In the past couple of years, I have discovered some real gems of independent and self-published sapphic literature. Last May, I read Morgan Dante’s stunning Providence Girls, which won Best Historical Fiction at the 2023 Indie Ink awards. The author pitches it as “a seaside sapphic cosmic horror romance” in the vein of The Handmaiden and The Shape of Water, two of my favorite films about monstrous, taboo love and eroticism. Needless to say, I was intrigued.
Providence Girls is steeped in the Cthulhu mythos and cosmic horror of H.P. Lovecraft’s works. The book is a queer reinterpretation of two short stories by Lovecraft: specifically, the lives of the ill-fated female characters, Lavinia Whateley and Asenaith Waite, from “The Dunwich Horror” and “The Thing on the Doorstep”, respectively. (Note: I recommend reading the original short stories first, before picking up this novel.)
The author retells these women’s endings, crafting an alternate tale where Lavinia and Asenaith, or “Azzie”, have a fateful encounter—a tale where their tragic pasts still haunts them, but where they are also provided a path to healing, to finding love and intimacy… with each other.
Having always been fascinated by the intersections of the horror genre with a historical setting, especially lived experiences of marginalization and tragic love, I decided to give this a try, despite some hesitation. And I am glad I did, because this book was simply put, exquisitely poetic and beautiful.
I know not everyone appreciates a dual-timeline narrative, but it worked great here, especially since this is an epistolary romance set in 1930s New England, retold entirely through Lavinia and Azzie’s letters to each other. We see their story unfold in the past when middle-aged Lavinia—after a near-death escape from her bleak life in a hilly Massachusetts town—is rescued and nursed back to health by the mysterious, pragmatic and younger Azzie in her seaside home of Providence.
We are also told that in the future, Lavinia is sitting alone in her cottage, writing letters for Azzie, who is now present only in her absence… but where has she gone? What happened to the woman Lavinia once loved? No spoilers, but if you’ve read Lovecraft’s original stories and are expecting the horror element to show up, you wouldn’t be mistaken.
For me, the biggest strength of Providence Girls was its delicate handling of the monster allegory when it comes to discussing queerness, forbidden love, and trauma. A lot of times, the “monstrous other” motif in contemporary media is simplified to be either villainous, or a symbol of suppressed desire—no in-between for abuse versus bodily emancipation, no ambiguity between horror as trauma, versus horror as unrepressed sexuality. But the author subverts that here: Lavinia and Azzie are allowed to exist with all their scars and fears and bitter grief and ugliness, and despite all that has broken them—or maybe because of it—they still get to fall in love, to experience the wondrous beauty of being alive: gardening, going to the movies, reading love poetry, night trips to the seaside, rediscovering autonomy and sexual intimacy (which is so cathartic, given their traumatic pasts). You cannot help but root for these two women and the slow, gentle unfurling of their love.
However, I must warn: be prepared. Lavinia and Azzie’s story is not an idyllic or light read; brace yourself for triggering themes and heartbreak, though not necessarily how you’re thinking. There is something inherently tragic about horror romance, especially if it’s a queer love story: navigating several layers of alienation, secrecy and loneliness, and being “haunted” by the one you love, in every sense of the term. Providence Girls feels like the cold side of the bed where a lover used to sleep. It fills you with the soft clarity that love doesn’t always spare you from grief or loss, but no matter how fleeting the presence was in your life, it mattered—it saved you, even for a brief moment. And so, the horror story becomes a chronicle of devotion and tenderness.
If you are into slow-paced, contemplative sapphic horror romances about grief, memory, transformative hauntings and love (The Haunting of Bly Manor, anyone?) this might be the perfect read for you. Please add Providence Girls to your TBR on Goodreads and follow Morgan Dante on Instagram (@mdantesinferno) and their website.
Rating: *****
Conent warnings: mention of past sexual abuse (familial), pregnancy, explicit sexual content, body horror, body dysmorphia, vomit, ableism towards people with albinism (not condoned), mention of suicidal ideation.
Sritama Sen (she/they) is a poet, essayist and writer based in Kolkata, India. Her works explore the campus as a site of queerness, and locate trans and sapphic experiences in a Bengali context. They have been featured in various independent queer literary zines, and their debut trans poetry collection, There Used to Be a Lake Here Once, was a finalist for the Muse India Young Writers Award 2024. Find them on Instagram @sritamasen_ .
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