The Reformatory by Tananarive Due

As you may or may not have noticed, I’ve been really into the horror genre lately, so naturally I wanted to keep diving deeper into the genre. Having not many friends who read horror, I thought that the only place I could get solid recommendations was Bookstagram. That’s when I stumbled upon The Reformatory by Tananarive Due. 

Set in 1950s Florida at the height of Jim Crow, The Reformatory follows twelve-year-old Robbie Stephens Jr., who is sentenced to six months at the Gracetown School for Boys after kicking the son of the town’s most powerful landowner in defense of his sister, Gloria. At The Reformatory, Robbie uses his unique ability to see haints to uncover the dark and terrifying truths behind the boys who have mysteriously gone missing.

I don’t typically gravitate toward historical fiction, but Due’s writing is exceptional, and the storytelling feels unlike anything I’ve encountered before. I was immediately invested in Gloria and Robbie as protagonists; Due has you rooting for their survival from the very first page. The setting of Gracetown is so vividly drawn that it becomes a character in its own right, and the tight-knit community of Lower Spruce woven throughout the narrative adds both depth and tension to the story. 

Characters like Miz Lottie and her two boys, Miss Anne, and the NAACP lawyers added so much dimension and each of them had their own story to tell. However, one character who left me with lingering questions, and ultimately felt somewhat incomplete, was Loehmann, the Jewish social worker introduced early in the book. We get only a brief look into his life and the struggles he faces living in Gracetown, as well as the ways he assists both Robbie and Gloria. After that, though, he largely disappears from the latter half of the story without any further development.

The Reformatory has a central villain, but the actual villain is a system of dehumanization.

Aside from the characters, I was especially drawn to the history of haints, which led me to learn more about them. Haints originate in the beliefs of the Gullah Geechee people, descendants of enslaved West and Central Africans who were brought to the American South. They understood haints as harmful supernatural spirits capable of causing danger or misfortune, restless souls with unfinished business in the world of the living. As Gullah communities grew across the South, their traditions spread as well. One of these customs was painting doors, porches, and ceilings “haint blue,” a color believed to protect households by warding off malevolent spirits. 

Robbie encounters several haints who hint that something far more sinister has occurred, and is still happening, at The Reformatory. They teach him a thing or two about surviving Superintendent Haddock, the Funhouse, and even the other boys. But there’s always a twist where haints are concerned, which makes the book all the more thrilling, and you truly never see it coming. 

While I did love the haints, I found this book genuinely terrifying not because of them, but because of the reality of the Jim Crow South. It feels especially vital today, when there are ongoing efforts to minimize or even erase the brutal truths of this period in our nation’s history. Characters like Superintendent Haddock are fictional, yes, but the institution he works for is very, very  real. At the end of the book, the author’s note explains that the story was heavily inspired by Due’s own family member, who was sent to the Dozier School for Boys in Marianna, Florida. The deplorable conditions of Gracetown School for Boys are not fiction, they reflect the reality. As Due writes in the author’s note, “The Reformatory has a central villain, but the actual villain is a system of dehumanization,” a reality that still holds true today. 

This book is deeply gut-wrenching and often dark, yet it also contains many heartfelt moments. I loved it. It’s clear as you read how much research went into the novel, making it both fascinating and richly informative. At the same time, Due takes bold creative liberties that never dilute the core allegory, if anything, they strengthen it.

Massicot, Kelly. “Why Are Southern Porch Ceilings Painted ‘Haint’ Blue.” MyNewOrleans.com, October 17, 2025.