Thrillers & Suspense
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Pearl
From Josh Malerman, the New York Times bestselling author of Bird Box and Malorie, comes the legend of Pearl, a strange new monster unlike any other in horror (previously published as On This, the Day of the Pig).
NAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY THE WALL STREET JOURNAL • "Daring readers should find this tale of a malevolent telepathic pig to be a memorable experience."-Booklist (starred review)
There's something strange about Walter Kopple's farm. At first it seems to be his grandson, who cruelly murders one of Walter's pigs in an act of seemingly senseless violence. But then people in town begin to whisper that Walter's grandson heard a voice commanding him to kill.
And that the voice belongs to a most peculiar creature: the pig named Pearl.
Walter is not sure what to believe. He knows he's always been afraid of the strangely malevolent Pearl. But as madness and paranoia grip the town and the townspeople descend on Walter's farm with violent wrath, they begin to discover that true evil wears a human face.
NAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY THE WALL STREET JOURNAL • "Daring readers should find this tale of a malevolent telepathic pig to be a memorable experience."-Booklist (starred review)
There's something strange about Walter Kopple's farm. At first it seems to be his grandson, who cruelly murders one of Walter's pigs in an act of seemingly senseless violence. But then people in town begin to whisper that Walter's grandson heard a voice commanding him to kill.
And that the voice belongs to a most peculiar creature: the pig named Pearl.
Walter is not sure what to believe. He knows he's always been afraid of the strangely malevolent Pearl. But as madness and paranoia grip the town and the townspeople descend on Walter's farm with violent wrath, they begin to discover that true evil wears a human face.
Editorial Reviews
"Daring readers should find this tale of a malevolent telepathic pig to be a memorable experience. . . . The novel shares the same racing narrative that made Bird Box hard to put down and is Malerman's most accomplished work outside of the Bird Box series."-Booklist (starred review)
"A perfect, fast-paced slasher filled with violent, cinematic action sequences . . . Malerman delivers with another completely different yet equally crowd-pleasing and awesome horror novel that is not to be missed."-Library Journal (starred review)
"A strange, un-put-down-able thriller . . . part twisted fairy tale, part animal rights protest, part PTSD drama, and part Triumph the Insult Dog, the novel never runs out of unsettling doors to open."-Kirkus Reviews
"A perfect, fast-paced slasher filled with violent, cinematic action sequences . . . Malerman delivers with another completely different yet equally crowd-pleasing and awesome horror novel that is not to be missed."-Library Journal (starred review)
"A strange, un-put-down-able thriller . . . part twisted fairy tale, part animal rights protest, part PTSD drama, and part Triumph the Insult Dog, the novel never runs out of unsettling doors to open."-Kirkus Reviews
Readers Top Reviews
JasperHD
This is a stunning work of fiction; worth every star I’m giving it. I do have to say, however, that I almost put it down forever after reading the first chapter. I’m not a fan of visceral horror and definitely not a fan of anything that borders on animal abuse. But this book was by Josh Malerman and I loved his Bird Box and its sequel, Malorie. So, after a day or two, I picked up Pearl again, determined to soldier on. Boy, am I glad I did. The story starts when Jeff, his older brother, Aaron, and his mother go to visit at his grandfather’s farm somewhere in mid-Michigan. Grandpa gives the boys chores to do – Aaron is to collect eggs from the chicken coop and Jeff is to feed the horses. However, Jeff doesn’t follow through and, instead, is strangely compelled by a voice, sounding like it’s on the wind, to visit the pigpen. Come, Jeff. Sing for me… When Jeff gets there, Pearl, a male pig with one bad eye, is all he can see. Thus, begins Jeff and the reader’s journey into horror. This is a bloody novel, with scenes that will chill your heart. The characters, especially the two stoners (Mitch and Jerry) and the teenage girl (Susan), are realistic, wonderfully drawn, and the reader can’t help but become invested in their fates. Pearl (the pig) is an enigma, menacing, yet strangely compelling as he leads the reader on a dark path into the inner recesses of the human mind. By the end of the book, I wasn’t sure what was real and what was actually the product of Pearl’s evil, but endlessly clever, machinations. For me, this was a brilliant read and I recommend it most highly for lovers of dark fantasy and horror. Five big shiny stars. I want to thank NetGalley and the publisher, Del Ray, for providing me with a free ARC of Pearl.
ButtonholedButton
... the way Malerman introduced me to Walter Kopple's family with his grandson Jeff killing one of his pigs in such a hypnotic-induced descriptive way, starting right off the rip with Pearl in action, Malerman had me for hours. To be honest folks, I thought a telepathic pig on his quest to have humans kill for him was going to be a 'What-the-hell-are-you-thinking-Josh,-putting-this-out-there-after-writing-Bird Box?' kind of tale ... hoping all along it has to have a dynamite twist. And after reading, I found out, Pearl is a legend ~ Walter's daughter, Sherry, and her sons Jeff and Aaron experience firsthand, wrath in unspeakable terms with a pig and his bidding. Read my full review at Buttonholed Book Reviews You're going to pick this novel up. Yes, yes you will
MMButtonholedButt
Loved it. It was creepy and I never thought that a male pig named Pearl could make me put a book in the freezer :)
Kindle Kindle M
I was really excited to find another book by this author but found it to be a little too immature for me. Laughed at times though.
NoeliaBrennan LaF
If you want to read a book about a smart telepathic pig that makes people do things then this is a book for you. Pearl was a creepy book about what a pig would do if they can control people
Short Excerpt Teaser
Up Murdock, away from downtown Chowder, passing the wheat fields and the forest east of the road, tall pines that unfolded like a long, complex bedspread, separating Chowder from Goblin and the other less agricultural areas of mid-Michigan, they pulled onto Grandpa's gravel drive just before noon. Sherry eyed Jeff briefly, checking to see if maybe he'd had a change of heart. If maybe he was smiling like he used to. Grandpa's world was a fun world if you let it be. The farm. Where Jeff and Aaron used to ride the horses and chase chickens and oink at the pigs. Where the brothers spent nights outside, sometimes without a tent, sometimes just on their backs on the grassy slope that led from the farmhouse to the barn. This place was childhood. This place was supposed to be special. The farm meant something.
"Doesn't it?"
Sherry hadn't meant to say that out loud.
"Doesn't what?" Aaron asked. But Sherry didn't answer. And Jeff stared at her like he might've known what she was thinking.
Sherry parked the wagon by the front porch steps. She looked up to see Grandpa standing behind the screen door. He waved.
"Hey, Dad," Mom called from behind the rolled-up window.
Grandpa waved again, as if maybe he'd forgotten he'd already done so.
His thin white hair stirred with an easy autumn breeze. Sherry wondered what was on his mind, what clutter of his own.
She and the boys got out of the car.
"Hello, Sherry," Grandpa said. "Hello, boys." He looked tired. Sherry always said Grandpa was toughened by farm life. Jeff used to believe that.
Sherry hugged him at the door.
"Thought I'd put them to work today," Grandpa said, nodding to the boys.
"That sounds good," Mom said. "They could use it." And it would give her a chance to grovel in private.
It had been a hard summer.
Stuff it in the mind-bag.
Yes. The mind-bag. The secret, unseen place where Sherry stuffed all her dark thoughts, her absurd worries, the unprovoked hunches she'd felt most her life, the premonitions of Pearl.
Grandpa squinted down at his grandsons.
"I was hoping Aaron could collect some eggs for me. And Jeff . . . maybe Jeff would like to feed the . . ."
Jeff held his breath.
Don't say feed the pigs, Grandpa. Don't say Pearl.
And why not?
". . . horses," Grandpa finished.
Sherry smiled, but her own private stresses were drawn firmly on her face. Often she imagined the mind-bag hanging on a curled finger in an otherwise lightless room. A place only she could find it, hidden from the prying eyes of Chowder, Michigan, and the whole wide world beyond. But recently that bag had been relocated to her hip, a place anybody could see, if they cared to look. Yes, Sherry Kopple had started wearing her emotions on her sleeve, a look she didn't quite love. Her recent anxiety stuck out like the stump of a third foot and was about as useful to boot.
"How's that sound, boys?" Grandpa asked. "Good enough?"
The brothers nodded. Yes. Eggs and horses. Safe areas on the farm.
Grandpa walked them into the farmhouse, through the kitchen, to the back door.
Aaron followed Mom outside, a foot from the cellar door in the grass, but Jeff paused at the screen, looking down the slope to where the evergreens hid the pigpen.
"The horses can't come to you," Grandpa said. And when Jeff looked up, he saw all three of them were waiting.
Aaron laughed at him as he exited the farmhouse.
Grandpa led him to the stables, and on the way, Jeff heard them breathing behind the trees.
The pigs.
The sound remained lodged in his mind, in his bones, as he passed them, loud, louder than the horses were, even when he stood inches from the muzzle of a mare.
"This here's their favorite," Grandpa said, fishing a handful of damp, yellowing oats from a brown wooden trough. "But you gotta be a bit careful 'cause they'll chew your fingers clean off."
Jeff looked up and saw Grandpa smiling, sadly, behind a show of white whiskers. His eyebrows had always remained dark as midnight, though.
"Really?" Jeff asked.
"No," Grandpa said. "Not really. But it was fun to see the look on your face."
It felt good. Falling for a joke.
Through the open door, Jeff saw Aaron eyeing the chicken coop, readying himself to pick some eggs.
"Enjoy," Grandpa said. "But don't eat more than the horses."
Another joke. Good. Felt good.
Then Grandpa left him alone in the stables. Jeff looked up, into the eyes of the brown horse he stood by.
"Hello," he said. "You hung...
"Doesn't it?"
Sherry hadn't meant to say that out loud.
"Doesn't what?" Aaron asked. But Sherry didn't answer. And Jeff stared at her like he might've known what she was thinking.
Sherry parked the wagon by the front porch steps. She looked up to see Grandpa standing behind the screen door. He waved.
"Hey, Dad," Mom called from behind the rolled-up window.
Grandpa waved again, as if maybe he'd forgotten he'd already done so.
His thin white hair stirred with an easy autumn breeze. Sherry wondered what was on his mind, what clutter of his own.
She and the boys got out of the car.
"Hello, Sherry," Grandpa said. "Hello, boys." He looked tired. Sherry always said Grandpa was toughened by farm life. Jeff used to believe that.
Sherry hugged him at the door.
"Thought I'd put them to work today," Grandpa said, nodding to the boys.
"That sounds good," Mom said. "They could use it." And it would give her a chance to grovel in private.
It had been a hard summer.
Stuff it in the mind-bag.
Yes. The mind-bag. The secret, unseen place where Sherry stuffed all her dark thoughts, her absurd worries, the unprovoked hunches she'd felt most her life, the premonitions of Pearl.
Grandpa squinted down at his grandsons.
"I was hoping Aaron could collect some eggs for me. And Jeff . . . maybe Jeff would like to feed the . . ."
Jeff held his breath.
Don't say feed the pigs, Grandpa. Don't say Pearl.
And why not?
". . . horses," Grandpa finished.
Sherry smiled, but her own private stresses were drawn firmly on her face. Often she imagined the mind-bag hanging on a curled finger in an otherwise lightless room. A place only she could find it, hidden from the prying eyes of Chowder, Michigan, and the whole wide world beyond. But recently that bag had been relocated to her hip, a place anybody could see, if they cared to look. Yes, Sherry Kopple had started wearing her emotions on her sleeve, a look she didn't quite love. Her recent anxiety stuck out like the stump of a third foot and was about as useful to boot.
"How's that sound, boys?" Grandpa asked. "Good enough?"
The brothers nodded. Yes. Eggs and horses. Safe areas on the farm.
Grandpa walked them into the farmhouse, through the kitchen, to the back door.
Aaron followed Mom outside, a foot from the cellar door in the grass, but Jeff paused at the screen, looking down the slope to where the evergreens hid the pigpen.
"The horses can't come to you," Grandpa said. And when Jeff looked up, he saw all three of them were waiting.
Aaron laughed at him as he exited the farmhouse.
Grandpa led him to the stables, and on the way, Jeff heard them breathing behind the trees.
The pigs.
The sound remained lodged in his mind, in his bones, as he passed them, loud, louder than the horses were, even when he stood inches from the muzzle of a mare.
"This here's their favorite," Grandpa said, fishing a handful of damp, yellowing oats from a brown wooden trough. "But you gotta be a bit careful 'cause they'll chew your fingers clean off."
Jeff looked up and saw Grandpa smiling, sadly, behind a show of white whiskers. His eyebrows had always remained dark as midnight, though.
"Really?" Jeff asked.
"No," Grandpa said. "Not really. But it was fun to see the look on your face."
It felt good. Falling for a joke.
Through the open door, Jeff saw Aaron eyeing the chicken coop, readying himself to pick some eggs.
"Enjoy," Grandpa said. "But don't eat more than the horses."
Another joke. Good. Felt good.
Then Grandpa left him alone in the stables. Jeff looked up, into the eyes of the brown horse he stood by.
"Hello," he said. "You hung...
