UK author Joel Lane has produced some extremely impressive work in the last few years, most notably his novella The Witnesses Are Gone, which I reviewed for Cemetery Dance, and his collection The Terrible Changes. Lane’s new chapbook mini-collection, Do Not Pass Go (Nine Arches Press) is interesting because it collects urban crime fiction, as opposed to the surreal and haunting nature of the works I mention above.
The five stories in Do Not Pass Go include four reprints dating from approximately 2002-2007, and one original tale, and they’re all shot through with darkness — it’s no accident that the titles of three of the stories feature the words, “black,” “blue,” and “blues.” Speaking of titles, let’s start with the wonderfully-named “This Night Last Woman,” wherein a regular at a pub’s karaoke night meets a woman he hasn’t seen before and goes home with her, with the expected results…up to a point. When the man later finds that he was seemingly the one one among a string of the woman’s dates to *not* be victimized, he can’t rest until he knows why he was spared…and the reason she gives him is enough to send him straight to the pub, for a very long time.
“Black Dog” draws its title from a heap of asphalt that “looked like a huge sleeping dog”, and which turns out to be a tarry blanket over the body of a murdered woman who was beaten and then suffocated beneath the paving material. There are more twists and turns to be found in this tale than in the others, and they’re nicely torqued. “Blue Mirror” and “No More the Blues,” meanwhile, are strongly focused on music — one on a failing band and the other on a hard-core fan — and while they both feature well-wrought atmospheres, they strike me as the two slightest tales in the booklet.
Conversely, the last (and most recently-written) story, “Rituals,” is probably the best, detailing the repercussions when a gang looking to use an abandoned building as the venue for a beat-down winds up stumbling on a gay porn filmset in flagrante delicto, and protagonist Finlay accidentally shoots and kills one of the actors.
Sadness, remorse, regret, lost chances and missed opportunities… these are the overriding emotions to be found in Do Not Pass Go. It’s probably a good thing that this is a mini-collection, because a book-length gathering of tales such as these might be enough to spur suicide…but I mean that in a good way. This is truly modern noir, with a distinctly British feel.
I purchased a story from Michael McBride for Cemetery Dance, I wrote a very positive review of his novel Remains, and I’ve enjoyed several other works of his, most notably Bloodletting. So it’s probably no great surprise to learn that I found much to like in his collection Quiet, Keeps to Himself, from Thunderstorm Books.
The book gathers eight stories, including three novellas, two ultra-short pieces, and three works of “intermediate” length. The first of the novellas, “Xibalba,” appears for the first time here, and it’s a dynamite page-turner focusing, as many of McBride’s works do, on a scientific expedition. The group is investigating a phenomenon known as “blue holes” — a geologic formation caused by long-term erosion and resulting in underwater caves or sinkholes, named for the dramatic contrast between the dark blue, deep waters of their depths and the lighter blue of the shallows around them. The expedition is composed of an interesting cast of characters, with a simmering back-ground romance, is situated in a suitably remote jungle area on the Yucatan Peninsula, and begins to get very creepy when a scuba diver exploring the cave system starts seeing furtive movements in the shadows from the corner of his eye. From there, the plot rapidly accelerates into full-on terror territory.
“The Calm Before the Swarm” is another original novella, and it’s a grim view of terrorists developing a deadly mutant wasp species. Narrated from the perspective of a doctor at the Center for Disease Control, the tale is impressively dark, utterly bleak, and to McBride’s credit he makes the threat seem chillingly plausible. The third novella, “Zero,” was previously published in a stand-alone limited edition by Necessary Evil Publications, and it’s another horrific tale with a strong science-fiction overtones, focusing on Brian Niemand, a recent graduate who’s initially thrilled to garner a coveted spot on a bioengineering research team, but later gets caught in the middle of a darkly twisted misuse of the technology.
McBride’s story from Cemetery Dance, “It Rips,” is included here, and it’s a taut little exercise in ratcheting tension, even if it provides far more questions than answers. As the author says in his story notes: “I’m still not quite sure what it really is, but I had a blast writing all around it.” “Postpartum” and “The Generosity of Strangers” are likewise very strong stories; on the other hand, I seldom have an appreciation for flash fiction, and the two examples included here do nothing to change that general impression. But those two micro-works are the only disappointments I found in these pages.
The collection comes complete with an introduction by Gene O’Neill, informative story notes from McBride, and typically excellent artwork by Steve Gilberts, all of which serve to make this an even more attractive package. Definitely recommended.
It’s been a while since I’ve reviewed a title from Tartarus Press, the UK-based publisher of fine limited editions and winner of three World Fantasy Awards and a Stoker. My reintroduction to the press came in the form of the novel Frankenstein’s Prescription, by Tim Lees.
Set in Europe at the beginning of the 20th century, this pitch-perfect period piece chronicles the experiences of Hans Schneider, who when we first meet him is a rather arrogant medical student at Heidelberg University. Forced to abscond after he unintentionally kills another student in a duel, Hans’ forced exile leads him to a post as an assistant at a remote asylum. From the moment he arrives, things seem decidedly strange, and that includes the nature of Hans’ new boss, the enigmatic Dr. Lavenza, who manages to seem both crazed and detached at various times. To further complicate matters, there’s a murderer loose in the woods nearby.
Hans eventually discovers a series of increasingly disturbing facts:
Lavenza is engaged in experiments to reanimate the dead;
Lavenza’s real name is Frankenstein, and he is a descendant of the good Doctor himself, Viktor;
the murderer in the woods is none other than the Frankenstein Monster, both immortal and immoral;
as seen elsewhere, the monster wants a mate, and won’t cease plaguing the Frankenstein family until he gets one.
The tale is enlivened by frequent doses of subtle humor, as here:
“I wondered what I had been a party to; was it surgery or was it torture? In truth, I had often found it hard to tell the two apart.”
But then again, not all the humor used is quite so, er, subtle, as evidenced by the following exchange between Hans and Lavenza, which is joined by their servant Karl, a not-overly-bright former asylum patient.
“‘This is a problem to be solved Hans, not a crime. Not — what did you call it? Not a massacre. More the reverse. Indeed, an anti-massacre.’
‘Like on a chair,’ said Karl.”
Even though there’s a healthy dosage of such humor, comedy is certainly not the prevailing mood — there is plenty of drama and horror to be found in these pages. But what’s unfortunately missing is really any sense of mystery or suspense. Given that most of the info I disclose above is revealed, or otherwise apparent to the reader, early in the story, and given that the monster’s quest for a bride has been explored multiple times before across various media… well, there’s a lot of familiar ground being trod here. For the most part, though, Lees’ evocative writing manages to keep the reader engaged.
It’s worth noting that the author explores at length Lavenza’s role as the creator of the monster — and hence as God in the monster’s eyes — as captured in the monster’s monologue here:
“‘The life was shot into my veins…and then the light inside my skull caught fire, so fiercely I could never shut it out again, and even when I sleep, the colours dance upon my eyes and tease me with a mockery of life; and the sounds I heard still thunder in my ears… I was not born as you are, helpless maggots, squirming through your first few years of life. I was born awake, and I was born full-made. And I remember.’”
Frankenstein’s Prescription is clearly a labor of love by Lees, as it’s hard to see a story such as this appealing to a mass audience in today’s world. His appreciation for the subject shines throughout, making this an appealing read, beautifully packaged by Tartarus Press (as always).
For the third consecutive post, I’m reviewing a first novel. After previously evaluating Matt Hults’ Husk and Laird Barron’s The Light is the Darkness, this time I train the spotlight on Southern Gods, the debut novel by John Hornor Jacobs, published by Night Shade Books.
While doing a little background research on Mr. Jacobs, I came across an interview conducted by Joe Howe for the horrorworld.org site, in which Jacobs provides a great high-level summary of Southern Gods via a recounting of the formative factors in the book’s creation:
“…the things I was interested in at the time heavily influenced the writing of it: Alan Lomax’s recordings for the Library of Congress, Robert Chambers “The King in Yellow,” the history of blues (and rock-n-roll) in the South and, more specifically, Memphis and eastern Arkansas – my stomping grounds – and the post WWII Chandler-esque noir hero. In general, Southern Gods is a mash up of crime noir, Southern Gothic, and Lovecraftian cosmic horror.”
Indeed it is, and an extremely well-concocted mash-up at that. The Chandler-esque noir hero is one Bull Ingram, a WWII veteran who by 1951 has turned enforcer for various shady employers. His latest assignment comes from Memphis record producer Sam Phelps (clearly modeled on Sun Studio’s Sam Phillips), who wants Bull to track down a promo man who’s gone missing in the midst of a tour of radio stations across the south. Phelps tells Ingram there’s a secondary aspect to the job as well — to find out whatever he can about a shadowy musician named Ramblin’ John Hastur — and plays a sample of Hastur’s music, to dramatic effect:
“The percussive beat held the sound of a thousand slaves, bloody and broken and murderous, each walking forward with the rattle and clank of their broken shackles, knives whisking in their hands, walking through the night under black skies. The guitar’s atonal buzz reached places in Ingram that had been deaf until then, each note curdled with madness and hatred, each measure meted out in some ethereal range that was perceived by more than ears—as if Ingram, not the radio, were the receiver and the invisible transmissions emanating out of the deep and dark fields of Arkansas held some frightening and terrible message just for him.”
Ingram’s quest soon leads him into increasingly dangerous territory, including an encounter with a strange pale man who can seemingly reanimate the dead. Meanwhile, a second storyline focuses on Sarah Williams, a young mother who’s recently left her abusive husband and moved back to her childhood home to be with her own ailing mother. Bored and lonely, Sarah decides to brush up her Latin by attempting to translate a book she comes across in her late father’s library…but it’s not just any book; it’s a very dark tome indeed. Confused and concerned by what she’s reading, Sarah seeks the assistance of a local Catholic priest, one Father Andrez, who turns out to have a very interesting history with such forbidden texts.
The first 2/3 or so of Southern Gods is riveting, but once the paths of Bull, Sarah, and Andrez cross, there are an unfortunate number of convenient plot developments — enough that they start to feel like contrivances. Between that and a little too much time spent on exposition, the story loses steam in the stretch run. But even though the book can’t maintain its initial brilliance, there is nonetheless more than enough promise shown in Jacob’s first novel to make it worth your time and to mark him as an author to watch.
I’ve been a huge admirer of Laird Barron’s short fiction for a while now — among many highlights, “Old Virginia” is the creepiest story I’ve read in the last few years — and was thus very intrigued to see his first novel, The Light is the Darkness, come out from Infernal House.
It’s a short novel, clocking in at a brisk 182 pages, and I have to admit that it’s not exactly what I expected. Much of Barron’s short fiction, and certainly the best of it, has a gritty, noirish quality, and is often firmly based in reality until the otherworldly elements start poking their way through the thin fabric of the everyday world. The Light is the Darkness, on the other hand, has a fantastical, over-the-top feel to it right from the get-go.
Conrad Navarro is a gladiator for the 21st century, a competitor in underground death-matches that cater to bored, rich clientele. The spectacles are perhaps a logical next-level from today’s ultimate fighting bouts, and Conrad is a champion in this blood sport, able to absorb huge amounts of punishment before launching his deadly counter-strikes. As Barron describes:
“Uncle Kosokian had also instructed young Conrad in the princely arts, including that of warfare and close combat, had groomed him for the clandestine spectacles of the Pageant and its gladiatorial exhibitions—a great and secret show that had played to the tune of obscenely rich patricians since ancient times. The man had participated in the secret arenas during his own sordid youth, had spilled his share of blood. He taught Conrad most everything there was to know about killing men and beasts for sport and profit.”
Brutish in appearance but possessing an intellect that’s the equal of his physical prowess, Conrad is consumed by the search for his missing sister, Imogene, an FBI agent who disappeared while conducting a search of her own, for a brilliant, evil scientist Dr. Drake, who may have murdered their brother Ezra.
The propensity of pulpish elements made suspension of disbelief a challenge for me at times, with the end result that I didn’t find The Light is the Darkness to be among Barron’s very best work. But that’s not to say that it’s not entertaining — because it is — or that it doesn’t feature some of Barron’s characteristically rich prose. For example:
“Daylight bleached his moonscape of a face. Black and blue on deadly nightshade, red meat bulged like an intestine in the corner of his right eye. The left eye was a glistening purple bud, clenched as a toddler’s fist, its roots sunk deep in a hidden fracture that yawned with each hoarse exhalation.”
Given the pricey nature of Infernal House’s very limited edition ($175, for a print run of 174), I can’t unreservedly recommend Barron’s debut novel, but if you’re a big fan of the author’s work and have some cash burning a hole in your pocket, it will probably be hard to say no to this one.
Husk, a first novel from Matt Hults published by relative newcomer Books of the Dead Press, is blessed with some highly complimentary blurbs from some well-known authors. For example, try these on for size:
-“a crackling, creepy tale. A fast-paced read with a generous body count, Husk will make your skin crawl.” – Scott Nicholson
- “…wild, bloody, scary, action-packed, and entertaining as hell.” – Jeff Strand
And, most superlatively:
“Remember the first time you read Joe Lansdale’s The Drive-In, or Freezer Burn? Remember how exhilarated you felt as you tore through the pages…? Miss that feeling of being completely at the mercy of a writer’s imagination and boundless energy for his subject? Fret no more, friends—you now have Matt Hults’s Husk….” – Gary A. Braunbeck
My desire to read Husk can be directly attributed to these blurbs, which, as you might imagine, whetted my appetite. So did the book live up to its advance billing? Well,early returns were not good… Although the book hits the ground running, with action picking up literally from page one, the flurry is occasionally stalled by some awkward passages. For example:
“Muzzle flashes lit up the room, creating a crowd of black shadows that danced on the walls like a cheering crowd of demonic spectators. Frank collapsed to the floor, jaw clenched in a rigor of pain.”
And later:
“The Killer drove into a dirt parking lot at the middle of a forest clearing, braking to a stop before an abandoned church. The silence that followed after shutting off the engine became a mute testament to the remoteness of the location. Despite the solitude, the Killer slid out of the van and cast a wary gaze toward the church.”
There are also several unabashedly over-the-top scenes — such as when serial killer Kale Kane is finally mortally wounded after shrugging off numerous bullet wounds, or later in the book when a supernatural entity repeatedly displays its ability to animate objects, including coats, cars and trash — and a disconcerting number of typos. But still…
There’s nonetheless a lot of energy here, propelling the story forward despite its occasional faults, and the breakneck pacing makes for a story that’s ultimately compulsively readable. Hults brings to life a full palette of characters, and while none of them are truly compelling, none stand out as cliches or stereotypes, either. Instead, they fall somewhere in between the two extremes, qualifying as solid, multi-dimensional characters — such as former Detective Frank Atkins, who suffered physical and psychological damage at the hands of Kane, but who battles to overcome his handicaps so that he can help Detective Melissa Humble track down the seeming copycat killer who has emerged several years after Kane’s capture. Or recently-separated dad Paul Wiess and his children BJ and Mallory, the latter of whom possesses certain traits that make her extremely desirable to the killer.
To sum it up, Husk seems like a comic book without pictures — or a graphic novel without graphics, if you prefer. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing. In fact, I could be wrong, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Hults would take that description as a compliment. I can’t recommend Husk across the board, but if you’re a reader who values pacing and action above all else, it’s likely that you’ll enjoy this high-speed ride.
Gary Fry’s The Abolisher of Roses is the second title from the UK chapbook publisher Spectral Press. Fry is known for his publishing and editing work (as a co-owner of Gray Friar Press) but also increasingly for his fiction, which includes the collection Sanity and Other Delusions and the novel The House of Canted Steps, both put out by PS Publishing. This 7000+ word story provides an up-close and personal look at the marriage of Peter and Patricia, a couple who’ve invested three decades into establishing their personal patterns and rhythms, but seemingly not put much time into the joint union of their marriage — especially in the case of Peter, a self-centered and self-indulgent man who has a mistress on the side and tends to view his wife as more of a accoutrement than a partner.
As the story begins, Peter is making a show of humoring his wife’s latest interest, namely that of the art world, where she’s not only developed an appreciation but also shown some skill of her own, garnering a spot in a special exhibition that’s to be held in a unique outdoor setting, along a forest path. As they’re setting up her part of the exhibit, when Peter is not busy belittling his wife’s efforts, he’s questioning the value and meaning of the work of other artists in the show. When a petulant Peter finally storms off into the woods, he expects his wife to follow close behind, replete with apologies. But when she doesn’t follow, he ventures deeper in the woods, where he stumbles across some of the other art exhibits — and they’re decidedly strange,and strangely personal, exhibits at that.
The tale is certainly well-written and ably demonstrates that Fry is capable of some very good work, but at the end of the day, the characters are not exactly likable, and the point of the story is not exactly clear. Those judgments actually sound harsher than I intend…but I was left feeling vaguely dissatisfied by this tale, even as it made me want to search out more of the author’s work.
Check back soon for reviews of Matt Hults’ Husk (Books of the Dead Press), Laird Barron’s The Light is the Darkness (Infernal House), and John Horner Jacobs’ Southern Gods (Night Shade Books).
The following will appear in the “News and Views” section of my Spotlight on Publishing column in Cemetery Dance #66…
As usual, there have been lots of happenings in the small press world since our last column, so let’s jump right in. For starters, several new presses have appeared, including the following:
Blade Red Press – an Australian POD publisher that has actually been around for a couple years, but which I only recently discovered. They have three books published to date, including a collection by Bill Congreve and the Dark Pages anthology.
Blood Bound Books – Has published five anthologies to date, featuring primarily little-known authors.
Bloody Pulp Books – Founded by comics writer Steve Niles (30 Days of Night) and graphic designer Alex Lodermeier, this publisher aims to primarily publish work featuring Niles’ supernatural detective Cal McDonald, making this largely a self-publishing press (although Niles certainly has no problem placing his work with other publishers). Just to spice things up, though, they’ve also published Lance Henriksen’s autobiography(!).
Dark Continents Publishing – Labeling themselves as “the first author-owned, author-driven publishing company to focus exclusively on the horror and dark fiction markets”, DCP’s founders hail from three different continents (hence the name) and launched several titles during a release party at World Horror Convention 2011. Most of their titles so far have essentially been self-publishing by principles of the press, but they have announced a title by Simon Kurt Unsworth.
Dark Minds Press – Represented by a bare-bones website, the apparently-UK-based Dark Minds has so far published one eponymous anthology, highlighted by a story by Gary McMahon and cover art by Vinnie Chong, in a micro-edition of 100 copies.
Deadite Press – Technically not a new publisher, but just a new imprint from Eraserhead Press, Deadite also had a major presence at WHC 2011. The imprint has staked out ground on the extreme edge of the genre and has already reprinted several titles from Leisure Books alumni such as Brian Keene, Edward Lee, and Bryan Smith. All the Deadite titles feature eye-catching covers.
Generation Next – An e-book-only publisher (apparently, since the website doesn’t actually state what formats they offer) that has some well-known names associated with it, such as Gary Braunbeck, Tim Lebbon, and Scott Nicholson. Unfortunately, their website as of this writing is an unmitigated disaster, broken links everywhere, countless “coming soon” pages, and zero design sense.
Grand Mal Press – One novel and one anthology have so far appeared from this cross-genre publisher, with three more books announced, featuring some familiar small press names. Their books are available in both POD and eBook formats.
King’s Way Press – Arising from the ashes of Full Moon Press, which folded due to the health issues of its founder, King’s Way Press has published an initial title by Brian Pinkerton, with their second title imminent, a reprint of Bram Stoker’s Dracula (really, the world needs another edition of Dracula?).
MHB Press / Hard Gore Press – Two imprints from the same publisher, this UK-based press is specializing in bringing back into print works that the press owner considers to be classics. Authors published to date are Gary Brandner, Edward Lee, and Graham Masterton, with several forthcoming titles announced, from the likes of Paul Kane, Nancy Kilpatrick, Stephen Laws, Phil Rickman, and Guy N. Smith.
Post Mortem Press – Wasting no time, this publisher has already published several anthologies and novels, mostly by relatively unknown names.
Spectral Press – A UK publisher specializing in chapbooks, somewhat similar in that regard to Nightjar Press, although they have announced a collection for 2012. Their first publication is reviewed below.
In addition to these new presses, it’s also worth noting that Necessary Evil Publications made a welcome return from a long hiatus. And Miskatonic River Press was moved from the dormant category back to active publisher as well.
On the negative side of the ledger, I recently inventoried all the existing genre publishers of which I’m aware (you can find my list of active publishers here) and found that the following 17 presses are either dead or long dormant:
Baysgarth Publications
Biting Dog Publications
Blu Phi’er Publishing
Brimstone Press
Cohort Press
Croatoan Publishing
Dark Hart Press
Dybbuk Press
Ghostwriter Publications
Haunted Pelican Press
Leucrota Press
Lovecraft Press
Magus Press
Midnight House
Northern Frights Publishing
Twisted Publishing
Utter Tower Books
Midnight Library, meanwhile, claims to be resurrected, but their former URL currently leads to a page in Japanese (this falls under the general heading of not a good sign). Finally, Ex Occidente Press announced at one point that they would be closing but has since then, as far as I can tell, changed their mind, at least with regards to their Passport Levant imprint.
The following reviews will appear in my Spotlight on Publishing column in Cemetery Dance #66. The “Reviews” portion of the column will be composed of reviews that have appeared previously on this website, so followers of this site are in essence getting the entirety of my column ahead of time, albeit in a different sequence.
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I’ve long been an admirer of Tony Richards’ work, having purchased several of his stories while I was editing CD. Any new fiction from him automatically gets my attention and his recent novella from Screaming Dreams Press, Yuppieville, is no exception.
Spurred to leave Los Angeles by an ugly incident that’s initially only obliquely described, Frank and Joannie make a major move, to the planned community of Youngesville, Nevada. Although the town is safe and quiet, just the kind of place they’re seeking to raise a family, they gradually discover some strange aspects. For example… they’ve barely settled in their new house when their Amazonian neighbor Leonora tries to seduce Frank, the first dinner party they attend turns into a series of drunken confessions and blurted bigotry, and when Frank overhears Leonora’s conversation after she successfully seduces another newly-moved-in neighbor, the details are disturbing indeed. Frank’s concerns get back-burnered when Joannie announces she’s pregnant, but when some new residents who don’t really “fit” in the community start having accidents, it seems his concerns are well-founded.
Things take a turn for the weird in the latter stages of the book, and a famous physicist who lives in the town plays a key role. There are a few rough edges to the plotting and characterization that keep this tale from ranking with Richards’ best work, but it’s nonetheless an imaginative albeit dour take on the elitist nature of many planned communities.
***
Similar to Tony Richards, Lawrence Connolly is a writer who I’ve followed for some time. Long before buying stories from him for Cemetery Dance, I called out his story “Traumatic Descent” as a highlight when I reviewed Borderlands 3 for CD. In fact, a quote from that review– “…deserves a place in the Paranoiac Horror Hall of Fame for its adept manipulation of the boundaries of reality and hallucination”–appears as a blurb on the back cover of Connolly’s long-overdue first collection, from Ash-Tree Press. And that very same story, under its variant title “This Way to Egress,” provides the title for the collection.
Gathering 19 stories published between 1981 and 2008, This Way To Egress provides a first-class overview of Connolly’s career. The aforementioned title story may still be my favorite, but there are certainly other highlights here as well. A prime example is “Circle of Lias,” concerning a father who leaves his family at an out-of-the-way motel in order to find some late-night food, only to stumble upon a strange cult en route to a descent into madness.
There are three stories included that are set in Russia in the early 1990s, and the best among that trio is “Smuggling the Dead,” which concerns an art collector’s quest to smuggle a legendary lacquer box, “fashioned from the blood, skin, and bone of over 400 illegal artists,” out of Russia using the naive protagonist. Similarly, there are three stories included that first appeared in Cemetery Dance, and the best of those three is likely “Painkeeper,” in which a woman possessing a supernatural ability to heal is kidnapped with the intention of forcing her to use her abilities to cure an ailing, powerful man. And among the five stories from early (pre-1990) in Connolly’s career, the best is likely “Things,” in which a group of kids who specialize in breaking into the homes of the elderly get a very creepy comeuppance–although “Mrs. Halfbooger’s Basement” is a contender as well.
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Like many of the authors whose work I choose to review (like, say, the two preceding titles…), James Cooper is someone who I purchased a story from while editing CD mag. But James also submitted several other stories which, even though I enjoyed them, I didn’t buy. This is one of the thoughts that came to mind when I sat down to write a review of The Beautiful Red, Cooper’s recent short story collection from Atomic Fez Publishing. The other thing that came to mind was a quotation from Peter Tennant’s review, in Black Static #23, of Cooper’s novella Terra Damnata: “[the book] is not at all what past experience has led me to expect from the pen of James Cooper. Gone are the surreal and outre elements that have been a mainstay of his work so far…”
What I’m trying to say, in a very roundabout way, is this: 1) I prefer Cooper’s less surreal work, and 2) there is a high quotient of surreality in The Beautiful Red. As a result, my opinion of the collection is that there are a lot of good stories among the 12 gathered, but not many great stories.
“There’s Something Wrong With Pappy” is a fine example of a surreal Cooper story that does work for me, even if it left me muttering “WTF?” at times. Two children whose mother died recently watch as their father’s loneliness and desperation lead him to visit the mysterious grey house across the moors, where a doppelganger of sorts awaits…and then they wait to see which version of their father will come home. Similarly, “Because Your Blood is Darker Than Mine” also focuses on two children, with this pair living in a house with their mother, her boyfriend, their grandmother, a facsimile of their dead grandfather…and a whole lot of dark secrets and unhealthy urges. “We are the Pigs,” co-written with Alistair Mowbray, is a somewhat standard tale of a backwoods abduction by an unhinged cult, but it’s enlivened by the frequent interjection of supposed dialog between the two co-authors, making it an interesting piece of meta-fiction. “The Hack” is likewise concerned with fiction-writing–in this case, the protagonist is plagued by the nearly 24×7 sounds of a clattering typewriter that emanate from the room of a writer across the hall. When the writer begins slipping excerpts from his work under our character’s door, things take a turn for the weird.
It’s safe to say that Cooper’s collection is not for everyone, but if you enjoy the surreal and don’t demand exactness in your endings, it may well be for you.
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In an earlier post, I reviewed Nate Southard’s already out-of-print He Stepped Through. So, while we’re on the topic of out-of-print titles that I’m nonetheless reviewing, let’s turn to Glen Hirshberg’s The Book of Bunk, from Earthling Publications. Although Hirshberg has written a fair share of horror, and won a fair share of awards for it, The Book of Bunk isn’t horror, nor even very dark, but it is wonderfully engaging, and definitely of award caliber.
Set during the Great Depression, the story follows writer Paul Dent, a refugee from the Oklahoma dust bowl who, sponsored by the WPA’s Federal Writers’ Project, travels to the mountains of North Carolina to document the way of life there, as part of a planned series of travel books. Gathering material in the small town of Trampleton, Paul is privileged to hear the memories of the town’s residents, fascinating bits that are like stories with the story. He also manages to fall in love, and to meet a wealthy celebrity–modeled after F. Scot Fitzgerald–who finances a Buncombe (aka “Bunk”, hence The Book of Bunk) County gala, where everyone adopts a fictitious identity and plays their role–another story within the story. Through it all, Paul has to deal with the long shadow cast by his talented and upwardly-mobile older brother Lewis.
With an eye for period detail and a knack for creating mesmerizing characters, Hirshberg gives us a peak at a special time, in a special place. Grab a copy of the Earthling edition if you can find it, or buy The Book of Bunk once it’s been reprinted, as it surely will be if there’s any literary justice in the world.
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And, finally, I have one more review of an already out-of-print title–namely Gary McMahon’s What They Hear in the Dark, the debut chapbook from Spectral Press. Spectral began publishing in early 2011 with this chapbook and another from Gary Fry, and has an impressive slate of chapbooks scheduled for the future, by the likes of Paul Finch and Simon Bestwick, as well as a full collection from Simon Kurt Unsworth.
Similarly to Tim Lebbon’s The Thief of Broken Toys, which is reviewed below, McMahon’s tale is concerned with a husband and wife who have recently suffered through the death of their son. In this case, the son, Eddie, was murdered and the parents, Rob and Becky, after many months of dazed depression, have purchased a “fixer-upper” home and rolled up their sleeves to try and put their house in order. The house is a clear metaphor for their crumbling marriage, and both foundations seem to be in danger of being beyond repair. When Rob discovers a hidden door, leading to a windowless room where sound seems not to exist (Becky names it “the Quiet Room”), his reaction to the room is very different from that of his wife’s. Becky thinks she can sense the presence of their dead son, while Rob has a very different reaction: “Eddie isn’t in there…But something is.”
Even though it perhaps wraps up a little too quickly, What They Hear in the Dark is filled to the rafters with sheer desperation and quiet horror. Spectral Press is off to a promising start with this arresting tale, and they’re definitely a publisher to keep an eye on in the future.
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I’ve been amazed by Tim Lebbon’s prolific output ever since he burst onto the horror scene in the late 1990s. Sadly, I haven’t done a very good job of keeping up with all those books, but I’ve definitely admired the handful of titles that I have read–most notably As the Sun Goes Down, The Nature of Balance, and White (truth be told, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the consistent quality of his work, as other some other extremely prolific genre writers, who shall remain unnamed, have not been able to maintain a similar level of quality). The Thief of Broken Toys, Lebbon’s recent short novel from Chizine Publications, gave me a chance to check in on his career again, and I’m happy to report that the author continues to produce not just quantity, but quality as well.
The Thief of Broken Toys is a veritable treatise on loss and sorrow, exploring the aimless driftings of Ray and Elizabeth, a husband and wife who have separated in the year since the tragic death of their son, Toby. There’s a clear sense that Ray and Elizabeth are caught in a downward spiral from which there is no escape. Then one night, while walking the cliffs beyond the stark, rain-lashed fishing village of Skentipple, Ray meets a very peculiar old man. The old man takes a broken toy of Toby’s that Ray is carrying, then leaves it, fixed and good as new, for Ray to find the next morning. And, somehow, that fixed toy brings with it a lightening of Ray’s mood, a lessening of his guilt. But when the old man returns to steal and then fix more toys, Ray comes to realize that the fading of painful memories does not come without a cost.
Outside of a highly questionable decision to use a plural 1st-person POV for a few passages, this short novel is beautifully written while at the same time unceasingly sad. As the author says, near the end, regarding Ray: “There’s pain gone from his heart, but in its place is something worse. It’s not always best to forget. Sometimes, to remember is all we have.”
Sometimes, indeed.
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I’ve heard about the Tesseracts series of anthologies for several years, and given that this issue’s publisher interview focuses on a Canadian press, it seemed only appropriate to review a couple volumes of this quintessentially Canadian anthology series. The contents of Volume 13, Chilling Tales From the Great White North, are more applicable for CD readers, and thus receive a bit more attention here, but Volume 14, Strange Canadian Stories, is absolutely worthy as well.
Perhaps the most refreshing thing about Tesseracts 13 is the consistency of its offerings. It’s rare that there are not at least a few mediocre stories over the course of a lengthy anthology, but the 23 stories contained here are, I’m happy to say, uniformly strong, a testament to the work of editors Nancy Kilpatrick and David Morrell. There are of course highlights among them…
For example, Kevin Cockle’s “Stone Cold,” which is indeed chilling, even if it this story of a man with a strange, debilitating disease and seemingly the potential to (unintentionally) affect those around him leaves the reader with more questions than answers. Rebecca Bradley’s “Kids These Days” is intriguing but slightly marred by to much exposition about “Bainbridge’s disease,” although it ultimately provides a great denouement in its revelation about the duration of said disease. Stephanie Short’s “Silence” is a great riff on the Pied Piper legend, while Matthew Moore’s “The Weak Son” is a welcome variation on the traditional ghost story, with an Alzheimerish twist of the tail.
Catherine MacLeod’s “His One True Love” is an excellent yarn about an enduring bad marriage, finally ended by death, and a Hitchcockian Birds attack, directed from beyond the grave. In “Overtoun Bridge,” Bev Vincent expertly builds upon a unique and interesting (if sad) setting–a bridge renowned for the number of dogs who’ve jumped to their death from it. In “Dead to Me,” Kelly Armstrong offers a short, biting tale of revenge via an ultimately unreliable narrator. Revenge is also at the core of Gord Rollo’s “Lost in a Field of Paper Flowers,” although here it comes from a no-longer-innocent child, and its nature is not revealed until a memorable final line. I’m not sure I completely understand what David Nickle is trying to convey in “The Radejastians,” but this tale of old religions, dark worship, and and sinister virgins (really) is nonetheless compelling.
Capping it all off is an essay on the history of Canadian horror, “Out of the Barrens,” by Robert Knowlton, a marvelously exhaustive piece that forced me to add a number of titles to my to-read and to-watch list. Knowlton’s article is worth the cost of admission all by itself.
As should be obvious by the numerous stories I’ve found worthy of mention, Tesseracts 13 is an excellent anthology. I didn’t find Tesseracts 14, which is edited by John Robert Colombo and Chizine’s Brett Alexander Savory, to be quite as consistently strong, probably at least partially due to the much more widely-varied nature of its contents, but it’s still a worthwhile read.
The volume’s virtues begin with the striking cover art by Erik Mohr, and continue within via stories such as Tony Burgess’ “Giant Scorpions Attack,” wherein two bored but imaginative siblings who are creating a map of the weird spots in their little town stumble upon a locale that’s far too dark, and too real. Burgess is in complete control throughout. Brent Hayward’s bizarre “The Brief Medical Career of Fine Sam Fine” involves a girl with two heads (more or less) and starts out whimsically before taking a wonderfully subtle turn towards the dark. M.L.D. Curelas’ “Harvest Moon” utilizes an offbeat setting and an interesting perspective to turn a well-aged horror archetype into something unexpected and unsettling. Daniel Sernine’s “Nights in White Linen” likewise takes a creature from ancient legend and breathes new life into it via a medical school setting and a hobbling addiction to cocaine, even though Sernine’s disjointed timeline is at times jarring. As in volume 13, David Nickle manages to both impress and baffle me. His story “Basements” left me feeling a bit like one of his characters, who says “Now, I have no fucking idea whether I’m coming, or going.”
Finally, three stories with dark science fictional underpinnings stand out–Matthew Moore’s “The Machinery of Government,” in which a recently promoted public official finds himself caught in the midst of an invasion of Canada by an unnamed aggressor (not the US), Catherine MacLeod’s “Hydden,” wherein human evolution takes a very nasty turn, and Leah Silverman’s “The Pickup,” concerning a small group of soldiers that’s apparently been abandoned in a contaminated area, with at least one of them already infected. Strangely, all three of these storier seem like excerpts from longer works — and in all three cases, I hope the authors do, in fact, expand on what they’ve done here.
Not only do Tesseracts 13 and 14 contain an impressive number of strong stories, but I also couldn’t help but note how many of the writers were previously unknown to me, a fact which would seem to bode well for the future of Canadian speculative fiction.
I’ve read many a twist on Cthulhu’s tentacles over the years, but I believe Nate Southard’s He Stepped Through is the first to combine Mythos echoes with gangbangers’ gunshots.
Corrupt LAPD Gang Unit Detective Walker and his partner Rawls starts\ their day dealing with a hostage situation in a fast food restaurant that ends with a cannibalistic banger chewing on a body part and muttering “he stepped through.” Officer Megan Ricks discovers the same words scrawled in blood at a horrific crime scene. And the words are on infinite loop in the head of 2bit, another Compton gangbanger, who has a dead spot in his memory and a nagging fear that he’s done something very bad. Walker and Rawls’ investigation leads them deeper into madness and toward an ultimate confrontation with a drug lord who found a certain book, and set the whole nasty chain of events in motion.
Southard’s characters are distinctive and the pacing here is rapid-fire, leading to a highly engaging read, and the sense that this could easily be developed into a longer work. The 300-copy Bloodletting Press print edition of this novelette is out of print, but you still may be able to find a copy through a bookseller, and there’s a digital edition available.
, by Tim Lees.
, the debut novel by John Hornor Jacobs, published by 
, come out from 
, a first novel from Matt Hults published by relative newcomer 
My desire to read Husk can be directly attributed to these blurbs, which, as you might imagine, whetted my appetite. So did the book live up to its advance billing? Well,early returns were not good… Although the book hits the ground running, with action picking up literally from page one, the flurry is occasionally stalled by some awkward passages. For example:
, is no exception.
provides a first-class overview of Connolly’s career. The aforementioned title story may still be my favorite, but there are certainly other highlights here as well. A prime example is “Circle of Lias,” concerning a father who leaves his family at an out-of-the-way motel in order to find some late-night food, only to stumble upon a strange cult en route to a descent into madness.
, Cooper’s recent short story collection from Atomic Fez Publishing. The other thing that came to mind was a quotation from Peter Tennant’s review, in Black Static #23, of Cooper’s novella Terra Damnata: “[the book] is not at all what past experience has led me to expect from the pen of James Cooper. Gone are the surreal and outre elements that have been a mainstay of his work so far…”
, from Earthling Publications. Although Hirshberg has written a fair share of horror, and won a fair share of awards for it, The Book of Bunk isn’t horror, nor even very dark, but it is wonderfully engaging, and definitely of award caliber.
, Lebbon’s recent short novel from Chizine Publications, gave me a chance to check in on his career again, and I’m happy to report that the author continues to produce not just quantity, but quality as well.
is the first to combine Mythos echoes with gangbangers’ gunshots.