My Heart is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones

I knew I was happy to be on this ride from the first sentence. A reference to (the fictional) Proofrock, Idaho had me googling to make sure that it didn't exist and could be read as a Prufrock reference and likely others besides. Jones' work is blithely literary, coopting the horror or thriller and (I won't say elevating them, but) filling his take on the genres with references and allusions. He treats the genre reader as sophisticated and well read (and viewed and listened to- we need a term for those, too, in this deeply entrenched multimedia age). There is certainly smart horror, which has always had social commentary at its heart, but much of it references other works in the genre.

Jones, however, weaves a broader tapestry. His storytelling feels like a conversation not just with other horror or thriller works but with literature, philosophy, music, and film. It's a layered approach that rewards readers willing to dig a little deeper. For those who thrive on uncovering connections and understanding the nuances of how different artistic forms inform one another, this book is a feast.

Take, for example, the clever nods to Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock in the naming of Proofrock, Idaho. It immediately sets a tone of existential dread and small-town decay, a place where corruption and malaise simmer under the surface. Jones doesn’t stop at literary references; his characters often speak and act in ways that suggest a rich, unseen life filled with music, films, and cultural touchstones that resonate in the real world. It’s like reading a thriller that is also a coded message for anyone steeped in pop culture and critical theory.

But this isn’t just a book of intellectual exercises. At its core, the story grips you with its sharp pacing, vivid characters, and a blistering sense of dread that slowly builds into something unbearable. Jones respects the genre’s roots and traditions—there’s blood, suspense, and those heart-pounding, breath-catching moments—but he also stretches its boundaries, allowing horror to feel expansive rather than confined.

It’s also worth noting how Jones challenges traditional horror tropes. His characters are not mere archetypes but richly developed people, full of contradictions and surprising moments of humanity. In doing so, he reclaims the space for horror to be a genre of profound depth and complexity, where fear doesn’t just exist for its own sake but as a way to explore what it means to be human in a fractured, chaotic world.

Jones’ work feels like a natural evolution for the genre. In an era where storytelling exists across mediums—films, podcasts, video games, and beyond—Jones taps into a kind of narrative synesthesia. He draws on these influences not to overwhelm, but to enrich, creating a work that feels at once timeless and uniquely of the moment.

If you’re looking for a book that will keep you up at night in every sense of the phrase—both with its spine-chilling plot and its thought-provoking ideas—you’ve found it. Jones has written not just a great genre novel, but a great novel, period. It’s a ride worth taking, and one you’ll be thinking about long after it ends.

Gallery/Saga Press, Publication Date 8/31/2021