there's just something missing from it all. There's no doubt that Moreno-Garcia is a talented storyteller, who has created an empowering spin on a much beloved classic. It just... Wasn't for me. I fear that it's a case of wrong book, wrong reader, which is a damn shame, as the writing is intoxicating and gorgeous.
"They both stared at the creature behind the glass, at the way its back was arched, and the backbone that seemed to stick out, razorlike, all the nubs tracing a long line against the taut skin. The eyes... She wondered what was the color of the hybrid's eyes. "
Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas
It's a hyper immersive experience, packed full of atmospheric bliss. Cemetery Boys is a beautiful book to read, and while it is, of course, a YA novel, it reads just a touch younger than the books I'd typically pick out. However, this didn't impact the enjoyment all too much. Slow burning, extremely slow burning, in fact, is how you'd best describe this novel. It's just such a powerful, heartfelt, amazing story, it's such a lovely novel and a truly astonishing read. It's a really very cute book, a queer romance with ghosts, rather than a supernatural tale of terror.
"The warm afternoon seemed to pass right through Julian. The burning gold light that streaked across the sky and splashed against the walls of buildings didn't touch him. Instead, he was washed in dull blue, the color of dusk."
3.0
"Under the orange lights of the church, he seemed solid enough, though he was the faintest bit transparent compared to the very corporeal garden shears in his hand. Spirits had blurry edges and were a little less vibrant than the world around them."
Cemetery Boys is a fantastical, magical YA novel that's so very culturally rich and is practically overflowing with an indulgent gothic decadence. It's a novel that's so utterly full of heart, it's almost impossible to put down. At times, a light, playful, joyous feel-good palate cleanser, and yet also a soul-shattering, emotionally devastating experience, Cemetery Boys is as much about the ghosts that lurk amongst its pages, as it is a story of acceptance and heartbreak. Mystical, magical, ethereal and compulsively readable, this horror infused tale is a everything great about the YA genre.
So many difficult and hard to navigate topics mingle so harmoniously across this story. Cemetery Boys is one of those special kind of novels, ones that touch on extremely important talking points while also managing to keep the story blissfully happy. Acceptance, self-worth, grief, love, death, familial issues, transphobia, these are all at the forefront of Cemetery Boys, it's a sucker punch to the gut and while it does get serious and bleak at times, its wholesomeness manages to shine through. Ironically, for a book about ghosts, so many of this novel's characters are so alive and so very vivid, and real.
Cemetery Boys is a fantastical, magical YA novel that's so very culturally rich and is practically overflowing with an indulgent gothic decadence. It's a novel that's so utterly full of heart, it's almost impossible to put down. At times, a light, playful, joyous feel-good palate cleanser, and yet also a soul-shattering, emotionally devastating experience, Cemetery Boys is as much about the ghosts that lurk amongst its pages, as it is a story of acceptance and heartbreak. Mystical, magical, ethereal and compulsively readable, this horror infused tale is a everything great about the YA genre.
So many difficult and hard to navigate topics mingle so harmoniously across this story. Cemetery Boys is one of those special kind of novels, ones that touch on extremely important talking points while also managing to keep the story blissfully happy. Acceptance, self-worth, grief, love, death, familial issues, transphobia, these are all at the forefront of Cemetery Boys, it's a sucker punch to the gut and while it does get serious and bleak at times, its wholesomeness manages to shine through. Ironically, for a book about ghosts, so many of this novel's characters are so alive and so very vivid, and real.
"Yadriel let himself stare at Julian. He was so... visceral. He was so real. Even with his blurry edges and chilling touch, he was a force of nature. He was loud, he was stubborn, he was determined, and he was reckless. But, still, he would fade. Yadriel remembered the other night. The thrashing and the pain on Julian's face. The blood seeping through his shirt. His gasps for breath."
It's a hyper immersive experience, packed full of atmospheric bliss. Cemetery Boys is a beautiful book to read, and while it is, of course, a YA novel, it reads just a touch younger than the books I'd typically pick out. However, this didn't impact the enjoyment all too much. Slow burning, extremely slow burning, in fact, is how you'd best describe this novel. It's just such a powerful, heartfelt, amazing story, it's such a lovely novel and a truly astonishing read. It's a really very cute book, a queer romance with ghosts, rather than a supernatural tale of terror.
"The warm afternoon seemed to pass right through Julian. The burning gold light that streaked across the sky and splashed against the walls of buildings didn't touch him. Instead, he was washed in dull blue, the color of dusk."
The Comfort Zone and Other Safe Spaces by Tom Over
While this may be Tom Over's first book, it certainly doesn't read that way, it reads as the work of a veteran in the horror sphere. Reading Over's work is a bizarre experience, for sure there's grosser, more disgusting texts out there but there's just... something in the way that he writes, something so foul, so deeply effecting, it makes you want to vomit. Inducing anxiety in his readers seems to be something Tom Over excels at, it's just all so horrible and beautiful and lovely and perfect. The Comfort Zone and Other Safe Spaces is a collection that's here to dismantle the modern hellscape of cookie cutter shit, the work of Tom Over is here to usher in a new kind of future for horror.
As with any collection, there will be stories that stand out above the rest. For me, The Vegetarians, A Murmur of Shadows and The Embarrassed Landscape were the best of the best. Millipede dreams deserves a shoutout too for making me want to skin myself alive.
"They lived in squalor and ruin, objects of her disdain, victims of her negligence. Her children eventually died one day, alone, while she wandered the streets, hunting for something to inject into her bloodstream, something as transient and tragic as their own fleeting little lives."
4.0
"The object was similar to those they'd seen out in the corridors, only grotesquely magnified. And, while those miniature versions had contained their horrific secrets within, this one did not. Its surface was a solidified swamp of regurgitated material - ribs and fractured femurs jutting outwards like protective spines. Chunks of cartilage and gristle marbled its flanks, some with teeth and tufts of hair attached. "
Disclaimer: The author of this book offered me a free copy in exchange for an honest review. This has in no way affected my rating, and the below thoughts are mine alone.
The Comfort Zone and Other Safe Spaces is a horror story collection for a decaying nation and a rotting world. It's a suffocating, smothering, all-consuming thing with a ceaseless claustrophobia hanging to its every page. Collectively, these are some of the strangest, weirdest, most feral of stories the horror world has ever spat out at us. Ironically, each story produces such an intense feeling of discomfort that it becomes a fantastically unsafe collection - the kind to make you feel as if the horrors are creeping right into your house. It's actually kind of mind-boggling, the range of emotion such a collection can generate, everything from what the fuck, I was eating to oh my god, I hate being alive, please, douse me in gasoline.
It's all really rather bleak and grim, there's this heavy, overbearing, unbearable sadness that steamrolls every story. It's a euphorically nihilistic and perverse collection, and it's all so fucking exciting. Despairing and desperate, this is a vividly grotesque little collection, it's genuinely distressing to read these stories. Some of the tales here connect together, and some of them don't, most of them offer nothing in the way of closure or explanation which only seems to elevate the dread and suffering of the thing.
Disclaimer: The author of this book offered me a free copy in exchange for an honest review. This has in no way affected my rating, and the below thoughts are mine alone.
The Comfort Zone and Other Safe Spaces is a horror story collection for a decaying nation and a rotting world. It's a suffocating, smothering, all-consuming thing with a ceaseless claustrophobia hanging to its every page. Collectively, these are some of the strangest, weirdest, most feral of stories the horror world has ever spat out at us. Ironically, each story produces such an intense feeling of discomfort that it becomes a fantastically unsafe collection - the kind to make you feel as if the horrors are creeping right into your house. It's actually kind of mind-boggling, the range of emotion such a collection can generate, everything from what the fuck, I was eating to oh my god, I hate being alive, please, douse me in gasoline.
It's all really rather bleak and grim, there's this heavy, overbearing, unbearable sadness that steamrolls every story. It's a euphorically nihilistic and perverse collection, and it's all so fucking exciting. Despairing and desperate, this is a vividly grotesque little collection, it's genuinely distressing to read these stories. Some of the tales here connect together, and some of them don't, most of them offer nothing in the way of closure or explanation which only seems to elevate the dread and suffering of the thing.
"Drowsy from the morphine, they ate between smiles and small talk and wondered, as they often did, if it were possible that others might be out there doing the same. Despite the drugs, her arm felt sore, but it made her feel better when she would see him slip around his chair on the one remaining buttocks he had left. It brought a smile to their lipless faces whenever it happened."
While this may be Tom Over's first book, it certainly doesn't read that way, it reads as the work of a veteran in the horror sphere. Reading Over's work is a bizarre experience, for sure there's grosser, more disgusting texts out there but there's just... something in the way that he writes, something so foul, so deeply effecting, it makes you want to vomit. Inducing anxiety in his readers seems to be something Tom Over excels at, it's just all so horrible and beautiful and lovely and perfect. The Comfort Zone and Other Safe Spaces is a collection that's here to dismantle the modern hellscape of cookie cutter shit, the work of Tom Over is here to usher in a new kind of future for horror.
As with any collection, there will be stories that stand out above the rest. For me, The Vegetarians, A Murmur of Shadows and The Embarrassed Landscape were the best of the best. Millipede dreams deserves a shoutout too for making me want to skin myself alive.
"They lived in squalor and ruin, objects of her disdain, victims of her negligence. Her children eventually died one day, alone, while she wandered the streets, hunting for something to inject into her bloodstream, something as transient and tragic as their own fleeting little lives."