Look, I've been covering horror and dark fiction for over 200 episodes of my podcast, and I thought I'd seen every flavor of human monstrousness. Then Pascal Engman walked in and said "let me introduce you to the incel community" and now I need a shower and possibly therapy.
Femicide isn't horror in the traditional sense. No ghosts, no demons, no supernatural entities lurking in Swedish forests. But here's the thing - this understands that horror isn't about gore, it's about dread. And the dread here? It's the kind that crawls under your skin because you know these people exist. They're posting right now. They're radicalizing each other in forums you've probably scrolled past without knowing.
The Voice in My Head for 12 Hours
Sofia Engstrand does something really smart with this narration - she keeps it clean and measured, almost clinical at times. At first I wondered if she was holding back too much. But no. The restraint is the point. When you're dealing with material this dark, you don't need a narrator chewing the scenery. You need someone who trusts the text to do its work.
Her pronunciation of Swedish names and places is (obviously) flawless, which matters more than you'd think. Nothing yanks me out of Scandinavian noir faster than a narrator who stumbles over every ö and å like they've never seen a vowel with a hat before. Engstrand grounds you in Stockholm. You believe you're there.
That said - and I need to be honest here - the pacing in the first four hours nearly lost me. I was on a late shift at the library, shelving returns in the mystery section (yes, the irony), and I kept zoning out. The book alternates between genuinely harrowing noir sequences and these more mundane procedural stretches that felt like the narrative was catching its breath too often. Shirley (my cat) was unimpressed. I was frustrated.
When the Threads Finally Tangle
But here's where Engman earns his Petrona Award. Around the halfway mark, when the story arcs start weaving together, everything clicks. The mundane sections I'd been impatient with? They were load-bearing. Engman was building something, and I was too impatient to see it.
Vanessa Frank as a detective is refreshingly messy. Not in that quirky-TV-detective way where her "flaws" are actually charming personality traits. Actually messy. Making choices I wanted to yell at her about. The kind of protagonist who feels like a real person stumbling through something too big for them, which - honestly - is exactly what this story needs.
The incel community stuff is handled with a journalist's eye (Engman was one before turning to fiction, and it shows). He's not sensationalizing. He's documenting. And somehow that makes it worse? Like, I've covered extreme online communities on my podcast before, but hearing this fictionalized version - knowing it's barely fictionalized - hit different. It's the kind of horror that lives in the margins of everyday life, which is exactly what makes it stick with you.
The Slow Burn That Paid Off
If you scare easily, skip. If you don't, you need this. But also - and I can't stress this enough - this isn't a fast-paced thriller despite what the marketing wants you to believe. It's a slow burn. The payoff is worth it, but you have to trust the process through those first few hours.
I listened to the back half in the dark, because that's how I consume anything that's earning its darkness. (Yes, I scared myself. Yes, I had to check my door locks at 2 AM. No, I don't regret my choices.) The tension Engstrand builds in her delivery during the final act is genuinely excellent - she knows when to push and when to pull back.
My podcast listeners are going to love this, specifically the ones who've been asking me for recommendations that feel "real-world scary." This is it. This is the horror that doesn't need monsters because humans are doing just fine on their own.
Who Should Listen (And Who Should Skip)
Best for: Fans of Nesbo and Larsson (obviously), but also anyone who appreciates crime fiction that's actually saying something about the world we're living in. Commuters with strong stomachs. People who read the news and think "someone should write about this" - someone did.
Skip if: You need constant tension to stay engaged, or if violence against women (even when handled thoughtfully) is going to wreck you. Content warnings are real and they matter.
Horror that respects the genre - even when it's technically a thriller. The narrator commits. That's rare. And Engman? Shirley Jackson walked so this author could run. Different lane, same unflinching gaze at what humans do to each other.
Speaking of unflinching gazes, I revisited Wuthering Heights recently and was struck by how Brontë's examination of obsession and cruelty still feels bracingly modern—different monsters, same human capacity for destruction.
I'm adding the rest of the Vanessa Frank series to my queue. Don't tell my students I said that - I'm supposed to be recommending classics.
