Brat

Brat: A Ghost Story ist ein atmosphärischer Mix aus Horror und Autofiktion. Das Haus, in dem der Protagonist nach dem Tod seines Vaters landet, ist voller unheimlicher Erinnerungen und seltsamer Veränderungen – eine interessante Idee, die viel Potenzial hat. Die Stimmung ist oft beklemmend und sprachlich gut eingefangen. Allerdings zieht sich die Handlung stellenweise und bleibt manchmal zu vage, sodass Spannung verloren geht. Insgesamt ein ungewöhnliches, aber nicht immer fesselndes Leseerlebnis.

Gabriel Smith hat mit Brat eine lustigen, verstörenden Horror geschrieben. Die ersten paar Seiten haben schon verrückt angefangen, denn sie beginnen damit, das Gabriel (so heißt tatsächlich auch der Protagonist) seine Haut verliert. Und so geht die Geschichte dann auch weiter. Ich hatte sehr viel Spaß beim lesen, war öfters verstört und konnte nicht glauben, was auf dem Papier stand. An leichte Seelen würde ich das Buch nicht empfehlen, da es auch viel mit Body Horror, Depressionen, Drogen- und Alkoholkonsum zu tun hat, bzw diese Themen behandelt, der Autor warnt allerdings nicht wirklich davor. Ich persönlich habe es geliebt und in kurzer Zeit verschlungen!

Gabriel Smith’s Brat is a strange, unsettling debut that drifts between ghost story, autofiction, and surreal horror. The narrator, also named Gabriel, returns to his childhood home after his father’s death, intending to sort through the house and prepare it for sale. What follows is less a straightforward plot than a fever dream of grief, memory, and decay. Manuscripts seem to shift, home videos reveal unfamiliar figures, and Gabriel himself begins to peel away in translucent sheets of skin, as if his body were mirroring his disintegration. What makes Brat remarkable is its atmosphere. The house feels like a living, breathing entity - oppressive, haunted, and brimming with unresolved history. Smith writes in short, fragmented vignettes that mirror the narrator’s fractured state of mind, creating a rhythm that is at once hypnotic and unnerving. The recursive stories within stories - drafts, notes, and ghostly echoes of the past - add layers of unease, as if reality itself were being rewritten with every page. Beneath the strangeness, however, lies a very human core. This is a novel about grief, guilt, and the weight of family legacy. Gabriel is not an easy character to like: he is self-absorbed, self-destructive, and often difficult to sympathise with. Yet his vulnerability and sense of failure feel raw and believable, and the grotesque horror elements become extensions of his inner turmoil rather than mere shocks. That said, Brat will not work for every reader. Its clipped, staccato style can feel repetitive, and the narrative often favours mood over momentum. Many of its mysteries - masked figures, ghostly children, shifting manuscripts - are left unresolved, which some will find haunting and others frustrating. Those expecting a conventional ghost story, with clear supernatural rules and tidy answers, may come away disappointed. Still, the book’s originality and ambition outweigh its flaws. By blending gothic tropes with metafiction and surreal grief, Smith has created something that resists easy categorisation. Brat is less about what happens than about how it feels: jagged, disorienting, and deeply atmospheric. It lingers like a half-remembered nightmare, unsettling in its ambiguity but moving in its emotional undercurrents. For readers willing to embrace ambiguity and discomfort, Brat offers a haunting exploration of memory, loss, and the ghosts we carry within us. It may not be a perfect novel, but it is an unforgettable one.