Writing a review of a portion of a serialized novel is difficult, though admittedly probably not as difficult as writing the novel. One cannot base their ratings and thoughts on a finished product, but only on the experience so far and, pretty importantly, the potential for what’s next.

Apocalyptic world-comes-crashing-down-around-your-shoulders novels like the Stand and Swan Song usually give you a reason for the death and destruction pretty quickly. This is one place the Fearing sets itself apart; kicking things into high gear right off the bat, but ending book one leaving the reader with only a vague idea of exactly what is happening and pretty much no idea why it’s happening.

We’re introduced to a cast of characters, although not an overwhelming amount, that span from inherently likable to immediately unpleasant to mysteriously intriguing. This is where the potential comes in. I have no issue saying that giving this book 5 stars is primarily based on John F. D. Taff giving me a 100 page introduction to what’s next. I want to know what’s going to happen to these characters I’ve already grown attached to. I want to know who’s going to make it and who’s not. I want to know where all this weird shit is coming from. I want to know what the deal is with Adam.

I’m psyched that there will be three more installments and I anxiously await August 20th for Book 2: Water & Wind. If you like apocalyptic horror fiction, this looks to be a very unique entry into the genre and a can’t-miss addition to the horror genre as a whole.

How exactly does one classify Inspection by Josh Malerman? At various points there are certainly elements of horror, namely near the end. There are also portions that could be grouped into the thriller category, as well as an overall climate that I had trouble comparing to anything besides Orwell’s 1984. It’s also appropriate to lump it into the category of coming-of-age stories. Suffice it to say, I don’t believe I’ve ever read anything quite like this one.

The stripped-down version of the plot is that we begin by following a group called the Alphabet Boys, adolescents who are being raised to believe the entirety of humanity is male. The boys are completely unaware of the existence of girls/women under the belief that without this distraction, the Alphabet Boys can do great things and lead the way in various fields. This is our set up, but we can’t go too much further into what happens next without some major league spoilers.

The prose throughout is very sharp and quick-moving which, combined with relatively short chapters, leads you through very rapidly. I found myself consistently saying “one more chapter” and subsequently plowing through the story.

The adult characters are relatively one dimensional. Even the one we go a little bit deeper with, we never get to truly explore his motivations beyond guilt. The main children characters are written sympathetically, and even though they interact relatively normally, we can’t help but think of everything wrong with their world and the things they are missing. Beyond a few adolescent characters that are frequent participants in the story, I found it difficult to keep track of some of the second and third tier characters, though I chalk this up to characters having assigned letters rather than names. It does feel like although some of these boys have individual strengths and skills and we miss out on some potential here.

Credit where credit is due, one thing Malerman excels at is writing dialogue between the Alphabet Boys. I marveled at how much work it must have been keeping straight what they know, what they don’t, what phrases (gender, religion, pop culture, etc.) wouldn’t make any sense coming out of their mouths, and the way it’s handled throughout the running time of 383 pages is pitch perfect.

The highest selling point that I can give on this book is that I can’t imagine you’ve read anything like it before, and it deserves some points for originality. There is also a chapter about 20 pages from the end of the book where shit absolutely goes down. A great cap on a really fun book that has something to say.

3.5 stars bumped up for Goodreads.

Hyperion is a tough one to rate and review, and I can see my thoughts and numbers changing when and if I take on book 2, The Fall of Hyperion. One of the main things I look for in a book series is that when I hit the last page of book one, I’m either going to the bookshelf to get book 2 or ordering it from amazon. In the case of this book, we are left on a cliffhanger, but I’m not feeling the need for instant resolution.

Back the truck up a minute. So, the story is about a group of seven individuals who come together to take a pilgrimage to the planet of Hyperion and its’ notorious time tombs, and the planets’ looming terror/myth/religious curiosity: the shrike. The part of the story not told in flashback is pretty sparse. At a guess, it probably takes up less than 100/482 pages. There is also not a ton of shrike in what I anticipated would be a shrike story. This is a shame considering it is set up to be something of an omniscient, omnipresent, razor sharp murder monster.

During the run time, most of the seven main characters tell the story of what brings them on this pilgrimage, and this is where we spend most of our read. The stories all have links present to either the planet, the other stories, or both, and the way that vaguely related stories are tied together via overarching narrative reminded me favorably of Chuck Pahlaniuk’s Haunted or David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas.

Cloud Atlas May be a more apt comparison because Simmons does a masterful job of applying different styles to each story. Among the collection, we get an Orson Scott Card-esque tale of alien planet colonization, a Robert E Howard type immortal warrior story, a writer’s experience with the shrike (in the most shrike heavy story we get) that evokes Edgar Allan Poe, as well as a noir detective story tinged with science fiction that has some Blade Runner elements to it.

Make no mistake, the stories are very strong, and the scholar’s tale is grade A science fiction drama. It is beautifully tragic, but the narrative attempting to hold them together doesn’t quite do enough to require me to go forward. It feels as though the story(ies) I was interested in have been told, and I’m good with that.

I should start by saying that I finished this book in 2 days. You may be thinking no big deal, I’ve done that before, but it’s generally not the way I read. At any given time I have 3-6 books going and I like to spend a little time with each during the course of the day. I think of it like sitting down to watch TGIF on a Friday night, checking in with characters I’m currently invested in, and getting a little variety(hello dated reference). Once I picked up The Cabin at End of the World, the rest of my in progress pile took a backseat until this ride had concluded.

Home invasion is an aspect of horror that scares the shit out of me. Even though it wasn’t a great movie, the Strangers stayed with me for a long time. There’s something inherently terrifying about strangers breaking into a place that is supposed to be safe and yours and creating such a power imbalance. Paul Tremblay crafts a story that presents as home invasion but quickly jumps to a whole new level. I won’t go into details because I went into this book knowing very little about the plot and I would highly recommend doing the same.

The family draws us in and makes us care about them immediately, and I dare you not to fall in love with Wen in the first chapter. The family dynamic is very 2018, but Tremblay never beats the reader over the head with it, and it does become vital to certain details as the story unfolds. Even the “villains” in Cabin are flawed, but redeemable and I could sympathize, if not agree, with some of them.

The strength of this book is that it does not let its’ readers be complacent. I’ve made my way through this and A Head Full of Ghosts now, I’ve enjoyed both immensely, and I’ve learned that Paul Tremblay is not going to wrap anything up with a bow for me and present it on a silver platter. He’s going to present questions that he has no intention of giving a definitive answer to. Throughout this story, Tremblay does an incredible job of planting seeds of doubt. Even when you’re pretty sure you know what’s going on, in the back of your mind uncertainty lingers.

This is a sublimely well-crafted horror story that pays very close attention to its’ own details. There are some very bold and brave choices. One in particular will stay with me for a long time. It is clever and expects the audience to pay attention. Lastly, it demands that you ruminate on it when it’s over. Write about it, force a friend to read it and then talk about it, but it will be there with you. If you’re down for all that, you should already be in the process of obtaining this thing.

I'm a little embarrassed to be jotting down my thoughts on this book when the rest of the horror world likely read it and loved it years ago. Nonetheless, call me a hold out. I didn't know the book existed when the movie came out, and it was okay but didn't impress me to the point where I had to rush out and grab the book immediately.
Instead I was turned on to Malerman's other work, and upon realizing this guy could write a damn book, I picked up Bird Box. I immediately loved how different the book was from the movie. Sure, the main problem is the same, and it ultimately ends up going to the same place, but some of the ways we get there and the people we meet along the way, give us a very different look at the story.

I'll always be a little disappointed that I didn't get to take this story on with fresh eyes (no pun intended?) and without knowing what would happen before hand. That being said, there are scenes throughout that deliver so much tension, and even knowing the outcomes that would happen to certain characters, I was still on the edge of my seat. Any time the characters are exploring the world or houses outside, the scenes are written perfectly. I repeat, perfectly.

Malerman does a masterful job of putting us on the exact same level as the characters. We don't get to see anything they don't see, which of course, is quite a lot. We are left to wonder, speculate, and stew with them in an environment of constant fear.

That we get to the end without a big reveal or explanation for the creatures serves the story perfectly. Truly, it kind of feels like a description of the creatures or a synopsis of how they came to be here would end up being a letdown to the atmosphere that Malerman spends almost 400 pages building. Instead our protagonists have hope, but the world isn't getting any better.

If you have read Bird Box, refresh your memory before Malorie comes out in December, and we get to see this what happens next in this world. It's not a super-short book, but it moves very quickly and you'll find that holy shit, 50 pages have gone by and I just sat down. If you have not read it, do it. Unlike me, pretend you read it years ago, that you liked it before Netflix made it hot.

I’m a new, but enthusiastic, member of the Paul Tremblay fan club. I blasted through A Head Full of Ghosts, taking just enough time to savor what I was reading. I was unable to afford the same kindnesses to The Cabin at the End of the World. I wasn’t really able to make the book last for more than 2 days. I plead the fifth. It was addicting and I couldn’t put it down.

Why are you getting so much backstory on your Disappearance at Devil’s Rock review? Because it all leads into the experience I had reading this one. Rather than binge-reading Devil’s Rock, I opted to read one chapter every day, and treat it almost like watching individual episodes of a police procedural. I really enjoyed having the time to weigh advances in the story and theorize about where it might be going and what I’d be reading next.

One of my favorite things about this book is the way it unfolds. I’ve used the phrase “story unfolds” plenty of times, but the way the narrative of this book moves along, it feels like the most accurate possible application of the phrase. In fact, it kind of feels like previous uses of the phrase don’t really hold up to the scrutiny I’ll now be putting into place. Far be it from me to assume Tremblay’s process, but this story reads like it was very intricately plotted and that script was followed to the letter.

I also really enjoyed the interactions between the teenage boys. Speaking from the perspective of a former teenage boy, they were annoying as shit in this book. The friendly banter, however, was also really endearing. Isn’t that what it’s like to be a middle school boy? You’ve got friends you’d absolutely die for and you spend the bulk of your day verbally tearing them to shreds with insults that will make you cringe when you’re in your 30’s. Tremblay absolutely nails this.

It’s hard to wrap up my thoughts without touching on the emotion poured into the pages here. Reading this as the parent of young children provides a truly unique experience. You spend nearly 400 pages hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. And you’re invested in Tommy’s story and safe return because that’s your kid. You’re invested in Elizabeth’s strength and stability because, dammit, that’s you. For all those reasons, it’s also a bit of a tough read, but I made it through. I made it through and even though I didn’t find this story quite up to the level of Cabin or Head Full of Ghosts, Paul Tremblay has cemented himself into the horror genre (with this not-quite horror story) as a can’t-miss author.


I’ve started this review several times now and I’m trying to find an elegant way to say this book will leave you feeling like you’ve been kicked in the stomach. Why sugar coat it? Why dress it up and make it pretty? Remains is raw and unedited human emotion somehow packed into 200 pages.

Our story centers around Lucy, a woman who lost her young son to a kidnapping/murder. Since then Lucy has spent time voluntarily in a psychiatric hospital and is now residing in the house where her son was murdered in hopes of reconnecting with his spirit. Everything else in life has lost any meaning.

We are presented with events and experiences that make us question what's real and how much we can trust the senses of the person we're following. It's hard to tease too much more without spoiling, but Cull does provide answers, although that doesn't mean there isn't room for what-the-hell-happened interpretations on the reader's part.

The format is a big part of why this book is successful. It is very cinematic in it's presentation, and short chapters serve to carry you along for the ride. The format takes on a life of its' own in the last 30 or so pages, rocketing the reader to the harrowing conclusion.

Remains reminded me of the Will Smith movie, Seven Pounds. Not because of any similarities in plot, but because when the credits rolled, I recognized that I had just had an experience and it was extremely well done, but I also recognized that I would never watch that movie again. Once was good. An argument could be made on both parts that the creator had crafted something so complete that it didn't need to be revisited, but imparted itself under the skin of the viewer/reader.

I saw this book lauded as one of the best haunted house stories of 2019, and it is, but it's more. I would give it a go if you don't mind Horror that is unflinching, gruesome at times, and doesn't really give a shit if you can't take it anymore. If it's been a while since you've read something that made you feel, try Remains by Andrew Cull.



About 3-4 nights a week I have to close up the music shop I work at. I've done this for the last 5 years or so. Closing consists of locking the front door, turning off the master set of lights, and letting myself out the back door, about 40 feet down the hall. After reading the first 50 or so pages of Whispers in the Dark, Laurel Hightower's debut novel, I headed off to work. At the end of the night, I went to lock up as usual. I locked the front door, hit the lights, turned around to leave, and all I could think of, as I faced the long pitch-black hallway, was the whispers. The horrifying "gray people" that materialize out of the shadows. This experience stuck with me for 2 reasons:
1. This book pulled me in immediately and took over my headspace. Even hours after having put it down, the ghosts it had filled my imagination with were still present. So much so, that it transformed what has become an everyday experience.
2. This is only the second time I can call to mind that a book has given me the creeps when it wasn't even in my hands. The first such time I recall belongs to a certain Sai King.
I'm pleased to be able to recommend this as a story that gets under your skin, with its' exceptionally creep-tastic imagery, but there's so much more. Perhaps the reason that the scares work so well is because of how fleshed-out the characters are. All the characters. Our protagonist, Rose, (that's right "our". Laurel Hightower created a great character that we love to root for) is a wonderfully strong female lead whose refusal to take shit makes for some terrific quotes. Sam, the ex-husband, has all the marks of a potential one-dimensional character, but avoids going there via some very-well done POV portions of the story. Even side characters like William, Luke, and Joy are presented in a way that subtly make us care about not just their parts in the main story, but what happens to them after. The only character(s) not given to us in great detail are done so intentionally so that we don't fully know what to make of their motives and actions.
Whispers in the Dark is very self-contained. It wraps everything up, yet if the concept of the whispers were revisited in another story, I'd be there for it. Whatever Laurel Hightower puts to page next, I'll be first in line for it. I can't wait to see what else this author has up her sleeve.

4.5/5 Stars rounded for Goodreads.

When attempting to get acquainted with a new author, I like to try a collection of short fiction. Thus begins my introduction to Mr. Kealan Patrick Burke.

We Live Inside Your Eyes is bookended with a prologue and epilogue vaguely tying together the eleven works we are about to read in a way mildly reminiscent of Clive Barker's Books of Blood. We are then jettisoned into The Land of Sunshine, most notable to me because of how it gives a glimpse of what to expect from Burke's prose. These stories read as though every single choice of word and the construction of every sentence is agonized over. There is an essence of extreme fine tuning to these works that is not always visible in a finished product.

Our visits to a variety of different worlds and settings are consistently bleak. Burke excels in creating an atmosphere of dread regardless of whether he's telling us about a man who comes to covered in someone else's blood as is the case in Traveler, or a boy setting out to retrieve his father from the pub in Sanctuary. Burke paints us gritty pictures of life, made all the more terrifying when sometimes there isn't something supernatural lurking around the corner. It's the ever present darkness in the world we inhabit that makes for the antagonist.

One of my favorites from the collection is the previously mentioned Traveler, which goes in some wild directions after the synopsis listed above. A Wicked Thirst is a cut above the rest and comes in as one of the strongest short piece offered within. It's a terrific rendition of man haunted by the demons of his past. Also of note is Down Here with Us. Even in my brief time spent with Mr. Burke, it surprised me to enter into a fantasy story, but it is imbued throughout with a similar dark nature to its more realistic counterparts. Without revisiting every story in great detail, I have to also mention Go Warily After Dark and You Have Nothing to Fear From Me as things to look forward to should you find yourself picking this book up.

The House on Abigail Lane gets a special mention as the main attraction of sorts for this collection. We conclude with a 60-ish page take from Burke on the haunted house. The presentation is the star of the story as we are treated to what reads as a non-fiction account of the disappearances and strange happenings surrounding this house from 1956 to the present. In no way is it a standard haunting and the scenes presented to us from the second floor range from desolate to nightmare fuel to confusing and mysterious. As self-contained as this story is, if Burke decides to expand on the mythology of the Sunflower God, I'll stake myself out a spot at the front of the line.

There were certainly some entries here that were more entertaining than others, but every piece works in its own capacity. They offer their own unique viewpoints and I would advise against skipping any. For those that like author's notes presented with the story, and I do, they are short, insightful, and add a bit to each piece. I will visiting the literary vistas created by this author again very soon.

4.5 stars rounded for Goodreads


Trying to accurately describe collections of short fiction can be intimidating. Even some of my favorite collections that I've read can be uneven. There's a certain obligation to mention which stories work and which ones can be skipped, and mention as many as possible. A difficult task becomes nearly impossible when the story counts hits twenty.

Fortunately, I'm delighted to report that Little Paranoias, by Sonora Taylor, sets itself apart from the typical collection of short fiction, combining poetry with longer-form stories with a lot of, what I came to think of as, vignettes. The bulk of these pieces establish a certain comfort in discomfort as Taylor seems to almost take pleasure in leading us down a certain path, and then viciously pulling the rug out from under our feet. After a while, the reader starts to feel, dare I say, paranoid, but it doesn't get any easier to guess where we'll end up.

Little Paranoias is bookended by short pieces of poetry, and Taylor uses the opening to welcome the reader to her world. Weary Bones drops us right into the thick of things, making sure we know why we came and that things are going to get dark and weird. One of the stories that worked best for me was Always in my Ear, a warped take on society's obsession with true crime podcasts. Quadrapocalypse is also intriguing, offering snapshots from differing viewpoints of the end of the world. Seed is the penultimate, and longest, story. It unfolds a post-apocalyptic tale whether Mother Nature really lets humanity have it.

If this collection were made up of just stories, I think I still would have enjoyed it, but what truly won me over were the pieces of flash fiction that almost serve as interludes. Each one is a glimpse of a character, a moment, or a situation containing darkness within. Some of the most powerful and/or memorable ones include Death is a Hunter, Stick Figure Family, Never Walk Alone, and Part of You. Deserving of a special mention is Salt, which contains the best twist in the whole book.

Little Paranoias comes out on October 22nd and is available to pre-order on e-book, but will also be released on paperback. There's a little something for everybody and the cover artwork by Doug Puller, is phenomenal. This is easily one of the most unique collections of the year, and one I will be revisiting from time to time.