The delightfully named Leopoldo Gout's debut horror novel, Ghost Radio, went unloved. Here's the description:
Emanating from the cramped bowels of a dimly lit station—the demented dreamchild of hip, melancholy host Joaquin—Ghost Radio is a sanctuary for sleepless denizens of the night lost halfway between this world and the next. A call-in talk show that invites listeners to share scary stories about vampires and poltergeists, it is a bona fide cult phenomenon. Joined in the booth by his darkly beautiful girlfriend, Alondra, and his devoted engineer, Watt, Joaquin masks his skepticism, encouraging callers to withhold nothing as they spin nightmares and grotesqueries they swear are true.
But the wall separating reality from delusion—the living from the dead—is crumbling because Ghost Radio is going national, picked up for syndication by a huge conglomerate. And no one—not Joaquin, Alondra, or Watt—is even remotely prepared for what's coming next . . .
I don't know what's wrong with you people, not taking that book. For shame! The other fiction book you ignored was The Lie, a coming-of-age novel about a young African-American boy who accidentally shoots and kills hiss older brother and then blames the murder on a truck full of white boys.
If you want any of these books, you will probably be able to find them at the Value Village next door. Nobody at Slog Happy wanted them.