Domestic Horror in Sarah Langan's Trad Wife

 Trad Wife by Sarah Langan

Trad Wife book cover

Author Sarah Langan

In her excellent book Scream With Me: Horror Films and the Rise of American Feminism (1968-1980) that reframes 1970s classic horror films, Professor Eleanor Johnson establishes a new genre of horror films called domestic horror. As Johnson explains, films like The Exorcist, The Shining, The Omen, Rosemary’s Baby, and The Stepford Wives all feature female protagonists who are confined to a dwelling place and often face restricted freedom, a male antagonist who also inhabits the same space and is not easily removed, and horror centered usually around children, reproduction, or sex, while the female protagonist also experiences some kind of physical threat. Johnson explains that as women were working more outside of the home and delaying marriage and motherhood to focus on education and careers, society recognized this shift and some movies recognized the cultural shifts that these changes may have represented. However, it was only after the Dobbs’ decision that eliminated the federal protection for women’s reproductive rights that prompted Dr. Johnson to reevaluate these films. Although her focus was on horror films, I would add Sarah Langan’s mind-bending, genre-blending novel Trad Wife to this category.  Although Trad Wives are a much-discussed and somewhat controversial topic online, Langan establishes she’s “telling a particular story, about the ominous turn of a cultural wheel toward something ugly” in her Acknowledgements at the end of the book (make sure you read it!). I found her discussion of how she approached this novel and the subject of trad wives especially interesting since earlier this year I read Caro Claire Burke’s Yesteryear, the buzzy and scathing satire of trad wives that has received both commendations and criticisms about its portrayal of trad wife influencers and its sense of realism. Although satire primarily functions in extreme caricatures and exaggerated examples, Langan explains “I quickly realized that I didn’t want to poke fun at either the phenomenon or the women involved”, and Trad Wife establishes a world and movement that is, in the words of William S. Burroughs is “ancient, corrupted” and defined by “control systems”, those particularly focused on women, whether they are employees, daughters, sisters, mothers, or wives. The female protagonist, Jenny Kaplan, seems to be the antithesis of Mia Wright, a trad wife influencer who runs Black Swan Farm and its subsidiary products that she enlists her followers to sell in a seeming pyramid scheme. As a reporter working for Bread & Circus magazine, Jenny is a writer who has been struggling with the shift in journalism over time, seeing her work reduced to lists and eye-catching click bait. Jenny is also grieving in a way, as we learn about the dissolution of her relationship with her fiancé, Jarron, who seemed to mentally deteriorate during COVID, with Jenny eventually asking his parents to pick him up from their shared apartment. Jenny’s personal and professional challenges present a kind of inverse experience to Mia, whose increasingly popular videos that demonstrate her traditional, conservative beliefs and messy and sometimes harmful attempts with recipes have drawn wide-viewership and followers willing to become part of her ambassador program for Black Swan Farm. I loved how Langan presents this kind of inversion between Jenny and Mia. Although Mia is challenged by the constraints in digital journalism, she is inspired to write an intensely private memoir like piece about Jarron (without naming him) and the challenges she experienced. The piece goes viral, attracting significant interest, but also significant, misogynistic trolls (especially DirtyGarry), who eventually call for her cancellation, where she loses her job at Bread & Circus. The trolls don’t stop with her job, but also pressure the cancellation of a film production based on Jenny’s viral piece “Drano”. Although the virality splits society, Jenny does have one fan, Mia Wright, whose unlikely admiration leads to an opportunity for a freelance profile negotiated by Jenny’s former editor.

There’s a lot of build up in the first quarter of the book, and Jenny’s progression from struggling writer to viral sensation to cancelled moves quickly, but it also captures some of the milkshake duck like movement of today’s digital cancel culture. While Jenny didn’t necessarily do anything wrong, as an outspoken and independent woman trying to establish her voice, she’s a threat to the Brotherhood and trolls like DirtyGarry who are either too insecure to see women’s rise in society as progress or are just incel losers who, in the words of Toni Morrison, can only feel tall when others are on their knees. Nevertheless, her cancellation sets up Jenny as needing to escape and needing a byline to continue writing and establishing her name (plus, she also needs the money to pay rent). It also gives her time to research and study Mia Wright’s virality, something that Jenny initially approaches with disdain and skepticism, but something about Mia’s videos, in which Mia shouts out viewers, Jenny among them, as being seen engages Jenny and allows her to see elements of Mia that are so appealing to others. However, upon watching her videos, notably a Taco Tuesday disaster in which Mia falls to the ground, spilling the ingredients, but still eating it off the floor, Jenny notices a tell in which Mia signals to her dog to knock her down. Other videos reveal cuts, bruises, and falls that Jenny deems suspicious if not purposeful. Yet, it’s the humiliation, the pain, and violence that Mia endures, all to support her husband and 8 children, that viewers love. That and Mia’s call to cherish the seed that both perplex Jenny, but also intrigues her, wondering how and why Mia is so popular.

Jenny eventually travels out to Black Swan Farm in Sylvan, PA, located in Western PA, not far from Eerie. Langan intersperses these chapters with various other forms of writing, including newspaper articles and historical reports from town that detail its history of suspected witchcraft that culminated in Corrie’s fire. I don’t want to get into the specifics of the story, but I really loved how Langan incorporates this kind of folk horror into the narrative, showing how systems of control have been a part of American society since before the start of the nation. Jenny’s initial interview session leaves Mia feeling a little anxious about how she might be portrayed, especially since Jenny is on to her tricks to attract more viewers. As a result, Mia invites Jenny to spend a week at the farm where she will live the trad wife life, helping out around the farm and learning more about Mia’s day to day responsibilities. While Jenny’s photographer understands the project as a kind of Freaky Friday shoot, Mia also views it as a city mouse -country mouse story of mutual understanding of differences. However, as Jenny spends more and more time at the farm, she gradually discovers things aren’t what they seem. From the odd behavior of the children to the rancid odor in her room to her loss of clumps of hair and scalp every night during sleep, Jenny’s experience at Black Swan goes from strange to frightening. Langan creates a mysterious setting that gradually becomes more and more uncanny and unsettling, as weird and creepy events begin to overtake Jenny’s stay. One of the elements of the farm and house that I appreciate so much was the strange yellow wallpaper with jagged shapes that seemed to spell out words and phrases that Jenny couldn’t seem to decipher at first. It has to be a reference to Charlotte Perkins Gillman’s classic short story “The Yellow Wallpaper”, where a woman likely experiencing post-partum depression is given the rest cure, but is really confined to a small upper room with hideous yellow wallpaper. Eventually she envisions a woman breaking free from the patterns in the wallpaper. The color yellow is prominently featured throughout the book, and it is also probably a reference to The King in Yellow as Carcosa is also mentioned. Yet, I really appreciated the references to “The Yellow Wallpaper” and tying this story into the theme of domestic horror. The house and land belong to Mia’s husband Steadman’s family. While Steadman is somewhat absent minded, his other brothers serve similar authoritative roles of control as the town’s doctor and the town’s sheriff. Their roles similarly reveal to Jenny the control that the men have over Mia’s family, and how Mia’s online persona’s bliss in domesticity and submission is contrasted with the lack of agency and voice she has over her own family. It’s a fascinating parallel and criticism of the artificiality of social media. As Langan mentioned, she’s not here to critique the women involved as trad wives; if anything, she’s sympathetic to the submission and control they experience. Yet, Langan, like Caro Claire Burke in Yesteryear, is critical of the system that allows this kind of submission to perpetuate and project a voice for women rather than providing them platforms and agency to speak for themselves.

Trad Wife is a wild ride- it’s shocking, violent, and creepy. It’s a book I couldn’t put down, especially in the last quarter of the book. I won’t spoil any of the ending, but the story has many twists and turns and relies on some great use of folk and body horror. Trad Wife is the great kind of horror that challenges our ideas about society while also being entertaining and engaging. Both Jenny and Mia are interesting and sympathetic characters. Langan’s story calls out things in the world like pyramid schemes, for-profit schools, and our love for violence and humiliation online to keep us glued to our screens. It made me think more about the users on the other end of the screen and what their situation might be to post something that reveals their missteps, their degradation, and their shame. I loved the way that Langan critiques all of these elements of society while also creating an entertaining and creepy story that’s filled with so much weird imagery and events. Many thanks to Atria Books and NetGalley for allowing me to read an advanced copy of this excellent and timely domestic horror novel. Highly recommended! 

The Personal and Cultural Impact of Frank Ocean's Blonde (33 1/3 Series)

 Frank Ocean's Blonde (33 1/3 Series) 

by Yousef Srour

Frank Ocean's Blonde book cover

Author Yousef Srour

In the Epilogue to Yousef Srour’s debut book, a 33 1/3 entry focused on Frank Ocean’s Blonde, Srour recounts that after finishing the first draft of the book, his editor “suggested that I needed to put more of myself into these pages”. While detailing and analyzing personal connections to albums can sometimes have mixed results in the 33 1/3 book series that focuses on a significant album, I find these personal connections to be highly insightful and wonderful to read. Although many of the books include details about the creation of the album, how the album is situated in the artists’ career and catalogue, or the album’s cultural significance, sometimes learning about an individual’s personal connection to the album is also meaningful and prompts some self-reflection and introspection from the reader. This is the case with Srour’s meditation on Frank Ocean’s Blonde, an album that Srour likens to other cultural and generational touchstones like Hendrix’s Electric Ladyland, Prince’s Sign O’ The Times, and Radiohead’s Kid A (although I might argue that OK Computer might be another comp).  While I’m not as familiar with Ocean’s work as some of these other referents, Srour provides plenty of musical and artistic influences to demonstrate where Ocean’s music was influenced, but more importantly Srour documents both the cultural and personal impact of Ocean’s work, and how not only Ocean’s approach to music and visual albums, but also his groundbreaking statements about his sexuality shifted ideas about masculinity, vulnerability, and sexuality in music, especially in hip-hop and R&B. One of the aspects about Ocean’s work that I found so interesting was his work with Odd Future, the hip-hop collective that birthed Tyler the Creator and Earl Sweatshirt but was also infamous for their controversial and shocking lyrics and themes. Yet, as Srour documents interviews with Tyler and Ocean in his book, they found inspiration and support from one another, even if their music moved in different directions and focused on different lyrical content. If anything, as Odd Future has grown apart and its members matured, it looks like the immersive and conceptual approach to music and art was apparent in Ocean’s work as well as Odd Future’s shock doctrine. Srour helps readers draw these connections through his extensive research “about the most enigmatic record of my generation”, documenting not only his findings but also the effects of writing, meeting deadlines, and trying to support oneself through the creative process. The book becomes not only an critical reflection on the album, but also a meta-narrative about the creative process where readers are able to witness the struggles and challenges that artists and creators experience, whether it is doubt, stress, habits, and even tinges of madness and paranoia that seem to glean a teeming brain. Are these influences or implications? Srour doesn’t answer that question but seems to suggest that great artists like Ocean experience these struggles and doubts that can often be sources of inspiration.

Beyond Ocean’s artistic output, I wasn’t aware of his life and experiences, and despite being an enigmatic and private person, Srour uses the extensive interviews and tumblr posts from Ocean to make meaning of his life and work. It’s useful synthesis and analysis as well as contextualization with other artists who Srour either cites as influences on Ocean’s work or Srour recognizes as thematic and stylistic peers. Srour draws connections between Ocean and artists like D’Angelo and Prince, but also notes how Ocean’s approach to art, ambiguity, and emotion is similar to Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, and even Elliot Smith. It’s not the kind of parallels I anticipated discovering in this book, but it was fascinating to think more about, and how all of these artists have challenged traditional tropes in music and masculinity. I also appreciated how Srour balances the facts of Ocean’s life with his interpretation of his work, providing some biographical details about Frank Ocean’s life and transformation from Christophere Breaux to Lonny Breaux to eventually Frank Ocean. Srour explores how this change, along with Ocean’s moves from Long Beach to New Orleans and eventually back to LA in early adulthood all contributed to the themes and textures in his music.

What I found most fascinating about Ocean, though, was his daring approach to releasing music at a time when music was shifting from digital purchases to streaming. It’s unclear whether Ocean was prescient or just tired of the lack of support from his record label (Def Jam- and it was probably the latter), but he self-released his mixtape Nostalgia Ultra, which became a critical and commercial success (through streaming) before his debut album Channel Orange was released. As Srour explains, the decision to self-release seemed to catch his record label off-guard but also was probably related to the lack of sample clearances on the mixtape. Nevertheless, its success and acclaim provided Ocean with more clout and sway at the label, which eventually released Channel Orange the following year. I also found it interesting that while this album was similarly critically acclaimed, Ocean found its categorization as R&B problematic as the album seemed to expand on the boundaries and was influenced by many different genres, not just R&B. Equally momentous was Ocean’s Tumblr letter he released in 2012 that was intended for the liner notes to Channel Orange. Srour explores the cultural and personal impact of Ocean’s letter where he describes his first love as unrequited feelings for another man. Although Srour’s book and Ocean’s work make the argument that Ocean’s music transcends traditional genre’s like R&B and Hip-Hop, which have sometimes demonstrated misogyny and homophobia, it’s easy to forget how significant Frank Ocean’s letter was in shifting the culture and challenging these anachronistic beliefs in music. A Srour documents, Ocean received support from artists and creatives in hip-hop ranging from the new generation, like his Odd Future fam, to the older generation noting the congratulations that Russell Simmons offered to Ocean. Srour further explores Ocean’s posts about the Pulse nightclub shooting in 2016 and the persecution of suspected LGBTQ+ individuals in Syria and Iraq at the hands of the Islamic State. Again, it’s fascinating to see how Ocean’s work and words greatly challenged the status quo and traditions in Hip-Hop and R&B, taking a political and personal stand against the oppressed, the persecuted, and those who were murdered for their identities. In 2016, I was in the process of moving and expecting the birth of my second child, with the hopes that a democrat would continue in the White House, so I was somewhat removed from all of these events and didn’t necessarily realize the significance of Frank Ocean’s work and statements. The latter part of Srour’s book focuses on a track-by-track analysis of Blonde, and explores the lyrical, musical, and visual elements of the album, tying them to Ocean’s own influences, as well as the artistic predecessors that Srour documents in the book. Srour’s book captures what makes these 33 1/3 books so compelling and why these album’s are culturally, musically, artistically and personally significant. He closely analyzes the influences and influence but also explores his own personal connections to Ocean’s music. While some may question this approach, I really appreciate it. It gave me more insight into younger generations and helped me better understand the importance of Ocean’s work. This was a wonderful addition to the 33 1/3 series. Highly recommended! 

Red Roots Volume One: An Inventive, Genre Blending Comic

 Red Roots Volume One by Lorenzo De Felici

Red Roots book cover

Author and artist Lorenzo De Felici

Many thanks to Image Comics and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of the wild and inventive comic Red Roots by Lorenzo De Felici. This volume collects issues 1-5, world building a mysterious other dimension where a high school biology teacher and a professional killer end up meeting through a giant warrior creature named Grit. The story starts off alternating between the two characters, Dante (or Dan), the professional killer out for vengeance, and Katie, a high school teacher who makes an unsettling discovery in her home, leading her to question her sanity. Their stories converge in a strange, new world where the red roots bring new recruits to join the battle-inflicted world. We gradually learn more about the world, the seemingly endless battles, and the various creatures that inhabit this world as Dan and Katie learn more through their interactions with other creatures, including Grit. The artwork is stellar in this collection, moving from a realistic style to a fantasy world populated by inventive creature designs. At times, the story is a little hard to follow since the transitions from one world to the next are sudden, but we learn more about how Katie and Dan ended up in the land of the Red Roots and how they might be afforded an opportunity to leave. The story ends suddenly without any resolution, so I’m hopefully that future issues will examine more about how Dan and Katie navigate this strange world, managing threats from the enemy combatants as well as creatures within the town who seem suspicious or jealous of their position as humans. I really enjoyed how the artwork and story synthesizes several genres to create a unique tale that can appeal to sci-fi, horror, fantasy, and action/adventure enthusiasts. I’m looking forward to learning more about the world of Red Roots in subsequent issues. Recommended!

Artificial Intimacy and the Outsourcing of Human Relationships

 Artificial Intimacy: Who We Become When We Talk to Machines  by Sherry Turkle

Artificial Intimacy book cover

Author and researcher Sherry Turkle

I just came across an article from The Atlantic that focused on the work of Gad Saad and his belief about the toxic nature of empathy that is leading to the decline of “the west”, Saad, who holds a doctorate in marketing, seems to take a zero sum approach to empathy, where the ability to share feelings and relate to others, once held as a true sign of one’s humanity or appreciation for life, has now become toxic and woke. While it seems that Saad is more concerned with empathy in policies and regulations, his belief in empathy as toxic and destructive has received much attention from right wingers and what Gil Duran has nicknamed the Nerd Reich, a band of technofascists whose desire for efficiency and control have led to world wars. While Saad’s views on empathy are bizarre and misanthropic, they are gaining, probably for many of the reasons that Sherry Turkle has investigated our relationships with technology for nearly 50 years. In her latest book, Artificial Intimacy: What We Become When We Talk to Machines, Turkle treads new ground in the area of human machine intersection, but still manages to investigate the deleterious effects that technology has on our ability to communicate, to open up and become vulnerable, to relate, and to empathize with others. In past books, Turkle has investigated how technology like social media, email, and text messaging impacts our abilities to have conversations or communicate our feelings or ideas, or how digital toys often take the place of real relationships for children, blurring their schema for not only living things but also relationships. In this book, Turkle examines many of these same problematic outcomes, but she is looking at how chatbots and AI have impacted several areas of human relationships, connectivity, creativity, and thinking.

Even if you’ve never read Turkle’s other books or are familiar with her research, this is a great book to start with as the subject, artificial intelligence, is at the forefront of the news and seems to be an inescapable part of our online and digital experiences. However, what I found most fascinating in this book was Turkle’s interviews and documentation of how others are using chatbots in their daily lives. As an educator, I was glad to see that Turkle takes a constructivist and humanist approach to analyzing the participants’ use of AI, examining not only it’s impact on their abilities to think and classify information, but more significantly how AI dependency might impact their relationships with others. Through using theoretical frameworks from developmental psychologists like Erik Erikson and Jean Piaget, Turkle notes that prior developmental milestones and markers of cognition and identity development may be bypassed or unresolved which may have significant implications for individuals and society as they opt out of tasks that may be challenging, difficult, or even confrontational. As Turkle reminds readers with Erikson’s theory in particular, the developmental stages are not always resolved in a linear fashion, but we often face these conflicts throughout our lives. While resolution often results in a positive development in our authentic selves or identity, an unresolved conflict may have a detrimental impact on our psyche, leading to issues in identity diffusion, mistrust, and even despair. Proponents of AI claim that it leads to efficiency and an ability to personalize our interests and learning, yet Turkle’s own experiences documenting the obsequiousness of AI and several popular chat programs show that its demonstration of feelings or emotions are shallow and misleading. She also reminds readers that human relationships and learning are messy and not easily coded or refined by altering a sequence in a program. Rather, relationships and learning take time, patience, empathy, and determination, characteristics that many in the tech industry suggest that we bypass in order to bring us short-term satisfaction or joy that eventually leaves us isolated and alone and possibly with misguided ideas about relating to other people. In fact, I was surprised to read how many individuals that Turkle met with who repeatedly opted for digital relationships with chatbots because they are easier to manage and control and do not offer the give-and-take negotiation that is an essential part of growing a relationship. Another important factor that Turkle stresses is the role of the pandemic in accelerating the move towards chatbots as a kind of replacement for human relationships. She notes her own challenges with the limited connections that social distancing enabled, and presents the turn towards digital relationships with AI as part of a result of the social isolation from the pandemic. Yet, Turkle’s own research on our relationships with technology also indicates that this was an inevitable destination as one of her books, 2011’s Alone Together is subtitled Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other. While much of her prior research examines children and the elderly and how the use of technology presents them with a simulated connection that they often accept as real. Yet, Artificial Intimacy touches all areas of human relationships, work, and life, examining how people from across different communities and backgrounds have all begun to replace real, human relationships with artificial intelligence.

Turkle frames this simulated connection through artificial intelligence as an emergency that has further enhanced anxiety and stress while also delaying typical markers of adulthood like intimacy and trust. She also documents case studies of AI that have done harm to children and adolescence, and how tired and time-constrained parents sometimes turn to AI to fulfill their parenting duties, or how children respond to AI-enabled devices like Alexa or Siri. Turkle reminds readers that while we may gain efficiency, easy answers, and even short-lasting pleasure or joy, it often comes at the expense of our privacy and possibly our identities, ability to trust, initiative, or intimacy. While the chapters on childhood and adolescence are concerning about how AI is impacting developmental milestones, I found the chapters looking at love and work even more shocking. Learning more about how people depend on AI for companionship and work skills opened up new insights into how AI is replacing these areas of our lives and making individuals less able to confront the typical challenges of life. There were two other chapters that also looked at how AI is becoming more of a part of therapy and how people (and companies) are using AI to manage mourning. I found these last two chapters equally concerning and somewhat disturbing. It seems that AI would be counterintuitive to therapeutic practices, especially those in psychoanalysis and Rogerian therapies, but it seemed like therapists and individuals who Turkle interviewed were of the belief that AI’s use in therapy was inevitable and would bring benefits. While therapists viewed its use as a means to provide further insights into analyzing patterns, dreams, and suggesting treatments or practices, patients seemed to appreciate the accessibility that AI therapists provide in relation to cost, time, and customization. As Turkle noted in some of her research participants, AI therapists don’t necessarily challenge these patients, often allowing patients to dictate the terms. What was also surprising was that not all companies promoting AI therapy need to issue disclaimers either. The chapter on mourning was also shocking to read, but also understanding. As Turkle notes, accepting death is one of the most challenging tasks of being a human, but it allows us to resolve the grieving process. Not accepting death creates a sense of melancholy on the individual level. AI companies have begun to exploit the desire to address death by creating digital avatars and AI-recreations of loved ones by uploading text messages, emails, videos, photos and other digital documents. Not only does it raise moral and ethical concerns, but Turkle notes the issues of privacy and consent, as most likely the deceased have not provided consent. Turkle’s research suggests that this willingness to revive the dead in an unliving manner prevents us from grieving and healing. It’s this kind of disruption, the inability to resolve the conflicts of life that AI has facilitated in the past few years.

Artificial Intimacy is an important book that many people should read. It’s a book that is especially important for parents and teachers, as it can provide us with a better understanding of the risks and consequences that AI poses to our children and students. While Turkle raises alarms and calls AI dependency a state of emergency, the presentation of the book’s subjects and research participants is empathetic and understanding. Yet, she also calls on readers to reclaim the real and reject the artificial, noting how AI not only limits our relationships with others, but it also reduces our agency and decision making. We are outsourcing our lives with the promise of efficiency and customization. The cost is our privacy, our identity, and our minds. With the recent attacks on empathy and the stress of efficiency, Turkle’s work and analysis throughout her career and this book in particular are relevant and meaningful. Highly recommended. Many thanks to Little, Brown, and Company and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of this wonderful and important book. 

Exploring Haunted History and Literature in J. W. Ocker's Chasing the Headless Horseman

 Chasing the Headless Horseman: The History, Hijinks, and Halloweens of the Real Sleepy Hollow by J. W. Ocker

Chasing the Headless Horseman book cover

Author and Halloween enthusiast J. W. Ocker

Skyrocketing food and grocery prices. Pain at the pump. Another seemingly endless war while the president thrives on AI generated praise and glory. While doom and gloom seem to abound in 2026, I’ll remember it as the year that readers received two J. W. Ocker travel books. Ocker, who has clearly established the field of horror travel writing, researching and visiting the haunted, mysterious, and dangerous places that are often populated by cryptids, ghosts, or legends, published the wonderfully weird Don’t Go There over the summer, which I found was an ideal book to find out about places not to visit (even though there’s some on my to visit list like The Pine Barrens and Centralia). Just in time for the Halloween season, Ocker’s latest book covers everything you never knew you wanted to know about Sleepy Hallow, which Ocker makes the case was the setting for America’s first horror story, written by America’s first professional writer, Washington Irving. Beyond being a travel book that provides the history and current status of one of the US’s hottest Halloween towns, Ocker makes the case for the importance of the Headless Horseman to American horror and how this story possibly affected literature in America and around the world. I was amazed to learn about the possible influences on Poe and Dickens, as well Irving’s contributions to the English lexicon with words like knickerbocker, doughnut, the almighty dollar, and Gotham. Ocker uses these facts to make a strong case about Irving’s importance not just to American literature but to American culture and norms. Chasing the Headless Horseman is not just a travelogue about exploring the transformation of North Tarrytown to Sleep Hollow, but rather it’s also a love letter and passionate endorsement of the significance of the Headless Horseman to America’s monsterverse and how it has factored in to our urban legends and lore. I am so thankful that W.W. Norton & Company and NetGalley made this book available for preview.

Chasing the Headless Horseman is a great book because it not only examines how the Halloween and fall seasons transform Sleepy Hollow into a in-demand destination filled with graveyard visits, instagramable shots on bridges, and cursed rock formations, but Ocker also presents the history of the town, tracing it from its earliest days as Weckquaesgeek land to eventually becoming a Dutch settlement where Frederick Philipse established a mansion and mill. Ocker also dedicates chapters to examining Sunnyside, Washington Irving’s still preserved home in the area, providing some details about how the unique construction came to be. However, Ocker also interviews many current and former residents of Sleepy Hollow and neighboring Tarrytown to share more about the history and significance of the area, and to better understand what it is like living in the area. These interviews are some of the best parts of the book as they provide first hand perspectives of citizens who have contributed to Sleepy Hollow’s transformation over the years. They also showcase a sillier side of Ocker, and I found myself laughing at some of the questions and responses in these interviews. It was also fascinating to learn that the Sleepy Hollow/Tarrytown high school’s mascot is the Headless Horseman, which Ocker shares his fascination with by opening the book describing a bathroom redecoration project featuring the Headless Horseman.

In addition to the history of the area, Ocker also explores his love of the story and how a middle school teacher’s lesson for Halloween introduced him to the story that would become a lifelong love. This passion for “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” leads Ocker to research and analyze the potential sources of the story as well as the locations in the town that served as backdrop for this classic American tale. These chapters that focused on the literature and Ocker’s analysis of the influences and changes that Irving made for the story were among my favorite in the book. He closely examines not only the possible friends and acquaintances who may have influenced the characters in the story, but also provides some possible interpretations of the meaning and themes of the story as they relate to American literature of the time and present. Furthermore, Ocker’s style is conversational and informal, more punning than pedantic, and it makes the analysis more accessible and engaging. I found it fascinating to learn more about the Revolutionary War’s influence on this story and the legend of the Hessian soldier from the Battle of White Plains who was possibly decapitated by a cannonball. Ocker talks to an author who traveled to Germany to learn more about this possible connection, as well as other authors who have written about Sleepy Hollow, the town and the story.

Beyond the story, Ocker also visits some haunted spots in the area, sharing some possible sites to visit on a day trip. This kind of travel writing is where Ocker shines, sharing some out of the way spots that won’t necessarily show up in a guidebook. He provides some interesting stories behind the lore of these locations and some ways to navigate to easier viewing (like Raven Rock). I loved learning more about all of the legends, houses, rocks, bridges, trees, and even restaurants, and it provides the beginnings of a fun itinerary for visiting a town. In another chapter, Ocker also compares Sleepy Hollow with America’s original terrifying town, Salem, Massachusetts, to note how each obtained their reputation as a Halloween location and how this has helped these town’s grow. In another chapter, Ocker visits several other American cities and towns that are either named Sleepy Hollow or have some connection to Washington Irving, whether it is visiting Ichibod’s Lounge in Las Vegas or chatting with the resident historian of Sleepy Hollow Illinois. My favorite chapter in the book, though, was Ocker’s detailed examination of all of the movies, shows, and short films inspired by “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.” I had no idea that there were about 82 hours of shows and movies that were based on the story, and Ocker provides a useful synopsis and evaluation of these films and shows. Although he wasn’t able to find one of the more interesting shows, Shirley Temple’s Storybook which features Boris Karloff, he watched all of the other recreations and adaptations of this classic story to see how the Headless Horseman has been represented in various time periods. Although my first encounter with the Headless Horseman was through the 1949 Disney short, I didn’t realize that it was also featured with The Wind and the Willows, which is a British novel and somehow received a Disneyland ride. I think a Sleepy Hollow ride would have been much better, but alas. This chapter about the various interpretations of Irving’s story probably has the most highlighting, and I have been creating a viewing list based on Ocker’s film reviews. It was fascinating to see how the image of the Headless Horseman has shifted over time, yet somehow still remains menacing even in children’s television from the 1970s and 80s. Nevertheless, it’s also fascinating to see how in more recent adaptations, the Headless Horseman exchanges his horse for a motorcycle and is often depicted as a malevolent motorist with a detachable helmet.

There’s so much to like about this book, whether it’s the history, the travel recommendations, the literary analysis, or the film recommendations. J. W. Ocker takes readers on a wild ride through the forests of West Chester County and the influences and legacy of America’s first ghost/horror story “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.” He brings us along with his family, introducing us to historians, authors, and citizens of Sleepy Hollow and its surrounding towns to learn more about the history and significance of the town, its namesake story, and its author, Washington Irving, who, according to Ocker, was the first American to make a living as a writer. Ocker’s passion and love for the story and especially the Headless Horseman shines through all of his interviews, questions, and explorations of the area, geographical, historical, and literary. It’s a fascinating book that dives deep into an important American legend, examining its modern day reverberations and influence. Chasing the Headless Horseman is a wonderful read, especially for those who love Halloween, fall, and American literature. Highly recommended!

Commemorative plaque from the Alhambra in Granada

Note- I was lucky enough to visit the Alhambra in Granada, Spain this past winter. I previously visited it 30 years before, and I wanted to make sure I took my family there when we were in Spain, even though it meant renting a car and driving for several hours from Seville. I also made sure that I found where Washington Irving stayed during his time there, and where he was inspired to write two books about this magnificent, historical palace. I remembered learning about Irving's visit and stay there when I first visited Spain as a high school student, but it was cool to see this again with my family. Ocker's book and this picture I took remind me of how important and unique Washington Irving was-- how we traveled around and shared his observations and reflections about these places for the broader American public who might not have been able to travel in the 19th century. It also demonstrates Irving's interest in culture and legends, and how he was like an early, informal anthropologist or folklorist, gathering and reproducing some of the history and legends of these places. He truly is an American original and I'm glad that Ocker's book celebrates his significance in American literature. 

Exploring the World of Stephen King: The Art and Craft of Stephen King by Guy Astic and Frank Lafond

 The Art and Craft of Stephen King: The Story Behind Every Novel, Novella, and Short Story by Guy Astic and Frank Lafond

The Art and Craft of Stephen King cover

Author and researcher Guy Astic

Author and researcher Frank Lafond

Credit due to Guy Astic and Frank Lafond, authors of the massive, encyclopedic entry into Stephen King’s universe titled The Art and Craft of Stephen King: The Story Behind Every Novel, Novella, and Short Story, for providing fans with a wonderful reference to all of King’s work, and in some cases, making intertextual connections to allow readers to see references to characters, places and events that frequently occur from Derry to Castle Rock. Astic and Lafond have covered nearly all of the bases in King’s writing and filmography, providing the background to the stories, novels, and novellas, while also noting literary allusions and influences that King incorporated in his writing. Each chapter of the book closely examines one book, with some chapters focused on short story collections, examining themes within the collections, while also noting how the stories may relate to other novels that arrived later in King’s career. I especially loved the sidebars “For King Addicts”, where the authors provide some deeper level knowledge for King fans, whether it’s personal connections and history from King related to a specific book, or what was happening in King’s life at the time of the writing of the book. It’s fascinating to learn some of these hidden tidbits about some of my favorite books by one of my favorite authors. Each chapter also has a section that focuses on the screen adaptation of the book, allowing fans to learn more about how these novels were adapted for the big screen and helped to further cement King’s status as the modern master of horror. While I loved learning more about the writing behind these books, I think learning about the film adaptations was also fascinating—especially as they note how King’s bankability took a hit in the 80s after the success of Carrie. I actually didn’t realize that George Romero initially wanted to adapt The Stand, but due to budget constraints and the lengthy book, it was never adapted to the big screen, yet has had 2 television miniseries adaptations. Similarly, there have been about 10 films adapted in various forms from Night Shift, although there are nearly that many sequels to Children of the Corn. This chapter examined the variability in adapting King’s work for the screen, especially as King has often not been involved in the screenwriting process for many of these films. He infamously ended up directing Maximum Overdrive based on the Night Shift story “Trucks”. I remember loving Maximum Overdrive when I was like 10, and reading about the production of the film made me want to watch it again. The section on this book also made me want to check out some of the lesser-known adaptations from the 90s like The Mangler and Sometimes They Come Back. This book also has one of the most recent King adaptations, The Long Walk, which was first published under King’s pseudonym, Richard Bachman. In fact, the Bachman books are also included in this collection—even Rage, which has been taken out of print. Astic and Lafond have left no Castle Rock unturned in their examination and exploration of King’s work.

While I enjoyed this massive 650 page book, I think it would work better as a physical book. I am grateful to Black Dog & Leventhal Publishers and NetGalley for sharing an advanced digital copy of this wonderful book with me, but as other reviewers have mentioned, the digital formatting was not ideal for a book like this. I think the various photos, promotional materials, and other King ephemera would be better enjoyed in clear photos in a physical copy of the book. The scanned images were a little blurry, and whether it was the scanning or formatting of the digital files, the smaller type of the pages were harder to read than other digital books. Nevertheless, this book has proven to be one of the Needful Things for King’s number one fans. I’ll be on the lookout (or maybe the Overlook) for a physical copy at my local bookstore, allowing me to get lost in King’s mythical and malevolent worlds, whether it’s the sewars of Derry or the dome of Chester’s Mill. This is an amazing reference for King’s world. Highly recommended!  

Examining the Horrors of Social Media and Artificial Intelligence in Incarnate by Alma Katsu

Incarnate by Alma Katsu

Incarnate book cover

Author Alma Katsu

Alma Katsu’s Incarnate is a fascinating and thrilling update to the gothic horror classic The Portrait of Dorian Gray. I’d actually argue that Katsu’s Incarnate is a more adventurous and relevant story that not only examines the age-old desire for beauty and youth, but rather frames these themes in our world that, as Katsu explains in her afterward, “can…not tell the difference between real and fake, it would seem much of the population no longer cares.” Her main character, Dorothy, is a complicated woman whose own trauma and bullying pushed her to the fringes of society and uses social media more as a lurker than someone truly engaged in making meaningful connections, even if they are virtual. An opportunity to work a video creator, Tomas Delgado, allows Dorothy to gain entry level access to cutting edge technology in social media before she graduates college. Katsu’s characterization of Dorothy allows us to both empathize with her and root for her as she seems to obtain a dream internship working with one of the hottest video producers, even if it requires leaving school early and moving to LA on her own away from her family in NJ. As Dorothy develops strong work ethic, spending many nights at the studio perfecting video effects for her favorite signer, Catrina Villeneuve, she’s able to demonstrate her technological prowess to Tomas, proving that she’s a capable and talented member of Tomas’s developing team, even if it sets up rivalries between other members of Tomas’s team. However, Dorothy’s late nights aren’t all spent on Tomas’s projects. She’s also been developing her own avatar, Isabella, who she decides to create social media accounts for. Despite being a digital creation that was developed through her work with the singer Catrina Villeneuve, people can’t (or aren’t willing to) recognize that Isabella is not real. In fact, Isabella’s girl-next-door looks and emptiness seem to appeal to a broad swath of social media users, and she eventually becomes a phenomenon. Maybe because there’s this air of mystery about her, but people want to know more about this woman and where she came from. Even Tomas and others in the studio have questions about Isabella, but because Dorothy used Catrina’s images and videos and Tomas’s equipment and property to create this viral sensation, she’s not willing to disclose her origins. In fact, she secretly seems to revel in the comments, attention and notifications she’s receiving as Isabella since this was never something she experienced as Dorothy. Dorothy also begins to receive strange messages that seemingly offer her a chance to have Isabella become more and more popular, dominating the digital realm. However, as Dorothy eventually learns, these kinds of deals with “trolls” often come with some compensation. Even though she doesn’t sign and contract and her agreement is through messaging, Dorothy’s troll extracts quite the toll, even if the cost doesn’t immediately reach Dorothy.

Before becoming a novelist, Katsu worked in the world of intelligence, becoming one of the first social media researchers, often trying to learn more about how social media impacted behaviors, beliefs, and the flow of information. Similarly, Incarnate takes readers behind the scenes to learn more about how social media and our willingness to accept whatever we see can boost profiles, whether they are real or not. In her afterword, Katsu also shares a thought about social media that I’ve been thinking about ever since I finished the book: “Here’s the last lesson of tech forecasting: Every technology has two sides, and those two sides are not Good and Bad. They’re Offensive and Defensive. You can use a new technology to improve your lot in life or to further your goals, but you can also use it to take down your enemies, to obfuscate or deceive.” It’s a powerful lesson that the technology isn’t really good or bad, but rather it’s how we decide to use it. While Dorothy initially uses it to attain the kind of popularity and attention that evaded her (or she shunned) IRL, we see how she learns to use social media as not just a tool, but also a weapon. At one point, Isabella is invited to a weekend getaway with other influencers who remind her to act as if there’s always a camera filming her; although she forgets this reminder, she learns how others may use social media to take down competitors. In fact, we begin to see how Isabella and Dorothy both change from desiring attention and likes to feeling threatened and cornered by competition. In many ways, Dorothy reminded me of Maris from Katsu’s last novel Fiend, where we see someone who is bound by her status, yet finds ways to manipulate and maneuver, often with some supernatural help, and advance in a world that previously denied them status. Alma Katsu’s Incarnate is an exciting, page-turning ride where I felt my emotions swaying from sympathy to disgust and dismay. I really appreciated the complexity of Dorothy and the transformation that occurs with her as she gains more status and visibility through Isabella. Some of the other characters, especially the other influencers, were a little more underdeveloped, and I would have liked to learn more about them. I also loved the mention of a character named Graham Jones, a “British technocrat bankrolling Tomas’s studio,” and wished there was more about this aptly named individually. Some of the plot points, which I won’t give away to spoil the ending, move rather rapidly towards the latter half of the book. Nevertheless, Katsu’s writing kept my attention and kept me turning pages. Incarnate is a fascinating book, and a great way to use horror to examine the implications of social media and artificial intelligence, especially our willingness to accept whatever we see online as real. Highly recommended! Many thanks to Putnam and NetGalley for sharing an advance copy of this wonderful book!