I’ve read all of Rachel Harrison’s books, so I know what to expect from her: spooky chick lit horror. Normally it works for me, but this one… It reads as excessively goofy in a just-shy-of-camp way. I wish that it took itself less seriously in regards to its message, because the earnestness about religious trauma pairs oddly with, well, the goofiness: the boiling nacho cheese and the Spirit Halloween Satanist vibe of it all. (No shade to Spirit Halloween.)

I see the concept, I like the concept, I just think that the execution falls short.