Grady Hendrix is one of my favorite writers. I knew back in 2015, when I read Horrorstor on a cross-country road trip, that I wanted to read everything this author had to say about horror, friendship, nostalgia, and consumerism. Recommended by many and described by a friend as “Fright Night, but about the parents,” never have I ever pre-ordered a book so quickly.
*This review contains what might be considered spoilers, though no major plot points are discussed/revealed. Read with caution if you haven’t picked up this novel yet!
The prologue warns us, this book ends in blood. It is unambiguous: yes, there is a vampire in this book. Yes, there is danger for our characters. And yes, one way or another, this book’s climax? Gory and gross, and don’t you forget it. Sure, there are carpools and laundry detergent and many proper Southern manners, but this story can only lead to one conclusion: blood.
As bold a proclamation as that is, it is hilariously forgotten within the first few chapters. We meet Patricia, the wife and mother of two young children, who is trying to join the well-respected community book club but didn’t get around to reading the book. She was busy taking care of her family, the typical brood of late 1980s suburban South Carolina. Her overwhelmed confession gets the attention of a small group of women who find the important books boring anyway: Grace, Slick, Kitty, and Maryellen. They decide to form their own group, which they refuse to call a “book club” because it seems too stodgy.
Their literature of choice? Unsolved mysteries, true crimes, and serial killer memoirs.
Grace is the impeccable image of an Old Dominion housewife: prim, proper, slightly cold, fiercely proud. Slick is a Bible-beating shrinking violet, a sheltered but kind woman who doesn’t tell her family about the book “club.” Kitty is a loud and proud PTA parent, and the initiator of their split from the literary society. Maryellen is from New England, the tough wife of a cop with a low tolerance for bullshit. Though their personalities differ, their shared experience as housewives in a tight-knit neighborhood — and their penchant for researching the Zodiac murders, among others — bind them together.
When Patricia starts noticing odd things in their quiet neighborhood of Mt. Pleasant, she doesn’t know what to think. A new man has moved into a deceased relative’s house, and he just seems so strange. After a few more encounters, though, she is relieved to discover how personable and friendly this stranger is. She still gets a bad feeling from time to time. And his stories about his past don’t entirely add up…
But she doesn’t want to be a bad neighbor. She doesn’t want to make waves. Above all, she doesn’t want her husband or children thinking she’s being weird. All this despite the increasingly hard-to-ignore reality that there are weird things happening, and she has a feeling if she doesn’t do something, there’s going to be hell to pay.
A very interesting, and devastating, aspect of this novel is the character of Ms. Green. An early stressor introduced in Patricia’s story is Patricia’ mother-in-law, who moves in with her family due to failing physical health and dementia. Mrs. Green is hired as her caregiver, and she is a delightful foil to the old woman’s grumpy disposition. A Black woman living in a redlined area just outside of Mt. Pleasant, she brings perspective and reality to Patricia’s handwringing: the danger she fears is already happening on her side of town, and it’s being ignored because it’s not happening to the children of rich, white families. What kind of mother, Mrs. Green asks, would not help another mother in need?
There are so many things to like about this book. The atmosphere of dread is constant, but our lone stranger is just so damn charming on the page that…even we as readers sometimes question if we’re really seeing the ghoul Patricia fears. And then we realize, that’s what our characters are being made to feel at every moment, for year after year. Gaslit, ignored, and called flat-out hysterical, the band of true crime friends are fighting monsters as well as sexism and the status quo.
My favorite line of the book occurs when one of our book clubbers is being admonished for spending her days polishing china. When told all she aspires to be is someone’s perfect wife, she cries out, “You say it like it’s nothing!” My heart ached for her deeply, even though I agreed with the charge against her in the context of the a narrative (saving children > fine china). Maybe it’s because my own mother prided herself so deeply on how she kept our home. Maybe it’s because for the vast majority of our history, women have been expected to submit to men’s whims and have suffered severe consequences for standing against those desires. Or maybe it’s because she stands so strong throughout most of the book but sounds so very fragile in that moment. It’s an excellent, empathetic bit of writing.
5 out of 5 glasses of red wine while reading In Cold Blood on a floral couch.
Earl Grey and A Million Words 