Review of The House on the Borderland by William Hope Hodgson

Oh cosmic evil, wherefore art thou?  Ahh, a deep pit in the fields of rural Ireland, just where I thought.  At least, this is the dish William Hope Hodgson would serve.  His 1908 The House on the Borderland is the story of an Irish recluse’s encounter with inexplicable forces of the malign in the fields outside his home.  Even stranger is that the evil bears the head of a pig.  (I would have thought goat given all the pagan stereotypes, red eyes, horns, etc., but, what do I know of cosmic evil…)

The House on the Borderland opens with two fishermen going to the countryside for a little sport.  Encountering a strange house at the edge of a small gorge, rifling through the interior they discover a manuscript, and over a meal begin reading it.  The framing device effective, the tale the manuscript tells is one that requires that extra bit of narrative distance to work properly.  An unnamed narrator, living in the countryside with only his sister and dog, experiences the most bizarre happenstance one day.  Seemingly swept out of the Earthly dimension, he arrives in a massive field, and in the center sits a house—a house that bears strong resemblance to his own, yet made of jade and much bigger.  An evil swine entity making its presence felt more than seen in the ether surrounding the house, the narrator’s return home sees several of the swine beasts trying to break into his house.  Though defending himself with a shotgun, his inter-dimensional experiences are only just beginning.  Looking out his window one evening, time begins to shift from fast, to faster, to dying Earth.  And that is only one stop of the cosmic clock.

Review of Wylding Hall by Elizabeth Hand

Folk music in the US is viewed as an innocent, pastoral indulgence with roots in rural life.  Its lilt between twittering energy and melancholy not for everyone, there was, however, a time when it reached the heights of popularity—Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Simon & Garfunkel, Carly Simon, and others big names of the 60s and 70s counter-culture movement.  In England, however, folk music has added dimensions.  Celtic history forever lingering in the background, the music can likewise have pagan undertones—the spirits of forest and meadow tucked into the melodies and lyrics.  Bringing together a folk band and the counter-culture movement in England in the early 70s, Elizabeth Hand’s Wylding Hall (2015, Open Road Media) is not only a beautifully written piece of nostalgia, but also a story about the essences of an age past that still haunt the bucolic reaches of England’s countryside.

Flower power with dark undercurrents, Wylding Hall is written in documentary format.  Akin to VH1’s Storyteller series, the novel steadily rotates through the recollections of the members of Windhollow Faire and the making of their smash hit album Wylding Hall.  Some just teenagers when they joined the band, one magical summer in the deep countryside of England at a worn down manor changes their lives forever.  Freedom, music, poetry, and a little hashish in the air, the light and joy of creation is offset by the shadows of Wylding Hall.  Amidst the fun, unexplainable events offset what could be the greatest summer of their lives.

Review of Conjure Wife by Fritz Leiber

It was Friedrich Nietzsche who said something to the effect “nothing offends a woman’s vanity like a woman’s vanity.”  Though probably not the least politically correct statement of the era, such thoughts nevertheless did little to complexify opinion of women.  Scheming, jealous shrews who think only in terms of their own conceit the resulting image, adding the supernatural only darkens lines and casts longer shadows.  Women’s magic near automatically represented by ugly witches or aged, plotting spinsters, it’s as if we’ve come to accept the combination of spells and femininity as being nothing short of a malicious search for renewed beauty and youth, and revenge on those who have it.  Capitalizing on the idea in what is certainly dated fashion is Fritz Leiber’s Conjure Wife (1943).  Penned in fine prose and plotted to a perfect T, the novel is a horror of both the literary and gendered variety.

Raymond Saylor is an ambitious sociology professor working at prestigious Hempnell University.  Life in an easy groove, his academic papers are accepted to positive criticism, his domestic life is at ease, his peers and students respect him, and he is in a leading position for the faculty chair that will soon be vacated.  But at the outset of Conjure Wife, Saylor discovers something when snooping through his wife Tansy’s dresser that changes everything: she has been practicing voodoo for years without his knowledge.  Tufts of feather tucked away here, magic charms hidden there, vials of graveyard dirt pushed to the backs of drawers, shiny buttons attached to clothes—all around their home she unearths the evidence as Saylor confronts her.  Despite Tansy’s protests that her magic has been protecting him from the feints and jabs of others at the university all along, the implements are burned, leaving Saylor ill at ease.  But a phone call jerks him from his reflection.  The professor’s heart set ticking, a student on the other end of the line is raving and crazed with the idea he has been wrongfully failed.  But the infuriated young man is only the beginning.  Issues with the dean’s wife revealed during a game of bridge, a love-smitten student harassing him, a seemingly mobile piece of building ornamentation, strange noises in the wind—Saylor’s world begins to crumble, professionally, academically, and domestically, around him.  But Saylor has not discovered all of Tansy’s secrets.

Review of I Am Legend by Richard Matheson

There are numerous readers of speculative fiction whose brains are not activated by horror.  I am one of them.  Sophisticated interrogations of the human psyche can be engaging, but the cheap thrills of fear (and let’s be honest, fear is the foundation stone of the building of horror) are too narrow in aim for me to engage with as a genre.  I don’t get scared. I don’t even get a feeling of discomfort or lingering sense of wonder reading such stories.  Philip K. Dick, yes, but Stephen King, no.  Thus, take my review of Richard Matheson’s 1954 I Am Legend with a grain of salt.  A driven story, but oh so empty…

I Am Legend is the story of Robert Neville.  The lone survivor of a vampire-zombie apocalypse, he lives in a barricaded home what remains of Inglewood's suburbs.  Watching the clock each day, he must be home before sunset.  The unearthly remnants of humanity climbing into the dark to hunt for fresh blood, they assault his home and conscience throughout the night, threatening to not only drive him insane, but kill him if they can get their fangs into his body.  Hammering wooden stakes through the vampires he encounters while collecting food and supplies in the daylight, the meaning and purpose of life deteriorate with each sunset, moving him to drink and depression.  The arrival of a mangy dog on his doorstep one day changes everything, however.

Review of The Skinner by Neal Asher

Neil Asher’s 2002 The Skinner follows closely on the heels of Gridlinked’s success and is the first in a sub-series of the Polity called Spatterjay.  Part horror, fantasy, and science fiction, the main character of the book may be the water world Spatterjay itself, the exotic (and hungry) forms of indigenous life vividly imaginative.  Attempting to carve out his own niche in the genre(s), this, Asher’s second published novel, improves upon the first and gives lovers of sci-fi full of action and adventure hope that a new voice is emerging.

At its core, The Skinner is the tale of four characters, though a handful more round out the cast.  Erlin Tazer is a xenobiologist who is looking not only for an old lover, but some excitement in life.  Spatterjay exists beyond the line of polity, i.e. the tamed part of the universe, so she heads there, getting more adventure than she bargained for sailing the planet’s teeming waters.  Janer Cord is a man employed by a hornet hive mind to take their kind on an interplanetary tour so they may learn of the universe. Though seeming a difficult task to pull off, Asher describes hornet sentience plausibly enough, mixing the insects’ interests wholly into the plot.  Sable Keech, a 1,000 year old reified man kept alive by cybergenetics he must regularly flush and cycle from a suitcase he carries, is on a mission of vengeance resulting from the Prador war.  The last character, an elderly war drone named Sniper, is likewise on the planet and becomes involved with the war lusting Pradors in ways his tempered metal casing never wanted.  

Review of The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman

Borrowing a concept to write a novel is a risky decision.  The outcome potentially derivative beyond face-in-public possibility, or conversely, a highly original spin on an old idea that makes successful waves of its own, everything depends on approach.  Neil Gaiman’s 2009 The Graveyard Book one such offering, time has yet to tell whether his choice of Kipling’s Jungle Books and Halloween have been mixed enough to offer a story entirely of his own. 

 

The Graveyard Book is the story of Bod Owens and his life in a graveyard after his parents are killed.  Escaping his crib while the assassin Jack murders his family, Bod crawls his way into the neighboring graveyard and is adopted by the ghosts, vampires, ghouls, werewolves, and other creatures of the night who call the quiet grounds home.  With The Jungle Books as inspiration, The Graveyard Book is structured such that each chapter is a story on its own, individual threads binding the whole together.  Like windows, these chapters relate various episodes of Bod’s upbringing.  From a trip with the hounds of hell to spending time with the girl Scarlett, mastering The Slide to encountering the mysterious Sleer beneath a grave, the book is full of imagination.  And like Kipling’s showdown with the limp tiger, the final chapters feature Jack still trying to find the child who went missing that night so long ago. 

Review of Freaksome Tales: Ten Hitherto Uncollected Stories of V.V. Swigferd Gloume by William Rosencrans

There is a popular expression: ‘In order to sing the blues, you need to live the blues.’  The same might perhaps be said of horror writing; in order to write it, you need to live it.  Given the mental condition of his parents, the less-than-standard aspects of his childhood development, and the altogether jaded, insular existence that resulted in him living as a grown man with two aged aunts, it is fair to say H.P. Lovecraft may qualify as one whose thoughts found dark, unintentional corners of the brain most others do not.   

One of the most famous writers of horror and weird, the manner in which his personal life leaked into his fiction would seem to have become source material of its own.  In his 2013 collection of short stories titled Freaksome Tales: Ten Hitherto Uncollected Stories of V.V. Swigferd Gloume, William Rosencrans does precisely this; examine the meta-text of Lovecraft in fictional form using classically styled tales from the genre itself.  The result a mix of entertaining stories with veiled commentary, fans of Lovecraft and horror of the early 20th century in general, should continue reading.  

Presented as a collection of stories uncovered years after the (fictional) writer V.V. Swigferd Gloume’s death, Freaksome Tales is at heart late-Victorian/Edwardian/early modern horror.  Underpinned by biographical entries, photographs, and supporting notes, the tales unearth differing aspects of early horror writing, most focusing on the idiosyncrasies of Lovecraft’s behavior and worldview through the fictional lens of Gloume.  From Anglocentrism to paranormal adventure, racism to one of a disembodied head’s revenge, the pieces included are classic yet often politicized.  

Review of Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Few names in fiction are more iconic than Frankenstein.  Story, character, and premise borrowed, bent, and twisted in the near 200 years that have passed since the idea’s conception, what is perhaps the seminal work of science fiction has become an image of Halloween, the original story by and large lost to time.   In fact the tragedy of an ordinary doctor with extra-ordinary skills, Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel Frankenstein: The Modern Prometheus is a powerful examination of the meaning of being human as told through the eyes of a man who created one, and if Brian Aldiss is to be believed, it is the first work of science fiction.

A frame story, Frankenstein is bookended by the notes of an Arctic sailor who has the experience of talking with a dying man found wandering the frozen north.  The dying man named Dr. Victor Frankenstein, the story of his youth up until his delirious expedition in the north forms the main narrative.  Born into a rich Swiss family, from an early age Frankenstein showed interest in not only biology and chemistry, but “old science”—the study of supernatural wonders.  After finishing a medical degree at university, he secretly puts his skills as a doctor and arcane knowledge of the unknown into action, creating the now famous monster on a stormy night.  Hideous beyond hope, the monster’s ugliness scares Frankenstein, and he flees the room, allowing his creation to escape.  Twisted together in desire and loathing, the creator and the created’s lives are never the same thereafter, their tragedies unfolding in the telling.

Review of "The Calcutta Chromosome" by Amitav Ghosh

A dabbler in genres, Amitav Ghosh seems to continually be trying a new style of writing.  His debut A Circle of Reason is a great sample of magic realism; The Shadow Lines remains realist through and through; and his ongoing Ibis trilogy is the purest of historical fiction.  The Calcutta Chromosome finds the author trying on his fantasy/horror/sci-fi shoes.  Not an awkward mix of the three, the book won the Arthur C. Clark award in 1996 for its extrapolation upon the history of discovering malaria’s cure and its possibility today.  The resulting informative thriller is a worthwhile offering to the speculative fiction market by a jack-of-all-trades author.

Ghosh possesses a PhD in social anthropology, and the research background shows: a significant portion of The Calcutta Chromosome relates the history and unusual circumstances surrounding the discovery of the cure for malaria by the Nobel prize winning Ronald Ross at the end of the 19th century in Calcutta.  Only occasionally disaffecting, the info is broken into chunks, and when related by the gregarious Murugan, is not dry in the least.  As not all the accounts of the great discovery line up, Ghosh takes the loop holes among the various journal and research notes surviving the decades as the premise of the novel.  The answers filling these holes not always synchronous, a strange and mysterious situation arises.  Beyond paranormal, secrecy survives until today.

The story character driven, there is no single viewpoint driving The Calcutta Chromosome.  Antar is a computer archeologist living a dead-end life; Murugan is an eccentric with a PhD in immunology; Mangala is a voodoo woman/cleaning lady whose role in the story reveals itself one mysterious puzzle piece at a time; Lutchman is an all too auspicious volunteer for research; and Urmila is an out-of-luck journalist unwittingly swept up in the present day revelation of malaria’s role in society.  These and a few other important characters receive stage time toward unveiling the strange circumstances surrounding the cure for malaria’s discovery. 

The timing of the novel its strongest point.  Ghosh surprisingly seems well versed on what makes a plot suspenseful for this, his first thriller.  By revealing a little here, introducing an unfamiliar and therefore mysterious element there, the pages fly by.  Implications testing the limits of reality, Ghosh keeps readers hanging by a thread; the reader never knows what will happen next but desperately wants to.  Only occasionally lyrical, Ghosh writes in taut, declarative sentences that guide the narrative infallibly.  Often using the motif of introducing an idea, then jumping back in time to backfill the history to that point, the transition points between characters rotate seamlessly, proving Ghosh as flexible in style as subject.

As the pages turn, the reader comes to an understanding of not only the research and immunology behind malaria’s cure, but also the singular and yet unknown potential of the malaria virus.  The reason the novel won the Arthur C. Clarke award is undoubtedly due to the occasionally creepy, often profound speculation Ghosh performs on malarial cell generation and its potential within human DNA.  The topics of medicine and pathology not often tackled in spec-fic, it’s great to see the possibilities intertwined in a thrilling yet interesting story.

In the end, The Calcutta Chromosome is a highly readable and informative book that will have the hairs on the back of your arm standing up as Ghosh explores the history of malaria from a present day perspective on history.  Knowing exactly what little morsels and tidbits will lead the reader on, Ghosh unveils the state of India and immunology at the end of the 19th century, as well as a few mysteries of his own, with finesse.  Readers of Michael Crichton will certainly wanting to have a go.  One hopes this isn’t the last time Ghosh visits the sf genre.

Review of "At the Mountains of Madness and Other Tales of Terror" by H.P. Lovecraft

Fans of Stephen King take note, this work and other tales of H.P. Lovecraft were one of the author’s main inspirations.  Lovecraft bases most of his stories out of his Providence, just as King uses small town Maine so often as a setting.  Likewise, each utilize quirks of rural life and old wives’ tales to spin tales of the macabre that never quite fully explain themselves.  Ghosts, miasmas, fiery pentagrams, voodoo magic, mysterious deaths, and the other typical plot devices used by horror are never intended to fully connect with reality.  Lovecraft himself can be quoted as saying that the major theme underpinning  his stories is the inapproachable nature of fear to reality.  But enough about subject matter and on to the literary merits of this collection.

Unfortunately, they are few and far between.  Lovecraft writes with the sterility of a doctor performing an autopsy.  Guilty of telling rather than showing, dialogue and inner monologue is almost non-existent, the direct description of events and places taking center stage.  And while this overly formal, technical style may be enjoyable to some, I found it tedious and difficult to fully engage with.  Regarding the works in the collection, the eponymous novella is the best.  The story of a team’s scientific mission to the Antarctic to perform research, Lovecraft uses the unknowns of the most southern continent as a setting for an unbelievable experience that may or may not involve aliens and ghosts.  While at first the mission goes smoothly, strange things begin happening, until only two of the scientists remain.   These two go on an exploratory mission of their own to discover the answer to the many questions that have arisen with their discoveries, only to be presented with more mysteries.  The three remaining stories in the collection would now be considered generic.  But taken in context of when they were written (the first half of the 20th century), certainly midnight hauntings, miasmas in the basement, ghosts in the attic, trips to the graveyard, and other such tales would have been original.

Despite having his own voice, it's difficult to get into Lovecraft’s groove.  Unique, readers will either flow easily with it, or run away in annoyance.  I will admit Lovecraft's brand of horror is not as overt as modern slasher films, it's always a hard time reading a book where there is nothing deeper than the inapproachable nature of fear, especially since this theme takes a backseat to the now cliche plot devices mentioned.  I could never get into King, and likewise I’ll probably never read anything else by Lovecraft.  But obviously each have their cult following, so perhaps best to supplement my review with others.  In the end, because Lovecraft was never able to form his ideas into anything longer than a novella (like King, no?), it’s difficult to see his work as more than entertainment.  If horror is your game, then Lovecraft is one of the original voices in the field.  Otherwise, it's a very specific niche that will not be to the majority's liking.

(This review has also been posted at www.fantasyliterature.com)  

Review of "The Terror" by Dan Simmons

The Terror is based on the British vessels HMS Erebrus and HMS Terror and their voyage to discover a northwest passage in the 19th century.  Using their unknown fate as a literary springboard, Simmons freely fills the gap in history as his imagination allows, and in the process has created a work of historical fiction that transcends genre.  Classified horror due to one of its plot devices, the novel is in fact much deeper in scope.  On the surface it is the story of the two ships and their crews’ attempts to survive, frozen in the ice for more than two years, but at another level, it is an examination of the hubris of humanity and its attempts to defy nature.  

Reining himself in from the vivid descriptions and vibrant storytelling of the Hyperion Cantos or Joe Kurtz novels, Simmons’ imagery of a frozen wasteland in The Terror require a tone more subtle and melancholy; the setting of two ships trapped in the frozen Arctic for two years is simply not conducive to action-packed narrative.  Proving as adaptable in style as genre, the effort is successful.  Simmons more than convincingly describes the day-to-day life of trying to survive in -60 degree temperatures and stinging blizzards, not to mention claustrophobia, cabin-fever, and paranoia that set in amongst the crew the longer they spend trapped on the ice. Surprisingly weighing in at over 900 pages, the novel's sublime description of slow dwindling supplies and morale pulls the reader down to the crew’s level for a first hand experience, pace not suffering in the least.  The despair and hope of escaping a situation so far removed from their lives in Britain comes to life under the author's pen and keeps the reader engaged.

Simmons adheres to historical data for as much is available in the bulk of the story.  Certainly, however, he does take some artistic license, not only deciding the fate of the crew members, but also including an ice monster that harasses, terrorizes and generally makes already miserable lives all the worse.  Though its sudden emergence is at times scary, the beast makes enough appearances to warrant deeper investigation into its thematic relevance.  More than a cheesy plot device, who the monster kills is of vital importance to understanding Simmons’ commentary on the mindset of the era, the superman attitude with which colonial powers set about building empires to dominate the world showing its flaws.  The incongruous ending of the novel, rather than confusing the narrative, in fact highlights the degree to which mankind has continued to separate itself from nature.  That many reviewers misunderstand this only emphasizes the point.

At one time historical, horror, and literary fiction, Simmons’ ambitions in The Terror nonetheless remain tightly focused.  By telling the tale from the minds and mouths of the crew, officer to common sailor, the book maintains its social and environmental integrity.   The reader’s vicarious experience of seeing the world through the eyes of Captain Crozier, for example, gaining the knowledge he does after being trapped on the ice for two years is suitable for any era.  As such, this book comes highly recommended for anyone interested in the history of the HMS Erebrus and HMS Terror, life in the Arctic, or simply one man’s imaginative telling of a fate for which history has no record.

(The folks at www.fantasyliterature.com have also posted this review at their site.)
 

Review of "Song of Kali" by Dan Simmons

I read a number of reviews prior to buying Song of Kali.  I noticed several took issue with the book's portrayal of India as a trash filled, disease ridden country.  After reading the novel, I have to say these people saw only the superficial images of filth and decay Simmons so vividly evokes, thus missing the point of the novel.  At heart, Song of Kali is the story of a man whose eyes are opened, in the most tormenting of fashions, to the social realities of the third world, a changed view of his own culture and environment the result.  Not a cheap shot at the expense of undeveloped countries, the book is foremost a personal journey which seeks to better contextualize differing qualities of life.  In other words, those wishing to read a horror novel purely for the genre’s sake should look elsewhere.  If you’re still interested, the idea of the story is as follows:

Sent to pick up the manuscript of an Indian poet thought dead, the writer Robert Luczak and his family find themselves in the underbelly of Calcutta street life, a place wholly unlike their native USA.  Uncertain of who to trust, Luszak must deal with underground sects, literati, the politically connected, as well as strangers on the street as he attempts to track down the ever elusive manuscript.  The horrors he finds along the way, however, are not limited to scenes he witnesses at the bottom end of India’s caste system.  Beneath the squalor of Calcutta’s streets, a cult of Kali, the Hindu goddess of destruction, is rising.  New members are subject to unthinkable initiation rites, and in the basement of the temple itself, Luszak encounters something from a nightmare.  This nightmare, however, pales in comparison to the reality which he faces after completing his mission.  Heartbreaking beyond belief, the manner in which Luszak triumphs over this power is not only riveting but emotionally charged.  Beyond the horror and dirty streets, it is the true message of the story. 

Winner of the World Fantasy Award, Song of Kali is recommended for anyone seeking a well written story of redemption whose horror elements are but auxiliary.  As usual, Simmons’ prose is smooth and easy, stark yet evocative, not to mention the narrative he produces has an atypical structure which enhances the story’s conclusion.  Yes, Simmons does not paint a beautiful picture of India, but that is not the point.  Read for yourself and find out.

(The folks at www.fantasyliterature.com were kind enough to put this post on their website.)