Ezra's Head

by David Kuhnlein

“Consisting of nine quite short stories… one slightly longer story, and one novella, Ezra’s Head feels like a series of desperate breaths, followed by a panic attack, followed by a hypoxia-induced hallucination.”
– BRIAN EVENSON, from his introduction

142 pages, Paperback

Published September 11, 2025

About the author

David Kuhnlein writes fiction, poetry, and criticism. He is the author of Ezra's Head, Bloodletter, Die Closer to Me, Decay Never Came, and Six Six Six (horror film reviews). He co-edited the horror anthology Lizard Brain and hosts a reading series at Cafe 1923 in Hamtramck. He lives in Michigan and is online @princessbl00d.

Reviews

[Curtis · Rating 4 out of 5]

The titular novella was cool, but it was the flash fiction pieces at the beginning that I particularly vibed with. I'd read the crap out of a full book like that.

[Jesse Hilson · Rating 5 out of 5]

Dank, macabre, shocking stories delivered in twisted, well-crafted sentences — the prose is the whole story, actually. Introduction by Brian Evenson, who called the title novella a “hypoxia-induced hallucination.” The art of these stories sticks with you and shames lesser writers’ lazinesses.

[Eric Angal · Rating 5 out of 5]

Love this book. I'm going to split this review into two parts--the first nine short stories, which are all very short, and the subsequent two longer stories, which comprise the majority of the page count.

First nine:
The language David traffics in simultaneously obscures and clarifies--there's a dizzying persistence to it that amplifies this feeling of dread, lets you know you're being lowered into hell. Let's take a look at 'The Bear Pit.'

'She trembles with the snowmelt, as if meaning to keep cold. I hold my bladder, watching. A chime is answered, voluntary pathogen pressed in the inner ear. We flag an app taxi. Her taps pillow ash on Astroturf.'

A series of sparsely connected sentences furnish a setting. Sometimes, you don't even get that--you're dipped straight into delirium, like in 'The Disabled':

'The stink of Lysol and mouth foam peculiar to most mental patients, followed by what might have been kindly referred to as Genghis Khan eyes, sat in my car, unhinging its hair. She'd grown everyone around her into a cyst without circumference. Her moons waned in me. Our collective urge to self-destruct flattered suburban crackheads.'

I hope this gives you a sense of his rhythm, of his intuitive and colorful prose. This is honestly some of the most creative short form stuff I've ever read. Try these on for size:

'Sleeves down over chapped skin, he shucks a sweater from each dog's wagging ass. They wobble themselves stood.' Or: 'He stood alone against the surgery of winter, streetlights foaming into haloed beer.'

Pyrotechnics! I mean, just look at that...

This guy is really talented--he's one of the best writers around today, for my money's worth--and it really saddens me that people aren't talking about this collection more. There are a lot of writers these days who aren't worth their weight in dogshit--then there's this guy, who legitimately deserves to be lauded, but I haven't seen enough people talking about this collection. (Although I guess this would contradict the central message from one of his stories: 'Art is pieces of a puzzle that can make you feel who you are, against your better judgment, and those who produce it with any modicum of skill must have their throats professionally cut. They spoil upon celebration.')

Last two:
In the latter two stories, their length precludes the claustrophobic style of his former nine 'super-short' stories, without eschewing any of the color inherent to his writing. I won't give too much away, but in the titular novella 'Ezra's Head' we have a look into twelve chaptered months just prior to/following Redd Beyward (the protagonist's) botched suicide attempt. This more linear/conventional mode of storytelling allows the reader some breathing room--these stories are a little less oneiric, and a bit easier to follow--but like I said, they're not tedious, or anything...I mean, just look at this opening:

'Redd Beyward chewed through his meditation cushion. "My miniature rebellion against this Whopper Jr. world!" he told the stuffing. A half-crazed girlfriend, whose mind had left her body to fend for itself, was the oasis of a singular thirst for him, so much so that he planned to line his innards with an entire pharmacy in her honor.'

If anything, this novella showcases Kuhnlein's ability to maintain his acrobatic style in long-form work, which, unless it's completely natural for him, must have been a herculean effort. When you read this you can't help but marvel at how every sentence has been pruned to perfection, everything is airtight and yet it's not stiff, it's limber, and the words bloom with violent energy.

'Redd's face inflated across the doorknob.' Or even quotidian, day to day stuff, like: 'McVay showed Redd how to dunk a bucket into the feedbag. How many handfuls for each pair of legs. The rail they spread the pigeons' seeds on looked like an asteroid belt. Shells scattered across like meteors frozen in silver space.'

What more is there to say? Read it, you're missing out unless you read this book. It's on sale right now, it's only ten bucks. Buy it!

[A.T. Pope · Rating 4 out of 5]

In this guided meditation, you will scoop out the center of your brain.

[Ben Isely · Rating 5 out of 5]

Evil Michigania