Review of These Bodies Ain’t Broken
When I first stumbled across These Bodies Ain’t Broken, edited by the brilliant K. E. N. L. H., I was drawn in by the promise of a horror anthology that delves deep into the world of disabilities—a context I’m both passionate about and personally connected to. With gratitude to NetGalley and Page Street Publishing for the early access, I couldn’t have imagined the enlightening and eerie journey ahead.
This anthology is more than just a collection of chilling tales; it’s an exploration of the myriad forms of disability, portrayed through the lens of horror. This unique approach invites readers to experience the raw emotions tied to living in a body that often feels alien. Each story reflects on what it means to navigate a world that isn’t always accommodating, contrasting personal struggles with fantastical horrors like curses and supernatural entities.
One standout tale is “Baby Teeth,” which immerses us in a nightmare we can all relate to: losing our teeth. The line, “From somewhere deep inside me…I heard a distinct whisper. Yes. More, please,” set the tone for a narrative that explores the violence of bullying and the cathartic joy of seeing bullies receive their comeuppance—gruesome, yet satisfying.
Similarly, “Thy Creature” offers a poignant retelling of Frankenstein, examining the existential dread of existing in a body that feels like a mere shell. The quote, “The hardest part about coming back to life is remembering how to breathe,” resonated profoundly with me, evoking the often alienating experience of grappling with one’s own identity and body.
Another highlight, “House of Hades,” touched a nerve; the escapism it portrays is all too familiar. Its line, “Death is already so big. Why is everything associated with death so big?” struck me as a mirror reflecting how we often seek refuge in fantasies to escape our realities, yet the weight of our past must still be acknowledged.
Some narratives, like “Kissed by Death,” exuberantly weave together queerness and disability within a vampire love story. The author’s concept that “the real metaphors are the friends we loved and killed for along the way,” captivated me, encapsulating the fierce loyalty that often comes with shared struggles.
“Within the Walls” is another harrowing standout that taps into my personal fear of feeling trapped—either physically or emotionally. The moment, “You’ve been battling your body for so long, viewing it as an enemy…” felt like an open wound, resonating deeply with anyone who has experienced pain or limitation.
These stories constantly reminded me of the beauty and struggle inherent in living with disabilities. The language throughout was both lucid and evocative, adeptly weaving horror and realism in ways that linger in memory long after the book is closed.
For anyone intrigued by narratives that unpack complex themes of identity, pain, and resilience through the lens of horror, These Bodies Ain’t Broken is a must-read. It’s perfect for those who appreciate tales that reflect our society’s nuances while delivering a spine-chilling thrill.
Reading this anthology was a profound experience, one that enriched my understanding of disabilities and allowed me to confront my own fears in compelling ways. These Bodies Ain’t Broken isn’t just a collection of tales; it’s an adventure into understanding, acceptance, and the unbreakable spirit that resides within us all.
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