When I first cracked open Infernal Wonderland, I wasn’t sure what to expect. What I found was a sprawling, neon-drenched fever dream of a story. It follows Jadecan, an akiko, who stumbles into the submerged Amber City, a broken metropolis that feels alive and dead all at once. From the very first chapter, the world is suffocating, strange, and brimming with danger. Automatons sell people for parts, reptilian gangs lurk in the shadows, and a drug called Ichor twists minds and bodies. The book unfolds in five parts, each one pushing Jadecan deeper into madness, violence, and strange alliances, while the PA system keeps whispering about revolution like a ghost that refuses to die.

This is a unique book. Sometimes thrilling, sometimes disorienting, and often unsettling. Killam has this way of painting a scene that engages your senses. There were moments where I wanted the story to breathe, to let the horror and beauty of Amber City sit with me instead of racing ahead to the next grotesque fight or cryptic exchange. Still, the book’s voice stuck with me. It’s sarcastic, it’s grim, and it doesn’t let you forget that the world is cruel. I found myself both grinning at the dark humor and wincing at the relentless blood and guts.

What really hooked me, though, was the mix of philosophy and pulp. Amidst all the gore and chaos, characters stop to talk about the meaning of life, about want versus need, about existing without actually wanting to exist. Those conversations gave the book an odd tenderness that surprised me. I could feel the author reaching for something bigger.

Infernal Wonderland is haunting and oddly beautiful. It’s not a book for someone looking for a straightforward plot or a clean arc. It’s for readers who want to sink into a unique atmosphere, who don’t mind being jarred, and who can handle equal parts gore and poetry. If you’ve ever loved stories like Bioshock or Blade Runner but wished they were darker and stranger, this book will feel like home.

Pages: 421 | ISBN: 978-1-957195-18-6