Synopsis:
Something evil is buried deep in the desert.
It wants your body.
It wears your skin.
In the summer of 1995, seven queer kids abandoned by their parents at a remote conversion camp came face to face with it. They survived―but at Camp Resolution, everybody leaves a different person.
Sixteen years later, only the scarred and broken survivors of that terrible summer can put an end to the horror before it’s too late.
The fate of the world depends on it.
Review:
Cuckoo by Gretchen Felker Martin is icky, sticky, phlegm-filled madness. Sounds fun, no? Original, transgressive and intensely angry, this one is jam-packed with some exemplary body and cosmic horror, and can’t be missed. Thank you to Titan for providing me with a physical ARC in return for an honest review, this comes out on the 11th June 2024 from Tor Nightfire in the US and Titan in the UK.
Orchestrated by their own families’ futile and misguided attempts to “fix,” them, a group of queer teens find themselves thrust into a harrowing and supernatural fight for survival, in which nothing is as it seems… and no one can hear you scream. Worse yet, as their subconscious minds are slowly infiltrated by an ominous presence, they find that leader and hardline religious zealot Pastor Eddie and his cronies are not the only thing they have to worry about… the group come face to face with a grotesque creature of unimaginable terror. It wants your body. It wears your skin. It’s screaming “Cuckoo.”
I want to properly kick this review off by talking about the creature feature. To put it frankly, absolutely fuckin terrifying. I don’t know how many of you will remember or even be aware of the tar monster from Scooby Doo, but honestly, those are the sticky vibes I got. I also feel the monster from “The Thing,” (1982) is an apt comparison. The creature’s physical presence is nightmare fuel, but its detached telepathic dialogue is scary as heck, exuding the same chilling quality as something like a haunted doll. We only come face to face with the monster following a series of bizarre happenings, and Martin really plays with this fear of the unknown- it works.
In terms of structure, we read from multiple third person perspectives, which really keeps the pages turning, and the narrative nice and fresh. The novel consists of two parts (and an absolutely gripping prologue). The bulk of this is Part 1, where we follow the protagonists in 1995. Now I found Part 1 to be VERY slow burn… but effectively so. The eerie atmosphere Martin creates is sickly, abrasive and invasive, an effect only enhanced by Gretchen’s writing, which is very sensory. I could hear distant screams, feel the blistering sun on my back, and the fetid stench of decay was practically inescapable. It’s an unbelievably visceral experience that makes you want to keep reading despite the pacing. Part 2 is set 16 years later, and we follow the survivors, all of which are still scarred from their stay at Camp Resolution.
Before I begin dissecting the myriad of themes, I’d like to focus on the colorful array of characters. We get acquainted with six vividly portrayed youths, each with their own distinct personalities, backstories and values. When Felker-Martin properly explores these characters, she does it well- however I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the surplus of names flying around. It was like an overflowing bowl of alphabet soup, pretty good, but perhaps in need of some decluttering. These various unnecessarily named characters seemed to kind of hover on the periphery without shaping the narrative- and I found it actually just made it more difficult to keep track of the characters that mattered. As you become more familiar with the protagonists the issues this causes seem to fade, and Cuckoo more than redeems itself with the unique creature feature, important commentary and isolated landscape.
Felker-Martin dives into a multitude of very heavy themes, each deserving careful examination and reflection. The children’s lives (and that’s what they are, CHILDREN) are permeated with bigotry. This homophobia and transphobia casts a shadow over the lives of the protagonists, who find themselves living in a society where their sexuality and/or gender is deemed unacceptable, and they’re ostracized by something that’s just one of many aspects of their identity. There’s a particular focus on the trans experience. Gabe, Shelby and Felix all grapple with their sense of self, and body dysmorphia throughout. By focusing on trans triumphs and struggles, it’s impossible to read this book and come out still believing we should not be fighting for and protecting queer kids. The people who really NEED to read this book, simply won’t, and that’s a real shame.
Cuckoo is not exactly like anything I’ve ever read. It feels like an adult, horror version of Holes by Louis Sachar, combined with Hailey Piper’s “Queen of Teeth,” not a likely pair, but a fun-sounding one I hope.
In conclusion, Felker-Martin creates a narrative that evokes both utter terror and burning rage, intertwining themes of societal prejudice and personal identity with unadulterated horror. From the prologue’s ominous whispers to its chilling denouement, Cuckoo grips with relentless fervour. Terrifyingly factual and tantalisingly surreal, each page crackles with an electric energy and a inescapable sense of dread- you won’t be able to put it down.
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