The Illustrated Compendium of Horror

The Illustrated Compendium of Horror by Liz Deleo is a delightful addition to my ever-growing shelf of horror books. It is not, however, a book designed to truly frighten its reader—and I do not think it is trying to be. Instead, Deleo has created something closer to a beautifully illustrated tasting platter of horror: movies, books, characters, subgenres, cultural traditions, and strange little corners of the genre that invite you to take a bite and then go searching for more.

And that, I think, is exactly how this book should be approached.

You should finish The Illustrated Compendium of Horror with at least a dozen things you suddenly want to investigate. I emphasize this because this is not an encyclopedia. You are not going to receive an exhaustive history or expert-level examination of every subject mentioned. Instead, you are given enough information to become curious—and then pointed toward examples that can lead you deeper into the dark.

After one trip through the book, I already had a new list of movies, books, and subjects I wanted to explore.

The section I found most intriguing was the one devoted to international horror. Deleo spends more than fifty pages looking at horror traditions and themes from around the world, offering defining examples that give readers somewhere to begin exploring them for themselves. By the time I finished that section, I had added nearly three dozen movies to my watch queue.

Mission accomplished.

It is an appetizer—just enough to whet your palate.

Beyond international horror, the compendium explores characters, pop culture, subgenres, and plenty of other components of the horror landscape. I was especially happy to see folk horror receive some attention, since it is currently one of my favorite corners of the genre. Give me isolated communities, ancient customs, suspicious villagers, pagan rituals, and something unpleasant lurking in the woods and I am generally satisfied. Midsommar, The Shrine, and The Wicker Man are all favorites.

And yes, I prefer the remake of The Wicker Man. Sorry. Not sorry.

The real star of the book, however, may be Deleo's artwork.

The illustrations are original creations by Deleo, and they manage to be wonderfully simple and remarkably expressive at the same time. There is also an astonishing amount of it—more than a thousand individual pieces. The artwork does not simply accompany the written entries; it gives the entire book its personality.

There are visual jokes tucked throughout the pages, tongue-in-cheek references, hidden games, and little details that reward anyone willing to linger over the illustrations. The book somehow manages to be colorful and brooding at the same time—vibrant without ever losing its sense of darkness.

I would actually recommend looking through The Illustrated Compendium of Horror once just for the artwork. Flip through it. Examine the illustrations. Look for the jokes and hidden details. Then go back and actually read the entries.

Overall, I give The Illustrated Compendium of Horror 5 out of 5.

That rating does come with one important qualification: you need to understand what kind of book this is. It is not an encyclopedia, and no individual horror topic is explored with exhaustive, expert-level depth. The artwork might be the exception.

Instead, this is a wonderfully illustrated invitation into the enormous world of horror—a book that gives you hundreds of doors and encourages you to start opening them to see what might leap out at you! And if you finish it with a much longer movie queue than you had before, then I think Liz Deleo has done exactly what she set out to do.