Book Review: Maeve Fly

By Elizabeth Suggs

Maeve Fly by CJ Leede isn’t just a horror novel—it’s a character study dressed in glitter and gore. It’s the kind of book that sits somewhere between a fairy tale and a fever dream, where every page feels both cinematic and personal. And, like the best horror, it asks the question we don’t always want to answer: what does liberation look like when it comes from the darkest parts of ourselves?

Maeve herself is intoxicating to read, not because she’s likable (she’s absolutely not), but because she’s written with such sharp clarity that you understand her. You feel the obsession. The hunger. The loneliness disguised as confidence. There’s a violence to the prose that feels intentional, almost poetic, as if every sentence is holding a knife under your chin and asking you to keep reading anyway.

I came into this book not knowing exactly what to expect, but the ride was well worth it. The writing is gorgeous, haunting, and full of a strange intimacy that sticks to your ribs. There’s a rhythm to Leede’s pacing that feels like descending slowly—almost gently—into madness. Maeve’s Los Angeles is neon-lit and rotting from the inside, and following her through it feels like walking through a carnival funhouse where every mirror reflects a more monstrous version of yourself.

But we have to talk about the ending.

*Spoilers

I’m giving this five stars for most of the book, but the finale nearly made me drop it to four and a half. Not because it wasn’t bold—it's bold. It’s unflinching. It’s exactly the direction a character like Maeve would go. But emotionally? I was rooting for Gideon. I wanted him to survive, or at least matter in a way that felt… aligned with the depth that had been built. His arc deserved more than a sharp, fast exit. I’ll say it: Gideon should have lived.

Yet even with that disappointment lingering, I can't deny how strong the novel is as a whole. This is horror with teeth. It’s messy, tragic, and magnetic. It’s not afraid to be ugly in ways that feel deeply human. There’s a confidence in Leede’s voice that makes me want to reread sentences just to feel them again.

Some standout elements for me:

• The prose: lyrical without being flowery, visceral without being gratuitous.

• The atmosphere: Los Angeles has never felt more haunted.

• The emotional dive: Maeve’s interior world is disturbing, yes—but also painfully lonely.

This book won’t be for everyone. If you need your characters “redeemed,” you’ll struggle. If you need clean morality, look elsewhere. But if you’re drawn to stories that explore the thin line between love and obsession, identity and performance, desire and annihilation—Maeve Fly is absolutely worth your time.

It’s horror that lingers, not because of the blood, but because of the intimacy.

The real question is:

Did we witness a monster being made, or a monster laying herself bare?

Favorite Quotes:

“Los Angeles glitters like a jewel lost at the bottom of a lake—beautiful, decaying, unreachable.”

“I am the ghost in my own story. I am the haunting.”