Alectryomancer: Review/Analysis

What's the use if the Engine makes it so all is bound to happen the way it does?

Christopher Slatsky's Weird tale, Alectryomancer, has fractured the foundation I have built my entire world on; it's on the verge of total collapse. I've seen--at least, I think have--fragmented images of the Engine that lies beneath the Earth's crust. Aeons of archaic heritage slowly creeping out from dark vaults located in the vast, remote recesses of my mind, triggered by Phainothropus and its ancient influence. 

After experiencing the geological shock wave of Slatsky's mind-shattering story, I had to do some research on him, and it bore strange fruit. One article I found on a website centered around eschatology said he was the result of immaculate conception. Another site said he has been around since before the Big Bang, originating from the universe that existed before this one. I've even read that Slatsky is a conduit for the Earth, maybe even the universe. Despite the multiple theories regarding the genesis of Christopher Slatsky, one thing is universal among all: Slatsky transcends any and all knowledge--if we can even call it knowledge--we inferior humans possess. Slatsky knows secrets that could destroy your psyche, and Alectryomancer is proof of that. 

A chapbook published by Dunhams Manor Press, Alectryomancer tells the story of Rey, a field laborer in California. By day he sweats and toils in the desert fields, trying to hold on to the fading memories of his past, of another life; a life, perhaps, from another time. By night, he partakes in cockfighting, pitting Little Cerefino, his prize gamecock, against other gamecocks. One particular night, Little Cerefino is set to go against Alectryomancer, the gamecock of El Amarrador. Alectryomance is undefeated, a monster of a gamecock, "otherwordly," and "black as space." Rey has no idea, though, that greater, incomprehensible things are at work, and Little Cerefino's fight against Alectryomancer will set something gargantuan in motion that "shoulda been left alone."

Slatsky's story is by far the weirdest Weird tale I have read thus far. There is much going on, comprising layers upon layers of themes and concepts, rivaling any of Laird Barron's cosmically-charged tales. From beginning to end, Alectryomancer is nothing short of surreal, and you aren't certain if anything Rey experiences is actually real. It's possible, that the crushing weight of poverty and vague memories weigh on Rey, to the point of hallucination.The hallucinatory qualities of the desert landscape conjured thoughts of Jodorowsky's "El Topo." At the beginning of the story, Rey experiences a vision (or is it?) of a burning horse. Rey swears that everyone else saw it too, but wouldn't admit it, as "the meek refused to acknowledge this violation of their world." It's possible that Rey was the only one who saw the burning horse at that time (others would later admit to seeing it), or perhaps no one wanted to acknowledge it because something of that magnitude is better left unacknowledged. It's said by a boy that the burning horse is responsible for taking other workers to the "heavens." Another instance saw Rey being attacked by a feral boy, who the previous day was normal. Rey chased him, yet no one seemed to notice. Again, all in Rey's head, or others just wanting to avoid such strange occurrences? 

Much stranger and disturbing things are afoot in Slatsky's story. Rey is in possession of a book, and has no idea how he acquired it. The book speaks of primates being "hardwired to assist in the construction of Antediluvian engines," exploited by a species dubbed Phainothropus. Phainothropus exploited the proto-humans' "predilection towards engineering skills to build Antediluvian Engines in anticipation of the Flood." These mind-fracturing passages are beyond Rey's depth. The book, in his limp hands, is of a "dreadful weight." The passages speak of archaic slavery steeped in Deep Time, taking place in a time we can't even fathom. Additionally, each time Rey opens the book, he can never remember anything he reads, always discovering something new. Along with the book, Rey is in possession of various photos. Some photos evoke fading memories, and others are completely unfamiliar to Rey. One photo in his possession is of a group of people wearing masks. He recognizes a child in the photo, but the handwriting on the photo is not his, yet it looks familiar to him. 

Later on, Rey would read more from the book. It reveals that a Phainothropus head lies submerged beneath the Mohorovičić discontinuity, which is the boundary between the Earth's crust and the mantle. The book further states:

It is suspected to have evolved from crystalline substrates, recalibrated fractal connections within cognitive clouds drifting from planet to planet, accumulating minerals to repopulate, rebuild, reconstruct, and reproduce. Perpetually. Of this comes the dawn of the new intelligence. The birth of Phainothropus.

This decapitated head, even in death, retains immense power. The brain continuously transmits an "array of magnetic resonances," well into the cosmos, "spreading units of contact across planets, focal points, ascribing ley lines of derivative neo-axiomatic postulates on Earth's continents, photovoltaic vitalization reaching an apex in the Afar Triangle region." The energies from Phainothropus have influenced the evolution of Homo sapiens, with the strongest influence being found in the Afar Triangle, a geological depression that is one of the cradles of extinct hominids, site of the world's oldest tools, and home to the discoveries of Ardipithecus ramidus, and Australopithecus afarensis. The influence of Phainothropus also spread to other geographical locations, homes to megaliths and ancient monuments. Slatsky turns up the volume on the whole idea of human insignificance in the grand scheme of things. People like Rey have their belief in God, in some form or another, but that belief is incredibly simplistic and lacks true understanding when compared to the complexities of Phainothropus. El Amarrador has some semblance of what is going on. After Little Cerefino defeated and killed Alectryomancer, the Earth trembled, and El Amarrador said to Rey, "Wasn't supposed to happen like that. No telling what machinery been set in motion now." Rey pays no mind to the words, only wanting the money he won. El Amarrador doesn't have it, and tells Rey he'll get it tomorrow. Rey says, "suppose I got no choice." El Amarrador replies with, "None whatsoever. Like that little tremor we got right before the earthquake. Metal orbs shifting under our feet. Can't control none of it." Rey and everyone else are subject to the whims, fancies, and manipulations of a puppet master entrenched in the Earth. It should also be noted that Alectryomancy--one aspect of it--is cockfighting as a means of communication between gods and men. It's obvious that Rey has no knowledge of this, but there may be some sort of connection between that, El Amarrador and Alectryomancer; perhaps the death of Alectryomancer was a communication of sorts. 

There's more, though. The Phainothropus distorts space-time. The trajectory of time can be manipulated and bent, which can explain the fading--or completely forgotten--memories of Rey, and those of others. When Rey went to collect his money from El Amarrador, the day after Alectryomancer died in the cockpit, the three men who guarded the entrace to the gallera had no idea who he was, even though they talked him just the other day. Additionally, the gallera was no longer there!! Tachyons and tachyonic antitelephone, signals being sent back in time, field workers disappearing, and perhaps the many worlds interpretation, play a role in time being skewed, and the possibility of alternate histories bleeding over into Rey's reality, which could explain why he doesn't outright know or recognize something, yet is vaguely familiar to him. 

Honestly, it's difficult for me to go into this any further, as there is so much to digest and discuss. Slatsky has brought the big guns to Weird Fiction, and is a powerful force beyond our comprehension. He is also quickly solidifying himself as a master of the genre and his craft. I must admit, I'm somewhat afraid to read his other tales, for fear of collapsing from mental stress caused by the weight of his cosmic revelations. Christopher Slatsky is here; he is now. And if you aren't reading his stories, you are doing yourself a huge disservice. 

Vox Terrae: Review

/ This is the gift of knowing what I know / Of knowing too much for the average puny minds of you human beings

I've been familiar with the fiction of John Claude Smith for some time now, yet I never got around to actually reading any of it, until now. After reading Vox Terrae, a chapbook published by the ever amazing Dunhams Manor Press, I regret not having read any of his work sooner, because I've been missing out on what everyone has been praising. Before I get into my review, let me just say this: if you like Weird Fiction, or anything in the realm of the strange, macabre, and body horror, do yourself a favor and read the tales of John Claude Smith, you won't regret it, I promise. Now, on to the review.

 For a chance at immortality; for a chance at gaining hidden knowledge, and discovering truths shrouded in darkness, how far would you be willing to go? How far would you let your obsession take you? For Kenneth and Alicia, two people whose love for one another runs deeper than any system of rivers--a love so profound, it cannot be expressed by any word from any language--they will find that their obsession will take them to realms unimaginable. As long as they have been together, Kenneth and Alicia traveled to far off lands in pursuit of their mutual goals, their interests in the black arts, and occult matters of the "bleakest nature." They wanted to piece together dark puzzles that they found most intriguing, and would spend countless hours researching. Their latest occult endeavor was an attempt to search for, and ultimately procure, a copy of an alternative translation of Vox Terrae, The Voice of the Earth. It was written in 1841 by the infamous necromancer Alessandro Vernielli. It was a tome of the blackest arts; it granted one the ability to communicate with the dead. Kenneth and Alicia saw it as a "deepening well of hidden knowledge to be gleaned." A means to eternal life. The alternative translation was written by a woman name Lorraine Blackthorne, and Kenneth and Alicia had been doing months of research and searching, exhausting every avenue they ventured down, until they came across a rather short article found a website that specialized in the occult and black arts. It wasn't much, but it did confirm the existence of the translation; however, later that evening, when Kenneth went to their library to gather Alicia for bed, he found her in her comfy chair, dead (this is not a spoiler, trust me). She was surrounded by empty bottles of pills, pointing to suicide. On her lap was a note saying she had found the alternative translation, that Blackthorne was the key, and that he needs to join her. Kenneth's pain and anguish was so great, he couldn't bring himself to do anything for several months, until he finally began feeling more like himself. Determined to solve the mystery of Alicia's death, along with discovering the secrets of Blackthorne, he calls on the help of his friend and fellow occultist, Ivan Sangkor. After much searching, they find an address for Blackthorne's house, in a town called Dry Creek, and the two set off to meet her. What follows is a journey into territories charted by only a select few.

A tome shrouded in darkness; the black arts; cryptic messages; mysterious deaths; hidden knowledge; the unknown. These are all potent elements that make for a classic Weird tale; ingredients for a dark, maddening recipe. I think Smith took all these elements, put them in a box made of yew, then went to an old graveyard, and, at the witching hour, put the box in the hollowed-out trunk of a tree. He then let it sit for twenty four hours, letting the ingredients mix with one another, allowing time for gestation. After that period, Vox Terrae was born. There is a poetic nature to Smith's prose, and he infuses it with darkness, morbidness, and the occult. The opening paragraph lures you in and immediately captures you, tethering you to the tale. You are then fed a phantasmagoria of horror and mystery. You are injected with grotesque and disturbing imagery, leaving you with a mark of taint on your soul, ensuring you will never forget.

The theme of obsession leading to ruination plays a major role in Vox Terrae. Kenneth, Alicia, and Ivan's unending pursuit of hidden knowledge, of truths that hide under the veil, can only lead them down the road to ruination. Sometimes, there are fates worse than death. With this obsession comes a certain lack of respect for their passions, despite their erudition in the occult and black arts. Couple the lack of respect with feeling no fear, and your fate is sealed. When Kenneth retells the first time he met Ivan in a bookstore, Ivan recommended some books to him, and then said to him, "For some souls, it's a matter of opening the door. Stepping through without fear. So many lose themselves to the distractions of this world, but you, young man, you show no fear." Ivan and Kenneth will learn that, sometimes, it's best to leave yourself to those distractions. Some things are better left unknown, and not having any fear is dangerous and foolhardy.

It's not until Kenneth and Ivan reach Blackthorne's house that they begin to realize that all is not what it seems. Their perception of reality slowly begins to fracture, like the beginning of a crack on a wall, it will continue to run up the wall until the whole thing is cracked. A feeling of repulsion sets in them, as Blackthorne's house defies common sense and logic. It's aged in the center, yet new, unfinished additions jutted out from the core, seeming to be inspired by whim. Unease slowly begins to settle in them, yet their quest for the truth forces them to press on. Blackthorne herself is an unproportional monstrosity. "Her neck bloated and deflated as she breathed, frog-like before the turkey ripples took over, while her upper arms were lumpy as cottage cheese, her fingers wiry and lacking distinct bends for joints." Her body is more like a shell, or a veneer ready to be peeled away. She knows of Alicia's death before they can even address her about it. Kenneth sees that Blackthorne's interests dove-tail into theirs; they all knew "broader vistas of light and dark." In this display of both ignorance and arrogance, he truly has no idea what Blackthorne really knows. Ivan is the first to come to the realization that he and Kenneth are out of their depth; that everything they have ever read about the occult, and anything pertaining to it, means absolutely nothing. They are street corner occultists in the presence of something beyond their comprehension. They feel the house shift, throwing them off balance, giving off the notion that the house is still taking shape, and their reality cracks more and more, pieces of it falling away, revealing something too horrible for words.

The character of Blackthorne addresses the insignificance of humans, a powerful theme in Weird Fiction. She points out our arrogance in thinking we dictate the rules of the universe, and our ignorance in thinking we are the dominant species. She informs Kenneth that there are many layers, and we lack the intellect to cross between them; we are feeble-minded, lower on the totem pole than even her race is, which we know nothing about, further driving home the point of our inferiority and ignorance to what lies beneath our 'reality.' Blackthorne will show Kenneth what she knows. "This is the gift of knowing what I know /  Of knowing too much for the average puny minds of human beings." There is always a price to pay for such knowledge, and Kenneth is no exception.

All these elements: the unknown, human insignificance, the defying of our logic, otherness, our tenuous reality, obsession with finding hidden knowledge, they all serve to help define a Weird tale, and John Claude Smith doesn't miss a beat in bringing us a tale that truly embodies Weird Fiction. He takes us on a chthonic journey into a nightmarish hellscape, where the price for hidden knowledge--for eternal life--must be paid in flesh; a place where language is experienced--not spoken--in the form of agonizing pain; your flesh stripped away as your body proceeds to undergo deconstruction, reconstruction, repeat. The mutability of the flesh makes us playthings for horrors we have no business knowing. Again, how far are you willing to let your obsessions take you?

In the Light: Review

It must be  local legend but legends were based on something real, something scary

In the Light is the fourth and final book in S.P. Miskowki's Skillute Cycle. A novella that brings an end to the terror that had plagued Skillute, Washington for decades. The story takes place some years after the events of Knock Knock and Astoria. It is broken up into three parts, each from the perspective of an individual character. Part one centers on Ruth, a young girl of eleven or twelve. Part two is Alicia, the wife of Henry Colquitt. Part three is Henry Colquitt, Marietta's son, and one of the main characters from Knock Knock.

The book begins with Ruth running from two bullies, Orton and Gretchen. Desperate to escape them, Ruth clumsily slips through some barbed wire and stumbles upon the ruins of an old house, a house steeped in local legend. Stumbling through a morass of wild blackberries and grass, Ruth came upon a clearing and decided to sit. Scratching away at the cold, hard ground, she discovered a tiny metal lid. After some shifting and finagling, the lid came off. Inside were the charred remains of a baby, a secret that never should have been discovered. A secret that reawakened an ancient terror thought to have been put to eternal rest at the end of Knock Knock. Having no idea what she really discovered, Ruth takes the charred remains home, and what transpires is nothing short of terrifying, as Skillute is once again plunged into darkness and fear, ultimately leading to a climactic, pulse-pounding confrontation between the past and present. 

Miskowski weaves a tale that is charged with emotional depth, and permeated with a subtle terror that continuously builds, page after page. You can feel the terror slowly burrowing into your mind, body, and soul; eager to gestate within, as you are reluctant, yet excited, to turn to the next page. Miskowki's brilliance truly lies in her fluid prose; her ability to create an atmosphere redolent with fear, oppression, and a sense of otherness; and her development of flawed, believable characters. Just like the other books in the Skillute Cycle, In the Light is just as much a character study as it is a tale of Horror and the Weird, and Miskowski weaves it all together seamlessly.  

Ruth is relatively new to Skillute. Her parents work in real estate and make a great deal of money, providing them with an affluent life. They are constantly making improvements to their house, with the hopes of selling it later, but they are also looking to buy the Colquitt property. With her parents being so busy with work, Ruth, for the most part, is neglected, and not so much treated like a child, but more like an experiment. Her parents are always trying to revise or improve her, much like the houses they flip. She's forbidden to "dwell," "wallow," or "delve" into anything they considered to be weird. Any thoughts on the grim or morbid side were also forbidden, and considered dangerous; she was to focus on only the positive side of things. All of this may be a combination of her parents being concerned for Ruth, and also because they want to keep a squeaky clean image, and to maintain a happy, affluent life. In reality, Ruth's parents know absolutely nothing about her, and any thoughts and ideas they have about her are completely inaccurate. Because of her fascination with the macabre and all things weird, Ruth is very much an outsider in Skillute, she has absolutely nothing in common with her fellow classmates, so it's no surprise that she was hoping the charred remains she discovered might bring something fun and fascinating into her life; however, as time progressed--and the remains hidden under her bed--Ruth began to undergo a transformation. She began to act differently, displaying aggressiveness and committing cruel acts; she was taken over by an ancient evil. When the big snowfall hit Skillute, schools were closed and everyone barricaded themselves in their homes. Ruth's mother was going stir crazy, and grew tired of Ruth being in the house the whole time, so she sent her out into snow-covered streets. All the snow created an isolated, alien world, and it all belonged to Ruth, as she instinctively made her way to the Colquitt's. 

Henry and Alicia Colquitt are not the same as they were in Knock Knock. The terrible tragedy that took place forever changed them, especially Henry. He used to be a man of conviction. He was a community man who loved to help in any way he could. He gave sermons in his makeshift church; he provided food and other services for the elderly. He and Alicia were always attending dinner parties, and loved to dress in nice clothes. Alicia loved to organize charities, babysit, assist Henry in ceremonies, and even made mortgage payment for a neighbor who was on the verge of losing their house. Once tragedy struck their family, though, everything changed. The Colquitt's, over time, began to give in to shyness, becoming introverts. They kept their shades down, and even disconnected their land line; they experienced social death, as they cut off contact from almost everyone. Henry even gave up giving sermons at his church. Preaching was pointless. He realized that no one ever listened to what he had to say, and never took responsibility for their actions and words. He was a broken man, whose life was mired in scandal and a bizarre tragedy. To give himself some kind of purpose, Henry came up with the idea to build a shelter for the homeless, but to no avail. He tried to persuade the Dempsey's to get on board with it, but they wouldn't hear of it. The residents of Skillute objected to change, rejecting anything that was unfamiliar to them. Henry was "upsetting the balance of the world." Through all of this, Henry learned just how stubborn and brutish the world can be. 

Developing such rich, multi-layered characters really draws you into the entire Skillute Cycle. These characters are no different from you and I. Some are nice, and some are mean. Some of these characters make bad decisions, whether it's out of selfishness or to help others. You take a vested interest in their lives, their personalities, their flaws and idiosyncrasies. And the lurking, under the surface terror that pervades everything, it plays a role in emphasizing the lives and problems of these characters, and illuminates a variety of issues that this book--and the whole series--is about. 

In the Light also delves into that sense of otherness that is such a potent ingredient of Weird Fiction. While the other books certainly have that ingredient, In the Light outright addresses it:

What did Henry call it? The vast. The unknown always beside us, breathing with us, its face inclined toward ours when the lamp is turned off. Spirit, or shadow, that which disappears in the light. It had a thousand names and no one knew its origin or nature.

That is the essence of the Weird, and it's there, right outside the periphery of everyone. In Skillute, reality as perceived by its residents is not what it appears to be. And for the case of some people involved, you are not what you think you are, and the revelations are nothing short of devastating.  

I won't give away spoilers, but In the Light is the perfect end to an incredible series. The Skillute Cycle isn't just about an otherwordly horror. It's about broken families and fractured childhoods. It's people trying to escape their past, only to learn that they must face it, and come to terms with it. It's about the power of legend and folklore, and how legend can sometimes become fact. And it's also about forgiveness and second chances. Miskowki's world has left an indelible mark on me. She has set the bar really high, and exemplifies the kind of Horror and storytelling that others in the field should strive to write. I enjoyed my time in Skillute immensely. The thing about Skillute, though, is that it will always find a way to bring you back. In fact, I can already feel it's pull. It's only a matter of time. 

Oh, one more thing. Miskowski gets bonus points for referencing Nikolai Gogol's The Overcoat.

Astoria: Review

Astoria is the third book in S.P. Miskowski's Skillute Cycle. A novella that acts as a sequel to her powerful debut novel, Knock Knock. The story focuses on Ethel Sanders and her abrupt departure from Skillute, following the tragic events that took place in Knock Knock. Ethel was my favorite character in Knock Knock, so I particularly enjoyed this exploration of her character, further developing her and giving us a rather revealing look at her thoughts, her emotions, and what makes her tick. Ethel finds, however, that Skillute casts a large shadow, and no matter where she goes, she'll never truly be able to escape.

Ethel leaves Skillute with the hopes of starting over, giving herself a clean slate. She intends on changing every aspect of herself, attempting to completely erase her past in Skillute. This is both exciting and terrifying for her. Her whole life, all she knew was Skillute, and nothing else. Despite her hatred for Skillute, it was familiar to her, and actually acted as a safe haven. She felt the pull of Skillute, it was calling out to her to come back. If she didn't act fast, she would have turned around and drove back.

 Ethel thought of Long Beach, a place she often went to as a child, and could provide her with the safety she was needing, and, most important, it wasn't Skillute. The ocean tides of Long Beach conjure a lot of memories for Ethel, reminding her of times in Skillute and certain events she experienced during her childhood. When it comes to atmosphere, Miskowski truly shines. Her description of Long Beach creates an atmosphere that comes off, for Ethel, as haunting.

The pearl gray sand and the lilac haze from the sky merged here, throughout the summers of her childhood. A diffuse light had woven the colors of sky and beach. It made her heart ache to remember it. She would have loved to be here in July, with all the kites in the air. She wondered if she would ever see that sight again. As she strolled along the sidewalk in the brisk, cold breeze another memory came to her unbidden. 

It's this kind of masterful writing and detailed imagery that whisked me away from my sofa. I was there, with Ethel, at Long Beach, sharing in her memories. 

Ethel knew she couldn't stay at Long Beach. She needed to keep going, to escape even further. She decides she is going to completely change her identity, and be the opposite of everything she was while living in Skillute. Identity is an important theme in Astoria. Miskowski often writes of reflections and body doubles. Several times Ethel thought she saw someone who resembled her, and often saw her reflection in mirrors and windows. I feel these scenes serve to emphasize the important role of identity. The entire book is Ethel attempting to completely reshape who she is. She wants to be someone else. She changes her wardrobe, dyes her hair, and even gives herself a different name. All of this is to erase her old self, her old identity. 

Ethel decides to look at want ads, and finds something that catches her eye: a house sitting job in Astoria. She contacts James Bevin, the owner of the house, and sets up a meeting with him. She gives herself her makeover, and sets off for Astoria. When Ethel arrives in Astoria, things begin to take a turn for the truly strange. Astoria is a sad, haunting, and strange place. The street the house is located on is marked by old Victorian houses and overgrown vegetation and rusting lawn furniture, except for the house she was staying in. Among the historical Victorian houses, it was truly modern. Astoria as whole, though, was odd. Houses stood at odd angles, creating the image of a "play set," a "jumble of buildings arranged in no order, ruled by whimsy." To say anymore about the story would be to spoil it. All I can say is that, in Astoria, reality is truly subjective, and things only get stranger, culminating in Ethel's past finally catching up with her. Ethel's time in Astoria plays out like a David Lynch film. Again, Miskowski shows us why she is the queen of atmosphere. 

The mist in the atmosphere shifted and swayed. The damp, the mist, the very air made a sighing sound. As she walked, it rose until she felt it at her back, mocking her. When she reached the wooden arch, she bolted. She didn't stop to glance back and read the sign painted on the arch.

Every aspect of Astoria was almost palpable. I forgot where I was because I was deeply immersed in Miskowki's world. There is still one more book in the Skillute Cycle, but I think it's safe for me to say that Astoria is, without a doubt, my favorite book in the series. Starting with Knock Knock, you can clearly see the progression in Miskowski's writing; you can see that she is honing her craft as a weaver of haunting and poignant tales that will assuredly leave an indelible mark on you. Astoria is Miskowski showing us what she is capable of; why she is a powerhouse of Horror. It's a perfect blend of psychology and horror, both real and supernatural. All those elements come together so smoothly, it's hard to tell if many of things Ethel experiences are real, or something otherworldly. Miskowski knows every nook and cranny of human nature, and is not afraid to explore some of the more darker aspects of our nature; aspects we must acknowledge. 

Delphine Dodd: Review

Delphine Dodd is S.P. Miskowski's second book--and the first novella--in her Skillute Cycle. The book focuses on Delphine Dodd, a character who had a somewhat minor role in the first part of Miskowki's debut novel, Knock Knock. We are given a detailed look into Delphine's history, making the book serve as a prequel to Knock Knock. The book is broken up into two parts: Over the River and Through the Woods, and The Changeling.

Over the River and Through the Woods centers on Delphine's time as a child, before she moved to Skillute. It begins with Delphine, and her sister Olive, riding in a car with their mother and a man named John Dee. Both girls are drooped off at the house of Eve Alice, their grandmother. Their mother rides off with John Dee, and is never heard from again. Eve Alice, like Delphine in Knock Knock, is a sort of midwife, and thought of by many as a witch. She stocks up on oils, herbs, and other remedies that she gives to clients. They live in a place called Mount Coffin, also known as Mont des Morts, the Rock of the Dead. Aptly named because of the burial practices of the Chinook, Native Americans who settled the gargantuan rock long before the arrival of the Europeans. They covered Mount Coffin with canoes, housing the remains of loved ones, also gifts that were precious to them. This bit of history, along with winding streams, dense forests, myriad crows, and thick fog make Mount Coffin a liminal place, situated between the worlds of the living and the dead. Miskowski truly shines at creating a haunting and mystical atmosphere. Reading the first part is akin to experiencing a dream, you have a difficult time discerning what is real and what is not, giving the reader not so much a sense of terror, but unease. Add to the fact that Mount Coffin had not quite yet been touched by the cold hand of industrialization, and you have a place that is only read about in fairy tales, so it's only fitting that the first part has the title that it does. The dream-like quality of Mount Coffin, coupled with Miskowski's penchant for vivid details, sometimes made me forget that I was sitting on my sofa.

The second part of the book, The Changeling, takes us away from the haunted world of Mount Coffin, and brings us to Skillute, where Delphine has moved to, after receiving a letter from her mother. She essentially inherits her mother's house and all her belongings. Delphine sets up shop and continues the practices and traditions that were passed on to her by Eve Alice. While the first part was all about atmosphere and Delphine's childhood, the second part is much more impactful; it's chock-full of revelations, showing us just how important Delphine's role in the Skillute Cycle actually is. It was the second part that truly left me staggering. Miskowski, just like in Knock Knock, knows how to build something up, and once it culminates into the big reveal, you are left shocked and breathless.

Delphine Dodd can be read on its own; however, if you read Knock Knock first, the payoff is much bigger, and more rewarding. The books seamlessly tie into one another, creating a cohesive, organic world, and there are still two more books in the Skillute Cycle! Without having read the last two books, I can already say that Miskowski deserves a tribute in the form of an anthology. I would love to see a collection of stories that revolve around Skillute and its residents. Miskowski has created something special, a haunting, living, breathing world full of mystery, folklore, legends, horror--both real and otherwordly--atmosphere, and moments that will make your jaw drop; moments that will leave you terrified; but most of all, moments that leave you wanting more.

Knock Knock: Review

Skillute, Washington. A small, impoverished logging town, where the only forms of entertainment are bingo for the women, drinking for the men, and Sunday church services for weekly salvation. It's the kind of town you don't want to live in, because you'll never get out. Any resident of Skillute can tell you that having hopes and dreams is pointless, and if you are somehow fortunate to leave Skillute, it will only bring you back another day. Skillute decides your fate, and S.P. Miskowski is not afraid to show us the fates of some of its residents, and the darkest aspects of Skillute itself.

In her debut novel, Knock Knock, Miskowski takes you into the bleak lives of a handful of Skillute's residents, primarily centering on three women: Marietta, Ethel, and Beverly. The book begins when the girls are young, and proceeds to cover a span of over fifty years, and how their lives are shaped and altered in terrifying and tragic ways. 

Miskowski sets the stage with Beverly, Ethel, and Marietta in a classroom, watching a film on hygiene. The three girls are in the very back of the classroom, where it's dark and no one can see them talking with another classmate, who is telling them the "mortifying details" of her mother's pregnancy, how it's changing her, body and mind. The mother thinks of the pregnancy as a "curse," and can't walk around her house due to swollen ankles. Not wanting to hear any more, Beverly, Ethel, and Marietta decide to make sure that their fates are not the same as the other girl's mother. At eleven, and eleven-and-a-half-years old, they already know all too well what happens to the women in Skillute. Out of desperation, and even a sense of adventure, the girls trek to the woods--a place they are told never to go--to perform a blood ritual that they believe will prevent them from getting pregnant. What they failed to realize, however, was that something ancient, dark, and evil was in those woods, and their actions awakened it, creating a domino effect that would span decades. 

The novel proceeds to follow the three girls over the course of their lives. Each chapter focuses on a point of view from one of the three, showing us the trials and tribulations they experience as they grow old and, despite the ritual they performed all those years ago, get married and become pregnant, falling into the endless cycles of their respective families. 

While the three women experience the horrors of the real world, underneath the surface lurks an ancient, lingering, palpable, unseen terror; it can be felt throughout the whole of the book, holding you down and not letting you up. Whatever the girls unleashed, it's there, with them, and all of Skillute. It's not until Ethel gives birth to her daughter, Connie Sara, that you truly begin to realize the terror that pervades the book, as it is clear that something is wrong with Connie Sara. 

In Knock Knock, Miskowski demonstrates her masterful ability at portraying sad, inescapable family cycles. Beverly, Ethel, and Marietta are fated to stay in Skillute, and end up like their parents, or, at the very least, live somewhat similar lives as their parents did. Miskowski doesn't just show us those inescapable cycles, but how we TRY to escape them. In Marietta's case, she did everything she could to erase her family past; to abrogate everything her Aunt Delphine did, her practice, traditions, everything. Marietta even got married as an attempt to live what she hoped would be a normal life, but she found that she could not escape the cycle. Ethel wasn't sure if she married her husband Burt out of love or convenience. And while Beverly loved her husband Rex, he was a means to survive a life in Skillute. Miskowski beautifully highlights all of the issues that come with a life in a town like Skillute.  Miskowski's ability to paint a vivid picture of an impoverished town ravaged by logging companies is incomparable. She shows how these dying towns have a trickle down effect that affects the residents. Skillute was plucked clean by these companies, leading to a poor town economy and lack of jobs, resulting in unemployment, poverty, and other real world horrors. 

Light and dark play a vital role in Knock Knock. In Skillute, darkness and decay are the true state of things. Grey clouds, rain, pollution, etc. are the norm. Light, on the other hand, is an illusion, a trap that brings one into a false sense of security. Just ask Greg what the light brought him. A particular scene that drives home the use of light and dark is when Greg horrifyingly discovers that all was not what he thought it was. The light and order he thought he was experiencing was merely an illusion, and the true state of things was actually that of darkness and decay. The atmosphere of Skillute is one of oppression and confinement. The humidity and thick air is enough to make one feel heavy, unable to move and do anything, creating a sense of confinement and helplessness. Miskowski does this so well, that it transfers from the book to the reader with great fluidity. There were times where I could feel the heaviness, the hopelessness, and even the helplessness. And Miskowki's ability to have all that oppression and dread culminate into something truly terrifying was enough to leave me sweating, and my heart beating rapidly. Several times I had to put the book down because I was so scared. Knock Knock is a fine and powerful debut by S.P. Miskowski, and she has quickly solidified her status in the literary world of Horror and the Weird.