The Way of Salmon Moon: A Paleolithic Horror Novel

Rimwalker #3

by Daniel Firth Griffith, Scarlett Butters (Illustrator)

"Hauntingly beautiful, this book belongs on the shelf beside Cormac McCarthy and Robin Wall Kimmerer." -IndieReader.

A darkly beautiful elegy and retelling of the Irish An Bradán Feasa that bends literary horror into a Paleolithic saga between a man and a horse from the award-winning author of the “mastery of mythology” (Independent Book Review) and the Fantasy Book of the Year (Independent Press) The Plain of Pillars.

“For readers who like Stephen Graham Jones’s mythic violence, Cormac McCarthy’s brutal lyricism, or Clive Barker’s flesh-and-spirit horror. The prose feels less like narration and more like someone ranting beside a fire while the world is ending. It reads like ritual." — Independent Book Review

The Way of Salmon Moon is a Paleolithic literary horror novel of a man named Cairbre, who finds himself at the end of his people with a horse that is more than she seems and a heart rife with stories that are trying to kill him. Hunted by invaders who sup on warm wet flesh, together they cross the Rim of the World and enter a menacing and often dreamlike journey into a land where rivers fight like gods and spirits dance like wolves and violence strikes as suddenly as silence, a land where ceremony is paid for in blood, dreams too.

The Way of Salmon Moon is Irish Mythology’s An Bradán Feasa interwoven with Ovid’s Metamorphoses in all its chilling brutality and beauty presenting a provoking and lyrical journey through the stars of the Irish sacred wheel of the year. It is a story about the price of love and the fluidity of being, told with bold and primordial prose. A blend of the weird, the crass, the germinal, and the tender, Griffith’s tale offers, with uncanny and chilling clarity, the portrait of the Irish cosmic nexus and creation’s unsettled faculties, asking what does it mean to migrate, to take too much, for a shape to be made new in form?

Genres: Horror, Nature, Mythology, Horses

531 pages, Kindle Edition

Expected publication November 30, 2026

About the author

ffrith, or D. Firth Griffith is a markâko (horse-friend) and learning seanchaí, a participant citizen of Earth Mother, and a father, horse-friend, sacred butcher and leather tanner, magikal storyteller, and award-winning indie author of many books on kincentric ecology, mythology, fantasy, and horror, and language.

Ffrith’s is wildly published in Journals such as The Stockman Grassfarmer, Resilience.org, Permaculture Research Institute, The Front Porch Republic, and many others. His books and published materials have received numerous honors, including Independent Publisher’s Book of the Year in Fantasy, the Nautilus Best Small Press Books of the Year, and Winner of the National Indie Excellence Award in Nature Writing.

When he is not writing or dreaming with the long–ago peoples, he is tanning leathers, leading sacred harvest ceremonies, hand-hewing log cabins, and running unshod with his three wildlings and wonderful wife.

Reviews

[Megan · Rating 3 out of 5]

I received an advanced reader copy from the author in exchange for my honest review.

This was my first read from this author. I am familiar with the author through his podcasting, which is profoundly different from reading a book. My guess is the audiobook will be profoundly different from the experience of reading this book. I am also certain the storytelling will be exceptional on audiobook and look forward to experiencing it in that format. Reading the book was not the way for me to experience this story.

My rating and review is primarily for the language and word choice used because I simply could not find the storyline through the text. Cormac McCarthy is not in my repertoire and I did not look up what I might be in for when I volunteered to read for this ARC. I assumed that being a voracious reader of the past 35 years would be enough. I routinely read through 500 page texts in 2-3 days.

Being a voracious reader was not remotely an appropriate reader background for this book. McCarthy, as well as Griffith, pervasively uses incomplete sentences to build imagery. For those of us unfamiliar with and unaccustomed to this type of grammatical structure, it is a very steep and tall cliff to move past the language into the story.

"Cormac McCarthy's brutal lyricism" is probably the most important advertised descriptor for average readers; if, like me, you don't know what this means, go find an excerpt of Cormac McCarthy before attempting this read. For others familiar with the author's audio content, as my mom put it, "he writes like he speaks". Every page has footnotes - sometimes for definitions, sometimes translations, sometimes their own side story. The sheer number of footnotes, all of which were necessary, contributed to my challenges interpreting the text. I have not put this much effort into understanding the content of a book since studying gothic literature in college.

The density of the language used in this book tripped me up and then threw me off the cliff, and I have not been able to follow the storyline due to the complexity of language in every sentence. This read was exhausting. The word choice is consistently difficult, forcing me to read and re-read some sentences, paragraphs or pages sometimes four or five times and then sit there and scratch my head over what it meant. For me this irreparably interfered with understanding, tracking, and perhaps most importantly enjoying the story.

Due to challenges with the text, I have not completed reading this book. I will update this review for content once I make it through, but I committed to a September review and my experience of significantly and consistently struggling with moving past the grammar into the story feels relevant to share.

[julianne · Rating 5 out of 5]

“For progress is beauty disallowed to die. And it is progress that holds the world still.”

The Way of Salmon Moon is a unique, hauntingly beautiful novel following a man named Cairbre in the Paleolithic era. He is the last in his tribe of people, and with his horse, he goes on a journey around his world, filled with nature and monsters.

But while the plot is something you will never forget, the true standout of this novel is the writing. This is one of those books that you wish would never end. The beautiful prose is something you hang on to, cherishing every word, committing each sentence to memory. The writing was so gorgeous and lyrical, something I never would have expected from a horror novel. The profound themes of grief and friendship found in unexpected places are simultaneously heartbreaking and beautiful.

As a horse lover, I truly appreciated Rykati, Cairbre’s horse, as a prominent character in the story and as the one who shows him what it means to live. It is clear that the author put so much time and love into this novel, and it shows in every word written.

I absolutely adored this book, and would recommend it to anyone who loves horses and poetic writing.

Pre-read:
Thank you to Netgalley and Robinia Press for the e-ARC in exchange for an honest review. I love this cover so much!

Publishing date: 30 November 2026

[Julia]

Maybe I’m stupid .. but I have no idea what I read. Very sophisticated. The few parts I did understand I liked. I have the book that comes before this so let’s see if I can get down with that one. I can’t seem to get ahold of the first out of this trilogy and would love to also read that.

Update. I had to dnf. I literally can’t understand what I’m reading, though I can tell it’s beautifully written. Think The Divine Comedy. I did read a little of the second book out of this trilogy and do think I can vibe and my slow brain can understand What’s actually going on in that one. I do think some of my followers would absolutely love this book and the ones before it.
Thank you NetGalley, Daniel Firth Griffith, and Robinia Press for a copy of this arc in exchange for my honest review.

[sam · Rating 5 out of 5]

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5 stars

**The Way of Salmon Moon by D. Firth Griffith**

Wow. This book is genuinely difficult to describe because it feels less like reading a traditional novel and more like being pulled into an ancient story that has been passed down through generations, carried through blood, fire, memory, grief, and myth. *The Way of Salmon Moon* is strange, brutal, beautiful, haunting, and deeply visceral, and I absolutely loved the experience of reading it.

There are books that tell you a story, and then there are books that feel like they are *performing* one. This was very much the latter for me. The prose has this raw, primordial quality that made me feel like I was sitting beside a fire listening to someone recount a story that has existed for thousands of years. It is lyrical without ever feeling overly polished, violent without losing its tenderness, and strange in a way that feels completely intentional.

At the centre of the story is Cairbre, a man living at the end of his people, travelling alongside a horse who is far more than she initially appears to be. That relationship became one of my favourite parts of the book. There is something incredibly powerful about placing this fragile human connection at the centre of such a vast, terrifying world. Cairbre is surrounded by extinction, invasion, violence, spirits, gods, dreams, and forces that are almost impossible to understand, and yet his connection with the horse gives the story an emotional grounding that I really appreciated.

And honestly, the horse was unforgettable.

I loved the way the novel constantly asks us to reconsider what it means to be human, animal, spirit, body, or something in between. The boundaries between forms are incredibly fluid here, and that made the story feel almost dreamlike. Just when I thought I understood what was happening, the book would shift beneath me again.

The Paleolithic setting was also incredible. Griffith creates a world that feels ancient in a way that goes beyond simply telling us that it is ancient. The landscape feels alive. Rivers behave like gods. Spirits move through the wilderness. Violence can arrive without warning, and nature can be both beautiful and absolutely terrifying. There is a constant feeling that humanity is only one small part of a much larger cosmic system.

I especially loved how physical the writing is. So much of this story feels rooted in the body and the natural world — soil, snow, hide, bone, blood, river mud, flesh, stars. You can almost feel the cold, the hunger, the exhaustion, the violence, and the earth underneath everything. It gives the book an incredibly immersive quality, even when the story becomes surreal or difficult to interpret.

The horror is also unlike anything I have read recently.

This isn't horror that relies on a simple monster hiding around the corner. The horror is woven into existence itself. It is in migration, death, hunger, memory, transformation, violence, and the terrifying uncertainty of what comes next. There are moments that are genuinely disturbing, but what stayed with me more was the feeling of unease underneath them — this sense that the world is constantly changing and that survival comes with a price.

The mythology was another huge highlight for me. I wasn't familiar enough with every aspect of the Irish mythology being drawn upon to anticipate where the story would go, which made the experience even more fascinating. The incorporation of *An Bradán Feasa*, alongside elements inspired by Ovid's *Metamorphoses*, gives the novel this wonderful feeling of myth being reshaped rather than simply retold.

It feels like Griffith is taking these ancient stories and asking what they might look like if they were stripped down to their most elemental components: hunger, love, grief, transformation, death, survival, memory, and the desperate need to carry something forward.

And that idea of carrying things forward is probably what affected me the most.

There is so much grief in this book, but it isn't simply grief for an individual person. It is grief for a people, a culture, a way of life, a language, and a world that may be disappearing. Cairbre isn't just trying to survive; he is carrying pieces of something that might otherwise be lost. Stories become a form of survival. Memory becomes a responsibility.

I thought that was incredibly moving.

The book's exploration of migration also really stood out to me. What does it mean to leave? What does it mean to take too much with you? What happens when you are forced to move through a world that no longer feels like home? And how much of yourself can change before you become something else entirely?

Those questions give the novel a surprising emotional depth beneath all of the violence and surrealism.

I also really appreciated that this isn't a story that tries to make everything comfortable or easy to understand. There were definitely moments where I had to slow down and sit with what I had just read. The prose is dense and ceremonial, and this isn't something I would recommend if you're looking for a fast-paced, straightforward narrative where every element is immediately explained.

But for me, that was part of the magic.

The writing feels deliberately ancient. It has a rhythm to it that makes the story feel almost oral, as though Cairbre's experiences are being remembered rather than simply narrated. There are sentences and images that feel like they have been carved into stone or pulled out of the earth. It is visceral and occasionally uncomfortable, but it is also incredibly beautiful.

I found myself highlighting so many passages because the language is just *that* striking.

There is also a really interesting tension between the crass and the tender. Griffith doesn't romanticise the past or make the Paleolithic world feel like some peaceful, untouched paradise. There is brutality everywhere, but there is also love, ceremony, connection, wonder, and tenderness. Life is messy and physical and sometimes horrifying, but that doesn't make it meaningless. If anything, it makes those moments of connection feel even more important.

The ceremonial aspects were particularly effective. There is a sense that every action carries weight, that survival and spirituality are intertwined, and that blood, death, dreams, and ritual are all part of the same larger cycle. The sacred wheel of the year gives the story an almost cosmic structure, and I loved how the characters seemed to exist within something much larger than themselves.

I think what surprised me most was just how emotional this book became for me. I went in expecting literary horror and mythology, and I absolutely got those things, but underneath all of that is a story about love, grief, kinship, memory, identity, and the desperate desire to preserve something precious.

It is a story about what we carry.

What we inherit.

What we lose.

And what we are willing to endure so that something of us can survive.

There were certainly moments where the prose was challenging and where I had to reread passages to fully understand what Griffith was doing. This is not a book I would describe as an easy or effortless read. But I don't think it is supposed to be. It demands attention, and in return it gives you an experience that feels unlike a conventional novel.

By the end, I felt like I hadn't simply finished a book. I had emerged from somewhere.

*The Way of Salmon Moon* is atmospheric, horrifying, mythological, poetic, and strangely beautiful. It feels ancient and new at the same time, like a story that could have been told thousands of years ago but somehow found its way into the present.

I absolutely understand the comparisons to Cormac McCarthy, Stephen Graham Jones, Robin Wall Kimmerer, and Clive Barker, but I also think Griffith has created something with its own distinct identity. This is a very particular kind of literary horror — one rooted in mythology, nature, the body, and the enormous unknowability of existence.

If you enjoy literary horror, dark mythology, unconventional retellings, brutal but beautiful prose, stories about grief and transformation, or books that completely immerse you in another world, I highly recommend giving this one a try.

This is easily one of those books that I can see myself thinking about long after finishing it.

**5/5 stars.** Strange, savage, lyrical, heartbreaking, and absolutely unforgettable. *The Way of Salmon Moon* feels like a myth being born in real time, and I am so glad I got to experience it.

*Thank you to the publisher and NetGalley for the opportunity to read an advance copy. All thoughts and opinions are my own.*

[Francesca · Rating 4 out of 5]

Pensate a un romanzo nel quale mito, horror, folklore, ecologia e riflessione sulla memoria culturale confluiscono in un’unica visione dell’esistenza. Questo è “The Way of Salmon Moon” di D. Firth Griffith, terzo volume della serie “Rimwalker“, ma che si può leggere come stand alone (così ho fatto io).

La trama segue Cairbre, ultimo figlio sopravvissuto di un popolo distrutto dalla conquista, che procede in un paesaggio montano immerso nel gelo, isolato e segnato dal lutto. La sopravvivenza non è però legata soltanto a lui, perché Cairbre non deve soltanto preservare il proprio corpo, ma anche ciò che rimane della comunità alla quale apparteneva, le sue parole, i suoi racconti, i suoi legami con la terra e con gli esseri che la abitano. L’uomo è un personaggio definito soprattutto dalla condizione di essere superstite di una collettività cancellata, egli vive in una zona intermedia fra il lutto individuale e la responsabilità verso una memoria collettiva e il suo percorso fisico attraverso montagne, neve, fiumi e territori selvaggi coincide così con un percorso interiore nel quale il passato continua a esercitare la propria presenza.

Il viaggio è accompagnato da Rykati, un’anziana cavalla bianca, principale contrappunto affettivo e filosofico del protagonista, e che possiede una propria volontà, una propria intelligenza e una forma autonoma di conoscenza – comprende, reagisce, corregge e talvolta resiste a Cairbre.

Su questa base l’autore innesta una riscrittura di “An Bradán Feasa”, l’antica leggenda irlandese del Salmone della Conoscenza/Saggezza, che permette la ricostruzione di un intero sistema cosmologico nel quale uomini, animali, spiriti, fenomeni atmosferici, astri e paesaggio appartengono a una rete di relazioni interconnesse. Il Paleolitico si mostra come un mondo non ancora organizzato secondo la netta separazione moderna fra natura e cultura, soggetto e oggetto, umano e non umano – i fiumi hanno una presenza quasi personale, gli animali sono interlocutori e testimoni, la Luna e il Sole assumono una funzione cosmica, mentre il territorio conserva tracce di memoria e di appartenenza.

Da questa concezione deriva anche la forma che prende la parte orrorifica, che nasce dalla progressiva destabilizzazione dei confini tra sogno e realtà, corpo e spirito, umano e animale, identità e metamorfosi. La minaccia degli upélos (proto-celtico che deriva radice ricostruita della lingua proto-indoeuropea *h₂upélos o *upélos, ed esprime il concetto di “malvagio”, “cattivo” o “andare oltre i limiti accettabili”, N.d.A.), gli invasori definiti come “coloro che prendono troppo“, assume valenza che va oltre il sopruso fisico e materiale, dato che la loro voracità diventa immagine di un rapporto predatorio con il corpo, il territorio, la memoria e i legami comunitari e la distruzione di un popolo equivale alla possibile distruzione del suo modo di nominare e interpretare il mondo.

Il tema della memoria costituisce infatti il centro etico del romanzo. Cairbre porta con sé i morti attraverso le storie che conserva e trasmette e raccontare diventa una forma di resistenza all’estinzione. In questo senso il romanzo si inserisce in una tradizione contemporanea di narrativa della memoria e della perdita culturale, pur trasponendola in un passato remotissimo. La preistoria immaginata da Griffith è uno spazio nel quale interrogare questioni ancora contemporanee quali migrazione, conquista, sradicamento, perdita linguistica, rapporto con il territorio e responsabilità verso ciò che si eredita.

Particolarmente significativa è la riflessione sulla trasformazione. Il motivo della metamorfosi, che richiama inevitabilmente la tradizione delle “Metamorfosi” ovidiane, ha qui una tonalità ben più arcaica e perturbante. Cambiare forma significa mettere in discussione l’idea stessa di identità come struttura stabile, il corpo diventa materia di passaggio, e Griffith tratta la carne con una fisicità tattile – sangue, neve, pelle, ossa, fame, ferite e calore appartengono allo stesso vocabolario sensoriale, così come il corpo è al contempo vulnerabile, sacro e mostruoso.

La componente stilistica vede l’utilizzo di una prosa densa e fortemente ritmica, nella quale la sintassi può assumere un andamento ellittico e quasi rituale. La ripetizione di formule, la presenza di termini proto-celtici e soprattutto l’ampio apparato di note etimologiche trasformano la lingua in una componente strutturale della narrazione. Le note ricostruiscono significati, radici e connessioni linguistiche, ricordando che ogni parola porti con sé una storia e la lingua stessa diventa una sorta di archeologia – scavare nell’etimologia equivale a scavare nella memoria di un popolo.

Questa scelta costituisce insieme una delle maggiori qualità e una delle principali difficoltà del romanzo. La densità della prosa e la frequenza delle note talora rallentano il ritmo e possono interrompere l’immersione narrativa; alcune pagine richiedono una disponibilità a lasciarsi guidare dall’atmosfera anche quando il significato immediato rimane sfuggente. Griffith sembra chiedere al lettore non soltanto di seguire gli eventi, bensì di ascoltare una voce, riconoscere ricorrenze, abitare lentamente una cosmologia, tanto che la scrittura (ri)acquista così una qualità orale e cerimoniale, come se il romanzo fosse il frammento superstite di una narrazione trasmessa per generazioni attorno al fuoco.

“The Way of Salmon Moon” è dunque un’opera sulla sopravvivenza che va oltre quella biologica. Sopravvivere significa conservare relazioni, parole, gesti e racconti; significa accettare che l’umano esista soltanto dentro una rete più vasta di esseri e di forze. Cairbre attraversa un mondo devastato portando con sé ciò che non può permettersi di perdere, mentre Rykati rappresenta la possibilità di un legame che nasce dall’ascolto e dalla parità. La loro strada attraversa neve e oscurità come un filo sottile tra ciò che è stato e ciò che ancora può essere.

E’ questa l’immagine che rimane nell’immaginativa: una figura solitaria che avanza in un paesaggio immenso, mentre dietro di lei il mondo dei morti continua a sussurrare. La storia può distruggere una comunità, il tempo può cancellarne le tracce, persino le lingue possono scomparire, tuttavia una parola affidata a un altro essere può attraversare il buio ed impedire a un mondo perduto di scomparire del tutto.

[Jensen McCorkel · Rating 4 out of 5]

A beautifully written novel that blends prehistoric fiction, Irish mythology, folklore, and horror into an atmospheric story with an almost dreamlike quality.

This was definitely a different kind of read for me, and it took me a little while to settle into the writing style. Once I did, though, there were several things that kept me engaged. I was leaning toward 3 stars at first, but the more I’ve thought about the story, the more it has stayed with me. I find myself thinking about it more and more, which ultimately made me feel like it deserved a little more than my initial rating.

The setting was probably my favorite part. The prehistoric landscape feels wild, isolated, and almost alive, and I really liked the way nature becomes such an important part of the story. The rivers, forests, animals, and wilderness all add to the feeling that Cairbre is moving through a world that is both beautiful and dangerous. There’s an eerie, almost mystical quality to the setting that kept me curious about where the story was going.

I also really enjoyed the mythology and folklore woven throughout the story. The connection to the Salmon of Knowledge gave the book something unique, and I liked how much the story explored themes of memory, loss, survival, and preserving the stories of a people who are gone. Cairbre’s grief and isolation made his journey feel like more than just a physical one. His relationship with Rykati was also one of the parts I connected with most. Their bond brought some heart to the story and helped ground me when everything else started to feel a little strange.

Where I struggled was with the writing itself. There are some beautiful and vivid passages, but at times the prose felt too dense for me. The combination of mythology, symbolism, unfamiliar terminology, and lengthy descriptions sometimes pulled me out of the story rather than drawing me further into it. I found myself having to slow down and reread certain sections, and there were moments when I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to fully understand what was happening or simply go along with it.

Still, I appreciated how different this book was. The atmosphere, mythology, Cairbre’s journey, and especially his relationship with Rykati kept me invested even when the writing and pacing worked against me. This isn’t a book I’d recommend to someone looking for a fast-paced horror story. It’s much more of a slow, literary, mythological journey that asks you to settle into its world and let the story unfold.

Overall, The Way of Salmon Moon is an ambitious and atmospheric novel with a beautifully imagined prehistoric setting and an intriguing blend of mythology, folklore, and horror. It was also a challenging read for me, particularly because of the dense writing and slower pace than I usually prefer. The prehistoric setting, the mythology, and Cairbre’s relationship with Rykati were what kept me invested. I’d say this novel is best suited for readers who are willing to slow down and immerse themselves in the atmosphere and mythology rather than read primarily for plot momentum. It’s more of an experience and a journey than a page-turning thriller.

[Literary Reviewer · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Way of Salmon Moon is a Paleolithic mythology that moves like a story told beside a fire, half remembered by the body and half carried by the stars. D. Firth Griffith frames the novel as a retelling of An Bradán Feasa, but the book’s heart belongs to Cairbre, the last clan-son of the kéleti, who carries his people’s stories after slaughter, exile, and almost unbearable loss. The opening promise, “Honour is an action. The gods are watching,” fits the whole book. Honour here isn’t an idea to admire from a distance. It’s something Cairbre has to drag through snow, blood, hunger, memory, and fear.

The novel is built around survival, but it’s just as much about storykeeping. Cairbre’s journey is physical, spiritual, and ancestral at once. He’s trying to stay alive, but he’s also trying to keep a people from vanishing into silence. His grief is never clean or decorative. It’s bodily, angry, tender, and often strange. The book keeps returning to one of its simplest and strongest ideas: “To keep the stories.” That line becomes a kind of pulse under everything Cairbre does.

Griffith’s prose is dense and ceremonial, full of repeated phrases, Proto-Celtic language, animal kinship, footnoted meanings, and images that feel dug out of soil, snow, hide, bone, and river mud. The language doesn’t just describe Cairbre’s world. It builds that world’s way of thinking. Horses, salmon, wolves, mushrooms, stars, rivers, and mothers aren’t symbols placed on top of the story. They’re participants in it. Rykati, the old mare, gives the book some of its most grounded warmth, and her bond with Cairbre turns the journey into a conversation between man and more-than-human kin.

What makes the book compelling is how it treats transformation. Cairbre doesn’t simply move from wounded survivor to mythic figure. He’s changed through ordeal, through relationship, through memory, and through contact with forces older than his own grief. The final part toward Bradán and the Salmon Moon brings together the book’s obsessions with death, knowledge, homecoming, and the body’s place in the sacred. By the end, Cairbre’s survival has become something larger than endurance. It has become metamorphosis.

The Way of Salmon Moon is a fierce, unusual, deeply rooted mythic novel about grief, kinship, language, and the duty of carrying memory forward. It asks the reader to listen closely, not only to plot, but to rhythm, repetition, and the living presence of the Land itself. Cairbre’s story is raw and often brutal, but it’s also intimate and strangely hopeful. This is a book about what remains after a people are broken, and about how stories, when carried with enough devotion, can become a way home.

[Madison · Rating 3 out of 5]

Thank you to the publisher and NetGalley for the opportunity to read an advance copy in exchange for an honest review.

This was my first read of any of Daniel Firth Griffith's work, and the summary drew me in as an avid horror reader. It is listed as a series that can be read as individual stories, but as I read, I wondered a lot whether reading the first two books would have provided additional context that may have been helpful.

It is very clear that Griffith is a linguist who cares immensely about accuracy and acknowledging the roots of the words he chose, which I respect. Unfortunately I think that in many cases detracted from the story line, as the use of endnotes (sometimes with definitions that encompassed nearly half a page) pulled me out of the story - and with nearly 400 of these it is easy to become confused by the expectation of keeping up with the new language being introduced to you. It is also seemingly an integral part of the world building, though, which makes it a tough balance to want to engage in the story while staying versed on what half of the words in the story mean. Additionally, the language is DENSE, packing a, frankly, crazy number of adverbs and adjectives into almost every sentence. I found it difficult to parse through what was happening in many cases between having to reread passages while flipping back and forth to define the words being used. I found the inconsistencies in language to also detract from the setting a bit, there are riddles full of native tongue, followed by extremely truncated and repetitive sentences, and finally a mix of some modern phrases and language that took me out of the story.

That being said, there were many passages that were extremely descriptive and poetic. The first half of the book is much harder to get through than the second, and around 60% in is when things kicked up a notch. The final few chapters were my favorite, with some great horror and gore imagery, often blunt by comparison to the rest of the book. If you favor authors that are wordy and invested in the native language of the folklore they are telling, you are more likely to enjoy this. In the end, it is still a beautiful story of an all-encompassing grief born of love, I think that the style just doesnt mesh as well with my interests as I had hoped.

Thanks again NetGalley and Robinia Press for the advance copy!

[Laci · Rating 5 out of 5]

ARC BOOK REVIEW - The Way of the Salmon Moon

I have been contemplating this review for a while and also might have started listening to the first book in the Rimwalker Series: The Plain of Pillars. I will review that book one once I’ve finished it but I can tell you this, while the part that I’ve heard of the audiobook so far is really good, the author @daniel.firth.griffith really hit his stride writing book three.

No spoiler example: there is a scene early in The Way of the Salmon Moon where the character is overlooking a herd of horses and talking about how the mares are the true rulers of the herd for how they teach and discipline the young. And that is one little aspect of this scene. There are layers.

This book kept me so enthralled. It may not be written in iambic pentameter but this is an epic, there is no doubt. It has taken me a while to figure out how to describe this book without spoilers. It meanders slowly at times but like a river, beautiful and never dull. This book feels like I’m sitting by a fire with a violent snow storm raging outside and I’m listening to a story be told through song. There are moments when I want to flee both the storm and the story but I am too enthralled to move. This book got me annotating again, I read with a pencil in hand. The Way of the Salmon moon is heartbreaking at times while also being so beautiful as to make you weep.

If you want to read a book that will make you think. This is the book for you. If you want a book where you have to actively read and be part of the story. This is the book for you. If you want a book that makes you slow down. This is the book for you. Happy reading.

[Krystelle (based on the novel by Stephen King) · Rating 3 out of 5]

Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for this ARC!

Please note this is a 3.5.

This is a sweeping epic of a novel, and I don’t feel like I could fully grasp the entirety of this story with a single read. It’s a huge, sprawling book, and there are some elements of it that are incredibly successful, and others that are slightly less so.

I found that I really enjoyed the horror when it fully committed to - the Mushroom Man was a particularly good gem amongst the density of the story. I think the parts that really shone were where there was something distinct that it was working towards.

I did get a little frustrated by the constant flipping to the back for the definitions. I would have loved footnotes instead- it would have made the story flow a lot easier.

I think there could have been a little more of the characterisation pulled out as well, and the story got bogged down occasionally in the language and scope. With that said, I really did appreciate the sheer beauty of this novel. There’s so much love and research in it, it was absolutely incredible to read from that perspective.

I plan on reading the other books in the series just for the sheer beauty of the world and the writing. This is a really dense and higher level horror novel, but it is well worth the read.

[M.E. · Rating 5 out of 5]

Review of ARC

A saga about a man, a horse, and a Paleolithic world? Um, yes! This book is thrilling, terrifying, amazing. Highly recommend! After reading the first two books in the Rimwalker Series, I was eager to receive Book 3. Each book is truly a standalone/companion novel with their own flares of slightly differing genres and plots and characters, and I have to say that the author did a fantastic job at weaving them together, while also keeping them apart. They could easily be read in any order and land just as potent.

One could say that The Way of Salmon Moon starts off a bit slow, and I could see how some may start considering to DNF it, but I urge you to KEEP GOING! The first half of the book provides context and attunes all of your senses. And the second part doesn’t let you go! Have you ever had one those days that feels never ending and each hour could have been a full day in and of itself? The author masterfully sprinkles these feelings throughout, while also playing with the idea that maybe time isn’t linear and what our modern minds see as true may not have always been so.

Highly, highly recommend.

[W. · Rating 3 out of 5]

Thank you to NetGalley for the eARC in exchange for an honest review! ♡

The Way of Salmon Moon is a strange, mythic novel that often feels closer to an oral legend than conventional horror.

The prose is dense, lyrical and rooted in folklore and ritual. I loved the sense that nature, memory and myth were all occupying the same space, and Cairbre’s relationship with Rykati gave the story its strongest emotional thread.

At the same time, I found the book difficult to fully enter. The language is extremely deliberate, the mythology is heavy, and the frequent notes sometimes made the reading experience feel more studied than immersive. I admired a lot of what Griffith was doing without always enjoying the act of reading it.

There is real prettiness in it, especially in its treatment of grief, survival and the stories people carry forward. It is an ambitious and very distinctive book, but ultimately one I respected more than I connected with.

[Rudi McKay · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for providing me with an advanced copy of The Way of Salmon Moon in exchange for an honest review.

The Way of Salmon Moon is a beautifully atmospheric and haunting read. I really enjoyed the way the story blended emotional depth with a sense of mystery and unease. There is something quiet and almost dreamlike about the writing, but beneath it all is a darkness that slowly pulls you deeper into the story.

This was an immersive read that felt both strange and thought-provoking, with themes that lingered with me after I finished. The atmosphere was one of my favorite parts, and I appreciated how the story took its time building a sense of uneasiness.

If you enjoy atmospheric, haunting stories with emotional depth and a touch of darkness, I definitely recommend checking this one out.

Thank you again to NetGalley and the publisher for the advanced copy. All opinions are my own.

[Chelsea Ihnacik · Rating 5 out of 5]

Enter the dreaming time in this book, where pages transmit the natural law of Mother Earth to the reader. This book will add 50 pounds to your shelf when you've finished. It's dense and nutritive. The perfect Paleolithic journey of man and horse over breakfast. Many satisfying breakfasts.

If you live in modern housing most of the time, and then you go camping or to a gathering, or otherwise spend a week living out of doors, you'll know the feeling of opening, broadening, and channeling that happens. Griffith writes like he's been living in that feeling beyond time, for years. He writes like he brought this story back with him.

With proto-Celtic language and the ways of the horse-friend woven throughout, Griffith doses the reader with this psychedelic mythology. I'm happy and proud to have read it.

[readwithjazzie · Rating 4 out of 5]

I was so intrigued by The Way of Salmon Moon, and the writing was definitely the standout for me. The prose was beautiful and lyrical while still having this dark, haunting quality that fit the story so perfectly. I loved the Paleolithic setting and the way Irish mythology, nature, horror, and folklore were all woven together—it felt completely unlike anything I’ve read before.

I also really loved the relationship between Cairbre and Rykati. There was something so beautiful and emotional about their journey together amongst all the darkness of the story.

This was definitely a different read for me, but in the best way. It was strange, atmospheric, brutal, and beautiful all at once. This was my first book by D. Firth Griffith, and the writing alone has me interested in picking up more from this author.

Thank you to NetGalley and Robinia Press for the e-ARC

[June · Rating 5 out of 5]

I needed a couple of chapters to enter my flow state of reading, but then I was swiftly transported into a different realm of existence, where this otherworldly story saturated with myth, mysticism, and deep ancestral heartache unfolds.
I appreciate the abundance of insightful notes, which together read almost like an etymological history encyclopedia. For the sake of flow, I skipped the notes until reaching the end of a chapter and then read them all at once before starting the next chapter.
It is very obvious that the author poured his heart and soul into the writing.
If you find the genre intriguing and you love allegoric poetry and poetic language, there’s a good chance that this novel will quite profoundly resonate with you.

[Kate · Rating 1 out of 5]

DNF

I love Folk Horror and I am an archaeologist, so when I saw there was one set in the Paleolithic I was thrilled! But I could not get past the way this book was written. I am an educated person, but the language was just so convoluted it made no sense at all. I had to re-read paragraphs several times because I had no idea what the author was trying to say. And, don't get me started on the run-on sentences. Maybe the story is really good, I don't know because only made it three chapters and literally nothing happened besides overly descriptive, impossibly complicated writing.

ARC provided by NetGalley. These opinions are my own and do not reflect the author or publisher.

[A. Nicole Z · Rating 5 out of 5]

I cannot tell you how much I needed this book. I love horror, I love poetry, and I never thought both things could be combined so seamlessly. This feels like an oral tradition, folklore, that was passed on to me. I haven't read any of the other books in this series, and now I'm going to go buy the entire thing and consume them like I'm starving because I CRAVE this genre, whatever this is. I can't describe it. This is my shortest review, but the point is: give this a try. Whoever you are, no matter what you read, try this. Read it by a river, on a mountain, in your lawn.

[Cloud · Rating 4 out of 5]

In The Way of Salmon Moon, author Daniel Firth Griffith weaves an incredible world with no borders between human, nature and its spirits. A journey into folklore and old tales that's deep and complex. I'll say that the language was not easy for me and there are a lot of notes, so it might not be to everyone's taste. Recommend for lovers of dark, history and folklore that don't mind getting deep into a journey of spirit and mind.

[Emilie JJ · Rating 4 out of 5]

Review of advanced copy received from NetGalley

I really really tried but this was not for me. If you’re a fan of books like Dune, you’re going to love this. I will still put 4 stars as to not lower the ratings too much, because I can see why people would like it, but it was not my case

[Josh Yates · Rating 5 out of 5]

Book 3 in the Rimwalker Series is everything one might go seeking for in a literary adventure. The storytelling flow and dexterity draws us into decay, into mourning, through again into birth. Firth paints a most vivid world to be soaked and splattered by.

[Sarah F · Rating 5 out of 5]

So imaginative, gritty, and tender!

[Alex · Rating 4 out of 5]

Beautiful prose used to weave an interesting folk tale. Very unique in a world where fantasy seems to be moving more towards similar tropes. Happy this books exists.