Edward Bluemel Will Play Young Poirot in Upcoming Series, Hercule
Jun. 8th, 2026 05:45 pmEdward Bluemel Will Play Young Poirot in Upcoming Series, Hercule
Published on June 8, 2026
Credit: Mammoth Screen / Jonathan Ford
Published on June 8, 2026
Credit: Mammoth Screen / Jonathan Ford
Published on June 8, 2026
Photo Credit: Sophie Giraud/AMC
Published on June 8, 2026
Screenshot: 20th Century Studios
Published on June 8, 2026
Credit: Warner Bros. Television
Published on June 8, 2026
Illustration by John Tenniel
Illustration by John Tenniel
There are few works of fantastic fiction as perennially adored and obsessed over as Lewis Carroll’s Alice Adventures in Wonderland (1865) and its sequel Through the Looking Glass (1871). While every Alice fan has their own darlings, the same character names always seem to be repeated. Fan art, spoofs, and merchandise are frequently focused on the Mad Hatter, the Cheshire Cat, The Queen of Hearts, and their ilk.
As someone who has read the books almost annually since childhood, I’m frustrated that so many brilliant characters are ignored. It’s wonderful that readers are still excited about a literary property from over 150 years ago, but the hyper-focus on a select few of Carroll’s creations gives short shrift to the rest of them. Both Wonderland and the world beyond the looking-glass are full of fascinating denizens, many of whom never seem to get their due. Some of them are rarely portrayed in film versions, and they’re certainly not emblazoned on tee shirts and coffee mugs.
Here are just a few of Carroll’s magnificent creations that could do with more attention and recognition…

While the Alice books are loaded with wit, it’s primarily found in the form of word play. Puns, riddles, invented language, and parodies of well-known Victorian poems are Wonderland’s love language. That’s why the Bill the Lizard sequence is such a standout. When an oversized Alice kicks the White Rabbit’s reptilian gardener up the chimney, it’s not only an uncommon act of violence on her part, but a hilarious bit of physical comedy. The casualness of the onlookers’ “There goes Bill” is at odds with the fact that the poor creature is being propelled into the sky.
John Tenniel’s illustration provides a visual punchline. Carroll somewhat crudely drew his own version of Bill’s ousting in his early handwritten manuscript Alice’s Adventures Under Ground, and his lizard is also quite funny, with an expression of dopey despair. Bill turns up later in the book as part of the jury, once again a victim when Alice snatches away his squeaky pencil, leaving him to awkwardly attempt writing on the slate with his finger.
The lizard is briefly seen in the 1915 silent film, as well as the animated Disney film (though Alice sneezes him out of the house instead of kicking him, in that version). In the 1972 film he’s given a great comedy line with “What’s me tail doing in me hand?” Top prize for best Bill the Lizard has to go to stuntman Ernie F. Orsatti, whose claim to fame as the guy who falls through the skylight in The Poseidon Adventure no doubt prepared him for sailing through the air, as witnessed by Scott Baio in a guinea pig costume in the 1985 CBS version. (Note: If this character can be in so many films, where’s my Bill the Lizard merch?)

Near the end of Through the Looking Glass, Alice becomes a queen and attends a banquet in her honor. Here she is presented with a leg of mutton which the Red Queen courteously introduces (“Alice—Mutton; Mutton—Alice.”). Even for a passage written by Lewis Carroll, it seems surprising when the leg of mutton gets up and makes a little bow. We’re used to talking animals in this world, but talking objects? Humpty Dumpty morphed from an egg, and Wonderland’s royal court is based on playing cards, but they’re all still more person than thing. Humpty Dumpty isn’t an actual edible egg. The cards are no longer literally cards. The mutton, however, is mutton.
The Leg of Mutton is in fine company with other anthropomorphic food in children’s lit, such as the title characters of both The Gingerbread Man (who tries to avoid being eaten) and The Magic Pudding (whose greatest pleasure is offering up slices of himself). Tenniel’s illustration is again right on the nose, from the meat’s smug expression to the jaunty paper frill on the bone-end of the joint. The Leg of Mutton gains a perfect partner when the Pudding turns out to also be alive, exclaiming “What impertinence!” when Alice cuts a slice.
In a perfect world, the Leg of Mutton (and the Pudding) would be featured in every film version, but they’re rare enough that seeing them in the 1933 production elicited a squeal of glee when I first saw it. (It’s well worth looking up, and the resemblance to Tenniel’s drawing is spectacular.)

During my first (pre-internet) years of college, I spent hours at the university library, poring over books I was thrilled to be able to access. One of the first things I looked up was The Wasp in a Wig: A “Suppressed” Episode of Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There to finally read a sequence that I’d heard about but never seen. The Wasp is an overlooked character for a good reason: Lewis Carroll cut the creature out of his final manuscript.
Scholars had long known about the excised segment from a letter Sir John Tenniel wrote to Carroll saying that he wasn’t thrilled about illustrating the wasp: “If you want to shorten the book, I can’t help thinking – with all submission – that there is your opportunity.” A wasp in a wig, he believed, was “altogether beyond the appliances of art.” Carroll capitulated. The cut content was long lost until the galley proofs turned up at a Sotheby’s auction in 1974, and though some question its provenance, the majority of scholars have accepted it.
The “Wasp in a Wig” would have followed the White Knight sequence, and has Alice performing what Martin Gardner calls “a final deed of charity that would justify her approaching coronation.” The Wasp is an elderly character who exclaims “Worrity, worrity!” and complains about the cold. A highlight is Alice reading to him from a wasp newspaper (“Latest News. The Exploring Party have made another tour in the Pantry, and have found five new lumps of white sugar …”). The sequence is plenty of fun, and it’s a pity now that it’s been found that it isn’t included in more projects. Ian Richardson plays the Wasp in 1998’s Alice Through the Looking Glass, and even wearing a yellow fright wig, his performance seems within “the appliances of art.”

As a child, I spent a lot of time reading Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, but I spent almost as much time staring at the pictures. A pair of John Tenniel’s original illustrations gripped me more than any of the others—the depictions of the creatures gathered for the caucus race after the flood in the “Pool of Tears” chapter. The group is primarily made up of birds and small woodland animals, plus a couple of crabs. There’s the Dodo, the Mouse, a duck, an eaglet, an owl… and an ape. Wait, what? It’s such an incongruous creature to find in this bunch, and it’s all the more strange because it’s never mentioned in the book.
It’s tempting to speculate that Tenniel created this ape from his own imagination, the same way he created the look of the Jabberwock or the Mad Hatter (his hat and price tag are not in the text, and in fact, he is not described at all). However, if you look at Lewis Carroll’s own illustrations from his original publication of Alice’s Adventures Under Ground, the group also includes an ape. The question that remains is: why?
Some writers have suggested that its inclusion may have something to do with the popular discussion of Darwinism during the Victorian era, but if Carroll wanted to make a commentary on something, he was far more likely to include it in the text. Others suggest that the ape is Pat, who appears at the White Rabbit’s house. My own theory is that perhaps he included it for Alice Liddell, who liked primates, and often fed nuts and biscuits to the monkey at the Oxford Botanic Garden. We may not know much about the ape, but that’s what makes it so compelling. It’s there.

While I was a Theatre student in 1989, a director asked me to replace some actors in his stage production of Alice in Wonderland. The show moved to a big venue, extending the run, but not all of the original cast could commit to the new dates. Thus, I was pulled in to play multiple roles and found myself wearing a number of hats (and masks and headdresses) as the Cheshire Cat, the Caterpillar, the Gryphon, the Walrus, and—most excitingly, to me—the Gnat.
The director had a deep understanding of the source material and its Victorian sensibilities (Tim Dial went on to become a professor, Shakespearean costumer, and a millinery expert). He envisioned the Gnat as a sort of decrepit music hall comedian, and the text supports this. The Gnat is pathospersonified (insectified?), a blend of humor and sadness, full of weak jokes that never really land. (It’s no wonder that after telling one joke, he tells Alice “I wish you had made it.”)
Tenniel neglected to illustrate the Gnat, which makes it easy for some to ignore it in favor of the bizarre insects he introduces. That may be why some film versions leave him out entirely. George Gobel, in the 1985 TV miniseries, looks less like a gnat than Sasquatch meeting the larval form of Mothra, but Steve Coogan fares better in the 1998 British film adaptation, sporting a handlebar mustache so long and thin that its upturned ends look like antennae. His intentionally-underplayed Gnat conveys the resignation of despair.

For a creature that has its own chapter in Through the Looking-Glass, the Sheep doesn’t get near enough love. It may be that the main character of “Wool and Water” isn’t exciting enough for some people, being an older, bespectacled female that knits—someone that, if human, would be socially invisible. And yet, “Wool and Water” is perhaps the most explicitly dreamlike of all the chapters.
For starters, the Sheep appears after the White Queen abruptly begins baa-ing and bleating and abruptly transforms into the ovine knitter, and the scene is inexplicably transported to the inside of a shop where items on the shelf keep moving out of reach. The knitting itself is increasingly wild, with the Sheep sometimes using fourteen pairs of needles at once (“She gets more and more like a porcupine every minute!” remarks Alice). Suddenly the needles become oars, and the pair are in a boat gliding down the river. Once they’re back to the shop, Alice purchases an egg that becomes Humpty Dumpty. It’s one dizzying ride of a dream.
The Sheep’s shop itself was inspired by a real (and still existing) shop in Oxford where Alice Liddell used to buy barley sugar candy. It’s fun to consider the idea of a shop in this world. Its presence suggests a town where these creatures carry out everyday activities. Tenniel’s illustration shows delightful detail, with a window and shelves packed with shovels, a bellows, jars of sweets, hula hoops, dolls, and the soon-to-be-Dumptified eggs.

After leaving the Gnat, Alice meets a fawn in the wood where things have no names. What’s extraordinary about this fawn is how much it seems to be a real fawn rather than some kind of Wonderland or Looking-Glass fawn. It’s not wearing clothes or carrying a pocket watch. It’s not doing human things like riding on a train, and unlike the snap-dragon-fly, its head isn’t on fire. It seems to be a fawn in the same way that Pluto is a dog in a Disney cartoon world that also includes Goofy.
And what a beautiful fawn! In Tenniel’s illustration, it’s all spindly legs, dappled fur, and wide eyes. In Peter Newell’s 1901 illustrations, the Fawn is just as splendid, perhaps more so, a little fuzzier and rounded, a little softer, with shining eyes. Alice connects with the fawn, and they proceed together through the wood with her arm around its neck. The Fawn is able to speak, but there’s a sense that its ability to converse with her is the result of its forgetting who it is.
Once they are out of the wood, the Fawn is instantly startled (“Dear me! You’re a human child!”) and it runs away “at full speed.” The sequence explores a philosophical idea: who are you if you don’t know who you are? There’s something else here, too. It’s a beautiful moment that’s lost in the blink of an eye, the same as when Alice picks the scented rushes that melt away. The Fawn, like the rushes, represents the fleeting nature of beauty.
The Fawn makes a rare appearance in the 1985 film. It’s accompanied by a treacle-y song, but the moment between an actual little girl and an actual fawn offers a nice reprieve from the otherwise-manic energy of the rest of the film.

There’s something gleefully absurd about anthropomorphic oysters. To begin with, they barely seem like an animal. There are other small creatures in Carroll’s works: the baby crab at the Wonderland caucus race, for example, and the caterpillar (which may seem large if you’ve forgotten how small Alice is at that point, but states his height as three inches tall). The oysters are not only the smallest creatures in the books, but they also don’t have a brain, or limbs, or eyes. They’re squishy rocks with a nervous system.
Yet even Alice recognizes that they’re the most important players in “The Walrus and the Carpenter.” They’re also the only characters to die in the text (the Queen’s various orders about beheadings and the probable fate of the bread-and-butterfly are things that either will happen or have already happened, and may not happen at all). It’s easy as a reader to feel the same sympathy as Alice over their being eaten, especially looking at Tenniel’s illustrations, which give them tiny legs and little shoes. Carroll himself felt enough sympathy for them after seeing an 1886 stage play that he penned a new ending for the sequence, having three oyster ghosts come back to exact revenge. (My kingdom for a ghost oyster tee shirt.)
In the 1933 film, though the rest is live-action, “The Walrus and the Carpenter” poem is an animated segment presented by Tweedledum and Tweedledee on a little television. An oyster mom and oyster babies are sleeping under the covers on an “oyster bed.” Walt Disney borrowed the idea for the 1951 animated film, but made each little shell its own cradle, with the top shell a baby bonnet. In the 1985 miniseries, the oysters are bizarrely played by adults, their long legs sticking out of the oyster shells. It’s certainly memorable. How is it that the oysters don’t have a bigger legacy?
Among the reasons Lewis Carroll’s books have endured so long is the strength of the characters, and not just the biggest or most obvious ones. Wonderland and the Looking-Glass world teem with incredible creatures in every wood, river, and tree. They’re hiding in plain sight in the details of the text as well as the illustrations. Take a closer look, and see what you can find—do you have a favorite character or scene? Let us know in the comments…[end-mark]
The post Eight Overlooked Characters from Lewis Carroll’s Alice Books appeared first on Reactor.
Published on June 8, 2026
Bambi, A Life in the Woods jacket illustration by Kurt Wiese (1929)
Published on June 8, 2026
n Saturday, June 6th, the Horror Writers Association announced the winners of the 2025 Bram Stoker Awards, which recognize superior achievement in horror. The Stokers are voted on by the members of the Horror Writers Association and announced each year at StokerCon, which this year took place in Pittsburgh.
Congratulations to the winners!
Specialty Press Award: Bad Hand Books
Richard Laymon President’s Award: Marc L. Abbott
Karen Lansdale Silver Hammer Award: Sarah Read
Mentor of the Year Award: Eric Guignard
Lifetime Achievement Award Winners: Lisa Morton, Jonathan Maberry[end-mark]
The post Here Are the Winners of the 2025 Bram Stoker Awards appeared first on Reactor.
Published on June 8, 2026
On Saturday, June 6th, the Horror Writers Association announced the winners of the 2025 Bram Stoker Awards, which recognize superior achievement in horror. The Stokers are voted on by the members of the Horror Writers Association and announced each year at StokerCon, which this year took place in Pittsburgh.
Congratulations to the winners!
Specialty Press Award: Bad Hand Books
Richard Laymon President’s Award: Marc L. Abbott
Karen Lansdale Silver Hammer Award: Sarah Read
Mentor of the Year Award: Eric Guignard
Lifetime Achievement Award Winners: Lisa Morton, Jonathan Maberry
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The post Here Are the Winners of the 2025 Bram Stoker Awards appeared first on Reactor.
Published on June 8, 2026
As I write this, there are three book ban bills working their way through the House and Senate: H.R. 8705, H.R.2616, and H.R.7661. By the time you read this, who knows where these bills will be or what fresh hells are coming down the pike. There’s a good chance book bans are happening in your community. These aren’t grassroots movements but highly-funded and organized campaigns designed to push queer people back into the closet and chain the door shut. Traditional publishing was already a difficult hill to climb for marginalized authors writing diverse characters. With the increase in bigots banning and challenging books, publishers and agents are rejecting queer books at staggering rates; soft censorship by librarians and booksellers is also on the rise.
Defending the right to read may feel overwhelming, but there are lots of actions you can take right now in your community. If you haven’t contacted your political representatives yet about whatever awful book ban bills are happening when you read this, consider this your sign to pick up your phone. Kids deserve to see themselves and each other reflected in literature. They deserve respect and to feel seen as who they truly are. Authors, publishers, and other book industry folks are on the frontlines, and we need you, yes you, to join us. Whether queer or an ally, we all need to take a stand. You have more power than you realize. Pride isn’t just a celebration, it’s a revolution and a riot. Pick up your wallet, your phone, and a brick and get to it.

(Ash #1 — Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, 2009) Authors like Malinda Lo helped kick the door open for queer YA. Much of the older queer YA was written by cisallohet people who often struggled (and even more often failed) at accurate or respectful representation. It was rare to get queer YA written by a queer author, especially a queer author of color. This “Cinderella”-inspired fairy tale has more in common with the Brothers Grimm than Disney. After losing both her parents, Ash is trapped in a house with her cruel stepmother and stepsisters. The fairy Sidhean offers her a way out, and it leads her into the arms of Kaisa, the King’s Huntress. The fairies offer her a deal she soon regrets, and she may lose Kaisa forever.

(Feiwel & Friends, 2018) Partially a Latinx and queer remix of “Snow White,” “Rose Red,” and “Swan Lake,” this beautiful book explores the complicated relationships of a quartet of teens. The del Cisne sisters Blanca and Roja couldn’t be more different. One day the swans will come to claim one of them as their own, transforming her body against her will. When a local teen, Yearling, goes missing in the woods and his friend, Page, chases after him, they get pulled into the sisters’ orbit. I read this book for a Reactor review back in 2018. It was the first of Anna-Marie McLemore’s books I’d ever read, but certainly not the last. This was the story that helped me realize I was genderqueer. I’d been questioning my gender for a few years by that point; I knew what I wasn’t, but I didn’t know what I was. McLemore’s examination of the nuances of gender beyond the binary opened my eyes to the possibilities. They helped me see that, like with asexuality and aromanticism, I could define “nonbinary” however I wanted, that it wasn’t a third gender that was halfway between the binary poles but something more vast and uncategorizable and wholly unique to each of us under that umbrella.

(Amulet Books, 2020) There aren’t a lot of YA books with asexual and/or aromantic spectrums, especially not at the current moment when romantasy and romantic subplots dominate young adult speculative fiction. This book from 2020 is a must-read for ace rep. For some inexplicable reason, sixteen-year-old Hazel is connected to a rift that threatens to destroy the world. With the help of several Hazels from other dimensions—all of whom are in varying stages of discovering and coming out about their asexual lesbian flavor of queerness or dealing with mental health and chronic illness—Hazel Prime will try to save the world… and herself.

(Farrar, Straus and Giroux Books for Young Readers, 2020) Cadence is a singer with magical powers caught in the clutches of the wicked Queen Elene. Every year for the Performing, she sings a song that torments the nobles that survived Elene’s bloody purge. After the latest Performing, Cadence’s childhood friend Remi is brought back into her orbit. As rebellion simmers just under the surface, the girls fall in love. Soon they’ll have to decide what they’ll risk to stay together. Besides being a great novel, I think this book is particularly relevant for this moment in time because of its villain. Queen Elene came into power after a political coup and quickly filled the palace with toadies and sycophants. She delights in weaponizing her power over others and in crushing any opposition. She is entitled, callous, and dismissive. Obey or be destroyed. In other words, cruelty is the point. And yet, our queer protagonists keep fighting.

(Infinity Alchemist #1 — Tor Teen, 2024) There is very little YA fiction with a trans masc main character, and even fewer where the character is BIPOC. You can count the traditionally published trans masc authors of color writing ownvoices YA speculative fiction books on two hands and still have fingers left over. That makes Callender’s very fun and very queer Infinity Alchemist series even more worth reading. With a teen cast all over the queer spectrum, readers get to see identities that don’t get much representation in traditional publishing. Ash is so determined to learn alchemy even after being rejected by a magic school that he makes a deal with haughty Ramsey to find a powerful artifact. Gender goes on a wild ride in this book, as does the plot. This isn’t your average dark academia romantasy.[end-mark]
The post Backlist Bonanza: 5 Queer YA Books for Pride Month appeared first on Reactor.
The winners of the 61st Annual Nebula Awards were announced this past weekend during the 61st Annual Nebula Awards Conference in Chicago, Illinois. The Nebula Awards are voted on by members of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA) and, as the organizers say, “they represent the views of professional SFF writers on the state of their industry and recent excellence within it.”
This year’s categories include the first-ever Nebulas for Best Poem and Best Comic. As the SFWA website explains, “Like the Ray Bradbury Award for Outstanding Dramatic Presentation and Game Writing Award, these new awards celebrate the writers at the heart of productions that also involve editors, artists, publishers, producers, and a wealth of other team members who make the magic happen.” In future years, the comic award will be called Best Comics Writing.
Congratulations to the winners!
During the Nebula Awards ceremony, several other awards are given, including the honoring of the 42nd Damon Knight Memorial Grand Master, N.K. Jemisin; the Kate Wilhelm Solstice Award, which went to David Langford; the Kevin O’Donnell, Jr. Service to SFWA Award, given to Gay Haldeman; and the legacy Infinity Award, which went to Roger Zelazny.
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The post Here Are the Winners of the 2025 Nebula Awards appeared first on Reactor.
Published on June 8, 2026
Published on June 5, 2026
Photo Credit: Sophie Giraud/AMC
Published on June 5, 2026
Credit: Greenwich Entertainment
Published on June 5, 2026
Image: AMC
Published on June 5, 2026
Credit: American International Pictures / Amazon MGM Studios
Credit: American International Pictures / Amazon MGM Studios
Remember this old essay? The morning after I finished writing the article below, Reactor published an article by Ruthanna Emrys titled “Ixnay on the Post-Apocalyptic Cannibals: Rebecca Solnit’s A Paradise Built in Hell.” Emrys’ column could have sent my mind down the path that led to the essay below… if I’d read it before writing the essay and not after. What a coincidence—I guess it’s “People Don’t Really Act Like Post-Apocalyptic Novel Protagonists” time!
So, I recently became aware of the absence of a potentially useful unit of measurement, one I could use in review after review. Its lack came to me as I was reading John Christopher’s 1956 The Death of Grass, which is rather counterintuitively about the death of grass and the consequences that follow. I don’t know how we’re supposed to get that from the title.
The property being measured is temporal: how long does it take protagonists in an existential crisis to embrace war of all against all, to start murdering their way towards refuge—or, having refuge at hand, to aggressively prevent others from joining them?
Obviously, crisis calls for resolute action. Imagine, for example, that you were on an escalator and that escalator halted. Provided you waited an acceptable time for the escalator to start up again or for rescue to appear—five or ten minutes—I don’t think anyone could reasonably criticize you for whipping out a machete to carve your way to freedom. Likewise, light cannibalism or establishing a Cosmic Circle commune working along proper Degleresque1 lines is just common sense under those circumstances. To quote A Mighty Wind’s Terry Bohner, “You would make that conclusion walking down the street or going to the store.”
Even granting the above, fictional characters seem to make the jump from conventional middle-class grudging coexistence to homicide and warlordism astonishingly quickly. For example, The Death of Grass’s heroes… well, no. Protagonists… conclude that impending famine means it’s every man for himself so quickly one might suspect they’ve been dying to hoist the Jolly Roger all along, and only waited for a pretext.
This is almost certainly true for gunsmith Pirrie, who allies with the central characters early on. Pirrie brings his wife Millicent along not because he loves her, but because he is afraid she might thrive without him. As soon as opportunity presents itself, he murders Millicent and replaces her with Jane, whose parents he has just helped murder. I would be in no way surprised to discover Pirrie was a serial killer (or worse) pre-famine.
While Grass’s characters might seem a bit hasty, an objective survey of works such as Varley’s Slow Apocalypse, Ward Moore’s “Lot,” Ing’s Pulling Through, Niven and Pournelle’s Lucifer’s Hammer, Tucker’s The Long Loud Silence, and others—too many to list here—suggests that in fact these characters are not really all that exceptional. Survival-oriented pragmatists abound! DO NOT BOARD ESCALATORS WITH THESE PEOPLE.
The lack of a formal measuring system makes it more difficult to compare works along that specific axis. Happily, I am here for you. More accurately, Ray Milland and Ward Moore were here for you, but I am going to steal their credit.
In Ray Milland’s film Panic in the Year Zero! (Based on Moore’s “Lot” and “Lot’s Daughter”), Los Angelinos Harry Baldwin and family set out on a camping trip. The Baldwins become aware something is wrong about 2 minutes, 45 seconds into the film. By about the 3-minute, 30-second mark, they see ominous flashes. At about the 6-minute mark, they witness a mushroom cloud rising over Los Angeles. At the 7-minute mark, emergency broadcast radio confirms atomic attack. At the 9-minute mark, Harry sees another man2 assault a gas station attendant. 10 minutes in, Harry abandons any thought of returning to rescue his mother-in-law. Over the next minute, Harry convinces himself civilization may have collapsed. At minute 13, Harry asserts survival will have to be on an individual basis. Finally, at just under the 23-minute mark, Harry commits his first survival-related crime.
Now, Panic was not filmed in real time. The 10 minutes between the Baldwins suspecting something is up and Harry concluding it is every man for himself is probably somewhat longer. An hour seems like a reasonable guess.
Therefore, I suggest one hour as the basic unit of measurement for the interval between characters discovering there is a crisis and them deciding to chuck every civilized value overboard in the name of survival. I further propose this unit be henceforth be known as “the Baldwin,” in honour of Harry, who with his family contributed absolutely nothing to the (entirely successful) US war effort in the course of the Baldwins’ post-apocalyptic crime spree.
I don’t know if the Baldwin will be useful to you all, as a concept, but I suspect I will get considerable use out of it.[end-mark]
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︎The post Finally, a Unit of Measurement for a Certain Kind of Moral Depravity… appeared first on Reactor.
Published on June 5, 2026
Photo Credit: Emily V. Aragones/AMC
Published on June 4, 2026
Published on June 4, 2026
Published on June 4, 2026
Credit: Bandai Namco Entertainment
Published on June 4, 2026
The seas are dark, deep, and full of mystery. Older than much of the surrounding land (the Appalachian Mountains might be older, but that’s a different article), older than all life on Earth, oceans exert a primal allure over everyone who dares to explore the watery depths. Writers have always been drawn to the briny deep as well, finding inspiration for everything from high-seas adventure to terrifying stories of what lurks beneath the tides. As it can be difficult to navigate these busy waters at times, here are seven books about nautical journeys, and the mysteries and magic one might encounter above and below the roiling waves…

June James boards the Maria Calypso on her honeymoon. It’s a perfect moment, setting sail with her husband just as she’s finished the draft of her first major novel, the two of them joking and leaving their anxieties behind on land. Then the sinister man in the white suit poles his way alongside the boat, the captain orders a gun taken out of the ship’s safe to shoot him, and the situation suddenly takes an eerie, unnerving turn. The Boatman represents death, and as long as he’s chasing the Maria Calypso around the world, that means everyone on the boat might be safe from death—at least in the minds of the mentally deteriorating passengers. Grecian’s story of desperate people running from death is fueled by the sinister appearance of the Boatman, but it’s in the immortal passengers where the horror lies, as they begin stockpiling weapons, throwing all their resources into the cruise ship, and eventually resorting to more sinister means of slowing their relentless enemy down. It’s a terrifying exploration of immortality and an interesting twist on the “lost ship” genre, all centered on the terrifying image of a lone man on a boat in the middle of the ocean.

Bullington’s vision of the Middle Ages lends itself to crass, grotesque places. His tale of 15th-century Holland after a massive flood is no different. Beginning with a ram skeleton stuck to a moss-covered windmill and one of the protagonists contemplating how much he’ll enjoy his own hanging, Bullington introduces a new cast of ne’er-do-wells for his revisionist-Western brand of medieval misadventures, led by a con man on the trail of treasure in a flooded town. Aided by a murderous psychopath and an unwillingly indentured young woman with a talent for diving, the conniving Jan embarks on his doomed mission, one that’s filled with danger and treachery at every step even before they can reach the newly formed inland sea. While the abrasive and extreme nature of Bullington’s settings isn’t for everyone, the unusual balance between gothic imagery, alternate history, and noir that Bullington strikes here is perfect for a dark tale of dark deeds.

Lu Ortega is a distinguished officer in the Fleet tasked with a mission to retrieve a sacred artifact from a young ocean-dweller. Pearl is a merwoman entrusted with an important talisman significant to Agwe, the god of the sea, currently stuck as a mute land-dweller on the run from a cult that wants to forcibly marry her to a dictator. Nnenna is a pirate warlord known as “The Devil of the Deep,” scourge to the Fleet and currently the protector of Pearl and Agwe’s conch shell. Jean-Francois’ tale of conspiracy, corrupt religions, dead sea gods, and nautical intrigue plays out in quick chapters switching between POVs, each one flipping breathlessly to the next with the pace of a serial cliffhanger, but it’s in her complex characters where the book truly shines, with Lu’s conflict between duty, faith, and the discoveries he makes over the course of the novel, Pearl’s crisis of faith and the body horror of her “curse,” and Nnenna’s pirate swagger juxtaposed with her anxiety-riddled dreams and personal relationships.

A puppeteer named John Chandagnac is bound for Jamaica to reclaim his family’s honor when the boat is captured by pirates. Brought to an anarcho-syndicalist pirate haven in the Caribbean and rechristened with the name Jack Shandy, Chandagnac is plunged into a world of voudoun, alchemy, and the Satanic figure of the seas himself, Blackbeard. Powers’ classic adventure novel starts slow but gets weird very fast, as Shandy is forced to navigate competing sorcerers’ schemes, brushes with the undead, and a search for the fountain of youth. Once it gets going, On Stranger Tides turns into a swashbuckling dark fantasy adventure worthy of a matinee screen (and of course, it has served as the inspiration for a very loose film adaptation) with Powers’ customary eye towards adding real-world details—in this case, legends of the South Atlantic, folklore, and a surprisingly historical perspective on piratical political beliefs.

Amelia Harsh, famed adventurer and archaeologist, is putting together a crew. Their goal? Discover the lost city of Camlantis, a utopia sunk beneath the waters of the treacherous jungle of Liongeli. Aided by a motley assortment of pirates, criminals, mercenaries, and her eccentric robot companion Ironflanks, Harsh pilots a decommissioned submarine into the unknown. What begins as a pulp story (the second in a seven-book series) that starts out somewhere between Jules Verne and jungle adventure quickly morphs into a power struggle for the secrets within Camlantis, as shadowy governments, masked heroes, supervillains, and cultists converge on the lost kingdom and its dangerous technology. While some might be daunted by Hunt’s kitchen-sink approach to adventure and fantasy, the bombastic way he mashes genres together at high speeds creates a story that wears its influences clearly but transforms them into something unique and compelling.

Jim, his ex-con brother Jack, his brother’s boisterous friend Chris, and their emotionally exhausted elderly father charter a boat for a fishing trip. When the wind and waves are too heavy, the boat’s captain tells them of a perfect fishing spot about an hour out, a deep section of ocean full of fish and unnaturally still. Sure enough, they find their fish, but also attract the attention of something else…something that soon makes its presence known and pulls the men into a desperate struggle for their lives. The sudden onslaught of violence, Fracassi’s exploration of the deep bonds between the men on the boat, and their sheer loneliness and isolation out on the open water make this book an uncomfortable read even before the body horror and nautical terrors kick in, turning a story of survival on the high seas into a deeply upsetting story of alien horrors.

On a business trip to the town of Tidepool, Henry Hamilton is enticed by the town’s wealthy matron Ada Oliver down into the basement, meets her daughter, sees something horrifying about her, and promptly disappears without a trace. Sorrow Hamilton, his sister, comes to Tidepool looking for Henry and begins her own series of encounters with the strange inhabitants of the town. While they do their best to get Sorrow to leave, Sorrow has her own agenda and the strange goings-on in Tidepool (including bodies washing up on the beach) do nothing to deter her. Willson’s belligerently rational heroine and the deadpan humor found in the descriptions of the town create an offbeat picture of Tidepool, a place where the general unnerving events, eccentric locals, and elder gods in the deep try their hardest to force a narrative, whether the protagonist wants to be a part of it or not.
While a complete list of works of nautical horror and fantasy would run as deep as the seas themselves, we hope this list offers some interesting places to dive in! And of course, please recommend your own favorites in the comments below.[end-mark]
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