I stumbled on Preston Norton’s middle-grade horror novel The House on Yeet Street while looking for books to put on a Halloween display during the mad dash to create some semblance of normalcy in the wake of Helene. I was immediately in love with the thought of a middle-grade horror novel about a boy who’s camping in a haunted house with his friends overnight and the ghost knows that he’s secretly gay and in love with one of the friends. Just a very cute concept with tons of thematic potential. Someone immediately checked it off my Halloween display, and then I didn’t see it again for several months. I got so worried the book had been stolen (happens often with queer books), that I put a hold on it so if it did ever turn back up, I’d know. Less than two days after I placed the hold, it appeared on my desk, so I set aside the other books I was reading and dove in.
Every time I talk about this book, it sounds like I hate it. I have…tons of issues with this book, some structural, some thematic, some stylistic, and some just…decisions that rubbed me the wrong way. I honestly think this book is kind of a mess in some of the same ways that I thought You’ve Reached Sam by Dustin Thao was a mess. But the characters’ voices, and the constant humor and overwhelming kindness of the book’s universe made me love it anyway, in spite of itself. So going in, I’m going to be saying mostly unkind things about The House on Yeet Street, but I’m glad I read it, and I even mostly recommend it. It’s an adorable book that legitimately made me laugh out loud on nearly every page and even tear up a few times, but it’s inescapably flawed in ways that I think are interesting and worth discussing.
The House on Yeet Street is about Aidan Cross, a thirteen-year-old boy who’s secretly desperately in love with his best friend, Kai, to the point that he’s writing a secret fantasy romance novel in which his character and Kai’s character are involved. When he’s afraid his novel - and therefore his crush on Kai - might be discovered, he throws it into the top window of the very probably haunted Witch House of Yeet Street. The Witch House has a long history of hauntings and tragedy, going back a century to the witch after which the street was named, Farah Yeet, and continuing until the mysterious death of a teenager twenty years ago. In 2004, if you want to feel old.
When his friends decide to stay overnight at the Witch House and film a documentary, Aidan panics, knowing he has to come too and retrieve his novel before one of them finds and reads it. But when he does, he meets the ghost of the teenager who died in 2004, Gabby Caldwell, and she loves the book and wants to read more. When Aidan starts experiencing hauntings similar to those Gabby experienced before her death, he and his friends realize they need to figure out how to break whatever curse is on the house, to save Aidan and free Gabby.
That’s a pretty succinct summary of a very all-over-the-place story. Long sections of the book barely mention the house. Often enough that I’d call it a pattern, what’s presented as the major conflict of the book is resolved suddenly with little fanfare and then replaced by a new, less cohesive, major conflict, which is then itself resolved in a similar fashion. Often, I’d spend anywhere from a few pages to a few chapters feeling almost unmoored, as the story’s driving force had been tugged out from under me, and the plot had yet to lay out a new one. It’s a strange problem to have with a 300-page novel written for tweens, as the story’s neither long enough nor complex enough to explain these structural gaps.
On top of that, some plot threads happen all at once, without any record in the text, until in a strange torrent of exposition, the narrator suddenly lays out several days of events that took place in the background. This can be as small as a school tradition that gets name-dropped well after it would be natural to do so, or as glaring as the complete about-face of a character’s attitude over apparently several weeks. A different writer could have made these sudden shifts feel more natural, but the way they were presented here made them feel jarring every time. It often felt like Norton had an idea for a moment or beat that should have been set up much earlier, but he didn’t want to go through the work of going back and seeding it, so he…just…didn’t.
This book has whatever the opposite of good bones is. The structural and thematic stuff all feels wobbly and incomplete, but the moment-to-moment reading of it is a blast. The characters are all funny and have good rapport with each other, and most of the emotions hit like they’re supposed to, but I’d look up from a few chapters of reading with the sense that I’d taken two steps forward and one step back in terms of figuring out what the book was trying to say and how it planned to say it. That’s especially strange for horror, where The Thing That You’re Scared Of is so closely tied with what the book is trying to say that just engaging with the point of the story is enough to keep me in step with the author’s intentions. Here, though, the overwhelming kindness and comfort of the novel’s world works against its own messaging.
To dip into light spoilers, the curse on the house is related to the persecution of queer people, which makes sense for a gay haunted house story and has a lot of potential. But it’s unrelated to Aidan’s story, as a young, scared gay boy. Aidan learns over and over again that he has nothing to fear from coming out, that he has a robust support network and lives in an entire town that loves him and wants him to be happy. Each time he’s worried about experiencing persecution for his queerness, he learns that he had nothing to fear, really. Even the ghost of a teenager circa 2004 is all on board and ready to help him (and as a 2004 teen let me tell you that was not an LGBTQ-friendly cohort). That’s sweet and kind, and as intended it tickled the part of my brain that goes “aw, how nice,” but it’s not useful for the story. Aidan doesn’t have anything in common with Farah Yeet - not really - and while “things were bad but the future looks bright” is a very “nice” sentiment, I’m not sure that it’s an honest one.
That discrepancy between the world of the book and the world as I know it to be makes the book feel a bit like it’s about nothing. Now imagine how much more of a betrayal that discrepancy must feel like to a gay thirteen-year-old boy reading this book while dealing with shitty parents or shitty friends or a shitty town. If being haunted by a witch is the price to pay to live in a world where only one person is ever mean to you and the entire world shits on them for it and then bends over backwards to make you feel as loved and supported as possible, then maybe Aidan should just suck it up and stop complaining about being haunted by a witch.
I have some other issues with the book too. While most of the pop culture references land and are funny, there sure are a lot of them, and some of them I’d characterize as potentially inadvertently triggering. I laughed a lot at the jokes about people who used to like Harry Potter having to stop liking Harry Potter, for example, but I dunno that they’d play as well to an audience who has never lived in a world where those books don’t exist and/or the author isn’t a TERF. I was deeply uncomfortable at the strangely out-of-pocket bit where an eleven-year-old girl talks about “traps” - a term born out of the early crypto-fascist internet, and one that many trans women consider to be a slur. There was also no difference in voice between Aidan’s narration and Farah’s narration, despite the century of linguistic changes between them. I think it would sell the creepiness and age of the house and its story if Farah’s dialogue and inner monologue didn’t sound so contemporary.
Like I said at the top, when I talk about this book, I sound like I hated it, when I really had a great time with it. While its kindness often feels out of place in the story it wants to tell, I have to admit that it’s still calming and infectious, and I always put down this book feeling a strange mix of happy, contented, and perplexed by its decisions. I think whether this is a good book will depend heavily on how discerning the reader is and what the reader wants to get out of it. To me, it was probably a bad book but an extremely enjoyable read. I urge you to get your hands on it and see where it falls for you.