Uncanny Valley Girls: Essays on Horror, Survival, and Love

by Zefyr Lisowski

“A poignant, innovative, and urgent blend of memoir and criticism that has replenished my belief in how art and love can save your life.”—Torrey Peters

“I'm in awe—this collection is an absolute sensation.”—Jeanne Thornton

A sharply personal and expansive essay collection dedicated to the strange and absurd beauty of horror films, exploring the complications of gender, the insidiousness of class ascension, and the latent violence hidden in our own uncanny reflections.

This is how it first I loved them, and then I loved myself.

At twenty-seven, poet Zefyr Lisowski found herself in the place she feared a locked psych ward. While inside, she turned to horror movies—her deepest, most constant comfort.

Rather than disturb, scary movies have always provided solace and connection for Lisowski, as they do many others—offering a vision of a world filled equally with beauty and pain, and a reason to reach out to others and hold them tight. After all, as Lisowski argues, what terrifies us most about these movies is our own uncanny reflection—and at the root of that fear, a desperate desire to love and be loved.

In these wide-ranging essays, Lisowski weaves theory and memoir into nuanced critiques of films such as The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and Saint Maud. From fears about sickness and disability, to trans narratives and the predator/victim complex, to the struggle to live in a world that wants you dead, she explores horror’s reciprocal impact on our culture and—by extension—our lives. Through it all, Lisowski lays bare her own complex biography—spanning from a trans childhood in the South to the sweaty dancefloors of Brooklyn—and the family, friends, and lovers that have bloomed with her into the present.

Deeply felt, blood-spattered, and brimming with care and wonder, Uncanny Valley Girls thrusts this seasoned poet to centerstage.

Genres: Nonfiction, Horror, Essays, Memoir, Queer, LGBT, Adult

240 pages, Paperback

First published October 7, 2025

About the author

Zefyr Lisowski is the author of Uncanny Valley Girls, an essay collection about horror movies, exes, and intimacy (Harper Perennial 2025). A 2023 NYFA/NYSCA Fellow in Nonfiction and 2023 Queer|Art Fellow, she’s also the author of two poetry collections, Girl Work (Noemi Press 2024) and Blood Box (Black Lawrence 2019). Raised in the Great Dismal Swamp, North Carolina, Zefyr lives in Brooklyn and has seen grave robbers twice.

Reviews

[kimberly · Rating 5 out of 5]

”This is a story of loss, and this is also a story of love. In both, the horrors are ceaseless. In fact, it’s all the same story. The horrors are how I found myself.”

In Uncanny Valley Girls, Lisowski examines her own complex life story through the lens of horror film; critiquing cult favorites and exploring themes of illness and disability, otherness, gender and trans narratives, violence, class, and more. She journeys through her Southern trans childhood to her inpatient psychiatric stay as an adult, detailing all of the beauty and love and loss and cruelty in-between, arguing that horror—real or filmic—is about survival in the face of pain, about learning to live and love despite the wounds. What I particularly loved about this collection of essays was Lisowski’s clearly depicted complicated relationship with being raised in the South. As a born and raised Southerner myself, I could relate on a very personal level and often times found myself nodding along while reading. It’s a true love-hate relationship. ”The South, for better or for worse, was my home.”

This book gives readers a wide-ranging memoir-in-essays written with intent, grace, and a keen eye for detail; Lisowski never misses a beat. Loved this so much and will undoubtedly buy the finished copy on pub day.

🎬 Watchlist for Uncanny Valley Girls:
The Ring
Pet Sematary
Black Swan
Dark Water
Ringu
Scream
Final Destination 3
Saw
Sleepaway Camp
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (original)
Lizzie
The Wolf Man
Ginger Snaps
Saint Maud
Antichrist

🎞️ Honorable Mentions:
Jaws
The Sixth Sense
I Know What You Did Last Summer
Dawn of the Dead
Creepshow
Maniac
Friday the 13th
Longlegs

Immense gratitude to Harper Perennial for the early copy in exchange for an honest review. Available Oct 07 2025. *Quotes are pulled from an advanced reader copy and are subject to change prior to publication* ❤️‍🔥

[Dona's Books · Rating 4 out of 5]

⭐⭐⭐.5

Pre-Read Notes:

I loved the title of this book and I was very curious to see the author's take on the uncanny valley.

Final Review

Great mashup of love letter to horror movies and a memoir about changing identity. These two topics played well together in this book.

This reminds me of some other books I love about horror and being human, like NIGHT MOTHER and DANSE MACABRE

Favorite Essays:
1. "Your Swan, My Swan"
2. "Ghost Face"
3. "Cutting in Miniature"

A word about the essays:

1. "Prelude" - An interesting reflection on how girls in horror movies reflect the real world.  

2. "The Girl, the Well, the Ring" - "Girls were punished. The disabled were to be feared. Anything gender nonconforming was even scarier. What does it mean as a sick girl to learn again and again that sick girls deserve to be punished?" p21 "If you first identify yourself in a host of ghosts, what does it mean to live despite that? If you grow up disabled and only have hatred surrounding you in every bit of media you consume, what does it take to turn that hatred into an act of care for others who are hated, too?" p21 I feel so seen by this book.

"I realized I had always been different. Nothing had been taken from me. It’s not that I was uncurable, but rather the idea of a “cure” was proposed by someone who hated my existence in the first place." Dang this woman just...nails disability and ableism right on the head. Magnificent!

3. "Your Swan, My Swan" - A short essay on how art tends to depict disability as counter to life or counter to joy. I like this author's nonfiction work!

4. "Our Oceans, Ourselves" - A piece about taking risks, and recognizing risks best avoided.

5. "Ghost Face" - An excellent analysis of "Scream" a horror movie sensation from the '90's.

6. "War on Terror" - An essay about how US culture changed after 9/11. "There are two violences here, that of the empire and that of its denizens, and they are asymmetric violences, and different ones. But they are linked. One reflects another: The lessons of a militarized society become internal for everyone in that society. That’s why it’s broken." p81

7. "Southern Fried " - "The interpretations of the film we shared were a way of sharing each other, letting one another in. Beauty can stun, too, and sometimes the only thing to do with that is to hold that complexity with others." p98 An excellent essay on "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" and learning to love your gory bits.

8. "Cutting in Miniature" - A fascinating analysis of Lizzie Borden's infamous case. Wow, I'm reading this author's other book, DOLL HOUSE.

9. "Preliminary Materials for a Theory of the Werewolf Girl" - This one is a little cliched, with the whole pubescent girl being a werewolf or monster concept.

10. "Devotion" - An absolutely moving essay about the author's deceased sister.

11. "Crazy in Love" - This is the kind of internalized-ableist mess that really annoys me. It's subject is a little murky but I'm pretty sure it's an essay about why relationships with "crazy women" (sic) are...I dunno, doomed maybe? Whatever, I'm just going to say it doesn't take mental illness to ruin a relationship, so I don't see how it could be said that it does.

12. "Uncanny Valley of the Dolls" - An excellent essay about a friend of the authors, a maker of dolls who break typical beauty standards.This title is almost the source of the books title. The author applies the uncanny valley concept here to describe how transitioning is a re-emerging into a new concept of the self.

13. "Postlude" - "That, maybe, is what makes [horror movies] scary. Not a man with a chainsaw or a dripping girl in a well, but the fact that we can hurt others without even meaning to. The pain we can cause, and the legacies left behind by that pain anyway." p198

Notes:

1. content notes: 
horror movies, gore, ableism, internalized ableism, mental illness stigma, residential treatment, institutionalization,

Thank you to Zefyr Lisowski, Harper Collins Publishers, and NetGalley for an accessible digital arc of UNCANNY VALLEY GIRLS. All views are mine.

[Erin · Rating 3 out of 5]

ARC for review. To be published October 7, 2025.

2.5 stars

Lisowski is trans and has gone through debilitating physical, mental and family issues, (seriously, she has been through the wringer) including a stay in a psych ward. Throughout she says she has looked to horror films to keep her grounded and to help her maintain her sense of self.

In each chapter/essay the author discusses or at least mentions specific movies that connect her to various points in her life, but this is all very personal to her, versus any sort of overall examination of these movies and what she believes they mean in any sort of larger context. At the beginning of the book she notes, “for those of us who live in power’s periphery - trans disabled, non-white, poor - love happens under violence’s shadow,” so perhaps she is directing the observations in the book at these audiences and I don’t fall into any of those categories.

This is SUCH a great title, and the synopsis sounded great, but I found reading the book a bit of a slog. Often the movies are mentioned only briefly, or in passing, which left me wondering why the author used the trope at all, and didn’t just go with straight up memoir; I wanted more of a connection with the movies and it really wasn’t to be found here. I did like this: “The thing about growing up in the rural South is that’s it’s so easy to fantasize about living anywhere else.” I just moved to the CITY South, but, preach, sister!

[emily · Rating 5 out of 5]

‘Horror movies are about staying alive, and that focus has taught me more about care than anything else. Through horror, you can see everything in life: atmosphere and pain and death and above all the desire to keep living. And in who you watch horror with—because few people I know watch scary movies alone—you can see the rest of it, too: the sex and guilt and grief and everything else that goes into loving yourself and others. I thought of each of my past relationships and of the movies we watched and the ways we reached for each other in the things that wounded us—’

‘The miracle is our capacity to live and love despite this wounding—To be afraid is to care, deeply, about whatever you’re afraid of; or, to be more succinct, to be afraid is to care. Scary movies, I believe, can teach you how to live. They can show you the lives you’ve already led. They can promise what a new horizon looks like. They’re how I survived.’

‘A point The Ring makes inadvertently is how interconnected all monstrosities are. The young dead girl who’s the villain is different and sick, so she becomes a recipient of violence—locked up in a barn, surveilled and neglected in the medical facilities that became her other home. And because she’s a recipient of violence, she becomes an enactor of violence. It’s important to note that the vehicle for her curse, the videotape, is a depiction of her own pain. Only after she’s murdered does she start to kill.’

‘What does it mean to “share a cold” instead of shutting it away? I’m inspired by all the small dominions we, the disabled, have, how much has been shared already. Money. GoFundMes. Personal care assistants. Lists of accessible events spaces. Mutual care and love and support. Knowledge is shared openly online and in group texts and over encrypted chats and through webs of in-person and digitized gossip. Disabled people have created a whole wellspring of culture and activism and vitality—and that buried truth is part of what makes us scary to the abled mainstream. Both Samara and Zelda have full interiorities that the movies cannot see—but that shadow of something beyond the protagonists’ comprehension is part of what makes them scary. They endure despite those in power wanting them dead. My partner had chronic pain, as well, and as we fucked during Pet Semetary that Halloween in 2015, it, too, felt like a kind of love that rejected charity. Sick bodies doing what they do, refusing to be stifled—together—is a radical act.’

‘I’m grateful for the anger that propelled this making in the first place. But even still, I have to wonder what my life would be like had I never been exposed to these supremacist messages in the first place. Here’s one last little story. In The Ring, when the girl climbs up the well, her bones cracking out of place, bending behind herself, this is supposed to be a sign she’s to be feared and pitied and isn’t even human. When I discovered, suddenly as a child, that I could do the same thing, oh, it felt like freedom.’

‘Horror movies live in the interregnum of the uncanny, a world ripe with anticipation. This is why they are so frightening. They are close enough to unnerve, and like a mirror they reflect us back—distorted into something strange and new. But isn’t that love, too? Doesn’t everything worth doing change you?’

‘In Black Swan, the protagonist dies at the end. Nina dies, the movie suggests, because she can’t change while the world around her does. In this way she differs from most horror protagonists, who bend but rarely break to survive a violent world. Personal shibboleths against killing get discarded, shrinking violets turn into hardened women, but they survive despite, or because of, these changes. There’s a whole term for it, which the scholar Carol J. Clover coined in a 1987 essay: the final girl, the one who lives because of how she transforms.’

‘—I’d break into the big botanic garden at the outskirts of my neighborhood, scrambling over the fence and walking among hydrangeas bright and pale as the moon.’

‘And who hasn’t felt nostalgia for a place because it was where they first realized who they truly were? Who hasn’t found themselves in something they didn’t even realize they were looking for?’

‘For the longest time, I’d tell people I loved art-house films as a way of making my own desires seem more palatable: the movies of Apichatpong Weerasethakul or Ingmar Bergman or Terrence Malick or any other director who specialized in long, winding, thoughtful shots and barely restrained emotions. I’d tell them they helped me see the splendor of the world around me, how their restraint helped me see myself. I do love them, and it’s true that a part of me was found there. But of all the movies I’ve seen, I’ve found the most splendor in The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, discovered myself the most in it—a revving engine of a film, sick and quick and all deep reds. In fact, this is how it worked: First I loved it, and then I loved myself.’

‘There are the marks that are left on us, and then there are the marks we leave on ourselves, and I’m still not sure if there’s a difference between the two. The South shaped me, and the South hurt me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m Southern and thus implicated in its own violence—raced and classed and sure as my own violence toward myself. Maybe there’s no difference at all between the social ostracization I received in the South and my rage at the other Southerners stuck in my small town and finally the punches I started to dole out to myself—all were motivated, after all, by a refusal to see the beauty in a harsh and beautiful environment.’

‘—it’s bright and yellow outside and the air smells like pine, and I’m starting to realize that everything about my life will have to change. The bruise throbs, and I wince, air sharp and cool as I inhale. Eventually I will learn to share that beauty, too, even though it’ll be years still before I stop harming myself. Soon, the sun will set. But for now the light comes into me like birdsong. Someday, I will be free.’

‘Who, in our country, could see that synchronicity in death and not think the only way out was through work? Cutting anything down can be a way to stay alive, but it can also distract from the other work of living as well—A life slivering bits away isn’t a life at all: In the aftermath—I’d feel alive and ashamed and above all still in pain, hiding in long-sleeve shirts and oversize pants splattered with the paint I covered the dollhouse in. It wasn’t purifying; it wasn’t redeeming; it just continued.’

‘But maybe I’m looking at this wrong. Things that aren’t a choice aren’t always a burden. Who hasn’t wanted to be stripped of agency but in, like, a hot way? Who hasn’t wanted to slide sure as a moon ascends in the skies towards something not you, something beautiful instead? Who hasn’t dreamed of a life beyond the moment of change, too?’

‘—in that moment—just for that moment—I felt safe and held and fully present in their arms. I turned to hold them back as I started to blur out once more. I could love this person, I thought. And then, everything started happening again, and I was gone.’

‘Faith, like desire, is rarely on your own terms: If you can only sometimes choose what you have faith in, you can never select what has faith in you—there briefly and then disappear—I gave it up, lasting six weeks before I stopped entirely. As much as I wanted to, I simply didn’t believe in the practice enough to stay. It shadowed me while I was lucky enough to hold it, and then, as quick as Maud’s own consumption in flames at the end of the film, it was gone.’

‘What stuck with me the most about Agatha’s life was the way she wasn’t restored to former glory the same way other saints were. In most icons of her, she floats holding her severed breasts on a plate. Peace, God, whatever: I knew she was propaganda to prevent women from reacting more strongly to men’s shit, but even still. The fact that something could be taken from her and she responded by putting her losses on display spoke to me before I even could register why.’

‘To be crazy is to know your life has been marked as less than by those in positions of power; to date other crazy people is to assert your life’s worth nonetheless. Antichrist is a comically misogynistic movie if you watch it from the man’s perspective; it’s a harrowing film if you watch it from the woman’s.’

‘Our beauty, constructed against a society that fetishizes and hates us in simultaneity, is abject, and Greer’s dolls are, too.’

‘Sometimes I wonder if we just reenact the same life patterns of those who haunt us—a two-way street: If grief is an act of love, then leaving a ghost of yourself behind is as well. Sharing an experience with someone who isn’t there anymore, I have to believe, is a way of communicating with them—’

‘For me, horror is a love language, but maybe that’s because for me everything is a love language. Horror at its most intimate is a way to share the secret parts of yourself with others: what frightens you, what comforts you, what you’re nonplussed by.

When I was a child, my greatest fear was losing who I was through what happened to me. And yes, I’ve lost myself again and again. But in the wake of the violence that shapes us, I’ve also found myself more fully than I ever could have without the wound.

Being in the present—which is to say, presence—implies a future, too; caring in that moment shapes that future. Presence makes a path to find future presence, too. It shows us a life, struggles linked in love and fear alike. Like a final girl, a sick girl, a girl in the well, I know I won’t heal from what I’ve done or what was done to me. But I’m not interested in being healed nor in my wounds being reopened: What I want now is to love the scars that make us us—’

‘A flash of blood transforming into hope. A girl turning into a wolf. A host of faceless women all marching up a hill. As I enter the clubhouse for dinner, I’ll only hear the unsteady metronome of the present—unknown, unwinding, scary, and free. Fear has a thumping rhythm to it, but so does being present with people you care about, and that’s what I choose to listen to now. I’ll walk to the dining table—sound of love rumbling underneath everything like a heater slowly clanking up to speed. Even if the French psychoanalysts are right and horror is about the rotten, the dead, the makeup-less, the sick; even if we’re confined to the abject, the unwell, the uncanny—that’s beautiful, too. Yes, I’ve lost myself through the things that have happened to me, but so have you. So I’ll sit down at the table with my new friends, far away from you, and you, and the you I haven’t met yet, and fix my plate and fill my belly, eating to satiation at last. Soon it will be completely dark outside and the coresidents will start trickling to bed. I’ll wash my plate, and while the other writers and artists start their nighttime routines, I’ll start my own: I’ll walk down by the lake again, dip my feet into the water, and think of the present to come. My legs, still healing, will throb from the exertion of walking down the hill, but that’s part of what being present means: accepting pain as a prerequisite for being alive.’

[Michaela Henry · Rating 3 out of 5]

Thank you Zefyr Lisowski, Harper Publishing, and NetGalley for the ARC!

I always hesitate to even rate memoirs. Who am I to assign a star rating to someone's life, someone's story? I didn't think about this when I requested this essay collection, which was more memoir than I had initially anticipated. It's not even that I don't enjoy memoirs- one of my favorites is a memoir. However, I really struggled through this one at times.

As someone who also wrote about women in horror media for an undergrad thesis, I was so excited to read this essay collection. I was also excited to analyze horror media from a the perspective of a trans woman. Admittedly, I had not explored trans women very much in my thesis (it wasn't very good in general- I broke my leg and was on a bunch of painkillers while I was writing it). However, identifying as queer myself now has opened up a whole new world of interpretations. Horror has not always been kind to trans women, despite how steeped in queerness these movies usually are. I really enjoyed when Lisowski explored this and found myself looking at movies I've seen a million times in a new light.
However, the inclusion of memoir passages took away from that sometimes. It certainly wasn't every single time- I really thought the passages describing her sexuality, family, grief, and mental health were good. I could very clearly see the connection in these instances to the movies that she'd be describing. At the same time, there were some chapters about relationships that I just couldn't get behind as much. I just don't see how some of these numerous, messy relationships connected to horror, other than being a clearly horrible experience for her. Additionally, the essay format of this collection could be repetitive at times. I read most of it in one or two big sittings and I found myself thinking "you've told this story before" on multiple occasions.
I also think, while interesting, the last chapter about trans artist Greer Lankton felt a little out of place. On one hand, it solidified the author's comparison of being a trans woman with being "uncanny" like the dolls made by Lankton. However, while it still qualified as horror art, I think it would've been more well-rounded and less all over the place had the author continued to just analyze horror movies and novels. It felt strange also to end on that chapter and only just then define uncanny when I think it could've been explored more throughout. I think generally many of these essays could have benefitted from some shared themes to tie everything together more cohesively.

[nathan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Major thanks to NetGalley and Harper Perennial for sending me an ARC of this in exchange for my honest thoughts:

"𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦, 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘏𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴: 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺."

A compelling memoir told through the appreciation of horror films. Lisowski’s history of grief and the trans experience mixed with the reckonings of different kinds of horror films sheds light on why queer folks, like myself, have such a curiosity around slashers, schlock, ghosts, and gore. Because of this, Lisowski finally brought me to my first-time viewing of Scream, an inherently queer film about running away from your own queerism, hiding it, shoving it down layers of Craven’s meta-masterpiece.

The perfect companion for all your Spooktober watches. What will you be watching for Spooktober?

Also, if you haven’t yet, follow me on Letterboxd! 👻🎃

[Madeline Elsinga · Rating 3 out of 5]

Explores horror films and how they reflect-and at times perpetuate-social/cultural beliefs (ie disabled and sick people are usual the villains like in the ring and pet semetary. Anyone seen as "other" is someone to be feared). Very theory focused that mixes the personal stories of Lisowski’s life with feeling seen through horror films, and how current events like the war in Iraq affected the horror industry.

More memoir than I was expecting especially further into the book. She ties her experiences to horror movies and how they made her feel seen but as we get further in the book, we get less of the horror movie stuff and it just becomes a memoir with very loose links to horror movies or "here’s some stuff about my life and a relationship and we just so happened to watch this movie together and both appreciated it." Sometimes the horror movie aspects would feel more like brief mentions or something to mark a huge emotional moment for the author rather than being fully immersed and working together with the more memoir heavy elements.

Non linear timeline and meandering storytelling really bogged down the flow of the book and made it feel too abstract for my taste. It made it hard to feel engaged and became confusing especially when it could feel repetitive at times, plus the long chapters made a fairly short book feel unending.

There were moments where I struggled to finish and continuously thought about DNFing and I probably should have because after the 70% mark I would literally skim at times.

I think it would’ve worked better if it was just a straight up memoir and she lost the attempt at tieing in the horror movie metaphors/connections because ultimately it fell flat; especially when by the second half it’s almost completely forgotten and the last chapter doesn’t even mention horror movies but instead explores Greer Lankton’s life.

She also explores artists and writers that she relates to so it very much is a memoir that tried to be unique in making those horror connections but didn’t work the way it could’ve because she was too broad in scope.

I think the personal stories can be really helpful for a lot of people, and I appreciated the author’s vulnerability, but for me it was the writing style that didn’t work. I think a lot of my lack of enjoyment in the second half especially is because it completely turned away from the horror/cultural critique aspect which I was really enjoying in the first half! There are other books that do this memoir in essay format with a connection to horror films MUCH better (ie Dinner on Monster Island by Tatiana de Rozario) so I was hoping that’s what this would be as well.

I have no doubt the book will find its audience, I’m just not it. Thank you Harper Perennial and NetGalley for the earc.

[dessie*₊⊹ · Rating 3 out of 5]

Very personal and moving, but at times I lost the thread. This one was just more abstract than I prefer my essay collections to be. The horror is definitely more of a background framework but I still found the author’s interpretations and connection to the stories interesting.

[ritareadthat · Rating 5 out of 5]

Brilliantly done collection of essays. You don't necessarily need to be trans or a horror lover to appreciate this book. The author intimately wove personal anecdotes with necessary thoughts on important topics—such as mental health and art—in addition to horror and surviving the here and now as a trans woman. I was very moved by many passages and the insightful wisdom that so young a person has achieved. Bravo!

Many thanks to NetGalley and publisher for ebook ARC in exchange for my honest review.

[Kass D · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book gave me a new perspective on horror classics I’d never considered, the constant alienation of underrepresented groups and the biases they face. I love how the author explored the coping mechanisms that some of these monsters and villains use to survive

[emily faye · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5/5

[Nev · Rating 4 out of 5]

I love it when people write memoirs or collections of personal essays that discuss pieces of media that were really important to them or that relate to their own experiences. Zefyr Lisowski writes about her experiences growing up in the south, chronic illness, being trans, mental health struggles, making art, sexual violence, and so much more while weaving in analysis of different horror movies. This isn’t a book solely focused on film analysis, the movies are brought in to show her mindset at different points in her life or to thematically relate to the topics she’s discussing.

Something I really appreciate about this book was how open and raw it felt. Like in the essay about werewolves when she’s talking about how she thinks of werewolf stories as trans stories, but also not wanting to depict trans people as violent predators. There’s so much nuance in her writing, and the way she discusses how she chose to represent the people who had sexually assaulted her.

This is a really heavy book full of a lot of dark topics. But I think that if you’re a fan of horror films and enjoy brutally honest personal essays, then you should add it to your TBR.

Thank you to the publisher for providing an advance copy via NetGalley. All opinions are my own.

[Madison ✨ (mad.lyreading) · Rating 4 out of 5]

I had very mixed feelings about this, but the highs outweighed the lows.
Uncanny Valley Girls is a group of essays that connect the author's life to analyses of popular horror movies. The horror analysis was great, and I wanted more more more. I am pretty early in my horror-movie journey, but the movies discussed were all popular enough that you didn't need to have seen them to know most of the references. I think horror is overall an extremely underrated genre, particularly for the commentary it can have on society. Lisowski does not miss how much these movies say about us - whether their meanings were intentional or a reflection of society at the time. I would read an entire book of Lisowski's analysis, and I would absolutely eat it up.
The memoir aspects to the book were more of the miss for me. First, the book is more of a collection of essays than a cohesive memoir, and so there were times when the "story" was missing pieces or were not in chronological order, which confused me. Authors are more than welcome to their own privacy, but there were times when the author would give broad hints to their lives without giving details that would have clarified things for me. The more I think about the "issues" I had with this, however, the more I realize that they were my brain trying to put the author into an unnecessary box.
I forget which chapter it was, but I particularly liked the author's analysis of their hometown in relation to police violence. The author (who I believe is white) compared their desire to "escape" their hometown with people of color's willingness to stay and make things better, and this really stood out to me as a white woman who lived very close to a well-known police killing of a Black man.
Honestly, the more I think about this book, the stronger I feel about it. Would recommend.

Thank you to HarperAudio Adult and NetGalley for an audio ARC in exchange for an honest review.

[Steph]

I really love the concept of personal essays meets movie critic, and horror movies no less! charisma uniqueness nerve and talent

[Gabbi]

DNF: I like the idea of this essay collection but I couldn’t get past the second essay. Art is subjective and open to interpretation, but I feel like Lisowski is almost intentionally misrepresenting “The Ring” and “Black Swan” to try and get her point across. I’m a big fan of the Ringu series and Koji Suzuki even though it clearly has its flaws. But to say people hated Sadako because she was sick or disabled is completely wrong, even if you’re just going off of the US film. To claim that Nina had absolutely zero agency and no sane moment where she’s not hallucinating is also incorrect.

I just really was disappointed by this collection. I would hope that if I kept reading Lisowski could explain her point better and I might like it, but I think most likely she’ll just describe other horror movies incorrectly and that will piss me off too much.

Date Stopped: 11/26/25

[Alicia · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5 stars. I really enjoyed everything about this. A blend of a memoir and essays with themes about change, trauma, and love. Talks about how you can see yourself in horror movies and talks about all of the cult classics that I love, which I really related to. This is not what I was expecting at all but I still very much enjoyed it. Lisowski is trans, and has went through so much change in her life, which she writes about in this SO WELL. Also her taste in horror movies and art made me blush. As always, thank you Harper Perennial and Paperbacks for the earc.

[The Page Ladies Book Club · Rating 4 out of 5]

I didn’t expect to cry while reading a book about horror movies but Zefyr Lisowski’s Uncanny Valley Girls got me good. This isn’t just film criticism; it’s a heartbeat laid bare, a survival story wrapped in the flicker of a projector light.

Lisowski writes about horror the way some people talk about faith with reverence, with understanding, with the acknowledgment that fear and love are sometimes the same thing. She takes us from the locked psych ward where she rediscovered herself through movies like Saint Maud and The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, to the humid nights of her Southern childhood, to the pulsing queer spaces of Brooklyn. Each essay feels like a mirror distorted, yes, but honest about what we see staring back.

What I loved most is how she finds connection in the monstrous. For Lisowski, horror isn’t about the scream it’s about the tenderness that comes after. It’s the way we hold each other tighter because the world is dark and uncertain. It’s the way she learns to love the parts of herself that once scared her.

Her voice is poetic, visceral, and alive with empathy. This is the kind of book that makes you want to revisit every horror film you’ve ever watched, not to analyze them, but to understand why you felt them.

[Kelli · Rating 4 out of 5]

Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for an advanced copy in exchange for an honest review.

Saved this one for October due to the author's focus on horror movies in this essay collection/memoir, and I enjoyed it overall and resonated with some of her experiences growing up in North Carolina, her queerness, and dealing with self-harm and mental health issues throughout her life.

However, I think someone who is more familiar with horror movies or who also loves them like she does (sadly this is not me) would get way more out of this book than I did. I was not familiar with most of the media referenced, including books and artists, so probably someone else would really resonate deeply with these essays- however that being said I am now aware of some really cool artists like Greer Lankton. I think that might have even been my favorite chapter, reading about the author's love of this artist, herself also a trans woman, who spent her lifetime making these dolls that were beautiful to the point of extremes, as she puts it.

Overall a deep, interesting collection that would really appeal to lovers of horror as an art form.

[Matthew Metheney · Rating 4 out of 5]

If you are a lover of horror this is magnificent

[Greg Bem · Rating 5 out of 5]

An exquisite glimpse into the horrors and traumas and emergences of Trans life. Mostly memoir with some exploration of film and story texts.

[Ryan]

I didn't love this as much as I wanted to. Zefyr is a good writer with astute and sometimes piercing observations, but I think this ended up being a bit too navel gazey for me. I mostly enjoyed it though, there were just parts that dragged a little. I almost feel like this could have been a really long essay.

[becca · Rating 3 out of 5]

Less about horror and more of a memoir. I think this reads as something that Lisowski needed to write for herself rather than a media studies work. Not what I was expecting from the blurb so that colors my view of it.

[Sarah Jensen · Rating 5 out of 5]

Book Review: Uncanny Valley Girls: Essays on Horror, Survival, and Love by Zefyr Lisowski
Rating: 4.9/5

Zefyr Lisowski’s Uncanny Valley Girls is a luminous, genre-defying collection that marries film criticism with memoir, exploring how horror movies serve as both mirror and lifeline for marginalized identities. Lisowski, a celebrated poet and queer writer, crafts essays that are as intellectually rigorous as they are deeply personal, dissecting the symbiotic relationship between horror tropes and lived experiences of transness, disability, and love. The result is a work that transcends traditional criticism, offering a radical reimagining of how art can suture wounds and forge community .

Strengths and Emotional Resonance
Lisowski’s prose is electric—equal parts theoretical precision and raw vulnerability. Her analysis of films like The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and Saint Maud avoids dry academic detachment; instead, she frames them as texts that replenished her belief in the lifesaving value of love. As a reader, I was struck by her ability to trace the uncanny reflections horror offers: the way fear intertwines with desire, or how monstrosity becomes a metaphor for queer survival. The essay linking her psych ward stay to horror’s cathartic power left me breathless—it’s rare to encounter criticism that feels so viscerally alive .

The collection’s exploration of girlhood as horror (something that many would agree with!) is particularly revelatory. Her dissection of predator/victim dynamics in slasher films doubles as a meditation on trans embodiment, weaving her Southern upbringing and Brooklyn queer life into the fabric of cinematic analysis.

Constructive Criticism
While the essays shine individually, the collection’s structure occasionally feels disjointed. A stronger throughline connecting the personal narratives to broader cultural critiques (e.g., class ascension’s insidiousness) would enhance cohesion. Additionally, deeper engagement with non-Western horror traditions could broaden the book’s scope, given Lisowski’s keen eye for intersectionality.

Summary Takeaways:
- A blood-spattered love letter to horror’s queer heart—Lisowski proves that the scariest stories are often the most healing.
- Like Final Girl Support Group meets Maggie Nelson—a genre-bending masterpiece that will make you rethink every scary movie you’ve ever seen.
- Horror has never felt so intimate, or so revolutionary. Lisowski’s essays are a lifeline for anyone who’s ever found solace in the dark.

Final Thoughts
Uncanny Valley Girls is a triumph—where Lisowski thrives as both critic and poet. Its blend of memoir and theory invites readers to reconsider horror’s power to articulate unspeakable truths, making it essential for film scholars, queer theorists, and anyone who’s ever clutched a friend during a scary movie.

Thank you to HarperCollins and Edelweiss for the free review copy. This book earns a 4.9/5, docking only slight points for structural quibbles, but otherwise standing as a landmark in hybrid criticism.

Key Takeaways for Academic Readers:
-Queer Horror Theory: Lisowski reframes horror as a site of queer kinship, challenging binaries of predator/victim and beauty/terror.
-Memoir as Criticism: Her narratives (e.g., psych ward experiences) model how lived trauma can deepen textual analysis.
-Pedagogical Value: Ideal for courses on gender studies, film theory, or creative nonfiction, with essays ripe for close reading.

A note for horror fans: This collection will ruin your favorite films—in the best way possible.

[Brian Shevory · Rating 4 out of 5]

Many thanks to Harper Perennial and NetGalley for the advanced copy of Zefyr Lisowski’s collection of essays Uncanny Valley Girls: Essays on Horror, Survival, and Love. The title of this collection instantly intrigued me—I loved the play on Uncanny Valley and that the book is about horror and survival. As Lisowski mentions in her postlude, “horror is a love language, but maybe that’s because for me everything is a love language. Horror at its most intimate is a way to share the secret parts of yourself with others: what frightens you, what comforts you, what you’re repulsed by.” Lisowski’s collection is more of a personal reaction to horror- not only her own experiences sharing horror viewing with others, but also how these films related to events in her life. This collection is a deeply personal and at times traumatic exploration and reflection on what events shaped Lisowski’s life and identity, with horror films factoring into these events. Although these essays do not follow in the traditional film analysis, Lisowski does provide some context for the creation of some of these films and how films from the early 2000s reflected much of the violence that was happening around the world. In the second section of the book, the essay “War on Terror” focuses on the era of films like Final Destination and Hostel, and how Lisowski’s relationship with a boy unfolded and deteriorated through their shared interest in horror. One of the many themes that runs throughout these essays are how women in these films are both objectified- represented as vectors of violence that reflect the kinds of misogyny and hatred towards difference in society- and seen as survivors- the final girl trope whose smarts and morality are often rewarded with survival. While this aspect of horror films is something that many people can relate to, it seems like Lisowski’s experience as a trans woman whose identity was frequently questioned and challenged by peers and parents made her especially sensitive and receptive to these messages from horror films. While her friend enjoyed the violence, Lisowski relates more to the final girls in these films—those whose identities are sometimes questioned or challenged by the more popular and dominant cultures, yet ultimately are able to use this to their advantage to survive. It’s possibly one of the reasons Sally Hardesty of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre appealed to her more than other characters and also possibly why the remakes and sequels in this franchise were less appealing.
I appreciated Lisowski’s candor and bravery in many of these essays, baring her emotions and vulnerability. She does include a list of triggering subjects in each essay at the end of the book. I recommend using this to at least be aware of the subjects that she discusses in each of the essays since they can be fraught with topics like self-harm and sexual assault. While I noted Lisowski’s disclaimer at the beginning of the book, I don’t think it quire prepared me for how much brutality and self-hatred she experienced as a trans woman. However, I think that through reading about her experience and seeing how horror movies provided her with a kind of insight into the brutality of society and the strength of survivors, it helped me learn a little more about a frequently misunderstood group that receives a lot of undue scorn and violence. Other essays focus on Lisowski’s personal connections to films like The Ring and Dark Water, Black Swan, and Scream. I found the essay about Ginger Snaps “Preliminary Materials for a Theory of the Werewolf Girl” really interesting, especially since I recently read another essay about how werewolves provided Jennifer McMahon with more insight about her own sexuality and differences in the amazing collection of essays Why I Love Horror (edited by Becky Siegel Spratford). I hadn’t previously thought about this connection between werewolves and queerness, but it is interesting to consider about how changes, especially in puberty, can often make us feel so different and out of control. As Lisowski explains, these changes are often unwelcome and more often misunderstood by others who feel threatened and in danger. Yet, it’s ultimately the werewolves who suffer the most through their transformation and death. The other essay that I really enjoyed was “Uncanny Valley of the Dolls” which examines the life and work of Greer Lankton, a trailblazing artist who made dolls. I recently read Harron Walker’s great collection Aggregated Discontent, which is where I first learned about Greer Lankton. Lisowski’s essay is different, focusing more on her life than Walker’s essay, which focused on her transition to a female. Lisowski’s essay also focused on her work with dolls, described their likenesses to Lankton’s own struggles and challenges, including her eating disorders and drug addiction. Throughout the essay, Lisowski identifies with these struggles with mental health as a connection to Lankton’s life and work. I found this essay to be a great addition to Walker’s essay—although both writers focus on Lankton’s life and work, I felt like I learned even more about Lankton’s later life and her struggles and challenges and how these aspects of her life impacted her work.
Although some readers who are looking for more traditional essays analyzing horror films may feel a little bereft from this essay collection, there are plenty of personal horrors and trauma that Lisowski plumbs to better understand our often complicated relationship with violence and abjection we watch on the screen. This is a brave and bold collection where Lisowski fearlessly shares her experience and struggles with mental health, and uses horror as a way to both reflect and escape, to better understand her own trauma and to see pathways to survival. It’s not quite what I expected, but at the same time I feel like I learned a lot about different perspectives. However, I recommend checking out the trigger warnings at the end of the book as there are parts of the book that were challenging for even this horror fan to read. Nevertheless, this was a powerful collection of essays that I will revisit at some point.

[Caryn Sherbet · Rating 5 out of 5]

Loved it—don’t know if I can read it again, but wow. Stunning work.

[Erin Reads · Rating 3 out of 5]

Uncanny Valley Girls: Essays on Horror, Survival, and Love

by Zefyr Lisowski

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐ (3/5)

(Received an ARC from Harper Perennial in exchange for an honest review.)



This collection of essays blends personal memoir with reflections on horror films, presenting a unique lens on identity, trauma, and the strange comfort of the uncanny. Zefyr Lisowski’s voice is intimate and deeply personal. She writes with raw honesty about her experience as a trans woman navigating mental illness, family fracture, and self-discovery, often with horror cinema as the backdrop. The result is a book that defies simple categorization. It isn’t film criticism in the traditional sense and shouldn’t be approached expecting in-depth analysis of genre or technique. Instead, the movies serve more as emotional reference points—cultural signposts that illuminate the personal terrain she’s walking.



The prose is lyrical, often poetic, and at times difficult to pin down. Some essays land with real impact, especially those dealing with childhood, body dysphoria, and love under the shadow of violence. Others meander or lean into abstraction, making them harder to engage with. This is a book that values feeling over clarity, which will work for some readers and frustrate others. For me, the highlights were the moments where Lisowski’s emotional insight was matched with structural focus. When those moments came together, they hit hard.



TROPES / THEMES:

• Memoir as lens through horror

• Identity and survival in marginalized bodies

• Film as fragmented reflection

• Queerness, trauma, and transformation



Minor Drawbacks:

• Horror films often feel like background noise rather than analytical center

• Some essays feel abstract and difficult to follow

• Uneven pacing and tone across the collection



Uncanny Valley Girls is best read as an experimental memoir rather than a guide to horror cinema. Its strength lies in its vulnerability and voice. While not every piece connected with me, there is real power in what Lisowski is doing here, and plenty to appreciate if you’re drawn to genre storytelling as a mirror for lived experience.

[Michelle · Rating 3 out of 5]

📌New Review

Thank you #partner @harperperennial for my #gifted copy

📖: Uncanny Valley Girls: Essays on Horror, Survival, and Love
✍️: Zefyr Lisowski
🖨️: Harper Perennial
📈: 3.5⭐️
🪞: Memoir

TW:
-PTSD
-Institutionalization
-Sucide & Suicidal Thoughts
-Mental, Physical & Emotional Abuse
-Death
-Drugs
-Transphobia
-Self-Harm
-Gore
-Ableism
-Chronically Ill
-SA

Movie Spoilers- Saw, The Ring, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Pet Sematary, Saint Maud, Dark Water, Scream, Final Destination, Black Swan, Ginger Snaps, Lizzie Borden; I Know What You Did Last Summer & more.

📝:”To be scared in the presence of someone else is to open yourself to vulnerability.”

Being a lover of horror movies, a fellow chronically ill girlie with PTSD as well as someone who jumped from one relationship to another I saw a lot of myself reflected here. It’s awful to be lumped into BOTH groups of “incurable/ we lack the knowledge or resources to help her” or “abandoned/ it’s all in your head” by drs.

“Every part of me hurt for months. The deterioration I dreaded for so long became my routine…that routine became my life.”

In reading Zefyr’s point of view as she compares the characters in horror movies like Samara from “The Ring” & “Zelda” from Pet Sematary, I saw a perspective that had never occurred to me before. Why are WE, the audience rooting for them to die when they’ve only ever been sick. Zelda is frightening because she’s deteriorating from spinal meningitis & Samara never harmed anyone until she was murdered by her mother. But they prevail despite everyone wanting them gone & that scares us?

In 12 essays Zefyr describes the trials & tribulations of the life she’s been dealt. She watches horror movies just to feel alive. She remembers who she watched each one with, where at & their reactions. We all have something we cling to desperately to feel normal, mine is reading.

“Horror movies are about staying alive & that focus has taught me more about care than anything else.”

She opens up about dating, family life, loss, coping & even some of her idols. I learned a lot from this book & I respect her very much.

I do wish this book wasn’t so heavily marketed regarding horror movies as this is about 10-15% focused on relating to films and the other is strictly memoir. Also, each essay, even from one paragraph to the next continually jumped out of chronological order . I was often confused what year we were in ,who she was dating, where she was living, etc. The Postlude was also a bit odd because it was directed at “you” all of the sudden- the reader? The future? I’m not sure.

💭When feeling emotional what’s something that keeps you grounded?

[Candi Norwood · Rating 5 out of 5]

𖤐👻🔪🩸𝕭𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝕽𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖊𝖜🩸🔪 👻𖤐
I didn’t know it, but apparently one way I know a book is for me is when it opens with a quote from Ginger Snaps.
Part memoir, part examination of gender, trauma, disability and more “otherness” - as well as the universal desire for love and belonging - through the lens of horror films, in Uncanny Valley Girls, Zefyr Lisowski invites us in and shares vulnerably about growing up with a debilitating illness, her time in therapy and psych wards, life as a trans woman, and how horror films were her refuge.
Written in the second person, Uncanny Valley Girls reads like a confessional and makes it feel like we are intimate friends privy to her innermost thoughts.
The paragraphs on film theory and criticism were interesting, well researched, and thoughtful, but what makes Uncanny Valley Girls stand out is how Lisowski connects the theory to her personal experience, starting in the opening chapter where she discusses sickness as otherness in films like The Ring and Pet Sematary to how The Texas Chainsaw Massacre impacted her feelings about growing up in the South.
As someone who also grew up in the South as an “other” (though not in the same ways), a lot of this really resonated with me on a personal level which I did not expect, and I definitely expect to go back over some of these paragraphs and chapters again from a mindset of personal growth vs. entertainment and review purposes.
Though many of the themes in Uncanny Valley Girls by Zefyr Lisowski are dark - illness, otherness, suicidal ideation - the overall tone is hopeful; many chapters end with the idea of freedom, and the overarching theme is about love and survival through horror.
Thank you to NetGalley and Harper Perennial for the advance copy in exchange for my honest review.

[Abby (herliterarylife) · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thanks to Harper Perennial for the gifted ARC!

I really loved this collection! Lisowski does an incredible job of relating her various experiences as a disabled, queer, and trans person to different horror films, characters, or tropes. She provides just enough detail on each film she discusses to give us the context we need to understand how it relates to her personal stories and observations (often involving trauma, mental illness, grief, class, violence, and more), and does a great job of intertwining the two into a compelling and moving narrative.

We learn all the ways in which she sees herself in horror and what draws her to it, as well as the many ways in which horror films reflect our real world. She points out so much that I’ve never really thought about before, such as the messaging behind evil characters’ appearances (e.g. they are often made to look ill or disfigured, which suggests that visibly sick and disabled people are weird and scary and should be avoided). She explains how horror is often used to portray the dangers of “otherness”, whether that be disability, mental illness, queerness, gender nonconformity, etc.

This was truly eye-opening in so many ways—I feel as though I’ve been given a new lense to look through, both when watching horror movies as well as in my daily life. I know I’m going to revisit this collection in the future; it actually has me dying to go watch/rewatch the movies mentioned throughout. As I do, I’ll likely reread each corresponding essay.

Overall, a brilliant collection of essays that effectively connects the world of horror films to our own, all while sharing deeply personal stories and providing the reader with a sense of hope, even when you may feel as though you’re living in your own personal horror film.

[Julia Rhea · Rating 4 out of 5]

I figured “Uncanny Valley Girls” by Zefyr Lisowski was going to primarily be a collection of essays diving into various themes of horror films, however it was so much more (which will be a hit or miss for you depending on what you are searching for).

“Uncanny Valley Girls” is a blend of biographic essays and film critique/theory. As someone who already laces various media to different phases of my life, it resonated deeply. I think we all have a film or two that immediately pulls us into a distinct time in our life, the ones that when you watch it was almost like it was made for you in that moment. The right film at the right time. Lisowski tackles topics such as sexual assault, chronic pain, trans-ness, and mental illness through her own personal anecdotes and connections to films. Sometimes she is admiring a film for its representation of these darker themes, other times scolding them for missing the mark.

I will say, if you are approaching and considering this book primarily for the deep-dive on films (like I initially was), it may not be for you. “Uncanny Valley Girls” serves as primarily a memoir to Lisowski’s own life. While that side of the book was fascinating and poetically written, the films serve more as an occasional cameo to parallel Lisowski’s own story. However, there is no denying the tender pain and haunting prose that Lisowski brings forth, it is candid and raw.

(I do want to thank Lisowski for introducing me to Greer Lankton, I cannot stop looking at her art.)

Thank you to NetGalley and the publishers for sending me a free ARC in exchange for a fair and honest review!