Brutal Hearts by Cassie Daley

 

Formats: Print

Publisher: Self Published

Genre: Killer/Slasher, Monster

Audience: Y/A

Diversity: Autistic character, author is queer and autistic

Content Warnings: Cannibalism, Child Death, Death, Gore, Violence (Highlight to view)

Blurb:

It's 1997 and Leah just can't seem to catch a break. A year has passed since her fiancé went missing while hiking alone on a mountain, and she can't shake the unanswered questions and nightmares Simon left behind. On the anniversary of his disappearance, Leah and her new girlfriend Josie return to the trail where Simon disappeared with two of their best friends. Armed with incense, tarot cards, crystals, and snacks, the girls have everything they need to complete the Ritual of Closure to help Leah finally say goodbye to Simon, once and for all. But the trails are hiding something sinister, and it's been waiting. As night falls around them, the girls find themselves in a deadly game against something vicious and wild that's made a home for itself on the mountain. It's time to find out what really happened to Simon.

The year is 1996: Scream has just been released in theaters, the Macarena is the hottest new dance craze, and seventeen-year-old Leah is deeply in love with her high school sweetheart, Simon. The two have plans to marry after graduation, but that dream is destroyed when Simon goes missing after a hike in the nearby mountains. Volunteers scour the woods for any trace of the missing boy, but it’s like Simon has vanished without a trace.

A year later, Leah is still struggling with her grief and guilt. Her girlfriend, Josie, is doing her best to help Leah through the nightmares and sobbing fits, but nothing seems to help. In a last-ditch effort to give the poor girl some closure, Josie suggests they hike Simon and Leah’s favorite trail to say a final goodbye. Along with Leah’s two best friends, sisters Charlotte and May, the girls set off to perform a Wiccan inspired goodbye ceremony for him. But their beautiful day quickly goes south when something in the woods starts stalking them.

Brutal Hearts is short but gripping story, switching back and froth between the girls being stalked through the woods and the mystery surrounding Simon’s disappearance. I ended up finishing it in one sitting, something I never do even with novellas (ADHD makes it hard for me to focus on a book for too long unless I’m really engaged). I loved all the little nods to 90s aesthetics, from the clothing, to May’s Tamagotchi and the girls’ obsession with all things Wicca. (From Sabrina Spellman to Nancy Downs witches were huge in the 90s, inspiring a renewed interest in Wicca from teenage girls.) Although, it is hard to accept that the 90s were thirty years ago and are now officially nostalgic. Wasn’t it literally just 2000? I think Y2K caused my brain to crash and stop perceiving the passage of time.

I especially liked the addition of the playlists for each character in the back of the book. Leah’s music playlist revolves around being hurt by love. Josie likes grunge. May’s playlist is full of bubblegum pop while the more traditionally pretty and popular Charlotte prefers mainstream music. A fun flashback to 90s teen horror like Fear Street and the works of Christopher Pike (appropriate since Daley also runs the PikeCast) with a healthy dose of urban legends and campfire stories. A perfect read for a hot summer night. 

House of Pungsu by K.P. Kulski

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: Bizarro Pulp Press

Genre: Dark Fantasy, Ghosts/Haunting, Gothic

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Korean-American author, Korean characters

Takes Place in: Korea

Content Warnings: Child Death, Death, Sexism, Verbal/Emotional Abuse (Highlight to view)

Blurb:

“As sharp as broken pottery and as delicate as a peony petal, House of Pungsu is the story my spirit hungered for. K.P. Kulski shifts rice paper doors to reveal the darkest truth.”—Lee Murray, USA Today bestselling author and four-time Bram Stoker Award® winner. No one knows what’s beyond the walls of the Joseon-era palace that never seems to decay, a sprawling complex where daughter, mother, and grandmother are the only inhabitants. Why is her bed-bound grandmother locked in her room each night, and what exactly is behind the locked doors of the palace pavilions and halls? When daughter unexpectedly begins to menstruate, she is tormented with dreams that drive her to find answers. Following the Korean folk story of “A Tiger’s Whisker,” HOUSE OF PUNGSU is a feminist meditation on women’s inner identity and the struggle to rediscover it.

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.

House of Pungsu is a dark, feminist fairy tale about a young woman finding her own identity and power. It is the story of three women--daughter, mother, and grandmother--living in an uninhabited palace in Joseon where time stands still and nothing changes. None of the women have names and are only defined by their roles in relation to each other. Grandmother, mother, and daughter reflect the triple goddess archetype (the maiden, the mother, and the crone) or the three stages of growth. Ironic since they are trapped in a world where time doesn’t move, and the maiden is unable to become the mother. That is, until Daughter experiences her first period and time slowly begins to affect the palace again. Rain falls once more and the fruit on the trees begins to rot.

 

Daughter does not remember her real name or her past, only that she is someone's daughter. She is full of barely contained rebellious spirit and hope for the future, but she is bound by duty to be obedient and quiet, a "tame tiger."  "Their lives an animal within me that growls... a wild thing that wants to bite its tether yet I do nothing to free it. Instead, I stand very still, say little, and wait for the fury to subside.” Mother is bitter and pessimistic, though still hopes her daughter can one day leave the palace while still believing it impossible. It’s implied she was once the wife of an emperor and not allowed her own hopes, dreams, and aspirations beyond pleasing her husband and bearing his children. Daughter believes that grandmother is confined to her bed, just as she and mother are confined to the palace, but mother has to lock grandmother in at night, and someone locks the other side of the door. At night, growling and commotion can be heard from the bedroom. It seems grandmother is not as helpless or trapped as she seems, a wild tiger locked up for the safety of mother and daughter. 

 

The tiger motif is repeated throughout the book, as tigers are strongly associated with Korea and found repeatedly throughout Korean folklore. Kulski draws inspiration from one such folktale, The Tiger’s Whisker, a folktale about living with someone who suffers from PTSD. It emphasizes the diligence and patience you must have when working with someone with complex trauma. While on its surface the story seems to be a heartwarming tale of helping a loved one, Kulski notes that the burden is put on the wife to help her husband and have patience when he’s angry and abusive. The wife exists only to help her husband and is expected to suffer with him. In many versions of the tale, she is not even given her own name. And so Kulski creates her own ending, instead focusing on the wife overcoming the fear of the tiger and the husband that once held her back. She asks the question, “What would happen if you released the full ferocity of the tiger rather than tame it?”

Manhunt by Gretchen Felker-Martin

Formats: Print, audio, digital

Publisher: Tor Nightfire

Genre: Apocalypse/Disaster, Monster

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Trans author and characters, queer characters, Native character

Takes Place in: North Eastern US

Content Warnings: Animal Death, Body Shaming, Cannibalism,  Child Death, Childbirth, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Eating Disorder, Forced Captivity, Gore, Illness, Kidnapping, Medical Procedures, Oppression, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self-Harm, Slurs, Torture, Transphobia, Verbal/Emotional Abuse,  Violence (Highlight to view)

Blurb:

Y: The Last Man meets The Girl With All the Gifts in Gretchen Felker-Martin's Manhunt, an explosive post-apocalyptic novel that follows trans women and men on a grotesque journey of survival. Beth and Fran spend their days traveling the ravaged New England coast, hunting feral men and harvesting their organs in a gruesome effort to ensure they'll never face the same fate. Robbie lives by his gun and one hard-learned motto: other people aren't safe. After a brutal accident entwines the three of them, this found family of survivors must navigate murderous TERFs, a sociopathic billionaire bunker brat, and awkward relationship dynamics―all while outrunning packs of feral men, and their own demons. Manhunt is a timely, powerful response to every gender-based apocalypse story that failed to consider the existence of transgender and non-binary people, from a powerful new voice in horror.

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.

Have you ever wondered what happens to trans people in sex-based apocalypses like those in Y: The Last Man or Ōoku: The Inner Chambers? Gretchen Felker-Martin sets out to answer exactly that in her post-apocalypse splatterpunk novel Manhunt.

The T-rex virus transforms anyone with high levels of testosterone—mostly cis-men—into cannibalistic, sex-crazed monsters. Emboldened by the end of the world, a group of TERFs (trans-exclusionary radical “feminists”) have formed their own militia where they hunt and kill any trans women they find. It may seem like a group of militant TERFs is an exaggeration, but it feels like less of a stretch when you consider there’s already a high rate of violence against trans people. In 2021 alone, at least 56 trans and gender non-conforming people were murdered in the US. Transphobic hate crimes have quadrupled over the last five years in the UK. These fake feminists are also more fascist adjacent than they’d like to admit. As Judith Butler accurately pointed out, TERFs “have allied with rightwing attacks on gender” and “The anti-gender ideology is one of the dominant strains of fascism in our times. So, the TERFs will not be part of the contemporary struggle against fascism.” TERFs Lily Cade and Bev Jo Von Dohre have even called for the death of trans women. The fact that trans women in Manhunt can transform into monsters if they don’t have access to anti-androgen medication gives the TERFs exactly the excuse they’ve been waiting for to go from hateful rhetoric to actually destroying that which they hate most (never mind that cis-women with PCOS or congenital adrenal hyperplasia can also transform into feral beasts).

Not only do trans women have to avoid getting killed by the monstrous men, but also running into the militant TERFs who have seized control of most of the northeast. Fran and Beth are two such transwomen trying to survive in the new world, catching feral men and harvesting their testicles for their friend Indy to extract estradiol from. After running afoul of a militant group of TERFs and almost being killed by men, Fran and Beth meet a sharp-shooting trans man named Robbie, who they take on their journey with them. The trio return to Indy’s house with their testicle trophies where they learn she’s been offered a job by a spoiled rich girl who controls a luxurious bunker. But the promises of comfort the bunker offers may hide a deadly truth.

While I personally enjoyed this book, it won’t be for everyone. It is splatterpunk, after all. That means there’s lots of brutal violence (including a cis woman having her uterus cut out of her), gross content (testicle eating), and graphic sex. Everyone in Manhunt is super horny, sometimes at wildly inappropriate times, so Beth, Fran, Indy, and Robbie do a lot of fucking. The sex is hot, sometimes gross, and other times both hot and gross, much like real sex. It was nice to have sex scenes centered around trans pleasure rather than the cis-male gaze. Of course, the graphic description of genitalia might be triggering for some people who experience gender dysphoria, so be aware of that. Speaking of hot sex, a captain in the TERF army named Ramona is sleeping with a non-binary prostitute named Feather. One reviewer claimed this is unrealistic but I have to disagree. A lot of chasers are happy to sleep with trans people but won’t do anything to defend their rights or even stand up for them. Too many people with trans partners see their relationship as a shameful secret to be kept, and Ramona is no different. She’s too much of a coward to do the right thing and just goes along with the TERF army because it’s what’s easy.

Splatterpunk is very hit or miss for me, as many extreme horror books can cross over into misogynistic violence. Manhunt manages to avoid this trap, even though most of the book’s violence is against women (as all the characters, aside from Robbie, are women). Perhaps because it’s other women committing the violence, but I didn’t get that gross feeling I usually do when reading splatterpunk authored by cis men. Even the sexual assault scene didn’t feel gratuitous and was handled well. I also loved how flawed the protagonists are. Some people mistakenly assume LGBTQIA+ characters need to be perfect for it to be considered a “good” portrayal. I believe realistic is preferable to perfect, and I like my queer characters to have character flaws who sometimes do and say problematic things. Both Beth and Fran feel very human. Beth is reckless and insecure; Fran has both passing and class privilege and can sometimes be selfish. Neither of them are bad people, just realistically flawed.

My only complaint about the book (and granted, it’s minor) is that there are so many descriptions of Indi’s fat body. The way she’s described isn’t quite fatphobic, but it did make me feel uncomfortable that there was so much focus on it. I can understand that Indy is dealing with a lot of internalized fatphobia and insecurity, so it makes sense that her character would spend a lot of time focusing on her size and the limitations that come with it. When the story is told from a third-person point of view, there’s no reason for Indy’s weight to be described in such detail, especially since no one else’s body gets that much description or scrutiny. At least she’s never described as gross or unattractive, and Indi even gets to be sexually desirable, which is rare for fat characters outside of fetish porn. It was refreshing to see fat people having passionate sex scenes just like their skinny counterparts. Like I said, it’s a minor complaint and could absolutely be my own hypersensitivity.

Reading this book is like having your brain put in a blender. It's wild, gross, horny, disgusting, tragic, and hilarious all whipped together into an extreme horror smoothie. In other words, I LOVED it. You have to be at least somewhat familiar with trans culture to fully appreciate the story, which I thought was awesome. There's also just something extremely satisfying about trans women killing fascist TERFs: not something I'd advocate in real life, but it's fun and cathartic in fiction. Unsurprisingly, this made a bunch of real-life TERFs very angry. They didn’t like being portrayed as bigoted assholes just because of their bigoted asshole-ish behavior and tried to review bomb Manhunt…which should just make you want to read it more. 

Conquer by Edward M. Erdelac

Formats: Print, digital, audible

Publisher: Self Published 

Genre:  Historic Horror, Monster, Mystery, Myth and Folklore, Occult, Vampire

Audience: Adult/Mature

Diversity: Black/African-American, Hispanic, Trans, Gay

Takes Place in: Harlem New York, NY, USA

Content Warnings: Animal Death, Body Shaming, Child Abuse, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Gore, Homophobia, Kidnapping, Necrophilia, Oppression, Pedophilia, Physical Abuse, Police Harassment, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sexual Abuse, Slurs, Transphobia (Highlight to view)

Blurb:

In 1976 Harlem, JOHN CONQUER, P.I. is the cat you call when your hair stands up...the supernatural brother like no other. From the pages of Occult Detective Quarterly, he's calm, he's cool, and now he's collected in CONQUER. From Hoodoo doctors and Voodoo Queens, The cat they call Conquer’s down on the scene! With a dime on his shin and a pocket of tricks, A gun in his coat and an eye for the chicks. Uptown and Downton, Harlem to Brooklyn, Wherever the brothers find trouble is brewin,’ If you’re swept with a broom, or your tracks have been crossed, If your mojo is failin’ and all hope is lost, Call the dude on St. Marks with the shelf fulla books, ‘Cause ain’t no haint or spirit, or evil-eye looks, Conjured by devils, JAMF’s, or The Man, Can stop the black magic Big John’s got on hand!

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.

Conquer is the story of a Black mystical detective named John Conquer (a reference to John the Conqueror) and a homage to 70’s detective fiction and Blaxploitation films. It’s fun, well written, and full of creepiness, including a fetus monster haunting an abandoned subway station and a man shrunk down and boiled alive in a lava lamp. I greatly enjoyed the book, but like most Blaxploitation, it wasn’t without its problems.

It’s important to point out that Erdelac is a White author writing a Black story (something not uncommon in Blaxploitation). I usually prefer to promote “own voices” books, and stories by cishet White men are a rarity on this blog. After all, folks with privilege do not have the best track record when it comes to writing marginalized groups. As Irish author Kit de Waal said, “Don’t dip your pen in someone else’s blood”. Take American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins and The Help by Kathryn Stockett. They’re both terrible for numerous reasons including, but not limited to: not doing enough research, using the White Savior trope, watering down their narratives to make them palatable for White audiences, cultural appropriation, speaking over marginalized voices, etc. That’s not to say White authors shouldn’t write BIPOC characters at all. Not having any diversity in your story can be equally problematic. It just needs to be done carefully and respectfully. Very, very carefully. Yes, I know that can be a fine line to walk, but if an author can research what kind of crops people were growing in 1429 to make their book more accurate, they can research American Indians and people of color. Besides, that’s what hiring sensitivity readers and using resources like Writing with Color is for. Of course, there’s also the problem of White voices being given preferential treatment by publishers and audiences over BIPOC trying to tell their own stories.

To his credit, Erdelac has done an impressive amount of research to make his book feel authentic. John Conquer wears a dime around his ankle for protection and a mojo hand (another name for a mojo bag) for luck. His name is a reference to High John de Conqueror, a Black folk hero with magical abilities. Conquer also has one of the most accurate representations of Vodou I’ve ever seen in fiction. Hollywood “voo doo” is a pet peeve of mine, so I appreciate Erdelac’s dedication to portraying the religion and loa/lwa (the powerful spirits Vodou  practitioners worship and serve) accurately. He also doesn’t try to portray an idealized version of 1970s NYC. There’s racism, anti-Semitism, homophobia, and cops and criminals spewing slurs. And while it’s jarring, it does make the story feel more authentic. The police are racist and homophobic and there’s tension between the many communities that make up 1970s New York. John Conquer’s Uncle Silas was disowned by his family for being gay, and when John is asked to solve his murder, he has to confront his own homophobia and transphobia. That doesn’t mean it always works, though. There were definitely a few times I side-eyed and wondered if a certain line really needed to be in there.

My favorite part of the book is Eldelac’s excellent world building. White vampires go up in smoke when exposed to sunlight, while vampires with more melanin are protected from the sun’s rays. Vampirism also halts a corpse’s decay, but all that rot catches up to them when they’re finally killed. Each culture has their own magical practices with distinct rules, and magic doesn’t cross cultural lines. For example, only Vodou practitioners can become zombies, and non-Christian vampires are immune to crosses. Conquer is especially powerful because he’s learned many different traditions and practices, but the catch is that this opens him to a wider variety of spiritual attacks. Street gangs utilize black magic to wage wars with each other. His work is clever, original, and something I could really get into. But…having White authors tell BIPOC stories still feels problematic to me when White authors are still so heavily favored by the publishing industry. I’ve reviewed books by White authors before, but because Conquer is based heavily on Blaxploitation it feels, well, more exploitative than those I’ve reviewed in the past. I’m still going to go ahead and recommend Eldelac’s work because—in the end—it is well written and interesting, but I can also completely understand if some of you want to skip this one.

Grievers by Adrienne Maree Brown

 

Formats: Print, digital

Publisher: AK Press

Genre: Apocalypse/Disaster

Audience:  Adult/Mature

Diversity: Black/African-American, Lesbian

Takes Place in: Detroit MI, USA

Content Warnings: Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Illness, Medical Procedures (Highlight to view)

Blurb:

Dune’s mother is patient zero of a mysterious illness that stops people in their tracks—in mid-sentence, mid-action, mid-life—casting them into a nonresponsive state from which no one recovers. Dune must navigate poverty and the loss of her mother as Detroit’s hospitals, morgues, and graveyards begin to overflow. As the quarantined city slowly empties of life, she investigates what caused the plague, and what might end it, following in the footsteps of her late researcher father, who has a physical model of Detroit’s history and losses set up in their basement. She dusts it off and begins tracking the sick and dying, discovering patterns, finding comrades in curiosity, conspiracies for the fertile ground of the city, and the unexpected magic that emerges when the debt of grief is cleared.

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.

“Grief was an amalgamation of absence narratives layered over each other”

Death positivity is the philosophy that death and grief should be spoken of openly and that treating the subject as taboo does more harm than good. It encourages people to learn about end-of-life care, make plans for their own deaths, be involved in the care of their dead loved ones, and explore their curiosity and feelings surrounding death. In a way, Grievers is a death-positive book. The story explores what it’s like to lose the people you love, care for the dying, prepare for death, and the mourning process. Most horror skims over the death of its characters, their lives nothing more than cheap fodder for the reader’s entertainment. But in Grievers, you feel the weight of every death.

A mysterious illness is sweeping Detroit and killing its Black population. Dubbed “H8”, it leaves its victims frozen in place with grief-stricken faces. A social justice activist named Kama is the first to contract the disease. Unable to afford a hospital, Dune, Kama’s only child, cares for her mother at home by feeding her, changing her, and keeping her as comfortable as she can. Dune, distrustful of the system that failed them, decides to cremate her mother herself when Kama finally passes. Dune’s act of cremating her own mother (although not something I would recommend as it’s neither safe nor legal) is described as “sacred work,” a ritual that allows her to be close to her mother one last time.

Death rituals, whether religious or secular, perform a necessary function in the grieving process. In his research on grieving rituals Michael I. Norton, a professor at Harvard Business School, discovered the following:

“Despite the variance in the form that rituals take… a common psychological mechanism underlies their effectiveness: a restoration of feelings of control that losses impair. Indeed, people who suffer losses often report feeling out of control and actively try to regain control when they feel it slipping away; feeling in control, in turn, is associated with increased well-being, physical health, and coping ability.” [1]

In the story, a group of traditional Chinese medicine practitioners perform grieving rituals believing that this will protect them from H8, a disease, they theorize, that targets the lungs where grief is held. Dune performs grief rituals to help overcome the immense sense of loss she’s experiencing. The first is cremating her mother in her backyard. The second is “telling” her dead father that her mother has passed. The third, and most important, is creating a record of everyone who has fallen ill and marking their locations with pins on her father’s model of Detroit. The last project gives her something to do, a way of combatting her sense of helplessness as the world falls apart around her. After slipping into a deep depression and shutting herself away, collecting data on the infected gives Dune a new sense of purpose and feeling of control. She organizes her data onto index cards and files them away, creating order out of chaos.

The way Brown represents grief is both beautiful and heartbreaking. Dune isolates herself from the world, too depressed to even plan a memorial service for her mother. She physically carries the weight of her grief as she gains weight during her depression. Eventually, Dune finds ways to cope with her grief. In addition to the rituals providing her with a sense of control, Dune also focuses on survival and caring for her elderly grandmother, Mama Vivian. She harvests produce from community gardens and cans them for the winter. She changes, feeds, and sings to her grandmother. She eventually reaches out to one of her mother’s activist friends for emotional support. It’s not always easy. Dune blows up at a volunteer food distributor without really knowing why, other than just needing someone to lash out at. She dips back into a depression when other people she cares about die. But she keeps surviving, and slowly things start to improve. Brown describes the feeling of slowly emerging from a deep depression perfectly: “Dune was beginning to feel aware of her own aliveness again - not quite a desire to live, just a growing, surprising awareness that she was not dead.” While this may not sound like much, it’s still a step forward in Dune’s path to healing and an improvement from the beginning of the story when “the detritus of grief became Dune’s comfort.” As someone who suffers from clinical depression themselves, I can say that just feeling alive again is such a huge step forward. At the same time, her father’s model, now thick with markers, is starting to sprout little green shoots: new life that has started to grow in the basement against all odds.

A year defined by a pandemic and protests, 2020 was especially difficult for Black Americans. Black communities were hit especially hard by Covid-19, and our anger and frustration with a racist system reached a boiling point with the murder of George Floyd by a White police officer. Grievers may be fiction, but it captures the very real feelings of pain and loss the Black community has been feeling recently. The H8 virus is a metaphor for both Covid and the pain caused by racism. “Hate” is literally killing Black people by destroying them emotionally and no one seems to be able to quell the spread of the disease. Like Covid, everyone knows someone who died from the virus. The city seems to shut down overnight as the wealthy flee and hospitals are overwhelmed.

Grievers does not follow a standard three arch story structure. There’s no antagonist to overcome, no climax, or satisfying resolution. If you’re looking for traditional storytelling, then this book isn’t for you. If you want a beautiful, heartbreaking, death-positive horror story that focuses on one woman’s battle with grief and just trying to survive a pandemic that feels all too familiar, I highly recommend Grievers.

 

[1] From the Journal of Experimental Psychology