There is something particularly unsettling about a small Southern town where everyone knows something you don’t.

The friendly conversations, the peculiar local traditions, the families who have lived there for generations, and the places everyone seems to instinctively avoid.

Christopher Buehlman’s Those Across the River takes that familiar Southern Gothic setup and turns it into something considerably darker.

Set in Depression-era Georgia, the novel combines small-town life, family secrets, the lingering horrors of slavery, and a supernatural presence lurking in the woods beyond a river.

For much of the book, Buehlman does an excellent job establishing an atmosphere of dread. You get the sense that something terrible exists just beyond the town’s borders, and that the residents have spent generations learning how to live with it.

I enjoyed this book quite a bit, particularly its setting, historical connections, and the mystery surrounding the traditions of Whitbrow.

My biggest criticism is probably a familiar one for readers of my Southern Reads reviews.

Sometimes the mystery is scarier than the explanation.

And while the novel eventually becomes considerably more violent and direct, I found the earlier portions, when the danger remained largely unknown, to be its strongest.

Still, Those Across the River is an impressive debut from Buehlman and a particularly good example of Southern Gothic horror that uses the region’s history as more than just scenery.

What’s It About?

The year is 1935.

Frank Nichols is a World War I veteran and former college professor whose academic career has fallen apart following a scandal involving his relationship with Eudora, or Dora.

Looking for a fresh start, the couple moves to Whitbrow, a small Georgia town where Frank has inherited a house from his late aunt.

Their plan is relatively simple.

Dora will teach school, Frank will work on a book, and they’ll attempt to establish a quieter life away from the problems they’ve left behind.

Frank’s proposed book concerns his family history, specifically the Savoyard Plantation, once owned by one of his ancestors.

Unfortunately, that family history is anything but pleasant.

His ancestor was a particularly brutal enslaver, and the plantation’s violent past has become part of the local history that nobody seems especially interested in discussing.

The ruins still stand somewhere across the river, deep within a stretch of woods the townspeople prefer to avoid.

Then there’s the matter of the pigs.

For generations, Whitbrow has maintained a strange tradition involving the release of pigs into the woods beyond the river.

It’s treated as an ordinary part of life, something the town has always done, even if nobody seems particularly interested in explaining why.

Frank, being a historian, naturally becomes curious.

Why does the town maintain such a peculiar ritual? Why are the residents so reluctant to venture across the river? And why did his aunt leave him a warning about the property he inherited?

As Frank begins investigating his family’s history, it becomes increasingly apparent that the people of Whitbrow aren’t simply being superstitious.

They’re afraid.

And there is a very good reason for that fear.

I’ll leave the rest of the mystery alone because discovering what’s happening across the river is a significant part of the book’s appeal.

The History Behind the Horror

One of the things I appreciate most about Those Across the River is how deliberately Buehlman constructed its setting.

Published in 2011, the novel was his debut and would go on to receive a nomination for the World Fantasy Award.

The story takes place in 1935, during the Great Depression, when many rural Southern communities were struggling economically and remained relatively isolated.

That isolation works particularly well for horror.

Whitbrow is a town largely dependent on its own traditions and people. The residents have established ways of doing things, and they aren’t particularly interested in outsiders challenging those arrangements.

But the historical element goes considerably deeper than economic hardship or geographical isolation.

The Savoyard Plantation, once owned by Frank’s ancestor, represents a much darker piece of Southern history.

The plantation’s legacy of slavery and brutality becomes central to the supernatural events unfolding around Whitbrow.

Buehlman uses that history to create a story in which the consequences of violence committed generations earlier have never truly disappeared.

It’s an interesting approach to Southern Gothic horror.

There are plenty of novels involving cursed properties, abandoned plantations, and troubled family histories.

But what makes this particular premise effective is the relationship between the town’s present and its past.

Whitbrow has spent generations accommodating something terrible.

The residents have inherited an arrangement they don’t entirely control, and their unusual traditions have become part of the community’s daily life.

That creates an especially unsettling kind of horror.

Sometimes people become so accustomed to living alongside something terrible that they stop questioning it.

At least until somebody comes along and starts asking questions.

What Worked

The Southern Gothic Atmosphere

For me, this is the strongest aspect of the novel.

Buehlman creates a version of rural Georgia that feels both inviting and deeply unsettling.

There are the small-town conversations, local personalities, social gatherings, familiar routines, and the sense that everybody knows everybody else’s business.

And then there are the woods.

The river creates an effective boundary between the ordinary world of Whitbrow and whatever exists beyond it.

On one side, you have the community with its homes, businesses, and traditions.

On the other, the abandoned plantation and a stretch of wilderness the townspeople have collectively decided is best left alone.

It’s a simple setup, but incredibly effective.

What makes the atmosphere work so well is that the residents don’t behave like people encountering something strange for the first time.

They’ve lived with this fear for generations.

The woods aren’t frightening because nobody knows what’s out there.

They’re frightening because some people apparently do.

Buehlman’s descriptions of the heat, landscape, river, and surrounding wilderness create an oppressive atmosphere that fits the story beautifully.

And I think the novel is at its best when he’s allowing those surroundings to do much of the work.

The Mystery Surrounding the Pigs

This might be my favorite part of the book’s early setup.

There is something inherently disturbing about an entire community maintaining a tradition that seems completely ridiculous to an outsider.

The people involved don’t necessarily behave as though anything unusual is happening.

It’s simply something they’ve always done.

And that makes it considerably creepier.

The ritual involving the pigs is strange enough to raise questions, but familiar enough to the residents that Frank initially has reason to dismiss it as another peculiar small-town custom.

But as the story develops, the tradition begins to take on a much more sinister meaning.

I particularly enjoyed how Buehlman gradually reveals information about Whitbrow without immediately explaining everything.

You know something is wrong.

You know the residents are hiding something.

But you don’t know exactly what.

For a good portion of the novel, that uncertainty creates genuine tension.

Frank and Dora

I thought Frank and Dora provided a solid emotional foundation for the story.

They aren’t simply two characters dropped into a haunted town so that terrible things can happen to them.

They arrive with their own complicated history and genuine reasons for wanting a fresh start.

Frank is a veteran still carrying memories of the First World War. His academic career has collapsed, and his attempts to rebuild his life are uncertain.

Dora brings some much-needed warmth and personality to the story.

Their relationship gives the early sections a sense of normalcy, which becomes increasingly valuable once things begin going wrong.

I also appreciate that Frank isn’t portrayed as a fearless adventurer prepared to confront whatever lurks in the woods.

He’s a man who has already experienced considerable suffering and would probably prefer a quieter life.

Unfortunately, he has chosen a particularly terrible place to find one.

The Historical Foundation

I enjoy horror that draws from real history and regional folklore, particularly when the historical background is essential to the supernatural events.

And Buehlman does something interesting here.

The plantation isn’t merely an abandoned building conveniently located in a creepy stretch of woods.

Its history is directly connected to the events unfolding around Whitbrow.

The violence associated with the Savoyard family is rooted in the very real history of slavery in the American South.

The novel then builds its supernatural premise around the consequences of that history.

I think this gives Those Across the River a stronger identity than it would have had as a conventional monster story.

The people of Whitbrow are living with the consequences of decisions and events that occurred long before most of them were born.

And Frank’s connection to those events makes his arrival considerably more complicated than he initially realizes.

Buehlman’s Writing

Buehlman is a talented writer, and his prose is one of the reasons this book works as well as it does.

He has a particular talent for establishing a sense of place.

The descriptions are detailed without constantly slowing everything down, and the historical setting feels natural rather than something constructed entirely through references to old cars, clothing, and technology.

There’s an almost literary quality to portions of the novel that fits the Southern Gothic tradition.

And when the horror finally becomes more direct, the contrast between that elegant writing and the increasingly brutal events can be quite effective.

What Didn’t Work

The Mystery Is Better Than the Revelation

This was probably my biggest issue with the novel.

And if you’ve read my review of The Twisted Ones, you’ll recognize the complaint.

Sometimes I prefer not knowing exactly what’s hiding in the woods.

During the early sections of Those Across the River, Buehlman establishes a genuinely unsettling mystery.

The locals are afraid of the river. They maintain peculiar traditions. There’s an abandoned plantation with a violent history. And Frank begins noticing that something about the entire arrangement is deeply wrong.

I found all of that fascinating.

Eventually, however, Buehlman has to reveal what’s happening.

And when he does, the story changes.

What begins as an atmospheric Southern Gothic mystery becomes a much more direct supernatural horror novel.

There is considerably more action, violence, and confrontation.

Some readers will probably prefer that transition.

And I certainly don’t think the later portions are bad.

But for me, a little of the earlier tension disappears once the mystery becomes more concrete.

The unknown threat across the river was often more frightening than the threat I could finally understand.

The Pacing and Change in Tone

My pacing score is a 3.8/5, and I think that reflects a novel that does several things well but occasionally struggles with the transition between its different approaches to horror.

The early sections take time establishing the town, its residents, and the mystery surrounding the woods.

I generally enjoyed that buildup.

There were moments, however, when I felt the story could have moved along a little faster.

Then, once the larger mystery begins unraveling, the novel moves in a considerably different direction.

The pace accelerates, the violence increases, and the atmospheric mystery gives way to more straightforward horror.

It’s an entertaining transition, but not always a perfectly smooth one.

I also occasionally found myself frustrated with Frank’s determination to investigate things that practically everyone around him was warning him to leave alone.

Of course, without his curiosity, we wouldn’t have much of a novel.

Still, there are moments when I wanted him to recognize that perhaps the people who have lived in Whitbrow for generations might know something he doesn’t.

The Treatment of Slavery’s Legacy

This is probably the most complicated aspect of the novel to evaluate.

Buehlman builds much of the supernatural premise around the atrocities committed at the Savoyard Plantation.

It’s a compelling foundation for a Southern Gothic story, and I appreciate that he incorporates a darker, historically grounded side of the region rather than relying entirely on romanticized imagery.

But I also think the novel could have explored some of those historical implications more deeply.

Much of the story unfolds through Frank, a descendant of the plantation owner responsible for that brutality.

That perspective works for the mystery, but it also means that the history of slavery is largely approached through his investigation.

The experiences and perspectives of those who were enslaved, and the generations that followed, could have received more attention.

I’m not suggesting that every horror novel built around historical events needs to become a comprehensive history lesson.

But when slavery plays such a central role in the supernatural premise, I think there is an opportunity to examine its legacy more fully.

Southern Reads Scorecard

Story — 4/5

A compelling combination of Southern Gothic mystery, historical tragedy, and supernatural horror. The central premise works particularly well, although the transition into more direct horror changes the character of the novel.

Characters — 4/5

Frank and Dora have a believable relationship and enough personal history to make their situation interesting. The supporting cast helps bring Whitbrow to life, even if some characters primarily exist to preserve or eventually reveal the town’s secrets.

Atmosphere — 4.5/5

One of the novel’s greatest strengths. The oppressive Georgia heat, isolated woods, ruined plantation, and peculiar traditions create an excellent Southern Gothic setting.

Pacing — 3.8/5

The slow-burning mystery is generally effective, although some portions could move faster. Once the supernatural threat becomes more direct, the story accelerates considerably, but the tonal transition isn’t entirely seamless.

Originality — 4/5

The novel borrows from familiar horror traditions involving cursed communities, inherited evil, and supernatural predators. But its historical foundation, rural Georgia setting, and unusual local customs help distinguish it from more conventional monster stories.

Creep Factor — 4/5

The forbidden woods, strange rituals, and sense that an entire community is deliberately concealing something create genuine dread. The later horror is more visceral, but the early mystery is arguably the most unsettling element.

Overall — 4/5

I enjoyed Those Across the River.

The atmosphere is excellent, Whitbrow feels like an actual community, and the mystery surrounding the river provides some genuinely unsettling moments.

Buehlman’s writing is particularly strong, and I appreciate how thoroughly he connects the supernatural elements to the town’s historical background.

It’s also a story that changes considerably as it progresses.

The first portion is largely concerned with mystery, isolation, and the uncomfortable feeling that everyone knows something Frank doesn’t.

The later sections become considerably more violent and direct.

That transition works in some respects, but I found myself missing a little of the uncertainty that made the early chapters so effective.

I also think there are aspects of the historical story that could have received more attention.

But overall, this is a very good Southern Gothic horror novel and an impressive debut from Buehlman.

If you enjoy stories about isolated communities, dark family histories, peculiar local customs, and the possibility that something terrible is waiting just beyond the tree line, this is absolutely worth reading.

The Southern Blueprint Factor: 5/5

For Southern Reads, the Southern Blueprint Factor is separate from my overall review score.

The question isn’t simply whether a novel takes place somewhere in the American South.

It’s whether the region itself is essential to the story.

Does the landscape shape the events? Does the history influence the characters? Could you move the entire story somewhere else and still tell essentially the same tale?

With Those Across the River, I think the Southern connection is exceptional.

This book earns a 5/5.

The setting is rural Georgia in 1935, and nearly everything about the story is connected to that particular time and place.

The history of slavery, the abandoned plantation, the economic circumstances of the Great Depression, and the cultural traditions of a small Southern community all help establish the story’s identity.

Even the supernatural events are inseparable from the region’s historical background.

You couldn’t simply move the novel to rural Maine or an isolated English village without fundamentally changing what it’s about.

The abandoned plantation isn’t just a creepy building.

The river isn’t merely a geographical obstacle.

And Whitbrow isn’t simply another small town dealing with a supernatural problem.

Its history has shaped the lives of its residents for generations.

I also appreciate that Buehlman doesn’t rely exclusively on familiar Southern Gothic imagery to create the atmosphere.

He uses the people, their traditions, their relationships, and the uncomfortable realities of their shared history.

That’s the kind of Southern Gothic fiction I enjoy.

Stories that use the region’s beauty, history, contradictions, and darker corners to create something that couldn’t exist quite the same way anywhere else.

Those Across the River is not a perfect novel.

But its Southern identity is an essential part of everything Buehlman is trying to do.

And that’s a 5/5 Southern Blueprint Factor in my book.

Want to Read Those Across the River?

If Those Across the River sounds like your kind of book, you can pick up a copy through the Southern Reads Bookshop on Bookshop.org.

Purchases made through my Bookshop.org affiliate links help support The Southern Blueprint at no additional cost to you, while Bookshop.org also supports independent bookstores.

So if you’re planning to grab a copy anyway, it’s an easy way to support both.

Join the Southern Reads Book Club

Those Across the River was our October 2026 selection inside the Hidden Pine Lodge Book Club.

Each month, we choose a book connected to the American South, whether that’s Southern Gothic fiction, true crime, folklore, history, or something a little harder to categorize.

Then we get together inside The Bookhouse on Discord to discuss what worked, what didn’t, and what everyone thought about the story.

It’s a great excuse to discover books you might not otherwise pick up and spend some time talking with people who appreciate a good Southern story.

If that sounds like your kind of reading club, join us at The Hidden Pine Lodge on Patreon.

Membership is just $4 per month and helps support The Southern Blueprint.

And if there’s one thing Those Across the River taught us, it’s that when the locals tell you not to cross the river, perhaps you should listen.