The Mine by Arnab Ray

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Westland (Indian publisher now owned by Amazon)

Genre: Blood & Guts (Gorn), Psychological Horror, Occult
Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: POC characters (South Asian/Desi/Indian), Disabled character (uses a wheelchair due to partial paralysis, mute/Aphonia)

Takes Place in: Thar Desert, Rajasthan, India

Content Warnings: Abelism, Bullying, Cannibalism, Child Abuse, Child Death, Child Endangerment, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Illness, Gaslighting, Gore, Kidnapping, Medical Torture/Abuse, Medical Procedures, Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sexism, Slurs, Slut-Shaming, Stalking, Suicide, Torture, Violence, Xenophobia (Highlight to view)

Blurb:

At a secret mining facility somewhere in the deserts of Rajasthan, an ancient place of worship, with disturbing carvings on its dome, is discovered buried deep inside the earth. Soon the miners find themselves in the grip of terrifying waking nightmares. One tries to mutilate himself. Worse follows. Five experts are called in to investigate these strange occurrences. Sucked into a nightmare deep underground, they embark on a perilous journey; a journey that will change them forever, bringing them face-to-face with the most shattering truth of them all… The greatest evil lies deep inside.

Imagine combining Event Horizon with Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None then mixing in the criminally underrated film Below. Set it in a mine deep below the Great Indian Desert and you'll get an idea of what you're in for in Arnab Ray's horrifying, claustrophobic, sex-filled gore-fest of a novel about five adults and one little girl trapped underground with their guilt.
The Mine starts out with Samar, a rich recluse specializing in industrial security, wallowing in his grief after the disappearance of his daughter and the death of his wife. Yeah, Samar has shit luck. A mysterious man named Arnold Paul (whose name I kept reading as Arnold Palmer) finally bribes convinces Samar to drag his depressed butt out of bed by offering him a large sum of money to go with him and do a sketchy job, the details of which Paul/Palmer won't reveal. Samar is apparently used to this sort of thing due to his work as a security expert/spy for secret government ops, and figures he wasn't doing anything important anyway (except moping and sleeping) so he begrudgingly accepts the offer and heads off for the titular mine. As it turns out, greed is a great motivator because Mr. Paul/Palmer has also convinced four other experts to go to the middle of nowhere with a complete stranger, no questions asked.

Joining Samar are Dr. Karan Singh Rathore, a diplomatic and laid back older gentleman who specializes in infectious diseases; Dr. Anjali Menon, a widowed archeologist who brought her disabled daughter, Anya, along; Dr. Akshay More, an arrogant and obnoxious assistant professor in forensic toxicology; and Dr. Preeti Singh, a short-tempered psychologist with a surprising lack of people skills. The group has been brought together to give their expert opinion on a series of deadly accidents that seem to have been caused by the discovery of an ancient, creepy temple the miners are too afraid to go near. A temple that also happens to be covered in explicit carvings of naked women being tortured and killed, because whomever created the damn thing is sexist and gross. If that wasn't ominous enough, the director of the mine is named Lilith Adams. While it's fully possible her parents were just uncreative goths from the early 00's, it's far more likely that Ms. Adams just picked the most obvious evil pseudonym since Alucard and Lou C. Pher.

At this point, most people would've noped the fuck out of there, but Samar and the scientists have clearly never seen a horror movie in their lives and are too wrapped up in their own issues to notice the whole situation has more red flags than a May Day parade in Moscow. The mine could not be more obviously evil if it had "Gateway to Hell" in big florescent lights over the entrance, ominous music playing in the background, and a bunch of demons chilling in the conference room. Then again, these are people who willingly followed a creepy stranger into the middle of nowhere to visit his sketchy underground dungeon (literally, the workers are all criminals and aren't allowed to leave until their contracts are up) because Paul/Palmer promised them candy/money. Little kids have more street smarts than this group, so I shouldn't be surprised they're completely oblivious to danger.

I mean, even I figured out the candy van was a trap after the first 9 or 10 times.

Akshay and Anjali explore the torture-porn temple and discover it depicts ironic punishments attributed to specific sins. Meanwhile, Karan and Preeti talk to the survivors, who share stories that would make Rob Zombie squeamish. Akshay makes light of the situation and acts like a jackass, Anjali does her best to ignore everyone and just do her job, Karan remains calm and reasonable, and Preeti is hostile and short-tempered. Samar checks the security and continues to have no fucks to give beyond a kind of creepy obsession with Anya, who reminds him of his dead daughter. The general consensus among the workers is that they've somehow opened a portal to hell and everyone in the mine is going to die horribly as a result of their dark pasts. Needless to say, company morale isn't great. At this point, everyone finally agrees this place is super creepy and they want to collect their paychecks and GTFO. Alas, in a twist that should come as a surprise to exactly no one, Lilith turns out to be evil, and sets off an explosion that kills all the mine workers and traps the six survivors (Samar, the scientists, and Anjali's daughter) inside while she laughs manically about the mine's real resource being fear. Worst. Job. Ever.

                                                                    Her name is Lilith, what did you guys expect?

The explosions cause the security systems to engage, sealing the group inside with a series of death traps. Because why wouldn't you want death traps in an already dangerous mine? On top of everything, an experimental gas that causes super human strength and insanity is being pumped through the A/C, which frankly, feels like overkill to me, but hey, they can run their portal to hell however they want. After their initial panic, presumably followed by the realization that they really should have seen all of this coming, the survivors formulate a plan to navigate the traps and make it to the surface. They're slightly hindered by the fact they have to trust each other and work together to make it out, and most of them are deceitful, suspicious, assholes, not to mention all the stupid puzzle traps that were apparently inspired by 80s video games. One such puzzle involves trying to obtain acid vials while avoiding motion activated laser and an electrified floor, and if you succeed you'll be rewarded with a chainsaw, which may be useful later. Unfortunately in this "game" their are no save points or extra lives.

What follows is about what you'd expect for a book about trying to escape from a possibly haunted mine with a bunch of jerks, but the predictability doesn't make the story any less suspenseful or gripping. But face it, if you're reading this book, you're looking for creative deaths, not creative storytellin, and boy, does Ray deliver there. Besides, the true mystery doesn't lie in their Aeneas-like journey through the mine, but in each character's backstory, all of which are slowly revealed as they try to escape the subterranean deathtrap. Each of the adults has done something criminal and escaped punishment, and have been struggling with their guilt ever since. The quality of the backstories varies, with some characters (like Akshay and Preeti) getting plenty of focus, while Anjali gets very little characterization beyond "the aloof mom". So too do their sins seem to be of differing severity. Some of the survivors have committed crimes so awful as to make them irredeemable, while others are more sympathetic and their sins, while still terrible, are still at least partly understandable. This disparity seems a little unfair as it means at least some of the group will potentially suffer a gruesome death (at least according to the carvings in the temple) over something that would normally earn them less than 15 years in prison (at least in the US, not sure about the Indian judicial system). It's not that their crimes aren't bad, they just don't seem to merit a sentence of being reduced to a puddle of bloody viscera.

We never really learn if the mine is truly being controlled by a demonic entity or if the group's guilt and paranoia (fueled by the hallucinogenic gas) is causing them to attribute bad luck to malicious forces and see things that aren't there. Samar even suggests that the whole thing is an unethical experiment by the government to test their new gas on subjects no one will miss, as there are far too many coincidences for mere random chance, and the temple may be a fake created to amp up their fear levels. Since none of the characters are able to trust their own senses, making them unreliable narrators, arguments could be made for either scenario, making the story even more spooky and disturbing. Monsters are scary, but they're even scarier when you can't even tell if they're real or simply the imaginary scapegoats of guilt-ridden, paranoid people. Even more frightening, Ray argues, are the depths of human cruelty and depravity, which are explored in each character's backstory. Though that may just be an excuse to squeeze more gore out of the story.

The Mine does an excellent job balancing itself between psychological horror and splatterpunk. The true scares lie in the book's creepy atmosphere, suspense, and the characters slowly succumbing to madness; the over-the-top gore is simply dessert. Unfortunately, this otherwise perfect blend of horror comes with as huge helping of misogyny. Yuck. Look, I'm fully willing to admit I'm part of the lowest common denominator who just wants to see heads exploding like overripe cherries and attractive people boning, but that doesn't mean I like sexism. Unfortunately, more often than not, the three seem to go hand in hand, much to the frustration of female horror fans, and other, more enlightened individuals who just happen to like hot sex and lots of blood. Ray isn't as bad some other authors out there, the violence is pretty evenly split between the genders and there aren't any scenes of knife-wielding killers chasing half naked women. He even manages to handle the subject of sexual assault fairly well, choosing to focus more on the problematic culture of victim-blaming and men who feel entitled to women's bodies rather than the rape itself. But he struggles with creating believable female characters, defining them by their relationships with men, and them victimizing them. Both of the female scientists have backstories that involve abuse and mistreatment at the hands of men, and instead of being written as strong, survivors, they both come off as bitter, man-haters. Apparently Ray subscribes to the theory that in order to be "strong" a woman must act rude, aloof, aggressive, and despise an entire gender, with the exception of that one special man who tames her with his magical penis. Which is why both Anjali and Pretti act like complete jerks, with Pretti especially flying off the handle at every perceived slight (she must be a great psychologist), and basically being awful to everyone except, ironically, Akshay whom she latches onto almost immediately (despite the fact that he's literally just the worst). Despite all her bluster, Pretti still falls quickly into the role of helpless victim in need of a man's protection at the first sign of danger. It's really embarrassing. I guess she can't help it because she's an emotional female with a hysterical uterus or some such nonsense. The women in the story are all described as being gorgeous, but only one male character is described as being very attractive, the wholly unlikable Akshay, and that's only because his appearance is supposed to reinforce how vain and materialistic he is. Many of the women are also incredibly horny, even minor characters, like Tanya the gold-digging nurse, and Ray paradoxically has no problem slut-shaming them for it (apparently enjoying sex is sinful enough to get you murdered by the mine), even though he later demonizes other characters for doing the same thing. Maybe the mine is just super slut shame-y. The unearthed temple certainly implies that someone behind the scenes hates women.

The women in the story seem less like real people and more like a weird combination of straw-feminists and male masturbatory material, with Ray putting way too much emphasis on their appearance, sex drives, and relationships with men. Then of course we have Anya, who, while thankfully not a sex object, is still treated as an object nonetheless. She barely gets any characterization, and doesn't communicate even through sign language or writing, she's just a blank slate for Samar to project his weird daughter obsession onto. It's doubly problematic since Samar seems to use Anya's disability as an excuse to treat her like a life-sized doll he can love, protect, and turn into his replacement daughter. Because she's mute he assumes she has nothing to say, and because she doesn't walk he thinks she's completely helpless. We don't even get to learn what she's thinking, or how she feels about Samar treating her as some sort of second chance, because, unlike the other characters who all get their turn in the spotlight of the limited, third-person narrative, Anya is completely ignored. At least she gets a little bit of a role later on (which I won't spoil). Miraculously, Lilith Adams is the only female character who is neither a victim, nor a sex fantasy, and is described only as being terrifying, intense, and very much in charge, much like her namesake.

This definitely feels like a stranger danger situation.

So the female characters are about as well written as you'd expect from a male author who doesn't know how women work, and the whole "helpless, sick wheelchair girl" trope is super problematic. It's not the worst treatment of women I've seen in splatterpunk, but I'd still prefer to enjoy my blood and guts without the side of sexism. I mean, I don't think it's an unreasonable request. The writing is still pretty good, and it's definitely the scariest book I've read so far this year. The Mine is also one of only a few Indian horror novels I've been able to find in English. Whether that's enough to overshadow the book's problem areas, however, is up to the individual reader. 

My Sweet Audrina by V.C. Andrews

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Link to book

Genre: Gothic Horror, Romance, Thriller
Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Intellectual Disability, Possible Autism, Physical Disability (bilateral above the knee amputee), Chronic Illness (Osteogenesis imperfecta/brittle bone disease), PTSD

Cognitive/Learning Disability

Takes Place in: Southern US

Content Warnings: Abelism, Alcohol Abuse, Body Shaming, Bullying, Implied Cannibalism, Child Abuse, Child Death, Childbirth, Death, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting,  Illness, Emotional Incest, Medical Torture/Abuse, Miscarriage, Mental Illness, Pedophilia, Physical Abuse, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Implied Self-Harm, Sexism, Sexual Abuse, Slut Shaming, Suicide Attempt, Transphobia, Verbal/Emotional Abuse (Highlight to view)


Blurb:

V.C. Andrews, author of the phenomenally successful Dollanganger series, has created a fascinating new cast of characters in this haunting story of love and deceit, innocence and betrayal, and the suffocating power of parental love. Audrina Adare wanted so to be as good as her sister. She knew her father could not love her as he loved her sister. Her sister was so special, so perfect -- and dead. Now she will come face to face with the dangerous, terrifying secret that everyone knows. Everyone except... My Sweet Audrina

Holy fuck, this book.



This book is definitely the winner of the OMGWTFBBQ award

If you're unfamiliar with V. C. Andrews, she wrote gothic horror novels during the eighties about really messed up, toxic, abusive, families that Lifetime loves to turn into terrible made-for-TV movies.  A standard Andrews book usually contains gas lighting, emotional and physical abuse, dark family secrets, and some of the most fucked up relationships ever put to paper that run the gambit from pedophilia to incest. Imagine if all guests on the Jerry Springer show were rich, beautiful, gothic heroines with enough skeletons in their closets to start their own ossuary, and you'll have an idea of what you're in for. They're trash novels, but in the best possible way, written by a talented author who knows her audience is looking to be shocked and horrified, like splatterpunk without the gore. Her stories may be ridiculous and over-the-top at times, but never, ever dull, and of all her fucked up books, My Sweet Audrina is probably her most fucked up. It manages to contain nearly every content warning I have that doesn't involve blood and gore (although there is a rather grisly scene where a woman miscarries and throws one of the blood clots at her mother in a fit of rage). There's a brutal child rape, a lot of abuse by a manipulative bastard, everyone messing with Audrina's mind, and a dead aunt who may or may not have been eaten by cannibals, so be forewarned, My Sweet Audrina is not for the squeamish.

Damian Adere, the family patriarch, is aptly named because the guy is just fucking evil. He's greedy, immature, vain, sexist, lazy, abusive, controlling, narcissistic, and manages to destroy the lives of every woman he knows while still seeing himself  as the victim because he's just that fucking self-centered. Yet, he continues to get away with his awful behavior because he's handsome, charming, and extremely manipulative, which honestly makes him even more frightening. In the first few chapters he comes off as kind of a dick but still likable. His daughter, Audrina, who acts as the book's narrator, still loves and respects him. But over the course of the story as we witness his true nature, Damian quickly goes from seemingly well-intentioned but misguided, to a full-blown asshole, then finally becomes Satan incarnate. In fact, I'm still not entirely convinced this isn't some sort of sequel to The Omen where the Anti-Christ kid grows up to become a lazy, whiny, codependent, narcissistic asshat who gets married and lives in a dilapidated mansion that he never lets his daughter leave. Actually, comparing Damian to Satan seems unfair because even the Dark Lord isn't that big of a flaming dick. I can just imagine the devil reading My Sweet Audrina and being utterly horrified. The other characters, save for our virtuous heroine, Audrina, aren't a whole lot better, although a lot of their behavior can be more or less attributed to Damian's abuse.



I just assume Satan is ripped

Audrina's mother, Lucietta, had to give up her dream of becoming a concert pianist to marry Damian (because he didn't want his wife to make more money than him), and now hides her misery by living in denial and drinking to numb the pain. She frequently lashes out at her sister, Ellsbeth, who has become bitter (again, thanks to Damian) and abusive, neglecting her own daughter, Vera. In turn, Vera has turned into a complete monster before the start of the book because nobody loves her and Damian (whom she sees as her father) constantly treats her like shit and compares her to his "perfect" daughter, Audrina. As horrible as Vera is (and she's pretty fucking horrible), you can't help but feel sorry for her. She's forced to be the whore to Audrina's virgin, which makes her hate and resents her cousin. She's so desperate for love and attention that 14-year-old Vera has "sex" with an adult man (everyone acts like it's consensual sex when it's very clearly statutory rape), and acts seductively from a young age. Of course none of the adults think "Hey, this isn't normal behavior for a child, maybe we should get her some help" they just decided "She's just a slut, oh well, who cares." Meanwhile Audrina is haunted by memories of a childhood rape, which her father keeps forcing her to remember in a sick attempt to make her "perfect" (I'm not even going to try and explain Damian's troll logic on this one). He reinforces her role as the virgin by frequently telling his daughter that all men are evil and forcing her to cover up in old fashioned dresses lest she be attacked. Is it any wonder Audrina becomes terrified of sex and disgusted by nudity to the point that she can't even be intimate with someone she loves without trauma? Of course Damian is totally fine with this because it means she's less likely to have a relationship with any man that isn't him. If that makes your skin crawl, well, it should, because even Audrina describes their relationship as being like husband and wife without the sex. Ew. At least there isn't any actual incest like I was fearing, which is a first for a V C Andrews novel. 

Even Lucietta isn't safe from her husband's slut shaming, as Damian flies into a rage if her outfits are too revealing and accuses her of flirting with the men at the parties he forces her to host. He wants to show off his pretty wife, but then gets ridiculously jealous when other men think she's pretty and ends up throwing a tantrum. He loves to be surrounded by women who adore him, but doesn't want to share, so everyone is essentially trapped in this giant, run down house where Damian can keep an eye on them, isolated from the rest of the world. Like I said, the dude is fucking evil, and doesn't even realize it. Or maybe he does, but simply doesn't give a shit. Basically, if there was a drinking game where you had to take a shot every time Damien pulls a dick move, no one would ever finish the book because they'd die from alcohol poisoning after a few chapters.

Now, you're probably wondering where the diversity comes in. I chose this book because of its representation of disability which, while not ideal (especially in Sylvia's case), was at least written by an author who herself had a physical disability for most of her life. As a teenager, Andrews developed severe arthritis and underwent multiple spinal surgeries to treat it. Andrews says this was the result of a back injury she sustained from falling on a staircase in high school, while her family claims it was something she was born with. Regardless, the resulting chronic pain required the use of a wheelchair or crutches for most of her life. Andrews lived at home, under the care of her mother, where she completed a four-year correspondence course in art, before starting her career as a writer. Her very first book, Flowers in the Attic, is about four children who are kept in the attic for years by their religious grandmother, and the toll it takes on their mental and physical well-being. Andrews said in a 1985 interview for Faces of Fear that Flowers in the Attic was based on her own feelings of frustration at being trapped at home. While accessibility for people with mobility issues still isn't great, I can imagine it was even worse when Andrews was growing up, and she died four years prior to the passing of the Americans with Disabilities Act. This theme of feeling "trapped" continues in My Sweet Audrina, where five of the six women in the story have some kind of disability that limits their freedom, which Damien of course takes full advantage of. Even the stairs that may or may not have been the start of Andrews' chronic pain and limited mobility feature prominently in the book. The Adere house's staircase essentially goes on a killing spree, offing multiple family members to the point where I have to wonder if the stairs were constructed from the bones of murdered children and cursed relics. Or maybe it's just haunted by all the ghosts of the people Damien pissed off (which I can only imagine is every person he's ever met). Andrews' representation of disability is definitely problematic, but also complex and extremely personal, which is what makes this story worth exploring. It's one of the few horror novels I've been able to find about disability that was actually written by a disabled person.

Vera has brittle bone disease, frequently breaking an arm or leg at the slightest bump. Audrina's younger sister, Sylvia has autism and/or an intellectual disability (it's not handled or explained well by Andrews) that requires full time care. Lucietta seems to have a heart disease that limits her activity. Billie, the Adere's neighbor and one of the few likable characters in the book, is a bilateral amputee following complications from diabetes. Then there's Audrina, whose untreated PTSD leaves her too terrified to leave her yard, even though she desperately wants to go to school and have friends. Audrina is sort of a Mary Sue for Andrews, what with her violet eyes, magically color changing hair, and extraordinary beauty (seriously, WTF?). They're both artistic, unable to leave the house, and need to rely heavily on their families to function which causes them great frustration. The depictions of women with disabilities in My Sweet Audrina aren't particularly progressive, and can even be downright ablest at time (especially when it comes to Sylvia), but the characters are all unique with very different personalities, outlooks, and ways of dealing with their disabilities.


 What Audrina looks like, presumable. Unrelated, but I wish I had that Spoopy shirt in real life.

Audrina desperately wishes for freedom and is frustrated by her PTSD, but without proper help and treatment she struggles to deal with her trauma (thanks a fucking lot, Damien). She does try to force herself to "get over it" a few times, and it doesn't go well. Vera, on the other hand, seems proud of her disability, bragging about her delicate bones and teasing Audrina for having "peasant bones", though it's most likely an act to make herself feel better. Vera will frequently play up her disability to get out of doing chores, and even purposely hurt herself for attention, even though her mother and Damien seem fairy unconcerned by her injuries. Billie, on the other hand, is ashamed of her residual limbs, and goes to great effort to hide them. Her husband left her after her legs were amputated, and she now sees herself as "damaged" and "unlovable" despite being drop-dead gorgeous and able to function just fine with the use of a wheeled board. Although Billie continues to live her life and seems pretty happy for the most part, she's still incredibly insecure, making her an easy target for Damien. Finally there's Sylvia, the youngest Adare daughter, who gets ignored and insulted by pretty much everyone except Audrina, her appointed caretaker. Because why would Damien get actual help when he can just make Audrina play Occupational Therapist for free? And then everyone seems ~shocked~ that Sylvia's not making much progress when she has a child (who only just started going to school herself) as her teacher. At least Sylvia gets some revenge on her awful family. It's never outright confirmed, but is strongly implied that she knows more than she lets on and allows people to underestimate her abilities so she can better manipulate them (and occasionally possibly murder them). Part of me really hopes Sylvia is knowingly screwing with everyone as a sort of "fuck you" to her neurotypical family who constantly calls her really ableist slurs and compare her to an animal, because they really fucking deserve it. Now if only she'd arrange for Damien to have a little accident....

My Sweet Audrina is a combination of exploitation horror and chick lit, meant to grab your attention from the first paragraph and brand its shocking subject manner deep into your brain so that years from now you'll still be thinking "God, that was a fucked up book." And if you're wondering why I would inflict this on myself, well, A) Because I'm a horror fan, that's kind of what I do, and B) It's just so damn enjoyable. It's a wonderful guilty pleasure I couldn't put down until the end, and Andrews is a talented writer who is fully aware of what she's creating. So what if the story can sometimes read like Soap Opera fan fiction written by a fourteen-year-old?  My Sweet Audrina is especially interesting when viewed as a personal exploration of the author's feelings of being "trapped' by her chronic pain and mobility issues.  For fans of tragic heroines, gothic horror, and guilty pleasures, I'd definitely recommend My Sweet Audrina.

F4 by Larissa Glasser

Formats: Print, Digital

Publisher: Eraser Head Press

Genre: Blood & Guts, Body Horror, Monster, Sci-Fi Horror

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Trans women, Bisexual women, Queer women

Takes Place in: North Atlantic Ocean

Content Warnings: Bullying, Drug Use/Abuse, Death,  Forced Captivity, Gore, Homophobia, Kidnapping, Mention of Medical Procedures, Police Harassment, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sexism, Slurs, Stalking, Suicide, Transphobia, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence  (Highlight to view)


Blurb:

A cruise ship on the back of a sleeping kaiju. A transgender bartender trying to come terms with who she is. A rift in dimensions known as The Sway. A cruel captain. A storm of turmoil, insanity and magic is coming together and taking the ship deep into the unknown. What will Carol the bartender learn in this maddening non-place that changes bodies and minds alike into bizarre terrors? What is the sleeping monster who holds up the ship trying to tell her? What do Carol’s fractured sense of self and a community of internet trolls have to do with the sudden pull of The Sway?

Please note: This review was written before I was out as genderqueer. In the review I refer to myself as not being part of the trans/non-binary community. This inaccurate. 

The horror genre is not generally kind to trans-women, frequently depicting them as serial killers and/or sexual deviants. Hell, fiction in general doesn't treat trans people well, forcing them into a victim role and focusing on their angst and dysphoria. So you can imagine how unbelievably excited I was when I learned that Eraserhead Press was publishing a horror story about a bad ass trans woman who fights monsters and alt-right trolls. Even better, it was being written by a trans woman! Glasser is  a librarian from Boston which makes her five-hundred times cooler in my eyes (I love librarians, they're like keepers of secret knowledge and they know everything). The reviews for F4 have so far been unanimously positive, the premise sounded weird and awesome, and it promised representation rarely found in the horror genre. F4 was like everything I had wished for and I could not pre-order it fast enough.

Well, apparently whatever jinni decided to grant my wish for an awesome trans-lady horror story written by a trans person was one of those dick bag jinn who likes to pull that Monkey's Paw shit, because I haven't been this disappointed since I first saw Star Wars Episode One after months of hype.



I guess I'm just lucky the Djinn didn't give me $10,000 in pennies that fell from the sky and crushed me to death.

Carol, the main character of the story, is a trans-woman who works as a bartender on the Finasteride, a cruise ship built on the back of the F4. This name does not, in fact, come from one of those computer function keys that no one ever uses for anything (except maybe the F5 key), but instead refers to the last of four kaiju that mysteriously appeared on earth and fucked up a bunch of stuff. Okay, so far so good. Then, all of a sudden, everyone on board starts turning into eldritch abominations... and thus begins a confusing clusterfuck of unexplained randomness. The transformations may or may not have something to do with a dimensional rift called the Sway, which isn't mentioned prior to everything going to hell, is never fully explained, and may or may not be common knowledge in the book's world.  Carol's creepy boss and his even creepier buddy are behind everything, because they want to sail into the Sway, but their motivation is never explained beyond some vague lust for power. Well, if it works for Saturday morning cartoon villains I guess it's fine. There's also a wizard who lives in the Sway and can control the Kaiju, who we've also never heard of before and who also isn't really explained. Again, it's really unclear whether this is common knowledge or not, or if the Sway is actually just some giant, extra-dimensional plot hole and we're just expected to go with it. The weirdest part is that even though the wizard controls the kaiju, he isn't evil despite his giant beasts killing millions of people. One of them even destroyed New York City looking for Carol (why though!?!), but fuck all those victims, I guess? Why is no one horrified by all this? Oh, and apparently Carol's penis is some sort of magical flesh key or something, I don't even know. Maybe her penis' magic is why she gets erections constantly (and won't shut up about it), despite having had an orchidectomy. Usually, having your testicles removed or going on testosterone blockers causes penis-having folk to have very few spontaneous erections (and some stop getting erections all together) so it seems really odd that Carol keeps getting constant danger boners (which would be an awesome band name) but I'm hardly an expert, so whatever.

In addition to her bartending duties, Carol also makes sex videos on the side with her friend Chole, another transwoman whom she's slightly obsessed with. Carol's wait staff of trans women, or "lady dicks" as she calls them, also make extra cash "servicing" the passengers of the Finasteride. This is the part that made me feel really weird. Frequently when trans people appear in fiction, it's as some sort of sex worker, and they're being written by cis folk who have little understanding of, or respect for both trans women or sex workers. It's such a cliché that cops will actually harass trans women on the street because they assume they're prostitutes. So having the majority of the trans women in a story do some sort of sex work felt problematic, especially since most of the clients appeared to consider them a fetish rather than real people. It certainly doesn't help that Carol doesn't even seem to like doing web-cam work, and is only tolerating it because Chole pressured her into making porn. I enjoy naked people having sexy fun times as much as the next person, especially when those people are queer and/or non-binary, and one of the things that originally drew me to F4 was the promise of erotica with trans-ladies. But when the participants are being pressured, exploited, or fetishized, porn is just gross. F4 felt more like the later. The sex scenes aren't even arousing. One involves a toothless dude drooling in Carol's ass crack as she feels uncomfortable and wishes it were over. Ick. Chole also gets sexually assaulted by one of the kaiju's parasites in a really uncomfortable scene (which I think was supposed to be humorous?) and Carol does exactly jack and shit to help her friend. Maybe weird, unappealing sex is a staple of bizarro fiction, but trans women are disrespected enough in the porn industry, I was really hoping it wouldn't happen here too.


F4 isn't like the terrible, transphobic porn you might find online, but it's not particularly good erotica either

My confusion regarding the story line made it difficult to focus on the book (as did the frequent mention of dicks), and I probably would've given up on it completely if not for part two, the saving grace of F4. Part two is proof that Glasser really is a talented author. Instead of getting a bunch of random nonsense throw at us we get an intriguing and suspenseful, but straight forward story of Carol's life prior to the Finasteride. Her character suddenly feels relatable. She's dating a loser she can't seem to dump, living in the middle of nowhere, and trying to figure out what to do with her life. Carol witnesses a murder, and tries to do the right thing by reporting it to the cops. But since no good deed goes unpunished, she finds herself in the media spot light after becoming a key witness in the murder case, and becomes a victim of an online hate campaign by a bunch of transphobic trolls. Part 2 is great! It's intriguing, suspenseful, we finally get some explanations about what's going on, and of course Glasser had to go and ruin it by making part 3 even more random and confusing. This just made me hate the rest of the book even more because I now knew I could've been enjoying a well-written story about a trans woman vs. a bunch of internet trolls, and dealing with the dilemma of being punished for doing the right thing. But instead I had to put up with awkward sex, magical girl dicks, and a series of loosely connected plot holes. So I became bitter and sulkily rushed through the third part of the story, desperate to find some of the magic from Part 2. The only thing that redeemed part 3 was Carol killing the two entitled dudebros who fucked everyone over for more power, one of whom was the leader of the internet trolls who ruined her life. That was immensely satisfying.

So yeah, I really didn't like this book. Of course, I'm not trans (well, I am, but I wasn't out when I first wrote this), so it's possible my privilege was preventing me from recognizing the appeal of F4. All the reviews I had read online were overwhelming positive, so what was I missing? Was it just not intended for me? So I went to my friend, Ashley Rogers (who you may remember from the Oddity post), for help. I figured since she's an author herself, a trans sensitivity reader, and a trans rights activist she'd be able to offer some valuable insight. Although Ashley is currently busy working on SCOWL: Fight for your Rights, a subversive, queer-focused, stage combat piece (I designed the logo so I have to shamelessly pimp the project), she was kind enough to take some time out of her busy schedule to share her opinion with me. I also asked her to explain what Glasser meant when she kept talking about "hatching eggs", but Ashley didn't know either, nor did any of the other trans and non-binary people I asked, and I eventually had to resort to Reddit and Urban Dictionary.



It turns out "eggs" refer to closeted trans folk still struggling with their identity who have not yet come into their own.

Ashley had the following to say:

First a disclaimer: Trans/n-b folk can and should be able to tell whatever stories we want.  I love bizarre and spooky material, and I want trans folk to succeed, and regardless of my feelings on this novel I am excited to see more from Larissa Glasser...
Buuuuuuuut...

My main criticism is that the piece doesn't seem to know what it wants or who it's written for. F4 intends to shock (evidenced by the material referenced in the piece such as Cannibal Holocaust and The Human Centipede) but it falls short of living up to those expectations.  We don't live in the uncomfortable moments and grotesque situations long enough to care.  At most we're left with a sense of "ok... That's fucked up," but then we move on to something else before we have a chance to feel unsettled.

Part two feels like a completely different (and subjectively better) novel entirely.  I was gripped by the backstory and it had a great flow, and some of the concepts are really cool (Hell, it's about turning a Kaiju into a cruise liner!!), but as a trans woman I couldn't help but be bored by how often Carol popped a boner in the face of danger.  One of the positive critiques I've seen from other trans women is that it's a story that isn't about a trans character who's sad, angry, and depressed about surgical transition/dysphoria but the way the author focuses on Carol's anatomy and overly sexual descriptions rather than creating the atmosphere distracts from the story and intriguingly bizarre concept of the piece in the same way these other pieces focus on the tragedy porn that gets written about our physical transition struggles.  If this book was all part two I would be writing a very different statement but... I wish it were either more shocking in execution or more approachable in material, but as it stands it sits in limbo of both.

I won't lie, I feel genuinely guilty about not liking F4. I mean, everyone else loves it, and I want to be supportive of trans and non-binary folk in a cis-centric genre, but I just could not enjoy the story. I had no idea what was going on half the time, a lot of it just seemed to be weird for the sake of weirdness and contributed nothing to the story, and, the sex scenes felt more gross and exploitative than sexy and empowering. I liked the ideas behind F4, but the execution left a lot to be desired. Glasser clearly has talent as a writer, as is evident from part 2 of the story, so maybe I just don't like bizzaro horror, I don't know.  At the very least I can say it's like nothing I've ever read before. In the mean time, I'm going to stick to reading Nerve Endings when I'm in the mood for some well written trans erotica.

The Loney by Andrew Michael Hurley

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Genre: Gothic, Psychological Horror, Mystery

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Disability (Speech Disorder - muteness, Cognitive/Learning Disability, PTSD)

Takes Place in: Lancashire, England

Content Warnings: Abelism, Alcohol Abuse, Animal Death, Bullying, Child Abuse, Child Death, Child Endangerment, Death, Racism, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Gore, Homophobia, Illness, Medical Torture/Abuse, Medical Procedures, Mental Illness, Physical Abuse, Racism, Slurs, Suicide, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence (highlight to view)
Blurb:

When the remains of a young child are discovered during a winter storm on a stretch of the bleak Lancashire coastline known as the Loney, a man named Smith is forced to confront the terrifying and mysterious events that occurred forty years earlier when he visited the place as a boy. At that time, his devoutly Catholic mother was determined to find healing for Hanny, his disabled older brother. And so the family, along with members of their parish, embarked on an Easter pilgrimage to an ancient shrine. But not all of the locals were pleased to see visitors in the area. And when the two brothers found their lives entangling with a glamorous couple staying at a nearby house, they became involved in more troubling rites. Smith feels he is the only one to know the truth, and he must bear the burden of his knowledge, no matter what the cost. Proclaimed a “modern classic” by the Sunday Telegraph (UK), The Loney marks the arrival of an important new voice in fiction.

Autumn is normally considered the season for all things horror, due to holidays like Samhain, All Hallows' Eve/Halloween, and the Day of the Dead in Europe and the Americas, but the other seasons have their own share of scary stories and traditions. Summer is perfect for slasher flicks, spooky stories by the campfire, and the Ghost Festival is celebrated in East and Southeast Asia. The long, dark nights of winter inspired the Victorians to tell ghost stories and Algonquin-speaking people associated the season with the monstrous Wendigo. But spring, generally associated with new life, rebirth, flowers, and cute baby animals in the Northern Hemisphere, is the odd one out. Other than Bram Stoker's famous short story, Dracula's Guest, which takes place on Walpurgis Night, The Loney is the probably the only scary story I've ever read set during the Spring.




 

I mean, I guess if you're scared of flowers and baby animals Spring might be scary....

The Loney was written by an English Teacher, and boy does it show. It's overflowing with symbolism, deeply complicated characters, religious imagery, and all the other stuff that gets pretentious professors all hot and bothered. This is the kind of book that lends itself well to long, dry, dissertations about death and rebirth, or some other equally clichéd thesis, like how everything is a metaphor for sex. Not that any of this is bad, mind you, just don't expect a classic horror story so much as a coming-of-age character exploration set in a gloomy, shit hole town that leaves you feeling creeped out and disturbed. There's a lot more focus on the environment and characters than there is on the actual story (or lack thereof). It reminds me of one of those artsy games with no plot or clear goals where you just wander around and explore the gorgeous environment, like The Path (the game,  not the TV series). Which, again, isn't a bad thing if you're into walking simulators, but I miss having a three act story structure, and a build up of suspense. So my reaction to The Loney was along the lines of "bored, bored, bored, do something already, wow that's creepy, damn these people are messed up, bored, bored, is something going to happen now or what, so borrrreeed, stop talking for fuck's sake, bored, HOLY SHIT WTF OMG, oh, well I guess that's the end." And then I was left wondering what the fuck I had just read.

While the pointless milling about can get tedious (really, REALLY tedious), it's still an entertaining and creepy book. I wouldn't exactly call it horror, since The Loney isn't scary per se, but it is definitely disturbing. There are still a few of the standard horror "shock value" scenes you'd expect, y'know, the kind where any person with common sense would take it as an obvious sign to turn the fuck around because it's clear they just stumbled into some Blair Witch, demonic serial killer, Eldritch abomination crap? But most of the creepiness comes from the irrational religious fervor of the adults (except, ironically, the priest), and their disturbing obsession with "curing" the unnamed protagonist's disabled brother, Hanny. Not for his own benefit, since he seems perfectly happy as is, and could probably function on his own just fine if given a chance, but as part of some selfish desire to see a miracle and be closer to God.

Now here's the thing about being a disabled person in horror fiction, you can come in one of three flavors. You can either be a victim (Audrey Hepburn in Wait Until Dark, the mute woman in The Tingler, Mark from Friday the 13th Part 2), the "psycho" (pretty much every movie killer ever, because mental illness apparently makes you evil), or some sort of disabled version of the "magical negro" trope (the little girl from the Langoliers, "Duddits" from Dreamcatcher, Tom Cullen from The Stand, and every other disabled person in a Steven King novel). But Hanny doesn't seem to fall into any of these groups. He's certainly not helpless, a monster, or "magical", despite what those around him may think. For example, late in the book Hanny manages to uncover and successfully load a rifle (despite having little to no experience doing so), sneak out of the house by muffling his foot steps on a blanket and bribing the dog with treats, then find his way across dangerous terrain in the middle of the night. And when the narrator tries to follow him? He ends up almost drowning, and Hanny has to save his pathetic butt. Hell, I can barely find the bathroom in my own house without turning the light on, much less load a gun in the dark and go for a night hike in the English equivalent of Lovecraft country. But despite being able to do things military personnel take months to learn, Hanny is still considered "helpless" by those around him because he has a learning disability and doesn't communicate in a way anyone else has bothered to learn. And he CAN communicate. Hanny is clearly shown using hand gestures and objects to try and communicate his emotions and desires, but is mostly ignored by everyone, save his brother, who apparently can't wrap their brains around the concept of non-verbal communication. The priest, probably the only moral, well adjusted adult in the whole story, is also the only person to question if Hanny even wants to be cured. Like, he would literally have been fine if someone had just thought to equip him with an Alternative and Augmentative Commination system. But no, they want a miracle, they want Hanny to give it to them, screw what he wants or needs. And that's pretty much how everything goes to shit. Because most of the characters in the story can't seem to comprehend that anyone outside their narrow view of normal could possible be happy. The narrator describes how determined his mother and her church buddies are to reject anyone different, like a fundamentalist Catholic version of Mean Girls.  



Hanny has to put up with so much crap from his neurotypical family

So often in fiction "curing" a disability is automatically seen as a good thing, because it's just assumed that being able-bodied and neurotypical is the only way to have a happy, fulfilling life. And if a disabled person does seem happy? Then they're considered some sort of inspirational martyr for the able-bodied to admire. Obviously this attitude is really freaking ableist and arrogant, as numerous disability advocates have pointed out. If a person with a disability would prefer to be rid of it, that's an extremely personal decision, and not one intended to serve as a happy ending for the able-bodied and neurotypical. Basically, assuming everyone with a disability feels the same way about it is pretty shitty, as is acting like they can't make their own decisions. And that's what makes The Loney different, it's not a typical "oh, the poor disabled person was cured by a miracle, now they can be happy!" fairy tail. Instead it's a gothic horror story about how fucked up that attitude is, and how trying to "fix" someone without their knowledge or consent so they can serve as an inspirational story is seriously messed up. Of course, in this case it's taken to an extreme where the parent's misguided stubbornness results in the death, misery, and despair of a lot of people. Hanny makes it out more or less okay (albeit now suffering from some serious guilt he doesn't understand), with his oblivious parents none the wiser, but the narrator becomes an unstable wreck with PTSD who stalks his brother until Hanny forces him in therapy. Essentially, The Loney is the antithesis of inspiration porn (yes, the link is safe for work, chill).



It's actually because she ate two jumbo orders of nachos by herself, now that is truly inspirational. I should point out I have no idea what people wear at clubs, so one of them is a semi-goth chick, and the other looks like Jem.

The plot still drags though. Like, a lot. And Hurley uses the word "said" too much. Replied, snapped, exclaimed, responded, mused, just pick a different freaking word! Seriously, you're an English teacher, use your thesaurus.  But while it wasn't quite my cup of tea, I can still recommend it to people looking for a rich, gloomy story full of atmosphere and some truly messed up characters. 

Ten by Gretchen McNeil

Formats - Print, digital

Publisher: Harper Collins

Genre: Mystery, Psychological Horror, Killer/Slasher

Audience: Y/A

Diversity: African American character, Japanese American character, Asian American character, Samoan character, Bipolar character

Takes Place in: Seattle, USA

Trigger Warnings: Sexist Language, Abelist Language, Racist Language, Sexism, Mental Illness, Drug Use, Violence, Death

Blurb:

SHHHH! Don't spread the word! Three-day weekend. Party at White Rock House on Henry Island. You do NOT want to miss it. It was supposed to be the weekend of their lives—an exclusive house party on Henry Island. Best friends Meg and Minnie each have their reasons for being there (which involve T.J., the school’s most eligible bachelor) and look forward to three glorious days of boys, booze and fun-filled luxury. But what they expect is definitely not what they get, and what starts out as fun turns dark and twisted after the discovery of a DVD with a sinister message: Vengeance is mine. Suddenly people are dying, and with a storm raging, the teens are cut off from the outside world. No electricity, no phones, no internet, and a ferry that isn’t scheduled to return for two days. As the deaths become more violent and the teens turn on each other, can Meg find the killer before more people die? Or is the killer closer to her than she could ever imagine?

Ten is inspired by Agatha Christie's bestselling mystery thriller, And Then There Were None, a tale of ten strangers with dark secrets trapped on an island with a killer who terminates them in ironic ways and publicly marks the deaths one by one. McNeil takes Christie's original concept, sets it in modern times, changes the terrible, unlikeable adults into a bunch of terrible, unlikeable teens, does away with racism, xenophobia, and anti-Semitism, and replaces it with a diverse cast.

Like the original Christie novel, Ten starts off with ten (get it!?!) people gathering on a remote island under false pretenses only to discover that it was all a trick by the killer, who has kindly left them a Ringu-esque DVD (a gramophone record in the original) to inform the victims of their inevitable demises and remind them how shitty they all are (in case you started feeling bad for any of them). At first, no one believes the sketchy murder announcement is legit, at least until they start dropping like flies, and then all hell breaks loose. Both books involve distrust, everyone accusing each other, the fear of knowing there's a wolf (or possibly wolves) hiding among the sheep, and of course, a party with a body count. Why do so many parties in these kind of stories end up with a bunch of dead guests? Does the Red Death just go around gate crashing every party in the horror genre? Why does every gathering of three or more people that involves alcohol inevitably end in someone's demise? Being an introverted nerd who would rather gnaw off my own hand than attend most social gatherings, I honestly have no idea what happens at parties, so I'm just going to assume that it's pretty standard for them to end in either mass murder or demon summoning (and now I wish I went to more parties).


A liver laceration is a small price to pay to avoid social interaction

Last, but not least, is the diversity, which pretty much only applies to Ten since Agatha Christie was a racist asshole, so it's pretty obvious who the winner is here, but let's go over it anyway. Ten features a fairly diverse cast, with about half the characters being POC, in addition to a character with a fairly realistic depiction of bipolar disorder. Of course, most of the characters don't get enough of a chance to develop anything close to a personality before they get offed, so they're all pretty one-dimensional characters. There's also a "rebellious" East-Asian girl with a rebellious blue streak in her hair, so Ten isn't completely free of stereotypes either. But at least the diversity is there, even if it sometimes leans more towards "early 90's kid show" diversity.


I can just imagine Wheels being like "My name is Jordan, you insensitive, ableist jerks." Well, at least it's better than JaWs, his names looks like a typo. Why do none of these children have normal names?! Is their mom Gwyneth Paltrow? And how come the white kids get to be in the front?

So how does the re-imagining stand up to the original classic? In terms of writing, McNeil is a decent-ish author, but there's just no competing with Agatha "The Queen of Crime" Christie. I mean, Agatha is the world's best-selling mystery writer (that's not an exaggeration, she's actually in the Guinness Book of World Records), while Ten contains the line "The whole thing had been a perfect storm of not awesome." So yeah...any comparison between the two would be downright unfair. However, it seems like McNeil realizes this, and isn't trying to outdo her inspiration. Plot-wise, both books have a good mystery, although the original is unbelievably difficult to solve, and requires an extensive epilogue to explain what the hell just happened because the clues are so vague. Even knowing who the killer was on subsequent readings of And Then There Were None, I couldn't pick up on any hints as to their identity. In fact, I'm not entirely convinced Christie didn't just randomly pull the ending out of her ass at the last minute, but whatever, at least I couldn't guess the culprit after a few chapters. Meanwhile Ten gives the reader enough clues to figure out the ending without being super obvious. That is, unless you've already read And Then There Were None in which case you're probably going figure out the killer (or killers) almost instantly. So yeaaaaaaah, sorry about that. The scary parts of Ten are done well, but the rest of the story (especially the beginning) feel forced. All the dialogue is generic teen bickering and cookie cutter conversations about crushes, school, and beer and it only exists as a quick set up before the murder spree starts.

While Christie's novel is a psychological thriller that focuses heavily on the characters, McNeil's work leans more towards the classic horror genre, specifically the teenage slasher/cabin in the woods kind. The characters in both stories are awful human beings, which works fine for And Then There Were None, where they're at least complex and interesting, and we're more interested in solving the mystery than anyone surviving. The closest thing we have to a primary cast in Christie's book are Vera the governess, Philip Lombard the solider, Armstrong the doctor, and Blore the private investigator. And it's still really ambiguous if any of them are the killer until the end. Christie switches the point of view frequently, so her reader becomes just familiar enough with each character to get a basic understanding of their personality, but not so much as to clue them in to the killer's identity. In Ten we're given a clear and likeable protagonist to root for, the shy Meg, along with her best friend, Minnie, and their shared love interest, T.J. (ugh, love triangles). This lends itself better to a slasher story where we need at least one character whose safety we fear for, and then a bunch of cannon fodder characters to satisfy the reader's bloodlust. (Let's face it, if you're reading a book like this you're looking for a body count.) The rest of the cast is one dimensional and just needs to hurry up and die. However, this does add a wrinkle to the whole revenge thing, you can't very well root for a main character that did something terrible, so we know the killer/killers are either overreacting or there's been a terrible misunderstanding. It also means we can rule out Meg as the killer (and assume it's probably not Minnie either), but there are still enough potential killers left over to fuel plenty of paranoia.

Having most of the characters know each other in Ten adds an extra layer of creepiness because no one wants to believe their friend is a murderer, and the killer is quite literally backstabbing people who trusted them. In Christie's setup, you don't really care who gets the ax (literally and figuratively) because everyone is awful. Lombard's an arrogant chauvinist who left a bunch of natives to die because he barely saw them as people, Blore is an overconfident idiot who falsifies evidence, and Dr. Armstrong is a spineless alcoholic who cares more about recognition and his reputation than the patient he killed while he was drunk. The only character who is sort of sympathetic is General MacArthur, and that's only because his victim was a world class jerk who slept with the guy's wife, and MacArthur feels genuinely remorseful about sending him on a death mission. And that's not even including the minor characters and all the reasons they suck. The mystery and the identity of the killer are really the only things that matter in And Then There Were None (okay, and maybe whether or not Vera survives, she's slightly more likable than her companions), which makes it a captivating read, but not particularly scary.

Because Ten is aimed at teens, McNeil threw in a completely unnecessary love triangle (as is apparently required for any book in Y/A section) because apparently a murder spree wasn't dramatic enough. To her credit, McNeil makes the clichéd romance slightly less terrible by actually giving Meg a legitimate reason for not wanting to upset Minnie by going after their mutual crush. Minnie suffers from bipolar disorder, and even though she's finally getting treatment, she's still prone to making bad decisions while manic, including turning into someone Meg didn't recognize and lashing out when she found out her best friend was also interested in T.J. Because she's been friends with Minnie for so long, and the mental illness is a more recent development, Meg still hasn't quite figured out a balance between an overprotective enabler and a supportive friend when Minnie is having a depressive or manic episode. Because Minnie is still in serious denial about her Bipolar Disorder and tends to minimize the severity of her symptoms Meg also feels responsible for her best friend's wellbeing and acts like a mother hen. It also doesn't help that Minnie's dad has asked Meg to "take care of his daughter" and placed an unfair burden on her unqualified shoulders. As a result, the two girls have developed a toxic, codependent relationship with Meg treating Minnie like she's some sort of fragile doll who will shatter at the slightest hardship. Honestly their dysfunctional relationship was about 100 times more interesting than their stupid crush on T.J.
It's still about five hundred times better than the Christie's original novel (not that that's saying much), which, by the way, wasn't originally called And Then There Were None. The actual title of the novel was considered too racist for American publication, 25 years prior to the Civil Rights Act. That's right, a country where racial segregation was totally legal was like "Whoa, Agatha, that title's pretty offensive, don't you think?" So she can't even use the "oh well, attitudes were different back then" excuse, (which is a bad excuse anyway) because it was still considered fucking offensive at the time it was published. Mark Twain's used racial slurs in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn to make a point about the evils and ugliness of slavery, but the racism, anti-Semitism, and xenophobia in And Then There Were None have literally no reason to be there. Christie, like Lovecraft (who I complain about in detail here), is one of those writers whose obvious talent is often marred by her bigotry, which sucks because her work is otherwise really enjoyable. Of course, that's like saying "This ice cream sundae is pretty enjoyable, except there's a dead rat in it." I mean, you could probably eat around it, but the experience is still going to be severely tainted by a rodent carcass.

I mean, I'd probably still eat it... but I have problems.

These days, there are editions of Christie's book that have been edited to varying degrees to make the work less jarringly racist (and before anyone starts screaming about censorship, the original, unedited version is still in print too, so you're free to read whichever version you want), but it's still super uncomfortable. Even in the edited versions that aren't dropping the N-word every few pages, the ugly attitude still hangs heavy in the air throughout the story, and it's difficult to immerse yourself in the mystery with that hanging over you. Plus, none of the anti-Semitism was edited out in the audiobook version I listened to, so I still got to "enjoy" hearing that in the first chapter. Fun! Of course, how many problematic elements you're willing to put up with before the book becomes irredeemable depends on the individual. I liked... aspects of Christie's book well enough, but I can understand if someone has zero desire subject themselves to 272 pages (or in my case 6 hours) of bigotry.

So, which book is better? Ten preserves some of the spirit of the original story, but does away with the blatant racism, although it leans more towards slasher horror than suspense. But And Then There Were None is considered a classic for a reason. The quality of the writing is obvious, Christie does an excellent job building the suspense, and the characters are unique and interesting (you could probably write an entire English paper on each of them). Ten isn't a bad book, but it's never going to be a literary classic. So, which would I recommend? Well, it really depends what you're looking for: a fun horror story, or a classic murder mystery (and whether or not you want to deal with Christie's racism). From a literary perspective, yes, Then There Were None is the better work (no surprise there). But in terms of straight horror? You'll probably get a lot more scares from reading Ten. You could always read both, like I did, just make sure to read McNeil's book first to avoid spoilers.