Book Review: The Infernal Twins by Steve Goldsmith

Reading The Infernal Twins is like being strapped into a rhetorical roller coaster whose safety checks are written in sarcasm and myth: the book opens with Persephone dispatching twin demigods Styx and Stonez on a “Nine-Lesson” field trip through a comic, sometimes vicious Dante-like syllabus, and it never lets you slip comfortably back into ordinary moral categories. The premise—two oppositional siblings sent to learn nine hard truths across the circles of Limbo, Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Wrath, Heresy, Violence, Fraud, and Treachery—gives the book a tight structural spine while allowing wildly different tonal experiments within each circle. Early sections lean satirical and jokey (Persephone’s quill-as-weapon and the assignment memo are slyly bureaucratic), then pivot to scenes that hit with a surprising emotional weight: Styx’s and Stonez’s sparring becomes a believable sibling psychology that the hellish set pieces exploit to show what those faults would do to a relationship over time. 

What distinguishes this edition from straight parody is its moral curiosity: the narrator(s) refuse easy condemnation and instead interrogate how vice and institutionally-sanctioned cruelty look from the inside. In Limbo the author uses dead philosophers and “odorless” despair to make apathy feel like an existential theft, while in Gluttony the grotesque banquet shows how excess converts pleasure into prison. Moments like the Greed marketplace—contracts that literally coil into cuffs—are clever, clear metaphors that read as both bitterly funny and faintly terrifying. The twin voices are well drawn: Styx’s skeptical, wry prudence balances Stonez’s hedonistic charm, and when the book lets those characters reflect (the “Twins Report” after their tour), the satire folds into something almost tender: hell as mirror, not only punishment. 

Formally, the book plays with genre in productive ways: there are satire riffs (Styx’s prologue riffs on biblical stories, Job, Revelation), mythorealist asides, and mock-academic asides that read like footnotes from a crazed theology course. Those tonal shifts mostly work because the voice behind them knows the material—its biblical and literary allusions land without feeling merely showy—and because the emotional throughline (the twins’ bond and the risk of betrayal) keeps the reader invested through the comic excess. On the downside, the book occasionally luxuriates in its own cleverness: some gags run a beat too long, and the mixture of outright vulgarity with more subtle moral insight won’t land for every reader. If you prefer a sustained, single mood or a gentler satire, this can feel a little breathless. 

Taken as a whole, The Infernal Twins does what the author promises in the Cycle description: it interrogates a “cosmic” truth (sin, consequence, institutional absurdity) with formal bravado. Its high points—the marketplace of Greed, Wrath’s furnace of repair-vs-rage, the treacherous ice that forces the twins to articulate a vow of mutual fidelity—achieve a rare blend of laugh and prickle. For readers who love language that’s smart, barbed, and theatrically ambitious, this is a rich, entertaining ride; for readers who prefer quieter moral exploration, expect to be repeatedly shoved off balance.

Verdict: This is a bold, uneven, often brilliant satire that earns its shocks because it also earns your sympathy for its protagonists. Highly recommended for readers who love language that’s smart, barbed, and theatrically ambitious – prepare for a rich, entertaining ride.

Rating: ★★★★☆ (4/5)