I just finished the John Cleaver series by Dan Wells: I Am Not A Serial Killer, Mr. Monster, and I Don’t Want To Kill You. They’re supposedly horror, but they lack the thing that normally makes me dislike horror books: point-of-view characters that just react to events, and spend half the book being afraid. All the trappings of horror are present—a contemporary, run-down environment, dead bodies, blood and gore, and a scary (possibly supernatural) killer closing in on you—but it feels like fantasy. The protagonist is actively trying to achieve things, and you soon realize that this isn’t the kind of story where he’ll ultimately fail. But it is the kind of story where “protagonist” is at times a worryingly inaccurate synonym for “hero”. See the book titles.