A promising premise and intriguing core characters but, ultimately, not enough cohesion between the plots to stick them all...



A post-apocalyptic sci-fi Western, short story writer Carr’s (The Shape of Every Monster Yet To Come, 2014, etc.) debut novel traces a brief and hobbled journey across the enduring landscape of the end of the world.

Around the year 2017, a terrible new addiction afflicted humanity. People discovered they could sip shadows, ingesting a darkness more powerful than the strongest drug. Predictably, the other side of the high is abuse, withdrawal, desperation, depravity. In short order, society crumbles; tribalism reigns; all becomes violence and stark waste. A century and a half later, the addiction has come to its finale. In the precisely realized landscape of southern Texas, Mira (the daughter of a shadow-stolen mother), Murk (an appealingly foul, shadow-addict amputee), and Bale (a "domer" raised in a hermetically sealed settlement that eliminates natural light) embark on a muddled quest across the Texas scrub to…do something. Ostensibly, their mission is clear—they must find and kill Joe Clover, the addict who stole Mira’s mother’s shadow, before Halley’s comet returns—but, as with so much else in this exuberant book, their motive is overwhelmed by the sheer number of characters and side plots. We meet the ferocious women of the Shadowless Army; the Faulkner-ian Doc; the Dr. Strangelove–esque Capt. Flamsteed; Bale’s doomed brother, Drummond, and more and more and more besides. This, coupled with an uneven tone which borrows just as heavily from Flannery O’Connor as it does from Chuck Palahniuk and an even more unfortunate tendency toward the exploitative grotesque (amputees are an endless source of sight gags and are sometimes beaten to death with their own peg legs; a saloon piano player is a waddling one-eyed midget possessing a “voice, quasi-maniacal”), conspires to create a book whose allegiances tend toward the shock and awe of its conceit and shy away from the coherent development of either its world or its main characters.

A promising premise and intriguing core characters but, ultimately, not enough cohesion between the plots to stick them all together.

Pub Date: Aug. 29, 2017

ISBN: 978-1-61695-827-5

Page Count: 304

Publisher: Soho

Review Posted Online: June 6, 2017

Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 15, 2017

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A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.


Are we not men? We are—well, ask Bigfoot, as Brooks does in this delightful yarn, following on his bestseller World War Z (2006).

A zombie apocalypse is one thing. A volcanic eruption is quite another, for, as the journalist who does a framing voice-over narration for Brooks’ latest puts it, when Mount Rainier popped its cork, “it was the psychological aspect, the hyperbole-fueled hysteria that had ended up killing the most people.” Maybe, but the sasquatches whom the volcano displaced contributed to the statistics, too, if only out of self-defense. Brooks places the epicenter of the Bigfoot war in a high-tech hideaway populated by the kind of people you might find in a Jurassic Park franchise: the schmo who doesn’t know how to do much of anything but tries anyway, the well-intentioned bleeding heart, the know-it-all intellectual who turns out to know the wrong things, the immigrant with a tough backstory and an instinct for survival. Indeed, the novel does double duty as a survival manual, packed full of good advice—for instance, try not to get wounded, for “injury turns you from a giver to a taker. Taking up our resources, our time to care for you.” Brooks presents a case for making room for Bigfoot in the world while peppering his narrative with timely social criticism about bad behavior on the human side of the conflict: The explosion of Rainier might have been better forecast had the president not slashed the budget of the U.S. Geological Survey, leading to “immediate suspension of the National Volcano Early Warning System,” and there’s always someone around looking to monetize the natural disaster and the sasquatch-y onslaught that follows. Brooks is a pro at building suspense even if it plays out in some rather spectacularly yucky episodes, one involving a short spear that takes its name from “the sucking sound of pulling it out of the dead man’s heart and lungs.” Grossness aside, it puts you right there on the scene.

A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.

Pub Date: June 16, 2020

ISBN: 978-1-9848-2678-7

Page Count: 304

Publisher: Del Rey/Ballantine

Review Posted Online: Feb. 10, 2020

Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2020

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Kin “[find] each other’s lives inscrutable” in this rich, sharp story about the way identity is formed.

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Inseparable identical twin sisters ditch home together, and then one decides to vanish.

The talented Bennett fuels her fiction with secrets—first in her lauded debut, The Mothers (2016), and now in the assured and magnetic story of the Vignes sisters, light-skinned women parked on opposite sides of the color line. Desiree, the “fidgety twin,” and Stella, “a smart, careful girl,” make their break from stultifying rural Mallard, Louisiana, becoming 16-year-old runaways in 1954 New Orleans. The novel opens 14 years later as Desiree, fleeing a violent marriage in D.C., returns home with a different relative: her 8-year-old daughter, Jude. The gossips are agog: “In Mallard, nobody married dark....Marrying a dark man and dragging his blueblack child all over town was one step too far.” Desiree's decision seals Jude’s misery in this “colorstruck” place and propels a new generation of flight: Jude escapes on a track scholarship to UCLA. Tending bar as a side job in Beverly Hills, she catches a glimpse of her mother’s doppelgänger. Stella, ensconced in white society, is shedding her fur coat. Jude, so black that strangers routinely stare, is unrecognizable to her aunt. All this is expertly paced, unfurling before the book is half finished; a reader can guess what is coming. Bennett is deeply engaged in the unknowability of other people and the scourge of colorism. The scene in which Stella adopts her white persona is a tour de force of doubling and confusion. It calls up Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye, the book's 50-year-old antecedent. Bennett's novel plays with its characters' nagging feelings of being incomplete—for the twins without each other; for Jude’s boyfriend, Reese, who is trans and seeks surgery; for their friend Barry, who performs in drag as Bianca. Bennett keeps all these plot threads thrumming and her social commentary crisp. In the second half, Jude spars with her cousin Kennedy, Stella's daughter, a spoiled actress.

Kin “[find] each other’s lives inscrutable” in this rich, sharp story about the way identity is formed.

Pub Date: June 2, 2020

ISBN: 978-0-525-53629-1

Page Count: 352

Publisher: Riverhead

Review Posted Online: March 15, 2020

Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 2020

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