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Red X
A hunted community. A haunted author. A horror that spans centuries.
Men are disappearing from Toronto's gay village. They're the marginalized, the vulnerable. One by one, stalked and vanished, they leave behind small circles of baffled, frightened friends. Against the shifting backdrop of homophobia throughout the decades, from the HIV/AIDS crisis and riots against raids to gentrification and police brutality, the survivors face inaction from the law and disinterest from society at large. But as the missing grow in number, those left behind begin to realize that whoever or whatever is taking these men has been doing so for longer than is humanly possible.
Woven into their stories is David Demchuk's own personal history, a life lived in fear and in thrall to horror, a passion that boils over into obsession. As he tries to make sense of the relationship between queerness and horror, what it means for gay men to disappear, and how the isolation of the LGBTQ+ community has left them profoundly exposed to monsters that move easily among them, fact and fiction collide and reality begins to unravel.
A bold, terrifying new novel from the award-winning author of The Bone Mother.
Men are disappearing from Toronto's gay village. They're the marginalized, the vulnerable. One by one, stalked and vanished, they leave behind small circles of baffled, frightened friends. Against the shifting backdrop of homophobia throughout the decades, from the HIV/AIDS crisis and riots against raids to gentrification and police brutality, the survivors face inaction from the law and disinterest from society at large. But as the missing grow in number, those left behind begin to realize that whoever or whatever is taking these men has been doing so for longer than is humanly possible.
Woven into their stories is David Demchuk's own personal history, a life lived in fear and in thrall to horror, a passion that boils over into obsession. As he tries to make sense of the relationship between queerness and horror, what it means for gay men to disappear, and how the isolation of the LGBTQ+ community has left them profoundly exposed to monsters that move easily among them, fact and fiction collide and reality begins to unravel.
A bold, terrifying new novel from the award-winning author of The Bone Mother.
280 pages, Paperback
First published August 31, 2021
128 people are currently reading
9819 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 458 reviews
April 24, 2023
This is a deeply personal book. Being part autobiography I expected it would be, but man it was raw.
It’s main story is about how Toronto’s queer identifying people’s and minorities have been brutalized over the decades. Real life terrors such as police brutality, homophobia, marginalization, HIV and more, but with the addition of a supernatural entity wrecking havoc.
There is another autobiographical story interspersed throughout, that kind of blurs the lines between fiction and non-fiction.
The story is broken up over the decades, starting with the 80’s and ending up in the 2010’s, and each era had its own unique feel to it which was pretty immersive.
This book is just a lot. There’s many genuinely creepy sequences, some pretty unique imagery, some gore, body horror, LOTS of symbolism (a lot I’m sure went over my head), lots of mythological and folklore exposition, real life current events, historical events, ALOT of characters, and so much despair and brutality.
It’s honestly hard for me to articulate all my thoughts and feelings. It ended too abruptly I think, and I wish there was more of a resolution to things, but I also know that the ending was intentional and I think you’re supposed to feel that way. It’s not an outright disturbing book persay, but it did leave me unsettled and deeply sad.
Disclaimer that the following are spoiled a bit in this:
Let The Right One In by John Ajvide Linqvist, Under The Skin by Michel Faber, and the movie the Babadook
It’s main story is about how Toronto’s queer identifying people’s and minorities have been brutalized over the decades. Real life terrors such as police brutality, homophobia, marginalization, HIV and more, but with the addition of a supernatural entity wrecking havoc.
There is another autobiographical story interspersed throughout, that kind of blurs the lines between fiction and non-fiction.
The story is broken up over the decades, starting with the 80’s and ending up in the 2010’s, and each era had its own unique feel to it which was pretty immersive.
This book is just a lot. There’s many genuinely creepy sequences, some pretty unique imagery, some gore, body horror, LOTS of symbolism (a lot I’m sure went over my head), lots of mythological and folklore exposition, real life current events, historical events, ALOT of characters, and so much despair and brutality.
It’s honestly hard for me to articulate all my thoughts and feelings. It ended too abruptly I think, and I wish there was more of a resolution to things, but I also know that the ending was intentional and I think you’re supposed to feel that way. It’s not an outright disturbing book persay, but it did leave me unsettled and deeply sad.
Disclaimer that the following are spoiled a bit in this:
Let The Right One In by John Ajvide Linqvist, Under The Skin by Michel Faber, and the movie the Babadook
September 20, 2021
Review originally published at Cemetery Dance:
https://www.cemeterydance.com/extras/...
I’m officially a fan of authors breaking the fourth wall within their novels in order to communicate directly to their readers in their own voice. I’m here for it. Red X is the second book I’ve read this year to use this literary device.
This book wouldn’t have been the same experience without Demchuk’s personal and vulnerable account of his own struggles as they relate to the story.
Both Red X and Demchuk’s first novel, The Bone Mother, tell essential stories from marginalized people threatened by suppression and persecution.
Demchuk shines a bright, focused light on Toronto’s gay district, The Village. A growing number of men are going missing while authorities turn a blind eye to the outcry of fear and concern from friends and family.
The author’s personal account underscores what fuels this apathetic response by explaining how his generation viewed queer people as living a dangerous, alternative lifestyle. Gay men going missing was seen as a consequence. The HIV/AIDS pandemic — a consequence. Getting fired from your job, church exclusion, family exclusion — all consequences.
Demchuk paints a grim picture as the reality of this situation comes to a boiling point. A whole group of people living in fear and isolation are totally ignored, leaving them vulnerable to whatever (or whoever) desires to prey on them.
It is truly horrifying and frankly, difficult to experience. My reading journey was that of immense concern, a heavy feeling of dread and anxiety, as well as this growing sense of urgency to check on my queer friends and family to make sure they’re not suffering from the neglect communicated in this book. It was easy to forget that some of this book is fictionalized, supernatural horror as the pace quickened and the pages flew by; and then David would step in with an interlude with that identifying font and I would remember that, ah yes…I can put my feet back on the ground. *big sigh*
It requires so much inner strength and bravery for marginalized creatives to share their work with society. The onus on society is to make sure it is well received, engaged with, honored, valued, and celebrated.
This is an important work for the horror community. A representation of an entire group of people with a voice not to be heard, but listened to; not just acknowledged, but seen. I personally want to thank David Demchuk. By telling your story, you told a bigger story and that will live on in this book for generations of readers to come.
https://www.cemeterydance.com/extras/...
I’m officially a fan of authors breaking the fourth wall within their novels in order to communicate directly to their readers in their own voice. I’m here for it. Red X is the second book I’ve read this year to use this literary device.
This book wouldn’t have been the same experience without Demchuk’s personal and vulnerable account of his own struggles as they relate to the story.
Both Red X and Demchuk’s first novel, The Bone Mother, tell essential stories from marginalized people threatened by suppression and persecution.
Demchuk shines a bright, focused light on Toronto’s gay district, The Village. A growing number of men are going missing while authorities turn a blind eye to the outcry of fear and concern from friends and family.
The author’s personal account underscores what fuels this apathetic response by explaining how his generation viewed queer people as living a dangerous, alternative lifestyle. Gay men going missing was seen as a consequence. The HIV/AIDS pandemic — a consequence. Getting fired from your job, church exclusion, family exclusion — all consequences.
Demchuk paints a grim picture as the reality of this situation comes to a boiling point. A whole group of people living in fear and isolation are totally ignored, leaving them vulnerable to whatever (or whoever) desires to prey on them.
It is truly horrifying and frankly, difficult to experience. My reading journey was that of immense concern, a heavy feeling of dread and anxiety, as well as this growing sense of urgency to check on my queer friends and family to make sure they’re not suffering from the neglect communicated in this book. It was easy to forget that some of this book is fictionalized, supernatural horror as the pace quickened and the pages flew by; and then David would step in with an interlude with that identifying font and I would remember that, ah yes…I can put my feet back on the ground. *big sigh*
It requires so much inner strength and bravery for marginalized creatives to share their work with society. The onus on society is to make sure it is well received, engaged with, honored, valued, and celebrated.
This is an important work for the horror community. A representation of an entire group of people with a voice not to be heard, but listened to; not just acknowledged, but seen. I personally want to thank David Demchuk. By telling your story, you told a bigger story and that will live on in this book for generations of readers to come.
September 23, 2021
4.5 Stars
This is a horror novel like no other.
It feels strange to rate and review a book as personal as this one. The author poured so much of his own self and history into the prose. Woven between the chapters, the author inserts commentary on his own experience that lead to writing the book, completely breaking the fourth wall. I honestly never completely knew where the line was between fact and fiction. The story was so intimate that it became a very emotional read. I can be a very cold hearted reviewer, but this book made me feel things. I ached for the pain and uncertainty he experienced living as a openly gay man in prejudice, uncaring world.
I have read the author's previous novel, The Bone Mother, which is a very different kind of story. The two books are so different that I cannot predict if the same readers will necessarily like both. Each is well written, providing an out-of-the-box horror, but they approach the genre from such a different perspective. All that being said, readers will just have to try out both books for themselves.
This is certainly not your traditional horror novel. In fact, some readers may try to put other genre labels on a book like this calling it more memoir or literary fiction. The horror of the novel draw from real life horrors rather than fictional monsters and ghosts. On the surface level, this novel didn't appear to be scary, but upon reread I experienced the psychological and real life horror of this narrative.
While I loved this story a lot, I will also acknowledge that own voices readers will undoubtedly get so much more from this text. I am a bisexual woman, not a gay man, and my experience in Toronto is limited to the airport terminal. I have no doubt that this book would be even more powerful to readers that more closer share the author's life.
Regardless of your backstory, I think these kinds of stories are so important to read. I would highly recommend this one to readers, including those that normally avoid the horror genre. At its core, this is a moving and poignant story of love and loss, which are universal themes that cross all boundaries.
I highly recommend the audiobook version, which includes some narration by the author. This format really enhanced my experience on reread.
Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from the publisher.
This is a horror novel like no other.
It feels strange to rate and review a book as personal as this one. The author poured so much of his own self and history into the prose. Woven between the chapters, the author inserts commentary on his own experience that lead to writing the book, completely breaking the fourth wall. I honestly never completely knew where the line was between fact and fiction. The story was so intimate that it became a very emotional read. I can be a very cold hearted reviewer, but this book made me feel things. I ached for the pain and uncertainty he experienced living as a openly gay man in prejudice, uncaring world.
I have read the author's previous novel, The Bone Mother, which is a very different kind of story. The two books are so different that I cannot predict if the same readers will necessarily like both. Each is well written, providing an out-of-the-box horror, but they approach the genre from such a different perspective. All that being said, readers will just have to try out both books for themselves.
This is certainly not your traditional horror novel. In fact, some readers may try to put other genre labels on a book like this calling it more memoir or literary fiction. The horror of the novel draw from real life horrors rather than fictional monsters and ghosts. On the surface level, this novel didn't appear to be scary, but upon reread I experienced the psychological and real life horror of this narrative.
While I loved this story a lot, I will also acknowledge that own voices readers will undoubtedly get so much more from this text. I am a bisexual woman, not a gay man, and my experience in Toronto is limited to the airport terminal. I have no doubt that this book would be even more powerful to readers that more closer share the author's life.
Regardless of your backstory, I think these kinds of stories are so important to read. I would highly recommend this one to readers, including those that normally avoid the horror genre. At its core, this is a moving and poignant story of love and loss, which are universal themes that cross all boundaries.
I highly recommend the audiobook version, which includes some narration by the author. This format really enhanced my experience on reread.
Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from the publisher.
August 21, 2022
I've never seen a book spend so much time threatening to be interesting without managing to do so.
Maybe I should've given up on this book sooner and saved myself from it, but there was always just enough of something around the next corner that kept pulling me forward to see what would happen next. There was an underlying logic that you would get flashes of, that wanted to be told, but the whole thing never materializes into an "aha!" moment. Instead you're left with an ending that's not so much a resolution as much as where the words simply stop coming.
Just about the only positive thing I can say about this book is that the descriptions of urban gay life felt authentic; the bar and club and drag show scenes took me right back to my twenties in Philly's Gayborhood. And as the book is broken up between 8-year time skips (1984, 1992, 2000, 2008, and 2016), each one also managed to feel unique and distinct. Beyond that, nothing clicked for me.
Of course I didn't expect a horror story about gay men going missing to have a feel-good ending or shy away from difficult scenes, but this book was just so overwhelmingly negative. No aspect of this story felt like a celebration of gay culture, like you're meant to sympathize with these victims. Instead it came across as a steady stream of punishments for damn near the entire (unnecessarily large) cast for something they couldn't control about themselves. And then at the end of each chapter we're subjected to a fourth wall break where the author writes as himself directly to the reader in an exercise in self-flagellation for being gay - for no discernible benefit to the story. If anything, I feel like the book suffered for these detours.
I love being a gay man. Yes, there are times when I am afraid to wear certain clothes, or act a certain way, and to this day I don't hold my husband's hand in public, but I will never hyperfocus on my victimhood as this story did. I hope people who read this book understand that not all of us hate ourselves like this.
Maybe I should've given up on this book sooner and saved myself from it, but there was always just enough of something around the next corner that kept pulling me forward to see what would happen next. There was an underlying logic that you would get flashes of, that wanted to be told, but the whole thing never materializes into an "aha!" moment. Instead you're left with an ending that's not so much a resolution as much as where the words simply stop coming.
Just about the only positive thing I can say about this book is that the descriptions of urban gay life felt authentic; the bar and club and drag show scenes took me right back to my twenties in Philly's Gayborhood. And as the book is broken up between 8-year time skips (1984, 1992, 2000, 2008, and 2016), each one also managed to feel unique and distinct. Beyond that, nothing clicked for me.
Of course I didn't expect a horror story about gay men going missing to have a feel-good ending or shy away from difficult scenes, but this book was just so overwhelmingly negative. No aspect of this story felt like a celebration of gay culture, like you're meant to sympathize with these victims. Instead it came across as a steady stream of punishments for damn near the entire (unnecessarily large) cast for something they couldn't control about themselves. And then at the end of each chapter we're subjected to a fourth wall break where the author writes as himself directly to the reader in an exercise in self-flagellation for being gay - for no discernible benefit to the story. If anything, I feel like the book suffered for these detours.
I love being a gay man. Yes, there are times when I am afraid to wear certain clothes, or act a certain way, and to this day I don't hold my husband's hand in public, but I will never hyperfocus on my victimhood as this story did. I hope people who read this book understand that not all of us hate ourselves like this.
August 9, 2021
I am still thinking about this book. Review to come.
September 14, 2022
This started out as five stars, because I was thrilled by the creepy themes and the familiar Toronto setting. But as the page count progressed, the story didn't really seem to go anywhere. A repetitive element crept in, and with that, a lack of suspense.
My major gripe is the "journal" sections which are presented in unnumbered pages and a monospaced (fixed-pitch) font. This font was not as ugly as courier spewed from a dot matrix printer but was certainly the next worse thing. I found it challenging to read (because of awkwardness of the font) and my heart sank whenever I came to one of these sections. Their relevance is another issue; certainly a late section on the history of "queer horror" felt more like something used to promote the concept of this book to a publisher than something this reader needed.
The journal sections were said to have been written in 2018 so it is unclear why such an "old school" font was chosen. It may seem petty, but I'm afraid the presentation of this material has dragged the stars down.
There is a 5 star book here, in between the pages of this tattered red book. Other readers have found it, raved about it and cheered, and I can see why—it was a 5 star read for me until the first journal entry (a twenty page digression) threw me out of the story, and I put the book aside. After that, it seemed to lose energy.
My major gripe is the "journal" sections which are presented in unnumbered pages and a monospaced (fixed-pitch) font. This font was not as ugly as courier spewed from a dot matrix printer but was certainly the next worse thing. I found it challenging to read (because of awkwardness of the font) and my heart sank whenever I came to one of these sections. Their relevance is another issue; certainly a late section on the history of "queer horror" felt more like something used to promote the concept of this book to a publisher than something this reader needed.
The journal sections were said to have been written in 2018 so it is unclear why such an "old school" font was chosen. It may seem petty, but I'm afraid the presentation of this material has dragged the stars down.
There is a 5 star book here, in between the pages of this tattered red book. Other readers have found it, raved about it and cheered, and I can see why—it was a 5 star read for me until the first journal entry (a twenty page digression) threw me out of the story, and I put the book aside. After that, it seemed to lose energy.
May 19, 2023
It’s hard for me to describe in words how incredibly genius this book is but I’m going to do my best. An autobiography intertwined in a historical/folklore queer horror story, complied into one of the most raw, hopelessly poetic and mournful books I have ever read.
This brought me to tears as Demchuck’s writing is so masterful and so all consuming I could feel the pain and grief in the words. ‘Red X’ encapsulates Horror in every sense of the word. Sprinkled throughout are terrifying scenes amongst harrowing truths and the way the two meld together is really nothing short of pure genius. Clearly, I’ve been sleeping on Demchuck as this is my first read by him. I’ll be adding more of his works to my wishlist. I honestly cannot recommend this book enough. Easily one of my favourite reads of all time.
This brought me to tears as Demchuck’s writing is so masterful and so all consuming I could feel the pain and grief in the words. ‘Red X’ encapsulates Horror in every sense of the word. Sprinkled throughout are terrifying scenes amongst harrowing truths and the way the two meld together is really nothing short of pure genius. Clearly, I’ve been sleeping on Demchuck as this is my first read by him. I’ll be adding more of his works to my wishlist. I honestly cannot recommend this book enough. Easily one of my favourite reads of all time.
dnf
October 13, 2021I feel like a horrible gay for DNFing this important book, but the writing style lost me completely. I think if the narrative was broken out by POV instead of specific dates, I'd have a better time following along. Maybe I'll come back to it - I've seen so many amazing reviews for this book.
Read
August 30, 20212 months ago, I sat down to read RED X. I originally had a kindle copy from NetGalley, but the formatting was so bad that I put it to rest and call it a DNF. The author has since been awesome enough to send me a physical copy for review.
Unfortunately, I made the tough decision to DNF this book again at 60%.
I am from Windsor, Ontario. The events of this book take place in Toronto, Ontario. This is a big deal. A book about The Village is important. And I was very excited to read this.
Regretfully, I didn’t connect to the characters. I had a hard time following the storyline and I felt that the authors autobiographical statements didn’t connect with the main part of the story. This felt like two books in one. The pacing was also very slow and left me grasping at straws to find something to keep me reading.
What I can say is this:
It has excellent LGBTQ+ rep.
It deals with homophobia, AIDS/HIV, and the disappearance and murder of gay men.
All of these are incredibly important topics. But this book just wasn’t for me.
Unfortunately, I made the tough decision to DNF this book again at 60%.
I am from Windsor, Ontario. The events of this book take place in Toronto, Ontario. This is a big deal. A book about The Village is important. And I was very excited to read this.
Regretfully, I didn’t connect to the characters. I had a hard time following the storyline and I felt that the authors autobiographical statements didn’t connect with the main part of the story. This felt like two books in one. The pacing was also very slow and left me grasping at straws to find something to keep me reading.
What I can say is this:
It has excellent LGBTQ+ rep.
It deals with homophobia, AIDS/HIV, and the disappearance and murder of gay men.
All of these are incredibly important topics. But this book just wasn’t for me.
April 24, 2023
A queer horror story that is disturbing, dark and devastating. The writing is descriptive and gory, unnerving and uncomfortable. The real-life horrors the book exposes are nearly as frightening as the supernatural horror—its nightmares consuming me so greatly, I woke up wet, damp with sweat whenever reading it late into the night.
September 20, 2021
3.5 stars.
Using the murders of several gay men in Toronto as the basis for this book, author David Demchuk weaves in memoir-like sections into the horror narrative. I say memoir-like because at one point Demchuk, or the unnamed narrator, interacts with one of the characters in the story. She, among various others within the Toronto gay and lesbian community, have noticed that some of their acquaintances and friends have gone missing. Demchuk brings otherworldly horror into an already horrific story of multiple missing men and their gruesome deaths, years of police indifference and inaction. The author introduces the presence of a being who has been targeting gay men for a long time; it appears to each of the missing men after initially catching their interest with a red, leather bound journal.
Demchuk follows a set of people through many years, with the being watching them, adding a malevolent threat to the men’s lives, even as AIDS was beginning to cut young men down.
The book has great atmosphere, and I liked the construction: fiction + memoir/fictionalized (?) memoir.
I also cared about the characters we follow through the years. I liked the book, even as I was infuriated, thinking of the years of police inaction that led to so many real deaths.
Using the murders of several gay men in Toronto as the basis for this book, author David Demchuk weaves in memoir-like sections into the horror narrative. I say memoir-like because at one point Demchuk, or the unnamed narrator, interacts with one of the characters in the story. She, among various others within the Toronto gay and lesbian community, have noticed that some of their acquaintances and friends have gone missing. Demchuk brings otherworldly horror into an already horrific story of multiple missing men and their gruesome deaths, years of police indifference and inaction. The author introduces the presence of a being who has been targeting gay men for a long time; it appears to each of the missing men after initially catching their interest with a red, leather bound journal.
Demchuk follows a set of people through many years, with the being watching them, adding a malevolent threat to the men’s lives, even as AIDS was beginning to cut young men down.
The book has great atmosphere, and I liked the construction: fiction + memoir/fictionalized (?) memoir.
I also cared about the characters we follow through the years. I liked the book, even as I was infuriated, thinking of the years of police inaction that led to so many real deaths.
January 16, 2022
The beginning of this book hooked me. But I got a little lost along the way.
I went into this book club pick, thinking it was more of a true cime novel. Woops.
I was intrigued by the fourth wall journaling of the author, who added his own experiences to the story and then layer on actual became part of the the story.
We talked about the character writing being weak in book club, and I think with the exception of a few (the characters of Robin Hank/Tony and Elka in my opinion) all were very forgettable.
The book felt like it was buidling up to something bigger, building a mythology that was meant for payoff and then just ended with a bit of a whimper.
Likes:
-There were some truly tense chapters.
-The portion were the monster hunted Hank and Tony was very intriguing.
-Insight into how terrfying living as an LGBTQ+ person during the timeframe of the book was eye opening.
Dislikes:
Too many branching story lines, not enough focus on one particular character hurt the story.
-Lackluster ending, no pay off.
-Confusing mythology, didn't understand why the monster was hunting the people he was
I went into this book club pick, thinking it was more of a true cime novel. Woops.
I was intrigued by the fourth wall journaling of the author, who added his own experiences to the story and then layer on actual became part of the the story.
We talked about the character writing being weak in book club, and I think with the exception of a few (the characters of Robin Hank/Tony and Elka in my opinion) all were very forgettable.
The book felt like it was buidling up to something bigger, building a mythology that was meant for payoff and then just ended with a bit of a whimper.
Likes:
-There were some truly tense chapters.
-The portion were the monster hunted Hank and Tony was very intriguing.
-Insight into how terrfying living as an LGBTQ+ person during the timeframe of the book was eye opening.
Dislikes:
Too many branching story lines, not enough focus on one particular character hurt the story.
-Lackluster ending, no pay off.
-Confusing mythology, didn't understand why the monster was hunting the people he was
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 18, 2021
5 star review coming to Kendall Reviews!
September 24, 2021
Starting out as a mystery about men vanishing from Toronto's gay community, David Demchuk weaves a tour de force of storytelling through horror, true crime, history and personal memoir that left this reader absolutely spellbound. Frightening, searing, tragic, and heartbreakingly human to the core. One of the best books I've read this year.
January 28, 2023
Loved the concept, but the execution really fell flat for me. There was WAY too much time jumping and character jumping for me to ever truly feel invested.
March 25, 2023
Book Blog | Bookstagram
I really and truly wanted to love this as much as everyone else, but as should come as a surprise to literally no one, I did not. I liked it enough, but a few things were throwing me off – it reads like two different books, the pacing is all over the place and the anthology-style chapters became repetitive because there really didn’t seem to be a point.
I mean, I guess the point could be that bad things happen to the LGTBQ+ community and there really never is a “good” reason; the constant cruelty is predictable because the cruelty is the point.
But maybe that’s too subversive for my weed-addled brain, so I struggled to be totally engaged.
That said, there are a million other readers gushing over it, so take my review with a pinch of, like, whatever you want to pinch, I don’t know, it’s up to you but I’m not forcing salt on anyone.
The novel seems to take inspiration from the crimes of Bruce McArthur, a serial killer who terrorized the gay community in Toronto. McArthur managed to get away with his crimes for years for a few reasons, one being, “no body, no crime.” That, combined with an attitude from the cops that was kind of like, “Hey, sometimes gay men just go missing, there’s nothing we can do *shrug shrug shrug*,” there wasn’t really a sense of urgency for the police to investigate the cases of multiple missing men from the Village that were – in the eyes of the community – clearly linked. And time would prove those advocates correct.
When the bodies started turning up in rich people’s garden beds, then the cops were like “Not the straight rich people! Let’s form a task force, boys! Cops to the rescue!”
Demchuk uses the similar disappearances of several gay men over three decades and police inaction, combined with a demonic presence and a spooky red journal, to explore myriad issues in the gay community like homophobia, the HIV/AIDS crisis, riots, raids, gentrification, police brutality and societal indifference. That makes this novel more than just a horror story featuring LGBTQ+ characters. I mean, it definitely goes in the Queer Horror category, but it’s so much more than that. It is emotional and layered as it uses fictional supernatural horror to dissect and expose real-life horror.
This is an important novel and you should definitely read it.
From my critical perspective though – because wtf, it’s a book review right? – I had a hard time with the narrative style and my interest in the plot ebbed and flowed as jarring fourth wall moments threw me off.
The first chapter is a fucking doozy, but after that, it kind of loses steam as we split into the subsequent decades with a new gay man in each time period finding the red book that will set off a chain of events that leads to the demon… presence… thing.
It is set up like an anthology in a way, where each decade gets its own part of the book. But the plotting became a bit formulaic and repetitive, allowing a lack of suspense and a sense of meandering to develop in the sameness. I would wonder if anything was ever really going to happen or if it was just going to be these isolated vignettes, connected only by the red book, which didn’t seem to be leading to anything purposeful.
In between the fiction, there are non-fiction journal entries. At first – because I went into this without having read any reviews at all – I thought these were pages out of the red book, dictated by the demon. But then sometimes that didn’t make sense to what the journal entries were saying. Like, Demon, you have a family? For real?
No. Apparently, it’s personal writing from the author, breaking the 4th wall.
Like, seriously, I am sometimes too stupid for books. But whatever.
Relevancy and emotional rawness of those sections aside, I wish they hadn’t been included in the book but maybe as an afterword or author’s note. I’m just not into breaking the fourth wall. It annoys the fuck out of me and it usually only exists (typically) for the sake of being cheeky. It wasn’t cheeky here, but it also didn’t do anything to further the fiction narrative, it just pulled me out of the story. And that’s, like, the exact opposite of what I’m hoping for when I read?
What I did love about this novel was the horror. It was disturbing and dark and didn’t shy away from anything. It was descriptive and gory, unnerving and uncomfortable. But the characters are mostly forgettable and didn’t have much personality or emotional depth. It was like the novel was relying almost exclusively on horror to provide emotion for the reader, but that left me disconnected from the characters.
There are some truly intense chapters and scenes that are going to stay with me for the rest of my life though.
This is an essential work of fiction with emotional wounds left open for the reader, both in the context of the LGBTQ+ community and by way of the author’s personal writings. The horror elements are on point – both the supernatural ones and also the human ones, like the rapist cop preying on the most vulnerable – and I loved reading a novel set in Toronto, so close to home. But the journal entries were distracting for me, the ending was lacklustre after so much buildup and the mythology of the demon thing wasn’t explored clearly so the ambiguity was too intangible for the brain power I’m currently operating on.
One thing is for sure though – Demchuk is fearless in his writing.
CW for, like, literally everything you might want a CW for.
⭐⭐⭐½ | 3.5 stars rounded down
I really and truly wanted to love this as much as everyone else, but as should come as a surprise to literally no one, I did not. I liked it enough, but a few things were throwing me off – it reads like two different books, the pacing is all over the place and the anthology-style chapters became repetitive because there really didn’t seem to be a point.
I mean, I guess the point could be that bad things happen to the LGTBQ+ community and there really never is a “good” reason; the constant cruelty is predictable because the cruelty is the point.
But maybe that’s too subversive for my weed-addled brain, so I struggled to be totally engaged.
That said, there are a million other readers gushing over it, so take my review with a pinch of, like, whatever you want to pinch, I don’t know, it’s up to you but I’m not forcing salt on anyone.
The novel seems to take inspiration from the crimes of Bruce McArthur, a serial killer who terrorized the gay community in Toronto. McArthur managed to get away with his crimes for years for a few reasons, one being, “no body, no crime.” That, combined with an attitude from the cops that was kind of like, “Hey, sometimes gay men just go missing, there’s nothing we can do *shrug shrug shrug*,” there wasn’t really a sense of urgency for the police to investigate the cases of multiple missing men from the Village that were – in the eyes of the community – clearly linked. And time would prove those advocates correct.
When the bodies started turning up in rich people’s garden beds, then the cops were like “Not the straight rich people! Let’s form a task force, boys! Cops to the rescue!”
Demchuk uses the similar disappearances of several gay men over three decades and police inaction, combined with a demonic presence and a spooky red journal, to explore myriad issues in the gay community like homophobia, the HIV/AIDS crisis, riots, raids, gentrification, police brutality and societal indifference. That makes this novel more than just a horror story featuring LGBTQ+ characters. I mean, it definitely goes in the Queer Horror category, but it’s so much more than that. It is emotional and layered as it uses fictional supernatural horror to dissect and expose real-life horror.
This is an important novel and you should definitely read it.
From my critical perspective though – because wtf, it’s a book review right? – I had a hard time with the narrative style and my interest in the plot ebbed and flowed as jarring fourth wall moments threw me off.
The first chapter is a fucking doozy, but after that, it kind of loses steam as we split into the subsequent decades with a new gay man in each time period finding the red book that will set off a chain of events that leads to the demon… presence… thing.
It is set up like an anthology in a way, where each decade gets its own part of the book. But the plotting became a bit formulaic and repetitive, allowing a lack of suspense and a sense of meandering to develop in the sameness. I would wonder if anything was ever really going to happen or if it was just going to be these isolated vignettes, connected only by the red book, which didn’t seem to be leading to anything purposeful.
In between the fiction, there are non-fiction journal entries. At first – because I went into this without having read any reviews at all – I thought these were pages out of the red book, dictated by the demon. But then sometimes that didn’t make sense to what the journal entries were saying. Like, Demon, you have a family? For real?
No. Apparently, it’s personal writing from the author, breaking the 4th wall.
Like, seriously, I am sometimes too stupid for books. But whatever.
Relevancy and emotional rawness of those sections aside, I wish they hadn’t been included in the book but maybe as an afterword or author’s note. I’m just not into breaking the fourth wall. It annoys the fuck out of me and it usually only exists (typically) for the sake of being cheeky. It wasn’t cheeky here, but it also didn’t do anything to further the fiction narrative, it just pulled me out of the story. And that’s, like, the exact opposite of what I’m hoping for when I read?
What I did love about this novel was the horror. It was disturbing and dark and didn’t shy away from anything. It was descriptive and gory, unnerving and uncomfortable. But the characters are mostly forgettable and didn’t have much personality or emotional depth. It was like the novel was relying almost exclusively on horror to provide emotion for the reader, but that left me disconnected from the characters.
There are some truly intense chapters and scenes that are going to stay with me for the rest of my life though.
This is an essential work of fiction with emotional wounds left open for the reader, both in the context of the LGBTQ+ community and by way of the author’s personal writings. The horror elements are on point – both the supernatural ones and also the human ones, like the rapist cop preying on the most vulnerable – and I loved reading a novel set in Toronto, so close to home. But the journal entries were distracting for me, the ending was lacklustre after so much buildup and the mythology of the demon thing wasn’t explored clearly so the ambiguity was too intangible for the brain power I’m currently operating on.
One thing is for sure though – Demchuk is fearless in his writing.
CW for, like, literally everything you might want a CW for.
⭐⭐⭐½ | 3.5 stars rounded down
August 20, 2021
For decades, gay men have gone missing from Toronto, vanishing without a trace. Their friends and family left with nothing to go on. As patterns emerge over time, our characters learn there's something truly sinister preying on these men. And it's happening again...
This book is so many things; part horror novel, part memoir, part tribute (in a way), and all heart. The story takes place over a long stretch of time and interspersed between these time jumps are the author's memories of what it was like to grow up gay in Toronto, dealing with all that comes with that, and his love of horror. It's a unique way to format a book and I truly enjoyed it.
I didn't know much about the murders this story is based on before I read it and after educating myself on them afterwards, this novel became even more chilling. While the entity in the book and reality are different, the fear and isolation are not. A monster is a monster. I won't say more than that about the one in the novel so that you can discover it yourself.
It's hard for me to imagine what writing this novel took. Authors include their experiences in books all the time, but we as readers rarely get to see behind the curtain. It's all here though and it just made any emotion I felt while reading hit that much harder. No matter what type of horror you're into, or even if you're not really into horror, you should check this out. You're going to feel things.
*Thanks to NetGalley, Penguin Random House, and Strange Light for the ARC for review
This book is so many things; part horror novel, part memoir, part tribute (in a way), and all heart. The story takes place over a long stretch of time and interspersed between these time jumps are the author's memories of what it was like to grow up gay in Toronto, dealing with all that comes with that, and his love of horror. It's a unique way to format a book and I truly enjoyed it.
I didn't know much about the murders this story is based on before I read it and after educating myself on them afterwards, this novel became even more chilling. While the entity in the book and reality are different, the fear and isolation are not. A monster is a monster. I won't say more than that about the one in the novel so that you can discover it yourself.
It's hard for me to imagine what writing this novel took. Authors include their experiences in books all the time, but we as readers rarely get to see behind the curtain. It's all here though and it just made any emotion I felt while reading hit that much harder. No matter what type of horror you're into, or even if you're not really into horror, you should check this out. You're going to feel things.
*Thanks to NetGalley, Penguin Random House, and Strange Light for the ARC for review
February 8, 2022
Throughout the last few decades the gay village of Toronto Church and Wellesley witnesses many a horror: homophobia, HIV, police brutality, indifference of society… But taking a closer look one will see an additional terror, as if these were not enough. A monster that is firmly anchored in Toronto’s history and roots but also in British folklore, a barghest, haunts a group of people that are sometimes loosely sometimes firmly connected to each other over the span of about 40 years. It is up to them to solve the mystery and hopefully stop the killings/disappearances.
Red X was a ravishing read! While homophobia effortlessly keeps up with the barghest in terms of terror, Demchuk weaves these two components into such uncanny and threatening atmosphere that every scene of additional scare makes you jump out of your seat. And there are many a genuinely scary scene here, peppered with a couple of fantastic illustrations of which I wish there had been more.
Each chapter is written for each decade since the 80s and is divided into two parts: the story itself and the author’s own biographical notes. The latter recount how horror has shaped his life in general; the horror connected to homophobia and to the terrible illness that followed him throughout his life, of death of loved ones, of queer representation in the genre and more… “At least for a while, it was better to be seen as a monster than to remain unseen.”
Heartbreaking and frightening, Red X was one of the best reads of the year for me.
Red X was a ravishing read! While homophobia effortlessly keeps up with the barghest in terms of terror, Demchuk weaves these two components into such uncanny and threatening atmosphere that every scene of additional scare makes you jump out of your seat. And there are many a genuinely scary scene here, peppered with a couple of fantastic illustrations of which I wish there had been more.
Each chapter is written for each decade since the 80s and is divided into two parts: the story itself and the author’s own biographical notes. The latter recount how horror has shaped his life in general; the horror connected to homophobia and to the terrible illness that followed him throughout his life, of death of loved ones, of queer representation in the genre and more… “At least for a while, it was better to be seen as a monster than to remain unseen.”
Heartbreaking and frightening, Red X was one of the best reads of the year for me.
April 4, 2025
This is probably closer to a 4-star book objectively. When and how I read it (sporadically, on audio) wasn't a good choice and did the material a real disservice. It has a very loose structure and it's definitely not a traditional plot-driven narrative, which are also things that can make it hard for me to connect with a book. But despite all that I did connect with this. I think it's a really fascinating book and I don't know how it's flying under the radar so much that I just now heard about it a few years after publication.
Red X is a queer horror novel that addresses directly late 20th century gay life, not just the AIDS crisis, but the way this marginalized community was incredibly vulnerable. People disappeared. Maybe they got sick, maybe they were killed, maybe they simply decided to go somewhere else. Who knew? It's an effective setting and Demchuk brings it vividly to life.
I liked the book a little less as we moved forward in time, as we seemed to jump around more to new characters. I am the kind of reader who would have liked a more focused story on this initial batch of characters, but that is definitely a personal preference.
I really enjoyed how Demchuk included his own autobiographical sections (in the audiobook, the author reads them himself), it helps you see why he is interested in this story and how threads of his own life get pulled into the fictional narrative.
This is, ultimately, a mix of urban horror and folk horror, an interesting mashup. Very firm sense of place in Toronto's gay village.
Red X is a queer horror novel that addresses directly late 20th century gay life, not just the AIDS crisis, but the way this marginalized community was incredibly vulnerable. People disappeared. Maybe they got sick, maybe they were killed, maybe they simply decided to go somewhere else. Who knew? It's an effective setting and Demchuk brings it vividly to life.
I liked the book a little less as we moved forward in time, as we seemed to jump around more to new characters. I am the kind of reader who would have liked a more focused story on this initial batch of characters, but that is definitely a personal preference.
I really enjoyed how Demchuk included his own autobiographical sections (in the audiobook, the author reads them himself), it helps you see why he is interested in this story and how threads of his own life get pulled into the fictional narrative.
This is, ultimately, a mix of urban horror and folk horror, an interesting mashup. Very firm sense of place in Toronto's gay village.
March 13, 2025
Men are going missing from Toronto’s gay village.
This was Peter Straub’s Ghost Story but instead of cigars, dark academia and an old boys club, it was neon lights and thumping disco music at a seedy gay bar. A modern horror tale, a retelling of history, and a harrowing blend of fact and fiction woven together to create something that was, quite frankly, terrifying.
This is the city; an urban neighbourhood vibrant and bustling with people and nightlife. Somehow this made it eerier. It was disconcerting and had me on edge.
This book was so completely authentic and original, I’m having a hard time getting my head round how brilliant it was. Because it was a scary-as-shit horror but also a blurring of lines, a distorted play on reality and something so much more than that. The book is not trying to be anything. It just is.
5 stars
This was Peter Straub’s Ghost Story but instead of cigars, dark academia and an old boys club, it was neon lights and thumping disco music at a seedy gay bar. A modern horror tale, a retelling of history, and a harrowing blend of fact and fiction woven together to create something that was, quite frankly, terrifying.
This is the city; an urban neighbourhood vibrant and bustling with people and nightlife. Somehow this made it eerier. It was disconcerting and had me on edge.
This book was so completely authentic and original, I’m having a hard time getting my head round how brilliant it was. Because it was a scary-as-shit horror but also a blurring of lines, a distorted play on reality and something so much more than that. The book is not trying to be anything. It just is.
5 stars
January 8, 2022
You know those books you sit with and they just live in your brain? This will be one of those books.
The book is unsettling, heart breaking, and you just want to collect all the characters and protect them and love them.
The writing style is so clever and he wrote himself into his own story.
I'm gonna sit and stare out the window for a while contemplating the cruelty of life.
If you get a chance to read it please do it..
The book is unsettling, heart breaking, and you just want to collect all the characters and protect them and love them.
The writing style is so clever and he wrote himself into his own story.
I'm gonna sit and stare out the window for a while contemplating the cruelty of life.
If you get a chance to read it please do it..
September 28, 2021
Verdict: 4.5 out of 5
PLEASE NOTE: I originally reviewed Red X several weeks ago and gave it 3.75 out of 5.0 due to the difficulties I had with my digital ARC. The publisher has since sent me a paperback for comparison and I have re-read much of the book so that I can update my review (which follows).
Let me begin by saying I love the design and production of this paperback. It has a soft cover that imitates a hardcover and is complete with back and front flaps. The pages appear to be recycled in unevenly cut sizes—I first encountered this kind of production with the Series of Unfortunate Events books when I was a teenager, and I still love it—and there are also several illustrations featured inside that are haunting and effective. This is the kind of print you must have in your collection.
Onto the actual content of Red X:
This novel contains a supernatural mystery that is backed by historical horrors that you will still find active to this day. There is (obviously) a lot of queer representation throughout this novel, which was new for me in reading. Up until this point, I’ve never read a story that was so honest and visible in its representation of the queer community and its individuals. There are a lot of unsettling sequences throughout—some of which feature mystical and fantastical creatures—which take the reader from the 80s into the late 2010s. You have a handful of characters that you follow briefly in the different sections divided by the year, all of which have been cut with (let’s call them) essays. These sections written in the author’s firsthand account, and make up about thirty percent of this book. Sometimes they recount moments and troubles from his life. Other times they discuss queerness in horror. All of it is fascinating and engaging. In all honesty, I actually preferred those sections to the actual story. What this tells me is David Demchuk should write an autobiography—I would definitely read it.
Now that I’ve had a chance to re-read and skim the paperback edition of Red X, I can say I enjoy it much more now. I still think the essays intertwined with the story come as a bit distracting at times—as if you’re reading two books that have been splice together—but read each on their own (i.e., just the essays OR just the story chapters) and I think the problem is solved. It seems odd to suggest such a thing, but I did that in my rereading and found that it worked for me. Like I’ve said, I actually enjoy the essays most, so focusing on those stretches from beginning to end was an experience all their own.
Red X is a very unique book in representation, storytelling, and formatting. If you’re new and/or uncomfortable with queer fiction, I especially recommend it. Though this is a horror novel, Red X is also the kind of queer lit that should be taken seriously, even studied. As such, I believe Red X should be noted as one of the most important novels of the year.
From my blog: https://aidenmerchant.com/2021/08/29/...
PLEASE NOTE: I originally reviewed Red X several weeks ago and gave it 3.75 out of 5.0 due to the difficulties I had with my digital ARC. The publisher has since sent me a paperback for comparison and I have re-read much of the book so that I can update my review (which follows).
Let me begin by saying I love the design and production of this paperback. It has a soft cover that imitates a hardcover and is complete with back and front flaps. The pages appear to be recycled in unevenly cut sizes—I first encountered this kind of production with the Series of Unfortunate Events books when I was a teenager, and I still love it—and there are also several illustrations featured inside that are haunting and effective. This is the kind of print you must have in your collection.
Onto the actual content of Red X:
This novel contains a supernatural mystery that is backed by historical horrors that you will still find active to this day. There is (obviously) a lot of queer representation throughout this novel, which was new for me in reading. Up until this point, I’ve never read a story that was so honest and visible in its representation of the queer community and its individuals. There are a lot of unsettling sequences throughout—some of which feature mystical and fantastical creatures—which take the reader from the 80s into the late 2010s. You have a handful of characters that you follow briefly in the different sections divided by the year, all of which have been cut with (let’s call them) essays. These sections written in the author’s firsthand account, and make up about thirty percent of this book. Sometimes they recount moments and troubles from his life. Other times they discuss queerness in horror. All of it is fascinating and engaging. In all honesty, I actually preferred those sections to the actual story. What this tells me is David Demchuk should write an autobiography—I would definitely read it.
Now that I’ve had a chance to re-read and skim the paperback edition of Red X, I can say I enjoy it much more now. I still think the essays intertwined with the story come as a bit distracting at times—as if you’re reading two books that have been splice together—but read each on their own (i.e., just the essays OR just the story chapters) and I think the problem is solved. It seems odd to suggest such a thing, but I did that in my rereading and found that it worked for me. Like I’ve said, I actually enjoy the essays most, so focusing on those stretches from beginning to end was an experience all their own.
Red X is a very unique book in representation, storytelling, and formatting. If you’re new and/or uncomfortable with queer fiction, I especially recommend it. Though this is a horror novel, Red X is also the kind of queer lit that should be taken seriously, even studied. As such, I believe Red X should be noted as one of the most important novels of the year.
From my blog: https://aidenmerchant.com/2021/08/29/...
December 19, 2021
There are some interesting concepts here and the subject matter is important, but this book just didn't really work for me. I'm not sure if listening to this as an audiobook affected my enjoyment, but I found the writing to be mostly unengaging (except for some of the supernatural stuff) and the characters felt underdeveloped.
I was also made uncomfortable by the depictions of sexual violence, which obviously is the intent and that's fine, but what bothered me more is that since that is an ever-present aspect of the book, whenever there is a non-violent sexual description, I was immediately put off and since they are all homosexual encounters it made me feel a sort of weird guilt as well for feeling that way.
The demonic presence that threads throughout the story is pretty effectively unnerving though, and the sort-of fourth wall breaking interstitials are something I really like in theory, but didn't quite fit into the story as much as I would have liked.
This seems like it's close to something that could have been great and I can understand the high reviews for it, but as it is I wouldn't personally recommend it.
I was also made uncomfortable by the depictions of sexual violence, which obviously is the intent and that's fine, but what bothered me more is that since that is an ever-present aspect of the book, whenever there is a non-violent sexual description, I was immediately put off and since they are all homosexual encounters it made me feel a sort of weird guilt as well for feeling that way.
The demonic presence that threads throughout the story is pretty effectively unnerving though, and the sort-of fourth wall breaking interstitials are something I really like in theory, but didn't quite fit into the story as much as I would have liked.
This seems like it's close to something that could have been great and I can understand the high reviews for it, but as it is I wouldn't personally recommend it.
February 23, 2022
I love this book, about a supernatural monster with an acquired taste for the gay men of Toronto, cultivated over years.
From the publisher: Men are disappearing from Toronto's gay village. They're the marginalized, the vulnerable. One by one, stalked and vanished, they leave behind small circles of baffled, frightened friends. Against the shifting backdrop of homophobia throughout the decades, from the HIV/AIDS crisis and riots against raids to gentrification and police brutality, the survivors face inaction from the law and disinterest from society at large. But as the missing grow in number, those left behind begin to realize that whoever or whatever is taking these men has been doing so for longer than is humanly possible.
There were a few execution elements that didn't quite click for me (it's hard to get back to the uber-creepiness that was the first chapter, plus the red book seems to lose its creep-factor and become more mundane throughout the novel). But the overall emotional punch that the book delivers more than compensates for any of my perceived issues. Well done!
From the publisher: Men are disappearing from Toronto's gay village. They're the marginalized, the vulnerable. One by one, stalked and vanished, they leave behind small circles of baffled, frightened friends. Against the shifting backdrop of homophobia throughout the decades, from the HIV/AIDS crisis and riots against raids to gentrification and police brutality, the survivors face inaction from the law and disinterest from society at large. But as the missing grow in number, those left behind begin to realize that whoever or whatever is taking these men has been doing so for longer than is humanly possible.
There were a few execution elements that didn't quite click for me (it's hard to get back to the uber-creepiness that was the first chapter, plus the red book seems to lose its creep-factor and become more mundane throughout the novel). But the overall emotional punch that the book delivers more than compensates for any of my perceived issues. Well done!
May 2, 2023
1.5/5
Well. This is a surprise. The pitch for this book is great in theory, and as a queer fan of horror who is also Canadian I was obviously interested. But this book just…doesn’t do ANYTHING?
It’s too unfocused, bouncing from decade to decade, across way too many characters, while also containing pages upon pages of fourth wall interludes from the author. Said interludes were admittedly my favourite parts, and honestly could have stood alone as their own separate work.
This unfocused nature never allows you to really get into anything. None of the characters or their relationships are developed in a meaningful way that keeps you hooked. The plot blazes past things that should perhaps be explored in greater depth. It all feels surface level story-wise.
And, ultimately, it doesn’t lead anywhere all that interesting either with it’s horror element. Lots of setup, very little payoff. The conclusion is rushed and nothing is really explained in any capacity whatsoever. The book just ends.
I’m really disappointed because I was sure this would be a good time and always always want more queer horror.
Well. This is a surprise. The pitch for this book is great in theory, and as a queer fan of horror who is also Canadian I was obviously interested. But this book just…doesn’t do ANYTHING?
It’s too unfocused, bouncing from decade to decade, across way too many characters, while also containing pages upon pages of fourth wall interludes from the author. Said interludes were admittedly my favourite parts, and honestly could have stood alone as their own separate work.
This unfocused nature never allows you to really get into anything. None of the characters or their relationships are developed in a meaningful way that keeps you hooked. The plot blazes past things that should perhaps be explored in greater depth. It all feels surface level story-wise.
And, ultimately, it doesn’t lead anywhere all that interesting either with it’s horror element. Lots of setup, very little payoff. The conclusion is rushed and nothing is really explained in any capacity whatsoever. The book just ends.
I’m really disappointed because I was sure this would be a good time and always always want more queer horror.
December 12, 2021
Great book club pick as there will be a lot to unpack and discuss.
Spoilers follow.
Spoilers follow.
August 1, 2023
The story follows different queer men who have gone missing over the decades starting in the 1980s. Mixed in are the authors' personal stories and history that blur the line between fiction and non-fiction. Equally horrifying and heartbreaking.
A very heavy read for me, I found myself tearing up more than once. I believe this is a very unique read that will make you feel things and stay with you for a long time. 100% must read. A mix of creepy folklore, crime, history, body horror, and symbolism.
A very heavy read for me, I found myself tearing up more than once. I believe this is a very unique read that will make you feel things and stay with you for a long time. 100% must read. A mix of creepy folklore, crime, history, body horror, and symbolism.
September 24, 2021
Demchuk's ambitious novel about the disappearances of gay men in Toronto, Canada for decades, and centuries, cuts its narrative with the horrors of folkloric dread, scenes of slasher tension, and the pain of societal neglect and disdain. Torn across hard times and troubled characters, the years eat at both those who go missing and those left behind.
It's a unique manner of storytelling, slipping between history and now, when the author searches for answers. The sometimes journalistic approach makes for a fascinating false calm. Animalistic ferocity lurks beneath the pages, seen out the corner of sight, and the narrative becomes the car that almost runs you down, but you made it, you're alive. For now. The book is both horror story and warning, how the more things change, the more they stay the same. An excellent, unforgettable journey into the heart of loss.
It's a unique manner of storytelling, slipping between history and now, when the author searches for answers. The sometimes journalistic approach makes for a fascinating false calm. Animalistic ferocity lurks beneath the pages, seen out the corner of sight, and the narrative becomes the car that almost runs you down, but you made it, you're alive. For now. The book is both horror story and warning, how the more things change, the more they stay the same. An excellent, unforgettable journey into the heart of loss.
October 3, 2023
spooky, personal, and queer.
November 28, 2021
I don't want to spoil many of my thoughts since I'll be discussing in book club. I'll just say enjoyed it, but it did make some storytelling choices that really hampered my enthusiasm. Can't wait to talk about it. Might be closer to a 3.5/5?
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