The release of a new book by Adam Nevill is always cause for
celebration. For over ten years now, he has consistently produced novels and
short fiction which has terrified and disturbed readers – myself, very much,
included. Not many authors have written books which I’ve had to stop reading because
they were creeping me out too much but Adam is one of them.
It’s a rare skill. To produce such an extreme emotional
response in a person simply through words on a page is amazing. Dark arts may
be involved but a more likely explanation is a remarkable dedication to the
craft of writing, something Adam talks about in his book Cries from the Crypt and which is apparent in everything he writes.
Breaking a run of novel releases, this year’s book is a
collection of short stories called Some
Will Not Sleep – a title which, on reflection, could refer either to the
characters within or the readers once they’ve finished it. It’s published by
Adam’s own Ritual Ltd.
There are eleven stories in the book, eight of which are written
in first person narrative, and each and every one is a cracker – here you’ll
find monsters (including those of the human variety), ghosts, arcane rituals
and some of the most disturbing imagery ever put on paper… Those familiar with
Adam’s novels will also find here the seeds from which some of those epics
grew.
Children, and childhood fears, feature prominently in the
collection – indeed, the book opens with one such story, Where Angels Come In. It takes the Spooky Old House On The Hill
That No-one Dare Enter trope and runs with it, describing the break-in by the
story’s narrator and his friend Pickering into such an establishment. It’s a
familiar set-up and readers will have a warm glow of anticipation as they begin
the story, relishing the thought of spooky goings-on, perhaps a half-glimpsed
shadowy figure scaring the boys so much that they run home, tails between their
legs… Except, of course, this is an Adam Nevill story. The horrors are not so
much hinted at here as pushed centre stage. Beginning with the bizarre statues
the boys discover in the grounds of the house, the terrifying images come one
after the other as the house’s residents reveal themselves to the boys. And
then attack…
It’s an incredibly strong opening tom the book, utterly
terrifying – that terror intensified by a wonderful closing paragraph which
acts as a book-end – and dredging up all those childhood nightmares, tapping
into the images that scared us as kids and proving, most effectively, that
they’re just as terrifying to adults.
Children also feature in two other stories, both set outside
the UK. Pig Thing takes place in New
Zealand and is in essence a siege story, with children in a remote house
terrorised by the titular monster. One of the many strengths of the story –
along with the description of the Pig Thing itself – is the acceptance, from
the outset, that the monster is real. No time is wasted here attempting to
suspend the reader’s disbelief, no effort made to rationalise – the Pig Thing
exists, and it’s bloody terrifying.
Japan is the setting for The
Ancestors. Told in first person from a child’s perspective, it’s a potent
mix of imaginary friends (or not…) and haunted toys. Anyone who has read Adam’s
House of Small Shadows will know just
how scary the latter can be and that’s put to very effective use here in a
story which gradually builds up the tension to a truly disturbing climax.
The imagery and imagination employed throughout this
collection are typical - if not quintessential – Nevill but the most direct
references to his longer works are to be found in two stories in particular: To Forget and be Forgotten has, as its
central character a night-watchman in an apartment block (here in Antwerp), a
job Adam himself endured and which also features in his novel Apartment 16. Our first-person narrator
takes the job in order to fulfil his wish to be anonymous, to hide from society
but finds himself embroiled in very strange goings-on indeed. There’s a hint of
Rosemary’s Baby here I guess but this
story is very much its ow beast – and proof that old people can be just as
scary as children.
Readers of Adam’s novel The
Ritual will recognise many of the references in The Original Occupant with much of the story taking place in
sub—arctic Scandinavia. It’s a semi-epistolary account of a friend of the
narrator’s disappearance in that region. It’s an odd little story, in that for
much of it I was unsure of which time period it was set in. The language, the
gentlemen’s clubs which feature and the fact that much communication is done by
letter had the story placed somewhere in the twenties or thirties in my mind
but then, late in the tale, a helicopter appears. It’s a minor criticism of a
story that relies less on disturbing imagery and overt terror than on implied,
suggestive horror. It’s an entertaining companion piece to The Ritual but is set in a different enough world that its
enjoyment won’t be diminished if the novel hasn’t already been read.
As mentioned previously, all the Nevill trademarks are to be
found within the covers of Some Will Not
Sleep but it also contains one of the least Nevillesque stories I’ve had
the pleasure of reading too. The Age of
Entitlement is a subtle, psychological slow-burner of a tale with two
pretty much unlikable protagonists. There are hints at some possible
supernatural elements but these are simply there to add to the slowly growing
sense of unease which builds as tensions between the protagonists increases. No
clacking trotters here, no withered hands or yellow fangs - but this is
definitely a story about a monster.
A human monster also takes centre stage in Yellow Teeth, telling, as it does, of
the lodger from Hell – uninvited and unwilling to move on. Add in that this also
happens to be the most unhygienic person in the world and the scene is set for
much glorious description of disgust which, come its conclusion, verges on body
horror. It’s a potent (but definitely not fragrant) blend of psychological and
physical horror which then becomes something else again when the reason for the
lodger’s bizarre behaviour becomes clear, turning into a story of a descent –
or possibly ascent – into Hell.
Florrie is the
last story in the collection and is Adam’s take on a haunted house story. What
sets this apart from other such tales is the idea that the house itself may be
doing the haunting rather than its previous occupants. Haunting shifts almost
imperceptibly into possession as the protagonist’s world alters around him and
the story – and therefore the book – ends on one of the most chilling lines I’ve
ever read.
The spirit of Cormac McCarthy haunts What God Hath Wrought? – in particular his masterpiece Blood Meridian. It’s a superb weird
western, and – like McCarthy’s novel – has, as one of its characters, a
malevolent preacher making his way through the wilderness of the American West.
I do love a good weird western and this is up there with the best of them (I
loved the story when I first read it in the Gutshot
anthology and enjoyed it just as much second time around). The story’s main
set-piece is a battle with the preacher’s followers, the vampiric Nephites, and
this is handled with great aplomb, written as skilfully as the earlier passages
of dialogue which drip with authenticity. It’s one of the longer stories in the
book but deserving of its length and I was gripped from start to finish. And
what a finish… the story ends with a revelation of epic proportions, leaving
the reader with an image upon which to ponder. It’s a stunning end to a
stunning story.
The remaining two stories in the book are Doll Hands and Mother’s Milk. Often, when structuring reviews, the last few
paragraphs are a quick round-up of the stories which didn’t work so well, a
kind of “also included were…” Not so here. These two stories, in my opinion,
were the stand-outs of the collection. I’ve (somewhat unfairly perhaps) lumped
them together because I regard them as coming from the same stock; I believe both
are incredibly stylishly written, almost surreal, celebrations of the
grotesque.
Of the two, Doll Hands
provides more context for the bizarre happenings described, set as it is in
a post-apocalyptic landscape where the majority of survivors are horribly
disfigured and the processing of human flesh for consumption is the norm. The
story is narrated in a naïve, almost child-like style which only serves to
intensify the horror being described.
Mother’s Milk is a
vignette, a brief – and nightmarish - glimpse into the life of a family of
grotesque creatures. Possibly human, or at least once human – the story does not reveal. In fact, very little is
revealed about why or how these creatures have come about; the narrator of the
tale holds down a job but the family home is isolated and secluded, allowing
their bizarre life to continue. This lack of information may be troublesome to
some readers but I loved the fact that I was simply dropped into the middle of
this surreal existence with no context or reason.
The imagery, so much a feature of Adam’s work, is
incredible. It’s not an easy read – at least with a film you can look away from
the screen when the worst bits come on but that’s not so easy with a book… I’m
still not sure exactly what Mother’s Milk
is about but I loved it. This is pretty much how I feel about Eraserhead and the emotions evoked by
that film are the same ones I had when I finished reading this story. This isn’t
just a case of style over substance either, this is an amazing reading
experience, truly the stuff of nightmares.
I feel I can’t recommend Some
Will Not Sleep highly enough. All of the stories within of are of the
highest quality and those already familiar with Adam’s novels will have the
added pleasure of seeing where some of the ideas for those great works came
from.
Here is evidence of great talent, of a writer embracing and
expanding a genre. The imagination on display is second to none and is matched
by a prose style many would kill for. Adam Nevill is a great ambassador for
horror and the genre is lucky to have him.
