You don’t just read Pynchon. You enter a hall of mirrors built by a man who refuses to show his face even when it’s "supposed" to be easy.
All in Book Reviews
You don’t just read Pynchon. You enter a hall of mirrors built by a man who refuses to show his face even when it’s "supposed" to be easy.
Hell House endures because it’s not really about haunting, it’s about how hard it is to let anything go.
A clever reengineering of American Psycho: what if you were looking for something real and the world constantly disappointed you?
You’re not watching someone solve their problems, you’re watching someone dissolve into them.
A novel that lives in that liminal space between fact and the stories we tell ourselves.
Blood Red Summer is undeniably one of Eryk Pruitt’s best novels, but it’s also polite Pruitt.
Mia Ballard is undeniably talented, but she needs to trust her instincts better and let it bleed out.
The Shining Girls features a time-traveling murder house, which sounds cool until you realize it’s mostly there to make plot holes feel intentional.
Intermezzo flirts with emotional depth, but keeps ghosting its own potential.
It’s a novel that slips under your skin like a lover you don’t trust: whispering questions about your body, your cravings, and whether intimacy is just a beautifully coded illusion.
Episode Thirteen is a haunted house story trapped in a found-footage gimmick, where the real horror isn’t the ghosts, it’s how much better this would’ve been as a movie.
