From the New York Times bestselling author of The Only Good Indians is a chilling historical horror novel tracing the life of a vampire who haunts the fields of the Blackfeet reservation looking for justice.
Genocide, sexual abuse, violence, animal death (Taz is unharmed).
A diary, written in 1912 by a Lutheran pastor is discovered within a wall. What it unveils is a slow massacre, a chain of events that go back to 217 Blackfeet dead in the snow. Told in transcribed interviews by a Blackfeet named Good Stab, who shares the narrative of his peculiar life over a series of confessional visits. This is an American Indian revenge story written by one of the new masters of horror, Stephen Graham Jones.
Don't just take our word for it...
“For me and vampires, there is Stoker, there is Rice, and now there is Jones. It’s harrowing, agonizing, nuanced, and downright philosophical. Very likely Jones’s masterpiece.”
– Daniel Kraus, New York Times bestselling author of Whalefall
“A riveting story of heartbreak, death, and revenge, this remarkable work of American fiction, a thought-provoking tale filled with existential terror, unease, and a high body count, transforms, in Jones’ deft hands, from the unapologetic horror novel it most certainly is into a critique of the entire idea of the United States—a critique that, despite the horrors, both real and supernatural, is forcefully infused with both heart and hope.”
– Booklist, starred review 🌟
“It’s as much an autopsy of institutionalized treachery as a demonization of its tragic and terrifying ‘villain.’ A weirdly satisfying and bloody reckoning with some of America’s most shameful history.”
– Kirkus, starred review 🌟
Taste the very first page
A dayworker reaches into the wall of the parsonage his crew’s re-vamping and pulls a piece of history up, the edges of its pages crumbling under the fingers of his glove, and I have to think that, if his supervisor isn’t walking by at just that moment, then this construction grunt stuffs that journal from a century ago into his tool belt to pawn, or trade for beer, and the world never knows about it.
If this works out, though, then I owe that dayworker my career.
In January, I wasn’t exactly denied tenure, but I was told that, instead of continuing with my application, I consider asking for the extension I’m currently on. The issue wasn’t my teaching—I’m the dayworker of Communication and Journalism, covering all the 1000- and 2000-level courses—it was that my publications aren’t up to University of Wyoming “standards for promotion.” See: get a book under contract, Etsy, and then we’ll talk.
And, if you don’t? Then all your schooling, all your dreams of being a professor, they’re smoke, and you’re out in the cold.
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