Silk & Sinew: A Collection of Folk Horror from the Asian Diaspora

by Kristy Park Kulski (Editor), Ai Jiang, Nadia Bulkin

Named by the New York Public Library as one of the best new horror books of 2025

"A triumph of an anthology and an essential addition to the folk horror genre."--Eliza Chan, author of Fathomfolk and Tideborn

"...one of those rare books that are destined to become future literary classics."--Nuzo Onoh, "Queen of African Horror" & Bram Stoker Lifetime Achievement Award recipient

EXPERIENCE A TAPESTRY OF TERROR

From lengths of muscle and vein, ground bones, endless ropes of sinew...it is with our bodies folk horror is woven.

Edited by Bram Stoker Award-nominee Kristy Park Kulski, this stunning anthology features contributions from some of the most acclaimed authors of the Asian Diaspora.

With Stories and Poetry By

Ai Jiang, Nadia Bulkin, Christina Sng, Rena Mason, Lee Murray, J.A.W. McCarthy, Geneve Flynn, Bryan Thao Worra, Ayida Shonibar, Yi Izzy Yu, Angela Yuriko Smith, Kanishk Tantia, Robert Nazar Arjoyan, Saba Syed Razvi, Christopher Hann, Audrey Zhou, Seoung Kim, Rowan Cardosa, Gabriela Lee, Shawna Yang Ryan, Priya Sridhar, Jess Cho, and Saheli Khastagir

And a Foreword by Monika Kim.

"Silk & Sinew screams with unquiet diasporic voices. The landscape itself is haunted by personal and collective history, unflinchingly examining intergenerational relations, colonialism, displacement and what makes us monstrous. A triumph of an anthology and an essential addition to the folk horror genre." -- Eliza Chan, author of Fathomfolk and Tideborn

"Visceral, poignant, unforgettable. The stories in this haunting collection made me weep. This book is eternal; a classic addition to every self-respecting library." --Nuzo Onoh, "Queen of African Horror" & Bram Stoker Lifetime Achievement Award recipient

"Silk & Sinew is a transcendent collection of horror and identity that engages all the primal emotions rooted in our shared humanity. Many times you will be brought to the verge of tears, many times you will learn the cost of survival, many times you will be made to experience the deepest scars, folklore, and beauty of the Asian diaspora. I learned and felt so much." --Jamal Hodge, Bram Stoker Award Nominee, The Dark Between The Twilight

"Kulski’s Silk & Sinew is an ambitious anthology that delivers what it promises. All the works are rooted in the natural world, by design and arrangement, yet each one deftly explores the fantastical, the weird, and the spiritual beyond the tangible. Whether we are watching eels watch us, exorcising guilt in ghostly ashes, or trespassing sacred space, Silk & Sinew shows us how Art is indelibly informed and enriched by our beliefs, culture, and folklore." –-Frances Lu-Pai Ippolito, author and founder of award winning Qilin Press

Genres: Horror, Short Stories, Anthologies, Fiction, Short Story Collection, Folklore, Supernatural

361 pages, Kindle Edition

Published May 6, 2025

Reviews

[Cameron D. R. Eyestone · Rating 5 out of 5]

Genuinely one of the best horror short story compilations I have read. Even the Foreword and the Afterword in this are great. I actually cannot pick a favorite, every story in here is at least a 4/5.

[Becky Spratford · Rating 4 out of 5]

Review in the April 2025 issue of Library Journal

Three Words That Describe This Book: discomfiting, rage, identity

Draft Review: Soil, Estuary, Bedrock, Roots, and Air: five named sectionsthat ground this ambitious anthology of stories, poems, and drawings that dig into the anger, complications of assimilation, and racist stereotypes from which their Asian American Folk Horror is unearthed. Each section begins with a poem by a foundational author and then allows the stories that follow to take readers on an unsettling journey where trigger warnings abound. As readers make their way through, tales of ghosts, shape shifters, and family dynamics morph into sinister nightmares of violence, body horror, cannibalism, and more. For example, Nadia Bulkin’s “Things to Know Before You Go” directly confronts the horror inherent in the question, “where are you really from?” while Rowan Cardosa’s “In Twain,” pulls no punches addressing the common inquiries into what Asians actually eat. Hammering its consistent message home, this resolute volume delivers a reading experience that will terrify readers of all identities to their core.

Verdict: A solid anthology from a trusted small press that has recently secured major distribution, suggest to fans of compelling horror stories that center rage and identity like House of Bone and Rain by Iglesias or The Eyes Are the Best Part by Kim.


Draft Verdict: A solid anthology from a trusted small press that has recently secured major distribution, suggest to fans of compelling horror stories that center rage and identity like House of Bone and Rain by Iglesias or The Eyes Are the Best Part by Kim.

More in April.

[DaUhn · Rating 4 out of 5]

Really liked this one!! Some stories were definitely more memorable than others. I’m so glad to have picked it up, it was the perfect fall read!

[Brianne Campbell-Thompson · Rating 4 out of 5]

Silk and Sinew: A Collection of Folk Horror From The Asian Diaspora", is a unique and enthralling collection of horror short stories. The stories in the collection are horrific, unsettling, surreal, and beautifully written. I also learned a great deal about different Asian cultures while reading the collection!

My favorite stories in the collection are as follows:

"The Squatters" by Shawna Yang Ryan is about an archeologist going to Taiwan to help uncover a mass grave. Dark secerets about her family are uncovered the longer she is there.

"Fed by Earth, Slaked by Salt" by Jess Cho is about a person named Tae-young, returning to their childhood home for their mother's funeral. Tae-young has to deal with the shock of losing their mother and the guilt of moving 8000 miles away from their home.

Tae-young's mother sends them a journal containing her life story, which was full of hardship and sadness.

"Things to Know Before You Go" by Nadia Bulkin is about two friends hiking on a cursed trail in Indonesia. The story is dark and surreal.

"Under Blades We Lie Still" by Christopher Hann is about a man named Dongwoo being haunted by his parents who died in an airplane crash.

I highly recommend this amazing collection of horror short stories for those who want to read a book that is hauntingly beautiful. I hope that a second book is created with more horror stories from the Asian Diaspora!

I rated this book 4 out of 5 stars! Thank you, Bad Hand Books, for sending me an ARC of this book!

The book will be released May 2025!

[Leslie · Rating 5 out of 5]

I enjoyed every story in this collection--massive win! Thoroughly enjoyable with a creeping sense of horror. Every author crushed it. Definitely pick this up if you're looking for haunting story collections this fall.

[Katie (DoomKittieKhan) · Rating 5 out of 5]

Full review coming soon. This is not one to miss for Asian, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander (AANHPI) Heritage Month (May). Pub date: May 6th 2025.

[Alicia Ceasar · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a fantastic collection. I didn’t connect with every story but I loved the majority of them and have a bunch of new authors to put on my radar.

[Alex · Rating 5 out of 5]

I approached Silk & Sinew with high hope of a companion for the Stoker Award winning anthology Black Cranes, and those hopes were exceeded. This book is good from cover to cover, and both the foreword and afterword are essential reading. “Mother's Mother's Daughter” by Audrey Zhou is a well executed dark fantasy metaphor to kick off the stories in this anthology. “The Squatters” by Shawna Yang Ryan is brutal and unflinching exploration of forensic work on mass graves. “If I Am to Earn My Tether” by Geneve Flynn has excellent nesting storytelling and use of second person. Lots of compelling layers both visceral and intellectual for a satisfying story. I’m a fan of Geneve’s and this is possibly her best story yet. “Guilt is a Little House” by J.A.W. McCarthy shows us that there is a thin line between horror and tragedy. “Mindfulness” by Rena Mason really drives home that you can never go back home.

Additionally, these stories often contrast the crush of humanity in ultra-dense urban environments with green wilderness within a short drive. This is a different version of the “Rural Poor as Monstrous Other” theme through different lenses and experiences. That is one of my favorite themes to explore, and these new views were very satisfying.

[Horror Haus Books · Rating 3 out of 5]

I love horror rooted in culture and this anthology was filled with spooky folk lore. Definitely worth the read!

[Julia · Rating 3 out of 5]

The first few stories were interesting. Then as the book progressed they became less so. My favorite stories were:

Mother's Mother's Daughter - This was a really interesting story about witchcraft. I liked the use of the body to do magic.
Pig Feet - a very creepy story. Disturbing.

I could really do without all the poetry. It is my least favorite thing to read. I'm just here for the short fiction.

[Donna Robinson · Rating 4 out of 5]

This collection of short stories from a diverse cast of authors was horrifying for its divergence into various topics. I really enjoyed the different stories, like Hair and This Is Not Their War, as they provided plenty of different topics. Each story provided its own terror, and they don't hold back from any shock as they discuss some very disturbing themes. There were a few stories I just couldn't get into, but overall, I liked a lot of them. If you are looking for some short but horrifying stories by plenty of varied authors, this is definitely your book.

[Lewis Housley · Rating 4 out of 5]

An excellent read and a chance to see some author's work that I don't often see.

[The Blog Without a Face · Rating 4 out of 5]

BWAF Score: 8/10

Silk & Sinew is the rare anthology that feels like a statement, not a sampler. It corrals a wicked roster of Asian diaspora writers and arranges them by landscape – soil, estuary, bedrock, roots, air – which sounds ornamental until you realize the book is tuning your brain to read for place as much as plot. The result is a collection that is weird, ambitious, and memorable in all the right ways. It’s folk horror with receipts. It’s also a blast, albeit the kind that laughs like a knife.

Editor Kristy Park Kulski is a historian turned horror conjurer, which explains why so many stories hum with context instead of leaning on exoticism. She’s got novels under her belt and a puckish public persona that promises righteous mischief. She delivers. The curation is careful, purposeful, and sometimes downright audacious. Grouping by landscape does more than avoid tonal whiplash. It lets the book build an argument about how bodies, families, and communities are shaped by the terrains they cross and the borders they’re told not to.

This is not a costume party of borrowed myths. These tales drag folklore into the fluorescent glare of diaspora life, where the scariest monsters are often policy, memory, and the family ledger that never quite balances.

Standout stories include a brutal beauty about a mother whose daughters are literally her body’s bill to the world. It is tender enough to make your heart ache and feral enough to chew on your ankle. Another highlight is a forensic excavation story set against the backdrop of political violence. There is a ghost, sure, but the true haunting is history that refuses to stay politely buried. A sly parable about appetite and outsiders serves small-town bigotry with a grin and a fatal aftertaste. A tight intergenerational tale about tethers and bargains asks what you owe the people who made you and what they owe you back. And there’s a crisp, aching piece by a master of the political-uncanny that bottles the loneliness of unbelonging so efficiently you can practically smell the airport terminal it lives in.

Elsewhere, liminal stories blur shoreline and city block, home and exile, living and not-quite. A pair of atmospheric stunners bracket the final section, sketching sky and ash and breath in a way that feels like an elegy you accidentally inhaled. The table is long and rich, but the anthology never reads like a kitchen-sink dump. It’s a playlist, not a backlog.

If folk horror is usually about the cost of tradition, Silk & Sinew is about the cost of survival. The book bucks amnesia. Its folklore is not a quaint import for spice but the record-keeping system of people who had to build religion from whatever the land would admit. Bodies and borders are the two big motifs. Bodies as offerings, caretaking as ritual, the invoice of womanhood stamped into skin. Borders as jokes, porous, moving, enforced only when it benefits power. The organizing landscapes are more than chapter headers. Soil means origin and burial. Estuary is crossing and salt. Bedrock is history under pressure. Roots are inheritance, tangled and sometimes choking. Air is aftermath, rumor, and the stories we tell to stay intact.

Stylistically, this thing rips. You get multiple textures that all cut. Some pieces are clinical in their precision, like a pathologist’s slide glowing with sick color. Others are fabulist and dreamy, moving like fog through streetlights. Then there are the nasty little daggers, the two to four thousand worders that waste not a syllable and still manage to draw blood. Voice is a strength across the board. Nobody is doing karaoke versions of anyone else.

The collection’s quiet thesis is that diaspora folk horror isn’t about importing a monster. It’s about refusing erasure. When you’re told to assimilate until you disappear, the land remembers you better than the census does. The ghosts here are not seasonal attractions. They are accountants. They track debts that families owe and debts the state pretends not to. The rituals are labor disguised as magic because no one paid for the labor. The prices are not metaphors. This is why so many endings feel like contracts being enforced. The book suggests, not gently, that what we call a curse is often just cause and effect stretched across generations that didn’t get a fair shot at naming the terms.

There’s also a streak of righteous, salty humor that keeps the collection from sinking into dourness. Female rage shows up not as a lecture but as a lawful natural force. It is the tide. It comes for you whether you posted thoughts and prayers or not.

Strengths first. The curation is excellent. The landscape structure earns its keep by building resonance, letting symbols stack, and preventing the mid-anthology sag that kills so many collections. The best stories are flat-out great, the kind that make you change how you read the next one. Line by line, the prose quality is high. The art and design match the mood. And the thing has an actual voice, which is rare in anthologies and rarer still in themed ones.

Quibbles. Two stories overstay their welcome. Folk horror is pressure cooking, not slow roasting. A few pieces chase similar prey from similar angles. If you read cover to cover in one sitting, you may feel echoes rather than harmony in a couple spots. These are the smallest of dings on a sturdy suit of armor.

Originality sits north of the border. The anthology dodges tourist-trap folklore and goes straight to the messy mechanics of diaspora living: intergenerational bargains, language that betrays you at customs, neighborhoods where the map insists nothing happened but the ground says otherwise. The spins on witches, hauntings, and bargains feel earned, not showroom-shiny.

Pacing is strong. The landscape breaks re-oxygenate the reading experience so the long pieces have room and the short ones hit like gut punches. Character work is a standout. Even the most allegorical stories have people in them, not walking symbols or meme delivery devices. You can hear the clatter of kitchens, the shuffle of second jobs, the silence between parents and children that stretches like old taffy.

Is it scary? Yes, in the way that sits behind your sternum for a week. This is not a parade of jump scares. It’s dread braided with grief and memory. The excavation story is terrifying because you know exactly which headline it belongs to. The revenge pieces are frightening and cathartic at once, like hearing a verdict read in a courtroom that usually loses the paperwork. The quieter hauntings feel like a hand on the back of your neck when you walk past the alley you grew up near.

Silk & Sinew is excellent. It’s the sort of anthology that convinces you themed collections can still surprise you if the theme is a living organism. It’s angry without being preachy, beautiful without being precious, and clever without letting cleverness do the emotional heavy lifting. If you care about folk horror, diaspora literature, or just reading things that actually leave a mark, this belongs on your shelf. Not someday. Now.

TL;DR: A razor-sharp, landscape-shaped anthology of Asian diaspora folk horror that ditches tourist kitsch for history’s teeth. The best stories are instant re-reads, the curation is bold, and even the few meanders can’t blunt its edge. Come for the monsters, stay for the bookkeeping of ghosts.

Recommended for: Readers who want folklore that bites instead of winks, anyone who collects intergenerational grudges like baseball cards, exhausted daughters who are done being the family’s unpaid exorcist, and academics who like their footnotes with blood.

Not recommended for: Cozy-horror pilgrims seeking cinnamon-scented hauntings, folks who believe “the past is over” because a realtor said the bones are good, and anyone allergic to stories that point at power and say you did this and the land remembers.

[Karen · Rating 4 out of 5]

The opening poem by Geneve Flynn is perfectly crafted and hauntingly beautiful. Many of the stories in the book are creepy and seem to follow fairytales or lore that I was unfamiliar with but which rang true in the end. The selection of writers range from excellent to fair, some having a better grasp of the art of the short story.

[John · Rating 4 out of 5]

The title says it all, and it is a very satisfying and insightful collection showcasing some fascinating voices.

[John Yu Branscum · Rating 5 out of 5]

★★★★★

Folk horror gets under your skin differently than other horror subgenres for me. Where cosmic horror makes you feel small against the universe and slashers make you second-guess that dude over there, folk horror makes you afraid of home—or the places that should be home but somehow aren't. (A resonant theme these days). And it's horror rooted in specific dirt, in the stories passed down through bloodlines, in the weight of what came before. The best folk horror doesn't just scare you; it makes you reconsider your relationship to place, to heritage, to where you're standing, or trying to.

Silk & Sinew gets that. And Kristy Park Kulski, one of my favorite writers herself (and my students'), has assembled stories that explore what it means to be haunted not just by ghosts, but by history, displacement, and the impossibility of ever truly belonging anywhere.

As someone who teaches contemporary spec lit, this is exactly the kind of collection I love putting in front of students--and they love reading (I know because I already had them read some of the stories). Stories like these work on multiple levels—as horror narratives, as explorations of diaspora identity, as sophisticated engagements with folklore and mythology. They're accessible enough to hook students who claim they "don't like literary fiction" while offering layers of cultural and historical complexity that reward deeper analysis. And they are also the kind of stories who make people say "they don't like horror" become raving fans because they realize what it can do and be.

The range of approaches in this collection is wow to boot. Some stories confront historical trauma directly—Shawna Yang Ryan's "The Squatters" uses Taiwan's 228 Massacre as the foundation for multigenerational haunting that's both supernatural and devastatingly real. Others work through intimate family horror: Audrey Zhou's "Mother's Mother's Daughter" transforms the immigrant experience into visceral body horror where witch mothers literally give pieces of themselves to create children.

The collection moves between different modes of diaspora storytelling too. Geneve Flynn's "If I Am To Earn My Tether" draws on Malaysian polong mythology to create contemporary horror that feels both ancient and urgently modern. Yi Izzy Yu's "Pig Feet," a play off old Buddhist moral parables about cruel human beings reborn as the pigs they nonchalantly butchered before rebirth, escalates from childhood memory to surgical nightmare, using Chinese concepts of body modification as uhorror device, psychological exploration, and metaphysical commentary all at once.

Lee Murray's "The Poppy Cloud" excavates the brutal history of Chinese immigrants in New Zealand through supernatural revenge. Christopher Hann's "Under Blades We Lie Still" uses Korean concepts of sleep paralysis to explore grief and guilt. Ai Jiang's "The Heaven That Tastes Like Hell" transforms immigration itself into supernatural body horror. Nadia Bulkin brings her signature psychological complexity to "Things To Know Before You Go," while J.A.W. McCarthy delivers wonderfully fresh contemporary Gothic atmosphere in "Guilt Is A Little House." Christina Sng's brief but powerful "How We Survive" shows how much impact can be packed into just a few lines.

What makes this collection particularly valuable for teaching is how it demonstrates that folk horror isn't just about ancient curses—it's about the ways the past lives in our bodies, our families, our relationship to place. These characters exist in the liminal spaces that define much diaspora experience: between cultures, between generations, between human and other. Their transformations aren't metaphorical; they're survival strategies.

The cultural specificity throughout is extraordinary. These aren't stories that explain their cultural elements for Western audiences—they assume knowledge and invite readers into worlds that may be unfamiliar. That's exactly what makes them so powerful as teaching tools. Students have to do the work of understanding, of researching, of sitting with discomfort.

This collection does what the best contemporary horror accomplishes: it makes the political personal and the historical visceral. Perfect for courses on diaspora literature, contemporary horror, or anyone interested in how writers are reshaping fiction for the future. Also recommended for fans of such shows as Girl from Nowhere, The Revenant, and The Guest; and movies like Exhuma, Svaha: The Sixth Finger, The Wailing, Tiger Stripes, Impetigore, and Tummbad.

Essential reading.

[Vanessa · Rating 5 out of 5]

I have been drawn to horror literature of late, not despite but because of some dark experiences. I am reminded of how horror in fiction can offer catharsis, a way of processing real-life pain and fear. Of how darkness in art can be a comfort—a friendly tap on the shoulder, a shared moment, a missive that arrives to say, You’re not alone.

In Silk and Sinew, editor Kristy Park Kulski has gathered together 20 beautiful stories of darkness. The authors and poets (yes, there’s some poetry here as well) represent voices from a range of backgrounds and cultures, including China, Taiwan, Malaysia, Korea, India, Singapore, Thailand, Indonesia, the Philippines, Armenia, and Lao. Ghosts, shamans, fox spirits, sleep paralysis demons, and other unquiet spirits haunt these pages. But just as vivid are the ghosts of history, of trauma, of family secrets and pain that’s unspoken but passed down generations.

Familial bonds—both the love and pain in these bonds—are at the heart of most of these stories. In Audrey Zhou’s opening story, “Mother’s Mother’s Daughter,” a witch cuts off pieces of her body to give birth to her daughters. . . and must continue to sacrifice body parts for her family’s continued survival. In other stories, it is children who must sacrifice (or who are expected to sacrifice) themselves for their family’s good. In Ai Jiang’s moving and painfully gorgeous, “The Heaven That Tastes Like Hell,” a small family heaps all its hopes and expectations on the shoulders of their only son. He is given special privileges—as much food to eat as he wishes, an exemption from the manual labor his sisters perform—but at a heavy cost. If he can’t fulfill his family’s hopes as they expect, there’s a heart-rending price to pay. . . “Hair,” by Saheli Khastagir, similarly takes on the theme of familial sacrifice: a girl is not allowed to cut her long, heavy hair—no matter how much pain its increasing weight gives her—because her family’s fortunes are all bound up in her hair. There’s a delicate, fable-like quality to this story: the girl eventually rebels, and her daughter tells the tale with a certain lightness of tone. There’s darkness here, and revenge, but there’s also light and joy and empowerment and even reconciliation and love amid the hurt and revenge. A particularly lovely, layered story, and one of my favorites in this collection.

Other stories focus on the weight of history and family secrets. “Squatters” is an absolute stunner of story, a darkly powerful tale in which an archaeologist goes to Taiwan to help excavate the site of an old political massacre. While there, she seeks out the country house her grandparents once owned, and political and family history begin to darkly converge. . . “Fed by Earth, Slaked by Salt,” by Jess Cho is also about family secrets, although focused more tightly on personal history. After a long estrangement from family, the narrator returns to the family home for their mother’s funeral, to a place where the river meets the sea. There, while dealing with grief, the narrator begins to slowly understand the secrets of the marshland. . . This is an achingly gorgeous story, one that deals with multiple levels of loss. Woven through it is the grief, not just of the narrator, but of the narrator’s parents: the ache of immigration and displacement, of trying to make a new home, of trying to plant life in unfamiliar soil, runs throughout the tale. The way that Cho handles multiple thematic threads, and brings them all together in the end, is a marvel.

Diaspora themes of immigration and displacement are a recurring theme in this collection, to no surprise. Immigrants feel displaced in Western lands, and sometimes also face horrifying racism, as in Lee Murray’s harrowing and surreal “The Poppy Cloud.” But the children of immigrants, or those who immigrated when very young, in turn often feel disoriented and foreign in the lands of their parents. Three stories deal directly with this second type of disorientation and loss: “Things to Know Before You Go” by Nadia Bulkin, “Mindfulness” by Rena Mason, and “New Ancestors” by Robert Nazar Arjoyan. In these stories, old legends and spirits of ancestral lands rise to claim the children who have returned. All three stories are wonderfully creepy and unsettling. I particularly loved Arjoyan’s “New Ancestors,” an absolutely surreal tale of increasing horror and wildness, which follows the adventures of a pair of Armenian-American twins who spend a night carousing through the streets of Armenia’s capital city, enjoying a break between high school and college. After a bar brawl, things take a very distinctly strange turn. . . I love the way the writer just goes there in this story, literalizing common metaphors and pushing them to the extreme, ending in a hallucinatory tale that tastes of apocalyptic/cosmic/world-bending horror.

In terms of extreme horror and body horror, two other stories stand out in addition to “New Ancestors,”: “Pig Feet” by Yi Izzy Yu and “Under Blades We Lie Still” by Christopher Hann. Yu’s tale mixes old ideas of shamanism and possession with musings on current science in a heady, deeply unsettling and disturbing tale of revenge (I think I found this the most unsettling tale in the entire book). Hann’s story is an intense, moving tale of grief and loss and guilt, told through the medium of visceral body horror, as a young man struggles with the aftermath of his parents’ death.

There’s more in this collection of 20 stories, ranging from delicate tales lightly tinged with horror to full-blown visceral horror. A list of content warnings is given in the back of the book, and thoughtful essays by the editor give historical context and commentary. This is a darkly beautiful book, and an important one as well. Each tale is distinct, and a range of voices, themes, and styles are collected. But there are common, recurring themes. Brought together, these common themes resonate and hum; the stories sing together, and the whole is greater than its parts. While reading this, I thought of another groundbreaking anthology of Asian horror, the Bram Stoker Award and Shirley Jackson award-winning Black Cranes: Tales of Unquiet Women (edited by Lee Murray and Geneve Flynn). In its spotlighting of voices of the Asian diaspora, I find Silk and Sinew similarly groundbreaking and a future classic.

[Emily · Rating 5 out of 5]

SILK AND SINEW is a meticulously curated anthology focusing on stories from the Asian Diaspora. It is beautiful, terrifying, and shocking. It's one of those anthologies that will stick with me for a long time.

The introduction, brilliantly written by Monika Kim, is written in the shadow of the world where violence against Asian Americans has increased since the Covid 19 pandemic, and through a post 2024 election, where a chant of "Your Body, My Choice" made headlines. This really focused the intentions of my reading. It honestly left me a little speechless that the intro was as bold and honest as it was- and I'm very glad for that. It really introduced the rest of the stories that followed.

The anthology is divided into sections, with poems opening each section. Each story felt vulnerable, yet strong. The horror wasn't always what we obviously call horror, but it often reflected themes of colonialism, capitalism, and racism. After reading the anthology, I was left a little stunned. I don't think I've ever read a collection of stories that moved me quite like this one.

A few of the stories that really left me speechless include This Was Not Their War, Neither Feathers no Fin, and The Heaven That Tastes Like Hell. However, every story is so good in so many ways.

The anthology also contains a brief historical section with short essays that help better inform the stories that are in the anthology. I really appreciated that a few of the stories had specific ties to the historical context, like Jars of Eels, which I will probably think about daily for a while.

The afterword, written by Kristy Park Kulski, really made me reflect on folk horror, especially through the lens in which this anthology was written. I've read quite a bit of folk horror, but this was the first written from an intentional Asian diaspora perspective. The afterword was powerful, discussing the tapestry of Asian American history.

[Christopher O'Halloran · Rating 5 out of 5]

I really loved Silk and Sinew. Each author showed real vulnerability by shining a spotlight on their culture, both the negative aspects and the positive. That vulnerability leads to so many memorable moments, from the shocking to the wonderful to the horrific.

So many of these authors were familiar to me. Ai Jiang and Robert Nazar Arjoyan are friends, and every chance I get to read something of theirs feels like a gift. Ai constantly tackles cultural weight with an understated poetry that strikes true against the heart of the subdued, and that is on full display with her story about a boy fated for something bigger. Robert shocks and awes with his ability to deftly go where others shy away, and he does this again with the ending of his story. I had to read it twice; the first time through my fingers.

It was also such a joy to see familiar names tied to real memories. People I shared space with at Stokercon San Diego: waiting in the SGJ signing line with Rena Mason, bumping into J.A.W. McCarthy while hanging out with Christi Nogle, chatting with Lee Murray on the plane home. There’s something electric about seeing names on the page when you’ve laughed with them in person—it adds another layer of resonance to the work.

And then there were the new discoveries. Christopher Hann, Gabriella Lee, and Saheli Khastagir were all new to me, but each left a lasting impression. These are authors I searched for on social media as soon as I finished their story; I don't want to miss any subsequent releases!

This anthology doesn’t shy away from anything. It speaks of inheritance, of guilt and love, of being between cultures, between generations, between the self you present and the one you carry. Every story added something vital to the whole. I’ll be thinking about it for a long time.

[P.M. Raymond · Rating 4 out of 5]

Asian folklore horror is front and center in the inventive and evocative anthology, SILK & SINEW. The book is framed as an exploration of Asian folk horror and its many deeper meanings through stories, poetry, and essays. Per the book’s synopsis –

From lengths of muscle and vein, ground bones, endless ropes of sinew it is with our bodies folk horror is woven.

That summary is pretty accurate about what you can expect! Poetry opens and closes the anthology and serves as a signpost in each section – SOIL, ESTUARY, BEDROCK, ROOT, and AIR. The stories touch on reimaged parables, characters between both worlds of their home and adopted countries, and villages with secrets are among the plots and twists in SILK & SINEW. This book is filled with tender, gruesome, and challenging storytelling that feels literary and lethal at the same time.

Each writer crafts their story from their cultural place in the world, yet the themes and messages are universal, which makes this anthology incredibly relevant and approachable. It’s like a passport in folk horror form with characters and situations that feel familiar yet surprising all at once.

With stories and poems that touch cultural backgrounds from Indonesia, India, China, and Malaysia, to name a few, SILK & SINEW is a surreal and suffocating, yes, some of these works will take your breath away, beautiful and boundary-kicking selection of immersive storytelling.

If you love folk horror steeped in cultural history, you’ll love this book. If you are new to this kind of storytelling, SILK & SINEW is a great place to start exploring.

[Nuzo Onoh · Rating 5 out of 5]

Silk & Sinew is one of those rare books that are destined to become future literary classics. Almost all the stories and poems in this priceless collection leave an indelible mark in your heart. Even weeks after reading the book, a random thought or event might trigger an unexpected recollection of one of the stories, and once again, you’re trying to make connections, find rationalisations and explore the ideas and themes in the stories. From the powerful Foreword to the wonderful Afterword, these stories and poems are also history lessons into the harrowing past of some of the Asian cultures explored. The insights and superstitions were so enriching and fascinating that I found myself wanting to know more, Googling some words and customs to find out as much as I could, to better enrich the experience of reading the anthology. My favourite stories in this beautiful collection of numerous favourites are, “UNDER BLADES WE LIE STILL” by Christopher Hann, “MOTHER’S MOTHER’S DAUGHTER” by Audrey Zhou, “JARS OF EELS” by Kanishk Tantia and “GUILT IS A LITTLE HOUSE” by J.A.W McCarthy. All the other stories and poems are almost just as spectacular and I know readers will find something that resonates in every single one of the works that make up this amazing, poignant and unforgettable collection. Five stars...actually, one thousand well-deserved stars from me!

[Nilsa · Rating 3 out of 5]

There are some stories I really liked, and then there were some that didn't really get my attention. I do like the representation and how the stories are tied to real-life cultural happenings. I am not much of a poem person, so I read them but didn't really care for those. Overall, I think it was a good read.

[Rachel · Rating 5 out of 5]

Every story and poem in this anthology is so beautiful and all the writers are incredibly talented. Folk horror is and always will be my favorite horror; I adore it so much. I also really appreciated the section at the end that provides context for some of the stories. I'm glad I took my time getting through this anthology, and while I'm sad I finished it I will absolutely read this again.

[Melissa · Rating 3 out of 5]

Some stories were interesting while others confusing or boring. The one that really stuck with me though was This was not their war. It was short but impactful.

[Mindy Lee]

DNF @ 41%

Started off with some great stories but quickly dropped down in interest for me. Short story collections are just so not my thing

[Jethpage · Rating 4 out of 5]

She always preferred haunted places and to be among ghosts. They existed somewhere in between, like her.

My favorite genre of horror is Asian Supernatural & Psychological horror. I grew up watching The Ring, The Grudge, Shutter, The Eye, Shutter, etc. With that, I already had an inkling that I would enjoy reading this, and I did. The book is divided into 5 chapters: Soil, Estuary, Bedrock, Roots, and Hair. Each starts with a poem and has 5 stories, all of them having ties to the chapter title. The stories are set in different parts of Asia or are told from the POVs of people from the vast region. These stories gave me the feeling of otherness, creeping darkness, horror, and insanity intertwined with folklore. The Foreword, Glimpses into the Historical Context, and Afterword are great insights into the "why" of this book.
My Favorites: (I rated 5 or 4 stars)

💀 Mother's Mother's Daughter = 5
💀 The Squatters = 4
💀 This Was Not Their War = 4
💀 Pig Feet = 4
💀 Neither Feathers nor Fin = 5
💀 Guilt is a Little House = 5
💀 Things to Know Before You Go = 4
💀 New Ancestors = 4
💀 In Twain = 5
💀 Hair = 4
💀 Mindfulness = 4
💀 Under Blades We Lie Still = 4

I highly recommend this anthology if you enjoy folk horror and are interested in exploring different cultures.