The writing in this book? Amazing. The rest had… a point, and pretty much nothing else.
Burn Our Bodies Down is a contemporary-set horror novel following 17-year-old Margot as she tries to reconnect with what’s left of her family in the reclusive town of Phalene, after being isolated and lied to by her abusive mother all her life.
As it turns out, her mother learned her ways from someone else, and the darkness that follows Margot could have deeper roots than she could ever imagine.
It is, at its heart, about the cyclical nature of interpersonal violence and the price of ignoring its effects for generations. I really appreciated what it said, and the path it offered to Margot in understanding her family’s history – without ever shying away from all the complicated feelings that come with that. I also appreciated that it’s a book about a lesbian that doesn’t have a romance, because queer people exist outside of romantic plotlines, and yes, queerness is part of our lives even when we aren’t in love.
If this had been a straightforward dark contemporary about cycles of violence, I would stop here; unfortunately, it’s not, and having a strong message doesn’t erase that it was a complete mess of a horror novel.
I don’t think horror needs to be scary necessarily – this isn’t – but I expect something like suspense at the very least, and Burn Our Bodies Down was lacking in that. When your horror novel relies on missing answers, on the unknown, there should be at least a sense of what the consequences might be for the main character if she doesn’t find out. As we know nothing, most of this novel just felt like following Margot around as she interacts with very lackluster characters – seriously, anyone who isn’t a Nielsen is as flat as a piece of paper, and the Nielsen who aren’t Margot are… alike – without any sense of urgency. It isn’t that she’s safe, or that there isn’t a sense of unease running through everything, but it’s all so unspecific and not enough to carry a whole novel, not – again – when the characters are like that.
Then came the reveals. They were all at the same time in the last pages, and even if it weren’t for my dislike of this pacing choice when the rest of the book had been so empty, I wouldn’t have liked them, because they were just… cheap. Instead of leaving the supernatural-metaphorical aspect be, the book tries to explain it too much, and even throws fake science in it to make it feel more grounded. Which is the last thing one should do, and also a pattern, as Wilder Girls had the exact same problem. The result is that both books end with an embarrassingly bad twist related to environmental topics, the kind I’d expect in a cli-fi parody.
I’ll admit, I am sensitive to anything that doesn’t treat topics like climate change or pollution with the weight and research they deserve, but aside from that – this is just the coward’s choice. Don’t justify yourself at every step; let the weirdness speak on its own.
My rating: ★★