Robin McMillion’s new book The Children of the Children is an ambitious cult drama that tackles religious manipulation with extreme realism. Set during the final years of the Cold War, the novel presents a chillingly believable apocalyptic religious community where charismatic leaders wield absolute control, followers surrender their autonomy, and children pay the ultimate price for their parents’ devotion. In some ways, it’s like an immersive fictional guide of how cults work and brainwash people.
The story follows Danny Calvert, a disillusioned college student caught in the aftermath of Vietnam-era protests and personal tragedy. When his friend Joe Del dies in jail after Danny introduced him to student activism, Danny’s guilt and search for meaning make him vulnerable to The Fishermen, an apocalyptic cult led by the increasingly authoritarian Father Joseph. The early chapters establish Danny as painfully relatable—smoking pot to “open his mind to the awesome wonders of life,” owing money for his impounded car, watching revolutionaries discuss bombing the football stadium while knowing deep down “the system was too big for a bunch of young, fumbling revolutionaries to bring down.” When The Fishermen offer him purpose and escape, it feels inevitable. As Danny (later renamed Jacob) penetrates deeper into the community, readers will keep turning the page to find out will he ever get out again.
The book is primarily told through Danny’s eyes, and the prose itself is well-written, clear, and well-edited and formatted for an independent publication. While the tone can be depressing, as this isn’t a light-humoured escape, there are moments of dark humour that provide necessary relief, like Father Joseph’s complaint upon arriving in London: “This drab city with its little beeping cars? Give me San Francisco. Even Texas. And these hoity-toity accents. At least Americans didn’t blather on about the Queen.” It’s a book that clearly takes itself quite seriously, so it is good to see some levity.
The cult psychology portrayal is really well done. While religious fiction has explored faith communities, a fully realized portrait of how intelligent, well-meaning people become trapped in authoritarian groups is rarer than you’d think in my opinion. Cults are a fascinating topic in our current era of misinformation and charismatic leaders, and this book captures the mechanics brilliantly. McMillion’s portrayal of groupthink is thorough and chilling. The gradual erosion of autonomy builds a visceral sense of claustrophobia. Danny’s character development from idealistic revolutionary to cult member is interesting to see develop.
The name change from Danny to Jacob might confuse some readers initially, but it effectively illustrates the cult’s practice of rewriting identity. I particularly appreciated the small touches like the Bible quotes heading each chapter, and how Danny’s evolution shows through in scenes like his confrontations with his sister Annette and his parents. I found myself increasingly invested in this book, particularly its historical grounding. The references to the My Lai massacre, campus protests, and Vietnam draft fears anchor the story in a specific moment.
The book is a good length and easy to read. I finished it in about two and a half hours, though it’s more interesting than thrilling. This isn’t an action-packed escape; it’s a measured examination of how control operates and how families fracture under ideology. I wouldn’t pick this book up for a page-turner. I found it engaging, but it is quite dark and slow at points, though never boring. It kind of gives modern classic vibes. The pacing serves the story’s purpose, allowing readers to feel the gradual erosion of autonomy rather than rushing through it. If you’re looking for breathless suspense, this might not be your book, but if you want something a bit bleak that will stay with you and make you think, it delivers.
The book ends with a very powerful note from the author, “Most of all, free yourself to think, challenge, and feel. Get outside of your bubble, including the bubble that tells you one person—or one group—has all the answers. They don’t have all the answers. They’re just trying to exploit you.” I think everyone in the world needs to hear this message (especially in the USA), so for this reason alone I recommend it. As the title suggests, much of the focus of the book is on Danny’s children, and the question of if they will follow in their father’s footsteps or rebel against the cult.
Overall, I found this to be a thought-provoking, well-executed book from an author with clear personal insight into this world of cults. Anyone interested in cults, religious psychology, or the lasting impact of the Vietnam era will get a lot out of this book. McMillion’s willingness to examine uncomfortable questions about belief, autonomy, and generational trauma from an intimate angle makes this well worth reading.
Final verdict: For fans of psychological drama, readers interested in cult dynamics and 1970s counterculture, The Children of the Children offers a sobering read. The perfect book for anyone who enjoys writers such as Margaret Atwood, Emma Cline, and those fascinated by the darker corners of American religious history.
You can get your copy of The Children of the Children here!
