Very clever, unconventional in places—particularly a fine use of two column for fictional reasons—brutal, dark, modern interpretation of a haunted house story centering queer people. Alice, a trans woman, Ila, a cis lesbian (questioning, me thinks) went into a particular haunted house 3 years ago and emerged traumatized and with permanent, hateful scars related to their identities.

The structure shows both characters living fairly ideologically opposed lives, clearly influenced by unresolved trauma; essentially haunted by the events. Then, as they converge, we get the perspectives of the house, various flashbacks interspersed, a convergence of past and present, and abstractions that culminate satisfyingly, and, finally, an epilogue. The structure is exceptional and functions well.

The prose are contemporary genre fiction, have good flow, and are pretty clear. Functional but I think stylistically indistinct. It’s also a bit padded. Thematically, this worked quite well, though I think meanders too much in regards to aforementioned padding at the start. The meat and potatoes of this thing is in the back end, and it really picks up, pace wise.

It’s a feat that it manages to navigate to the ending that it does. The metaphors and allegories are mostly clear and very novel to me. How it ties into intersections of fascism, who and how people are hurt by the interactions—what it says about western culture, I think works, and does it well. It’s an excellent debut. Not being a horror reader really, I can’t really speak to genre specific things. It feels subversive and compelling and completely new to me.

It has a note at the start; a content warning situation, and that is warranted. There’s sexual assault and brutal damage to bodies and wildly harmful slurs in it. All of which is pertinent to the story being told. Do be in a headspace to handle the most brutal things done to queer identities and bodies, though.

Another solid entry. I think I liked this more than the first one, especially the switch into a more darker tone but I don’t know how much that translates to exceeding expectations, since the first one was all setup and I think it sort of needed to put up or shut up, for me. So I’m glad it put its best foot forward and will read the next one, rather than dip out.

This one snuck up on me. Fuyuko’s malaise is embodied in the text and it takes a while to understand what the verisimilitude is there for. Yet the entire time there’s good flow, so there’s a dream-like quality that occurs that really out me into a sort of zombie or mesmeric state as I progressed through what seemed like pretty airy prose. It’s pretty bold. I almost put it down a few times because Fuyuko is a really static protagonist and that’s really tough to engage with. There’s maybe four characters and Fuyuko interacts with, at maximum, one person at a time. It all feels a bit aimless. Until it isn’t.

The truth is i identified a lot with her. I’m a homebody too. I don’t have physical friends around. I lead a pretty quiet existence. And I like it that way, most of the time. So I kept reading. When and if the formatting clicks for you, it’s a pretty satisfying turn. Like feeling you’ve been dealt a crappy hand and then the River comes and you’re working with more than you thought.

What emerges is a pretty complex, really quietly sweet novel about taking chances and the reality of pain as a requirement as far as needed context in a lived life. Because pain is supplied predominantly from others, not being hurt—not even realizing you are hurt—is a possibility that might be worse than the pain being avoided. People react to such things in a myriad of ways. Sometimes they shut down, for good reason, as a response. Other times it enlivens them and imbues them with humanity and dignity and transitions them into the complexity of a life responding to the lens of those around them; friend or foe, lover or friend.

If you manage to grok what this is doing, pushing through the absolute mundanity (especially in dialogue) I think it really does navigate to a place where it does something quite interesting with the boredom or static malaise quality it simulates as a proxy for Fuyuko. It’s romantic in how it segues from powerlessness to a small kind of empowerment that takes hold, eventually blossoming.

Fairly ingenious, this story traces history to a Center stage set of crimes that births, arguably, the Anthropocene unconscious, and the fascination relationship of western culture with death. It morphs into a story about fiction becoming fact and fact becoming fiction, and less about anything reportedly true, though it is undoubtedly pseudo-fact. Appendixes report on the facts and allusions and liberties Moore takes with this work. Then the final chapter traces the evolution of the Ripper theories. Thus this becomes a story that trolls the idea that there is a definitive answer to murders, especially as it pertains to such historical malleable events. That doesn’t mean it has nothing to say. Arguably, it conveys far more than any other murder mystery. It roundly manages to condemn many aspects of bigotry, racism, hate, and imperialism; entertain with a mystery married to philosophy and meta physic wondering, and the very nature of the genre.

At a form and structure and prose craft level, I think this is pretty unparalleled. Even the lettering conveys specific dialects and education levels with grammar and typography and spacing, or even alertness or drunkenness. The panels are engaging, the art grew on me very much. Initially I didn’t like it much at all but—perhaps because this version is also coloured?—it undeniably has a lot of skill and spends time on the things that matter. Some scenes are absolute perfection are the entire thing is extremely cinematic. The structure is intricate but easy to consume.

I don’t agree that it’s a challenging read. It flows well and the allusions at the start are explicit at the end, then even more so in the appendixes, of course. It’s less complex and more interesting than I had initially expected. Absolutely something I’ll pick up and read again.

A look at life on a reservation through the eyes of a young man, excellently rendered. Coming-of-age through the normal vectors, with the additional stymie of being surrounded with trauma and without access to basic needs nor the basic extension of empathy from authority.

Side note: I was surprised by various Alphonse surnames appearing, as my cousins have that family name, and grew up in Black Lake, SK. Immediately endearing.

I’ve watched the show previously and it left a pretty indelible impression on me. Meaning I was predestined to enjoy this, so long as the actual prose were serviceable. On that front I needn’t have worried. The marriage of fantasy with historical fiction on the literary side is predisposed to providing the kind of detail I want from a historical setting. Probably, it’s too much for most readers, but I don’t know anything about the time period (for the most part) and part of the appeal of this kind of fiction is being steeped in esoteric information. Social customs and dynamics, stratification of class, intellectualism, fashion—all of it is of interest to me.

On the fantasy side, all the major plot beats were satisfying and I was aware of them already from the show. The magic is a bit more described here, but not as much as I’d have liked. It’s a mix of soft and hard magic systems (and worldbuilding), and I sometimes wish it would pick a lane. It is substantive where it most matters and has interesting lore, I assume is informed by historical mythology and culture, based on the substantive research that seems to manifest in other aspects of the setting.

It manages to be kind to the characters despite some pretty severe hardships. Invoking some tropes people might expect, subverting others—mostly the cheap thrills, which was really nice to see eschewed. I particularly liked the ending. I would wager that, had I not seen the show first, it would have been too slow for me. So perhaps that’s actually the best way into this. But then again, you’ll experience the major plot beats on the screen instead. And the characters were only ever the actors on the screen, which is sometimes an annoyance when you prefer to self-generate the fiction. But because it is so foreign to me I’m inclined to believe this was the best trajectory for me, personally.

Reread for a book club: I still can’t quite find myself to give it 5 stars, despite really liking the prose work even on audio, which is sometimes hard to convey. Narration was perfect as well. Love how he describes physicality and the relevance to how bodies interact. Much more complex than Shuggie, good resolution. I think there’s still just a remoteness to it for me, due to the perspective and style of writing. Inferiority is telegraphed but felt quite opaque, and I don’t like that kind of insinuation in my writing.

Especially when there’s already head hopping happening. The whole Let the reader feel the events school of writing just does not work on me. I want to know what’s going on with the characters, not watch something like a voyeur, transparently meant for the reader when I’m meant to be invisible. My feelings should be a byproduct, not The Point. That’s as near as I get to trying to explain the disconnect in the writing in this and Shuggie, anyway.

Similar to Shuggie Bain, a queer story that would be trite, if it weren’t as nuanced and well realized as it is. Far from a caricature, characters—once you spend time with them—are almost painfully transparent in their actions, telegraphing the trajectory of their lives, trapped in destructive patterns they usually can’t perceive, or willfully obfuscate.

This is a book that justifies Mungo as the protagonist by way of his perception of the numerous forks in the road constructing his own pattern. It doesn’t make the choices any easier, though. Mungo’s actions aren’t foregone, but surrounded by the people he is, eliding the path which won’t constantly batter him into the rough shape of “a “real” man, proves to be at at a cost.

As with Shuggie, I really liked this. Solidly constructed and well executed… But similarly to this, I didn’t go mad for it, either. I suspect I’ll be in the minority again on that front, though.

I’m ace and my experience is an amalgamation of a lot of these stories; closely tracked to one or two in particular. This is why this is so valuable, I think. Since it emphasizes how large the ace spectrum is. This is a primer and not hyper specific, but to anyone picking it up, at least they get the separation between aesthetics, sexual attraction, and romantic attraction (and sex drive itself being completely separate). That’s a major step for most people.

Then, the framing is actually really instructive and decisive, which I appreciated. Rather than testimonials—for the most part—the author weaves together multiple stories in a cohesive way, which could have been a meandering mess otherwise. It still felt affirming and like good representation. And there were intersectional aspects I hadn’t considered, but made a lot of sense. Mostly surrounding people of colour interacting with the identity. It makes sense the space is so white, and makes further sense that perception and socialization make it far harder to codify selfhood, sexuality-wise and otherwise.

Now, can someone who read this book ask me where I personally am on the spectrum and when I say: ace flux, mostly grey, demisexual, with minor spikes—will they “get” what I’m saying? Probably 2/3 of it? That’s progress, in my book. Within that shorthand is a more granular conversation, but, as much as some people find it eye-roll worthy that these codification terms exist to this extent, I find them essential and useful in everyday life and this text puts some of that into the hands of anyone who wants to learn more about the sexuality, making it invaluable.

Edit: forgot to circle back, but I do have a video review here: https://youtu.be/z-69ukxEItY

Liked it quite a bit. Need to noodle on it a bit. RTC.

As with Station Eleven, I really like how the narrative jumps around to solely what is important about each characters story and how this creates the larger themes.

It does, however, create a byproduct where stakes don’t really feel present because everything is transient, but creates a thoughtful and evocative, almost dreamy quality that is unlike anything else I’ve read. The withholding of catharsis feels right but...also toothless at the same time? Usually this is appealing to me. I’d rather be posed with questions and favour subjectivity over prescriptive, but for some reason I haven’t felt a strong connection to the characters in this and Station Eleven both, so they never transcend the 4 star, exceeds expectations rating.