What Genre Does 'Somnius' Belong To?

I just finished reading 'Somnius' and it’s this wild blend of genres that keeps you guessing. At its core, it’s a psychological thriller with layers of surreal horror—think 'Inception' meets 'Silent Hill.' The protagonist’s descent into a dreamworld that slowly warps into a nightmare feels like a dark fantasy at times, especially when mythical creatures start appearing. But what really hooked me was the sci-fi twist: the dreams are actually glitches in an experimental VR system. The author plays with reality so well that you’re never sure if a scene is happening in the real world, a dream, or a digital simulation. Fans of 'Black Mirror' would eat this up.

Diving into 'Somnius,' I was struck by how meticulously it defies genre labels. The first half reads like a classic mystery novel, with the main character investigating strange occurrences linked to his missing sister. Then it pivots into supernatural territory when ancient gods and dreamwalkers enter the picture.

The second act introduces cyberpunk elements—corporate espionage, neural implants—but frames them through a gothic lens. Imagine 'Blade Runner' if it were set in a decaying Victorian mansion. By the final chapters, the story evolves into outright cosmic horror, with reality unraveling in ways that reminded me of Lovecraft’s less tentacled works.

What’s brilliant is how the tone shifts seamlessly between these genres. One chapter feels like a hardboiled detective story, the next a poetic meditation on consciousness. The book’s refusal to stay in one lane makes it perfect for readers who enjoy 'The Sandman' or 'House of Leaves.'

Calling 'Somnius' just one genre feels like calling the ocean a puddle. Sure, it starts as urban fantasy—the main character inherits an antique clock that lets him enter others’ dreams. But then it morphs into something way darker.

The dream sequences aren’t fluffy fantasies; they’re brutal survival scenarios where nightmares physically hunt you. This turns what could’ve been a whimsical adventure into body horror territory fast. When the protagonist realizes his ‘gift’ is actually a curse binding him to a primordial sleep deity, the mythology hits like dark historical fiction crossed with a possession thriller.

Yet there’s this unexpected warmth in how it explores grief through dream logic. The way memories distort in sleep creates moments so painfully human, you forget you’re reading about monsters. It’s like if 'Pan’s Labyrinth' and 'The Twilight Zone' had a book baby.