Dear Stupid Penpal

by Rascal Hartley

Atticus “Finch” Davani does not want to be an astronaut. He hates space, he hates the ship, and he strongly dislikes his fellow crew members. He makes that painfully clear in his letters to Aku, his corporate-assigned penpal back on Earth.

Soon, Aku becomes much more than a penpal. But when the crew engage hyperdrive, Aku’s punctual letters start coming at random intervals, and Finch and his shipmates realize that time, for them, is moving all wrong.

As everyone else’s penpals rapidly die of old age, Finch turns, heartbroken, to Aku; who, more than a century later, is still there.

DEAR STUPID PENPAL is an entirely epistolary exploration of cosmic dread, the passing of time, and the lifelines we cling to against the vast endlessness of space.

Genres: Horror, Science Fiction, Fiction

179 pages, Paperback

Published November 11, 2025

Reviews

[Lori · Rating 4 out of 5]

I wasn’t prepared for how much I’d like Dear Stupid Penpal. I just want to grab it by its chubby little cheeks and pinch its adorable little face!

It oozes existential cosmic horror vibes—and why shouldn’t it? Set aboard a spaceship drifting into deep space, a handful of astronauts are tethered to Earth only by their government-assigned penpals. Finch, one of the crew, has a lot of time to brood, reflect, and spiral. The void is vast. The silence is louder.

But his penpal Aku? Pretty cool dude. Worldly, poetic, chill, and maybe... a little flirty? Told entirely through texts and letters, we get to eavesdrop as these two stumble through awkward introductions, muse on the banality of being earthbound versus floating helplessly among the stars, and somehow land in a meet-cute bromance that defies the ever-growing dilation of time between them.

I adored the little easter eggs Aku kept tossing Finch’s way—each one missed with steadfast obliviousness. To be fair, my own head was initially pointed in a different direction than Hartley’s. But once I caught up? I was chuffed. Cosmic horror, sci-fi, speculative fiction—they’re all holding hands in the same eerie sandbox. Add a dash of romance and you’ve got quite the little book on your hands.

If you too feel the inevitable weight of the universe and the crushing insignificance of humanity pressing down from the inside out, you are going to el-oh-vee-ee Dear Stupid Penpal.

[Jamedi · Rating 5 out of 5]

Review originally on JamReads

Dear Stupid Penpal is an epistolary cosmic horror novella written by Rascal Hartley and published by Tenebrous Press. A proposal that ends being a ride through the perspective of time and space while also submerging us into the dread of cosmic horror and warming our hearts with the backdrop of a story told through the conversation of mainly two voices.

Finch, a snarky linguist on a long-haul space mission, is required by the mission control to keep a pen-pal exchange with someone on Earth, all to "maintain his roots"; by chance being his pal Aku, a mysterious and nocturnal stargazer, always slipping trivia that might not be so random into his communications. Through their communications (which are also vetted by a ground-control operator called Tolstoi), we see how they start from the obligation conversation (even if Aku is much more in the calmer and thoughtful side) to the glad exchange, at the same time the spaceship starts to experience difficulties which affect also to the sending intervals; a really original proposal that relies in how the chemistry between those two characters grow.

Finch's character growth is one of the angular points of this novella: from that reluctant person who is just doing what is mandatory, sarcastic and just fulfilling the orders, to a more fleshed character through his interactions with Aku, who acts as a positive force for him, always patient as somebody who might have lived for millenniums; and the relationship between them is somehow really natural, a demi/aro one that slowly appears through the exchange of ideas, a well-woven point of light into the vast darkness that is the space.
The rest of characters are just complemental to the plot, introducing some elements that allow it to advance, but always a bit distant, in my opinion; probably because of the nature of this novella.

Dear Stupid Penpal is an excellent novella, a proposal that through two excellent characters and their relationship explores the vastness of space and the nature of bonds; a really original and well-executed idea by Rascal Hartley.

[Danger]

Initially drawn in by the premise, I was onboard for about half the story, until I realized the romance plot point was the only concept the book was interested in exploring in any meaningful way, as it just kind of skates around the unique existential and philosophical horrors of the situations presented, without really ever digging into any of them or challenging me. I can see how a certain type of reader might LOVE this book, because I too liked quite a bit about it. It was very well written, very readable, the characters were great, and it was consistently funny throughout. But unfortunately, for me, the sum was never greater than the parts, and it left me pretty lukewarm in the end.

[unstable.books · Rating 4 out of 5]

Dear Stupid Penpal is an unexpectedly heartfelt novella that uses the epistolary format to full advantage. Told entirely by electronic correspondence through the letters between Atticus "Finch", a reluctant astronaut stuck in a long-haul space mission, and his Earth-side penpal, Aku. The story unfolds with an immediacy and intimacy that makes their interaction feel authentic. What slowly begins as a grudging obligation for Finch slowly transforms into a lifeline, a tether that stretches across an impossible distance.

Hartley's strength lies in the balance between vulnerability and comic relief. Finch's letters are tinged with frustration from someone who does not want to be in their situation. Aku's responses turn out to be just what Finch needs. The two grow in ways neither expects, revealing the emotional gravity of connection despite being separated by entire galaxies. What results is a love story for that spans ages.

Despite its brevity, the novella explores isolation, identity, purpose and the strangest ways genuine connections can take root. The emotional arc is satisfying without being saccharine. The speculative backdrop provides just enough sci-fi flavor without overshadowing the humanity at its core. Dear Stupid Penpal is charming, poignant and beautifully character driven. An interstellar message worth reading. Thank you to Tenebrous Press for sending me an ARC. This book is available NOW so go get it!

[Sam Logan · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is one of my favorite reads of the year. I’m not even sure what to say about it except it might be the most charming book I’ve ever read in my life. Funny, emotional, and filled with existential dread. I’m already planning on picking up a couple of copies for holiday gifts- I think it’s an absolutely perfect gateway to get some new readers exposed to what New Weird Horror can look like. Only you, dear reader, can decide whether you like it as much as I did. But either way, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed in giving this a chance.

[Books For Decaying Millennials · Rating 5 out of 5]

A big thank you to the generous folks at Tenebrous Press, for hooking me with with a physical ARC.
-
Perspective can be a terrifying thing to have. Many years ago, while I was working towards a degree in history, my advisor and his colleagues in the history department strove to help myself and my fellow students a seemingly simple, yet also complex concept. The earth itself has been around for a very long time, Humans have evolved, and fermented culture, and developed countless civilizations, in a brief span of the earths existence. It's a historians mandate to always be ready to learn more about the past. Because people come and go, cultures rise and fall, the sands shift, the water rises. Then long after, what remained of those past things, are uncovered, and those in the present, must be open to accepting a shift in paradigm, a growth in understanding. All this has gone on, and continues to progress, in a brief moment of the earths existence. The earth is a small world, orbiting a small star, in the edge of small, fairly young galaxy in and vast expanse of galaxies that have come to form and faded away over countless billions of years, in a universe we have only started to have a faint inkling of understanding.
That is perspective. The moment you understand that, that stomach dropping chill, and brief sense of dizziness. That is Cosmic Horror, at our base, genetic level. So my fellow readers, let me pose you a question...What is the shape of eternity? How long is Forever? How will it impact your connection with those we share a moment in the universe with?
Dear Stupid Penpal, quietly, with passion, humor and sadness, dares to pose these question to you.
That greater question of human contact, as our species endeavors to explore beyond our planet, beyond our solar system, is by no means a new one. However, Rascal Hartley approaches it all in a manner that felt completly new, in a book that is full of surprises, and that will hold your heart to the very end.
I found my Decaying millennial brain first interpreting Hartley's book as a chatlog, like a record from some long defunct email service, brought back through via thewaybackmachine (via archive.org). Not intentionally mind you, I think it's just the nature of living in here and now. Perhaps that was intentional on the authors part. But what are chatlogs but the digital equivalent of the a bundle of treasured correspondence, bound with ribbon, sealed with wax, and found in a wooden chest in some attic. Dear Stupid Penpal reminds us to keep our cosmic perspective, our place in time's long river. It's call to reach the offered hand of another, to hold each other close as you face the reality of eternity, and the great unknown promised by the nights sky.
Olaf Stapeldon's Last Men, First Men, Robert A. Heinlein's Time For The Stars, are books that walked so this book could run. The Cosmic Horror of Ligotti, Lovecraft ripples around the edges of Hartley's work, sight unseen, but whispering in the mind. This is a book that is an excellent example of not to simply judge a book by cover, physical profile or length. Hartley's book contains volumes, eons. Hold tight, take a breath, and read it.

[Leo Otherland · Rating 5 out of 5]

Special thanks to Tenebrous Press for the ARC copy they provided.

Wow. Okay, okay. Can we just take a minute and say that again? Wow. Just holy fucking wow.

There are books you one hundred percent KNOW you’re going to love from the get-go, from the first moment you hear about them or see their cover and read that tantalizing blurb. Dear Stupid Penpal was one of those for me. Right from the beginning when Tenebrous Press dropped the little nugget of knowledge that they were publishing this, I KNEW I wanted it. I knew this book and I were going to get together and make sweet, sweet reading time together.

Ahem.

Anyway…

I was right. I just didn’t know how right I was going to be until my digital ARC landed in my inbox and I plugged that thing into my reading device. Ho boy. Rascal Hartley took me for a ride through space and time dilation and the sweetest, most tooth rotting fluff with a backdrop of cosmic horror lurking in a corner.

Ready to spring and remind us all we’re merely mortal. Even if that mortality comes after eternity, when the planet ends and time packs up and decides it’s time to go, ‘nough said, that’s it and there ain’t no more.

I freaking LOVE this book.

Dear Stupid Penpal hit all my points and I devoured it like a universe munching entity squatting at the end of time/space.

Yeah. This was a wow experience for me. If you like your terror mixed with a healthy dose of queer awakening and “my long distance boyfriend might be a mythical monster,” it just might be for you too.

Grab a copy and give it a read. I dare you.

[Pamela · Rating 4 out of 5]

I really enjoyed this epistolary cosmic horror novella! There is so much more going on than letters from an astronaut. It’s actually wild, but done in a very modest and believable fashion. Definitely has feels similar to The Last of Us, episode 3, “Long, Long Time,” and Project Hail Mary. Love where this story takes us.

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

BWAF Score: 8/10

TL;DR: Two voices, one spaceship, one stargazer, a whole lot of yearning, plus a Bermuda Triangle ghost-meal to curdle your stomach. Funny, tender, and quietly terrifying, this is cosmic horror by way of love letter, where language becomes a lifeline and the void blinks first.

Dear Stupid Penpal arrives from Tenebrous Press, with cover art by Carly A-F, interior illustrations by Matt Blairstone, and editing by Alex Woodroe. Rascal Hartley’s voice reads like a debut that already knows exactly what it’s doing, confident and allergic to filler. File it next to the house’s other sharp novellas that bend genre while staying delightfully raw and original.

The conceit is diabolically simple: Finch, a snarky linguist on a long-haul space mission, is required to maintain a pen-pal exchange with someone on Earth to “maintain earthen roots.” Enter Aku, a nocturnal stargazer with old-soul vibes, a passport stamped by centuries, and a knack for slipping myth into casual observations. Through messages vetted by a ground-control minder named Tolstoy, the two riff, bicker, confess, and gradually start orbiting each other emotionally. Around them, a real spaceship crew with real jobs keeps not dying in hilarious ways, while bigger, stranger stuff ripples in from the periphery, including a gooseflesh Bermuda Triangle account and Akkadian starlore that may or may not be more than trivia. The plot moves like correspondence itself, from petty complaints to existential gut-punches, until you realize you’ve been dragged somewhere tender and uncanny without noticing the footpath give way to sky.

Forget “two people texting with vibes.” This is two people writing themselves into being, and Hartley makes it feel electric. Finch comes out swinging in letter one, all caps-locked sarcasm and “space sucks, send tacos,” a chaos gremlin who uses profanity like punctuation and jokes to armor the soft parts. Aku counters with deliberate cadence, a pilot’s steadiness, and this disarming tendency to drop a sentence that sounds like he just remembered a god’s real name. The chemistry is stupid good. The book weaponizes voice, then lets the voices tangle until you feel the cord tighten between them. If you have a pulse, you will grin like an idiot.

On originality, the thing slaps. An epistolary sci-fi horror that toggles between deep-space tedium and Earthbound nocturnes is already a fresh lane, but Hartley keeps throwing curveballs. There are the clipped shipboard details, the crew’s larky personalities, the petty tech jokes about calipers and Lego spheres, the strange rules of what Mission Control will or will not allow through. There is also Aku’s Bermuda Triangle narrative which, I’m sorry, is creepy as hell: sand like fog, food that tastes like food but doesn’t feel real, a vanished island that eats time, a femur in a seaplane like a punchline from the abyss. The set piece is compact and clean, an intrusion of maritime liminality into a starbound romance, and it works because Hartley refuses to underline it with neon. The confidence to just tell it straight, then let your skin figure out the goosebumps, is chef’s kiss.

Pacing is the quiet trick. Because it is letters, we get jump cuts: a hangover apology, a philosophy digression, a chemistry in-joke that finally lands, a whisper about coordinates so the two can point telescopes at one another across impossible distance. It should feel herky-jerky, yet it glides. The episodic rhythm creates stealth escalation. Jokes about ramen fires and rehydrated milk soften you up; discussions of violence, harm, and whether monsters deserve moral calculus open your ribs; then the book knifes in a little deeper with longing as a survival skill. By the time Finch drunkenly admits he “dreams about you sometimes,” you’re too invested to be cool about it. The dread never vanishes, it threads under the sweetness like fishing line. If you’re here for jump scares, wrong novella. If you’re here for the brand of cosmic terror that tastes like loneliness and hope in the same mouthful, welcome to the buffet.

Character work is the whole engine. Finch reads like the guy who loudly claims he hates everyone five minutes before he hand-knits the crew’s Christmas stockings. He is funny, prickly, and yearning, with hearing aids he custom paints and a wildly endearing compulsion to learn everyone’s languages. Aku radiates warmth with a knife in his boot: courtly, grounded, maybe dangerous, maybe immortal, or maybe just someone who’s seen too much and decided kindness is the only sane rebellion. The supporting cast is sketched with brisk charm, especially Meredith the chemistry gremlin and Chloe the astronomer with a right hook. Even Tolstoy, the communications hall monitor, evolves into a straight-man foil who drops a heart emoji at the exact right moment. The crew dynamics start as workplace cringe and resolve into a low-key found family, mostly because Finch can’t help being a peacemaker despite protestations that he is a gremlin. That rings true and sweet without getting sticky.

On style, Hartley keeps a tight grip on tone. The letters are alive with contemporary banter, yet Aku’s replies carry this antiquated gravity that never reads as parody. The Akkadian terms for celestial bodies, the aside about Sin and Shamash, the “do no unnecessary harm” credo, the refusal to backspace, the way both narrators start mirroring each other’s syntax, it’s all deliberate craft disguised as casual chat. The occasional profanity doesn’t feel like seasoning, it feels like blood pressure. The jokes land because they’re doing psychological work, not because the book is auditioning for Twitter. When the lovers point telescopes and stare toward Uranus for hours, Armstrong-level dad joke included, it plays cute and cosmic at once, which is the exact center of this book’s bullseye.

Any fear here is existential and erosive, more Ligotti than slasher, more signal-to-noise dread than monster-in-the-vents. The Bermuda Triangle chapter is a compact gut-twister, and the constant drum of distance, surveillance, and “what if I die out here” lends real unease. But the horror is braided with romance, so the spikes of terror feel sharper for arriving in a field of soft grass. The final impression is not panic but ache, like the good kind of homesickness that says home might be a person you have not hugged yet. That’s a mean magic trick, and Hartley pulls it off with a grin.

Recommended for: Readers who want their cosmic dread served with flirtation, anyone who has ever pointed a telescope and whispered “look back,” believers in the church of found family, chemistry-joke sickos, and people who think bread-making might also be a love spell.

Not recommended for: Folks who need a body count per chapter, and anyone who thinks the Bermuda Triangle should stay in Florida Man headlines rather than sneak onto their spaceship like a polite nightmare.

[Shaawan Keahna · Rating 2 out of 5]

you can’t sneak a supernatural fanfic past me.

this book took me to a dark place & i ended up disliking it so thoroughly, i needed to write a review. there’s a very particular kind of subgenre i’d describe as “white tumblr queer” and it begins and ends when a random side character who doesn’t matter is described as having a western name and wearing a hijab. the most skin-deep #representation possible. when i say “forced diversity” it isn’t in the tone of a white suburban man-child who needs his work spoonfed to him, it’s in the tone of someone who’s BEEN the forced diversity in nonnative writers’ slop and detests it. i have no heart and i must scream.

this is a romantic narrative between two ostensibly cis brown men. brown as in south asian, brown as in both from historically rigid, binarist, homophobic cultures, but this isn’t touched on, ever. their ethnic backgrounds are window dressing. spice, if you will. i think this is what really speaks to the shallowness of the book more than anything else i wanna say about it. these men exist in vacuums devoid of cultural upbringing, of religious trauma, of parentage. they HAVE parents, they allude to them, they HAVE pasts, but the pasts are palatable. clean. wholesome, beyond the internal storm of their sexualities, which are as easily consumable as gummy vitamins.

there’s been a slew of m/m books recently published by not-gay men, and more often than i’d care to recall, i find myself asking the deadly question: this is fanfic, but of what? the other characters exist to react to the main character and his love interest with fujo glee. other adults in the narrative (everyone here is an adult, if you can believe it) respond to finch’s near-instant devotion to his penpal with “ha. GAYYYYY.” and immediately #ship it. who are these people beyond their reactions to finch? matter of fact, who is finch?

when describing this book to the other gay men in my life, i located it within the realm of many fanfics, wherein the two characters are Stupid Asshole and Smart Virgin. the Stupid Asshole is always our protagonist, because the audience for these types of narratives are very teenage-brained, no matter how thirty or forty they are. the Stupid Asshole bros out with everybody, calls everyone “dude,” and is like, totally not gay, man. the Smart Virgin speaks in flowery language. over text, most often, and in a stilted, robotic way.

one of the men in my life is a straight guy who i love dearly. i’d describe him as “culturally gay” because of many reasons we can’t get into right now. but he’s the one i bounced ideas off of initially, trying to comprehend why exactly this book pissed me off so bad. he lives with two older gay men who were There, at the beginning of fanfic, who he suggested i speak to about my grievances. i might even ask them to read the book.

i wouldn’t go so far as to call this book “ontologically evil,” but i’m pretty damn close. it’s great monkey brain button stimulus. press it and remember being fifteen, feel the rush of fujo glee as you fetishize these gorgeous brown men, get your instant gratification. i definitely screenshot passages of some of the love letters (they fall in love literally immediately. that’s the most tumblr thing ever) to send to my boyfriend, someone i took a very long, arduous time to fall in love with, someone who i get fetishized as a masc 4 masc gay couple alongside, someone who i call dude and man because i am unfortunately the Stupid Asshole. (he’s the Stupid Asshole too, verbally, because i am also dude and man to him) so i can’t say this book was a complete wash.

yeah, though, idk. if you’re one of those people who needs to read stuff because it’s uwu gay, might i suggest picking up a copy of Tony Burgess’s the Bewdley Mayhem? it might have too many big words, but i promise the gay “rep” in it is much more sincere, raw, and real than this Sabriel/possibly Destiel, but it smells like Sabriel, fluff.

[Sam · Rating 4 out of 5]

Disclaimer: I received an e-ARC from the publisher.

An astronaut on a mission to a faraway planet writes to his penpal on earth. Initially feeling overwhelmed and resentful to this mission and the other members of his crew, he soon finds himself warming up to his penpal and they tell each other about their lives. Finch, the astronaut, is a linguist, who was offered a last-minute job after the former linguist dropped out. Aku, the man on earth, tells him about his life as a sailor. Both of their lives change through their correspondences.
What started out as an assigned task to ensure the astronauts stay at least a little bit in touch with the rest of humanity soon becomes more intimate. But just as they start making plans for how and when to meet up after the mission is over and begin planning a life together, a secret part of the mission is revealed. The time dilation as they travel through space will cause years to pass on earth and by the time they return – if they return – everybody they’ve ever known will be dead. Despite this, Aku keeps writing, sometimes waiting a long time for a letter from Finch, who writes as often as he can, sometimes daily, sometimes hourly.
This was an incredibly touching love story with moments of grief in between that left me horrified. I loved the interactions between the characters, especially how Finch and Aku encouraged each other to become more involved with their community around them, while their communications become more and more intimate. I also adored that Finch is on the demiaroace spectrum and how his connection to Aku and how it changed over time was explored.
I wish the space aspects of the story had been explored in a bit more detail, because why they did play a role, they kind of took a backseat to the main focus of this story, which were the characters, especially Finch and Aku, but also their other friends and the other astronauts and the (doomed ?) romance between Finch and Aku. There were some aspects of cosmic horror, that I found incredibly intriguing, but they were only a rather minor aspect of the narrative itself, which did work really well in this novella and for how it presented healing from trauma, but I just expected a bit more here.
Other than that, I really, really loved this novella and I adored the romance aspects as well as the characters a whole lot and I had a really interesting time reading this (oscillating wildly between hope, grief, hope again, grief again, just as this novella intended). A lot of it was incredible sweet, parts of it very deeply tragic and I can definitely say you should read this if you like romance with a touch of cosmic horror.

TW: accident, cosmic horror, death, grief, trauma

[Jennifer Jeanne · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is probably more of a 3.5, but I rounded up. I think aspects of this story were very sweet and fun, and I like it more than I would have otherwise because I can tell whom one of the main characters is based on because I quite enjoy the show. The author is quite good at capturing the different voices and writing in character in a way that is distinct and getting you to root for the main couple, even if their relationship felt a bit rushed, which makes sense for one half of the couple, given his circumstances, but less for the other. There are some kind of odd plot holes (plot holes are not always as bad as the post 2005 internet will tell you, but in this case the plot holes did feel distracting from the narrative and my getting caught up in the story) and I think the cosmic horror aspect of the story is a bit overbilled as the cosmic horror isn't explored as much as it could be and I'm not sure enough is done with the themes of time and eternity that the narrative touches on. However, this is novella, not a novel, so I think it doesn't have to explore every topic super deeply. The side characters are a little under developed. All that being said, if you let yourself get caught up in how fun and sweet this book is, you can forgive all those things and have a great time. Though, I'd say pick this up more for the romance and for something hopeful and quick to read with a fun setting and characters than something that's out to explore cosmic horror themes.

[Gaby · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thanks to Tenebrous Press for sending along another memorable ARC!

This epistolary novella tells the story of Finch, an astronaut, and Aku, his penpal assigned (ostensibly) to give Finch something to do and someone to connect to during his down time on the spaceship.

The prose wavered between irreverent chatspeak and purple declarations of love that truly established two distinct voices, and there were moments when the book maintained its epistolary format but planted us right in the action, giving you snippets that make you wonder if everybody is actually okay. While reading this, I was alternating between laughing out loud and feeling the love between these penpals stuck in impossible circumstances.

Spoilers ahead: I also really loved the parts that dealt with Finch's readjustment into society after the traumatic loss of his crewmates. Aku was empathetic but realistic in his struggles to reach a man who was barely in touch with life.

[Temple of · Rating 5 out of 5]

Transfixed.

From the first page of Dear Stupid Penpal, to the very last, I was transfixed.

Rascal Hartley is officially an auto-buy for me.

Finch is an astronaut who, as part of a morale program, is assigned a penpal back on Earth. He and his new friend are just getting to know each other when things start going wrong, messages are being delivered at odd intervals, and then there are the whispers...

This novella had me cycling through emotions like I was flipping through a Rolodex (yes, I'm ancient...just like a set of tea cups I know). One moment I would be cackling with laughter, the next I had my heart ripped out and handed to me. I. Love. This. Book.

It has disability rep, an ethnically and gender diverse cast, cosmic horror and dread, and love. So much love. Queer/gay/ace/aro/demi rep throughout.

Releasing tomorrow, 11/11/25! Seriously, give this one a go, you won't regret it!

Thanks @tenebrouspress for the advance copy (I bought it too... lol)!

[Tyler · Rating 4 out of 5]

I really enjoyed this! I might bump this up to a 5 star with hindsight at some point, but this really tickled my brain. Some of it might be the format, it's such a lighter lift to read a series of letters than normal prose and I've been looking for something a little breezier these days. That's not to say this is devoid of content or meaning, on the contrary the writing here is superb, both the character writing of the two correspondents as well as the questions and answers set up by the plot. This is a sci-fi story, but it's also equal parts a romance with more than a light touch of horror (of both the existential and traditional sort). I really recommend it even if you're not usually a horror person.

4.5 stars rounded down

[Balthuk · Rating 3 out of 5]

The premise is an interesting one, if a bit forced on some major story points. Some key elements & twists of the book are more of a detractor from my overall enjoyment and I'd like to see a different approach, keeping the same premise and genre, but stripping what I consider to be unnecessary pieces.
The language and 'coolness' of the main character was at points too casual, too modern for my tastes, even though I acknowledge it was semi-realistic, so maybe it's just not for me.
The book was successful in hitting some emotional peaks, showing what could have been with a more restrained approach, story wise.

[Alishia Baker · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5 stars, rounded up. I’m a sucker for an existential crisis horror novel & bonus points when it takes place in the cold, endless dread of space. The letter format hooked me right away, and the first half was so strong. But somewhere in the back half, it lost its grip on me. The plot twist felt a bit too vague; I get that we’re meant to sit with the uncertainty, but it left me feeling like a puzzle piece slipped off the table.

Still, I’d absolutely pick up another book by this author, and a huge thank you to Tenebrous Press for the gifted copy.

[Phillip Keeling · Rating 4 out of 5]

If you're like me, and you've read quite a bit of the weird horror oeuvre that makes Tenebrous Press tick, you might spend the first third of this book wondering what gives. What we start with is a sweet love story with a sci-fi bent. Not necessarily my genre, but well crafted with terrific dialogue. Not long after that, however, a wrench is thrown in the works and everything about the stakes change. What follows is a weird tale about time, love, and fear. Rascal Hartley is a genuinely unique talent, and I look forward to seeing more of their work in the future.

[Íde · Rating 5 out of 5]

A joyously weird tale of unexpected genre mashups, overwhelming odds, quotable lines, and queer romance that even the most jaded cynic can't help but get swept up in. I'll just leave it at that, because I'm glad I didn't know too much about this one going in and had no idea of the strange places it would take me...

Thank you, Tenebrous Press, for the advanced reader copy!

[Ben · Rating 4 out of 5]

Does this try to provide a slightly-too-neat explanation for one too many of its reveals? Yes.

Did I devour this in one sitting until much too far past my bedtime because it was just that page-turning? also yes.

RIYL: This is How You Lose The Time War

[Beauregard Francis · Rating 2 out of 5]

I mean, on the surface an epistolary space horror is right up my alley, but this didn't really land for me. I found Finch, one of the main characters, incredibly juvenile and annoying. I wanted there to be more space horror?? The concept is certainly interesting, but I found the execution lacking.

[Vanessa · Rating 5 out of 5]

I'm intrigued sounds great

[Torn · Rating 1 out of 5]

Dnf'd at 12% - didn't like anything about it

[Lesley · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book had me in the palm of its hand every step of the way. I don’t know if I’ve been bowled over more by any other book this year. Kind of mad at it, tbh.

[Kayla · Rating 2 out of 5]

I'll be completely honest here... these silly sci-fis that are written with a child-like humor a-la Terry Pratchett and Hitchhiker's Guide just don't work for me. I made it 33 pages.

[Michelle · Rating 5 out of 5]

Epistolary novel ... in spaaaaaace

[Saloni · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5⭐️

[Kay West · Rating 5 out of 5]

omg I love this so much!!!
the gentle love story, the sci-fi setting, the meditation on life, the universe and everything.
I didn't read anything about this book before reading it and highly recommend doing the same.

A queer epistolary space romance with a paranormal twist.

What to expect
🚀 Queer
🚀 Penpals to more
🚀 Deep space mystery
🚀 Laugh out loud funny
🚀 Tender romance
🚀 What even is time?

Pick this up if you love This is How You Lose the Time War, The Everlasting or The Employees.