THE ONLY GOOD INDIANS by Stephen Graham Jones

My quip: F*ck the Colonial Gaze

Today’s Topic: The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones

From the Top:
Stephen Graham Jones doesn’t write books; he writes fever dreams that sink into your bones and leave you waking up in a cold sweat. Over 112,000 words, The Only Good Indians is no exception. A horror novel that is as much about generational guilt and the weight of tradition as it is about supernatural revenge, this novel takes its time unraveling into something eerie and inevitable.

It starts with four Blackfeet men who, as teenagers, made a mistake—one that should have been buried with the passing of time. But time is funny like that. It doesn’t move in a straight line and Jones exhibits this phenomena beautifully. Enter the main antagonist, a spectral force of vengeance, but not in the way you might expect. She isn’t just a ghost or a monster. She is something older, more primal—less of a spirit and more of an echo of the land itself.

This novel doesn’t waste time explaining things to an outsider. If you don’t get it, you don’t get it. And that’s part of its magic. The world Jones builds is immersive and insular; white people exist in the periphery, almost like background noise, and that in itself is a powerful narrative choice. Indigenous horror doesn’t have to justify itself to a colonial gaze. This isn’t a story about suffering for the sake of sympathy—it’s a story about an indigenous community, by an indigenous writer, told in a way that doesn’t dilute itself for mass consumption.

My Quip:
In Native traditions, beings we might categorize as "fae" exist and they are not separate from the land. They are the land. The trees, the animals, the soil—everything is intertwined, and when that balance is disrupted, there is always a reckoning. Jones crafts his antagonist as something both deeply human and completely alien, a being who is not bound by time the way we are. She is, in essence, what happens when nature itself decides to settle a score, enforcing a balance that was disrupted long ago. And she does it in a way that feels inevitable, like the slow build of a storm you know is coming but still pretend might pass you by.

Beyond that, The Only Good Indians is revolutionary in how it handles indigenous storytelling. This is a book that is neither about white validation nor white guilt. It is about indigenous people existing, loving, grieving, and facing consequences in a space that is wholly their own. And that is something we don’t get to see enough of in horror, or in literature in general.

Tie it Off:
If you like horror that catches you off-guard, folklore that feels both ancient and immediate, and a narrative that does not give a single damn about catering to a white audience—read this book. Jones doesn’t just tell a scary story. He reminds us that the past is never really the past, and that nature doesn’t forget. And when it decides to remember, you better hope you’re on its good side.

Flavor profile: Young and bloody.