The White Guy Dies First
Terry J. Benton-Walker, ed
Hardcover / Ebook
ISBN: 9781250861269
Tor Teen, July 16, 2024, 320 pgs

I mean . . . where do I start?

Okay, let me start by saying this anthology is really good! Thirteen original stories by folks who know how to compose strong fiction. Different authors followed the brief (that is to say: the title) in different ways, and this makes exploring the work even more dynamic.

Let me also say that in many ways, I have waited a long time for this anthology. Especially as someone who loves genre fiction, who sees, time and time again, white folks writing people of color but missing so many things in their characterizations and interactions. I’ve reviewed a number of anthologies designed to center people of color¹. What is different about this one is that the brief demands these characters of color engage in some way with white folks. The result is that many of the pieces here are really about the experience of marginalization itself, of being, for example, an Asian kid in a predominantly white school, or a Native kid who has become kind of estranged from his own culture. Many white folks think of racism as slurs and hate crimes, but racism is also about microaggressions, casual bullying, even just . . . not taking someone as seriously as you would a white person. This book creates space to engage directly with a range of concepts along these lines—and as someone who is mixed (Black/white/smidge o’ Native) and grew up in a predominantly white situation . . . ? This book hits the spot. Let me talk about a few of the stories, as examples.

In “Hell is Other Demons” by Karen Strong, Evelyn is smitten with Ivy, but Ivy is dating a white boy named Brett. When Ivy invites Evelyn to come to Brett’s demon summoning, she goes just because she wants to be near Ivy. There is nothing subtle about Evelyn’s perspectives on Brett: a privileged kid from a family whose success goes back to stealing land and murdering people generations ago². But then again, being who she is isn’t all that easy in a backwater town anyway. To Evelyn’s atheistic surprise, the summoning works, and if you are a horror or even a dark fantasy reader, you probably know that when a summoning actually works, things are not going to end well. Of course, it falls to Evelyn to deal with the consequences. The story is classic demon-summoning fun, with a few awesome surprises, punctuated by pointed social commentary.

I seriously enjoyed “A Thousand More” by Chloe Gong in Patrice Caldwell’s 2022 anthology Eternally Yours³, so I was eager to see what she would do here with “Docile Girls.” Adelaide has to deal with the people she thought were friends who have recently turned on her due to her ex-boyfriend dumping her. But she can’t just hide or avoid them: they are all on dance committee together. Right from the start, there is a sharpness to the narrative and an edge to Adelaide’s character, arising from a sense of otherness, of being in a predominantly white school, and the many difficult things this can mean. This is particularly compelling and relatable, but Gong ratchets things up another level by introducing Elaine—who is also Asian—and digging deeper into the complex tensions and emotions of trying to fit in or make your space while also being someone who is, inevitably, “not white.” The kids quickly discover that the gymnasium doors are locked, and from there, things get bloody fast. It’s the classic trope of a group being mysteriously trapped and getting killed off in turns, the trope done quite well, with a splash of splatterpunk flair. Indeed, in this particular piece, the white guy really does die first; but unlike many stories where the white guy is the hero and the lone person of color dies first, here there are plenty of other white folks to go around⁴. It’s up to Adelaide to keep it together enough to try to figure out what’s going on. Where the story ultimately goes is wonderful, and brings even more angles into the conversations about identity that Gong started earlier on.

Alexis Henderson gives us “Gray Grove,” which pulls you into the kind of atmosphere you crave in a horror story. Little details expertly delivered come together to invoke a gently tugging dread. Rumi and Kaitlyn make an interesting duo, with a bit of immediate friction between them as they have different ideas about exactly what they are doing out in the Grove. The setup is a familiar one: someone died a while back, and as investigative podcasters, they might be able to set the record straight. But Henderson flips the typical details, making the story more engrossing, and laying foundations for rich subtext: it’s a white kid—a quarterback, no less—who was murdered, while an innocent Black kid went away for the crime. Even the fact that we just don’t usually see narratives wherein two young women investigate the death of a white boy, yet this is what Henderson’s story does, this narrative decision alone makes the story fresh, while also pointing to the nearly ubiquitous cultural tendency of depicting women as victims and men as protagonists as well as problem solvers. The story of William, however, the Black kid who remained in prison, is all too real. A white kid tries to enact violence against a Black kid, gets his comeuppance, but the Black kid ends up spending years in prison? Yes, if you are keeping track, this is how it happens. Alexis Henderson is brilliant, utilizing both the unusual and the familiar to develop a story that is provocative while also being emotionally engaging. Oh, and all this is just within a couple of pages. As the young women approach the abandoned plantation house, Henderson digs into their relationship, revealing the microaggressions and the growing fractures that often occur with interracial friendships. As tends to happen in real life, these microaggressions and fractures are invisible to the white friend, or, perhaps, unacknowledged. Meanwhile, the horror story is unfolding, like a fog creeping across the road. Henderson’s fantastic storytelling flawlessly weaves subtle observations on privilege and perspective with the exploration of the house, utilizing straightforward, effective prose, and perfect splashes of description. While creepiness builds, the tension between Rumi and Kaitlyn continues to build, and if you know horror, then you probably know where things are going to go, and you will delight in following them there.

“Best Served Cold” by H.E. Edgmon begins with a fantastic voice laying out both irony and internalized prejudice, something which is painfully common and too rarely explored. It also begins with hunger, and by the insistence of this hunger (and the fact that it’s a horror anthology) you get a sense that this is going to mean trouble for someone. Edgmon allows protagonist EJ to be an angry kid who doesn’t fully understand what the anger is all about, which is probably truer to life than many overly simplified and reduced depictions of teen anger, which end up being easily resolved or explained: for people of color dealing with being marginalized, anger can be a tangled mess. Edgmon develops a wonderfully complex situation with the family, one which feels as real as it is nuanced. For readers like me, EJ’s situation is incredibly moving. When EJ’s brother Kai brings a white kid—who may or may not be a romantic interest—into the community, things get even more complicated. While Edgmon sets out some really interesting and beautiful story elements, they also interleave truly terrible real-life facts, while deftly seeding in the speculative horror. Things go from beautiful to bad and you know Edgmon’s a gifted writer when you are caught up in the emotional roller coaster, crashing right into tension and anxiety (for many readers, the correct word here will be “terror”). In some ways the story is familiar, at least in broad strokes, but it’s also brilliantly rendered, perfectly brutal, and elevated above its usual iterations by depth of meaning, not to mention the sheer power of Edgmon’s craft.

There are a number of readers out there who won’t see just how great these pieces are, who won’t feel the power and urgency of these voices. Folks who maybe balk at the book title. Readers who don’t get how many levels of fantastic commentary Chloe Gong’s story title is hitting, not to mention the way the title plays with the narrative when the tale unfolds. Some of these are the same folks who might say, “I don’t get why that is racist” instead of “damn, I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

But for millions of readers out there, this book will be cathartic. It feels important to me, it feels necessary. This book explores things I experienced as a kid, the emotions of which I carry to this day. Part of the problem is, these things continue on in the adult world, in interactions at conventions, friend groups, and even professional spaces. This book brings us together, explores experiences and emotions, and vents so much frustration, all while having great horror fun. I loved reading this book, and many readers out there will love it, too.

¹. Such as The Black Girl Survives in This One edited by Desiree S. Evans & Saraciea J. Fennell; Infinite Constellations edited by Khadijah Queen and K. Ibura; El Porvenir, ¡Ya!: Citlalzazanilli Mexicatl edited by Scott Russell Duncan, Jenny Irizary, Armando Rendón; and many others: lightspeedmagazine.com/authors/arley-sorg.

². Most of us here in the US are living on land stolen from Native and Indigenous populations; many of us have ancestors who benefitted directly or indirectly from the enslavement, torture, and murder of African people. Some are benefiting more—and more directly—than others.

³. See review in the October 2022 issue of Lightspeed: bit.ly/4bOled9.

⁴. There are endless examples of films with numerous white characters and a single character of color (often a Black guy), wherein the character of color is not only the first but sometimes the only person to get killed. I highly recommend picking up The Black Guy Dies First by Robin R. Means Coleman & Mark R. Harris for an in-depth discussion of the topic.