Spooky Season: Part 1

Well, it’s finally cooled off here and if the weather forces are kind, it will stay this way because the apples are happy and the pumpkins are patching. I am hoping it won’t do a frost for a few more weeks, though, because my tomatoes just started tomatoing like, three weeks ago and after the disastrous June massacre and mid-July wait there were more seeds in that pot surprise, I’d love to get one actual fruit off those bastards before I lose the entire disaster to frozen-face time.

Sweater weather means the most wonderful time of year is fast upon us and if you don’t know I mean Halloween, you haven’t been here long. Which is totally cool. I mean Halloween. And with the earlier darkness and potential for snow (I’m from Upstate New York so it usually flurried at least once before the big night) comes a slew of monster mashes, witchy wandering, and ghostly gatherings. I’ve gotten through my first bunch and present them here for your late-night and fireside considerations:

The Night Eaters, Vol.2: Her Little Reapers by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda (Abrams)

Set four months after the grisly events of Vol. 1, the Ting twins still have a lot of questions about their powers and the supernatural world into which they’ve been born. Their parents, especially their mother Ipo, continue to be anything but helpful, not only refusing to provide answers but actively standing between Milly, Billy, and the knowledge they’re so desperate to acquire, forcing her children to pack up and take on a roadtrip that leads them across the US and parts of various worlds beyond the veil. It does not, as I am sure you can guess, go well.

Supernatural roadtrips are my jam, which, if you flip back through these here blog entires, you’ll be able to discern without too much difficulty. I’ll take them however I can get them: experienced, bitter necromancers out for revenge (Eric Carter), magical boys returning to their pasts while surging toward their futures (Adam Binder), or djinn on horseback searching for relics to save the last vestiges of their tribes (The Stardust Thief), my eyes and/or ears are ready and Her Little Reapers did not disappoint. There’s something a little extra special about a brother/sister team, especially in the right hands (and the Liu/Takeda team is always the right hands), knowing the bickering will be immaculate; the bonding a little extra poignant; that the sacrifice, when it comes (and it will), will slap you in the face so hard, you’ll walk around thinking about it until the next volume of the story is in your hands and you can celebrate or grieve as appropriate.

Can you tell I’m invested in this story? I’m invested in this story. That’s Liu’s writing, Takeda’s art, the combination of the two, and credit where it’s due, to the extremely strong work of Abrams’ design team for creating the physical entity you hold in your hands while you’re reading. I love the feel of the paper and the crisp printing - Takeda’s line work can blur if it’s not treated right and Abrams treated it like the treasure it is.

Vol. 3 when, please?

Out There Screaming: An Anthology of New Black Horror edited by Jordan Peale (Random House)

Yes, you read that right. A horror anthology edited by Jordan Peale, he who brought us Get Out, Nope, and Us. And he’s not the only heavy hitter involved; said anthology is anchored with stories written by such luminaries as Tananarive Due, Rebecca Roanhorse, and Nalo Hopkinson, powerhouse entries that will bend your mind and that you’ll definitely want to read with the light on.

What I adored most about Out There Screaming though, were the stories that introduced me to author’s I hadn’t heard of before, and the stories that poked and stretched the idea of horror, that twisted it, slowly or with shocking speed, that flipped it upside down and shook it.

Horror is a genre that’s often dismissed as frivolous, meaningless, and unimportant. And even if it were those things, the fact that so many people find respite from a trashfire world in it would render that critique worthless. The truth, however, is that horror gives readers deep and very personal insight into not only the author fears but also the cultural, ethnic, and social groups to which they belong fear. What they are most afraid might take them away from everything they love, what might strip them bare and, to borrow from the book, leave them “out there screaming.”

Why is that important? A careful reader will realize how difficult it is for anyone, but especially members of a marginalized group (disabled, Jewish, LGBTQIA+ here) to be indiscriminately public about their innermost vulnerabilities, will realized the privilege it is to be permitted such insight. They will see the opportunity for what it is: not only a chance for sympathy, an understanding that everyone experiences fear, but for empathy, for understanding that what the writer might fear is you, why that is, and what you can do it change it.

Obvious, excellent anthology. Do recommend.

Good Girls Don’t Die by CHristina Henry (Berkley, 11/14)

I really love Christina Henry. I love her style and her writing is fantastic. She puts her main characters, almost always women, in absolutely terrifying situations and while they never escape unscathed, they always manage to fight their way out, sometimes with tools, sometimes with weapons, and sometimes with their fingernails. I love that for them and for us.

Good Girls Don’t Die has a really fantastic premise I don’t want to reveal because it will entirely spoil the concept of the book so I’ll just say that it plays with tropes in a fun and twisty way that isn’t immediately clear but when the concept peeked its head out, I yelled, “Oh, fuck!” out loud at eleven o’clock at night with my window open and I can see into my neighbor’s bathroom from my bathroom (don’t worry, everyone keeps their curtains closed, I’m just letting you know other people might have heard me).

The concept stays solid but the book itself gets a little rocky in chapter three and its a bit of a slog in chapters four and five. And I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Shiri, you don’t usually say things like that in your reviews.” And you’re right. I don’t. If I’m critical of a book, I usually choose not to say anything at all. I’m making an exception in this case, however, for a several reasons. 1) I have a lot of faith in Henry. 2) I know ARCs often go out 2 to 3 to 5 iterations before the book’s final edit and there may be a more finished version going to press that renders this critique moot and the concept is just so good I would hate to not say anything and have people miss out. And 3) if this was close to the final version, it’s an editing problem. There are very few writers who are at a level where, working with a publishing house, can say, “Nah, we’ll leave it.” Like, Neil Gaiman may be allowed to do that. Maybe. And we all know just because you can do a think doesn’t mean you should, so if Mr. Gaiman is smart, he still listens to his editor too.

If I have a chance, I’ll go to a bookstore and check out a finished copy then report back.

Calamity (Uncharted Hearts #1) by Constance Fay (Bramble, 11/14)

Calamity, publishing from Tor’s new speculative romance imprint Bramble, is an absolutely bananas space romance and I fucking loved it. I read it in two days and I have two jobs, two kids, a grant I’m working on for July, art homework to do for a brush painting class, and practice piano every day.

Temperance has issues. Don’t we all. Arcadio also has issues. Their issues don’t fit together well. Other parts of them do. Which is, of course, going to make their mission problematic. Also fun. But definitely problematic.

Tropes are used as they should be in Calamity, as jumping-off points to craft something special with character development, surprise family members, interesting backstories, and especially humor. Calamity is sexy and exciting, but it’s also one of the funniest books I’ve read in ages and it just so happens that was exactly what I needed when I picked it up. I mean, I’m always here for funny but funny romance can be difficult to navigate, especially if you’re leaning on dick jokes. I have very high standards (I do not have high standards, I’m twelve). In all seriousness, however, maintaining a bit through a story and choosing which characters to carry it isn’t easy and it can be tempting to rely on the bit instead of your own skill as a writer to move the words. Fay is a great writer with great timing who knows where to toss a grenade, how to time it, and when to start running again.

And absolutely perfect combination of story, character, and snort laughs.

The Ghosts of Beatrice Bird by Louisa Morgan (Redhook, 11/21

The Ghosts of Beatrice Bird was 0% what I expected it to be and that is 100% fine because it was even more enjoyable and engaging and wonderful.

Those of you who doubt the existence of cozy horror? This. Right right here. This is what we’re talking about. And, possibly of interest, while I don’t dislike the cozy, it isn’t something I usually seek out. I like monsters and slashers and revenants, oh my, which is what, from the description, I thought I was going to be getting but I’ll try anything (I’m about to jump into a book about a guy who gets eaten by a whale that isn’t the bible so…) and I’m usually glad I did.

1977 is an interesting era in which to set a story about female liberation. And also ghosts. A very specific sort of ghost I‘ll let you discover on your own because it’s more fun that way. It was such a transitional time in history, it only makes sense that what was would cling to what was becoming - as a reader born in 1978, I felt that amorphous tension in the book profoundly remembering my own upbringing and the conflicting and impossible expectations programmed into me by my own mother. That I still find myself resolving those conflicts at 45 not only helped me feel a connection to Bea and Anne but also had me feeling the same existential dread and horror chasing so many of the characters through the story.

Living is difficult but it’s also beautiful. Everyone has scars and everyone has healed from something. The Ghosts of Beatrice Bird reminds us, beyond all else, that all it takes to make that life worth living is giving, and accepting, kindnesses, be they great or small.

Already working on part 2, friends! Let me know if you have any spooky season recommendations!