The Final Girl Support Group by Grady Hendrix (English) Paperback Book

Description: The Final Girl Support Group by Grady Hendrix THE INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLERVOTED GOODREADS CHOICE AWARD BEST HORROR NOVEL OF 2021A Good Morning America Buzz Pick"The horror master…puts his unique spin on slasher movie tropes."-USA TodayA cant-miss summer read, selected by The New York Times, Oprah Daily, Time, USA Today, The Philadelphia Inquirer, CNN, LitHub, BookRiot, Bustle, Popsugar and the New York Public LibraryIn horror movies, the final girls are the ones left standing when the credits roll. They made it through the worst night of their lives…but what happens after? Like his bestselling novel The Southern Book Clubs Guide to Slaying Vampires, Grady Hendrixs latest is a fast-paced, frightening, and wickedly humorous thriller. From chain saws to summer camp slayers, The Final Girl Support Group pays tribute to and slyly subverts our most popular horror films—movies like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, A Nightmare on Elm Street, and Scream. Lynnette Tarkington is a real-life final girl who survived a massacre. For more than a decade, shes been meeting with five other final girls and their therapist in a support group for those who survived the unthinkable, working to put their lives back together. Then one woman misses a meeting, and their worst fears are realized—someone knows about the group and is determined to rip their lives apart again, piece by piece. But the thing about final girls is that no matter how bad the odds, how dark the night, how sharp the knife, they will never, ever give up. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Author Biography Grady Hendrix is an award-winning novelist and screenwriter living in New York City. He is the author of Horrorstor, My Best Friends Exorcism (which is being adapted into a feature film by Amazon Studios), We Sold Our Souls, and the New York Times bestseller The Southern Book Clubs Guide to Slaying Vampires (currently being adapted into a TV series). Grady also authored the Bram Stoker Award–winning nonfiction book Paperbacks from Hell, a history of the horror paperback boom of the seventies and eighties, and his latest non-fiction book is These Fists Break Bricks: How Kung Fu Movies Swept America and Changed the World. Review "The Final Girl Support Group sizzles with action, originality, and a gleaming concept sharp as a scalpel."—Charlaine Harris, #1 New York Times bestselling author"Pray for morning, wish for speed, and be as quiet as you can, it doesnt matter—Grady Hendrixs The Final Girl Support Group already knows where you live and breathe."—Stephen Graham Jones, New York Times bestselling author of The Only Good Indians"A great read…[Hendrix] excels at writing horror humor… His characters are funny and real, though at least one will definitely lose a limb at some point…Though the final girls plight has all the scares of great horror fiction, there is an element of truth in their situation that will be recognizable to anyone who has experienced real trauma." –The New York Times"Equal parts thrilling and darkly funny." - Time"A savvy summer slasher … continues his winning run of meta horror novels…a wickedly entertaining page-turner." –USA Today"Its not necessary to be a fan of slasher movies to enjoy this very clever, gleefully violent, self-aware deconstruction of the genre." - The Guardian"Grady Hendrix has demonstrated a remarkable facility for suspense…With his latest work, The Final Girl Support Group, hes turned that talent into a nearly book-length workout, an exercise in go-go acceleration that steps on the gas soon after it begins and doesnt stop until the final pages." – The A.V. Club"A darkly clever take on the horror genres most infamous trope."– Elle"The Final Girl Support Group is funny, scary, and a roaring good time. Grady Hendrix puts his own spin on final girls and I loved it."—Samantha Downing, USA Today bestselling author of My Lovely Wife"Take slasher movie adoration, critique, and satire, mix with compelling, flawed characters and neck-breaking plot twists, and drop it all into an industrial blender with large blades. Voilà, you now have Gradys maniacally clever and compulsively readable The Final Girl Support Group."—Paul Tremblay, national bestselling author of Survivor Song"Dissects slasher obsession with cutting humor and heart." – Bloody Disgusting"A wildly entertaining romp through the conventions of horrors slasher film subgenre…Hendrix masterfully evokes the paranoid existences of his diverse cast in the aftermath of their traumatic ordeals, and he so explicitly details the massacres and fictional film sagas that grew out of them that readers may believe them to be real. The result is a wonderfully suspenseful and darkly comic novel that cleverly subverts popular culture. Horror fans will be wowed."—Publishers Weekly (starred review)"If you grew up on a diet of 80s slasher movies, The Final Girl Support Group is the book youve been waiting for...Clever, fast-paced horror comedy." —Oprah Daily"The Final Girl Support Group is a deft examination of how our cultures obsession with misogynistic violence destroys the lives of women and how those women are able to keep fighting and living after unthinkable trauma. The beating heart of this book is empathy and its set into a lightning-paced, vicious thriller. Reading it was a catharsis. Absolutely unmissable. Horror fans... youve never read a slasher like this."—Mallory OMeara, national bestselling author of The Lady from the Black Lagoon"With The Final Girl Support Group Grady Hendrix transforms a horror trope into something bloody original. An incisive examination of societys obsession with violence against women that simultaneously honors and roasts the slasher genre with equal prowess. Wildly entertaining and clever as hell."—Rachel Harrison, author of The Return"Grady Hendrixs canny new novel, The Final Girl Support Group, gathers all the tropes and iconography of a decades worth of slasher movies, throws them into a blender with much more wit and intelligence than any of those movies displayed, in a truly original, compelling, suspenseful tour de force… with a knowing wink. Hendrix has a rare, unique voice in a genre sorely in need of more!"—Mick Garris, writer and director (The Stand, Bag of Bones, The Shining miniseries) "A crazy emotional roller coaster ride that took me right back to 1980, but it needs a warning label: may cause severe anxiety, suggest reading with CBD and a glass of wine."—Adrienne King, actress, artist, and Friday the 13ths first Final Girl"The Final Girl Support Group is perfect for anyone who loves old slasher movies and, oddly enough, anyone who hates them. Grady Hendrix has somehow crafted both an homage to B-horror schlock and a clever dissection of the genre, all delivered in the form of one long breathless chase punctuated by both unpredictable twists and thoughtful insight."—David Wong, New York Times bestselling author of John Dies at the End"A (bloody) valentine to the slasher franchises of the VHS era, but also a smart novel about survivor guilt and the concept of the enduring heroine."—Kim Newman, author of Anno Dracula Review Quote " The Final Girl Support Group sizzles with action, originality, and a gleaming concept sharp as a scalpel."-- Charlaine Harris, #1 New York Times bestselling author "Pray for morning, wish for speed, and be as quiet as you can, it doesnt matter--Grady Hendrixs The Final Girl Support Group already knows where you live and breathe."-- Stephen Graham Jones, New York Times bestselling author of The Only Good Indians "A great read...[Hendrix] excels at writing horror humor... His characters are funny and real, though at least one will definitely lose a limb at some point...Though the final girls plight has all the scares of great horror fiction, there is an element of truth in their situation that will be recognizable to anyone who has experienced real trauma." - The New York Times "Equal parts thrilling and darkly funny." - Time "A savvy summer slasher ... continues his winning run of meta horror novels...a wickedly entertaining page-turner." - USA Today "Its not necessary to be a fan of slasher movies to enjoy this very clever, gleefully violent, self-aware deconstruction of the genre." - The Guardian "Grady Hendrix has demonstrated a remarkable facility for suspense...With his latest work, The Final Girl Support Group , hes turned that talent into a nearly book-length workout, an exercise in go-go acceleration that steps on the gas soon after it begins and doesnt stop until the final pages." - The A.V. Club "A darkly clever take on the horror genres most infamous trope. "- Elle " The Final Girl Support Group is funny, scary, and a roaring good time. Grady Hendrix puts his own spin on final girls and I loved it."-- Samantha Downing, USA Today bestselling author of My Lovely Wife "Take slasher movie adoration, critique, and satire, mix with compelling, flawed characters and neck-breaking plot twists, and drop it all into an industrial blender with large blades. Voil Excerpt from Book The Final Girl Support Group I wake up, get out of bed, say good morning to my plant, unwrap a protein bar, and drink a liter of bottled water. Im awake for five full minutes before remembering I might die today. When you get old, you get soft. In the living room I stretch and do forty knee strikes, forty palm heel strikes, and side mountain climbers until sweat drips onto the concrete floor. I do elbow strikes until my shoulders burn, then I get on the treadmill, put the speed up to seven, and run until my thighs are on fire and my chest rasps, and then I run for five more minutes. I have to punish myself for forgetting exactly what the stakes are, especially today. The bathroom door gets padlocked from the inside while I shower. I make up my bed to eliminate the temptation to crawl back in. I make tea, and its not until the electric kettle clicks that I have my first panic attack of the day. Its not a bad one, just a cramp in my chest that feels like a giant hand squeezing my lungs shut. I close my eyes and concentrate on relaxing the muscles lining my throat, on taking deep breaths, on pulling oxygen into the bottom of my lungs. After two and a half minutes I can breathe normally again and I open my eyes. This apartment is the only place in the world where thats possible. A bedroom, a living room, a kitchen, and a bathroom where, as long as I take reasonable precautions, I can close my eyes for two minutes. Out there in the world its a nonstop murder party, and if I make the slightest mistake Ill wind up dead. I go into the living room and turn on CNN to see what the body count is today, and from the very first image I know that the next twenty-four hours will be bad. A live drone shot of a summer camp is buried beneath all the other junk CNN puts onscreen. It shows sedans and emergency vehicles clustered outside the cabins, men in white hazmat suits walking between the trees, yellow police tape blocking the road. They cut to recorded footage of the night before, blue lights flashing in the dark, and the slugline hits me in the gut: Real Life Red Lake Tragedy Repeats. I turn on the sound and the story is exactly what I feared. Someone murdered six Camp Red Lake counselors who were shutting the place down for the season. They used a variety of weapons-hand scythe, power drill, bow and arrows, machete-and would have had a seventh victim except the last one, a sixteen-year-old girl the CNN chyron tells me is named Stephanie Fugate, shoved them out the hayloft. The killer hasnt been identified yet, but theres Stephanie onscreen in a class photo with her round face and clear skin, smiling through her braces with a grin that breaks my heart. After last night, shell never be that happy again. Shes a final girl now. Youre watching a horror movie and the silent killer knocks off the stoner, the slut, the geek, the jock, and the deputy, and now hes chasing the virgin babysitter through the woods. Shes the one who said they shouldnt party at this deserted summer camp, break into this abandoned lunatic asylum, skinny-dip in this isolated lake-especially since its Halloween, or Thanksgiving, or Arbor Day, or whatever the anniversary is of those unsolved murders from way back. The killers got a chainsaw/boat hook/butchers knife and this girls got zip: no upper body strength, no mass, no shotgun. All shes got is good cardio and an all-American face. Yet somehow she kills the killer, then stares numbly off into the middle distance, or collapses into the arms of the arriving police, or runs crying to her boyfriend, makes one last quip, lights one last cigarette, asks a final haunting question, gets taken off in an ambulance screaming and screaming like shes never going to stop. Ever wonder what happens to those final girls? After the cops eliminate them as suspects, after the press releases their brace-faced, pizza-cheeked, bad-hair-day class photos that inevitably get included on the cover of the true crime book? After the candlelight vigils and the moments of silence, after someone plants the memorial shrub? I know what happens to those girls. After the movie deals get signed, after the film franchise fails, after you realize that while everyone else was filling out college applications you were locked in a residential treatment program pretending you werent scared of the dark. After the talk show circuit, after your third therapist just accepts that hes your Zoloft-dispensing machine and you wont be making any breakthroughs on his watch, after you realize that the only interesting thing thatll ever happen to you happened when you were sixteen, after you stop going outside, after you start browsing locksmiths the way other women browse the windows of Tiffanys, after youve left town because you couldnt deal with the "Why not you?" looks from the parents of all your dead friends, after youve lost everything, been through the fire, started knowing your stalkers by their first names, after all that happens you wind up where Im going today: in a church basement in Burbank, seated with your back to the wall, trying to hold the pieces of your life together. Were an endangered species, for which Im grateful. There are only six of us still around. It used to make me sad there werent more of us out there, but we were creatures of the eighties and the world has moved on. They used to dust off the clip packages for our anniversaries or the occasional franchise reboot, but these days its all oil spills and Wikileaks, the Tea Party and the Taliban. The six of us belong to another era. Were media invisible. We might as well not even exist. As I turn off CNN I realize I miscounted. There are actually seven of us; I just dont like to think about Chrissy. No one does. Even mentioning her name can mess with your head because shes a traitor. So I take a minute, even though I only have three hours to get to group, and I take a deep breath and try to get my focus back. Adriennes going to be a mess. Camp Red Lake was where it happened to her, but she bought the place later and turned it into a retreat for victims of violence, mostly survivors of school shootings and kids who got away from their kidnappers. This hits her where she lives. At least itll give us something new to talk about besides whatever old business were still arguing over today. When I cant put it off any longer, I get ready to head out. Group is the only time I leave this apartment except to go to the mailbox place across the street once a week, to check my escape routes once a month, and my biweekly trips to the corner store for supplies. I dont like risk. My hair is short because long hair can get grabbed. I wear running shoes in case I have to move. I dont wear loose clothing. I inventory my pockets: keys, money, phone, weapons. I stopped carrying a firearm on public transport after an incident a couple of years back, but I have pepper spray, a box cutter in my right front pocket, and a razor blade taped to my left ankle. I dont wear headphones, I dont wear sunglasses, I make sure my jacket is tight so theres nothing to snag, and then I say good-bye to my plant, take a deep breath, step out of my apartment, and face a world that wants me dead. The Final Girl Support Group II A cotton ball sheep says, Jesus Loves Ewe! A trio of very skinny ghosts rising from the grave proclaim, Ghosts are scary . . . but not the Holy Ghost! He is Risen! shouts a multicolored tangle of Magic Marker scribbles. That one gives me pause. All of us in group have a complicated relationship with the idea of resurrection. We should be sitting in a circle, but the five of us sit in a ragged C because none of us will ever put her back to a door again. Dani has her arms crossed, legs spread, sitting cowboy stoic in front of a wall of orange-and-black construction paper jack-o-lanterns and hissing cats. Shes the last person on earth who needs a reminder that Halloween is coming. Marilyn has her legs crossed, Starbucks in one hand, new purse in her lap because she wont let it touch the floor. She told Julia it cost $1,135, but I dont believe her. You cant charge that much for a faux purse, and Marilyn would never let leather touch her skin. "Its hard for me to focus if I havent eaten," Heather is saying in her never-ending, I-havent-slept-since-1988 monologue, leaning forward, hands flapping around. "Because of my low blood sugar." Apparently, todays argument will be about snacks. Julia sits in her wheelchair, clearly bored, drumming her fingers on her wheels, wearing an ironic Worlds Greatest Dad T-shirt, staring at a large, wrinkled drawing of a flying man with his arms held straight out at his sides that reads, "Jeshus is sad dead alive." I used to think it was weird that we met surrounded by Sunday school art, but now its become the first thing I look at every month after checking my sightlines and my exits. Not because the artistic self-expression of a bunch of potential murder victims interests me in the slightest. Im looking for warning signs: pictures of exploding guns and bloody knives, boys drawing themselves as neckless monsters with triangle fangs tearing their parents in half. Im looking for signs that one of these kids will grow up to be my enemy, to be another one of the monsters that tried to kill us all. "If you ate before group," Dr. Carol suggests. "Maybe that would help?" Dr. Carol, the only one in the room who can bring herself to put her back to the door, sits in the mouth of the C, like she has for the past sixteen years, posture perfect, pen poised, notepad resting on one knee, treating Heathers snack obsession with the same care and concern she applies t Details ISBN0593201248 Author Grady Hendrix Pages 352 Language English Year 2022 ISBN-10 0593201248 ISBN-13 9780593201244 Format Paperback Publication Date 2022-06-14 Publisher Penguin Putnam Inc Imprint Berkley Publishing Corporation,U.S. Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2022-06-14 NZ Release Date 2022-06-14 US Release Date 2022-06-14 UK Release Date 2022-06-14 DEWEY 813.54 Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. 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