Brainwyrms

2023. Frankie thinks of herself as a fat tranny with a kink for guys saying they’ll get her pregnant. She falls in love with Vanya whose kink is being infested with things. Very funny send up of J. K. Rowling as author Jennifer Campbell, a terf leader. Ends up with an orgy of dark robed people dripping worms from their eyes, mouths and genitals. I didn’t really dig the bugs, infestations, kinks, sex, whatever. But the writing was good and had a lot of interesting things to say about trans stuff and the times we live in.

People who like to describe things as "elevated horror" talk a lot about the difference between horror and terror. You know, "the difference between awful apprehension and sickening realization: between the smell of death and stumbling against a corpse," as they say (or, ok, as Devendra Varma said, according to the "Horror and Terror" Wikipedia page...). What people often fail to mention is that a lot of so-called horror media is not really about horror, or about terror, but about disgust. More ick than eek. No more frightening than spoiled milk, no less upsetting.

Folks, this is prime example of what I'm talking about. Brainwyrms is gross. Brainwyrms is disgusting. Brainwyrms should not be read in times and places where it would be show more inappropriate to become violently ill. Very icky. Whatever the opposite of elevated is. Neither the smell of death nor the stumbled upon corpse but the maggots and piles of vomit left behind for the crime scene clean-up crew. I often asked myself, why am I reading this? why am I doing this to myself? It is the stinkingest turd of a novel I have ever read.

Not that there's anything wrong with that, as they say! And as turds go, this one was pretty polished. Rumfitt does a really fine job here of crafting a compelling narrative that neither under nor overplays its (unwashed) hand. The characters are well-formed, distinct, plausibly motivated to behave as they do. And the more straight-forward horror elements lurk persistently in the background, waiting patiently to be born. It has none of the flaws of Rumfitt's first novel, Tell Me I'm Worthless (which I found to be poorly structured, derivative, philosophically confused, etc.), or of Eric LaRocca's similarly premised Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke (which was rushed, pointless, unbelievable, etc.). I doubt I will recommend it to anyone -- I try to avoid rendering my friends and loved ones nauseous -- nor can I say honestly that I enjoyed it. But if you're looking to have a bad time reading a good book: this is for you.

P.S. Thanks NetGalley! This book should come with an anti-emetic! show less

Just when you thought they couldn't publish edgelord books anymore