Extreme Horror Goes to Eleven in Genital Rot

I went into Genital Rot mostly blind. I knew it involved a death metal band and… that’s about it. What I got was a chaotic, blood-soaked descent into depravity that makes The Evil Dead look like School of Rock.

The book is split into two parts. Part one reads like a fever dream—violent, disorienting, and gleefully obscene. Our introduction to the band? They’re gathered around the severed head of a woman and promptly engage in a ritualistic circle jerk on four sigils from the Ars Goetia. That moment sets the tone for everything that follows.

From there, we follow the band as they commit heinous acts—some against strangers, others against people they know. There are a few pacing hiccups along the way. Certain kills are described in gruesome, vivid detail, while other scenes, like one involving an ally, fly by so quickly I had to flip back a few pages to make sure I didn’t miss something.

Part two brings stronger pacing and a clearer structure. It’s still chaotic, but the storytelling feels more grounded. That said, much of the narrative still comes off as a string of shocking events with no clear goal—until the third act, when things start to click into place. That’s when we finally learn what Genital Rot has been building toward all along.

Given its classification as extreme horror, I wasn’t expecting Genital Rot to deliver a life-changing message—and it doesn’t. But it does offer a brutal, no-holds-barred romp with a Satanic metal band doing the kind of stuff you’d expect to hear shouted over a distorted guitar riff on an old Insane Clown Posse track.

James Oliver already has the sequel lined up for a late June release, and I’ll be there for it. I need to know what further filth and fury Genital Rot has left in the tank.