'Bury Your Gays' by Chuck Tingle
- Reed
- Apr 30
- 2 min read
Updated: May 8
Author: Chuck Tingle
Rating: B+
Vibe: Gay Hollywood horror meets heartfelt love story—with camp, commentary, and creatures that blur the line between satire and sincerity.
Quick Take: A clever, emotional horror novel that both skewers and celebrates the genre; a surprisingly resonant and accessible story even for readers who might not always reach for horror.
I’ll admit it. I’m not usually drawn to horror first. So when I picked up Bury Your Gays, I approached with some trepidation. Chuck Tingle’s reputation for playful, out-there writing made me curious, but I wasn’t sure if the blood and body horror would overwhelm the heart. To my surprise, it didn’t—not even close. Bury Your Gays offered a fresh, emotionally rich take that felt deeply welcoming.
The setup follows Misha, a gay screenwriter finally seeing real success—and facing pressure from studio executives to "kill off" his gay characters to "boost the algorithm." When he refuses, things start unraveling—both in his real life and in his mind. The horror elements—manifested by literal monsters—aren’t just gory jump scares. They’re a smart extension of the trauma, shame, and fear queer creators navigate in an industry that wants their pain more than their joy. And they are genuinely terrifying—Tingle doesn't just gesture at horror—he leans in, crafting creatures that are both symbolically potent and viscerally scary.
Misha’s defense of horror as a genre—how it transforms unspeakable trauma into something you can hold, scream at, survive—was maybe the clearest, most resonant explanation of horror’s emotional function I’ve ever read. It reframed the entire novel for me.
Tingle’s critique of Hollywood’s treatment of gayness isn’t exactly subtle—in fact, it sometimes swings so hard it topples into caricature. (There’s plenty of gay representation on TV now, and the "algorithm" critique, while funny, felt a little overwrought.) But it’s clear that exaggeration is part of the point. Bury Your Gays isn’t trying to be a whispered indictment—it’s a howl.
For all its monsters, the heart of the novel lies in Misha’s relationship with his boyfriend—a refreshingly steady, tender dynamic that grounds the story. Their interactions were my favorite moments, offering warmth and normalcy amid the horror. It gave the book emotional stakes beyond survival. And Tingle’s portrayal of gay life—battling vulnerability, negotiating the minefields of coming out, surviving bullying, and meandering through a gay childhood without meaningful support—felt painfully, beautifully authentic. It’s rare to see these experiences filtered through a lens that is both raw and loving, without tipping into melodrama.
If anything, I wished for a little more twist in the central mystery. The plot clips along at a satisfying pace, but the final stretch felt like it could’ve dug a little deeper or left a bit more destruction in its wake. The ending makes sense thematically, but a slightly rougher landing might have carried more emotional weight.
Still, as a first-time Tingle reader, this was a win. The gore is present but never gratuitous, and the emotional core is strong enough to hold it all together. Bury Your Gays doesn’t just tear into the tropes—it shows how horror can also be an act of survival, creation, and love.
