The One Where Violet Attempts to List Her Favorite Books of 2023

Greetings! 2023 was a bonkers year. Lots of ups, downs, lefts, and rights, and god knows that not all of my pole-vault sessions have been graceful. However, something I do hold very dear to me as this year comes to a chaotic close is the fact for the first time ever, I became a bookseller. This opened doors I never fathomed to peek around and the folks I’ve met due to this job continue to stagger and humble me at every turn.

Needless to say, I read a lot of books this year. My Autism/ADHD manifests in a need to constantly be reading, which has led to many hilarious images of me reading books at shows or events. Writing and reading are my biggest passions, and I am forever indebted to those in my life who have granted me the opportunities and space to continue to learn and grow within both mediums.

I mean, christ, at the end of this year I will be a published author of FICTION. This was never something I imagined myself doing but here I am, figuring it out.

In the spirit of the season, as many readers and authors alike share their favorite reads of the year, I’m taking on the Herculean (lol) task of attempting a list of my absolute favorites from this year. This may be quite long, so I hope y’all enjoy. These won’t really be in any sort of order because I truly don’t believe in that sort of thing.

Here we go!

Bad Cree by Jessica Johns

If I could adequately express the love I hold in my body for this book, it would likely be on a cosmic level. Experiencing this story for the first time is unlike anything you have experienced before and Johns provided one of the most unique and emotionally engaging horror tales of the past decade. A devastating and hopeful portrayal of grief and sibling love within the Indigenous community that will sink its teeth into and never let go. To be changed by this novel is a privilege and an honor.

I Keep My Exoskeletons Close by Mac (Marisa) Crane

What I would likely call a contender that drifts gracefully alongside Bad Cree, Crane’s debut novel about a mother attempting to survive, thrive, and grieve in a form of dystopic future is nothing short of positively remarkable. The prose is the lushest and heartiest loaf of bread, feeding the soul with a gorgeous portrait of found family and queer resistance when bodily autonomy is at its most threatened. I cried and laughed so hard in equal amounts of joy and sadness, lord, it is so god damn good. A literary Sci Fi with a heart the size of…I can’t remember what the biggest planet is, BUT THAT. I can’t recommend it enough.

Candelaria by Melissa Lozada-Oliva

Visceral, hilarious, disturbing, and unflinchingly gorgeous, Candelaria takes the timeless genre of intergenerational family genres and sticks it in a blender with white feminist wellness cults, body and cosmic horror, and zombie apocalypses. A grandmother attempts to chase a memory across a crumbling city, while her granddaughters find themselves in increasingly stranger situations that are all hurtling toward a central point that will change the world, and their family, forever.

I had the absolute privilege of blurbing this book and later meeting Melissa when she came to Philly for a reading with the supreme Sadie Dupuis. As an immense fan of her previous work, hearing her discuss this book in the intimate setting of The Head & The Heart was truly sublime and an experience I will hold dear for the rest of my life. I would fight god to get this book in the hands of people, it’s that good.

The Reformatory by Tananarive Due

I have been struggling to write an adequate review of this book for the past several weeks. I always find it challenging to review the books of my favorite authors, attempting to convey what is truly amazing about their craft while not trying to sound like an obsessed fangirl or scaring the recipient. This is double the case with Due, who truly is one of my all-time favorite writers and over the course of this year she released two absolute bangers in The Wishing Pool and The Reformatory, however it’s the latter that features some of Due’s best and most sweeping prose of the past 20 years.

The Reformatory functions the way the best historical fiction does, but with the signature horror voice that has made her a hallmark of the genre. It truly seems that Due is having her long overdue moment and I am so glad it’s this book that is gaining her such universal praise. Based on the real-life terrors of the Dozier School for Boys, The Reformatory is a brilliant and beautiful story of the resilience of family and magic in some of the most dangerous times of America’s history. Truly a book that cannot be missed.

The Shoemaker’s Magician & Lotería by Cynthia Pelayo

Amongst the many horror releases that were released in 2023, the one-two haymaker that was the re-issue of Lotería and the second novel of the Chicago series, The Shoemaker’s Magician. Having fallen in love with Children of Chicago last year, both books were highly anticipated titles for me. I also bought my copies the day I interviewed at Lahaska! Lotería sets the stage for what would become her central ideas throughout her work so far: family, fairytales, and the macabre and strange natures of both. While the stories within the cards can range from fairly tame to downright terrifying, the voice is consistently Cina, and her confidence as she continues to write and release books remains evident.

And The Shoemaker’s Magician…my lord, the sheer beauty of that book. Where Children of Chicago was pretty damn brutal, Shoemaker feels as though it’s poised and ready to pounce at any moment. So much so that when it does pounce, there’s no way you will ever forget it. The magic, the mystery, the sheer heartbreaking beauty of its ending—there is a powerful experience in reading these books in the order of their release that reveals Pelayo’s mastery, but also her bountiful empathy and growth within her own life. I could likely go on for years about her work, so just go and read the books already!

Silver Nitrate by Silvia Moreno Garcia

Blessed be us who were able to read a new Silvia Moreno Garcia novel this year. Especially when said novel includes occultism, classic Mexican film history/mythology, and the author’s signature wit and romantic subplots. There were a lot of books about haunted or cursed movies this year, but Silver Nitrate wasn’t formulaic in the slightest. It’s initial leading mystery keeps the creeping tension turning the pages so that once you get to the mystical, Del Toro-ian showdown at the end, it’s all the sweeter for it. One of my favorite duo dynamics in a Moreno Garcia story along with Mexican Gothic, and with another new one set for the horizon, we sure are a spoiled group of readers.

Monstrilio by Gerardo Sámano Córdova

Possibly one of the most breathtaking debuts of the last decade, Monstrilio takes magical realism into the realm of Frankenstein, laying out the life of a man marked monstrous by his birth and the desires, hungers, and appearance that he carries throughout his childhood, young adulthood, and finally adulthood. We also follow the lives of his parents, though divorced, still seek to have a relationship with Monstrilio. How this book tackled desire and identity, within the frame of the monstrous, was already an astounding concept, but what is delivered is a monster tale that will leave you weeping by its close. It’s just too goddamn good.

And Then She Fell by Alicia Elliot

Much like Bad Cree, this novel took me by absolute storm. An especially unique distillation of motherhood while struggling with the expectations of society, as well as the complex push and pull of assimilation versus ancestry. Centered around a woman seeking to write a reimagining of the creation stories of her youth, she begins to experience harrowing visions that show her more and more that the “picture perfect” life she imagined is not as clear cut as it may have seemed. With some of the most achingly relatable prose and an emotional, jaw-dropping climax that will send your head spinning, And Then She Fell is unlike anything you’ve ever read.

The Haunting of Alejandra by V. Castro

Oh, V. Castro…The woman could legitimately write about anything and I would likely read it. 2023 marked a somewhat pivotal year for Castro, with the release of her “major label debut,” The Haunting of Alejandra, which came out from Del Ray Books. This horror focused on themes of post-partum depression, serving as a meditation on how we view and execute motherhood, as well as the limitations that can arise from all pressure and expectation being placed upon the “mother” parent/archetype. Throw in an interdimensional creature that parades as the ancient spirit of La Llorona and you have yourselves an inter-generational saga like no other.

Alejandra, like And Then She Fell, also hosted one of my least favorite characters of 2023 in Alejandra’s infuriating husband. Both books feature husbands that absolutely suck eggs and deserve their respective comeuppances. Ugh, the worst. Hell hath no fury like writers who know how to write shitty men well!

This one also stands in contest for making me weep powerful tears.

Our Share of Night by Mariana Enríquez

It took me too damn long to finally enter the Mariana Enríquez fan pool. My initial attempt at reading Things We Lost in the Fire halted because it followed a deeply transphobic book I had read and as soon as I saw any sort of mention of trans characters, I put it down. When I did finally pick it up again, I discovered a truly unique voice speaking to the violence of living under dictatorship. So not only was I shocked when I learned she was writing a novel, but that after two slim short story collections, said novel was a CHONKER. And if we’re being honest, it did need all those pages.

Our Share of Night is a historical horror in its purest sense. A sweeping generational saga of one man’s brilliant, yet horrifying ability, the abuse he receives from his loved ones, and the experiences of his son’s attempts to be free of their curse—there’s just so much to love. I need to revisit this one because I read it while on vacation. It was due back at the library with a sizeable hold list, so every second I got, I was flying through the best I could. Next read-through, I am taking my sweet time, so I can savor every terrifying second.

Merciless Waters by Rae Knowles

Yet another dear friendship formed from this year, Rae Knowles is a quickly rising superstar and Merciless Waters sets the stage for what is to become a legendary career. A sapphic Pirates of the Caribbean-eque tale of love, revenge, betrayal, and memory, Knowles builds and entire mythos in under 200-pages. Merciless Waters also features one of the most romantic and steamy lesbian sex scenes I have ever read; my practically-asexual ass could still appreciate how excellent it is. Absolutely perfect for fans of folkloric horror with a fully fleshed-out world of magic and mermaid mayhem. I hope for bountiful Rae in 2024!

The Salt Grows Heavy & The Dead Take the A Train by Cassandra Khaw (with the latter co-written by Richard Kadrey)

I always chuckle to myself when a new Cassandra Khaw work comes into the world because I know I’m likely one of the few in my circles who will adore it. I’m truly not sure what it is that strikes me in the exact perfect way that leaves me loving each of their brilliant works. My working thesis is that as a trans person of color, Khaw has a unique connection to the visceral body horror of what it means to exist in a world that is so beyond obsessed with every aspect of how a person lives in their body, while also using that obsession to control said bodies in unfathomably violent ways. That is what feels cathartic about Khaw’s use of violence in their fiction. The body supersedes these limitations in ways that are just as gorgeous as they are intensely brutal. It’s a violence that is only intimately understood by those whose bodies are the epicenters of state violence.

These two books are very different in tone but achieve my above thoughts in similar ways. Where the folkloric and fairytale nature of the disturbances in Salt are so intense in their clarity and brutality, the playful, cosmic violence of A Train makes way for a giddily gross noir where the moments of violence are singular but intrinsically felt. It’s why they both end up here—both delivered experiences I love, thus hitting me how I like. Cassandra Khaw is truly a superstar of the supernatural.

Linghun by Ai Jiang

Linghun is a special case because this was one of the first early copies of a novel I read as a newbie at Lahaska. My colleague and horror partner-in-crime, Peg Turley, had pointed out a stack of this book that we had in our staff room and the cover and premise sounded so neat, I took it home. A few days later, I could not shut up about this masterpiece debut. Another product of Dark Matter, this novel presents a critique of the housing crisis and the ways in which a home, or even a family, can be haunted. With a company opening a cul-de-sac where grieving families can connect with their loved ones, a battle for housing commences, where the backdrop finds two families contending with their painful grief, focusing on two teens who don’t know what to make of the mania that has seemingly taken over their families.

This is the sort of multi-tiered speculative fiction that drew me to authors such as Hiromi Goto, where generational trauma manifests in a haunting that transcends home and heart, leading to a heart-wrenching reckoning with identity and loss. It is one of the most original novels I read this year and am eager for what Jiang has planned for us next.

Natural Beauty by Ling Ling Huang

One of the first audiobooks I listened to when signing up for Penguin Random Audio, this book kicked. My. ASS. One of the most creative body horrors of the last decade, Huang will make you fear Sephora’s for the rest of your life. Prescient in its messages, horrifying in its delivery, it seemingly has flown under the radar since its release which is a god damn CRIME. If you know what’s good for you, I would put this at the top of your TBR immediately.

FOUND: An Anthology of Found Footage Horror Stories, edited by Gabino Iglesias and Andrew Cull

Another catalyst of what has become my crazed non-fiction project, this amazing collection of stories read the assignment and put their everything into it. A beautiful homage to the medium, as well as a great feature of the stunning talent present in the genre, the stories fire on all conceivable cylinders. If you love this subgenre of horror, there is no better collection of love like this.

Candy Cain Kills by Brian McAuley

I could likely write entire treatises about how much Brian McAuley’s writing means to me. Earlier this year I had the pleasure of experiencing his debut, Curse of the Reaper, which honestly belongs on this list as well. When I saw him mention it as Freddy’s Revenge meets Wes Craven’s New Nightmare—my two favorites of the franchise—I knew there was something special there. Little did I know the book would be a nuanced depiction of the struggles with Alzheimer's, a disease that has deeply affected my family. When Shortwave Press announced the second in their VHS series would be a Christmas-themed slasher written by Brian, the hype train left the station. Once I received the ARC and dug in, it was evident that this story, and his interpretation of the genre, would become something full of frights, but most importantly, heart. Never in a million years would I expect to tear up during a slasher, but HOO BOY, did I. Candy Cain Kills shows us a future for the subgenre, much like his contemporaries both in film and publishing, Brian is setting the stage for something truly momentous. And, with the announcement of a sequel very soon on the horizon, it’s evident that Candy Cain is not quite done with us either. If you love slashers and are looking for something maybe a little different, this novella will deliver in droves.

The Black Tree Atop the Hill by Karla Yvette

Another CLASH Books winner, this slim but enchanting prairie horror tells the story of an alternate history where witches and farmers work together with one another to tend the land. When a bizarre and foreboding structure begins to grow off in the distance, causing many strange instances to take place on the farm, our central witch seeks to confront the unusual tree before her home and practice are lost entirely. Far more subdued than some of the other horror novellas on this list, Black Tree enraptures you with Yvette’s gorgeously poetic and evocative prose. Filled with sentences that you can’t help but fixate on, the themes of coming into your own amidst trauma, nursing and protecting the land that we are entrusted with, and a beautifully imagined world where witchcraft and midwifery were never persecuted, it’s a book that will remain with you long after you finish. Throughout this holiday season, this was a book that consistently sold out when I put it up in my staff picks—trust me, it’s that good.

Seed to Harvest & Lilith’s Brood, collecting the Patternist and Xenogenesis books, by Octavia E. Butler

In 2023, I told myself I would tackle the two larger series’ that Octavia E. Butler wrote, the Patternist Quartet and the Xenogenesis Trilogy, as I had yet to read them. I remember both playing significantly into adrienne maree brown’s fantastic Emergent Strategy book, so I wanted to finally crack into my copies of the collected editions and take that dive. Both were sweeping and incredible reminders of why Octavia E. Butler remains one of, if not my all-time favorite writers. The Patternist series was the kind of complex, dark, and morally questioning writing that I always expected from Butler’s writing. Spanning decades, characters, and motivations, the ultra-powered race of telepathists reveal modes of power and supremacy that are often feared and expected when presented with ultimate power. Butler once again shows us a speculative world that could very much exist, regardless of whether the people running the show are telepaths or not.

My favorite was the Xenogenesis Trilogy, which gets ALL sorts of trans, real fast. A woman awakens on a strange alien ship, where she learns the world has been destroyed by nuclear war and she is one of the few survivors who were saved to help the Oankali, a race of beings that want to save the earth with the help of humans like Lilith. What follows is a series of, once again, decades traversing tales of how we can work to save the earth from repeating what humans have done to it. The Oankali have no concept of gender and often bristle at the notion that humans attempt to do so to them. As the series progresses, things get more and more trans, with many of the questions Butler’s character’s ask or think ring true to gender dysphoria and things that trans folks have come to question through activism and theory. Richly complex and heart-wrenching, both series show Octavia Butler at her most introspective.

To Shape a Dragon’s Breath by Moniquill Blackgoose

This fantasy debut was a breath of fresh air compared to the endless colonial warfare of most contemporary fantasy. And I read Priory of the Orange Tree. Great book, but my lord what Shape has set up in the wake of BookTok’s crowning of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed army brat whose first and second book remain at the top of the NYT bestseller list. Samantha Shannon didn’t even get that kind of shot. ANYWAY, Blackgoose did with this book something that I wasn’t sure I’d experience again thanks to assholes such as J.K. Rowling. Set up a queer, expansive introductory book to a series that’s scope is not solely focused on fighting another to achieve some sort of aim. A complex, and still wondrously charming central protagonist, discussions of ethical non-monogamy, the list goes on. I felt like I did the first time I read the Harry Potter books, but without the racism and classism. If you’re looking for a new fantasy that actually gives a damn, To Shape a Dragon’s Breath is a fantastic place to start.

A Guest in the House by Emily Carroll

Queer women making out in the twisty and downright shocking graphic novel return of one of my favorite illustrators, Emily Carroll. This was such an awaited title for me that I’m not ashamed to say I tore through it and had to sit with the ending for so many hours. A horror tale that could likely be dissected for years based on the imagery ALONE. If you have ever read her original collection of horror stories, Through the Woods, I guarantee you will love this long-awaited follow-up.

Roaming by Jillian & Mariko Tamaki

Five years after dedicating so much of my life and time into reading/studying the works of these beloved Canadians, I finally had the opportunity to meet the Tamaki’s, who are probably two of my biggest heroes in comics. On the tour for Roaming they visited Harrisburg, so Saher and I drove up, watched a lovely discussion, and then met these two amazing cousins and they were so beyond sweet and kind. I’m still flabbergasted that this even happened. It made reading the new adult graphic novel even better, several days later. Roaming takes place over a weekend in New York, at a time when things seemed so much more possible and terrifying. It captures that late-teen, early-adult experience that comes with all of the awkward friendships, desires, and adventures that seemed as though they could make or break us. Both a heartwarming exploration and a tearful memory of what it’s like to be young and queer, Roaming is, and will forever be, worth the wait.

The 2023 catalogue of Tenebrous Press

I am not joking. Tenebrous Press, along with CLASH Books, has become one of my favorite publishers, and the novellas and novels to come out across this year were each unique and staggeringly amazing pieces of work. Dehiscent by Ashley Deng, Agony’s Lodestone by Laura Keating, House of Rot by Danger Slater, The Black Lord by Colin Hinckley, Posthaste Manor by Jolie Toomajan & Carson Winter—Every single one of these were god damn masterpieces that completely changed horror as a genre. It was like each month, my brain would explode from the sheer brilliance of these authors and the way they subverted genre and expectation. I truly cannot talk about just one, which is telling of how great Matt Blairstone and Alex Woodroe are at doing their jobs. Their platform is one of the coolest and most unique in the genre. If you enjoy fast, engaging, provocative, and pant-pissingly scary books, Tenebrous has your back.

A Light Most Hateful by Hailey Piper

Oh, you all knew it was coming…While Hailey released several books this year—and each of them was fan-fucking-tastic—it was A Light Most Hateful that captivated me the most. Potentially her most ambitious yet, this tale of a young woman attempting to save her best friend amongst a destructive storm tearing their sleepy small town apart. What appears a simple setup quickly tailspins into a cosmic nightmare that questions the whole of reality while providing one of the most sympathetic “villains” in horror history so far. Like many of the books in this piece, I WEEPED reading this. Like…continuous weeping. It is so so so so good.

Boys Weekend by Mattie Lubchansky

As Rizzo the Rat proclaims in holiday classic Muppet Christmas Carol, “God save my little broken body!!” This is also what I said several times while reading Mattie Lubchansky’s barnstormer of a graphic novel, Boys Weekend. Being that much of my initial academic focus was on queer and trans comics and graphic novels, learning about Lubchansky’s debut work made me insanely excited, especially seeing that there were some slight cosmic horror shenanigans taking place later. I was in no way prepared for how deeply this book would affect me. Telling the tale of a transfeminine person attending their friend’s bachelor party that turns to disturbing horror. Not only is this a subversive lampooning of toxic tech culture, transphobia, and gross masculinity, it’s additionally a tear-duct-evacuating tale of what it means to live your truth while losing your past, learning to forgive the person you were, and being true to yourself, always. Potentially my absolute favorite graphic novel of 2023.

How to Sell a Haunted House by Grady Hendrix

Another excellent author event from this year—I was able to meet the horror hound himself, get my copy of Joan Samson’s The Auctioneer signed by him, AND overcome my childhood fear of the movie Poltergeist in one fail swoop. I adore the books of Hendrix, but this year’s release has to be my absolute favorite. How to Sell a Haunted House accomplished something unique to my experiences with his prior works: the son of a bitch made me cry.

This is truly one of his most emotional and multi-faceted works yet, while also remaining pants-pissingly terrifying with that damn little doll. This book kept me in its clutches the whole time. The sibling dynamic was outstanding, with the ultimate catharsis and heartbreak of its ending setting the stage for his most ambitious ending yet, I’m so curious to see where Hendrix will go from here. From the presentation he gave at Mahoning Drive-In, it seems he’s been on a bit of a haunted house/ghost kick of late, especially where those two subjects intersect. Time will undoubtably tell.

To Rule the Desert by Monica Robinson

Is this cheating because Monica is one of my dearest friends? Absolutely-the-fuck-not!

Regardless of the fact that Monica showed me genuine friendship and connection during one of the darkest times of my life, she is a breathtakingly talented writer who deserves far more attention than she has. Toward the beginning of the year she released her very first novella, To Rule the Desert. A sapphic, speculative retelling of the myth of Orpheus and Euridyce, but with the folklore and magic of the American Southwest. Kaleidoscopic and poetic, Robinson’s take on the old myth is refreshing, terrifying, and heart-wrenching all at the same time, showing the strength that love and true connection can have over the underworld and beyond. It’s a debut I need all of my writer friends to read immediately.

I’m also using this post as a eulogy for the Manayunk bookstore The Spiral Bookcase, where Monica worked, which is closing its doors for the time being at the end of this month. To say that this bookstore saved my life is the farthest I can go from hyperbole. I was out of work since October of 2022 until April of this year, when I began working at Lahaska Bookshop. Many know the stories of the disastrous ends of my previous workplace, but to say I was pretty low at the beginning of this year would be the understatement of the year. Spiral, as well as Monica and the store’s owner, Victoria, offered me a comfortable and loving space that helped me get back on my feet as both a reader and writer. I hope my afterlife appears to me as that store because it helped bring so much to my life and was a beloved resource to myself and the community. Whatever form the store takes from here, they have my full and unwavering support.

Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle

Oooooooh Chuck Tingle…I knew the man could write some grand horror after his 2021 novella, Straight, but getting an early read of his Tor Nightfire debut was nothing short of a pleasure. After the disappointing They/Them film on Peacock squandered the idea of a smart, engaging horror film centered at a conversion camp, there was space for compelling horror that had something to say about the horrific practices of such a place. Chuck Tingle not only did this but went seven steps further, providing a genuinely hopeful tale of deprogramming, love, and grief. While maybe not as whacky as his erotica work, this multi-faceted novel holds his signature positivity and power toward the queer community. I, for one, cannot wait to read Burry Your Gays next year. It’s a true pleasure to have Chuck in the horror sphere.

How Far the Light Reaches: A Life in Ten Sea Creatures by Sabrina Imbler

This book technically came out in 2022, but I figure I’ll break the 2023 rule for at least a few of these entries. Every once in a while I’ll read incredible science books, like a couple years ago when I experienced Lulu Miller’s Why Fish Don’t Exist. How Far the Light Reaches is much like that experience, given that this book combines science and memoir writing in a gorgeous marriage. It’s difficult to distill all of my feelings regarding this book, but I can and will tell you that it is a valuable and life-changing text when approaching our larger connections to the world and nature. In the vein of Alexis Pauline-Gumbs’s incredible work, Imbler provides a story of resilient hope and unfettered love, providing a thesis as bold and beautiful as its cover, title, and contents suggest.

The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On by Franny Choi

Oh, god, if I could fit all of the poetry I love into this freaking piece, I would. One collection I absolutely adored was last year’s return of one of my absolute faces, Franny Choi, whose exploration of cyborg racial trans-humanism, Soft Science remains one of my all-time favorite books. This collection, despite its seemingly warm and comfy-looking cover, has no issue showing all of its teeth when it wants to and BOY, does it. Choi spares no words in describing the fear, grief, and rage that has come from the earliest days of the pandemic. She highlights the abject indifference of the American condition when it comes to the lives of the marginalized and non-abled when it came to access and the overall response to COVID, condemning many of our social structures in no uncertain terms. Brutal and achingly beautiful, this is a landmark return for one of Chicago’s brightest poets.

Stemmy Things by Imogen Xtian Smith

Man, I fucking love trans poetry. The pain, the sheer depth of rage and feeling, sadness, but also unfettered joy and flirtation. Smith’s 2022 collection took me a bit to get to, but when I did, oooooo boy, did I love it. It sometimes feels rare to see a collection by a white trans person get down into the nitty gritty of dealing with those particular intersections of transness and whiteness. Smith does this with unflinching honesty and curiosity, picking apart what it means to hold such privileges while also remaining targeted by larger power structures. Contemplative, earnest, and playful, Stemmy Things is a delectable poetry collection, and the start of a career I cannot wait to follow.

Bread & Circus by Airea D. Matthews

I absolutely adore finding poets that not only blow my mind up with their unfathomable knowledge but expand it in the process. I discovered Airea D. Matthews with her earth-shattering debut collection, Simulacra. I wasn’t aware of an upcoming one until I saw it appear in our store. Bringing it home, I would have to pick my jaw up off the floor several times just from the shear ease with which the poems not only explored economic systems, but how those inadvertently intersected with Matthews’s life and identity. It’s a collection that feels academic and personal, testing the limits of its words and the page as she takes us through the concept of bread and circus, a form of appeasement that kings would pass down to the poor to distract them from their own poverty. I certainly don’t have to explain why that applies in this context, but if you do want further explanation, I highly suggest digging into this brilliant poetic work.

Rootwork by Tracy Cross

2023 was a landmark year for the horror genre, but more specifically within the indie sphere of publishing. Sadie Hartmann’s Dark Hart imprint of Dark Matter Magazine’s company released some of the most expansive, genre-altering titles of this year, with one of the best ones being Rootwork. Tracy Cross’s debut novella is the might of a 300+ page book that takes half of those pages to tell an emotional, multi-faceted story of family and fury. I am so feral for the coming sequel, I’m not sure the world can contain my excitement. This series debut holds all the hallmarks of an excellent speculative horror, and the fact that it achieved what it did in less than 20o pages continues to stagger me. Cross holds a supreme power over the english language and we as readers are all the better for it. If you love magic, sibling dynamics, and pure unbridled vengeance, then you need Rootwork in your life right now.

Frost Bite by Angela Sylvaine

Alien possessed prairie dogs, Midwest setting, doomsday cults, everything you could possibly want from an alien invasion book and more, Frost Bite took me in its furry little jaws and refused to let go. Angela wrote one hell of a creature feature that pays homage to not only the 90’s, but 80’s sci fi horrors as well. It’s funny, it’s scary, and it will also make you cry real tears at one point. You mark my words. Another bestseller when I put this one up as a staff pick, it is every bit of fun as a schlocky 80’s B-movie but injected with the kind of wit and self-reference that’s come with the Millenial generation. Plus, Angela’s gift package that came with the signed copy I ordered was so delightful, I still cry with joy looking at it.

Mosaic, Immortelle, and A Moonlit Path of Madness by Catherine McCarthy

Gothic romance, spine-tingling cosmic horror, and a heart-wrenching family drama with Welsh folklore mixed in—Catherine McCarthy knows how to write compelling and surreal books that simply consistently delivered this year. Introduced by my darling Peg, I read Immortelle shortly after I joined on at Lahaska. I loved it so much that when two more books were announced for the year, I jumped right on it and was astounded to find that the next two were just as fantastic. Mosaic reads like the rich cosmic horrors of old, but minus the gross xenophobia of those authors. Moonlit Path carries all the gothic menace that makes the subgenre so effective and compelling. Catherine additionally knows how to write surreal, almost abrupt endings that don’t let readers off the hook as easily as you may hope. Apparently one of her family members lives near the store and comes in from time to time and always sends pictures back to Catherine, it’s so sweet my heart could burst. Here’s to hoping we can get her out to the states one of these years!

The Vein by Steph Nelson

When Sadie Hartmann puts out calls for ARCs, you answer the damn call. That was how I was blessed with the glorious trifecta of Frost Bite, Mosaic, and this entry—The Vein. A grim and kaleidoscopic vision of horror in those hills of the Pacific Northwest, The Vein explores multiple generations as they grapple with an old mining cave that houses something monstrous and evil. But how truly evil is it? This book explores the murky waters of emotional and physical abuse, as well as generational trauma. How do our actions, hopes, prayers, and general attempts to live stack up against something larger than our own humanity? A creeping slow burn of a novel, The Vein is not your average Southern Gothic.

Apparitions by Adam Pottle

Potentially the most beautiful "horror" novel to come out this year, Adam Pottles debut is a gritty, dark, and ultimately hopeful fever dream about a young deaf boy continuously failed by the structures meant to "protect" him, and the unlikely relationship he forms with another deaf boy who not only teaches him to sign, but uses our narrator as a sounding board for his revolutionary ideas. This book never shows its cards, which further adds to the disorientation inherent in Pottle's thesis. What are the apparitions that our narrator sees? What is it that he's willing to do, or not do, for love? All of the these questions, as well as the darkness and hope inherent to the human spirit, are explored throughout this powerhouse of a novel. It deserves more eyes on it because it's bound to become a cult classic in its own right.

Negative Space by B.R. Yeager

I searched for this book for a good majority of 2022, so when I found it at a bookstore in Collegeville on a cold December night, I just about screeched in excitement. It was nearly impossible to get an exact handle on what this book was about, which aided it upon my initial reading earlier this year. It would go on to become one of my favorite cosmic horrors of all time and served as one of the basses for my ongoing book of essays about the subgenre and its intersection with my identity.

It’s rare that I read books by seemingly-cis folks—I would never deign to assume Yeager’s identity or orientation—and they nail trans representation perfectly. Negative Space does, and not only that, but it also stands as one of the few horror books that actually offers its trans character a somewhat happy ending. If you can count half of what happens in this wild novel as a happy ending. It truly is one of the pieces of media that set much of my growing writer’s journey (renaissance?) into motion. Intensely dark, but infectiously readable, Negative Space is truly a marvel.

This is Where We Talk Things Out, but also just about every damn book by Caitlin Marceau

I never in a gazillion years could have fathomed that by the end of 2023 I would not only be close friends with Canadian horror author Caitlin Marceau, but also appear alongside her in a horror anthology as well. Alongside my beloved partner Saher and Monica Robinson, Caitlin has been one of the biggest pushing forces in getting my ass writing again. Much of this is due to Lahaska, being one of the few places local to me that champions indie horror on a large scale, which is where I was able to finally procure a copy of This is Where We Talk Things Out, as well as her story collections.

My experience with this novella was extremely visceral, and poor Caitlin had to put up with my near-live-tweeting my reactions to her, which would continue into her other work as well. It’s difficult for me to accurately describe what it is I love about her writing. The ways in which she plumbs the darker parts of our souls, or her meditations on fatphobia and weight stigma, or the sheer emotionality that she brings to many of her characters, no matter how evil, it’s all so brilliant. Reading that novella opened doors to my brain I didn’t know were closed and helped get me back into the spirit of thinking up weird stories. Her patient and enthusiastic listening to different ideas and pitches has helped me so much as I return to my feet and her work needs as many eyes as possible upon it.

Don’t Fear the Reaper & The Babysitter Lives by Stephen Graham Jones

For my newer readers, I need you to know something important about me: I freaking love the work of Stephen Graham Jones.

Ever since I listened to the audiobook of The Only Good Indians at the height of the Panini, which was a truly religious experience, if I’m being honest, I’ve set out to consume as much of his work as I possibly can. Let me tell ya…there’s A LOT. However, within the last few years, the slasher maestro has been focusing in on this subgenre quite a bit with the release of the much-awaited sequel to My Heart is a Chainsaw, aptly titled Don’t Fear the Reaper, as well as an audio-only book called The Babysitter Lives.

Both knocked several pairs of my socks off and display Jones not only as someone who intimately knows and loves the slasher subgenre but is at the forefront of subverting and morphing it into something entirely new. Jade Daniels, the protagonist of the Indian Lake Trilogy, has cemented her status among iconic final girls with the release of Don’t Fear the Reaper, which picks up several years later and made me relentlessly emotional throughout—especially that GOD DAMN ENDING.

What made The Babysitter Lives just as notable is the way it took the slasher to a cosmic place. Reminiscent of the chaos that was/is his meta-horror Demon Theory, The Babysitter Lives takes our preconceived ideas and rules of slashers and chucks them out of a seven-story window, making room for a bloody and heart-wrenching adventure of terror. This one also felt the most classic of a Jones novel, while Reaper represents a bold step in an adjacent direction. Regardless, both are excellent horrors in their own rights!

What Kind of Mother by Clay McLeod Chapman

Another author whose repertoire I utterly consumed throughout 2023, meeting and befriending Clay has additionally been a great joy. To read his work from debut to present release is to witness an author begin excellent and only continue to grow in power with each successive release. That is why 2023’s What Kind of Mother stands as one of my favorites, because it is the one that has gripped me the most. A beautifully disturbing Southern Gothic, it was an absolute pleasure and honor to read this book early. Where the creature feature and cosmic horror blend into a delectable and nightmarish brew, Mother is a different kind of mediation on motherhood and the lengths we may go to to attempt a second chance to do things differently.

I say differently because “right” never rings true enough to me. We, as humans, are inherently flawed, and we’re never given the adequate tools to care for our young in the ways we need to, which breeds a form of grief when we feel as though we let our children down. Parents are not superpowered gods, and we can only work with the tools we have at our disposal. What Clay does is explore that grief in a horrific, albeit cathartic, way that sets the table for one of the most unique families in literary history. A true triumph.

Maeve Fly by C.J. Leede

You can’t go and call a book the female equivalent to American Psycho and expect me not to have to read and see. I’m not a big fan of Ellis’s novel, but I do adore Mary Herron’s movie, which presents a differing lens to view that story of male power through. This is what makes Maeve Fly an outstanding debut novel. It serves as a deconstruction of these stories that have become edgelord fodder and then delivers a spectacularly unhinged embrace of violence in a way that feels far from senseless. Maeve’s descent into madness is as understandable as it is deplorable, and the ways in which Leede captures the contradictions of LA is what made me love this book and not feel as comfy with Boy Parts earlier this year. Maeve Fly is a coming-of-murder that delivers on every conceivable level.

Yellowface by R.F. Kuang

I honestly don’t have much to say about this one other than the fact that I tore through it in like two days and loved every second of its utter lunacy and deconstruction of white publishing. It almost read like a memoir you completely forget it’s a fiction. I can’t rave about it enough.

The Spite House by Johnny Compton

Listen, How to Sell a Haunted House is fantastic, and I love it, but holy shit is The Spite House a fantastic haunted house book. This was one of the first novels of this year that inspected the house as an entity unto itself, which I will get to with my praise of Tenebrous Press. Johnny Compton just released the news of his next book a few days ago and I am so beyond ready because I loved this book so much.

Playing with the Shining trope of a father affected by a house, this look at class, masculinity, grief, and abuse is a powerful experience. It’s also genuinely fucking scary. There are some scenes in this book that stay with you with the sheer uncanny terror of the words. Keep your eyes peeled for this author.

Darryl by Jackie Ess

Another book that took me way too long to find, this was my unknowing introduction to CLASH Books and completely blew me away. Part treatise on the art of cucking, part trans journey filtered through the eyes of a man who was almost there in terms of his egg cracking, but using a trans woman as his soundboard, Ess presented a complex and whacky tale of someone’s awakening and de-wakening in the most messily human way possible. It was so unlike anything I had read up until that point, this is a feeling I would come to expect from every CLASH book I read from that point onward.

Anybody Home? by Michael J. Seidlinger

If you told me that in 2023 a book would be causing me to hyperfixate on the home invasion genre again, I would have laughed in your face from the sheer lunacy of the statement. Little did I know, Michael J. Seidlinger would do just that with his brimmingly brilliant 2022 homage to the small subgenre that took the world by storm in the late 90’s with Funny Games. A family is tortured by our unnamed narrator, who is walking a trainee through the art of home invasion, leaving little references and easter eggs from some of the most iconic films. It sets up a delightfully self-aware commentary on what makes this small subgenre so remarkable, while additionally commenting on class and how much of what we believe is there to keep us safe is merely a fabrication. It feels like an academic treatise couched in an addictingly fun reading experience that will leave you quadruple locking your doors until the end of time.

Enjoy Me Among My Ruins by Juniper Fitzgerald

An astounding collection of essays about sex work, motherhood, and asserting your identity—plus some X-Files fandom mixed in. Extremely accessible and readable, it’s so hard for me to describe why this collection is so fantastic and worth your time other than asserting that the experience is part of it. It’s just so damn good and queer and I love it.

Witch Hunt & Black Cloud: New and Collected Works by Juliet Escoria

Yet another CLASH title to grace this list, Escoria was one of the last books I read in the year. A title I was so excited for when ARCs were announced and finally taking the time to sit with the pieces inside was an incredible experience. Vulnerable and heart-wrenching, Escoria’s anti-poetry serves for some of the best poetry of the year. As she sets out to critique the form, she finds her own sense of expression. She shares her life battling addiction, searching for love, as well as a series of essays surrounding 9/11 memories that will absolutely knock your socks off. My jaw was on the floor reading it. Truly nothing quite like it.

The Devil Thinks I’m Pretty by Charlene Elsby

Philadelphia publisher Apocalypse Party had one hell of a year when it came to releases, with a sure-fire standout being Charlene Elsby’s barn-storming and disturbing novella about a young girl exploring her darkest desires. At the time of writing this piece, I’m reading an ARC of her upcoming CLASH novella, which is affirming that Elsby is a juggernaut of the extreme horror genre. There is no brutality too big and what struck me about this particular story is how the unease is present throughout, but when the other shoe drops…merciful goddex it goes so hard.

Deliver Me by Elle Nash

Much like Maeve Fly and The Devil Thinks I’m Pretty, this novel greatly tested my gage reflex in many ways. Probably one of the most astounding endings of the year, I wrote about Deliver Me alongside The Devil Thinks I’m Pretty when speaking about the dangers of mundanity and how society so often underestimates the lengths women will go to to be heard and respected. There is nothing about this novel that is particularly easy, and the moments of violence toward animals hurt me deeply, but to say this novel wasn’t a definite favorite of the year would be a huge lie. I think there’s so much that is special about this novel.

I Died Too, but They Haven’t Buried Me Yet by Ross Jeffery

It’s not often a cis person—let alone a cis man, at that—writes a trans story that kicks so much ass and takes such a jump, that it winds up paying off in dividends. I finished this book and immediately had to message Jeffery and make sure that what he just did was not only real, but coming from a respectful place. I just had to make sure because this book is BOLD. Ross Jeffery not only went there, but he stuck the fuckin landing as well. Only a publisher like CLASH could put such a groundbreaking story out into the world. We have a running joke as the store, as my colleague Peg had this as one of her staff picks for the last few months, that whenever someone buys this book, we need to give them a warning. It’s sad. It’s impeccably brutal. I’ll say it again, it’s BOLD, but that truly is a large part of its charm. For a cis male author to take this stand against bigotry in such a devastatingly powerful way shook me to the core. I’m so damn glad he did it.

Kill the Rich by Jack Allison and Kate Shapiro

CLASH just kept the hits coming in 2023, with this demonic little thrill ride providing some of the most fun I’ve had reading about celebrities dying. Another book that is better left to your initial experience, to read it in 2023 feels all the more prescient as a speculative fiction/horror that takes many beliefs and movements to task in every way that matters. With a colorful cast of characters, the plot never feels too chaotic, despite chaos being the name of this alternate future’s game. Explosive, hilarious, and at some points downright dark, Kill the Rich is in many ways priority reading. If not for the pleasure, or at the very least for the delicious discussions you will have with your friends afterward.

Dead Eleven by Jimmy Juliano

I am amazed it took me as long as it did to realize that Jimmy Juliano was the Jimmy Juliano, whose stories I really loved on the NoSleep podcast. My co-workers had a lot of great things to say about this book so I decided to tackle this one via Penguin Random Audio. What a fantastically unique story. A man seeks to find his missing sister after her correspondence from a strange Wisconsin town ceases. Everyone in the town acts as though it’s still the 90’s and there are bizarre occurrences taking place throughout the community, like dead relatives re-appearing to their loved ones. I love the found-footage-like approach of this story, slowly leaving the bread crumb trail and stringing you along for the ride until mercilessly slapping you across the cheek with its jaw-dropping ending. Another spellbinding debut from an author who has deserved this win for quite some time.

The Folly by Gemma Amor

I adore Gemma Amor and all that she writes. She constructed some of my favorite NoSleep Podcast stories and this most recent release is nothing short of fantastic. Brisk, creepy, and an excellent example of an emotional roller coaster, this pandemic-centered tale of redemption within isolation is excellent for fans of horror like The Lighthouse. Never have gotten over this one, it’s insane.

 There are soooooooo many more that I absolutely adored reading this year, but I want to close out with a special one. Special because of my intensely formative meeting with this writer, but also because of the myriad ways their writing has helped me to further understand my own connections with gender, as well as the growing world of auto-nonfiction that I’ve been consistently trying to tap into. They are a thinker that blows the barndoors off genre and theory—it only makes sense to end with them.

Daddy Boy by Emerson Whitney

I talked a lot about Emerson’s debut, Heaven, last year, and lord knows I’ve talked a bunch about Daddy Boy this year. They are one of those writers that seems to magically fall in your lap. You don’t realize that their work is going to explode your whole world until they do. That’s how I felt discovering Emerson Whitney and Billy-Ray Belcourt around the same time as each other. Their meditations on gender and grief and trauma opened me up like a blossomed flower and the fact that I was able to tell these things to Emerson in person made it all the better.

Daddy Boy furthers Whitney’s work in reckoning with identity and their connections to family, self, and relationships. It also explores their growing interest in tornado chasing, which sounds like it wouldn’t entirely connect to those other themes but boy, are you in for a treat when it comes to finding out how. Engaging, terrifying, hopeful, and gut-wrenching, this further piece of memoir shows readers that we never truly stop looking for ourselves, carving out a sense of identity and belonging as the world, and nature, rages around us. We can only continue to listen within and honor that growth in ourselves. A game-changer of a work.

I know there are likely plenty that I missed that I will later kick myself for forgetting, but this list was already a lot. If you read this entire piece, thank you so much for wanting to hear my thoughts on these incredible books. 2023 was truly a landmark year when it comes to brilliant and remarkable voices in the troubled world of publishing. There are already brilliant titles on the horizon of 2024, so until next time, keep reading and keep fighting.

-Violet <3