Twilight Ridge

As I mentioned in an earlier column, after I had criticized the state of new publisher Evileye Books’ website, they responded by sending me a box of their titles.  I figured I owed them a review for that, so I picked out — pretty much at random — Orrin Grey’s collection Never Bet the Devil and Other Warnings.  I was familiar with Grey’s name, but had never read anything by him.  What followed was one of the most pleasant unexpected surprises that I’ve had in a while.

Never Bet the Devil contains nine stories (two of which are debuting here) and a novella.  The tales are consistently fast-paced, frequently feature plots and milieus refreshingly far from the norm, and display evidence of Grey’s obvious, genuine enthusiasm for his subject matter.  For example, in “Nearly Human,” the biographer of the scandalous, purported devil-worshipper Dr. Edward Tate is invited by Tate’s surviving family to investigate what seems to be a poltergeist haunting his former house.  What the biographer discovers is decidedly unexpected (as is fortunately the case with most of the stories here); call this one a nicely-updated pulp thriller.  A novel approach can also be found in “The Barghest,” wherein some highly unusual bones under examination by an archeologist and his assistant yield startling results.  It’s ultimately a riff on a popular trope, but that fact is kept well-cloaked until the end.  The true essence of oil– i.e., the stuff of which it’s made — is explored in “Black Hill,” as an oil company owner comes face-to-face with an evil that dwells below the wells.

“The Seventh Picture” is sort of a fiction equivalent of the found-footage films that have proven so enduringly popular in the wake of The Blair Witch Project.  A film crew making a documentary about deceased producer/director Arnold Zenda and his mysterious, lost final film The King in Yellow stumbles upon much more than they bargained for while shooting in Zenda’s abandoned, fire-damaged mansion.  I’m a sucker for stories about lost films (e.g., Joel Lane’s The Witnesses Are Gone and Ramsey Campbell’s Ancient Images) and this taut piece of terror was the highlight of the collection for me.  “Count Brass” features an engaging 2nd-person narrative style, with the protagonist revealing that his jazz-musician grandfather made a deal with the devil (the eponymous “Count Brass”), an arrangement that has repercussions far beyond what the elder anticipated.

Novella “The Mysterious Flame, which closes out the collection, is by far the longest story here, and Grey struggles at times working with the larger canvas.  In the end, though, this tale of a golem who clings to the shadows and the strange, seemingly revived-from-the-dead figure who pursues him inexorably pulls in the reader.

I love it when collections include author’s notes for each story, and Never Bet the Devil does so, affording Grey the chance to add some insight into the stories’ genesis and publishing history.

All in all, this debut collection turned out to be one of those all-too-rare serendipitous discoveries of a fresh new talent.  There’s nary a dud to be found in these pages, and I heartily recommend that you take a chance on Never Bet the Devil.

The backstory of The Ghosts & Scholars Book of Shadows, edited by Rosemary Pardoe and published by Sarob Press, is as interesting as the fiction contained within.  As Pardoe explains in her introduction, she was the longtime editor of the late, lamented Ghosts & Scholars magazine, a publication dedicated to 19th-century ghost story master M.R. James and the style of fiction he’s inspired.

G&S ceased publishing after issue #33 in 2001 and was essentially supplanted by the Ghosts & Scholars Newsletter, which initially had an exclusively non-fiction focus. More recently, though, Pardoe has sponsored some fiction competitions through the Newsletter, with the most recent such contest — a challenge to come up with prequels or sequels to James’ stories — spawning this anthology.

Across all 12 stories gathered here, the tone and atmosphere is amazingly consistent (even if not necessarily “Jamesian”), the sense of time and place unerrringly strong.  As with almost any anthology, however, the quality of the stories is not quite so consistent.  Fortunately, there are no truly bad stories to weigh down the collection, but there are definitely a few that eschew pacing in favor of atmosphere — which is to say they’re downright slow, even by antiquarian standards.

Christopher Harman’s “Quis Est Iste?” was judged to be the winner of the aforementioned contest, and it’s not hard to see why. Harman’s pompous protagonist Mr. Rogers returns to the vacation spot where his friend Professor Parkin had a…notably bad time, and Rogers’ visit gradually turns for the worse, as a palpable sense of dread begins to form.

Helen Grant’s “’Canon Alberic de Mauleon” is a finely-turned tale of revenge between two brothers, providing insight into the early years of the eponymous character before his brother Henri’s cruelties bring an unexpected twist. Reggie Oliver’s “Between Four Yews” is intriguingly intricate, utilizing nested narratives to relate what is, at its heart, another tale of revenge. Oliver adopts the requisite style while at the same time adapting it incorporate a subtle, wry sense of humor, as can be seen in passages such as the following:

“A few days later the whole district was agog with the latest news: Sir Arthur was dead. Lady Felicia had been away, spending the night with relatives, and her husband had dined alone. When the servant had come in to collect the dishes at the end of the meal he found his master, as usual, asleep, or so at first he thought. But Sir Arthur’s posture seemed unusually awkward and he was not emitting the stertorous snore which was the usual consequence of his potations. In short, Sir Arthur had died from some kind of seizure, perhaps brought on by a choking fit. Strange white marks had been observed around his throat, but, as nothing could be made of them by the men of science, they were dismissed as irrelevant. ‘Died of drink,’ was the general verdict.”

Peter Bell, whose work I’ve sung the praises of previously, offers a nested narrative of his own, as a Professor relates the tale of his niece, who acquired a former rectory, unaware of a rather sordid part of its history (which occurred during a total eclipse, no less), and thus ultimately found her own family befell by tragedy.

The only James story to receive dual coverage here is “The Mezzotint,” which is riffed on by both Rick Kennett and John Lewellyn Probert, albeit in in very different, and satisfying, ways.  David Sutton and Derek John also offer strong entries in The Book of Shadows.

On the disappointing side, I’ll only mention a small handful of tales. Pardoe says she considers Jacqueline Simpson’s “The Guardian” to be a light-hearted change of pace, but it struck me more as a lightweight waste of time.  C.E. Ward’s “The Gift” is an intriguing tale of one Revernd Dr. Luard’s curiosity and, ultimately, greed, but is hamstrung somewhat by awkward omniscient narration.  Although Mark Valentine is an extremely highly-regarded author, and I’ve enjoyed much of his prior work, I found his tale “Fire Companions” relatively dense and impenetrable.

Issued as a limited-edition (340 copies) hardcover and featuring a beautifully-appropriate full-color illustration by one of my long-time favorite artists,  Paul Lowe, The Ghosts & Scholars Book of Shadows is a must-have for established lovers of Jamesian fiction, but perhaps not the best introduction to the sub-genre for the uninitiated.  (Note that while the book has not officially been declared to be out of print, Sarob Press owner Robert Morgan indicated several weeks ago that less than 20 copies remained in stock from the publisher.)

I’ve been a fan of most of the titles published by Thunderstorm Books, and the latest title of theirs to land on my desk (well, figuratively speaking, since it was an ebook) is Matthew Warner’s novella No Outlet.  The tag line for the book is “every man’s worst nightmare,” and that’s an apt descriptor for a story that’s set entirely within the confines of a mega-shopping mall.

Steve and Tanya Clarke are a bickering, debt-ridden couple visiting their local mall for what’s supposed to be a quick trip to buy a single Christmas gift.  But soon Tanya is reverting to her usual shopaholic ways, leading to more arguing, and a decision to leave.  But they can’t find the exit…and then they see stores in different locations than normal, not to mention strange stores they’ve never noticed before, and every path they take leads them in circles.  When they try to ask for help, they’re ignored, insulted or ultimately assaulted.

As their frustration and fear mount, the bickering couple’s old wounds re-open:

He glanced at Tanya. Her nose was wrinkled in disgust. Ugly and imperious. He knew that look: the baby who didn’t get her way, the one who got angry to hide how scared she was… the only reason she got so mad was because she was used to Colonel Warbucks giving her everything. Well, welcome to the real world, sweetie. Not everyone had their way paid through college and their career jumpstarted by the good old boy network. Not everyone had a maid growing up who would lint-roll the dog hair off her coat and make sure the animal stayed out of her bedroom so she wouldn’t have to deal with its slobber and piss…

When they finally encounter another couple who are cognizant of the bizarre situation, and willing to talk about it, Steve and Tanya seem to at least have found allies…but even that small island of sanity soon submerges in unexpected fashion.

There was a point in this tale, relatively early on, where I thought to myself, “this is a great little idea, but it’s best suited for short-story length…how is he going to be able to successfully stretch it to novella length?”   Fortunately, via subplot and unexpected developments, Warner does manage to extend the plot without padding it.  That said, there are a couple aspects that prevent No Outlet from being completely successful.  Most notably, the see-saw nature of Steve and Tanya’s feelings for each other starts to grate a bit after several swings between rekindled love and restored contempt.

Set on Black Friday, No Outlet perhaps appropriately has a sense of black comedy to it at times, interspersed with moments of true horror and Twilight Zone-style strangeness.

Benjamin Kane Ethridge made an impressive book-length debut in 2010 with Black & Orange, which won the Bram Stoker Award for Superior Achievement in First Novel.  In some years, that’s a dubious distinction, but in 2010 BKE’s competition was substantial, in the form of Gemma Files, Lisa Morton, and Lucy Snyder (come to think of it, maybe Ethridge received the male sympathy vote…I kid).  Regardless, Ethridge has followed up with the novel Bottled Abyss from Redrum Horror, a book that stands out based on the audacity of its ideas, the uniqueness of its plot, and the depth of its characters.

Herman and Janet Erikson are a broken couple, unable to move past the hit-and-run death of their daughter.  Herman tries to lose himself in his work while Janet courts suicide at the bottom of a liquor bottle, and all the while they drift further from each other.  When their dog is mauled in the desert by coyotes, Herman encounters a strange man who miraculously heals the dog’s wounds.  Although he doesn’t realize it, Herman has just met the Ferryman, the (not) mythical guider of dead souls across the River Styx.  The time of the Gods is long gone and the Styx long since dried up, but the Ferryman lives on, carrying the last of the river’s water with him in a bottle, and he’s desperate to recreate the river and restore the old ways.

Unbeknownst to them, Herman and Janet have become inextricably bound up in the Ferryman’s plot, and the situation ultimately forces them to live again — with Herman acknowledging the world outside of work and Janet climbing out of the bottle (if only to, ironically, fall under the spell of an even more dangerous and enticing bottle).  The couple are flawed in many ways, as are their best friends, Evan and Faye, who are also integral to  the story, resulting in a cast of characters that are believable and still worthy of empathy.  The Ferryman’s machinations, meanwhile, are opposed by the Fury, another elemental figure who clings to existence seemingly only to thwart the Ferryman, creating a dynamic that helps to propel the story.

I read a lot of horror fiction (as should be no surprise), and after reading the same basic plots, with the same familiar tropes, so many times,  it’s refreshing to encounter a novel like Bottled Abyss that features new twists, albeit ones based on ancient mythology.  And it’s worth noting that Ethridge adroitly interweaves a lot of mythological and other background information without ever resorting to extended info-dumps.  His prose style is smooth, although I wasn’t moved to quote any particular passages, as readers of this blog will know that I am wont to do.  Filled to the brim with loss and lamentation, Bottled Abyss is well worth gazing into.