Brainwyrms by Alison Rumfitt

Like many others, I’ve been waiting for Brainwyrms for a long time, as I love Rumfitt’s first novel, Tell Me I’m Worthless. It’s horror once again, but very different horror that explores similar ideas of political extremism, transphobia, and where ever creeping fascism ends up. Instead of a haunted house, we have parasites, but this isn’t a simple body horror story of being taken over by an alien creature. Instead, this is extreme horror about trauma, fetishes, and disgusting moments that mean I’ve seen other reviews question how it even got published. And it does it all very well.

Rumfitt’s conversational yet experimental writing style works well here, infecting the narrative with different voices at times, and having an expected twist of genre for a moment when it becomes what feels like a Sarah Kane play for a moment. The book in general is always going to be divisive, not just for all the disgusting bits and the obvious political nature of the horror, but because the style blends modern internet conventions, experimental poetics, and just a lot of sex and gore descriptions. For me, it definitely works, but you have to recommend it to the right people. I really liked the tone of Rumfitt’s introduction, written as a future fictionalised version of herself that reminded me of Bret Easton Ellis, as it really sets up the book well (I also enjoyed the interjection to the reader midway through to take a break and return, which I did just because it felt like part of an interactive experience).

Similarly to Eliza Clark’s recent novel Penance, Brainwyrms explores different facets of the current and past internet, which may mean that it doesn’t age well, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing to have books, especially political horror, that are very rooted in the time and place they were written, and I’m not bored yet of people exploring the internet in interesting ways. For example, Frankie’s job a a content moderator and Vanya’s adolescent use of kink forums bring different dimensions to the messy world of the internet and how it impacts the stuff going on in the book. You can’t say anything simple about the internet, after all. I liked the balance in this book between the level of stuff about the internet and TERFs etc and the actual characters and narrative, with the spectre of the former hovering over the characters and descriptions through more metaphor and theming rather than always front and centre in the plot.

As with Tell Me I’m Worthless, this is a bold, uncompromising book that delves deep into British transphobia through a queer horror lens, not shying away from satire and ridiculousness even as awful things are happening. It’s more intense horror that Rumfitt’s first book, reminding me of when I first read Poppy Z. Brite and saw what you can really do with extreme horror to be interesting and witty and cool, not just “edgy”. Everything in this book feels like it is covered in a layer of dirt, and that is very effective (though I regret to say that the book didn’t actually make me feel sick, like a lot of people say). Definitely not a book for everyone, but trans horror continues to be one of the best genres.