“For progress is beauty disallowed to die. And it is progress that holds the world still.”

The Way of the Salmon Moon is a unique, hauntingly beautiful novel following a man named Cairbre in the Paleolithic era. He is the last in his tribe of people, and with his horse, he goes on a journey around his world, filled with nature and monsters.

But while the plot is something you will never forget, the true standout of this novel is the writing. This is one of those books that you wish would never end. The beautiful prose is something you hang on to, cherishing every word, committing each sentence to memory. The writing was so gorgeous and lyrical, something I never would have expected from a horror novel. The profound themes of grief and friendship found in unexpected places are simultaneously heartbreaking and beautiful.

As a horse lover, I truly appreciated Rykati, Cairbre’s horse, as a prominent character in the story and as the one who shows him what it means to live. It is clear that the author put so much time and love into this novel, and it shows in every word written.

I absolutely adored this book, and would recommend it to anyone who loves horses and poetic writing.

This paleolithic story unfurls like you're sleeping outside by the fire in big sky country. Griffith knows how to paint a picture with words so that you, the reader, get sucked right into the story. A beautiful story about exile, grief and remembering. It feels like reading poetry. I’ve not read this author’s works before and I will immediately be going to read his other novels! Thank you for this book!

In The Way of Salmon Moon, author Daniel Firth Griffith weaves an incredible world with no borders between human, nature and its spirits. A journey into folklore and old tales that's deep and complex. I'll say that the language was not easy for me and there are a lot of notes, so it might not be to everyone's taste. Recommend for lovers of dark, history and folklore that don't mind getting deep into a journey of spirit and mind.

I love folklore inspired book and this is exactly that, it is packed with with grif, kinship and duty. I did find the first 20% of the book was hard to get into, maybe it was the period when I was reading it, but another chapters in the book it gets so so much better - the pacing keeps leaving you want to read more, if that makes sense.

Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for providing me with an advanced copy of The Way of Salmon Moon in exchange for an honest review.

The Way of Salmon Moon is a beautifully atmospheric and haunting read. I really enjoyed the way the story blended emotional depth with a sense of mystery and unease. There is something quiet and almost dreamlike about the writing, but beneath it all is a darkness that slowly pulls you deeper into the story.

This was an immersive read that felt both strange and thought-provoking, with themes that lingered with me after I finished. The atmosphere was one of my favorite parts, and I appreciated how the story took its time building a sense of uneasiness.

If you enjoy atmospheric, haunting stories with emotional depth and a touch of darkness, I definitely recommend checking this one out.

Thank you again to NetGalley and the publisher for the advanced copy. All opinions are my own.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

**The Way of Salmon Moon by D. Firth Griffith**

Wow. This book is genuinely difficult to describe because it feels less like reading a traditional novel and more like being pulled into an ancient story that has been passed down through generations, carried through blood, fire, memory, grief, and myth. *The Way of Salmon Moon* is strange, brutal, beautiful, haunting, and deeply visceral, and I absolutely loved the experience of reading it.

There are books that tell you a story, and then there are books that feel like they are *performing* one. This was very much the latter for me. The prose has this raw, primordial quality that made me feel like I was sitting beside a fire listening to someone recount a story that has existed for thousands of years. It is lyrical without ever feeling overly polished, violent without losing its tenderness, and strange in a way that feels completely intentional.

At the centre of the story is Cairbre, a man living at the end of his people, travelling alongside a horse who is far more than she initially appears to be. That relationship became one of my favourite parts of the book. There is something incredibly powerful about placing this fragile human connection at the centre of such a vast, terrifying world. Cairbre is surrounded by extinction, invasion, violence, spirits, gods, dreams, and forces that are almost impossible to understand, and yet his connection with the horse gives the story an emotional grounding that I really appreciated.

And honestly, the horse was unforgettable.

I loved the way the novel constantly asks us to reconsider what it means to be human, animal, spirit, body, or something in between. The boundaries between forms are incredibly fluid here, and that made the story feel almost dreamlike. Just when I thought I understood what was happening, the book would shift beneath me again.

The Paleolithic setting was also incredible. Griffith creates a world that feels ancient in a way that goes beyond simply telling us that it is ancient. The landscape feels alive. Rivers behave like gods. Spirits move through the wilderness. Violence can arrive without warning, and nature can be both beautiful and absolutely terrifying. There is a constant feeling that humanity is only one small part of a much larger cosmic system.

I especially loved how physical the writing is. So much of this story feels rooted in the body and the natural world — soil, snow, hide, bone, blood, river mud, flesh, stars. You can almost feel the cold, the hunger, the exhaustion, the violence, and the earth underneath everything. It gives the book an incredibly immersive quality, even when the story becomes surreal or difficult to interpret.

The horror is also unlike anything I have read recently.

This isn't horror that relies on a simple monster hiding around the corner. The horror is woven into existence itself. It is in migration, death, hunger, memory, transformation, violence, and the terrifying uncertainty of what comes next. There are moments that are genuinely disturbing, but what stayed with me more was the feeling of unease underneath them — this sense that the world is constantly changing and that survival comes with a price.

The mythology was another huge highlight for me. I wasn't familiar enough with every aspect of the Irish mythology being drawn upon to anticipate where the story would go, which made the experience even more fascinating. The incorporation of *An Bradán Feasa*, alongside elements inspired by Ovid's *Metamorphoses*, gives the novel this wonderful feeling of myth being reshaped rather than simply retold.

It feels like Griffith is taking these ancient stories and asking what they might look like if they were stripped down to their most elemental components: hunger, love, grief, transformation, death, survival, memory, and the desperate need to carry something forward.

And that idea of carrying things forward is probably what affected me the most.

There is so much grief in this book, but it isn't simply grief for an individual person. It is grief for a people, a culture, a way of life, a language, and a world that may be disappearing. Cairbre isn't just trying to survive; he is carrying pieces of something that might otherwise be lost. Stories become a form of survival. Memory becomes a responsibility.

I thought that was incredibly moving.

The book's exploration of migration also really stood out to me. What does it mean to leave? What does it mean to take too much with you? What happens when you are forced to move through a world that no longer feels like home? And how much of yourself can change before you become something else entirely?

Those questions give the novel a surprising emotional depth beneath all of the violence and surrealism.

I also really appreciated that this isn't a story that tries to make everything comfortable or easy to understand. There were definitely moments where I had to slow down and sit with what I had just read. The prose is dense and ceremonial, and this isn't something I would recommend if you're looking for a fast-paced, straightforward narrative where every element is immediately explained.

But for me, that was part of the magic.

The writing feels deliberately ancient. It has a rhythm to it that makes the story feel almost oral, as though Cairbre's experiences are being remembered rather than simply narrated. There are sentences and images that feel like they have been carved into stone or pulled out of the earth. It is visceral and occasionally uncomfortable, but it is also incredibly beautiful.

I found myself highlighting so many passages because the language is just *that* striking.

There is also a really interesting tension between the crass and the tender. Griffith doesn't romanticise the past or make the Paleolithic world feel like some peaceful, untouched paradise. There is brutality everywhere, but there is also love, ceremony, connection, wonder, and tenderness. Life is messy and physical and sometimes horrifying, but that doesn't make it meaningless. If anything, it makes those moments of connection feel even more important.

The ceremonial aspects were particularly effective. There is a sense that every action carries weight, that survival and spirituality are intertwined, and that blood, death, dreams, and ritual are all part of the same larger cycle. The sacred wheel of the year gives the story an almost cosmic structure, and I loved how the characters seemed to exist within something much larger than themselves.

I think what surprised me most was just how emotional this book became for me. I went in expecting literary horror and mythology, and I absolutely got those things, but underneath all of that is a story about love, grief, kinship, memory, identity, and the desperate desire to preserve something precious.

It is a story about what we carry.

What we inherit.

What we lose.

And what we are willing to endure so that something of us can survive.

There were certainly moments where the prose was challenging and where I had to reread passages to fully understand what Griffith was doing. This is not a book I would describe as an easy or effortless read. But I don't think it is supposed to be. It demands attention, and in return it gives you an experience that feels unlike a conventional novel.

By the end, I felt like I hadn't simply finished a book. I had emerged from somewhere.

*The Way of Salmon Moon* is atmospheric, horrifying, mythological, poetic, and strangely beautiful. It feels ancient and new at the same time, like a story that could have been told thousands of years ago but somehow found its way into the present.

I absolutely understand the comparisons to Cormac McCarthy, Stephen Graham Jones, Robin Wall Kimmerer, and Clive Barker, but I also think Griffith has created something with its own distinct identity. This is a very particular kind of literary horror — one rooted in mythology, nature, the body, and the enormous unknowability of existence.

If you enjoy literary horror, dark mythology, unconventional retellings, brutal but beautiful prose, stories about grief and transformation, or books that completely immerse you in another world, I highly recommend giving this one a try.

This is easily one of those books that I can see myself thinking about long after finishing it.

**5/5 stars.** Strange, savage, lyrical, heartbreaking, and absolutely unforgettable. *The Way of Salmon Moon* feels like a myth being born in real time, and I am so glad I got to experience it.

*Thank you to the publisher and NetGalley for the opportunity to read an advance copy. All thoughts and opinions are my own.*

this is truly incredible. im a big fan of books which delve into mythology and folklore, and especially being able to bring horror into this already infatuating story is just truly an incredible talent. kudos to the author, i’ll be recommending this to everyone i know.

I cannot tell you how much I needed this book. I love horror, I love poetry, and I never thought both things could be combined so seamlessly. This feels like an oral tradition, folklore, that was passed on to me. I haven't read any of the other books in this series, and now I'm going to go buy the entire thing and consume them like I'm starving because I CRAVE this genre, whatever this is. I can't describe it. This is my shortest review, but the point is: give this a try. Whoever you are, no matter what you read, try this. Read it by a river, on a mountain, in your lawn.

This book kept me so enthralled. It may not be written in iambic pentameter but this is an epic, there is no doubt. It has taken me a while to figure out how to describe this book without spoilers. It meanders slowly at times but like a river, beautiful and never dull. This book feels like I'm sitting by a fire with a violent snow storm raging outside and I'm listening to a story be told through song. There are moments when I want to flee both the storm and the story but I am too enthralled to move. This book got me annotating again, I read with a pencil in hand. The Way of the Salmon moon is heartbreaking at times while also being so beautiful as to make you weep.

If you want to read a book that will make you think. This is the book for you. If you want a book where you have to actively read and be part of the story. This is the book for you. If you want a book that makes you slow down. This is the book for you. Happy reading.