The Summer Is Ended and We Are Not Yet Saved
When did horror, particularly of the graphic, gorehound variety, get so nihilistic and depressing? I guess it’s always been there implicitly, as a comment on human nature, but it seems like only in the last decade or so that it has fully embraced this darker side. Joey Comeau still seems to be working out some personal issues in his fiction, and at least by my reading of this tale of slaughtered innocents at a summer Bible camp his therapy has some ways to go yet, but that’s part of what makes it interesting. Whatever else you want to say about Father Tony, for example, you can’t say he’s repressed. Which in his case is not a good thing.