Author: Jessica Avery

I wrote a whole newsletter on seaweed-ish horror, and another on ocean horror books. If you’ve been around long enough, you’ve probably figured out: I’m more than a little obsessed with the sea. So when Poisoned Pen Press said “Hey, this is queer saltwater horror, do you want it?” I made some very loud noises that they apparently accepted as a “yes.” Monroe’s They Drown Our Daughters is the perfect Pacific Northwest Gothic to accompany you on your next trip to the beach. Though you might have second thoughts about actually getting in the water, because in this dark tale of mothers, motherhood, generational trauma, ghosts, and red-lanterned lighthouses, the waters of Cape Disappointment are more than a little haunted.

It’s finally time! If you’ve been waiting to get your hands on Sylvia Moreno-Garcia’s newest Gothic novel, inspired by the strange tale of The Island of Doctor Moreau, publication day is nearly upon us. Carlota Moreau lives a safe but sheltered life. Her whole world is the isolated confines of her father’s estate. But beneath that idyllic surface lies the reality of her mad (or genius) father’s work. The fruits of his labors, the hybrids, linger in the estates shadows, blindly obedient to the man who created them, funded by the unknown whims of his rich patrons, the Lizaldes. When their son, Eduardo Lizaldes, suddenly appears at Moreau’s gates, his presence proves the unknown variable that threatens to upend Carlota’s tranquil life, and bring the only world she’s know crashing down around her.

One of the best parts about my decision to read only queer fiction this year is that it’s really reignited my love of graphic novels. Blackwater ticks all the boxes, because not only is it queer, it’s queer horror AND it’s set in Maine! (Yes, I am predictable. I know.) I’m so excited for my copy to get here! Blackwater is about two boys – Tony Price, a popular athlete desperate for his father’s approval, and Eli Hirsch, whose quiet nature along with the strain placed on his health and social life by his autoimmune disorder have left him isolated. The two unexpectedly become first friends and then something more as they navigate life in their spooky little town.

If you’re a fan of anthologies like I am, and you’re tired of getting hyped up about a new anthology only to realize that its TOC is as white as a stick of chalk and twice as straight, you definitely need to preorder for Other Terrors. Drawing on a blend of authors both established and up-and-coming, Other Terrors celebrates narratives of “otherness” and the fear that the idea of the “other” often provokes. Whether of a different culture, race, sexuality, religion, or gender, these stories center the outsider, who’s very existence is perceived as a threat to “normal” society. There are so many well-known horror writers contributing to this anthology whose new stories I can’t wait to read, and so many upcoming authors whose work I am excited to get better acquainted with.

This book broke my brain a little bit, I won’t lie. It’s incredible, and incredibly dark. A bit gross. Very disturbing. And strangely cathartic? I don’t know if I should admit to that, but yes it was definitely cathartic in a way, as Vera finally came to terms with her disturbed childhood and her own dark needs. She returns to her childhood home – the home that her father built – at the behest of her dying mother. But any hopes Vera might have had of a loving, tearful reconciliation are dashed soon after she arrives. Her mother is as caustic and distant as ever, and her serial killer father’s ghost lurks around every corner. Possibly literally. Add to that the artist with avaristic intent – and an almost lascivious interest in Vera’s bloody past – who is currently squatting in the converted garden shed in the backyard, and is it any wonder that all Vera’s most horrific memories are coming home to roost?

It is impossible to have too much witchy horror in your life. Particularly when the synopsis throws out tantalizing promises like “Hellmouth”, “witchtown”, and “deathwitch.” Honestly, though. If you’re looking for something to fill that magic school-shaped hole in your heart, left by a certain nightmare personage, but you want it a whole lot darker, you definitely need to preorder The Witchery by S. Isabelle. Logan arrives in Haelsford, Florida, to attend the Mesmortes Coven Academy. Haelsford is a peculiar town, where humans and witches maintain a tenuous truth constantly imperiled by fear and prejudice. A cursed town where Wolves rise form the swamp to devour the inhabitants. Soon after she arrives, Logan falls in with a trio of powerful Mesmortes witches who want to break the curse and free Haelsford from the Wolves. But at what cost?

I have been waiting absolutely forever for a chance to sing the praises of Christina Henry’s queer retelling of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. This book the epitome of a seasonally, thematically perfect Halloween read! Now I have to confess something: Horseman is not strictly a retelling. It is in the sense that every aspect of the original story is revisited and retold to some degree, but Horseman is technically more of a sequel than a retelling. But don’t let that stop you! Our protagonist, fourteen-year-old trans boy Ben, is the grandson of Brom Bones and Katrina Van Tassel from the original story, and his world is upended suddenly when the headless body of a child appears in the woods outside Sleepy Hollow, raising questions no one wants to answer. But Ben must find answers if he wants to protect his family and friends from the sinister forces stalking the village.

So they might take away my English degree for this one, but I never liked The Great Gatsby. (Opps.) BUT I do love general idea of the story – separated lovers, pining, tragedy – and the glamour and excess of the 20’s as a setting. So give me a dark, queer version of that and you officially have my attention. And while I suppose you could argue that The Chosen and the Beautiful is more of a dark fantasy novel, I don’t think horror fans will be disappointed. As a woman raised in the upper echelons of 20s American society, but one who also happens to be queer and Asian, Jordan Baker walks a fraught line between social standing and societal prejudice as she navigates a Jazz Age setting steeped in demon blood and danger.

I have been salivating over Kingfisher’s queer retelling of Edgar Allen Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher ever since it was announced, and with good reason! I was promised frightening fungi and fucked up hares and wow did Kingfisher deliver. What Moves the Dead was grim, Gothic, frightening, and A+ fungal horror. The story begins in familiar fashion: Alex Easton received word that their childhood friend Madeline Usher is dying, and they make the long journey to Usher House to see what can be done or at least to say goodbye. But here’s where things make a rather creepier turn than Poe’s original Gothic gloom: it’s not just Madeline and Roderick who are acting strange, even the wildlife around the house has turned odd, and deep in the lake a strange green light is glowing.

Okay, so again, less of a full retelling, more of a reimagining of certain unfortunate fates and a new lease on life for two mistreated women of classic literature. But I mean how does it get better than this, really? Bertha Rochester from Jane Eyre and Lucy Westenra from Dracula, are immortals living their best undead lives in Los Angeles in 1967. At least until Dracula and Rochester, equally unalive, make a sudden reappearance, throwing Bertha and Lucy’s new lives into disarray. I’ve already read an excerpt of Reluctant Immortals, courtesy of Nightfire’s Blog, and ya’ll I honestly could not be more excited.

Did I plan this whole list so I could talk about a book that’s not coming out until February of NEXT year? Very possibly. I’m already a huge fan of Kalynn Bayron’s work, and when I found out about My Dear Henry, a queer reimagining of Jekyll & Hyde, I was instantly on board. Gabriel Utterson knows that that something is wrong with his friend Henry Jekyll. Returned to London after scandal imploded his and Henry’s lives two years ago, Gabriel is desperate to find out what has become of his friend, and why Henry stopped writing to him. What he finds instead is a Henry who coldly refuses to acknowledge Gabriel’s existence, and Hyde, the strange and charismatic young man who claims to be Henry’s friend.

I was late getting to this book. But most horror fans I know had read it already and had nothing but glowing things to say, so I knew going in that it was going to be good. And it really was! Scary, tense, ever so slightly (read: really) enraging at times, The Dead and the Dark proved to be superb queer horror.

It also made me cry. A lot. I mean ugly crying, suddenly glad I live alone, thank the ghouls I’m not wearing mascara crying.

(What can I say, it’s been a rough couple of months years.)

In the weeks since I finished reading The Dead and the Dark, I’ve been thinking a lot about my reaction to it. I have always preferred my horror books to have plenty of heart. I like to feel that pathos and engage with that catharsis of connecting emotionally with a story, even if that emotion is frustration or rage. And sometimes in the past when I’ve been zipping through a book— whether because I feel pressed for time, or because I’m downing it in one sitting because it’s just that good— I end up skimming across the top of that cathartic experience rather than letting myself just soak it in.

With The Dead and the Dark, my schedule that week forced me to slow down, take my time, and I really think that my reading experience was richer for that. And thank goodness, because I would not have wanted to miss a moment of this book.

Set in the tiny town of Snakebite, Oregon, The Dead and the Dark is a queer YA horror novel that is as much about the shadow of prejudice that lurks behind the faded main streets of so many small towns as it is about ghosts. Hauntings both figurative and metaphorical. Logan Ortiz-Woodley lets herself be dragged to Snakebite by her fathers Brandon and Alejo, but only reluctantly because the last thing she wants is to get caught up in one of their ghost hunts. What she doesn’t realize until after they arrive is that both men are originally from Snakebite, and have nearly as many secrets as the town itself. Secrets that might have something to do with the teens that have started disappearing. Ashley Barton’s boyfriend was the first teen to disappear, and as tensions in the town mount, igniting old prejudices, and suspicion begins to fall on Logan’s fathers, the two girls join forces to find answers.

It probably sounds like a familiar plot, and in a way it is: murder mystery meets the supernatural by way of family secrets unearthed by teenage sleuths who then find themselves in Deadly Danger. But what makes The Dead and the Dark unforgettable is the way that Gould takes a familiar story type and enriches it with this wealth of humanity (good and bad) and emotion.

We’re all familiar by now with the idea of ghosts as symbolic, they’re rarely ever just the spiritual remains of the dead. They’re always imbued with some kind of meaning, whether in what created them, in how they present themselves, or how they’re finally banished. In The Dead and the Dark, Gould’s ghosts are literally memories, of the living as well as the dead. They’re moments of such pain or sorrow that they’re crystalized forever, repeating in a loop that few can see.

And look, I’m easy prey here. The idea of ghosts as memories always wrecks me. Especially once Gould began to reveal the particulars of Brandon and Alejo’s pasts in Snakebite. Because, you see, the mystery of the disappearing teens that drives much of the plot of the book is actually resolved about 95% of the way through, and the actual climax of the book ends up being about secrets and small towns, love, hate, grief, and forgiveness. And if I had been reading straight through, at the speed I used to read, I don’t know that the truth about the past— Brandon’s, Alejo’s, and Logan’s— would have had the chance to hit so hard that it left me in tears.

So in a way, even though I might have once been able to read three books in the time it took me to read The Dead and the Dark, I’m glad I slowed down. Because I wouldn’t have wanted to miss feeling all the things that Gould made me feel in that moment. Emotions that were as healing as they were painful.

Maybe that sounds like a line, and you can roll your eyes if it does. But if you haven’t read The Dead and the Dark yet, or if you have time in your own schedule to read it again, I highly recommend adding it to your Pride TBR. It’s gorgeously queer, genuinely creepy, and brutally honest about what it means to just try to exist in a world that sometimes feels overwhelmingly full of hate, and pain, and grief.

The debut anthology of editor Mae Murray, The Book of Queer Saints (with its striking cover!) was published independently following a successful Kickstarter campaign to fund the project. The anthology includes new stories by familiar voices like Eric LaRocca (You’ve Lost A Lot of Blood) and Hailey Piper (Queen of Teeth). It also features 13 stories in total from queer authors whose works span the width and breadth of the horror genre. If you haven’t picked up your copy yet, I highly recommend adding The Book of Queer Saints to your horror pride reading list.

This is not the first time I have shared my love for this eclectic collection of queer, dark fiction, and it definitely won’t be the last. Unfettered Hexes is everything I could want in an anthology: it’s diverse, delicious, witchy perfection, and you couldn’t ask for better. Stories range from sci-fi to fantasy to horror, often blurring the lines between the three to create captivating queer stories of survival, love, revenge, hope, and nightmares. It’s also worth noting that, if like me you love your books to be as visibly beautiful as the stories they contain, Neon Hemlock makes gorgeous books and Unfettered Hexes is no exception. I mean, just look at that cover.

Is it even a list of horror recommendations if I don’t include a Gothic, erotic, vampire horror novel when I have the chance? Set in 1927 colonial Singapore, Lianyu Tan’s second novel is a gorgeous work of historical horror about a maidservant who ends up falling in love with both her vampiric mistress and her mistress’ majordomo, kicking off a F/F love triangle that – in a unique twist – is up to the reader to resolve. The novel contains two complete, exclusive final acts, allowing readers to decide how they want the story to end. Tan’s specialty is dark stories about characters caught up in questionable relationships, and if you enjoy The Wicked and the Willing and want to follow it up with something a little more romance-y (but still pretty darn dark,) I HIGHLY recommend Tan’s first book, her Hades and Persephone retelling Captive in the Underworld, with which I am 100% obsessed.

You might remember Unwieldy Creatures from my Frankenstein birthday post in January! It’s going to be out in August and I’m really curious to get my hands on a copy because I love a Frankenstein adaptation. Billed as a queer gender reversal of Mary Shelley’s original novel, Unwieldy Creatures features a narrator who is a medical intern. She finds her prized internship in the country’s most prestigious embryologist lab upended when the renowned star scientist of the lab, Dr. Frank, has a breakdown and ends up couch surfing in the intern’s house. While she recovers, Dr. Frank tells the intern her story of an experiment gone wrong. This is a tale of ambition, murder, and bloody revenge.

April Yates’ debut novella won’t be out until August, but it’s worth waiting for. It’s a queer, historical, Gothic horror-romance, so it’s already ticking pretty much every box on my “must read this book” list. Ashthorne is set in the aftermath of WWI, in a manor house that has been repurposed as a convalescence hospital and may be housing more than just injured soldiers. Adelaide came to Ashthorne to be a nurse, and to hide from her family. But when she ends up falling in love with Evelyn, the owner’s daughter, the two set out to investigate Evelyn’s suspicions about the hospital, and in the end, Adelaide may find that Ashthorne is not the safe haven she hoped it would be.