Argentine author Samanta Schweblin is part of a new wave of Latin American weird, speculative and horror fiction, alongside other authors (including sArgentine author Samanta Schweblin is part of a new wave of Latin American weird, speculative and horror fiction, alongside other authors (including several female and/or queer writers) such as Mariana EnrÃquez, Agustina Bazterrica, Mónica Ojeda, Giovanna Rivera and Bernardo Esquinca. However, while it is convenient to group authors into one geographical school, this often comes at the cost of losing sight of the idiosyncrasies of the individual authors.
In Schweblin’s case, what strikes me is her ability to create a sinister atmosphere of dread and unease, while barely relying � if at all � on traditional horror or Gothic tropes. Her previous collection to be published in English � Seven Empty Houses � did refashion, in its own way, the trope of the haunted or abandoned house. However, her latest � Good and Evil and Other Stories � avoids altogether traditional monsters, ghouls, and scary settings, and, instead, injects the uncanny into the everyday. In the opening tale, for instance, a young mother tries to kill herself by diving to the bottom of a lake, but then resurfaces to go back to her family, only to feel as if she left a part of herself in the deep waters. In another, a man regularly receives taunting silent prank calls at night, which may be somehow related to his son, with whom he has an awkward relationship blighted by a terrible accident. Elsewhere, two sisters befriend an alcoholic poet at a seaside resort, but their nightly escapades end in tragedy. All six tales in this collection inhabit ‘fever dream� territory, punctuated with inexplicable happenings, peopled by unnerving characters who flit in and out of the narrative. Ordinary relationships and events are made strange. Family and friends become the backdrop for the horrific. Uncanny elements are often a metaphor for very real and human issues.
The collection is masterfully translated from the original Spanish by the prolific Megan McDowell, responsible for bringing into English earlier works by Schweblin and several other Latin American authors. She authentically conveys the haunted poetry of these magical tales.
Greater Sins is an atmospheric debut novel by Gabrielle Griffiths. It is set in the Cabrach region, a remote rural community in Northern Scotland, to Greater Sins is an atmospheric debut novel by Gabrielle Griffiths. It is set in the Cabrach region, a remote rural community in Northern Scotland, to the west of Aberdeen. The year is 1915, and many young (and some older) men are volunteering to go to war, from rich landowners such as William Calder to farmhands eager to seek glory, adventure or, possibly, an escape from their exhausting, hand-to-mouth existence. In this context of change and upheaval, an ancient woman’s body is discovered in a pet bog, remarkably preserved. This strange discovery brings together an unlikely couple � Elizabeth “Lizzie� Calder, William’s wife, and Johnny Nicol, a nomadic folk singer who has decided to stay awhile and help at a local farm. It is not long before the mysterious figure of the bog woman takes over the superstitious imagination of the villagers, who ascribe to her a series of unfortunate events which befall the community. This will also lead Lizzie and Johnny to a reckoning with their past.
While told in the third person, this novel alternates between the respective perspectives of Elizabeth and Johnny, and also between two timelines � 1905 and 1915. The characters Griffiths creates are complex, nuanced and empathetically portrayed: villains have their redeeming features, the protagonists their foibles and flaws.
The novel’s judicious use of Scots dialect and evocative descriptions give it the mark of authenticity. In fact, Greater Sins is historical fiction firmly rooted in gritty realism. At the same time, it borrows certain tropes from Gothic fiction and folk horror (superstition in a small rural community; a mysterious corpse which might be the source of ill-luck; references to witchcraft and Faustian pacts). The result is a novel which artfully combines a strong sense of historical time and place, with a fable-like sense of mystery.
Struck Down, Not Destroyed, whose title is inspired by a passage St Paul's Second Letter to the Corinthians, is a work of non-fiction by Colleen DulleStruck Down, Not Destroyed, whose title is inspired by a passage St Paul's Second Letter to the Corinthians, is a work of non-fiction by Colleen Dulle. Dulle is a Vaticanist who regularly writes and podcasts for America, a monthly Catholic magazine published by the Jesuits of the US. The theme which runs throughout Dulle’s book is set out in the subtitle: “Keeping the Faith as a Vatican Reporter�. Dulle chronicles the scandals which have rocked the Church, and which she has found herself covering over the past years: ranging from abuse of minors and vulnerable people, to financial crises, to the exclusion of women from the hierarchies of the Church. I found Dulle’s insights about these issues very interesting and informative. As a European Catholic, I was struck by her observations about the strong intersection between religion and politics in the US and now appreciate better Pope Francis� wish to rein in the use of the Tridentine Mass, so often “weaponised� in the culture wars which are particularly strongly felt in the US.
Struck Down, Not Destroyed is, in part, a work of journalism, but it works even better as a spiritual memoir. Dulle charts her growth into an adult Catholic, often disillusioned by a Church which she still consciously chooses to remain a part of. She recounts phases of spiritual aridity, of rage against the Church and against God Himself. But, perhaps against the odds, she still finds solace in prayer, worship and doing good works. She is helped in this by other Catholics � friends, family and spiritual counsellors � who share and understand her plight, and ultimately by her faith in God and the saints, even though it might be a faith shaken on a regular basis. Dulle’s book should instil hope in the hearts of fellow spiritual travellers.
Jacinta, named after one of the visionaries at Fatima, was brought up in a devout Catholic family in Ireland. She now calls herself Jay and lives in LJacinta, named after one of the visionaries at Fatima, was brought up in a devout Catholic family in Ireland. She now calls herself Jay and lives in London with her girlfriend Lindsay, away from the oppressive presence of her parents. She is however, still haunted by a tragic event from her past. When she was a teenager, just tasting her first kiss from another girl during a party, her brother Ferdia, a young priest, died in a freak accident in Rome. Always the darling of her parents, he was also very close to Jay, and he remains a central and conflicting figure for her � on the one hand, he is a brother she loved and looked up to; on the other hand, he became a representative of a Church which she has abandoned in protest at its scandals and conservative outlook. Ferdia, therefore, is a subject Jay avoids broaching, even with her closest circle of friends (Lindsay included).
This, however, changes at the very start of the book, when Jay learns that Ferdia is being favourably considered for sainthood, with the Vatican looking into his life and writings for evidence of his “heroic virtues�. This prompts Lindsay to face her painful, long-avoided memories and, perhaps, to chart a course for her future.
This original and engaging debut novel, winner of the inaugural PFD Queer Fiction Prize 2022 and shortlisted for the Women's Prize Trust/Curtis Brown Discoveries Prize 2022, is based on a premise which may appear far-fetched but is well within the realms of possibility (as Jay repeatedly points out, “the last three popes have created more saints between them than all the others combined�, and some of these saints - or saints-to-be - lived recently enough to be well remembered by people who actually knew them or, as in Jay’s case, grew up with them).
Niamh Nà Mhaoileoin has a deft touch, and under the guise of an often humorous narration, she touches upon deep subjects: families, relationships, public v private memory, faith and religion. In Jay she has created a believable, down-to-earth and likeable character. She describes with poignancy a challenging situation where one’s life journey leads you away from a religion which, all things considered forms part of your upbringing. In Jay’s case, the scandals of the Church and attitude to same-sex relationships make her renounce the faith of her childhood and, because they are so intertwined, also lead her to abandon her country and family. Yet, hers is no easy decision, and the book’s conclusion, although hopeful, provides no facile answers.
I must confess that, being a practising Catholic myself, and of a frankly more conservative brand than the “progressive Catholic voices� Niamh Nà Mhaoileoin thanks in her acknowledgements section, I approached this book with much curiosity and some trepidation. Would this novel simply be a scathing send-down of the saint-making process? An anti-religious diatribe? Ordinary Saints is certainly critical of the Church and its priests, but it adopts a balanced, nuanced approach, with some thought-provoking questions about religion and faith which are as important to those who, like Jay, decide to leave the Church as to those who choose to remain. While I am always wary of identifying a novel’s narrators with their author/creator, I feel that the novel exudes a strong sense of authenticity and honesty borne of experience.
Ordinary Saints is all this, but can also be approached as a bittersweet, coming-of-age, coming-out novel. A great debut.
Following his critically acclaimed debut novel The Good Son, Paul McVeigh returns with a volume of short stories published as part of the Salt Modern Following his critically acclaimed debut novel The Good Son, Paul McVeigh returns with a volume of short stories published as part of the Salt Modern Stories series. The title of the collection � I Hear You � is a reference to the fact that these works were written and commissioned for BBC Radio 4. In his introduction to the volume, McVeigh explains the challenges of writing for this medium � the stories had to be of a specific length reflecting the duration of each broadcast (roughly 2000 words) and needed to cater for a pre-watershed audience. A less talented writer would have considered these requirements limiting. In McVeigh’s hands, however, they become prompts for punchy stories in which the characters are laid bare through their respective narrative voices.
The central piece in this volume is The Circus, a sequence of ten stories set in the vicinity of Cliftonville Circus, North Belfast, each of which focuses on a would-be participant in a local talent show. The stories are connected through ingenious cross-references, leading to a final story which ties up all loose ends. Against this greater narrative, the insights into the variegated cast of characters also reveal a changing community, still haunted by the Troubles, coming to terms with contemporary, diverse, multi-cultural society.
Of the remaining stories which complete the collection, two are particularly poignant (“Tickles�, about a man and his mother who suffers from dementia, and “Daddy Christmas�, in which a gay man writes a letter to an imaginary son), while the third, “Cuckoo�, has a surreal vibe.
This is a slim but compelling collection of well-crafted stories which should ideally be read aloud� or listened to!
Not all monstrous immortals in literature conform to the trope of the sharp-toothed, bloodsucking vampire. The female protagonist of Susan Barker’s OlNot all monstrous immortals in literature conform to the trope of the sharp-toothed, bloodsucking vampire. The female protagonist of Susan Barker’s Old Soul is a case in point. Born (or resurrected) in the 18th century, the “old soul� of the title lives on at the bidding of a demonic entity called the Tyrant, for whom she procures sacrificial victims in return for a new lease of life. She goes by many names � Vera, Eva, Marion, Katherina � but perhaps the title which suits her best is “the woman�, at once anonymous and universal, suggesting her shadowy, elusive character. Around this figure, Barker builds a novel which combines elements of supernatural/Gothic/cosmic horror and crime/mystery fiction with a “literary� edge.
The novel starts enigmatically, with a brief introductory chapter featuring a dialogue between two lovers, whose significance will only become evident later in the book. The main body of the novel is made up of two narrative strands. The segments titled “Testimonies� follow Jake as he investigates the mysterious circumstances surrounding the death of his close friend Lena, and particularly the figure of a beguiling thirty-something photographer who insinuated herself into Lena’s life before Lena’s sudden descent into madness. Jake has a serendipitous (is it?) encounter at Osaka airport with a woman called Mariko, whose twin brother also died in similar circumstances. Jake pursues the pointers provided by Mariko and meets other acquaintances of the enigmatic woman’s victims. Their chilling stories are presented in the “Testimonies� chapters.
These segments alternate with the chapters entitled “Badlands�, in which the focus is on the immortal as she leads her latest victim to her sacrifice while desperately battling the decomposition process eating her from within. The two storylines eventually combine in the fast-paced finale.
Barker has an impeccable control over narrative pace. This work is far from being a “thrills-only� novel. We get insights into the tragic characters, particularly the protagonist herself who, while inspiring revulsion, still manages to elicit some sympathy from the reader � always a challenging feat to bring off. Yet, this never slows down the momentum of the narrative, which doesn’t up.
Some readers have favourably compared Old Soul to Barker’s earlier novel The Incarnations � which I need to look up and read. Its structure and basic premise reminded me of two other books I read and enjoyed � Sarah Perry’s Melmoth (based, in turn, on Maturin’s Gothic classic) and Marc Joan’s Hangdog Souls (also highly recommended, by the way). But it also hearkens back to the Gothic classics of yore with their merger of literary and genre elements. Under its slick, contemporary voice, this novel, much like its protagonist, hides an “old soul� and is so much the better for it.
Bernardo Esquinca’s short story “Señor Ligotti� was one of the highlights of the first volume of The Valancourt Book of World Horror Stories, earning Bernardo Esquinca’s short story “Señor Ligotti� was one of the highlights of the first volume of The Valancourt Book of World Horror Stories, earning a place as a finalist for the Shirley Jackson Award. “The Secret Life of Insects�, is one of a number of “spin-off� collections dedicated to individual authors featured in the volume. It brings together fourteen of Esquinca’s best stories, capably translated into English by James D. Jenkins, with a foreword by another contemporary star of Latin American horror, Mariana Enriquez.
This volume shows the versatility of Esquinca. He taps into several horror tropes � from zombies to Lovecraftian octopi, demonic forces to pagan cults, revenants to haunted dolls � but gives them a unique twist. A characteristic of his style is his blending of genres, particularly the introduction of crime fiction and noir elements, which make his stories particularly gripping. “Pan’s Noontide� is a good example, featuring a professor of mythology and folklore who teams up with a detective in the Homicide Division to investigate a series of ritual killings, which may involve the professor’s ex-wife. The violent history of Esquinca’s native Mexico � whether the blood sacrifices of ancient civilisations, or more recent massacres such as that which took place at the 1968 student uprisings at Tlatelolco � inspire tales of violent horror. But Esquinca’s stories rarely feel gratuitous. On the contrary, most of the pieces featured here achieve their effect through their weirdness, evoking feelings of dread through an Aickmanesque open-endedness (for instance, “Sea of Tranquillity, Ocean of Storms�).
The subtitle of Ray Newman's collection � “Thirteen Ghost Stories� � is somewhat misleading insofar as it suggests a traditional collection of ghostlyThe subtitle of Ray Newman's collection � “Thirteen Ghost Stories� � is somewhat misleading insofar as it suggests a traditional collection of ghostly tales. There are some spectres which behave as one would expect them to � the story Protected by Occupation, for instance, which is also probably one of the scariest in the volume, relies on some fairly standard “haunted house� tropes. But Newman’s gritty, urban Gothic creations are generally much stranger and play around not just with narrative but also with form.
A case in point is Modern Buildings in Wessex, a fictitious monograph about modernist architecture, with a particular emphasis on buildings designed by one Hälmar Pölzig. At first there seems to be nothing wrong with this pastiche architectural study. However, the narrator’s comments become increasingly ominous, suggestive of a disturbing obsession. Similarly, An Oral History of the Greater London Exorcism Authority presents a creepy account of poltergeist activity clothed in the formal style of an official report.
What is particularly surprising is the streak of dark humour which runs through the collection, starting from the opener � The Curse Follows the Seed. This is not “horror for laughs� in the style of the Scream franchise. It’s genuine, atmospheric horror fiction which manages to contemporaneously elicit a smile and a shudder. And a nightmare or two.
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