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I was a bit cautious approaching this novella, even after P. Djèlí Clark’s lovely The Haunting of Tram Car 015 captivated me earlier this year. First of all, this seemed quite horror-ish, and I’m a bit wary about that (shut up, I read Stephen King for the articles - I mean, character development and storytelling - not for the gory bits). Second, I’m always a bit cautious with fictionalization of actual historical events, let alone horrific things like KKK.

But my caution ended up completely unfounded.

“With all the flag-waving and cavorting, you might forget they was monsters.
But I hunt monsters. And I know them when I see them.��

It’s an alternative 1922 Jim Crow South, where the horrific acts of KKK are still beyond horrific (it’s set only a year after Tulsa Massacre), but with the added caveat - the hatred of the Klansmen allows for their possession by Ku Kluxes, demonic (and suitably Lovecraftian) monstrosities that use the atrocities committed for their own feedings and bloodshed. The awfulnesses of our world, such as horrifyingly racist but much lauded in its time movie “Birth of a Nation�� here, in addition to inspiring KKK resurgence, serves as a conduit for the monstrosities into our world, to add to our homegrown human monsters.

“You see, the Second Klan was birthed on November 25 back in 1915. What we call D-Day, or Devil’s Night—when William Joseph Simmons, a regular old witch, and fifteen others met up on Stone Mountain east of Atlanta. Stories say they read from a conjuring book inked in blood on human skin. Can’t vouch for that. But it was them that called up the monsters we call Ku Kluxes. And it all started with this damned movie.��

Novellas are tricky, I often note. The short length is not forgivable to poor pacing, but they are long enough to still demand satisfying story and character development. Clark managed it easily in Tram 015, and he pretty much nails it here. It’s very action-heavy, throwing us right into the thick of things from the first page, and relies on action for most of it �� but characterization is deftly inserted in compact yet resonating bits, moving the story along while still providing enough soul to let me actually care. Yes, I still wish it was given a few more pages to breathe and develop a few backstories just a tad more, but even without that “more�� it was still very satisfying and quite atmospheric.

I was wary that adding monsters to the actual, real, atrocities could cheapen them, allowing to shift the blame and guilt on external corrupting influences, but I underestimated Clark. People are the true monsters, as we all know, and he makes it loud and clear. There’s no false hope that killing a few outwardly creatures would magically give us all healing and solidarity and fix the issues that run deep.

“That’s science talk for how Klan folk turn Ku Klux. Molly says it’s like an infection, or a parasite. And it feed on hate. She says chemicals in the body change up when you hate strong. When the infection meets that hate, it starts growing until it’s powerful enough to turn the person Ku Klux. Ask me, it’s plain evil them Klans let in, eating them up until they hollow inside. Leave behind bone-white demons who don’t remember they was men.��

And Clark deftly adds a history lesson for those of us who, like me, were not aware that there’s is basically a fragging Mount Rushmore for the confederacy folks fighting for preservation of slavery. WTF Stone Mountain and your carvings of Confederate leaders? So often I’m coddled in protective blanket of blissful ignorance.

And yeah, it’s gory enough. But, in all honesty, if body horror in this one makes you cringe more than actual history does, then you should reread this book again, more carefully.

“I can feel the heat of that anger rising, hot enough to burn. In my head are all the visions I ever seen. Men, women, and children who look like me, under the lash, in chains, whipped until the flesh hanging from their bones, hurt so bad their souls cry out. This why they chose me. Because I carry not just the anger of what I seen with my own eyes but centuries of anger—growing up in me.��

Another thing I appreciated was subtlety and the message that I wasn’t exactly expecting, having been swept up into the story and burning with righteous indignation and such, at the point when even my inner pacifist was rolling up her sleeves for a fight. And instead Clark made me think, made me ponder the roots of anger versus hatred, and the thin but important line separating the two, and it was done very well.

(view spoiler)[“The places where we hurt. Where we hurt. Not just me, all of us, colored folk everywhere, who carry our wounds with us, sometimes open for all to see, but always so much more buried and hidden deep. I remember the songs that come with all those visions. Songs full of hurt. Songs of sadness and tears. Songs pulsing with pain. A righteous anger and cry for justice.
But not hate.
They ain’t the same thing. Never was. These monsters want to pervert that. Turn it to their own ends. Because that’s what they do. Twist you all up so that you forget yourself. Make you into something like them. Only I can’t forget, because all those memories always with me, showing me the way.�� (hide spoiler)]

4 stars. This is a very likely contender for Hugo and Nebula this awards season. Clark is very good.

—�Ĕ���
Buddy read with carol. You are awesome, reading buddy!

“We apologize for calling on you at this late hour,�� Auntie Ondine says. “We tried to wait until you completed your physical intimacies with your beau.��

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Edit: Well-deserved Nebula win, Mr. Clark!
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My Hugo and Nebula Awards Reading Project 2021: /review/show...