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.

Dark Father

Dark Father is a new novel from James Cooper and is published by DarkFuse. I've been an admirer of James' writing since my first encounter with it in Black Static magazine and - on the recommendation of my partner in crime at Dark Minds, Ross Warren - his two collections of short stories, You Are the Fly and The Beautiful Red. The novel comes not long after publication of the author's novella Strange Fruit (from PS Publishing) - a dark coming of age story whose themes of childhood, violence and betrayal are echoed in Dark Father.
As the title suggests, the book concerns familial relationships, specifically those between fathers and sons. It does so in three separate storylines; the first a chase story in which a mother escapes her abusive husband along with her son, the second in which a father desperate with grief at the abduction of his own son takes drastic measures to "restore" his family and the third, set in a psychiatric hospital which focuses on "Mack", a man with Fregoli Syndrome, a disorder which makes him see the face of his father on everyone he encounters.
The prose, as expected, is pitch-perfect and Cooper creates some wonderfully drawn, and chilling characters. The book moves between the three storylines effortlessly and, as they progress, a feeling that there are connections  between the narratives over and above the over-arching theme grows. As indeed there are - and those connections are brilliantly engineered, often coming as revelatory shocks. To reveal those connections would be to spoil the experience of reading Dark Father as much of the pleasure of reading it lies in its structure, the way information is given to the reader and the way in which the narrative threads come together.
Horrific things happen, and there are subtle hints of the supernatural in Dark Father - one of the characters gains a form of second-sight in the most ironic of ways - but it is in essence an exploration of human behaviour - the darker aspects thereof in particular - and how, as Philip Larkin so poetically out it, your parents can fuck you up.
Dark Father is a wonderful piece of writing that satisfies on every level and I thoroughly recommend it.

Killer Serial.

Having played a significant role in re-establishing the chapbook as a viable medium for literature, it’s heartening to see Spectral Press trying their hand at another format – that of the serialised novel – with the publication of Simon Bestwick’s Black Mountain. The serial novel has a long – and distinguished – history with Dickens and Conan-Doyle probably its most famous proponents. I’m old enough to remember – with much anticipation I have to add – the release of the instalments of Stephen King’s The Green Mile which was originally released in this format too.

Given the quality of both the publisher’s and author’s previous work, it was with the same degree of anticipation that I approached this series and with five of the ten episodes now available here it seems an appropriate time to review the ongoing saga of strange and mysterious goings-on centred around the titular Welsh location.

The story begins with The Red Key which introduces us to the narrator, a certain… Simon Bestwick. It’s a nice touch although Simon has admirably resisted the temptation to add a Fargo-esque “This is a True Story.” As a device I guess it’s the literary equivalent of cinema’s “found footage” – a trick that worked well in Blair Witch but which has seen diminishing returns pretty much ever since.

Part One introduces Rob Markland, a friend of Simon’s, now confined to a psychiatric ward, terrified into hiding from the world. What exactly it is that he’s seen and experienced which has had such a profound affect on him is what provides the narrative thrust of the story as - via the discovery of notes and transcripts belonging to Rob himself but also another investigator Russell Ware in whose steps he’d followed – evidence is presented of a history of strange phenomena occurring around the Black Mountain, or Mynydd Du to give its more romantic and atmospheric Welsh name.

The “found footage” technique is built upon as the narrative progresses as much of what is presented to the reader is a series of extracts and transcripts from recordings and notes made by the two investigators. It’s a brave decision to do it this way as there’s always the risk that the opportunity to create atmosphere could be lost but it’s an unfounded fear as the passages are so well written that the character of the interviewees – and their emotions – are conveyed perfectly to the reader. I even found myself shivering at some of the footnotes and comments (supposedly) written by the investigators themselves.

It’s a complex structure, in effect a story within a story within a story, and there’s plenty going on with suggestions of devil worship, strange glowing lights in the woods and shape-shifting monsters thrown in for good measure. In a way, the serial structure benefits this, each story is full to the brim with incident and further revelations – possibly too much to take in were the novel to be read in its entirety at one go. Having a chance to pause between episodes allows assimilation of what’s just happened, what the new plot developments are and – most importantly – leaves you wanting the next episode to come along to find out what’s going to happen next.

In these days of instant gratification and binge TV watching courtesy of box sets and online streaming, it’s refreshing to return to a more sedate form of entertainment. Some things are worth waiting for (it could be argued that all the best things are…) Black Mountain is a bold venture but one which in my opinion is paying off wonderfully. Although only available electronically, the production values we’ve come to associate with Spectral Press are still apparent, not least in the wonderful cover designs by Neil Williams. Above all it’s the writing that makes this serial adaptation so worthwhile and the style and substance Simon has brought to all his previous work is here in abundance. The dialogue (both internal and external) which has so far carried the story is pitch perfect and – even though it’s only half way through – Black Mountain is already an atmospheric, intriguing and, most importantly, downright scary piece of writing.

I can’t wait to see what happens next.

Though obviously I will…

Savage Amusement.

The name Daryl has two possible derivations - from Middle English, meaning a place of wild animals, or Old French meaning "little darling" thereby pretty much covering both extremes of human behaviour. The 1985 science fiction film D.A.R.Y.L. featured as its eponymous hero a boy whose brain is a computer housed in a human body. Little wonder then that Gary Fry has chosen the name for the main character in his new novella Savage from DarkFuse which provides another blend of psychology and horror which is fast becoming the author's trademark.
(Of course, it may be that he's just a fan of Hall & Oates but as a theory I have to say that I can't go for that).
Savage finds the aforementioned Daryl - a cognitive scientist - in an isolated part of the Yorkshire countryside, seeking petrol for his car which is running low on his journey home from a conference in Durham. He stumbles into an area where the landscape seems too clean and precise, too ordered to be entirely natural and, within it, a village whose inhabitants reflect that unnaturalness, staid and formal - a group who make Presbyterians hedonistic by comparison. An encounter with a young woman provides some enlightenment when she asks whether he is one of the undisciplined...
Savage explores similar themes to Gary's novel Severed - the conflict between the extremes of human nature and behaviour. Are we animals kept in check by a sophisticated computer or is the programming of that computer flawed thus leading to indiscipline? There's much imagery employed here to reinforce the arguments, the disciplined world all hard angles and precision whilst the "savage" components are - well, I won't spoil it here but suffice to say the embodiment of the darker side of human nature is not something you would want to bump into on a dark night. There's even a self-referential sacrificial squirrel - which is possibly the most surreal sentence I've ever written.
There's a lot going on here, issues of perception are also raised and how context and environment play a significant role in how "others" are perceived but this actually leads to my only criticism of Savage - that it's really too short to do justice to the themes being explored. The reduced word count has given it a feel of being crammed in, magnifying the contrived feel to the narrative. A higher word count would have given the ideas more room for manoeuvre, space to breathe and allowed more subtlety.
A minor criticism however, as with all of Gary's other works Savage will stimulate the intellect whilst at the same time providing an entertaining read. It's available from DarkFuse in June. Not buying it would be a significant error of judgement...