BLACK HOLE SUNS AND REVELATIONS

In Smith’s novel, two young boys with a psychic connection struggle with grief, along with their fathers.

As the story opens, it’s been three years since the death of writer Whitman “Whit” Coe’s wife, Alice, the mother to his son, Junior. Whit soon gets news that his father and stepmother have died, as well—apparently murdered by a wild animal in their home in a California town that Whit left behind years ago. He and Junior come into town and stay with friends Bob and Sarah Rockwell, and their son, Stephen. It’s quickly revealed that Whit, Junior, and Stephen are all grappling with inexplicable visions and terrifying nightmares, all seemingly related to the emotional aftershocks of tragedies; Stephen, for example, had nightmares about a hideous, bloodthirsty creature right before Whit’s relatives were found dead. What makes the novel hauntingly beautiful is its commitment to exploring grief not as a static condition but as a living, evolving presence: “Sometimes the saddest things are the most beautiful. And the most beautiful are the saddest,” Whit tells Junior in one of the book’s most resonant lines, which captures the elegiac tone. Other happenings offer at least a chance at happiness, as when Whit meets and grows close with a local named Zelda, with whom he has a lot in common. However, the novel doesn’t just dwell on the ways that grief enters and affects lives—it also addresses the brutal, violent nature of grieving, which results in a story that feels stunningly honest. Smith’s use of supernatural elements, including surreal mirrors, psychic connections, and pale monsters, never overshadows the humanity of the narrative; instead, these uncanny forces emerge as manifestations of buried sorrow and psychic unease: “Those moments were gone, and he could never get them back,” reads an early line about Whit’s memories, which resonates with crushing finality. It’s in moments like these that Smith’s talent shines brightest—when horror reveals a longing for what’s been lost.