Friday, November 17, 2017

Too Late: Review


You never believe in us. You assume we are made up, to explain the nature of man. Child, we are the nature of man, because we have infiltrated humanity, time and time again. Every foul act you blame on your evolution, on your 'human nature' we take pride in under veils of delicious shadow, and hate, and psychic refuse. We bask in the glory of your undoing, one rape, one child murder, one genocide at a time. And you say 'God is dead.' You couldn't be more right. The battle for the world was lost long ago, and as your preachers thump the pulpit with bloody fists, we throw another body on the pyre.


Right out of the gate, Sean M. Thompson comes swinging with his debut collection of stories, Too Late. In just 62 pages, Thompson manages to violate and decimate you with tales of lust, betrayal, murder, urban legends, and demonic possession. Thompson's visceral, hardcore prose will bludgeon you until you are at the threshold, leaving you a whimpering, bloody pulp. And if you manage to survive, his stories will linger within you long after you are done reading them; trauma locked away deep down inside you.  

Thompson's collection technically contains five stories, but a sixth story is added as bonus material. While the stories are not related to one another, there is a sense of cohesion, as they all take place in various parts of Massachusetss; this makes the stories, I think, more intimate for the reader, thus having a stronger impact. Thompson's stories are about very real, very flawed people who find themselves in unreal situations that challenge their perceptions of reality. There are terrible, unfathomable things on the fringes that are hungry for both flesh and spirit. 

The first story in the collection is Fickle Mortality. A serial killer is on death row, and during her final 60 minutes of life, she reflects on her crimes and how much she enjoyed them; the thrill of the hunt, and taking pleasure in her victims' final moments of life. Our killer also hints at something greater at work, indicating that she will be reborn and live on. Is she telling the truth, or is she just insane? That's for you to decide. With some commentary on childhood abuse, and the celebrity status of serial killers, Thompson starts off nice and slow, tying you to a chair and giving you a small taste of what is coming for you.

The next story, and my favorite of the six, is Stranded in the Storm. Josh and Karen are driving in the middle of a snow storm, on their way to party. Their car spins out of control and crashes into a snowbank. Josh calls for a tow truck to get them out, but is told it'll take about an hour for it to arrive; in the meantime, Josh and Karen sit tight, but have no idea that something is out in the woods, something huge and unnatural, and it's stalking them. Thompson's detailed descriptions of the snow, cold, and the menace that is looming over Josh and Karen, really help to dial up the dread, making you anxious and shaky. This is high-octane horror with a hint of tragedy at the end that is enough to make you shed a tear or two. 

Jumpin' Jack is tale about how you can never truly know someone. Our narrator reveals that Jack Brentweather, his co-worker, massacred fifteen girls in one night, and reflects on how no one could've known that Jack was capable of something so horrible, but also reflects on the self-guilt that ravages his mind. The narrator plays back over and over about how he should've been more aware, more in tune with the fact that something was wrong with Jack. It's a great commentary on how we punish ourselves for not doing something, anything, that could've stopped a horrible tragedy from happening. And like in Fickle Mortality, there is some commentary about how killers are immortalized and glorified through songs, stories, the media, and any other medium. Thompson also leaves this one up to the reader to interpret if Jack was just insane, or if something greater was at work, something guiding him.

Dust is my second favorite story in the collection. It's a fine Weird Western, something that we don't have enough of, if you ask me. Clickin' Clarence and Red Robert are looking for a place to shack up in, after robbing some people who were passing by in their wagon. Not wanting to get caught in the sandstorm that is rapidly approaching, they find shelter in a town called "Dust," except that it's deserted. They soon discover, especially Clarence, that there's more to the town than they truly know. This tale is dripping with atmosphere; it's creepy, and nicely paced. The theme of betrayal is at the center of this tale, but I love how Thompson fleshes out the town of Dust and its ghostly residents, and even making the town a character itself, in the sense that it's always looking for people to visit, except they never leave. 

 The End of Humanity is a maniacal, apocalyptic tale about an author who is in a creative slump. He searches the web for some ideas and come across the site of a demonologist by the name of Henry Scatherty, who only lives a few towns over. Unbeknownst to the writer, Mr. Scatherty is not what he appears to be. The story is told in the first person, from the point of view of the writer, giving the read a palpable sense of the doom that is approaching, and the feeling of degeneration in the writer, as he loses more and more of his humanity, taken over by something malevolent. Reading it makes you feel like the apocalypse is really happening, or that it's almost at your doorstep; it's too late for you to do anything. There is no interpretation to be made here: there are things that exist in places that we only see in nightmares. They are real, and they want you. 

The bonus story is Those Damn College Kids. Four friends are on their way to cabin for a little getaway, but things slowly begin to fall apart for them. Tempers flare, motives are revealed, and a tale of folk horror turns out to be true. Thompson adds a sort of commentary within the commentary, as the friends talk about what would happen in a horror movie, but that those things wouldn't happen to them because they are in the real world. The story has the feel of a Friday the 13th movie; there's lust, sex, alcohol, running and tripping, woods, and killer on the loose. 

With his debut collection, Thompson brings to the table a nice mix of stories that range in tone, themes, emotion, power, humor, and varying levels of horror and madness. Above all, though, Thompson brings the reader a powder keg of entertainment. These stories are akin to a late night at the drive-in, so bring a friend or your significant other, get yourself a beverage, some popcorn, and sit back for a fun night of gore and terror!





Monday, November 6, 2017

Muscadines: Paperback Review (Spoilers)


All my life I've made arrangements for unwanted men. I thought, once upon a time, Mother was searching for one she could keep. But she wanted what they owned, whatever she could get. She chose the ones who were proud of the size of a wallet, or the gold of a tie clip. Most were liars. They flashed a dime store pinky ring, called it a diamond, and said there was a lot more where that came from. Card sharks with fake names. Vacuum cleaner salesmen, hundreds of miles from home. Lonely men. Nobody looking for them, nobody expecting them home. They weren't afraid to travel alone. They should have been afraid. 

Ever since I read S.P. Miskowski's Skillute Cycle, I have been a fan of her writing. She creates creepy, dreadful, oppressive atmospheres, along with engaging, flawed characters. She digs deep into these characters--with great skill, I might add--and reveals grisly portraits of broken homes, fractured child/parent relationships, poverty, family cycles, identity, self-preservation, past deeds, and much, much more. In her story, Muscadines, Miskowski does not disappoint, crafting a fine piece of Southern Gothic Horror literature that left me staggering. 

Muscadines is published by Dunhams Manor Press, with art by the great Dave Felton. Felton's cover is a truly accurate, ghostly and terrifying depiction of what awaits the reader. Honestly, I can't imagine anyone else doing the cover. Muscadines tells the story of Alma, Martha, and Louise, three sisters living in their family home in an unknown, rural part of Georgia. At first, it's just Martha and Louise living together, but after many years of living in various places, Alma returns to assume the role as head of the household, much to the consternation of Martha. Told through Martha's fragmented narrative, we are treated to a horror show of family secrets that involve abuse, their deceased mother, poison berries, morbid rituals and traditions, and murder. 

Miskowski immediately establishes the mood of her story by not telling us exactly where it takes place. We know it's in a rural part of Georgia because of other areas mentioned in passing, such as LaGrange, Stone Mountain, Warm Springs, and Chipley, but that's all we have to go by. What we are told is:

Down here, in our part of the state, the roads disappear in the dirt and weeds. Houses are half a mile or more apart, and some are deserted. Farming families that didn't lose husbands in the last World War lost sons in Korea. So there's nobody working the land now but a few old ladies. Their houses are like ours. No fancy driveways. No lawn jockeys. No estate names. We're not on any historic route. For that you're better off heading to Warm Springs or Stone Mountain. Even chicken farmers from Chipley think of this place as the sticks. 

Miskowski puts the location in a sort of weird state; she gives it a sense of otherness, something alien-like; it exists outside a state of normalcy. She writes that travelers usually pass on through, rarely stopping. And if they do stop, it's to take a picture of a cotton field, or some other site or object. To the travelers, the location is something different, something they don't normally see; or even something that's forgotten, or even hidden, like a kind of hidden poverty. In other instances, travelers find themselves lost while on their way to some other destination. This gives the story the feel of a twisted, dark fairy tale, something that's hazy and dream-like. By immediately setting this up , Miskowski is telling you that you are in for a brutal, deranged, and hallucinatory ride.

Muscadines is told in the first person, by Martha. The narrative is fragmented, in that some chapters are only one or two sentences, while others are anywhere from one paragraph, to multiple paragraphs. It makes you feel like you are reading a diary of sorts; something you'd find in an old abandoned farmhouse. It definitely makes the story feel more personal, adding heightened levels of emotion, rawness, and pain. Some of the things Martha says are enough to make you recoil in horror, causing you to put the book down and catch your breath. The story is perfectly paced, as Martha reveals more and more with each page turned, all the way until the very end.

At the heart of Muscadines is the theme of unbreakable family cycles, and abuse. We learn that Martha, Louise, and Alma's mother, Ruth, grew up in a fanatically religious, abusive household. Ruth's parents, Ophelia and Desmond Parker, attended church three times a week, and always asked for the congregation to pray for Ruth, who Desmond said had a demon in her. No one was to believe anything Ruth said. She would receive beatings from not only her parents, but Sunday school teachers, as well. Miskowski doesn't pull any punches in her descriptions:

Once Ruth was unconscious, or at least couldn't move, Desmond would put on his dentures and unbutton his collar. He'd take a flashlight down off a shelf in the hall, and go to search for signs of the demon on his daughter's body. Taking special care to check all the hidden spots where that crafty monster might leave his traces. After a thorough search Ophelia would bathe Ruth, change her nightgown, and put her back into bed. 

The family cycle of morbid rituals and traditions doesn't begin until Ruth is eighteen years old and inherits her house after her parents die. Since she was a kid, Ruth kept a berry plant hidden underneath the back steps of her home. With the discovery of what the berries could do, and the appearance of muscadines growing on her land, Ruth established a new vocation that would ensure her survival, and would be passed down to her children. She would ground up the berries to a fine powder and mix them with the muscadines to make wine that could render someone unable to move. Thus began the ritual of Ruth going out to find men to bring back to her home, sometimes having sex with them, drug them, tie them up, murder them, and take their possessions; and her children played a part in it, as well. And we later learn that all three girls have a different father that fell prey to Ruth.

When Ruth dies, and Alma leaves, Martha takes over the household and cares for her sister, Louise. Martha does everything she can to break the horrible cycle that her Mother started. But when Alma returns years later and assumes the role as head of the household, the cycle comes back, as Alma begins doing the same thing her mother did: bringing men back to the house to be drugged and murdered. At first, Martha fights it; she hates that Alma is back and wants her out, but as the story reaches its end, all three girls fully embrace the cycle, and vow to continue it. 

What's so great about Horror and Weird Fiction, is that strange, bizarre, and horrifying ordeals are effectively used to highlight numerous themes. In this case, Miskowski crafted a tale about an unbreakable family cycle, and that no matter how hard we try, we are destined--or doomed, which may be the more appropriate word--to fall into the those cycles, some of which began generations ago. We always talk about how we aren't going be like our parents, and our parents said they aren't going to be like their parents, and so on and so forth, but it's inevitable. Even the best of us maintain certain aspects of a cycle, despite our best efforts not to. Whether it's your father's temper, or your mother's gambling, something is going to stay with you. In the case of Alma, Martha, and Louise, it's their mother's ritual killings. 

Once again, S.P. Miskowski has shown us why we should be reading her work. It's her skill at writing evenly paced stories and smooth prose, coupled with her incomparable ability to dig deep down into peoples' souls and unearth all their complexities and layers. With Muscadines, Miskowski brought us a tale that's, brutal, raw, and unwavering in it's onslaught of the reader's being. If you haven't read Miskowki yet, now is the time to start doing so; she is taking literary Horror to new heights. 






Sunday, May 28, 2017

Grass: Review



Can a body be a forest? A deep dank overgrown woods? A tangled jungle of viscous vegetation that requires a machete to slash a pathway to its dark, dark heart?

From the thickest, darkest depths of a long forgotten swamp, comes Anya Martin's novella, Grass, another knockout book from Dim Shores, a vanguard of Weird and Horror fiction. Huge props to Jeanne D'Angelo, for creating such a lush, alluring, alien-like cover that emanates vibes of mystery, erotica, and science-fiction, accurately capturing Martin's humid and swampy tale. I can honestly say that, out of Dim Shores' current catalog, it's my favorite cover.

Grass centers on Sheila, a woman living in Georgia who receives a call saying that her alcoholic, abusive ex-husband Dave, and his wife Monica, were killed in a plane crash. Due to Dave never updating his medical records, Sheila is still listed as an emergency contact and must drive to Camden County in southern Georgia to identify the body, ensuring that it is indeed Dave. After two years of trying to forget Dave and all the pain he caused her, he is suddenly thrust back into Sheila's life, and as a corpse no less! Sheila gets much more than the corpse of her ex-husband, though; she leaves the morgue with a stowaway; something alien, a primordial being that takes Sheila to new levels of passion and pleasure.

After two readings of Martin's novella, I feel like it can be considered something along the lines of a treatise on abuse against women. All the elements combined to make her tale are backdrops, where at the forefront of the tale, is Sheila's struggle to survive, attempting to live her life one day at a time, in the horrible wake of Dave's brutality against her. One would think that Sheila would have been thrilled upon hearing about Dave's death, and while there was some exultation, there were more emotions that flooded throughout her mind:

The biggest surprise was a sudden emotion of loss, sadness--no, not love! Should she be crying? Did Dave deserve her tears? She never thought she'd ever cry if he died. He deserved to die, didn't he, for what he had done to her? No, she didn't have any reason to cry. She didn't love Dave, couldn't even remember saying she did. The emotion churned, intensified into hate, the back of her head burning as it used to after he slammed his fist into it. She closed her eyes and grasped above her forehead, wincing at the pain.

For those who have never even remotely experienced what Sheila went through at the hands of Dave, it's difficult to understand why anyone would feel anything other than happiness at the death of such a disgusting human being; is it really for us to understand? Are we ever actually going to truly understand? Perhaps Sheila remembered the more pleasant times with Dave, and may have even missed those times. And, perhaps, Sheila turns to hate because, in a sense, Dave got off easy; he's dead and gone, and the majority of people who knew him will never know just how terrible he was. Worst of all, Sheila is still alive, and still dealing with the mental and emotional scars that Dave left upon her. Every single day, Sheila has to muster the mental and physical fortitude to keep going, compartmentalizing her trauma, focusing on taking care of her flowers and plants, giving her a sense of comfort

Another aspect of abuse that Anya deftly explores is the 'why'. Why did Sheila stay with Dave for as long as she did? For some, the simple answer is, "You should've left him the moment he laid his hands on you." We all want to believe it should be that easy, but, unfortunately it isn't. Anya doesn't provide the reader with a single response, but rather, through Sheila, opens up the reader to a world of reasons and the psychology behind them. Dave wasn't always abusive to Sheila; there relationship didn't start off that way, it was gradual. Even then, there were periods of calm between Dave's violence. Maybe Sheila thought the last time would be it. Maybe she found herself normalizing it. Perhaps she just focused on the better times, and that it wasn't like this all the time. She could've felt trapped, or thinking that she would never find something better than life with Dave. Dave's mental and physical abuse kept Sheila down, and in fear. Then, Dave divorces Sheila, leaving her to wonder if she was the problem the whole time, further fracturing her self-esteem and confidence; now, clearly, Sheila wasn't the problem, but you can see how Dave completely destroyed everything about her. At one point, Sheila actually contemplates suicide, wondering if it's a better alternative than living a life of trauma, triggers, and constant anxiety. 

The creature, alien, whatever you want to call it, serves as not only a source of comfort for Sheila, but as a source of pleasure; something new, something different. Did Dave ever please Sheila? If he did, she can't remember when, or if he ever did. Is this the Unknown for Sheila? Because of Dave, would Sheila ever be able to let another man into her life? The swamp creature--something from a more primordial time--does more for Sheila than anyone ever did. Much like Dave, however, Sheila discovers the true nature of the creature: it must have water, and will devour anything it can to survive. Sheila found herself in the same situation she was in with Dave for all those years, and had to get out of it as soon as possible, leading to the abrupt, yet jaw dropping conclusion.

Of course, these themes and elements would be nothing without Anya's smooth prose. She uses language that creates a lush, humid, vibrant, and tragic tale. Her descriptions of the Georgia heat and humidity greatly emphasize the oppression felt by Sheila; so much, in fact, it's more than capable of making the reader heavy with the weight of Sheila's experiences. And Anya's erotic passages involving Sheila and the swamp creature are quite juicy, and do well to express what Sheila had never quite experienced.  Blending Horror, Erotica, Science Fiction, and referencing such films as Swamp Thing, The Creature from the Black Lagoon, and more, along with themes of abuse, post traumatic stress, tragedy, anxiety, and pleasure, Anya Martin crafted a tale that is on the level of being discussed in a college literature course. Anya expertly navigates these themes that many do not understand, nor, to some extent, want to acknowledge. I was only left with one question: when are we going to see an Anya Martin collection? 












Wednesday, September 28, 2016

The Nameless Dark: Review


There is beauty and horror here, wisdom and madness, and I have drunk deeply of it all. Will you do the same? 

But man is an arrogant ape, and so here we are, disturbing the Old Ways, while bashing out the brains of every fellow human being that doesn't look exactly like us, or bow to the same flag, sing to the same savior. Ridiculous, arrogant ape, swinging a club like a demigod. 

 I'm a terribly slow reader. It can take me upwards to a month (maybe a little longer) to finish anything that's over two-hundred pages. In the case of T.E. Grau's debut collection, The Nameless Dark--published by Lethe Press--it took me much longer. Not because I found it difficult to read, or that it was boring (totally the opposite). No, it was because every page, every word, had to be slowly absorbed; it demanded to be savored. The Nameless Dark is a strong debut, featuring varied and complex stories that span time and geography, combining old and new elements, making the collection fresh and exciting.

Grau's writing is gritty and raw, highly reminiscent of the work of Laird Barron. Some of his stories slowly gnaw away at your being, and some of them assault you with cosmic punch after cosmic punch; there is no defense against such powerful and primal writing, and you are left on the brink of mental lassitude and physical exhaustion. You are taken on harrowing journeys through hollowed-out urban settings, desolate desert landscapes, and far away lands that will devour you whole if you do not offer them the right amount of respect. Grau's characters are innocent, flawed, macho, hardened, vulnerable, and downright terrible.

In a few of Grau's stories, there is a focus on the concept of masculinity; or, perhaps, more specific, American masculinity, mixed with arrogance and patriarchy. In Beer & Worms, misogyny and patriarchy are taken to the extreme when Russ, the main character, admits to his friend that he killed his wife. Why? Because he couldn't stand the thought of having to ask his wife if it was okay for him to go fishing. It casts a cruel light on this poisonous mindset that is nothing short of detrimental to society as a whole. Russ is a prime example of a male dominated society; that a man should be able to do whatever he wants, and women are not his equal. Men like Russ have zero respect for women. Asking your partner if it's okay to do something doesn't make you less of anything; it's called being respectful and considerate.

In Return of the Prodigy, one of the more Mythos-oriented (Lovecraft) stories, Gary exemplifies American masculinity and harbors racist views towards anyone who is non-white. He actually reminded me of an old co-worker who basically said he saw no reason to leave the United States because it's the greatest country on Earth. Gary is just like him. He caves in, though, and agrees to take his wife, Gladys, on the honeymoon they never went on. While not like Russ in Beer & Worms, Gary takes Gladys for granted, and is often annoyed by her, despite the fact that she loves him dearly. Gary's racism prevents him from appreciating all aspects of life and culture, and is damaging to not only him, but his wife, and also the world as a whole. In Expat, more masculinity is at play, along with more American arrogance. It explores, I believe, American-centered ideas of backpacking across Europe and 'roughing it' in parts of the world that we would consider to be less modern, a means of escape. It's egotistical and disrespectful, as it tends to cast European countries in a negative light, especially Eastern European countries. And when you don't have enough respect for those places, there are consequences to be paid.

Innocence is another theme explored in Grau's collection, and how parents try to protect their children from the horrors of this world, and, in some cases, other worlds. In Free Fireworks, Jacob is a young boy living in a version of the United States where a great war happened, resulting in the worship of the Elder Gods, and the remaining followers of the monotheistic religions have become, for all intents and purposes, terrorists. It's actually a nice "the shoe is on the other foot" scenario, where one can point a finger and say, "It sucks to have religious views forced down your throat, and be made to feel less than human, doesn't it?" Jacob's father, William, wants to protect Jacob from the horrors of war as long as he can; to prolong the inevitable. It drives home the point that children are affected the most, whether it's being born in the midst of it all, or actually seeing it happen. Either way, it's traumatizing. In Twinkle, Twinkle, Phillip buys his daughter, Emily, a telescope for her birthday, so that she may look to the heavens to find her mother who had recently passed away. Emily believes she found her mother, showing Phillip, who actually thinks she discovered a new star, or something else. What it really is, though, is something so terrifying, that when Phillip finds out, he doesn't even tell Emily; he wants her to enjoy what little time is left on their planet. It's a touching and heartbreaking story; innocence in the face of inevitable annihilation. In Grau's world, it doesn't matter who you are or what you do, the universe simply doesn't care.

In Tubby's Big Swim, Alden is a young boy who knows how to navigate the not-so-nice areas of where he lives. His situation is one where he must fend for himself, as he is generally neglected by his mother because she is too buy looking for the next man to take care of. She absolutely loves Alden, though, but her priorities are messed up, and Alden often embarks on his own adventures--to escape the troubles in his life--and, even in his naive youth, manages to survive; he has to depend himself, and only himself. Other characters in Grau's stories are searching, in some form or another, for identity, or a place that they can firmly root themselves in and call home; they want a purpose. Transmission tells the story of Max, and man who never finds himself staying in one place for too long, traveling further and further west, in hopes to leave behind a checkered past. However, he finds his calling in the Nevada desert, in the form of a mysterious transmission that Max cannot stop listening to. Grau does an excellent job at making the desert frontier seem unexplored and alien; you see things... unnatural things that shouldn't exist, but you aren't sure if what you saw was real, or if it was all in your head. Max finds his destiny in a small, lonely shack, where he continues the transmission of his predecessor.

The search for identity can also be found in Love Songs from the Hydrogen Jukebox, a story that was first published in The Children of Old Leech: A Tribute to the Carnivorous Cosmos of Laird Barron. Nelson, a nomadic-type person, immerses himself in a world of drug exploration and follows the guidance of a man named Doyle, who has numerous followers and ends up becoming fully indoctrinated into a cult that worships something far more ancient than any god or goddess created by man. Grau, with great deft, captures the sort of primal atmosphere that Barron is known for, and a universe with a voracious appetite that actively seeks you out, rather than waiting for someone to seek it out. The Screamer is a corporate horror story that made me think of Christopher Slatsky's story, Corporautolysis, along with Ligottian corporate stories. Here, Grau creates a hollowed-out urban world where people go about their lives in a rather drone-like manner. In the case of Boyd, he works, goes home, maybe sleeps, wash, rinse, repeat. It's like a life of decay, and the look of the city is a reflection of that decay. It's not until Boyd hears the scream that he sort of snaps out of the doldrums, awakening him, but it doesn't matter, because in Grau's world, it all leads to extirpation.

Clean is another story that features children surviving on their own, and explores the all too real world of child predators and the horrifying things they do; yet, Grau turns the tables and creates one of the most anxiety-filled tales I have ever read. What makes it so effective is Grau's use of subtlety, ratcheting up the dread and leaving much to the imagination of the reader. White Feather is another war tale that focuses on the choices we make, based on fear and paranoia, and how those choices not only stay with us for the remainder of our lives, but how we are ostracized by the people who once called us friend or family. Mr. Lupus explores the loss of magic and imagination as the world increasingly becomes more modernized, and how greed can lead to horrifying consequences. Yet, there is something there about feeling a spark when you discover that magic is not lost, how it changes you, but then you want it all for yourself and you take it out of its element, isolating it and changing the course of things. It's a twisted fairy tale that makes for great reading around Christmas time, and it's one of the more original werewolf tales I have read. The Mission is an Old West tale that focuses on our sins, and how we must pay for those sins. It's also a meditation on racism, colonialism, and how, in the end, for all the hate and killing we commit against one another, the only thing that's waiting for us, is extinction.

With The Nameless Dark, T.E. Grau has assembled a collection of memorable stories that evoke a multitude of emotions and touch on myriad themes and issues that are more relevant today than ever. Whether it's a Mythos-inspired tale, or a Laird Barron tribute, Grau writes in a style and voice that are all his own. He has firmly planted himself in the Weird Renaissance we are currently experiencing, and should be on the radar of every reader, critic, writer, and publisher. Grau is drawing power from primordial wells, and everyone will feel it.











Monday, March 21, 2016

Autumn in the Abyss: Review/Analysis (Spoilers)


The impossible scenario witnessed by eyes wide with panic and ears praying for silence suggested truths the mad display confirmed. Everything he thought he knew was false or at least altered.


My first experience with the writing of John Claude Smith was his chapbook, Vox Terrae, published by Dunhams Manor Press. It contained classic elements of Weird fiction but written with a fresh voice that took readers on a nightmarish journey through horrifying realms that no human being had any business knowing. In his collection, Autumn in the Abyss, I think Smith took the formula of Vox Terrae, mixed it with some black and abyssal ingredients from the tenebrous depths of places that even angels won't set foot in, and created a new mutant strain of Horror that deftly balances characterization, plot, pacing, and narrative, culminating in an experience that will fill you with disgust, sadness, and even a hint of both optimism and hope.

Published by Omnium Gatherum, Autumn in the Abyss is a collection of five grotesque and disturbing stories that explore a variety themes, such as obsession, desire, humanity, redemption, hope, identity, insignificance, and the power of words, all while traversing through places that make us uncomfortable; places that we tend to stay away from and turn a blind eye to. Smith's writing in this collection possesses a grimy and corrosive quality; it slowly eats away at you, digested by the dregs of life. The atmosphere Smith creates is like a haze of thick smog that chokes and disorients you; it weighs you down and slows your pace, so that you have no choice but to take in Smith's unsettling and horrifying imagery. You have no choice but to witness the worst that life has to offer; a side of humanity that is so revolting, it makes your stomach turn and inevitably numbs you. 

Some of the protagonists in Smith's stories are at the bottom of the barrel of humanity. They are people who are detached from the rest of the world; they are plagued by obsessions and desires and will stop at nothing to pursue and achieve them; they prey on others who they deem as being less than human, but fail to see their own inhumanity. Some of them are so far gone, there is no hope for them; they are beyond reach. Others, though, are still inside the circle of redemption and will take the necessary steps to make things right for not just themselves, but for those they hurt as well.

In the story, La mia immortalità, Samuel Nisi is an artist who has been successful in photography, oil paintings, and now in sculpting, a profession he took up several years ago. Despite his success, however, he is searching for everlasting fame. He wants to create something that will be remembered and revered long after he is gone. He wants immortality, no matter the cost.

His aspirations had grown cunning. He would attain his goals at any cost, which had cost him friends, colleagues, personal relationships- not that they mattered to him. Anything that got in the way of his life's purpose, as whittled to spear sharp intensity as the years tolled, was easily discarded.

Nisi cares not for his current girlfriend Claire. She wants to talk to him but he cannot be bothered. He cannot stand the fact that he is associated with the human race; he sees himself above everyone else. Claire tells him she's pregnant and all he can say to her is to get an abortion; he wants nothing to do with Claire or the baby. So much, in fact, that he's willing to murder Claire and his unborn child. All that matters to Nisi is his quest for immortality; he cares only for himself and what he wants. The story, Broken Teacup, also explores this theme of detachment and viewing other people as being less than human. The story explores the depraved lives of Mr. Rickart, Lemmy, and Elvis. Mr. Rickart and Lemmy prowl the bowels of small towns in Texas, looking for the "lowest of the low" hookers and propositioning them to perform "the most disgusting encounters imaginable". They record their encounters and responses form the hookers and use the footage and sound bits for their sleazy noise band, Texas Chainsaw Erection. 

Lemmy and Mr. Rickart's deplorable acts were turning heads but not bringing in the money. Their particular venture, however, draws a unique fan base and brings them cringe-worthy, nauseating requests, which eventually leads them into the realm of murder. Being offered a lot of money, coupled with this sick idea of taking your act to a whole new level of depravity and inhumanity, is something that cannot be passed up by them. 

The killing was odd in the beginning. No problem for Lemmy, but I only did a couple girls before I realized that wasn't my thing. That said, most of these girls, hell, they haven't been living for a while, so it's not like they was missing anything important. It was not like their missing would be noticed.

Once they decide that these women have nothing to live for; that they have no family that miss them and are looking for them; that they are somehow less than human... it is they who crossed over into the realm of inhumanity. It's almost as if there is this sort of predatory hierarchy. This is how genocide begins: the moment you begin to view the other as being beneath you; as being sub-human and not worthy of life. Broken Teacup is not an easy read, but Smith is exploring a side of our existence that is all too real and horrifying. Becoming Human is also in the same vein. In this story, we have two men who are on opposite sides of the human spectrum, but both have lost touch with humanity and the world around them. 

Before his years of spiraling into physical and emotional decline chasing Corbin Andrew Krell--also known as Krell the Destroyer, Krell the Creator--Detective Roberto Vera was an idealist. He was strong in both motivation and spirit. 

He'd believed in justice, in right and wrong. Black and white. Rather patented and predictable  and sounding like the spiel from some cigar chewing TV detective, yet he believed it to his core. He knew and understood there would be many sullied signposts along the way, showing him scenes and situations that measured darkness in blood and power, in minds gone to rot and obsessions mired in immortality. His resolve was stalwart.

Many of us are like Vera, or have been Vera, or even want to be Vera. Yet, we all have that one encounter; that one experience that tips the scales and changes us for the worse. For Vera, his tipping point was his experience with Krell. Krell is the Joker to Vera's Batman. Krell is viewed by Vera as being an evil monster who represents the worst of our kind. What started as killing his victims soon turned to rape, torture, and mutilation. Krell saw himself as changing, and he was changing his victims, too, reducing them in nature, humanity, and identity, while he saw himself as ascending. Through his crimes, he's transforming. He wants to "not be". In his self-perceived transformation, Krell is moving beyond evil. In a face-to-face with Vera, Krell says this:

I strive for something else, beyond evil's claustrophobic clutches. I strive to transcend evil by becoming pure nothing. I strive as my followers strived. I am, yet I strive to not be. 

Krell and his ultimate goal are beyond Vera's comprehension. Yet, Krell is Vera's whole life. Vera is consumed by his obsession to try and understand Krell, along with putting him away for life. Vera's partner, Derek Sommers, ended up taking his own life because of the horrible things committed by Krell. Derek witnesses true evil and cannot bear to live. Vera loses his marriage, his ideals, humanity... everything. Smith does a rather skillful job of reflecting the horrors we experience in real life and on an almost daily basis. Many of us cannot help but wonder why some people do the things they do. Why would someone leave a helpless baby out in the cold to die? Why would one group of people commit genocide against another group? We try to comprehend why we commit such horrifying acts against one another. We ourselves are consumed by these thoughts, and sometimes are reduced to Vera's state: we are left numb. 

There is an interesting twist to Becoming Human, though; a twist that adds tremendous depth, power, and emotion. In the present parts of the story, Krell is in prison, and Vera is tracking down a Krell copycat killer. Once Vera is face-to-face with the copycat, he discovers that it's Krell. How can that be?? Vera's next discovery is that the copycat Krell is, in fact, an alien from the darkest depths of the cosmos. Vera asks it, "What are you?" The alien responds with:

I am nothing, in search of something. In search of... being. I... I and my others, fragments splintered off the deep shroud... out there. We fled to the farthest reaches of... infinity. We are connected by thoughts. We hear each other's thoughts. Our aim is to fit in. To... assimilate into the society of those whose planet we choose to... be on. To be. We find a random figure of the primary race of the planet we've chosen and follow it, learning the ways of the beings we wish to... live with. It takes time to get all the nuances... precise. From nothing to something takes time.

This is what makes Becoming Human easily the most powerful, gut-punching story in the collection. Here is an alien being that is nothing, but wants to become something. Of all the people it chooses to help with its assimilation, it chooses Krell, a monster who is something, but wants to become nothing. The irony is so palpable. The innocence of the alien makes the story even more effective. It knows nothing about right or wrong, or what is good and what is evil. It simply wanted to fit in with humanity, but it ended up choosing the worst example of humanity and continued Krell's awful crimes. It is through this experience, though, that Vera rediscovers his own humanity, as he explains to the alien the kind of human Krell is, and goes on to explain the other side of humanity, the side that works together for the betterment of mankind; the side that is capable of displaying compassion and empathy; the side that is capable of love and kindness. 

After much discussion between the two, the alien wants Vera to take it to Krell. It wants to give Krell what he most desires: to become nothing. I think Vera is somewhat baffled as to why the alien wants to do this for Krell, but I believe the alien is displaying a small amount of compassion for Krell, despite his monstrous nature, and, perhaps, as a way of saying, "After all I've done through copying Krell, let me make it right by doing this." It also clicks in Vera's mind that Krell will cease to exist; the alien would be doing the entire human race a favor by "taking out the garbage". It's the scene between Krell, Vera, and the alien that makes the title of the story so appropriate. After all of his philosophical talk of transcending evil and becoming nothing, when Krell discovers what is happening, he experiences a common human emotion: fear. He breaks down and becomes the very  human he doesn't want to be. He's granted his wish but is scared to death, reduced to a child being left alone in the dark and calling for help. As for Vera, he realizes there is still hope for himself; he can turn his life around for the better, and he starts by reconnecting with his wife. 

Smith's stories also explore themes of balance and insignificance. Four out of the five stories have one thing in common: Mr. Liu, an enigmatic figure who traverses a realm between humanity and something other. This also creates something of a shared universe, adding an element of connectivity. The characters in the tales exist together but in different places, yet they all have doomed and unpleasant encounters with Mr. Liu. He acts as a messenger for what he calls "caretakers of the universe", and all we know is that they, according to Mr. Liu, maintain balance. 

In the case of Lemmy, Mr. Rickart, and Elvis, they are commissioned to do a rape, torture, mutilation and murder piece; however, it's a means to set them up and make them pay for swinging the pendulum too far in one direction. They have a woman they call "Broken Teacup" and are ready to perform their end of the deal, when Mr. Liu appears and Broken Teacup makes short work of Lemmy and Elvis. Believing that some people are salvageable, Mr. Liu offers Mr. Rickart and opportunity "attain a kind of dignity amidst the chaos, within what is left of your existence". Broken Teacup wants to be shown love. It's an opportunity that cannot be fulfilled though. You see, how can a person like Mr. Rickart possibly know what love is? He's so far gone from humanity, considering the horrible things he has done with his now dead cohorts, he's never felt, let alone shown, love. Not wanting to end up like Lemmy and Elvis, he better learn fast. 

Samuel Nisi also encounters Mr. Liu. Not knowing who Liu is, he accepts a commission from him to sculpt a piece that he is given free reign over; however, it's all a ruse, as Nisi must not be allowed to end the life of Julie and the baby inside her, for the baby is to have, according to Mr. Liu, an incredible future, and Nisi is just to awful to exist, so he inevitably experiences the horrors of the caretakers. In the case of Derek Jenner in the story, Where the Light Won't Find You, his curiosity causes him to encounter Mr. Liu purely by accident. Liu set the stage for another person to be disposed of; someone who outlived their usefulness, and Jenner was there to see the whole thing, much to the dismay of Mr. Liu, who sees no choice but to dispose of Jenner as well. After much discussion with Jenner and the higher beings, Mr. Liu agrees to let Jenner go, but makes him swear that he is never to speak of this event. It's an ending that is similar to how Becoming Human ends. Jenner isn't quite in the same boat as Vera, but he's not perfect. After what he witnesses, though, he decides to try and live a better life, starting with his girlfriend Daisy. He promises himself that he's going to love her right. These two endings help highlight that it's possible for us to turn things around in our lives. Sometimes, we are not beyond hope and redemption; we have a chance to makes things better for ourselves and the ones we love. We no longer take certain things for granted. They're not happy endings, but, rather, nice reminders of the kind of people we can be, and of what we have and should appreciate and be thankful for.  

The first story, Autumn in the Abyss, is the longest out of the five and also explores themes of identity, balance, obsession, and how words have the power to change the world around us, for better or for worse. Mr. Liu appears only briefly, but the caretakers are in full effect. The story revolves around a man who is obsessed with finding a poet named Henry Coronado and a poem he read, called Autumn in the Abyss He suffers from a rather severe case of agoraphobia, coupled with a weight problem. His days are spent eating Ramen noodles and looking under every rock and in every nook and cranny searching for Coronado. The man eventually learns the truth about Coronado, himself, and his place in the hierarchy of the universe. 

Smith's collection is packed with grotesque imagery and disturbing situations that, on the surface, makes you want to turn your head, but the stories do well in addressing how people let themselves be consumed by their obsessions and desires, and the terrible consequences that often follow. These stories emphasize that to be human is to be flawed. We are not perfect. We are capable of doing good things, and we are also capable of doing bad things. We can be selfish one day, and altruistic the next. Sometimes, however, we find ourselves crossing over that line of no return, and the farther we walk, the more difficult it is to come back. We can be afforded opportunities to make things right, though; we can turn around and walk in the other direction and back over the line. Then, there are some who walk so far they can never return. Smith's stories have a duel effect of painting a gruesome picture of how awful our kind can be. And they also make you thankful for what you have; appreciate the things we take for granted.










Monday, March 7, 2016

The Incoming Tide: Review


Fishing isn't only about catching fish. One of the things it's about is how a fish fights -- and just as importantly, how you fight a fish.

I've known of Cameron Pierce for some time. I've seen his name mentioned on many Facebook updates and passed around in various literary circles. When I read that he was an avid fisherman whose stories heavily revolved around fishing, I said to myself that I would purchase one of his books and give it a read. I noted before in my review of Steve Rasnic Tem's story, The Fishing Hut, that I have loved fishing ever since I was a kid. And while I don't get to do it as often as I used to, I still enjoy the occasional fishing day, whether it's with my family or by myself. Now having a son, I look forward to taking him fishing when he is old enough. 

Published by Broken River Books, The Incoming Tide is a pocket-sized book that is less than a hundred pages, consisting of flash fiction and poetry. While fishing is at the heart of Pierce's writing, it's used as a means to explore themes of life, death, parenthood, man and nature, maturation, memories, the simple things in life, and even the strange and alien. The stories and poems are also broken up with passages titled Beer Commerical, serving as a sort of brief intermission for the reader, where the joys and sorrows of life are reflected through having a beer. 

Reading the passages within The Incoming Tide, you can feel the warmth and passion that Pierce writes with. The writing blanketed me with a sense of tranquility, and, at other times, nostalgia and even mystery. Pierce also does well in exploring the unknown, and emphasizes that we do not just find horror and the grotesque in it, but we can also find beauty and wonder. In the story, Ragged-Tooths, a few fisherman hike out to the sea to catch some sharks. Pierce sets the mood by having the story take place at night, wording it in such a way that conveys mystery and darkness:

What I am saying is there were four of us in the nighttime, miles from anyone else, except for the hermit who lives in a cave at the river mouth. His cave was dark this night.

Just four men and the night, fishing for one of the most feared predators in the sea. Yet, when the narrator finally catches one and releases it back into the dark waters, it's described as "the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen." We may fear the dark and wonder what lurks just beneath the surface, but that doesn't always equate to horror; sometimes the most beautiful things can emerge and stay with us forever. In Winter Rainbow, beauty in the form of rainbow trout are pursued on a chill December morning. The narrator and his wife, K, catch rainbow trout and bring them home to make trout sandwiches:

There's nothing better than waking before first light in December, then returning home in the afternoon for hot coffee and a fresh trout sandwich. That's why in the darkest part of the year, you'll find me pursuing rainbows.

Even the the coldest, darkest parts of the year hide beauty in its depths. It's also about the simple joys that can be found in sitting down with a loved one over a cup of coffee and a trout sandwich. These are things that should be cherished the most, yet we sometimes take them for granted; we get caught up in the stresses and chaos of life, causing us to miss out on what's right in front of us; causing us to overlook the little things. In Even if the Earth Floods, you get the sense that Pierce is conveying to us to enjoy the good things we have:

                    Someday the dead sailors may rise up.
                    Someday we may even drown.
                    For now, let me hold you.
                    Even if the dead sailors flood the earth,
                    let me hold you

                    Let's dig one more clam before dark.
                    Let's drink one more beer before dawn.
                    We can always climb onto the roof
                    if the earth floods.

You get the feeling that we need to enjoy the here and now. You never know what's going to happen tomorrow. Go ahead and have one more beer with that special someone. Go ahead and meet your friend for a late night cup of coffee. Enjoy the times with your friends and family. Life can be crushing, but we mustn't allow ourselves to be weighed down all the time. You can really glean that from the story, Fishing Derbies, where the narrator says, "Fishing isn't only about catching fish. One of the things it's about is a how a fish fights -- and just as importantly, how you fight a fish." I take this as a meditation on how we go through life; it will sometimes put up a great fight, and how you fight back will dictate the outcome. 

Elements of spirituality can be detected in some of the writing. My favorite poem in the book, The Promise of Water, puts an emphasis on man and nature; being alone outside, just you,  your thoughts, a cup of coffee, and your fishing rod:

                    Some mornings I wake before the sun rises
                    to fish the Willamette.
                    I fish on cold winter mornings, alone.
                    Coffee thaws the frost on my lips
                    as I walk the desolate downtown streets.
                    I cross the river to the Eastside
                    to fish under Burnside Bridge
                    where sturgeon lurk in the deep water.
                    I bask in the frozen glow of Old Town's neon sign
                    as I make my first cast,
                    heaving squid-on-hook into the dark.
                    And yet I don't wake early just to fight with dinosaurs.
                    I wake because the promise of water
                    isn't a thing a man can hold for long,
                    like a love song from another world.

My interpretation is that there is a hint of spiritual oneness here, being outside, alone, on a cold winter morning. The day promising to bring water. Just being there, at the water, is enough to uplift your spirits and make you feel truly at peace. It's a true appreciation for nature and the privilege to experience it in that manner. It may, perhaps, be akin to a religious experience, but not quite. Although I think spirituality is more appropriate here. The water being older and more primal than the dinosaurs you are fishing for. This theme of fishing alone, and that spiritual feeling, can be found in other stories and poems in the book as well. Alone Among the Driftwood projects that same theme, along with the give and take nature of the seas, as the narrator watches a dog jump in the water and under the channel, only to never surface. A similar incident happens in Fishing on the Jetty After Midnight, where the narrator witnesses a man scuttling "like a crab across the rocks and splashed with the roiling dusk." Rather ambiguous, as you know nothing about the man except that he went into the water. It's enough to make you wonder why he did it, and exuding an element of strangeness to it all. The things you see (or think you see) while fishing at night. 

Stories and poems explored are but a fraction of what can be found in The Incoming Tide. The poem, Mother Steel involves a pregnant woman having a mother-to-mother moment with a pregnant fish on a wooden dock, telling the silver hen that her children will be all right. It's a short, yet powerful piece on the universality of motherhood, and the caring, nurturing nature of one mother to another. Blood for Blood is another short poem that revolves around fishing to feed your family; you're trading your blood for the blood of another. Pierce even charts a course for our absurd little rituals that are unique to each of us, in the story, Cooking Shellfish in My Underpants. Or how we all have that one special fishing spot that you can't divulge to just anyone, as told in XXX Creek. Through fishing, beer, rituals, haunted lawnmowers, Pierce has written an evocative, reflecting and though-provoking book that can be appreciated by anyone who has ever stopped to take the time to enjoy the little things. Anyone who has taken the time to savor that beer with your friends; anyone who has taken the time to stop and tell that special someone that you love them. It's for anyone who has endured the hardships of life and came out stronger. This is a book that appreciates life for it's beauty, mystery, strangeness, and all the stuff that happens to us in between. 


Saturday, January 2, 2016

The Books of Bartlett


Don't startle or scare. Disturb. Upset. Remove the floor and dissolve the walls. 
- Abrecan Geist, Sinister Mechanisms p. 45

When I'm working my seasonal job, there are some days where I do not finish until one o'clock in the morning, sometimes two. My commute home is just over an hour, and to help with it I usually listen to talk radio. I primarily listen to NPR, but I'll sometimes scan the radio waves for something different, anything from religious talk, to something revolving around the paranormal. Driving on the highway at such a late hour, pitch black all around, scanning the radio, your imagination tends to run wild. I often think I'll discover some sort of pirate radio station that broadcasts strange discussions on strange topics; the kind of topics that make the hairs on your body stand up, or send chills up your spine. I wait for a voice to say, "Have you seen the Yellow Sign?" or, "The whole family is buried out in those woods." Fortunately, that never happens, but there is something about radio broadcasts that can create atmospheres of mystery, serenity, and even dread. Matthew M. Bartlett, a black star who has ascended to a far corner of the Weird cosmic frontier, takes that dread and multiplies it by a thousand, using the twisted radio broadcasts of WXXT, your discount butcher of all living things. 

Gateways to Abomination is a collection of stories of varying length. Some are more along the lines of flash fiction, while others are standard short story length, but they are all connected, creating a living, breathing, organic world of tremendously disturbing proportions. Bartlett's prose is finely-tuned and precise; his stories are carefully crafted, bordering on vile and sinister poetry. Reading Gateways is like being cut by the dull blade of a surgical knife found in the basement of an abandoned home, belonging to a serial killer surgeon. It's also akin to being bitten by a rabid hunter you encountered in the deep woods. The wound festers and spreads, causing delirium; you can't distinguish between what's real and what's not. These stories creep, squirm, and crawl their way into you, transforming and binding you to WXXT. This is the kind of fiction that takes form in the leaky, dank basement of your grandparents' house, where you once found old slide films of naked men and women in your grandfather's trunk. It's the kind of fiction that takes form in a fort built in the woods behind a junior high school by some thirteen-year-old kids, where you'll find damp Hustler magazines and a soaked half-pack of Marlboro Reds or Camels. 

If you ever find yourself driving through the small town of Leeds, Massachusetts, it would behoove you to keep your radio off. If not, you risk tuning in to WXXT, and it's all downhill from there. Leeds is besieged by this mysterious and disturbing radio station. All manner of weirdness can be heard, from twisted sermons, weeping children, uncontrollable moaning, to deranged polka music. Listening to WXXT is akin to reading the Necronomicon, or the second act of the King in Yellow: you'll never be the same. What's interesting about WXXT, though, is that it's not easily found; you almost have to be precise in your tuning. There are some who know how to find it, and others happen upon it accidentally. It's like it exists in it's own fold of space; it's outside of all that is logical and rational, at least, from our own feeble perspective. Those who are unfortunate enough to listen to it, however, see things in a whole new, disturbing and horrifying way. On top of all that, every day life in Leeds is a warped carnival of horrors, featuring winged leeches, worms in suits, twisted sexuality, walking corpses, bipedal goatmen, and backwoods rituals that make the Manson family look like the Tanner family from Full House. Leeds is very much a place that is haunted by a corrupt and tragic past that goes back centuries, and people harbor family secrets that refuse to stay hidden.

In his stories, Bartlett cleverly takes the fears and fantasies of both children and adults, and amplifies them by distorting and reshaping them into bizarre, grotesque, and unspeakable things. In the ballad of ben stockton verse 2, visits to the dentist and oral surgeon are made even more terrifying than we already make them out to be, which helps to amp up the dread and anxiety that permeates Bartlett's stories. A boyhood fantasy about a friend's mother is contorted and reformed into something terribly disturbing and gross, yet it vociferates volumes about very real issues and problems about our society. Leeds is also rife with religious fundamentalism and hardcore patriarchy. In the theories of uncle jeb, themes of a male-dominated society are explored, as is the overall theme that we are a cancerous lot, eating away at everything, including ourselves. This entire world will collapse because of us. 

If you read carefully, you'll also pick up on the fact that Leeds has been poisoned and corrupt for centuries. The world has been messed up for a long time. With this knowledge, you'll sense the normalcy in all of it, especially in the gathering in the deep wood, where a man walks into a diner carrying his brain, and everyone just goes about their business like it's not happening; however, the man sits next to the person who is narrating the story, and it's only then that the narrator wants him to go away. On a larger scale, this can be seen as a case of people not wanting to deal with societal and worldly problems until they come to their homes and knock down their front doors. Leeds is a fractured, unhinged, chthonian reflection of our own world, which is pretty bad, considering how messed up our world is. We live in a time where we turn our heads to the problems that plague us; we don't want our cozy lives disrupted, because then we would have to deal with all of it. We never do anything until it appears in our backyards. It's a sad and painful truth that Bartlett effortlessly engages. 

Bartlett also places great emphasis on those who are truly affected by the poison and corruption: children. Nearly every story in Bartlett's book features children who suffer in a plethora of ways. Children are left in a warehouse while their parents are off performing some sort of ritualistic orgy. Some children are kidnapped; others grow up not knowing who their real fathers are. In when i was a boy - a broadcast, a young boy is seduced by a much older woman, resulting in both disturbing and pleasurable experiences, but the boy is changed for the worse, and he ends up burning down the house with the woman in it. This theme of innocence lost pervades the entire book. Children are stripped of their childhoods; they are no longer free from corruption as they experience the horrors of the world, and they will be haunted by those horrifying experiences for the rest of their lives. Some may be able to live semi-normal lives, while others may continue the disturbing and grotesque trends that poison Leeds. 

Another theme explored is commercialization, or, corporatization. Leeds is an example of a small town that loses certain facilities, replaced by parking lots, Wal-Marts, and other corporate mega structures, designed for mass appeal and consumption. Mental institutions are torn down, the patients have nowhere to go, rendering them unable to seek the proper care they need; they are left to wander on their own. These are real people with real problems, yet they are treated as sub-human; a parking structure is more important. Greed and callousness cast a dark, poisonous cloud over Leeds. 

Another strength of Bartlett's book stems from the self-publishing aspect. The simplistic style of Gateways to Abomination makes it somewhat believable. Crazy, right? Yet, many passages read like clippings found in the archives of a library, such as those of uncle red reads to-day's news. If I didn't know any better, I'd travel to Leeds and conduct my own investigations to see if there is any truth to the depravity that afflicts the town. Some of the shorter pieces excel at illuminating just how fast and easily rumors can spread in small towns, and how a normal event can turn into something much more exaggerated. A person who tends to not socialize and live as a recluse can instantly turn into a pedophile through local gossip. All of these elements combined serve to enhance the overall effect the book has on its readers. While reading Gateways, I kept thinking about John Carpenter's film, In the Mouth of Madness, and how Bartlett could easily be Sutter Kane, causing one to wonder: is this real? What the hell is going on? Bartlett has crafted a masterpiece of cult literature that should be on the shelves of anyone who loves Weird Horror. 

Anne Gare's Rare Book and Ephemera Catalogue



A chapbook put together by Bartlett, Anne Gare's Rare Book and Ephemera Catalogue is a real treasure to have. It's fictional non-fiction, containing a list of books found in the rare book room of Anne Gare's bookshop, which is referenced more than once in Gateways to Abomination. Some of the books listed are tied to characters who we read about in Gateways, such as the Libellus Vox Larva, The Stockton Pamphlets, and the Dither Family Cookbook. Other books are tied to characters we have yet to be acquainted with, like Grancois Trumbull Sr. There is even a book by Stephen King listed in the catalogue. Each book comes with a brief description of what it is, including it's history and significance. The book is more of a companion piece to Gateways, further enriching the Leeds Mythos that Bartlett has created. On its own, with its simplistic style, one could easily be duped into thinking the contents are real. It looks like the kind of book you find in the attic of your dead aunt's house, which you inherited and had to move three states away to claim. It does well in creating an atmosphere of mystery and curiosity, and I could easily see myself packing my bags and setting out to track down the contents. 

The Witch-Cult in Western Massachusetts



Containing fictional biographies of various people  who inhabit(ed) Leeds and the outskirts of it, The Witch-Cult in Western Massachusetts, in the same vein as the Anne Gare book, serves as a companion piece, adding to the dark, twisted Mythos that Bartlett has created. Here, we get some backstories to some of the colorful, wicked, and unbalanced people we only vaguely experienced in Gateways to Abomination. We learn more about Father Ezekial Shineface, a rogue priest whose sermons go against all that is holy, his vile incantations broadcast by Alan Rickey of WDDI, who had no idea Shineface was going to slither out such terrible words. We get a look into Abrecan Geist, a man who decided to wage a campaign of war against god, due to the loss of his parents. 

Even though many of the characters in this book can do things that defy human logic and our laws of physics, they are still people who have suffered in some form or another. Bartlett explores themes of loss, temptation, corruption, etc.. A person loses their parents and blames the world, wanting revenge. A woman walks various paths in search of herself, for her place in life, but ends up on a path to darkness. A priest becomes corrupt by the world around him. Some people are products of their environment. We read of suicides and unforgettable events of feasts gone terribly wrong. Bartlett achieves real balance with this work. I wouldn't be surprised if one found this book in the "Folklore" section of a bookstore, or even a "Local History" section for those living in Massachusetts. 

Rangel



A chapbook published by high quality-producing Dim Shores, Rangel tells the story of Gaspar Bantam, a man originally from Leeds, Massachusetts, now living in Los Angeles. At forty years old, he is still haunted by the disappearance of his younger sister, Rangel, thirty years ago, just before Halloween. With Halloween just on the horizon, Gaspar feels compelled to journey back to Leeds and find out what exactly happened to Rangel. 

Rangel is some of Bartlett's best work. You can clearly see the evolution in his writing; he just gets better and better. This a haunting, disquieting, well-crafted tale; another macabre and bone-chilling chapter in the expanding Mythos revolving around Leeds, comparable to what S.P. Miskowski has done with her Skillute Cycle. In Rangel, the passage of time is explored through how much Leeds has changed since Gaspar was last there. Instead of Dynamite Records, an Oriental Rug shop has taken its place. Gone is Gwen and Deb's Yogurt. In its place, a bank, along with several different cell phone shops replacing other stores, as well. For Gaspar, this is disheartening, and resonates with those of us who have seen our favorite independent stores go the way of the Dodo. We could always count on those places for excellent customer service and friendly faces. The owners knew you by your first name, and went out of their way for you. Despite these changes, Leeds is still shrouded in darkness, and Gaspar soon discovers that. 

Bartlett also does a great job with exploring the theme of loss, and how it can split a family apart and whisk away your childhood. The disappearance of Rangel causes great stress for Gaspar and his parents, Red and Shirley. For five years, Red and Shirley desperately clung to hope. Every time the phone rang, every time a little girl resembling Rangel was spotted, Red and Shirley thought they got their child back. Eventually, they arranged a funeral with an empty casket, in an attempt to put it all behind them, but as the years progressed, the family grew further apart. Gaspar's parents became strangers to them; they even stopped going to work. Gaspar didn't just lose his sister and his parents, but he lost his childhood. The loss of his sister created a void that never went away. Another form of childhood loss we see is being told you need to grow up, as Gaspar experienced the older he got. The other kids at school would tell him that Halloween is for little kids, and he needs to put such childish things behind him unless he wants to be a laughing stock among the entire school. Yes, we must grow up, but that doesn't mean we still cannot enjoy the festivities and imagination that come with celebrations like Halloween. 

At the heart of all this, though, is Gaspar trying to solve the mystery surrounding Rangel's disappearance, as she was last seen walking into the woods all those years ago. The more Gaspar investigates, the more entrenched he becomes in the legend and lore of Leeds. He discovers that Rangel isn't the only child to have gone missing. He experiences the strange local radio broadcasts of WXXT; trees are growing everywhere, through sidewalks and homes; he sees the names of all the missing children scratched on the door of a bathroom stall. And, finally, at the end of all of it, a bizarre ritual that the entire town is engaged in, and Gaspar cannot help but take part in it, which eventually reveals the painful truth of what happened. You see, Gaspar needed to go back to Leeds, to confront the past. Being so close to Halloween, it seems only fitting that Gaspar travel to Leeds when the veil is thinnest, allowing him to view what really happened. Rangel saw two print runs, so if you missed out on purchasing it, fear not, because you will have another opportunity to read it. 

Dead Air: Radio from Beyond the Grave



This rare gem was published well before Gateways to Abomination, and I saved it for last because of it's rarity. To my knowledge, only a handful of people own this book. Some of the fiction within can be found in Gateways, but there is much that is not; original stories that actually delve into the history and inception of WXXT Radio, and the pasts of characters such as Ben Stockton. Within these sinister pages are dating ads for ghosts (hey, the dead need companionship, too!), gut-wrenching and vomit-inducing confessions, brief transmissions from the damned, and tainted promotions and shadowy mission statements from WXXT. 

What makes Dead Air so effective is, once again, the look of the book. It has the look of a book that should be out on a coffee table, waiting for someone to pick it up and glance through its menacing pages, initiating conversation with the owner. Enhancing this effect are pictures that accompany a majority of the stories. Pictures of old houses, forests, storefronts, and people who have passed on to the other side long ago. The book works on so many levels. It works as rumor/gossip; as twisted folklore; as non-fiction; as twisted history. Dead Air succeeds even more than Gateways as a book that--if someone didn't know any better--would wonder if there are hints of truth and actuality in its repulsive passages. If you are so inclined to seek out this dreadful tome, you should contact Mr. Bartlett and inquire about it. It's truly a remarkable work, and, like the rest of his books, adds to the growing wicked world that Bartlett has sculpted with his own frightening mind.