This Is My Body is an intense, unsettling dive into religious trauma, family secrets, and the terrifying power of belief. Packed with tension, the novel’s exploration of faith, guilt, and motherhood feels deeply personal. The horror elements—both supernatural and psychological—are gripping, and the slow unraveling of the family’s dark past keeps the pages turning.

King-Miller delivers a gut-punch of an ending and a thought-provoking look at generational trauma. This Is My Body is a haunting, emotional ride that lingers long after the final page.

Many thanks to NetGalley and Quirk Books for providing an eARC of This Is My Body prior to publication.

This book's exploration of the intersection of religious trauma and queerness provided a fresh and unique take on possession horror. The image of evil worms living deep within you and feeding on your shame is both disgusting and a very accurate representation of the feeling.

This is King-Miller’s second work of fiction (the first being "The Z-Word"). A Colorado author, King-Miller really brings the horror--as well as the childhood religious trauma-- home to roost in "This Is My Body," in which a single gay mother, Brigid, takes her maybe-possessed teenage daughter back to her childhood Denver home to meet the uncle who filled her childhood with trauma ... & exorcisms.

Now this is what I'm talking about. Queer, creepy, twisted horror with just the right amount of romance. I loved the blending of horror tropes and elements (no spoilers, so I won't say more about the specifics). The characters were messed up in extremely believable ways, and I was drawn in to the horror of it all easily. An excellent summertime horror that I think will also work well during spooky season.

There's a little steam in one scene, and the sex was written incredibly well.

Would love to have nominated this for the LibraryReads list, however due to the union-related layoffs, I'm declining to do so at this time. I'm not sure what exactly the union is asking for re: reviews, so I will be holding off on formally reviewing this title, but I am so excited to tell people about it. Lindsay is an incredible author, and I hope that whatever the editorial situation is at Quirk gets cleared up by management soon.

This is a book about shame, the kind of shame that's instilled by a one-two punches when you're both queer and a parent. It's also about parenting: the difficulty of trying to be close, but not smothering; to guide but not lecture; to give space for freedom without letting your child fall off of a cliff.

It's really good.