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This book is a Western-style study of evil, of multi-generational trauma and redemption, and of whether or not we can change our fate due to who our parents or grandparents were — and it’s a fun ride with a memorable cast of characters to boot. Not to mention the action-packed chase scenes and firefights between the fugitive main characters and the vicious Texas Rangers. This book was such a joy to read, and I loved sinking back into its atmosphere, its people.

The pacing and flow was perfectly done. The story editing here was top notch. Then there’s the sharp, insightful prose and dialogue with just the right amount of narrative self-awareness and social commentary. The subversion of the hero’s journey was cleverly executed, and made me laugh out loud at times. The dialogue especially felt very authentic, and I could clearly hear each character’s voice in my head.

The Sonoros family has blood ties to the first brother-killer, Cain of the Christian mythos. Many of them have led typically morally corrupt lives, and “have always had a talent for profit through wickedness” (p. 227). This story is one of why Remedio, an invisible shadow character who vaguely represents the grim reaper and occasionally makes himself known, follows Antonio Sonoros, living in the 1890s, and his grandson, Jamie Sonoros in 1964. It’s about what conclusion he comes to about humanity and fate after not damning Antonio straight to Hell as soon as he was born, as he was supposed to.

For it is Antonio who is destined to become the infamous Bullet Swallower. Remedio shadows him as he leads a life both of crime and of compassion, helps people, and kills them, and as he goes on a revenge quest after a group of Texas Rangers kill his brother.

Antonio acts “as though he were aware of the precariousness of his own existence, that he wished to perform some balancing of accounts within himself, committing murder and then saving a family from starvation on the same day, net equal” (75). He instinctively feels the need to balance the harm he does with care. He can be tender to people who need it — even if doing so gets him in trouble. But the point is that he does try to consciously balance his own perceived moral debts, and make up for crimes he’s committed.

Which is what most people with a shred of humanity left do, even the “evil” Texas Rangers. This book really shows you that inside everyone is a tender heart. Every character here gets a chance to finally reveal it.

Finally, the book portrays pretty well some situational answers to questions of fate, redemption arcs, healing from the transfer of trauma across the generations, and existential judgement in the face of this wild, wild world.

Apparitions tells the story of two deaf boys who desperately hold onto each other for support in a world not built for them, where only they can truly understand each other. It's also a story of how having so much love trapped inside you while being misunderstood can make you turn out one way, or the other. . .

This is told entirely from the deaf perspective, so if you're one of those readers who can't stand books without quotation marks, give this one a pass—or, understand that there are none because there is no spoken dialogue to be heard from this point of view. This stylistic choice, to me, was skillfully done.

I also loved the tight control of revealing information. This book was a brilliantly crafted epistolary narrative, told in part through the transcribed signs of the narrator whose name only exists in sign, and through the various collected writings, ravings, and files related to Felix Jimson, the other deaf boy.

The narrator was kidnapped from his mother by his father, and held captive in a basement room until he escaped as a teenager, only to end up in a mental hospital. Felix also is estranged from his mother, but his left him and his dad of her own volition. Both boys have daddy issues, but one wishes love and peace for his father, hoping he'll stop being so mean and xenophobic, while the other becomes obsessed with killing his father.

The relationship between these two boys is conflicting due to the power dynamic. Stuck in a Canadian mental hospital in the year 1980, the narrator learns how to sign from fellow patient Felix, and even eventually gets his name from him. Felix gives him the gift of language, gives him the words for love, peace, sex, and everything else, including some free tips on what to know to get by as a Deaf person in a hearing world. His observations on the world are often insightful and true, to a degree. However, Felix is in the hospital for a reason himself: he's a paranoid schizophrenic who takes this opportunity to explain his understanding of God to a willing listener, warping the narrator into being a devoted apostle of his new gospel.

And this is where the conflict arises. Because it is ultimately love and the desire for true connection that drives the actions of these boys, whether they be violent or not. But because of Felix's mental illness, the way he goes about trying to receive and maintain love, both on small and large scales, is psychologically manipulative. The narrator's ignorance and innocence prevent him from seeing this, though we, the reader, and the doctors in the novel, are all too aware of what's going on. It makes scenes where they are forcibly dragged apart even harder to read. It's hard not to root for these boys and hope they can stay together, even knowing Felix is so messed up and needs help that the system just won't be able to provide. It's understandably hard for the narrator to feel any need to walk away from the person who gave him the gift of language and was the first person to really show him love after a childhood of hate and violence.

Overall, a truly horrific novel that expertly portrays the intersections of disability, sexual orientation, and mental health, Apparitions was a reading experience unlike any other I've had so far.

Thanks to BookSirens and Dark Hart Books for providing me with a free digital copy of this book. I am leaving my honest feedback here voluntarily.