Staggering

 

Last Night of Freedom is the debut novel from Dan Howarth whose short story collection Dark Missives and novella Territory both impressed me hugely. It’s set in a fictionalised version (for obvious reasons, as will become clear) of the Lake District and tells of a stag party gone horribly wrong as the men find themselves being hunted by the locals.

The party consists of four friends who, for a variety of reasons, have chosen the remote location for the do. They’re old friends from university who have to some extent drifted apart of the intervening years. It’s a scenario that of course will bring to mind Adam Nevill’s novel Ritual, which featured a similar set of protagonists in a remote, rural location. Indeed, one of the group of four friends in both novels share the name Luke.

Ritual was a novel of folk horror (with touches of the Cosmic) and Last Night of Freedom shares some of those trappings too but it’s fair to say that this aspect plays a background role in things; is there really to provide context. To call it a MacGuffin is probably too strong but the novel is really a character study, an examination of what friendship is. Which is not to say that it isn’t a horror novel – it most certainly is – but the horrors here are of the psychological rather than supernatural variety (with the occasional spot of wince-inducing violence along the way).

This dissection of the relationships between the four men is made possible by the bold move to present the narrative as first person, present tense chapters, moving between the characters in turn. It’s a conceit that pays huge dividends, with the readers exposed, literally, to the innermost thoughts of the men which can then be contrasted with what they say to, and how they interact with, the others. (Two chapters are given over to third person descriptions of two of the local men who are hunting them, something which put me in mind of Hitchcock’s Rear Window in which all but three scenes are from the point of view of L B Jefferies as portrayed by James Stewart).

The stress of the situation the four find themselves in brings to the fore all the resentments and jealousies which until then had been compartmentalised and hidden away. The novel seems to posit the theory that the strength of any friendship relies on how well these negative emotions can be held in check. The four men are fighting their pursuers of course but the tension and mistrust between themselves causes just as many problems.

Last Night of Freedom is incredibly tense. It’s an uncomfortable read and I have to admit to some sense of relief when I’d finished it; not because I wasn’t enjoying it – far from it – but simply because I could allow myself to finally relax. Horrible things happen in this book and the way in which it’s written makes the reader almost complicit in what’s going on. Opinions about the characters will change as the book progresses as the top-notch writing draws you into making your own allegiances. This so done so skilfully that I even found myself rooting for one of the characters after he’d done something devastatingly awful earlier in the book – I’d effectively compartmentalised those negative feelings about him I guess.

It's a novel which works on many levels. It can be “enjoyed” simply as an action adventure but there’s much more depth to it than that. The author’s disdain of the whole ritual of stag parties is evident (even from the book’s “dedication”), a view shared by many, myself included, I’m sure. The opening chapter, told from the viewpoint of Connor, the Best Man, even echoes these sentiments; reflecting the fact that many of those who find themselves participating in these types of functions aren’t actually enjoying it either. “Ritual” is the right word; whilst the book can be read as an attack on toxic masculinity, I think the use of the hunt is inspired, providing as it does plenty of commentary on things being done simply because that’s the way it’s always been. Both protagonists and antagonists here are doing what they’re doing because that’s what tradition dictates.

Not that that’s any excuse of course, but…

I really enjoyed Last Night of Freedom, it’s further evidence that Mr Howarth is a writer to keep an eye on. It’s thrilling, unsettling and food for thought – a combination that’s tricky to get right but which is achieved here brilliantly.

To Dare the Dream

 

One must conquer, achieve, get to the top;

one must know the end to be convinced that one can win the end,

to know there’s no dream that mustn’t be dared.

George Mallory

 

This is the quote from which I’ve drawn the title of my new short novella/long novelette To Dare the Dream. I had already written the story, and was on the third or fourth draft when I came across it and realised how perfectly the sentiment expressed in it fitted with what I’d try to convey in the 16000 or so words I’d consigned to paper. Whether or not George Mallory was successful in his attempt to conquer the summit of Everest will remain forever a mystery (fittingly so in my opinion) and although I provide my own answer in the story what I really wanted to explore was his motivation, obsession even, with climbing the highest mountain in the world.

Regarded as one of, if not the finest climbers of his generation, it would be only natural for him to want to achieve the ultimate prize in mountaineering. A competitive spirit was part of it of course but his relationship with mountains went beyond them merely being a challenge to his skills, he had a genuine affection for the high places and loved simply being among them.

During the course of my research into his life and career, another possible source of motivation for him to climb Everest became apparent. The disaster which occurred on his first expedition to the mountain may well have provided impetus for his second attempt two years later, a sense of guilt at what had happened spurring him on in an attempt to somehow make amends for what had happened.

His experiences as an artillery officer in the trenches of World War One may have given an explanation as to why he should feel this guilt and this episode in his life features in To Dare the Dream alongside other sections detailing his early climbing expeditions in the Alps, his lecture tour of America, his ascent of Pillar Rock in the Lake District as well as the ill-fated 1922 expedition and the final summit attempt in 1924. There’s also some allusion to the significance of the number seven… Although based on real events, and featuring real people Mallory knew and climbed alongside, this is a work of fiction.

Like Mallory I love the mountains too and writing To Dare the Dream was a real labour of love. It’s now available as an ebook for Kindle and a (slim, 85 page) paperback here.

All the Fiends of Hell

 

All the Fiends of Hell is the twelfth novel by Adam Nevill and the seventh to be published by his own imprint Ritual Limited. In keeping with the majority of the books previously published by Ritual, the cover is adorned with another stunning piece of art by Samuel Araya, employing once more their distinctive red and black palette.

The novel begins with an event somewhat akin to the evangelical Rapture in which populations are raised into the sky. However, this turns out not to be a resurrection, with the pure of heart taken directly to heaven to meet God, but rather the first step in an elimination of the human race by extraterrestrial visitors bent on…

Well, there’s the thing. The motivation behind the annihilation is never elucidated because the story unfolds via the viewpoint of Karl – ordinary, unexceptional and directionless as the book’s blurb describes him – a masterstroke by the author as it serves to increase the sense of confusion and dread the events of the first night and then the subsequent days instil in him and, thus vicariously, the readers. There’s no mention here of any government, scientific or military response (although, given the present incumbents of the Houses of Parliament, that response would probably “let’s see if it blows over” or, more likely, “how can we make money from this?”). This limited third person approach is hugely effective, distilling (presumably) global events down to the individual level.

Karl somehow survives the apocalyptic event and there follow a number of hugely atmospheric scenes in which he wanders the now deserted landscapes of his home town; scenes which bring to mind cinematic examples of the same scenario such as the various film versions of Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend, 28 Days Later and, of course, Romero’s Dead films. All of these, of course, have the added bonus of rampaging hordes of monsters added to the mix.

And such is the case with All the Fiends of Hell; bizarre creatures now roam the deserted streets, hunting down those who survived the initial cull in order to kill them. Cue some thrilling set-pieces in which Karl witnesses attacks by the creatures, as well as some “derelictions” in which he discovers the aftermath of the attacks.

The terrifying prospect of being hunted by the monsters is made even more so by the way in which they carry out the killings. Despite obviously having access to the advanced technology which brought about the initial Rapture (and to get into Earth’s orbit in the first place), the hunters resort to physical violence, snapping necks, in order perform their duty. Worse still, the bodies of those despatched are arranged into hideous displays.

This latter suggests a true malevolence to the invaders, an inference that they enjoy the act of killing and are proud of it. Despite its sci-fi trappings, All the Fiends of Hell is most definitely a horror story. Indeed, the original cull of victims also hints at this malevolence despite the lack of violence involved, the novel opening with Karl surrounded by his family, gently encouraging him to join them outside, the implication that something lovely awaits them there…

The horror here is decidedly cosmic. It’s a seam Adam has mined on many previous occasions but Fiends differs from his other novels in that, rather than the horror being confined to an individual or small group of people here it involves the entire planet. This is epic terror. The cosmic awe is skilfully created and enhanced by the imagery of the book; a red pall filling the sky, moving inexorably south and bringing with it the murderous fiends; within those red skies a huge, black object. One can imagine Denis Villeneuve having a field day transferring these visions to film but reading these passages I was put in mind of the apocalyptic paintings of John Martin, and in particular his The Great Day of his Wrath.

(Incidentally, this painting was apparently inspired by a trip to the Black Country, an area of the Midlands not far from where the opening chapters of the novel are set).

Comparisons can be drawn with Adam’s earlier novel Lost Girl. Both are apocalyptic novels – although that event is still awaiting completion in the earlier book – but something else which binds the two together is the theme of a father/daughter relationship. Whereas in Lost Girl, that relationship was a real one, here it’s the bond between Karl and an orphaned girl he discovers on his travels (along with her brother) and who becomes his charge which provides much of the narrative thrust of the novel. When the girl, Hayley, is abducted it becomes Karl’s mission (alongside finding safety of course) to track her down. Much in keeping with Lost Girl, the question of how far he will go to save her plays a big part in proceedings and, as with the earlier novel, the answer is startling – and horrific.

Whilst the scale of All the Fiends of Hell (albeit seen through the lens of individual experience) differentiates it from his other novels, there is still much of the Nevillesque on display here. Descriptions of smells which elicit childhood memories in Karl provide a hugely effective opening to the novel and it’s the distinctive aroma of chlorine which indicates the presence of the fiends. The fiends are classic Nevill creations too, although in many cases their forms are not entirely visible (something which only adds to their strangeness), what can be seen fits nicely into the Nevill template established in his earlier novels. The villain of the piece, Bob – who provides a human element of horror to proceedings – speaks with a heavy accent reminiscent of the scum of the earth the Father came across in Lost Girl and one of Adam’s foulest creations, Knacker McGuire of No One Gets Out Alive.

And, of course, the colour red plays a prominent role, with the ominous pall that covers the sky and marks the progress of the alien invaders casting its ruddy illumination over the world, creating an image of Hell on Earth.

Cosmic awe and existential dread make fine bedfellows and rarely have the two been combined to such devastating effect as in All the Fiends of Hell. Come story’s end the invaders remain as enigmatic and unknowable as they were at the outset, something which only adds to their horror. Whilst the book’s opening played with the idea of faith - the hints at some kind of Rapture type event are overt – the chance of salvation presented here relies entirely upon it, with little more than rumours that the sea offers a means of escape driving the characters to the south coast. It’s a book that in one regard shows the power of the human spirit whilst at the same time demonstrating humanity’s insignificance in the grand, cosmic, scheme of things. It’s a fine addition to Adam’s oeuvre and one I thoroughly recommend.