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Navigating the pages of “Let Him In” is akin to walking through an atmospheric, foggy moor—there's a tangible mystique and an unmistakable undercurrent of eeriness. The spectral ‘friend' and the chilling portrayal of children linger in the mind, conjuring images hard to shake off.
Yet, while the premise captivated, the prose and the narrative style didn't quite hit the mark for me. The writing, at times, felt dense, and the novel's intricate layers sometimes seemed more muddled than meticulously crafted. Glimpses into a richer backstory felt momentarily tantalizing but often untapped, lending a sense of fragmentation to the tale.
Still, with its chilling undertones and palpable tension, the book remains an enticing read. For those drawn to eerie tales that prompt reflection, it's certainly a journey to consider. But it's worth noting that its particular stylistic choices might leave some readers, like myself, pondering and ambivalent by the end.
Black River Orchard embodies all that's trademark Chuck Wendig: cutting wit, dynamic characters, and an eerily unsettling premise, this time centered on a very peculiar apple tree. Wendig excels in weaving a tapestry of horror and fantasy, plunging us into the foreboding heart of the small town of Harrow
The story dives deep into the shadowy corners of the townsfolk's transformations as they consume the enchanting yet nefarious apples, creating a chilling atmosphere that Wendig fans will find all too familiar (some easter eggs for fans of his other works) and eerily satisfying.
His knack for exploiting our deepest fears and desires is on full display, morphing a tale of simple ambition into a full-blown, relentless nightmare. The narrative threads bind us to an escalating horror that makes the town of Harrow a memorable stop in the annals of macabre fiction.
My only gripe would be that the story occasionally extends beyond what feels necessary. A modest trim (50 or so pages) could have heightened its already potent impact.
Regardless, the narrative's draw remains unforgettable. The combination of Wendig's snappy dialogue, atmospheric horror, and unique story spinning keeps the pages turning late into the night. If you are on the lookout for a twisted tale that haunts your thoughts long after the final page, Black River Orchard awaits your visit.
Thank you to NetGalley, Random House, Del Rey, and the author for the advance copy.
“Fever House” is a novel that successfully blends weird and twisted elements, producing an atmosphere steeped in punk nostalgia. Its character development is noteworthy and the early chapters are engaging, drawing readers into the unfolding chaos. While the book suffers from pacing issues, with flashbacks that tend to disrupt the flow of the plot, it doesn't entirely diminish the overall reading experience. Despite an abrupt ending that leaves room for a sequel, the unique elements and intriguing narrative make “Fever House” an interesting read. The novel might not be flawless, but its standout features will definitely appeal to readers who appreciate horror with a punk twist.
Thank you to NetGalley, Random House and the author for the advanced copy.
“Silver Nitrate” by Silvia Moreno-Garcia once again showcases her ability to weave a captivating tale, steeped in lost films, clandestine cults, and a thoroughly researched dive into the heart of Mexican cinema. If you're familiar with “Mexican Gothic,” you'll appreciate the measured pace of this novel. However, while “Mexican Gothic” was a slow burn leading to a satisfyingly explosive climax, “Silver Nitrate” can feel like a long fuse, keeping you eagerly anticipating a grand finale that seems always on the horizon.
Moreno-Garcia's knack for world-building is the shining star of this book. She breathes life into the '90s setting with her precise and evocative details, and her characters are well-rounded enough to carry the story. At times, the narrative might feel as though you're peering through a foggy window - the critical events are relayed secondhand or even thirdhand. Yet, it's worth noting that these accounts are brimming with rich details and painted with a beautiful prose that add depth to the narrative.
As “Silver Nitrate” moves towards its conclusion, it quickens its stride, bringing you closer to the long-awaited climax. The book may feel like it's been holding back, but when it finally lets go, the narrative gains a potent momentum. The indirect engagement and measured pacing might have stolen some of the narrative's potential vibrancy, but they don't undermine the book's strengths - it's still a masterfully written and painstakingly researched work. For readers who appreciate patient storytelling and are intrigued by the curious intersection of cinema and cults, this book will indeed hold a unique appeal.
Thank you to NetGalley, Del Rey, and the author for the advance copy.
In the enigmatic and closed-off universe of Prospera, “The Ferryman” by Justin Cronin, known for his work on “The Passage,” spins a tale of dystopia, moral quandaries, and a brewing rebellion. Although this novel doesn't quite reach the monumental heights of “The Passage” trilogy, it nonetheless stands as a solid and intriguing piece in Cronin's repertoire.
The narrative is built around Proctor Bennett, a man tasked with an occupation that carries a profound level of morbidity—he is the one to escort the ‘retirees' of Prospera to their life cycle renewal. It's a captivating premise, tinged with a sense of dystopian horror.
The plot takes an unexpected and chilling turn when Proctor is charged with the retirement of someone close to him. This event kick-starts a cascade of shocking revelations. Not least among these is Proctor's newfound ability to dream, a phenomenon that is supposedly impossible in Prospera.
Adding another layer of depth to the narrative is the undercurrent of social unrest brewing within Prospera. The support staff, the essential cogs in the machinery that keep Prospera functioning, have begun to question their place in the societal hierarchy.
The palpable tension and the sense of urgency in the narrative are expertly woven with the personal stakes for Proctor. The dipping monitor percentage adds a ticking-clock element to the story, and readers will find themselves compelled to follow Proctor's desperate quest to unravel the mysteries of Prospera.
In essence, “The Ferryman” is an intriguing combination of mystery, dystopian elements, and societal commentary. While it may not reach the towering heights of Cronin's previous works, it remains an intellectually stimulating, suspense-filled journey worth embarking upon for any avid reader.
This isn't just a book; it's a cautionary tale wrapped in a gripping narrative. Through the lives of Loretta Thurwar and Hamara “Hurricane Staxxx” Stacker, we're given a front-row seat to a future that feels unsettlingly within reach. The novel skillfully balances on the tightrope between a scathing critique of the prison-industrial complex and an intimate portrait of its characters.
Adjei-Brenyah's brilliance lies in his nuanced storytelling. The gladiator-style brutality, serves as more than just a dystopian backdrop; it's a stark amplification of our current societal trajectory. Yet, the novel avoids being preachy, grounding its narrative in the humanity of Thurwar and Staxxx. Their journey, fraught with moral quandaries and the fight for survival, is painted with a delicate brush, avoiding melodrama while delivering a powerful emotional impact.
Chain-Gang All-Stars is a reminder of the slippery slope between civilization and savagery. It's a thought-provoking, well-crafted novel that urges us to look at our world – and the direction we're headed – with a more critical eye.
Mark Lawrence's ‘The Book That Wouldn't Burn' had me hooked from the get-go with its top-tier concept and rock-solid writing. Early on, I thought it might end up being one of my best reads this year, but somewhere around the 25% mark, the narrative began to lose some steam.
The narrative alternates between two characters, Livira and Evar. I'm generally fond of multiple POVs, provided they are both engaging and drive the story forward. Livira, polarizing as she might be, entices you into her world, whereas Evar... well, he's just there. It's kind of like the dynamic with Evar and his siblings, where he always seems to be in their shadow and lacks a clear role. Unfortunately, this also bleeds into the book, dampening the narrative every time Evar attempts to take the lead.
The real challenge lies within the library mythology. While it's intriguing, it's also quite taxing. I appreciate intricate worldbuilding and lore, but the constant detours became a tad exhausting. There are endless deep dives into the logistics, mechanics, and various aspects of the library, many of which are convoluted. Each diversion asks you to pause the main narrative, which can be a tall order. Given that this is the first part of a trilogy, a slower unveiling throughout the series could've made the narrative more streamlined, cut down the page count, and saved some mystery for the sequels.
‘The Book That Wouldn't Burn' certainly has its merits - a captivating premise, refined prose, and a protagonist who evokes strong emotions. However, the uneven pacing and heavy dose of lore really dull its shine. It's got the bone of a five-star book, and for that reason, I'll be keeping an eye out for the next book in the series. However, as it stands, this book lands at a 2.5 for me.
Stephen King's “Fairy Tale” combines his familiar touch for horror with an exploration into the realm of high fantasy. The story centers around Charlie Reade, a boy who has experienced more than his fair share of hardships, and his journey into a parallel world hidden deep within his neighbor's shed.
Despite King's immersive storytelling and unique blend of genres, “Fairy Tale” fails to weave its various plot points into a cohesive whole. The book's structure often feels disjointed, with each event serving only to propel the narrative to the next, and leaving the reader with a sense of untied loose ends.
Though it may not rank among King's most impressive works, “Fairy Tale” is an enjoyable and brisk read. Readers who can look past its structural issues will find an engaging story about a boy who is thrust into a world that is at once magical and terrifying.
This is an absolute standout that grips you with its rich narrative and complex characters. It's a book that masterfully intertwines the intricacies of language, magic, and the harsh realities of colonialism.
The story of Robin Swift, from Canton to the enigmatic halls of Oxford's Babel, is both captivating and thought-provoking. Kuang's storytelling is fearless, plunging into deep themes without losing the personal touch of her characters. The plot, at times dense, is balanced with moments of calm that allow the characters to develop and us as readers to unpack and consolidate what we've read before being swept up again in the narrative's intense pace.
The last third of the book is a rollercoaster, leading to an ending that is as inevitable as it is impactful. Kuang shows remarkable bravery in her storytelling, weaving a tale that is both devastating and deeply meaningful.
In short, Babel is not just a great read; it's an experience. It's a book that challenges, enlightens, and stays with you long after the last page.
In Paul Tremblay's “The Pallbearer's Club,” readers are introduced to an unlikely friendship between high school senior Art Barbara and his charismatic punk-loving friend, Mercy. Art's unusual extra-curricular activity, volunteering at a funeral home, becomes the backdrop for a series of peculiar occurrences.
Tremblay's novel can mislead those expecting a pure horror story. While there are horror elements and subtle nods to the supernatural, they take a back seat to the relationship between the two main characters and the narrative's exploration of trust and perception. The use of Art's annotated memoir as a storytelling device adds layers of ambiguity and complexity, leaving readers to decide whom to believe.
Tremblay blends elements of the supernatural into a narrative of friendship and trust that gives “The Pallbearer's Club” its unique charm. It is a genre-defying tale that keeps readers engaged until the very end, continually questioning the true nature of the events unfolding.
“The House Across the Lake” by Riley Sager is an unfortunate disappointment that heavily relies on worn-out tropes and a lack of respect for its readers, falling short of expectations.
The protagonist, Casey Fletcher, a widowed actress hiding from a scandal, ensconces herself in her family's tranquil lakeside house in Vermont. From her isolated post, she voyeuristically observes the seemingly idyllic life of Tom and Katherine Royce, the glamorous couple living across the lake. The use of the trope of a single, alcoholic woman observing her neighbors unfolds predictably, diminishing any potential freshness in the narrative.
While the plot is initially intriguing when Casey saves Katherine from drowning and their friendship develops, it quickly becomes muddled in the commonplace. The tension Sager attempts to build around the flawed marriage of Katherine and Tom, and Katherine's subsequent disappearance, becomes diluted by the overused narrative framework and the excessive use of alcohol as a plot device.
Most jarring is the major twist introduced later in the book, which seems to show little regard for its readers. Rather than enhancing the story or providing a satisfying surprise, it comes across as a contrived shock value attempt that breaks the bond of trust between author and reader.
The House Across the Lake” relies too heavily on outdated narrative clichés, leaving little room for originality or respect for its readers. The underwhelming execution of what could have been an engrossing psychological suspense disappoints, leaving the reader dissatisfied.
Gabrielle Zevin's “Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow” attempts to delve into the complexities of friendship and trust through the story of Sam and Sadie, two young video game developers. Unfortunately, the book largely misses the mark, with their relationship becoming a hotbed of constant misunderstanding. This lack of believable progression hampers the narrative, making it difficult for the reader to become emotionally invested in their journey.
Adding to the novel's issues are a number of questionable stylistic choices. Avoiding spoilers, there are a couple of sections in the book where stylistic choices were made that come off as awkward and distracting, doing more harm to the narrative than good.
In conclusion, “Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow” struggles to connect with its readers due to its underdeveloped characters and weak narrative choices. While the novel explores the relationship between personal connections and creativity, its execution leaves much to be desired
This was a perplexing blend of fantasy excellence and narrative meandering. Amongst its strengths are vivid characters and a world so richly painted that it almost leaps off the page. However, it occasionally gets lost in the details, leading to a pacing that alternates between exhilarating and laborious.
This dichotomy is the heart of the book's charm and its challenge. The engaging storyline is occasionally bogged down by worldbuilding, which, while impressive, can detract from the narrative drive. It leaves the reader torn between appreciating the detailed setting and yearning for more consistent momentum. That said, some may enjoy the truly lived-in feel that it provides.
Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia weaves a chilling tale steeped in otherworldly dread. The narrative, set in an isolated mansion, introduces Noemí, a spirited protagonist investigating her cousin's unsettling letter. The mansion and its peculiar inhabitants emanate a spectral aura, akin to an eerie hallucination, that clings throughout the story.
Despite occasional pacing dips, the book maintains its grip, Noemí's courage and wit shining bright amidst the disconcerting visions and cryptic riddles. The story cleverly unfolds to reveal the secrets of the mansion in a satisfying resolution, cementing Moreno-Garcia as an author not to be missed. Mexican Gothic is an alluring blend of gothic and mystery, perfect for fans of the genre.
“Ninth House” by Leigh Bardugo presents an enthralling narrative, albeit with a challenging onset. Its universe, though not typical fantasy, brims with unique concepts, multifaceted characters, and mysterious locations. The initial immersion into this world can be somewhat overwhelming, yet ultimately rewarding.
The novel revolves around Galaxy “Alex” Stern, a protagonist with a troubling past. Her journey to Yale, marked by her enigmatic role in monitoring the institution's clandestine societies, is both intriguing and captivating. The secret societies, known to produce some of the world's most influential figures, harbor surprisingly ominous and extraordinary activities, extending far beyond what even the most suspicious mind might anticipate.
The narrative, suffused with ancient mysteries, magic, and a persistent sense of danger, keeps you on the edge of your seat. The characters are impressively detailed and believable, each bringing their own flavor to the storyline.
“Ninth House” is nothing short of thrilling and compelling. It's gritty, thought-provoking, and completely engrossing. Despite some minor criticisms, Bardugo has successfully created a world that leaves you yearning for more. As far as Alex Stern's journey is concerned, it seems like she's only getting started with her extraordinary adventures.
In “The Wanderers,” we are swept up in an eerie epidemic of sleepwalking that grips America, where the terror lies not only in the phenomenon itself, but in the societal responses it engenders.
Our journey begins with Shana, whose world turns upside down when her sister falls into an unbreakable sleepwalk, steadily moving towards an unknown goal. This unsettling predicament escalates as countless others join in this silent march, traversing America in a trance-like state.
The introduction of ‘shepherds'—those who take on the role of protectors for their sleepwalking loved ones—imbues the tale with depth and poignant emotional resonance. This stark contrast between compassionate shepherds and violent societal reactions highlights the duality of human responses in the face of fear and uncertainty.
What sets “The Wanderers” apart is the underlying examination of the more destructive nature of fear and the societal collapse it can trigger. The sleepwalking phenomenon becomes a mere backdrop for exploring this profound theme.
Unraveling the mystery behind the epidemic is an edge-of-your-seat experience. The secret, once revealed, has the potential to either drive the nation further into chaos or serve as a rallying point for survivors to rebuild their world, providing a captivating conclusion to the narrative.
“The Wanderers” is a powerful exploration of societal fear and human resilience. Its depth of character, suspenseful plot, and exploration of fear make it a riveting journey worth taking. It's emotional resonance and gripping storytelling ensure that it leaves a lasting imprint on readers long after the final page is turned.
“The Priory of the Orange Tree” is a standout fantasy novel that expertly weaves together a complex world where the East and West coexist under a fragile truce. Dragons, revered as divine beings in the East and feared as demonic entities in the West, become the focal point of this cultural divide. With the re-emergence of an ancient draconic enemy, these disparate societies must set aside centuries-old mistrust for a unified stand.
While the novel spans an impressive length, it is testament to the author's skill that it doesn't feel drawn out or slow-paced. Instead, readers are gifted with a richly detailed world and an engrossing narrative that holds you captive from the first page to the last.
One of the book's defining characteristics is its captivating portrayal of characters. Each individual, irrespective of their role, is finely etched, bringing a unique flavor to the overall narrative and contributing significantly to the reader's immersion.
Although the story reaches a conclusive end, it leaves one with an undeniable urge to delve deeper into this intricately designed universe. This book is a must-read for any fans of compelling storytelling and intricate world-building. Its allure lies in its unique ability to be both expansive in scope yet intimate in its exploration of characters and cultures.
Foundryside plunges us straight into the heart of an exhilarating heist, showcasing Sancia Grado's prowess as an expert thief. Bennett masterfully crafts these opening scenes with a blend of engaging dialogue, a vibrant setting in Tevanne, and a magical system that is both original and captivating. This initial surge is thrilling, filled with the kind of energy and promise that makes you lean in, eager for more.
Bennett's creation of the scriving magic system is initially a gem, intricately detailed and fascinating. However, as the narrative unfolds, this complexity begins to weigh down the story. The pacing suffers, turning what started as a sprint into more of a stagger. It's as if the book itself is a scrived object that's been overcoded — initially impressive but increasingly cumbersome as more layers are added.
The characters, especially in the latter half, struggle to shine as brightly as the initial setup promised. The plot, which initially seemed focused and sharp, meanders, losing the clarity and pace that made the opening chapters so compelling. This inconsistency in storytelling is reflected in the overall experience of the book — a journey that begins with potential but gets lost in its own labyrinth of details.
In the concluding chapters, “Foundryside” makes a valiant attempt to recapture the initial allure of its opening scenes with a new heist. However, this late effort struggles to match the early excitement, primarily due to the pacing issues and complex expositions that have unfolded in between. The narrative, though rich with potential and innovative ideas, doesn't quite manage to maintain a steady grip on the reader's engagement throughout. This leads to a finale that, while aiming to echo the thrill of the beginning, doesn't fully deliver on the promise shown at the start. Foundryside is a book of contrasts, where the brilliance of its concept and the initial chapters shines brightly, but the journey through its pages reveals the challenges of sustaining that brilliance to the end.
“Library at Mount Char” offers an intricately woven tale filled with offbeat charm. The narrative is a strange concoction of elements that might leave you puzzled at times but ultimately fascinated. Each character is well-crafted, adding depth to the narrative and enriching the overall reading experience. As the story unfolds, the compelling mixture of dark humor, intrigue, and surreal scenarios keeps you hooked. Do give yourself time to acclimate to its distinct rhythm, and once you do, you'll find yourself engrossed. It's like entering a labyrinth of the peculiar - an expedition that's thrilling, creepy, and thought-provoking in equal measure. It's a wild ride, not meant for everyone, but if you appreciate the offbeat and mysterious, it's a journey you'll want to embark on.
This was a refreshing shift from her earlier work, offering a heist-driven narrative that's thrilling and well-crafted. Unlike the melodrama of Shadow and Bone, this novel focuses on action and intrigue, wrapped around a diverse cast of characters. The heist is the star, but the characters, each with their own depth and quirks, help bring the story to life. It's a fast-paced ride with enough twists to keep you engaged, though it avoids veering into shocking plot twists. It's a compact, yet satisfying adventure.
If you've ever read Chuck Wendig before, you know exactly what you're signing up for: eerie settings, whip-smart dialogue, and moments so bizarre you can't help but mutter “What the actual...” under your breath. The Staircase in the Woods delivers all of this in spades, even if it doesn't quite hit the heights of some of Wendig's best work.
The premise—a mysterious staircase in the woods, a friend who vanished, and a decades-long obsession—has all the makings of a classic horror setup. And, true to form, Wendig doesn't shy away from diving headfirst into the unsettling and uncanny. The atmosphere is thick with unease, and the dialogue crackles with Wendig's signature sharpness, grounding the supernatural in the banter and bickering of old friends who have all grown into versions of themselves they're not entirely comfortable with.
Thematically, this isn't breaking new ground. You've got your usual suspects—trauma, guilt, the past haunting the present—but it's the way Wendig unpacks these ideas that makes it so engaging. Subtlety isn't his strong suit (and honestly, would we want it to be?), but there's something undeniably satisfying about the blunt-force way he tackles these well-worn themes. It's loud, it's messy, and it's a lot of fun.
The pacing occasionally wobbles, and while the twists and turns are thrilling, not all of them land with the same impact. But even when the story stumbles, it never loses its grip. You're pulled along, willingly or not, toward the final reveal, which, in true Wendig fashion, leaves you unsettled in the best way.
Bottom line, if you're a fan, you'll likely love it. If you're new to his work, this is a solid introduction to the wild and weird world of Chuck Wendig.
Mixing a dash of supernatural mischief with a sprinkle of sardonic wit, ‘The Witchstone' is a whirlwind adventure that entangles an unlikely duo in a race against time, blending the charm of urban fantasy with the thrill of a caper.
Laszlo, our demon protagonist, would rather be anywhere but at his day job as Hell's most lackadaisical Curse Keeper. You can think of him as your least favorite coworker, but with more fire and brimstone. Meanwhile, Maggie Drakeford, our young Curse Bearer, brings a dose of reality to the curse-laden fantasy, though she takes her time coming out of her narrative shell.
The Witchstone is a fun and very enjoyable read, but what is perhaps most interesting about it is not the story that it is, but the story that it could have been. It's incredibly easy to imagine the bones of this story being assembled into something completely different than its current incarnation, which, at its essence is mostly a caper of sorts. It could have just as easily been heavily focused on Laszlo and his job as a Curse Keeper resulting in a satire of Corporate America. It also could have been more focused as a quest from Maggie's perspective and her family's struggle with the curse. This isn't to say it would have been better served as something other than what it is, but as I reflect back, I can't help but wonder what those versions would have looked like. It's a credit to the author that the foundation is so solid that the story seemingly could have been taken in a number of directions with relative ease.
If I had one minor quibble, it would be with the character development, especially for Maggie. Towards the end, we get to see real glimpses of a standout character, but she never quite breaks through. Still, the book remains a delightful and quick romp through a world where managing curses is just another day at the office.
Thank you to NetGalley and Blackstone Publishing for the ARC.
The Devil By Name is a compelling sequel that surpasses its predecessor in pacing and flow. While it sacrifices some of the punk charm that defined Fever House, it makes up for it with stronger character development and a more engaging narrative. Overall, it's gripping, well-crafted, and a must-read for those who enjoyed Fever House.
I've been craving a book that's a bit dark and twisted for a few weeks now, and after diving into ‘Horror Movie' by Paul Tremblay, all I can say is, be careful what you wish for. The novel spins a tale around a disturbing, supposedly cursed horror film from the '90s. Fast forward to the present day, and we follow the only surviving cast member as he grapples with the demons of the past and the remake of this eerie film.
Tremblay has clearly mastered the art of the unreliable narrator, keeping the reader constantly questioning the veracity of what's presented. We're perpetually at a disadvantage, navigating through twisted versions of the truth, with flashbacks intertwining the chaotic original shoot and the contemporary reboot. It's a narrative dance that keeps you on your toes, unsure of where reality ends and fiction begins.
While The Pallbearers Club was divisive because it didn't fit neatly into any one genre, ‘Horror Movie' has no such problem. However, to that end, it is lacking a touch of the depth of some of Tremblay's other works, among them, a real sense of character development. That said, this one will stick with me for a while (That ending...), even if it doesn't inspire as much of an emotional connection as something like The Pallbearers Club.
Navola masterfully blends intricate world-building with a gripping narrative, immersing readers in an Italy-esque city-state brimming with power struggles and hidden dangers. The setting, reminiscent of Renaissance Italy, adds authenticity and creates a world that is both familiar and unique.
The story's gradual pacing allows for deep immersion into the world of Navola. This slow build mirrors Davico's journey, drawing readers into the intricacies of political machinations and personal revelations. As the plot accelerates, both Davico and the reader are plunged into a whirlwind of intrigue, betrayal, and suspense.
The cast of characters is well-developed, each operating with their own hidden motivations and agendas. The dynamics of power, family loyalty, and ambition are explored with nuance, adding richness to the narrative.
Navola is a remarkable literary fantasy, offering a captivating blend of world-building, character development, and plot complexity. It is deeply engaging and thought-provoking, making it a must read.
Thank you to the publisher and NetGalley for the ARC.