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Out of body stories
Author: Chris VanjonackPage Count: UnknownPublication Date: Expected publication 2026-09-22 APL Oh, the way that synopsis reads—like a late-night drive through a town where the streetlights flicker just enough to suggest something’s lurking in the shadows, but you’re too wired to look too closely. Chris Vanjonack’s Out of Body isn’t just a collection; it’s a haunted collection, the kind that slaps you with the idea that the universe is a glitchy, looping VHS tape where the characters are stuck rewinding their own bad decisions. And Gus Moreno’s blurb? Chef’s kiss—because it doesn’t just promise weirdness, it promises weight, the kind that lingers like the aftertaste of a cheap whiskey you drank at 3 AM after a breakup. Now, let’s talk about the vagueness—oh, the glorious, deliberate vagueness. The synopsis doesn’t just hint at themes; it dangles them like a carrot for a rabid dog. "Multiverse," "demonic attachment," "life after death"—these aren’t just buzzwords; they’re bait. The kind of bait that makes you think, Wait, is this going to be the next Mexican Gothic meets Annihilation, or is it just going to be a guy in a cheap suit whispering in your ear about how his ex is definitely lying about missing him? And yet—and yet—the synopsis doesn’t lean on the horror label like some modern author trying too hard to ride the "body horror" wave. No, it’s smarter than that. It’s speculative, but not in the "let’s explain the rules" way. It’s the kind of speculative that makes you feel like you’re reading a fever dream you had after too many espressos. The characters—oh, the characters!—are already perfectly Vanjonack if this is any indication. An aimless ghost? Classic. But the way it’s phrased—"haunts his ex-girlfriend for evidence that she’s actually upset"—that’s not just a ghost story, that’s a relationship story, but with the stakes cranked up to "what if your ex is the only person who can prove you mattered?" And the teens with the life-predicting machine? Oh, this is gold. It’s the kind of premise that could go either way—could be Black Mirror bleak, or it could be something else entirely, something more like The Twilight Zone meets The Secret History, where the machine isn’t just predicting futures, it’s curating them, and the teens are just along for the ride. The aggressive stranger in photos? Now that’s a twist on the "haunted by your past" trope. Because what if the past isn’t just in the past? What if it’s in the frame, waiting for you to look? The tone here is everything. Morbidly funny? Check. Brilliantly observed? Double check. But the real kicker is the way it’s framed as a "feast for the senses." That’s not just marketing fluff—it’s a promise. A promise that the stories won’t just happen to you; they’ll happen around you, like the hum of a fluorescent light or the way a bad song gets stuck in your head. And the mention of "longing, dread, and all-too-human frailties"? Now we’re talking. This isn’t just weird for weird’s sake. It’s weird because it’s true, or at least feels true, like the kind of truth you get from a bad relationship or a night where you drank too much and called your mom crying. I’m betting my shift tips that this collection is going to feel like a mashup of authors—like if Kelly Link and George Saunders had a lovechild, but that lovechild was raised by a cult of clowns who only speak in riddles. The kind of book that makes you want to highlight passages and send them to your friends at 2 AM, the kind that lingers like the smell of stale popcorn in a movie theater. And if it’s half as good as the synopsis suggests, it’s going to be the kind of book that gets misunderstood—because some people will think it’s just "weird," and others will see the beauty in the weirdness, the way a bad tattoo can still be art if you look at it the right way. But here’s the thing—this synopsis is too vague. It’s like a movie trailer that shows you a car chase, a kiss, and a gunshot, but never tells you if it’s a rom-com or a crime thriller. And that’s fine, because the best books leave you wanting more, leave you guessing. But I can’t help but wonder if Vanjonack is playing it safe by not giving us more. Because if this is the kind of book that’s going to haunt readers, it needs to commit—to the weirdness, to the emotional gut-punches, to the messiness of it all. And if it does? If it delivers on even half of what’s promised here? Then it’s going to be the kind of book that gets talked about in hushed tones, the kind that makes people say, I need to read that again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go bake vegan brownies—because sometimes, the best way to process a book like this is with something sweet, something that doesn’t judge you for your weirdness. #BookTok #WeirdFiction #SpeculativeHorror #LateNightReading #VeganBaking