If you’ve spent any time in horror circles lately, you’ve heard the name. Gretchen Felker-Martin doesn’t just write books; she throws bricks through windows. Her 2024 novel Cuckoo is a 350-page serrated edge that cuts through the polite veneer of "coming-of-age" stories. It’s mean. It’s wet. Honestly, it’s one of the most polarizing things to hit the shelves in years.
Most people see the cover and think "queer Stranger Things" or a "gay IT." They’re wrong. Sorta. While the DNA of Stephen King is definitely there—the group of outcasts, the two-timeline structure, the ancient evil—Cuckoo Gretchen Felker-Martin is a beast that eats its influences. It isn't a nostalgic trip to the 90s. It’s a forensic look at what happens when the people meant to love you decide to "fix" you instead.
What is Cuckoo actually about?
The plot is basically a nightmare split in two.
In 1995, seven queer kids are snatched from their beds and dumped at Camp Resolution in the Utah desert. This isn't a summer camp with s'mores. It’s a conversion camp. We’re talking backbreaking labor, psychological torture, and a "curriculum" designed to strip away their identities. The kids—Nadine, Shelby, Gabe, Malcolm, Felix, John, and Jo—are diverse, messy, and rightfully pissed off.
But the camp counselors aren't the only monsters. There’s something in the desert. Something that wants their skin.
Gretchen Felker-Martin introduces us to the Cuckoo, an entity that mimics humans. It doesn't just kill; it replaces. It slips into the spaces where a person used to be, wearing their face while the real person is hollowed out. The kids realize that the "graduates" of the camp—the ones who come out "cured"—aren't actually cured. They're just not human anymore.
Fast forward sixteen years. The survivors are adults, and they're broken. They’ve moved on, or tried to, until they realize the Cuckoo didn't stay in the desert. It’s spreading. It’s in the suburbs. It's in the government. Basically, the rot is everywhere, and they have to go back to finish what they started.
The "Filthcore" Aesthetic
You’ll hear the term "filthcore" thrown around regarding Felker-Martin’s work. She leans into the visceral. There’s a lot of talk about sweat, grease, blood, and the literal smells of decay. If you have a weak stomach, this book will probably make you want to hurl.
The horror here is bipartite. On one hand, you have the body horror. The Cuckoo’s transformations are gross. Skin peels. Bones shift. It’s "The Thing" levels of icky. On the other hand, you have the social horror.
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The scenes where parents hand their children over to "transporters"—men who literally kidnap teens for a fee—are often harder to read than the alien stuff. Felker-Martin makes a point: the supernatural monster is terrifying, but it only gets its power because human beings are willing to abandon their own children.
Why the "IT" comparison is a trap
Critics love to compare this to Stephen King’s IT. Sure, the structure matches. You have the 1995 kids and the 2011 adults. But King’s Losers Club is bonded by a sort of magical, destined friendship.
In Cuckoo, the bond is trauma.
The characters aren't always nice to each other. They’re scared, horny, selfish, and desperate. Nadine is a foul-mouthed rebel who refuses to break. Felix is a trans man who grows up to be a private investigator obsessed with the cult. Gabe eventually transitions and becomes Lara. These aren't archetypes; they're people trying to survive a meat grinder.
What most people get wrong about the ending
A lot of readers complain that the "adult" section of the book feels rushed compared to the camp section. They aren't wrong about the pacing, but they might be missing the point.
The camp section is long because that’s where the damage happened. In the world of Cuckoo Gretchen Felker-Martin, trauma is the defining feature of these lives. The adult section is a frantic, desperate scramble because that's what life after "survival" feels like. It’s not a neat resolution. It doesn't end with a parade.
The entity represents the "replacement" of queer identity with a hollowed-out, socially acceptable shell. When a parent says, "I want my old child back," the Cuckoo gives them exactly that—a compliant, empty vessel. The ending forces the characters to decide if the world is even worth saving if it’s already half-full of mimics.
E-E-A-T: Why this book matters in 2026
From a literary standpoint, Felker-Martin is filling a void. For decades, horror was a "straight" genre where queer characters were either the first to die or the hidden villains (think Sleepaway Camp or Silence of the Lambs).
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Cuckoo flips the script. It uses the "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" trope to talk about real-world conversion therapy, which—despite being banned in many places—still exists in various forms. The author draws on real history here. The "troubled teen industry" of the 90s was a real, billion-dollar business built on kidnapping and abuse.
Key themes to watch for:
- Mundane vs. Cosmic Evil: The "Cuckoo" is a parasite, but it's invited in by the "Pastor Eddies" of the world.
- The Weight of Fatness: The character John deals with intense fatphobia from his parents and the camp, a recurring theme in Felker-Martin's work that adds another layer of "wrongness" to how society views bodies.
- Survival vs. Living: Is it enough to just not die? The book asks what’s left of you once the fight is over.
Actionable Next Steps for Readers
If you're planning to dive into Cuckoo Gretchen Felker-Martin, go in with your eyes open. This isn't "cozy horror."
- Check the Trigger Warnings: Seriously. If you have personal trauma related to conversion therapy, child abuse, or extreme gore, proceed with caution. The book is designed to be abrasive.
- Read "Manhunt" first: If you want to understand the author's voice, her debut Manhunt sets the tone. It’s a post-apocalyptic story about trans women surviving a world where testosterone turns people into monsters.
- Look for the subtext: Pay attention to how the "mimics" act. They aren't just evil; they're polite. The horror lies in the "niceness" of the people who have been replaced.
- Support Indie Horror: Authors like Felker-Martin thrive in the small-press and "splatter" scenes. If you liked this, check out authors like Hailey Piper or Alison Rumfitt.
This book is a scream of rage. It’s messy, it’s loud, and it refuses to apologize for being "too much." Whether you love it or hate it, you probably won't forget it.