Books of Blood: Movie Review 🍿

The dead will not be silenced. They say the dead has something to say but is it really true? Imagine if your dead grandma wants to talk to you would you be available? 🤥

Books of blood is a good definition of a creepy entertainment. I pressed play thinking, “Okay, another horror anthology, let’s see what happens.” But what I didn’t expect was the way each story would pull me in, twist my stomach, and leave me questioning how fragile and haunted the human mind really is. It really got me scared.

I'll call it a bloody movie 🍿

The movie is divided into various stories and that is the brilliance of it, it does not only subject you to one nightmare, it drags you through several. And how do these stories relate? Chilling. The first was the story of this lady Jenna who is trying to get away with her past as she tries to get out of the noise that is in her head. Initially I felt pity towards her, she is weak, shattered, you can see the fissures in her soul.

She takes herself off to this quiet house thinking that she has found a peace. But peace? No, in horror peace never lasts. The couple she lives with is warm and kind, too nice though. And my chest tightened up because I just knew something was wrong When the truth came out--that her safe place was not safe at all--I was actually hugging a pillow. It brought to me the memories of how in real life, what we think will be our savior, can in fact, be our killer instead

Next was the one about the professor and his wife, and that one really smashed me. He is mourning the loss of his son and is shattered beyond repair and then he comes along this young man saying that he can talk to the dead. It is optimistic, at least in the beginning, and one hopes that grief has a solution. Mourning is a complicated thing- it holds you back. It was so moving to see the desperation of that man, how he held on to every word. Haven’t we all in some way wished we could have a chance to talk to someone we lost? However, this film does not provide you with the comfort. No, it perverts that desire into something sinister, controlling and of course truly awful. It gave me this empty feeling in my chest.

And then—my goodness—the story that really messed with me was about the so-called “Books of Blood” themselves. Imagine this: a man’s entire body carved with the words of the dead, like his skin is a scripture of pain. The image alone was enough to make me shiver, but the weight of it? That idea that stories, even horrific ones, live on through flesh and blood—it was powerful, grotesque, and oddly poetic. I couldn’t shake it. It made me think about how, in our own ways, we all carry the stories of those who came before us. Not carved into our skin, but etched in memory, in scars, in the way we live after loss.

The thing I really liked about Books of Blood is the unpredictability. The story takes a twist when you think you have a clue on where it will go. Goodwill is transformed into inhumanity. The expectation turns to horror. Life turns to death. And the links between the obviously distinct stories creep up on you. The instant when you understand that it is all connected? Goosebumps. Literal goosebumps.

Let me be real with you now. This was not mere entertainment to watch, but in some bizarre way it was exhausting. Since the film does not merely frighten you with the monsters or the ghosts; the film frightens you with people, the grieving, the desperation, the darkness which is too near to the life. And honestly? That is the type of horror that will stay. And when it was over I said nothing, but sat there still. Heavy-breasted. My mind in a whirl. I continued to wonder, what is the point of me watching this sort of thing? The reality is though, horror can be a way of extracting something we repress. It causes us to face our fears that we normally do not want to face-fear of betrayal, fear of loneliness, fear of death, fear of not being at peace.

When I say vulnerable here, there was one point when the story of Jenna struck me more than I anticipated. Her need to run, to drown out the sound, to simply find somewhere she could breathe- it was a feeling that I have experienced in the past. It is the wish to escape the craziness of your head. And the evil twist of her trying to find a sense of security in the wrong place… it was as though the movie was speaking to me: you can not always run away from yourself. I remember that more so than the blood and gore.

So, would I recommend Books of Blood? Absolutely—if you’re ready for a ride that’s equal parts terrifying and thought-provoking. But don’t expect a neat, comfortable horror flick. This one gets under your skin, quite literally, and it doesn’t let go. It’s raw, disturbing, and beautifully tragic. And maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about it. Because horror like this isn’t just about scaring you—it’s about making you feel something deep, something unsettling, something that forces you to look at the shadows you usually ignore.

And that’s exactly what Books of Blood did to me.

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