Cadwell Turnbull

One October morning, Laina gets the news that her brother was shot and killed by Boston cops. But what looks like a case of police brutality soon reveals something much stranger. Monsters are real. And they want everyone to know it. As creatures from myth and legend come out of the shadows, seeking safety through visibility, their emergence sets off a chain of seemingly unrelated events. Members of a local werewolf pack are threatened into silence. A professor follows a missing friend's trail of bread crumbs to a mysterious secret society. And a young boy with unique abilities seeks refuge in a pro-monster organization with secrets of its own. Meanwhile, more people start disappearing, suicides and hate crimes increase, and protests erupt globally, both for and against the monsters. At the center is a mystery no one thinks to ask: Why now? What has frightened the monsters out of the dark? The world will soon find out.

No Gods, No Monsters

 is the kind of book that doesn’t hand itself to you easily. It asks to be felt before it’s understood, if understanding is even the point. Cadwell Turnbull’s second book is strange, fragmented, often beautifully written, and undeniably ambitious, but for all its scope and complexity, I found myself more distanced than immersed. I admire what it’s doing on a conceptual level, but as a reading experience, it left me conflicted.

The story begins with a sharp, devastating hook: Laina’s brother is killed by police, in what initially seems like yet another act of brutal injustice. But the video goes viral and reveals something else entirely. Her brother was a werewolf. Monsters are real, they’ve been hiding in plain sight, and they are done with hiding. The revelation sparks marches, resistance, erasure, and chaos. The video disappears. Collective memory dissolves. It’s a powerful premise, and for a while, it carries the novel forward with real urgency.

But the deeper I went, the harder it was to stay grounded. 

 sprawls across timelines, perspectives, and dimensions, introducing a large cast of characters, some vivid and compelling, others elusive and half-formed. The structure is slippery by design, but often confusing for the sake of being confusing. And while I respect ambiguity, I kept waiting for the threads to tighten, and they never quite did.

There’s a lot here to appreciate. This is urban fantasy filtered through a deeply literary lens. It's not concerned with traditional worldbuilding or exposition. There are werewolves, dragons, cults, and secret societies, but they exist more as metaphors than mechanics. The monsters, if it isn’t clear, are us. Or rather, they are the people who have been historically labeled monstrous, queer people, Black people, trans people, disabled people. The “monster” becomes a stand-in for marginalization, for otherness, for all the ways society tries to erase what it cannot assimilate. Turnbull does not flatten this metaphor into simplicity. The cast is richly intersectional: queer polyamorous relationships, ace and trans representation, characters with mental illness, with trauma, with cultural inheritances they don’t fully understand. The violence of systemic oppression, the erasure of memory, the terror of being known, it’s all present and powerfully rendered in certain moments.

Still, I can’t say this book entirely worked for me. The scope is so wide that it often loses itself. Somewhere along the way, I stopped feeling emotionally connected. The plot, such as it is, resists resolution. I understand that ambiguity is the point, but I sometimes longed for more emotional clarity, more weight in the connections between characters. There’s so much potential here, so many rich ideas and striking passages, but the narrative architecture doesn’t quite support the load. And the shifting narrator, while thematically interesting, often pulled me out of the story instead of deepening it.

Yet I admire this book deeply. It is not perfect, but it’s trying to do something most books won’t even attempt. It explores grief, identity, memory, and erasure with the strange beauty of a dream you only half-remember but can’t stop thinking about. I just wish the emotional resonance had matched the intellectual ambition. This is a book I wanted to love, and while it didn’t quite get there for me, I’m glad I sat with it.

3 out of 5 stars. At its best, it’s thought-provoking and quietly devastating. But more often than not, I felt adrift, wading through fog, hoping for a shape that never fully emerged.

baku

No Gods, No Monsters is the kind of book that doesn’t hand itself to you easily. It asks to be felt before it’s understood, if understanding is even the point. Cadwell Turnbull’s second book is strange, fragmented, often beautifully written, and undeniably ambitious, but for all its scope and complexity, I found myself more distanced than immersed. I admire what it’s doing on a conceptual level, but as a reading experience, it left me conflicted.

The story begins with a sharp, devastating hook: Laina’s brother is killed by police, in what initially seems like yet another act of brutal injustice. But the video goes viral and reveals something else entirely. Her brother was a werewolf. Monsters are real, they’ve been hiding in plain sight, and they are done with hiding. The revelation sparks marches, resistance, erasure, and chaos. The video disappears. Collective memory dissolves. It’s a powerful premise, and for a while, it carries the novel forward with real urgency.

But the deeper I went, the harder it was to stay grounded. No Gods, No Monsters sprawls across timelines, perspectives, and dimensions, introducing a large cast of characters, some vivid and compelling, others elusive and half-formed. The structure is slippery by design, but often confusing for the sake of being confusing. And while I respect ambiguity, I kept waiting for the threads to tighten, and they never quite did.

There’s a lot here to appreciate. This is urban fantasy filtered through a deeply literary lens. It's not concerned with traditional worldbuilding or exposition. There are werewolves, dragons, cults, and secret societies, but they exist more as metaphors than mechanics. The monsters, if it isn’t clear, are us. Or rather, they are the people who have been historically labeled monstrous, queer people, Black people, trans people, disabled people. The “monster” becomes a stand-in for marginalization, for otherness, for all the ways society tries to erase what it cannot assimilate. Turnbull does not flatten this metaphor into simplicity. The cast is richly intersectional: queer polyamorous relationships, ace and trans representation, characters with mental illness, with trauma, with cultural inheritances they don’t fully understand. The violence of systemic oppression, the erasure of memory, the terror of being known, it’s all present and powerfully rendered in certain moments.

Still, I can’t say this book entirely worked for me. The scope is so wide that it often loses itself. Somewhere along the way, I stopped feeling emotionally connected. The plot, such as it is, resists resolution. I understand that ambiguity is the point, but I sometimes longed for more emotional clarity, more weight in the connections between characters. There’s so much potential here, so many rich ideas and striking passages, but the narrative architecture doesn’t quite support the load. And the shifting narrator, while thematically interesting, often pulled me out of the story instead of deepening it.

Yet I admire this book deeply. It is not perfect, but it’s trying to do something most books won’t even attempt. It explores grief, identity, memory, and erasure with the strange beauty of a dream you only half-remember but can’t stop thinking about. I just wish the emotional resonance had matched the intellectual ambition. This is a book I wanted to love, and while it didn’t quite get there for me, I’m glad I sat with it.

3 out of 5 stars. At its best, it’s thought-provoking and quietly devastating. But more often than not, I felt adrift, wading through fog, hoping for a shape that never fully emerged.

My original perception of the story was off. I was under the impression that this was going to be more plot driven and action packed than it was. It’s very much a character driven story, and had I known that or been able to assume that from the blurb, I think I would’ve been higher on it.

At first, keeping track of the perspectives wasn’t that difficult, but then the author kept adding in new people and abandoning others. It definitely got confusing sometimes. Additionally, it switches between first person and third person limited. The pov doesn’t bother me as I have no true preference, but it added to my confusion because in one chapter, the person would be saying “I” and then all of a sudden, we’re calling that same person by their name. I was like “wait, who is this again?” multiple times.

I think the concept and the themes discussed are very interesting, and I wish we’d stuck with some of the characters longer to explore them. A few of these themes include: police brutality, family bonds + relationships, substance misuse, what makes someone a “monster”, and faith in a higher power. There’s a constant battle between personal demons and very tangible ones, which I didn’t expect. It also does a good job of depicting a multitude of queer relationships and identities in a way that didn’t feel performative or like it was pandering to an audience.

Ultimately, if you like character driven stories, I’d recommend this, but you really have to focus. I’m interested in some of the author’s other works, but this was a decent start.

Nik ✨

My original perception of the story was off. I was under the impression that this was going to be more plot driven and action packed than it was. It’s very much a character driven story, and had I known that or been able to assume that from the blurb, I think I would’ve been higher on it.

At first, keeping track of the perspectives wasn’t that difficult, but then the author kept adding in new people and abandoning others. It definitely got confusing sometimes. Additionally, it switches between first person and third person limited. The pov doesn’t bother me as I have no true preference, but it added to my confusion because in one chapter, the person would be saying “I” and then all of a sudden, we’re calling that same person by their name. I was like “wait, who is this again?” multiple times.

I think the concept and the themes discussed are very interesting, and I wish we’d stuck with some of the characters longer to explore them. A few of these themes include: police brutality, family bonds + relationships, substance misuse, what makes someone a “monster”, and faith in a higher power. There’s a constant battle between personal demons and very tangible ones, which I didn’t expect. It also does a good job of depicting a multitude of queer relationships and identities in a way that didn’t feel performative or like it was pandering to an audience.

Ultimately, if you like character driven stories, I’d recommend this, but you really have to focus. I’m interested in some of the author’s other works, but this was a decent start.

kelsey

*3.5

tw: gore, blood, gun violence, drug abuse, police brutality 

abrupt endings are my worst enemy

Shareca

No Gods, No Monsters by Cadwell Turnbull is exactly what I was looking for. My favorite part of this book was the fast-paced story. I was hooked by the premise alone. It was such a joy to have been approved for No Gods, No Monsters. Monsters and humans are indistinguishable, and I am amazed at the way it talks about crime and police brutality. Due to my own identity as a minority, I thought that was well placed within this narrative. It seems plausible that it would appear as such, but it turns out it is quite different (at least in some ways). This novel echoes No God, No Monsters' line, "Everything is connected." This theme remains true throughout the story. The story begins with a bang and ends with one. I thought this was one of the more engaging Netgalley reads I have experienced. A really great read!

Janice Hopper

NGL, didn't really know what to make of this book. 

The folks who have always been something other/more than human finally come out, and... things happen? And maybe there are gods too?

It's not really a linear story, so be aware of that. I need to read a good breakdown of what's going on, I think. I liked the writing, but I didn't quite understand what all was going on. I'm sure that's on me.

Didi Chanoch

NO GODS, NO MONSTERS is a stunning novel.

While completely different in most ways, it has the kind of impact GIDEON THE NINTH had on me. It is complex and compelling, brainy and emotional. Dark as night with a thread of hope.

James Eaton

This was an interesting read, but it did not gain the traction that I hoped for over the course of the book. Some really neat ideas, urban fantasy, monsters and secret societies, etc. 

It had me feeling in a similar way to The Fifth Element with the back-and-forth stories, but The Fifth Element pulled everything together in such a satisfying way. The author of this book wrote about how the "community" was the plot, and that totally makes sense. The vibe of the book was good and there were sections that were really good. It just didn't totally land for me (and that is fine because I am not the singular audience of the world). 

I did really appreciate a fresh voice and idea in this space, and I am here for more diversity and original storytelling. I don't think I will continue the series, but I am glad I read it.

No Gods, No Monsters

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