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She's a Doll

Barbara Truelove

Horror
Includes a Dog
LGBTQIA+

At a glance

🤪
Unhinged main character
🪄
Reincarnate as a doll
🙂
Good for her
🩷
We love a pink cover

Lucy isn’t a normal girl. Ghost. Victim. Killer. She’s a doll on a mission—to find the man who killed her and return the favor.

Lucy McQuinn has been murdered, but she’s not about to go quietly. If she doesn’t get to keep breathing, then neither does Kyle, her killer. Possessing the body of an antique doll, she sets out on a quest for revenge. But it’s hard when you’re eighteen inches tall and made of porcelain.

For help, she turns to Nicola, a human and fellow outsider with her own reasons to hate Kyle. But in their small idyllic town, no one wants to hear the truth, especially not about such a promising young man. If they can’t expose his crimes, Lucy will have to roll up her lacy little sleeves and teach him a lesson the old-fashioned way—as slowly and painfully as possible.

From LA Times bestselling author Barbara Truelove, She’s a Doll is a ghoulish and gleeful tribute to the unstoppable power of female rage and a love letter to the friends who have our back—in this life and the next.

Don’t just take
our word for it

"She's A Doll is one wickedly clever and unforgettable tale of female rage. Lucy's irreverent perspective disturbs and delights in all the ways it should, and at the center of the novel's wonderfully audacious set-up is a deeply moving and thoughtfully crafted rallying cry for justice. Barbara Truelove pulls no punches. Whether hot, cold, or by possessed doll, and especially when it's this riveting and fantastically done? Revenge is a dish best served."

- Courtney Summers, New York Times bestselling author

"A gut punch of a book, chock full of queerness and revenge. There's so much talent and originality in these pages-Barb could write a grocery list and I'd be begging to read it."

- Eli Snow, author of The Divine Gardener's Handbook

"Witty, gut-wrenching, and endlessly creative, Truelove's powerful story of female rage highlights the complexities of justice and the strength of survivors. Lucy and Nicola's campaign for revenge will haunt your mind long after you finish reading."

- Ana Davis, author of My Keen Knife

Get a taste

There are a lot of really profound, poetic people who have said a lot of really profound, poetic things about death. But you know, it occurs to me that none of them had actually died when they said those things.

Shakespeare, laying down verses about heroism and heavenly choirs. Edgar Allan Poe, ruminating on the sweet rest that must await. J. M. Barrie, the guy who put the words “to die will be an awfully big adventure” into Peter Pan’s mouth.

Noobs.

No better than the guy who complains about the footy from his plush armchair.

I wish I could talk to Shakespeare, Poe, and Barrie. I’d ask if getting their tickets punched by the ferryman changed their tunes. Probably it didn’t. Profound, poetic people tend to stay profound and poetic, even when you wish they’d maybe calm down a little. And people like me… well…

I don’t have anything profound or poetic to say about dying. I don’t have anything pretty to say about it either. It sucked. It really fucking sucked. I wish it hadn’t happened, but it did. I wish he hadn’t happened, but he did.

He murdered me, and I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it, even when it was the last thing in the world I wanted to think about.

It happened in the evening. The early evening, to be specific, which feels like getting handed fifteen cents when you’re owed a fifty. That motherfucker didn’t kill me in the morning, like a bird on a worm. He didn’t kill me at the stroke of midnight either, the way a good, honest murderer would’ve done it. He killed me after sundown, but before the good TV shows came on. He killed me during peak-hour traffic. He killed me at his convenience.

But do you know what the kicker is? The thing that short-changes those fifteen cents down to five? The real twist of the knife?

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Book notes

  • 🙋‍♀️ Why we chose

    Let’s create a linguistic mood board here, shall we? This book is dead goth girl-turned-bridal doll, chipped porcelain and ripped veils, emo music and Manic Panic hair dye, teacups and Mad Hatter cosplays, glue-guns and safety pins and staples, punk rock DIY meets Lewis Caroll surrealism. It’s queer and feminist and totally anti-establishment, a “fuck you” howled into the void or graffitied across a bathroom stall—except instead of nihilistic, it feels hopeful, and heart-warming, and fun.

    She’s a Doll is as strange as it looks—a seething slasher told from the POV of a literal antique doll who will stop at nothing in her quest for revenge. It’s a wild ride: sometimes serious, sometimes campy as hell, with all the absurdity you might expect from an eighteen-inch toy hellbent on a vicious, blood-soaked killing spree.

    August reading vibes: Read this book in the parking lot, carseat sticky with sweat as you wait for the spoils of your family Costco run or IKEA trip or whatever is your personal equivalent. This one’s for the suburban summer: we’re talking scorched concrete, endless days of summer holidays surviving off vodka-spiked gatorade and gas-station jerky. It’s all the boredom and rage of a wronged woman right on the cusp of something more—of becoming the person (or…doll?) she was always meant to be.

  • ⚠️ Content warnings

    Sexual assault, non-violent animal death (old age).