Bloom
(Libby/OverDrive eBook, Kindle)

Dawson (The Violence) creates a sweet, cottagecore lesbian romance and patiently twists it into well-crafted but brutal horror. Lush present-tense descriptions of food, decor, and gardens draw readers in as Ro, a lonely and awkward 27-year-old academic, falls head-over-heels for Ash, an ethereal beauty who runs a stall in the farmers' market, having inherited a working farm from her grim grandmother. Their romance doesn't turn wholly sinister until a hundred pages of seduction have gone by and Ro finds odd but damning evidence of animal cruelty in the trash can of her girlfriend's quaint country kitchen. Ash can expertly cook anything from scratch--heaven for "chubby" Ro--but she also enforces boundaries so fiercely that she edges into Bluebeard territory. And, like Bluebeard, this dark fairy tale is revealed as a nightmarish world for women. Dawson revels in painting female lovers, mothers, and grandmothers as loathsome and corrupting stereotypically feminine spaces and pursuits, showing them as mediums of abuse. Even the language of self-care and empowerment is rendered toxic. Ironic? Interrogative? The point is not made entirely clear, which weakens the otherwise indisputable power of the storytelling. Still, fans of slow-burning scares will find much to terrify them here. (Oct.)

A fresh start for a young professional takes a shockingly dark direction in this hypnotic page-turner, great for fans of Eric LaRocca and Catriona Ward. Rosemary, known as Ro, has left the hustle and bustle of NYC and her recent ex to teach at the University of Georgia. She is quickly charmed by her new environment, and during a trip to the local farmers market she becomes utterly captivated by a beautiful and mysterious vendor of homemade soaps, candles, and more. Ro is pulled willingly into Ash's orbit with an immediate need to impress her and to please her. Amid lush, fairytale-esque imagery, Ro's infatuation grows, despite--or perhaps because of--increasing uncertainty. What begins as a sweet romance quickly becomes something much darker. Beautiful language with expertly placed details that inspire both wonder and dread will leave readers breathless, and a shocking third act is the cherry on top of a horrifying sundae. VERDICT This quick and compulsively readable fairy-tale nightmare from Dawson (The Violence) will have readers gasping for breath and hungry for more.--Emily Vinci

A fresh start for a young professional takes a shockingly dark direction in this hypnotic page-turner, great for fans of Eric LaRocca and Catriona Ward. Rosemary, known as Ro, has left the hustle and bustle of NYC and her recent ex to teach at the University of Georgia. She is quickly charmed by her new environment, and during a trip to the local farmers market she becomes utterly captivated by a beautiful and mysterious vendor of homemade soaps, candles, and more. Ro is pulled willingly into Ash's orbit with an immediate need to impress her and to please her. Amid lush, fairytale-esque imagery, Ro's infatuation grows, despite—or perhaps because of—increasing uncertainty. What begins as a sweet romance quickly becomes something much darker. Beautiful language with expertly placed details that inspire both wonder and dread will leave readers breathless, and a shocking third act is the cherry on top of a horrifying sundae. VERDICT This quick and compulsively readable fairy-tale nightmare from Dawson (The Violence) will have readers gasping for breath and hungry for more.—Emily Vinci

Dawson (The Violence) creates a sweet, cottagecore lesbian romance and patiently twists it into well-crafted but brutal horror. Lush present-tense descriptions of food, decor, and gardens draw readers in as Ro, a lonely and awkward 27-year-old academic, falls head-over-heels for Ash, an ethereal beauty who runs a stall in the farmers' market, having inherited a working farm from her grim grandmother. Their romance doesn't turn wholly sinister until a hundred pages of seduction have gone by and Ro finds odd but damning evidence of animal cruelty in the trash can of her girlfriend's quaint country kitchen. Ash can expertly cook anything from scratch—heaven for "chubby" Ro—but she also enforces boundaries so fiercely that she edges into Bluebeard territory. And, like Bluebeard, this dark fairy tale is revealed as a nightmarish world for women. Dawson revels in painting female lovers, mothers, and grandmothers as loathsome and corrupting stereotypically feminine spaces and pursuits, showing them as mediums of abuse. Even the language of self-care and empowerment is rendered toxic. Ironic? Interrogative? The point is not made entirely clear, which weakens the otherwise indisputable power of the storytelling. Still, fans of slow-burning scares will find much to terrify them here. (Oct.)