Albion Fay

Albion Fay is the new novella by Mark Morris and is published by Spectral Press. It begins with a funeral, pretty much setting the tone for everything which follows and introduces us to Frank, the first-person narrator of the story. There’s a great deal of skilful character development here, painting a picture of a man hiding from the world, paranoid and over-analytical of everything – and everyone – around him. This, of course, sets up the narrative of the story wonderfully, planting the question in the readers’ minds of how Frank came to be this way.

What follows is a fractured narrative that jumps backwards and forwards in time – a technique that mirrors the broken nature of Frank’s family; sister Angie, loving mother Pat and father George whose first scene in the book presents him as a short tempered bully, characteristics that develop along with the story until he becomes the catalyst for the life changing events which follow.

George is a catalyst but so too are events at Albion Fay itself, the house which is to be the family’s holiday home for a week. The caves in the woods which surround the house allow the introduction of a supernatural element to the story but this is done in a subtle way, the first person perspective – which brings with it all the baggage of unreliability – means that just the right amount of ambiguity is brought to the narrative, these supernatural elements enhancing rather than overwhelming it.

As Adam Nevill’s thorough and detailed introduction to the book indicates, this is a story about loss and perhaps the greatest loss of all here is of the childhood innocence of Frank and Angie. The story goes to some very dark places but the writing is so assured and confident that the tragic events which unfold really do shock and aren’t gratuitous. Albion Fay is a Greek tragedy – although a very British one. (Yes, the name of the house – and book – is a clever one). It’s a brilliant example of quiet, understated writing that delivers its horrors efficiently and extremely effectively. There are similarities here – in terms of general themes – to Mark’s previous novella It Sustains, but both are prime examples of intelligent, literary horror and evidence of an author pretty much at the top of his game.

I thoroughly recommend Albion Fay and you can buy it here.

The Last Bus.

Ah, the joys of travelling on public transport – how shall I list them? In less time than it would take to list the horrors thereof, truth to tell. Aside from the regular unreliability, the noise and smell, the heaters that only seem to work during the hottest summer days plus many other assaults on the physical being, the practice brings with it its own peculiar array of psychological trauma, turning even the most mild-mannered individuals into judgemental, territorial and paranoid sociopaths. The tension of waiting in a queue, wondering if there’s going to be a seat available – preferably a double seat because the thought of having to sit next to someone else is unbearable. And then, when you’re securely in situ, the apprehension that sets in every time the bus stops and someone gets on that they’ll sit next to you, disrupt your personal space, the way you deliberately avoid eye contact with them, the familiar mantra running through your head as they make their way along the bus “don’t, don’t don’t don’t don’t…” invariably terminated by a heartfelt bastard! as they do. This immediately followed by the feelings of intense hatred towards those other passengers who have sat on the outside of the double seat, or put their bags there to prevent infiltration. Bastards.

Of course, that could just be me.

Horrors indeed, but nothing in comparison to those endured by the passengers on Paul M Feeney’s The Last Bus, a novella published by Crowded Quarantine Publications. Despite the title, the bus is actually one of the first of the day, transporting a motley bunch of commuters to an unnamed city. An explosion within the city initiates a series of events that turn what should have been an ordinary day into an extraordinary one.

The book is an homage to B-movies and it uses a well-worn trope of those films in bringing together a disparate group of individuals and watches how they cope with the extreme events happening around them.

The characters on the bus are, to some extent – although in keeping with the B-movie origins of the tale – stereotypes but the author takes great pleasure in subverting them allowing for some unexpected twists and turns. It’s a strength of the book that time is taken to develop these characters so that you will either be rooting for or wishing a terrible death on them.

There are terrible deaths, gleefully devised and described and most of these occur within “interludes” – breaks from the main narrative set on the bus, describing, and fleshing out, what is happening in the world outside. Gore abounds here – as do in-jokes, the names of the victims will be instantly recognisable to anyone who spends time in the world of horror fiction. My own personal jury is out on this device – it did make me smile but at the same time took me out of the narrative.

The story which unfolds in an epic one but the approach taken – focussing on a small group of individuals – makes it perfect for novella length. As mentioned earlier, it’s basically a B-movie and they always worked (and so, by dint, does the novella) because they were short and over long before rational thought had a chance to kick in and tricky questions about logic and realism had an opportunity to rear their heads. This could easily have been a novel but I’m glad it isn’t – it’s a quick read and the narrative cracks along at a fast pace and it’s all the more enjoyable for that.

My only encounter with Paul’s work prior to The Last Bus was The Weight of the Ocean. That was a deeply moving, personal piece of writing – sad and melancholic. It’s fair to say that his new novella is about as far removed from that as you can get which only goes to prove that he’s versatile, as well as gifted, as a writer.

I really enjoyed The Last Bus and recommend that you should buy it – which you can do directly from the publishers..

The Nameless Dark.

One of the many joys of reading is the experience of coming across an author for the first time and connecting immediately with the writing. There may be a brief moment of self-flagellation for not discovering the writer sooner but this is soon overwhelmed by the enjoyment of the reading itself and also by the realisation that a back catalogue is already there, waiting to be devoured.

Such was the case when I read The Nameless Dark, a collection of stories from T E Grau. This is his first collection and I have to say it’s an extremely impressive showcase for his undoubted talent.

There are fourteen stories in the book, employing a variety of locations and set in a range of time periods. Here you’ll find stories set in the Wild West, during the Beat Generation and Colonial era America amongst others. Three of the stories have children as their main character but the writing in each (and all of the other stories) is assured, authentic and of the highest quality with each story – and the characters therein – having their own distinctive voices.

It’s a collection of horror stories but there’s wit here too, a dark humour that threads its way through the stories, raising smiles amidst the shudders. It’s there in the dialogue, in the descriptions of the characters populating these tales – a description of someone being “the shape and consistency of a potato” made me laugh out loud.

The spirit of HP Lovecraft informs many of the stories here, his mythology looming above the narrative like a shadow over Innsmouth. Anyone who thinks the Cosmic Horrors conjured up in the Cthulhu mythos have been done to death need look no further than this collection to see that new life can be breathed into it with nine of the fourteen tales referencing it directly and placing it in new contexts and environments to brilliant effect. The stories here are set pre-, post- and during the moment at which the stars become “right” and the two most effective for me fall into the latter category – The Screamer, with its banshee-like eponymous creature heralding the apocalypse in a beautifully written slow-burner of a tale that builds to a truly horrifying climax and Twinkle, Twinkle – one of the shorter stories in the collection but which brilliantly frames the end of the world in a poignant and moving tale.

It’s testament to Ted’s skills as a writer that the tropes never become worn out or repetitive, filtered as they are through the variety of narrative styles he employs. The other five “non-Lovecraftian” stories provide entertaining interludes and here you’ll find riffs on Kafka, Fairy Tales and Werewolves, Jack the Ripper and a novel way of fishing…

I feel I can’t recommend The Nameless Dark highly enough. The stories and characters created here are worthy of the highest critical acclaim and the writing itself is a joy to read. You can (and should) buy it here.

The Silence.

The world will end neither with a whimper or a bang but in total silence - at least according to Tim Lebbon's new novel The Silence. Well, not total silence as it happens but that's the concept at the heart of this new take on the end of the world.
The harbingers of the apocalypse in this instance are the vesps - prehistoric flying lizards that emerge from a cave in Moldova, unearthed by a scientific expedition. Life in the dark underground has rendered them blind meaning that they hunt their prey by sound alone - which is bad news for the human race whose noisy, modern existence provides food aplenty for the monsters.
In order to remain safe from the vesps, silence must be maintained and it's in this suppression of normal behaviour that comparisons can be drawn with Josh Malerman's brilliant Bird Box. In that novel, mankind had to blindfold itself, rendering itself blind - here the removal of noise to all intents and purposes results in a kind of deafness.
It's no surprise then that Ally, one of the main characters in the book, is actually deaf and it's her families 9enforced) ability to use signing that gives them an advantage over everyone else, living in a silent world is nothing new to them. The narrative focusses on the family's attempts to relocate to the wilds of Scotland, a place of (relative) quiet and hence safety and it's their journey - and their first hand encounters with the worst aspects of humanity - that takes up most of the book.
The opening chapters of the book were the most effective for me. The outbreak is at first reported on live TV but then picked up by social and other broadcast media, describing the inexorable spread of the killing hordes. The tension here is masterfully built with a palpable sense of dread created as the progress of the vesps towards the UK is monitored, and everyone realises that nothing will stop them. Each chapter begins with transcripts of TV and radio reports or blog/social media entries and it's a very effective device, building the tension to almost unbearable levels.
The vesps do reach mainland Britain of course and there the book makes a change in tone, becoming a survival thriller with some brilliantly executed set-pieces.
It's all high-concept stuff but it's a brilliant concept and what results is a tense, exciting and genuinely scary read. It cracks along at a blistering pace and really is a book you won't want to put down. (Though if you do, make sure you do it quietly).
I loved The Silence and heartily recommend it.

The Outsiders.

The Outsiders is the latest publication from Joe Mynhardt's Crystal Lake Publishing and is a collection of five Lovecraft inspired stories written by five different authors set in a fictional gated community called Priory. Priory - and the characters inhabiting it - provides a framing device for the stories but the tales are linked even more closely with the narratives cross-referencing each other, the events of one mentioned in another, characters providing the major narrative thrust in some having cameo roles in others. It's a clever device and one which works extremely well, pulling the five stories together, providing a cohesive whole which is greater than the sum of its parts.
Mind you, the individual parts are pretty good too - the stories work extremely well in isolation but the linking device is a definite enhancement.
The collection opens with The Subprime from Gary Fry (which seems only appropriate - he's doing as much as anyone currently to expand the mythos and create a body of work which provides his own, very distinctive take on it). The story provides an introduction to Priory and its residents, in particular Mr Phillips (Harvey - not Howard) and the enigmatic Charles Erich (whose name will raise a smile for all those students of Proto-Norse linguistics), the community's founder. Phillips is a financier, the respectable face of tyranny as it were and the plot revolves around a crisis of conscience for one of his employees - Lee - who has decided that sacrificing his soul on the altar of capitalism is not for him and decides to tender his resignation. In an attempt to change the young man's mind, Phillips invites him to a dinner party at Priory where it turns out that some sacrifices are actually easier to make than others.
James Everington provides the next story, Impossible Colours which takes the bold step of tackling the subject of Lovecraft's perceived racism. As might be expected from the author, it's done in a subtle, tangential way and very effectively so that the message in no way diminishes the impact, and enjoyment of the story.
Stolen From the Sea is by Stephen Bacon and uses the tragedy of the loss of a child to bring about an awakening in the father as to the true nature of the cult to which he and his wife belong. The cult that is the connecting force within Priory, binding all its residents together. There are few better writers than Stephen at approaching sensitive, sad issues like this (you should read Husks in the Murmurations anthology if further proof is needed) but this is just a starting point for a tense and dramatic escape story.
V H Leslie provides Precious Things, an examination of the deteriorating relationship between two elderly residents of Priory which showcases her trademark skills at story construction and clever wordplay.
The final story is Rosanne Rabinowitz's Meat, Motion and Light which - like James Everington's story - takes the racism issue as its starting point, the story's protagonist a black woman returning to Priory after having escaped its clutches. (Those clutches being undoubtedly tentacular). The old adage of "you can never go home" of course holds true here and things - as might be expected - go horribly wrong. I could be mistaken, but this could be the first story ever to feature a Great Old Ones sex scene. Spectacular love craft indeed.
The Outsiders is a very good book. Five strong stories which provide an excellent homage to Lovecraft and the mythology which is his legacy. Strong enough individually, the stories combine to create something truly special. It's a book I recommend highly and you can buy it here.

The Corpse Role.

There was a view, not so long ago, that sales of horror fiction were in decline because many of the tropes the genre employed were being nicked by crime writers - mainstream, best-selling writers at that. That may have been a simplistic explanation but there's certainly an element of truth buried within it. Violent, gory death and psychologically damaged serial killers have become a mainstay of the slightly more "respectable" genre. To be honest, I don't think it's that much of a problem, there's enough room for both genres to flourish and, in a way, it's a good thing for horror to move on, find new themes and tropes to unsettle readers. It's a fine line, I guess, between the two genres and there are many excellent examples of cross-over between the two. Most notable are the Charlie Parker novels from John Connolly but I'll also chuck in a couple of personal favourites, Reaping the Dark by Garry McMahon and Ben Jones' Pennies for Charon as further evidence.
All of which - possibly unnecessary - preamble is by way of introducing a review of a crime novel on a horror review site, namely The Corpse Role by Keith Nixon.
As the title may suggest, mortal remains have a large part to play in the narrative and, indeed, the story begins with the unearthing of a body from a shallow grave. The body turns out to be that of a security guard implicated in an armoured van heist two years previously. A business card from a former policeman, turned private investigator is found in his wallet and so begins a briskly paced, twisting tale of murder, corruption and shock revelations.
The story is told in two timelines - the present involving the ongoing investigation led by DI Charlotte Granger and another (with the chapters titled "the past") which turns out to be the events leading up to the heist. It's a clever technique and one which is executed perfectly. The "past" sections are written in first person, present tense - a device which has the reader constantly questioning who it is that's actually narrating and what, if any, connection they have to the present day investigation.
There's a lot going on in The Corpse Role, and a lot of characters to keep up with. This, along with the double timeframe device, could have easily gotten out of control but it's testament to the author's skill that he marshals everything effortlessly, keeping the plot banging along at a cracking pace and, most importantly, keeping the reader alongside him.
The characters are all well drawn (my favourite a crime boss with a novel way of fertilising his garden) with plenty of realistic dialogue (particularly of the awkward kind between people whose relationship isn't quite what it used to be) which enhance the narrative without distracting from it, or holding it back.
There are twists and turns all the way, and a lovely feeling of things falling into place as the narrative progresses but the biggest revelation is kept to the very end. It's a gamble, using such a dramatic device and the book as a whole hangs on whether it works or not.
It works.
I very much enjoyed The Corpse Role, imaginative, clever and with a no-nonsense writing style it's a book I recommend very much. You can buy it here.

The Visible Filth

The Visible Filth is the latest chapbook produced by This is Horror and is written by Nathan Ballingrud. The author's collection North American Lake Monsters was one I was very impressed with so I had great expectations for this novella, expectations which I'm very pleased to report have have been met and, indeed, exceeded.
The story's protagonist is Will who works in Rosie's Bar in uptown New Orleans, a less than salubrious 24-hour establishment, a description of which begins the novella, complete with scuttling cockroaches, subtly setting the scene for what is to come.
The arrival of a group of students brings with it a violent brawl in which one of the bar's regulars, Eric, is wounded, glassed in the face with a broken bottle. Upon the group's departure, Will discovers that one of them has left behind a cell phone which he takes home with him. When he starts receiving text messages on the phone, the true horror begins...
The texts taunt Will but also guide him towards some images - and a video - that are stored on the phone. There are suggestions that the images, via the phone, exert some malign influence over Will, making him open the files but in reality, his decision to do so is probably down to the impulse within us all to look at that which we know will be horrible; the impulse that makes us slow down and crane our necks as we drive past a traffic accident; the impulse that makes us click on the play button of videos showing violent death, beheadings...
Of course, what's revealed in the files is utterly horrible and the author's prose here is perfect, brilliantly conveying the awfulness of what Will sees, transferring the sense of unease and disgust he feels straight into the reader's head. I was put very much in mind of the cursed video from Hideo Nakata's Ringu when reading these scenes, in particular the feeling of unease and dread that the "cursed" video in that film created in me.
There's plenty of disturbing imagery created in The Visible Filth - and the skill with which this is done is one of the story's strengths - much of it will linger in your memory long after reading. As well as this though, the novella presents another masterclass in the depiction of a relationship under strain - something that was also a feature of North American Lake Monsters. Will's relationship with girlfriend Carrie is going through a rough patch and the emotional nuances and dialogue between the two are pitched perfectly.
The Visible Filth is a grim read, one which will make demands of the reader. Bleak and nihilistic, it takes no prisoners and you'll be shaken and disturbed come the last page. Which is about as glowing a recommendation I can make for any horror story.