Jones (Mapping the Interior) spins a sharp, remarkable horror story out of a crisis of cultural identity. Lewis and his three childhood friends, now in their 30s, have all moved away from the soul-sucking depression of the Blackfeet Reservation where they grew up, leading Lewis to believe "he deserves some big Indian award for having... avoided all the car crashes and jail time and alcoholism on his cultural dance card." Then a mysterious entity in the form of an elk begins to dog Lewis's every move. Though he doesn't understand why the elk-shaped demon has come to haunt him, he slowly realizes it wants revenge for him distancing himself from his ancestors' beliefs. As people around Lewis start to die, his paranoia about the elk mounts, leading him to acts of violence of his own. Jones's writing is raw, balancing on the knife-edge between dark humor and all-out gore as he forces his characters to reckon with their pasts, as well as their culture's. This novel works both as a terrifying chiller and as biting commentary on the existential crisis of indigenous peoples adapting to a culture that is bent on eradicating theirs. Challenging and rewarding, this tale will thrill Jones's fans and garner him plenty of new readers. Agent: BJ Robbins, BJ Robbins Literary. (May)

A violent tale of vengeance, justice, and generational trauma from a prolific horror tinkerer. Jones (Mapping the Interior, 2017, etc.) delivers a thought-provoking trip to the edge of your seat in this rural creature feature. Four young Blackfeet men ignore the hunting boundaries of their community and fire into an elk herd on land reserved for the elders, but one elk proves unnaturally hard to kill. Years later, they're forced to answer for their act of selfish violence, setting into motion a supernatural hunt in which predator becomes prey. The plot meanders ever forward, stopping and starting as it vies for primacy with the characters. As Jones makes his bloody way through the character rotation, he indulges in reflections on rural life, community expectations, and family, among other things, but never gets lost in the weeds. From the beer bottles decorating fences to free-throw practice on the old concrete pad in the cold, the Rez and its silent beauty establishes itself as an important character in the story, and one that each of the other characters must reckon with before the end. Horror's genre conventions are more than satisfied, often in ways that surprise or subvert expectations; fans will grin when they come across clever nods and homages sprinkled throughout that never feel heavy-handed or too cute. While the minimalist prose propels the narrative, it also serves to establish an eerie tone of detachment that mirrors the characters' own questions about what it means to live distinctly Native lives in today's world--a world that obscures the line between what is traditional and what is contemporary. Form and content strike a delicate balance in this work, allowing Jones to revel in his distinctive voice, which has always lingered, quiet and disturbing, in the stark backcountry of the Rez. Jones hits his stride with a smart story of social commentary--it's scary good. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Ten years prior to the start of this story, four young Blackfeet went hunting on tribal lands normally reserved only for the elders and ended up killing a female Elk, oddly pregnant during the wrong time of year. Now, as adults with families and responsibilities, the men still carry the heavy guilt of that day, as well they should--the spirit of the Elk has been waiting to make each one of them pay the ultimate price. This classic tale of revenge horror oscillates among eerie moments, violent action, and an overarching sense of dread. With close narrations from three of the four men, one of their teen daughters, and the Elk herself, there is an intensity, a breathless desperation that lurks just under the story's surface, giving the sense that everything that is about to happen, no matter how terrible, is inevitable and cannot be stopped. It is also a heartbreakingly beautiful story about hope and survival, grappling with themes of cultural identity, family, and traditions. VERDICT One of the most anticipated horror titles of 2020, Jones's latest does not disappoint. While fully entrenched within the genre, its well-developed cast, lyrical language, and heightened suspense will have broad appeal. Fans of Paul Tremblay, Victor LaValle, and Samanta Schweblin will be delighted.

With a lengthy bibliography full of titles like Mongrels (2016) and After the People Lights Have Gone Off (2014), Jones has proven his horror mettle, but his latest novel steers the genre into some unexpected territory. When a group of young friends hunt elk on a section of land set aside for Blackfoot tribal elders, they set into motion a vengeance that will shadow the rest of their lives. Even fleeing the desperation of the reservation doesn't save them from the consequences of their act. One by one, they're stalked by a supernatural force that sprang into being on the night of the hunt. The Only Good Indians certainly brings the requisite genre shocks, but also functions as a serious look at modern Native American culture, both inside and outside the reservation. These themes make the book weightier than typical scare fare and, while some of the shifts in narrative focus feel abrupt, the overall work is very impactful. A solid tale about a community that hasn't often received serious treatment in the horror genre.