Facing the Abyss Without Flinching
Andrew Van Wey’s Tides of Darkness, the second entry in his Beyond the Lost Coast trilogy, is a rare thing: a horror novel that wounds honestly but refuses to glamorize the scars.
Set in the decaying coastal town of Greywood Bay, the story follows Zelda and her uncle Mark as they attempt to rebuild their lives after surviving the horrors of By the Light of Dead Stars. But Greywood Bay holds older, deeper rot. The ghosts that haunt its streets are not mere monsters—they are memories. Forgotten souls, crushed under the heel of comfort, ignored by the adults too weary—or too complicit—to care.
At its core, Tides of Darkness is about bearing witness. Zelda survives not by violence, but by remembrance. By refusing to let the dead stay silent. In a world where apathy has become a survival mechanism, she chooses compassion instead. It’s not sentimental. It’s defiant.
The villains, too, are chilling not because they are theatrical, but because they are ordinary. The town elders who serve the dark god Jahar do so with the casual cruelty of bureaucrats, not fanatics. They exploit, exclude, and sacrifice not because they are monsters, but because it’s easier. Van Wey captures the banality of evil with unnerving precision: evil isn’t always dramatic—it’s often paperwork, old money, and tradition gone sour.
Importantly, Van Wey’s violence is purposeful. Pain is present—but it is never stylized or fetishized. Violence wounds here because it should. When Mark endures his mutilation, the story leans into his sacrifice, not his suffering. The violence serves the truth, not the thrill.
Stylistically, Van Wey draws from the well of cosmic horror—but transforms it. Where Lovecraft’s universe is cold and indifferent, Van Wey’s world still hints at meaning. The void is real—but it is not empty. And that theological undercurrent, whether intended or not, offers a subtle but vital resistance to despair.
Zelda’s journey is far from finished. Evil, though battered, still lingers. But Tides of Darkness reminds us that even in a broken world, the smallest act of remembrance, the quietest act of courage, is enough to defy the tide.
Final Verdict:
Not a horror story for cheap thrills, but for hard truth. Unsettling, redemptive, and ultimately defiant in the face of despair.