Action & Adventure
![Delilah S. Dawson - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_delilah_s_dawson.jpg)
The Violence: A Novel
How far would you go to be free? Three generations of women forge a new path through an America torn by a mysterious wave of violence in this "chilling [and] dizzyingly effective" (The New York Times Book Review) novel of revenge, liberation, and triumph.
"A compulsively readable fusion of domestic thriller and modern horror."-Kameron Hurley, author of The Light Brigade
"A novel that defines this era."-Stephen Graham Jones, New York Times bestselling author of The Only Good Indians
They call it The Violence: a strange epidemic that causes the infected to experience sudden bursts of animalistic rage, with no provocation and no memory of their crimes. While it tears the nation apart, one woman sees something unlikely in the chaos-an opportunity.
Chelsea Martin has been a prisoner in her own home for too long. Her controlling husband has manipulated her for years, cutting her off from all support. Her narcissistic mother is no help, and her teen daughter is realizing she might be falling into the same trap when her once adoring boyfriend shows a dark side.
But when the Violence erupts, Chelsea creates a plan to liberate herself and her daughters once and for all.
What follows is a shocking and thrilling journey as three generations of women navigate a world in which they are finally empowered to fight back. Somewhere along the journey from her magazine-ready Tampa home to the professional wrestling ring, Chelsea becomes her own liberator, an avatar of revenge and hope, and a new heroine for a new world.
"A compulsively readable fusion of domestic thriller and modern horror."-Kameron Hurley, author of The Light Brigade
"A novel that defines this era."-Stephen Graham Jones, New York Times bestselling author of The Only Good Indians
They call it The Violence: a strange epidemic that causes the infected to experience sudden bursts of animalistic rage, with no provocation and no memory of their crimes. While it tears the nation apart, one woman sees something unlikely in the chaos-an opportunity.
Chelsea Martin has been a prisoner in her own home for too long. Her controlling husband has manipulated her for years, cutting her off from all support. Her narcissistic mother is no help, and her teen daughter is realizing she might be falling into the same trap when her once adoring boyfriend shows a dark side.
But when the Violence erupts, Chelsea creates a plan to liberate herself and her daughters once and for all.
What follows is a shocking and thrilling journey as three generations of women navigate a world in which they are finally empowered to fight back. Somewhere along the journey from her magazine-ready Tampa home to the professional wrestling ring, Chelsea becomes her own liberator, an avatar of revenge and hope, and a new heroine for a new world.
Editorial Reviews
"Dawson's thriller is a surprising, exhilarating journey of three generations of women navigating a changing world."-The Washington Post
"Every summer needs a superb thriller, and this is it. A story of three generations of women making their way through an America ravaged by violence, this is also a wonderful narrative about liberation and perseverance."-The Boston Globe
"Dawson's prose is a kind of knife work: short, sharp stabs after agonies of teeth-clenching tension. . . . Dizzyingly effective . . . It's impossible not to read."-The New York Times Book Review
"Enthusiastically suggest to readers who enjoyed the table-turning feminism of Naomi Alderman's The Power, the band-of-survivors theme in Emily St. John Mandel's Station Eleven, and the emotional journey of Victor LaValle's The Changeling."-Booklist (starred review)
"[A] smart, fast-paced thrill ride."-Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"The Violence is a novel that will stand out for its intelligence, for its compassion, for its ‘un-put-down-able-ness.' . . . It is the kind of novel that will stand the test of time."-SFF World
"A propulsive redemption story."-Library Journal
"A paean to the resilience of women . . . The Violence could not be more of-the-moment."-Alma Katsu, author of The Hunger and The Deep
"A piercing examination of survival, courage, and self, terrifying and hopeful in equal measure."-Peng Shepherd, award-winning author of The Book of M
"A gorgeously creative and surprisingly gleeful story about the ...
"Every summer needs a superb thriller, and this is it. A story of three generations of women making their way through an America ravaged by violence, this is also a wonderful narrative about liberation and perseverance."-The Boston Globe
"Dawson's prose is a kind of knife work: short, sharp stabs after agonies of teeth-clenching tension. . . . Dizzyingly effective . . . It's impossible not to read."-The New York Times Book Review
"Enthusiastically suggest to readers who enjoyed the table-turning feminism of Naomi Alderman's The Power, the band-of-survivors theme in Emily St. John Mandel's Station Eleven, and the emotional journey of Victor LaValle's The Changeling."-Booklist (starred review)
"[A] smart, fast-paced thrill ride."-Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"The Violence is a novel that will stand out for its intelligence, for its compassion, for its ‘un-put-down-able-ness.' . . . It is the kind of novel that will stand the test of time."-SFF World
"A propulsive redemption story."-Library Journal
"A paean to the resilience of women . . . The Violence could not be more of-the-moment."-Alma Katsu, author of The Hunger and The Deep
"A piercing examination of survival, courage, and self, terrifying and hopeful in equal measure."-Peng Shepherd, award-winning author of The Book of M
"A gorgeously creative and surprisingly gleeful story about the ...
Readers Top Reviews
BrendaBeth
The story is told from multiple POV, mainly from Chelsea, Ella and Patricia. We follow these three women as they set out on a journey of self-reflection and growth. Each woman's storyline is powerful and heartwarming, I couldn't help cheering for all of them. The beginning of the book was a chore to get through and some parts are drawn out to long. At first I felt the wrestling storyline was a little far fetched, but it actually works. I am glad I hung in there because it really is an interesting plot and it gets much, much better. This is a great book if you like thriller/horror but it has many trigger warnings.
Colby MyersBrenda
I really loved the storyline of this novel, even in parts where I thought things were about to take a drastic downturn. I was not a fan of the main character, she was either too meek or too outlandish, but the rest of the characters were well developed and likable. My only complaint with this novel was the CONSTANT political references. Apparently every issue, both real and fictional, were president Trumps fault. I felt the repeated jargon took away from the storyline.
janet ligasColby
This Novel reminds me of Stephen King, what sort of brain concocts a story like this? Suspenseful, scary and strangely satisfying!
VIIIjanet ligasCo
Since the premise stages the novel about a rage virus, I expected a horror story with some semblance to 28 Days Later. The story primary focus is actually domestic violence which the author writes about with empathy and sensitivity. However there is a lot cheese that made my eyes roll, mostly the ex pro wrestler who’s impossibly handsome and put on a pedestal because he, *gasps*, respects women. I get that he’s a juxtaposition to Chelsea’s abusive husband but ugh. Overall The Violence is still a compelling page turner. Would recommend.
Heather Marie Jac
I just finished reading The Violence, by Delilah S. Dawson. It came out last week and since I'd read the back of a cereal box if she wrote it, it was a no-brainer for me to pick it up. There's a reason she's earned that level of devotion. Her books are compelling and fun. They're deep and explore humanity. They're expansive and inclusive and everything we want a book to be. And this one. This one made me cry for reasons the others never did. This one carried healing in its pages in ways the others never could. This one is more than a story separated from reality. It's not an easy read - it would be fair to say it needs content/trigger warnings, ones she provides at the very beginning of the book. But it was so good, in ways the others couldn't have been - not because she wasn't capable, but because they weren't telling this story. Go pick it up. Go buy a copy today and then share it. And don't forget the tissues. I want to very briefly address some of the criticisms. Yes, there is some very gruesome violence. This should be unsurprising, given the title of the novel. Yes, there are references to the current pandemic. In a book that explores how we survive our trauma, there's no ignoring the trauma of COVID, nor ignoring how it might shape things to come (including things we hope don't come). I found myself identifying with things various characters said or expressed. I felt seen in a beautiful, horrible way. This experience that, by its very nature, is very isolating was exposed. It was excised from the shadows and laid bare and better, blame was laid where it belonged. Horrible, though, because in order to get things so right for me, they had to go so wrong for others. Some have said that the characters felt one-note. I felt growth and strength in all 3 protagonists. Maybe the "villains" were one note, but it's hard to find nuance when you're fighting for your life and sanity. Some behaviors don't make sense. It's hard to find the other facets of a person when all you've seen is the mask. Not everything will work for everyone. But for me? This was everything I needed and didn't know I did. Thank you, Delilah, for seeing me.
Short Excerpt Teaser
1
Chelsea Martin sits in a perfect sunbeam at her perfect kitchen table, staring at the piece of paper that's going to destroy her life.
Insufficient funds? Impossible.
Her husband, David, manages their bank accounts, and he's in finance, so this must be a mistake. She's read the aggressively detached, computer-printed words a hundred times, and an unwelcome sensation roils, deep in her stomach, her coffee threatening to come back up. It's not panic, not yet, but it's not good.
Would David tell her if they were in trouble? She glances at her phone and considers the best way to ask without insulting him. A text would be safest; he hates it when her voice wobbles. He says she cries too easily, that it's impossible to have a conversation with her when she's so emotional.
No, not worth it. He'll come home and see the paper, and he'll handle it. Let him be angry at the bank, not the messenger, and let him be angry later rather than both now and later. She unconsciously puts a hand to her throat and swallows hard, dreading what will happen when he gets home from work.
Definitely not worth bothering him now.
She tries to focus on what she was doing before the mail arrived, but she knows logging onto the online portal and watching the mandatory weekly "Let's Sell Dreams!" video will only make her feel worse. When she signed her contract to sell Dream Vitality essential oils, she'd hoped it would give her some small amount of independence, something to do, something to be proud of. Now, staring into the depths of a wooden case filled with tiny purple bottles, all full and unopened and gathering dust, she never wants to smell bergamot again.
A brand-new cardboard box waits in the foyer, her monthly required shipment optimistically labeled dream delivery! But after a year of trying to sell a product that's supposed to sell itself, she's ready to admit defeat. She had a dream: to start her own business, build savings, and tap into a network of smart, motivated women. Instead, she's alienated friends through the required social media posts, embarrassed her daughters, and outlived her welcome at every party and playgroup, and all she has to show for it is boxes and boxes of product that she can't even sell at cost. Even before the-surely incorrect?-overdraft notice arrived today, she worried that this month's withdrawal would take her over her strict budget, and that when David found it during his account check, things would get . . . bad.
The hardest thing is that her attempt at entrepreneurship has shown her that most of her friends online aren't really friends. There's no support, no sharing, no purchases, no reviews. Everyone just ignores it. The only encouragement she gets comes from a back-rubbing circle of other plucky moms trying to support one another in an online group with good vibes only, and she wonders if everyone else also secretly feels this constant exhaustion, this disconnection, this profound loneliness.
It was supposed to save her, but it just got her in more trouble.
Buck up, bitch, she tells herself. It's just oil.
Not that it makes her feel any better.
She runs her hands through what's slowly becoming her mother's hair as her stylist increasingly covers the gray with bleach in a process with a French name that doubles the cost. The perfect pool sparkles outside the picture window, but she can't jump in because it would make her hair as crisp as uncooked spaghetti with a bonus mossy tinge. She looks around at the shiplap, the granite, the Edison bulbs, the seasonal throw pillows. Everything is perfect, but nothing is right.
Even the snowy-white dog snoring on a matching dog bed is boutique-a shedless bichon named Olaf that cost more than Chelsea's first car, because David couldn't stand the thought of dog hair rolling along the marble floors like tumbleweeds. Poor, sweet Olaf is terrified of him and spends most of his time hiding in a closet. But then again, Olaf is deeply inbred, a yipping bag of neuroses and surprise puddles of pee.
The big and airy house is the complete opposite of the shitbox apartments Chelsea grew up in. It should be beautiful and relaxing, but it's closing in on her, an avalanche of stuff and the never-ending work it takes to keep that stuff either proudly displayed at perfect angles or hidden from view, to keep everything running. She never imagined that life would be like this, that she would feel so constantly trapped.
Chelsea is pouring another cup of coffee that will barely touch h...
Chelsea Martin sits in a perfect sunbeam at her perfect kitchen table, staring at the piece of paper that's going to destroy her life.
Insufficient funds? Impossible.
Her husband, David, manages their bank accounts, and he's in finance, so this must be a mistake. She's read the aggressively detached, computer-printed words a hundred times, and an unwelcome sensation roils, deep in her stomach, her coffee threatening to come back up. It's not panic, not yet, but it's not good.
Would David tell her if they were in trouble? She glances at her phone and considers the best way to ask without insulting him. A text would be safest; he hates it when her voice wobbles. He says she cries too easily, that it's impossible to have a conversation with her when she's so emotional.
No, not worth it. He'll come home and see the paper, and he'll handle it. Let him be angry at the bank, not the messenger, and let him be angry later rather than both now and later. She unconsciously puts a hand to her throat and swallows hard, dreading what will happen when he gets home from work.
Definitely not worth bothering him now.
She tries to focus on what she was doing before the mail arrived, but she knows logging onto the online portal and watching the mandatory weekly "Let's Sell Dreams!" video will only make her feel worse. When she signed her contract to sell Dream Vitality essential oils, she'd hoped it would give her some small amount of independence, something to do, something to be proud of. Now, staring into the depths of a wooden case filled with tiny purple bottles, all full and unopened and gathering dust, she never wants to smell bergamot again.
A brand-new cardboard box waits in the foyer, her monthly required shipment optimistically labeled dream delivery! But after a year of trying to sell a product that's supposed to sell itself, she's ready to admit defeat. She had a dream: to start her own business, build savings, and tap into a network of smart, motivated women. Instead, she's alienated friends through the required social media posts, embarrassed her daughters, and outlived her welcome at every party and playgroup, and all she has to show for it is boxes and boxes of product that she can't even sell at cost. Even before the-surely incorrect?-overdraft notice arrived today, she worried that this month's withdrawal would take her over her strict budget, and that when David found it during his account check, things would get . . . bad.
The hardest thing is that her attempt at entrepreneurship has shown her that most of her friends online aren't really friends. There's no support, no sharing, no purchases, no reviews. Everyone just ignores it. The only encouragement she gets comes from a back-rubbing circle of other plucky moms trying to support one another in an online group with good vibes only, and she wonders if everyone else also secretly feels this constant exhaustion, this disconnection, this profound loneliness.
It was supposed to save her, but it just got her in more trouble.
Buck up, bitch, she tells herself. It's just oil.
Not that it makes her feel any better.
She runs her hands through what's slowly becoming her mother's hair as her stylist increasingly covers the gray with bleach in a process with a French name that doubles the cost. The perfect pool sparkles outside the picture window, but she can't jump in because it would make her hair as crisp as uncooked spaghetti with a bonus mossy tinge. She looks around at the shiplap, the granite, the Edison bulbs, the seasonal throw pillows. Everything is perfect, but nothing is right.
Even the snowy-white dog snoring on a matching dog bed is boutique-a shedless bichon named Olaf that cost more than Chelsea's first car, because David couldn't stand the thought of dog hair rolling along the marble floors like tumbleweeds. Poor, sweet Olaf is terrified of him and spends most of his time hiding in a closet. But then again, Olaf is deeply inbred, a yipping bag of neuroses and surprise puddles of pee.
The big and airy house is the complete opposite of the shitbox apartments Chelsea grew up in. It should be beautiful and relaxing, but it's closing in on her, an avalanche of stuff and the never-ending work it takes to keep that stuff either proudly displayed at perfect angles or hidden from view, to keep everything running. She never imagined that life would be like this, that she would feel so constantly trapped.
Chelsea is pouring another cup of coffee that will barely touch h...
