Book: Hazelthorn by Cg Drews
Reviewed by Halliday in the Books
Rating: 5/5
For as long as he can remember, Evander has lived at the Hazelthorn estate. He cannot leave, or even go so far as to explore the gardens. It’s not safe. Nor can he be left alone with his guardian’s grandson Laurie, who once tried to kill him. However, when his guardian dies suddenly, the entirety of the place is left to him. When the remaining relatives arrive, Laurie starts to seem like the least threatening of Evander’s problems. Even Hazelthorn itself begins to prove more dangerous than he’d dreamed in the worst of his nightmares.
This was an absolutely phenomenal follow-up to Don’t Let the Forest In. It has very much the same aura to it, and it’s clear that Drews is establishing a distinct genre of forest rot horror. I am fully here for it. It also shares the same poetic writing style as the author’s last book with the same masterful use of metaphor and visceral imagery. Once again, I was in awe of the use of nonstandard text formatting to showcase a character’s disorientation.
At this point, anything CG Drews writes will be immediately added to my TBR. The synopsis won’t even matter. What was most stunning about this one in particular was the representation. There’s one character with an injury-induced limb difference who is beautifully handled. An even greater focus is given to the protagonist’s autism. We get to see stimming, sensory issues, pica, panic attacks, selective mutism… the list goes on. Some I’ve never seen handled realistically in fiction at all, let alone to this degree. It strikes very close to home for me. While I have hyperlexia, my daughter’s autism has led to some major linguistic struggles for her. I see both of us in here.
There were a few moments where I had to pause reading to emotionally process. This book flawlessly captures the difficult feelings that result from some experiences that are far too common for autistic people. There’s the feeling of having your personal agency revoked “for your own good” while knowing that means “someone else’s convenience.” There’s the feeling of becoming so frustrated and overwhelmed you just have to bite something.
Most pervasively, there’s the feeling of being not quite human the way that everyone else is. When everyone else seems to intrinsically understand how to act and you don’t, it feels like pretending to be one of them. Evander wonders if he’s a monster. I couldn’t help but recall Frankenstein and its questioning of what constitutes “a monster.” None of them are ever born that way.
I loved this book. I want it at the top of every bestseller list.