NATIONAL BESTSELLER • She has always known the rules: Never resurrect anything larger than the palm of her hand. But that was before her sister died. . . . The stunning hardcover of And the River Drags Her Down features gorgeous stenciled edges and a matching case stamp! “Yun beautifully captures the haunting of family myths in this slow-burn horror. Eerie and poignant, And The River Drags Her Down will sweep readers into its relentless current.” —Trang Thanh Tran, New York Times bestselling author of She Is a Haunting A PUBLISHERS WEEKLY BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR When her older sister is found mysteriously drowned in the river that cuts through their small coastal town, Soojin Han disregards every rule and uses her ancestral magic to bring Mirae back from the dead. At first, the sisters are overjoyed, reveling in late-night escapades and the miracle of being together again, but Mirae grows tired of hiding from the world. She becomes restless and hungry . . . Driven by an insatiable desire to finish what she started in life, to unravel the truth that crushed her family so many years ago, Mirae is out for revenge. When their town is engulfed by increasingly destructive rain and a series of harrowing, unusual deaths, Soojin is forced to reckon with the fact that perhaps the sister she brought back isn’t the one she knew. ★ " A beautifully written, grief-filled tale that’s equal parts creepy and heart-wrenching." — Kirkus Reviews , starred review ★ " Lyrical prose renders meaningful, tear-jerking sequences and propulsive horror alongside frank examinations of the cycles of generational trauma." — Publishers Weekly , starred review ★ " The prose has a gut-punching clarity , calibrated with precision and elegance to deliver a deeply felt meditation on the desperate things people do to keep grief at bay, holding dearly onto what they know must go." — The Bulletin , starred review "Yun’s intent to help readers live with grief is well-executed as she reminds readers of the importance of facing it." — School Library Journal "The prose itself is brilliantly crafted and contributes heavily to how emotionally real the narrative feels without being overwrought. This is a nuanced, vibes-forward experience perfect for easing readers into more emotionally mature horror." — Booklist “Yun beautifully captures the haunting of family myths in this slow-burn horror. Eerie and poignant , And the River Drags Her Down will sweep readers into its relentless current.” —TRANG THANH TRAN, New York Times bestselling author of She Is a Haunting “A river-stained book about sisterhood, selfishness, and the human desire to be understood and loved . . . Heart-wrenchingly beautiful .” -- Andrew Joseph White, New York Times bestselling author of Hell Followed with Us and Compound Fracture “ Dark, taut, and perpetually stunning . . . Yun’s mesmerizing debut crafts a disquieting tale of lonely creatures unraveling loss, and what it means to return to yourself.” —WEN-YI LEE, author of The Dark We Know “ Compelling. Darkly beautiful and haunting , this Gothic tale leads you on a captivating journey that will linger long after you’ve finished reading.” —JOSH SILVER, author of HappyHead Jihyun Yun is a Korean American writer from the San Francisco Bay Area who now resides in Ann Arbor, Michigan. She is the author of Some Are Always Hungry , a Prairie Schooner Prize winning poetry collection. A recipient of various fellowships and grants, she received her BA in Psychology from UC Davis and an MFA in poetry from New York University. And The River Drags Her Down is her debut novel. 1. Despite her best efforts, the rat was dead. Soojin knew it by the way Milkis didn’t leap toward the cage door the moment she entered the room. Normally, the sound of her pawing the newspaper shavings or scuttling down the ramps was an omnipresent music. But this evening there was only perfect, unwelcome silence. She found Milkis in one of the hammocks hanging from the top tier of the cage, body curled like an apostrophe. She had not been dead long. Rigor mortis hadn’t set in yet, and her pink nose was still damp to the touch. At least she had died painlessly, unlike last time, when her mammary tumors grew as large as almonds from her underbelly. Soojin pulled the rat into her palm. Milkis was not a beautiful animal: unusually large for her species, with white fur grown patchy from skin conditions, eyes wet and protruding like pomegranate seeds. But she was cherished, and would be back soon. After donning latex gloves, Soojin laid the rat on a lined plastic tray and cut the tail off with a dissection scalpel swiped from biology class. It yielded beneath the blade easier than expected. A small, wet snap, not so different from cutting through the spine of a cutlassfish. Then she was transferring the severed length to a ziplock bag. This was what she would use to call Milkis back. The rest of the body must not be