All Change.

Mutator is the latest offering from Gary Fry and is released by DarkFuse. As expected, it's another slice of philosophical conjecture lurking within the framework of a horror story - another Frydian thesis. Previous books by Gary have focused on the dichotomy between mind and body but there's a different subject matter on display in Mutator with musings on evolutionary theory providing the backdrop to the narrative thrust.
The story centres around James who has just moved into his remote Yorkshire home with his dog, Damian. Yes, a dog called Damian. Unfortunately, it's Damian with an "a" and not Damien with an "e" thereby precluding any jokes about omens but there's plenty foreshadowing going on here - something Gary does extremely well - with encounters with spiders and distorted reflections worming their way into the reader's subconscious, subtly building a contextual framework. It's too overt to be truly subliminal but the effect is the same.
An encounter with a neighbour raises concerns over the house's previous occupant and the discovery of a hidden room containing scientific equipment and journals deepens those concerns. Things really come to a head with arrival of a small, silver ball which falls from the sky and which turns out to be spaceship containing...
Suffice to say, what it is that emerges from the ball provides the horror of the story but is also the basis of its philosophical concerns. As a cognitive scientist, James understands that it is consciousness alone which can adapt immediately to its environment via perception and learning, that the physical body is incapable of such rapid change. Until, that is, he discovers the craft's occupant.
My main criticism of Gary's previous book, Savage, was that it was too short to adequately develop the themes contained within it and I have to make the same comment about Mutator. He's created a truly original monster here with massive potential but I feel the short length of the novella means it's not fully exploited and that the plot contrivances are, as in Savage, exacerbated. I think there's massive potential for this creature and would love to see the ideas on display in Mutator evolve (ha!) into a longer form.
Don't get me wrong though, Mutator is a great read. Despite the emphasis I've given to the theoretical aspects in this review, they in no way overwhelm the story and there's plenty plot to be getting on with and enough gore and gloopiness to satisfy hardened fans of "wet work". The trend of horrible things happening to small mammals established in Savage is maintained here.
Mutator is another trademark blend of horror and philosophy - archetypal Fry - and further evidence of an author making his mark (or should that be Lamarck) in the world of weird fiction. I recommend it highly.

The End.

The End. This is the end, my only friend, the end…So sang Jim Morrison in the 1967 song bearing that ominous title. Its initial release was too early for even me to remember but the song is one of my cultural landmarks because of its use in Francis Ford Coppola’s masterpiece Apocalypse Now – its plangent tones accompanying the death of Colonel Kurtz, the music and lyrics providing the perfect accompaniment to the striking imagery on screen.

That was thirty five years ago (yes, I know…) but it made such an impact on me that I can’t help but hear the song whenever I hear those two words. (Pavlov – and possibly his dogs – would be proud).

So yes, there it was, running through my head when I read that the new novel from Gary McMahon shared that particular title. Whilst the song is about the end of a relationship (and various oedipal fantasies…) the book is about the end of the world – or at least mankind’s existence on it. It describes present day events surrounding the appearance of a “suicide plague” which compels huge swathes of the population to kill themselves – apocalypse now indeed.

It’s a first person narrative – a device which works brilliantly to convey the confusion as well as the horror of the situation and which also means that there are no real explanations for why what is happening is happening. There are hints and clues yes – a couple of the book’s most effective set pieces describe the appearance of messages implying that someone is to blame – but anyone seeking a full and detailed explanation will be disappointed. This is a good thing.

The narrator is Mack, in London on business when the plague hits, hundreds of miles away from his blind and pregnant wife Kay who is back home in their isolated cottage in Yorkshire. The bulk of the novel concerns Mack’s journey back home, accompanied by a small group of fellow survivors and it’s his determination to be reunited with the woman he loves that provides the emotional core of the book.

The journey is, of course, fraught with difficulty and danger. As if simply negotiating their way through traffic pile-ups caused by the mass suicides wasn’t enough, the survivors also have to contend with the “Leftovers” – zombies for all intents and purposes - who have become aggressors, determined to take as many people with them as they can, oblivious to their own horrific injuries and who provide the book’s gross-out moments in abundance. Much uncoiling of intestines is to be had…

The success of the book of course depends on the character of Mack, its narrator, and Gary does a brilliant job of creating an everyman that the reader can root for, enhancing that character with the romance between him and his wife to whom he is desperate to return. It’s therefore an incredibly bold move to, in a single scene, completely undermine the empathy and trust the reader has invested in the character when he makes a decision to follow a particular course of action.

It’s a move that works brilliantly though, shocking the reader, unsettling them and leaving them uncertain right up until the end of the book at which point context – of a sort – is provided. That’s not all the ending provides although to say more would be unfair. It’s incredibly powerful though, and deeply moving.

In the early days of this blog I referred to Gary McMahon as “The King of Bleak”. Whilst this was meant as a compliment it could also be seen as pigeon-holing or labelling –a suggestion that Gary is a “type” of writer. This, as anyone who has read his work will know, is far from the truth but, I’ll tell you what, if you do want bleak there aren’t many better as The End convincingly demonstrates.

On the surface, The End reads as an exciting horror novel – and can be enjoyed simply on that basis - but there’s real depth here too with musings on humanity itself, (and not the more benevolent interpretations of the word) with suggestions that the plague is the ultimate outcome for mankind's greed and selfishness and the destruction they inevitably result in.

The End is evidence indeed that Gary's mojo is risin' and is published by Newcon Press. You can - and I thoroughly recommend that you should - buy it here.

The Spectral Book of Horror Stories.

The Spectral Book of Horror Stories is a non-themed anthology from Spectral Press which contains nineteen stories selected – and edited – by mark Morris. It’s a stellar line-up of well established authors contributing to the book and this, along with the high standard established by Spectral with everything they’ve so far published meant my expectations were high for this new volume. Having now read an advance review copy of the book I can say that those expectations were more than fulfilled – this is an outstanding collection of stories and a brilliant advertisement for the short form of horror writing.

Leading the procession is On the Tour by Ramsey Campbell, a tale of narcissism and delusion centred around Stu, one-time drummer in Scotty and the Scousers who is convinced a Beatles tour in Liverpool is incorporating a visit to his own home. Stu’s character is skilfully drawn and Campbell succeeds in eliciting – if not empathy then certainly sympathy - from the reader. There’s a dark undercurrent (or should that be a backbeat?) to the tale however and as the story progresses this comes to the fore, leading to an ending whose inevitability in no way diminishes its tragedy.

On the Tour isn’t the only story to use music as a backdrop, it’s a theme that occurs in Reggie Oliver’s The Book and the Ring which reintroduces the character of Jeremiah Staveley from his earlier story Quieta Non Movere a sixteenth century composer of choral music. To be honest, there’s nothing too original in the story itself – a tale if witchcraft and deals with the devil – but the real joy of the piece is in the way it’s written with the author presenting it as a written testimony from Staveley himself, beautifully creating the Elizabethan language and style of writing.

Musicians feature in Brian Hodge’s Cures for a Sickened World – this time a black metal group – Balrog – whose latest album has been mauled by an egotistical critic, Mr Sunshine. Revenge ensues, with the critic’s words turned back on him – literally, as a form of torture. It’s a bleak story with a nihilistic feel to it which gradually descends deeper and deeper into the darkness.

The fourth music themed story is Conrad Williams’ The Devil’s Interval. The story immediately struck a chord with me (sorry – pun intended) as, like its protagonist, I’m a self-taught (i.e. hopeless) guitarist. Pretty much anything that involves going beyond the third fret instils a mild sense of panic in me and I truly believe barre chords are a thing of the devil. What actually is a thing of the devil is the guitar featured in the story, a Fender Strat which unleashes havoc in this witty, yet dark riff (yeah, I know…) on Faustian themes.

The devil – or at he very least the imagery associated with him – plays a part in Rio Youers’ Outside Heavenly – the title referring to a town with surely one of the most ironic names ever. The story starts with the discovery of a mutilated corpse in a burning house and then gets progressively darker as the testimony of the murdered man’s wife gradually uncovers a demonic story with its roots in a strange settlement just outside of town…

There’s fire aplenty in the Youers story and it’s another recurring theme in the book. It has a significant role to play in Angela Slatter’s The October Widow – a vital component in a yearly ritual of renewal, a ritual involving sacrifice and burnt offerings carried out by the enigmatic Mirabel so that the natural order of the world can be maintained. Mr Spock’s philosophy circa Wrath of Khan that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few is the rationale behind this ceremony but unfortunately it’s a tenet not everyone agrees with – with disastrous results.

Finding oneself in a new environment can often be a strange experience, the feeling of being an outsider, not fitting in and it’s this scenario that’s exploited in Funeral Rites by Helen Marshall, Something Sinister in Sunlight by Lisa Tuttle and Eastmouth by Alison Moore. The former finds Canadian Nora taking lodgings with Mrs Moreland and becoming entangled in a family tragedy. The arrival of the coffin containing Moreland’s son Sean brings about a suitably creepy conclusion and casts new light – or possibly darkness – on the characterisation that has preceded it.

Something Sinister in Sunlight has British actor Anson living and working in Los Angeles but nearing the end of his tether, thoroughly disappointed at the way things have turned out, typecast as psychopathic killers. In essence a variation of Misery, an encounter with a fan leads to some blurring of the lines between what’s real and what isn’t.

Eastmouth has Peter taking girlfriend Sonia back to his home town, the Eastmouth of the title in what is a beautifully written short story. The prose is concise with not a word wasted and perfectly creates a growing sense of unease that all is not what it seems in the small coastal town. It isn’t and the perfect prose and pacing continues to culminate in one of the best last lines of a story I’ve seen in quite some time.

In his introduction, Mark Morris pays homage to the Pan and Fontana horror stories and two stories in this collection probably recapture the spirit of those stories the best. Stolen Kisses by Michael Marshall Smith is a short, first person account of how jealousy can lead to extreme measures – even if it means hurting your best friend – a slight tale that’s all about the last line.

The Dog’s Home is by Alison Littlewood (and yes, that apostrophe is exactly where it should be) and turns out to be a gloriously nasty tale with a suitably gruesome conclusion which pulls the dog blanket from under your feet. Marley and Me it ain’t. Thankfully.

Alison is one of the Spectral alumni to appear in the book, another is John Llewellyn Probert whose contribution is The Life Inspector. A man with a clipboard comes knocking at the door of Franklin Chalmers armed with a series of questions designed to determine the value of his life. It’s a high concept piece with all the dark humour and flourishes you’d expect from the author but I feel there were a lot more opportunities to take some swipes at upper middle class twittery than were on display here.

Spectral’s first publication was Gary McMahon’s What They Hear in the Dark so it’s only right and proper that he should have a story in this first anthology. Dull Fire is much like the characters within it in that it doesn’t pull its punches. Those characters are McMahon archetypes, damaged and broken – haunted by, and scarred by their pasts, both literally and metaphorically. The plot may seem a little contrived, relying too much on coincidence but to some extent that’s not important – it’s the emotional impact that counts and this story has that in abundance. It’s a dark fable (interestingly, written partly as a way to escape a year’s creative block) and although I felt a few paragraphs at the end which diluted the story’s impact could have been trimmed this remains a disturbing, angry piece of writing.

Disturbing is the right word to describe the imagery in Steve Rasnic Tem’s The Night Doctor with its generation-spanning harbinger of death. A figure whose appearance put me in mind of a seventeenth century plague doctor, it’s a brilliant creation – scary enough as a childhood bogeyman but even scarier when it’s adults who see it…

Quite what Robert Shearman’s Carry Within Some Small Sliver of Me is actually about is, frankly, beyond me. To call it surreal would be accurate and yet somehow inadequate. It’s… well, Shearmanesque is probably the best way to describe it. There’s startling imagery aplenty in this very grim fairy tale about a Girl called Beverley who’s a bit of a monster.

The “weird tales with SL in their title” tradition continues with Tom Fletcher’s Slape – a strange word with all sorts of connotations, the meaning of which is explained by a character called (fittingly) Eels. It’s a tale of milkmen that’s far from everyday and embodies that strange other-worldly sense of dislocation felt during pre-dawn hours. It’s an odd little piece which drops in hints and clues about a particular customer on the round who may, or may not be slightly sinister… Odd and confusing yes – but therein lie its strengths.

Weird Tale with SL in its title number three is Stephen Laws’ The Slista – another strange title conjuring up pictures of some weird creature, slimy and evil. Which isn’t that far from the truth as you’ll discover reading this gem of a story. To say the narrator has a distinctive voice is to understate the case dramatically as the story is told in the pidgin English of one of a “family under the stairs” characters, relaying a significant event in which changes are afoot for the strange brood. It’s a Marmite story to be sure and I had to read it twice for the full effect to sink in. I loved it though, especially the way so much of the bigger story – of which this is a vignette – is portrayed through what’s being said.

The book ends with two stories of the highest quality. The penultimate tale is Nicholas Royle’s This Video Does Not Exist. The best horror fiction disturbs and unsettles the reader and that’s precisely what this story does. It begins almost comically with the first person narrator, an un-named university lecturer, discovering that he can’t see his head in his reflection in the mirror. The story has a touch of the surreal in these opening scenes as he desperately tries to determine whether what he is seeing (or not seeing, as the case may be) is real. Things take a turn however with the introduction of a news story about a gruesome murder in London and then become darker still when an internet search for videos takes the narrator – and reader – to some places they really don’t want to go. It’s (as expected, given the author) an enigmatic and beguiling tale but one whose imagery and overall feel will leave you shaken.

The collection is rounded off by Newspaper Heart from Stephen Volk, author of one of Spectral’s biggest successes, the critically acclaimed Whitstable. This is a novella too but it’s a tale so well told you’ll want to read it in one sitting. A plethora of cultural references place the story in the 1970’s – specifically the weeks leading up to Bonfire Night and revolves around a lonely boy’s construction of a guy. As time goes on, a relationship develops between the boy and his surrogate friend…

It’s a wonderful story which explores the dynamics of a dysfunctional family. The characters are perfectly drawn and the author cleverly introduces information and revelations that cast them in ever changing lights. It builds and builds towards the climax and when that climax arrives it’s utterly devastating and will leave you reeling. It’s an astounding piece of writing and a wonderful finale for what is an amazing collection of stories. In his introduction, Mark Morris states his ambition is for “The Spectral Book of Horror Stories to become a watchword for genre excellence”. On this evidence he’s already succeeded, and the release of subsequent volumes is much to be anticipated.

The book is being launched in September at FantasyCon and once it is you'll be able to buy it here.

Unknown Causes.

Unknown Causes is a collection of eighteen stories by Frank Duffy and is published by Gallows Press. The book was my introduction to Frank’s writing and, having now read these tales of subtle and understated horror I can honestly say that I’m glad that introduction was made as what’s contained between its covers is some of the most unsettling fiction I’ve had the pleasure – if that’s the right word – of reading in quite some time.

Many of the stories herein are vignettes, short glimpses into bigger narratives and it’s a device that works splendidly, raising questions in the reader’s mind (most frequently – it has to be said -  “what the hell is going on here?”), questions that aren’t always answered – at least not directly. The prose is beautiful, poetic even, but these stories make demands of the reader, the brain definitely needs to be fully engaged to get the most from them. Those looking for resolution, for clear explanations of the strange events which unfold will be disappointed.

This is a good thing.

I always feel it’s slightly lazy to compare writers with one another, something that carries with it the risk that you somehow suggest an element of unoriginality but I think the stories within Unknown Causes do bear favourable comparison with the writing of Ramsey Campbell with their suggestions of something intangible, but not quite right lurking just out of sight and also, befittingly given that this year is the centenary of his birth, Robert Aickman whose trademark Weird Unexplained Shit (I forget which learned journal I lifted that reference from) is lovingly recreated here. Reality is altered within these tales and ambiguity abounds leading to a sense of dislocation, an uneasiness in the reader. These stories will disturb you.

As befitting such a haunting collection, ghosts and spirits glide in and out of its pages - malevolent and benevolent, sometimes making reparation, sometimes making demands. A creeping sense of paranoia infiltrates many of the stories, horrors both internal and external are explored. Revenge is a recurring theme as is that of familial relationships. Many of the characters populating the stories are lost – and not just in the literal sense of the word. A couple of stories are more traditional fare with twists in the tail and feel almost like light relief from the darkness that surrounds them. Not that light though…

Unknown Causes will take you to some very dark places – and sometimes you won’t even know how you got there. Reality has never felt as fragile as it does in these eighteen stories and Frank Duffy’s elegant prose creates a palpable sense of unease. The tales which unfold here do precisely what good horror writing should – unnerve and unsettle the reader. It’s a collection I recommend thoroughly.

Shadows & Tall Trees 2014

Shadows & Tall Trees 2014 is the sixth volume to bear that name and is an anthology of literary “strange and weird tales” edited by Michael Kelly and published by Undertow Books. It’s a new format for the journal, having moved from bi-annual to annual publication and, as a result, contains more stories – seventeen in fact. There’s a worry that this increase in the number of stories might somehow result in a decrease in quality but this fear has proven to be without foundation, Kelly’s eye for good writing remains undiminished and this is an outstanding collection of stories, ranging from very good to truly excellent, it’s all grade A stuff.

This grading certainly applies to the second story, Michael Wehunt’s Onanon which tells of Adam’s uncovering of a family secret although I’m sorely tempted to say that B+ would be the perfect grade for it, it’s certainly a story that creates a buzz.
(Those of you who regularly read this page - you know who you are, both of you - may have spotted an egregious error in the original posting of this review in which I completely ignored Eric Schaller's To Assume the Writer's Crown: Notes on the Craft, falling into the trap of reading it as an essay, a piece of non-fiction. That's the problem with meta-fiction, it can be a trap to the unwary - myself included. In my defence, it just goes to show how clever a writer he is, hiding something very dark within something seemingly so innocuous.)

It’s not a themed anthology but there’s a definite connection between many of the stories thematically. In particular the device of moving into a new home is one which recurs throughout. The Quiet Room by V.H. Leslie deftly weaves the myth of Philomela into a story of teenage angst and fractured relationships when widower Terry moves into a new house with daughter Ava having been reunited after a split from his wife Prue. It’s an atmospheric tale in which silence is far from golden.

Summerside by Alison Moore is the name of the house bought unseen at an auction by the Irvings. Unable to bear living there themselves, they rent out an extension built onto it. This is a pretty much perfect short story, told in a neutral voice and offering no real explanation for the disturbing events which unfold, simply reporting what happens but in so doing hinting at something terrible associated with the building.

Vrangr is the location of another house, this time an inheritance in North Dakota for Arthur Speth in C.M. Muller’s first published story. This is a surprise in itself as the writing here is so assured it’s hard to believe it’s a debut. The first of many more publications I’m hoping though. It’s a literary piece that twists and turns, disorienting the reader in much the same way as happens to Arthur himself. It’s an odd name for a house, an odd word in fact having only the one vowel but it’s the perfect name for the location – and the story itself - as anyone with the time to hunt down its original meaning in Scandinavian will discover.

The Space Between is a collaboration between Ray Cluley and Ralph Robert Moore and is the third “moving into a new home” story as I’ve come to clunkily classify them. This time it’s a downsizing as newly redundant Don and his wife Carolyn relocate to a more affordable apartment building. Left alone through the day, Don neglects his job-seeking to instead explore the crawl space between apartments, spying on his neighbours. Voyeurism soon turns to vicariousness however as Don’s forays turn from a desire to a need. A story of obsession then, but also a story about relationships – the line “it really isn’t important who should have loaded the dishwasher” a perfect encapsulation of what it is to be in a relationship (although I acknowledge that quoting it out of context may lessen its impact here…) The Space Between is a wonderful story, deeply disturbing and which will take you – much like Don – to some very dark places.

Entering a new building involves the literal crossing of a threshold but a more metaphorical interpretation of that theme – the journey from life to death – is the basis of some of the other stories within Shadows & Tall Trees. Avoidance of that particular journey is the subject of Kaaron Warren’s Death’s Door Café – a high concept idea in which a last chance is given to those unwilling to take those final steps, a concept which is fleshed out brilliantly in the story which creates a wonderful sense of unease.

Christopher  Harman’s Apple Pie and Sulphur is set in the Lake District though distractingly seems to combine real and fictional locations (is Connerstone really Coniston?) though I’m guessing this won’t be too much of a concern to anyone less anal about what is one of my favourite places in the world i.e. everyone except me. It’s one of the longer stories in the collection – perhaps a wee bit too long – but builds an effective air of paranoia and disorientation before journey’s end arrives for the story’s three main characters.

Shaddertown is by Conrad Williams and tells of Peggy’s daytrip into town with grandson Billy, a trip which includes a tour of “Underground Manchester”. It’s no surprise, given the author, that this is a beautifully written story, an impeccable character study of an old woman nearing the end of her life. It’s a testament to Conrad’s skills that even minor characters – some of whom don’t even appear, are only mentioned – are as fully drawn as Peggy herself. The denoument may come as no surprise but it’s poignantly and movingly done. It’s a very fine piece of writing.

Death visits in Robert Levy’s The Vault of the Sky, The Face of the Deep – this time for a Russian woman haunted by a terrible memory from wartime, an era that provides the backdrop to Tara Isabella Burton’s The Golem of Leopoldstadt. Vengeance is at the heart of the conclusions of both stories but manifests itself in very different ways.

The concept of history impacting on the present which was a feature of both those stories is echoed in Charles Wilkinson’s Hidden in the Alphabet in which the controversial – and deeply disturbing – practices of a film director come back to haunt him when he is reunited with his son. There’s  a contemplation of what Art is (or perhaps what an Artist is) within what, on the face of it, reads as a revenge tale.

The Statue by Miriam Frey is an odd, fable-like tale that shows that Teddy Bears and/or picnics are not prerequisites for big surprises in the woods whilst R.B. Russell’s Night Porter riffs on the new environment motif – this time it’s a new job for the protagonist – in a tale that ends with just enough ambiguity to leave you wondering what, and even who, the villain of the piece is.

First person narratives are used to outstanding effect in two stories in particular. Road Dead by F. Brett Cox is the shortest story in the book – a piece of flash fiction – but still manages to pack in an amazing amount of storyline. The real joy lies in the narrative voice however, a stream of consciousness from a witness to bizarre and terrifying events is presented in a single block of text with no paragraph breaks, emphasizing the fear and panic he feels at what he’s describing. Brilliant.

Robert Shearman’s It Flows From the Mouth has a very distinctive first person narrator too. Although it’s never specified in the text, there’s a definite suspicion that the narrator – John - has Asperger’s Syndrome and thus has no social or empathetic skills. The fact that this means that he says exactly what he thinks and also describes exactly what he sees makes him, ironically, the most reliable of narrators. The story revolves around a reunion with friends still grieving the loss of their son. Whilst he is incapable of feeling emotion, his friends are seemingly unable to cope with the same and are “dealing” with their grief in very bizarre ways. A memorial statue to their son, erected by the father, provides a heavy dose of weirdness and this is where the decision to use such a distinctive narrative voice comes into its own. What John sees happening seems impossible, surely the result of an overactive imagination. And yet… It’s a very, very clever story which I enjoyed a lot.

The final story in the book is David Surface’s Writings Found in a Red Notebook. As its title suggests, it’s presented as a series of extracts from a diary – the literary equivalent of a “found footage” film. It’s a device that could go wrong if handled badly but that’s definitely not the case here. The sequential extracts convey perfectly the disintegration of the couple lost in the desert to whom it belongs – that disintegration both physical and psychological. They also convey the mounting feeling of dread they are experiencing and the final lines – which happen to be the final lines of the book as well – are truly and utterly chilling. It’s the perfect placement of this story within the anthology and a perfect end to a stunning collection of tales.

In his introduction to the book, Michael Kelly states that he believes short stories are “the perfect art form”. It’s a bold statement to make but he’s backed it up with enough evidence here to make it a hard one to argue against. The book is dedicated to the memory of Joel Lane and I can’t think of a more fitting tribute.

The Eerie Ennui.

The Sleeping Dead is a new novella from Richard Farren Barber and is published by DarkFuse. The title - along with the striking cover image - give an immediate sense of what the story will be about (the cover in particular, having already been used for Ralph Robert Moore's amazing zombie novel As Dead As Me) but anyone fearing yet another run-out for that particular sub-genre will be reassured that this is something altogether different.
The story begins with Jackson Smith on his way to a job interview at a building called the Pinnacle. Calling a character Smith doesn't imply a lack of imagination on the part of the author, rather places them immediately as an everyman, a perfect choice of protagonist for this particular story as it allows the reader to experience the confusion and fear alongside him as the world he knows changes forever.
It's a slow build-up to the revelation of what is happening, beginning with Smith's bus journey to the interview with one of the passengers behaving strangely and then, once off the bus, his witnessing a suicide jump from a bridge. The scene builds on the sense of unease created on the bus journey and that unease intensifies exponentially during Smith's interview from hell (we've all had them, but never anything like this) and the events which follow.
To his horror -and ours - Smith finds himself in the midst of mass suicide, everyone (or so it seems) is somehow driven to kill themselves, sometimes in dramatic (and gory) fashion but, more often that not, simply lying down and giving up the ghost, becoming the Sleeping Dead of the title.
In his escape from the Pinnacle, Smith rescues Susan, an unwilling participant in a joint suicide, and the bulk of the story revolves around their journey through the streets of the city, allowing the author to create some truly chilling set-pieces, their journey across a bridge a scene that will linger long in your memory.
Whatever force it is that is driving people to kill themselves preys on Smith and Susan too and it's the references to the "voices in their heads" that raises the possibility that this is an allegorical tale about depression. Susan's first response to her rescue by Smith is anger, something that reflects another facet of this terrible condition. Allegory or not, The Sleeping Dead is an accomplished piece of writing which creates a truly chilling scenario that grips the reader from first to last. And as for the "last"? Pitch perfect as far as I'm concerned.
The wonderful sense of unease and paranoia created in Richard's earlier novella The Power of Nothing is expanded on and magnified here. It's a great piece of writing and I thoroughly recommend it.

The Three.

The Three is a novel by Sarah Lotz that begins with a gripping, present tense account of a plane crash as experienced by one of the passengers, a dramatic – and extremely effective - opening to one of the most compelling novels I’ve ever read.

The crash (of Sun Air Flight 678) is one of four which all happen on the same day – Jan 12^th 2012, henceforth known as “Black Thursday” – across four continents, the events of which (and those following) form the basis of the book within a book – Black Thursday, From Crash to Conspiracy by Elspeth Martins – which makes up the bulk of the novel.

Presented as a series of interviews and testimonies, the book gives an epistolary, multi-voiced account of the aftermath of the crashes and in particular the miraculous survival of three children (the “Three” of the title). It’s a clever technique and one that works brilliantly. There’s a large cast of characters involved and it’s credit to the author that each one of them has a distinctive voice and personality. Many of the interviews are prefaced by short introductions from Martins and it’s within these that hints of what’s to come – and often shocking revelations – are planted.

Whilst on one hand The Three works perfectly as an eerie, supernatural thriller there’s so much more to it than that. It’s a deeply political book, one that has much to say about society and the ease with which those in power – or desirous of power – can use, or rather exploit tragedy to their own ends, for their own personal gain. It’s about truth and the manipulation thereof. The target here is religious fundamentalism – the zealots latch onto the survival of the children, presenting them as heralds of an imminent apocalypse, choosing their own interpretations of events to fit the their theories – but it’s not too big a step to see this as an allegory of recent political events. It’s perhaps no coincidence that it’s the crashing of four planes which is used by those with vested interests as a launching pad for their own extreme agendas and it’s telling that within the book a major plot development involves an American soldier on foreign soil…

The Three is an amazing read, a perfect combination of style and substance. It’s a novel that can be enjoyed on many levels, a chilling supernatural thriller that you’ll still be thinking about long after you’ve finished reading it. Which you should do by buying it here.