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.)
(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.
