More research into the state of current horror, this time via an indie darling Ennenbach, most permanently associated with the reigning indie horror darling Candace Nola and her press Uncomfortably Dark Horror.
This is my second read from the press and, by all accounts, a better one. The first needed too much editing. This one was more or less there, although someone needs to explain to the editor how to use commas in sentences like: "Why are you doing that Chris?" or "Did you kill that man Cody?" For the inquiring minds, there ought to be a comma preceding the name in those cases. Every time.

Is Ennenbach's horror uncomfortably dark? Yes, kinda. He's also a poet, so his prose can get away from him, and run-on sentences are not a rare sight. Overall, though, there was a demonstrable originality of ideas and heavy attempts to execute it well.
Surprisingly (and sadly), this is more than most indie horror offers. 
But this is indie - easily told by the occasional devolution into guts and gore, stylistic self-indulgencies, etc.
These stories likely could've done more with a better editor, who could help the author exercise occasional restraint.

Take the title, for instance. "Remains" is a strong, atmospheric choice. It can take a lot of adjectives and sing. "Cremated" isn't one of them. It dulls the effect completely. In fact, the reason for the portmanteau "cremains" is so people don't have to say "cremated remains." 

That's pretty much the epitome of Ennenbach's book.  The plots are there, the characters are there, it's almost literary, but then though one or two wrong choices, it fails to live up to its potential.

Mind you, this doesn't stop this collection from being prefaced by several pages of fawning adulation from a slew of indie horror authors all working at the same level. That's the main thing about the indie horror scene - the mutual back patting, deserved or not.

Overall, this collection reads like a good book for people who've never read genuinely good books. But the effort and ambition are notable and therefore rewarded with three stars. 
I'm a tough critic. User mileage will most likely vary.

I've been trying to understand the contemporary horror scene. Checking out a popular book from the uber hip Clash seemed like a good way to do so.
And ...well, it's interesting to see this evolution - or devolution, depending on your tastes. My tastes, in genre fiction and otherwise, lean toward dark psychological and literary but not overwrought the way award winners tend to be these days. In that respect, this slim novella does the job ... to an extent. It is literary and darkly psychological, but it veers very deliberately toward a direction I couldn't bring myself to appreciate.

Most of us have loved people we shouldn't have and stupidly - hopelessly - wanted them to change. This novella takes that desire to the new level. The change occurring here is metaphysical, supernatural, horrific - but ultimately just as useless. Because no matter how much one may bend reality, people prove to be a more stubborn matter.

It seems that Clash Books and the author specialize in one and the same: being transgressive. Which appears to involve shocking and disgusting the readers. Wilde does it in her novella and goes overboard with it in the short story that follows. 
I don't get the appeal. This is prudishness about sex depiction in literature - one of my favorite books of the last couple of years was The Safekeep, which was very erotic. But it wasn't the point of the story, and here, with this transgressive works, it does seem to be the entire point. The author seems determined to gleefully explore how far she can push the envelope.
The answer is "very," but it isn't for everyone.
I strongly disliked it. For me, it overrode all the positive aspects of Wilde's writing.
This form of transgression is very much like a kid swearing in front of adults, seeing how far they can take it.

Odds are, I'm in the minority here. This book checks all the desirable boxes: it's queer and oh so out there and in your face. I'm sure it'll find its adoring readership.
Not me. That much is clear. I don't pick up books to see if the writer can shock and disgust me. So despite an original premise, this was, by and large, a waste of time. Though in a purely academic sense, it was informative to see what horror is doing these days. it's sad, because there are ways to write visceral and emotionally hard-hitting fiction without relying on bucketfuls of gore and guts, but it takes more skill, so many author forgo it in favor of the lower hanging fruit.
It isn't art, and I don't really want to know what needs that sort of thing satisfies, but there it is. And, as always, user mileage may vary.

I thought this would start a year of reading off with a bang. And it did - to an extent, but not quite.
Judging the book by the cover, it's difficult to know if it's retro-fun or just campy. And in the end, it's neither. What you have is a fairly straightforward narrative of two teenagers in love, torn asunder by violent circumstances, and then reunited six years later - under no less violent circumstances - to sort out their feelings and their past.
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To spice things up (especially because the romance here is peculiarly chaste), the author cut up the narrative into a bunch of tiny pieces (past and present) and quilted them together. If rapidly switched POVs and timelines are your thing, you'll love this one.
For me, it just got tiresome after a while. Plus, I'm not a fan of Southern crime or rural settings.

But the main thing that kept this one from shining for me was the writing style. 
Sharpe has made her name in YA fiction, and boy, does it show now that she's switched to adult. The choppy, short sentence, the overwrought romance, the black-and-white morality, the overexplanations, etc., etc., - it's just all ever so slightly (or more so) simplistic.
It works in so far that it does make for a dynamic read, but far from an exceptional one.
Still, it's fairly entertaining for what it is, in a mindless, wham-bam, forgettable sort of way.

Gender-flipped retellings of well-known works are all the rage these days, and Bergen jumps on the bandwagon rather nicely with what's essentially a tale of a female Ripley. 

Esther Maile isn't a particularly talented Ms. Ripley, unless you count her knack for languages. But she manages to fall into murder and pretending to be other people all the same. She's a murky kind of protagonist, with not a lot of interiority to explain herself.  The most that can be gleamed is that she's sexually repressed and potentially a lesbian. And yet, her trajectory is oddly compelling.
It's likely down to the author's writing style, which features short, simple brushstrokes creating fairly complex canvases. The kind of style that has the immediacy to pull the reader in. Even though there isn't a lot of interiority for any of the characters, really, it is cleverly implied.

There is also the matter of location as a character, which Bergen does very well with mainly Thailand and some Bali. The exotic otherness of the places serves the story nicely, highlighting the isolation of the North American characters.
I'm not sure if I've ever read the author, but I'd be interested to check out more of his work based on this book.

All in all, an entertaining journey to the other side of the world and into the mind of a psychopath. With a lovely, subtle nod to the original Ripley in the end.
Recommended. Thanks Netgalley.

It stands to mention that I'm very partial to stories about Neanderthals. It's what drew me to this book to begin with. But then, it was also such a good and - crucially - original story.
The first part didn't do much for me, mainly because it read like so much of the ubiquitous "mommy fiction" out there, with the protagonist contemplating having a baby, despite her wildly unstable relationship situation with a married man. In other words, kind of tedious. 

But then, as the timeline sped up, and Eva more of less left the picture, it got really good.  The author focused on the important things. i.e. Neanderthals. That, and the people who recreated them from DNA traces  and the reasons behind the experiment.
There's also a love story underscoring the proceedings, between two very unlikely partners from both sides of the fence. 

The production jumps rather enthusiastically from POV to POV and timeline to timeline, which can be trying. But overall, the characters are compelling, and the narrative is dynamic, emotionally engaging, and clever. 
Plus, it's Belgian, so checkmark for international reading.
In other words, a very good read. Recommended. Thanks Netgalley.

I like to read thematically, so this book with a bloody stocking on the cover seemed like the right fit for Christmas. And sure enough ...
Mind you, I'm not a fan of mindless thrillers and/or slashers, but I make the exception for Christmas. Usually in a movie form, but I'm flexible. So, 25 Days is a story of a family vacation, told, neatly enough, in 25 chapters from alternating perspectives of all four members of the family. This cookie cutter family decides to reconnect during a week in the middle of snowy nowhere ... and to no one's surprise but their own, things turn pretty grim and deadly before they know it.

This book was pretty much bestseller-by-numbers, from brisk pace to simple, likable cast of characters, to the faceless/nameless/backstoryless killer. The kind of easily digestible, amusing pablum to appease the general audience. Sure enough, it worked. Just look at how many ratings and reviews it's already gathered.
The book, to its credit, is imminently readable - and a quick read at that - but it's the very definition of nothing special, as is wildly predictable and bland. Which, again, seems to be what most readers want.
This reader would've liked a bit more depth and originality. But at least it fit the theme. Thanks Netgalley.

I don't generally go for gimmicky fiction, retellings, or fan sequels, but I was so taken by Del Toro's cinematic take on Frankenstein, that I wanted to linger in that world a bit longer. This book actually did the trick ...in a way.

Told in an epistolary manner, through journal entries and recollections of various personage who've had the dubious fortune to have encountered Victor Frankenstein and his famous creation, the novel mimics the language and style of the era well enough, without dragging it down with some of the more cumbersome aspects of bygone linguistic gymnastics. It even throws in enough imaginary flourishes to make it worthwhile.

Barnes, it seems, has made a career out of sequelizing famous works. We live/read in a day and age where originality is often sacrificed at the altar of "what sells," tragically including but not limited to a variety of revisits, retellings, reimaginings, etc. of famous existing works. If it must be done, let it be at least done by someone who does a decent job of it - such as the case here.
Or - just a wild thought here -why not write your own monsters, strange and original enough to enter public imagination for centuries to come? A nineteen-year-old had managed it once. Just saying ...
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Thanks Netgalley.

A very strange book, yet an oddly compelling one. In fact, I'm upscaling my rating of it to reflect its originality, because it's a rare thing these days. 
Of course, this book is older, before people have started to lock genre fiction into such strict cliched boxes. 
The cover suits it perfectly, for the plot of this novel is very much a Möbius strip come to life. A twisted journey of a down-and-out jazz pianist who comes to inhabit the life of another, much wealthier man.
The tone is almost neo-noir, and the narrator, while not easily (or at all) likable, is interesting enough to follow as he peels the onion of his life, layer by layer, to uncover the truth.
Fans of malleable realities and puzzles for plot ought to enjoy this one.