By Nicholas Belardes
There were two ways I thought about this list. Novels for horror fans, and novels for aspiring horror writers. How about a mix? Either way, the end goal is simple, horror allows us to embark on a journey into the literature of fear, and with this we need to remind ourselves that such fear is from that horror funhouse mirror of literature held up ourselves, to society, to the world. We may not even be aware, but we want horror literature to reveal for us all those messy, monstrous, out-of-proportion truths, even if they’re about our own flaws. We want to be scared too, to be unsettled, and find resolution. That’s great horror to read as a fan, and for any aspiring horror writer to try to attain.
Boy’s Life by Robert McCammon
Stephen Graham Jones recommended this book to me and now I recommend it to you. He once told me, “There’s nothing like that feeling you get on that first read of Boy’s Life.” And he’s right. Not your typical horror novel, this fantastical Southern classic won some big awards back in the day. And while this novel is unsettling, and has many horror elements, it’s also a story of “life terrors” experienced when an adolescent, and at its core, is what McCammon says on his website about the book that all of us need, a “rediscovery of magic” in our own lives. He says to be careful what you wish for, you may never want to be an adult again when making such discoveries.
Angel of Indian Lake Trilogy by Stephen Graham Jones
This is three-in-one, My Heart Is a Chainsaw, Don’t Fear the Reaper, and The Angel of Indian Lake. You really need to immerse in the entire series to appreciate what Stephen Graham Jones is getting at, that we are all part of America’s pop culture, history-driven horror madness. Every town has the potential of needing someone like Jade Daniels to rescue us, someone so grounded in the madness and despair, that only then will see what we’ve been needing. The horror film pop culture references alone are worth the deep dive, and the novels have some of the most intriguing and imaginative death scenes I’ve ever read.
IT by Stephen King
For readers and writers alike, this classic not only has one of the best “American” monsters in literature in Pennywise, but is also great literature about relationships: broken, bent, loving, bonding, horrid, awful, messy relationships between people. To be a solid horror writer, you have to be able to write these kinds of relationships, and King writes relationships between people like he’s Charles Dickens himself. This is also a great study of horror lore, or just the lore of where we live, that all of us forget, because history itself has a poor memory, especially localized history that often blends reality with mythmaking. What isn’t brilliant about this novel? And isn’t IT just the perfect summer read still after all these years?
Theory of Bastards by Audrey Schulman
Okay, look, this isn’t a horror novel, though the story borders on eco-horror. And there are no monsters, unless you look at people or apes as monsters. But here’s the thing, if the Bonobos apes in the story were monsters, or aliens, or whatever, then hardly a thing would change about this story. One of my favorite literary studies when a writing student was in how to write monsters. And I think one way to look at how to write monsters is the same way we create animals in stories. They’re just another version of ourselves. This book, a feminist scientific study of apes, occurs on the precipice of a natural catastrophe, and has all the elements of horror science, weird behaviors, and “understanding the creatures around us” that I attempted with birds in The Deading. This is a brilliant tale, unsettling and strange, based on real science, and is a masterpiece of animal behavior, and also at times, incredibly lovely and disturbing. We really are not much different than what we think is monstrous.
Borne by Jeff VanderMeer
Sometimes I ignore the marketing behind books and see what I the reader want to see. Horror? Monster tale? Sci-fi? Dystopian? Literary fantastic? All of the above, maybe? This VanderMeer tale is so many things. I’ve read this novel multiple times, for a study of craft, and to just plain be entertained. Perhaps, there is nothing more heartwarming, disturbing, or mysterious than this post-apocalyptic corporate-destroyed world, sometimes peppered with surreal passages. There’s always something to learn from Borne the creature, something that I missed on other reads of the fantastical being. What else can I say about this unexplainable, synthetic, all-powerful, lovely, needing-to-be-loved, all-consuming, eco-monster. Oh, and there’s a giant bear, like super giant.
Stephen King’s Under the Dome meets The Last of Us in this harrowing dystopian novel about the downward spiral of a seaside town that becomes infected by a mysterious ocean-borne contagion.
If you want to stay, you have to die.
In a small fishing town known for its aging birding community and the local oyster farm, a hidden evil emerges from the depths of the ocean. It begins with sea snails washing ashore, attacking whatever they cling to. This mysterious infection starts transforming the wildlife, the seascapes, and finally, the people.
Once infected, residents of Baywood start “deading”: collapsing and dying, only to rise again, changed in ways both fanatical and physical. As the government cuts the town off from the rest of the world, the uninfected, including the introverted bird-loving Blas and his jaded older brother Chango, realize their town could be ground zero for a fundamental shift in all living things.
Soon, disturbing beliefs and autocratic rituals emerge, overseen by the death-worshiping Risers. People must choose how to survive, how to find home, and whether or not to betray those closest to them. Stoked by paranoia and isolation, tensions escalate until Blas, Chango, and the survivors of Baywood must make their escape or become subsumed by this terrifying new normal.
At points claustrophobic and haunting, soulful and melancholic, The Deading lyrically explores the disintegration of society, the horror of survival and adaptation, and the unexpected solace found through connections in nature and between humans.
Sightseeing Sleuths