Nick Cutter’s The Troop is one of those books that makes you question why you thought reading it late at night was a good idea. It’s claustrophobic, grotesque, and deeply unsettling in all the ways you hope (and dread) a horror novel will be. Set on a remote Canadian island, the story unfolds like a perfectly executed experiment in terror; dark, tense, and impossible to look away from. From the moment a strange, sick man stumbles into their campsite, you know things are about to get grim, and Cutter doesn’t disappoint.

The heart of this book lies in its characters, a group of young boys whose relationships unravel as quickly as the nightmare around them. Their dynamics feel painfully real, from loyalty to betrayal, and watching them navigate Cutter’s increasingly brutal narrative is both fascinating and deeply uncomfortable.

The horror itself is visceral and unrelenting, leaning heavily into body horror that’s not for the faint of heart. Cutter doesn’t pull punches, and while some scenes are downright stomach-turning, they serve a purpose: keeping you on edge and forcing you to confront the raw, primal fear of survival.

It’s not just about gore, though. There’s a surprising depth to The Troop, a commentary on human instinct, morality, and what we’re capable of when the world falls apart. It’s not exactly subtle, but it’s effective.

Would I recommend it? Absolutely… but with a warning. If you’re looking for a cozy horror read, this isn’t it. The Troop is a relentless descent into the kind of terror that lingers, and while I loved every moment of it, I’m also glad it’s over.