All the Hearts You Eat is stunningly good. It's macabre, poetic, disturbing, and beautiful - a trans horror tour de force. My first experience with HaAll the Hearts You Eat is stunningly good. It's macabre, poetic, disturbing, and beautiful - a trans horror tour de force. My first experience with Hailey Piper reminds me in many ways of my first encounter with Clive Barker. She has a way with language, a mastery of imagery and theme, that draws you in and demands you read every single word. This is a stunningly good story, but it's an even better telling, the likes of which I have not encountered in years.
I mentioned trans horror because that's exactly what lies at the heart (pun intended) of All the Hearts You Eat, but part of what makes it so powerful is how carefully crafted the trans identities and experiences are, and how their place in the world imbues the story with so much meaning. Piper introduces us to four characters who came out in their own ways and at their own time, transitioned differently, and encountered very different reactions from those around them. While there is love and a sense of shared identity here, there's also fear, longing, hurt, and (oh yes!) anger.
What's most interesting about the anger is that it's so often felt on behalf of others, an intense emotional reaction mirroring that of the reader.
The story transitions as well, starting out as a sad tale of death before shifting into a very gothic sort of ghost story, a viscerally unsettling vampire tale, and a surreally beautiful story of monsters and mythology, only to circle right back around to a story of death - the death of lives, friendships, loves, and families. It's jarring (and I suspect deliberately so), but it's all connected, part of the theme of the underlying transformation. Everything about this story is, in some way, transformed along the way, including two of my favorite aspects - the transformation of doorways between worlds (I'll never forget that living room) and the transformation of bodies (you'll never think of oral sex or green sea glass the same way again) - not to mention our perspective on who or what a monster really is.
One of the most subtle things that Piper does with the narrative comes in the final part of the book, and it's nothing more than the haunting presence of a pronoun. You're reading it, wondering if it's a mistake, a reference to someone off the page, a hint of someone waiting ahead, or (most frightening) a deliberate slipping of gender. It's one tiny word, repeated over and over, but the power it has over the narrative and your experience is precisely that which it has over lives. Paired with it is the breaking of a character, the removal of their awareness, transforming our anger at someone to anger at the world.
For all that All the Hearts You Eat is a story of trans characters and themes of transformation, and while you can't remove the trans experience from the story any more than you can remove it from the characters, it's not just about that. There's a line near the end that I love for its simplicity:
"You boiled her down to one thing, like that's all she's ever been, but Cab has a whole universe inside."
I think the best way I can sum up the book is this: I questioned some of the transitions along the way, lamenting the loss of some aspects and chafing against the introduction of others, but once I understood why things changed and appreciated that what I thought lost was still very much there, I was blown away by how deftly Piper enlightened my experience, transforming my anger into something more akin to sorrow, while simultaneously strengthening my love and compassion for Cab, Xi, Rex, Ivory, and even Honey.
This story came my way with a warning, a promise that it was "really fucked up," and given that I already knew and loved Steli's work, that was all I This story came my way with a warning, a promise that it was "really fucked up," and given that I already knew and loved Steli's work, that was all I needed to know to dive in.
The story was very well done, visceral and intense, and does a wonderful job job of evoking emotion. I loved Kate's reaction to seeing Flora and Brad together, and how that evolved into some lesbian seduction (and gentle domination). Whew, hot!
Without getting into spoiler territory, the key moments for me were when the women (a) recognized their power, (b) understood that far more than just cheating was going on here, and (c) took that power back from the man who had so cruelly used them. This is a story of dark justice, and your discomfort level likely depends on how wrong you think Brad is.
A secondary note, I loved the way Steli had one of the characters identify as ace, especially since I was just chatting with a Domme the other day about how needing kink to enjoy sex is a form of being ace. This definitely fits the definition....more
LGBT is a story of lust, gore, bloodshed, and terror featuring Lavelle (a lesbian adult film star with a problematic soulmate), Greg (a mature gay manLGBT is a story of lust, gore, bloodshed, and terror featuring Lavelle (a lesbian adult film star with a problematic soulmate), Greg (a mature gay man with an unfaithful young husband), Bryn (a bisexual vampire seeking a soulmate of her own), and Tammi (a disgraced transgender influencer desperate for cash).
However, since this is a Wol-vriey book, it also features Mary Yang (a sweet lesbian with dark passions), Mr. Silence (a crazed torturer with a dark imagination), Lynch (a necrophiliac with dark lusts), and Rainbow (a colorful witch with dark power). It’s how and why those two groups of characters come together, however, where the story is to be found, with one poor choice compounding another, and one twist getting tangled up with another.
Yes, there are ghosts, vampires, and witches in the book, with dark magic enabling so much of the darkness, but it’s a very human story of mortal sins and failings. Everyone here has been seduced by something or someone, has given in to one baser urge or another, and they’re going to pay. Murder, torture, deals with the devil, it’s all here, but nothing ever goes quite as you might expect.
LGBT is dark and violent, but in a gleeful sort of way, inviting the reader to take a vicarious sort of satisfaction in seeing these characters get what’s coming to them. It takes a while to get going as we meet the characters and get involved in their lives, but when things start going wrong, the story careens along to one disaster after another.
No Road Home was a dark, creepy, atmospheric work of supernatural-laced horror with enough hate-worthy characters to carry the weight of reader anger,No Road Home was a dark, creepy, atmospheric work of supernatural-laced horror with enough hate-worthy characters to carry the weight of reader anger, and just enough tolerable characters to do the same for reader sympathy. For the most part, this was a solid 5-star read, one that kept me reading late into the night. It captured my imagination, played upon my emotions, and triggered my intellectual curiosity.
I picked this up knowing nothing about John Fram, but the blurb sounded almost as if the book were written for me – a young father, his queer son, and a murdered televangelist, complete with family’s dangerous, a freak storm, and a spectral figure in a black suit – but I feel like it went even deeper than that. I was already prepared to loathe the Wright family, but their brutal hypocrisy and petty infighting added an element of glee to watching their house come tumbling down. They’re such a melodramatic group, like a family from a gothic soap opera, and the house is a suitably creepy maze of forbidden wings and locked doors. Add in the threats scrawled in blood-red lettering, the torn-up mysterious notes, and the conveniently interrupted would-be-confessions, and this is a book to keep you guessing and engaged.
So why just a 5-star read for the most part? The climax goes on for far too long, dragging out what should have been a tight, powerful, confrontational finale. After being a single-POV story for 85% of the read, it suddenly leaps into multiple POVs, with their narratives overlapping, to show every single part of the resolution when some would have been fine left to tell. Finally, after a prolonged (sometimes tiresome) theme of locked doors and repressed memories, we find out our narrator isn’t as reliable as he seems, and the big secret/spoiler feels like a cheat, given he knew it all along.
One thing I will say for the story is that it avoids the tendency toward children who turn out to be special in some way, supernaturally destined to save the day. At the same time, it gives Luca enough personality to make him and his queerness more than just a plot device, although I wish we’d gotten to see more of him prior to the climax. No Road Home was a really good read that could have been great, but that’s a comment, not a complaint.
My Darling Dreadful Thing was a slow, subtle, suspenseful, sapphic read that embodies everything that's excellent (and exasperating) about period gothMy Darling Dreadful Thing was a slow, subtle, suspenseful, sapphic read that embodies everything that's excellent (and exasperating) about period gothic romances. Johanna van Veen is to be commended for capturing the spirit (no pun intended) of the genre while also imbuing it with (slightly) more overt LGBTQIA representation.
There's so much about this book that's wonderful - the orchestration of the seances, the presence of supernatural companions, the tragedy of families, the pain of forbidden love, the framing device of the hospital interview, and the casual disgust of things like grave-robbing. The funny thing is that I was drawn more to the relationship between Roos and Ruth, her spiritual companion, than Agnes, her mortal savior, friend, and would-be lover. The writing was lovely, and the story was absolutely dripping with atmosphere, making it feel like a perfect story for a cold, windy, rainy autumn afternoon.
Where the exasperating aspect comes in is with the epistolary aspect of the novel, which spoils too of the suspense, even as it works to create a heightened sense of drama. It almost works at cross-purposes with the story, making us wonder about exactly what happened, but gives us enough information that nothing really comes as a surprise.
This was a very uneven read that has left me with some very mixed thoughts.
The concept was intriguing, and the idea of the forest itself was exciting,This was a very uneven read that has left me with some very mixed thoughts.
The concept was intriguing, and the idea of the forest itself was exciting, but it wasn't enough to carry a story. The characters were as thin as they were odd, none of them likable, and that made it hard to really engage with their plight. Alternating past/present perspectives just duplicated story content and extended the book, without really adding anything to it, making me want to skim the past chapters to read the present ones. There was a lull in the second half where I really just didn't care what happened, and the ending . . . well, it really wasn't one . . . left me unfulfilled....more
Damn it. I knew I was going to regret falling prey to the vampire's call and immersing myself in this early sampler of Empire of the Damned. The firstDamn it. I knew I was going to regret falling prey to the vampire's call and immersing myself in this early sampler of Empire of the Damned. The first book was so bloody amazing, and I've been so anxiously awaiting Jay Kristoff's sequel, that I surrendered myself to the thirst for more blood ... for the Grail ... for it all ... and now I fear I may go mad waiting for the rest of it.
This sampler captures, as near as I can tell, the first half of the book. It picks up right where the first left off, takes us through several new set pieces, thrusts us into increasingly deadly battles with the undead, twists the silver blade just a bit deeper into Gabriel's heart, unveils new layers of mythology, and leaves us with not one, but two cliffhangers.
There's not much I can say without spoilers, but this is a book that's heavy with consequences. There's the bloodbath that ended the first book, the loss of Gabriel's birth family, the fate of friends and allies, and (more than anything) the choices made that have led us here. That's not to say it's all doom and gloom - the wit, the banter, and the morbid humor of the first book is still here - but the more we know of the world and its characters, the more we feel the significance of every action.
Here's hoping I manage to land an ARC of the entire book before release but, if not, I'll be in line at the bookstore on release day with everyone else.
If you’re already a Chuck Tingle fan, then feel free to skip ahead to the next paragraph of my review. If you’re new to him, however, curious about hiIf you’re already a Chuck Tingle fan, then feel free to skip ahead to the next paragraph of my review. If you’re new to him, however, curious about his ‘mainstream’ debut, then know 3 things about this:
1. Don’t be fooled by the blurb – this is not about kids at a gay conversion camp, but kids who remember it. 2. Don’t let the religious heaviness of the first chapter turn you off – it’s there for a reason, and it gets better. 3. Don’t let Tingle’s reputation for weird erotica keep you away – this is entirely accessible.
As a fan of the Tingleverse, even I was a bit hesitant in reading the opening pages of Camp Damascus, wondering just what I’d gotten myself into, but there was something immediately endearing about Rose, our narrator and protagonist. She’s smart, self-aware, and I immediately identified her as a queer neurodivergent soul with whom I could connect. Midway through the chapter we get a glimpse of a creepy-looking woman in the woods, bizarrely dressed in a department store polo shirt, whom only Rose seems to see, and I started to get curious. And then we get to the end of the chapter and (minor spoiler) OMG the flies! I had to know what in the literal hell was going on. I was hooked . . . and I never looked back.
I could tell you this is a book about the families we’re born into and the families we choose, about the dangers of faith and the power of love, but I’m sure you can find plenty of other reviews picking apart the themes and underlying messages. They’re there, and they’re wonderful, and if you’re the kind of person drawn to Rose’s story, I suspect you’ll agree with most (if not all) of them, but I want to talk about the story itself.
Camp Damascus is a horror story that, for me, has all the hooks of King or (early) Koontz, the self-aware supernatural humor of Ghostbusters, and the heart of the Buffyverse. It engaged me on a deeply emotional level, making me care about the characters and what happens to them. Tingle plays with many of the familiar horror tropes and conventions, with some science fiction mixed in, and yet nothing about the story is predictable. I don’t find religious themes the least bit interesting, and have never found movies like The Exorcist or The Omen to be even remotely scary, but the way the horror is structured here just absolutely worked for me. It made sense to me, it passed my willing-suspension-of-disbelief, and it genuinely chilled me.
I found myself delighted by every twist and turn, every single “No, don’t go in there!” moment. Even when I was furious with the ‘good‘ God-fearing people of Neverton, Montana, I was smiling along with where the story was leading us. Yes, this is a supernatural tale, but it’s less about Biblical evil and more about human hatred. Okay, so that’s a theme, and I didn’t want to dwell on them, but dammit, it’s important.
So far, 2023 has been a good year for books – I’ve had a few bitter disappointments and a handful of other 5-star reads – but I doubt anything will stick with me like Camp Damascus did. This was exactly what I wanted, and even more what I needed. If there’s such a thing as feel-good horror, this is it.
The first NightWhere novel is one of my favorite works of erotic horror, right up there with Clive Barker’s The Hellbound Heart and The House of BloodThe first NightWhere novel is one of my favorite works of erotic horror, right up there with Clive Barker’s The Hellbound Heart and The House of Blood by Wayne C. Rogers. It was graphic, disturbing, arousing, disgusting, and utterly fascinating, all at the same time. Field of Flesh, the sequel novella, provided an entertaining new perspective on the otherworldly BDSM club, but there’s no question it left me wanting more.
Fortunately, 5 years later, we have The Night Mother, a full-length novel, to tie it all together. This is a direct sequel to the first book, which means Selena, Mark, and Rae once again take center stage (alongside favorites like Sin-D and Damia), but it also follows along from the novella, so expect to see our noir detective appear in a surprising role.
Although he beautifully outdoes himself here with some of the S&M-themed depravities, what John Everson has done that’s even more important is delve deeper into the mythology of NightWhere – angels, demons, creation myths, immortality, and all. We’re led to understand who the players are and who they were, why the club has Guardians and Watchers, and what happens when mere mortals are elevated above their station. There are consequences – deadly serious, apocalyptic consequences – to this third story that go far beyond relationship dramas or the fate of individual souls. There’s a battle for the very heart of NightWhere, and if it all goes astray . . . well, let’s just say it would be bad news for us all.
As for those relationship dramas, Everson gives us layers of intertwined love stories, some dark and some light, but all damaged in some way. While it’s the pursuit of pleasure and pain that drive the club, it’s something more than drives lovers. We’re privy to the best and worst of their motivations, but even the romance and vengeance must sometimes take a back seat to those consequences I mentioned.
It should go without saying, but I’ll say it anyway – The Night Mother is not for the squeamish or the prudish. There’s dark, violent, sadistic, necrophiliac sex on display here . . . the insertion of toys, blades, fists, and snakes . . . showers of blood . . . and the spilling of ungodly amounts of cum. It’s brutal and messy, but also beautiful in its own way. There’s more than one scene over which I lingered, needing to read it again in order to digest the visuals along with the narrative.
Finally, whereas so many works of fiction are ruined by exposing the monster too much or too soon, we see exactly as much of The Night Mother as the story demands, enough to make us fear her (and fear the consequences of her obsession), but never so much as to risk making her familiar or commonplace. In fact, before I risk spoiling things best left to your own discovery, I leave you with a taste of how we’re led to know her.
There was something of heaven and hell in every taste of the eternal woman’s orgasms…The Night Mother’s secretions were sour as frozen-scream corpses dangled from rusted hooks, and intoxicating as a chorus line of oiled men ejaculating on women flaunting fishnets to their thighs but otherwise bare and glossed with sweat and the shine of piercings on the floor beneath them.
A fun read with tons of villainous cameos, in-jokes, and nostalgia. Doesn't quite stake the climax, but the epilog was perfect.A fun read with tons of villainous cameos, in-jokes, and nostalgia. Doesn't quite stake the climax, but the epilog was perfect....more
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