Source of book: NetGalley (thank you)
Relevant disclaimers: none
Please note: This review may not be reproduced or quoted, in whole or in part, without explicit consent from the author.
And remember: I am not here to judge your drag, I mean your book. Books are art and art is subjective. These are just my personal thoughts. They are not meant to be taken as broader commentary on the general quality of the work. Believe me, I have not enjoyed many an excellent book, and my individual lack of enjoyment has not made any of those books less excellent or (more relevantly) less successful.
Further disclaimer: Readers, please stop accusing me of trying to take down “my competition” because I wrote a review you didn’t like. This is complete nonsense. Firstly, writing isn’t a competitive sport. Secondly, I only publish reviews of books in the subgenre where I’m best known (queer romcom) if they’re glowing. And finally: taking time out of my life to read an entire book, then write a detailed review about it that some people on GR will look at would be a profoundly inefficient and ineffective way to damage the careers of other authors. If you can’t credit me with simply being a person who loves books and likes talking about them, at least credit me with enough common sense to be a better villain.
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Help, this was awful, and I mean that as a compliment.
What we have there are three thematically connected but otherwise distinct horror stories, which are queer in the sense that some of the involved characters are queer, rather than the horror is itself queer. I’m drawing that distinction somewhat cautiously because I don’t want to make sweeping statements about how queerness should (or does) manifest in modern horror. But I’m still so used to queerness being a direct source of horror to the mainstream that the kind of queer horror I’m most comfortable with is as a reader involves queer characters but isn’t directly queer focused in its themes.
Anyway, how the hell do you talk about horror: “I was deeply discomforted by these stories but in a way that reflected well on the skill and intentions of the author”? I admired the tonal and stylistic range between all three stories, although the first is probably the most impressively “voicey” of the three. In fact, it was probably a little bit unbalancing because, for me, it was the most striking and also incidentally the longest, taking up about the first 50% of the book, while the middle story is takes you to about 85%, and the final story fills up the last 15%. It’s probably an unfair quirk of perception, but the fact there’s only three stories, and they decrease so noticeably in length … it kind of makes the book as a whole feel like it’s deflating as it goes? Like an old party balloon. Or, um, a post-ejaculatory penis. The last story is the closest to optimistic that they get (which is, y’know, a highly qualified statement) so in that respect it’s a softer landing for the reader. But it also, perhaps inevitably, felt like a weaker one.
The first story is about the relationship between two women that evolves following a chance meeting on a queer ListServ back in the early 2000s. The exchange of emails and IMs is framed as part of a longer piece of journalism attached to an on-going police investigation, so you know from the beginning that it’s all going nowhere good. The second story concerns two parents dealing with the aftermath of their son’s suicide and involves hotel-sitting on an island over the winter and a mysterious visitor. And the last, is about an unhappily married man who gets trapped in an increasing series of outrageous bets with his sinister neighbour out of a crushing fear of being impolite. That last story: did the author need to get so fucking personal? Sheesh.
The three stories do complement each other in intriguing ways. As the afterward explains in, perhaps, unnecessary detail they’re all about the human need for connection, be in romantic, in faith and family, or just the overwhelming pressure to feel socially acceptable. While, in some cases, queerness does contribute to these characters’ sense of isolation there is something quite deeply horrifying—at least to me—to see that fundamental search for connection becoming increasingly twisted and detached from anything meaningful or real. The middle story has some explicitly supernatural elements, but in the first and last the awfulness is mostly kind of banal and human. And, because of that, incredibly effective. There’s a sort of flinching despair and incipient dread that wends its way through all three stories. Fun times. Good stuff.
Of the three, the second story is probably the weakest. There’s a lot going on it (death of a child, a failing marriage, an island hotel, a storm, a mysterious visitor who may be an angel, a demon or a child from the husband’s previous marriage, a sudden pregnancy, visions of the apocalypse, poisoned cabernet) and it’s all set against this backdrop of a world where the afterlife has apparently been scientifically proven to not exist. Like, maybe tell me more about that, please? And, now I’ve said it, I think possibly all of these stories could have benefited slightly from a bit more “maybe tell me more about that please”, especially when came to the characters. I mean, I gave up entirely on trying to understand Olive and James in Story II, but I think, in Story III, bit more grounding on how Mr Fowler’s overwhelming need to be accepted in all contexts manifests in his general life would have ratcheted the tension in his “now I am sucked into a sinister betting game” even further. In Story I, the fact we have direct access to Agnes’s voice, via her messages and emails, is extremely successful in creating our sense of her as a person (an extremely damaged person with a phenomenal turn of phrase), but Zoe (after her initial messages) feels just a touch less vivid. And, again, they jump from talking about an apple peeler to kinky sex disconcertingly quickly, even by the standards of a ListServ from the 2000s. And, believe me, disconcertingly quickly by the standards of a ListServ from the 2000s is incredibly fucking fast.
All of which said, this is an impressive, assured and genuinely discomforting trio of stories. I know I’ve sort of whined that I wanted slightly more characterisation and slightly slower pacing here, but I think it’s usually a good sign when you want more from a writer in general.
Do read with care, and check trigger warnings, if you’re not a horror aficionado. Or even if you are because, fucking hell, there’s some stuff in here.