What Genre Is 'Everyone In This Room Will Someday Be Dead'?

I picked up 'Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead' expecting something dark and eerie, given the title, but it’s not a horror novel in the traditional sense. It’s more of a darkly comedic existential drama with a heavy dose of anxiety. The protagonist, Gilda, is a queer woman grappling with mortality, mental health, and the absurdity of life, which makes the story feel unsettling but not in a jump-scare way. The horror here is existential—it’s the dread of everyday life, the fear of irrelevance, and the quiet terror of being trapped in your own mind. The book’s brilliance lies in how it turns mundane situations into something profoundly uncomfortable, like Gilda’s job at a Catholic church where she impersonates a dead woman. It’s creepy, sure, but in a 'laugh-so-you-don’t-cry' way rather than a 'check-under-your-bed' way. The closest it gets to horror is its unflinching look at human fragility. Gilda’s panic attacks and obsessive thoughts about death are visceral, almost claustrophobic, but they’re grounded in realism. There are no monsters here—just the terrifying ordinary. The title isn’t a threat; it’s a fact. That’s what sticks with you. The novel’s tone is more aligned with authors like Ottessa Moshfegh or Samantha Irby, where humor and despair are two sides of the same coin. If you’re looking for ghosts or gore, you’ll be disappointed. But if you want a story that lingers like a shadow, making you question your own mortality over a cup of coffee, this nails it.

The way 'Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead' tackles mortality is both raw and darkly humorous. The protagonist’s constant awareness of death isn’t just a philosophical musing—it’s a visceral, everyday reality that seeps into her interactions and decisions. What struck me most was how the book frames mortality as something absurd yet inevitable, like background noise you can’t tune out. The character’s anxiety isn’t dramatic; it’s mundane, showing up in how she fixates on trivial details while ignoring bigger existential threats. This creates this weird tension where death feels both trivial and overwhelming at the same time. The book’s brilliance lies in its refusal to offer comfort. Unlike stories where characters find profound meaning in facing death, this one leans into the discomfort of not having answers. The protagonist’s existential dread isn’t resolved—it’s just there, like a roommate she can’t evict. The humor comes from how ordinary her coping mechanisms are: obsessing over a dead stranger’s emails, awkward social interactions, and half-hearted attempts at self-improvement. It’s a refreshingly honest take that doesn’t romanticize mortality or package it into a neat life lesson. Instead, it mirrors how most people actually grapple with the idea—through distraction, denial, and occasional bursts of clarity.

Reading 'Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead' was like walking through a dark forest with occasional patches of sunlight—unexpectedly funny in the bleakest moments. The protagonist's morbid thoughts about death and existential dread are delivered with such dry wit that you catch yourself laughing before realizing how heavy the subject matter is. The humor isn't slapstick or loud; it's quiet, sharp, and woven into the fabric of her anxiety. Like when she imagines her own funeral while stuck in small talk at a party, or how she casually considers the statistical likelihood of everyday objects killing her. It's the kind of humor that makes you nod in grim recognition rather than burst out laughing. The book's dark comedy shines brightest in its juxtaposition of mundane life with existential terror. Office politics become absurd when viewed through the lens of inevitable oblivion, and dating woes take on a surreal hilarity when paired with thoughts about decomposition. What makes it work is how genuine it feels—the character isn't trying to be funny, which makes her observations even more piercing. The humor never undermines the real struggles of mental illness but instead acts as a coping mechanism, both for the character and the reader. It's a masterclass in balancing tone, making devastating points while keeping you weirdly entertained.