The City Beautiful, by Aden Polydoros, is a queer, Jewish historical fantasy. In this world, the question isn’t about whether dybbuks are real, but how to handle dybbuk possession.

It’s Chicago in 1893, right at the World’s Fair, and Alter Rosen is working hard and saving his money to bring his mother and little sisters from Romania to join him. He works long hours, shares a room with other boys in the same situation, dodges the nosy matchmaker across the hall, etc., sharing a lifestyle that’s very familiar from Jewish-American fiction. The whole thing has plenty of Yiddish insults and jokes too. I think the horrors and supernatural aspects of the novel worked so well for me because the setting felt familiar and realistic.

In the weeks leading up to the World’s Fair,  Jewish teenage boys are somehow disappearing from Chicago’s streets. The local police claim the young men must have run away, and with no bodies or evidence of the missing boys, it’s hard for the families to contest that, even when they’re absolutely sure their son or their friend didn’t just take off. This is just background as Yakov works and saves, and tries to keep a certain secret that dare not speak its name. But when Yakov — Alter’s friend, roommate, and maybe more — disappears one night, Alter is pulled into the mystery.

The City Beautiful is a supernatural mystery involving very real criminals plus intense magical elements from Jewish lore. Yakov’s spirit is intent on getting revenge for his murder, but this takes the form of an angry dybbuk who may take Alter down with him in the process, creating serious tension as Alter tries to unravel Yakov’s last days, before supernatural terrors and regular enemies come for him.

The investigation leads to basically everything Alter doesn’t want to think about, personally and socially. He has a wonderfully complicated motivation throughout most of the book. I was never quite sure how much was powered by his affection for Yakov and desire to see justice for someone he loved, and how much was the terrifying dybbuk possession, and it sort of doesn’t matter. There is never any question in this world that dybbuks are real (along with certain other supernatural abilities and dangers brought over from the old country), so we don’t waste any narrative time making excuses or trying to think up other explanations.

Without revealing too much, the investigation points to many forms of social inequality. Some of this is direct, with competing Yiddish newspapers directly discussing Jewish immigrant life.  But some are more subtle. Who is important enough to get police protection? Who is too powerful to be questioned by the police? Which immigrants have good English, and which ones have to obfuscate their home countries? Alter is a good narrator of this, because it’s all just background to him as he copes with his personal events and memories.

This is a beautiful story in a dangerous and dark world, but powered by friendship and justice. And The City Beautiful is also a queer love story, with believable, complicated affection. (I don’t want to give spoilers, because I want you to read this one yourself, but I have to say that I do really enjoy finding stories where a girl and a boy can just learn to like and respect each other without that growing compassion automatically becoming a romantic plot.)