literary gluttony

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️✨ | Devour

If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if The Hunger Games, a rogue AI, and a pampered murder-kitten got locked in a dungeon together with a flamethrower and a loot table, congratulations—you’re ready for Dungeon Crawler Carl.

Matt Dinniman kicks the door off the hinges with this blood-soaked, laugh-out-loud, genre-breaking spectacle of a book. In this post-apocalyptic fever dream, the Earth has been turned into a galactic reality show, complete with dungeon levels, loot crates, and alien sponsorships. Humans? Just contestants in an interstellar snuff game for ratings.

Enter Carl—a regular guy in boxers and Crocs—and his royal highness, Princess Donut: an overbred Persian cat with a flair for drama, murder, and grilled cheese. Together, they’re dumped into a labyrinthine hellscape where survival means climbing the dungeon’s many floors, avoiding death by gelatinous cube, and trying not to get canceled by their alien audience.

Dinniman’s voice is sharp, unapologetically weird, and painfully self-aware. The satire is razor-edged, poking fun at corporate greed, reality TV culture, toxic fandom, and the absurdity of RPG mechanics, all while building a surprisingly emotional core. Carl’s dry cynicism balances perfectly with Donut’s diva energy, and their dynamic? Pure chaotic delight. Think John McClane teamed up with Marie Antoinette, if she had claws and a kill count.

Now, to keep it honest—there are a few moments where the stats and mechanics get a little crunchy and slow the narrative’s momentum. But even when the pace hiccups, the world is so bizarre and magnetic that I didn’t mind lingering a little longer in the madness.

This is not a polite little fantasy. This is blood, guts, bad puns, killer vending machines, and surprisingly heartfelt character arcs served on a platter made of broken glass and sarcasm. And I devoured it.

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🍴 Devour or Nibble?

Devour. Preferably with one hand gripping a spellbook and the other petting a homicidal cat. Dungeon Crawler Carl is a brutal, brilliant, batshit buffet—and I’m already lining up for book two.

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