What the body remembers: Naben Ruthnum examines corporeality and identity in his novella Helpmeet
Ruthnum’s brief work of fin-de-siècle body horror reads like a mash-up of David Cronenberg and Henry James.
A Blog About Books and Reading
A Blog About Books and Reading
Ruthnum’s brief work of fin-de-siècle body horror reads like a mash-up of David Cronenberg and Henry James.
Barker’s psychologically tense story examines the price we pay for confronting our darkest fears.
The author of Little Women was also an aficionado of “blood and thunder,” a mode represented in this story about grave robbing and its attendant consequences.
Focusing on a writer investigating a double murder with Satanic overtones, the novel asks uncomfortable questions about how and why we consume such gruesome material.
In its examination of the roots of American horror cinema, this single-volume survey is valuable, though it lacks follow-through in its second half.
Neither of the houses in these two books is haunted in the traditional sense; the evil comes from the people and environs that surround them.
The book uses Grand Guignol techniques to literalize the process of tearing oneself open in the act of artistic creation.
In this suite of sixteen uncanny tales, memory and loss are manifest in the spectres that haunt various characters.
A volume of cultural criticism about Vampira and a new memoir by the creator of Elvira: Mistress of the Dark show how much, and how little, the two have in common.
Horror doesn’t gel with those who’ve propped up CanLit respectability – that is, chiefly cishet, nondisabled white people, Pottle writes.