WTHDIJR is technically cosmic horror, but it’s comforting, especially now. Written in 2017, this book feels like it’s winking at us here in 2025. While the world outside continues in its ridiculous d*ck-measuring contest, Pargin’s version of the abyss feels like a familiar friend who shows up with a six-pack and a shrug, saying, “Yeah, it’s messed up, but we’ve got snacks and cigarettes.” Dave, John, and Amy aren’t heroes, they’re just relatable characters (with more tangible access to the Cosmos) trying to survive the incomprehensible, and there’s something deeply reassuring about that. The horror’s still there, lurking in the corners with its freaky little claws, but it’s balanced by the crew’s refusal to let the universe win. And the repartee is impeccable.

Fairy tales of old often carry a moral, a shred of light at the end of the darkness. Lapvona? It snuffs out the light entirely, leaving you with only the bleak realities of power, faith, and human fragility. The tragedy and comedy of this book lies in how it warps expectations of a fairy tale. There’s no magic to save the day, no lessons neatly tied up.