After burning out on southern gothic, it delights me when there are authors that make it fresh again, doing something fun in the genre.
Here’s how you write horror in Kentucky. All of the elements, from the book-within-a-book to the lingering satanic panic to the generational trauma to the historical footnotes to the ecological elegy to the snarky wit, worked for me. The love story is surprisingly affecting—normally young love has me side-eyeing any attempt at an HEA, but Arthur and Violet are scarred beyond their years and so tender with each other that I root for them completely.
(Although the real swoon-worthy honors go to Charlotte and Bev! I spotted it super early and was delighted as their story unfolded.)
The true monsters are the merciless extractors of fortunes, and where better to typify that than coal country. The house calls the homeless and hungry, claiming its wardens regardless of bloodline and genealogy, and it’s such a refreshing antidote to all the books that dwell so hard on genetic inheritance. The beautiful illustrations throughout the hardcover are just a cherry on top.