These Bodies Ain’t Broken
Madeline Dyer, ed.
Hardcover/Ebook
ISBN: 979-8890033024
Page Street, October 2025, 384 pgs

Disability is definitely an axis of marginalization. Beyond the facts of bullying¹ or social isolation,² or even self-isolation, there are institutional and systemic factors as well. From the late 1800s to as recent as the 1970s, there were “Ugly Laws” in various places in the US,³ prohibiting individuals with certain kinds of disabilities from being seen in public. Folks with disabilities in narratives, for decades, tended to be objects of pity or villains, from Captain Hook to Ernst Stavro Blofeld (the Bond villain with the cat).⁴ Besides this, folks with disabilities (similar to Black folks) were often used as comedic relief or, at best, cast as side characters but were not generally written as heroes; generally, they weren’t even allowed to be real, fleshed out people: They were archetypes. They were sometimes even “cautionary tales”: beware . . . you might end up LIKE THIS!!! Meanwhile, back in reality, the US government was so unsympathetic to the needs of disabled Americans that we wouldn’t even have wheelchair ramps if people hadn’t taken to activism, holding a twenty-six-day sit-in at the Hew offices in San Franciso.⁵ These items are by no means a comprehensive look at things. This isn’t even an adequate highlight reel, but I hope you at least get my point.

Over the past few years, at least in science fiction and fantasy, we have seen a number of authors put disability on the page in more meaningful ways. Some of those authors are “well-meaning” folks who tried to do what they thought was right but nonetheless stepped into problematic depictions; others participated in narrative revolution through the act of thoughtful writing. As far as I know, there haven’t been many speculative fiction anthologies that specifically focused on, or showcased, characters with/stories prominently featuring disabilities.⁶ And, as far as I know, those anthologies were all very small/indie ventures. All of this means that, by my calculations, These Bodies Ain’t Broken stands as an important work, one which is not only a solid anthology, but which is also culturally relevant beyond just the quality of the stories.

The description says, “From breaking ancient curses to defying death itself, these thirteen horror stories cast disabled characters as heroes we can all root for.” I’ll talk about a handful of stories to give you a taste of what’s on offer and leave the rest for your discovery.

“Baby Teeth” by Mo Netz opens the book and immediately sinks right into horror vibes, giving bloody visuals of a kid losing his teeth. Folks who tend to be squeamish are bound to squirm at this somewhat gruesome opening, which is a compliment as far as I’m concerned. The story primarily brings the experience of being othered into sharp and steady focus, in a school environment, which is so often the realm of the inconsiderate, the menacing, and everything in between. The story does a great job of presenting a range of experiences of being othered, from the subtle to the overt. In the mix, our protagonist Max starts losing teeth, only to find unusually sharp teeth taking the place of the lost teeth. And with the advent of these unusual teeth, comes a craving for meat . . . The piece is well-told and in terms of structure will be familiar to horror readers. Despite this familiarity, the specifics of the speculative horror will likely be new to many, and I think plenty of readers will find it striking and effective. Moreover, the social details of the narrative demonstrate the real-life horrors that too many kids deal with in our culture, behaviors too often elided or excused or minimized.

If you haven’t read anything by P.H. Low, you need to get caught up. Go to their website, pick a story, and jump in. For this book, “The Ruins You Made” quickly establishes a complicated relationship between “you” (named Kiran) and a mother who has been through a lot to take care of you. It’s a powerful opening, filled with guilt and hope and an unsteady, unknown future, one which will see you attending a renowned institution for higher learning on a scholarship, a place which may be sketchy and even potentially dangerous, but which may also offer some kind of way to move forward in life. There is a beautiful quality to the storytelling, which is not about flowery words or clever metaphors, but about narrative choices and focal points, as well as the way scenes and emotions are painted, plus the occasional spectacular turn of phrase. This quality is highlighted in the way the family relationship is shown, the way the speculative touches come in to play, as well as the way those touches and the world at large impact Kiran. The narrative makes brilliant use of an almost gothic-flavored speculative menace to explore and extrapolate issues around class, among other things, laying bare the animosity that is often at the heart of class differences, an animosity that is never adequately addressed in our culture in any substantive way, but that is acknowledged time and time again through stories. Here, Low adds nuances and unexpected turns, making this particular tale utterly unique, while still being relatable and grounded in things which concern many of us. Wonderful work, and possibly my favorite in the book!

Lily Meade gives us “The Worst of It,” which begins with Amara, who may have just died. Here the story focuses on the dissonance between an individual and their body, a disagreement so strong that the protagonist took a chance on a risky experimental treatment. In this approach, the story (like some of the other stories) is more specifically about the living conditions of the character and the symptoms of the disability. In this case, the story is also specifically about the contrast of conditions for people with the same genetic disorder, but with varying symptoms and different emotional responses to their living conditions, contrasted by Delilah. As Amara, who may have died, explores a new set of physical conditions, and as she is trying to figure out what the program has actually done, her internalization explores the complexity of her friendship with and feelings towards Delilah. To my thinking, there are also notes here about the dehumanizing nature of medical systems. It’s a thoughtful piece which feels grounded in the specificity of personal experience as well as reflection, one which should have readers reflecting on themselves as well.

“When the Night Calls” by Soumi Roy is set in nineteenth-century Bengal, but I’m thinking it has a lot to say about things still in place today. When Charu’s friend Malati goes missing, Malati’s husband blames it on a local legend, called Nishi Daak. But the husband looks too nonchalant, leaving Charu simmering with unspoken rage. The narrative continues with loving details that, more than anything, speak to gender, as well as age to some degree, and other factors that determine status, sociocultural roles, and power dynamics in relationships. “Loving details” because there are some fine nuances and complexities here, especially in how Charu feels about the men around her. Meanwhile, the elements of disability are woven into the character’s experiences, often in subtle ways, rather than being a central narrative focal point. What Charu eventually discovers is far worse than a local legend, and perhaps an allegory for deeper truths about social disparities. But the discovery is only the beginning, and horror can have many faces.

Pintip Dunn’s “What This Locket Holds” gives us another “going to college” story: Monticha is about to leave the house to hang out with friends on the day before leaving for college, when her mom insists that Monticha wear a necklace with mom’s recent photo in the locket. It’s a touching, modern opening, full of those emotions of attachment and guilt folded into that eagerness to be free, a situation many feel when leaving home. Monti’s situation includes the complications of a father who died two years earlier. But when Monti comes back later that night from hanging out with friends, she catches a glimpse of a much older self in the mirror, in a too-cold house, which sets her on edge. Of course, since this is a horror anthology, things are only going to get worse. But to some degree, for a person used to unpredictable and unpleasant symptoms (a person named Monti), weird visions and discomfort are familiar territory. As the story progresses, the narrative uses the supernatural to explore the mother-daughter relationship, as well as, to some degree, the way that Monti’s disability impacts her life and their relationship. At the same time, if anything, while disability is an important part of the story, the piece is really about independence and finding your way forward, even if part of you wants to stay behind. At least, this is my read.

Look: the stories are good. Buying this anthology is definitely money well spent. Each piece is followed by a paragraph or two from the author about the use of disability in the story, which is super interesting. There are a range of ways that disability plays into the narratives, and in some cases, different perspectives on similar conditions. Whether or not you identify as an individual with disabilities, this anthology is worthwhile reading. Pick it up, dig into a few stories, and shout about your favorites so that more people will buy this book.

1. Apparently 19% of high school kids in the US get bullied. Realistically, the numbers are probably higher, since this percentage represents reported instances. I mean, what the hell is wrong with our society? https://www.stopbullying.gov/resources/facts
2. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC9905422/
3. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ugly_law
4. https://thenoraproject.ngo/nora-notes-blog/the-problem-with-the-disabled-villain-trope
5. Asking again: What the hell is wrong with our society? Why can’t we just do what’s right? https://www.nps.gov/articles/000/504-protest-disability-community-and-civil-rights.htm
6. A few that I know of (this should not be taken as a comprehensive list, and I haven’t personally read all of these so this should not be taken as a “recommended reading” list, these are just books I’m aware of): Accessing the Future edited by Djibril Al-Ayad & Kathryn Allan; Defying Doomsday edited by Tsana Dolichva & Holly Kench; Wickedly Abled edited by Sumiko Saulson; Rebuilding Tomorrow edited by Tsana Dolichva; Soul Jar edited by Annie Carl, which features a forward by SFWA Grand Master Nicola Griffith; and of course, not an anthology, but Uncanny Magazine followed up on Lightspeed and Nightmare magazine’s People Destroy special issues with the Disabled People Destroy Science Fiction issue in 2018.