Recent Reads #56 | The perfect fall folk horror book, meta-fiction, surrealism!

A standout theme across these 20 “Recent Reads” is how experimental or meta storytelling can still land emotionally—when the structure serves the characters instead of replacing them. Several books here lean hard into surrealism, fractured reality, or in-world texts, and the strongest reactions come when that strangeness sharpens intimacy, dread, or meaning rather than just adding confusion.

The most consistently praised relationship-driven work is “Thirst for Salt” by Meline Lucas, an Australian novel centered on a young woman’s relationship with a man about 20 years older. Even though the plot stays quiet, the writing carries “languid heat,” with atmosphere and intensity doing the heavy lifting. The same sensory focus shows up in “I Love You So Much It’s Killing Us Both” by Maria Stovall, where a protagonist’s invitation to a party for a newly adopted daughter triggers deep, protagonist-centered remembrance of a formative friendship. The voice is described as strong and immersive, with punk-rock energy and realistic weirdness—though the ending loses some momentum for the reader.

Where the list turns more structurally inventive, “How It Works Out” by Miriam Lacro earns major praise for its meta, kaleidoscopic approach: each chapter imagines an alternate reality for a lesbian couple, yet the realities interweave rather than functioning as isolated “what if” snapshots. The result is described as bizarre but immediately legible—strange rules, shifting worlds, and escalating weirdness that still keep the reader oriented.

Several books use disintegration of reality as a core engine. “Dead in Long Beach California” by Vanita Blackburn follows Coral, a successful author whose brother’s suicide leads her to impersonate him to his contacts; the week-long deception triggers a collapsing personal reality. The reaction emphasizes how the book stays engaging even when “not much” happens, because character, emotion, and detail keep tightening the trap. “Lost in the Garden” by Adam S. Lesley also builds a creepy, lush road-trip mood toward a destination called “Almond Be,” but the criticism is that the plot meanders and the characters lack depth to compensate for the drawn-out structure.

Horror and folk unease appear as another major lane. “Gray Dog” by Elliot Gish is singled out as a genuinely creepy, slow-burn folk horror told through a teacher’s journal entries—intimate, immersive, and “perfect fall” in its dread. “Earthlings” by Sayaka Murata (translated by Jenny Taple Takamori) is less “enjoyable” but still compelling for its traumatic, graphically intense alien-lens on trauma response; the reader credits its strength and challenge as the same thing—its refusal to make the path from one point to the next feel straightforward.

Not every experiment lands. “Glorious People” by Sasha Salzman, set in Soviet-era Ukraine, is praised for characters and context but criticized for arbitrary-feeling section transitions and modern-day jumps that don’t add narrative impact. “A Sweet Sting of Salt” by Rose Southernland disappoints as a lesbian retelling of the Suki myth: the romance lacks heat and tension, characters feel flat, and the handling of diversity reads as modern moral signaling rather than lived complexity.

Other notable reactions include “Dayspring” by Anthony Ola (a gay verse Bible retelling with humor and abstraction that may reward readers raised Christian), “Rainbow Black” by Maggie Thrash (fast escalation and twistiness, but uneven character logic and a weaker second half), and “The Extinction of Arena Ray” by Jennifer Croft (a highly original satire built from translators, footnotes, and in-world texts—intricate and weird, sometimes slow). The overall takeaway is that these books succeed when their formal risks—meta structure, surreal worlds, epistolary dread—serve emotional truth, not just aesthetic novelty.