If you've ever thought that things aren't right with the world, that something is off, that half the people in this country are fucking nuts, then ClaIf you've ever thought that things aren't right with the world, that something is off, that half the people in this country are fucking nuts, then Clay McLeod Chapman's horror novel "Wake Up and Open Your Eyes" may help to confirm those thoughts. But, be forewarned: falling down this rabbithole may be fun, but it will leave one emotionally scarred if not traumatized for life.
"WUAOYE" is a not-so-thinly-veiled criticism of Q-Anoners, Trumpers, FOX News viewers, and anybody who spends way too much time on electronic devices to the point that they view the world solely through their myopic echo-chamber of lies and distorted reality that the Internet provides. It is a clever novel, one that some readers will chuckle or guffaw over, but it is by no means meant to simply be a satirically funny work of fiction. Chapman is certainly making fun of ultra-Right conservatives, but he also doesn't let the liberals off easily.
The novel follows Noah Fairchild, a New York liberal husband and father who has gradually become estranged from his parents and his brother's family who live in the country. Over the years, their FOX news-fuelled anti-liberal, anti-gay, anti-immigrant, anti-intellectual worldviews have taken their toll on Noah. Then, one day, he receives a weird phone call from his mom about "The Great Reawakening". He travels to their home to check on them, only to step into a global nightmare of violence and debauchery.
If, when reading this novel, it seems reminiscent of Stephen King's novel "Cell" or Garth Ennis's graphic novel series "Crossed", it's probably intentional, as Chapman cites an entire bibliography in his "Acknowledgements" of fiction and nonfiction books, TV shows, and movies that he references---via fun little Easter eggs that horror afficionadoes will definitely catch---throughout the novel.
Chapman's brilliance in this novel is that while he hints at explanations (extraterrestrial, demonic, AI run amok) he also makes it quite clear that it doesn't matter. The train went off the rails decades ago, and this is just the end result that we all secretly saw coming but were too blinded by denial or stupidity to do anything about it....more
A fun little pre-Christmas stocking stuffer, James Murray/Darren Wearmouth's "You Better Watch Out" is a gory serial killer thriller that's a little bA fun little pre-Christmas stocking stuffer, James Murray/Darren Wearmouth's "You Better Watch Out" is a gory serial killer thriller that's a little bit "Saw" meets "Escape Room".
The story follows Eddie, a thief, who in the beginning of the story is about to bilk an older couple out of a wad of cash stuffed in the lady's purse. Then, before he knows it, the couple have him stuffed in the back of a van and a syringe in his neck that puts him to sleep.
He comes to in a dive bar with two other "victims", all with similar stories of being kidnapped. They find themselves in a ghost town in the middle of nowhere. Along the way, they find two other victims. Eventually, the truth dawns on them: they have each been picked because of some crime they committed in their past, and someone is hunting them. As each one succumbs to a horrible death, the survivors learn to work together, despite the fact that one of them may not be completely honest about their own past...
Murray/Wearmouth have managed to crank out another enjoyable horror novel, one that would make a fun Christmas movie on Hallmark Channel Shudder......more
I remember loving, as a kid, a comic book called “Dial ‘H’ For Hero”. It was about these two kids who, whenever their town needed a superhero, they diI remember loving, as a kid, a comic book called “Dial ‘H’ For Hero”. It was about these two kids who, whenever their town needed a superhero, they dialed an old rotary phone that would magically turn them into a superhero. They’d be weird superheroes, too, with powers that were kind of ridiculous, like shooting ketchup and mustard from their fingers, or being able to turn into smoke or inflating into a giant beach ball and bouncing everywhere. And they’d never be the same superhero twice. I guess that was the charm and appeal of the comic book.
Well, apparently, in 2012, DC Comics brought the title back with the writing talents of China Mieville, an award-winning British science fiction/fantasy author. Potential goldmine, right?
Here’s my problem: best-selling novelists who try their hands at writing for comic books don’t always do well in the transition. Jodi Picoult, Jonathon Lethem, Brad Meltzer, and even Stephen King have all written comic books, to varying degrees of success. Generally, I have found that novel-writing is a very different animal than comic book writing. Sometimes, what makes a great novel doesn’t always make a great comic book, and vice versa.
That said, Mieville’s “Dial H” is, at the very least, intriguing. It’s also darkly humorous, especially with the weird array of superheroes. My favorites: Boy Chimney, a Jack Skellington look-alike with a long top hat that belches smoke; Captain Lachrymose, a sad superhero whose superpower is to incapacitate villains by bringing to mind their most tragic and heart-breaking memories; and Cock-a-Hoop, a giant hula hoop with the head and wings of a chicken. There’s a helluva lot more, too.
I won’t bore you with a plot synopsis, because, Really? There’s a superhero named Cock-a-Hoop that is literally a hula hoop with the head and wings of a chicken. Do you even care about the story?
As weird as this is, I will probably read the second volume....more
It would probably be fair to say that any follow-up to a phenomenal horror trilogy like The Indian Lake Trilogy would naturally be somewhat disappointIt would probably be fair to say that any follow-up to a phenomenal horror trilogy like The Indian Lake Trilogy would naturally be somewhat disappointing. It may be fair to say, but it would also be inaccurate.
Stephen Graham Jones’s latest “deconstructed slasher/teen horror opera” is as intense, horrific, funny, emotionally draining, and poignant as his last three novels, and then some.
“I Was a Teenage Slasher” is the story of Tolly Driver, a skinny, awkward teenager with a peanut allergy and one friend—-the town’s only Indian, a girl named Amber. Tolly is also a slasher.
He doesn’t want to be. And, frankly, he doesn’t even know all the “rules” of being a real-life slasher, which is where Amber comes in handy. She loves slasher films. She knows all about the slasher’s motivations (almost always revenge), the fact that a slasher needs a “brand” (in Tolly’s case, he kills with a never-ending supply of leather belts), and who the final girl is. This may be a problem, because there are multiple candidates in town.
The novel is set over a few days in the summer of 1989 in a small Texas town of Lamesa, where Tolly’s wave of mutilation starts with a very weird pool party.
Jones has done something utterly crazy and unheard of: he’s written a slasher novel from the viewpoint of the slasher, and—-on top of that—-made him absolutely lovable.
Sure, he kills a bunch of teenagers, but they all (kind of) deserve it. Or do they? Therein lies the crux of Tolly’s moral dilemma. He’s compelled to kill these kids for (in a cosmic sense anyway) valid reasons, but, deep down, he knows that they are just kids like him: dumb and prone to making bad decisions that they will regret later in life.
This novel reminds me a lot of a 1988 horror/comedy called “Heathers”, starring Winona Ryder and Christian Slater. Jones doesn’t mention it as an inspiration, but I’m fairly certain that he had to have seen it. Regardless, both have a whimsical, tongue-in-cheek approach to teen murders that could only have been set in the pre-Columbine pre-“Woke” 1980s. Jones is certainly tapping into that vibe, while simultaneously properly excoriating it....more
Hunter S. Thompson's classic 1971 gonzo journalistic novel/memoir "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" is proof that the shit you find hilarious and deep Hunter S. Thompson's classic 1971 gonzo journalistic novel/memoir "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" is proof that the shit you find hilarious and deep when you are ridiculously high are almost always neither. Also, what may have been profound and shocking for a 1971 audience is, in 2024, dumb and cringe-worthy.
This is not to say that Thompson's book is without merit. It is, in fact, laudable as an excellent snapshot of a particular time and place, a perfect encapsulation of the zeitgeist of the early-'70s, an epitaph for the death of the '60s.
Plus, Thompson was just a fucking good writer, and he always seemed to be at his best when he was angry. And, in "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas", he is furious.
Much of his anger has to do with Vietnam, Nixon/Agnew, the police, capitalism, women, birds, and himself. There is also a lot of imbibing, ingesting, and injecting of a wide variety of drugs--- many of which I have never heard of---which contributes to his angry mindset. Mostly he seems to be angry that the American Dream---the hippy-dippy lovefest of the countercultural movement of the '60s---seems to have been replaced with a militant, money-hungry, apathetic suburban nightmare.
It's pointless to give a synopsis. The point of Thompson's particular brand of journalism---"gonzo" as he called it---was that it was virtually impossible to distinguish fact from fiction. One has no idea if what he is writing about actually happened. That's part of the fun, I guess.
It should be noted that the character of Raoul Duke, Thompson's sidekick/Samoan attorney in the book was based on Thompson's real-life friend Oscar Zeta Acosta, a Mexican-American attorney. Acosta and Thompson had a falling out over the book, Acosta claiming that Thompson misrepresented him. Considering that Thompson portrays Duke as a knife-wielding hothead and (in one extremely uncomfortable scene) a rapist of a drugged-out underage girl, I would hope that Thompson misrepresented him. Acosta disappeared, and was presumed dead, in 1974 after getting involved in the Sinaloa drug cartel.
While I'm a fan of Thompson's writing, I'll be the first to admit that he is far from a model citizen. Raging asshole is more like it. And what the fuck is up with his obsession with grapefruit?
Still, Thompson did manage to offer a strangely poignant and intelligent alternative to the mainstream media bullshit....more
Absurdity is the new normal. Just look at the world we live in. It’s a world where half the United States may vote in as president a man who has been Absurdity is the new normal. Just look at the world we live in. It’s a world where half the United States may vote in as president a man who has been found guilty of 34 felony counts. It is a world in which a country created for a people who suffered a genocidal campaign that resulted in six million dead is now leading a genocidal campaign against another group of people over land rights. It is a world in which global climate change is causing record heatwaves, forest fires, droughts, and flooding but the real threat is… drag queens?
Something is not right with the world. We all know it. Life, so far, in the 21st century is just downright weird.
So, it’s good that we have writers like George Saunders. He may not be able to make sense of the absurdity, but he can certainly shine a light on it and make us confront it.
In his latest short story collection, “Liberation Day”, Saunders looks at the world through a shattered lens with depth, darkness, and a lot of humor.
I enjoyed all nine stories in this collection, but certainly a few stood out.
The first story, “Liberation Day”, is set in a not-so-distant future in which the wealthy have found a useful and completely unnecessarily irrational solution to poverty: wipe the minds of the poor, hang them on the walls of your living room, and use them as human “speakers”. (Somehow, Saunders makes this sound completely logical. It’s his super power.)
“Ghoul” is another not-so-distant future story in which employees of an underground amusement park go about their everyday lives running a park that has never been attended by any visitors and, it turns out, never will be.
In “Sparrow” (perhaps my personal favorite), a simple woman who works in a small general store and is the brunt of the townspeople’s cruel judgment and scorn finds true love in an unlikely source, and makes everybody in town reevaluate her.
In “Mother’s Day”, two elderly women who have a bitter history together confront each other during a hailstorm with tragic results.
In “Elliott Spencer”, a human robot (a formerly homeless drunk who has had his mind wiped—a favorite motif of Saunders’) who is trained to be a professional protestor begins to have flashbacks of his former life.
Fans of great short story writing and great short story writers (Kurt Vonnegut, Raymond Carver, Stephen King, Alice Munro) will greatly appreciate Saunders.
I read this as an Audiobook on CD. Narrators included Tina Fey, Jack McBrayer, Jenny Slate, Stephen Root, and others....more
Patrick Bateman, it must be noted, had an unusual obsession with Donald Trump. Indeed, Trump is mentioned at least a dozen times throughout Bret EastoPatrick Bateman, it must be noted, had an unusual obsession with Donald Trump. Indeed, Trump is mentioned at least a dozen times throughout Bret Easton Ellis’s now-iconic 1991 novel “American Psycho”. I’m just throwing that fact out because it seems significant.
Indeed, Ellis’s novel—-controversial when it was first published—-still seems significant now, in 2023, for reasons that are not dissimilar to the reasons cited 33 years ago.
I did not read the book 33 years ago. I was graduating high school when the book came out. My summer of ’91 was occupied with packing for college and living with that nervous excitement that precedes a major life-change: freshman year of college. I didn’t have time to read it, even if I wanted to, which I didn’t. In fact, the book was never really on my radar.
Oh, I had heard about it, and when I arrived on campus and met new friends, many of whom were far more literate than myself, I overheard the conversations about how misogynistic and racist and homophobic the book was, and how vile Ellis must be. I would never read such a book, and anyone who did (and, God forbid, liked it) must be the worst kind of disgusting monster, the type who probably voted for George H.W. Bush and liked war and date rape and celebrated awful holidays like Columbus Day, which was nothing more than a celebration of imperialism and genocide. (This is how I talked in college. Not because I actually necessarily believed this shit, but mostly because I was trying to get cute college girls to play with my penis, and most of them talked like this, too.)
It would be three decades before I picked up “American Psycho” and actually read it. And, weirdly, liked it.
Nobody told me that it was hilarious. The fact that it is a very funny, very dark satirical comedy seemed to have been skipped over or ignored in the many conversations I had had about the book.
Also, I was old enough and mature enough as a reader to now distinguish the fact that the virulent misogyny/racism/homophobia evident in the book was not coming from Ellis but was, in fact, a symptom of the protagonist’s psychosis. Ellis did such a good job of getting in the head of a deplorable, soulless, homicidal monster that, I now recognize, many readers came away thinking that Ellis was the monster. People also often forget that Frankenstein was the name of the monster’s creator and not the monster itself.
Being more well-read than I was as a freshman in college, I saw the blatant allusions to Jane Austen, and how Ellis was painting a satirical picture of the vapid and shallow consumer culture of the “Me-First” rich white upper class. I saw in Patrick Bateman the parody of Oliver Stone’s 1987 film “Wall Street”, in which greed and self-interest is played up as a virtue in Michael Douglas’s character, Gordon Gekko. I understood where the obsession that Bateman had with serial killers like Ed Gein and Ted Bundy came from, as serial killers were kind of all the rage in the ‘90s.
I even saw the parallels between “American Psycho” and Herman Melville’s “Moby Dick”, in which Bateman—-clearly Ahab—-suffers from an obsessive-compulsive quest to find his own white whale: a conscience or any kind of emotion that would make him feel human in some way. New York City and Wall Street become, for Bateman, the rough seas that he must sail. His vicious and inhuman murders become a kind of religious rite he uses to summon something—-anything—-lurking beneath his superficial existence. I even understood the three chapters in which Bateman extolls the discographies of Phil Collins, Whitney Houston, and Huey Lewis and the News: three of the most popular and, in many ways, vapidly commercial artists of the ‘80s. They are the epitome of shallowness, which describes Bateman to a ’t’.
And, of course, the constant references to Trump (which, since the book was written 20 years before Trump had any vocal designs of being President, is simply bizarrely prescient), a man who, even at that time, was a human imprimatur of everything sleazy and gauche regarding the wealthy, are voluminously apropos.
The book still shocks. For today’s post-Trump post-Covid audience, that’s definitely a good thing. If the book didn’t shock or disgust readers, that would be too horrible to contemplate.
I can understand why this book is much loved and much hated. It’s not a book that would engender mild feelings of indifference or “meh” in anyone who reads it. One either loves it or hates it.
I’m on the “love” side, and it’s because I understand what Ellis was trying to say. He was expressing a disgust and hatred for a warped sense of reality and dark side of humanity that he saw hiding in plain sight and that could only grow into something more dangerous—-and, in fact, did under Trump’s presidency. For this reason—-and all of the others previously cited—-“American Psycho” is, in my opinion, a vital American literary classic....more
Halloween is right around the corner. To celebrate and get in the spirit, I have been reading a plethora of spooky novels that have been on my list foHalloween is right around the corner. To celebrate and get in the spirit, I have been reading a plethora of spooky novels that have been on my list for years. One of those is Roger Zelazny’s “A Night in Lonesome October”. Published in 1993, the book was, sadly, the last book Zelazny published before he died two years later.
I had heard about this book (on Goodreads, of course), but it was just one of those “to read” books that sat on my virtual shelf for years. It is often rated up there with Ray Bradbury’s “The October Country” and on lists with books by Neil Gaiman and Clive Barker.
But wait: isn’t Zelazny best known for his science fiction? Why is he listed with authors better known for horror or dark fantasy?
Who cares? “A Night in Lonesome October” is a great book, regardless of how one classifies it. Straddling a fine line between cosmic horror, Victorian-era gothic romance, and dark comedy, Zelazny’s novel is a love letter to old monster movies and classic horror authors like Mary Shelley, Edgar Allan Poe, Bram Stoker, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, H.P. Lovecraft, and Ray Bradbury (a contemporary of Zelazny’s but clearly one he respected enough to emulate).
It probably won’t be spoiling anything by saying that the novel is narrated by an intrepid hound-dog named Snuff. His job is to keep Things from escaping into our world. His master, Jack, is a sorcerer of some kind. They are involved in a particular Game, one that has been played for eons. Its players are playing for high stakes: on the one side are those that want to open the inter-dimensional gates to let in the Elder Gods, which would mean the end of humanity as we know it. On the other side, of course, are those that want to close the gates and let humanity live.
The players are: the Good Doctor and his hulking Experiment, a man apparently built from body parts of other men; Larry Talbot, who is cursed to turn into a werewolf every full moon; the Vicar, who appears to be grooming his own stepdaughter to be a sacrifice to the Elder Gods; the Count, a very old vampire from the Old Country; and a sorceress named Jill. Oh, and don’t forget the Great Detective, with his limping partner, who is trying to solve a series of murders that are linked to this so-called Game. There are, of course, the familiars. Snuff is Jack’s familiar. There is also a cat, a snake, and an owl, all of which also play an important part in the story.
If you don’t like talking dogs, cosmic horror, dark comedy, or books that make you second-guess character’s motives until the very last page, then this book isn’t for you. If, however, you love books like Bradbury’s “Something Wicked This Way Comes” and Gaiman’s “The Sandman” graphic novel series, then this will be a natural win....more
Robert Kirkman, the writer of Marvel Zombies, approached the series from a very unique perspective. Most zombie stories (including his own graphic novRobert Kirkman, the writer of Marvel Zombies, approached the series from a very unique perspective. Most zombie stories (including his own graphic novel series The Walking Dead) focused on the humans at the heart of the zombie apocalypse, struggling to survive the undead hordes. Marvel Zombies tells the story from the point of view of the zombies themselves. This makes all the difference.
What makes MZ fun (and, frankly, extremely disturbing) is the fact that the superhero zombies have still retained their intelligence. They are just as bewildered and horrified by their own actions as the human survivors (a quickly dwindling food source), but their hunger for human flesh is overpowering. Kirkman plays up this jarring cognitive dissonance to the hilt, and it’s what keeps the momentum going.
There is something both funny and cringe-worthy about hearing zombie-Peter Parker crying about the fact that he had just eaten his wife, Mary Jane, and Aunt May. Or how about this extremely dark thought by Ant-man: “I like the way flesh tastes. Really, I do. If I were to somehow find a cure for whatever’s going on with us—-if things went back to the way they were… or as close as they could get… I think I’d still eat people.”
In case you haven’t guessed, this series is so NOT for kids....more
To reveal the horrors at the heart of Grady Hendrix’s novel “How to Sell a Haunted House” would be an unforgivable spoiler, so I will only talk about To reveal the horrors at the heart of Grady Hendrix’s novel “How to Sell a Haunted House” would be an unforgivable spoiler, so I will only talk about my own very personal take-aways.
First off, let me say that Hendrix has succeeded in creating his own genre, what I call “Southern suburban horror tear-jerkers”. He can tell a damn good creepy horror story, but his real gift is finding the humanity and the heart that’s buried (not too) deeply within the horror.
Many people can probably relate well to the family dynamics in “HTSAHH”. The family is, not to put too fine a point on it, dysfunctional as fuck, and it’s apparent that the dysfunction has only gotten worse over the years, as nobody in the family wants to deal with it.
The novel begins with Louise, who lives in San Francisco with her four-year-old daughter, receiving the call that every person dreads: the death of a parent. In her case, though, it is both parents, in a car accident. She immediately flies out to her hometown of Charleston, South Carolina for the funeral arrangements and settling affairs.
Immediately, she starts butting heads with her incorrigible brother, Mark. They are as different as night and day: Louise has a job and responsibilities, Mark is chronically unemployed and pathologically lazy; Louise thinks about the future, Mark only seems to care about the here and now; Louise is raising a child, Mark is a child.
To make things worse, there is the confusion of the Will. The house, and everything in it, is bequeathed to only one of the siblings. Thus begins a fight for the estate, until it is discovered that the house is haunted. Truly, literally haunted. And it all seems to stem from an incident in their childhood that nobody in the family wants to talk about.
This is where Hendrix resonated the most with me. Indeed, there were several things that Hendrix captured really well about family dynamics, but the most significant point is the idea of keeping secrets.
There are some families where the parents are honest and open with their kids. There are some families in which children aren’t afraid to talk about stuff with their parents, stuff like God and religion and death and sex. There are some families that would never think of holding anything back or keeping secrets from each other.
This was not my family.
While I’m sure they did it out of love, my parents kept many things from my sister and me. They spent their whole lives doing it. My father, who died in early February this year, died, I’m sure, leaving many things unspoken. I know that my mom keeps many secrets from us, and I’m afraid that she will go to her grave with those secrets. Because of this, my sister and I have always felt that some things are better left unspoken. Some things should be kept a secret.
Thanks to my wife, a teacher who has training as a trauma counselor and who comes from a family where nothing is a secret, I have learned how unhealthy this mentality is. It also doesn’t make logical sense: you can’t help someone with a problem if you don’t know that they have a problem.
Allow me to vent: My father, whom I loved greatly, had a life-long inability to ask for help. This became increasingly more problematic in the last couple years, where his health began to deteriorate. In 2020, the year Covid struck, my dad nearly died in the hospital due to a gall bladder that went septic. He had been in major pain, probably for months, but never went to a doctor. It was only until the pain became totally unbearable that I took him to the hospital. I remember sitting at the bedside in the ER as doctors rushed in and out of the room. One has not known fear until one has watched sheer terror in the face of an ER doctor who is treating a loved one.
He miraculously pulled through, but it would not be the last time he’d be sent to the hospital. Every time he went it was because he waited too long to see a doctor. I would go with him to the doctor, and he would lie to the doctor about feeling pain. On more than one occasion, I had to tell the doctor what my dad had confided in me, as if he was ashamed to tell the doctor himself. I never understood this.
In January, when he went to the hospital with what started as a chest cold (or so we thought), I had to force him to go to the hospital. He was actually angry at me for making him. Unfortunately, three weeks later, he died of pneumonia. I now live with this constant notion that my dad died somewhat angry at me for forcing him to go to that hospital, that if he had somehow kept quiet about his chest pains, he would still be alive. I know that’s not true, but it’s dysfunctional thinking that comes from years of being part of a dysfunctional family.
Secrets are what helped to kill my dad, and I don’t want to do that to my wife and daughter.
As Hendrix so aptly illustrates in this novel, every family’s house is haunted in some way. It’s only in bringing things out in the open and talking about stuff that we can fully exorcise the demons and ghosts that haunt our lives. ...more
Spoiler alert: In which I try not to give too much away but inadvertently reveal a lot more, probably, than I should have, for which I am very sorry. Spoiler alert: In which I try not to give too much away but inadvertently reveal a lot more, probably, than I should have, for which I am very sorry. But you’ve been warned…
Gus Moreno’s debut novel “This Thing Between Us” has my vote for Best Horror Novel of 2021, in a year that has, apparently, produced a lot of excellent horror novels.
Moreno is part of this New Weird Horror trend that seems to have taken off in the last few years, spearheaded by authors like Stephen Graham Jones, Catriona Ward, Paul Tremblay, Cassandra Khaw, Grady Hendrix, Tiffany D. Jackson, just to name a few that have received positive buzz.
I can’t say that I have read even a few of the horror novels in the past year. Hell, I recently discovered Stephen Graham Jones and Grady Hendrix, so I’ve got a lot of catching up to do…
That said, It’s been hard not to notice a renaissance of extremely exciting new horror voices out there, all of them bringing their own unique twists and brand of horror.
Moreno’s novel does many things well, not the least of which is overturning the reader’s expectations at every page.
Here I was, going into the book thinking it was going to be a darkly humorous examination about our exhausting fascination with technology. The protagonist, who is dealing with the recent death of his wife, blames the death on the purchase of a smart speaker called an Itza (a thinly-veiled Alexa) that essentially takes on a life of its own, playing loud music at odd hours of the night, ordering ridiculous packages like a dozen pink dildos, and re-setting alarms so that you’re late for work. It’s “Christine” for the millennial set.
Then, not even half-way through, the book becomes something else, something darker. It starts going all “Hereditary”, replete with pentagrams and animal sacrifice and ancient Mexican demons called the Cucuy, which is commonly called the “Mexican boogeyman”.
Then there’s this (not-so-funny) nod to Stephen King’s “Cujo” which erupts into so much amazing blood and guts: again, not what I was expecting.
Then it becomes this Lovecraftian cosmic horror straight out of a Laird Barron story.
Then it becomes a tearjerker about the protagonist’s inability to deal with grief and depression about losing his wife, and how it affects his other relationships, and how emotionally fragile we are as humans.
It’s also a love story.
It manages, somehow, to be each one of these things all in one, but it never feels disjointed or awkward. On the contrary, it flows beautifully, like a boat cruise through the nine levels of Hell.
This is true horror, in every sense of the word, which is why it gets my vote for Best Horror Novel of the year....more
Ever read those old EC comics from the 1950s, the ones with titles like “Tales From the Crypt” or “True Crime Stories”, with lurid covers of innocent Ever read those old EC comics from the 1950s, the ones with titles like “Tales From the Crypt” or “True Crime Stories”, with lurid covers of innocent young damsels being chased or grabbed by slimy monsters or knife-wielding maniacs?
Apparently, Joe Hill did, too. Lots of them.
He’s captured the feel of those comics perfectly in his graphic novel series “Basketful of Heads”, a crime-noir thriller with a supernatural twist and a streak of dark humor.
Written by Hill and drawn by Leomacs, “Basketful of Heads” is the story of June Branch, an under-estimated bubbly blonde who gets caught up in a blood-drenched nightmare in a summer beach town in Maine in 1983.
When four escaped convicts end up on Brody Island during a storm following a black-out, June finds herself stuck in a huge summer home, alone, with nothing but an old Viking battle-axe. Oh, wait, she’s got a battle-axe.
The heads roll in this one, literally, as June single-handedly polishes off the villains one at a time. Here’s the twist: the heads don’t die. They are fully aware and talking and June, being a Good Samaritan, keeps them in a basket.
With each kill, June learns a little bit about what is going on on Brody Island, none of it good. Unfortunately, she isn’t sure who to trust. Thankfully, she has the axe.
Not for the squeamish, Hill’s ‘80s crime-slasher-comedy is both hilarious and twisted, with gore-a-plenty.
This is, apparently, part of DC’s new Black Label and one of four titles written by Hill, who (in case you didn’t know) is the son of Stephen King. An excellent horror writer in his own right, Hill nails it with this one. It’s “heads” above a lot of horror comic series out there. (See what I did there?)...more
Undiscovered Country, the graphic novel series from the writing team of Scott Snyder and Charles Soule, is really weird. I happen to like really weirdUndiscovered Country, the graphic novel series from the writing team of Scott Snyder and Charles Soule, is really weird. I happen to like really weird, but I can see why some might not like it.
Structurally, the story reads like a video game. You have a small group of protagonists—-your avatars—-who are stuck in a kind of futuristic version of the United States. They must make their way through thirteen different levels (representing the original thirteen colonies, each colony set up as a manifestation of a particularly American “ideal”) in order to hopefully find a cure to a world-wide plague.
In the first volume, our heroes survived the “Mad Max”-like desert frontier wasteland of the colony known as Destiny. In Volume 2, “Unity”, we learn that the experiment that was begun roughly 30 years prior to the events of the story, the one that was initiated by the complete shutdown of the U.S. borders, was an attempt by a secret cabal of scientists (for lack of a better term, a “deep state”) to create a completely self-sufficient and independent United States, one that would fulfill a growing percentage of the population’s desire to be totally isolationist. It’s basically a xenophobic dream come true.
Of course, as any Great Experiment is wont to do, things immediately started going wrong. The main scientists behind the Experiment, led by Dr. Sam Elgin, tried to press the “abort” button. Unsuccessfully.
Fast forward thirty years. Now our protagonists have pulled their train-car into the next Zone, a colony known as Unity. It appears to be a utopia of technological advancement, a glorious land o’plenty. Appearances can be deceiving, though. In this volume, we learn the horrible price that the inhabitants of Unity have paid for their utopic vision.
There’s a lot of great ideas bouncing around in this graphic novel series, but, at times, it seems like a huge chaotic mess in which the authors can’t quite decide whether they are writing a straight sci-fi action/adventure, a satirical examination and castigation of American Exceptionalism, or an extrapolated fever dream parable of the post-Trump world.
Whatever. I dig it. It’s my kind of weird. It may not be yours, though....more
Kelly Sue DeConnick and Valentine De Landro’s graphic novel series Bitch Planet is a terrifying vision of the future in which a bunch of nasty women tKelly Sue DeConnick and Valentine De Landro’s graphic novel series Bitch Planet is a terrifying vision of the future in which a bunch of nasty women try to overthrow the patriarchy. Rather than just settle for being vapid sexual playthings and doting little housewives, these non-compliant uppity wenches have the audacity to question male authority.
Don’t they know how good they’ve got it, being treated like princesses all the time? (Unless, of course, they get too fat, or hairy, or their vajajay starts stankin’, and then it’s a one-way ticket to Bitch Planet.) I mean, what’s a little objectification or sexual abuse when it earns them a nice roof over their dumb little heads, the latest in high fashion, and jewelry galore.
We all know that school’s too tough for these chicks, and most women (the ones you’d wanna bang anyway) couldn’t lift a hammer or nail to do anything constructive, so a life of luxury and an occasional non-consensual blowjob certainly isn’t too much to ask. Am I right, guys?
DeConnick and De Landro’s graphic novel series is way too subversive for their own good. They’re a bit “too” smart, if you know what I mean. Their attempt to make us sympathize and feel bad for the women stuck on Bitch Planet is shameless touchy-feely girl-thinking at its worst. I mean, what’s next? Women can play sports? Write better comic books? Be Vice-President? Ha!
Guys, just stick to those superhero comics in which huge-muscled bulging guys wearing tight spandex wrestle around for pages, sweating profusely. You know: good ol’ heterosexual manly stuff....more
In the distant future, the U.S. will finally build the Wall, and it will be far more efficient than Trump ever imagined. It won’t just keep Mexicans oIn the distant future, the U.S. will finally build the Wall, and it will be far more efficient than Trump ever imagined. It won’t just keep Mexicans out. It will keep the entire world from crossing the border. Of course, the downside is that it will also keep Americans trapped within.
This is the unsettling, strange, and subtly satirical dystopic vision of the graphic novel series Undiscovered Country, written by Scott Snyder and Charles Soule, two of the most popular writers currently working in the comic book field today.
Future history will call it the Sealing: One day, the U.S. shut its borders down completely—-no one in or out—-and for the subsequent 30 years, the rest of the world simply went about its business, never knowing what was happening on the other side of the Wall. For a good chunk of the world, this was a good thing, as the U.S. was, historically, incredibly nosy, arrogant, and dangerous.
Then, one day, a message from within the interior of the former U.S. is sent to the world. It’s an invitation, but it’s an invitation for only seven specific people. The seven have no idea why they were chosen or what to expect.
Volume 1, “Destiny”, begins as our protagonists are on approach to the western coast of the former U.S. All they know is that they have been promised a meeting and a potential cure for a deadly virus that is reaching pandemic stages throughout the rest of the world. Within minutes of entering U.S. airspace, they are shot down by a missile.
They survive, only to find a world that bears little to no resemblance to their individual memories and knowledge of the U.S. Weirdly unnatural creatures—-most likely genetically modified—-roam the land. The population has become hyper-tribal, and most don’t even look human anymore. They look like a cross between the Sand People from “Star Wars” and members of the punk band “Gwar”. Pockets of humanity survive in underground areas, led by a scientist named Sam (who bears a not-so-subtle resemblance to the symbolic Uncle Sam). These humans call themselves “The Silent Minority”.
The humor is dark, but it’s there. Snyder/Soule are clearly having fun excoriating the imperialistic yet isolationistic superiority complex of Ugly Americans. Hell, some of the humor is so on-point, it’s no longer really that funny in a post-Trump/post-January 6, 2021 Capitol Insurrection world.
I mean, do you laugh or cringe when one of the psychotic American villains spouts jingoistic bullshit like “Don’t Tread on Me” or Charleton Heston’s pro-gun mantra “From my cold, dead hands” right before he kills someone? Because I’m pretty sure some Trump-humping gun nut assholes were saying the same shit on January 6 when they were beating a Capitol police officer over the head with a flagpole waving a Confederate flag. ...more
This book didn't get a great reception when it came out, but I loved it. Cole, known for her romance novels, wrote a clever little thriller about gentThis book didn't get a great reception when it came out, but I loved it. Cole, known for her romance novels, wrote a clever little thriller about gentrification. It starts out like a cutesy romance novel, but the out-of-left-field sci-fi/horror ending, I thought, was brilliant. I read this way back in January 2021.
Remember this classic SNL skit from 1984 with Eddie Murphy? (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l_LeJ...). It’s as relevant today as it was then; the only difference being that the term “white privilege” (supposedly coined by W.E.B. DuBois in the 1930s) did not come into common parlance until roughly the late-1980s.
Today, the term has taken on a clearer and more frightening meaning. It’s evident in the inequities in our society brought about by the pandemic (twice the number of black people have died from the disease than white people. https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-...).
And while imprisonment rates have declined in general, black people are still imprisoned at six times the rate of white people (https://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank...).
In general, despite those who continue to believe that we live in a “post-racist” society, the truth is: it’s still more beneficial and safer to be a white person in this country than it is to be a black person. Whether you like to admit it or not, white privilege exists, and if you’re white, you are benefiting from it in some way.
In 2017, comedian/director Jordan Peele rocked the horror genre and the national dialogue about Race with his brilliant horror-comedy “Get Out”, an updated version of Murphy’s classic SNL skit, only with a more terrifying implication: Watch out, black people—-white people are out to get you. The (very dark) humor comes from the fact that white people aren’t necessarily out to get black people due to racial hatred but, on the contrary, because they are jealous. Of black people’s sexual prowess, athletic ability, musical talent, etc. These “positive” stereotypes are, in fact, just as patronizing and damaging as negative ones.
Alyssa Cole’s new novel “When No One is Watching” is a brilliant follow-up to Peele’s film in its dark satirical humor and spot-on social criticism and castigation of white privilege.
In a nutshell, Cole’s novel is about the insidious practice of gentrification, which, on paper, looks good until one sees the effects it has on the real, flesh-and-blood people it is displacing. Cole also takes it one step further by insinuating that the wealthier groups (read: white) moving into the area aren’t dispersing the poorer groups out into the suburbs but, instead, have something far more nefarious in mind. To say more would be spoilers.
Cole is best known for her series of romance novels, and she uses this to her advantage in this novel.
The first half starts out with romantic potential as the protagonist, Sydney, a life-long resident of her beloved Brooklyn neighborhood, meets Theo, a white guy that just moved in to the brownstone across the street. He’s friendly, but Sydney finds him naive, especially when it comes to the realities of being Black in America. On the flipside, Theo likes Sydney but has no idea how to crack her tough shell.
It’s “meet cute” until weird things start happening. Black neighbors of Sydney’s begin to disappear, their homes suddenly put on the market and immediately bought by white yuppie couples. Black-owned businesses start getting bought up by white owners. A new multi-billion dollar facility for a pharmaceutical company is being railroaded through city council despite widespread protests and criticism.
Then, things just get crazier. As Sydney and Theo start playing reluctant detectives, they discover a conspiracy happening in plain sight.
The ending may seem jarring, given the first half of the book, but Cole wisely takes us into horror movie territory for a reason. It might seem ridiculous—-and a month ago, it might have been so—-but we are currently living in a world where white privilege has gotten meaner, uglier, and deadlier. Just check the news, and/or look outside your window....more
Imagine Gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson accidentally sent to the near future and forced to send dispatches about the absurdity of American cultureImagine Gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson accidentally sent to the near future and forced to send dispatches about the absurdity of American culture and politics.
This is essentially the premise of Warren Ellis’s colorfully crazy long-running graphic novel series from 1997, “Transmetropolitan”. Ridiculously profane, wildly intelligent, and shockingly humane, Ellis’s series ran for six years under DC’s Vertigo line.
Volume 1, “Back on the Street”, introduces us to bad-boy gonzo journalist Spider Jerusalem, who has been living off the grid in the country after spending years working for a major newspaper in the City. When Jerusalem gets called back by his editor, he reluctantly goes. With the help of an assistant named Charrow, a gorgeous ex-stripper looking to break into journalism, Jerusalem is back to fighting the good fight against mega-corporations, corrupt politicians, and public apathy.
In this volume: Jerusalem tries to shine a light on a voiceless segment of the population that is routinely beaten by brutal police officers and wrongly vilified as violent rioters and looters; the President of the U.S. is an unethical businessman whose policies only seem to help himself and his big-money donors; there are millions of channels of television that inundate people’s minds with brain-destroying garbage; Jerusalem explodes against a tyranny of pseudo-religions and cults that prey on weak-minded people.
Did I mention that Ellis was writing this in ’97? Reading this series in 2022 is like looking in a fucking mirror, I swear to God…...more
Starting now, I’ve decided to devote the next month and a half to reading nothing but ghost stories, haunted house stories, and just good ol’-fashioneStarting now, I’ve decided to devote the next month and a half to reading nothing but ghost stories, haunted house stories, and just good ol’-fashioned horror novels, in honor of the upcoming holiday (my personal favorite) of All Hallow’s Eve, better known as Halloween.
My inaugural read is the short (adorable, really) novella, “The Grownup”, by Gillian Flynn, of “Gone Girl” fame. I’m a huge fan, because she proves that girls can be just as raunchy, perverted, and sexually obsessed as guys.
Truth be told, this isn’t really a horror story. It’s actually a pretty twisted tale of lechery, jealousy, and feminine misogyny disguised as a haunted house story. But funny as hell. With lots of handjobs.
I won’t spoil the fun, other than to say that the protagonist---a con-artist---discovers what it’s like to be on the receiving end of a con. Twice.
Does she deserve it? Probably. Then again, the story is also a not-so-subtle examination of adulting. (Hence the title.) Anyone who is an adult, deep down, knows that adulting sucks: worrying about the future, kids, failing body parts, dying. Who wants or needs that responsibility?
Flynn likes to throw that shit in the reader’s faces because she knows adults will read her books and secretly wish that they can do the nasty anti-social shit that her protagonists do. Outwardly, they will be disgusted because that’s what society tells us we should be at such behavior, but she knows that everyone, occasionally, deep down, would love to get away with murder.
While parts of Kelly Sue Deconnick and Valentine De Landro’s graphic novel series “Bitch Planet” are funny, it’s the kind of funny that makes you uncoWhile parts of Kelly Sue Deconnick and Valentine De Landro’s graphic novel series “Bitch Planet” are funny, it’s the kind of funny that makes you uncomfortable laughing at, especially if you’re a male. I suppose, though, if you don’t find it uncomfortably funny, but rather just hilariously funny, then you are precisely the kind of male-chauvinistic assholes that Deconnick/Landro are making fun of.
“Bitch Planet” is science fiction at its most thought-provoking and politically savvy. It’s clearly a product of its time—the Trump Era—-and place—-the United States of America—-in its depiction of a country run by extremely wealthy white males who see women as secondary citizens, at best. At worst, women are property or accessories, like cars. It’s always good to have the new model. Old models or clunkers are sent to another planet, literally. Women who are “non-compliant” (i.e. too fat, too ugly, too assertive, etc.) are sent to this planet, too. It’s basically a women’s reformatory, but let’s be honest: nobody’s being reformed. It’s Bitch Planet.
The frightening thing about this series is how eerily it parallels the real world. It has only been a century since women were able to legally vote in this country. Up until the 20th century, women were treated as cattle, baby-factories for their husbands. Popping out kids for the growing workforce was all that they were good for. Woe to any woman who had an opinion for herself, especially if it ran counter to her husbands’.
It may be hard to believe, but there are countries right now in the world that still force women into submissive roles. Women in these countries are barred from voting, getting an education, or filing charges against their husbands. Spousal rape is a real thing.
Fuck, there are assholes in this country who still believe that it’s okay to forcibly have sex with their wives.
We just had four years of a douche-bag president who bragged about his sexual assault of women and who, over a span of 50 years, has racked up over thirty accusations and lawsuits of sexual assault and rape. And people still voted for him.*
So, “Bitch Planet” may be science fiction, but it’s the best kind of sci-fi, the kind that makes one stop and think, “Damn, that’s happening here and now.”
*7/30/2025 addendum: I wrote this review back in May 2021, so I think you all know who I'm talking about. If not, here's a clue: it rhymes with "Bomald Scrump"......more
In 2003, the United States began an invasion of the country of Iraq, the first campaign of what was called “Operation Iraqi Freedom”, in what some schIn 2003, the United States began an invasion of the country of Iraq, the first campaign of what was called “Operation Iraqi Freedom”, in what some scholars and historians consider to be an unwarranted, immoral, and illegal war. That the war criminal, President George W. Bush, will never see a war crimes tribunal or serve time in prison is a given. People like Bush are somehow endowed with impunity, while hundreds of thousands of mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, and children of American and Iraqi casualties will forever suffer their loss as a result of Bush’s ill-conceived and poorly-executed war. There is no justice for people like Bush in this world.
Of course, whether one believes in God or not, it’s quite tempting and morally satisfying to believe that there exists a justice that is above human justice, where criminals like Bush will one day see his comeuppance. It may take a while, and we may never see it, but it’s a pleasant thought. It’s this kind of thinking, however, that muddles a person’s spiritual core because no matter how much we try to spin it, the Old Testament belief in “an eye for an eye” doesn’t quite conform with the idea of “Christian forgiveness”.
Violence begets violence. It’s an age-old axiom that every generation seems to forget or ignore. To be fair, though, watching your loved ones killed by bombs---regardless of whether they are strapped to a suicidal martyr or dropped from U.S. jetfighters---will justifiably enrage one to unthinking, irrational acts of violence: crimes of passion, if you will. As Kurt Vonnegut so aptly put it, “So it goes...”
The nature and absurdity of violence is the theme of the weirdest (and most fascinating, strangely spiritual, funniest, and most depressing) novel I’ve read this year. Ahmed Saadawi’s “Frankenstein in Baghdad” is precisely what the title suggests. Essentially an updated version of Mary Shelley’s horror classic “Frankenstein”, Saadawi’s novel is a very dark comedy with brutal real-world horror elements and a seemingly out-of-place magic realism that manages to fit perfectly in the fucked-up world that the novel portrays.
There are many characters in “Frankenstein in Baghdad”, but the four most significant players each represent a distinct aspect of human nature.
Hadi: the old junk dealer who is well-known in the community if not well-liked. He scavenges bomb sites for anything of value. He also has taken to scavenging human body parts, which he stitches together into a single body in the back room of his shop. The idea is to eventually hand it over to the authorities, so that the government will acknowledge the many hundreds of innocent casualties. Unfortunately, the body---which magically and inexplicably comes to life one night---has other plans. Hadi represents the greed and self-interest in humans, vices that will come back to haunt him.
Mahmoud: the naive young journalist who stumbles upon the story of a lifetime. He’s not even sure he believes that there is a supernatural monster roaming the streets of Baghdad, seeking justice for the crimes against the innocent victims that comprise his disparate body parts, but he knows that it makes for great copy, and it’s helping to boost his career. Mahmoud represents idealism that is inevitably corrupted.
Elishva: the old Christian lady in town that everyone respects but knows isn’t quite right in the head. She sits at home everyday, staring at a painting of St. George and the Dragon, praying, and waiting patiently for her son to come back home from a war that he died in 20 years ago. She is, miraculously, about to have her wish come true. Elishva represents human compassion and forgiveness.
The Monster, a.k.a. “Frankenstein in Baghdad”. a.k.a. Whatsitsname: Extremely erudite and well-spoken, the Monster has a compulsion to find the ones responsible for the deaths of the victims of which he is comprised. Unfortunately, his motives become clouded when a group of Iraqis begin to idolize him and worship him as a cult leader/deity. When they begin replacing his rapidly-deteriorating body with body parts from criminals and terrorists, things go from bad to worse. The Monster represents the very human desire for revenge, which is inherently self-serving and ultimately self-destructive.
Within what is essentially a horror-comedy social satire, Saadawi manages to create a very moving and humane examination of the aftermath of the 2003 U.S. invasion of Iraq. Never once does Saadawi point fingers at the U.S. or the corrupt Iraqi government or even terrorist groups such as Al-Qaida. As one character realizes at one point, no innocent bystander is ever completely innocent, and no criminal is ever completely criminal. ...more