The Electric Heir is, at its core, about what it means to be a survivor—both the experience of surviving, and the expectations that society places on survivors. Like Noam and Dara, I survived childhood sexual abuse and violence. Like Lehrer, my abuser was attractive and powerful and charismatic. Like Dara, I was not believed when I came forward…not until other girls said he’d done it to them too. Girls who more closely fit the stereotype of abuse survivors.

So many victims are afraid to speak up, a fear their abusers manipulate to say no one would believe you, not when they could believe me instead. Abuse takes a massive toll on victims’ mental health, and this, in turn, can be used as a justification for the abuser’s behavior—he’s just looking for attention; she misunderstood the situation. In The Electric Heir, Noam struggles to define what’s happening to him as abuse, even as Dara begins the slow road to recovery. Noam and Dara experienced the abuse differently, reacting in very different ways—and each must face Lehrer on his own terms.

If there is anything I want the reader to understand when they read The Electric Heir, it is this: there’s no one way to be a survivor. To understand Noam and Dara’s story is to understand a story of not being believed—of facing your abuser alone—of not being the kind of victim people expect. And all I want is for these characters to be believed.

It’s really important to me that everyone who reads this book has a safe experience. I posted detailed content warnings for The Fever King (here), and most of them also apply to this book–so I recommend checking out that post as well.

However…this book is a lot darker than TFK. The Electric Heir is an exploration of the narratives we tell ourselves in order to survive abuse while it’s happening, and the slow journey of being able to define and face our trauma after it’s over.

One thing I want to make clear is that some characters in this book will initially express ideas and narratives about abuse that are harmful and false, such as denying that abuse is occuring or denying that certain acts constitute abuse. Many abuse victims, including myself, once believed similar narratives–it was the only way we were able to survive the abuse while it was going on.

However, these narratives are ultimately challenged. That’s part of the characters’ journeys in this book. So I just wanna be clear that even if a character expresses a certain belief or beliefs at a given point, that is not an endorsement on my part. I also wanna be clear that there is a lot of denial going on in this book, especially in the first half–and although the denial doesn’t last, if this is something that will be difficult for you to read, you should know this up front.

I wrote this book based off my own lived experiences as a survivor, which are not universal, and which are not always clean. To survive is to fight for your life, for your self-concept, for the right to your own agency and autonomy. That’s messy business. This book reflects that messiness.

Okay. Now that’s been said, let’s move on to the specific content warnings. First, I’ll list a general set of content warnings. Details will be under the read-more cut, and might contain spoilers.

Spoiler-free list:

• intergenerational trauma, genocide
• violence
• abuse
• attempted rape
• mental health and suicide
• slut-shaming
• victim-blaming
• emetophobia
• drug and alcohol abuse
• parental death
• ableist language

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