Paul Tremblay, known for his psychological adult horror novels like The Cabin at the End of the World and A Head Full of Ghosts, ventures into middle-grade fiction with Another. It’s a bold move, one that demonstrates his trust in young readers' capacity for emotional depth and subtle fear. Set during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, Another is not just a horror story but also a nuanced exploration of identity, family, and the anxiety that often accompanies adolescence.
The story follows 12-year-old Casey Wilson, a bright and introspective boy whose life has been quietly unraveling. The disruptions of the pandemic have left him socially isolated, stuck in a confusing mix of in-person and online schooling. A humiliating Zoom mishap further alienates him from his peers, and his mounting anxiety manifests in physical tics. Casey's home life, once a refuge, becomes strange when a mysterious man delivers a boy named Morel—who looks like a doll made of clay—into their household. Despite Morel’s odd behavior and unsettling silence, Casey’s parents seem instantly taken with him, even as Casey begins to feel pushed aside.
One of the most powerful aspects of Another is how convincingly Tremblay writes about the emotional weight of teenage embarrassment. There’s a specific kind of humiliation that comes with being 12 or 13, a raw vulnerability that can make even small social missteps feel like existential failures. Tremblay captures this brilliantly in Casey, particularly in the aftermath of his online school blunder. That aching, stomach-knotting desire to disappear—to be unseen, to have no one notice you at all—is rendered with an honesty that’s both painful and deeply relatable. It’s not just that Casey is afraid of being noticed; he’s afraid of being remembered for the wrong thing. That kind of dread, more than any monster, is what makes this book feel so true to its age group.
As the days pass, Morel begins to appear more lifelike—he mimics Casey in subtle ways, gradually speaking, even adopting elements of Casey’s personality. Meanwhile, Casey feels himself fading into the background of his own life. His parents grow distracted and distant. He begins to question his memories, his emotions, and even his own reality. The horror in Another isn’t fueled by monsters or ghosts but by the slow and quiet fear of being replaced, forgotten, or erased.
One of the book’s most effective choices is its slower pacing in the first third. Rather than rushing into the central horror, Tremblay allows readers to linger with Casey. We sit in his unease, his awkward silences, and his loneliness. We see the contours of his inner world—his routines, his tics, his desperate hope that someone might actually hear him. This emotional groundwork makes the events that follow feel far more devastating. When the uncanny begins to creep in, we’re not just watching something strange happen—we’re watching something happen to someone we know. That time spent building connection with Casey is what gives the story its weight and makes the psychological horror hit so deeply.
Tremblay’s style is understated but effective. Rather than relying on jump scares or flashy set pieces, he leans into atmosphere, psychological tension, and emotional dissonance. The writing captures the confusion of a child experiencing gaslighting and displacement without overwhelming the reader with complexity. Even the most supernatural elements are grounded in Casey’s emotional experience, blurring the line between what is literally happening and what might be metaphorical or imagined.
One of the book’s most haunting elements is its ambiguity. Who—or what—is Morel, exactly? Is he magical, cursed, an embodiment of some fungal parasite, or something else entirely? Tremblay never spells it out, which is part of what makes the book so unsettling. The unknown isn’t explained away; it’s allowed to fester. This restraint invites readers—especially middle-grade ones—to sit with discomfort and come to their own conclusions, which is rare and refreshing in a genre that often over-explains.
While Another is written for younger readers, it does not condescend. The prose is clear but intelligent, and the themes are complex without being overwhelming. Casey’s struggle with anxiety is presented with compassion and realism. His isolation, the way adults overlook his fears, and the pressure to “get over it” will resonate with many children—and, perhaps more profoundly, with adults who remember what it felt like to be unheard or misunderstood.
It’s also worth noting that the book’s resistance to providing easy answers or neat resolutions is one of its most admirable traits. The horror lingers beyond the final page, not because of what’s shown, but because of what’s left unsaid. In that way, Another respects its readers immensely, trusting them to handle ambiguity and emotional nuance without spoon-feeding.
As a pandemic-era novel, Another also captures a very specific kind of loneliness. The anxiety, the uncertainty, the disconnection—all of it lingers under the surface. But Tremblay doesn’t exploit the pandemic as a gimmick. Instead, it becomes a backdrop that enhances the emotional realism of Casey’s journey. For children who lived through those strange, fragmented school years, the book may feel eerily familiar in its portrayal of confusion, fear, and the desire to be seen.
Ultimately, Another succeeds not just as a horror novel, but as a portrait of a young boy fighting to hold on to his identity in the face of a quiet, creeping threat. It's a story about being replaced, about losing your reflection in the mirror and wondering if anyone notices—or cares. It is deeply unsettling, not because of what it shows, but because of what it suggests: that the most terrifying monsters aren’t always outside us. Sometimes, they slip into our lives unnoticed, wearing our faces, and smiling like they belong.
Paul Tremblay has created something unique with Another: a horror novel for kids that takes their fears seriously. It doesn’t wrap things up neatly, but instead trusts readers to sit with ambiguity and tension. For kids who enjoy eerie, character-driven stories with emotional resonance—and for adults curious to see what psychological horror looks like in a middle-grade frame—Another is a compelling, memorable experience.