Today’s Topic: The Loosening Skin by Aliya Whiteley
From the Top: Just over 60,000 words, this book proves to be more of an emotional meditation than a body horror thriller. A sharp and introspective novel, The Loosening Skin is the kind of book that you may not obsess over, but will think about from time to time. Particularly if you’re keen to Fleetwood Mac lore or overthinking your relationships at 2 AM. Similar to the unnerving sensation of shedding a sunburn in thick, curling strips or peeling off a too-tight bandage only to find raw skin underneath, Whiteley’s narrative style is eerie but not frightening, detached yet deeply personal. Set in a world where humans periodically shed their skin—losing their old selves and their old loves in the process—the book leans into its speculative premise without ever fully committing to the dread or trauma that horror typically thrives on.
My Quip: While this novel incorporates body horror and dystopian elements, it ultimately prioritizes an intimate, emotional core over fear or shock. The shedding of skin isn’t a grotesque event, it’s a fact of life accepted with quiet inevitability. And within this construct, Whiteley plays with themes of detachment, longing, and the ways humans try (and fail) to hold onto our past selves. The main character, Rose, an ex-bodyguard navigating the wreckage of a love she no longer “feels,” moves through the novel with the kind of exhaustion that is relatable and deeply human.
Because of this, The Loosening Skin will likely frustrate readers looking for a more traditional horror experience. The body horror, with a few brief exceptions, is conceptual rather than visceral, and its use of the speculative is more melancholic than unsettling. It’s not my favorite book, but I respect its refusal to conform—its ability to exist within the horror genre without ever becoming truly horrific. It’s a reminder that horror, at its core, doesn’t have to be about fear. Rendering emotional emptiness can be just as effective.
Tie it Off: For all fans of speculative fiction, existentialism, and the eerie sadness of things left unsaid, give this one a try.
Flavor Profile: Melting ice cubes. Salty tears on a hot summer day.