A grisly, uncomfortable, and compelling horror about the worst kind of conversion camp (yes, somehow there's a worst kind), Cuckoo pits a group of queer 90s teems against the unsettling horror in the camp's isolated wilderness, before dropping into the 2010s with the survivors who must finish the job.

Multifaceted, dark, and very queer, the blend of intense body horror and queer pain won't be to everyone's liking, but Cuckoo is page-turningly good with a group of characters you'll hope make it out alive.

Conversion Camp horror is all the rage right now; well, there's Camp Damascus and Cuckoo, but that's a lot for a niche subject. The paths split here. Cuckoo is unhinged in all the ways a body horror can be, it's gory and gross, and it has trigger warnings out of the wazoo. There's a lot of heart here, and for the most part it does. a good job of capturing the spirit of 90s American teen angst whilst also making the incredibly large cast of characters largely charming.

You are invested in the outcome, but there's oftentimes a little too much going on. This would make for an exceptional film script, but on the page, it loses a little of the punch. It also could have benefitted from being slightly longer, another 50 or so pages would have allowed the space these characters needed to really come into their own.

Ultimately, I'm not sure who this book is for; for queer people, trauma is something that is often a given - the act of opening yourself to the world is often met with some form of violence and/or rejection - do we want to rip open those wounds? And are CIS people likely to pick up something like this once they're met with the synopsis.

If you take 'Hell Followed With Us' and ramp the intensity and grotesqueness up to max, you get Cuckoo.

Set in the 90s at a conversion therapy camp for LGBTQIA+ teens, Cuckoo follows a central cast of kids trying to survive not only the cruel counsellers and administration, but whatever is lurking in the desert and hunting them.

Much like Tananarive Due's 'The Reformatory', 'Cuckoo' roots itself firmly in real-world horrors where both the human and inhuman are monsters, and the marginalised and vulnerable find themselves at the mercy of carnivorous and systemic abuse. While the 'troubled teen industry' is somehow still legal in the US, with its parent-sanctioned kidnapping and abuses, and despite conversion therapy specifically being labelled as a form of torture, many survivors are speaking out about the mistreatments faced by children in these programmes: horror is inherently a genre with something to say about the societies we live in, and Cuckoo is especially pertinent in a world where these abuses are still taking place.

Lots of the marketing for this book links it to 'Bodysnatchers', and this is a really overt comparison, but there's also a healthy dose of Lovecraftian horror in here, like the sort you'd find in 'From the Mountains of Madness' or 'The Colour Out of Space': the notion that there are monsters out there from the depths of space which are at the top of the food-chain, and dominate humanity in both strength and intellect. Sometimes the novel delves into Lovecraft-esque purple prose, but this is manageable for any horror reader who's handled the ol' HP before. The horror aspects also lends itself very much to grotesque body horror, with parasitic and insect-esque monstrosities dominating the speculative twists, along with plentiful uses of bodily fluids - I can wholeheartedly say this book is not for the squeamish.

Despite the fact that I'm a little iffy in my opinions on prologues, the prologue here was probably my favourite part of the whole book, and honestly functions as a really creepy short story in and of itself. It's also a really nice take on hierarchy and misogyny in fundamentalist religious households, and the tenuous role that the mother takes in an inherently patriarchal world.

Something important to regard about Cuckoo is that it has a very large central cast: the narrative alternates between seven POV characters, and as such, it can sometimes be difficult to get a grip on a character before the perspective switches again, with some characters having more of an impact on the narrative than others. However, this works to a certain extent by showing characters at different stages of transitions (some characters are already trans, whereas others come to the realisation throughout), and by presenting a sense of intersectionality through the wider cast: for instance, Shelby as a Korean-American trans woman and Jo as a Japanese-American lesbian. A particularly interesting take was with Shelby's lesbian parents, whose disgust at her being trans echoes lots of current TERF rhetoric: this was something I would have loved the narrative to delve in a little deeper to.

There were some aspects which I thought dragged down parts of the narrative, but which weren't massive enough issues to make it a bad book. Firstly, there's a weird body-shamey rhetoric to some of the character descriptions, and while I understand the way that the first part of the book is set in the 90s (Gabe in particular demonstrates the 'heroin-chic' body standards of the time with an eating disorder), it become egregious when it's a character's defining trait. John gets almost no description aside from being fat - doubly so since he doesn't have the cultural background of characters like Jo and Shelby - and even after the time-skip, entire descriptions of him are as 'the fat man', which really dissolves suspension of belief after the first few uses. The way that the narrative repeatedly makes vaginas and menstruation repulsive was also something that rubbed me the wrong way, especially in the description of the Cuckoo itself: there's enough of a historical stigma around it, and though I understand how a vagina dentata has its place in horror, I just thought that in a book where there's no phallic equivalent, it's a little much to make your monster disgusting by comparing it to vaginal cavities and discharge.

Overally, Cuckoo was a compelling if not thoroughly disgusting novel, and in the vein of good horror, one with something to say. The use of the parasitic monsters taking over people and crawling on all fours, and tentacles bursting from heads, also reminded me of Marguerite Baker from Resident Evil 7 and the Las Plagas from Resident Evil 4, which is always a win in my books.

Jesus. I love horror. I can do gore. But the horrific SA in this book was way too far for me. Needs a giant warning on the front cover - and I'm not usually one for warnings. For the first time ever I physically retched when reading.

I never been so uncomfortable when reading a book. The body horror og and gore was intense, and the real horror the kids went through, not only in the camp but also outside, was gutwrenching. Well done.

The character gallery was a bit large for me, so at times it was difficult to follow, but the high pace and high stake story made up for it.

Cuckoo is not a book for the squeamish, but a must read for fans of unsettling/gory horror.

3.75 rounded up

Beginning in the 90s, Cuckoo follows a handful of queer kids kidnapped and taken to a conversion camp in the middle of nowhere, for the crime of being themselves. They’re subjected to gruelling work and torment from the camp staff, alongside internal and external prejudice. As they’re consistently beaten down, their mental health suffers further from strange dreams and even stranger creature. The kids become a family intent on fighting back against the hate, abuse, and the blooming mortality - queer kids are dying and nobody cares. They’re expendable, with their families already wishing they were different, the camp latches on and takes advantage in more ways than one.

Cuckoo cruelly explores the abuse these kids face at the hands of pretty much everyone and everything in their lives. It's overflowing with fatphobia, internalised homophobia, and descriptions of kids genitals, sexual acts, and sexual imagery. Its detailed descriptions of their bodies and sexual activity was repugnant and gratuitous, serving more like fodder for paedophiles than any other narrative purpose. It also had multiple extremely detailed references to period sex, alongside frequent rape/SA. The violence and abuse continues this exploitation, leaving the kids begging for the end. It's also rife with pop culture references, and is clearly heavily influenced by horror icons, most notably Stephen King and Clive Barker, and beloved media, being incredibly similar to IT with a dose of Invasion of the Body Snatchers and The Thing - though it is self aware enough to note this influence.

The book has a strong start but then volleys the pace between captivating action and drudging slowness. The horrors return to the group as adults, again similar to IT, except with less mocking and more drugs for a quick and tidy ending. There is a horde of characters, with POVs from a few, but I found they were not too distinguishable from each other. I enjoyed the supernatural horror, and the pervasive abuse the kids are subject to was done well. There was WAY too much gratuitous sex, outnumbering Stephen King with descriptions of children's genitalia. The queer identities were rigorously explored, though the internalised queerphobia was too heavy handed, as was the fatphobia - god forbid someone with a bit of extra weight be deserving of love - both things I had issue with in Manhunt. I prefer Cuckoo of the two (as you can probably tell by the fact I finished it): the story is more compelling and the issues were handled better. I love all horror, the more twisted the better, but not at someone else's expense. The impact of 'religion' is weaved throughout, sometimes subtly and sometimes smacks you in the face, with reflections and comparisons easily made to today's political climate with increasing attacks on LGBTQ+ people and rights. Conversion camps are still legal, and the same abuse continues to be perpetrated 30 years on from the books setting. It's an unflinching exploration of how that affects these kids. The supernatural horrors are fun but also acts as an allegory for a world that wishes to change these kids at the very core of who they are. They’re desperate for help but have nowhere to go, quite literally when they’re in the middle of nowhere but for every aspect of their wants and needs. They find homes within each other, forced to explore their deepest fears and desires, much like the queer community IRL.

The majority of the book is immersive and enjoyable, but I did find myself checking the % around the midpoint as things started to drag. It details the physical and psychological pains well, but as mentioned the superfluous fatphobia and graphic sex/genital descriptions ruined this for me. Almost everything is explained in graphic detail, including the smell of period blood more than once. The time jump and final showdown was too quick and easy, especially for something that has haunted them their entire lives. Overall it's decent and there's lots to analyse further, but these points reduced the star rating for me. Thank you to netgalley for the arc and queerphobes can get fucked.

I loved that the characters had the authenticity of queer youth combined with the dark and disturbing horror elements. It was difficult to read at points but I had prepared myself slightly before I began reading.

Cuckoo is a horror novel about a conversion camp that aims to make queer teens a whole new person, and a group of kids who fight their way out to stop it. In 1995, a group of queer teenagers forced by their parents to attend Camp Resolution realise that it is more than just abusive staff and religion: the camp is far darker than that, stealing their very selves. Despite this, they band together, find friends and lovers, and hatch a plan to escape, but even getting away isn't enough, and the survivors, now adults, have to try and stop it at the source.

Anyone who has read Felker-Martin's Manhunt is surely waiting with baited breath for this book, and Cuckoo didn't disappoint, as a book very different to Manhunt and yet still exploring what happens when the worst horror happens to queer people. Cuckoo has a big cast of protagonists and I was initially wary (after the prologue that serves as your horror 'here's what is going on' opener) that it would be too hard to tell the characters apart. However, by midway through, I wasn't worried, and had a good handle on the various characters, who all have different lives, flaws, and experiences. One of the things I enjoyed about the book wasn't the horror, but was the fact that it takes a bunch of different queer teens and imagines not only them under pressure, but then how they react as adults.

Notably, the book doesn't end with the 1995 narrative, but moves forward in time to the characters as adults (it's hard not to compare this to It), and I was excited when I realised it had done this, as it is so rare to get a good deconstruction of the aftereffects of extreme horror on the characters. This later part has to be a lot faster in pace and by the end quite action-centric, but you still get the chance to see that these characters are still broken, have grown up into adults not only dealing with the trauma of Camp Resolution, but also normal things, like relationships and grief and money and the difficulties of being queer in the world. A lot of stories about queer people only show one point in their lives, and a lot of horror stories don't deal with the aftermath, so combining these elements offers a different picture of survival.

In terms of the horror, there's unsurprisingly from the title body snatchers-style fear, alongside abuse and trying to survive in a desert, and a decent amount of body horror from the cosmic evil threat. I liked that the body snatcher stuff didn't focus too much on the protagonists not knowing who had 'turned' or not at the camp, as I find that kind of horror quite frustrating, but instead it was more about the wider implications in the world, particularly at the end (the ending has similarities to Alison Rumfitt's Tell Me I'm Worthless, playing with the horror's impact on a happy future). Felker-Martin makes the audience very aware of the horror tropes she is playing in, with plenty of overt and subtler references, and this is far more gory horror than scary, as a lot of queer horror seems to focus on at the moment.

Overall, the book plays with ideas of replacement and parents' anxieties around queer kids, particularly around the idea that having a queer child makes parents act like their child has been replaced because they aren't "normal", and what that might mean if they really were completely different. As conversion therapy horror, it really digs into the idea of what changing means and if it would even be the same person, making it actually quite a good exploration of the philosophical issues (never mind all the myriad other issues) with conversion therapy as a concept. I liked Cuckoo more than Manhunt, and some of that might be because I find its take on the subgenre it is in even more interesting (and also I liked the characters and their dynamics).

As with Manhunt and a lot of other queer horror out there at the moment, there's going to be people aren't going to 'get' it, either because they don't like the amount of body horror and sex or because they don't like having a load of messy, flawed characters who don't do the right thing all the time or even necessarily learn from things. For me, I really liked how it explored the horrors of conversion therapy and abusive families, but also toxic relationships to yourself and with others. The characters didn't all get neat resolutions or development, but how could they be expected to in a world in which this can happen to them? If the idea of the cuckoo and body replacement tells us anything, it is that anyone can really be anything underneath.

Cuckoo follows seven queer kids in the summer in 1995. They have been forced by their parents into a remote conversion camp due to being part of the LGBTQ+ community. Sixteen years later the survivors need to put an end to the horror before it’s too late.

This was an intriguing read with difficult topics. The writing was visceral and very graphic. I appreciate the messaging behind this book and what happened to the kids due to them just being their authentic selves. However, I did find it slightly confusing to follow each character because there was just too many. For example, it was hard to remember which characters were who because the transgender characters such as Shelby were referred to as their chosen name (Shelby) but then referred to by their dead name by the camp leaders. That said I would recommend this if you are in the headspace to handle these topics.

This was a very interesting book, with a brilliant premise and writing. The entire story was awful to read and had me feeling physically sick at certain points. The characters were easy to root for, even if my heart was breaking for them. So much as I loved the eerie and horrifying writing, I struggled with the plot a lot towards the last half of the book. It was hard to keep track of timelines and certain elements felt rushed and unfinished. Still, a deeply disturbing horror.