Until Death by Mary Berman is a darkly funny horror novel about how easily love can become a trap

There’s a moment in Until Death when it becomes clear that the real horror isn’t just the eerie chapel, the controlling future in-laws, or the increasingly sinister wedding planning. It’s the realization that Ophelia has slowly stopped trusting her own instincts. That loss of self feels far more unsettling than any supernatural element lurking in the background, and it’s what gives Mary Berman’s debut its sharpest edge.

The novel follows Ophelia Cohen, a woman who never intended to get married after watching her parents’ relationship sour her on the entire institution. But as her mother’s dementia worsens, Ophelia becomes consumed by the fear of ending up alone. When she meets Luke—a man who seems almost custom-built to satisfy both her emotional vulnerabilities and her mother’s wishes—marriage suddenly feels less impossible. From there, the story spirals into a chaotic blend of wedding horror, psychological manipulation, family pressure, and increasingly alarming red flags.

The first section of the novel moves at an almost exhausting speed. Scenes blur together as Ophelia ricochets from one interaction to the next with barely any transition. At times, the pacing feels so relentless that it becomes difficult to fully orient yourself within the story. New conflicts appear instantly, and Ophelia often seems to arrive in emotional states without the narrative fully showing how she got there. Some readers may find that momentum exhilarating, while others may wish the novel paused occasionally long enough to let the tension settle before charging ahead again.

Ironically, that frantic pacing also mirrors Ophelia’s psychological state. The novel captures the disorienting experience of being swept into a relationship that moves too quickly while outside voices insist that everything happening is normal—even romantic. One of the book’s strongest elements is how convincingly it portrays the mechanisms that pull intelligent people into abusive dynamics. Luke’s manipulation isn’t presented as cartoonishly obvious. Instead, Berman shows how gaslighting, love bombing, guilt, and social expectations work together until Ophelia begins surrendering pieces of herself almost without noticing.

What makes this particularly effective is the way the novel ties those pressures specifically to marriage. Friends, family members, and wedding culture itself all reinforce the idea that Ophelia should feel lucky to have found someone willing to commit to her. The book skewers the wedding industrial complex with a vicious sense of humor, turning bridal expectations into something grotesque and predatory. Fans of Rachel Harrison will probably find a lot to enjoy here, especially readers who appreciate horror that balances absurdity, emotional vulnerability, and social satire.

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Another fascinating thread running through the novel is its treatment of Ophelia’s mother’s dementia. Recently, there seems to be a growing number of novels centered around daughters caring for mothers with Alzheimer’s disease or other forms of cognitive decline. I happened to be reading another novel with a nearly identical element at the same time as this one, and it made me wonder what collective anxieties contemporary writers are processing through these stories. Fear of aging parents? Fear of losing identity? Fear of inheriting instability? Whatever the reason, Berman uses the theme in an especially compelling way.

Rather than treating the mother’s illness solely as emotional backdrop, the novel draws unsettling parallels between her deterioration and Ophelia’s own gradual loss of agency under Luke’s influence. As the story progresses, Ophelia begins doubting her own memory, perception, and judgment in ways that eerily mirror her mother’s condition. The comparison gives the book a deeper emotional current beneath all the horror and dark comedy.

While the novel occasionally feels messy in its execution, it never feels timid. Until Death is strange, aggressive, funny, anxious, and genuinely unnerving in ways that linger long after the final pages. It understands that the scariest thing about manipulation is not how forcefully it arrives, but how easily it can masquerade as love, concern, or tradition until someone no longer recognizes themselves inside it.

What horror novels have unsettled you not because of monsters, but because of how believable the relationships felt? Let me know in the comments.

Until Death releases May 19, 2026. An advance reader copy of this book (ARC) was provided to me by the publisher via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

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• Women in horror book recommendations (FanFi Addict)
• Feral, fearless, and long overdue (Los Angeles Review of Books)
• Dark and disturbing: 8 horror novels by women (The Seattle Public Library)

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