Yiğit Turhan’s debut novel, Their Monstrous Hearts, is a haunting tapestry of body horror, family secrets, and the desperate lengths we go to for immortality
A Butterfly’s Dark Migration
In Their Monstrous Hearts, Yiğit Turhan crafts a mesmerizing gothic nightmare that pulls readers into the twisted world of Perihan, a woman whose obsession with immortality leads to monstrous transformations—both physical and psychological. When struggling writer Riccardo is summoned to Milan following his grandmother’s death, he’s drawn into a web of deception where nothing is as it seems, especially the opulent villa he’s inherited with its enigmatic butterfly collection.
The novel begins innocuously enough, with the cash-strapped, 20-year-old Riccardo living in squalor in Paris, facing eviction and crushing writer’s block. When the mysterious Maurizio appears with news of his grandmother’s death, the invitation to claim his inheritance seems like the perfect escape. But what awaits him at the decrepit villa is far more sinister than unpaid bills.
At its core, Turhan’s novel asks: how far would you go to escape death? And what happens when the boundaries between monsters and humans blur beyond recognition?
Metamorphosis as Metaphor
Turhan brilliantly employs the butterfly—with its complete transformation from caterpillar to chrysalis to winged beauty—as the central metaphor for the novel’s exploration of identity, rebirth, and the cost of immortality. The butterfly imagery isn’t subtle, but it’s devastatingly effective, especially as we learn more about the monstrous creature in the greenhouse whose tears grant resurrection.
The phengaris arion butterfly, central to the plot, is described as “a blood parasite” that tricks ants into carrying it to their nest where it either “eats the ant babies or begs for food.” This parasitic relationship perfectly mirrors Perihan’s intended possession of Riccardo’s body—a form of parasitism dressed up as migration and natural transformation.
The novel’s nested narrative structure—as Riccardo reads his grandmother’s manuscript—allows Turhan to explore multiple timelines and perspectives, gradually revealing Perihan’s transformation from Yeter, a young Turkish woman escaping an oppressive upbringing, to the manipulative, beauty-obsessed matriarch willing to sacrifice her own grandson.
A Legacy of Horror
While Their Monstrous Hearts is Turhan’s debut novel, it demonstrates remarkable confidence in its genre elements. The book walks a delicate line between psychological horror and body horror, never shying away from visceral descriptions:
The greenhouse scenes are particularly haunting, with their “ghastly pool of gooey paste, a murky, dark-cherry-jam color” seeping from the monster’s remains. The “repugnant stench” clings “to the back of Riccardo’s throat, refusing to be ignored” while flies perform “a macabre ballet” around the disfigured cadaver.
The novel deftly builds tension through its dual narratives. As Riccardo discovers more about his grandmother through her manuscript, we’re treated to increasingly disturbing revelations: the circus disaster that killed hundreds of children, Perihan’s first murder and resurrection experiment, the manipulative “Tuberose Club” she establishes with Maurizio. Each revelation adds layers to the horror, culminating in the final confrontation where the full extent of Perihan’s monstrous plan is revealed.
Strengths and Weaknesses
What Shines
- Atmospheric Setting: The decrepit villa with its greenhouse “where the light never goes out” creates a perfect gothic backdrop. Turhan excels at making seemingly beautiful elements—butterflies, tuberoses, crystal bottles—feel increasingly sinister.
- Cultural Depth: Perihan’s backstory as Yeter, a Turkish immigrant to Italy, adds compelling layers to her character. Her reflections on migration are poignant: “Physical migration cannot guarantee a better life… We decorate the walls of our new homes with the wallpaper of this violence, yet they remain mere houses, devoid of true belonging.”
- Sensory Richness: The novel is awash in sensory details—the overwhelming scent of Fracas perfume, the putrid stench of decay in the greenhouse, the vibrant colors of butterflies, the sticky texture of the monster’s remains. These details create an immersive, if often nauseating, experience.
- Thematic Complexity: Beyond the horror elements, the novel explores profound questions about identity, the immigrant experience, and the lengths people go to for survival.
Where It Falters
- Pacing Issues: The dual narrative sometimes creates uneven pacing. The first third of the novel builds slowly, while the final revelations feel somewhat rushed by comparison.
- Character Development: While Perihan is thoroughly developed, Riccardo remains somewhat flat until the final chapters. His relationship with Lorenzo feels underdeveloped given its importance to the climax.
- Over-explanation: Occasionally, the novel explains its metaphors too explicitly, particularly in Perihan’s monologues about butterflies and transformation.
- Convenience: Some plot developments rely on coincidence or convenient timing, particularly Riccardo’s immediate discovery of the manuscript upon arriving at the villa.
The Fairy Queen’s Court
The supporting cast creates a disturbingly close-knit community around Perihan, each with their own reason for participating in her monstrous rituals. Licia, the devoted housekeeper; Cristina, the bookshop owner; Eva, with her spider brooches; the blind twins, Greta and Berta; and most importantly, Maurizio, survivor of the circus disaster and Perihan’s accomplice.
Lorenzo and his mother Barbara represent a different kind of tragedy—those who’ve benefited from Perihan’s “gifts” and feel perpetually indebted. When Barbara reveals, “Lorenzo suffered from cancer as a child. There was no cure. When I met Perihan, my son was living his final days,” we understand the complicated web of obligation that keeps Perihan’s circle loyal.
Each character carries their own darkness, creating a community bound by secrets, dependency, and a shared obsession with cheating death.
From Caterpillar to Chrysalis to…?
The novel’s ending delivers a disturbing twist that recontextualizes everything that came before. The final chapter reveals the true nature of Perihan’s “metempsychosis” plan—the transfer of her soul into Riccardo’s body. The metamorphosis is complete, but unlike a butterfly’s transformation which produces something wholly new, this change merely allows Perihan to continue her monstrous existence in a new vessel.
This climax speaks to the novel’s larger themes about the desperate fear of death and the dark possibilities of transformation. When Perihan declares, “The true freedom lies in leaving ourselves behind,” she reveals the ultimate horror—not death, but the complete erasure of self.
Cultural Reverberation
Turhan’s debut novel carries echoes of classic body horror from directors like David Cronenberg and literary influences ranging from Shirley Jackson to Franz Kafka. The butterfly motif inevitably recalls Nabokov, whom Perihan notably reads in the novel.
Where Their Monstrous Hearts distinguishes itself is in its exploration of migration and identity through a horror lens. Perihan’s declaration that “life begins with migration” and her comparison of the immigrant experience to a caterpillar’s transformation add depth to what might otherwise be a straightforward horror story.
Final Verdict: A Mesmerizing Debut
Their Monstrous Hearts isn’t perfect—its pacing sometimes stumbles, and certain character motivations could use more development—but it announces Turhan as a formidable new voice in gothic horror. The novel’s strengths far outweigh its weaknesses, delivering a reading experience that’s equal parts beautiful and disturbing.
For fans of carmilla, Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia, or the body horror of Carmen Maria Machado’s Her Body and Other Parties, this novel offers a fresh take on transformation horror with a distinctly cross-cultural perspective. Turhan’s background (revealed in the author’s note) of watching horror films with his grandmother adds poignant context to this tale of intergenerational monstrosity.
Their Monstrous Hearts lingers in the mind long after reading—much like the fragrance of tuberoses that permeates the villa—sweet, overwhelming, and ultimately impossible to escape. It’s a novel that asks us to consider the real monsters in our midst: those who would do anything, sacrifice anyone, to preserve their own existence.
The butterfly might be beautiful once it emerges from its chrysalis, but Turhan reminds us that transformation often comes at a terrible cost. Sometimes, the monster that emerges is far worse than the one that entered.
