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.
Fungoid is the new
novel from William Meikle and is published by DarkFuse. It’s an apocalyptic
tale from an author who, over the course of his writing career, has wiped out
huge swathes of the world’s population by means of alien invasion, cosmic
seaweed and giant crabs (to name but a few) this time choosing to bring about
the end of the world with a fungal infestation.
It’s an original take on the apocalypse and, it has to be
said, an entirely plausible one. Just Google “largest organism on earth” if you
need proof. The fact that any organic material can provide a home for the organism
means that the world itself is infected – not just the people living on it and,
throw in the fact that the fungal spores are dispersed by wind and rain and you
have a truly terrifying scenario.
By concentrating on a handful of characters, Willie manages
to corral what could have been a sprawling epic of book into a tightly
constructed, fast-paced narrative – a cracking read that homages the pulp
novels and B-Movies which must surely be its inspiration. Whilst greatly
enhancing the pace of the book, this approach can have some drawbacks – most notably
when world events are touched upon, outbreaks of wars and civil unrest
relegated to a few lines or a paragraph almost making them seem like an
afterthought. There are some scenes of environments overgrown with fungal
hyphae which were very effective but again, a few more of these set-pieces may
have enhanced the book.
It could be argued that this is the quintessential William
Meikle book, combining as it does so many of the tropes and themes which have
been a feature of his writing thus far. The fungal threat will be familiar to
those who read his highly entertaining Professor Challenger collection The Kew Growths – which allows for a
little in-joke within the narrative – but another recurring theme, the power of
music also crops up here, most overtly in a reference to being “lost to the
dance”, a literary motif used to great effect in the author’s collection Dark Melodies.
There’s science too – some real, to add verisimilitude and
some made up, to add entertainment value. This is no ordinary fungus, it’s an
escapee from a lab – situated in the same country that made Trump’s “Make
America Great Again” caps (i.e. not America).
I regard Fungoid as
the literary equivalent of North by
Northwest – a screenplay that was written for Hitchcock which contained as
many Hitchcockian themes and set-pieces as it was possible to cram into one
film. The director was in effect making a homage to his own work and there’s
maybe something of the same going on here. Whatever, the end result is a deeply
entertaining piece of writing which takes a number of well-established tropes
and characters and moulds (yes – that was deliberate) them into something new.
From its small beginnings in a traffic accident on Watson
Drive (there was always going to be trouble on a street with that name…) to its
stirring conclusion on the Newfoundland coast I loved every moment I spent in
the world of Fungoid. The end of the
world is probably on a lot more people’s minds right now so it was nice to
enjoy a fictional interpretation of that scenario.
Under a Watchful Eye
is the new novel from Adam Nevill and is published by Pan Macmillan. It’s an
early release date for the book and follows closely on the heels of Adam’s
self-published collection of short stories, Some
Will Not Sleep.
Anyone who has read that collection – and if you haven’t,
you absolutely should – will experience a frisson of recognition at the title
of the first of three parts into which the novel is divided, Yellow Teeth, as it shares it with one
of the stories in the SWNS. The short story took as its subject matter the “lodger
from (perhaps literally) Hell” and that narrative is reproduced here, in a
much-expanded form as author Seb begins to catch glimpses of old acquaintance Ewan,
a friend from his student days, a mentor even for his burgeoning writing career
before the friendship broke down acrimoniously.
A ghost from his past then – a phrase given a possible literal
interpretation from the descriptions given of these opening encounters. Much
creepiness and unease is generated in these opening passages with Ewan
mysteriously appearing and disappearing, sometimes in seemingly impossible
locations…
The ambiguity ends when Ewan finally turns up as a creature
of flesh and blood and Seb reluctantly take him in as a guest. The horror then
shifts from the supernatural to a combination of gross-out verging on body
horror (although I felt this was more effectively done in the short story) as
Ewan’s disregard for anything even resembling personal hygiene impacts upon
Seb, but also the horror of the loss of control and order as the entropy of his
unwanted lodger’s lifestyle and beliefs comes into conflict with Seb’s neatly
ordered existence.
With Ewan comes much exposition and the introduction of the
one of the book’s central themes – astral projection. Such was the technique
used by Ewan in his early appearances and such is his obsession, in particular
the life and work of M L Hazard, author and researcher into the esoteric and
the subject of Ewan’s magnum opus. Despite himself, Seb finds he is drawn into
the dark web his guest is weaving around him…
Under a Watchful Eye
is a slight departure in style from Adam’s other novels (although perhaps not
so much as the more overtly thriller aspects of Lost Girl), relying more on psychological and supernatural terrors
than the more visceral fears engendered by the Blood Friends or the denizens of
shadowy houses and Scandinavian forests. The tone is possibly most similar to
his debut novel Banquet for the Damned
and it’s probably no coincidence that a terrifying dream described in this book
features a golf course… There are subtle references to Adam’s other novels, a
technique I’m glad to see he continues to use, most notable Last Days.
There’s still room for some trademark Nevill horrors though,
with fiendish entities scuttling across the pages. These are most effective in
two sequences, one aboard a train and the other in the darkness of the
abandoned house used by Hazard as his research headquarters. The book also
introduces us to Thin Len, an archetypal Nevill creation and destined to fuel
nightmares for years to come.
I have a feeling Adam had a blast writing this novel. The
old adage of “write what you know” has been well used here I believe as it’s
hard to imagine that Seb – at least in terms of his writing career – isn’t
based on the author’s own experiences. It is, I have to say, an extremely
cleverly constructed book and one of the biggest revelations within it comes
very – and I mean very – unexpectedly. The chapters are named, something I like
to see, but there’s some puzzlement as to what the titles mean as many bear
little relation to the events described following them. Finding out the
reasoning behind them is one of the many joys of reading Under a Watchful Eye,
a novel in which the metaphysical becomes the metafictional. It’s a book which
is as much about the process of writing as the horrors contained within its twisting
and surprising narrative.
I loved it and can’t think of a better recommendation to
begin 2017’s horror reading experience.
In 2016, it’s not been so much “whither the small press?” as
“wither the small press” with a number of independent publishers calling it a
day. Chief among these were Boo Books and Gray Friar Press, both of whom
consistently produced excellent books and it’s a real shame to see them go, not
just on a personal level but for the whole independent press scene.
Whilst upsetting, it’s not entirely surprising. My own
involvement with Dark Minds Press has shown me just how much work is involved
in producing a book for publication, time and work – and money. Most small
presses are run, I guess, because of the enthusiasm of their proprietors who
are willing to dedicate their own time and money towards the job of getting
books they care about out there. Very few, I would imagine, are able to turn
any kind of profit, the sales from each book pretty much pay for the production
costs of the next one – if they’re lucky.
Support for small presses comes in all shapes and forms I
guess, but really, the absolute best way to show support is to - wait for it - buy a book. Breaking
even at best is a precarious business model but that’s the reality for many
small presses. If books don’t sell then the losses incurred will be too much to
bear. Art for art’s sake is a motto I thoroughly approve of but art has to be
created in the first place and that creation involves a lot more than the inspiration and skill of the artist themselves. Horror is, I believe, undergoing somewhat of a
revival at the moment and that really is in huge part due to the efforts of the
independent presses who provide some of the best, and most stylishly produced
books out there. Be a shame if we lost that…
Here endeth the lesson.
And so we come to my annual appraisal of the horror
literature I’ve had the pleasure (mostly) of reading this year, and the presentation
of the Dark Muse awards for those pieces of writing which in my opinion, were
the best of the bunch in the categories of Best Novel, Best Novella, Best
Anthology, Best Collection and Best Single Story.*
*NB No actual award will be presented, the prize for the
winning authors is simply my undying admiration for their skill and craftmanship.
The (albeit virtual) award has been designed by 77studios,
the same team (kind of) who have created all the covers for the Dark Minds
Novellas. Check out more of their work here.
So, without further ado, the Dark Muse Awards for 2016 go
to:
BEST NOVEL
I’ve read almost thirty novels which can be classed as horror
this year – that total would have been even higher if I’d managed to motivate
myself to pick up Justin Cronin’s City of
Mirrors, the final book in his epic vampire trilogy but it’s been so long
since I read the second book, The Twelve,
that I’ve completely forgotten what was happening and who all the
characters are. One day perhaps.
I had similar issues with the third Obsidian Heart book from Mark Morris – The Wraiths of War. If ever a book needed a recap at the beginning,
a “story so far”, it was this one. The plot was complex enough as it is, with
the main character jumping backwards and forwards in time, meeting different
iterations of himself and the people around him as well as a shape-shifting
villain who could mimic them all too. I did enjoy the book, but have to admit I
was in the dark for most of it, trying to remember who was who and why they
were doing the things they were. The conclusion is entertaining enough – with a
few twists –and I’m a sucker for anything set in World War One but I would have
enjoyed it all the more had I not been fumbling around in the dark for most of
it. Perhaps a single volume omnibus of all three is the way forward. Or
backward. Or sideways.
Another trilogy came to an end this year too – Rich Hawkins’
incredibly impressive Last Plague series.
The third and final book was The Last
Soldier and I loved it, the author cleverly focusing in on individual
stores amidst the apocalypse he has created, making this a moving and emotional
piece of writing.
Some of The Last
Soldier is set in my home county of Northumberland and I still get a kick
out of seeing places I’m familiar with appearing in books. Such was the case
also with Benedict J Jones second Charlie Bars novel The Devil’s Brew a potent blend of London nous and pagan horror with some interesting character names and also in Gary Fry’s Siren of Depravity which I regard as one
of the best things he’s written, certainly his best novel, getting the balance
absolutely right between big ideas and narrative thrust. (The book gets extra marks
for allowing me to pun in Latin when reviewing it).
My biggest disappointment this year was Joe Hill’s The Fireman simply for creating a
brilliant, new way of bringing about an apocalypse and then pretty much
ignoring it to focus in on a bunch of petty-minded people for most of its
impressive word count. Having been impressed with much of her short fiction, I
was very much looking forward to VH Leslie’s novel Bodies of Water. Whilst there is much to commend it – not least its
politics – I felt it drowned somewhat in its watery metaphors which were so abundant I found myself groaning when the next one came along. At one point “navel” was mis-spelt as
“naval” and I’m still not sure whether this was intentional or not. My final
disappointment was Hex, Thomas Olde
Heuvelt’s novel of witchcraft in small town America. Again, I so wanted to like
this book but very quickly became annoyed with the smart-arse tone of the
narrative voice.
A couple of creature-features passed before my eyes this
year, Pressure by Brian Keene and Invasive from Chuck Wendig. Of the two,
I preferred the latter but felt both were lacking in some set-pieces which
might have been expected given the sub-genre they inhabited, instead focusing in on the human
monsters caught up in things.
In what may prove to be the ultimate in prescience, a good
number of novels have featured post-apocalyptic worlds. Aside from Joe Hill and
Rich Hawkins, other authors taking up the mantle have included Steve Byrne,
whose Craze combined plague and
sorcery to chilling effect and Terry Grimwood who provided a neat variation on
zombie lore with Deadside Revolution. Both
were high concept books which I enjoyed very much but I felt Steve’s book was
probably three novels worth of ideas crammed into one whilst Terry’s may well
have benefited from a shorter word count.
The post-apocalyptic world that Simon Bestwick created in Hell's Ditch received another airing in the second of the four books which will make up the Black Road quartet, Devil's Highway. The end of the year proved a real treat for fans of Simon's writing (myself very much included) with the publication of another novel, the genre-bending quantum physics expounding The Feast of All Souls.
I’ve often thought of writing a ghost story set on Everest
and even have the locations on the Southeast Ridge planned out in my head. Probably
won’t bother now as there’s no way I could better Michelle Paver’s Thin Air – even if it does use
Kangchenjunga as its haunted peak instead. I loved this old-school horror for its brilliant
evocation of the period – including its casual racism – and for generating some
truly scary scenes, making full use of its treacherous and isolated location. A
similar cold and remote location was put to extremely good effect in Stranded by Bracken Macleod.
Duncan Bradshaw provided possibly the most entertaining of
the novels I read this year with his time and location jumping epic of ancient
rituals and cosmic horror Hexagram. I’m
a sucker for a historical horror and Duncan definitely put in the research miles here, creating
authentic recreations of, among others, Civil War America and Ripper-era
London.
The Hellraiser mythos was much better served this year after the crushing disappointment of 2015's The Scarlet Gospels with the publication of Paul Kane's Sherlock Holmes and the Servants of Hell, a thoroughly entertaining crossover novel which honoured, and added to, the traditions of both mythologies.
Mongrels by
Stephen Graham Jones is a superbly original take on werewolf mythology,
cleverly combined with a coming of age story set in the backwaters of the USA
whilst Paul Tremblay followed up the brilliant Headful of Ghosts with the equally compelling and mysterious Disappearance at Devil’s Rock.
Two novels in particular blew me away with their style,
books where as much pleasure was to be gained by the way they were structured
and their technique as the narratives they contained. Unger House Radicals by Chris Kelso is an assault on the senses, a
whirlwind of imagery and ideas which paints a very dark picture indeed, with
much to say about the nature of art and those who create and align themselves
with it. James Everington finally managed to bring The Quarantined City to the wider world, having fallen foul of the
Spectral Press debacle, being in the midst of publishing the book in serial form
as the Press imploded. (Actually, he was pretty much the last author to be
published by Boo Books too. There appears to be a pattern developing here…) I’m
glad he did though because the book is a triumph. Structured as a series of
stories within stories, its twisting, turning narrative constantly wrong-foots
the reader before finally – and very satisfyingly – wraps itself up in a
breath-taking conclusion.
It was reviewed in The
Guardian too.
The Quarantined City very nearly
made it to number one spot but had the misfortune to be published in the same
year as the novel which I have judged to be the best I’ve read. (Something else
Spectral can be blamed for then). The “honour” of receiving the Dark Muse for
Best Novel 2016 goes to a truly incredible read, a story whose imagery remains
with me still, a tale both intimate and epic all wrapped up in beautiful prose.
My favourite novel of 2016 is John Langan’s The
Fisherman.
BEST NOVELLA
2016 has certainly been the year of the novella for me, having managed to publish two of my own but also having the privilege of working with three fantastic authors, Gary Fry, Paul M Feeney and Rich Hawkins for the Dark Minds Novella series. Given my own involvement in these books, it would be inappropriate to consider any of them for a Dark Muse, but - should you be interested - links to buying themcan be found at the side of the page...
It was great to see a new book from Gary McMahon with the
publication of his novella The Grieving
Stones. I have to say it wasn’t archetypal McMahon (which isn’t necessarily
a bad thing), abandoning much of the bleakness you would normally associate with him to tell a more traditional tale combining haunted house and folk
horror tropes. It’s still quite
bleak, just not – well, you know. I did like it though.
New pretender for the crown of King of Bleak, Rich Hawkins
had a prolific year in 2016 with – among all his other work – five novellas
to his name. I’m very pleased to have been involved in the publication of Ruin but Rich also added to the world he
created in the Plague trilogy with stand-alone novella The Plague Winter as well as the not-for-the-squeamish excesses of Deathcrawl and Scavengers. Best of all though, was King Carrion, his visceral take on vampire lore.
Gary Fry produced two novellas set in the place he grew up
in and the place he now lives. The latter featured in The Doom that Came to Whitby Town which unleashed cosmic horror on
the seaside town amid some nicely barbed observations whilst Scourge used Bradford as a melting pot
of humanity and ideas in a though-provoking read.
Paul Kane’s The Rot used
the device of presenting thestory in
the form of transcripts from a recording made by a survivor of a zombie-esque
apocalypse, something that lost some of its impact, and authenticity as the –
really quite long – story continued, the narrative lapsing into more detail
than realistically would have been err… narrated. I can, and have, found
exceptions for this before (and have argued the case) but much is made of
“testing… testing” type dialogue at the beginning of chapters to reinforce that
this is a recording. Clever story though even though some of the science might
be a bit dodgy.
Medical matters, mythos and murder were all combined in two extremely entertaining novellas from John Llewellyn Probert, Knife to Skin and Dead Shift - both prime examples of John's trademark mix of horror and dark humour. Very Proberty both.
Hersham Horror released four novellas simultaneously,
spoiling everyone for choice. James Everington provided a politically nuanced
ghost story in Paupers’ Graves whilst
Stephen Bacon went all Dickensian (with a touch of Steampunk) for his highly
entertaining Laudanum Nights. Mark
West tapped into the creepiness of deserted buildings most effectively with The Factory but I think my favourite of
the four was my first reading encounter of Phil Sloman and his serial killer with a twist
story Becoming David.
Philip Fracassi obviously took Samuel Goldwyn’s (possibly
apocryphal) recommendation to “start with an earthquake” literally in his novella
Fragile Dreams with such a natural
disaster opening the story, tumbling down a building on his protagonist, trapping
him and leaving him as prey to visitations form real and/or imaginary
friends/foes. I loved the blend of psychological, physical and cosmic horror on
display here.
This is Horror’s contribution
to the novella market came in the form of two books; A House at the Bottom of a Lake by Josh Malerman and They Don’t Come Home Anymore by TE Grau.
Both were incredibly good reads, encompassing themes and narratives far beyond
the limits of genre writing, both demanding second reads to fully appreciate
the depths of the individual narratives. I loved them both.
Such was my appreciation of the TIH novellas that I find myself in the position of announcing a
winner of consecutive Dark Muse awards, a hitherto unprecedented achievement.
For so many reasons, not least because I’m still
thinking about it, the award for Best Novella goes to Ted Grau for his multi-layered, thoughtful and intelligent book They Don’t Come Home Anymore.
BEST ANTHOLOGY
Gray Friar Press certainly went out on a high with the
publication, in January, of the latest in the Terror Tales series with a volume of stories set in, and around,
the ocean. It’s one of the strongest in the series, with no weak stories and at
least two outstanding ones and it’s great news to hear that the series has found a new home with Telos Publishing.
CM Muller easily hurdled the “difficult second album”
barrier with another top notch collection of stories in Nightscript 2. Highlights included (what surely must be) a deeply
personal story about grief, Apartment B
from Steve Rasnic Tem and a concept I think would suit a longer piece involving
undertakers to the Mob in Eric J Guignard’s The
Inveterate Establishment of Daddano & Co.
Themes for anthologies this year ranged from colours (Chromatics), the Ten Commandments (Thou Shalt Not) and the signs of the
zodiac (13 Signs). I enjoyed all of
them – on the whole – but there’s perhaps an argument that too specific a theme
can hinder the creative process a little.
More loosely themed, and therefore more engaging were Green and Pleasant Land with its stories
of folk and rural horror interpreted, in the main, very successfully and The Hyde Hotel whose titular location
provided the backdrop for some high quality tales. Worth checking out.
The concept behind Dead
Letters was an intriguing one, with each of the authors involved mailed a package
containing an item, or items around which their story had to be based. All of
the stories were of the highest standard with Ramsey Campbell’s meta-narrative
and some dark goings on from Adam Nevill probably the pick of the crop.
Joe Mynhardt’s bid to take over the world with his Crystal Lake
Publishing was aided greatly by the Gutted
anthology. The book includes some big names, really big names (Barker, Gaiman, Campbell) but their stories are
matched by pretty much all the other authors involved. I would always recommend
a physical book over an ebook but reading Gutted
on the latter increased my enjoyment of Paul Tremblay’s A Haunted House is a Wheel Upon Which Some Are Broken immensely.
Ingeniously constructed, it also has the advantage of being incredibly scary
too.
The Sinister Horror Company continue to do great things, not least the publication of their second volume of Black Room Manuscripts, a collection of twenty one stories - with all proceeds going to charity - showcasing a pleasingly wide variety of styles and takes on horror short story writing. Top picks for me were Screams in the Night from JR Park and Laura Mauro's Terry in the Bed by the Window.
My choice as the best anthology of 2016 however, goes to Something Remains, a book dedicated to
the memory of Joel Lane who died three years ago. The stories within are
inspired by, and based on, notes left by Joel and each individual author has
done a remarkable job in creating them in such a way that you would believe
Joel had written them himself. It's a superbly produced book and I can think of no better way to honour his
memory.
BEST COLLECTION
The news that Shadows
& Tall Trees will return in 2017 is wonderful as it was consistently
one of the best journals of weird fiction out there. In the hiatus following
the publication of Volume 6 in 2014 however, Undertow Publications have
produced a number of excellent collections among them Singing With All My Skin and Bone – poetic and eerie stories from
Sunny Moraine.
Laird Baron’s Swift to
Chase and Michael Wehunt’s Greener
Pastures provided intense and unsettling literary horrors but possibly the
most disturbing collection came from the ever-brilliant Ralph Robert Moore
whose stories in You Can Never Spit it
All Out took me to places I didn’t really want to go, mixing the surreal
and weird with the mundane in a deeply unsettling series of novelettes.
Lighter fare but with much imagination on display was
provided by two alumni of the Sinister Horror Company, with Daniel Marc Chant’s
Tales of the Unexpected-esque Into Fear and
Duncan P Bradshaw’s variations on a zombie theme Chump.
Tracy Fahey boldly published a collection of stories all
told in first person in The Unheimlich Maneuver,
a technique which at first seemed to work against itself but ultimately
proved to be extremely effective in a book of shifting perceptions and
realities. Anyone not lucky enough to have a copy of James Cooper’s first two
collections, now out of print, would – and should – leap at the opportunity of
purchasing Headspace, which combines
the stories from those books along with a brand new one.
A quote from a perceptive reviewer calling Stephen Volk a
“master craftsman” appears on the back cover of his beautifully produced new
collection The Parts We Play and the
stories within are evidence indeed that this is no wild claim. A wide variety
of styles and subject matter are on display here, ranging from the
not-so-much-envelope-pushing-as-ripping-open-and-contents-spilling The Arse Licker to, in my opinion at
least, a tender love story in Wrong.
A similarly wide ranging content is to be found in Mark
Morris’ Wrapped in Skin, a book which
once again renders him a runner up in the Dark Muse awards. I loved this collection
and, in any other year would have easily topped my “best of” list. However,
there was only ever going to be one winner this year, with the award for Best
Collection going to a book which is outstanding in every way; not just the
stories contained within which take you to some very dark places indeed – and sometimes
leave you there - but also the production values of the tome itself.
My favourite single author collection of 2016 was Adam
Nevill’s Some Will Not Sleep.
BEST SINGLE STORY
Aside from those contained within collections and
anthologies, there are so many ways in which single stories can now be accessed
and it’s heartening to see the resurgence of the chapbook format continuing
alongside the availability of ebook downloads of single stories. Also becoming
more common appear to be novelettes, those “in-betweeners” which have word
counts longer than that of a short story but not enough to be classed as a
novella.
It was the chapbook format which brought Philip Fracassi to
my attention, with the publication this year of two outstanding horror stories,
Mother and Altar. Both managed to pack great characterisation, plenty of plot
and some extremely effective horror into their (relatively) short word counts.
Other chapbooks which made an impression this year were the
Kafka-esque Stag in Flight from SP
Miskowski and the deeply unsettling cosmic/wilderness horror of Scott Nicolay’s
Noctuidae.
Rich Hawkins embraced the single story download route with a
couple of crackers, Broken Soldier and
Fathoms, haunting tales both.
Released as a very nicely produced hardback with an interior
design as impressive as the words on the page, was James Everington’s novelette
Trying To Be So Quiet. Death and
grief, life and love are all here in a deeply affecting ghost story.
Having already awarded Adam Nevill the Dark Muse for his
collection, it would be unseemly to single out one of the stories for an
individual prize but to be honest, the standard was so high that any one of
them could have won. Not content with producing such an amazing collection, he
also provided a stunner in Terror Tales
of the Ocean with Hippocampus – a
story with no characters which still somehow manages to create a palpable sense
of dread.
The story I judged to be the best of 2016 arises from
another collection however, namely The
Parts We Play from Stephen Volk. The story is a reprint, having first been
published back in 2013 but this was my first encounter with it and the feeling
of having just read something truly incredible when I’d finished it was so
powerful that there was no hesitation in awarding the Dark Muse to The Peter Lorre Fan Club.
The story is presented as a dialogue, a conversation between
two old friends, apparently meeting up again after some time apart. As the
conversation proceeds, a sense of unease slowly grows as its true nature is
gradually revealed. To do all this through dialogue alone is no mean
achievement, to do it so effectively is evidence of great skill indeed. At its
conclusion, the story breaks away into a passage of third person narrative and
the release of tension is like a slap in the face. Then the goosebumps start as
the real horror begins. An incredible piece of writing from – yes – a master
craftsman.
And so it ends. Another set of awards completed and another
great year for horror writing. the choices I've made this year have been some of the hardest so far which can only say good things about the quality of horror fiction in 2016. My thanks to all the authors who have provided
me with so much entertainment over the last twelve months and a heartfelt wish
that this renaissance in horror and weird fiction continues well into the
future. There's a genuine risk that the real world May well Trump fiction in terms of horror, which only means that the role it plays in holding a mirror up to society is all the more important.
Devil’s Highway is another(!) new novel from Simon Bestwick and is published by Snowbooks. It’s the
sequel to last year’s Hell’s Ditch and
is the second volume in the Black Road quartet of post-apocalyptic novels.
I reviewed Hell’s
Ditch here ending with the statement that I looked forward to the follow up
books so I was more than chuffed that I was offered an advance review copy of Devil’s Highway. I was also chuffed to
see that this second book in the series contains a brief re-cap of the events
of the first one – something I wish other publishers would do. Hell’s Ditch featured a huge cast of
characters in multiple plotlines so it was good to be reminded of who was who
and who did what… Dumbing down? Nope – the refresher acted almost like a teaser
trailer, setting the new book up very nicely.
So… what happened next?
Much of the narrative of Devil’s
Highway is taken up by a battle between the rebels and forces of the military
dictatorship running the country. This is, in effect, a siege of the rebel
stronghold, the location of which has been discovered, and is told at breakneck
speed from multiple viewpoints. It’s a technique, I have to say, that’s
difficult to cope with – the rapid changes in scenes, characters and viewpoints
is a lot to take in and led to a wee bit of confusion from time to time…
Which, of course, shows just how effective a technique it
is. Once I’d settled into the rhythm of the writing, I was put in mind of the
night-time bridge bombardment sequence in Apocalypse
Now, a confusing amalgam of noise and visuals in which no-one, characters
in the film and viewer alike seems to have any real idea of what’s happening.
Such is the impression I got with these opening scenes in Devil’s Highway, the fog of war recreated on the page to impressive
effect.
All of the characters who survived Hell’s Ditch return, Helen Damnation, Thereus Winterborn, Gevaudan
Shoal and all the others but there’s also the introduction of the Catchmen,
part human, part robot – relentless killing machines created by the Tindalos
Project. I loved the concept of the Catchmen – was put in mind of the old TV
programme The Nightmare Man, particularly
in the scenes involving a one-on-one combat between Helen and one of the
monsters. An army of the Catchmen is the military’s secret weapon, deployed to
devastating effect during the siege. The ability to reconstruct themselves even when
destroyed renders them virtually indestructible…
As the battle reaches a crucial moment, Simon make the bold
move to interrupt the action and begin a series of flashbacks, taking the story
back to the fall of the first bombs heralding the beginning of the nuclear
destruction.
A bold move, yes – but one which pays off handsomely. Here
we have the origins story of not just Helen but also other key characters
within the narrative. I loved these scenes, from the description of the bombs
hitting to the “oh my God” moments – of which there are many - in the
development of the characters. Context is everything and the whole series is,
I believe, strengthened by its inclusion here. It’s a grim read, conjuring up
images of the worst of mankind, and the horrors of previous conflicts with its
descriptions of extermination squads and mass graves. This part of the novel is
its strongest, a welcome break from the onslaught of the battle scenes and world-building
of the highest order.
Who lives? Who dies? These, and many more questions will be
answered within the pages of Devil’s
Highway as the battle ends and the survivors make plans for the future. The book fulfils the role of the
middle volume of a series admirably, progressing the narrative whilst setting
things up for the final instalment. The back-stories add an extra edge to the
inevitable showdowns and the introduction of a shadowy and mysterious character
raises the expectation of new horrors in prospect.
I look forward immensely to how the quartet of books will conclude,
can’t quite believe I’ll have to wait a year to do so…
The Feast of All Souls
is the new novel from Simon Bestwick and is published by Solaris Books. The
titular feast is, of course, Hallowe’en so it makes absolute sense to release
the book in December. Actually, it does given the central theme of the novel is
the non-uniformity of space-time. Oh yes, there’s a great deal of quantum mechanics
and physics to be getting on with here. Luckily, there are also malevolent
ghost children, ogres and mysterious red-cloaked figures…
The story begins with the return of Alice to her home town,
attempting to pull her life back together after the death of her daughter and
the break-up of her marriage. Her new home, 378 Collarmill Road, has a history
though with a former resident Arodias Thorne, a Victorian mill owner a
prominent part of it. When ghostly apparitions begin to appear – most notably
the malevolent children seemingly hell-bent on attacking Alice – that history
begins to reveal itself.
This process is enabled by a switch in the narrative between
the events of the present day and the “confession” of Mary Carson, employee –
and ultimately lover of – Arodias Thorne. It’s all nicely atmospheric stuff
which I enjoyed, but all the while I was concerned that the book would turn out
to be a variation of James Herbert’s The
Secret of Crickley Hall – not that that would be too bad a thing but certainly not what I would have expected from
Simon.
Those fears, of course, proved to be foundless as the novel
incorporates this well-worn trope into a much bigger narrative, one which turns
out to be an extremely potent blend of science fiction, horror and thriller.
378 Collarmill Road is a special place, a portal to other
realities and dimensions and it’s the journey through these shifting realities
which forms the intricate and twisting plot of the Feast of All Souls. There is, it has to be said, a lot going on
in this book, a mixture of themes and genres and in the hands of a lesser
writer it could have turned out to be a car crash. This isn’t the case here
though, Simon keeps full control over all the themes and ideas, merging them
perfectly into a gripping – and horrific – whole.
Towards the conclusion of the book, there’s a break from the
action to present Alice’s back-story and I have to say this was my favourite
part of the book. The writing here is incredible, presenting a tragic and horrifying
scenario in a deeply moving way. It’s placement in the narrative is perfect, a
moment of quiet and contemplation before the conclusion.
The plot requires a fair bit of exposition from the
characters but this is handled about as well as it can be, never an easy task
but the theories expounded are certainly interesting ones, creating logical – if highly imaginative – explanation for
the supernatural goings-on.
I really enjoyed The
Feast of All Souls, loved the imagination on display. Scary, thrilling but
in places also incredibly moving.
I have much to thank This is Horror for – the website
dedicated to all things – err… horror has introduced me to many new authors
whose work I’ve then gone onto investigate further and enjoy. Amongst these
authors I can count Stephen Graham Jones and Paul Tremblay, novels from whom
are included in my favourite reads of this year. Last year, their chapbook The Visible Filth by Nathan Ballingrud
had the “honour” of being my choice as the best single story of 2015.
Much joy then, at the news of the publication by them of two
new novellas, A House at the Bottom of a
Lake by Josh Malerman – whose Bird
Box took an audacious concept and crafted it into an amazing novel and They Don’t Come Home Anymore by TE Grau,
whose book The Nameless Dark was my
pick for the best collection of 2015.
Exciting!
Two very different stories but sharing a common theme – the
transition from childhood to adulthood, with both novellas having as their
protagonists seventeen year-olds. Teenagers are, of course, a staple of horror;
films have been using them as cannon-fodder for decades now, sacrificing them
to Freddys, Jasons and their ilk in order to appeal to marketing demographics.
Given the calibre of the authors though, it’s fair to expect a little more than
gratuitously violent death scenes from these novellas and, unsurprisingly, that’s exactly what you
get.
James and Amelia are the teenage protagonists of A House at the Bottom of a Lake and the
story is that of their burgeoning love affair. One of their dates involves a
boat-trip out onto a lake which leads to the discovery of a second, adjoining
body of water and ultimately to a third lake. It is beneath this last stretch
of water that they discover the house of the title as they glimpse its roof
beneath the surface.
Strange that no one knows of its presence before now,
strange too that the lake beneath which the house lies is a new discovery for
James, already familiar with the area. So it is that the seeds are planted in
the readers’ minds that this is all in the teenagers’ (or possibly only of
them) imagination, that their discovery of first, true love is as significant a find as
that of a house hidden in a lake. Is the house real or just a huge metaphor?
Whatever, their curiosity leads to further explorations of
the building and, much like the change from air to water, so too the atmosphere
of the book changes, a sinister mood replacing the joy and excitement of the
beginning of the relationship.
The world inside the house is wonderfully created as is the
slowly growing sense of dread – and that things are not quite as they should
be… Why, for instance, have none of the house’s contents floated away? It’s
when James attempts to find an answer to this that things turn very bad – leading to some extremely well crafted and effective creepiness.
Which kinds brings us back to the whole metaphor theory…
Maybe love should be accepted for what it is, to question it will only destroy
the whole thing..? Maybe it’s not about the house anyway – it’s perhaps
significant that this is A house at
the Bottom of A lake and not The House…
Deep thoughts – but then this is a story with depth in every
sense of the word.
Read it as a metaphor or as a piece of magic realism, the choice really is yours. Either
way you’ll find much to enjoy in this novella; some beautiful prose, spot-on
characterisation and some genuinely creepy set-pieces enhanced marvellously by the
claustrophobic surroundings of a submerged house.
Where A House at the
Bottom of a Lake is all about depth, it could be argue that They Don’t Come Home Anymore is all
about shallowness as it’s a trait displayed by many of the novella’s
characters. Much of what I appreciated in Ted’s collection The Nameless Dark were the characters
he created to populate his stories. The horrors he placed them in were all the
more effective because they were believable and fully-formed and it’s no
surprise to find that those character building skills are prominently on
display here too.
The story follows lonely Hettie’s attempts to ingratiate
herself with Avery, the most popular kid in the class. Following Avery’s
hospitalisation with leukaemia - an event which is televised, such is the state and integrity of TV news these days - Hettie steps up in her quest, determined to
save the other girl by whatever means necessary.
So begins her attempts to find a real vampire, for who better to
cure a cancer of the blood and provide lifelong – everlasting – immunity?
Her quest takes her on a journey through the counter-culture
of LA, leading her to an arcane bookstore with a cynical owner then onto a book
signing by a cult authoress of vampire books. It’s here she encounters another
group – not fans of the author, too cool for that - who claiming to be “real”
vampires she's looking for.
There’s much joy to be had here in the author’s dissection
of the personas his characters inhabit, peeling away the façade of style to
reveal the cynical shallowness behind. The vampire chic presented by them is
little more than a front for the truly horrible people they really are.
Nasty – but nothing as compared to actual, real vampires…
It’s a fine moment when the book changes tone from what has
been almost a satirical look at the artificiality of horror and those who
embrace it as a lifestyle in an effort to fit in or look cool and introduces some
real horror of its own. It’s a bold move but one which pays off handsomely.
There are still twists to come though, a few more surprises
for the reader before the book reaches its conclusion. There’s a lot going on
in They Don’t Come Home Anymore, a
rich vein of themes dare I say – artificiality, peer-pressure, loss of innocence, a sense
of identity and many more besides - perhaps demanding a second read through to fully
appreciate them all. It's a book which deserves real critical analysis - a much deeper and more detailed critique than this one but I have to say I loved every word of it.
To label both of these novellas as “coming of age” stories
is perhaps too simplistic but the choice of having protagonists on the cusp of
adulthood is definitely significant. Both are incredibly imaginative pieces of
work and, in keeping with the subject matter of the Malerman book, definitely have a lot
going on beneath the surface. Both are insights into human nature and, although
they perhaps approach the subject from different directions, what they uncover
is compelling.
I highly recommend both novellas, which you can buy here.
