Davidson (The Boatman’s Daughter) delves once again into the underbelly of the American South in this haunting, atmospheric tale. In 1989, Nellie Gardner inherits the Georgia turpentine farm Redfern Hill from her estranged grandfather, August Redfern, and sees it as the perfect opportunity to escape her abusive marriage and make a new start with her 11-year-old son, Max. Upon arriving, however, Nellie and Max discover that Redfern Hill consists of acres of desolate pine forest and a crumbling farmhouse. Max is the first to notice something isn’t quite right with the property: the apparition of a young girl, odd scratching noises behind the walls, and things moving by themselves are just some of the supernatural incidents that occur around the house and cause the Gardners increasing concern. This timeline alternates with flashbacks to August’s own odd experiences with the farm, beginning in 1917 and slowly revealing the hidden history of Redfern Hill—and the ancient, restless evil that has lived in its grounds for decades. It’s up to Nellie to put an end to the property’s legacy of destruction. Davidson impresses with his chilling and immersive worldbuilding, effortlessly blending generational trauma with supernatural danger. The result is a harrowing novel that’s sure to please fans of gothic horror. Agent: Elizabeth Copps, Copps Literary. (Oct.)
"Andy Davidson is quickly establishing himself as the newest master of southern gothic horror. The Hollow Kind seeps into your subconscious and waits for you in your nightmares."
—S. A. Cosby, bestselling author of Razorblade Tears
"Mr. Davidson once more proves himself master of the art of horror writing."
—Wall Street Journal Review
"The Hollow Kind is a classic piece of Southern Gothic literature: dense, baroque, and rooted in the history of the land. Faulkner and Lovecraft would both approve."
—Neil McRobert, Esquire
“A deep, dark story of family secrets and inherited horrors, Andy Davidson’s The Hollow Kind is as gripping and twisted as old tree roots—you can practically smell the creosote and longleaf pine. This one kept me up, turning pages long into the night.”
—T. Kingfisher, author of What Moves the Dead
“The Hollow Kind is a gloriously wild, twisted family saga with buckets of body horror and is going to mess you up good.”
—Paul Tremblay, author of The Pallbearers Club, on Twitter
"A visceral story that weaves past and present together, The Hollow Kind is a well-crafted tale about secrets that refuse to stay hidden, the weight of past sins, and redemption. With atmospheric imagery, compelling characters, and a gripping premise, Davidson proves why horror is one of the most effective genres for exploring interpersonal conflict and the complicated nature of familial relationships."
"Andy Davidson’s imagination is deep, dark, and visceral."
—BN Editors, Best Horror Books of 2022
"With his third novel, Davidson plants his roots in horror’s soil as one its most talented voices . . . The Hollow Kind is a Southern Gothic epic that masterfully weaves elements of body, folk, and cosmic horror, knitting it all together into something wholly new, immersive, terrifying, and utterly breathtaking."
–Becky Spratford, Booklist
“Greed, trespass, revenge, and obsession provide the emotional palette for this breathless, wide-eyed horror fable that chronicles the unforgivable trespasses that cost multiple generations their souls.”
"Whether you call it historical horror, folk horror, or southern gothic, Andy Davidson's The Hollow Kind is as beautifully written as it is chilling. The combination of dual timelines with a little-explored piece of America's past truly sets this book apart. Every page reverberates with inescapable dread."
—Alma Katsu, author of The Fervor
Praise for Andy Davidson's The Boatman's Daughter
“A gorgeously written novel that mixes Southern Gothic à la Flannery O’Connor, backwoods noir, and the mythic imagination of Clive Barker . . . [A] lush nightmare [that] put an arrow through my head and heart.”
—Paul Tremblay, author of Growing Things
"Andy Davidson probably wrote The Boatman's Daughter sitting at a table at home or at a coffee joint. But it reads as if he pulled it out of the wet earth of the Arkansas bayous with his bare hands on a moonless night while chanting an incantation he learned from a dying witch."
—Gabino Iglesias, NPR
"Combines the visceral violence of Cormac McCarthy with his own wholly original craftsmanship, weaving rich, folkloric magic with the best elements of a gritty Southern thriller. The book's lightning-fast pace doesn't come at the expense of fully realized, flawed, and achingly human characters."
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
"An inverted fairytale . . . [Andy Davidson is] an extremely talented writer who goes beyond the boundaries of genres to deliver a gripping tale."
“Wild and wonderful—a sentence-by-sentence delight.”
—Michael Koryta, author of How It Happened
"This horror novel can claim its rightful place alongside new Southern Gothics like Jesmyn Ward's Sing, Unburied, Sing (2017), Daniel Woodrell's Winter’s Bone (2006), and Wiley Cash's A Land More Kind Than Home (2012)."
—Becky Spratford, Booklist
"The Boatman's Daughter is a greasy, magical Southern Gothic fable. Davidson pens a vivid backdrop for his colorful characters to come alive and draw the reader into an eerie supernatural thriller."
—Sadie Hartman, Mother Horror
Trying to escape an abusive husband, Nellie moves into the house she's inherited from her grandfather. What awaits Nellie and her son on the homestead, though, may be worse than the abuse they faced. A bear in the driveway and scratching in the walls are just the beginning of the sinister happenings, which lead to the revealing of her family's cursed past—and something lurking in the woods. Told across multiple timelines and perspectives, readers experience an immersive and comprehensive family story told through poetic prose. The detail, however, is excruciating at times, and much of it is stream-of-consciousness thoughts from the characters as the author paints a picture of an ominous yet beautiful wooded landscape filled with tortured, imperfect characters. The horror builds gradually, drawing readers into a state of unease rather than outright fear. Readers of Paul Tremblay and other literary horror novels will want to dive into this story. VERDICT Davidson (The Boatman's Daughter) crafts an intricate supernatural story about a family's history that will leave readers shaken. However, they will have to wade through the novel's extreme level of detail to reach the conclusion.—Natalie Browning
A woman fleeing an abusive relationship carries her 11-year-old son to an even more dangerous place: home.
Greed, trespass, revenge, and obsession provide the emotional palette for this breathless, wide-eyed horror fable that chronicles the unforgivable trespasses that cost multiple generations their souls. The prime narrative finds Nellie Gardner in 1989 nursing wounds both fresh and long calloused as she shepherds her son, Max, to Georgia, well away from her abusive husband, Wade Gardner, an academic with an ill temper. In the same place circa 1917, Nellie’s grandfather August Redfern and his wife, Euphemia, launch a turpentine enterprise in the southern wilds and soon bear twins Charlie and Hank—Hank is Nellie’s father. But Redfern soon learns that the land he’s defiling in the name of profits demands more sacrifice than mere greed can satisfy. Settling into her grandfather’s creepy Gothic mansion, Nellie is soon confronted by local snake oil salesman Lonnie Baxter, who considers her property his birthright. But while a reunion with a newly sober Hank leads to an uneasy détente between father and daughter, Nellie and Max are also menaced by unpredictable phantoms, including the specter of a young girl, a dead bear who won’t seem to stay put, and the resurrected Dr. Gardner. Let’s face it, if you hang out in dusty old estates populated by long-kept secrets, guilt, remorse, and madness, something “squelching wetly,” as Stranger Things would put it, is bound to come slithering out of a hole. This version of the hot, wet South isn’t a far stretch from Daniel Woodrell’s twig-snap rustic dread but is a closer cousin to the wetwork terror of John Hornor Jacobs or Joe Hill. The way Davidson deftly pirouettes his way between bated-breath anticipation and a denouement that owes as much to John Carpenter as H.P. Lovecraft is impressive, especially given a staccato storytelling style that, much like a good horror movie, conceals as much as it reveals.
A folksy novel about bad country people, tentacles and all.