Tag: horror

Wake Up and Open Your Eyes by Clay McLeod Chapman

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Wake Up and Open Your Eyes is a horror novel about an apocalypse brought about by right-wing news and social media in the USA. Noah’s parents have been parroting far-right views for a while now, but when his mother leaves a cryptic message and then can’t be contacted, he drives from Brooklyn to Virginia to check on them, but what he finds is his parents in a weird state, trying to attack him. Then it turns out they aren’t the only ones, and Noah’s brother and his family have fallen victim too, and then Noah and his nephew must try and make it back to Brooklyn, through the radicalised hordes.

I’ve been hearing about this novel for a while, and even though I didn’t really enjoy the only other Clay McLeod Chapman book I’ve read, I wanted to give this one a go, and I’m glad I did. The satire in this is very explicit—there’s Fax News, there’s influencer juice cleanses, there’s Baby Ghost to the tune of Baby Shark—and the horror is too, with memorable moments of gore and sex. This isn’t for the faint-hearted, and a good recent comparison is Alison Rumfitt’s work: if you enjoy that, you’ll be able to handle the stuff in this, with Tell Me I’m Worthless cited at the end in a list of influences and useful works for writing the book. I enjoyed that it was more extreme, not shying away from ideas of possession and what horrible things that makes people do to their bodies.

The structure is more experimental than most apocalypse stories, focusing mostly on the initial moment in the first part, then the build up in the second, and then just after that initial moment in the final section, which is intercut with lots of found footage moments to give a sense of the scale of devastation. This format doesn’t give much space for connection with the central figure, Noah, but you delve further into the minds of his brother Asher and Asher’s family, and it’s not the sort of horror where you need a deep connection as it is more about the shock of what is happening more generally than specifically what is happening to Noah. The ending doesn’t give much closure or explanation, and perhaps lacks a really memorable closing moment, but it also plays on a ‘liberal’ idea that such an apocalypse could be easily recovered from, suggesting that far-right threats aren’t just something to ignore.

I really like horror that blends together modern fears with classic horror elements like possession, and Wake Up and Open Your Eyes feels like an American version of Alison Rumfitt’s work, exploring the visceral horror of media radicalisation and far-right views. The middle section, about how one family got to that point, was perhaps the strongest part for me, especially in light of this theme, but overall this is a great horror novel that doesn’t shy away from being in your face, and you just can’t shut your eyes.

All The Hearts You Eat by Hailey Piper

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All the Hearts You Eat is a horror novel about life and death and the bonds that tie people together, as dead trans girl Cabrina appears to loner Ivory and to her best friends in life Xi and Rex. Cabrina Brite washes up dead in Cape Morning, and Ivory finds her death poem lying nearby. Ivory didn’t know the girl, but she seems to be haunted by her now. Meanwhile Cabrina’s best friends are also dealing with the realisation that Cabrina’s presence is still around, in this small town that held no space for her.

I didn’t know anything about this book going in, so it was a very welcome surprise to discover that it is, if you really want to boil it down, a trans vampire book. All of the main characters are trans and the book explores who you can choose to be and who you can’t, using the gothic horror of a town haunted by vampiric creatures and a mysterious island. One of the great things about this book is the complexity and messiness of the main characters, especially the complex relationships between the three teenage characters who are just reaching adulthood. The ending really highlights how this isn’t a simple ‘trans characters versus the world’ book, but a horror novel with the space to explore different ideas about who someone is and how they might act when treated badly.

I found the book took me a while to get into, with the writing style quite obtuse at first so I couldn’t quite work out what was going on. Once I settled into the book it became much more enjoyable, though still occasionally a bit confusing. As everything else about this book was so up my street, it was a shame that I found it so hard to get into at first. However, this didn’t stop me really appreciating this book, from its depiction of the messiness of feelings between trans teenagers to its exploration of what it means to feel like a outsider and how that might cause you to react to promises from supernatural creatures. Piper uses horror to tackle a lot of interesting things about growing up trans in a small town, but doesn’t forget to include gory and dramatic moments along the way.

Benothinged by Alvar Theo

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[I was asked to blurb this book by the lovely Haunt Publishing, so this is a mini review I wrote for that.]

In Benothinged, Alvar Theo asks what if the real monster of queer horror is isolation, mental illness, grief, poverty, and all of the other things that people face in modern day Britain, and if so, how might we defeat that monster? The result is a book that is haunting, bittersweet, and yet also full of tiny joys, as the trans protagonists learn to work together to build a world free of this monster.

Coup de Grâce by Sofia Ajram

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Coup de Grâce is a horror novella about a man trapped in an impossible subway station. Vicken is on the subway, planning a one way trip to the Saint Lawrence River, but when he gets off, he’s in a huge, Brutalist station. A station with no exit and no return line. A station that changes as he explores. And suddenly things aren’t as certain as they seemed when he stepped onto the train.

This novella combines some fantastic horror elements: liminal spaces, fourth wall breaking, body horror, and the kind of terrifying impossibility of space you get in House of Leaves. It is also a dark look at depression, suicide, and self-harm, and the warning at the start is important to note because it does make up a lot of the book. What you end up with is something visceral and weird, almost absurdly funny in the way it paints hopelessness and lack of control by its ending, and a book that never quite offers a reprieve. The ending might be a bit divisive, leaving a lot up to the reader, but it is exciting to see this kind of horror, that isn’t afraid to be unrelenting, and I loved the creepypasta and liminal space elements (the book itself feels like it could be a creepypasta even as it refers to them).

William by Mason Coile

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William is a short horror novel about a reclusive robot engineer who creates an AI consciousness in his house. Henry doesn’t leave his home and spends all his time on his project, an AI-powered robot he’s called William, even though it is impacting his marriage to his wife, Lily. As William starts to turn dangerous, Henry tries to stop him, but their high tech house shows William’s power is further reaching than Henry thought.

This book was compared to Stephen King, Black Mirror, and Frankenstein, and unusually, I think that’s actually quite a good set of fiction to compare it to, particularly as it doesn’t give away too many of the twists whilst still setting up the kind of vibe you’re going to get. Initially, there’s the creator/creation thing that is key to the book, exploring ideas of artificial intelligence and what kind of ‘spirit’ might be created. Then you get the kind of horror when a house seems to work against its inhabitants, and that’s where you can really picture the book adapted for the screen as it cuts between different parts of the house.

The length is ideal for a quick, gripping horror story that purposefully focuses in on certain parts of the plot and characters, and it feels precise rather than too short. William is a tense, fun read that builds on a lot of existing ideas and tropes to play on fears of things we create turning out to not be as they seem, and ideas of creator and creation.

Guillotine by Delilah S. Dawson

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Guillotine is a short, sharp horror novel about a young woman who snags herself a chance to spend time with her heroine, fashion magazine editor Marie Caulfield-Ruskin, by dating her son Patrick, only to find that the private island retreat is going to be the site of revenge. Dez needs a job as she finishes college, but she’s not privileged and applying to fashion houses isn’t going anywhere. When she meets Patrick Ruskin, she realises that dating him might give her an in with his mother, but when that turns into an Easter weekend on their private island, things start to get weird. All the servants wear pink and mustn’t be talked to, and their prize polo pony breeding hints towards the family’s secrets that soon Dez must try and escape.

This is not subtle horror. This in in-your-face, eat-the-rich horror about going to an uber rich family’s home and discovering their secrets, whilst the servants fight back, and it’s great fun. The plot and pacing is very much like a film, which I do think is a good kind of horror novel: one that can be easily read in one go, not really a slow burn or explaining the backstory too much, but instead is filled with gore, revenge, and a memorable setting. It’s easily compared to a lot of horror and thriller films because of this, making it great for people who don’t want sprawling, long horror, but instead a fast-paced story filled with revenge set pieces that don’t overstay their welcome. The ending is pretty predictable, but this isn’t a book going for nuance and unexpected twists, because the rich people are just terrible.

I had a fun time with this book, which was gripping and dark, and delivered on the revenge set pieces. Some people might not like that it is so much like a film, down to not really dwelling on the characters, but I liked that it worked as that kind of narrative and didn’t leave space for greater nuance around all the rich people covering up their terrible actions.

Heads Will Roll by Josh Winning

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Heads Will Roll is a horror novel set in a remote retreat, in which a digital detox summer camp quickly becomes a slasher. A sitcom star, known as her character Willow, checks into Camp Castaway after being ‘cancelled’ for posting something stupid online, where she meets fellow campers with reasons to run away from society, and a harsh ‘Camp Mom’. After a ghost story about a headless girl, Nancy, who knocks on your door, people start disappearing, and being cancelled becomes the least of anyone’s problems.

I enjoy slashers and I find summer camp slashers particularly scary for some reason, so I was excited for this one. It is very aware that it is a slasher, which most slashers since the 90s have been, and the Hollywood aspect gives enough excuses for genre-savviness too. The novel is told mostly from Willow’s perspective, with a slow build-up and then plenty of heads rolling as the action gets going. The horror plotline itself is pretty fun, with some twists and turns and the classic concept that everyone there has some kind of past they are escaping from. I think some of the gore/beheading would work better onscreen, as in the book it becomes quite forgettable as more and more characters just seem to suddenly have lost their head.

The element I found less convincing was Willow’s backstory. I liked the detail of her burgeoning romance with a fellow camper (it was a bonus to get a surprise queer romance as a subplot in a slasher), but once you found out more about what she tweeted, and what happened next online, it all felt a bit flimsy. I guess the difficulty is having the protagonist do something to be cancelled that actually isn’t bad enough to make them seem like an unlikeable character, but because of this, it lacked the complexity of really exploring cancel culture, and seemed to pass it off once it had been revealed. The internet troll element also felt too rushed over, and way too neat in terms of who it was.

Heads Will Roll is a fun slasher that I found genuinely a bit creepy in the middle when I was reading it late at night, as it did make good use of the isolated camp setting. It felt like it would make a good slasher film, but for my tastes, I wanted it to have a bit more substance around the ‘cancelled’ setup and maybe how that plays into who people think might be a villain, given that it is a genre that often relies on having villains anyway.

I Was A Teenage Slasher by Stephen Graham Jones

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I Was A Teenage Slasher is a horror novel set in Texas in 1989, as a seventeen-year-old finds himself part of a genre he never expected. Tolly Driver spends all his time with his best friend Amber, isn’t cool, and isn’t really notable other than having a recently deceased dad, but when Tolly and Amber go to an ill-fated party, suddenly Tolly finds himself the centre of a narrative he never expected. What happens when you’re the slasher and you never had an option not to be?

Having read several of Stephen Graham Jones’ previous books, I wanted to read this one without really paying attention to the blurb, so I didn’t have any particular expectations going in, but I love how Jones takes the concept—what if the protagonist (and narrator) becomes a slasher and the world bends supernaturally to facilitate all the tropes of the genre—and makes it both full of slasher gore and quite emotional. Tolly is telling the story by looking back from some kind of present day, giving the narration a sense of knowing what will happen without revealing too many details (though the twist near the end I felt was set up as I expected it). The narrative follows a particular pattern—it is a slasher, even as Tolly and Amber try to stop it being one—and it’s decently paced even with Jones’ distinctively detail-packed style (I definitely took a couple of his books to get used to his style, as you can get lost in all the offhand mentions of things).

There’s a fair bit of meta-commentary on slashers in horror fiction these days, with writers like Jones and Grady Hendrix exploring how the inconsistencies of slasher films could actually be utilised for interesting storytelling. In this book, the supernatural nature and inevitability of slasher tropes becomes the centre for a fun story of unexpected consequences. If you like meta-horror and know some of the expectations of the slasher genre, you’ll probably have a good time with this one.

Horror Movie by Paul Tremblay

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Horror Movie is a novel about a cursed film production, as the only remaining major cast or crew member gets involved with a big budget reboot. In 1993, a group of filmmakers made Horror Movie, but what happened on set meant that the film was never completed, and only three scenes (and the screenplay) were leaked online. In the present day, the only surviving cast member, the guy playing the infamous masked ‘Thin Kid’, is now a famous figure, as fans try and work out what really happened, and he’s involved in the reboot of the film, whilst also now narrating this story he’s telling about the present and the past of making both versions of the film.

Lots of horror these days plays with ideas of internet obsession and fandom, and in this case, Paul Tremblay takes the lost media and cursed production ideas to create a novel that is part screenplay, part unreliable narrator tells all. Despite being about a film that is pitched as a slasher, this isn’t a novel about jump scares and desperate running from the bad guy. Instead, you get the script, with its weird horror movie moments, and the narration, which is more about setting up ideas of what horror actually happened, and leaving you question it all even after the book ends. People looking for horror that is scary might be disappointed, as this one is quite a slow burn, with some vague body horror elements, but really exploring the horror of what you do and don’t see, and do and don’t believe.

I liked the whole mask thing, which reminded me of the Goosebumps book The Haunted Mask which I found very scary as a child, and the messy way that the unreliable narration left you unsure what the characters actually did or were even like. The purposeful distance through this, with the narrator having been purposefully distanced during original filming, means that you don’t really get much of any character, not even the narrator really, and the most coherent narrative is the script you’re reading, and even that narrative is questioned in the novel in various ways, through different shooting ideas or queries about if that version of the script is the original one. The book forces you to be the kind of voyeur that the narrator hates, the internet fan trying to piece together what happened, and also the voyeur that the script creates through the three other teens who aren’t the Thin Kid.

I don’t know how much Horror Movie will stand out from other examples of cursed film production fiction, but its focus on what we get to see and what perspective the viewer/reader gets makes it a very interesting book, if not a scary one. I found it fun to read and easy to get through in a single sitting, and I like the mythology around it, with the mask and the crocodile poem. I think the endings of both timelines leave a lot of interesting ambiguities, but I also think there’s other things that could’ve been delved into further (for example, one thread of the book is the unsafe set practices and ways in which the narrator became the character, and the dynamic of having two female characters in charge of this whilst the narrator is male and asked to diet, wear just underwear, etc is something that isn’t really explored, despite being a flip of a lot of traditional Hollywood dangerous/bad set myths).

Cuckoo by Gretchen Felker-Martin

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Cuckoo is a horror novel about a conversion camp that aims to make queer teens a whole new person, and a group of kids who fight their way out to stop it. In 1995, a group of queer teenagers forced by their parents to attend Camp Resolution realise that it is more than just abusive staff and religion: the camp is far darker than that, stealing their very selves. Despite this, they band together, find friends and lovers, and hatch a plan to escape, but even getting away isn’t enough, and the survivors, now adults, have to try and stop it at the source.

Anyone who has read Felker-Martin’s Manhunt is surely waiting with baited breath for this book, and Cuckoo didn’t disappoint, as a book very different to Manhunt and yet still exploring what happens when the worst horror happens to queer people. Cuckoo has a big cast of protagonists and I was initially wary (after the prologue that serves as your horror ‘here’s what is going on’ opener) that it would be too hard to tell the characters apart. However, by midway through, I wasn’t worried, and had a good handle on the various characters, who all have different lives, flaws, and experiences. One of the things I enjoyed about the book wasn’t the horror, but was the fact that it takes a bunch of different queer teens and imagines not only them under pressure, but then how they react as adults.

Notably, the book doesn’t end with the 1995 narrative, but moves forward in time to the characters as adults (it’s hard not to compare this to It), and I was excited when I realised it had done this, as it is so rare to get a good deconstruction of the aftereffects of extreme horror on the characters. This later part has to be a lot faster in pace and by the end quite action-centric, but you still get the chance to see that these characters are still broken, have grown up into adults not only dealing with the trauma of Camp Resolution, but also normal things, like relationships and grief and money and the difficulties of being queer in the world. A lot of stories about queer people only show one point in their lives, and a lot of horror stories don’t deal with the aftermath, so combining these elements offers a different picture of survival.

In terms of the horror, there’s unsurprisingly from the title body snatchers-style fear, alongside abuse and trying to survive in a desert, and a decent amount of body horror from the cosmic evil threat. I liked that the body snatcher stuff didn’t focus too much on the protagonists not knowing who had ‘turned’ or not at the camp, as I find that kind of horror quite frustrating, but instead it was more about the wider implications in the world, particularly at the end (the ending has similarities to Alison Rumfitt’s Tell Me I’m Worthless, playing with the horror’s impact on a happy future). Felker-Martin makes the audience very aware of the horror tropes she is playing in, with plenty of overt and subtler references, and this is far more gory horror than scary, as a lot of queer horror seems to focus on at the moment.

Overall, the book plays with ideas of replacement and parents’ anxieties around queer kids, particularly around the idea that having a queer child makes parents act like their child has been replaced because they aren’t “normal”, and what that might mean if they really were completely different. As conversion therapy horror, it really digs into the idea of what changing means and if it would even be the same person, making it actually quite a good exploration of the philosophical issues (never mind all the myriad other issues) with conversion therapy as a concept. I liked Cuckoo more than Manhunt, and some of that might be because I find its take on the subgenre it is in even more interesting (and also I liked the characters and their dynamics).

As with Manhunt and a lot of other queer horror out there at the moment, there’s going to be people aren’t going to ‘get’ it, either because they don’t like the amount of body horror and sex or because they don’t like having a load of messy, flawed characters who don’t do the right thing all the time or even necessarily learn from things. For me, I really liked how it explored the horrors of conversion therapy and abusive families, but also toxic relationships to yourself and with others. The characters didn’t all get neat resolutions or development, but how could they be expected to in a world in which this can happen to them?  If the idea of the cuckoo and body replacement tells us anything, it is that anyone can really be anything underneath.