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Our Share of Night by Mariana Enríquez
This is one of the greatest works of horror fiction, it defies every single ounce of conventionality and boundary, producing some of the most sickening, violently dreadful, grief burdened and vividly disgusting horrors penned in our modern times. Our Share of Night is an exhausting experience to sit through, for sure, it's an elegantly written book, however, it's so torturous that it almost feels double its length. What a challenging thing this novel is, a dark, magnificent, brilliant thing. Bewildering, enrapturing and utterly absorbing, this is a novel of ruined lives that ruins lives. It's nothing but bleak, sad lives that slowly erode away into the nothingness.
What a crushing monster of a book, what an obscure, grotesque, distressing, utterly incomprehensible monster that's so damn mesmerizing you'll be unable to pull away from it. At times, the story borders on gratuitous, it's certainly a lot to sit through, however, there's beauty within the sensationalism. It's one of the most enchanting of novels, yet it's such a hideous thing, a beast lurking in the dark with a skinless face, with teeth designed to flay the flesh from your bones. It's magical. Novels such as this one are a true rarity.
"And now the Darkness takes me: it eats my entrails first and there is no pain and I have time to think and try to see your eyes, but now they're too far away, you're far away now, and I ask the Darkness for compassion because now I hear it for the first time ever."
4.5
"That woman was nothing but an echo. There were a lot of echoes now. It was always like that in a massacre, the effect like screams in a cave - they remained for a while until time put an end to them. There was a long way to go until that end, and the restless dead were moving quickly, they wanted to be seen. "
Our Share of Night is a kaleidoscopic and weighty epic of a novel. Weighty not just in length, either, it's a true powerhouse of a novel, one that takes a hell of a lot of mental fortitude to contend with. Here, you're in for the long haul. It is not something that shall be rushed, in fact, it's not meant to be. Books such as this one are meant to be savored - even if the thing you're savoring desires for nothing but to consume you, and light on fire your remains. It's staggering, utterly astonishing, what an expansive, propulsive, ruinous story this is. Spanning over 600 pages, it's an intense and passionate family saga sprawling with horror, gore soaked and overflowing with an overwhelming sadness.
This is such a severely difficult book to read, like contending with a heat-seeking missile. Our Share of Night detects your weaknesses and brutalizes you for daring to flip open its pages. Bluntly put, the father/son dynamics present here are some of the most emotionally devastating things to be put to paper. It just hurts, so, so much. It might well be full of monsters and death and gore and missing children, but the real, true horror of this novel is the torture inflicted upon people by those who are meant to care for them. It's fucking mind-altering, the cataclysmic scale of this book's brutality. Our Share of Night is an apocalyptic event. A euphoric masterpiece.
Our Share of Night is a kaleidoscopic and weighty epic of a novel. Weighty not just in length, either, it's a true powerhouse of a novel, one that takes a hell of a lot of mental fortitude to contend with. Here, you're in for the long haul. It is not something that shall be rushed, in fact, it's not meant to be. Books such as this one are meant to be savored - even if the thing you're savoring desires for nothing but to consume you, and light on fire your remains. It's staggering, utterly astonishing, what an expansive, propulsive, ruinous story this is. Spanning over 600 pages, it's an intense and passionate family saga sprawling with horror, gore soaked and overflowing with an overwhelming sadness.
This is such a severely difficult book to read, like contending with a heat-seeking missile. Our Share of Night detects your weaknesses and brutalizes you for daring to flip open its pages. Bluntly put, the father/son dynamics present here are some of the most emotionally devastating things to be put to paper. It just hurts, so, so much. It might well be full of monsters and death and gore and missing children, but the real, true horror of this novel is the torture inflicted upon people by those who are meant to care for them. It's fucking mind-altering, the cataclysmic scale of this book's brutality. Our Share of Night is an apocalyptic event. A euphoric masterpiece.
"He hit his forehead against the bathroom tiles and the pain gladdened him, filled his body with euphoria, so he kept going until he saw blood mixing with the water. He got out of the shower and looked at himself in the mirror, his forehead wounded, his pupils dilated, his longish hair dripping on to his shoulders. He gave the medicine cabinet a punch, and another, until it shattered, and then he pulled out the glass to cut himself. "
This is one of the greatest works of horror fiction, it defies every single ounce of conventionality and boundary, producing some of the most sickening, violently dreadful, grief burdened and vividly disgusting horrors penned in our modern times. Our Share of Night is an exhausting experience to sit through, for sure, it's an elegantly written book, however, it's so torturous that it almost feels double its length. What a challenging thing this novel is, a dark, magnificent, brilliant thing. Bewildering, enrapturing and utterly absorbing, this is a novel of ruined lives that ruins lives. It's nothing but bleak, sad lives that slowly erode away into the nothingness.
What a crushing monster of a book, what an obscure, grotesque, distressing, utterly incomprehensible monster that's so damn mesmerizing you'll be unable to pull away from it. At times, the story borders on gratuitous, it's certainly a lot to sit through, however, there's beauty within the sensationalism. It's one of the most enchanting of novels, yet it's such a hideous thing, a beast lurking in the dark with a skinless face, with teeth designed to flay the flesh from your bones. It's magical. Novels such as this one are a true rarity.
"And now the Darkness takes me: it eats my entrails first and there is no pain and I have time to think and try to see your eyes, but now they're too far away, you're far away now, and I ask the Darkness for compassion because now I hear it for the first time ever."
Are You Happy Now by Hanna Jameson
Overall, it was a delightful experience to explore a story so bleak and crushing but, that doesn't come with the intention of melting your brain away. It's a beautiful story, and a beautiful book, one that's wildly fascinating and boldly brutal. Nothing is particularly shocking and yet it still manages to hit like a speeding Mack truck. It raises more questions than it answers, it's existential dread in print form.
"He tasted blood but still couldn't feel any pain. He couldn't feel anything. He thought about Kevin and how he should not tell him about this, about how dying really did feel like nothing. Then he was gone."
4.0
"He looked at the girl in the back of the car and wished he could feel genuine concern, but all he felt was dehydrated. Being driven through New York at night always made him melancholy."
Are You Happy Now is one of those quiet yet devastating kind of novels. It's at once both insightful and hazy, almost with a disconnected kind of air about it. In fact, it reads much like a crash course in melancholy, a lighter version of the novels I'd typically read yet still all too captivating and addictive. It's a really rather difficult book to read and to review, Are You Happy Now presents us with a shockingly vivid portrayal of depression cast against an almost numb end of the world, dystopic hellscape. Unease and dread creep so slowly into this text that at first, it's almost unnoticeable, by the end, however, it's impossible to ignore.
Ironically, reading Are You Happy Now feels much like giving up under the exhausting and crushing weight of all that surrounds us. It's a very melodramatic novel in a hyper-specific way, the characters are absolutely ridiculous that the text borders on satirical while also somehow managing to be endearing. It produces a strange feeling, all this melodrama with the detachment found in the story, nothing overwrought yet everything kind of absurd. Once it's all said and done, it's a novel of vagueness and uncertainty, there's never a real answer. Are we witnessing the end of the world or, simply, lives coming to a close? To the credit of the novel, this sort of open-ended, ambiguity only enhances the story further.
Are You Happy Now is one of those quiet yet devastating kind of novels. It's at once both insightful and hazy, almost with a disconnected kind of air about it. In fact, it reads much like a crash course in melancholy, a lighter version of the novels I'd typically read yet still all too captivating and addictive. It's a really rather difficult book to read and to review, Are You Happy Now presents us with a shockingly vivid portrayal of depression cast against an almost numb end of the world, dystopic hellscape. Unease and dread creep so slowly into this text that at first, it's almost unnoticeable, by the end, however, it's impossible to ignore.
Ironically, reading Are You Happy Now feels much like giving up under the exhausting and crushing weight of all that surrounds us. It's a very melodramatic novel in a hyper-specific way, the characters are absolutely ridiculous that the text borders on satirical while also somehow managing to be endearing. It produces a strange feeling, all this melodrama with the detachment found in the story, nothing overwrought yet everything kind of absurd. Once it's all said and done, it's a novel of vagueness and uncertainty, there's never a real answer. Are we witnessing the end of the world or, simply, lives coming to a close? To the credit of the novel, this sort of open-ended, ambiguity only enhances the story further.
"You know, the last time someone on our floor killed themselves he just threw himself in front of the L train. Why couldn't she just do something like that? Like everyone else? She couldn't just die, she had to cause this much drama. You must have to really hate everyone, to decide you're going to die like that."
Overall, it was a delightful experience to explore a story so bleak and crushing but, that doesn't come with the intention of melting your brain away. It's a beautiful story, and a beautiful book, one that's wildly fascinating and boldly brutal. Nothing is particularly shocking and yet it still manages to hit like a speeding Mack truck. It raises more questions than it answers, it's existential dread in print form.
"He tasted blood but still couldn't feel any pain. He couldn't feel anything. He thought about Kevin and how he should not tell him about this, about how dying really did feel like nothing. Then he was gone."
Myopiatropolis by Tom Over
This is such an obscure, paranoia laden, fantastic dystopian novel. It made me want to throw my Kindle across the room and dive into the hottest shower imaginable so I could scrub my skin clean off. Despite being only 54 pages, there's such an intense frightfulness to this thing, it has this fetid, miasmic cloud of claustrophobia hanging over it, it's all so oppressive and cloying. Reading Myopiatropolis made me feel fucking horrible, and I love it for that.
"She eyed me beneath lids so heavy as to be almost closed, one being a fraction lower than the other, like a pair of window blinds left askew. Though it was clear she didn't recognise me she flashed a lopsided grin as I passed her, the kind a drugged out patient might offer an estranged relative."
4.0
"It's not that I'm anxious of people themselves, per se. More of being - how do I say this? - under their gaze as weird as that sounds. Having their eyes on me, or maybe just their attention, I don't really know."
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.
Myopiatropolis shines a light upon the brutality of perception, it examines the harshness of what it is to be perceived. It's an anxious sort of novel, a dystopic tale of corporate terror just buzzing with discomfort, it's the perfect post-pandemic-blues kind of story. Horror that's rooted into reality, for me, is always that bit scarier, and when you have an author as talented as Tom Over, who can blend real world terror with otherworldly elements, you're treated to a fascinating result. Myopiatropolis is a very off-beat sort of thing, it's numbness as a feeling yet tinted with anxiety and rage, it's a very punk sort of novel, a brief explosion propelled by cultural unrest and collapse.
Weird, strange, transgressive fiction such as this is always a delight to read. Because, honestly, what actually is this book? It's so disgusting and unsettling, reading Myopiatropolis feels like being absorbed by an A24 movie, everything is so very wrong and off-kilter but, it's almost impossible to understand why. The anxiety of it all seems to manifest, becoming at once our own as well as the main character's. This book damn near ruined my appetite, which, for a fan of grotesque, messed up horror such as myself, is a glowing endorsement. It's not simply some gore-fest, nor is it extreme horror designed to shock us, it's a brilliant, painstaking and really rather nauseating exploration of anxiety horror.
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.
Myopiatropolis shines a light upon the brutality of perception, it examines the harshness of what it is to be perceived. It's an anxious sort of novel, a dystopic tale of corporate terror just buzzing with discomfort, it's the perfect post-pandemic-blues kind of story. Horror that's rooted into reality, for me, is always that bit scarier, and when you have an author as talented as Tom Over, who can blend real world terror with otherworldly elements, you're treated to a fascinating result. Myopiatropolis is a very off-beat sort of thing, it's numbness as a feeling yet tinted with anxiety and rage, it's a very punk sort of novel, a brief explosion propelled by cultural unrest and collapse.
Weird, strange, transgressive fiction such as this is always a delight to read. Because, honestly, what actually is this book? It's so disgusting and unsettling, reading Myopiatropolis feels like being absorbed by an A24 movie, everything is so very wrong and off-kilter but, it's almost impossible to understand why. The anxiety of it all seems to manifest, becoming at once our own as well as the main character's. This book damn near ruined my appetite, which, for a fan of grotesque, messed up horror such as myself, is a glowing endorsement. It's not simply some gore-fest, nor is it extreme horror designed to shock us, it's a brilliant, painstaking and really rather nauseating exploration of anxiety horror.
"Walking through the busy corridors, I noticed once again that faraway glaze in the eyes of the people all around me. Like they were present while being somewhere else, lost in their own comfortable sedation. Perhaps I was now like that too, or gradually becoming so, but their looking and scarcely seeing had somehow changed things, altered how I perceived their perception - of the world, and more crucially, of me - and removed the crippling social pressure I'd once feared. "
This is such an obscure, paranoia laden, fantastic dystopian novel. It made me want to throw my Kindle across the room and dive into the hottest shower imaginable so I could scrub my skin clean off. Despite being only 54 pages, there's such an intense frightfulness to this thing, it has this fetid, miasmic cloud of claustrophobia hanging over it, it's all so oppressive and cloying. Reading Myopiatropolis made me feel fucking horrible, and I love it for that.
"She eyed me beneath lids so heavy as to be almost closed, one being a fraction lower than the other, like a pair of window blinds left askew. Though it was clear she didn't recognise me she flashed a lopsided grin as I passed her, the kind a drugged out patient might offer an estranged relative."
In the Land of the Pigs: A Western Horror Novella by Caesar Ruell
This novel takes many of the best tropes from both horror and Western tales, flings them into a blender, pulps them into a nasty, bloody sludge and then throws them at the reader. The result is a sickening, maddening bloodbath, a gruesome yet entirely delightful novel that's both hilarious and compulsively readable. Talking pig monsters wearing human clothes, the undead, dusty plains, a saloon called The Drunken Coyote, a villain that monologues in Shakespearean English? All that is packed into one tiny little novel and it's all so damn brilliant, it's twisted and captivating and wonderful, a truly fantastic example of a Western Horror novella.
"It felt like the most natural thing in the world, as I closed my eyes, before placing the barrel of the gun to my right temple. I took a deep breath in, then I pulled the trigger."
4.0
"What I was seeing had almost become run-of-the-mill. It seemed that people had lost their minds lately, and were finding various ways to sink ever lower as the days went by. I would put money on it that even the flea-infested, mangy dogs in the streets were morally superior to the people of Crow's River."
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.
Horror Westerns are one of my favorite genres of novel. When done properly, it's a brilliant combination, the harsh brutality of the landscape and otherworldly beasts unleashing their cruelty upon the land, it's something that will never cease to amaze. In the Land of the Pigs is an example of a horror Western done right, Ruell has created something truly spectacular here, offering us an incredible, fresh, and really rather unique concept for a novel. At every turn, it's truly action packed, most of the time feeling as if it were a movie rather than a book.
The thing with Caesar Ruell as an author is that he knows how to make horror fun, how to entertain his readers while also delivering a savage and ruinous story. In the Land of the Pigs is downright nasty, sickening, it's an absolute fucking riot. There's simply never a dull moment, this is pure, unbridled entertainment, this is what we mean by reading for pleasure, it's horror at its most strange and bizarre, told with a disgusting and sickening vividity.
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.
Horror Westerns are one of my favorite genres of novel. When done properly, it's a brilliant combination, the harsh brutality of the landscape and otherworldly beasts unleashing their cruelty upon the land, it's something that will never cease to amaze. In the Land of the Pigs is an example of a horror Western done right, Ruell has created something truly spectacular here, offering us an incredible, fresh, and really rather unique concept for a novel. At every turn, it's truly action packed, most of the time feeling as if it were a movie rather than a book.
The thing with Caesar Ruell as an author is that he knows how to make horror fun, how to entertain his readers while also delivering a savage and ruinous story. In the Land of the Pigs is downright nasty, sickening, it's an absolute fucking riot. There's simply never a dull moment, this is pure, unbridled entertainment, this is what we mean by reading for pleasure, it's horror at its most strange and bizarre, told with a disgusting and sickening vividity.
"I took in the main area of the slaughterhouse. It was immense, with lanterns burning overhead and steel work-benches of all shapes and sizes scattered across its entire expanse. Standing behind many of those were pigs, who were presently gorging themselves on humans in various states of death, and in some cases, complete dismemberment. Crimson blood poured down and gathered in large pools at their feet."
This novel takes many of the best tropes from both horror and Western tales, flings them into a blender, pulps them into a nasty, bloody sludge and then throws them at the reader. The result is a sickening, maddening bloodbath, a gruesome yet entirely delightful novel that's both hilarious and compulsively readable. Talking pig monsters wearing human clothes, the undead, dusty plains, a saloon called The Drunken Coyote, a villain that monologues in Shakespearean English? All that is packed into one tiny little novel and it's all so damn brilliant, it's twisted and captivating and wonderful, a truly fantastic example of a Western Horror novella.
"It felt like the most natural thing in the world, as I closed my eyes, before placing the barrel of the gun to my right temple. I took a deep breath in, then I pulled the trigger."
Hunger on the Chisholm Trail by M. Ennenbach
Hunger on the Chisholm Trail is a brutal bloodbath. The bodies do not stop dropping in this novel, it's absolute carnage throughout, it's pure violence, death, hatred and more violence. The monster of this novel is absolutely menacing, a true fright. Ultimately, this is a decent entry into an extremely great series, one that will bring joy to horror fans who are looking to experience a slice of the great American West.
"The West could be beautiful, as long as the untamed was respected."
3.0
"The howling went on long into the night as the night watch kept their rotation around the mindless herd. A fresh mound of dirt, two sticks in a makeshift cross, and an empty pair of boots were the only reminder of a fallen friend."
Hunger on the Chisholm Trail is a viscerally upsetting, violent, brutal and disgusting tale of Western horror. From the very get-go, it's obvious that this is a Wendigo story, rather than fall into the typical however, Hunger on the Chisholm Trail offers a rather fresh and interesting take on the Wendigo, opting instead for more brutal showdowns than something more lore heavy. This isn't a particularly long novel, and it's all over pretty quickly, it is, however, a slice of brutally amazing, blood-drenched, gore-slicked fun.
The sense of time and place in this novel is intensely strong, M. Ennenbach transports us to the dusty plains, flings us down upon the beer soaked flooring of the saloons, and allows us to marvel in wonder at the shock of the monster. It's a strong entry into the Splatter Western series, not the best, but still a contender. The writing is just descriptive enough to immerse us in the world without becoming bogged down, allowing the brutality of the Wendigo to take the spotlight. It's a brilliant, fun and disturbing little novel, one that never takes itself too seriously.
Hunger on the Chisholm Trail is a viscerally upsetting, violent, brutal and disgusting tale of Western horror. From the very get-go, it's obvious that this is a Wendigo story, rather than fall into the typical however, Hunger on the Chisholm Trail offers a rather fresh and interesting take on the Wendigo, opting instead for more brutal showdowns than something more lore heavy. This isn't a particularly long novel, and it's all over pretty quickly, it is, however, a slice of brutally amazing, blood-drenched, gore-slicked fun.
The sense of time and place in this novel is intensely strong, M. Ennenbach transports us to the dusty plains, flings us down upon the beer soaked flooring of the saloons, and allows us to marvel in wonder at the shock of the monster. It's a strong entry into the Splatter Western series, not the best, but still a contender. The writing is just descriptive enough to immerse us in the world without becoming bogged down, allowing the brutality of the Wendigo to take the spotlight. It's a brilliant, fun and disturbing little novel, one that never takes itself too seriously.
"He blinked and looked up through the haze in his head. The thing stood in front of him. The skin stretched over ropy muscle and seemed to be at the verge of splitting. The head cocked as it stared down at him, as if trying to figure out exactly what it looked down upon. Lee knew the answer at that moment. It was looking at its next meal."
Hunger on the Chisholm Trail is a brutal bloodbath. The bodies do not stop dropping in this novel, it's absolute carnage throughout, it's pure violence, death, hatred and more violence. The monster of this novel is absolutely menacing, a true fright. Ultimately, this is a decent entry into an extremely great series, one that will bring joy to horror fans who are looking to experience a slice of the great American West.
"The West could be beautiful, as long as the untamed was respected."
How to be Nowhere by Tim MacGabhann
Plunging back into this terrifying, white-knuckle, drug fueled world was a fucking joy. Violence, gore, viscera and entrails are flung about and woven together into a somehow lovely story. It's difficult to even describe the particular feeling this novel brings about, it's charged by destruction and savagery, but it's all really rather bleak and upsetting, despite the action it's an overwhelmingly sad novel. Instead of being the kind of novel you can switch your brain off to, How to be Nowhere is obliterating to the soul, numbing the pain with it's disgusting barbarity, only to stab you in the gut once more. It may be over the top, it may be insane, but it works so very marvelously. It's absolutely riveting, and not at all for the feint of heart.
"His vibe was different from before, stand-offish, cold, like those white marble statues of Ancient Greece, of Orpheus or Eurydice or someone, I don't know. 'It'll kill you. But gently, you know?' The fizz spritzed my face like drizzle. 'It could all be over if you just let yourself drown, vato' Carlos said. His voice was gentle, his fingers were broken, and his eyes were pinkish with petechial hemorrhaging."
"Missing you is shit, I managed to say, and I think he was about to say something else when the bullet-holes on his chest began to widen, his outline began to waver, and then he was gone, leaving me alone in a night that smelled of burning thorn-bush and mesquite. "
How to be Nowhere takes the foundation that Call him Mine laid down, injects it with steroids, douses it with gasoline and throws a lit match upon it. It's entirely ramped the hell up, to perhaps even overkill levels, yet never for a moment is it unenjoyable. It's a difficult yet beautiful and poetic read, an absolute festival of violence and death. A real horrific offering, a blood-drenched sequel we didn't know we needed, overflowing with explosions, car crashes, torture and brutality. Once again, the writing is paramount, taking center stage above the carnage.
Sometimes, from the very first page of a book, you can tell that it's going to devastate you, that it's going to utterly ruin you. That's the exact feeling you get when beginning to read How to be Nowhere, a feeling that it delivers on with a shocking rapidness. Typically, a sequel is out-shined by its predecessor, here that's entirely not the case. How to be Nowhere is every bit as brilliant, if not more so than Call him Mine. Tim MacGabhann's writing is gorgeous, it's haunting, it's heart-wrenching and makes you feel as if the only option is to fling yourself upon the blacktop and let passing traffic squish you.
How to be Nowhere takes the foundation that Call him Mine laid down, injects it with steroids, douses it with gasoline and throws a lit match upon it. It's entirely ramped the hell up, to perhaps even overkill levels, yet never for a moment is it unenjoyable. It's a difficult yet beautiful and poetic read, an absolute festival of violence and death. A real horrific offering, a blood-drenched sequel we didn't know we needed, overflowing with explosions, car crashes, torture and brutality. Once again, the writing is paramount, taking center stage above the carnage.
Sometimes, from the very first page of a book, you can tell that it's going to devastate you, that it's going to utterly ruin you. That's the exact feeling you get when beginning to read How to be Nowhere, a feeling that it delivers on with a shocking rapidness. Typically, a sequel is out-shined by its predecessor, here that's entirely not the case. How to be Nowhere is every bit as brilliant, if not more so than Call him Mine. Tim MacGabhann's writing is gorgeous, it's haunting, it's heart-wrenching and makes you feel as if the only option is to fling yourself upon the blacktop and let passing traffic squish you.
"I wanted to tell her about him. I wanted to tell her that you can't recover from a thing like the one he'd been through - or like the things I'd been through - because you can't even try, you just shunt yourself onwards, lessened, punctured, quietly a wreck. On the outside, it looks a lot like peace. Really, though, it's just devastation."
Plunging back into this terrifying, white-knuckle, drug fueled world was a fucking joy. Violence, gore, viscera and entrails are flung about and woven together into a somehow lovely story. It's difficult to even describe the particular feeling this novel brings about, it's charged by destruction and savagery, but it's all really rather bleak and upsetting, despite the action it's an overwhelmingly sad novel. Instead of being the kind of novel you can switch your brain off to, How to be Nowhere is obliterating to the soul, numbing the pain with it's disgusting barbarity, only to stab you in the gut once more. It may be over the top, it may be insane, but it works so very marvelously. It's absolutely riveting, and not at all for the feint of heart.
"His vibe was different from before, stand-offish, cold, like those white marble statues of Ancient Greece, of Orpheus or Eurydice or someone, I don't know. 'It'll kill you. But gently, you know?' The fizz spritzed my face like drizzle. 'It could all be over if you just let yourself drown, vato' Carlos said. His voice was gentle, his fingers were broken, and his eyes were pinkish with petechial hemorrhaging."
The Cutting Room by Louise Welsh
For me, this was one of those novels that, for the longest time, never seemed to call to me. I'm ever so glad now that I took the time to pick it up. The mystery of this whole thing is all-consuming, but, it's in the journey that this novel truly shines. This is an utterly exemplary crime novel, an excellent noir-thriller that's just coated in layers upon layers of grime and filth. This is dark, gothic, seedy, perverse noir fiction at it's finest, in all of its sensual, sexy, horrific glory. The Cutting Room is a sharply told story that's entirely impossible to ignore. The entire novel is so damn passive and casual about its brutality and ugliness, and this, somehow, accentuates it all into something horrendously shocking and compelling. It's an entirely grotesque thing, a brilliant, enrapturing, grotesque thing.
"I wondered if any suicides were buried under these crossroads. They'd have trouble enough rising, now, under the weight of tarmac, traffic and crossing pedestrians, I tried to conjure them in my mind's eye. The waltzing host of the dead meeting the afternoon passers-by."
4.5
"Darkness. I wanted to die. My throat was dry and my heart barren. A pulse throbbed a slow heartbeat on my temple, pounding tarry blood through my aching head. I massaged the hard bones around my eyes, feeling the tight skin move, slick against the planes of my skull. Small sparkles of light glittered for an instant in my blind eyes. I opened them again. Darkness. I remembered a time I was afraid of the dark. Some of the fear returned with the memory."
The Cutting Room is an excessively stylish, gritty, moody, almost Brain De Palma-esque sort of noir thriller cast against the seedy and sensual backdrop of Glasgow's underworld. It's one of those violent, pulpy, vibrant kind of thrillers, and stands as perhaps one of the best mystery thriller novels one could encounter. It's all so very hedonistic and self-indulgent, the entire thing is overtly unrestrained. Obsessive and cruel, The Cutting Room is a story that follows many of the typical crime novel conventions, however, in being so enigmatic, it stands out regardless, it reminds us how to enjoy a story relayed in the traditional manner.
A cast of deliciously flawed characters makes up this novel. Each and every one of them are, at their best, questionable, morally bankrupt people, and at their worst, horrendous - bordering on villainous. Here, you won't find yourself in the company of a morally righteous hero, instead you'll be accompanied by someone teetering on the edge of ruin. This is, at its core, a crime novel. But, it's also so much more than that - Rilke is an entire story just by himself - a gay auctioneer, a bachelor, an obsessive, sleazy pulp thriller leading man. There's not one likable character, yet it's impossible not to love them, in my view that's one of the marks of incredible storytelling.
The Cutting Room is an excessively stylish, gritty, moody, almost Brain De Palma-esque sort of noir thriller cast against the seedy and sensual backdrop of Glasgow's underworld. It's one of those violent, pulpy, vibrant kind of thrillers, and stands as perhaps one of the best mystery thriller novels one could encounter. It's all so very hedonistic and self-indulgent, the entire thing is overtly unrestrained. Obsessive and cruel, The Cutting Room is a story that follows many of the typical crime novel conventions, however, in being so enigmatic, it stands out regardless, it reminds us how to enjoy a story relayed in the traditional manner.
A cast of deliciously flawed characters makes up this novel. Each and every one of them are, at their best, questionable, morally bankrupt people, and at their worst, horrendous - bordering on villainous. Here, you won't find yourself in the company of a morally righteous hero, instead you'll be accompanied by someone teetering on the edge of ruin. This is, at its core, a crime novel. But, it's also so much more than that - Rilke is an entire story just by himself - a gay auctioneer, a bachelor, an obsessive, sleazy pulp thriller leading man. There's not one likable character, yet it's impossible not to love them, in my view that's one of the marks of incredible storytelling.
"I was in a tunnel way beneath the city, the smell of ordure in my lungs. The scuttle of rats around me. Fucking a stranger against the rough brick of a wall. The shuffle of footsteps coming closer. My climax was building, balls slapping against his buttocks, spunk swelling. The images scrolled on. It was coming now, getting close, blood-red vision of the orgasm blackout. Here it came, a wound, red and deep and longing, the dark basement, the slash of blood across her throat."
For me, this was one of those novels that, for the longest time, never seemed to call to me. I'm ever so glad now that I took the time to pick it up. The mystery of this whole thing is all-consuming, but, it's in the journey that this novel truly shines. This is an utterly exemplary crime novel, an excellent noir-thriller that's just coated in layers upon layers of grime and filth. This is dark, gothic, seedy, perverse noir fiction at it's finest, in all of its sensual, sexy, horrific glory. The Cutting Room is a sharply told story that's entirely impossible to ignore. The entire novel is so damn passive and casual about its brutality and ugliness, and this, somehow, accentuates it all into something horrendously shocking and compelling. It's an entirely grotesque thing, a brilliant, enrapturing, grotesque thing.
"I wondered if any suicides were buried under these crossroads. They'd have trouble enough rising, now, under the weight of tarmac, traffic and crossing pedestrians, I tried to conjure them in my mind's eye. The waltzing host of the dead meeting the afternoon passers-by."
The Silence Factory by Bridget Collins
It's a really rather sad and dazzling sort of novel, fascinating and horrific. There's an eerie air of disharmony that runs through the story and the eccentric characters are so compulsively readable. Novels such as this one are a rarity to stumble upon, it seems that Collins can never miss, she has created a true masterpiece of gothic wonder. It's all so intense and marvelous, a delight for the soul. What really makes this book, what pushes this far above and beyond so many other gothic historical fiction novels before it, is that everything works together, the dual timelines, the spiders and their silk, the imposing factory, the ambience, the characters, it's all woven together so perfectly. What an astounding novel this is.
It was a spell, or a miracle. The dog, the man, the tickling clock were extinguished as cleanly as a mirage. After a moment he clutched at the cloth, unnerved, in case the whole world had disappeared; but when he was sure that he could still hear, and the cacophony of the city continued regardless, he let it fall again. He felt the silence flood into him like a long, easy breath."
4.0
"There was a silence. Henry had thought that he had become an amateur of silence, in all its timbres and guises; but this had an unfamiliar completeness, an aching quality that was both expectancy and ending. He could not breathe, but he did not need to breathe. He had seen Sir Edward understand. For this eternal instant, it was enough."
The Silence Factory is a dazzling, classical, old-fashioned gothic novel. It's utterly delightful, spinning a macabre web of grandeur with which it captures readers. It is a poetic, beautiful and intricately plotted novel, imposing and fierce yet elegant too. There's something so enthralling about The Silence Factory, it's entirely arresting, the Victorian Era so starkly captured upon the page. It reads as if it could almost be a Victorian Gothic sci-fi/fantasy tale. It's teeming in the fantastical and otherworldly. And, it's all really rather seamless, so many brilliant things are woven together without ever feeling clunky or exaggerated.
Historical fiction, for me, is something so very hit or miss. The plots always so sound captivating, and yes, I appreciate, as a genre, historical fiction is a much slower told category of story, but most of them fail to deliver on their promises. The Silence Factory, however, is told with lashings of gothic gorgeousness and decadence. It's both charming and whimsical yet dangerous and obsessive. Bridget Collins regales us readers with bewitching Victorian ambience without shying away from the tawdry reality of the times. The sickening workplace conditions, the lack of rights thrust upon women, children and the poor, the harsh industrial progress and the corruption funding it, all is detailed with a sobering clarity.
The Silence Factory is a dazzling, classical, old-fashioned gothic novel. It's utterly delightful, spinning a macabre web of grandeur with which it captures readers. It is a poetic, beautiful and intricately plotted novel, imposing and fierce yet elegant too. There's something so enthralling about The Silence Factory, it's entirely arresting, the Victorian Era so starkly captured upon the page. It reads as if it could almost be a Victorian Gothic sci-fi/fantasy tale. It's teeming in the fantastical and otherworldly. And, it's all really rather seamless, so many brilliant things are woven together without ever feeling clunky or exaggerated.
Historical fiction, for me, is something so very hit or miss. The plots always so sound captivating, and yes, I appreciate, as a genre, historical fiction is a much slower told category of story, but most of them fail to deliver on their promises. The Silence Factory, however, is told with lashings of gothic gorgeousness and decadence. It's both charming and whimsical yet dangerous and obsessive. Bridget Collins regales us readers with bewitching Victorian ambience without shying away from the tawdry reality of the times. The sickening workplace conditions, the lack of rights thrust upon women, children and the poor, the harsh industrial progress and the corruption funding it, all is detailed with a sobering clarity.
"He looked down; darkness flickered around his shoes, sparkling, sending black sparks flying up towards his face. For a moment all he felt was wonder. Any moment now the veils around him would tear apart, and the world beyond them would appear; a world of infinite space and stars, and unimaginable depth and dark. The spiders were the gatekeepers, they spun the doorway into it, and in the blazing dark Madeleine beckoned, yes - or love, anyway, redemption, no more death-"
It's a really rather sad and dazzling sort of novel, fascinating and horrific. There's an eerie air of disharmony that runs through the story and the eccentric characters are so compulsively readable. Novels such as this one are a rarity to stumble upon, it seems that Collins can never miss, she has created a true masterpiece of gothic wonder. It's all so intense and marvelous, a delight for the soul. What really makes this book, what pushes this far above and beyond so many other gothic historical fiction novels before it, is that everything works together, the dual timelines, the spiders and their silk, the imposing factory, the ambience, the characters, it's all woven together so perfectly. What an astounding novel this is.
It was a spell, or a miracle. The dog, the man, the tickling clock were extinguished as cleanly as a mirage. After a moment he clutched at the cloth, unnerved, in case the whole world had disappeared; but when he was sure that he could still hear, and the cacophony of the city continued regardless, he let it fall again. He felt the silence flood into him like a long, easy breath."
In the Miso Soup by Ryū Murakami
The fact that this novel is told entirely in a nonchalant conversational style, and is built up of mostly narrative discussions adds such a sobering and uneasy feel to the story. There's an arresting vividity that's just shooting throughout the novel, it's a depraved and violent thing that folds such complex themes into its horror. Degeneracy, isolation, loneliness and corruption are so marvelously explored here. It's so brazen in its artfulness and intelligence. It really is delightful how fucked up this book is.
Being such a short and break-neck paced little novel, makes it entirely easy to devour in the space of a night. It's not even all in the length of the story, it's so damn enrapturing that putting the book down is a difficult task. There's this neon-noir dread laced through every single word. What begins as a sleazy, filthy and seductive pulp tale descends quickly into a maddening bloodbath of murder and psychopathic musings. It's a brilliant, pleasurable reading experience and also so grim and vile that even the most ardent of horror fans will feel their stomachs churning. It's a novel so absolutely worthy of its cult-like status.
"It's fun trying to build a castle on a moving train, you can like lose yourself or whatever and not have all these weird thoughts, because at the time I kept having this weird thought about poking some little girl's eyes with a pin or a toothpick or a hypodermic needle, something pointy like that, and it scared me to think about what if I really did it."
4.0
"I'd worked for nearly two hundred foreigners by now, most of them Americans, but I'd never seen a face quite like this one. It took me a while to pinpoint exactly what was so odd about it. The skin. It looked almost artificial, as if he'd been horribly burned and the doctors resurfaced his face with this fairly realistic man-made material."
In the Miso Soup is a vibrantly unsettling cult classic novel that delves deep into the seedy underworld of the tourism funded sex industry - it is at once meaningful and deliberate while also being purposefully hollow and detached from itself, it's akin to a sexually charged, quieter, much more intimate version of American Psycho. It's really rather unhinged and wild but, it's not without purpose, the violence hits us in short, shocking waves and yet, we're never full emerged in it, instead, forced to bear witness from afar to the grotesqueness that is this book.
It's so exceedingly perverse and brutal that experiencing it feels like injecting gasoline into your veins, this results in an intensely sensational reading experience. Yes, it's the tale of a serial killer on a rampage but told in a more quiet kind of manner. As a novel it's sickening and soaked through with gore but, it's also thought-provoking and challenging, in its brilliance, this novel manages somehow to cast a sympathetic light upon its killer. Creating such a dichotomy is a difficult thing so easily ruined, Murakami however, knocks it out of the park.
In the Miso Soup is a vibrantly unsettling cult classic novel that delves deep into the seedy underworld of the tourism funded sex industry - it is at once meaningful and deliberate while also being purposefully hollow and detached from itself, it's akin to a sexually charged, quieter, much more intimate version of American Psycho. It's really rather unhinged and wild but, it's not without purpose, the violence hits us in short, shocking waves and yet, we're never full emerged in it, instead, forced to bear witness from afar to the grotesqueness that is this book.
It's so exceedingly perverse and brutal that experiencing it feels like injecting gasoline into your veins, this results in an intensely sensational reading experience. Yes, it's the tale of a serial killer on a rampage but told in a more quiet kind of manner. As a novel it's sickening and soaked through with gore but, it's also thought-provoking and challenging, in its brilliance, this novel manages somehow to cast a sympathetic light upon its killer. Creating such a dichotomy is a difficult thing so easily ruined, Murakami however, knocks it out of the park.
"The images flicked through my mind like drug flashbacks, but unaccompanied by any real sense of revulsion or outrage. I remembered the sound of the guy's neck bones cracking, but all I could think was: So that's what it's like when you break somebody in two. Maybe my nerves still hadn't thawed out. I tried to feel sorry for the people who'd been killed but found to my horror, that I couldn't. I couldn't feel any sympathy for them at all."
The fact that this novel is told entirely in a nonchalant conversational style, and is built up of mostly narrative discussions adds such a sobering and uneasy feel to the story. There's an arresting vividity that's just shooting throughout the novel, it's a depraved and violent thing that folds such complex themes into its horror. Degeneracy, isolation, loneliness and corruption are so marvelously explored here. It's so brazen in its artfulness and intelligence. It really is delightful how fucked up this book is.
Being such a short and break-neck paced little novel, makes it entirely easy to devour in the space of a night. It's not even all in the length of the story, it's so damn enrapturing that putting the book down is a difficult task. There's this neon-noir dread laced through every single word. What begins as a sleazy, filthy and seductive pulp tale descends quickly into a maddening bloodbath of murder and psychopathic musings. It's a brilliant, pleasurable reading experience and also so grim and vile that even the most ardent of horror fans will feel their stomachs churning. It's a novel so absolutely worthy of its cult-like status.
"It's fun trying to build a castle on a moving train, you can like lose yourself or whatever and not have all these weird thoughts, because at the time I kept having this weird thought about poking some little girl's eyes with a pin or a toothpick or a hypodermic needle, something pointy like that, and it scared me to think about what if I really did it."
Murder Road by Simone St. James
Cold Lake Falls has all the makings of a perfect strange little town, countless disappearances, residents submerged in gossip, barbed rumors, an enrapturing and beautiful location carved up by a road that brings about hauntings, it's all really very immersive and engrossing. This is small town horror done right, bone-chilling and hyper-captivating. So often, books like this, tease their supernatural stories, only to drop them for a bland and reasonable explanation, Murder Road however, decides to let the supernatural shine. This is a sensational paranormal mystery, a twisty, well-developed, nostalgia drenched page-turner. It's not one to be missed.
"If there was one thing I knew, it was the feeling of carrying someone's death on your hands. The knowledge that if you could rewind time, you could do something differently and that person would still be alive. Sometimes, you regret it, and sometimes you don't. But you carry it either way."
4.0
"I'd seen a lot of bad things in my life - maybe more than my share. But I had never seen anything as terrible as that girl, as her face, as her undead hands. She was a dark, cold hole in the fabric of reality, punched through with a naked fist. The word that came to mind was unholy, though I had never been religious a day in my life. I had never imagined anything could be as vibrantly, furiously dead as she was."
Murder Road is a fantastic genre-bending blend of 90s nostalgia and supernatural horror. There's plenty of ghostly elements mixed together with a good bit of slasher/serial killer fun, a touch of gothic flare, and theatrical levels of small town drama, all packaged in a thriller format. At the heart of this story, there's a delicious little mystery to uncover too. This novel is so brilliantly unsettling, it delivers so wonderfully, on this campfire story like atmosphere, this is the kind of tale you tell your friends when all the light is sucked from the universe.
This is only my second read by Simone St. James, but what is abundantly clear, is that she knows how to create atmosphere, how to spin a tale so wildly unnerving and discomforting. The whole book, from start to finish, is rather eerie, a heavy sense of dread hangs over every page. Even in the slower sections of this novel, it's a fast-paced thrill-ride, entertaining without ever lagging, there's always something dramatic lingering around the corner, waiting to pull you under. Small town mysteries will always be something I gravitate towards, especially when, like this one, they are entwined in the supernatural.
Murder Road is a fantastic genre-bending blend of 90s nostalgia and supernatural horror. There's plenty of ghostly elements mixed together with a good bit of slasher/serial killer fun, a touch of gothic flare, and theatrical levels of small town drama, all packaged in a thriller format. At the heart of this story, there's a delicious little mystery to uncover too. This novel is so brilliantly unsettling, it delivers so wonderfully, on this campfire story like atmosphere, this is the kind of tale you tell your friends when all the light is sucked from the universe.
This is only my second read by Simone St. James, but what is abundantly clear, is that she knows how to create atmosphere, how to spin a tale so wildly unnerving and discomforting. The whole book, from start to finish, is rather eerie, a heavy sense of dread hangs over every page. Even in the slower sections of this novel, it's a fast-paced thrill-ride, entertaining without ever lagging, there's always something dramatic lingering around the corner, waiting to pull you under. Small town mysteries will always be something I gravitate towards, especially when, like this one, they are entwined in the supernatural.
"I had expected this, possibly even wanted it, but still, when I saw her pale face and long, brown hair, my chest seized with fear. My breath stopped and we locked eyes in the mirror. She was a girl, but she wasn't. She was a person, but she was also an empty hole where a person should be, sucking all the air through it and spreading darkness. I could see how thin her arms were, and I thought I could hear her breathe. But she wasn't breathing, was she? She'd been dead a long time, and this close I caught the faint scent of rot, earthy and sweet."
Cold Lake Falls has all the makings of a perfect strange little town, countless disappearances, residents submerged in gossip, barbed rumors, an enrapturing and beautiful location carved up by a road that brings about hauntings, it's all really very immersive and engrossing. This is small town horror done right, bone-chilling and hyper-captivating. So often, books like this, tease their supernatural stories, only to drop them for a bland and reasonable explanation, Murder Road however, decides to let the supernatural shine. This is a sensational paranormal mystery, a twisty, well-developed, nostalgia drenched page-turner. It's not one to be missed.
"If there was one thing I knew, it was the feeling of carrying someone's death on your hands. The knowledge that if you could rewind time, you could do something differently and that person would still be alive. Sometimes, you regret it, and sometimes you don't. But you carry it either way."