Shiloh

Shiloh is the new novella from Philip Fracassi, now published in paperback by Lovecraft ezine press following the release of a limited edition hardback version. Philip is a writer whose work I now anticipate with great relish, providing as he has some of my favourite reads of the last few years. That anticipation was pushed almost beyond limits at the news that the novella has a historical setting given my predilection for horrors set in the past.

As the title might suggest, the story takes place during the Battle of Shiloh during the American Civil War, April 6^th – 7^th 1862. “Suggest” is appropriate however, the battle as described in the novella is never given this name –and, whilst this is undoubtedly historically accurate given the story is told in first person, present tense – it also offers up the possibility that the title refers to something else – or someone else.

The aforementioned narrative voice is an ideal choice for the novella, making the reading experience immediate and personal, throwing the reader into the thick of the battle. These passages are brutal, vividly describing the horrors of warfare and the damage human beings can do to one another and are not for the faint of heart. The narrator is Henry, fighting for the Confederacy alongside his twin brother William. His voice is an authentic one, conveying the horror of his situation alongside his own emotional responses and, as the best first person narratives do, provides insight into his own character. Most notable of these, given what happens in the story, is his refusal to subscribe to religious belief, a decision made in the context of his upbringing as the son of a preacher.

This lack of belief in anything mystical is important as it adds veracity to Henry’s observations of what unfolds during the fighting. Much of the horror in Shiloh is visceral, the descriptions of the atrocities of combat, but there is supernatural horror here too, subtly introduced with some highly effective – and chilling – descriptions of strange figures glimpsed amongst the carnage but then building to a point where it is the dominant theme of the book.

Cleverly, one of the supernatural elements references a phenomenon which was actually reported during the battle (and which has only recently been explained) and Philip shows great skill in incorporating it into the narrative, weaving it into his own story, enhancing the eeriness of the story’s conclusion.

And what a conclusion… The subtle shift from visceral to supernatural throughout the story leads to an almost dreamlike final sequence, in essence the physical becoming the metaphysical. It’s a heady mix of allegory and mysticism in which themes of destiny, death and sacrifice are explored. War is a transformative experience for those involved, its effects dehumanising, turning men into monsters and it’s these ideas which power the final scenes of the book. The startling imagery which has featured throughout the novella continues here as Henry discovers the truth of what has been happening, a revelation which will change his world forever. It’s an incredibly powerful ending to what has already been a marvellous piece of writing and is, in my opinion, the author’s best work to date.

I loved Shiloh, loved it again the second time I read it. Also included in this edition is a short story, Soda Jerk which provides a taster for Philip’s forthcoming novella Sabbath. Consider my appetite whetted...

Sacculina

I have to admit to being a sucker for a good old creature feature. There’s nothing quite like a story of man against monster, whether those monsters are of the supernatural or natural kind. Shark movies seem to be making a bit of a resurgence lately but none will ever top the magnificence which is Jaws. Perhaps it’s the combination of the isolation of being out on the open sea and the threat of the creature itself which makes maritime monsters especially terrifying. Cast adrift on open water, it’s feasible that any creature can be made scary – certainly the case with sharks, giant squid and killer whales. Even as benign a creature as a whale can be rendered terrifying – especially if it’s white.

Such is the setting for the new novella from Philip Fracassi, Sacculina which is published by Journalstone. The monsters faced here are a mutated species, a surprising choice on the face of it perhaps but, as it turns out, an inspired one, the scenes at the book’s conclusion deftly handled by a writer with abundant skill and technique, creating real tension amidst the more visceral elements.

Brothers Jim and Jack charter a boat to go on a fishing trip with friend Chris and their father Henry, a chance to re-forge old ties and bond following the release of Jack from prison. There’s a little bit of foreshadowing before the boat even leaves port with the captain trying to warn them off because of bad weather, only to accede to their wishes but taking them to a different, safer(!), location…

It’s all lovely, traditional stuff and it’s the familiarity of the set-up which creates a warm glow of recognition in the reader, a sense of anticipation at what is still to come once our heroes are out in the middle of nowhere.

Given the environment the men find themselves in, the opportunities are there for much discourse and recollection with back stories floating to the surface, revealing much about the characters, revealing hidden depths. Tensions – familial and otherwise – are exposed, nicely adding to that of the overall narrative; the journey out to sea mirrored by that into the souls of the protagonists themselves. These sections are nicely done, allowing insight without slowing the pace or being a distraction. There’s even space for a little profundity, musings on life and the nature of existence – again without holding up the narrative which slowly ramps up the tension and feelings of dread until the real horror arrives.

And it is real horror. The attack of the creatures is handled with as much skill as the character development which has preceded it. Trust me, this is intense stuff with some sequences definitely not for the faint-hearted. The pacing here is superb, exciting and frantic, a lovely counterpoint to the slow build of tension which has gone before.

I loved Sacculina; pulpy enough so as not to betray its creature-feature origins but elevated by very skilful writing so that while you still may not care for some of the characters, at least you’re interested in them. Having already released a collection which is a contender for year’s best, Philip has here provided a novella with an equally strong claim to that title.

Sacculina is released on May 12^th and you can buy it here.

Behold the Void.

One of the many highlights of 2016 for me was “discovering” the writing of Philip Fracassi, with two novelettes, Mother and Altar and a novella Fragile Dreams. Much joy then, at the prospect of starting 2017 (kinda) with a collection from him, Behold the Void, which is published by Journalstone.

The two aforementioned novelettes make up part of the collection and my reviews for them can be found here and here. It’s with much joy again that I can report that I found the rest of the stories in Behold the Void to be of as impressively high standard.

Soft Construction of a Sunset opens the collection, a gloriously constructed tale in which the horror gradually reveals itself, a slow build-up of tension from the almost poetic opening lines to its twisted conclusion. Told in present tense, the narrative immerses the reader in protagonist Tom’s response to friend Marcus’ plea for help, a technique that pays of supremely when the reader realises the final horror just before Tom himself does.

Family dynamics have a big role to play in two of the stories, Coffin and Surfer Girl. Both are incredibly dark tales, with subject matter not for the faint-hearted and teenagers as their protagonists. The former delves into folk mythology with hints at a Green Man type character – although with a less than benign nature than would be traditional whilst the latter charts young Adolf’s trip to Acapulco with his mother and her new boyfriend Steve. It’s a marvellous character study of a disturbed psyche and has an opening line which is destined to feature in any number of “best ever” lists.

The Baby Farmer provides a potent cocktail of priestly indiscretion, child murder and apocalyptic prophesy in a story which switches between present day narrative and the historical diaries of a woman incarcerated for the kidnap and murder of children. It’s another cleverly constructed story, jumping between the two narratives and the voice employed for the diaries is impressively convincing.

Big decisions are required in Fail-Safe, a monster movie wrapped up in a psychological drama. At its heart is a moral dilemma, a classic head and heart conflict. It’s an almost Schrodingeresque scenario facing the son of two loving parents, one of whom definitely is, and the other who might be, a ravenous, blood-thirsty monster. Open the door and let them out? You decide…

The Horse Thief is one of my favourite stories in the book. There are hints of the surreal in this tale of the titular villain and his services to provide horses to clientele with very specific, and very strange requirements. The story’s strange nature, and darkness, put me in mind of the writing of Ralph Robert Moore – which is praise indeed. Tales of redemption are always winners for me and the route this story takes towards that end point (whether or not it’s achieved is open to discussion) is a hugely entertaining – if slightly disturbing – one. It’s strange and weird and I loved every moment of it.

The final story in the collection is Mandala and is probably my favourite of all of them. It’s also the story which most effectively encapsulates the theme suggested by the book’s title as it’s an exploration of the forces which dictate our destinies. Are our actions truly our own or are they guided by forces way beyond our imagining? It’s another impeccably constructed story – the major themes are introduced early on with descriptions of celestial bodies and tides – with a succession of inter-related events ultimately leading to tragedy. There’s a certain inevitability about what happens in the story – which, I guess, is the whole point of it - and the writing is so good that the reader cannot help but be drawn into the action which unfolds. There’s a long scene, on a beach, which is one of the most terrifying and tense I’ve read in a long time. It’s a story which is, well… cosmic. It’s also got scary ghosts in it.

Behold the Void is a stunning collection and one which I enjoyed immensely. I anticipate seeing it mentioned in many year’s best lists to come. I thoroughly recommend you check it out for yourself.

Altar

One of my discoveries this year – by which I mean an author whose work is new to me, rather than implying any kind of Svengali-esque arrangement – is Philip Fracassi, whose novelette Mother was the highlight of my reading schedule in February. Mother was published by Dunhams Manor Press and so it was with much delight that I saw publisher and author had once more collaborated to produce Altar – a story which I devoured in one sitting, not because of its (relatively) short length but because I was gripped by the story, unwilling to pause because I wanted to see in which direction the narrative would find itself progressing next. It’s one of the many joys of Altar that it consistently confounds expectations, leading the reader down one narrative path only to change direction – often in the most unexpected of ways.

This misdirection is achieved by telling the story from multiple viewpoints, a technique which serves to build tension as the story jumps between characters, offering brief glimpses of how their own narratives are progressing before switching to another. The reader begins the story knowing something bad is going to happen – this is, after all, a horror novelette but this fracturing of the narrative has an unsettling effect, adding to that tension in a most effective manner.

The story begins innocuously enough with a family’s trip to their local swimming pool, housed in the Akheron Community Centre. Fortunately, neither mother Martha nor her children Abby and Gary are scholars of Greek mythology otherwise that particular name may well have given them second thoughts about going anywhere near the water. It’s another strength of the story – and Philip’s writing – that the characters of all three family members are fully realised in the first few pages of the novelette.

Once in the pool area, the family members go their own ways and the slow build-up of tension begins: The introduction of an older boy brings with it an undercurrent of violence waiting to happen, further unsettling the reader; Gary remembers disturbing dreams of malevolent amphibians brought on by a childhood accident; Abby wanders off on her own, seeking her own entertainment; Martha remains on her own, poolside, slowly slipping into a spiral of self-loathing.

Then a crack appears on the bottom of the pool…

Not long before beginning Altar I’d read Scott Nicolay’s Noctuidae and was mightily impressed by the way in which the weird and the everyday came together, and was most impressed of all by the fact that no attempt at explanation was given, adding to the mystery and – well, weirdness – of the story. I shared those feelings on completing Altar (and feel the story bears ample comparison with Nicolay’s work) – the climax of the story is wonderfully strange, and beautifully written. The denoument is made even more effective by the structure of the story, the way in which the tension is built pretty much from the outset. Out of left field it may be, (or not, actually, there are hints along the way), but it’s utterly devastating. And brilliant.

Altar is a wonderful piece of writing. As an added bonus it’s a wonderful piece of horror writing and I highly recommend that you should read it. Like me, you may even want to read it twice. You can buy it here.

Mother.

Mother is a novelette written by Philip Fracassi and published by Dunhams Manor Press. It's a high quality chapbook which has been beautifully produced. The author is new to me but the reason for that is provided in a note at the end of the book which states that this is his first foray into horror. Thankfully, given how much I enjoyed Mother, it also promises that it won't be his last.
It's the story of a marriage in crisis, college sweethearts Julie and Howard marry straight after graduation but their relationship begins to falter soon after. The narrative is told in first person by Howard - and in a most effective way, as his thoughts and opinions are all too apparent with the author skilfully presenting a character damned by his own words. Howard is not a nice man and it's clear that the breakdown of the marriage is as much down to his own personality as anything else. He's a man seemingly incapable of empathy or sympathy with anyone - his concerns are only for himself.
As an attempt to salvage the marriage, (and clearly never having watched Lars Von Trier's Antichrist), the couple buy a house in a remote location surrounded by woods. The attic room is converted to a studio where Julie can work on her art. When Howard discovers his wife in her studio surrounded by black candles and mysterious symbols drawn onto the floor, things begin to get strange. Credit is due to the author here for the way in which he handles the "reveal" as to what the symbols mean - writing a lovely passage with a great closing line.
The incident heralds a change in Julie however, romance - it seems - blossoms once more, resulting in pregnancy and the arrival of a son - named Howard after his father.
Then things get really strange...
No spoilers here, suffice to say that the horror really ramps up in the closing scenes of the story as it's revealed that little Howard may not be the only offspring to which Julie is mother...
I really enjoyed Mother - beautifully constructed, it's a perfect combination of literary writing and full-on horror. I hope that the author makes good on his promise that this won't be his last foray into the genre.
You can - and should - buy Mother here.