 4 stars
Stripped to the essentials, crystalized characters and electric plot. What a novella. Pacing: ★★★★ Sense of horror: ★★ Charisma: ★★★★★ Some stories just have that "it" factor, you know? Goddess of Filth is one of those. A group of young women get together one night. They host a seance of sorts, inviting the "old gods" to join them. One of them does, and it possesses one of the young women. She writhes on the ground, totally unknown, and from that night on another being walks within her skin, showing itself with its caiman eyes (crocodile relative) and its odd ways. And when the young women/demonic hybrid starts to showcase disturbing trends of femininity and agency mixed with revengeful actions against those with deepest sins... Yeah. Things are about to get interesting. Goddess of Filth was a very unique novella with a simple pitch: Girl gets possessed. But then, with its bare-bones writing style mixed with a blend of the macabre and the mundane, this novella shone. I found myself gripped, wanting to know what would happen and how it would go down. Super unique. Looking forward to exploring more from this author and more short horror from Creature Publishing.
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 4 stars
Loved the concept, loved most of the execution—I think this debut slightly fumbled the landing. BUT that being said, the vibes and concept were enough to keep this a personal favorite. Concept: ★★★★★ Plot/Pacing: ★★★ Enjoyment: ★★★★ Imagine this: You visit an island. Something is off about it. The people are nice, albeit your standard rural area standoffish vibe. The island itself is a beautiful piece of land off the coast of Northern Wisconsin. But there's something about these people—their clothes are dated, their cars are all rust buckets, their music is 20 years out of date. And weirdest of all... you can't find anything more tech savvy than a Walkman and a boom box. You realize the town is acting like it's 1994. And when you catch some members of the town captivated by seemingly "live" coverage of OJ Simpson's car chase in California—and then you catch them watching it multiple nights in a row—you realize something is seriously, seriously weird here. Because the entire town KNOWS it's not actually 1994. But they're acting out the scenario anyway. And then you find out that people sometimes disappear. Welcome to Clifford Island. You might not make it off... Dead Eleven is a horror release that I found out about randomly on Goodreads one day, and IMMEDIATELY knew that I needed to have it. From that pitch you just read, can't you see why?? What a concept. Layered into that killer concept was a mixed-media, brother/sister, and past/present timeline angle that I found too good to resist. So I bought this and read it almost immediately. Ultimately, I think this debut did a few things perfectly: the vibes, the lingering/creeping dread, the pulse-pounding "I need to know what happened" element that keeps you reading late into the night. Where this book fumbled was in the ending. I think it wasn't bad, but it wasn't as spectacular as its first half implied it would be. But then... maybe it will for you. Let me know! Eagerly looking forward to more horror mixed media from this author.  2.5 stars
I went to from super hyped about this concept last year...to a lukewarm reading experience....and then a few days later to the realization that—despite my love for Roshani Chokshi—I just did not like this at all. I think this has a certain readership, and I'm sad I'm not one of them. Concept: ★★★★ Sense of uniqueness: ★★ Investment into the characters: ★ Once upon a time, a man who believed in fairy tales married a beautiful, mysterious woman named Indigo Maxwell-Casteñada. He was a scholar of myths. She was heiress to a fortune. They exchanged gifts and stories and believed they would live happily ever after—and in exchange for her love, Indigo extracted a promise: that her bridegroom would never pry into her past. Indigo is the beautiful and enigmatic muse woman of everyone's dreams. She's too flawless, clearly a bit dangerous, and so beautiful that you can't look away. The Bridegroom certainly can't. He loves his wife more than life itself and is willing to follow her into the dark. One day, Indigo receives a message that her aunt is dying in her childhood home, the House of Dreams. Taking her bridegroom with her—this man is never named, so apologies for using "bridegroom" over and over again, it's a part of the dream-style repetition in this novel—they arrive at the surreal and darkly Other house. It's while we're exploring this elaborate house filled with the echoes of secrets that we meet our second POV: Azur. Azur's timeline is during Indigo's childhood, and she was Indigo's everything. A childhood spent surrounded by magic and twin ties and secrets and oaths, Azur and Indigo were two sides of the same coin. It was going to be Indigo and Azur, forever and ever. But there's no Azur here with Indigo and the bridegroom. As the bridegroom explores the House of Dreams, Azur's tale unfolds in the chapters in between. The House of Dreams has witnessed a lot of secrets, and it has some secrets of its own. Will the bridegroom be able to keep his promise? Or will he look back into the dark and find out the truth about Indigo's past? Alright. So I'm not going to dissect the plot or anything here. I think this is a story that is intentionally like a fable, and more importantly, intentionally like the echoes of a story arc that some of us readers have likely read before. It's also a story that cares more for its ominous atmosphere and sense of lyrical flow than its concrete plot. There's nothing wrong with any of that. But I will say that I wish this book had brought some more things to the table. For how drawn out it felt, for the amount of actual plot that happened in its pages, I needed more as a reader. I wanted something surprising, I wanted this very familiar arc to bring something fresh as a payoff for its very slow pacing. I needed to feel closer to these characters that felt, emotionally, like they were separated from me by layers and layers of glass. I just needed... more. So, if you're like me and the above items bother you, I'd skip this one. But if you like the concept and don't mind that kind of thing, I do still recommend this one.  4 stars
This rating is a preliminary one. I think it deserves more from me, but I’m not there yet—I need to boil it down and reread the series later with more context. Two things are immediately true: 1) this book is not a one-time reading comprehension experience and 2) I continue to be in awe of Jones’ electric-tripwire, running-from-Death (or running to?) writing style that is unlike anything I’ve experienced as a reader. Concept: ★★★★ Horror elements: ★★★★★ Writing style: ★★★★★ Wait, so you thought Jade Daniels was done?? Welcome back to Proofrock. It's 2019. Jade is back to "Jennifer" and she's just stepped back onto Proofrock soil following the trauma, trials, and incarcerations as a result of the events of My Heart is a Chainsaw. She's ready for whatever could qualify as a "fresh" start for someone who's seen the shit that she's seen. Her days of final girls, horror movies, and niche survivalist trivia are behind her. (Didn't you pick up on that from the "Jennifer" nonsense?) But let's remember, this is Proofrock. It's like the town was waiting for its bloody princess to step back into the ring, because one Jade's back, things get dicey again. On one cold, blizzarding night in February, Proofrock welcomes a convicted serial killer into its midst. Indigenous murderer Dark Mill South escaped his heavily armed convoy a few miles outside of Proofrock under the helpful blanket of an avalanche and found his way into town. There's a lot of teenagers who somehow managed to escape the previous massacre. Dark Mill South might not know the town's bloody history, but he's unwittingly about to decimate the surviving playing field anyway. The players from My Heart is a Chainsaw are older and grudgingly wiser, and, in Letha's case in particular—armed with all of the slasher knowledge that she missed the first time around. Letha Mondragon, the previous final girl, isn't about to be caught unawares again. She's vigilant, she's alive despite the medical odds, and she's ready with every horror play in the book. On a dark, dark night... Dark Mill South’s Reunion Tour began on December 12th, 2019, a Thursday. Thirty-six hours and twenty bodies later, on Friday the 13th, it would be over. Soooooo let's talk about it. Don't Fear the Reaper is, arguably, my most interesting anticipated release for this year. I took My Heart is a Chainsaw as a singular standalone, a titan in the horror genre that stood alone and needed no further explanations, riffs, or sequels. But then this sequel appeared out of the madness of Jones' mind and I knew I needed it. Reaper was simultaneously exactly what I expected and yet also, wonderfully, different. Did I fully understand it? Debatable. Do I need to watch the entire canon of classic horror slasher movies in order to fully understand this latest installment? ...Honestly, probably. Don't Fear the Reaper is a honed blade for the slasher community. As a general horror fan with a particular interest in body horror and speculative horror, I was WAY out of my depth with this story. It was an almost alienating experience to witness this novel play out via referential dialogue, meta takes on the subniche, and high-level interplay between established slasher canon (and fanon?) all stitched within a narrative that, itself, was a reflected commentary on the events of My Heart is a Chainsaw. It was brutally intelligent. I just didn't have the right playbook. There were layers on layers here, folks. Forget Shrek's onion—I'm so sorry, horror fans, let me horrify you with that Shrek reference—this was the Meta Onion. I caught just enough of the referencing to make it through my reading experience, but I know I missed most of it. The dialogue, scene setups, tropes, character developments, and more were all linked to other elements of the genre. And if you didn't get the reference, you lost the momentum. I do think that affected my personal reading enjoyment. But unlike other novels where that lack of understanding repelled me and made me DNF, this version made me curious, and—for the first time in my life, yes, even Chainsaw didn't inspire me—made me want to dive into the world of slasher films. There's a lot to take away from Reaper. Similar to the interspersed essays within the narrative itself, I'd need a thesis to get into it. I didn't even have time to mention the subplots and subhorrors hiding behind the surface plot (let's just say, it is similar to Chainsaw in more ways than one.) But suffice to say, this sequel was spectacular, and worth several rereads and discussions. I look forward to Jones pulling it all together into one brilliant dissertation in the final book. Thank you to Gallery Books for my copy in exchange for an honest review.  4 stars
A nightmare, a blood-soaked ecstatic love story, a confession told in letters in the dark. A Dowry of Blood surprised me with its consuming reading experience. Narrative style: ★★★★★ Pacing: ★★★★ Enjoyment: ★★★★ When this book simmered its way onto the radar of the online community during the pandemic, I initially ignored it. Let's finish digging myself that hole: I completely and utterly ignored this book. My reasoning for completely refusing to listen to people's pitches and reviews of this book came from sweeping assumptions that I made based off of the title and limited description. Dracula? Pfft, no thanks, that story's been done. A bloody, toxic, gothic love story? Again, no thanks, I've read that book and seen that vampire movie. Right...? Wrong. A Dowry of Blood was something different, something much more engaging. A series of letters written to "you," a male creature we all know by name and yet deserves no autonomy in this story—because he gave our narrator none. "This is my last love letter to you, though some would call it a confession..." Constanta was the first, the most loved of his brides. But that doesn't mean she had it good. Love can be cloistering, cloying, and caustic as much as an all-consuming desire. Constanta knows this more than anyone. How long would it take you to understand the difference between possessive and possessed? Amid consuming passion that spanned decades and countries and wealth beyond imagining, how long would it take you to reflect on the true monster lurking in the dark? Immersive, lushly described, and dreadly romantic, this series of letters bound into a novel was a truly interesting reading experience. I recommend it broadly to those who hate the origin story, and to those who find vampire novels dull. This is not a vampire novel—okay, it is, but it also ISN'T—and it's definitely not a rosy interpretation on toxic love that we're meant to swoon over. This was something fresh and lovely, as terrible as that is to say about something absolutely soaked in blood.  3.5 stars
I have never read a novel like this before. I have…feelings about it. Can you be repulsed and engrossed at the same time?? Concept: ★★★★★ Body horror: ★★★★★ My enjoyment: ★ I love body horror books. Or at least, I used to say that. I think Leech broke my brain and has redefined the threshold on which we determine "body horror" in the realm of medical trauma, consent, and what it means to be a person in, essentially, meat suits. If the phrase "meat suits" makes you uncomfortable, please take that as your cue to stop reading this review here—and to avoid this book. Leech is very hard to describe. I commend whoever was tasked with writing the blurb for the inside jacket... it couldn't have been easy. How does one describe a novel like this? Every monster is the hero of its own story... that could be said about this book. When our society collapses in on itself and future versions of humanity exist in a very bleak, grim, and macabre future... that could be said about this book. Let's combine the idea of parasites with a gothic, moldering castle and make it mentally insane... that could be said too. Leech has a LOT going on in its pages. It's dense by every meaning of the word-- paragraph-wise, character-wise, worldbuilding-wise, and horror-wise. It is a LOT. And it makes no apologies for being that way. (It doesn't have to apologize, but it could have done with a stronger warning label! Lol.) To say "I enjoyed this reading experience" would be a lie. I did not have a good time. I loved the first bit of the book a lot—it's confusing, but intriguing and interesting at the same time. I thought the middle was a very dense attempt at trying to figure out the setting, worldbuilding, and sense of pacing. It took me ages to get through the middle sections because it was terribly easy to put the book down and simultaneously very hard to reengage with it when I tried to pick it back up. The ending... was both absolutely horrifying to my personal reading tastes and also a wild trip into the ether in terms of character arc upheaval. If you've made it this far into my review, you might be wondering why I'm giving this novel a generous 4 stars despite being viscerally upset by its contents. I, too, am a bit confused by myself. But at the end of the day, I think the author deserves some very high praise for instilling such a unique concept into such a horrifying package that dealt with literally every single variant of medical body trauma that could possibly exist in our human minds. All of it. It's all here in this book. If, for some reason, you're not yet turned off from this book by my review, then I do recommend it. Hiron Ennes is an author to watch—they are doing very unique things in the horror space. Thank you to TOR for my copy in exchange for an honest review.  5 stars
Oh YES. I had such a horrifically good time. This is the mirror-twin counter melody to Mexican Gothic, the Fall of the House of Usher done grotesque. Concept: ★★★★ Pacing: ★★★★★ Enjoyment: ★★★★★ Well, it's happened again: I have fallen in love with yet another bizarre and lingering horror story with a special focus on mushrooms. ("Again," yes, because this niche apparently has multiple books in it.) Join me and the spores... Alex Easton has heard word that their childhood friends, the Ushers, are struggling. Madeline is gravely ill, Roderick is not faring much better, and something is amiss. Alex arrives, and they quickly realize that Roderick's understated things. There is something very, very wrong with this scene. Madeline looks like she's already dead, Roderick doesn't look much better. The Usher estate is damp, moldy, and near-death itself. There's a visiting American doctor who has no idea what is going on, and a wandering older British woman on the grounds with a passion for mushroom study and a daughter named Beatrix Potter. As Alex stays in the home, a creeping sense of foreboding and inevitability starts to sink in. The longer they stay at Usher, the worse it seems to get... And that's IT. I won't say any more. What Moves the Dead looks like—and sounds like—a repeat of concepts to those of us who have already read and loved Silvia Moreno-Garcia's Mexican Gothic. In fact, T Kingfisher themselves writes in the Author's Note that they'd been chewing on this idea already, and then Mexican Gothic came out and What Moves the Dead disappeared into a drawer, almost for forever, as Kingfisher went "gah, I can't do it better than THAT!" Well I, personally, am thrilled that someone got T Kingfisher to revisit and finish this tale. This is something akin to a cousin, a neighbor, someone with the same facial features as Mexican Gothic but with an entirely different set of personality traits. These two novels are NOT the same, and—as a Moreno-Garcia superfan I can't believe I'm saying this--What Moves the Dead did it... better. This was grotesque, truly horrifying, and went somewhere that even I didn't full expect. I thought I knew the steps, and I was having a good time, but then... yeah. This seasoned reader was still surprised in an interesting way. A very, very good horror novella that I recommend to anyone with the stomach to handle it. Thank you to TOR/Nightfire for my copy in exchange for an honest review.  2.5 stars
An ominous, snail-paced crawl to the finish line with a lot of hidden horror and an ambiguously dark ending. This was interesting, but soooo not for me. (Take the star rating with a grain of salt.) Concepts: ★★★★ Pacing: ★ Reveal(s): ★★★ Enjoyment: ★ First off, I'd like to say that my low rating is 100% tied to my personal feelings for this novel's content and my general reading experience. I think, like most horror novels, how we respond to content warnings and plot points are very much dependent on individual reader preferences—and it's hard to know what you're getting into without spoiling yourself to a book's contents. Sundial was one of those reads for me—if I'd known where the plot was going to go when I started reading, I would have passed on it. (For that reason, I think some people who aren't excited by the book's pitch but do like certain horror tropes would love this book. But they'll have a hard time learning that without knowing details beforehand. A conundrum that often exists in this genre. ) But hey, we're here now, and I am going to do my best to sell this very well-told story that did not work for me, personally. Rob's life as a suburban mom of two daughters looks great on the surface. Her husband has money and is respected, her job is stable and conservatively appropriate, and her two daughters appear to be beautiful and normal. This is a horror novel, so I'll stop there with how things "appear" to be. Rob's hiding behind several of her secrets, and her husband, Irving, isn't much better. Come to think of it, her oldest daughter, Callie, and her youngest daughter, Annie, also have their secrets. This is a family bound in their silence and (badly) hiding behind the cracks. The façade is crumbling, and Rob's about to realize that there's nothing she can do to reverse the damage—it's time to do damage control. And for Rob, the only thing that makes sense is to return to the start of everything--Sundial. An isolated compound in the middle of the Mojave desert, Sundial is where Rob grew up. It's an odd place—almost cult-like—with more scientific experiments and death than most of us can imagine. Her family is bizarre, her upbringing strange. Rob's childhood and its secrets lay buried in the dirt along with the truth. Rob grabs her oldest daughter, Callie, and flees to Sundial to fix the problem. (What is the problem though, exactly? Is it what Rob thinks it is? Is it was Callie thinks it is? Is it even what we, the readers, think it is?) Told through split POVS, split timelines, and interspersed with story entries of a fictional world, one thing is true for this novel—the story is never solid. Sundial is a very interesting concept for a novel. It takes many pieces from other stories, and its display of the truth/reveals held a classic "twist" flavor to it that made sense when looking at the entire novel from a bird's eye view. (In practice, it led to a very frustrating reading experience.) As the reader, I was so frustrated by the stilted, distanced gaze. All of these characters felt like they were permanently behind a glass wall—sounds and pictures came through just fine, but I could never forget that there was a wall between us. I was so aware of the story being a "story" the entire time. I also think that without foreknowledge of the ending, the entire first half of the book feels like a snail crawl. I didn't know what was happening, not enough action was carrying me through the confused intro stage, and I was so aware of the metaphorical wall between character vs. reader that my connection to the characters didn't exist. There was nothing tying me to continuing this story beyond the sense of duty I had as a book reviewer to complete my read of an advance reader copy. Personal issues aside, I do think Sundial excelled in its sense of place and setting. The desert compound that the book takes its title from is grounded in gritty realities and horrors that felt as real and oppressive as a desert heat. The horrors within this book had a unique backdrop in Sundial's sense of place, and the animal elements were different than other horror novels I've personally read. The unique factor is strong here—genre readers will no doubt appreciate that. I think all fans of horror should consider picking this up, especially if my cons don't seem like cons above... this is definitely an interesting and unique entry into a genre that is brutally exacting in its demands for new content.  4.5 stars
A near-perfect blend of atmospheric fiction mixed with a mystery. Not a standard mystery/thriller by any means...but a spectacular main character voice. I've added this author to my immediate "to watch" list and can see myself rereading this novel many times to come. Main character/Narrative Voice: ★★★★★ Atmosphere: ★★★★★ Actual Mystery(s): ★★ Pure Enjoyment: ★★★★★ So first off, I think that this novel is weirdly placed in the mystery/thriller category on the shelves when really, it's an atmospheric literary fiction with some dead bodies in it. It's like alternative take on a Jennifer McMahon, if you gutted all of her unnecessary meanderings and subplots (some people like them, I do not) and left us with just the vibes and atmosphere—and added a main character that pops right off the page and into your living room. Don't come for the devious and hard-to-grasp mystery—this is not a Christie whodunit. This is an atmospheric stay. Dark Currents follows the story of David, a transgender man who is returning to his childhood small town of New Compton, Rhode Island, a few years after his transition and right on the heels of his recent firing from a university. Why is David returning to his hometown, you might ask? Because his grandma, who lives there alone, is in the downward swing of degenerative memory loss and he received a disturbing voicemail from her one night. There's a body, there's a lot of blood, there's a lobster, and there's a man in the dark. Can David come now!? David rushes to the scene, but by the time he arrives his grandma's forgotten the whole thing and is surprised to see him there. But the dead body is real, and its grandma's neighbor and life-long old friend. It looks like an accident, but David can't be sure and neither can the town—their witness isn't exactly reliable, after all. With small town secrets, histories, family, and more colliding into one tangle, it's up to David and his ex-boyfriend, town cop Billy Dyer, to solve the mystery and untangle the threads of the past before it's too late. My thoughts: WOW. This writing voice. Every once in a while, you come across writing that just leaps off the page and into your room with you—the voice of the narrator is so strong and so vivid without being a distraction in its own right. Dark Currents is one of those books. I could practically hear David's voice in my head as I read these pages. I loved this book for that vividness alone as hardly any fiction does that for me these days. Another thing I loved about this novel was that the story wasn't really about the mystery. It was about the people and their histories and how they converged in this particular point in time. Dark Currents has a bit of an oral history vibe to it, with vignettes of stories interspersed as David's grandma's friends tell him about the past while he tries to untangle the present. It also has a strong small town and maritime vibe, which also appealed to me. The sea and its secrets, and those who keep them. Also, last but NOT least--this novel was hilarious too. Amid the extremely dark topics of murder, transphobia/PTSD, and degenerative memory loss and its affects on family, the dry one liners and situational humor that the author managed to organically fit into this story was just *chef's kiss*. I loved it.  3.75 stars
Spooktacular, graphic, and ominous, this Japanese-inspired dark novella was a thrill from start to finish. (I just wish it had been longer.) Concept: ★★★★ Sense of unease: ★★★★★ Characters: ★★★★ Writing: ★★★★★ First off, if you love horror at all, then I think this title speaks for itself. What horror fan would pass up the chance to—at a minimum—try out this novel? Nothing But Blackened Teeth screams to be read. Literally. So I came for the title. Then, once I read the blurb, I was ALL IN for this concept. A group of young people meet up for an impromptu wedding in a Heian ruin that's known to be the origin of a traumatizing and sinister undead bride?? Say no more. Add in the fact that every single person in this toxic friend group has issues with one another and are a powder keg of drama waiting to happen?? Really, say no more, I'm already reading it. This novella comes in hot at just barely over 100 pages, and at times it felt like a fully fleshed out novel and at times it felt like it was only a few pages. I would have gladly read an entire novel on these characters and this setting, so my one main gripe about this short version of the tale is that it felt like it was only a teaser to the real thing. Don't get me wrong—it has an official beginning, exciting middle, and final end. It's the full monty. Butttttttttt. I felt like we snipped out a lot of juicy options in order to keep this uber-slim final product. Come for the concept. Stay for the beautifully rendered friend group on the brink of implosion. Leave with the unformed sense of lingering loss and unease. A great read for this year's spooky season! Thank you to TOR for an ARC of this title in exchange for an honest review. |
Amy Imogene ReadsJust someone looking for her own door into Wonderland. Categories
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All reviews posted are my own and do not reflect the opinions of any other individual or entity. When applicable, reviewed titles sent to me by the publisher are noted at the bottom of each review.
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