8 Horror Books in Translation

The talented duo of author Mónica Ojeda and translator Sarah Booker (previously of Jawbone fame) are back with another incredible-sounding horror book: Nefando. Billed as techno-horror (which, yes please), Nefando is the story of six young artists roommates sharing an apartment in Barcelona who find themselves drawn into a mysterious, controversial video game. Nefando offers them a new reality free from the baggage they carry around with them in real life and the chance to play out a whole new life that doesn’t adhere to the ethics and morals that govern life in the real world. But how far is too far? And what happens when the line between game and reality begins to blur?

Johanne Lykke Holm’s Strega, skillfully translated by Saskia Vogel, is a Gothic novel set in a remote hotel high in the mountains, and it is a fantastic example of alpine horror, which is fast becoming one of my favorite sub-genres. Maybe it’s the remoteness of the setting or the way that a landscape so vast can feel so inexplicably claustrophobic. Who can say? But whatever it is, I will happily eat it up with a spoon. In Strega, 19-year-old Rafa and eight other young women are delivered to the remote Olympic Hotel, perched high on the side of the mountain above the village of Strega. They’re moved into a dorm, given uniforms, and put to work cleaning and preparing the hotel for guests. But, as the day goes by, the hotel remains empty. Until night, when a lavish, wild party descends on the Olympic and the first of the young women suddenly disappears…

Andrés Barba’s A Luminous Republic, translated from Spanish into English by Lisa Dillman, is the only book I’m going to hand out now when people ask me why there are so many scary children in horror. Because yikes. I mean, on the one hand, go on and tear society down to its foundations, kids. I appreciate the mission. On the other hand: creepy children are so freaking terrifying. A Luminous Republic is about the small but prosperous city of San Cristóbal in Argentina, which is suddenly beset by a group of 32 children who seem to arrive out of nowhere. No one knows exactly what they want or why they’ve come to San Cristóbal. But as the 32’s actions escalate in violence and more and more of the children of San Cristóbal begin to join in the chaos, it becomes clear that something must be done before the entire city is reduced to rubble and ruin.

If you just can’t get enough of short story collections (me), and one will just never be enough (like potato chips), I’ve got you covered! Because Ha Seong-nan’s Flowers of Mold & Other Stories, brilliantly translated by Janet Hong, is another collection you won’t want to miss. There’s something so intensely uncomfortable (complimentary) about Seong-Nan’s work, and Hong’s ability to carry that tension over into the translation is the epitome of what I mean when I say translation is an art. These stories are must-read examples of what horror short fiction can accomplish as a form, and they will stay with you long after you put Flowers of Mold back on the shelf.

The second forthcoming title is also an anthology! You’ll have to wait until September to get your hands on Sinophagia, but it will definitely be worth the wait. Sinophagia is a compilation of 14 horror stories from contemporary China that Xueting C. Ni has translated into English for the first time and brought together into one exciting new anthology. From monster tales to psychological horrors, Sinophagia offers readers a cross-section of some of the most talented Chinese horror writers currently working in the genre, from the well-known authors of nightmares to the new arrivals and all the fresh terrors they bring with them to the genre.