One day in April 1856, in what is now South Africa, a 15-year-old girl from the native Xhosa tribe named Nongqawuse claimed to have seen the spirits of two of her dead relatives, who told her the Xhosa should destroy all their crops and kill their cattle herds. If this was done by a specific date the following year, the spirits vowed that all of their deceased ancestors would return to expel the European settlers from their lands and usher in a prosperous New World, a ‘heaven-on-earth’ without sickness or old age, where healthy cattle and fields of ripe corn would instantly appear to replace what was destroyed.
A frenzy gripped the Xhosa clans as word of the prophecy spread. During the next ten months an estimated 300,000-400,000 cattle were killed. Fields were burned and granaries were destroyed. The reasonable farmers who refused to slaughter their animals were persecuted, but when the preordained day arrived and the ancestors failed to resurrect, fervency turned to disbelief. The fabled date was readjusted, yet after this too passed uneventfully, the prophetic movement finally fell apart. But the damage to Xhosa society was done: approximately 40,000 people starved to death in the resultant famine, leaving the survivors at the mercy of their British colonial overlords.
Nongqawuse herself lived until the end of the 19th century, and until her dying day blamed the failure of her prophecy on the unbelievers who had not obeyed her instructions. Millennialist movements such as the one that affected the Xhosa, however, are far from isolated incidents; the apocalyptic idea that a fundamental societal transformation by divine means is imminent has recurred throughout history, from the days of John the Baptist, to the Native American Ghost Dance movement of the 1890’s and the notorious modern-day death cults of Charles Manson, Jim Jones, Aum Shinrikyo, Heaven’s Gate and the Solar Temple.
Cults, in one form or another, have existed since the earliest recorded civilizations, and while the assertion can be made that all religions initially start as cults, where does the line between one end and the other begin? What exactly is the difference between a false prophet and a real one? These are but two of the questions posed by author Logan Spurgeon in his exceptional debut Quill & Crow Publishing House horror novel, Hinterland.
A nameless young man awakens with amnesia in a remote mountainside forest surrounded by twelve strangers. Given the moniker Kestel by his captors, he’s quickly indoctrinated into what he learns is a horrifying cannibal cult. Headed by the group’s charismatic female leader Lynx, the grotesque prophetess Hoatzin, and the brute enforcer Caiman, the cultists have been desperate to fill out their ranks with thirteen members in order to complete the complex rites that, Lynx proclaims, will revive their long-banished primordial gods and enable them to wreak destruction upon humankind.
Kestrel immediately begins planning his escape, but his attempt is hindered not only by memory loss, constant surveillance, and an isolated locale, but a newly awakened appetite for human flesh. His cannibalistic induction ritual involved devouring the body of the member he replaced, and while Kestrel is initially sickened by the act, a ravenous hunger slowly overtakes him to the point that ordinary food is no longer satisfying.
Compounding Kestrel’s problems are the military hunters on the cult’s trail that Lynx says are trying to prevent their gods’ ascension. But the deeper Kestrel is drawn into the cult’s machinations, the more determined he becomes to flee; dubbed ‘The Liberator’ after a hallucinogenic vision, Kestrel plots to overthrow Lynx with the aid of several other members—the friendly Stoat, perpetual screw-up Gannett, and Cottontail, the group’s only child. Most notable among Kestrel’s co-conspirators, however, is Shrew, a man Kestrel feels an instinctual attraction to, and whom he may have known prior to being abducted. But will Kestrel’s plans bear fruit before he’s betrayed by one he trusts? Will the hunters catch them before he can escape? Or will Lynx’s frightening gods actually turn out to be real?
There’s an undeniable authenticity that informs much of Hinterland. Spurgeon explains in the novel’s introduction about his years spent as a member of a radical evangelical Christian sect that later degenerated into a doomsday cult, as well as the part religion played in stifling his sexual identity as a gay man. His experiences are reflected in the novel’s core theme, namely the examination and understanding of belief: belief in oneself, belief in others, the belief in abstract concepts such as divinity, the law, national identity, and political ideology. What people become willing to do, both for good and for ill, demonstrates the sheer power belief wields. After all, saints and suicide bombers are driven by the same basic urge—dedication to God—and it can be uncomfortable to think how quickly devotion can devolve into fanaticism.
Beyond any high-minded explorations of religion and its effects, though, Hinterland functions most as a page-turner of the highest order. Spurgeon infuses a sense of urgency into every scene that keeps readers on edge and ever-eager to learn what happens next. Channeling the vibe of the late horror great Jack Ketchum, whose infamous splatter novel Off Season (and its later sequels Offspring and The Woman)—about a clan of nomadic, cave-dwelling cannibals terrorizing a group of friends at a seaside cabin in Maine—became the scourge of bookshelves during the 1980’s, Hinterland indulges in enough graphic violence and grotesque imagery to make even the most jaded gorehound giggle with glee. Within these pages, bodies are shot, hacked, maimed, impaled, dissected, disintegrated, bludgeoned, blown up, butchered and consumed, and Spurgeon’s precise prose ensures nothing, however disturbing or stomach-turning it may be, is left to the imagination.
If one expects tidy, clear-cut resolutions, however, Hinterland may prove frustrating. Facts regarding the origins of the cannibal cult, their prophetess, their strange deities, and the original identities of Kestrel and his fellow cult members are hinted at but never satisfactorily explained. This is perhaps intentional; Spurgeon’s characters—and thus, the reader—are so firmly entrenched in Lynx’s bizarre worldview that her particular madness becomes the audience’s sole, inescapable point of reference. Kestrel’s amnesia highlights another important question: how much of our sense of self is based upon memory? Are we, on some primal level, the same individual with or without remembering our pasts? Or are we like a computer, capable of having new personalities programmed onto our consciousness after the old ones are deleted? The brainwashing techniques utilized by some real-world destructive cults lends credence to the latter theory, but as Kestrel illustrates repeatedly throughout Hinterland, gut intuition can often override conditioning.
Whether one picks up Hinterland for the lurid thrills, the gore, or the LGBTQA+ romance, they will undoubtedly close its covers with much to ponder. Spurgeon has skillfully provided one of the year’s most visceral, thought-provoking, heart-stopping novels, and for that I am compelled to grant Hinterland the full 5 (out of 5) here onGoodreads. With releases like this and many others, Quill & Crow Publishing House has come fully into its own in 2025. I can’t wait to see where the new year takes them, and Spurgeon.