Hammers on Bone by Cassandra Khaw

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Tor

Genre: Body Horror, Monster, Occult, Psychological Horror, Sci-Fi Horror
Audience: Y/A

Diversity: Queer character (Gay woman), POC characters (Black, Creole woman, unknown POC character), Bisexual author, Malaysian author

Takes Place in: London

Content Warnings: Alcohol Abuse, Body-Shaming, Bullying, Child Abuse, Child Endangerment, Death, Gore, Pedophilia, Physical Abuse, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sexism, Sexual Abuse, Slurs, Slut-Shaming, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence (Highlight to view)

Blurb:

John Persons is a private investigator with a distasteful job from an unlikely client. He’s been hired by a ten-year-old to kill the kid’s stepdad, McKinsey. The man in question is abusive, abrasive, and abominable. He’s also a monster, which makes Persons the perfect thing to hunt him. Over the course of his ancient, arcane existence, he’s hunted gods and demons, and broken them in his teeth. As Persons investigates the horrible McKinsey, he realizes that he carries something far darker. He’s infected with an alien presence, and he’s spreading that monstrosity far and wide. Luckily Persons is no stranger to the occult, being an ancient and magical intelligence himself. The question is whether the private dick can take down the abusive stepdad without releasing the holds on his own horrifying potential.

During one of my late-night explorations of the internet (when I should have been sleeping but was instead googling all the random thoughts that pop into my head at 2 AM) I stumbled upon the work of Malaysian author Cassandra Khaw, a nerdy, queer woman who writes video games and short horror stories. Instantly intrigued, I purchased one of her novellas, Hammers on Bone, and I have to say, I fell absolutely, head-over-heels in love with Khaw's writing. Her beautifully crafted stories are full of wonderful words like "penumbra" and "ululation" (one of my favorite Latin derived words), deliciously grotesque descriptions, and unique characters. English is Khaw's third language, yet she uses it with a mastery that puts even native English speakers to shame. Her writing has a lot of range, too. These Deathless Bones is a feminist fairy tale about a witch getting sweet revenge on her wicked stepson. Rupert Wong, Cannibal Chef is a comedic splatterpunk series, as hilarious as it is gory, about the misadventures of the titular chef who prepares decadent meals of human flesh for gods and ghouls and gets wrapped up in international deity politics. Khaw has even dabbled in chick-lit (while also managing to poke fun at the more problematic elements of the genre) with her book, Bearly a Lady, about a bisexual, plus size wear-bear that works at a faerie-run fashion magazine. Then there's her Persona Non Grata series. Much like Victor LaValle's The Ballad of Black Tom, Khaw's novellas take place in a Lovecraft inspired universe, but she flips the famously racist HP the bird by putting people of color at the forefront and using his creations to address social issues like racism, poverty, and abuse. Both stories feature the private investigator, John Persons, one of the most interesting characters I've come across in horror fiction. It's the first of Person's two novellas, Hammers on Bone, that I'll be reviewing here.

Persons speaks and acts like the "hardboiled detective" characters from 1930s pulp magazines, complete with dated American vernacular and machismo, despite living in modern day London. This makes John seem incredibly out of place and occasionally downright ridiculous, like when he describes a little boy running into his arms for a hug as "crashing into me like a Russian gangster's scarred-over fist." When he's not working as a PI, John spends his time saving the world from destruction by Star Spawn and Elder-Things. He's adept at using magic, smokes cigarettes to dull his inhumanly strong sense of smell, enjoys the cold, and can pick up memories from objects and people through physical contact. He also happens to be a Dead One (though not one of the Great Old Ones, Persons is quick to explain), an otherworldly creature whose true, terrifying form comfortably possesses resides in a human body which he shares with the ghost of its previous inhabitant. I bet that's why he has the most unimaginative, made-up sounding name ever; it was probably the first thing that popped into his head when he started inhabiting his meat suit.

Persons and his human body have an interesting relationship, more commensal than parasitic. While other Star-Spawn and Elder Things simply take what they want, invading human flesh like a disease and eventually destroying their hosts, Persons tries to minimize damage to his meat suit (he may be immortal and resilient, but his human form still suffers from wear and tear, and he feels pain when it's damaged), and gives his phantasmal passenger a say in certain decisions. Even though he's in the driver's seat, John's body will still react to its original owner's thoughts and feelings, independent of him. In one scene, the meat suit becomes aroused by the proximity of a beautiful woman. Persons is aware of "his" body's quickening pulse and rising temperature (among "other" rising things, heh), and states that the sensation is "not unpleasant", but he describes the physical reaction with the detached interest of scientist observing a cell under a microscope. He is, after all, still an alien being.

Not much is known about the man whose skin he now wears, except that he's an older person of color who lived during the interwar period, and gave John his body willingly after being asked. The whole Philip Marlowe / Sam Spade persona Persons adopts to appear more human is as an homage to his meat suit's original owner. I guess it's kind of sweet that he does that, in a very weird way, but unfortunately his stubborn refusal to update his dated vocabulary and attitudes, or venture into any genre that isn't detective noir makes John come off as pretty sexist. He refers to women as "skirts," "broads," "dames," and "birds", and divides them into victims and femme fatales. This attitude backfires on him spectacularly since, of course, the real world isn't like his detective novels, and John keeps misjudging the women he interacts with.

What sets the monstrous PI apart from his fellow cosmic entities, besides seeking consent from his body's original owner, is his fondness for humanity, his dedication to following the law and maintaining order, and his desire for earth to remain more or less the way it is, i.e. not a barren hell-scape inhabited by Eldritch abominations.  Most of the monsters he fights are chaotic evil, infecting and destroying whenever they go, but John Persons is closer to lawful neutral, occasionally leaning towards good. He's not exactly heroic since, in his words, "Good karma don't pay the bills," but Persons does have a strong set of morals. As previously mentioned he's big on consent and describes the act of possessing a willing host's body as "better than anything else I'd ever experienced" and feels incredibly guilty when he accidentally reads a woman's mind after touching her arm. When she becomes understandably angry at the violation, screaming "You don't take what you're not given!" John doesn't try to minimize, excuse, or defend his behavior (even though the intrusion was an accident), he simply apologizes, mortified by what he's done. He can even show compassion at times, but how much of his altruistic behavior is due to the remaining sentience of his body's former inhabitant acting as his ghostly conscience is unclear.

It's his spectral companion who convinces John to take the case of a young boy named Abel, who wants Persons to kill his abusive stepfather. While initially hesitant about committing murder, John is convinced once the boy reveals that his stepfather is a monster, both literally and figuratively, and both Abel and his little brother's lives are in danger. He might not be a hero, but Persons does seem to genuinely want to help the two boys, even if he claims it's just because they're clients. It may be simply because he wants the ghost with whom he cohabitates to stop nagging him, as John is usually pretty indifferent to human suffering on his own, or perhaps it's because an Old One is involved, and he'd really prefer it not destroy the world. Regardless of the reason, he agrees to help.

In his eagerness to play white knight (or his meat suit's eagerness) Persons often fails to realize that the "helpless victims" he seeks to rescue are often perfectly able to take care of themselves, like the waitress whose mind he reads. He's also quick to victim blame the boys' mother for not leaving, clearly unable to understand the psychological element of abuse or how dangerous it is for a person to try and leave an abusive partner, just making her feel worse than she already does. John struggles when it comes to comforting victims or dealing with their emotions. He claims his lack of skill when it comes to words and feelings is due to being a "man" (or at least inhabiting the body of one), though it's just as likely it's because he's an eldritch abomination, and he's just been using sexism to avoid learning the nuances of human emotion. While Persons is better at managing his desire to destroy and devour than the other monsters and is able to maintain a detached control over his meat suit's emotions and baser instincts, he's not immune to the effects of his human body's testosterone or his own toxic misogyny. When the PI is feeling especially aggressive his true form starts to writhe beneath his human skin, straining to break free from his epidermis and rip apart the object of his ire. Even his thoughts start to degrade into a sort of violent, inhuman, babble when he gets too riled up. John actually has to fight to keep control of his monstrous body when he first encounters the abusive stepfather, he's so desperate to disembowel and devour him. His true nature is a stark contrast to the cool and logical detective persona Persons has adopted. I won't lie, I did enjoy seeing him act all protective of Abel and his little brother. There's something amusing about what is essentially an immortal abomination that can effortlessly rip a grown man in two, doing something as mundane and sweet as escorting his young client home while carrying the child's kid brother on his hip. It's also heartbreaking when you realize the two boys are safer with a literal monster than their step dad, McKinsey (even before he was possessed).

The step-father is a real piece or work, and throughout the story I desperately wanted John to give in to his monstrous instincts and tear the bastard apart, limb by limb. But being a man/monster of the law, Persons won't do much more than saber-rattle until he has solid proof of McKinsey's wrong doing, much to Abel's frustration. The kid would much rather the PI solve things with his fists (teeth, tentacles, claws, and other miscellaneous alien appendages) than waste time talking to witnesses, and I'd certainly be annoyed too if the monster I hired to kill someone wasted time playing detective instead of just eating his target. But Persons did warn Abel that he's not a killer for hire and wants to do things "by the book". Unfortunately, like most real monsters, McKinsey excels at hiding his wrong doing and camouflaging his true nature which makes it difficult for John to find a solid lead. People like McKinsey and describe him as a "loving family-man".  Those who haven't been completely conned by his act either don't care he's a monster (like his boss) or are too terrified to do anything (like his fiancée). None of the adults in the boys' lives are fulfilling their duty of protecting two vulnerable children. This is where the real horror lies in Khaw's story-- not the eldritch abominations like Shub-Niggurath, or the threats of world destruction, but the all too painful reminder that we so often fail abuse victims. Khaw is tasteful when describing what the two boys go through, and it isn't played for titillation or described in explicit detail. She only reveals enough to lets us know the two boys in the story are going through something no child should ever have to suffer. I also liked her choice to make the victims male. Far too often male survivors are overlooked, erased, or mocked because society tells us males can't be victims, even though the CDC states that "More than 1 in 4 men in the United States have experienced rape, physical violence, and/or stalking by an intimate partner in their lifetime" and a study published in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine found that 1 in 6 boys will be sexually abused before the age of 18. As depressing as these statistics are, the situation isn't completely hopeless, because monsters aren't invulnerable, even the kind that have been infected by Elder Things. As Person muses towards the end of the book "I don't remember who said it, but there's an author out there who once wrote that we don't need to kill our children's monsters. Instead, what we need to do is show them that they can be killed." For those of us who can't go out an hire a eldritch abomination PI, at least we have RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network) and their recommended resources for cases of abuse and sexual assault.

Out on a Limb by Luis Paredes

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Platypus Book Press

Genre: Dark Fantasy, Mystery

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Mexican-American main character and author

Takes Place in: Ney York City, New York USA

Content Warnings: Child Endangerment, Death (Highlight to view)

Blurb:

"How many perverts d'ya think sucked on those toes before the police rolled in?" With that question, Out On a Limb kicks off an irreverent, foul-mouthed, and horrific urban fantasy noir series following the exploits of private occult investigators Rebecca Suarez and Peyton Marx. In this fast-paced novella that readers can devour in an afternoon, Rebecca and Peyton are stumped by their strangest case yet--a tree growing human legs. The dangling gams become the least of their concerns when nearby trees start consuming more than just carbon dioxide. Now the investigators must use their powers and the NYPD's magical tech to find the mage responsible for this heinous crime and stop a bloody disaster from creeping across the Empire State.

I received this product for free in return for providing an honest and unbiased review. I received no other compensation. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.

As those of you who follow my Twitter (I refuse to call it by that other name) know, I have a rabbit named Aramis who enjoys violence and horror movies. She thinks more horror should have rabbits in it, especially rabbits that murder people like in Night of the Lepus. So, Aramis was very excited that Out on a Limb has a Holland lop as a main character. But this rabbit doesn’t murder anyone. She’s a heroic rabbit, albeit a foul mouthed and very sassy one (much like Aramis would be if she could speak) named Peyton Marx.

Aramis is seen here plotting murder

Ten years ago a statue of Hecate walked out of a museum in Greece, and magic was brought into the world. Thousands of people (and some animals, like Peyton) found themselves gifted with different types of magical abilities. There are different types of magic, and people can specialize in more than one kind. Unfortunately, magical powers were distributed randomly which means criminals also ended up with magical abilities. And that’s where Peyton and her human partner, Rebecca Suarez, come in.

Rebecca and Peyton are struggling, private occult investigators who specialize in unexplained paranormal phenomena (UPP) and hunt down magical criminals using their own array of charms and spells. The story starts with Rebecca and Peyton arriving in Queens, having been called in by the police to assist on a particularly strange crime, an oak tree full of human legs. Clearly the work of an incantation (possibly one that backfired), but who cast it is unclear.

Out on a Limb is a fun, quick read filled with lore and humor. I also liked all the rabbit-y things Peyton does like binkies when she’s happy or getting offended when a child points out that rabbits eat their own poop. The world building is exquisite, and there’s a surprising amount of it for such a short novella, but not so much that you feel overwhelmed with information. The relationship between Rebecca and Peyton is cute, and much of the humor comes from how they play off each other. While this novella leans more towards dark fantasy then straight horror it’s still creepy enough that most horror fans should enjoy it. 

A Haunting in Hialeah Gardens by Raul Palma

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Dutton

Genre:  Demon, Ghosts/Haunting, Myth and Folklore

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Cuban characters and author, Bolivian character

Takes Place in: Miami, Florida

Content Warnings: Alcohol Abuse, Animal Death, Child Abuse, Child Death, Child Endangerment, Death, Illness, Medical Procedures, Oppression, Mental Illness, Racism, Suicide, Violence, Xenophobia (Highlight to view)

Blurb:

eA genre-bending debut with a fiercely political heart, A Haunting in Hialeah Gardens explores the weight of the devil’s bargain, following the lengths one man will go to for the promise of freedom. Hugo Contreras’s world in Miami has shrunk. Since his wife died, Hugo’s debt from her medical bills has become insurmountable. He shuffles between his efficiency apartment, La Carreta (his favorite place for a cafecito), and a botanica in a strip mall where he works as the resident babaláwo. One day, Hugo’s nemesis calls. Alexi Ramirez is a debt collector who has been hounding Hugo for years, and Hugo assumes this call is just more of the same. Except this time Alexi is calling because he needs spiritual help. His house is haunted. Alexi proposes a deal: If Hugo can successfully cleanse his home before Noche Buena, Alexi will forgive Hugo’s debt. Hugo reluctantly accepts, but there’s one issue: Despite being a babaláwo, he doesn’t believe in spirits. Hugo plans to do what he’s done with dozens of clients before: use sleight of hand and amateur psychology to convince Alexi the spirits have departed. But when the job turns out to be more than Hugo bargained for, Hugo’s old tricks don’t work. Memories of his past—his childhood in the Bolivian silver mines and a fraught crossing into the United States as a boy—collide with Alexi’s demons in an explosive climax. Equal parts hilarious and heartbreaking, A Haunting in Hialeah Gardens explores questions of visibility, migration, and what we owe—to ourselves, our families, and our histories.

I received this product for free in return for providing an honest and unbiased review. I received no other compensation. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.

It’s Christmas time in Miami and Hugo is anything but merry. His wife, Meli, recently passed away and Hugo wasn’t even able to pay for her funeral. Like most Americans he’s been drowning in debt most of his adult life, and Meli’s medical bills have only added to that. His indebtedness feels like a physical weight, crushing the life out of him, following him wherever he goes. Debt collectors hound him every day and garnish his wages. Hugo may not be a perfect person but he doesn’t deserve the hand he’s been dealt. All of Hugo’s life has been hard. He never knew his father, a white Spainard, and his mother abandoned them when he was young. During his childhood in Bolivia, Hugo and his brother worked in the mines after school. His brother would pray and offer sacrifices to El Tío, the god of the mountain, but the mountain still took his life. Hugo was always a non-believer, but his brother’s death shook his faith even further. Ironically, Hugo now works at a Botanica and is a practicing Babalawo. Although he has great respect for Lourdes, his boss, and even has a knack for knowing what people need, he still thinks it’s all hokum. He is especially talented at ridding people’s homes of ghosts, using both psychology and showmanship to make them believe their specters have vanished. Hugo may not believe in what he does, but the result is the same: his customers are happy and the “hauntings” end.

The attorney in charge of Hugo’s debt, Alexi, calls out of the blue and asks for his help. At first, Hugo is hesitant to help the devil who’s made his life miserable, but when Alexi promises to clear his debt, he acquiesces. We learn that Alexi, the son of Cuban immigrant parents (part of the Cuban exodus when affluent Cubans were fleeing Castro), is obsessed with money. Instead of following his passion of becoming a painter he chose a field that would make him wealthy because money is more important to him. He loves to show off his wealth, but as Hugo notes, he lacks taste and his choices in home décor are gaudy. Alexi is also a racist, as is evident by the “All Lives Matter” sign in his yard and the way he speaks about his Haitian laborers. Hugo is conflicted about helping the awful man, but the promise of being debt-free is too good to pass up. Of course, Hugo is hardly perfect himself, and we learn of the many mistakes he’s made that still haunt him. With each chapter, the mystery of Hugo’s life is revealed, and the reader gains an increased understanding of the deeply flawed protagonist. Hugo is a well-developed, complicated character. He isn’t perfect and  makes lots of mistakes, but he loves his wife and does his best, making him relatable. I couldn’t help but be drawn to Hugo. I just felt sorry for the poor guy. Even as I was horrified by some of the things he did, I still wanted him to win.

A Haunting in Hialeah Gardens is a unique take on ghosts and haunting. While Alexi seems to be plagued by a literal ghost, Hugo is haunted by the ghosts of his past and his debt which keep him from happiness and living his life. As the story unfolds, we learn that Hugo is also indebted in ways that aren’t financial that have haunted him since childhood. Underneath the ghost story is a horror tale about Capitalism and its exploitative nature. While the ways in which it hurts Hugo are obvious, Alexi’s unchecked greed has caused him to give up on his dreams because he was raised to belief happiness can only be earned through the accumulation of wealth.

Palma’s descriptions of Miami make the city feel like its own character, a place filled with both beauty and pain and even a little bit of magic. While the story is filled with grief and suffering, it does end on a hopeful note. It reminds me of the Latin phrase “dum spiro spero,” or “while I breathe, I hope.” It may be too late for his wife and brother, but as long as Hugo is still alive there’s always the chance for things to get better for him, even when things are at their worse. While it’s not your typical horror story, the descriptions of hopelessness and grief still left me with a sense of dread. Overall, A Haunting in Hialeah is a strong debut from a talented new horror author.

Never Whistle at Night edited by Shane Hawk and Theodore C. Van Alst Jr.

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Vintage

Genre: Ghosts/Haunting, Historic Horror, Killer/Slasher, Monster, Myth and Folklore, Occult, Psychological Horror

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Indigenous American (Alaskan Native, Pueblo, Comanche, White Earth Nation, Cree, Georgian Bay Metis, Mohawk, Cheyenne-Arapaho, Hidatsa Mi'kmaw, Cherokee, Tłı̨chǫ Dene, Hidasta, Mandan, Sosore, Sioux Penobscot, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Sicangu Lakota, Edisto Natchez-Kusso, Lipan Apache, Anishinaabe)

Content Warnings: Alcohol Abuse, Animal Death, Child Abuse, Child Endangerment, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Gore, Illness, Oppression, Mental Illness, Pedophilia, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sexual Abuse, Slurs, Torture, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence (Highlight to view)

Blurb:

Many Indigenous people believe that one should never whistle at night. This belief takes many forms: for instance, Native Hawaiians believe it summons the Hukai’po, the spirits of ancient warriors, and Native Mexicans say it calls Lechuza, a witch that can transform into an owl. But what all these legends hold in common is the certainty that whistling at night can cause evil spirits to appear—and even follow you home. These wholly original and shiver-inducing tales introduce readers to ghosts, curses, hauntings, monstrous creatures, complex family legacies, desperate deeds, and chilling acts of revenge. Introduced and contextualized by bestselling author Stephen Graham Jones, these stories are a celebration of Indigenous peoples’ survival and imagination, and a glorious reveling in all the things an ill-advised whistle might summon.

I received this product for free in return for providing an honest and unbiased review. I received no other compensation. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.

There are many recognizable names in this collection: Rebecca Roanhorse, Richard Van Camp, Cherie Dimaline, Mona Susan Power, Darcie Little Badger, and Waubgeshig Rice. There’s even a foreword by Stephen Graham Jones. But I was especially excited to be introduced to some new (to me) Indigenous authors.

The stories in the anthology vary from fun campfire stories about werewolves (Night Moves by Andrea L. Rogers) and ghosts (Night in the Chrysalis by Tiffany Morris) to more serious and disturbing tales about residential school sexual abuse (Sundays by David Heska Wanbli Weiden), mental health (The Prepper by Morgan Talty), stolen land (Limbs by Waubgeshig Rice), and missing and murdered Indigenous women (The Ones who Killed Us by Brandon Hobson). There were bits of Native languages sprinkled throughout the various stories, for example I learned Uguku is “owl” in Cherokee, Kwe’ is “hello” in Mi’kmaq, and Mahsi’ cho is “thank you” in Gwich'in. This felt especially nice to see since so many Native languages are endangered. I can’t possible review all the amazing stories within the collection (and they are all amazing), so I’ll focus on a few of my favorites.

Kushtuka by Mathilda Zeller is about an Alaskan Native woman named Tapeesa. Recently an obnoxious White man named Hank Ferryman and his son Buck have moved to the area to build a monstrous lodge full of stolen Native artifacts. Tapessa is sent to the lodge cook for one of Hank’s parties and on the way the grotesque man asks her to tell him a “Native story.” Tapeesa warns that telling stories after dark could catch the attention of a spirit, but Hank laughs this off as silly superstition. She tells him the story of the Kushtuka, a shape-shifter that can take human form and tries to lure people away. As predicted, the story summons a Kushtuka which attacks Hank’s lodge. We also see this idea of attracting the attention of evil spirits in Before I Go by Norris Black, where a woman’s grieving causes the Night Mother to appear and offer to bring back her dead husband (it doesn’t end well).  

One of the things I related to in Kushtuka was Tapessa being called “basically White” by Hank because her dad is White. As a biracial person myself, having others (especially White people) try and tell you your identity isa pet peeve of mine. Historically, I would’ve been considered Black since my father is Black (due to the “one-drop” rule which I discuss below), despite having light skin. Yet these days most White people label me White because I’m White-passing. In both cases, White people choose my identity for me without listening to what I have to say, much like Hank does for Tapessa.

In White Hills by Rebecca Roanhorse, a White woman named Marissa is judged for having “too much” Native blood by her White in-laws. Marissa is your typical rich, White woman. She’s married to a wealthy business man named Andrew, is very concerned with her appearance, and lives in an HOA neighborhood in a big house. After going to the country club to announce her pregnancy to her husband, Marrissa makes the mistake of mentioning she’s a small percentage of Native (in reference to not being offended by a racist mascot) and her husband becomes visibly upset. The next day Elayne, Andrew’s mother, takes Marissa to a “specialist” who has racist phrenology drawings on the wall. Elayne explains that she doesn’t want a “mutt” grandbaby who may be dark skinned and “savage” (despite Marissa being white). The way in which Elayne views Marissa’s child is very reminiscent of the “one drop” rule. The one-drop rule was a legal principle based on a form of hypodescent, the assignment of a mixed-race child to the ethnic group considered "lower status." In other words, anyone with Black ancestry (no matter how far back) was considered Black. There were strict classifications for mixed-race individuals that were given offensive names like “Mulatto” and “octoroon,” I discuss more about how this racist system allowed the US to hold up White supremacy here. I mentioned above how annoying it is when other people (especially White people) decide my identity for me, butit’s even worse when the government does it.

And this leads me to blood quantum. Blood quantum is highly controversial and personal, and since I’m not Indigenous and therefore shouldn’t weigh in on such a heated debate I will tread carefully and stick to the facts as best I can. If you’re not familiar, Blood Quantum laws were enacted by the United States government to determine if someone was considered Native or not dependent on their degree of Native ancestry. The first "Indian Blood law" was originally created in 1705 when the Virginia government wanted to limit the civil rights of Native people and people of Native descent. Some Native tribes continue to use blood quantum to determine who can enroll for tribal membership, others do not. Leah Myers, a member of the Jamestown S’Klallam tribe, gives an example of the importance of tribal enrollment in her Atlantic essay:

"Tribal citizenship is more than symbolic. It determines eligibility for educational assistance, medical care, and other social benefits. Plus, only members can attend citizen meetings and vote in tribal elections. If my future children don’t meet the blood requirements for my tribe, they could still participate in events, cultivate plants in the traditional-foods garden, and take Klallam-language courses. But no matter how much they served the community in love and time, they would be deemed a 'descendant' and marked as separate."

Here’s a guide to Blood Quantum that gives both the arguments for and against blood quantum (full transparency, most Native sources I looked up were against these laws). Basically, blood quantum proponents argue that getting rid of blood quantum rules will make scarce resources even scarcer due to population growth and that it will allow disconnected outsiders and pretendians to join the tribe, which will erode their culture. Opponents of blood quantum argue that statistically it will eradicate Native nations, and point to the law's racist origins which were intended to control and erase Indigenous people. It also makes relationships complicated, as Indigenous people must calculate their potential children's percentage of Native blood and if they can enroll or not, which can put a strain on families. Blood quantum also conflicts with traditional Indigenous ideas about kinship and has“no basis in Native American traditions.” Essentially, both proponents and opponents disagree on the best way to preserve their tribal nations.

This idea is explored more fully in the story Quantum by Nick Medina. A woman named Amber is so obsessed with blood quantum and getting her children on the tribal roll that she favors her son Grayson, who’s 5/16 Native, while ignoring his brother Sam, who is only 1/8 Native, to the point where Sam is practically feral. She even tries to steal blood from a deceased Native man from their tribe so she can inject it into Sam.

Another story I enjoyed is Collections by Amber Blaeser-Wardzala, an incredibly creepy story about collecting human remains. Professor Smith, a liberal White woman, collects the heads of all the students she’s helped. She’s very proud of her collection: she has all the sexualities and genders, all the religions, and almost all the races. An Indigenous head would be her “white whale.” Megis (called Meg by the White professor) is understandably horrified by the collection, as is one of her Black classmates, but none of her white classmates seem to be. Professor Smith implies she wants to help Megis so she can have her head for her collection. Megis, the first person in her family to go to college, is desperate to stay on Professor Smith’s good side so she can maintain her scholarship and get a good job, and therefore doesn’t have much choice but to stay in the house of horrors. While an extreme example, the story underlines how troubling it is when museums collect human remains without consent and how academics will treat bodies as mere curiosities. 

“When [Native American artifacts and human remains] were acquired, collectors weren’t thinking of Indigenous peoples as human beings. People were resources, and human remains were to be preserved alongside pots” says Jacquetta Swift, the repatriation manager for the National Museum of the American Indian and member of the Comanche and Fort Sill Apache tribes. It’s the unfortunate reality that most human remains on display and in private collections, are unethically sourced from BIPOCs against their wishes.

This theme is also lightly touched on in Navajos Don’t Wear Elk Teeth by Conley Lyons where a Native man named Joe has a summer fling with White man named Cam. Cam collects teeth, some of which turn out to be human (he claims his last boyfriend was a Navajo man who gave him an elk tooth for “good luck” which Joe is dubious about). One of Joe’s friends refers to this as “bad medicine” and suggest Joe get an elder to sage his house. 

Not all the stories are quite so dark, however. Snakes are Born in the Dark by D. H. Trujillo felt like a Goosebumps book or a fun story kids tell to scare each other, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. In the story, an Alaskan Native boy named Peter goes hiking in the woods with his white cousin Maddie and her rude boyfriend Adam. They come across Native petroglyphs in the Four Corners desert which Maddie and Adam both immediately touch. Peter warns them not to touch the carvings but Adam continues to do so while mocking him. Unsurprisingly both Maddie and Adam suffer unpleasant (though non-lethal and impermanent) fates which results in a humorous ending. It’s a fun twist on the classic “Indian curse” where we (and Peter) are rooting for the White people to get their comeuppance.

I could go on and on about the stories in the anthology, like Hunger by Phoenix Boudreau where two Cree college girls, Summer and Rain, outsmart a Wehtigo. Or Scariest. Story. Ever. By Richard Van Camp that touches on who gets to tell Native stories and how to share culture without stealing it. They’re all great. I also felt like I learned a lot while reading the anthology.

Claustrophilia by Ezra Blake

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I Feed Her to the Beast and the Beast Is Me by Jamison Shea

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Henry Holt and Co.

Genre: Dark Fantasy, Mystery, Occult, Thriller

Audience: Y/A

Diversity: Black main character and author, bisexual main character

Takes Place in: Paris, France

Content Warnings: Body Shaming, Bullying, Death, Racism, Self Harm, Verbal/Emotional Abuse (Highlight to view)

Blurb:

There will be blood. Ace of Spades meets House of Hollow in this villain origin story. Laure Mesny is a perfectionist with an axe to grind. Despite being constantly overlooked in the elite and cutthroat world of the Parisian ballet, she will do anything to prove that a Black girl can take center stage. To level the playing field, Laure ventures deep into the depths of the Catacombs and strikes a deal with a pulsating river of blood. The primordial power Laure gains promises influence and adoration, everything she’s dreamed of and worked toward. With retribution on her mind, she surpasses her bitter and privileged peers, leaving broken bodies behind her on her climb to stardom. But even as undeniable as she is, Laure is not the only monster around. And her vicious desires make her a perfect target for slaughter. As she descends into madness and the mystifying underworld beneath her, she is faced with the ultimate choice: continue to break herself for scraps of validation or succumb to the darkness that wants her exactly as she is—monstrous heart and all. That is, if the god-killer doesn’t catch her first. From debut author Jamison Shea comes I Feed Her to the Beast and the Beast Is Me, a slow-burn horror that lifts a veil on the institutions that profit on exclusion and the toll of giving everything to a world that will never love you back.

I received this product for free in return for providing an honest and unbiased review. I received no other compensation. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.

I went into I Feed Her to the Beast and the Beast is Me expecting Laure to be an unlikeable female protagonist (something I actually enjoy in a story), but I was not prepared for just how relatable she was. If I ever become a supervillain, my origin story will be me finally getting fed up with all the bigotry and microaggressions I have to deal with every day and deciding to get even, rather than continuing to either educate or ignore the people hurting me. And that’s exactly what Laure does. Can you blame her? Every other ballerina in her company is rich and white, with powerful parents just dripping with privilege. The ballet is cutthroat, with ballerinas actively trying to sabotage each other (dancers often finds glass and tacks in their ballet shoes) and praying for one another’s downfall, and Laure is at a distinct disadvantage. Even though she works the hardest and performs the best of all of them, she’ll always be the Black girl who has to steal to pay for her tights. So, she cheats to level the playing field. Once she does, her talent and hard work is immediately rewarded. And honestly? It’s cathartic to watch Laure stoop to the level of the other ballerinas and their awful parents. It is SO exhausting to always have to be the bigger person in the face of abuse. I may agree with Michelle Obama’s “When they go low, we go high,” but I still don’t like having to “go high” when I would rather be a petty asshole. So, in a purely fictional world? It’s wonderfully satisfying to watch a Black woman choose the role of the villain and get even with all those rich white girls.

 

Ballet is still one of the least diverse performing arts, fraught with racism that ranges from subtle to overt. This is especially true in Europe. In her book Turning Pointe, Chloe Angyal discusses ballet's racism problem. She describes an encounter with a racist dance mom and her implied message to her daughter: “[Black dancers are] not really good, but they are allowed to be here. In this space that is rightfully yours, in this art form that is rightfully yours. They’re never as good as the white girls, a sweeping generalization that grants no individuality, no humanity, to any nonwhite dancer. They’re all the same, and they never deserve to be here. But don’t worry. Your excellence is a given. You belong here, while their presence is conditional or even ill-gotten.” I think this quote sums up Laure’s struggles beautifully. The only difference is that these are struggles faced by real dancers.

Even something as simple as buying pointe shoes is no easy task for Black dancers. Most dance garments are traditionally “European pink,” and don’t match darker skin tones. Black ballerinas often have to pancake their shoes in dark foundation to match their skin tone and dye their tutus and tights. It’s only recently that brands like Capezio, Freed of London, and Bloch have offered shoes in darker skin tones. In the book Laure must purchase her own ballet shoes and tights because the ballet will only pay for pink ones. Black bodies are also discriminated against in ballet. In an interview with Sheila Rohan the Black ballet dancer described racism in ballet. “Racism in the ballet arts… meant people would make remarks about the Black ballerinas’ bodies — such as their chests being ‘too busty’ or their thighs being ‘too thick.’” A Black dancer in Berlin was told to lighten her skin with white makeup in order to play a song in Swan Lake. Laure straightens and gels her curly hair into place so she won’t stand out from the other dancers, but is still told she’s too “exotic” for a French ballet by a drunk patron. The controversial ballet La Bayadère was performed in Blackface by Russian dancers (white dancers have also worn stereotypical clothing and makeup to portray Roma and Chinese characters). The same ballet put on by Laure’s company in which she plays a shade.

After being abandoned by both parents, Laure’s only source of support is her best (and only) friend, Coralie, who is… not great. She’s kind and supportive of Laure, yes, but she’s also a subpar ballerina who just assumes she’ll get a spot in Paris’ prestigious ballet due to her famous mother. She’s essentially an entitled slacker and just as oblivious to her privilege as the other rich white girls. Coralie is also a snob, turning her nose up at anything that doesn’t come with a high price tag, which grates on permanently broke Laure’s nerves. Coralie really does seem to love her best friend, but their relationship comes with a power imbalance. So, she does not take it well when that balance of power shifts and Laure starts beating her out for roles. Because she has no one else, Laure is terrified of losing her only friend (as difficult as she can be), that is until she meets the étoile of the ballet, Josephine. Josephine gives her friendship freely without expecting anything in return, and treats Laure as an equal. She introduces Laure to her friends and shows her how she too can become an étoile. Slowly, Laure starts to see what a true friendship is like and begins to pull away from Coralie, although she still refuses to drop her completely and makes excuses for the wealthy girl’s bad behavior. I liked that while Laure does pursue a romance with a man later in the book, the story is mostly focused on her female friendships. It’s also a nice change of pace to see a toxic platonic, non-familial relationship explored. I don’t think enough people talk about how friendships can be abusive and how hard “breaking up” with a friend can be.

Another interesting theme in I Feed Her to the Beast and the Beast is Me is the idea of “perfection.” As a burned-out former “gifted kid” I know what it’s like to be expected to be perfect, then destroy yourself trying to do the impossible and ultimately have a mental breakdown when you realize perfection can never be achieved, and therefore that makes you a “failure.” The ballet expects Laure and her peers to be no less than perfect, and anyone who doesn’t make the cut is thrown aside and forgotten. While Coralie can get by half-assing it because of her mother, Laure must be the best there is to even think of if she wants to compete with the others. And it means giving up everything. This kind of perfectionism is extremely damaging to your mental health. Laure also believes that acceptance and respect from the others is entirely dependent on being perfect, not realizing she deserves respect regardless of her performance.

I Feed Her to the Beast and the Beast is Me is one of those books that I absolutely devoured. It held my attention throughout the story (no small feat when you have ADHD), save for a short part in the middle that felt like it was dragging. But other than that small criticism I can’t think of anything negative to say about this book. It’s a unique setting for a horror story, and a fresh spin on a Faustian bargain narrative. 

Frost Bite by Angela Sylvaine

 

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Dark Matter INK

Genre: Sci-Fi Horror

Audience: Y/A

Diversity: Bisexual main character

Takes Place in: North Dakota, USA

Content Warnings: Alcohol Abuse, Animal Death, Bullying, Child Abuse, Child Endangerment, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Gore, Homophobia, Kidnapping, Physical Abuse, Police Harassment, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence (Highlight to view)

Blurb:

Remember the '90s? Well...the town of Demise, North Dakota doesn't, and they're living in the year 1997. That's because an alien worm hitched a ride on a comet, crash landed in the town's trailer park, and is now infecting animals with a memory-loss-inducing bite--and right before Christmas! Now it's up to nineteen-year-old Realene and her best friend Nate to stop the spread and defeat the worms before the entire town loses its mind. The only things standing in the way are their troubled pasts, a doomsday cult, and an army of infected prairie dogs.

I received this product for free in return for providing an honest and unbiased review. I received no other compensation. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.

All Realene wants is to get out of Demise, North Dakota and become a doctor. Instead, she’s stuck in a dead-end town she hates with a dead dad and a mother who is slowly succumbing to Alzheimer’s who she has to care for. Realene‘s best friend, Nate, is in a similarly tough spot. His father is an abusive asshole who threw him out as soon as he turned 18 and continues to terrorize Nate’s mother. Because he got busted for selling weed, Nate is now ineligible for finical aid, which he can’t afford college without. It seems both will be trapped in Demise for the rest of their lives.  

And then the meteor strikes. Realene is first on the scene and witnesses the meteorite crack open and leak out a black sludge, which is quickly absorbed into the ground. She contacts the police about the meteorite, but chooses to leave out the part about the black sludge. The next day the strike site is a zoo, with police, military, scientists, newscasters, and locals crawling all over the scene. Most of the town views the meteorite as a reason to celebrate, even going so far as to have special shooting star sales at all the local stores, but the local religious zealot, reverend Zebadiah, sees it as a sign of the end times. And that’s when the prairie dogs start to attack.

Dramatic prairie dog!

Despite being a comedy about alien parasites, the book has some pretty depressing themes. As much as Realene loves her mother, she resents being stuck taking care of her and how it’s holding her back from her dreams. Does she give up her dreams and possibly her future to care for her mother, or does she abandon her best friend and the one family member she has left to try and make life better for herself? What you think Realene should do probably depends where you fall on the scale of individualism to collectivism and how you feel about filial piety. Regardless of the “right” answer it’s a complicated and crappy position to be in and whatever decision she make is going to leave her hurting.

Then there’s Nate’s situation with his abusive dad. I got incredibly frustrated with Nate’s mom and how she would choose her abusive husband over her own son. I understand intellectually that she is a victim. She was physically and emotionally abused first by her husband, and then by reverend Zebadiah. There are a myriad of reasons she might stay, and it’s likely her husband would have killed her if she tried to leave anyway. And I know that Nate’s father is the one at fault, not his mother, who was put in an impossible situation. I’m not upset that she couldn’t protect Nate when she couldn’t even protect herself, that was beyond her control. But the fact that, when given the opportunity, she chooses first her abusive husband and then her abusive reverend over her own son feels like a betrayal. But like Realene’s situation, the situation for Nate’s mother is complicated and there are no easy answers.

This is a book about killer prairie dogs, family, and a doomsday cult that comes with its own ‘90s playlist. And it works so well. The story manages to balance tragedy, horror, humor, and some genuinely heart-warming moments perfectly and in a way that doesn’t feel like you’re jumping from genre to genre. There’s also an orange cat named Pumpkin and I love him (don’t worry, nothing bad happens to him). Frostbite is a fun, heartfelt romp full of suspense and horror movie references. Definitely check it out, unless you love prairie dogs.