2026/106: The House That Eats the Dead — Max Doty

I curled up in a chair with ... a copy of a book on tidying by Marie Kondo. ... it would be good to get rid of some things. Maybe the house would help me.
I went to put down my book and found my hand empty. Marie Kondo was gone, tidied into oblivion. [loc. 623]

Claire and Tom Morgan, with their delightful children Grace (6) and Derek (15), and their dog King, move from the urban frenzy of San Francisco to a leafy suburb. Their new home seems perfect, though food seems to rot quickly and flowers wilt in hours. Gradually, Claire realises that the house devours anything organic -- but only if it's dead. She and her children are safe, and nosebleeds get cleaned up instantly. And only the owners of the house remember anything that has been eaten.

At first this seems convenient, even benevolent. The house has eaten Grace's favourite soft toy, but she doesn't remember loving it, and a tearful crisis is averted. Later, Claire and Tom decide that the children would be better off not remembering that they'd ever owned a dog...

Claire is the protagonist, a stay-at-home mother (formerly an artist) experimenting with the house's powers, and treating it as an individual. She brings it cow hearts to stop it eating the food in the fridge: she paints with organic paints, and the house finds a way to tell its story. Claire has a traumatic past, and so does the house -- which is very much a character in the novel, though it never speaks ... at least not to Claire. It affects each of the Morgans in different ways: Grace likes the stories it tells, Tom finds it helpful in climbing the corporate ladder, Derek's self-confidence grows, and Claire is painting again...

I was reminded of Stephen King's Pet Sematary, which also features a family discovering a supernatural phenomenon and being altered by their use of it. But this is a more mundane narrative: a family drama with horror elements, rather than a story of demons and tragedies. Which isn't to say that there aren't deaths, and bad decisions -- but the impulse behind both is human rather than occult.

It took me a few chapters to get into this novel, because Claire is not immediately likeable: but once the plot started escalating I was gripped. I liked the morally grey characters, the vaguely-sketched backstory, and the family dynamics, and I found Claire's ethical dilemmas fascinating. Would I have done the same?

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for the advance review copy, in exchange for this full honest review. UK Publication Date is 13th August 2026.

Read because: The publisher invited me to read this, on the basis of my having enjoyed other Tor Nightfire titles.

2026/105: My Best Friend's Exorcism — Grady Hendrix

For the Langs, Madonna was totally and completely out of the question. But when Gretchen's dad was at work and her mom was taking one of her nine billion classes (Jazzercise, power walking, book club, wine club, sewing circle, women's prayer circle), Gretchen and Abby would dress up like the Material Girl and sing into the mirror. Gretchen's mom had a jewelry box devoted entirely to crosses, so it was basically like she was inviting them to do it.

Set in Charleston in the 1980s, this is the story of two best friends -- Gretchen, from a well-off, conservative, religious family, and Abby, whose background is lower-income and rather liberal -- from elementary school to adulthood. It's full of 80s culture: big hair, Benetton perfume, fad diets, Madonna, personality quizzes, Halley's Comet ... and the Satanic Panic, which in this instance turns out to be justified. It's also packed with period-typical attitudes and behaviour (racism, sexism, homophobia, corporal punishment) which I remember being 'normal' back then, and find horrific now.

Abby and Gretchen are best friends. They attend the same school, and are friends (but not best friends) with constantly-dieting Margaret and class swot Glee. One night at Margaret's riverside home they take LSD, and Gretchen declares that she's going skinny-dipping. She vanishes, and the other three search for her all night, eventually finding her naked in the woods, saying she can't remember what happened. After that, Gretchen becomes a lot meaner, and Abby starts to wonder if her friend has been the victim of sexual assault. Then the Lemon brothers, charismatic preacher-types, do a show at the school, and Christian Lemon says he can see that Gretchen has a demon...

Issues of race, class, wealth are explored in the manner of a high school comedy-drama, but the story gets increasingly dark. Abby, though, is a resourceful and courageous protagonist, and the actual exorcism is a virtuoso blend of character, setting and cultural references. (It made me laugh, but it's also very emotional.) Yes, it's a horror novel, and there are some terrible scenes: but there is so much humour and ridiculousness that I could tolerate the nastier elements.

Interestingly, the novel doesn't stop with the exorcism. We see Abby and Gretchen growing up, changing, staying more or less friends for decades. I really liked that Hendrix showed us how their friendship changed and evolved as they grew older.

I listened to the audiobook, read by Emily Woo Zeller, whose narration was very engaging and emotional, to the extent that I sometimes had to pause the shriekier bits! Some aspects, however -- like the yearbook messages and newspaper clippings -- didn't translate well to audio format.

Read because: The book appeared in the Libro.fm sale a while ago, and having enjoyed The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires I snapped it up. I was in the mood for something very different from Neumeier's trilogy, and this certainly delivered.

2026/104: Tasmakat — Rachel Neumeier

When we ask the gods to be merciful, we have no idea what we’re asking. [p. 469]

After the events of Tarashana, Aras and Ryo travel back to the summer lands -- via a wedding -- and to the king's judgment. Aras seems sanguine on the long journey from the winter lands (a journey which I now realise comprises more than half of the novel) but there's a strong possibility that the king will have him executed.

Instead, he sends Aras and Ryo to the Land of Two Suns, ruled by the Ro-Antalet (sphinxes), where the envoy Tasmakat (a jackal-headed woman) has suggested there might be an adept who can lighten the sorcerous madness that is beginning to afflict Aras, and break the bond -- the 'leash', as the Ugaro call it -- between Aras and Ryo.

Of course it is not that simple.

This novel is packed with thorny issues of loyalty, honour and mercy. Ryo is strong and stubborn, but can he prevail against madness? He has to contend with false memories and guard his mind (though he's already proved he can mask his thoughts): he's sorcerously altered to withstand the tremendous heat of the Two Suns ... and all the while he worries about what's happening in the winter lands, what's happening with his wife and her other husband.

Intensely emotional, sometimes very dark, sometimes unevenly paced: the climax of this novel is a triumph, and the finale hopeful. I enjoyed it very much despite sometimes wearying of the interminable journeying. And I'm keen to read more of the novels set in this world -- though perhaps not quite yet.

Read because: This concludes the Ryo-centric trilogy that started with Tuyo and continued with Tarashana -- I wanted to follow that story to its conclusion, especially while the events of the previous two books were still fresh in my mind.

2026/103: Why We Swim — Bonnie Tsui

For many swimmers, the act of swimming is a tonic, in that old-fashioned sense of the word: it is a restorative, a stimulant, undertaken for a feeling of vigor and well-being. The word tonic comes from the Greek tonikos, “of or for stretching".

Read by Angie Kane. I spotted this in the Libro.fm audiobook sale and thought it looked intriguing: I didn't expect such a comprehensive survey of the history of swimming, from prehistoric times (I was especially fascinated by the chapter on the likelihood that the humans at Gobera swam in their lake) to modern competitive swimming.

Tsui covers five major reasons to swim -- survival, well-being, community, competition and flow. She discusses how various communities throughout history have adapted to swimming -- for instance, free-diving fishers in south-east Asia and Japan, or 'human seal' Guðlaugur Friðþórsson who survived six hours in 5^o water -- and the ways in which swimming has been used and recommended as a therapy for centuries. She describes the creep of racial segregation in twentieth-century America, reducing access to swimming for non-white Americans. It's not just a leisure issue, but a question of being able to swim -- being able to avoid death by drowning.

I learnt about samurai swimming, and was inspired by the accounts of people who've overcome major physical challenges via the 'salt water cure' -- sea-swimming. "Being in the ocean, you can become part of the food chain at any moment," writes Tsui. (In 21st-century Britain you are, sadly, more likely to encounter the end product of the food chain if you swim in the sea.) And Tsui's mention of Lewis Pugh, who swam across the North Pole to highlight the climate catastrophe, led me to some videos that I swear will cool you down on the hottest of days.

Reading this book made me want to swim more often, especially in rivers and the sea. I already know it improves my health, mentally and creatively as well as physically. 

Read because: I am a keen swimmer and was intrigued by this history of swimming.

2026/102: Tarashana — Rachel Neumeier

I think everyone behaved courageously and honorably, until courage and honor were not enough. [p. 328]

Second in the 'Tuyo' arc, despite it being book number 3... A year and a half after the events of Tuyo, Lord Aras is encountering some political issues in the summer lands, where Ryo still serves him. A reprieve of sorts is offered when a message comes from the winter country, asking for Aras' help. Apparently a Tarashana woman (from another cosmological realm, beyond the winter lands, lit only by starlight) has approached the Ugaro: she seems to be mute but clearly needs help of some kind. Can Aras (and Ryo) assist?

Cue an expedition through the winter lands -- with various Lau allies, including the excellent Lalani -- and a chance to see Ryo in his homeland, with his people. After they leave the Ugaro and cross the steppe, the world becomes very much stranger: ghost tigers, paths that don't lead where they appear to, and the horrors that the Tarashana woman has fled from. Some appalling things happen, especially at the book's climax. Honour, respect, trust and kindness prevail, eventually. And Aras and Ryo have some difficult conversations.

Also, Ryo wants to get married, but there's competition...

This is a vast book, 700-odd pages in print, and I did occasionally feel that some passages weren't essential to the plot. But every action, every reaction, every line of dialogue matters... And when the bad things happened I could not stop reading, because Neumeier knows how to play arpeggios on my heartstrings. The plot here -- and the worldbuilding -- feel more complex than in Tuyo, and as soon as I'd finished this I went on to the third of the Ryo-centric novels...

Read because: Having finished Tuyo, I wanted to see what happened next: I like the characters and am intrigued by the worldbuilding.

2026/101: Tuyo — Rachel Neumeier

Every man is glad to stop looking for the truth when he’s handed a lie he likes better. Sorcerers are no different in that. [p. 129]

Ryo InGara is nineteen years old, a warrior of a nomadic tribe that dwells in the winter country. At the beginning of Tuyo, he's been left as a kind of sacrifice to the opposing army -- the Lau -- in a minor skirmish: he expects to be killed slowly and painfully, and it is a matter of honour that he meets his death bravely.

Instead, he finds himself given guest-right by his captor, Lord Aras Eren Samaura, who says that Ryo is more useful alive than dead. Aras is trying to determine the cause of the recent unrest between the Ugaro (Ryo's people) and the Lau (Aras' people). He suspects sorcery is involved -- and Ryo comes from a culture where sorcery is punished by death. Ryo does indeed encounter sorcerers, plural: his memories are changed without his consent, and only his own strength of will -- and his trust in Aras' essential good nature -- saves him.

What I liked most in this novel was Ryo's narrative, and the close examination of the changing relationship between Ryo and Aras. (NB This is not a romance.) Neumeier depicts the minutae of Ryo's emotional landscape, and the evolution of his understanding of Aras, credibly and without sentiment.

The worldbuilding is fascinating, too: it's clear almost from the start that this is a radically different cosmology. A river separates the winter lands of the Ugaro from the summer lands of the Lau. In the winter lands, the moon is always full, but in the summer lands it ('she', the goddess) has phases. There are stories of another land beyond the winter land, lit by starlight, and a sunless sea; and Aras has travelled beyond the summer land, where jackal-headed sorcerers dwell. 

One brief complaint: there is a great deal of story-telling in this novel, but we don't get the stories themselves.

Ryo and his culture reminded me of Ariantes, the Sarmatian narrator of Island of Ghosts, one of my favourite novels: I was pleased to read Neumeier's post on that novel, which acknowledges it as an influence.

Read because: I'd read a sample after seeing it recommended (and I'd already enjoyed The Year's Midnight by the same author). Amazon stealthily offered me a month of free Kindle Unlimited, and I bit.

2026/100: The Killing Time — Elly Griffiths

It’s hard enough being a woman in 2024, what must it be like when you’ve almost no agency and are imprisoned by your clothes? [loc. 3368]

In this, the second of the Ali Dawson time-travel thrillers, Ali is confounded by bureaucracy. After the problems of her previous expedition to 1851 -- and the disappearance of star physicist Jones, presumed lost in the nineteenth century -- the Cold Cases Unit is banned from further excursions. 

Ali distracts herself by investigating the contemporary case of a young man who fell to his death after being told by a charismatic psychic that he could fly. Prepared to find a fraud, Ali is unnerved when the psychic, Barry Power, seems to convey a message from Jones. And Ali already knows that she'll return to the 1850s... though she doesn't expect it to happen when she's trying to go back just a few minutes to close the cat flap and prevent her beloved kitty from escaping. 

This excursion was less harrowing than the first, although I was anxious about Terry the cat. (Naturally he has landed on his feet.) And there are hints of the directions the series might go: the connections between the members of the Cold Case Unit, Ali's romantic entanglement, the collective unconsciousness, Jones' new life. I remain intrigued. 

Read because: I enjoyed The Frozen People, and was eager to discover what happened next...