She came to the cabin to write. The cabin had other plans.
Maggie Oliver, a once-successful blogger, is attempting to rebuild her life as a writer three years after the tragic loss of her husband and young son in a car accident. Injured and grieving, she moves to her late husband's lakeside family cabin in the Sierra Nevadas to heal and write. However, recurring nightmares and hauntings lead her to uncover long-hidden family secrets that put her and her new friends' lives in danger. Will Maggie be able to navigate her way through a mysterious shadow world and lay her ghosts to rest? Awards and 2023 Page Turner Fiction AwardWinner, 2023 Page Turner Best Paranormal/Supernatural GenreSecond Place, 2023 PNWA (Pacific Northwest Writers’ Association) Horror/Paranormal GenreFinalist, 2023 CIBA Awards, Paranormal Genre
"This book goes beyond the horror genre and the typical ghost story. It digs deep into that grief, the daily-ness of loss, and how our identity reshapes itself as we heal. Through her instantly likeable protagonist, Corso shows us how to make peace with one's past and give voice to those who've had theirs stolen. I was gripped by this story and turned pages late into the night, losing myself in this mystery as it unfolded in Maggie's lakeside cabin."
—Laura Munson, New York Times best-seller, author of The Wild Why, and founder of Haven Writing Retreats
I cried. Multiple times. There’s this soft ache to it, like it’s hugging you and breaking you at the same time That ending? Gave me a weird sense of peace I didn’t know I was looking for Diane Corso, if you’re reading this thank you seriously.
A wonderfully spooky, paranormal horror book that might require some tissues. Maggie loses her son and husband in a horrible accident, she loses parts of her memory along with her family. She moves to a cabin her husband inherited, the place he was raised in but never spoke about. Maggie uncovers clues with the help from a "not psychic" friend, a handsome handyman and some ghosts. She uncovers dark family secrets and tries to bring closure to her loss as well as the mystery of the Oliver family. I enjoyed this book very much! A great break from typical thrillers and horror books.
Broken things is a psychological thriller that revolves around the theme of the ghosts of the past. The best thing about this book is how the author's writing style was a justice to the theme of this book!
Maggie who came to a secluded cabin in Siberia Nevadas in order to escape the horrors of her past. She befriends her neighbour zach and his imaginary daughter mina. As the story proceeds the line between reality and fiction begins to fade.
I believe that this book is definitely a must read for someone who loves dark thrillers. The intensity of this book keeps one on the edge of their seat. It's hard to put down this book once you begin. Highly recommended!
Maggie Oliver survived the car crash that didn’t spare her husband and son. Now she’s holed up in a haunted lakeside cabin that might—or might not—be rearranging itself around her. With wine, Ambien, and enough sarcasm to stun a bear, Maggie battles grief, ghostly mysteries, and a contractor named Zach who’s far too unbothered by her spiraling mental state. Add a precocious kid sidekick, a cursed music box, and a possibly sentient video game designed by her dead husband—and you’ve got a grief-laced gothic revival with Gen X energy and a bite.
Why It Works
“Broken Things” is what happens when you throw The Haunting of Hill House, Gilmore Girls, and a grief memoir into a blender and hit “sarcastic smoothie.” This book doesn’t shy away from mental illness, survivor’s guilt, or the toll of being left behind—it marinates in it. But instead of drowning you in despair, Diane Corso offers dry humor, surreal mystery, and a heroine so emotionally raw she could file for emotional indecency.
It’s not a romance. It’s not horror. It’s not even truly a mystery, though there’s a spooky thread running through. It’s a hybrid, and it thrives in that space.
Trigger Warnings • Child loss • PTSD & trauma • Grief / Depression • Emotional dissociation • Mild horror elements (dreams, music box, memory gaps) • Gaslighting (internal & supernatural) • References to mental health meds / sleepwalking
Final Thoughts
If you’ve ever wanted a grief memoir that mutters, “Don’t touch me, I’m feral,” while unpacking boxes in a haunted cabin—this is it. Diane Corso walks a tightrope between heartbreak and hilarity with the skill of a traumatized circus performer. “Broken Things” will speak to anyone who’s ever clawed their way out of a dark place with nothing but rage, sarcasm, and the stubborn belief that maybe—just maybe—you’re not entirely unfixable.
I received a free copy of this book via Booksprout and am voluntarily leaving a review.
I honestly didn’t expect Broken Things to hit me this hard. It’s haunting, emotional, and strangely comforting at the same time. The story isn’t just about ghosts it’s about the kind of ghosts we all carry within us: memories, pain, and the people we’ve lost.
I felt every bit of Maggie’s journey her silence, her grief, her courage. She felt so real that I forgot she was a character. There were moments that made me tear up, and others that gave me a weird sense of peace I didn’t know I needed.
For me, Broken Things isn’t just a story; it’s an experience. It reminded me that even after losing everything, there’s always a way to find hope again. Every ending, after all, can become a new beginning.
Death of a loved one is so very life shattering. It would be bad enough to lose a single person but to lose your whole family is beyond what anyone could handle. The author shares life with grief in such a realistic manner that I had flashbacks to when my father passed away. He’s been gone for 30+ years and not a day goes by that I do not think of him. So when the author wrote,”Eventually, that asshole Grief stops being that unwanted houseguest who never leaves, and instead becomes a functional member of the household, a part of who you are. Yeah, he’s still around, the freeloader. But at least he’s not such a jerk about it now.” This is how I deal with the grief. The part about the in-between or blind spot is such an appropriate description of the place where spirits reside. I believe that spirits do reside ‘somewhere’ if unable to move on from this life. Because so much about Dan was unknown to Maggie; it was a great way for the author to show the reader more about Dan. What a horrible way to grow up. Such a tragedy that all things were answered after Dan was gone. All the mementos that Maggie discovered were also a nice touch to share more about the mystery. This book was such an emotional experience. Thank you to the author for providing an engaging way to explain death and grief.
“Broken Things” is an emotional, thought-provoking read that gently pulls you into the world of grief, memory, and the unknown. The story follows Maggie, who’s reeling from the devastating loss of her entire family in a tragic accident. As if that weren’t enough, she’s also recovering from a traumatic brain injury — and life just keeps throwing her curveballs.
After moving into her late husband Dan’s family cabin, Maggie starts encountering some strange, unexplained events — all seemingly tied to a mysterious music box and an old steamer trunk. The more she digs, the more she realizes how little she really knew about Dan. What’s especially compelling is how the author lets us learn more about Dan through “the in-between,” giving us glimpses into things that Maggie never got to know while he was alive.
There’s a real sense of heartbreak in discovering so many truths after someone is already gone. But somehow, the book never feels heavy for the sake of it — Diane Corso has a way of writing about grief that feels raw, yet comforting.
This book isn’t just a story — it’s an emotional experience. If you’ve ever loved and lost, or even just wondered how people process deep grief, Broken Things offers a beautifully written, deeply human perspective. Highly recommend to anyone who enjoys character-driven stories with a touch of the mysterious.
I find that grief horror might just be my favorite of the horrors. I like being so woven into the story and the MC that their grief becomes my own. Their grief certainly makes my own seem trivial and a lot lighter by far at any rate.
This book is beautifully written. While more a thriller than a horror, I would place it in the grief horror category just based on the paranormal elements.
This story reads like a memoir and there are parts that are so deeply profound I find it hard to believe it's 100% fiction. If it it's, and there is no reality woven in there, then never stop writing Ms. Corso. You have a gift many of us would sell our souls to have.
If you like stories that will touch your heart as well as make you a bit jumpy for a bit, I definitely recommend this book.
Thank you to Diane Corso for providing this free ARC in exchange for an honest review.
This is a story of grief and the spirits that can be uncovered when trying to deal with it. The death of a loved one can leave us wanting to know more about them. Looking through their past my unbury secrets that we're better off not knowing. Anyone who has dealt with grief and loss will relate to this haunting story.
This book will leave you wanting more, but make you wary of turning the next page.
WOOOWW. I won this book on a giveaway and went into it not really knowing what to expect. it was a slow burner at first but then tidbits were thrown out here and there and I was sucked in. the author does a fantastic job with balancing everything from grief journey to "paranormal" honestly this was truly fantastic and I enjoyed every minute of it.
Slow burn but great payoff! The main character is so lively with a really strong voice. This is more somber and spooky than straight up horror but I enjoyed the ride!
I do not impress easily - yet this book gave me more than I expected. The story moves slowly plus feels strange, like a quiet nightmare. It follows a woman who sees ghosts, who lost people and who cannot sort her own memories. From the first line, “Mom, wake up,” Corso keeps the truth hidden until the last page. Even with all the pain, Maggie holds on to the small comfort she shares with Zach and his daughter Mina. The house feels real because of details like the oak tree carvings on the walls, the stairs that groan under feet but also the fog that hangs over Big Pine Lake. The blog pages slipped between chapters show Maggie's old life and they work well. The book is more than a thriller it is a piece of writing shaped like a dark puzzle After I closed it I wanted to open it again and start over
I didnt expect to fall in love with a book about trauma, but here I am. Broken Things is beautifully written and painfully honest Maggie’s encounters in the cabin blur reality and dream in a way that reminded me of early Stephen King, only more emotional The connection between her late husband’s video game Shadowclaw and the strange things happening around her gave me chills. I also loved Mina—she’s such a well-drawn child character, curious yet grounded. The pacing is perfect: quiet dread that turns into revelation. Diane Corso deserves all the awards coming her way!
Diane Corso takes a simple premise – a woman moves back into a cabin after tragedy – and turns it into an unforgettable descent into memory and magic. I love how grief becomes persecution in itself. The interconnection between the “real” world and that within Maggie's dreams is seamless. In the end, you don't just read his story – you live it. Blog snippets add such realism. A masterpiece of modern Gothic fiction.
Broken Things is a beautifully raw novel about a woman named Maggie Oliver who’s reeling from the loss of her husband and son after a traumatic accident. Left with little more than a lakeside cabin and a bucket of unresolved pain, she escapes her old life in San Francisco and holes up in the Sierra Nevadas. But this isn’t just a grief story. It’s a sharp, funny, sometimes eerie look at healing, memory, and rediscovering identity when everything else feels gone. The book swings between the very real, like Ambien-fueled breakdowns and late-night sobs, and the surreal, with dreamlike elements and mysterious happenings that might just be her imagination. Or maybe not.
I was genuinely surprised by how often I laughed while reading a novel so deeply rooted in trauma. Corso’s writing carries a dry, cutting wit that never feels forced, it’s a natural extension of Maggie’s voice. Her narration is filled with sharp observations and brutally honest reflections, often delivered with a kind of dark humor that perfectly balances the heaviness of her grief. One moment that stood out occurs during a storm, when she panics and thinks, “I’m not going to die alone at the hands of a cruel, cabin-smashing troll.” It’s absurd on the surface, yet completely relatable to anyone who’s ever spiraled into irrational fear late at night. This blend of levity and pain doesn’t undermine the story’s emotional weight; instead, it makes Maggie feel vividly real, like someone you know well enough to reach out to.
What really got under my skin, though, were the strange, almost ghostly twists. There’s a whole chunk where Maggie sleepwalks and finds furniture rearranged and the pilot light mysteriously lit, things she swears she didn’t do. Then there’s the discovery of a music box shaped like a cabin that feels like more than just a keepsake. These elements creep in slowly, and they’re not loud or gory, they’re unsettling in a quiet way. The mystery is never over-explained, which I loved. It left me with questions that lingered in the back of my mind long after I put the book down. Is it grief? Is it the house? Or is it something else entirely?
The real heart of the book, though, is Maggie’s slow, cautious return to life. Her relationship with her quirky neighbor Zach and his precocious daughter Mina adds so much warmth to the story. There is a moment when Mina simply asks Maggie, “Are you sad?” and the directness of that question is profoundly affecting. Kids don’t dance around grief the way adults do. That moment was simple, but so emotionally honest. I appreciated how Corso let Maggie be messy and weird and not always likable, she’s not some perfect, noble widow. She’s bitter, she’s sarcastic, she cries in her car. And that’s what makes her journey back to writing, and maybe even back to joy, so satisfying.
Broken Things made me feel a lot. It made me laugh. It made me uncomfortable. It made me think about my own griefs, the ones I’ve shared, and the ones I haven’t. I’d recommend this book to anyone who’s been through a loss, or who just loves character-driven fiction with a sharp voice and a touch of weird. It's for fans of dark humor, haunted houses, and messy healing. It’s one of those stories I’m going to be thinking about for a long while.
The jacket for Broken Things by Diane Corso notes that the book was honored with the 2023 Page Turner Fiction Award. This is an accurate description of the story that definitely draws in the reader to its characters, the setting and the journey of the main character Maggie. Written in the first person from Maggie’s point of view helps provide all the emotions and frailty of her world. Multiple threads develop gradually – the key mystery to Maggie’s missing mother-in-law, the trauma and grief Maggie is experiencing as result of a tragic accident, the highs and lows of her marriage journey, her new home in a lakeside cabin in the Sierras after leaving her San Francisco life behind, not to mention solving a forgotten fantasy computer game with a potentially malevolent monster. Many little details, including some musical references, make the story convincing – a music box playing melody from “Peter and the Wolf”, a memory of a pool party and hearing “Groove is in the Heart”, Gordon Lightfoot’s “Sundown” moving the story forward. A commemorative challenge coin is an important item between characters, the annual community gathering at the lake in the Sierras features BBQ from the local Elks lodge, proceeding through sequential levels in the computer game becomes important to the tale, an accomplished architect puts his passion into a unique mountain cabin. As these elements are introduced, they seem random, but they come together in a thrilling fashion. After feeling the main character’s heartbreak over many pages, the satisfying conclusion provides a relief to the suspense, with a very relatable poignancy. This unique fiction from a small publisher is worth discovering.
So good! Diane Corso’s Broken Things is an emotional exploration of trauma and healing, with the added benefit of ghosts, mysteries, and monsters. She offers an intimate and raw look at the Greatest Loss of All and manages to invite me in while also shielding me enough so that I want to join the adventure. Each of the characters are grappling with the fragments of their past and the challenge of deciding how, and if, to move past it. While there is much vulnerability, there isn’t the sappy sentimentality that often finds itself in reads, and so it feels real. The dialogue is careful and awkward and shows the pain without telling the pain, which again, makes it feel real. Corso’s storytelling is powerful, weaving together themes of loss, redemption, the complexity of relationships, and a perfect hint of humor. An added benefit is the pacing, which allows the reader to fully immerse in the stunning landscape of the story—a beautiful lake full of broken things. Broken Things is a moving, thought-provoking read that lingers beyond the final page. I want to have coffee with the character and chat about what her life feels like now. The mysteries are solved, so I feel fulfilled, but I also crave more.
As a journalist covering human interest and mental health, Broken Things offered narrative strategies I admired and lessons I could use in interviews. Diane Corso’s skill at weaving internal voice with external events showed how to respect a person’s history without exploiting it for drama.
I learned to pay closer attention to cadence and silence in storytelling: the way Corso allows pauses to convey unsaid histories. That technique influenced an upcoming feature I wrote. I left more space for subjects to breathe, which produced more honest quotes.
In practice, I shifted my interview style to include a two-minute silent pause after emotional answers, and I prefaced questions with more context so people felt safer. The result was deeper, more reflective material and interviewees who later thanked me for making them feel heard.
The novel also reminded me that ethical reporting requires patience; healing is not a single quote. Corso’s humane approach to characters encouraged me to be more cautious and considerate in how I framed sensitive stories.
For writers and journalists who want craft insights wrapped in a moving story, Broken Things is both a model and a moral tutor.
I choose Broken Things hoping for a good story and came away with spiritual lessons about confession, witness, and the slow work of reconciliation. Diane Corso uses haunting imagery to explore how silence in families functions like a moral wound something our youth group found strikingly relevant.
The key takeaway was that speaking truth into a compassionate, safe space can loosen the grip of shame. We used this as the theme for a youth night, encouraging participants to write anonymous notes about fears they carried; the act of writing alone sparked relief for many.
Practically, I borrowed the book’s approach to small shared rituals and adapted it for our group: a short, structured “naming” exercise followed by a collective grounding breath. It created a container where teenagers felt permission to speak and listen without quick fixes.
Corso’s depiction of courage as repetitive, modest acts rather than dramatic heroism resonated with faith practices centered on consistency and presence. The novel supported conversations about forgiveness that were honest and humble.
I recommend this to leaders who want a literary prompt that opens real pastoral conversations it’s thoughtful, humane, and surprisingly useful in ministry contexts.
Broken Things by Diane Corso is an emotionally charged blend of grief, mystery, and quiet resilience. The story follows Maggie Oliver, a woman trying to rebuild her life after a devastating accident that took away her husband and son. Moving to a secluded lakeside cabin meant to offer peace, she instead finds herself surrounded by eerie happenings, half-buried secrets, and haunting memories that blur the line between reality and imagination.
Corso’s writing is exquisite raw yet lyrical. She captures trauma and healing with such sensitivity that every page feels deeply human. The atmospheric setting of Big Pine Lake is both beautiful and unsettling, adding a touch of gothic tension that perfectly complements Maggie’s inner turmoil. What begins as a story of survival slowly transforms into a psychological mystery that keeps you questioning what’s real until the very end.
Maggie’s voice is honest and wry, filled with dark humor and painful truth. You feel every bit of her loneliness, confusion, and strength. The relationships she builds especially with her neighbor Zach and his daughter add warmth and hope to the story’s darker edges.Broken Things isn’t just a thriller; it’s a reflection on loss, guilt, and the slow, brave process of finding yourself again.
Reading Broken Things felt like reading a reminder of why relationships matter when trauma shapes behavior. Diane Corso portrays how institutional and familial silences compound harm, and the book offered concrete metaphors I’ve used in casework to explain patterns to clients.
My takeaway was that small, repetitive interpersonal actions can interrupt cycles of fear. I began encouraging clients to pick one predictable, safe interaction each week to practice curiosity rather than avoidance, inspired by Corso’s characters who heal through persistent tiny choices.
I started a brief program of “micro-exposures” where clients practiced telling a short memory to a trusted person and then noted the physical aftereffects. Several reported reduced autonomic arousal and increased ability to discuss difficult topics in therapy sessions.
The novel’s balance of compassion and realism helped me discuss hope without minimizing pain. It’s a resource I now recommend to colleagues as a narrative companion for psychoeducation.
If you work with people navigating intergenerational wounds, Broken Things is both moving and practically inspiring.
This book is wonderfully sneaky: on the surface, it's a delicious end-of-summer read - great tension, funny and likeable characters, moody and atmospheric with a couple of really good jump scares. What I love about Corso's writing is her skill at bringing the story to life: her writing is extremely visual without falling into cinematic clichés: you can smell, touch, see everything the characters experience. Corso's writing is vivid and immediate, and grabs you from the first sentence and grips you just right, without squeezing the life out of the story before you get to the juicy parts.
But dig a little deeper and there is a thoughtful, realistic exploration of grief, loss, old scars and how childhood trauma manifests in adult relationships. It's a ghost story about what truly haunts us, moves us to make change and what happens when we don't. And underneath all that, are some sly comments about family and gender dynamics, about motherhood, about love, and about the price of family secrets. Such a great book - I really loved it! Highly recommend!
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
I assigned Broken Things in an undergraduate seminar on contemporary narrative and trauma. Diane Corso’s novel sparked thoughtful discussion about how supernatural elements can function as metaphor rather than gimmick an excellent teaching moment on genre crossing.
The lesson that students frequently mentioned was the power of witness: how being seen — even imperfectly matters more than being fixed. That prompted reflective essays where students examined family narratives and the responsibilities of telling them.
I integrated the book into a short module on narrative ethics and asked students to write marginalia responses that documented emotional reactions as well as analytic observations. Those marginalia became the basis for richer class debates and final projects.
The book’s restraint and compassion modeled scholarly attention without sensationalism. It’s a useful classroom text for fostering empathy alongside critical skills.
I’d recommend it to colleagues looking for a contemporary novel that yields both literary analysis and human-centered classroom work.
Broken Things by Diane Corso hit me harder than I expected. It’s not just a ghost story—it’s a quiet storm of loss, memory, and the strange ways grief speaks to us. Maggie’s world feels so real that I could almost hear the emptiness around her.
The haunting parts don’t scream; they whisper. The fear comes from what’s left unsaid, from the memories that won’t rest. And that’s what makes it beautiful—how pain turns into something soft, almost peaceful.
Corso’s writing flows like a dream—slow, heavy, and full of feeling. It’s the kind of book that wraps around you and doesn’t let go. Maggie’s loneliness, her fight to understand what’s happening, it all feels painfully human.
By the end, I wasn’t scared—I was quiet. The story doesn’t just talk about ghosts, it talks about the ones we carry inside us. It’s emotional, strange, and achingly beautiful. Broken Things doesn’t shout its message; it breathes it into you, one line at a time.
Broken Things is a beautiful psychological thriller that shows how the past refuses to stay buried. The author crafts atmosphere effortlessly also every chapter feels heavy with tension, yet very rich in detail. The plot twists are thoughtful and the pace is balanced in a way that keeps you on edge without overwhelming you. It’s a story that makes you breathe, and read one more chapter.
Corso portrays the fragility of the human mind with honesty, allowing characters to be scared and real. Identity and childhood scars are woven seamlessly into the narrative. By the time the book ends, you’re left not with answers but with reflection. Highly recommended for readers who crave thrillers with depth and soul.
Broken Things, a melancholy meditation on loss, is a supernatural thriller written by Diane Corso. Every stillness and every shadow is weighed down by grief and memories, making Maggie's post-tragic escape to the mountains seem painfully real. Corso blurs the boundaries between the digital and the holy, the living and the dead, as Shadowclaw, her late husband's unfinished computer game, starts to disclose disturbing truths. The terror is subtle yet all-consuming, and the suspense is psychological. This narrative captivates you with silent fear and intense empathy instead of using jump scares. What starts off as a ghost story develops into something far deeper: a depiction of how sadness itself may turn into a haunting.
Diane Corso's Broken Things is a brilliant work of psychological tension and emotional nuance that stays with you long after you've turned the last page. Maggie's experience of loneliness in the Sierra Nevadas turns into both a haven and a prison as she navigates loss, guilt, and the paranormal. The genius of the novel is in the way Corso blends the psychological and the paranormal; you never know what is a mirror of Maggie's collapsing psyche and what is genuine. Maggie and the reader are drawn into a world where memory and reality are entwined by the unfinished computer game Shadowclaw, which adds a terrifying element of mystery. A sense of sadness, mood, and subdued fear permeates every page.
I was pleasantly pleased by Broken Things. It begins as grief fiction before gradually developing into a chilling mystery concerning parenting and memory. Maggie Oliver is witty, imperfect, and painfully honest. You get the impression that you are reading someone's innermost thoughts thanks to the blog snippets, which lend authenticity. I was shocked to learn of the Shadowclaw video game link. Trauma, technology, and the paranormal are all expertly combined. The pacing by Diane Corso is flawless: a steady burn followed by irrepressible pace You will love this if you enjoyed Sharp Objects or The Haunting of Hill House.
Broken Things by Diane Corso is one of those rare books that crawls under your skin and refuses to leave. It’s haunting, emotional, and deeply human.....The story follows Maggie Oliverwriter, a woman shattered by the loss of her husband and son, whose grief and isolation are interrupted by strange, unnerving events. By the end, you’re left both shattered and soothed like the book broke your heart just to heal it again. Broken Things reminds you that pain and peace can coexist, that sometimes the only way out of the shadows is through them.