the children are born from the earth, born hungry. they grow, they eat, they explore the world. some put on the costume of a human adult, playing dresthe children are born from the earth, born hungry. they grow, they eat, they explore the world. some put on the costume of a human adult, playing dress-up, until they believe the role they've taken on, until they forget what birthed them. but return to their mother they must; those born of the earth must go back into that earth, eventually. to be reborn again, eventually. it is a cycle...
although one book remains in this series of standalone novels, The People of the Dark feels like a natural ending. we return to the original setting of the first two books, and to the abandoned upscale housing development and massacre site of the second, and a key character from the third makes an appearance. the first book had a child born and an adult realizing their true nature; the second book had more children born, and born hungry. the third book had children exploring, and still hungry. this fourth book has a child turned adult, a strange being who thinks she's a human realizing she's something different, her husband unable to understand what is happening to her and in the nearby town, unable to make sense of what has come from the woods that surround them, from the woods and from the earth. people, or rather "people," wandering around the town and up to his doorstep, not knowing what they are but going through the motions, wondering why, slowly fading. all of this is a spoiler if this is the first book being read (not recommended) but all of this makes perfect sense if the prior books have been read first (highly recommended).
this is a minor novel; none of the novels after the first, Strange Seed, have quite reached that book's heights or depths. minor note in tone as well. nevertheless, T.M. Wright is a masterful writer and his talents are on full display here. this is a surprisingly moving story, suffused with a forlorn longing, in the words of the lost earth-beings, and in how a man sees his love and his life with that love slipping away, for reasons he refuses to understand, no matter how many people try to explain to him why. The People of the Dark is an eerily quiet novel, full of ambiguity and unsettling occurrences, whispery voices from the walls and blank faces at the door, the sense of another world overlapping with our world. this other world has its own rules and ways of living, just as Wright has his own unique style and way of writing....more
You can't go home again, thinks Jenny in NYC, of her past life in the south, of River House and all of its memories. But home she goes, to reunite witYou can't go home again, thinks Jenny in NYC, of her past life in the south, of River House and all of its memories. But home she goes, to reunite with the family, after a quick and angry flight away from them all that has lasted a decade. Home to see her perhaps-crazy mother and to learn more about her mysteriously vanished father, presumed dead, all that's left a hazy but golden memory of a man she thinks she cherished. Daddy's Little Girl shall be the key figure in this family reunion, which will also include shredded clothes, toppled furniture, terrible whispers, a mysterious straight razor, a slaughtered chicken, messages in blood, and a lunatic on the prowl. Fun reunion!
Harrington is a superb writer in all the ways that count most to me: an excellent builder of atmosphere with the very Southern dialogue at home in the sweaty weather, the bright landscape, a dilapidated mansion full of nooks and crannies, a hoarder's kitchen, an isolated trailer; deep, believable, surprising characterization; a rueful tone in our heroine's voice, matched by the odd melancholy of the story itself. Plus the creepiness! This author knows how to do creepy. As well as dread, and foreboding, and even a low-key romance and kid characters who aren't cloying. And she knows how to place memory at the center: remembering the buried past; how the memories of the past impact the present; how memory can't always be trusted.
Probably would have been a 4-star book for me, but a surprising (and graphic) child rape scene just really took me out of the story. A perhaps necessary scene, but I'm a squeamish sort and there are some things having to do with kids (or with animals) that I'd really prefer to not have to deal with and which make me kind of angry with an author. Unreasonable of me, I think, but there you have it....more
"I want to know whether you think I would be an adequate parent. I mean, I would be willing to dine out less often, and if necessary I would change my"I want to know whether you think I would be an adequate parent. I mean, I would be willing to dine out less often, and if necessary I would change my tailor. But would that be enough?"
spoilers ahead but not really
he gets the award for worst fucking father of the year that's for sure. not because he's abusive or because he lacks love or doesn't care for the kid. it's because he puts his needs above hers time and time again. leaving her alone when she shouldn't be. giving her what she wants when he shouldn't. moving her to a small town that has an annual murder & cannibalization ritual featuring kids just her age.
they say we sacrifice things for love but does that include your own kid?
that amusing quote above isn't even from our hero-dad, it's from his best friend. who turns out to be a model of common sense compared to worst father of the year.
enough about the dad, more about the book itself!
it's been described as a slow burn and that's correct. it's quiet horror. it builds slowly and surely. and quietly. it quietly builds and builds and doesn't go anywhere noisy. it wants you to understand its world and its father and his daughter and the mysterious lady he's fallen deeply - too deeply - in love with. the father and the mysterious lady both love the little girl with all of her strange, quiet little quirks. but the father loves the lady even more and the lady loves the strange traditions of her quiet, quirky hometown more than anyone. all three of them come to hate the noisy normality of new york city. and so off to a deadly little village upstate they go. never go upstate.
film noir is all about shadows and ambiguous motivations and hidden murders, lying women, weapons in the dark. is there such a thing as film blanc, its opposite? this would be the book version of that. no shadows; everything is made clear, even the ghosts that appear in the photos with the little girl, they are right there for all to see. no ambiguous motivations; everything is said clearly and truthfully, just not blatantly, you only have to really listen to truly understand, it's just that most people don't really listen. no hidden murders; they told him from the start what the town's founder did and these are people who adhere to their traditions. the woman never lies and they keep the knife right there, in the church for all to see. that title.
Ken Greenhall is one of my favorite authors. elegant prose, eccentric characters, deep ideas. the novel didn't disappoint. only the dad did. fuck that dad....more
A person who puts a large amount of effort into achieving a certain image, or counter-image, to the point where it is obviously contrived. Ratry-hard
A person who puts a large amount of effort into achieving a certain image, or counter-image, to the point where it is obviously contrived. Rather than achieving an image through genuine personality, the try-hard consciously attempts to fit a certain style through deliberate imitation, forced style, or scripted behavior. That is to say, he/she is trying hard to create an image.
The package itself is gorgeous. An antique sea-trunk: lithographically printed, sewn hardback with coloured endpapers, wonderful illustrations from prThe package itself is gorgeous. An antique sea-trunk: lithographically printed, sewn hardback with coloured endpapers, wonderful illustrations from presumably archaic origins, even the typeset is elegance itself. A weighty book that was a pleasure to simply hold in the hand.
Alas, if only this high level of quality was sustained across all of the stories within! Still, there were five that captured and captivated me. Two of those five were admirable experiments, two more were entirely compelling experiences, and the fifth was a sad masterpiece. For those tales, and the remarkable physical product of the book itself, I am grateful.
Ligan, lī′gan, n. goods sunk at sea, with a float attached for recovery.
Two strong stories within this section.
Stephen J. Clark's "The Figurehead of the Cailleach" tells an absorbing tale of a tradesman summoned to a lonely isle to restore an ancient statue, destined to be cast again and again into the sea, an offering. Clark has an idiosyncratic style: rather stiffly formal, decidedly neutral in tone, and most notably, a frequent use of run-on sentences. His prose creates emotional distance from the story and yet makes the reading of it rather hypnotic. I look forward to reading more by this author.
Karim Ghahwagi's "The Sorrows of Satan's Book" is an account of a film scholar and widower's 1932 visit to a Danish hamlet. The unknowable qualities of the sea, Midsummer songs and rituals, the grisly murder of a writer, the filmmaker Carl Dreyer, and the depths of grief all come into play. The writing is dry and reserved, which makes the hallucinatory sequence near the end all the more powerful. An oblique but ultimately impressive story.
This section also includes one poem and two more stories that were of little interest to me.
Flotsam, flätsəm, n. the wreckage of a ship or its cargo found floating on or washed up by the sea; people or things that have been rejected and are regarded as worthless.
One very strong story and one fascinatingly written story within this section.
Colin Insole's "Dancing Boy" relates the tragic life and sad fate of a PTSD-ridden young veteran, member of the Greatest Generation, newly arrived at a seaside village and intent on rebuilding a cursed boat - much to the secret derision of the villagers and his cooler-than-thou sister. This was a hard one to read; the spite and callous indifference ladled out by all of the cast towards the socially awkward, shell-shocked soldier was the true horror for me. A cruel story. Insole is an amazing artist: despite my discomfort and a slowly accumulating rage aimed at the characters and the narrative itself, I was kept spellbound by the very high level of writing.
Albert Power's "The Final Flight of Fidelia" describes the impact a very disturbing surprise guest from the sea has on those assembled together one dark and stormy night. The tale is like one written centuries ago, due to its successful deployment of archaic language, ponderous rhythm, tortured syntax, and iconic characters. The perfectly executed prose more than makes up for the hoariness of the actual story. Quite enjoyable.
This section also includes one poem and three more stories that, despite being atmospheric, held little interest for me.
Jetsam,ˈjet-səm, n. the part of a ship, its equipment, or its cargo that is cast overboard to lighten the load in time of distress and that sinks or is washed ashore
One intriguing story within this section.
Jonathan Wood's "From whence we came" has a melancholy artist living in his inherited manor, contemplating the sea and his uncle's watery suicide, and attempting to distill his feelings onto canvas. Although rather overwritten, this mood piece reminded me simultaneously of Poe at his most necromantic and Faulkner at his most self-indulgent (namely, the loooooong sentences of his river tale, "The Old Man"). Wood's story goes nowhere, and quite slowly at that, but I was often fascinated by the protagonist's meandering yet intense musings.
This section also includes one poem and three more stories; all of which were of only faint interest to this reader.
Austin's friend Maynard has died, and left him a haunted house in isolated, backwoods Maine to live in. some friend.
Maynard's house had everything I wAustin's friend Maynard has died, and left him a haunted house in isolated, backwoods Maine to live in. some friend.
Maynard's house had everything I wanted: literally chilling, wintry atmosphere to die for; a cozy cabin in the woods - homey furniture, shelves full of books, squirrels living in the rafters - I could picture it all so well and could see myself living there happily; eerie nights layered with spooky sounds; eccentric neighbors full of straight-faced playfulness; plenty of time to commune with nature and plenty of time to contemplate life, and get lost in the dreaminess of it all. and so I went to live there, for 246 pages and 3 days. it was a lovely but disturbing weekend.
Austin went to live there too. he found everything I described. he also found a purpose. unfortunately, that purpose wasn't his own. alas, poor Austin.
Herman Raucher is a wonderful writer. "evocative" is a pale adjective to use when describing how he makes a place come alive. his prose and pacing are polished and restrained, and at first quite deliberate; all the better to bait a trap. slowly his story slips and slides into dreamland, and the writing takes on a more hallucinatory style. mournful flashbacks to Austin's service in the Vietnam War transform into disturbingly prescient conversations with the dead. descriptions of the land and of increasingly strange occurrences start to feel somehow off, like I was missing some important detail that was just beyond my grasp no matter how many times I reread a sentence or paragraph - like I was trying to recall something important from a dream. everyone, everything seems to be teasing Austin, and I felt a similar sort of way when reading his story.
the eeriness seeped in from unexpected corners of the narrative and different supernatural occurrences varied weirdly in tone: from straightforward and blatant (a witch's hanging tree - with no shadow) to cozily, almost comfortingly "haunting" (a rocking chair creaking at night) to absurdly comic (a malevolent hat, chasing after Austin) to palpable but inexplicable (a raging bear attack in the middle of the night, but where did the bear go?) to jaw-dropping (a ghost briefly narrates! of all things) to nightmarish and appalling (a dark stream flowing under the cabin, through the cellar, taking Austin to someplace horrible). the ending had everything I wanted: dreadful ambiguity; satisfying circularity; a happy ending turned inside out.
poor, poor Austin! Raucher did such a fine job in creating this shell-shocked young man. it is a challenge to make someone so blank and so disengaged from the world into a genuinely understandable, sympathetic person. such characters usually come across as ciphers, or assholes. Austin is both. but he's also someone who was real to me, even relatable, almost from the start. such depth of characterization for a character with so little depth! poor Austin, doomed before he even arrived at Maynard's house.
(view spoiler)[a big part of the sad, awful beauty of this novel is linked to the recognizable, everyday tragedies of you're just not good enough - at something you suddenly want to be good at, and you're just not the right person - for a certain place, or group of people that you want to belong to, or a certain way of living. we've all felt that at some point, to some extent. Austin is finally coming out of his lifelong shell, trying to become an actual person rather than a peevish tabula rasa, trying to make a place of his own, and later, trying to connect with a person he loves. poor Austin really gives it his all. he tries to commune with nature, he tries to connect with his oddball neighbors, he tries to show how much he loves his new home. he tries and tries and tries. but the home won't love him back. it loves Maynard, and will do anything for that dear, dead boy. Austin has fallen in love with something that loves another. there's nothing he can do, but he tries, he surely tries. one dream comes true; another dream, crushed. (hide spoiler)]...more
Gwen, In Green is an obscure little horror fantasia; as with all fantasias, it is a mixture of different styles and is based on a number of familiar tGwen, In Green is an obscure little horror fantasia; as with all fantasias, it is a mixture of different styles and is based on a number of familiar tunes. It riffs on eco-horror and the destruction wrought by men with machines, the unfreezing of a frigid woman (which is so 70s), sexuality as horror and as freedom, and finally, terror from space. It handles all of those familiar songs with care. It is also quite the seductive little number: it leads the reader on with a low-key but rather formal style and a story that is focused on the psychological; there are only vague whiffs of dread - and a series of unsettling dreams - to point to the strangeness slowly seeping in from the edges. And then it switches it up, almost abruptly, and turns into a narrative about a semi-possessed woman whose extreme coping mechanisms alternate between the wanton and the murderous. I loved this bewitching obscurity from beginning to end.
As mentioned, the book is so very 1970s and that may make it really irritating to read, for some. There's a certain chauvinism that is continually present - although it never actually veers into misogyny. Gwen may have mental problems and sexual hang-ups; her horndog fratboy of a husband may view her as his lil' lady who handles the cooking & the cleaning & the relaxing of her man; the first half of the novel may be concerned with her issues with sex and his attempts to unfreeze those frosty lady parts... but all of that appears to come from a place of empathy. Zachary is an empathetic writer: Gwen is richly nuanced and her idiosyncrasies are celebrated; George is surprisingly kind, patient, and supportive; their evolving relationship is always tender and respectful. I really enjoyed reading about them and the home they create together, from the ground up.
From the ground up, from within the woods, from the depths of the pond... unfortunately for Gwen and George, the novel is not just about their relationship. It is also about an intangible horror from the ground, the woods, the pond, the stars, and how that horror seduces and then destroys.
Synopsis: A young couple build a beautiful home on a forested island. They proceed to have lots and lots and lots of sex. Horror eventually intrudes upon their happy, sexy idyll....more
Harvest Home is an immersive experience above all things. A small family moves to the small village of Cornwall Coombe; strange things eventually occuHarvest Home is an immersive experience above all things. A small family moves to the small village of Cornwall Coombe; strange things eventually occur. Eventually. Although marketed and designed as a slow-burning horror novel, the pleasures I took from this book were almost totally unconnected to the horror. When the horror comes - after hundreds of pages - it is wrenching and brutal. But before that, Tryon really gets inside this village, inside of its people and traditions and all of the interactions and day-to-day minutia of life in this cozily endearing, intriguing, eventually very real place. His writing style is decidedly literary, and so resists the standard mechanics of many horror narratives. Expect contemplation and rumination, lovely descriptions of nature, characterization that has surprising depth, and many admirable turns of phrase. Interesting mysteries rather than night terrors. His prose is more than technically proficient; it is genuinely impressive, particularly its lyrical qualities. I lived in this village alongside Harvest Home's narrator, and much like him, I was at first fascinated and then came to love the experience. And then, like him, I became slowly agitated and finally, horrified. (And also thrilled, but hey I'm not the narrator.)
Here's an excerpt from an entertaining review that describes the horror and the style perfectly (click on the link to get to the full review):
A Hollywood actor cast as a stalwart leading man type, sort of a faintly cheesier version of John Gavin or a more stiff and saturnine Rock Hudson. He never achieved the popularity his handlers clearly intended for him, and so turned to writing instead. For that, I'm glad! Although I did enjoy his histrionics in Otto Preminger's The Cardinal. Angsty Hollywood hunks trying to be very, very serious are always entertaining and I have pleasant memories of a scene where he's whipped just cause he's trying to do the right thing. Poor Cardinal!
sitting with my nephews in their backyard one evening, i decided it was time to scare the innocent lambs. it was a big backyard with many shadowy cornsitting with my nephews in their backyard one evening, i decided it was time to scare the innocent lambs. it was a big backyard with many shadowy corners; i pointed at the furthest dark spot and said to the duo, "Why don't you ask your friends to join us? I didn't know you invited anyone over. It's weird that they're just standing there watching us, not saying anything..." try as they may, they couldn't make out anyone in that far dark corner of their yard; unsurprisingly, neither of them ventured over to see what i was pointing at. i have a pretty good poker face when i want, so i just kept looking over at the spot while they looked back and forth between me and that shadowy place, not sure if i was joking. finally i murmured, "It's so strange that they're being so quiet..." and slowly got up to check out the corner. one of them grabbed my arm to hold me back and they both whispered nervously "No Uncle Mark, don't!"
and so The Quiet Children were born. i've used those silent lil' sentinels hanging out in dark spaces with much success over the years, scaring kids of course but also a good number of nervous adults who probably should know better. ha!
Nursery Tale is full of such creepy children, born of the earth, human in appearance but definitely not human, pattering through the yards and on the rooftops and up your staircase and into your bedrooms, curious and hungry. very hungry!
T.M. Wright's follow-up to his buried classic Strange Seed broadens the canvas while sacrificing a good amount of ambiguity. his prose didn't have quite the same hypnotic effect on me here as it did in Strange Seed, and I'm not sure that making the horrors relatively straightforward was the best decision. still, this is an enjoyable read and a good example of the Quiet Horror subgenre. Wright is an accomplished author and although he sacrificed the claustrophobic intimacy of the first novel, his decision to widen the scope made this experience quite a different kettle of children. he certainly can't be accused of sticking to a formula. a variety of characters are swiftly but carefully introduced and sometimes just as swiftly dispatched. the kids are made much more deadly, which made this novel quite a bit scarier than its predecessor. his critique of development sloppily encroaching on nature was on-point but never belabored. and his strange lil' creations remain as eerily threatening and oddly sympathetic as ever. poor tykes! all they want is to find some warmth and nourishment. like a house, with people in it!
synopsis: a range of citified homeowners and their children move into a new, upscale housing tract located next to a sprawling forest with children of its own. peculiar incidents accumulate....more
a splendid tale of black magic and horror. this story of a family moving into an inherited manor and being faced with a diabolical threat from anothera splendid tale of black magic and horror. this story of a family moving into an inherited manor and being faced with a diabolical threat from another manor was thoroughly absorbing. Cunningham is a talented writer - certainly far more talented than the packaging of this novel would imply. this is not a book of cheap thrills because the author takes his time with deliberate pacing, slowly building his realistic and sympathetic characters while drawing the net around them ever tighter. I particularly appreciated how the short timeline of the narrative and the relative lack of outright horrifying occurrences never had me scoffing at characters who stayed in a place that had Evil written all over it - that's always frustrating, that inevitable decision to stay in a dangerous place, and Cunningham dealt well with that problem. I also can't overstate how surprisingly well-written this book is: the prose is excellent. my favorite part of The Legacy was its focus on the family manor; I practically lived there myself, as the feel of the place - its atmosphere and all of the details - was so well-done. I'm a sucker for fantasizing about living in a huge country mansion and this novel sure helped with that fantasy! my only complaints were over the occasional and very aggravating misuse of certain words (e.g. he uses fetid incorrectly twice, but finally gets it right the third time) - mainly because Cunningham is so talented with the prose and this problem could have been solved by a more careful editor - and, as Jack noted in his excellent review, how long it takes for the hero to finally clue up and recognize what is happening.
despite those minor flaws, overall this was very enjoyable. because the horrors don't arrive until the final act, this is a perfect book to read a few chapters before bed over the course of a few nights - and then read the entire final third in a breathless rush while staying up past your bedtime....more
Dark Twilight's protagonist searches for the legendary monster of Lake Champlain, cousin to the Loch Ness legend, but that's not the monster that creeDark Twilight's protagonist searches for the legendary monster of Lake Champlain, cousin to the Loch Ness legend, but that's not the monster that creeps through the marsh and attic and boarded-up monastery of this book... Citro is a master at conveying an atmosphere that I can not only visualize, but feel: a chilly island in Vermont, quaintly insular during the day, eerie and menacing by night; the crackle and pop of leaves and twigs being trod upon, wind in the trees, footsteps in the attic, sobbing in the night... the characters are swiftly and deftly fleshed-out, rueing their past failures while dreaming of their futures, real enough to see myself in them and yet still capable of surprising me... a spell of sorts is cast on this island's residents, one of dislocation and forgetting, allowing terrible things to happen that can't be recalled; the author's powers are at his peak during those weird, unnerving moments... the best and saddest surprise of this excellent novel: there are no monsters, not really, just people who are trying to understand themselves, filled with confusion and fearful of being alone, dreaming of something, of someone to share their days and nights...
a couple move near the forest where one of them grew up. something comes out of the forest. the couple enter a forest of their own, a forest of uneasya couple move near the forest where one of them grew up. something comes out of the forest. the couple enter a forest of their own, a forest of uneasy dreams where each day brings something inexplicable that they force themselves to treat as normal. or maybe it is all actually normal after all - to the forest at least, and to the things it creates.
Strange Seed hit a wonderful sweet spot for me. the rain was pouring, the trees were shaking, the wind was crashing into walls and windows. I could almost imagine I was in the middle of nowhere on the edge of a forest rather than locked in the middle of a bustling city full of lights and cars honking. I made it two-thirds of the way through, went to bed, woke up to a sunny day, and finished it off. it turned out to be just as creepy when read to the sounds of birds and people under a blue, sunny sky. a superb book and a sterling example of quiet horror. which apparently is an actual sub-genre of horror. I was so excited by that idea that I quickly made a shelf for it.
these covers sure don't feel like "Quiet Horror" to me, but for some reason I love them:
Wright is excellent with the prose. he writes like he's dreaming: sharp details combined with a hazy story, prosaic reality walking hand in hand with unfathomable unease, people acting like everything's perfectly normal when they should be screaming at the bizarre weirdness going on around them. Strange Seed's story is both delicately nuanced and disturbingly awry. questions go unanswered. ambiguity reigns. don't read this if you want pulpy thrills or in-your-face horror. read this if you have an interest in contemplating disturbing things at a leisurely pace.
so the forest is home to many things and many things are born there. new things, young things, curious things. a boy becomes a man. the man subjugates himself to concrete reality. he meets a woman. the woman subjugates herself to the man, and the house, and what comes from the forest. the woman enters a dream and decides to live there. the man wakes himself up from his dream of reality and joins her. into the woods they go! ah, nature. it lives forever.
perfectly executed little ghost story set in the Arctic wastes in the late 1930s, featuring the adventures of AN AWESOME HUSKY NAMED ISAAK and I suppoperfectly executed little ghost story set in the Arctic wastes in the late 1930s, featuring the adventures of AN AWESOME HUSKY NAMED ISAAK and I suppose some humans as well.
so Jack - a poor, depressed, dog-hating, lower class and very class conscious 28-year-old - finds the perfect solution to his angst and alienation: he will join a small expedition to the abandoned mining outpost of Gruhuken in the Arctic circle. there he will find meaning to his life, camaraderie and fellowship and an intense crush on one of his fellow adventurers, and an atrocious and deadly ghost. there are some other human characters as well but eh whatever, the most compelling part of the story is that Jack meets AN AWESOME HUSKY NAMED ISAAK! who will teach him that only morons hate dogs.
Paver does an excellent job at conveying the time and the place. she creates her characters quickly yet they retain nuance and realism. Jack is an interestingly almost-unreliable narrator. Paver is particularly skilled at painting a locale that is highly atmospheric, dislocating, and eerie. Dark Matter is essentially a haunted house story that takes place in a fairly original setting, full of wide, dark spaces although centered around a small, lonely cabin. of course the author's greatest accomplishment in this book is AN AWESOME HUSKY NAMED ISAAK. what an enjoyable character. he owns every scene he's in.
so Isaak may not be a particularly brave dog, but he is definitely a good dog. and he's a loyal dog too, which is sorta like saying a cat has claws because all good dogs are loyal dogs, but still it has to be said. Isaak's loyalty is outstanding. he also has beautiful blue eyes like most huskies and loves getting treats and enjoys running around and leaning against Jack. who cares if he hides under the bunk when the ghost comes a-calling, that's human business anyway. Isaak made me like Jack, which is quite an accomplishment because Jack is a self-important, self-absorbed grouch. I am also pleased to say that SPOILER Isaak has a happy ending. yay for AN AWESOME HUSKY NAMED ISAAK!
Stephen King's moving novella "The Body" depicts a summer when four young friends from a small town decide to take a look at a rumored dead body. the Stephen King's moving novella "The Body" depicts a summer when four young friends from a small town decide to take a look at a rumored dead body. the boys are all good kids who support each other in a world of bullies and dysfunctional families.
James Everington's absorbing novella "The Shelter" is about a summer when four young friends also go on a brief journey to see something best left unseen. except in this story, the four boys are not really friends, they don't support each other, two of them are bullies, and they don't find an actual body. what they do find is something much, much worse.
The Shelter does not suffer in comparison to The Body. it is well worth reading and comparing the two novellas actually added to my enjoyment. The Shelter both parallels and functions as a negative of The Body in many interesting ways. I wonder if it was intentional. probably not - the author's afterward notes that his piece is also based on events from his life. another intriguing parallel. and one major difference: unlike King, I do not get the sense that this author is a sentimental humanist. not remotely. as a sentimental humanist myself, I felt the lack - but it didn't take away from my positive experience reading the tale. it's not my favorite tone, but I can do bleak and hopeless. it's like an anti-vacation from my own personal outlook on life.
Everington certainly knows how a too hot summer filled with "friends" you actually don't like should feel. he put me right there; the boys felt real and so did their late 1980s milieu. his descriptive powers are strong and the boys' visit to an abandoned air raid shelter is genuinely unnerving. the sense that something is goading them to anger and feeding off of that anger, the dank shelter itself and the visions it contains, the bleak ending... well done. it gave me the creeps. 'tis the season.
Hal and Rowan flee the big city of London to settle in the beautiful, placid, and exceedingly friendly village of Moorstone; disturbing undercurrents Hal and Rowan flee the big city of London to settle in the beautiful, placid, and exceedingly friendly village of Moorstone; disturbing undercurrents eventually become stronger & stronger, and the almost-happy couple find that things are murky indeed beneath the town's lovely surface. there are some intriguing things going on under the surface of this novel as well: Bernard steeps his small bag of precisely-drawn yet often ambiguously sympathetic characters into the opaque waters of immortality to see what particular flavors will rise to the surface. who wants immortality and what price are you willing to pay for it? think not on such things - 'tis a sickness of both body and soul that you contemplate. 'tis the Moorstone Sickness!
there are no surprises here, neither in the supernatural mystery itself nor in what flavors come to dominate by the end. still, despite showing its hand (inadvertently? hard to tell) so early that most of the suspense is stripped away, the book is a good one. polished and elegant prose, an often enigmatic narrative, interesting characterization, a well-developed background for the mystery, and a tone that is dryly straightforward but also hits notes of an almost grim melancholy, laced with a subtlely acidic wit. Taylor is a more than competent author and is distinctly underrated. if you are the sort who likes your horror to be restrained, thoughtful, and horrific in a quietly brooding way, then he is the author for you. overall I preferred Sweetheart, Sweetheart but this was still an intriguing and atmospheric experience....more
By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.
Sweetheart, Sweetheart is a classy ghost story about a haunted cottage in the rural engliBy the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.
Sweetheart, Sweetheart is a classy ghost story about a haunted cottage in the rural english countryside. new tenants, a history of violence and death, you know the drill. it features restrained and elegant writing, some wonderfully atmospheric descriptive passages, an assortment of clever hints and clues, and a perfectly accomplished first person narrative from a very intriguingly developed protagonist. there is an eerie, almost free-floating feeling of longing, melancholy, and frustration that suffuses the tale from beginning to end. the slowly building tension is very well-done. and there is the pricking of thumbs, and words written with dirt, roses left on pillows, glass shards found in ice cream, razor blades placed in cold cream jars.
the novel is swooningly romantic. there is a strongly depicted romance between the two leads, and an even more palpable sense of romance between the narrator and the cottage itself - and the spirit that haunts it. our hero spends most of his time languorously contemplating the warm comfort of his surroundings, almost always in various states of undress, in a state of sleepy rapture. roses, roses, everywhere: a sinister leitmotif, their presence is described on nearly every other page, functioning quite literally as tools of the dead. and inevitably there is some very creepy sensuality; in many ways this is a haunting centered around erotic obsession. all of this romance is completely foreboding, full of dread.
there is an another obsession in this novel that further widens the mystery: who killed whom and who exactly is the spirit in question? the narrator's obsession with his twin's death and the question of what being haunts this cottage make Sweetheart a kind of cold case murder mystery, one with a nicely ambiguous set of long- and recently-dead characters who may be the evil spirit in question. or perhaps it is simply the cottage itself?
so anyway, another question: who is this Bernard Taylor? apparently a prolific writer of many horror novels, for some reason Taylor has been completely off of my radar. i would like to read more of his works.
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musical accompaniment
Miranda Sex Garden: Gush Forth My Tears, Iris, Suspiria...more
the constant marginalization of horror really pisses me off. this is, after all, a genre that includes works by Edgar Allan Poe, Henry Jhere's a rant:
the constant marginalization of horror really pisses me off. this is, after all, a genre that includes works by Edgar Allan Poe, Henry James, Ambrose Bierce, Ray Bradbury, Shirley Jackson, Joyce Carol Oates, Justin Cronin... so many classic and modern luminaries. it includes modern unknowns like Thomas Ligotti, who can out-write 9 authors out of 10, and dazzling semi-unknowns like Robert Aickman, whose prose can be compared favorably to best of Beattie or Byatt or Boyle. and yet it remains the most ghettoized and often despised of classic genres: many bookstores don't even include horror sections, and when they do, it is wall-to-wall King and Koontz; even Goodreads didn't bother including horror as a genre within in its annual reader's poll on best books of 2010. why is this marginalization constantly the case? is it due to the reactionary themes within an art form (literature) that is often seen as liberal and humanist in outlook? is it due to the frequently lurid and corny paperback covers and the often explicitly graphic content within, or the at-times gibbering, gore-obsessed nature of horror fan dialogue?
perhaps the underlying reason is that the mining and unearthing of anxieties and fears is by its very nature an activity that the world holds at a distinct remove. horror is the Sin-Eater of literature; if every Great Novel is a golden road that leads the reader on journeys of learning and experience, then horror novels are those places outside that path, within the earth beneath it, the dark foundation and all those pathless places, the dirt & the debris & the many-legged crawling things, the areas that live without markers and guideposts yet surround us still. simply put, horror is endemic to the human experience. it deserves respect.
so what does this have to do with The Elementals? a lot, and i suppose not a lot. the novel is slight and sensitive; without its horrors, it would be considered a bent and bizarrely charming thing, an honest and often grotesque depiction of Southern manners and society, a worthy offshoot of Flannery O'Connor. the story of a brave little girl and her perhaps-unusual family, and their misadventures. the author illustrates a certain place with a deft and subtle hand, free of fuss and bustle, full of surprising incident and quirky characterization and odd ambiguity. however the addition of horror moves the novel beyond a gentle but pointed comedy of manners and into something stranger and more threatening, a place where questions go unanswered, attacks go unexplained, characters both just and unjust find themselves at odds with nature and the unnatural, a place where the horrors literally rise from the earth and sand, to tempt and threaten and destroy, and then to return back to the earth, their motives unexplained. this is in some ways the essence of horror: the tableau of humanity, threatened and tormented by things that spurn our paths, that exist beyond our understanding. the horror may come from within or without, but it lives beside us always, an inconstant and alien reminder of how easily our cozy realities may be threatened and transformed, taken off of the paths that we so carefully construct and cherish. yeah, Horror!...more
in many ways, the short story format is the ideal one for Clegg. due to restraints of length, the horror he depicts is often ambiguous - yet the storyin many ways, the short story format is the ideal one for Clegg. due to restraints of length, the horror he depicts is often ambiguous - yet the story itself must also be to the point and not meander, if only to keep the tale a brief one. atmosphere and characterization and dialogue are rendered sharply and quickly; his narratives are not allowed to grow digressive or flaccid. the action can be minimal or propulsive, but cliches are happily avoided. there is no time to rely on accumulated goodwill from the reader within a short story, so the form really separates the experts from the inexpert. Clegg's strengths are rendered in bold relief.
the key find in this brief collection (only 4 stories) is the rather brilliant and moving "A Madness of Starlings". i may never know what fatherhood is, but it is doubtless a complex, highly emotional, and often frightening experience. this story of a father with good intentions is also a tale of death, madness, and good deeds gone horribly awry. the horror at its core is one of loss, but horror is also present in the creeping feeling that there is a terrible plan or structure or meaning behind events that hurt and transform us. it was very well-done. a sad and chilling tale.
"The Wolf" - an interesting fable. simple, brief, accomplished.
"The American" - a tale almost solely composed of chatty, ambiguous dialogue, featuring a troubled gay american abroad, and in love. a sharp and sinister last line.
"The Dark Game" - this is a precursor to The Hour Before, and it is the weakest story in the collection. i understand what Clegg is trying to show us with the playing of "the dark game", but unfortunately characterization and the actual logistics of what was being described were lacking. ah well, can't win 'em all....more
a real chore to get through; i wasn't up to the task. no matter how occasionally strong the writing may be, when repetitive dream sequences are contina real chore to get through; i wasn't up to the task. no matter how occasionally strong the writing may be, when repetitive dream sequences are continually favored over an actual narrative, i end up confused, bored and annoyed. i gave up at the halfway mark....more
i think i expected a lot more from Clegg, but this was by no means a bad book. the subject and setting were suitably sinister and melancholy. the centi think i expected a lot more from Clegg, but this was by no means a bad book. the subject and setting were suitably sinister and melancholy. the central character remained passive and vaguely annoying throughout the novel. but the themes of buried trauma unearthing itself and You Can't Go Home Again were really absorbing - watching them develop is the novel's greatest attribute. the elegant restraint that Clegg appears to be noted for was certainly present...perhaps to the novel's detriment, because i found it a challenge to return to this book on a regular basis. at times the mannered portentousness was seriously aggravating as well. but overall The Hour made me interested in what else Clegg has to offer....more
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