Synopsis

Combat Monsters brings together twenty award-winning and bestselling speculative fiction authors who each bring their own spin on an alternate history of World War II.

New research has uncovered deeply buried military secrets—both the Allied and Axis special operations during World War II included monsters. Did the Soviets use a dragon to win the Battle of Kursk? Did a vampire fight for the Canadians in Holland? Did the US drop the second atomic bomb on a kaiju?

This collection takes real events from World War II and injects them with fantastical creatures that mirror the “unreality” of war itself. Each story—and two poems—feature mythical, mystical, and otherwise unexplainable beings that change the course of history. Dragons rise and fall, witches cast deadly spells, mermaids reroute torpedoes, and all manner of “monsters” intervene for better or worse in the global turmoil of World War II.

Together, Combat Monsters challenge the very definition of monstrous, with the brutality of war as a sobering backdrop.

Review

Thanks to NetGalley and Blackstone Publishing for this audio arc. 

A concise set of stories meshing monsters with the atrocities of WWII. Vampires, witches, werewolves, dragons, krakens, genetically modified humans and animals, and DNA-altered bears, oh my. I particularly appreciated the generous take on “monster” as well as the shaping of war being the true evil. I don’t tend to enjoy war stuff that alters historical events in any big way as I feel it takes away from the people that paid for the outcome with their lives, and I’m glad to say this one skirted that exceptionally. The editor asked each contributor to ground their story in fact, within real events, but the outcomes were the same and the supernatural elements were simply helping or layered within. 

I enjoyed how each story took readers to a new place, a new perspective, a new country even. Including countries I wasn’t even aware took part in the war. We traveled the world and learned of the supernatural just under the surface. We read stories from the beginning of the war, and we read stories from the very bombing that ended the war. The variety within is really what makes this collection so special. 

Particular stand outs included a story that acted as almost an unauthorized sequel to Dracula and the Demeter, a werewolf that’s helped by something else, a crazy croctopus taking out strike teams, and the farming bears. I apologize because as I did the audio, which I typically do while driving, I didn’t think to note the names/authors!

“I won’t let death stop me.”

25 years ago, young businessman Ron Jarvis made a sinister deal that changed his life forever. The cost was high… but who can put a price on power?

Now, Ron is the CEO of a global media empire, and one of the richest men in the world. And yet, to help his daughter, Ron will once more seek out the architect of that hideous pact, bringing death, despair, and total destruction to all around him in a jaw-dropping frenzy of outrageous, bloody carnage.

In his most extreme, depraved and glorious work to date, David Sodergren (I can’t speak for his alter-ego Carl John Lee) reminds us that karma is indeed a bitch. Where “Rotten Tommy,” is bizarro and romantic, and “Summer of the Monsters,” is tender and coming-of-age, “Death Spell,” is gross and damp. A writhing and pulsing and coalescing “good for her,” “coming-of-rage,” story complete with violence and vengeance, and damn near boiling over with bile, “Death Spell,” whilst undeniably a wholly nasty book, is also my favourite by Sodergren since “The Haar.” I’d like to thank the author for the ARC, and for continuing to repulse me. If you’re looking to test your limits… stomach… gag reflex… then you can consume “Death Spell,” for yourself from May 1st, but don’t be surprised when it’s still haunting you six months later. 

Ron Jarvis has in all fairness, built quite the empire out of Grayfriar Media- but it’s an empire built upon violence, voodoo… and worms. He’s killed, he’s had people killed, but perhaps worst of all, he fathered Vivienne, and raised quite the entitled brat. As the daughter of the second richest man in America, she has dated many a house-hold name, but she’s fixated upon Nick Pulaski- stuntman turned action movie star. The two did briefly date, but that came to a bitter end when she stabbed him in the leg during an argument. To Vivienne’s utter horror he has since rekindled a flame with his highschool sweetheart Carol, whilst she continues to obsess. She’s sure that the two are meant to be. She’s sure it’s destiny. But she’d appreciate it if her daddy could speed things up between the two of them… and Ron is almost certain that he knows a guy. 

Sodergren is an accomplished writer across the board, but he excels consistently with his characters. “The Haar’s” Muriel McAuley is a bad-ass who I still think about on the regular, “Rotten Tommy’s,” Becky Sharp is written with such nuance and care, and in “Death Spell?” Sodergren is able to make us loathe almost the entire cast with an absolute passion. If “Death Spell,” was adapted for the stage (unlikely, the clean-up would be immense) people would be hissing and throwing rotten fruit, they’re that vile. I can’t quite put a finger on which oligarch in particular Ron Jarvis is not so loosely inspired by, but he has the unmistakable stink of at least one of them, and he is truly detestable. A media mogul whose hands are filthy with more than tricks of the trade, Ron’s character highlights the dangers of over-ambition, how it can manifest as greed and calcify into corruption. Despite the fact that he really, really loves his daughter, he does so in the same way a collector loves a coin. He is the antithesis of a good father, and is responsible for spoiling Vivienne beyond redemption. Vivienne, as far as I can tell, is not some grand metaphor, or (despite what she may like to think) a symbol of something larger than herself, but her comeuppance is nothing short of indulgent. 

Sodergren’s prose is not for the faint of stomach or heart. It’s visceral in a way that elicits genuine physical reactions: winces, grimaces, the occasional dry heave. Usually, at this point in a review, I like to reference a scene. You know… that scene. Nick Cutter’s “turtle scene,” or that rat from “American Psycho,” (the book obviously) spring to mind. With “Death Spell,” it’s the entire 230-ish pages. Relentless and unflinching, the novel offers little reprieve. What levity there is comes courtesy of Sodergren’s sharp, dark humour- David’s one-liners and Meatloaf references are honestly so much fun. The pacing? Wildfire as opposed to slow-burn. Propulsive, compulsive, and designed to be impossible to look away from, I absolutely demolished this one, as I have with everything else I’ve read from him.

Undeniably nasty, unapologetically brutal, and steeped in something best left unidentified, “Death Spell,” is another superb addition to Sodergren’s rather impressive back catalogue. The unholy love child of Roger Corman and Clive Barker “Death Spell,” certainly veers harder into splatter territory than its predecessors (with “Dead Girl Blues,” perhaps being a runner-up). It’s different, but it’s still David, the common threads being: great writing, great character work, and the pug on the spine: buy it in paperback.

Synopsis:

Catherine Coldbridge is a complicated woman: a doctor, an occultist, and briefly, a widow. In 1879, her husband, Private Frank Humble, was killed in a Sioux attack. Consumed by grief, Catherine used her formidable skills to resurrect her husband. But after the reanimation, Frank lost his soul, becoming a vicious undead monster. Unable to face her failure or its murderous consequences, Catherine fled to grieve her failure.

Twenty-five years later, Catherine has decided she must make things right. She travels back to Texas with a pair of hired killers ready to destroy Frank. But Frank is no longer a monster; he is once again the kind man she knew. He has remade himself as the Unkillable Frank Lightning, traveling with the Wild West Show, and even taking on a mysterious young ward.

Now Catherine must face a series of moral dilemmas that cannot be resolved without considerable bloodshed.

Review:

In 2023’s The Legend of Charlie Fish, Josh Rountree created a version of the Wild West that was at once naturalistic and infused with magic. In that world, centered around the historic storm that leveled the island city of Galveston, there are hard men–outlaws and heroes alike–as well as witches, child gunslingers and psychics. There’s also a lovable gill-man with a penchant for chain-smoking cigarettes as he attempts to find his way back to the sea from which he came.

All told in Rountree’s stripped down but effortlessly elegant prose and peopled with instantly lovable characters, The Legend of Charlie Fish became an instant favorite, a book I recommend to anyone who will listen.

The Unkillable Frank Lightning returns us once again to this magic-infused version of turn of the century Texas, with a lengthy detour in the Montana territory, and I couldn’t be happier if I were returning to my own childhood home.

This time around we follow Catherine Coldbridge, a medical doctor cum mad scientist, who finds herself deep in the Montana territory, attached to a military fort set squarely in Indian territory. She’s there with her new husband, a soldier named Frank Humble. When Frank is killed by native forces, Catherine calls on her extensive occult training and, in a fit of desperate grief, brings him back.

This being a Frankenstein tale, you know what happens next.

The man who comes back is not the man she loves, but instead a mindless (soulless?) monster, who uses his superhuman strength to kill everything in his path. Catherine flees this horror she has created, abandoning the newly reborn monster to the wilderness.

Fast forward twenty-five years, and Catherine has retained the services of a pair of hired killers to finally correct her error. She’s tracked Frank Humble to Texas, where she hopes to kill him so that she might peacefully drink herself into her own grave, free of this great existential guilt.

Trouble is, just like Mary Shelley’s monster, Frank has grown into his humanity. He might not be the man she once loved, but he is no feral beast. In fact, he’s taken up with a Wild West Review, reenacting an Indian attack much like the one that killed him, and he’s made a family of his fellow performers (including one familiar character from The Legend of Charlie Fish).

Things get complicated, and there’s a lot of blood spilt, a lot of hearts broken, and more than one angry mob.

The Unkillable Frank Lightning has a good deal more plot than its predecessor, but like Charlie Fish, it’s really the supporting characters that carry the story. Rountree is a deft hand at sketching in a character with a few strokes and then lettting them steal the reader’s heart.

Catherine Coldbridge, however, is harder to love, and that’s mostly due to her allegiance to type. Like that other mad doctor, she’s rash, she’s overconfident, she’s more than a little fickle, and her capacity for both self-loathing and self-pity is nearly overwhelming. While it’s Catherine’s voice that carries us through this story, and her actions that propel it toward its exciting conclusion, there seems to be less at stake for her than for the many innocents (and not-so-innocent) people that she pulls into her orbit.

This isn’t a failing of the narrative, for–after all–no one reads Frankenstein and falls in love with the doctor. No, we want the monster, and on that count, Rountree delivers.

This monster has built a life for himself at the peripheries, surrounded by a found family of outcasts and orphans, and if Rountree writes more at liberty of monsters than of the good Doctor, it’s because he’s of the monster’s party (and I think he knows it). The Unkillable Frank Lightning, much like The Legend of Charlie Fish, becomes a kind of paean to the outcast, to the monstrous, and to a land where, once upon a time, there was room enough for them find both love and acceptance.

The Unkillable Frank Lightning will release on July 15th of 2025. Preorders are available now from Tachyon Publishing.

Synopsis

Combat Monsters brings together twenty award-winning and bestselling speculative fiction authors who each bring their own spin on an alternate history of World War II.

New research has uncovered deeply buried military secrets—both the Allied and Axis special operations during World War II included monsters. Did the Soviets use a dragon to win the Battle of Kursk? Did a vampire fight for the Canadians in Holland? Did the US drop the second atomic bomb on a kaiju?

This collection takes real events from World War II and injects them with fantastical creatures that mirror the “unreality” of war itself. Each story—and two poems—feature mythical, mystical, and otherwise unexplainable beings that change the course of history. Dragons rise and fall, witches cast deadly spells, mermaids reroute torpedoes, and all manner of “monsters” intervene for better or worse in the global turmoil of World War II.

Together, Combat Monsters challenge the very definition of monstrous, with the brutality of war as a sobering backdrop.

Review

I have a soft spot for short story anthologies. Don’t get me wrong — I love an epic fantasy or a sprawling sci-fi space opera as well — but there is something special about a book with a few handfuls of small little narratives. Each tale has its own writing style, its own perspective, its own flavor. And if you don’t like one of the stories — Good News! There’s plenty more to dive into. And these anthologies are easy to read in chunks…putting it down after a few stories without needing to worry about where you were in the book.

I was thrilled to get an early copy of Combat Monsters: Untold Tales of World War II in exchange for an honest review. I had a blast with the anthology and I know I’ll be thinking about some of the stories for a while to come. 

Combat Monsters takes a wide and ranging look at World War II from the early years to the final nail in the coffin with the bombing of Nagasaki. As a history teacher in my daytime job, I really connected with this book. There was so much to appreciate about this well-edited book. The stories were put in chronological order; the stories can just about exist on their own even without the monster and supernatural elements; there is a great variety with stories featured from each theater of the last great war. 

Whenever I review an anthology, I like to point out a few of my individual favorite stories, so here are the ones that really resonated with me: 

The Fourth Man by Jeff Edwards

For me, this was the best of the bunch. Wow. This is a story that really leaned into all the prompts. World War II – check. Supernatural beast – check. Something that shows that perhaps the horrors of war are not the only horrors in this life or beyond – check. I loved the framing device with the main character looking for absolution in the present day for the “sin” he committed during the war, crossing a line that helped the Allies win. There was a great combination of action, and ideas that are going to keep me thinking for quite some time, I think. 

Grigoriy’s Army by Catherine Stine

One of the fun things I like to teach about is Hannibal trying to invade Rome with war elephants. Catherine Stine takes the ideas of animals in war and takes it a step further. Through a tragic childhood that left Grigoriy abnormally bright but also stunted socially, he used his and his father’s research to genetically engineer an army of bears to defeat the Nazis. I would have loved for this story to keep going and to see what else poor Grigoriy has up his sleeve after the war ended.  

Bockscar by David Mack

The closing story in this collection is about the crew of the plane heading to Nagasaki and the ethical dilemma they find themselves in. I really don’t want to spoil this story, but there is a lot more to see in this story beyond the “should we?” or “shouldn’t we?” questions the crew asks in the moments before they reach Japan. Even without the twist in this story, I was enjoying this one for the simple ethical questions that we are still asking today, but the hidden reasons for the bombing make it all the more juicy. 

I would love to write something about each story — in fact if I wrote this review tomorrow, I’d probably pick two or three different stories to highlight. I found a few new authors to be aware of in the future and enjoyed new works by some writers I already loved. I really did have a great time with this book and will definitely be checking out other works edited by Henry Herz in the future. 

Synopsis:

‘I did an evil thing to be put in here, and I’m going to have to do an evil thing to get out.’

They call them wayward girls. Loose girls. Girls who grew up too fast. And they’re sent to the Wellwood House in St. Augustine, Florida, where unwed mothers are hidden by their families to have their babies in secret, give them up for adoption, and most important of all, to forget any of it ever happened.

Fifteen-year-old Fern arrives at the home in the sweltering summer of 1970, pregnant, terrified and alone. There, she meets a dozen other girls in the same predicament. Rose, a hippie who insists she’s going to keep her baby and escape to a commune. Zinnia, a budding musician who plans to marry her baby’s father. And Holly, barely fourteen, mute and pregnant by no-one-knows-who.

Every moment of their waking day is strictly controlled by adults who claim they know what’s best for them. Then Fern meets a librarian who gives her an occult book about witchcraft, and power is in the hands of the girls for the first time in their lives. But power can destroy as easily as it creates, and it’s never given freely. There’s always a price to be paid . . . and it’s usually paid in blood.

Review:

I was sent a copy of Witchcraft for Wayward Girls in exchange for an honest review.

This was my first Grady Hendrix novel and I can safely say this will not be my last. I completely devoured this book and my god did it make me feel so many things, plus the end had me nearly in tears. I had to take a second on the last page because the emotions were just so much.

I can confidently say that this is the first book I’ve read where I’ve felt physically unwell reading a birth scene. There’s one in particular where the girl is referred to as a ‘patient’ and it’s meant to feel detached from reality, but the body horror and detail Hendrix included made me flush hot and cold. I genuinely felt like I was going to pass out. And I think that’s a sign of some truly incredible writing.

This starts out as more of a historical fiction, and for me in those first few pages the real horror is how these young girls are treated, and how unjust it is that they’re sent away and punished while the guys get no repercussions. You find out what happened to some of the girls, and just how little they understand about sex and their own bodies. None of these girls are portrayed as weak, Hendrix gives every girl a personality beyond their pregnancies.

After a while our main girls start to dabble in Witchcraft, at first it’s a small spell as a tester, and then they start thinking and doing bigger things. This is dark Witchcraft that comes with a price, there’s no small helpful spells here. And what it gives them power that they didn’t have before. You watch them descend down this path both in awe and in fear of what they may end up doing, or giving away. I never hated the girls, I always understood why they did everything they were doing. It was the adults who feel like the real bad guys here, for what they put the girls through and for what they hide from them.

At over 450 pages of small font I thought this would be a long read for me. But it flew by and I think it’s the perfect length. All of the exposition is needed to add context and reasoning to the events in the later part of the book. I could easily have read this in a day or two if I had the time to dedicate to reading.

Witchcraft for Wayward Girls will haunt me for some time.

Something wicked is going on in the village of Ascension. A mother wasting away from cancer is suddenly up and about. A boy trampled by a milk cart walks away from the accident. A hanged man can still speak, broken neck and all.

The dead are not dying.

When Rabbit and Sadie Grace accompany their friend Rose to Ascension to help take care of her ailing cousin, they immediately notice that their new house, Bethany Hall, is occupied by dozens of ghosts. And something is waiting for them in the attic.

The villagers of Ascension are unwelcoming and wary of their weird visitors. As the three women attempt to find out what’s happening in the town, they must be careful not to be found out. But a much larger―and more dangerous―force is galloping straight for them…

What happens when “Death,” is murdered? In this grotesque fantasy horror, which reads like “Final Destination,” took place during the Salem witch trials, we watch the small town of Ascension grapple with the absence of death. A novel that explores grief (its power), the value of both life and death, and what exactly happens when the natural order grinds to a halt, it turns out that this is a sequel to Grecian’s 2023 novel “Red Rabbit,” although I read it completely oblivious to this, and followed and enjoyed it all the same- it’s a story that stands on its own two decomposing feet. Complete with an other-wordly narrator and a compulsive plot that unfolds over the span of a week, if you’re a fan of witches, ghosts, decomposition, and just general entropy this one may be for you. Thank you Tor Nightfire for my ARC, this one comes out March 11th 2025.

The week in 1881, when Moses Burke murdered the grim reaper, was a strange week indeed. To the delight of her son Benjamin and newly-arrived cousin Rose, Clarissa Sinclair bounces back from her terrible illness and springs out of bed. The same day, when Benjamin is hit by Mr Mulacky’s milk-cart, an accident that should have sent him straight to the pearly gates, he finds that he’s absolutely fine. People everywhere, who should be dead and buried, find themselves making miraculous recoveries. The absence of the grim reaper seems like a blessing, until that blessing curdles, and tensions between the undead and the living begin to rise, the undead begin to grow pale and start losing weight, and the more unfortunate in the cast learn that there are indeed fates worse than death. It is of course the responsibility of Moses Burke, the good Grace sisters who live in Bethany Hall, and the celestial being who lives in their attic to restore order, although where there isn’t order, chaos thrives, and a certain somebody would do anything to keep it that way.

Grecian takes on witches in this novel, in the form of the good Graces, Sadie, Rabbit, and Clarissa Sinclair’s cousin, Rose Nettles. These women are hugely powerful, have been around for centuries, and are very much implicated in this battle between good and evil. One thing that Grecian makes clear from the get go however is that there are things bigger than the sisters, bigger than Ascension, and far, far bigger than us. From the omniscient narrator itself, to the strange being determined to keep death away from the land of the living- the cosmic factor is strong. If Terry Prachett rewrote Dean Koontz’ “Lightning,” through a fantastical, horror fantasy lens, perhaps you’d have something a little like this. “Rose of Jericho,” is a story that is steeped in the vast and unknowable, but interestingly, the author opts to have most of the plot unfold in Ascension. Exploring death itself, something very macro, in a small, puritan-like town, something very micro, simply adds to the existentialism, and the implication that life is short, but that’s good, and it’s best for us to leave it well alone. Mary Shelley would quite like this one. 

Despite the messaging being very clear, the circle of life is one that must remain intact, Grecian does not dismiss grief, instead representing it as powerful. The reason Moses Burke is able to kill death is because the grief he feels for his wife is so strong, that he can not only see and interact with the grim reaper, but put a bullet through his head. We should grieve those we love, but to wish they could live forever, is more of a curse than anything. By representing undead life as angry and uncomfortable and exhausting, he brings us a strange sense of comfort, assuring us that eternal slumber is far, far preferable to an eternal, unnatural and tortured slog.  This portrayal seems horrifying, but is ultimately reassuring. We’re forced to confront our fears of, and perhaps anger toward, death, and are reminded that it doesn’t have to be the enemy, it’s the merciful conclusion to a life hopefully well-lived. 

A novel that’s got a whole bunch going for it, “Rose of Jericho,” by Alex Grecian is part cosmic, part small-town and wholly unputdownable. A rollicking descent into utter chaos, the narrative bounces between witchy intrigue and undead melodrama, what more could you possibly want? Huh? Whilst death may (should…hopefully?) be predictable, this book is anything but.

They call them wayward girls. Loose girls. Girls who grew up too fast. And they’re sent to Wellwood House in St. Augustine, Florida, where unwed mothers are hidden by their families to have their babies in secret, to give them up for adoption, and most important of all, to forget any of it ever happened.
 
Fifteen-year-old Fern arrives at the home in the sweltering summer of 1970, pregnant, terrified and alone. Under the watchful eye of the stern Miss Wellwood, she meets a dozen other girls in the same predicament. There’s Rose, a hippie who insists she’s going to find a way to keep her baby and escape to a commune. And Zinnia, a budding musician who plans to marry her baby’s father. And Holly, a wisp of a girl, barely fourteen, mute and pregnant by no-one-knows-who.
 
Everything the girls eat, every moment of their waking day, and everything they’re allowed to talk about is strictly controlled by adults who claim they know what’s best for them. Then Fern meets a librarian who gives her an occult book about witchcraft, and power is in the hands of the girls for the first time in their lives. But power can destroy as easily as it creates, and it’s never given freely. There’s always a price to be paid…and it’s usually paid in blood.

Grim, gripping and… groovy, Grady Hendrix’s “Witchcraft for Wayward Girls,” is a macabre acknowledgment of the sins of the American South, wrapped in a nifty occult book jacket and doused (liberally) in the blood, sweat, and tears of its teenage protagonists. Hendrix seems to have quite the knack for examining the darker side of humanity with wry humor and a grim flourish, and this doorstop of a novel is no different, offering a tale equal parts rallying cry and cautionary tale. Enraging, engrossing and deeply empathetic, you’ll come for the black cats and broomsticks, and stay for the cutting commentary.”Witchcraft for Wayward Girls,” comes out on January 14th from Berkley in the US, and, finally, I’m thrilled to say, Tor Nightfire in the UK, thank you kindly for the folks over there who sent it to me. 

The year is 1969. We follow Neva Craven who at the age of 15 finds herself pregnant- to the utter disgust of her parents. They resent their teenage daughter to the extent where they send her away to Wellwood house, a Dickensian “Home for Unwed Mothers.” Shame and stolen futures lurk behind the guise of redemption, the idea being that the girls will see out their pregnancy cut off completely from the rest of the world, have their baby, promptly give it up for adoption, and go back home as if the whole ordeal never happened in the first place. To the delight of the girls, who are bored out of their minds, a mobile library begins visiting, and it is the gentle librarian Mrs. Parcae, who changes the trajectory of the novel entirely. The stakes are high. Rose is determined to keep her child. Holly certainly doesn’t want her child to be adopted by the vile priest from her hometown. Zinnia is clinging to her own happy ever after. So, when Neva (or Fern as she is now known) is handed “How to be a Groovy Witch,” it seems like the spells inside are worth at least a whirl.

The novel’s depiction of Wellwood House lands like a gut punch in that “homes for wayward girls” are an unfortunate historical fact. Hendrix brings their horrors back into screaming focus: teenagers shamed, stripped of autonomy, misdiagnosed and gaslit, churned through a machine designed to spit out angelic, adoptable babies. It is a book that follows Fern, but is really about an entire generation of silenced women. The timing of this novel, which Hendrix apparently started writing prior to the overturning of Roe v Wade, is obviously incredibly poignant. The echoes of Wellwood House resonate even more loudly in today’s post-Roe fights for reproductive rights and bodily autonomy.

Grady’s prose doesn’t deviate far from his usual witty style of writing. It’s an undeniably heavy subject, but is tempered by descriptions of the pepto-bismol carpet, Rose’s perpetually unflappable snark, and the truly cathartic use of witchcraft to transfer Zinnia’s morning sickness, which the on-hand doctor dismisses as psychosomatic, to the stupid little fellow himself. It’s a rather chunky novel, but I polished it off within three days, and it’s moments like that that made it fly by. Furthermore, I’d heard that the ending was worth getting to, and boy was it! Hendrix could not have concluded such a behemoth, something so high-stakes, something so culturally relevant, anymore perfectly. He sticks the landing. 

A novel brewed with equal parts fury and ferocity, with just a little feminist witchery, “Witchcraft for Wayward Girls,” is a novel that requires (like the best spells) time and intention. It is empowering and infuriating, heart-warming and heart-breaking and it masterfully blends the campy charm of retro horror with the unflinching brutality of systemic abuse, creating a story that’s poignant and pulpy in equal measure. The paranormal elements are unhinged and pretty nasty at times, but it’s the aching, furious and unbowed humanity that hits hardest. Every incantation and act of rebellion feels like a middle finger raised to a world eager to silence these girls, and Hendrix ensures their voices echo long after the final page.

Synopsis

Tribes of the Gods Endure is a fictional mythological tale about the concealed mysteries of Ireland and the Irish people. The ancient gods of Ireland have been forgotten for a long time and rarely talked about, but they are shared from one generation to the next by older people in local bars. They are the defenders of their people and their homeland. A resilient attitude that they instill in their offspring, who strive to be real leaders by defending the defenceless and making their lives better.

Review

A beautiful and wonderful dark debut novel by Kay Ni C full of old Irish mythical legends, the Aes Sidhe (fairies), ancient gods of Ireland, the Tuatha De Denann, and the scary wailing banshee that used to terrify me as a kid. For a debut novel, it feels Kay C Ni has been at this game a long time, creating and crafting an ancient magical Ireland for fans of fantasy and mythical tales and history blended beautifully in this wonderfully written tale.

Tribes of the Gods Endure is a standalone novel with fantastic worldbuilding and setting. From the very first page, you are just hooked with its grisly setting, and you know you are in for one hell of read.
The story is told from multiple pov’s, and the character growth is excellent. You feel so connected with them as the author puts them through their paces as evil desends and threatens their peaceful way of life.

Tribes of the Gods Endure is full of ancient clans united by one king. Based and told in the beautiful counties of Mayo, Galway, and Meath. Kay Ni C transcends you back in time, and being Irish, I absolutely loved reading tales like this back in school. If you love your fantasy action-packed, sword wielding gore ridden battles, magic, giant wolves, ancient legends, evil witches, and their cannibalistic eating hordes, then you will love this.

In this tale, King Tiernan ruler of Ireland daughter has gone missing, sends his men out, to find her. When they don’t return, he learns that an old foe and story from legend has returned from the dead Carman, the evil witch has gained godly status and has brought her vile sons and beastly creatures the Fomorians from the sea to bring death and destruction on all the people of Ireland.

With the Tuatha De Denann gone from the land and hidden on the secret ancient Ilse of Ui Breasail. King Teirnan must unite the clans and get word to the Tuatha De Denann for help. Will Carman have her revenge and blood lust on all those who are descendants of the Gods who destroyed her and left her for dead. Read it and find out. You will not be disappointed.

I absolutely enjoyed this book. It has opened my eyes to how much fantasy and mythical lore of Ireland has to offer its readers, and I will be looking forward to reading more similar stories. I can’t wait to see what Kay Ni C brings us next. Highly recommend…

Synopsis:

The first miracle was a joyful one- the sudden cure of a young autistic boy in Greely’s Cove.

The other miracles were different- stranger, darker miracles like murder… and resurrection.

Now every man and woman in Greely’s Cove is afraid. Afraid of things that walk in the night. Afraid of the house on the edge of town… afraid of the loved ones they buried in Greely’s Cove.

Review:

A hidden gem, buried deep in the sun-bleached sands of 90s horror, John Gideon’s “Greely’s Cove,” is a long forgotten and long overlooked Paperback From Hell, that beckons with a wicked grin. A Pandora’s Box of utter nastiness, it boasts a chaotic array of witches, psychics, sorcerers, zombies, pregnant zombies, an evil kid, an evil doctor, urine rituals, various other bodily fluids, lots of slime and goop, and a tonne of coke. It seems Gideon ticked off damn near every trope in the horror playbook. Each chapter drips with gore, and is oozing with ectoplasm- it’s wildly entertaining, as mesmerising as it is messy, and a novel that I hope to see more of online. 

At the heart of this blood-soaked tapestry is our hero Carl Trosper, who following his divorce from Lorna, at least partially convinced himself it was nothing to do with Jeremy. However, when his ex-wife locks herself in her car, turns the ignition, and succumbs to the silent, creeping tendrils of carbon monoxide, he’s thrust back into the role of father. Jeremy has changed though, following a radical, hypnotic therapy, offered for free by the eccentric Hadrian Craslow. Once unable to speak, and wholly dependent upon his mother, Jeremy is now incredibly articulate for a boy of 13, and has begun terrorising the neighbourhood. Whilst Craslow dismisses this as a natural response to such a sudden and drastic adjustment, in conjunction with the other strange goings-on in Greely’s Cove, perhaps Jeremy is just one cog in a much larger, much more sinister machine.

Mitch Nistler is also a piece of this grisly horror puzzle- a somewhat disappointing piece with a criminal conviction, a shoddy place, rented to him by his boss, and an even shoddier job, as an embalmer. His drinking problem is what forces him into the office of Hadrian Craslow, but little progress can be made when he finds himself thinking some incredibly unsavoury thoughts whilst embalming the body of Laura Trosper (yeah it goes there). When his ex-prison-roommate shows up on his doorstep, things get worse. Corey “Cannibal” Strecker manages to drag Mitch into his new business venture, an underground coke-ring, pushing him further down a dark path, from which there may be no escape.

Perhaps most interestingly however are the various disappearances that crop up all over town. Serial killers and abductors generally have patterns. An age range, a sex… some kind of twisted routine. But when high school kids and veterans alike begin to vanish, leaving behind only a fetid stench and a strange, viscous slime, it seems everyone is fair game. The chief of police, Stu Compton is perplexed, and as pressure from the victim’s frantic families and the media begins to mount, his grip on the situation slips further. Following reports of ghostly apparitions from some, and the strange behaviour of others, eventually the man has to question whether what he’s dealing with… is even human.

I think what distinguishes “Greely’s Cove,” from the legion of vintage horror novels that flaunt the “An epic masterpiece of modern horror,” title, is its sheer malevolence. It is truly malicious. Our antagonist, who is truly to blame for Jeremy’s drastic change in behaviour, is “The Giver of Dreams.” Less of a sand-man and more of a nightmare-distributing sadist, it has the ability to immerse its victims in horrific alternate realities, forcing them to adopt the identities of nazis and pimps and not just inflict pain, but enjoy doing it. Can you imagine waking up as a serial killer, and being unable to help yourself from committing unspeakable acts of violence… with a smile? I’ve read plenty of horror books, but this concept, more than most, actually scared me. Gideon really doesn’t draw the line there- there are various cringe-worthy scenes throughout, and if you have your limits when it comes to horror, I advise you weigh them carefully against the trigger warnings before setting out to Greely’s Cove. This is horror without a safety net.

“Greely’s Cove,” may not be the very pinnacle of literature. It is not a novel destined for scholarly dissection or any real acclaim- but it has carved itself a rightful place in the annals of vintage horror. It is, at the very least, incredibly entertaining- and that for me, is what reading is about. Packed with some truly hair-raising concepts, and grisly, envelope-pushing passages, this is your classic “Shoulda been a classic.” 

Synopsis

The stories in Fifty Beasts to Break Your Heart are about the abomination that resides within us all. That churning, clawing, ravenous yearning: the hunger to be held, and seen, and known. And the terror, too: to be loved too well, or not enough, or for long enough. To be laid bare before your sweetheart, to their horror. To be recognized as the monstrous thing you are.

Two teenage girls working at a sinister roadside attraction called the Eternal Staircase explore its secrets—and their own doomed summer love. A zombie rooster plays detective in a missing persons case. A woman moves into a new house with her acclaimed artist boyfriend—and finds her body slowly shifting into something specially constructed to accommodate his needs and whims. A pack of middle schoolers turn to the occult to rid themselves of a hated new classmate. And a pair of outcasts, a vampire and a goat woman, find solace in each other, even as the world’s lack of understanding might bring about its own end.

In these lush, strange, beautifully written stories, GennaRose Nethercott explores human longing in all its diamond-dark facets to create a collection that will redefine what you see as a beast, and make you beg to have your heart broken.

Quick Review

A collection of folklore-inspired stories that are both familiar and unsettling. Nethercott plays with format in delightful ways, not the least of which is the book’s encyclopedic section of spooky beasts.

Full Review

Fifty Beasts to Break Your Heart begins with the story “Sundown at the Eternal Staircase.” We meet a couple of girls working at the local theme park, built around an endless pit that descends into the Earth. Nobody knows how deep it is. The pit is at the center of everything in this story: the way commercialism takes priority over the community’s well-being, and the mystery of it which drives a wedge between the girls. It is both deeply familiar and unsettling at once.

Just after that story, “A Diviner’s Abecedarian” is our first taste of Nethercott’s play with format. It is divided into twenty-six parts that are named for different types of divination, in alphabetical order (from Alomancy to Zoomancy). Each refers to the events of that part in both subtle and obvious ways, leaning at different times toward darker or comical features of the dark arts. While the story ultimately ends violently, it also features a section that got me laughing the most during this read. The kind of laughter where you look around the room, then back at the book, to see if you really just read what you just read.

These stories are odd, dark, and whimsical all at the same time. However, each is rooted in extremely personal, human concepts. “Downing Lessons” contrasts a girl cursed to drown at every opportunity against her brother, who feels his high school crush slipping away. “Homebody” deals with the way a person can lose themselves trying to please a loved one—and how that isn’t necessarily a shameful thing, if it’s what one wants.

The titular “Fifty Beasts to Break Your Heart” is quite an odd story—if it can be called that. It is a “story” in that “it takes up a significant amount of space in this collection.” However, it is fundamentally different in the way that it’s presented.

“Fifty Beasts to Break Your Heart” contains only a couple pages of prose in the form of an introduction. The rest are formatted as brief articles about different spooky creatures, each one illustrated. A few of the stand-outs for me included the Jigsaw-Bee (an insect which collects the wings off other insects and attaches them to itself), the Getly (whose singing lures people to climb into its mouth and become devoured), and the Velnip (a beast which can track anything—and will tear itself apart to cover the wounds of its mates and young).

I would highly recommend Fifty Beasts to Break Your Heart, and encourage you to approach it with an open mind. Nethercott’s folklore-inspired tales delve into the supernatural and occult at times, and she tells them in at times in atypical ways. However, all of that is exactly why I enjoyed this collection.