Mercier’s
quote wasn’t meant to be disparaging of course, (quite the opposite in fact),
and neither is my appropriation and modification of it; the stories in Wyrd
are what the author describes as “derelictions” and are all set in the
aftermath of some terrible event, consisting of descriptive passages of the
evidence left behind. Thus, nothing actually happens during the stories - but a
lot has certainly happened just prior to them beginning. Hippocampus,
the story which opens the collection is one of my favourite pieces of short
fiction anyway, much of that admiration being for the style in which it was
written so it’s wonderful that Adam has taken that concept and run with it,
developing and expanding it to produce the six original stories which accompany
it.
Given the
nature of the stories there are of course no characters in which to invest your
emotions and no dialogue. What we have instead are long passages of descriptive
prose, a presentation of evidence and inferences from which the reader must
discern what has happened. It’s a bold move and in order to work requires
writing of the highest order.
Which, of
course, it has. Whilst in essence the stories are lists of observations, the
writing is so assured and skilful that they read like extended prose poems,
composed in such a way that there is a momentum to the words, a rhythm and pace
which pulls the reader in and carries them along. The imagery created is
sublime and unsettling; symmetrically arranged stones, dimly lit rooms,
buildings full of the dead… I’m often guilty of comparing Adam’s work to film
technique - so once more can’t hurt: the stories in Wyrd put me in mind
of long, single-take tracking shots, the camera moving fluidly through a scene.
Such sequences can help build tension – especially if they are dialogue-free –
the viewer waiting for something to happen, for something or someone to
suddenly appear, and this is exactly the feeling that’s created by all of the
stories in this book. The power of suggestion has rarely been so effectively
deployed.
[As I
write this part of the review, I’m struck by the thought that the sequence in
Goodfellas sound-tracked by Layla and showing the discovery of the
bodies is pretty much a filmic version of a dereliction: aftermath displayed in
all its wordless glory: https://youtu.be/1Z6MJIjCJ20 ]
Because
the reader is an active participant in the discoveries made within the stories,
they are written in present tense, something which only helps to increase the
tension. Implied within the form of the stories is the presence of an unseen
narrator – or more properly a guide, leading the reader from one gruesome discovery
to the next. On the whole, the guide offers no explanation or rationale, simply
points out what is to be seen, allowing the reader to reach their own
conclusions. I say on the whole as in some of the later stories, the guide certainly
becomes more conversational, even offering up some suggestions as to what might
have happened. I saw this as an evolution of the form as the book progressed,
the style and content changing ever so slightly – or perhaps as signs of a
growing familiarity between guide and reader. This is most apparent in the
story Monument which at some points even drifts into second person,
describing directly how “you” feel and the narrator/guide referring to “we” on
a couple of occasions. I started reading Wyrd late at night and (because I'm old) had
to read it in two goes but my advice would be to read it all at one go if
possible, (definitely achievable, the overall length is that of a novella), and
enjoy the subtle changes in the relationship fully.
There’s a
change in the timing of the point of entry into the stories too. Whilst the
early stories show the aftermath of events only, later tales offer fleeting glimpses
of the perpetrators and create a feeling that events are still unfolding. The
horrifying prospect that what is being described is not just an aftermath but
also a beginning is one which looms large in these later tales.
The dead
litter the pages, often described in forensic detail that isn’t for the
faint-hearted. The “who” of the whodunnit is most obvious in the title story of the collection even if the “why” is open to speculation but in the rest there are only hints as to who, or what, has perpetrated the foul deeds on
display. Hints of supernatural interference abound, possibly even extra-terrestrial
forces have been at work here. Notably, there’s a distinctly coastal theme to
the locations described, a perfect choice, a place where two worlds intersect
and most of the aftermaths described are in remote areas, their isolation
adding to the atmosphere and feelings of abandonment – and yes, dereliction - wonderfully.
Wyrd is an incredible piece of work. As
I stated earlier it’s a bold move on the author’s part to take it on and the
stories will not be to everyone’s liking. In musical terms this is definitely a
concept album but in my opinion the concept is a brilliant one and the
experience of reading this collection is one I thoroughly enjoyed and one I’m
looking forward to repeating very soon. As ever, the book itself is a work of
art with the impeccable production qualities we’ve grown to expect from Ritual. Once again, a stunning piece of art from Samuel Araya graces the front cover.
I don’t
think it’s hyperbole to say that Wyrd pushes the boundaries of short
fiction writing. Adam Nevill has produced a work of stunning originality and
may even have created a new sub-genre in horror fiction. I loved this
collection and can’t recommend it highly enough.
