I have rather conflicted feelings. Part of me wants to write a novel-length fanfic of the series conclusion I wanted. Part of me wants to know absolutely everything about VC’s thoughts as she was writing this book, because there are parts that feel oddly didactic, parts that seem very aware of the audience. And part of me is sad that Bart never got hit by a bus.

I've wanted to read the Blackwater series since I read about it in Grady Hendrix's invaluable tome Paperbacks from Hell, and I have no shame about admitting that I wanted to read it based solely on the covers. Because holy hell, look at those covers.

I'm happy to report that what lurks beneath those covers is an eerie, atmospheric Southern Gothic tale of creeping water and creeping dread, dripping with family drama and small-town gossip. McDowell's writing is so good; so restrained up until the moment when he needs to give it some gas and rev his horror engine a bit. To be frank, I do not know what the readers saying that this isn't scary or isn't really a horror novel are talking about.

I'm glad that I have five more volumes of this saga to go.

Love Bites is a book that I found by chance (and by "chance," I mean "a library catalog search for 'lesbian vampires'"), and it turned out to be the wlw vampire romcom of my dreams. More than 90% of my reading is library books, but I just had to order the sequel because none of my local libraries have it, and I can't wait for an interlibrary loan to come in. Coming from me, this is rare praise and a rousing endorsement of a book/author.

Your mileage obviously may vary, but if you like vampires, queer romance, witty dialogue, supernatural beings living their lives a la What We Do in the Shadows, the late '90s, Boston, goth music, people dealing with their trauma, historical asides, and the idea of a rogue guardian angel working as a street preacher, why are you not reading Love Bites right now?

3.5 stars. This novella gets labeled horror, but it's not quite that, more a character-driven study of secondary trauma. Bervoets writes in second-person, casting the reader in the position of a lawyer handling a class-action suit against Hexa, a company that employs quality assurance workers whose job it is to review social media content that users have flagged as objectionable--hate speech, beheadings, pornography, animal abuse, that sort of thing--and either remove the content, or leave it up. The narrator is also a former Hexa employee, and although she wishes not to be included in the lawsuit, she tells the lawyer--us--her account of the events. The longer she speaks, the less she focuses on poor working conditions or instances of violence at the company, and more on her unraveling relationship with her coworker Sigrid.

I imagine that a lot of readers go into this book expecting the content the characters review to be the most disturbing element of the story, and for the most part I shared this expectation. However, what's most jarring about We Had to Remove This Post is the way that the characters absorb what they're paid to view. Their adoption of Hexa moderation guidelines in how they view everything around them. The edgy jokes that they make to distance themselves from their feelings. The ways that the content--antisemitism, flat earth conspiracy theories--worms its way into their thoughts and beliefs. And of course, the fact that they have to do this, all while being micromanaged and held to ruthless standards. Ah, capitalism.

All of this is unnerving because in a lot of ways, we are the characters. Even those of us who aren't content moderators absorb some of the worst of humanity through the internet, anyway. We've all seen something we really didn't want to online, something we know we can never unsee, and those of us who have been online for years have seen a lot of shit. We've all been through some version of what the characters experience, trying to mitigate the distress of absorbing all this disturbing content by downplaying it or seeking absolution, telling ourselves that we did all we could do.

The irony of a book this thoughtful about online content apparently being passed around BookTok (judging from reviews I've scanned here) is not lost on me.

We Had to Remove This Post has its weak points. I found that the tension wasn't sustained consistently through the narrative, partially due to the shift in focus from Hexa to the proagonist's relationship. I also thought that the way Bervoets introduces the conflicting accounts towards the end was a bit confusing. But I do think this is a much better book than the "one star, incel vibes" reviews would have you believe.

Something like 3.75 stars. I heard about Darcy Coates on r/horrorlit a year or so ago. Someone described her work as “cozy horror,” which intrigued me enough to want to give her books a try… and in the normal span of time between me hearing about a book and actually getting around to it, here we are!

Dead Lake has its awkwardnesses, but while it’s not perfect, I had great fun reading it. It’s a no-frills horror story that reads like the kind of horror movie you might watch just because it happened to be on TV. Remember when that was a thing that happened? Circa 2003? On a gloomy Saturday when you wish your mom would give you a ride to Hot Topic? Just me? Anyway.

All that to say, Coates writes like someone who genuinely loves horror and knows the kind of stories that she wants to write, and I found that refreshing. She doesn’t fake you out on the supernatural element, she doesn’t reinvent the wheel, she just tells you a spooky story with a happy ending. And as for me, sometimes I just want to be told a spooky story with a happy ending.

I’m going to give another of her books a go, because I suspect that I might have found a new author I can rely on for comfort reads. My favorite kind of comfort reads: the ones with ghosts and serial killers in them.

I spent most of The Levee just kind of floating down the stream of the story and enjoying the characters, so much so that I forgot I was reading a horror novel and then was shocked when something bad happened! Like the first volume, this has atmosphere and family drama for days. It’s all you could ask for in a juicy, vicious, slowburn of a Southern Gothic.

It is so satisfying to watch plot threads tighten, characters change, and proverbial chickens come home to roost in this installment.

Yep, Darcy Coates is definitely my new go-to comfort author. Much of how I felt about Dead Lake also applies to Craven Manor: some elements felt a little wonky, but the atmosphere made up for it. Her books kind of feel like Goosebumps for grown-ups, and the gentleness of the writing (very little to no strong language or sex; some violence) make her ideal for Halloweenies, horror newbies, or younger horror fans transitioning from YA to adult books (who don’t want to toss themselves into a sea of gore and weird sex like I did as a youth). She’s a good author for me to keep in my pocket as a librarian who ends up being the spooky book expert everywhere I work.

I also unabashedly love/am amused by Bran’s tumblr sexyman traits and feel like the book’s ending is begging for me to write fanfic about him and Daniel.

I've forgotten how many times I've read Season of Mists, though it's somewhere more than two and less than many. I've always been especially fond of it, and I was happy to find that as with the previous three volumes of Sandman, it's just grown richer in the span of time between my teens (when I first read it) and my thirties (now).