I’m fascinated by the intersection of mental health and horror specifically because of how the two seem (to me) to speak to one another. Both mental health and horror are confronted best by shining a light on them, by addressing them fully, personally. Horror makes intangible things tangible, I think, for the average person; and for those of us who struggle or have struggled with our mental health, it gives us the tools to detail the experience for others, to, hopefully, elicit understanding if not empathy.
This book, about a young recluse losing grip on reality, unable to discern truth from her own memory, had me hooked. I found the writing vicious and fierce, the imagery haunting, and the overall focus on memory and trauma as horrors that can both shape and betray us distressing in the very best of ways. Memory and one’s sense of self are important to my own work, and as such, this book managed to tap into some personal unease.
That it’s also so sharply written (and wonderfully f*cked-up) is the icing on an already delicious narrative cake. Recommended for those who like their horror to mess with their sense of reality—personal and not. My favorite read of 2023.
WINNER OF THE 2023 KOBO EMERGING WRITER PRIZE FOR LITERARY FICTION
A GLOBE AND MAIL BEST BOOK OF 2022
49TH STREET EDITOR'S PICK FOR SEPTEMBER 2022
A reclamation of
female rage and a horrifyingly deformed Bildungsroman.
Frances is quiet and reclusive,
so much so that her upstairs roommates sometimes forget she exists. Isolated in
the basement, and on the brink of graduating from university, Frances herself
starts to question the realities of her own existence. She can't remember there
being a lock on the door at the top of the basement stairs-and yet, when she
turns the knob, the door…
Hey, you—you ever wanted to feel pulled along on a person’s murderous psychological break? Good news, this book will take you on just such a journey. I adored how unflinching this book was in its depravity, in its willingness to take the reader by the hand and pull them down, down, down.
It isn’t interested in giving you any time to breathe or process what’s happening between Abby, her ghost of a mother-in-law, and Mrs. Bondy, a woman in Abby’s care. The protagonist’s actions throughout are distressing; a sensation made all the greater by how effortlessly the author drowns you in Abby’s psychological distress.
I don’t know if this will be a one-sitting book for all, but like with my first recommendation, Tear, once I started into this one, I really could not stop until I was finished and left rather breathless.
'A gruesome, blackly funny, utterly original feminist horror story' New York Times, Notable Book of the Year
'A buzz-worthy and ferocious horror comedy from one of the genre's most promising voices' Buzzfeed
Abby Lamb has done it. She's found the Great Good in her husband, Ralph, and together they will start a family and put all the darkness in her childhood to rest. But then the Lambs move in with Ralph's mother, Laura, whose depression has made it impossible for her to live on her own. She's venomous and cruel, especially to Abby, who has a complicated understanding of motherhood…
In my own work, as is likely obvious, mental health is a huge focus. I’m someone with a history of depression, anxiety, and anorexia. That middle element here, anxiety, is something I’ve seen written about a great deal, but rarely have I experienced it as profoundly as I did in this book.
When Alice starts losing control of her reality when her spiral begins in earnest… It was like reading what a panic attack feels like. And I mean that as the highest of compliments. I think this might make this read a difficult pill for some to swallow, but I was left in awe of Elliott’s skill.
The book is captivating in its own right, the story (and story within the story) entertaining and engaging, but this personal connection to the feel of it all has cemented it in my brain.
'Mesmeric, intoxicatingly original' Hannah Kent, bestselling author of Burial Rites
'Haunting and surreal... With its sharp wit and beautiful writing, this book had me flying through the pages.' Ana Reyes, New York Times bestselling author of The House in the Pines
'A towering achievement, stunningly good storytelling.' Melissa Lucashenko, Miles Franklin Award winning author of Too Much Lip
On the surface, Alice is exactly where she should be in life: she's just given birth to a beautiful baby girl; her ever-charming husband - an academic whose area of study is conveniently her own Mohawk…
Allyson’s book is a collection of essays on the intersection of queerness, identity, and pop culture—horror primarily. Which means, yeah, it was practically engineered for me.
I found much to love and much to relate to within these pages. The way she weaves together personal experience, horror tropes, and urban legends is masterful, and I found the descriptions of gatekeeping and how it results in questioning one’s identity/place in things to hit rather personally.
From Allyson McOuat, author of the popular 2020 New York Times Modern Love essay “The Ghost Was the Least of Our Problems,” comes her debut essay collection
In a series of intimate and humorous dispatches, McOuat examines her identity as a queer woman, and as a mother, through the lens of the pop culture moments in the ’80s and ’90s that molded her identity. McOuat stirs the ingredients required to conjure an unsettled spirit: the horrors of pregnancy and motherhood, love and loss, the supernatural, kaleidoscopic sexuality, near-miss experiences, and the unexplained moments in life that leave you haunted.
Full disclosure: I was an early reader of this book and have offered it a blurb. But I wouldn’t have done so had it not significantly impacted me.
Aiello’s memoir, though not strictly horror, uses aspects of genre and pop culture—including aspects of horror—to detail their own history with mental illness and the surrounding difficulties and stigmas attached to it. They go to great and much-needed lengths to dissect how mental illness has been made out to be one of the great boogeymen of our lives via its myriad portrayals in culture (as a villain, a threat, a diabolical force, etc.) and detail the damage that’s been done as a result.
This is a powerful book in which I saw myself reflected all too often.
Revelatory memoir and cultural criticism that connects popular fantasy and our perceptions of mental illness to offer an empathetic path to compassionate care
Growing up, K.J. Aiello was fascinated by magical stories of dragons, wizards, and fantasy, where monsters were not what they seemed and anything was possible. These books and films were both a balm and an escape, a safe space where Aiello’s struggle with mental illness transformed from a burden into a strength that could win battles and vanquish villains.
A unique blend of memoir, research, and cultural criticism, The Monster and the Mirror charts Aiello’s life as…
After the death of their father and surviving a life-threatening eating disorder, 18-year-old Ellis moves with their mother to the small town of Black Stone, a disquieting place surrounded by death. The townspeople claim that Ellis’s new house is haunted. And Ellis has started to believe them: they see pulsing veins in their bedroom walls and specters in dark corners of the cellar. Ellis soon discovers that their house is the battleground in a decades-long spectral war that will claim their family—and the town—if allowed to continue.
My book is queer psychological horror, a tale of heartache, loss, and revenge that tackles important issues of mental health as only horror can: by delving deep, cracking them open, and exposing their gruesome entrails.
Tasha and the Biologist is the second book in the "A Better Man" series. It's a contemporary romance about second chances, two lonely birders, and the healing power of love.
Tasha Moore is a visiting nurse with a family secret. She just went through a bad breakup. Caleb Drexel is a bird biologist trying to start a new life in a small town. He just got out of an unhappy marriage.
What happens when hope and romance bloom between these two nature lovers?
Tasha He was handsome, confident, nice, smart—a good guy. How did he end up here in the middle of Indiana? And how did he know so much about whooping cranes? I’d never met someone as passionate about birds as I was. Was it too soon for me to be thinking about love again? Caleb She was sweet, kind, caring—a nurse and a birder. I really liked her. Maybe more than liked. And I’d only spent two hours—three, tops—with her. Yet, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with anyone for at least a year after my divorce.
