What, or who, do these stories remind me of? Anna Kavan, perhaps? Keith Ridgway, Hugo Wilcken, Jen George? Bits of Sam Thompson's Communion Town, bitsWhat, or who, do these stories remind me of? Anna Kavan, perhaps? Keith Ridgway, Hugo Wilcken, Jen George? Bits of Sam Thompson's Communion Town, bits of Rob Doyle's This is the Ritual. A Christopher Priest novel I never finished reading. The Portals of London blog. I know there are other things lurking around the edges, though, things I wouldn't necessarily clutch at when thinking about fiction at all. Like when I worked in an office with a meeting room that had a door in the corner nobody ever opened, and how I always imagined that if I opened it, there'd be a sheer drop into black nothingness – like the way that door made me feel. The stories in You Should Come With Me Now are 'weird' in the most inexpressible ways, weird in their very DNA.
I haven't read M. John Harrison before, aside from a single story in the Curious Tales anthology Poor Souls’ Light. (That story, 'Animals', is included here, and it's interesting to see how context changes it.) There are 42 stories collected in You Should Come With Me Now, just over half of which are one-page flash-fiction pieces. Some have connections between them; others don't explicitly, but just feel like they are taking place in the same altered world as one another. Some are almost ordinary: 'Animals' is a contemplative Alison Moore-esque tale about a woman staying in a holiday cottage and hearing voices, which might be ghosts or memories – if, of course, those things can be distinguished from one another. Others are outright fantastical: in 'Keep Smiling (With Great Minutes)', an organism referred to as 'Volsie' emerges from parts of the body (the thigh, stomach, arm); it can manifest as various people or things and carries a phone that's 'black, rubber-coated, the size of a fox'. It's interesting to note how Harrison's distinctive style binds the stories together while it remains difficult to say what that style actually is.
One of the earliest stories, 'In Autotelia', sets the tone. It begins with a perfectly normal-sounding train journey: passengers complaining about lost reservations, the man opposite the narrator annoying her by using his laptop. Then we cross into the strange land of Autotelia, where newcomers are greeted by 'the regional president, a marching band, and an escort of police motorcycles', and gift shops sell Stalin alarm clocks and portraits of Hitler. The narrator's job is to make 'medical checks', which require her to inspect adults' and children's genitals for deformities. On the return journey, there is a process called 'transition', which seems to be something unpleasant, for the Autotelians at least, but remains unexplained; such opacity is typical. Autotelia reappears, or is mentioned, in several other stories. 'Cave & Julia' is set there; we learn Julia 'lost' her brother as a teenager at 'one of the mysterious sites on the karst plateau above the town'. There's an artificial tourist beach which is described like something out of a hazy dream:
Two men were running about on the tideline, throwing something between them. It didn't look like a ball. Heat already blurred the air, resonated from the steep cliffs of the plateau. Cave sat on the sand, and around him everything was suspended in light; everything like a film, wrapped in cameraman sublime, documentary sublime. Light, silhouettes, warmth like a perfect saturated colour, all at once. Distant objects seemed too large.
In 'Yummie', a man called Short has a heart attack, and starts seeing visions of a round-headed person who calls out for someone or something called 'Yummie' and makes pronouncements that walk the line between funny and perturbing: 'Those chickens waiting outside for you now? They are your chickens. You deny them, but I see they follow you with great persistence.' These oddly humorous supernatural encounters are contrasted with the banal dread that accompanies tasks like attending a hospital appointment or remembering to take the correct medication. 'Elf Land: The Lost Palaces' and 'Royal Estate' do a similar thing by situating fantasy characters in dull everyday contexts – an elf queen shows prospective buyers around her home; a princess watches QVC.
Geography and architecture are important, never more so than in 'Entertaining Angels Unawares', one of the least outwardly strange stories, at least at first. The narrator is a labourer who gets a job helping to restore a church in a small Yorkshire town. It's a wonderful portrait of how people navigate the emotional and spiritual effects of their environment without having precise language for it; a psychogeographical journey with someone who would never, ever call it that. The strangeness comes from a violent recurring dream the narrator's colleague has; the way the narrator sometimes chooses to describe things in anomalous ways ('it was rainforest Britain in the second year of Century 21'); his unnerving request to 'share' the dream; and his final actions, entirely random yet somehow frightening.
People run away from themselves – 'Cicisbeo' has a man escaping from his family by withdrawing to the attic, and the protagonist of 'The Good Detective' searches for those 'who go missing in their own lives'. Several stories end with a soothing description of a humdrum act: chopping wood ('The Good Detective'); observing a family standing with their broken-down car ('Dog People'); reading someone else's description of you ('In Autotelia'). If this book was a sound it would be near-silent, white noise – the sound of rain on a window or dead air on a radio – something comforting and very slightly sinister at once.
I've read many other novels and stories that attempt to document the intersections between the strange and the mundane; the beauty of this approach is that there's so much mileage in it, it always feels fresh. There are so many different ways to approach the familiar-yet-not. This book is a gathering of the type of stories that lodge themselves in your head, conjure up startling images and refuse to stop circling around your memory.
Favourite stories: 'Entertaining Angels Unawares', 'Yummie', 'Earth Advengers', 'The Crisis', 'The Theory Cadre', 'Jack of Mercy's', 'Self-Storage'. Least favourite: 'The Old Fox' – I was really thrown out of the book's otherwise mesmerising mood by the apparent fetishisation of anorexia in this.
A brief but enjoyable ghostly tale. On Boxing Day, a policewoman visits the home of a newly widowed woman to break the news of her husband's death in A brief but enjoyable ghostly tale. On Boxing Day, a policewoman visits the home of a newly widowed woman to break the news of her husband's death in a landslide some days earlier. Having seen the body herself, PC Maxine Derbyshire is stunned when the woman insists her husband was with the family on Christmas Day. There are even videos to prove it. How is this possible? And who is the shadowy figure who seems to be stalking Maxine?
The story itself is really good, and I'd like to read more in this vein from Naughton. Unfortunately, it seems to have been published mainly as a marketing tool: more than 50% of the ebook consists of an extract from the author's forthcoming thriller. Having not heard of the author before, and being far more interested in the ghostly side of things than yet another relationship-based psychological thriller, this was disappointing.
The town is called Caesura, but everyone knows it as 'the Blinds'. Its residents are either criminals or 'innocents', that is, witnesses; none of themThe town is called Caesura, but everyone knows it as 'the Blinds'. Its residents are either criminals or 'innocents', that is, witnesses; none of them know which, because in return for a place in the community of the Blinds, they've agreed to the erasure of the part of their memory that contains the crime they committed or observed. They can choose to leave, but if they do, they can never return, and they will be offered no protection from whatever lies beyond the town's walls. For eight years, Caesura has existed in relative harmony. It's a quiet, old-fashioned place where entertainment is limited to second-hand books and VHS tapes, and authority is represented by an amateur sheriff with a staff of two. Then someone is murdered. What happens when a violent crime is committed in a place like this? Well, as it turns out, the entire construct begins to fall apart.
The Blinds isn't quite as futuristic as the premise suggests: in fact, with its somewhat lawless atmosphere, lack of modern technology and dusty small-town setting, it's more western than sci-fi. Sternbergh fills Caesura with compelling characters: a single mother who is increasingly aware the town is no place for her son; a young woman, newly arrived, who's there to exorcise a demon from her past; the sheriff, a conflicted man with a truckload of secrets. The narrative spans just a week as identities start being revealed all over the place and the community rapidly im/explodes, sometimes quite literally. Along the way there's a touching (albeit twisted) love story and a bit of conspiracyish backstory about how and why the place came to be created. I really enjoyed the ride, and would definitely read more by Sternbergh.
Assembled by indie publisher Iron Press, Cold Iron is a compilation of 17 tales 'paying homage to the tradition of the ghost story and placing it firmAssembled by indie publisher Iron Press, Cold Iron is a compilation of 17 tales 'paying homage to the tradition of the ghost story and placing it firmly in the context of our own times'. The only critera for submission: that the story should 'contain a ghost' and be set in the present day. Some of the authors are new writers, while others are more established (for what it's worth, the only name I recognised was Matt Wesolowski, author of the horror-thriller novel Six Stories).
As the introduction reminds us, many ghost stories now considered classics were, at the time of their publication, bang up to date, engaging with the threat represented by new technologies and developments in culture. Among the 21st-century hauntings offered up here are ghosts at football matches and on buses and in supermarkets, or even brought home from a charity shop; there are unusual interpretations of what a 'ghost' might be alongside more traditional apparitions. These are quick stories, bite-sized and moreish.
My favourites were... 'The Last Checkout' by Wendy Robertson. A recently widowed woman has a disconcerting encounter while doing her weekly shopping. An effective portrait of a character rediscovering herself. 'The Undertaker's Boy' by Karen Turner. An undertaker finds his work experience assignment has an unnerving habit of reeling off facts about the dead. One of the more traditional plots in the book, but beautifully done. 'Playing In Their Own Time' by Tracy Fahey. A crew filming a ghost-hunting show think they might have caught a real haunting on tape. This feels fully realised, and I totally believed in the characters. 'The Installation' by Noreen Rees. After his girlfriend leaves, a lonely man is visited by a TV installation guy; he's got the wrong house, but our protagonist is glad of the company. I think this might have been my favourite of the lot – it has some really strong imagery and uses humour well. 'A Trick of the Light' by Andrew Jones. A simple but wonderfully evocative tale that has the feel of a classic about it. 'Appropriation' by Michael James Parker. Jess is delighted to bag a valuable pair of Chinese hair sandals at a bargain price. Little does she know that there'll be a different sort of price to pay for bringing them into her home. One of the most original stories, this is both funny and scary. 'The Last Bus Home' by Andrea Stephenson. A newly qualified bus driver picks up a strange passenger, and finds herself reckoning with a local myth. Atmospheric, authentic and sinister; a perfect ending to the book.
A high-quality collection of short crime stories – I really liked all six; in fact it's hard to pick a favourite. There's something comforting and famA high-quality collection of short crime stories – I really liked all six; in fact it's hard to pick a favourite. There's something comforting and familiar about them, but they're also laced with humour and just a little bit of cynicism.
The Yo-Yo (2006) Now in his seventies, the narrator comes across a yo-yo among some old personal papers. What connects this innocuous object with a crime he witnessed at the age of thirteen? The rest of the story tells us, with plenty of cosy, quintessentially British details which are ultimately ruptured by an act of violence.
The Victim (1973) 'You know Princess Ilsa Mancelli, of course...' The narrator is the cuckolded first husband of the luminous Ilsa – except he knew her when she was a small-town girl named Elsie Bowman. They marry when Elsie is just 17, and her affection doesn't last long. When he discovers her deception, the narrator spends a year planning the perfect crime: a lengthy period of psychological torture followed by the untraceable slaughter of Elsie's lover, Collingford. All seems meticulously plotted, but an ingenious ending turns the story on its head and casts doubt on who, exactly, the 'victim' might be.
The Murder of Santa Claus (1984) An ensemble cast gives this Christmas-themed tale the feel of a crime classic; a TV adaptation would make perfect festive viewing. The mismatched group – including 16-year-old Charles Mickledore and his wealthy uncle, an elderly couple and a successful actress – assemble at a grand house for Christmas celebrations. As the title indicates, it all goes rather horribly wrong. Many years later, Mickledore (now a successful author of crime fiction) writes to the police, finally confessing what he witnessed that night. The pleasure of this lies more in atmosphere than in plot – I didn't really care whodunnit, but the deliciously camp details (like a damning clue turning up on the Christmas tree) were so enjoyable.
The Girl Who Loved Graveyards (1983) 'The girl' is taken to live with her aunt and uncle at ten years old after the deaths of her father and grandmother. She's a lonely child, whose happiest moments are spent wandering in a nearby cemetery. But when she overhears an inexplicable conversation about her father between her relatives, what at first seems (to the reader) a fairly obvious conclusion is slowly revealed to be something far more sinister. Worse still, the girl discovers that she has held the key to this secret all along. A tale of the horror that might lurk inside one's own repressed memories, this reminded me of stories by Daphne du Maurier, Shirley Jackson and Muriel Spark.
A Very Desirable Residence (1976) A teacher and his colleague are fascinated by the private lives of their headmaster and his much younger, yet remarkably meek and frail, wife. The narrator suspects the headmaster of being abusive, so perhaps it isn't all that surprising when the seemingly docile Emily finally snaps and takes violent revenge on him. In this story, it's the criminal's motive that provides the most surprising twist, and it also adds a rather ironic flavour to the eventual outcome.
Mr. Millcroft's Birthday (1992) Lighter and more amusing than most of the rest, this concerns a pair of grasping siblings whose elderly father, now living in a nursing home, makes a startling confession. If the truth comes out, Mildred and Rodney might be cheated of their sizeable inheritance – so they decide to take matters into their own hands and destroy the evidence... Fun and, again, cleverly ironic.
Winter reading for winter weather. Loved the setting (Hull) and the opening chapter: Susannah, whose teenage son Joel has been missing for five years,Winter reading for winter weather. Loved the setting (Hull) and the opening chapter: Susannah, whose teenage son Joel has been missing for five years, visits a fortune-teller. She's given three predictions, including the promise that Joel will come back to her on Christmas Eve. What follows doesn't deliver on the blurb's promise ('a ghostly winter read with a modern gothic flavour') quite as I'd have liked: it combines Susannah's renewed digging into Joel's disappearance with what seem to be apparitions – of the living as well as the dead – and the crumbling of her conviction that all who claim knowledge of 'the other side' are charlatans. Meanwhile, in flashbacks, we learn how Susannah's perfect little family came together and fell apart.
The domestic details of Susannah, John and Joel's life together feel accurate without being mawkish; where there is sweetness, it's tempered by an inevitable fraying at the edges. Parkin is really good at writing children, and this book made me realise how rare that is. The extracts from Susannah's blog, which she writes to warn other grieving parents and relatives about those that may try to con them, are also strong.
But, sigh, there's a bloody romance subplot. Nick is awful: he abruptly turns into an obsessed, lovesick schoolboy over Susannah the minute she shows some interest, despite having known her for years; it's implied he is attracted to both his wife – whose own mental health problems are frequently referenced but never explained – and Susannah because he likes to 'fix' broken people, yet he actively discourages Susannah from seeking psychiatric help when she needs it most. In fact, you could argue that he's the true villain of the story. (And not a very good policeman, either. Would a note from a neighbour who wouldn't even come out of his house to be questioned really be considered strong enough evidence to discount someone as a murder suspect?!)
I'm never quite sure what I should make of stories that equate mental health problems with horror and hauntings, that make someone who is suffering from an illness into a monstrous figure. I thought this was going to be, and would have preferred it to be, a more supernatural story – which is why my favourite parts were the scenes in which Susannah visits a medium who does seem to have some real insight into the unknown. Still, it's a well-written, atmospheric tale that made a great accompaniment to the snow and ice outside.
Two Dark Tales consists of two novellas, 'Jack Squat' and 'The Niche'. Both are horror stories; as Lambert explains in the afterword, he has sought toTwo Dark Tales consists of two novellas, 'Jack Squat' and 'The Niche'. Both are horror stories; as Lambert explains in the afterword, he has sought to recreate the memorable images and feelings of blissful terror he experienced, as a child, reading the Pan Book of Horror Stories series.
'Jack Squat' is set in Italy where a couple, Omar and Gordon, are struggling to make a living. When they're asked to help a friend of a friend find a house in their area, it seems like a relatively easy way to earn some extra cash. But the man, Cees, is unpredictable. He's an exhausting presence who's determined to get what he wants – and what he wants is a strange building belonging to four brothers. It's a tower consisting of four identical segments, each completely closed off from the others. The problem: only three of the brothers are willing to sell.
The idea of the four brothers in the tower lends something of a fairytale aspect to 'Jack Squat'. The title, too, sounds like it might refer to a character in a fable, though it actually pops up in a series of mundane conversations before it begins to take on a darker resonance. I didn't anticipate where this would go at all, and that always makes a story more frightening. It's strange, tense and unpredictable – an excellent tale.
'The Niche' is less interesting. Billy Lender is a schoolboy who becomes the unfortunate target of a group of bullies. He finds refuge in a 'niche' behind a cupboard, where he daydreams about violent revenge. He soon discovers the niche is more than just your average hiding place, however. Even before reading the afterword, I felt this was more like a children's horror story, rather old-fashioned and fanciful – which is not necessarily bad. But where it really failed, for me, was in its depiction of bullying. Billy's torment is described well enough, but there's no sense of the real horror and misery of enduring it. This is in contrast to 'Jack Squat', where I came to feel an emotional attachment to the main characters.
My rating is a compromise – four stars for 'Jack Squat' and two for 'The Niche'. I'd like to read a larger collection of Lambert's short stories, with the hope that more of them would be like the first story than the second.
Each year, The Fiction Desk runs a ghost story competition, and the winners are published in an edition of New Ghost Stories. I really enjoy reading aEach year, The Fiction Desk runs a ghost story competition, and the winners are published in an edition of New Ghost Stories. I really enjoy reading anthologies like this – they're a great way to discover new voices and modern takes on the idea of the ghost story. And this is a particularly strong collection: with only one dud, it's consistently enjoyable and intriguing.
'Des Nuits Blanches' by Will Dunn A former journalist, now in his twilight years, tells a story he has never forgotten. When he was a young man, a friend of his – a competitive cyclist – had an inexplicable and terrifying experience while training in the mountains of Italy. A very original idea, absorbing and well executed. I loved the sense of place.
'The Archivist' by Philippa East After an argument with her boyfriend, an archivist heads off to a former boys' school where she has been employed to catalogue old paperwork. The choice of setting – Scotland in the midst of a heatwave – is inspired, and I loved the details (creepy doll! Scorpions! Haunted sweets!!) There's potential here for really wild horror, which makes it all the more impressive that East approaches the scene with restraint and a light touch.
'The House Friends' by Richard Agemo The only story among the the seven that really didn't work for me. The setup is unnecessarily convoluted – a couple of pages in, I was already lost and disinterested. (It also seems to need further editing. There are continuity errors (is Carmen's father's surname de Groeshe or de Groesch?) and sentences like 'up until then, the next day was the worst of my life' – huh?) The plot is so confusing I'm not even sure how to sum it up, the way it's told drains away any intrigue, and there's no payoff.
'The Intruder' by Jerry Ibbotson Sharon and her two teenage sons move into a new house, and their neighbours' portentous warnings about the place soon prove accurate. What I liked best about this was the sense of love and camaraderie between Sharon, Sam and Thomas. The concept may not be very original, but it's given an injection of empathy by the potency of these characters. The conclusion is macabre, witty and bittersweet.
'The Dead Lie Dreaming' by Seth Marlin Possibly my favourite in the book, this tale envisions a future in which the dead live on as part of a virtual world (think Black Mirror's ubiquitous 'San Junipero'). They're 'read-only', though – they can recognise and interact with people they knew in life, but can't form new attachments. Cleo frequently visits her sister Mira, perpetually frozen at seventeen, but problems arise when Mira wants to see their father, who now has dementia. I would have liked this idea anyway, but the story is also beautifully written.
'The Crypt Beneath the Library' by Barney Walsh The protagonist is a postgrad student working on ancient manuscripts in a grand old library (unnamed, but the description made me sure it was John Rylands, and the fact that the author did his MA at Manchester pretty much confirms that). This is an updated take on the M.R. James type of ghost story related by a dusty old academic – the demon Bethany finds in one of her books particularly reminded me of 'Canon Alberic's Scrap-Book'. In that tradition, I'd love to see a TV version, and think it would make a fantastic Ghost Story for Christmas. Walsh is wonderfully adept at interweaving the morbid and the mundane; this was another favourite.
'When the Dark Comes Down' by Amanda Mason It's the early 1970s, blackouts are commonplace, and Rosie is home alone and heavily pregnant while her husband is away working on an oil rig. With its strong domestic flavour and atmosphere of dreary dread, this reminded me a lot of Alison Moore's short stories. I did feel it dragged a bit (there's only so much drama that can be wrung out of someone trying to get down some stairs) but Mason's story does a good job of connecting its historical context with the fear at its heart. Sometimes the dark itself is scarier than what might be hiding in it.
A striking prologue frames UnAmerican Activities as the edited remains of a cache of documents emailed to Miller by a mysterious individual known onlyA striking prologue frames UnAmerican Activities as the edited remains of a cache of documents emailed to Miller by a mysterious individual known only as Tim. Together, they form a motley patchwork of interlinked stories portraying a USA not quite ravaged, but certainly battered, by drugs, cults, vampires, porn, guns and many other vices and anomalies. Trailer parks and McDonald's coexist with ritual sacrifice and alien conspiracies. In these pages, ex-cons go vampire hunting, a guy turns his love rival into a zombie by spiking his drink, and America is obsessed with the pay-per-view, NSFW ‘red and blacks’ pushed as add-ons to ‘YouthTube’ videos (where the internet's barely-legal stars go for cash when they can't make it as singers or make-up artists).
If you pick up UnAmerican Activities, look at the cover and leaf through it, you may well decide it’s a polarising type of book (the fantastic story titles include the likes of ‘Eat My Face’ and ‘Exploding Zombie Cock’) but it’s nothing like first impressions might suggest. It's funny (with bite), energetic and incredibly readable, constantly surprising and so varied in tone that I feel like everyone will find something to like here. There are a couple of misfires: the story told from the POV of an uptight academic makes its protagonist too much of a stuffy caricature; the one about the porn star experiments with a more unconventional style that’s only half successful. But I had a lot of fun with this book nevertheless. It’s a wild ride. I’d love to read more.
I received an advance review copy of UnAmerican Activities from the publisher, Dodo Ink.
In his introduction to The Green Hand (reproduced here), Daniel Clowes cites French comic book artist Nicole Claveloux as a formative influence, despiIn his introduction to The Green Hand (reproduced here), Daniel Clowes cites French comic book artist Nicole Claveloux as a formative influence, despite not having actually read any of her stories until the production of this new edition. The comics in this book were originally published between 1978 and 1980, but until now translations have been scarce and piecemeal, and translated versions have not been collected together before.
The first half of the book comprises five linked stories, collectively titled 'The Green Hand'. The first of these, also called 'The Green Hand', is by far the most arresting. A woman shares an apartment with a huge, very depressed, anthropomorphic bird. She decides to brighten their home by buying a plant. But the bird is jealous of the plant's presence, and hatches a cruel plan to kill it. In the end, the plant is destroyed, and woman and bird have a furious argument, before the woman's body surreally fractures and floats as she pitches through the apartment wall. The scene is absurd, the colours hallucinatory, yet a devastating amount of emotion is conveyed as the woman mourns the plant and rages against the cringing, self-loathing bird.
The second half is made up of seven one-off stories. I particularly loved 'The Little Vegetable Who Dreamed He Was a Panther', an almost too-on-the-nose depiction of the creative's tendency to self-sabotage through procrastination. An interview with Claveloux and her collaborator Edith Zha, included at the end of the book, reveals this story is close to the artist's heart: '[it] told the story of my life; it's my portrait of that time, my desires, my obstacles, etc.'
I'm not going to pretend I've read enough graphic novels or comics to be adequately able to judge Claveloux's influence and impact, but The Green Hand is intense and vivid, full of kaleidoscope colours and dreamlike scenes. It's grotesque, funny and, although it's a quick read, very memorable.
I received an advance review copy of The Green Hand and Other Stories from the publisher through Edelweiss.
In the 90s, a documentary film makes Dennis Danson – imprisoned at 18 for murder on the basis of flimsy evidence – something of a cause célèbre. Our pIn the 90s, a documentary film makes Dennis Danson – imprisoned at 18 for murder on the basis of flimsy evidence – something of a cause célèbre. Our protagonist, Sam, is introduced to the case by her boyfriend, and becomes obsessed, spending hours on forums with other fans, researching the case and attempting to uncover new evidence that will exonerate Dennis. When her relationship breaks down, she begins writing to him. It’s their correspondence that leads to her involvement in the original filmmakers’ new project: a Netflix series they’re convinced will prove his innocence.
When Sam (who’s British) travels to the USA, she meets Dennis for the first time and their relationship, such as it is, deepens. The truth is, Sam doesn’t really think Dennis is ever going to be released; she’s more comfortable having a star-crossed romance with a man behind bars. And when he is pardoned, and immediately becomes famous, she finds their real life together falls far short of her fantasies.
The Innocent Wife takes two strong concepts – the problematic ethics of true crime in the Making a Murderer mould, and the morbidly fascinating idea of the type of ‘fans’ who lust after (and marry) criminals on Death Row – and stitches them together to excellent effect. Honestly, it’s a bit of a grim book, and I often felt like I was inhabiting a nightmare while reading it, but it’s compelling as hell. Sam’s awkward relationship with Dennis and her discomfort with unwanted attention are painfully believable. Lloyd also does a brilliant job of fleshing out Dennis’s history, with his small-town background – particularly the ramshackle hellhole that is his father’s house – really coming to life.
Like a lot of thrillers, it does fall apart a bit towards the end. I wasn’t at all convinced by the rather perfunctory explanation for the original crimes, and one character seems less like an actual person than a plot device with legs. Some of the detail around Sam explaining social media (and identity politics) to Dennis is also a bit cringeworthy. Thankfully, the final chapter is pretty satisfying, and wraps up the story exactly how I wanted it to be wrapped up.
I received an advance review copy of The Innocent Wife from the publisher through NetGalley.
The Lost Village is a welcome return for Harry Price and Sarah Grey, last seen in 2013's The Ghost Hunters. It's told in flashback, as an elderly SaraThe Lost Village is a welcome return for Harry Price and Sarah Grey, last seen in 2013's The Ghost Hunters. It's told in flashback, as an elderly Sarah sees a vision of the famous paranormal researcher and feels compelled to record the tale of one particular case they tackled together.
Like The Ghost Hunters, this story is set in a real place: the 'ghost village' of Imber in Wiltshire. The background given in the novel is all true: during the Second World War, the residents of Imber were forcibly evacuated so the village could be used as a training area for the army. When the war ended, the locals were not allowed to return, partly due to a proliferation of unexploded bombs and grenades – indeed, this is still the case today. In The Lost Village, these facts make Imber a breeding ground for anger, resentment, and possibly even vengeful spirits. Former residents claim the place is haunted by the Imber dead, angry at being separated from their families. Commander Williams of Westdown Camp, which controls Imber, appeals to Harry after a spate of eerie incidents unsettle his men. One encounter even seems to have driven a soldier insane.
I thought this book, at almost 500 pages, would take a long time to get through, but I underestimated its readability. The combination of an intriguing supernatural conundrum and a real – undeniably creepy – location is dynamite. I loved these characters in the first book and was happy to have them back; Sarah and Harry have built-in chemistry as well as emotional appeal, keeping the narrative afloat as mystery is piled on mystery.
The disadvantage of this amount of detail is that the plot becomes more convoluted than it needs to be, with a web of coincidences connecting Sarah to Imber. While suspension of disbelief is an obvious necessity for any story involving ghosts, some of the events in The Lost Village stretch credulity to its limits. (I adored the early sequence about Brixton Picture Palace, and wish this had been left to stand on its own.) But there's a confidence to the writing here that wasn't present in The Ghost Hunters.
I hope there are more Harry Price and Sarah Grey adventures to come. If absorbing historical fiction with a spooky twist sounds like your thing, The Lost Village makes for a perfect Halloween read.
I received an advance review copy of The Lost Village from the publisher through NetGalley.
David Callow is an airheaded prick of a vlogger who's amassed millions of fans by filming his every (banal) move. With his popularity waning (even poiDavid Callow is an airheaded prick of a vlogger who's amassed millions of fans by filming his every (banal) move. With his popularity waning (even pointedly sticking his head out of a taxi window doesn't get him much attention from teenage girls anymore), his manager pushes him to accept a lucrative opportunity offered by tech mogul Xan Brinkley. The proposal is so extreme that even attention-addicted David has trouble accepting it: a microchip implanted in his brain will essentially broadcast his thoughts and feelings to the world 24/7. One drink-and-drug-fuelled night later, however, David wakes up to find he's uploaded an intoxicated video telling the world about, and agreeing to, the offer. With that, he becomes the first ever star of MindCast, 'the biggest show on Earth'.
It's not difficult to guess where this is going, but Broadcast is fast-paced and exciting, an incredibly quick and fun read. It worked on me like a literary earworm: once I'd started it, the story wriggled under my skin and I couldn't stop thinking about it until I'd finished. More than anything, it reminded me of a particular type of old-fashioned ghost/horror story – the type that delights in delivering a sticky end to an unpleasant protagonist. Loved the gutsy ending. Thoroughly enjoyable.
I received an advance review copy of Broadcast from the publisher through NetGalley.
I would say this is the best novel by an actor I've ever read, but I'm not actually sure I've ever read any other novels by actors. Either way, this iI would say this is the best novel by an actor I've ever read, but I'm not actually sure I've ever read any other novels by actors. Either way, this is good stuff, not just some indulgent vanity project. Ritter's debut is a pacy legal thriller which has Abby Williams, a young lawyer, returning home to Barrens, Indiana, where she's plagued by memories of a long-lost friend and finds a powerful corporation covering up evidence of corruption. Let's say it's Gillian Flynn meets Erin Brockovich.
I couldn't help picturing Abby as Jessica Jones – perhaps because that's the only role I've seen Ritter play, but there are other similarities. Abby does a lot of ill-advised drinking and has a habit of making bad decisions; she's also driven and incredibly tenacious. The Barrens of her youth was a quintessential small town where everyone knew everyone's business. Bullied at school by a clique of girls and at home by her stern, religious father, Abby was relieved to get the hell out. Ten years later, she finds Barrens dominated by Optimal, a large company which employs most of the population and seems to have a finger in every pie. The firm she works for is out to prove Optimal have been polluting the local water supply. The locals, however, are fiercely resistant.
The book opens with a striking sequence in which a teenage girl collapses dramatically during mock elections. This turns out to be a scene from Abby's youth: in the last year of high school, her childhood best friend Kaycee was struck by a mystery illness which sparked a wave of hysterical copycats. Kaycee could be unspeakably cruel – she joined in the bullying, and Abby suspects she may even have killed the Williams' dog – but Abby can't shake off memories of her. Kaycee 'ran away' after leaving school and hasn't been seen since; her family and former friends seem oddly disinterested in tracking her down. Abby becomes increasingly convinced that while the other girls may have faked it, Kaycee's sickness was genuine, and Optimal were responsible – may even have killed her.
Bonfire packs in a lot of character background yet is still a compelling mystery. The subplot about Abby's father's illness is poignant; Ritter even finds a way to make use of the otherwise annoying love triangle between Abby and two local guys. (I also loved the way this was concluded.) The questions of a) Kaycee's disappearance and b) whatever Optimal's doing are both as gripping as each other. All in all, I was really impressed by this clever and captivating story.
I received an advance review copy of Bonfire from the publisher through NetGalley.
Munich takes place in September 1938, as Hitler's Germany is poised to invade the Sudetenland. Chamberlain's government is determined to keep the peacMunich takes place in September 1938, as Hitler's Germany is poised to invade the Sudetenland. Chamberlain's government is determined to keep the peace, but running out of options. Meanwhile, a group of diplomats and civil servants are secretly devising an audacious plot to assassinate Hitler. Caught up in the latter are Hugh Legat, a junior private secretary to Chamberlain, and Paul Hartmann, a German diplomat who was at Oxford with Legat. We see the viewpoints of both men – Legat in London, Hartmann in Berlin – as the fateful conference in Munich approaches.
Harris clearly sets out to rehabilitate Chamberlain's image, and succeeds without coming off as fawning. I have to say I thought the plotline involving Legat and Hartmann was going to go in a very different direction, and I can't make up my mind whether this was due to misdirection on Harris's part or misinterpretation on mine. But this did at least give an element of surprise to the eventual resolution of their prior entanglement.
At this point, when I read a historical novel by Harris, I know I'm in safe hands. Munich is no exception. It's a pleasure to read: riveting, authentic and evocative. As ever, the author makes politics as electrifying as any thriller.
In her debut collection of short stories, Carmen Maria Machado mingles fabulism, body horror, erotica and feminist commentary. The thrust of Her Body In her debut collection of short stories, Carmen Maria Machado mingles fabulism, body horror, erotica and feminist commentary. The thrust of Her Body and Other Parties is perhaps best encapsulated by the second story in the book, 'Inventory'. It starts with the narrator cataloguing everyone she's slept with, taking on that now-near-compulsory clinical tone, that Muumuu House type of thing of talking endlessly about sex but doing so in an affectless style that doesn't communicate any passion or joy or pleasure. It suddenly becomes more interesting when a hidden narrative emerges: as the narrator progresses through her later conquests, she talks of a pervasive virus, family members lost, a quarantine zone, evacuations and refugees. It's an unexpected approach to the dystopian theme and a pleasing subversion of first impressions, yet the story as a whole remains unsatisfying.
Then there's the much-discussed and multi-award-nominated 'The Husband Stitch', a modern fable which updates the campfire tale 'The Green Ribbon'. Like the original, it is a horror story with a gruesome twist, but the true horrors here are ordinary ones: the husband's insistence that the wife have nothing of her own; the titular stitch itself. In striving for a fairytale flavour, Machado uses a mannered voice that renders her narrator smug and oddly prudish even as she recounts exhausting quantities of sex (a recurring motif, as you may already have guessed). I did enjoy her wry stage directions: 'If you are reading this story out loud, move aside the curtain to illustrate this final point to your listeners. It'll be raining, I promise.'
Among the weaker stories is 'Especially Heinous', which reimagines plot summaries of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit episodes through a surrealist lens, playing on the ubiquity of violence against women in such shows. This starts out as a cute absurdist gimmick, but it's about five times longer than it needs to be. Some images (the ghosts with bells for eyes; the grotesque secret of the dresses in 'Real Women Have Bodies') just don't make enough sense to work, much less shock. There's always an emptiness, something missing. (And there are so many instances of 'inside of' in these stories – inside of me, inside of her, inside of him, I swear it feels like every other paragraph in some stories. I wish an editor had taken their scalpel to those 'of's.)
My favourite was 'The Resident'. While the subject matter is slightly more staid than some of the others – presumably semi-autobiographical in its portrait of a writer unravelling during a retreat – it's a relief that it isn't told at a cold, impersonal remove. It actually has heart and a personality, unlike so many of the others, and contains one of the few truly rousing scenes in the book, when the narrator lashes out at a patronising acquaintance and defends her right to write about 'crazy' heroines and madwomen in attics. This could be read as a manifesto for the collection as a whole (but isn't enough to save it). Also strong is 'Eight Bites', in which the weight the protagonist loses through bariatric surgery takes on a life of its own.
It's difficult to articulate without sounding like an idiot who's missed the point entirely, but there's something I find so depressing about the kind of writing that's ostensibly feminist but seems to focus incessantly on the negatives of being a woman. In fiction such as this, the approach is often paired with candid-yet-detached writing about sex that I also find offputting (not to mention extremely unsexy). The stories are well-crafted and (when they don't feel workshopped to death) spark with strong ideas and entertaining metafictional touches, but Her Body and Other Parties didn't work for me the way I hoped it would.
After a really strong introduction, I was excited about this comprehensive review of the modern political right in North America. Neiwert's thesis is After a really strong introduction, I was excited about this comprehensive review of the modern political right in North America. Neiwert's thesis is that the right-wing groups and movements of today's USA have formed a perception of American society that is entirely detached from reality – a sort of alternate-universe version of the country – which he calls 'alt-America'. The beliefs that characterise alt-America were, Neiwert argues, consolidated and brought into the mainstream by Donald Trump's presidential candidacy, resulting in his victory.
Neiwert tracks the evolution of this new, more aggressive breed of conservative politics from homegrown militia groups and conspiracy theorists through to Gamergate and Dylann Roof. Unfortunately, while I did feel I learned something, the book is often a victim of its own thoroughness. A summary of events such as the Ruby Ridge and Bundy standoffs would, I think, have sufficed, but instead we get blow-by-blow accounts of several of these sieges that feel like they drag on for hundreds of pages. The subjects of the chapters aren't clearly defined, and although the narrative is roughly chronological, it often jumps around. With such sprawling subject matter, a more rigid structure would have been helpful.
I also think this is the most poorly edited review copy I’ve ever come across. I don’t normally mention minor errors in ARCs – they're par for the course – but this wasn’t the usual case of a few spelling mistakes. There are lots of instances in which the point being made is completely unclear; quotes are framed in such a way that it’s impossible to tell who’s being quoted or even what they actually said; information is repeated – we might be told about the background of a right-wing website or group 3 or 4 times in different chapters. This makes for a very confusing reading experience, exacerbating what already feels like an overloaded narrative. An appendix containing a list of major players and organisations would have been beneficial here.
A better book I've recently read about the 'alt-right' is Angela Nagle's Kill All Normies: Online Culture Wars from 4chan and Tumblr to Trump and the Alt-Right. I'd recommend that as a smart, snappy, unbiased guide to the state of online discourse, and its political context, around the time of the 2016 presidential election. This, of course, has a much broader scope than Nagle’s book, and it goes beyond the headline-grabbing figures and trends that readers will already be aware of – the alt-right figureheads; the Tea Party; the KKK endorsing Trump; the memes – and delves much deeper into the recent history of the radical right, tracing the roots of today's movement back to developments during the Clinton and Bush eras. This alone makes it worth at least a skim-read. However, I think the definitive book on modern US right-wing politics has yet to be written.
I received an advance review copy of Alt-America from the publisher through NetGalley.