A BookRiot Best Horror Book of 2018
A Vulture Editor's Pick
"Funny, angry, feminist . . . [Barrett is] a masterly world-builder." —Melissa Maerz, The New York Times Book Review
"A horror novel about a breast cancer survivor told in the voice of your funniest but most anxious friend, The Bus on Thursday is an appealing mix of genres that is both fluffy and deeply affecting at the same time." —Maris Kreizman, Vulture
"Barrett’s novel abounds with a steadily advancing dread, even as it's tempered by bursts of bleak humor. The result is a subtly unnerving novel with a sinister climax, and some imagery that's hard to forget." —Tobias Carroll, Vol. 1 Brooklyn
"A romp through literary horror, packed with the stunning images that one might expect from a writer who is also a director. But it also gives life to the crushing reality of a cancer patient?—fithe anger, the grief, the crazy-making self-blame. The Bus on Thursday elegantly rides along the edges of these issues." —Joseph Scapellato, Electric Literature
"A horror novel about a breast cancer survivor told in the voice of your funniest but most anxious friend, The Bus on Thursday is an appealing mix of genres that is both fluffy and deeply affecting at the same time." —Vulture
"Your heart will go out to the eccentric, self-destructive Eleanor, whose sharply witty narration is a superb companion ot the weird world of Talbingo." —People
"Ingenuously exploits folk horror conventions . . . Funny and harrowingly honest." —Toronto Star
"Brilliant . . . A darkly funny tale." —Eithne Farry, Mail on Sunday
"Thrillingly original and wildly funny. A slippery narrative keeps you guessing what's really going on with a sharply witty narration." —Deirdre O'Brien, Sunday Mirror
"The Bus on Thursday takes the 19th century literary conceit of a woman going mad in the face of repressive social expectations and updates it with brio for the 21st century." —Claire Allfree, Metro UK
"Delightfully bizarre . . . Eleanor Mellet steps straight out of a chick-lit plot line into WICKER MAN-type horror . . . This book deserves to find its (cult) audience. For readers who enjoy their horror elegantly twisted." —Library Journal, starred review
"Narrated by a cybercentury Wife of Bath, this bawdy tale suspends both our disbelief and our scruples." — Kirkus
"With her snarky wit and old-school horror style, Barrett has mastered the art of the small-town gothic — perfect for readers who like their horror to straddle the nebulous border between the real and the otherworldly. Hilarious, bizarre, and absolutely terrifying, The Bus on Thursday reads like the Lovecraftian love child of Shirley Jackson and Stephen King!" —Powells.com
"The Bus on Thursday is a delirious, exhilarating ride that you can't predict and you won't forget. Like Rosemary's Baby recast with Bridget Jones, it will make you laugh and make you gasp. What more could you possibly want?" —Adam Sternbergh, author of The Blinds
"I don't know that I've read a book before that made me laugh out loud while remaining totally unnerved, but The Bus on Thursday does just that. It's a novel overrun with a rapidly metastasizing host of unreliable outbursts, odd characters and suspicious events. I'd willingly bear witness to any world through sociopathic Eleanor's eyes." —Jac Jemc, author of The Grip of It
"Bursting with raucous energy, while anchored in seriousness, The Bus on Thursday is an intoxicating horror-humor romp.” —Jeff VanderMeer, author of Borne and The Southern Reach Trilogy
“Shirley Barrett has crafted a quirky, one-of-a-kind, wild ride of a novel with demons, kangaroos, a missing schoolteacher, a remote town where things are strangely off-kilter, and a wonderfully bizarre cast of characters. The Bus on Thursday is a darkly funny and deeply unsettling novel you’ll devour in one sitting.” —Jennifer McMahon, author of The Winter People
2018-07-02
While recovering from breast cancer, a woman takes a job as a teacher at a one-room schoolhouse in an isolated Australian town, where she is beset by both inner and outer demons.Eleanor Mellett is in her early 30s, recently single, and in recovery from cancer treatments that have culminated in a mastectomy and reconstructive surgery. A support group misfit, Eleanor begins to keep a private blog as a therapeutic gesture. It is through this device that Eleanor's "funny-angry" voice, the unchallenged star of this unconventional novel, dictates the reader's experience of the plot. In short order, Eleanor moves to remote Talbingo to replace the angelic Miss Barker (who's disappeared), becomes involved with the erotically gifted vacuum salesman Gregory and his lumpen teenage brother, Ryan, and runs afoul of the small-town sensibilities of a host of characters, from the school's ferocious front-office maven, Glenda, to the exorcism-happy Friar. Throw in an ominous "1960s sci-fi power station, like some kind of reinforced bunker where Dr. Evil might live," a vengeful, reanimated hand, and the potentially sentient soul-transport bus of the title, and the results may seem like a hyperbolic decoupage of B-movie reference, each layer complicating and confusing the one before. What saves this book from the threat of murk, however, is movie director and writer Barrett's (Rush Oh!, 2016) skillful deployment of the form. Eleanor's voice is bold, frank, and savagely funny. Her observations about the intersections of cancer culture and the rom-com ideology of a certain kind of 21st-century feminism are so keen as to draw blood. Moreover, the total-eclipse-level narcissism of this personal-blog style neatly conceals how unreliable Eleanor's perspective actually becomes. Readers will find themselves going to great lengths to excuse some of her more dubious behaviors—including, but not limited to: assault, breaking and entering, and potentially maiming the Friar. Eleanor begins her blog by stumbling through a world of familiar absurdity and ends it by stumbling out of a world whose absurdity has become frenetically surreal. The journey from here to there shows the alert reader a tremendous amount about both the rigidity of our social mores and the flexibility of our sympathies.Narrated by a cybercentury Wife of Bath, this bawdy tale suspends both our disbelief and our scruples.