Book Review - And One Day We Will Die: Strange Stories Inspired by the Music of Neutral Milk Hotel (2025)
In genre fiction criticism, there is a bothersome element to reviewing collections based around a theme or source: the pervasive sense that these stories weren’t originally intended to appear together, and they’ve been bent toward a commonality for the sake of creating a more marketable product. I get the impression that a lot of the work I read in these instances sat around in the unsold folders for years until an opportunity arose for it to match an assignment. That doesn’t lessen the quality of the stories per se, but it does raise suspicion that the purportedly shared theme isn’t really doing anything other than hammering ovals into circles, or hexagons into squares. There’s a gimmicky residue on these publications, a nagging consciousness that the seams are visible, and while it doesn’t diminish the individual stories, the effect on the collection as a whole is mildly subtractive.
If any author did that here—if their submission was sitting unpublished and this Patrick Barb project just happened to be the first thing within striking distance—then I’m deeply impressed. I don’t know that I’ve read another thematic anthology that feels so organic and intentional, that genuinely seems like it sprung from a common ground of inspiration. That’s not saying it’s always an enriching or catalytic read, or that these stories are enhanced by being experienced back-to-back (as I’ll get into, they can be exhausting, drawing so much from the same emotional frequencies) but more than any other anthology of the hundreds I’ve read over the last decade, this one feels like an intentional project that was envisioned before it began to take shape; that it was allowed to be embryonic before expectations were set.
That is one hell of an accomplishment, and it makes this collection a unique and affecting read whether you’ve been idolizing Neutral Milk Hotel for thirty years, discovered them by way of April Ludgate, or have never heard of them even as you read this. I believe one could give this collection to a person wholly unfamiliar with the source material, and the common voice that inspired it would still ring through the pages—the literary sinew is that strong.
Like Beethoven’s 9th or prolific words credited to Calvin Coolidge, whether it’s ultimately good or not doesn’t really matter in this moment, as it’s deeply impressive that it happened at all.
“In your heart, there’s a spark that just screams”
Neutral Milk Hotel is one of those mythic acts for people of a certain stripe and generation (and if you can say it more tactfully than that without being cynical, I’d love to hear it), streaming out of the indie music hinterlands of the mid-1990s to become far more popular after their dissolution and seemingly indefinite hiatus than they ever were while actively recording music. Their sound was a unique lo-fi surrealist psychedelia, with ear-catching, somewhat anachronistic instrumentation. Singer-songwriter Jeff Mangum’s voice expressed a fragility and ferocity that could beget catharsis despite its tumultuous emotionality. The lyrics were ineffable but resonant, speaking universal conceptions of things that would dissolve if you reached for them too quickly.
And One Day We Will Die: Strange Stories Inspired by the Music of Neutral Milk Hotel features contributions from some of the best modern writers of speculative fiction, each short story inspired by a particular song from Neutral Milk Hotel’s catalog. Some of the contributors tacked very close to the source material, mirroring lyrics, themes, and characters in the words of their stories, while others I suspect took an equally effective but narrower approach, isolating a single line or drawing from aesthetic impressions left by the melody alone. I’m quite sure one author in particular just took inspiration from the opening melody of their song, and another, with near-infinite daring, actually put Jeff Mangum into the narrative, albeit obliquely (and masterfully, in my assessment).
"Thunderous sparks from the dark of the stadiums / The music and medicine you needed for comforting”
The writing in this collection is of exceptional quality, but will be challenging in moments for all but the most equanimous readers. Most of the stories here will leave the audience with many questions, as they are but glimpses into existences where perhaps more occurred before the events committed to the page, and nothing definitive—other than, perhaps, death—marks their closing.
That is an extremely broad brush to wield, but as I reflect on the collection, I’m struggling for examples where it isn’t true. The music of Neutral Milk Hotel can be savagely uncertain, imparting comfort but not security, and, without searching for that ghastly discordance too much, I nonetheless found it in the writing here. I guess this is my warning to readers that they should be prepared to wander, and the lighter, accessible satisfactions and refuges common to literature may not be found here. There is a manic emotionality to the source material which frequently bleeds through to the stories, sometimes exhaustingly so. There is no reprieve, no sympathetic caesura, no popcorn haunted house story that lets the reader reset their emotional tempo. It is as though the contributors universally understood the solemnity that comes with standing in Mangum's creative shadow and, whatever cataclysms appeared, stayed a course reflective of that position. More succinctly put: the stories come, uniformly, like punches.
It’s a long anthology: twenty-two offerings running in excess of three hundred pages, and the sheer emotional energy of working through such quality and empowered efforts means it’s not a collection everyone will be able to work through in an evening or even a weekend. I had to recharge myself routinely, and not for any connection to the music; these stories need time to settle in the mind’s soil, to realize the resonance beyond their word counts. While there is some lighter fare in the latter half of the book, it still draws from the same well, and I think if readers don’t elect to tune out or hurry past, they’ll find themselves considering the anthology for far longer than most books.
If I’ve not scared you off with the warning of how emotionally affecting this collection can be, I’ll now say that I don’t know that I’ve encountered a comparable assembly where the quality of the stories within is so high, so considered and well-crafted. To obscenely and nakedly torture a metaphor: this anthology is a veritable chorus line of authors at the peak of their powers putting their best foot forward…while wearing shoes designed by a legendary auteur footwear designer who withdrew from the public eye decades ago yet still has documentaries made about them today. And they have a glass eye.
And now—let’s get to the part where I accuse other people of being indulgent.
“I swear I have nothing to prove / I just want to dance in your tangles / To give me some reason to move”
Most of the entries are exceptional, with the authors effectively drawing from the source material to create something that is distinctly their own that yet carries the music’s soul with it. However, in a handful of cases, I don’t feel the stories worked, and in the absence of something I could recognize as coherently meaningful, would describe these as plot-thin and marred by indulgent, overwrought prose and untempered aestheticism.
While that is my evaluation of these entries as works of fiction, I should acknowledge that the faults I’ve just listed are potentially uncharitable ways of describing the hallmarks of the music that inspired them, and my criticisms are dangerously close to the words used by Neutral Milk Hotel’s most dismissive critics. Ultimately, I’ll maintain these particular attributes are more aesthetically workable in music than written word, but acknowledge they are very much in the territory of the collection’s identity. Like the ambrosia of myth, or exceptionally spicy peppers, the material that inspired this collection has proven edifying ground for some authors and a pitfall for others.
But these disappointments are in the minority. Most authors, as you may expect, wrote what I would consider successful stories, rich in thematic exploration and faithful to the source material while being decidedly their one. Further, two or three wrote some of the best short fiction I’ve encountered in years. Overall, this lengthy collection hits far more than it misses, and when considered as a whole, stands as an exceptional literary accomplishment. While I don’t know if I’ll have the psychological or emotional stamina to revisit And One Day We Will Die any time soon, I have no doubt that several of these stories will linger in my mind for years.
“But for now we are young / Let us lay in the sun / And count every beautiful thing we can see”
It’s not a complete review of a collection if I don't highlight my favorite contributions. In no meaningful order and spoiler-free, here are the stories that jump out when I look over my notes:
“Just the Motion” by D. Matthew Urban
Inspired by “Little Birds”
A man takes his daughter to the beach, but the trip is marred by his own childhood trauma in the water, and the abuse meted out by his father in the aftermath. But something here calls to him, and a passing stranger and her son might be speaking with its voice.
One of my favorites, this was an effective, mysterious story with a clear arc and perfect balance of show vs. hide. Though it’s my first exposure to Urban’s work, I also suspect he’s quite good outside this story, as Lee Rozelle is a fan, and that guy may have written the best horror fiction book of 2024.
“The Project” by Chisti Nogle
Inspired by “Oh, Comely”
It’s vaguely serendipitous that the NMH song that always resonated with me the most would be the one that inspired one of my favorite stories in this collection. Or maybe it’s not, as I always find a lot to appreciate about Nogle’s work.
In a near-future world, the original creator of immersive virtual experiences (take a moment to solidify what that is, if you need it) retreats to a remote cabin to work on her next blockbuster project: recreating her mother’s journals from the 1990s as a constructed experience in a virtual world. Taking comfort in the arms of a tech-less local, she nonetheless finds that the sharp edges of the modern world are not so far away, and some of the darker parts of human relationships cannot be expunged by success or retreat.
A remarkable story, richly human and impressively realized despite its ambitious concept, Christi Nogle is once again a standout among her peers, and she turns in what might be the best story in this collection.
“Transmission” by Tim Major
Inspired by “Two-Headed Boy”
Incredibly well-realized, this story opens with a young solitudinarian constructing a mechanical companion high in a tenement above a warzone. An exemplary piece when it comes to using language incisively and effectively, Tim Major cultivates a clear, well-realized voice from beginning to end: let me now express my deep appreciation for the complete paragraph that reads ‘Louis is hungry. He eats crackers.’
This story, perhaps more than any other, captures the shape of NMH's music in prose, being both impeccably precise and sporadically whimsical in subsequent moments. Tim Major nailed the assignment and wrote an excellent story while doing so.
“The Church of Our Lords, The Church of Dogs.” by Corey Farrenkopf
Inspired by “The King of Carrot Flowers Part 2 and 3”
I’m always excited to find a narrative that works well as a short story but can readily be imagined as a full-length novel, and my, what a damn fine novel this would be: two altar boys are asked to stay after mass and, alongside their priest, venture into the basement of the church. There, amid an elaborate and otherworldly garden, they are offered positions that can draw them closer to the divine and esoteric than prayer and piety ever could. Along the way, there are revelations and complications, both personal and spiritual, and Farrenkopf masterfully weds human elements to horrific ones.
This story really succeeds, as it does so much with its limited page time by smartly choosing which details to focus on. It also separates itself from the wider tone of the collection early on, putting its energy into very material story elements that play out external to the characters. It goes for the fantastic without being absurd, and cleaves near to the song that inspired it, even if it tonally ends up in a territory at the other end of the thematic spectrum. This is the standout, and I want to read more of Farrenkopf’s work.
“For the Rest of Our Lives, We Will Wait in Your: A Record” by John Langan
Inspired by “You’ve Passed”
To anyone who thought I wouldn’t mention this story among my favorites, sorry to disappoint you, but to me, Langan feels like the last vestige of a diminishing and particularly rich vein of American literature. He is a talent apart from much of his generation, and this story hits all the elements that make his writing so valuable.
Here, Langan has the confidence to be un-clever, blunting hooks and softening any edges enough that you go along with him simply because he's going along, and if John is going somewhere, you better go too. Here and elsewhere in his body of work, the the narrator is so beautifully and effortlessly authoritative, and I don't know how one cultivates such a realized, steady authorial voice on such a consistent basis. He does it again here, and barring the late Gene Wolfe, I’m not sure anyone has ever done it better.
Oh yes, the story: a woman, Georgie, chases the ghosts of an iconic 90s indie act who produced a single album, Something Understood. But the band dissolved into obscurity after the addition of a mysterious non-instrumentalist member, Cranberry (the archetypical Red Woman). Georgie eventually tracks down the now fifty-something singer who still resides in the old mansion where their legendary album was recorded. The two develop a relationship and gradually pull back the shroud on what became of the band, the music, and the Cranberry.
Though John and I are of different generations, I’ve operated in fringe-y independent music spaces for a few decades now, and I can’t express to you how apocryphally authentic this story reads. Apart from a few sensational details, it’s the kind of tale that could have made the rounds at a late-night, tourist-free spot in East Nashville a decade ago.
While those were the best entries in my assessment, I also want to acknowledge a number of other stories that exceeded the uniquely high bar set by their company:
Joe Koch did an exceptional job of blending his unique style with the source material, flirting with the hyper-aestheticism I criticized earlier but somehow keeping it on an effectively long leash.
Ai Jiang, whose creativity may indeed be boundless, did a masterful job of taking a thirty-year-old song and reimagining it as something distinctly contemporary. Criticize younger generations if you must, but literature isn’t going to die on her watch.
Here and elsewhere, M. Lopes da Silva writes some absolutely piercing moments that can transcend the story in which they appear and make me momentarily share their vision in a way few other authors can. Truly remarkable.
I've never so immediately wanted to reach into a story and drown two characters to which I have just been introduced. If you don’t think that’s a compliment, show me something you’ve written that provokes a more visceral response. Effective writing, gods help us, from Camila Hamel.
In “Not Even the Ghosts, Not Even the Birds,” Tiffany Morris tells the story of the survivor of an unarticulated apocalypse who takes refuge in a boardwalk arcade, finding the seeds of a new existence among the clanging, flashing automata. This is a short one, but contains some beautiful passages and sadly ended just as its fingers were taking hold. Great work.
Lindz McLeod contributed a smart story in which Charon finds his curiosity peaked, and bargains for more. Eloquently told, oddly touching, and making smart use of familiar elements, this one earned a few rereads, and my appreciation grew with each.
Another strong entry from an author I am unfamiliar with, “Terminus” by Dan Coxon is the bleak account of a man who unloads trains in some forsaken war-torn hinterland. The withering bleakness of his situation leads him to commit the ultimate offense and steal a crate marked with a sigil he dreamt of, whatever the consequences. Filled with sharp, simple, effective writing and some particularly incisive reflections on human solitude, I highlighted more lines in this story than any other.
“White Roses in Their Eyes” by Matthew Kressel is so incredibly ambitious and affecting, but so potentially diminished if I give away anything about it, that I’ve had to relegate its mention to this single sentence.
…And beyond these there are entries I really responded to and want to heap praise on, but the quality of this collection is truly exceptional, and at this point I’ve directly complimented more than half of the entries in the collection.
Final Thoughts
A disharmonic triumph, And One Day We Shall Die: Strange Stories Inspired by the Music of Neutral Milk Hotel is a collection like no other, striking a secret chord in the American creative zeitgeist that echoes with so many of today’s most important writers of fiction. It is one of the few collections of speculative fiction that I think can actually transcend the regular audience, offering something of interest and consequence to those who are only occasionally drawn to fiction. I can’t promise you’ll love every leg of this pilgrimage, as this road is haunted by many ghosts, but I do promise it’s a journey worth taking.
Score: 8.9
Strengths
Remarkable breadth of voice, showcasing some of the sharpest established and up-and-coming fiction
Does its inspiration material justice, transcending formats and keeping the essence of what made the foundational material so resonant
Variety of style, content, and theme mean there will be something here to appreciate for almost any reader of fiction
Weaknesses
Not all efforts to transpose the identity of Neutral Milk’s Hotel music make for effective fiction
With such quality in the collection, some entries are inevitably outshone, and quality entries have gone unremarked up on here
And One Day We Shall Die: Strange Stories Inspired by the Music of Neutral Milk Hotel will be released on January 14, 2025. You can purchase a copy on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or preferably, through a bookstore in your community.
You may also like: Fears, Dead Letters, Backwaters, Collage Macabre, and the work of this collection’s editor, Patrick Barb.
