A few years ago, the anthology Never Whistle at Night burst onto the horror fiction scene, introducing readers to a whole slew of talented indigenous authors right when the meteoric rise of Stephen Graham Jones was making Native horror a hot topic. Now those same editors are back with a followup anthology. Back for Blood: Never Whistle at Night Part II, edited by Shane Hawk and Theodore C. Van Alst Jr, came out on August 18. If you loved the first volume or are just interested in expanding your horror horizons, definitely check this one out!
While the first volume had a foreword from Stephen Graham Jones, this one kicks off with a very brief foreword from Richard Van Camp, the author of Beast, in which he reflects on his own experience with horror fiction and why so many love the genre. Editors Shane Hawk and Ted Van Alst meditate further upon the genre in their introduction, examining why horror may be particularly compelling or meaningful to Native writers. They dispel stereotypes about Native writers being “somehow closer to darkness by temperament” and indigenous horror being just a bestiary of fun new mythological creatures. Instead, they argue that “Native and First Nations horror exists because Native and First Nations reality exists” and that the genre is appealing because it “offers a form that does not require permission.” They urge the reader to “carry the understanding that horror is not a detour from ‘serious’ literature. It is one of literature’s oldest modes, built to handle what polite forms refuse to hold.” Hear, hear! What follows are twenty-one short stories by an array of indigenous authors. This volume has fewer big names that I recognized, but it does have a story from Stephen Graham Jones. There are also a few repeat authors from the first volume, but otherwise they were nearly all brand new to me.
My favorite stories in this collection were the more emotional takes that delved into interpersonal relationships, whether romantic or familial. Written in beautifully poetic prose, “Saskan: Breakup” by Jessica Johns follows a young queer woman struggling with the grief of a breakup. As she wallows in her feelings, Caroline also becomes fixated on the legendary healing mushrooms that her small Canadian town was once known for before they went extinct. The idea of the elusive mushroom and her lost love Vi begin to blur into each other as Caroline slowly loses her grip on reality. I also really loved “We Don’t Talk About It” by Alina Pete, which takes a unique approach to the wendigo story, without ever using the unlucky word. Much like the whistling at night referenced in the title of this anthology series, speaking the name of the wendigo is said to draw ill-fortune to you. In this tale, which centers on an urban mortician who feels disconnected from her culture and has a complicated relationship with her alcoholic brother, the wendigo represents cravings and addictions of all sorts, not just the traditional cannibalistic hunger. When the creature appears to Sasha wearing the body of her brother, she must face its temptations head-on while drawing on her connection to her family and her ancestors for support.
Many of the stories in this collection deal with monsters of all sorts—whether variations on the wendigo or other beings from Native folklore such as the water panther of the Great Lakes; traditional horror creatures like werewolves; or figures from urban legend, including Mothman and Bigfoot. But equally as prevalent in these stories are common animals—some made monstrous while others mostly carrying symbolic weight. In Sonia Marie Barry’s “Footprints,” young Marie thinks constantly of the salmon that keep her rural Alaskan family fed and provide work for them in the cannery. And when she comes in contact with the healthcare system, Marie becomes like one of those salmon, at the mercy of those who plucked her from her stream. In “Rez Dogs,” Stephen Graham Jones follows two bands of shapeshifters: the grungy feral dogs who survive harsh reservation life through compassion and community care while reverting to their human forms at night, and the pack of rowdy young humans who show far less humanity. An enormous pig named Pinky helps to hide the bodies in Ramona Emerson’s pandemic horror story “Toothjar.” And a white deer heralds an apocalyptic prophecy in “The Body Delivers” by Erica Tremblay.
Overall, I found the selection of stories in this volume to not be quite as strong as in the first, but it’s still definitely worth picking up. You can find it on shelves now at your favorite local retailer or order it online and support The Gothic Library in the process using this Bookshop.org affiliate link. If you’ve already read it, let me know your thoughts in the comments!