The only reason I’m giving this 4 stars instead of the 5 it might deserve is perhaps due to a failing of my own and not the story’s. It basically comeThe only reason I’m giving this 4 stars instead of the 5 it might deserve is perhaps due to a failing of my own and not the story’s. It basically comes down to this: novels are without question my favorite storytelling medium, as it’s almost like a form of magic to me, cheesy as that sounds. How do mere words on a page, mere markings on paper, create entire worlds in the reader’s head, create characters that you care about and get emotional over? Or create images that creep you the hell out (as was the case with this tale)? It’s no wonder many common folk in the Middle Ages considered reading and writing to be actual sorcery.
But any barrier to that perfect melding of mind and words is a negative for me, and here it was the archaic pseudo-17th century language employed by Mr. Ross. While more historically accurate I assume, it still made it a struggle to envision everything and relate to narrator Hubert’s plight, holed up in the castle of his cousin, the Earl of Deeping, among various soldiers as well as a possible evil sorceress during the English Civil War, while an unstoppable slimy eldritch horror awaits (and slowly encroaches) in the waters surrounding the fortification.
It’s hard to believe this was written in 1914, but it isn’t hard to imagine why this isn’t as well-known and revered today as, say, Lovecraft’s work, even if it’s every bit the equal of most anything he’s written as far as the creativity and imagination on display, imo. And otherworldly creepiness.
Even though I was never able to entirely immerse myself, it’s definitely uniquely bizarre and chilling enough (and with a thick, ominous atmosphere throughout) for me to have read it twice in 6-7 years. And I’ll likely do so again before my time is up.
I can get down with witches in my horror, but when they’re the new age crystal-wearing hippie sort, my eyes tend to glaze over (no offense to any pracI can get down with witches in my horror, but when they’re the new age crystal-wearing hippie sort, my eyes tend to glaze over (no offense to any practitioners out there; I just prefer to read about creepy evil crone hermits and such). Good thing that despite all that, the underlying ghostly mystery was intriguing enough to carry me through.
It concerns a small group of “scientific� ghost hunters � or psychic researchers � investigating a several hundred year-old English estate that’s supposedly haunted by a specter known as “The Battle Maid�, due to her chainmail-looking getup and sword. Team member Jane Blair soon discovers from first-hand witnesses that she herself bears an uncanny resemblance to the apparition. Spooky timey wimey shenanigans ensue, and the story periodically shifts back and forth between the present day (circa 1977) and the 1500s. As Jane fights for her sanity, and possibly her soul, the others enlist the help of two white witches � a married couple that are like the Pagan version of Ed & Lorraine Warren � and the resulting mix of science and magic was interesting and somewhat unique.
Author Stewart Farrar himself was a practicing witch, and I could tell that he was espousing his own beliefs throughout this, as at times it went into excruciating detail on various Wiccan spells and ideologies and whatnot. Still, I found it to be cheesy good fun once I got into the right mindset, with some decent characterization for a �70s occult thriller, and even a couple pretty chilling scenes. It probably should have been even shorter than its 235 pages, but I was never bored � okay maybe a little bit during the massive infodumps/lessons on white magic....more
This came pretty close to 4 star territory for me, and after reading the first half or so I wondered if the reason for the 2.7 average rating here wasThis came pretty close to 4 star territory for me, and after reading the first half or so I wondered if the reason for the 2.7 average rating here was due to readers expecting a nasty “giant spiders attack� pulpfest as opposed to slow-burn psychological horror. There’s such an intriguing mystery, as main character Brian is a new professor at a small Florida college, and the huge estate he’s given by the school to stay at is surrounded by jungle that’s infested with larger-than-normal orb weaving spiders that ensnare all sorts of birds and rodents in their giant webs. To add to this, Brian’s a bit of a weirdo who hypnotizes himself in order to complete mundane tasks while in a sort of “robot mode� so that he doesn’t have to be conscious, which sounds awesome. He also goes into trances to communicate telepathically with his wife, who’s locked up in a mental institute. You’ll soon wonder if Brian is the one who should be locked up.
So right away we the reader know that Brian’s version of events that follow is not to be trusted, especially once we learn he can alter his memories while under hypnosis, which sets up a rather fascinating puzzle when strange shit (stranger than ESP trances and self-hypnotism) starts to go down, like him finding vivisected bugs and spiders laid out on the kitchen table, neatly arranged by size even though he’s afraid of them, and a fellow professor going missing while visiting his grounds. Did the spiders get her, or did his arachnid-obsessed student Karen � who’s staying there to study the spiders as well as have sex with Brian despite her being like 16 � have something to do with it?
I don’t always need to have answers to everything, especially with weird fiction, and can enjoy weirdness for weirdness’s sake, but when so much of the intrigue in the story hinges on all these mysteries being set up, I’d like to know that it was at least leading somewhere. A lot of the fun was trying to figure out “how the hell is Scott Baker gonna tie all this together into a nice tidy bow by the end?� (view spoiler)[Well, he doesn’t. It’s pretty much left up to the reader to decide what really happened. It was all just a little too vague for me, and I’m not entirely sure what actually went down. (hide spoiler)]
Still, I enjoyed the journey and the eerie hallucinatory atmosphere enough to check out more Scott Baker in the future, especially since I already own a few of his novels.* Plus, like my GR buddy Mike mentioned, Baker might just be crazy, and I have a thing for crazy authors.
3.5 Stars.
*It’s too bad his collections are only available in French, as the few stories I’ve come across in various horror anthos over the years were always highlights for me, if every bit as baffling....more
[image] Cover of the 1988 Headline mass-market I have, 372 pages. Artist is unfortunately uncredited. (ISBN is 0747230730 and ISBN 13 is 9780747230731 [image] Cover of the 1988 Headline mass-market I have, 372 pages. Artist is unfortunately uncredited. (ISBN is 0747230730 and ISBN 13 is 9780747230731 in case a librarian feels like adding it.)
This was pretty unique as far as supernatural horror fiction from this era goes, as the ghosts here are not really the focus of the story, merely the inciting event for everything that follows. They appear suddenly all over your typical King-esque “everybody knows everybody� small town, frozen in their moments of death. The ghosts don’t actually do anything; it’s the townspeople’s reaction to these motionless spectres that drives the story, as certain secrets come out into the open and people have to confront past deeds that were probably best left buried and forgotten.
It’s well-written, with some top-notch characterization as well as a couple creepy moments here and there (mostly at the beginning) but overall felt a little too sprawling and leisurely-paced for my tastes. I’ll give Williamson props for attempting a haunted town novel where the phantoms are entirely benign, however. I just tend to prefer a bit more spooky supernatural shenanigans in my horror, or at least more narrative momentum or a sustained atmosphere of unease, which was almost totally lacking here.
But if you’re looking for a semi-realistic (other than the ghosts) character study about how a town might react to something inexplicable like this � as well as having their hidden “dirty laundry� in plain view in some cases � this just might suit your fancy....more
[image] An absolutely ludicrous, over-the-top pulp-era horror/mystery about a doctor and his detective friend investigating a series of bizarre, imposs[image] An absolutely ludicrous, over-the-top pulp-era horror/mystery about a doctor and his detective friend investigating a series of bizarre, impossible killings that leads to the discovery that things like possession, ghosts, stigmata, Black Masses, exorcisms, murderous satanic goats, and strangulation by transparent bloody nooses hanging in mid-air while demon toads walk up and down their length are in fact real. Features lots of exclamation marks as well as characters explaining and rehashing the plot to each other in overly dramatic ways, but I didn’t really care because it was glorious.
It’s actually pretty gruesome considering it was written nearly 100 years ago (by the author of Gangs of New York no less). The inspector here features again in Asbury’s 1928 novel The Tick of the Clock, though supposedly that one’s more of a straight mystery with no supernatural shenanigans.
Btw even though the original hardcover is 280-some pages, due to the large type and ultra-wide margins it’s actually far less than 200, and can easily be read in a sitting or two. The pace is pretty relentless, making it difficult to even find a suitable spot to take a breather.
Many will think it belongs in a landfill, but I was in the mood for some good trash so I was quite entertained by it.
(This was also published in the UK as The Crimson Rope. Good luck tracking that down, at any price.)...more
*No spoilers other than the basic premise and mentioning the fact that there’s some sort of (view spoiler)[twist (a few actually) (hide spoiler)] whic*No spoilers other than the basic premise and mentioning the fact that there’s some sort of (view spoiler)[twist (a few actually) (hide spoiler)] which, considering this is a timey wimey headfuck novel, should be obvious going in anyway.*
This was a brilliant blend of detective fiction, mind-bending time travel SF, and cosmic horror, and I was entirely engrossed throughout. I did feel that the main twist or revelation was telegraphed pretty early on (like within the first two or three chapters), so much so that I didn’t even know it was meant to be shocking. What did shock me was that our main character Shannon Moss, an NCIS agent involved in a top secret time travel program, never figured it out, not to mention all the other people involved in a program supposedly filled with the best and brightest minds. This one slight negative didn’t impact my overall enjoyment, however, and I’m still haunted and my head is still spinning from some of the ideas covered here even though it’s been several days since I finished it.
Imagine a world where, known only to a very few, it’s possible to travel to the future, but that future is just one of many possibilities. If there’s an unsolved series of murders in your time (1997 for Shannon Moss), you could simply travel several years into a future where hopefully the case had already been solved, and read old articles on who the culprit was. But what happens when every time you travel to the future, a world-ending event comes ever closer to fruition? And ever earlier? Something alien and unknowable that’s somehow moving backward in time? You shit your pants is what you do. But not Shannon Moss, as she realizes her investigation into a multiple homicide is inexplicably tied to the seemingly inevitable upcoming apocalypse, and she won’t give up until she figures out just what the hell is going on and what the link is between these two things.
Mindblowing and ultra-creepy, even if I saw the surprise twist coming. Shannon Moss was an extremely well-written character, and I was rooting for her. I’m still thinking about some of the horrifying concepts and imagery, and will definitely be checking out Mr. Sweterlitsch’s first (and only other) novel sooner rather than later.
Get a load of these character names: King, Straub, Barker, Matheson, Romero, Leiber, Herbert, Beaumont, Levin, Campbell, Woolrich, Ellison� you get thGet a load of these character names: King, Straub, Barker, Matheson, Romero, Leiber, Herbert, Beaumont, Levin, Campbell, Woolrich, Ellison� you get the idea. It got to the point where even when I encountered a name that wasn’t a famous horror (or horror-adjacent) writer I’d think, “Hmm� is McCarron supposed to be McCammon? Is Burgess meant to be a nod to Anthony Burgess of A Clockwork Orange fame, or is that one just a coincidence? What about Crawford? Is that 19th century ghost story scribe F. Marion Crawford or no?�
Very distracting to say the least. I couldn’t help picturing the authors instead of the characters as described � especially since they were usually referred to by their last names � or else I found myself daydreaming about those authors� books as opposed to focusing on this one. Why would Relling Jr. want to constantly remind the reader of other, better writers they could be reading?
I thought I’d be able to move past all that, as otherwise the story was decent pulp trash featuring an immortal evil sorcerer/serial killer attempting to summon the old gods (which were given entirely original names like Ctha-lu and Azag-Thoth) and whatnot, with a detective trying to track him down, but I cringed every time I came across another shoutout, and was annoyed way more than I was entertained.
Still, I can’t give it one star based solely on distracting names, so I’ll go with two so I don’t seem like a petty psycho.
ETA: I had a similar issue with Nathanael West’s The Day of the Locust, where one of the main characters is named Homer Simpson. Made it hard to take the book seriously when I’m imagining everything as sort of grey and film noir-ish, and there’s a bumbling yellow cartoon character in the middle of it all. Sometimes I can’t control my own brain. But I tried not to hold that against the novel considering it was written half a century before The Simpsons came out....more
There’s something…cozy to me about horror novels of the late 70s/early 80s. They’re slow burns, usually*, fairly predictable, and often take place in There’s something…cozy to me about horror novels of the late 70s/early 80s. They’re slow burns, usually*, fairly predictable, and often take place in idyllic small towns where everyone knows everyone. I’ve read so many of these things over the years, and there’s a comfort in settling into a quiet horror novel where things play out almost exactly as you expect (unlike reality), punctuated by moments of subtle chills that gradually become more and more potent. This one looked like it was heading into 4 star territory, but the (view spoiler)[Scooby Doo-ish ending (hide spoiler)] undid much of the creepiness, imo.
Imagine living in a cottage in the middle of endless farmland all by your lonesome, and the dozens of scarecrows from the neighboring farm seem to slowly be encroaching on your territory, getting closer and closer. They appear almost lifelike. And what’s that scratching sound at the window during the night? Are you going crazy?
That’s the scenario for artist Sue, whose married lover Gavin gave her the cottage so she could be closer to him. She’s grown to accept the fact that she’s in love with a married man, and accepts that he’ll never leave his ill, nearly invalid wife. But then he goes missing, and she starts hearing whispers from her odd and none-too-friendly neighbors down the road of a local legend called The Gatherer, a creature who punishes the wicked. Like adulterers.
This really takes its sweet time building tension and unease, but the last 50 or so pages really ratchet up the intensity, and if it weren’t for the disappointing final pages I would have no reservations about recommending it to any and all horror fans, especially those of folk horror. Good characterization, and the mystery of just what the hell is going on was very intriguing, but the ending felt like a cop out, even though I half-expected it. Still, I enjoyed my time with it.
*not counting British nasties and such, that is....more
[image] Don’t let the cover deceive you into thinking this is some sort of “evil childâ€� novel (the main character is 17 or so and not evil), or a Robin[image] Don’t let the cover deceive you into thinking this is some sort of “evil childâ€� novel (the main character is 17 or so and not evil), or a Robin Cook-esque medical thriller either. I don’t even know what to categorize this as, other than bonkers. I’ll be glad to tell you all about it when I get a minute, but for now just check out Phil’s excellent review. —â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä”â¶Ä�- OK I’ve got a minute.
There are lots of horror boom-era novels that deal with the whole “kid with supernatural or preternatural abilities on the run from government spooks� trope � King’s Firestarter and Farris’s The Fury being the most famous, though I think Michael Kurland’s Button Bright and Gerald Suster’s Striker are even better. This one separates itself a bit due to the protagonist Brian being entirely � well, “batshit� seems a little insensitive, but basically he suffers from something like schizophrenia, as well as anhedonia � the inability to feel pleasure. He’s grown up mostly in a mental hospital in upstate New York. Not just any mental hospital either, but one that experiments on its patients, some of which are even funded and watched over by a shady Illuminati-esque brotherhood involved with top-secret black programs.
The experiments on Brian were all electricity-related � he had “shunts� implanted in the base of his skull so that electrical charges go straight into his brain, causing him to “break on through to the other side� with visions of the future, events happening elsewhere in the present, and memories of the dead. This makes him extremely valuable to the Men in Black-types, so when he (of course) escapes (spoilers), they mean to find him before his doctor and semi-guardian/mother figure Dr. Haak does. And they’ll kill anyone who gets in their way.
This took a little while to totally capture my interest, but Brian’s many quirks and eccentricities soon won me over. For instance, he’s obsessed with 60s/70s funk and soul, and he’ll start uncontrollably dancing and shouting phrases like “Shake that booty!� or “Too hot to stop, say it. Say it!� Then whoever he’s with will have to say the phrase or else Brian gets stuck in a neverending loop where he just keeps repeating the same thing over and over. It’s a little grating at first, but like I mentioned, I soon warmed to it. Oh and he’s literally addicted to electricity. It’s like a drug to him.
It’s basically a road trip novel, where Brian meets a lot of interesting and oddball characters along the way, only it’s a road trip that gets extremely bizarre and tripped-out at times. And intense. After the opening chapters, the plot moves at a pretty fast clip. It was marketed as horror, but I’m not sure this qualifies. I don’t want to say too much more as it’s probably best to know as little as possible when reading this (I barely scratched the surface with my synopsis). I just know I need to get me some more Metzger, even though he isn’t exactly prolific, at least when it comes to novel writing*. He’s certainly unique, if this book is anything to go by, as well as judging by the titles of his non-fiction works.
He also knows a hell of a lot about electricity and all things related, like AC vs DC, the Tesla-Edison rivalry, and such. It’s all integrated into the story well, however, and never feels like info-dumps even though they pretty much are. I had a blast throughout, despite the somewhat slow beginning.
*though he does have several YA-ish fantasies under the name Leander Watts....more
[image] 1981 Star mass-market, with art by Gino D’Achille (who is perhaps best known for the early 70s Ballantine editions of Edgar Rice Burroughs� Mar[image] 1981 Star mass-market, with art by Gino D’Achille (who is perhaps best known for the early 70s Ballantine editions of Edgar Rice Burroughs� Mars series). [image] 1980 Carlyle mass-market, artist unknown (no great loss there).
I already reviewed this under its original title back in 2017: Satan's Mistress, which has its own listing on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ. This is pretty much the same as the earlier editions, only closer to the author’s original vision, without editorial interference. I couldn’t really tell much of a difference between the two while reading, though this one seemed slightly more graphic as far as its erotic content is concerned (I was always under the impression that McNaughton was forced to sex-up the narrative back in the day, but maybe that was only for Satan’s Love Child). This reread â€� as well as my recent rereads of Throne of Bones and Satan’s Surrogate (aka The House Across the Way) â€� has only reinforced my opinion that McNaughton was in the upper echelon of horror boom-era writers.
And I know I’ve mentioned this before, but no one topped him when it came to writing epic Halloween parties gone very, very wrong....more
A bunch of people stranded on a small island while a maniac is loose? A mansion with a history of supposed supernatural shenanigans? Normally I would A bunch of people stranded on a small island while a maniac is loose? A mansion with a history of supposed supernatural shenanigans? Normally I would say sign me up, but this novel commits the cardinal sin (for me) of having the characters speak each others’s name constantly while conversing, and it’s super distracting. It just sounds so unnatural. I know it’s a way for the author to denote who’s speaking without having endless variations of “Bob said� and “Judy said�, but I’ve never heard anybody in real life say the other person’s name in every other sentence when having a conversation. That would be creepy and weird.
If you can get past that, this isn’t terrible, but it’s definitely more of a whodunnit mystery (with some slasher aspects) than the “horror� it was marketed as. And there are better whodunnits out there, with more compelling central mysteries, and more interesting characters. It’s also extremely talky, with most of the plot revealed through discussion as opposed to action, which would be tolerable if the dialogue was engaging, but alas.
Mostly I’m disappointed because my previous Lambirth read, Behind the Door, was fun, over-the-top trash horror, and I was really looking forward to checking out more of his work....more
Shelley is a psychic empath who uses her gift to help others dealing with buried trauma and phobias, by entering their dreams along with them and findShelley is a psychic empath who uses her gift to help others dealing with buried trauma and phobias, by entering their dreams along with them and finding the root cause, under the guidance of her professor. Unfortunately this unleashes a Freddy Krueger-like demonic being from the nightmare realm � known as Moontown � and her patients/subjects are ending up dead, with herself likely being the next victim. But who will believe her story?
Based on this and Big Thunder, I can’t believe Atkins isn’t a bigger name in horror (outside of his well-known screenplays for the Hellraiser franchise and Wishmaster). His imagination is on par with his buddy Clive Barker, imo, only more accessible and streamlined, with far less bloat and little interest in being artsy or profound.
His writing isn’t quite as visceral either, with reduced emphasis on body horror or sacred and profane carnal pleasures � at least in the two novels I’ve read � but he’s able to tap into similar deep-rooted fears as well as the surreal and hellish sort while keeping the reader unsettled and on constant edge. Especially so here, as the characters never feel safe since they could actually be in the nightmare realm without knowing, where anything at all can happen.
Overall this was a fast, fun read, with some chilling scenes of phantasmagorical goodness and a tight pace that’s always forging ahead, giving the reader little to no downtime to simply relax and settle in.
Plus there’s a giant funhouse with a creepy hall of mirrors (and possibly living puppets as well, but I’m not telling). So it’s got that going for it, which is nice....more
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