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October 14th 2008
Review: Odd Hours by Dean Koontz
Writer guarantor Dean Koontz returns with the forth thriller in his fabled Odd Thomas novels – a saga that has proved to be charged with an unrivalled mystique buoyed by the strength of the title character. This time, the fog shrouded streets of Magic Beach serve as centre-stage for Odd and his unusual brand of heroics.
A different task has beset Odd this time: to help the living and not the dead. For his apocalyptic dreams have led him to enigmatic Annamaria; a pregnant lady who’s mystery almost outweighs Odd’s own exploits. Hunted by a cabal of thugs who work for the Harbor Department and use the city’s streets as their playground, Odd is tested to the limits as supernatural revelations take on new meaning and depth.
In this volume Koontz’s prose is as succinct as ever; and although the action is somewhat sluggish compared to previous adventures, the author makes up for it with brutish violence and tasty irony. Joining him on his journey is the peeved ghost of Frank Sinatra and a spirit dog named Boo. At times the reader can get lost in the guessing game and metaphor, but ultimately Koontz’s knight is one who delivers sufficient entertainment.
September 17th 2008
Okay – so this news item section isn’t actually a blog, is it? No, my profile has de-evolved into a quiet, almost semi-transparent reviewer haunting the airwaves. But this is fine. Life is full of peaks and troughs, bridges and by-ways. I figure the world has enough bloggers prattling and rattling off their thoughts into the ether to cope with already. Besides, most of the individuals in my particular dominion are already saying what I actually think, so there’s no reason to go repeating it. Let them have the glory. I guess if writing was like playing in a band I would want to be a guitarist … but with the stage presence of a drummer. Well, at least for now, anyway.
People reading this should do a couple of things. Firstly, they should go out and buy a copy of Black Box. (www.brimstonepress.com.au)
It’s a multi media advent filled with disturbing, ultra short stories from Australia’s finest Horror Writers. Included in it is my story Soft Tissue. There’s also dozens of songs and music from Australia’s best Indie bands and Dark Fantasy art galleries and a short graphic novel.
Secondly, BLACK magazine (also from Brimstone Press) was released earlier this year and contains everything I’ve wanted from a magazine. Best of all, it’s Australian, and has HorrorScope as a central-themed lift out encompassing the best reviews. The first issue was a blast. The second was mind-bending. In them, you can find reviews I did for the novels Fivefold by Nathan Burrage and Odd Hours by Dean Koontz.
I sincerely hope the future brings some financial rewards and security as I am dying to attend regular conventions, signings, and readings. Travel would be fantastic; meeting and greeting all individuals in the Horror and Dark Fantasy community would be bliss …
Bye for now,
Matthew Tait
June 18th 2008
Earth Ascendant opens to selective sabotage, phantasms, and explosive assassination attempts. Here, Sean wastes no time introducing the reader back into the fray of his Astropolis universe that was begun with such skill in Saturn Returns.
Imre Bergamasc, ‘First Prime’ and leader of a bourgeoning empire, is seeing through his plan to forge the bonds between The Returned Continuum and the outlying systems that have yet to return to the fold. His whistle-stop tours have taken him on a journey of self-discovery and revelation. With his latest destination, Dussehra, seemingly no different from the other hundreds of worlds that have been subsumed by his motley crew with their agenda of avenging the Forts and restoring the galaxy to its previous incarnation. But Dusserehra’s inhabitants are not so willing to be annexed, and before Imre can return to Earth, dark mysteries will manifest in the form of its leaders …
Although Earth Ascendant begins with one of Imre’s whistle-stop tours, the book is primarily about Earth. Upon arrival into the flourishing beacon where the Returned Continuum has set up shop as capital, many changes become apparent. With centuries and sometimes millennia transpiring during hardcaster and space travel, the dynamics and structure of civilization can alter dramatically. With such a facet, Sean reminds us just how vast the stage of the universe is … and not just in the realm of fiction. Unexpected and surprising developments greet Imre, not least of which the revelation that he (or his previous self) might have sired a child. During his absence, Imre's old ally Helwise Macphedron has ruled as Regent in his place – something that could have devastating effects.
With answers to unanswered questions coming thick and fast, Earth Ascendant is a remarkably good ride. The prose is how first-rate space opera should be: lyrical, philosophical and poetic. It does the job of putting things into perspective regarding our own earthen empire, and how religions can manifest and evolve. Truly unexpected villains greet us toward the conclusion as the story runs riot with Doppelgangers, parasites, and a broken higher intelligence. The third in the series, The Grand Conjunction, promises to be an epic thrill ride tapering off a remarkable journey that might be the author’s greatest achievement.
May 5th 2008
A novella that fits nice and snug in between the first two books of Astropolis, Cenotaxis bridges Saturn Returns and Earth Ascendant to a form a short yet complicated piece that focuses on a variety of elements.
From the first, it felt good to be back in familiar territory. Just hearing the proverbial terms used in the Astropolis universe was like a homecoming. There are the Frags – Fort components that resemble Primes or Singletons but possessing little true individuality. There’s the ‘Slow Wave’ itself … a cataclysmic advent that destroyed the Continuum and Forts and sent humanity reeling backwards throughout the galaxy. It had been awhile since Saturn Returns permeated my senses, but stepping back into the setting was like stepping into old shoes. The painting on the cover is highly imaginative and seems to sum up the intricate webbing that is the Continuum and the characters whom inhabit it.
But Cenotaxis is also a stand alone novella in itself – and, although it does take place during the same time-line, the action occurs far off on the long abandoned and scarred planet of Earth. It is here that a divine human has arisen, in the form of Jasper, the leader of the resistance and the only thing stopping Imre Bergamasc from taking the Earth into the cradle of his bourgeoning empire and false religion. As the clash for Earth erupts into all out war around them, Imre and Jasper face off against each other.
There are many concepts to like in Cenotaxis. Firstly, Williams has made a similar creation to the Forts with ‘the Apparatus’ – a seemingly artificial intelligence that is Jaspers advisor. It eventually intrigues Imre enough that he changes tactics to find it. The fact that Jasper believes himself an incarnation of God is utterly fascinating in itself; it gives Williams the opportunity to postulate how religions and creed play such an important role in shaping humanity’s future.
Probably the most interesting facet of Cenotaxis is Jaspers uncanny, superhuman abilities. He has an ‘achronistic’ way of experiencing time, jumping through it in ways that suggest he is the product of something that is at least omniscient in nature. Through this prescience, Jasper escapes many traps laid out by Imre … which leads our false prophet to question the origins of his prisoner in more ways than one.
As always, Sean Williams gives us a tasty afterward detailing the origin of the title, and the many influences that brought the novella into being. Fans of Saturn Returns have much to applaud here – as Sean Williams has given us another riveting chapter that celebrates his imaginative genius.
April 9th 2008
Few Stephen King novels in recent history have reviewed quite as well as Duma Key. Not only were the preliminary appraisals heaped with honor, but the naysayers and flame throwers seemed to have battened on to this novel as though it were a life raft amid a sea of literary chaos. There is some merit to all of this, of course. By and large, the reading public is not stupid. Quite the contrary, in fact. If the majority lean toward it favorably … then there is every chance the novel is favorable. I’m pleased to say this is certainly the case with Duma Key … although I do have some minor quibbles of my own.
Let’s set the scene, shall we? Edgar Freemantle, big American boy in the construction business, is involved in a freak accident which tears off his right arm, and subsequently severs his marriage. After the suicidal thoughts and rage subsides, Edgar heads to the Florida Coast of Duma Key to heal himself of the physical and cerebral demons. In particular, he rents a sea-side dwelling named Salmon Pink (which he later nick-names Big Pink). It is here where he takes up the childhood passion of sketching and painting … talents that seem harmless to begin with but start to take root into something dangerous and malign.
A basic premise, but one which will suffice. Told in first person, King’s prose in this novel simple and elegant; in a nutshell, its pure King, pure storytelling. I had the distinct feeling the first draft was composed in longhand. The syntax can be at times cumbersome … but I’ve yet to read a King novel yet that doesn’t bloat to some extent. In a way, it’s what makes his tomes worth the wait and money. One could almost say it’s what makes them endearing.
Upon moving to Florida, Edgar strikes up a relationship with his neighbors: Jerome Wireman, an ageing Hispanic. And Elizabeth Westlake, Wireman’s elderly charge who has developed Alzheimer’s in her twilight years and has lived in Duma Key her entire life. Inheriting her house (El Palacio) from a tycoon father, Elizabeth also owns Big Pink and a huge chunk of Duma estate. It’s not long before Edgar starts painting, and with such a location, his inspirational tools never run dry.
Now onto the supernatural happenings: As in the Dead Zone, King’s protagonist develops extra-sensory powers. In this instance they’re related to Art and seemingly caused by the phantom limb that keeps making an appearance. Without giving too much away regarding this, I’ll say that some of his Art – aside from paintings of Duma itself – feature characters from his past and present life. His powers enable him to … change things. What irks me about this whole scenario is the same thing that occurs in The Dead Zone. For no apparent reason cataclysmic advents seem to surround the ordinary Jill’s and Joes from his life. Something bad – exceptionally bad – besieges these individuals when no evidence at all gave us clues that this was apparent. Sure, advents occur to people all the time. But it all seems a little too convoluted; a little too convenient for my tastes. When Edgar charges himself with remedying the situation, you can probably guess what the results will be.
Journeying with Edgar as he finds his muse, the reader will be completely taken in. The sounds and sights of Duma Key – as well as Edgar’s use of Art as medication – create a tapestry of emotion and feeling that is vintage King. I will never tire of his personal beliefs of the conundrum that is Art in all its incarnations. Whether it is writing, painting, or even music – King has his finger pressed firmly on the button articulating these acts of the mind. There are, however, perhaps too many mundane scenes in the novel before the action cranks up: the trails and trivialities of family; the slow process that sees Edgar find an audience for his work. In the build up to the ending, plot lines can become a little mystifying but my instinct told me this was nothing that a second reading couldn’t cure.
During his career, Stephen King has made the nostalgia of certain times and places resonate with an almost aching clarity, and Duma Key is no exception.
March 28th 2008
Review: Hunters of Dune by Kevin J Anderson and Brian Herbert
Arrakis. Dune. Desert Planet.
From such humble beginnings this planet has haunted me like no other in fiction. A tale that was given only a cursory glance upon publication has steered itself into a literary jungle without equal. The annals of science fiction are soaked with this story; imitators have tried … and they’ve ultimately failed. Frank Herbert delivered an epic masterpiece for the masses, his scope and genius only apparent after careful consideration; after the words had stopped flowing …
I was fourteen when I learned there was going to be a movie called DUNE on television. I’d been reading sci-fi in and out over the past two years, but Horror was my main thing – as some of you might know. And here was a movie based on one of the all time sci-fi greats. I could not miss this; I made food preparations and curled up with my Siamese. It was going to be a long night … but a good one. Sitting through the entire duration, I came away humbly awed and proceeded to purchase all six original Dune novels. For those not in the know, Hunters of Dune is the seventh novel in the sequence, and a direct sequel to Chapterhouse Dune following on directly from those advents recorded in that novel. Kevin J Anderson and the late author’s son Brian have sculpted the six prequels and rounded off the saga with Sandworms on Dune … thus tying up all loose ends and serving symmetry to the epic tale.
Chapterhouse Dune concluded with an aching cliff-hanger of an ending, and Hunters picks up the action directly after: Duncan Idaho and Sheeana have escaped the Honored Matres in the no-ship Ithaca. Mother Commander Murbella is now head of a new faction combining Bene Generists and the brutal, murderous Honored Matres. The opponent that humanity believed to be long extinct has reappeared from the edge of the Universe … mankind now fears nothing can stop its wonton destruction of worlds. For this is the Hunter, a machine entity the slaughters carbon based life wherever it dwells and is intent on finding the Ithaca.
Even with only a cursory knowledge of the Dune mythology, I believe readers can be suitably entertained with Hunters of Dune. All the elements are there … every player, so to speak. There is the Guild – strange, morphed beings that navigate the universe and fold space. There is the Bene Telielax, masters of genetics who have found a way to grow clones – named gholas - and bring back legends from the past. Including the ultimate Kwisach Haderach, Paul Atreides … a male who could see into a place no else dared look and prophesy the future. The Bene Gesserit. And, of course, there are the giant Sandworms themselves, creatures now regulated to a small scattering around the planet Chapterhouse, mining the sands to produce Spice … a drug that is the bartering commerce of this far flung future with Rakis now destroyed. Without it the Navigators cannot fold space; the Bene Gesserit cannot see into the future and alter their metabolism. The Spice is instrumental for all of mankind; it is the exchange in which wars can be won.
The one thing that often surprises me about the new Dune novels is the sheer horror and dark brutality these enemy factions inflict on each other. Indeed, I would go so far to say some elements are more on par with Horror fiction. In Heretics of Dune, the female splinter group Honored Matre are ruthless and all conquering, often eliminating their adversaries in gruesome moments of bloodshed and torture. Picturing beautiful females ruling the universe with an iron fist is certainly something to behold.
If you haven’t cottoned on to a Dune novel, do so immediately. Hunters of Dune is probably not the best place to start, but if you’re familiar with the mythology, it can be a novel read on its own. This reviewer was lucky enough to meet Kevin J Anderson some months ago, and I can say with all honesty this man is the right person for continuing Frank Herbert’s imagination and forethought. Dune goes into another movie incarnation very shortly and Brian Herbert and Kevin will be acting as executive producers. Also, Paul of Dune should be released some time later this year. Any sci-fi buffs out there would do well explore this utterly beautiful universe …
March 16th 2008
Review Apex #11
Blackboard Sky by Gary Braunbeck
This issue’s opener is by the prodigious Gary Braunbeck, a story that fits nice and snug into what Jason Sizemore probably had in mind when terming the phrase ‘Science-Horror’ to describe what he envisioned for Apex. A delicious little tale, it serves as perhaps surveillance on Art as medicine - a motif King has used to great effect. Although I’ve been unlucky enough not to read any of Braunbeck’s novels, I have the distinct feeling isolation and loneliness is theme he might use often. (Pessimistic, I heard from one reader). A central character, Vincent, has become symbiotic with a device from another system that was originally charged with the task finding God itself. Vincent, tortured and vulnerable, uses the power to great effect, but cries out for help to another soul in the format of storytelling. There are surprises, here, as the mundane and the miraculous intertwine to become one.
Spinnetje by Stefani Nellen
Any story that features scuttling metal spiders that have a relationship with the human brain has to be disconcerting for anyone. Spinnetje is described by the author as: an autonomous creature composed of a horde of nanites that could crawl through brains like a crowd of tourists crawling through ruins. Charming. Our main guy, Milo, uses it to experience and taste the emotions of someone else … in this case his partner. Everything seems to be going swimmingly for a while; but one of the great things about these tales – or indeed, Apex tales in particular – is that we know the horror to come . . . and wait for it apprehensively. Primarily, this is a short piece of obsession turning into possession, but it’s the nuances, the subtle things that work for me . . . like kitchen-ware that cleans itself up by folding into balls and bouncing away. Also, there are tangible scenes here that spring to mind grotesque images from quite a few films. In this case, it’s Cronenberg’s Naked Lunch.
Ray Gun by Daniel G Keohane
This is a small piece that’s like a second course in between a first and third, with a bit of light comic relief. Ray Gun has a kind of sixties nostalgic feel as an old man wakes up early one morning to find a spaceship has crash-landed in his back yard. A friend comes over to help with its perusal, and havoc ensues. This is a sort of ‘every day Jill’s and Joe’s getting caught up in a nasty situation’ kind of story, and they never fail to entertain. One of the aliens is described thus:
An octopus with too few heads one moment, too many the next.
Uncanny by Sammuel Tinianow
Told in first person narration, Uncanny by Samuel Tinianow is extremely short and … uncanny. Too many question marks abound, but you’ll want to read it anyway to have a crack at deciphering it. Lying in a Hospital bed, our narrator recounts the story of a female cyborg who has been adopted by his family whilst they wait for her resurrection.
The Moldy Dead by Sara King
Another classy sci-fi story with a ‘pulp fiction’ type feel The Moldy Dead is the epicenter of this issue. Esteei is a receiver who joins a motley band of inter-species aliens to discover a ‘mold’ planet orbiting the fringes of space. S King gave us a sand planet with Beachworld. Also, there was a ‘Grassworld’ story a couple of Apex issue’s back. Now ‘molds’ on the agenda – and although it starts off somewhat sluggishly – The Moldy Dead becomes a tearful tale of endurance and grief. Sara King is a new writer, and in this issue she shares space with Gary Braunbeck to take away top honors for best story.
Also included in this issue is a fascinating interview with Gary Braunbeck (whose Mr. Hands in now in the post and flying my way), and writer Bryan Smith. The highly entertaining Althea Kontis gives us her thoughts on Curses and there’s a quaint epilogue of a story entitled What to Expect when your Expectorating by regular Jennifer Pelland.
Part three of a serial is also included CainXp11: What to do about all the Blood. Unfortunately, this reviewer lost the previous issue which included part two in a bar, and does not feel confident to elucidate on this one.
With prolific authors now regular contributors to Apex, I suspect this little magazine will only ever evolve from here.
Feburary 6th 2008
The Mystery Builds ...
January 5th 2008
Already an innovative and respected story-teller in the shorter format, Nathan Burrage has now crossed the often-unattainable threshold of publishing his first novel FIVEFOLD. A work of Art that the author (from what of I’ve garnered), has been tinkering away on for some time. Upon arrival at my doorstep and a quick perusal through, you get the feeling the toying with this tome has been well worth the wait: holding its weight, you feel the books editorial prowess: nicely condensed in mass and word-count.
Nathan’s prologue appears on his site, and some of you might be familiar with it. A common approach used in many novels, we begin our adventure with a bygone-era setting in the Yorkshire Dales. Rudiments that dominated this period are, of course, priests and secular societies – and Nathan springs the foundation of the book with secrets being consumed by the eternal thing that is such a pertinent component in any mystery: fire. This sacrifice guarantees that the classified secret will remain dormant for generations to come … until the curtain is raised again and another cast of actors take to the stage.
One such character is James Steepleton – a British twenty-something almost any young man can relate to: James is in trouble after running afoul of the law in a drunk-driving accident and it suddenly falls to his friends to provide the necessary support – financial and emotional – so James doesn’t have to do a stint behind bars and ruin his burgeoning acting career. I don’t think I’m giving away any secret when stating his friends (from the heady days of University) are the FIVEFOLD. A cabal of individuals blessed with untapped secrets resembling powerful manifestations of the Mysteries: psychic, extrasensory and mystic abilities that are the benchmarks of a supernatural genre. And FIVEFOLD lies within a genre that isn’t easily defined; although anybody who has taken the journey The Crooked Letter by Sean Williams will be familiar with the territory. Elements of religious and mythic structures with names rooted in folk-lore: Kether, Binah, Chokmah – and states of being or deities of the underworld or higher realms.
With chapters heralded by a characters name of the FIVEFOLD, Nathan shifts gear slowly depicting each individuals quirks and faults. Certainly, each character is a character, with clearly defined traits. A small fault is keeping up with the names – you might find yourself backtracking to keep up with whom is pertinent to whom. That said, the sentences are clean-cut and refreshing - rarely does he begin a paragraph with the old tropes. Also, it’s pleasing and often downright funny to hear the English language communicated without the American panache. Here, Cell phones are Mobiles. You’ll feel as though treading familiar ground with the English locale. And, like a homecoming itself when ‘Bollocks’ or ‘Mate’ enter the equation on a regular basis.
It takes a re-awakening in an ancient clearing to give the five just a snippet of what they can accomplish together. And, with any cabal, opposing forces are hot on their tail, trying to usurp them with their own particular brawn and capacity for evil. Some of novel resonates with an early Clive Barker feel; feints and charms are used; possession is a factor. Also, there are philosophical undertones on the nature of pain and pleasure … and whether eternal ecstasy and agony are fundamentally one and the same. James is tempted by the seduction of the opposing forces, but Nathan doesn’t do anything run-of –the-mill here. You’ll be surprised, on numerous occasions, on the direction and severe turns the novel takes.
Above all, FIVEFOLD is just plain entertaining. With synaptic sparring, mental warring, and clandestine cabals – FIVEFOLD displays an absolute impressive debut and a novel that could perhaps teach even veterans a thing or two about the game. There are many layers to the plot (an older generational cabal called The Brightening Dawn take James’s league, the new torch-bearers of the mysteries into their counsel, are just one), but to reveal more be like displaying used storyboards before sitting down to a celluloid epic.
Technically published in 2008, the majority of this story was read in 2007. Without any question, FIVEFOLD went straight to the top of the list as one of the better novels I read during the year.
Published by Random House, FIVEFOLD is now on the shelves of all the major Australian book chains and many of the independent bookstores. It can even be found in the news-agencies of some Australian airports.
Also, the book will be launched by Margo Lanagan, World Fantasy Award winner and author of a number of acclaimed short story collections, at Galaxy Bookshop on Thursday 17 January. Full details appear on Nathan’s website.
MATTHEW TAIT'S LETTERS CONTINUED
Apex Digest is a quarterly print magazine specializing in what could be termed Science-Horror. Jason Sizemore, the editor, found this niche in the small press market and Apex has evolved to publish authors such as Ben Bova, J A Konrath, James P Hogan and Tom Piccirilli.
A story of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, opens this issue of Apex entitled Madness Blows the Winds of History. Tom Piccirilli’s story is a very cerebral and cryptic piece of cyberpunk – in only a couple of pages he dislocates your mind with rapid, brain-bending sentences … its as though your grey matter has been marinated, dolloped and massaged with scientific-techno fluid. (You’ll see what I mean when reading it). Tobalt Tre is the bounty hunter of a renegade human named Thompson. Tobalt is a Mollunk: an entity with invasive modifications of a humanoid body. And Thompson is apparently a butcher of worlds … many worlds. Using a manifold of space-travel called The Ledge, the two converge on a Terran world that has been utterly devoid of humanity. As in all speculative fiction, however, nothing is what it seems and surprises abound. It’s a great piece, and surprisingly I found myself more entertained by Tom’s use of language than the story itself.
As you may have guessed, the illustration on the front gives birth to the story Blood Baby by prolific Jennifer Pelland. As it suggests, Blood Baby is a mischievous, gore-soaked parable. Beginning with the obligatory ‘Once upon a time’ (something which I’ve come to dislike but fits this short-story nicely), we are introduced to a mythical township that could possibly exist in any time period or place. In Cloister Valley, young Kaia wants nothing more than to be a mother … but this town has an inhabitant that demands a ‘blood mother’; a spirit that craves a relinquishing of menstrual blood to appease its underground dormancy. And when Kaia runs away to keep her dreams intact, the baby she spawns will mean chaos for the world. To reveal more will be to give away too much, but suffice to say, scenes and imagery toward the end are genuinely gruesome. In Jennifer’s world, ‘Once upon a time’ does not guarantee any happy endings.
‘Apocalypse’ seems to be the motif of this issue and we enter that realm again with A Place of Snow Angels by Matt Wallace. In this piece, it's Ice that has reduced the world to a scattering of survivors. Another common angle in a ‘day of reckoning’ setting is the rise of a child prodigy who will perhaps reverse or halt the cataclysm set in motion. Young child Joshua has been chosen for this task, raised by a small phalanx that through science have engineered the boy to realize his impeding destiny – although the final results are far cry from what was initially envisioned. This story won the first annual Red Light District/Apex Publications contest of dark science fiction. Although I cannot see how this would be so, it’s still a nifty little read.
Ahh … and so we come to a contribution entitled Genesis Six from HorrorScope’s own Shane Jiraiya Cummings; a story that initially I was hoping to find flaws with in an attempt to display that I’m not biased. However, I haven’t come across a story in Apex yet that is utterly disdainful, so its inclusion here is certainly one of merit. Beginning with a domestic setting with mother Libby and daughter Jessica, it moves fast as they are driving to escape the void; that endless nothingness that annihilates all in the ‘Apocalypse.’ With honed and precise sentences, Shane gives us a good ride and an ending with religious overtones.
The Death Singer by John B Rosenman tickled me; here we encounter one of those alien species that are silent and enigmatic, benign and secretive. After Captain Musen and his team crash-land on an alien world inhabited by these Jax: spider thin creatures capable of inexhaustible energy and patience - the captain is hospitalized without much chance of future survival. Enter the Jax Death Singers, whose task taking vigil beside the dying is just as strange as their physical appearance. This story is lent one of the more imaginative illustrations in the issue.
William F Nolan, the literary giant behind such novels as Logan’s Run is next on the menu with Mommy, Daddy, and Mollie – a short and delicious horror tale with young Bruce narrating on the unfortunate demise of his Mommy and Daddy. Billy recounts the epilogue to their death and is surprised to find out the dead don’t really die …
The next tale felt familiar … if only because at one time or another I have envisioned such a thing. In Last Chance Morning by Timothy Waldron Semple, the future holds a unique and brilliant execution device: Massive steel beam blocks that are slammed together with enough force to reduce a human being to red servile. A human pancake, in other words. Amid this setting are a couple of cons tying to waylay their inevitable destiny, and while you’d think the execution component would be enough to drive this story, Timothy unleashes a yet grander scheme toward the end.
Following on is Babble by MM Buckner. Although at its heart this is a simple horror story involving a haunted Hill (a cell phone tower is its evil heart, of all things), MM Buckner manages to imbue it with everyman characters who give the tale a real sit-around-the campfire feel. This is another one with a very clever ending.
And lastly, we finally come to the concluding serial that was first begun in issue 5: Temple by Steven Savile. This story has all the ingredients of a classic, and I felt glad I had waited until now to enter his dominion. Many influences spring to mind as we journey with Temple: Mad Max, Escape from New York, and even King’s The Gunslinger. With a species of romance Temple is a lone ranger after the Fall; a seemingly ordinary man but unique in that he is truly lost. Having awakened one day in a motel room with no memories of who he is - and no recollection of the reflection that stares back at him in mirrors, Temple’s mission is clear … although not at first. In the beginning it took a starving little girl looking for her brother to give him this insight, and from there he seeks the answers through a fallen and insane priest. Not unlike an errant knight, he is tempted by demons and Gods in his journey to be whole. The slow pinnacle to achieve this state is handled deftly and somehow marks the zenith of this issue.
Also included is an interview with Tom Piccirilli and essays by Dr Amy H Sturgis and Alethea Kontis.
All in all, a solid edition. The featured writers making regular appearances are certainly carving a niche in the community. And, with Aegri Somnia (Apex’s evil twin George Stark), nominated for a Stoker, the future can only get better. Issue’s can be ordered directly from the Apex website.
REVIEW OF THE TAKING BY DEAN KOONTZ
I began tinkering with the idea of giving my thoughts regarding Dean Koontz's The Taking, then thought better of it because everybody knows this guys career and legacy. But, I countered, The Taking is such a derivative mish-mash of utter shite; this guy deserves to be punished because other reviewers certainly are not doing it.
He's prolific; he's churned out about a trillion words and that gives him credence in the community and definitely warrants success. However, The Taking is this author's futile attempt at watching waayyy too many movies, trying to replicate them, and being utterly influenced to an extent it's laughable. He has no miniature in this story; his sentences are cliched and just awful. Definitely, he's produced wonders: Life Expectancy reads like Ian Irving and I adored Cold Fire. But The Taking reeks of the unfortunate pitfalls prolific writers eventually succumb too ... I could not believe my eyes when I read sentences such as: The spider was as hairy as a member of The Taliban. Just what does this mean? Can we forgive him this racist remark just because he's Dean Koontz? Certainly not. The purple, flowery prose is without precedent in this doozie. Everything's got a quality only in superlative dreams; and there's always a mystical meaning: even watching something as mundane as your pooch taking a crap is fodder for cerebral lines. The constant persistent theme of canines is utterly boring and we always have the feeling of been there done that. He loves dogs. We get it. Try not to hammer it home and maybe we'll visit one of your next attempts.
Basically, it's the same story over and over: just like Lightning we have a female protagonist with her adoring husband. She's had a rotten childhood and is looking for a kind of sweet succor that will liberate her. Bad things happen. This time involving the same kind of aliens that perpetuated M Night's Shyamalan's Signs. She ultimately confronts them and it reaffirms her notion of life, the universe, and everything that is inherently good.
A scathing, controversial review? Perhaps. I'll probably be lynched for just being jealous. But sometimes critics need to criticize.
AN ALLAGORY AND REVIEW OF: BENTLEY LITTLE'S THE HOUSE
It is well known that Stephen King – like many of us – will carry a book of fiction wherever his travels will lead to appease the boredom that arises from life’s mundane activities. And for those of us who have read On Writing and followed his accident with a certain Dodge Van will know, he has a penchant for taking long walks during the afternoons. What isn’t a well-known detail and many might be curious about is that the grandmaster was reading The House by Bentley Little when the unfortunate piece of fate named Bryan Smith chose to intervene, nearly depriving us all from reaching Roland of Gilead’s Dark Tower. The paperback was discovered lying meters away from King’s broken body and apparently scuffed with blood . . .
It’s an interesting side-note – one that I was not aware of when I picked up my own copy of Bentley Little’s The House. Published in 1999 (around the time of King’s accident), The House suffers from the kind of ‘big, dumb, plodding and obvious’ disease a lot of writers seem to become infected with after they have had a few critically acclaimed and well-received novels. When Bentley is at the top of his game, he is well and truly master of all that he surveys; but when he misses: al la The Summoning and Dominion, he suddenly falls short not just a little (no pun intended), but a very long way indeed.
The book is formulaic, the plot seemingly purveyed in the horror medium by everyone who’s ever had a crack at the genre. For me, there always seems to be the tale of ‘strangers who have something horrific from their childhoods or past in common and come together as adults to battle it again.’ In this scenario, it involves a House; or, rather Houses – each one identical to the next but in different States across America: dark, brooding and ominous – the quintessential haunted house. Six separate characters (an old academic scholar, a guy in the movie business, a young girl who just remembers that she’s been adopted, among others), have all had an identical up-bringing involving a scary Butler named Billings and his young daughter who elicits within them feelings of lust tempered with loathing. Yep, that’s right: a child. The whole thing nearly falls apart at the beginning with this tasteless development. From here, it stagnates as all six individuals go through the tedious (and annoyingly identical), process of recalling ‘The House’ – and although the have no idea why – must return there.
Things pick up a little in the second part of the novel as the strangers converge on the House and meet up through different mediums. But try as he might, Little’s Haunted House just isn’t scary. With little dolls walking around the place trying to encourage mayhem and the little blonde girl turning up on occasion to lift up her dirty slip and tempt them with sex, one gets the feeling Little has no idea where to go with it and literally tacks on an ending as if his editor was just on the phone and screaming for him to get the damn thing finished. Ultimately, the conclusion is as unnecessary as the confusing prologue.
The most frightening part reading this story came not in the form of its paragraphs and prose but rather a real life advent that mirrors the one above. During a long walk through woods that wind through my area I decided to heed King’s advice and take a book with me. Of course, it was The House I picked up as I left, and about halfway through the journey tripped over a log and scraped my ankle which sent a spray of blood all over the binding of the book. It led me to think that somehow the book might be cursed . . . a plot-line that might make a better story than the one I was reading.
REVIEW: APEX DIGEST
Science fiction and Horror Digest is a quarterly print magazine specializing in what could be termed Science-Horror. Jason Sizemore, the editor, found this niche in the small press market and Apex has evolved to publish authors such as Ben Bova, J A Konrath, James P Hogan and Tom Piccirilli.
Among the most paramount in this collection, Starfish by Steve Parker exudes the kind of science fiction feel that slides easily into the initiated mind. Immediately, we know we’re in a future Japan made famous by films such as Bladerunner: teeming masses of humanity lurch and bustle through neon hazes and rain-swept high-rises. A young couple, Petr and Katya, have just one last chance in which to escape the brimming city: an opportunity that is just as illegal as it is perilous. In this future, earth has become galactic, with a sophisticated form of underwater creature making first contact. Such a species is abhorrent to the idea of human’s pillaging their oceans of fish – it becomes a viable commodity; almost a drug, and an underground war ensues that will see Petr and Katya gamble with their lives.
The story works well with its decadent Japanese setting; and there are certainly a couple of squeamish moments. A good, gritty read.
Next follows Inspiration by literary giant Ben Bova. Bova takes on the theme of time travel with a twist: his protagonists are nearly all legends from the past. (HG Wells and Albert Einstein, to name a few). It can be jolting at times, but by the conclusion all strings are neatly tied up.
Away by Robert Dunbar is a puzzling mix indeed. On one hand it has the great ingredients of shifty, clandestine human operations. You’ll keep turning the pages just to find out what the hell is going on. On the other there is little illumination. A man has awoken in a room with little or no idea on whom he is or why he’s there at all. Little clues are offered, and by the finale you’ll either be smiling or gritting your teeth with frustration ...
EV 2000 by Amy Greech is one of those tales that’s prescribed but never fails to entertain: Artificial intelligence and technology developed with malign results; the day these stop being produced is the day I stop reading S/F.
Harold has just patented a new technology enabling blood donors the option of donating quickly and efficiently with no more aplomb than an exchange at the bank teller. With shades of stories like Demon Seed and Electric Dreams, EV 2000 is decidedly creepy.
With a demonic blend of revenge and time-travel, J J Davis gives us Wall of Delusion: here, the time travel aspect is original and fresh with our main guy Scott - after committing a double homicide when he finds his wife in bed with another – undergoing radical new therapy involving nano brain machines and memory. Although we assume this takes place in the future, Davis doesn’t let us know until the end. This was my only gripe with an otherwise rewarding tale.
Lastly, we have Scotch on the rocks by William F Nolan. With a subject matter that’s close to my heart (UFO’s), this is a funny little treasure that rounds off the issue nicely; unfortunately, nothing can be said without giving anything away … a short essay by Gill Ainsworth also accompanies it.
Overall this issue surpasses the one before it: the front illustration promised something with a more sinister edge and it did not fail in that regard. Just as entertaining are the essay’s at the end that are like glossy, tongue-in cheek epilogues. Apex Digest can only evolve from here.
REVIEW: INTERZONE MAGAZINE
A magazine that needs almost no introduction, Interzone has been at the forefront of literary science-fiction and fantasy since 1982. From issue 194 the magazine has a new design, making it one of the most exciting fiction magazines in the world to look at as well as read.
Sundown Sheila by Gwyplaine Macintyre is this issue’s opener – and boy, what an opener; if the title doesn’t grab you, the opening lines will:
The red sand was as dry as a Nun’s nasty …
So begins this strange and bizarre tale narrated in glib, Australian slang. Sundown Sheila is an amalgam of future science with backward characters set in a far-flung locale. The main players here are two ‘compozzies’; DNA scripted cyborgs working in the perpetual noon of an Australian-like planet. Their world soon changes, however, when an unexpected female visitor drops by …
Although the prose is hard to decipher at times with Macintyre’s lyrical waxing, Sundown Sheila should be applauded for sheer originality. The planet of Terry Novar, and the ‘boofs’ who inhabit its everlasting sun, will be sure to stay with you long after reading the final sentence.
The Macrobe Conservation Project by Carlos Hernandez:
This is a traditional science fiction tale involving Robot companionship with a soupçon of the Frankenstein theme thrown in for good measure. Young boy Randy resides on an orbiting Space Station around the planet called New Hope. His father is lead scientist there and in charge of The Macrobe Conservation Project. Keeping him company are two ‘asi’ robots that personify a younger brother and a mother – these are temporary replacements, nothing more as his biological brother and mother were chosen not to make the trip into space. What makes this one worth the read is the sarcastic voice of Randy’s first person narration and the often funny use of invented language. One of the illustrations is a stand out in the collection and harkens back to the nostalgia of pulp fiction.
A bleak, pessimistic view of the future follows next with The Unsolvable Deathtrap by Jack Morgan. The story opens at a frenetic pace and stays in overdrive until the end. The narrator is a cabbie with an understandably paranoid view of the world he inhabits: The streets of his city have been transformed over the centuries to resemble ‘Hives’; intestine like tubes with motorists infiltrating them like tiny microbe organisms. He has a hunch that today will be like no other and is hardly surprised when carjacked by a would-be assailant who has a grandiose plan for destruction.
As stated, the prose moves swiftly like the Cab our protagonist inhabits – it stays at just the right length but is slightly let down by an unsatisfactory conclusion.
Author Gareth Lyn Powell gives us The Last Reef, and manages, via a powerful torrent of invention, to imbue a myriad of ideas more in tune with a novel than a short story. In such a short space, we are treated to a potential future where simple communication nodes in an interplanetary radio network develop into sentience with awesome results. Humans, in their desire to transform, enter this matrix and are utterly altered from the creatures they once were. Some experience physical or mental deformities; others are elevated to a higher level of consciousness. People transformed by the Reef are highly sought after prizes as the Reefs themselves slowly morph into different realms or are terminated by the powers that be. Against this backdrop are three characters trying to reverse the reef’s destructive forces. Powell uses love as a motivation, with clever flashbacks throughout that dovetail inexorably toward the ending. Accompanied by a brilliant illustration, The Last Reef is a fabulous read indeed.
As always, Interzone has its finger firmly on the pleasure button for S/F fans and I anticipate a wider readership under the auspices of the new publishers. Also in this issue is an illuminating interview with legendary author Terry Pratchett.
Subscriptions and back-issues can be ordered directly from their website.
Coming soon: A review of After the Party by Richard Calder which was begun in Issue 201.
REVIEW: SHADOW BOX ANTHOLOGY
Upon first hearing about the contribution process and then the October release of SHADOW BOX (edited by Shane Jiraiya Cummings and Angela Challis), I was excited, but did not pursue the details involving this project to any great extent. The only hints I had were a glowering, Chucky-esque logo figure that was a palate warmer for its forthcoming release. This turned out to be overtly prudent and, in the end – satisfactory. Not learning the magician’s tricks gave the overall SHADOW BOX experience more taste and substance.
And make no mistake: substance abounds here, ladies and gentlemen. What we have received is a totally original, well-crafted masterpiece for the masses. The sheer volume of seventy slices of dark flash fiction and artwork does not hinder but only enhances it as a fusion of these elements into a digital advent. The journey is unique, filled with bridges and by-ways, turnpikes and intersections that ultimately lead to a kind of nirvana in Hell.
‘Come play with me’ a sinister-looking doll asks the reader while a malign child caterwauls in the background. It’s as fitting a start as any – and even prompted a panicked response from another person who was in the room with me. Effects with sound are short, but – if turned up loud enough – are very effective at grabbing your attention. Some of my favorites in the first half include: Coming Home by Rick Kennett; this is very short, but a doozy. Entwined by Chris Barnes – a piece with a gothic flavor. Changing by Susan Wardle is charged with an erotic, almost incestuous feel. And Clown Face by Daniel Slaten is accompanied by one of the best pieces of art entitled ‘Smile’. The editor, Shane, leaves us feeling very uneasy with the summer sun with a trinity of flash (in the first half) where blood reigns on the beach.
By this stage we’ve been given the gift one ultimately wants when reading the genre: a cold comfort entwined with the otherness of the otherworldly; a convergence of emotions that see feelings of escape latticed with viewing the world differently. For this reviewer, flash has often held ambiguous thoughts, with some other publications showcasing feeble efforts that have me feeling utterly perplexed. This is not the case with SHADOW BOX; each story, effectively, was easy to comprehend. And I have a new-found respect for this kind of author. Within only a few short lines of stanza their talent is apparent.
In the second half, a small list of the stories to grab my attention were: The Capture Diamonds by Karron Warren – within such a limited space, words such as meat-eater, amputate, and human ash are not wasted at all. Light by Christian Girard encompasses a species of prose I haven’t quite encountered before. For gross-out factor, consult Smooth Trajectory by Esteban Silvani. And for ghost factor, the dead have a voice in Listen by Horrorscope’s own Stephanie Gunn.
By and large, SHADOW BOX has everything on show. From award winning authors to the up and coming published, this e-anthology is a must-have for all fans of dark literature. And if this isn’t enough, all profits will benefit charity and The Australian Horror Writers Association. In 2006, we are privileged enough to have a sequel. Entitled, BLACK BOX, the horror community awaits with baited breath . . .
REVIEW: SAW 2
The original SAW (2004) has become a distinguished psychological film that opened the floodgates for young Australian director James Wan and writer Leigh Whannell. Both gory and psychosomatic, there were few horror fans on both sides of the Atlantic to voice their scorn.
Peppered with the same shocks and scenarios, SAW 2 has already had an impact on the genre that catapults it to lofty heights . . .
This time around, the director’s chair was swapped to almost unknown director Darren Lynn Bousman, but the effect is no less charismatic. Leigh Whannell (born in Melbourne 1977) has served as both collaborative script writer and consultant which see the two films blend seamlessly together with no justification lost.
The premise:
Jaded cop Eric (Donnie Walberg, in a somewhat hackneyed character), is facing a family crises while the exploits of Jigsaw continue to assault the sinners of the community. Eric has been singled out by Jigsaw in a way that none can foresee: although not playing the game as such, his son is kidnapped and Eric becomes an unwilling participant in Jigsaw’s next masterpiece. Captured, imprisoned by Eric’s law-enforcement contingent and his true identity known, Jigsaw has one last gift and game to play: he has rigged up countless monitors showcasing a house where seven strangers (including Eric’s son) are put through the tests and tribulations we remember from the first film. The house is derelict, gloomy, and riddled with a hundred different traps. Among the contestants is the junkie character from the first film; supposedly she’s fallen off the wagon . . .
This sequel, of course, is riddled with gaping question marks and perhaps uses the first one’s nuances a little too much. All things are easily forgivable. What isn't forgivable is the total stupidity of most of the characters locked away; we don’t love them; hell, we don’t even like them, and when they start getting picked off, you’ll probably be breathing a sigh of relief. One of the performances I was looking forward to was the character of Laura (played by Seventh Heaven’s Beverley Mitchell). But nary a word escaped those pouty lips. It was only a script, but the reactions to some of the exploits perpetrated around them were totally unrealistic.
All that said - SAW 2 still manages to deliver. The shocks and surprises are still there with a belter of a finale that’s guaranteed to shred some nerve endings.
REVIEW: HOUSE OF WAX
Filmed entirely within Australia, House of Wax seemed to garner more attention from the screen presence of Paris Hilton than anything that might constitute a decent resurrection of the 1953 original starring Vincent Price.
Billed as a ‘remake’ (although it certainly isn’t), House of Wax opens to the usual fare that current slasher pictures are renowned for: Six College students – all one dimensional characters – are on a two car road trip to see a football game. We have the cutesy couple and a sibling who’s just been released from jail; there’s the blonde bimbo with her man and only one thing on their minds. And lastly, a geek who pines after the girls and give us that much needed comic relief. After becoming stranded in the wilds and in dire need of a fan belt, the characters converge two at a time to the small, curio town where the legendary House of Wax plays host.
House of Wax was never going to be rocket-science applied to a horror film. Aside from that, there are some genuinely unnerving and grizzly scenes (one of my favorites includes being ‘waxed’ alive), and no individual gets off lightly. Also, there is something fundamentally frightening about life-sized waxed caricatures mimicking the postures of the living . . .
The bottom line: Definitely worth a look for screen horror aficionados.
THE AMYTIVILLE APOCRYPHA
Long Island, New York – the scene of a real life nightmare that is quite possibly without precedent in capturing the dark curiosity of millions. Here lies the small town of Amityville . . . a name that has been secreted into legend from a simple suburb and transformed into a word that conjures up something much more outlandish . . .
There is much myth here, and much fact. All of you might have an inkling of knowledge regarding the horrors that befell the Lutz family in 1975: tracing the arc of history we find their experiences only an epilogue to the brutal day of infamy when Ronald Defeo murdered his parents, brothers, and sisters while they slept. He was quoted later by the police saying: ‘I couldn’t stop if I wanted to – Hell; I thought somebody was moving me.’ Is he implying, even then, that other forces were conspiring against him? Through all the rubble that defines this case, through all negative criticism of the investigators and movies that befell it, there is an underlying core of truth that cannot be silenced: something happened within those walls which classify it as a modern day horror story.
It was December 1975, only thirteen months after that tragedy that the Lutz’s decided to purchase the home on Ocean Avenue. Knowing full well what had transpired, the idyllic scenery and price was something that couldn’t be countered against. Twenty Eight days later(another good movie- ha, ha) they would flee in abject terror with no belongings and never return . . . to this day their testimony stands rigid and unflinching in front of the hardest skeptics.
Upon first viewing the original film when I was eight years old, something struck a nerve in me: the attic windows perched atop the side of the house like inverted malign eyes were something to do with it, but overall that innocence created a tapestry of belief that one finds lacking in the adult. Not only was the jury still out regarding all things supernatural, I was heavily leaning toward it being a common reality due to some personal experiences in my house that weren’t exactly . . . run of the mill. There was fear, delicious fear, and I credit the original for giving me a life-long obsession with the genre.
If you are reading this, the chances are very high that you’ve seen it; if not, go out and grab it now. The picture was conceived in a naive time that makes it somehow classier than some of the fodder offered today. Like The Omen, there is an intelligence that lends it certain panache. The old adage of ‘they don’t make them like they used to’ applies here more than anything else, and if you can suspend your skepticism – even just for a few hours – join me again in the second part as we examine the remake, the legacy, and beyond …
Before tackling the second piece I went back to the vault and re-read Jay Anson’s THE AMYTIVILLE HORROR. (Hence the delay). I wanted to immerse myself in what started it all ... and not be tainted by the plethora of celluloid. Jay Anson tells a good tale (regardless of its authenticity); and you’ll find yourself enraptured whether the belief is there or not.
Throughout the ages, many families have claimed to experience what the Lutz’s have: persistent knocking, footsteps, and overall negative karma that made each individual want to war with one another. Should we discredit them so easily when so many have come forward to attest these occurrences?
During 2001 I resided in Glenelg, South Australia. An ancient area, considering this is where our State was proclaimed. Around the time of March, I considered it the height of hilarity to fool around with an Ouija board. Do not get me wrong: I love horror, always have; but stories involving the supernatural have only ever belonged within the page – I was neither a believer nor a disbeliever. I just wanted to have a bit of fun. If it worked, cool. If it didn’t, cool.
It worked.
I won’t go into the details of who contacted me or why. Suffice it to say things after that became . . . weird. And it affected all areas of my life: work, home: everything. There was a constant and prevalent sensation of being watched. I would wake up at exactly the same time every night with a scream on my lips – as if I’d just had the absolute ballbreaker of a nightmare but couldn’t remember what it was . . . My cat (who had never exhibited this before) would stare into corners transfixed by something that wasn’t there. My partner at the time was not oblivious to any of this and noticed a dramatic change in both our personalities. One night – entirely sober - I saw something from the corner of my eye that resembled a green mask . . .
All of this is a way of saying I believe the Lutz’s story. There are things we will never understand: to think we’re just mortal creatures that do not share this space with others is entirely arrogant and foolish. What the original film did, essentially, is bring those primitive fears out: we forget what it’s like to be really scared. The child within whispers these things, but we hardly ever give it attention. Perhaps because we don’t want to listen . . .
The remake (starring Ryan Reynolds and Australia’s Melissa George) ignored these elements and went straight for visceral horror. Overall - for horror fans - it’s a damn good film. Believer’s, however, are let down. What we see is just a revisionist’s take that brings it into the next century. That’s not to say it’s not worth viewing: at least it brings attention to the horror genre and enhances the regular ‘Joe’s’ perception of it. The actors are all great – the direction spot on. The real tale, however, is never addressed.
Over the years, rumors have abounded which claim to prove the Amityville case a fraud. How these rumors started and how they became so ubiquitous is unclear; what is clear is that numerous investigators have seen the house for themselves, and experienced some of the phenomena which occurred. They have photographs and reports which show remarkable proof of the existence of very remarkable phenomena in that house.
REVIEW: CHiZINE: TREATMENTS OF LIGHT AND SHADE IN WORDS
Winner of a 2000 Bram Stoker award for editing ChiZine is an original, no frills quarterly webzine dedicated to unearthing stories and poetry that are left of the centre with a variety of subject matter. The stories featured in this selection were the winners of the contest The 11th CHIAROSCURO short story contest.
Author Cat Rambo gives credence to her name with a tale (involving a cat), entitled Grandmother’s Road Trip. The predominant theme here is one of metaphor: A family of mother, daughter and grandmother are on an escort mission cross-country which will eventually see Grandma placed in a nursing home against her will. The road is long, and mirrors life’s journey to reach old age. What works well here is not so much the supernatural undertones as sharing space with three generations of women and how they interact with each other. The prose is literate and at times funny – Grandmother’s Road Trip is certainly one of the stand out’s.
Sins of the Father by S.E Ward was the winner in the competition which saw 241 entries; this story left me with not only a looming question mark but also a furrowed brow. Delving into the often ambiguous lives of a small village of Muslims and Jews in France, Sins of the Father is a confusing mix; try as I might, I just couldn’t get into it. Some would probably argue that it’s intelligent and somehow thought provoking to mirror the world's current climate - but, in all truth, a short fiction piece hasn’t bored me this much in a long time. The protagonist, Rashid, goes through a humbling metamorphosis (that of a vampire Ghulin), in which we see him rotting away – although this part has merit the rest of the story is unmitigated tripe.
Lastly, there’s a highly unique story by Stephen M Wilson entitled Dream Caused By the Flight of a Bee Around a Pomegranate. This one grows on you the more you read – a flight of fantasy that is at once entertaining and strangely educational. It’s hard to coherently describe this story without giving certain elements away: suffice it to say bees are a big component and the prose is unlike anything you’ll have come across before.
After going back into the vault and reading some of the earlier issues, my initial assumption that ChiZine sought out quirky, idiosyncratic tales and poetry was warranted. All issues contain a small amount of dark poetry as well as fiction – with book and film reviews thrown into the mix as well. Although this issue felt awkward and slow, Chizine is still a viable force in the dark fiction community.
For those interested in how such a webzine evolves into a powerhouse preformer on the world stage, here is a short stanza from managing editor Brett Savory:
A fella named Vanace Fiddler and I had an online conversation about the dearth of dark fiction 'zines online back in mid-'97, and decided we'd start our own. Since I was the only one who knew HTML, I did the coding, and we hashed out the vague direction of the content together. Vanace and I kept in touch about it for the first couple of years, but then we lost touch and, since I was doing all the actual work of coding, etc., I just carried on without him. I started paying 1 cent for fiction around mid-'99, based on banner ads I created for small presses and various authors. Then I landed sponsorship from Leisure Books (Dorchester Publishing) in 2001 in exchange for exclusive banner ads, enabling me to pay 3 cents per word for fiction and $5 per poem. It was around the same time that ChiZine received the Bram Stoker Award for editing from the Horror Writers Association. A couple of years later, I presented Leisure with our increased traffic status, and requested an increase in word rates; they obliged, and I was paying 5 cents per word for fiction and $7 per poem. A couple of years on and I was presented them with more increased traffic stats and asked for cents per word and $8 perpoem. Again, they obliged. It's been a great partnership, and ChiZine would have folded ages ago if they hadn't stepped in to sponsor us, because I hated the hand-to-mouth status of trying to scrape by with whatever I could get from skint small presses and similarly broke authors.
REVIEW: SHADOWED REALMS 8
It’s November, and Shadowed Realms once more catches the attention of our collective consciousness. Labeled the ‘graphic horror issue’, the stories broadcast here fit the criteria of what I think this enterprise should be about . . .
A story relating to love at its most primal level, Mark Barnes’s SERENADE delves into the subject of infidelity and whether or not such a sin can ever really be tossed aside. ‘We're all wolves in sheep’s clothing,’ the protagonist at one stage utters to his beloved while reclining after sex – and it is this declaration which makes it a great story. Through the serenade of bygone disciples, revenge is a dish best served cold.
It’s rare for a short story to be perfectly well-rounded, but CONGA JENGA by Shane Jiraiya Cummings felt like a faultless, brutal sphere. It’s short, sweet – and no holds barred as our protagonist does battle with a parasite for transgressions committed in the wilds of Congo. Shane’s sentences come off nicely timed, with just the proper intervals. What wonders lie in store as he develops his themes?
So many horror tales (perhaps too many), fit the premise of revenge; of justice being served. Matthew Chrulew’s gives us a bleak take on the formula called IN MEMORIAM. Molly, perpetually in a disconnected state of remembrance (I loved the opening line; it was a killer), makes us grieve with her as we visit the scene of her lovers death. She finds solace, however, in a gruesome but ultimately fitting way.
Constantly evolving, Shadowed Realms does indeed feel like a cut above the rest. Personally, I enjoy the stories as though participating purely for entertainment value that has nothing to do with critique. Stories are, after all, not substitutes for reality but tools for change . . .
In the next installment I will be reviewing the concluding serials NOTHING OF HIM THAT DOTH FADE by Poppy Z Brite; AUTOPSY by Robert Hood. Also, DECIMATED by Lee Battersby and JACK O LANTERN by Eric Christ.
PART 2:
DECIMATED, by Lee Battersby, is a serial look at torture. These types of stories are always uncomfortable and Lee does a fine job of it. Like previous stories in Shadowed Realms, it has a kind of futuristic fatalism. Our main guy has been ‘chosen’ to undertake a ritual involving scalpels and insects. The sentences - especially toward the conclusion – are disturbing, so it fits nice and snug in a horror anthology. Be sure to read his biography; it’s impressive. A fine line for me was: My tongue flaps about my cavernous maw . . .
Having an American author named Eric Christ certainly puts a spin on things. Here, he offers THE JACK O LATERN. It’s simplistic, and funny in a childlike way. Billy’s carving up the old pumpkin for Halloween – and what it has to show him, regarding his sister and father’s relationship, makes Halloween a day of atonement. The only gripe is perhaps Eric’s overuse of sentences following one after the other with the obvious HE.
Flanagan - our wako from the previous three AUTOPSY installment’s - is back and it seems he still hasn’t found what he is looking for. This one’s a little shorter than the rest and I must admit to being a little confused with the conclusion as it takes on supernatural elements. Obviously, there is a species of formula in what Rob’s trying to do here: numerous stories before fit into this equation; the looming question mark can either be a scourge or a blessing. Regardless, it’s a fine tale all-round for fans of schlock splatter . . .
Poppy Z Brite’s jilted lovers return one last time in NOTHING OF HIM DOTH FADE. It was never going to be a sweet finale for our couple Leo and Jack, but there is a romantic liberation which unites them both. Over the spectrum of the whole story we find a great character study of two discordant homosexual lovers and how calamity can often be a special kind of release.
Note: Poppy is a native of New Orleans’s heart - in which she has set some of her more literal novels. Unlike her encumbering lovers, I sincerely hope she weathered the storm . . .
This issue is just as explosive and dark as ever; Angela Challis obviously has her finger on the pulse of what readers want to hear. I anticipate the next volume of Shadowed Realms as the system board lights up with nothing but all fresh material.
REVIEW: THE DEVIL'S REJECTS
Writer/director (and rocker) Rob Zombie’s sequel to 2003’s House of 1000 Corpses finds us in familiar yet unique territory. House was a structured, homage ridden gore fest that was commercially successful enough to warrant the follow-up (Rob actually started penning it the weekend House went to no 1 at the US box office), while The Devil’s Reject’s is attacked from an almost completely different angle with the 70’s horror/action genre evident in every reel.
The start is a mishmash of what-went-before interlaced with news snippets regarding the current status of the sicko Firefly family. As stated before, Zombie’s direction is full of reverence for the techniques of others, yet he does it to great effect, mining a by-gone era with sallied stills-in-action of bloodshed and gore. You feel strapped in for a jolly ride, and want to know who to root for when the action cranks up a notch …
And crank up it does. Picking up almost immediately after the first film, the exploits of Baby (Sheri Moon Zombie), Captain Spaulding (Sid Haig), and Otis (Bill Moseley), come to a head as we see the police find wind of their debauchery and lay siege to their property. Both Sherri and Otis escape while the mother is captured by the Sheriff with a score to settle. The family inevitably become small celebrities as the media picks up on their case and labels them ‘The Devil’s Rejects’.
An off the map motel is the scene for most of the films macabre moments. After a brief introduction to the current inhabitants – a traveling old-timers country band is among them – we’re treated to their subsequent kidnapping by the Firefly’s while they wait for their father (Captain Spaulding) to arrive. And this is where Zombie makes things more than a little … uncomfortable. Our captors have no mercy as they subject the couple’s to torture and humiliation at its most primitive. Sid Haig as ‘the clown’ is genuinely repulsive, and he uses his comical caricature sparingly but well. During it all, we’re fleetingly reminded of Natural Born Killers as we follow Sheriff (William Forsythe) exorcizing personal demons on his jaunt to catch the psychopaths. Later we encounter a black desert pimp who helps out the Firefly’s when they escape again. The pimp offers us some much needed lighter moments as the film builds towards its climax.
House was regarded by fans of the genre twofold: it seemed to be loved or hated. One of the strong things about the sequel is a viewer can tell Zombie just doesn’t seem to give a damn. This is his world, his characters, and his rules. I felt totally ensconced in the realm he creates: the dust, dirt and grit of life in Texas during the 70’s; the songs intertwined during action sequences that make them poetic and disturbing. Although not as tell-tale as House, The Devil’s Rejects nonetheless acts as a worthy successor to the original.
REVIEW: URBAND LEGENDS 3: BLOODY MARY
The third installment in the Urban Legends series makes the other two appear almost regal. The first one offered us an Aussie director who emulated the Scream franchise and did a pretty good job; part two saw the quality dwindle a bit, but the magic was still there …
Welcome to part three: Bloody Mary.
Just how the studios provide the money for these atrocities is beyond me - I could tell, just from listening to the dialogue, that the script was beyond awful. There’s a cheap quality to it that makes itself apparent immediately: camera angles look contrived and like something that your family might have filmed. Worse still are the vain attempts at trying to reconcile it with references to films such as Clive Barker’s Candyman. By the half-hour mark, my partner was milling around the phone and trying not to look bored. It’s a pity … because the premise offers a plethora of plot-strands potential moments …
There will be no detailing of the story, here. Even if you were a fan of the first two, please avoid this disaster … it will only taint your perception of the original …
MICK GARRIS RELEASES DEBUT NOVEL
Mick Garris, the spearhead behind many of Stephen King’s television projects, will be releasing his own tale of fiction in late 2005 entitled Development Hell. The novel - an insider’s view into Hollywood movie-making mechanisms – has already received a slew of reviews from noteworthy colleagues such as Frank Darabont and even Stephen himself. Clive Barker, author of dark tinsel-city tale Coldheart Canyon, has this to say about it:
"You want to see Hollywood’s dark side? Read Mick Garris’ Development Hell. Garris has earned the right to tell this story from years of working in the creative salt mines of Tinsel Town. He finally gets to show us the way it looks from the inside, and it isn’t pretty. This is a sharp, funny and chilling book; an unflinching report from the ego-haunted wasteland behind the face lifts and million-dollar smiles."
For those not familiar with Garris, he has been instrumental in bringing the true scope of King’s fiction to the screen. Not content with a mere two hours to subject an audience to the myriad of characters and situations one usually encounters in a King epic, Garris has instead fashioned The Stand, The Shining, and the forthcoming Desperation into large scale television mini-series. Although some of these have not met with the best reviews, most fans agree it’s refreshing to see the works stretched to mirror the original novel format.
REVIEW: ANTIPODEAN SF
While lacking a little in the creative design area, AntipodeanSF nonetheless manages to fit the bill as a viable source for flash-fiction speculative writers to promote their wares. Showcasing ten tales each issue, the Australian aspect of the site is apparent and refreshing: it displays a reversed continent as a logo and is imbued with a green and gold color scheme.
That said, it was a surprise to find the first tale to be from American author Matthew Mapes, whose story The Commute ruffled my feathers a little concerning its hidden implications: the future is going to be nothing but a constricting work-world with a massive amount of time devoted to – you guessed it: commuting. There is an element of truth here . . . more and more of the worlds current climate mirrors this theme.
Next, we have a comical doozy entitled Mommy Come Quick by full time Adelaide author Jason Fincher. It’s a reverse coin attempt where we have human beings as tiny little pests and everybody’s favorite aliens as lobster-like beings with huge pincers. You’ll certainly want to give this one a go.
Despite the promise of the title, Douglas Belle’s Aliens Don’t Poop is less jovial but still fun. Almost entirely dialogue, there’s a nifty little conclusion with a nice reference to our homeland. John M Floyd gives us The Stopover – where we see an intergalactic federation existing on the other side of the spectrum. 79.9 by Shaun A Saunders examines the horrifying world of retail giants and corporations with a revolutionary setting. Similar is The Language of Tomorrow by Niall Keegan; a story with the feel of big brother consumerism and is quite an original effort from the twenty year old from Perth. However, the flash-fiction here doesn’t get any better than Karen Miac and her tale Through the Window – a gem of a story that probably owns its conception to an old housewive tale but one which I found a wicked slice of female thaumaturgy and revenge. Even in such a short space, we can see that her writing skills are strong and engaging. Rounding up the ten are Re-evolution by Rob Williams: again it tackles a theme of a future gone awry – on this occasion its thanks to global warming and humanity’s futile attempts to breed new organisms to combat it, resulting in an unexpected epitaph for future generations. Dust in the Wind by Wesley Parish is perhaps far too elaborate for flash-fiction; a reader will need a couple of sittings to garner it. It’s intelligent, but the scope is limited. Finally, Mark Elias Keller supplies At the Top of the City. Although it was probably never intentioned by the author, this one reminds me a little of Stephen King’s The Last Rung on the Ladder, whereby the solace of suicide is more fitting than the comfort of life.
AntipodeanSF aims to ‘flip’ the mind of the reader into another realm.' And, with a few exceptions, it manages to do this. For this reviewer ‘Flash’ fiction has never held great appeal, but I found myself warming to it. Also, some of the stories hint on the darker aspects, and I would like to see this continued. A featured section in this issue is the third part of a fascinating article by Dr Toni Johnston Woods of Queensland University as he investigates the state of Antipodean science fiction in the ‘Pulp Years’ from 1948 to 1952. This being my first read of AntipodeanSF, I went back to the archives and read through the first two parts. A critique of this will be presented in the next review.
REVIEW: SHADOWED REALMS 7
Shadowed Realms sets a high standard for writers and readers of the dark persuasion. Right off the bat in the introduction, the scene is set with some eerie, brooding music: we know where we are, here – and we know which genre we’re going to be privy to. Featuring a seedy suburban back-water on the front, this no-shame approach works.
Nothing of him Doth Fade, by Poppy Z Brite is included here as a multi-part serial, and for a good reason: it’s the best tales that are given this treatment. Immediately, we are placed into a thirty-something male relationship, a participant as they bicker endlessly on their Australian holiday sojourn from the States. One could argue that it’s formulaic – we’ve seen countless stories across the spectrum presented in such a fashion – by for my money these tales never lose their allure. King himself has rendered it into an art-form (Children of the Corn, Rainy Season) and Clive Barker (In the Hills, The Cities) but Poppy puts a spin on things with this gay couple’s vain attempt to rekindle their once healthy rapport. I won’t prattle on about this story: for me it’s a work in progress. Suffice to say elements of recent blockbuster Open Water here surface, and a reader will look forward to what’s in store.
Another serial, Autopsy, by local Rob Hood, follows. It’s a well known sub-genre, and after reading the title thought I was in for another belt of King’s Autopsy Room Four . . . but this tale is a little stranger, a little darker, and we’re thrust into it with no introduction – and certainly no apology. Flannagan, a disgruntled figure who feels he needs to ‘find’ something in people – literally – has developed a concrete way to make this possible. Dissecting his subjects with no more aplomb than fixing up a culinary dish, that ‘something’ keeps eluding him. Only through finding the right victim will his curiosity come to fruition. Rob’s deft handling of the evisceration scene’s are penetrating, so too the tension that builds. Only readers with a strong stomach may apply here.
An interesting title in the collection is Triad in the Key of Lies by Joseph Paul Haines. The story is poetic, but somewhat bloviated with such lines as ‘The sky blue as innocence’ and ‘the sun warm as forgiveness’ Aside from these tiny triad’s in themselves, it’s elegiac as we see a police-officer make a fatal road mistake with a special woman – and, punctuated with italics, will ultimately get his just desserts.
Brisbane writer Trent Jamieson gives us Downpour – a strange, very short beast. With such a short stanza it’s difficult to coherently describe it. It may well be that it holds different meanings for different readers. After a massive drought, a community band together and summon dark forces to their aid. What it bids, however, is not what was originally bargained for: the old adage of everything the Devil offers turns sour.
Malik Rising by Paul Haines is a concise, futuristic blend of a group of religious zealots offering themselves as guinea pigs to purge a civilization. The viral strain is cursed and enigmatic; I had the feeling this could be expanded into novella length to resemble something not so unlike 12 Monkey’s.
The next tale here has a similar theme of faith. Flight, by Josh Roundtree is expedient in its attempt for the protagonist to showcase loyalty through strange and arbitrary ways. For instance, Ray (our protagonist), has made for himself a set of crude metal wings ‘ribbed with bones and assembled with care.’ Through the ministrations of a street-witch, he is forced to carry out a deed which will ultimately decide if she is a prophet of truth or damnation. Although not stated, you get the feeling these stories are set in some far-future destitute landscape.
With only a couple of lines Tom Wiloch gives us Paper Cut. The title gave me a shudder, but the story a lingering question mark . . .
Next on the agenda is Professional Responsibility, by Nathanial James Parker. Through dialogue, Parker wants us to explore the doctor/patient relationship in a hostage situation. Here, we sympathize more or less with the psychotic kidnapper. All doctors (especially psychiatrics); seem to have an irritating arrogance that belies their chosen occupation. In an unsettling finale, patient becomes the teacher. It’s simple, but very entertaining.
Without publications like this one – albeit on the net – and the individuals working hard behind the scenes to make them happen, Australian dark fantasy and horror could be waylaid into a quagmire without hope of redemption. Shadowed Realms is bold, innovative, and presently has just half a dozen editions (they are all available on the site) so it is only in an infancy stage. Each issue contains five to eight stories – and, with a new one every two months, the future of Shadowed Realms seems to be in good hands. The editor and publisher Angela Challis has an impressive background with all things alternative, and with Shane Jiraiya Cummings clicking away to give it a Cimmerian underbelly, this is one writer and reader who will be coming back for more.
Thursday December 13th 2007
I thought I'd put up some of my reviews from over the years. Introducing:
MATTHEW TAIT'S LETTERS:
REVIEW: THE STORE BY BENTLEY LITTLE
Small American tows as the epicenter for strange goings on … the hallmarks for many writers of horror fiction. And yet we keep coming back to these tales where sleepy, conservative municipalities are transformed into cauldrons on the cusp of Hell. Midnight by Dean Koontz showcased what would happen to a modern town if HG Well’s Dr Moreau happened to drop by … Peter Straub has transformed a fictional town called Millhaven into a realm where the serial killer has a permanent home. And Needful Things by Stephen King is perhaps the penultimate tome whereby destruction takes a town by the throat.
Now Bentley Little has his chance to cut a swath on the map with the hot, baking towns of Arizona as the centrepiece for mayhem.
Do not be fooled by the blurb on the back, or the title of this story. Perhaps parts of it are a homage to Needful Things, but Bentley stamps his mark with his own unique brand of fiction.
Welcome to Juniper, Arizona, the off-the-map dessert town where retail giant The Store has chosen for its new location. Now everything you could want is under one roof, at unbelievable prices. But you’d better be careful what you wish for; this place demands something of its customers that goes beyond brand loyalty …
Our protagonist, Bill Davies, is the driving force behind this novel that sees the town he loves becoming swallowed by the giant commercialism of The Store: local businesses are forced to shut their doors; agents of The Store have infiltrated the echelons of local government, making it all but impossible to operate independently. The entire town is slowly but surely pinned under the thumb of corporate supremacy and unless Bill can usurp them by some means, Juniper will fall under the spell of its charismatic owners and converted employees …
The Store itself is creepy. Although inside it resembles nothing so much as a K-Mart on steroids, the objects its sells become perverted and are converted into The Store home brands. The employees are issued with Store-worker handbooks that are like malign bibles glorifying the Hugh-Heffner-ish major owner Newman King.
That said, Bentley’s heroes are likeable and engaging. He seems to have an overt grasp of local small town milieu and their inner workings. The chapters are structured cleanly and effectively to resemble what they should be: maps of intent. Not only is the writing mature, but the dialogue is established and at times hilarious. We know some of these people: they are our neighbors, friends, and are easily recognizable.
Now we come to the pitfalls: although not directly part of the this novel per say, I’ve had a little difficulty fathoming why such talented authors should succumb to titles without imagination and try to make it their benchmark. Little gives us headings such as: The University, The Mailman, The Resort, The ignored, and The Revelation. Appalachian writer Scott Nicholson tries the same thing: in my opinion the world does not revolve around ‘The’ – and it can give the reader a sterile, almost clinical feeling that flees away from the story.
After delving through four hundred pages, we wait for the spooky things to be resolved: just what, exactly, are those puppet things called the Night Managers that crawl around the store at night? Who is the big-wig Newman King? What does he want from this community besides control? Unfortunately, Little loses himself in these areas, and closure is not one of his strong points. Horror fiction, so flexible when it comes to these elements, should not be shied away from. There are literally millions of explanations that one can employ, yet Little tries his best to avoid them. It’s a small weakness in an otherwise engaging novel.
Note: Although originally published in 1998, I felt compelled to write a review as Bentley Little (to the best of my knowledge) has not made much of a commercial impact on Australian shores.
REVIEW: THE GLORY BUS BY RICHARD LAYMON
This latest offering from Richard Laymon is filled with mindless gore, vile characters, and a plethora of devious acts committed by them that gives one pause on the nature of modern man.
It is, in short, a terrific horror story.
After passing away in 2001, Laymon left us with a legacy of over thirty novels and a myriad of short, brutal stories that saw publication in magazines like Ellery Queen and Cavalier. There have been four books published since his death that are, in my humble opinion, not under the usual scope presented in such classics as The Stake, Savage, and Blood Games. They are, in fact, better - and The Gory Bus is no exception.
In the opening sequence we are treated to the usual Laymon fare: a sadistic psychopath named Rodney has finally kidnapped the girl of his dreams (Pamela) after recognizing her picture in the paper as the school girl he once lusted after. This adolescent obsession has ripened during the years and he’s just aching to whisk her away to begin to enact out his fantasies. And that’s where things get interesting.
After a colossal standoff in the heart of the Mojave Desert, Pamala finds salvation from a highly unlikely source: an old converted school bus captained by an eccentric who has the appearance of an ex-Marine and a disposition to carry around fully dressed mannequins as passengers on his desert prowling bus. Utterly relieved to be saved from the clutches of Rodney, Pamala decides she’ll not prod the reason for his unconventional vocation and decides instead to follow him into the dark heart of a town called Pits . . . a place that has a very small population but is always on the look-out to increase it.
The second plot strand in this story revolves around young student Norman on his way back home from College. Shy, not normally one to pick up passengers, Norman has no choice when rebel James Dean look-alike Duke hops along for the ride. He’s even more powerless to intervene when nymphomaniac hitchhiker ‘Boots’ tags along with them to lead both boys down a path of murder and sex. From here, the plot-strands intertwine and the two groups will meet in Pits to experience the local’s unusual hospitality and even more peculiar eating habits.
The Glory Bus, like most of the author’s creations, grabs you from the get-go and shackles you in a pious grip that never lets go until the conclusion. I admit to having some problems with latter novels such as Island, often putting the book down for great periods before finishing it. But I found none of that here, and was gratified to enjoy such voracious horror from someone who was a legend in his time.
REVIEW: RIDING THE BULLET
Directed by Stephen King’s old partner in crime Mick Garris (The Stand, Sleepwalkers), Riding the Bullet is an exercise in horror morality. Based on King’s 30 odd-pager of the same name, it details the plight of college student Alan Parker . . . a disturbed adolescent who chooses the long walk in order to see his dying mother and takes a short cut instead.
Riding the Bullet was a phenomenon in e-book publishing history, earning its maker an embarrassing amount of money with a lot of hype attached. If you come to this movie expecting the same kind of buildup, you’ll be sorely disappointed. However, it is a faithful adaptation, and writer/director Mick Garris has emulated on an already interesting story and stretched it into a tangible tale with merit. A viewer can tell the production probably had a shoe-string budget and it almost has a ‘cable feel to it – but such discrepancies are easily forgiven when we see Garris has a true understanding of King’s visions.
Set in Maine, 1969 (where else) Bullet opens up to Alan Parker going through the motions of a break up whilst trying to deal with his teenage angst. Depressed, suicidal, his thoughts are substituted cleverly with the aid of an Alan ‘double’ who sits by his side like a conscience caricature espousing advice. After a futile attempt at suicide – which mostly comes off as hilarious – he receives a phone call from a family friend about his mother’s recent stroke that waylays his plans to catch a John Lennon concert with friends. From here, the viewer is treated to Alan’s hitch-hiking journey to get to the hospital . . . and the malign characters he meets along the way.
One of the pit-falls with this the protagonist: Alan can come across slightly annoying; certainly, it’s hard to sympathize with a dude like this one. So it’s fitting when at last a very special kind of ride comes his way (played by David Arquette) to give him an ultimatum and perhaps teach him a few lessons regarding life, death – and which state is preferable.
For King fans, this movie is worth your time. It moves at a swift pace and is punctured by delicious tid-bits and comical moments (readers of Christine and From a Buick 8 will be cheering). Overall, you come away with the feeling one ultimately gets from a King story: there’s an everyman quality to it filled with aching nostalgia.
Monday October 29th 2007
BOTTOMFEEDER
Milwauke Press, 2006
That’s not a very poetic title, I know. But neither is the tone of Bottomfinger … a novel that lingers refreshingly with me right now writing these words. Having just completed it, the positive effect of the book is instantaneous: with this paragraph I sound like Phil Merman, our narrator. Sarcastic. Cynical. But above all, utterly hilarious.
Phil Merman is a vampire. Converted by an unknown assailant years before, he’s a fifty-four year old immortal living in the flesh of a young man. He’s lost his marriage, his friends, and most other things mere mortals hold dear. Phil spends most nights working a regular job. A semi-regular job. If digitally cleaning up photos of dead people is considered regular. Murders, suicides, drive-by shootings … everything New York’s finest has to offer. A vampire still has to pay the bills, and the only down-sides are the hunger pangs that creep in staring at all that spilled sustenance. After knocking off it’s time for the hunt to begin. But Phil’s still a nice guy; it isn’t easy to murder to stay alive. So Phil becomes a bottomfeeder . . . sucking the life out of the lowest common denominator: bums and hobos – addicts and degenerates. At least no one will miss them. And making his dinner appear to be victims of nothing than mere muggings guarantees he’ll never get caught . .
Personally, the novel resonated with me. B.H. Fingerman’s take on modern life is pessimistic but many of you will nod at his keen observations regarding the boring hum-drum of life: rushing through activities just to look busy in front of others; counting down the hours to fill our voids with food, sex, sleep – or, in the vampire’s case – hunting. The truth hurts, but B.H. Fingerman has also made the truth laugh-out-loud funny. And being cynical is just an unpleasant way of telling the truth. Phil’s not a God, but he looks down on humanity like one. His nature is supercilious … and a tad too much like this narrators as to be scary.
Bottomfinger is an original take on the vampire novel, with few drawbacks. Like the speech impediment of one our main characters, it stutters a little at the start but slowly builds in crescendo. We journey with Phil as he comes out of his isolated shell, hooking up with others of his tribe and learning valuable lessons on the way. The dialogue is quite realistic – at least, as far as English slang and regular talk is concerned.
The book has already received some high praise from some legends in the genre. Fifty pages in I knew I was dealing with an instant cult-classic.
Bottomfeeder has a MySpace pag |
