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I am enough of a fairytale/folklorist that any book with an old-fashioned German woodcut style cover is a surefire way to get my attention. Particularly when it depicts that most archetypal of fear-driven images: the feral man-beast stealing away an innocent child to savage and consume. That's the nerve center root of our storytelling, right there.
And the idea that these tales weren't just invented to keep the kiddos from wandering off into the woods ... the idea that there really were such monsters ... who can resist? After all, we know there ARE, even in our modern world. They may not sprout fur by moonlight, but oh, yes, the monsters ARE. It's not much of a step further to bring the old legends to life.
If that was all this book was about, I still would have been perfectly satisfied. But this book takes it even further, takes it way beyond our notions of the Brothers Grimm or The Howling or all those urban fantasy RPGs and paranormal romances of secret races living among us. This book takes it back to the beginning and then some.
It's sneaky, too. It touches on various tropes and themes ... the small-town hicks plagued by something uncanny, the hush-hush agency investigating supernatural occurrences, the weird cult, the bloodline legacy ... but shakes them up, turns them inside out, blends and remixes and remasters. It's Twin Peaks meets Wicker Man in the archetypal Black Forest backwoods rustic America, managing to combine Biblical overtones with science fiction, anthropology and history.
I'd say all that should make it hard to categorize, but what you really get here is a dark, multifaceted jewel of horror. Grisly gore, primal fears, the murky chills of the unknown, transformation, mutilation, fates worse than death, loss of self ... the hits just keep coming, and as soon as you think you've figured it out and are feeling a little secure and safe, you'll be hamstrung from another direction.
(**Editor's note: VYRMIN was originally published by Penguin in 1992)
Krall's latest novella is a trippy, dark science fiction story dealing with a group of mentally unstable men on their way to an already colonized Mars. As with many of the author's stories, we're never sure if we're actually on a shuttle or on Mars, or in a psychiatric ward. The mystery and constant guessing keeps things moving, eerie, and unsettling.
As we journey along with our main untrustworthy protagonist, the story expands into the life of a Messianic figure, terrorism, and a look at industry that's as obscure as the main scifi story. And in the end, things are (sort of) tied up with a chilling note.
BEYOND is told in short sections, making it very easy to digest in one sitting, and Bizarro Pulp Press's page layouts enhance an already fantastic tale that's way out of the oridinary.
Leza Cantoral’s debut collection is a fantasmagorical sex blob of pink literary color jelly for your fragile horror mind, body, and soul. The writing is highly versatile, fresh, hip, and creative in all the right ways. Think old school Bizarro Fiction when it first came out. Think Horror double-dipped in the heart of the Beat Fiction era. Think about watching your favorite Saturday Morning cartoons while eating a bowl of sugar coated cereal in your favorite pair of underwear, while still candy-flipping from last night’s psychedelic rave party. We're introduced to a number of memorably bizarre and horrific circumstances, sexy adult themed fairytales, and eerily black-ink bleeding cartoons.
Some of my favorites in this collection were 'Cartoons in the Suicide Forest,' a unique and clever tale that takes social networking deep into the depths of the Suicide Forest and introduces us to creepy abandoned cartoon girls searching for their mother. In 'Green Lotus,' failing relationships are bad but not worse than feeling like you are stuck with someone forever, especially when you’re candy dipped into a green slime bath and turned into a goddamn plant for the rest of your life. 'Cosmic Bruja,' a dreamlike acid trip that takes us to the center of religion and Mexico. And 'Fist Pump,' an erotic noir-esque tale in which a damsel in distress just wants to be a part of the gang in more ways than one.
A brilliant and extremely versatile collection I’d recommend to fans of Bizarro, Horror, Science, and Beat Fiction alike.
-Jon R. Meyers
When I reviewed the original debut PLEBS, I knew even then it was too much bursting-at-the-seams story to be confined to one book. And, see? Look. Just look. The sequel alone takes up two full action-packed volumes!
Which, fortunately, I was able to read back to back, sparing us all my inevitable furious shrieking over sudden cliff-hangers. Note: if you, like me, are prone to furious shrieking over sudden cliff-hangers, then yeah, make sure you have both installments standing by.
RIDERS picks up a few months after the crazy, violent carnage in PLEBS. The surviving characters have formed a sort of roving vigilante band -- among their retinue, four motorcycles named for the fabled Horsemen of the Apocalypse, hence the title. They travel around, dealing out vicious punishment on rapists, abusers, and other such scum of the earth.
Sounds like fun, right? No mundane cares about jobs or money, plenty of wicked weaponry and sweet rides, and the company of three beautiful women who are also the deadliest of avenging angels, serving up white-hot fury and cold-blooded justice to those who deserve it.
Thing is, though, enterprises such as this have a way of getting out of hand. Of crossing paths with the wrong sorts of enemies or biting off more trouble than can easily be chewed. What starts as another seemingly routine mission -- striking back at some scuzzballs who ruined a girl's life -- blows up when the scuzzballs have a crime boss friend who decides to take it as a personal insult and affront to his business.
From there, it's escalation and exponential vendetta, the hunters becoming the hunted, with some complications of mistaken identities, and hapless tagalongs swept in over their heads. But, while all that's going on, there's also the small matter of, oh yeah remember them? The Plebs, the savage freaky mutants from the first book, who are also still around.
If I'm going to quibble, and I guess I might as well, the main problem I had here was an excess of telling and exposition, some over-explaining of motivations, some redundancy, and heavy-handedness with stressing how hot these ladies are. We get it, already; don't need to be told sometimes several times in a paragraph.
With a large cast of characters, an almost equally large ultimate body count, lots of high-octane battle scenes, some wild sex, and the suggestion of a really loud blasting soundtrack throughout, it's like reading an intense action-movie marathon. And, hey, I still want to know more about the Plebs themselves; plenty of room for another sequel!
You know Neil Gaiman's THE GRAVEYARD BOOK? The hauntingly cute, endearingly creepy one about the little boy who grew up in a graveyard, raised by the dead? Kind of sweet and tragic, Tim-Burton-esque before Burton got too kooky?
THE MORTUARY MONSTER is NOT LIKE THAT. Well, maybe a smidge, in the broadest strokes and vaguest similarities; I mean, it's about growing up in a cemetery, it's about coming to terms with matters of life and death, family and belonging, and so on.
But this is WAY more dark, WAY more messed up. Very decidedly NOT for kids. There's bad language. There's horrible parenting. There's sex with corpses. There's beatings and torment and violence and vulgarity. Murder and suicide. Abandonment, betrayal, loss. Dark stuff. Messed up stuff.
Yet it READS like Gaiman, it reads Burton-esque, it reads Addams Family, Roald Dahl. It reads morbidly funny and charmingly grim. The sheer dissonance of it just totally works. All it's missing, really, is stylized illustrations throughout.
Summary-wise, there's this guy named Gonzalo, whose family have been caretakers of an unusual cemetery. All Gonzalo's wanted since he was a kid was to be able to leave, to become a part of regular society, but he's never been able to manage it. Not even with the helpful advice of his dead friends.
He vows not to make the same mistakes his own parents did, but that sort of thing's always easier said than done, and there are always plenty of ways to make different mistakes. Especially when your own child is born half-corpse anyway ... but you're still trying to be what you think a good father should be.
I went into the book knowing nothing but the title, so, the result was an unexpected but welcome delight, a whimsical poison-chocolate surprise, immediately captivating and a really ghoulish, sick treat throughout.
Another solid issue opens with Lynda E. Rucker heading the commentary (Stephen Volk's final column appeared in issue 55) with an encouraging view on why she believes art can save us in the current dark political climate, and new commentator Ralph Robert Moore looks at "The Perishability of Metaphors" (as well as memory and...mothers). It's a bit sad, but interesting nonetheless.
Kicking off this issue's seven stories is 'The Green Eye' by Scott Nicolay, which is the account of a young boy who had a supernatural experience after stripping cars at a junkyard. This short tale is then explained in an author's note that's two pages longer than the story itself. An odd selection for an opener although it's all quite interesting.
'Smoke, Ash, and Whatever Comes After' by Eric Schaller: Peter and his young daughter Tracy are cleaning house. They decide to dismantle a bureau and even get rid of a doll Tracy had made (as per her request). They place the items in the fireplace to eliminate memories. Schaller delivers a haunting, emotional look at loss and grief that will surely stay with you.
In 'Border Country' by Danny Rhodes, a divorced dad takes his son on a camping trip. The son becomes the target of a legendary witch. Familiar, but Rhodes' focus on the dad's apprehension gives it a fresh feel.
'What We Are Moulded After' by Eugenia M. Triantafyllou: After Eleni's husband Andreas dies, she "creates" another husband by placing Andreas' bloodied jacket on another man. Told from Eleni's new mute husband's viewpoint, Triantafyllou's horror fantasy is an absorbing, original tale with an ending that had me wanting more.
An old man and his wife live in an isolated area surrounded by abandoned homes in Charles Wilkinson's 'The Solitary Truth.' His wife Agnes can't accept their cat has died, and he keeps hope their daughter will finally come to visit. Another story centered around the ways we deal with loss and grief. Good, but depressing.
'The Maneaters' by Bonnie Jo Stufflebeam: Although Scarlet learned about her late grandfather through her grandmother, she learns the truth when she finds a 35 year-old note in her grandmother's bedroom. A chiller of self discovery highlighted by some excellent prose. Stufflebeam also appeared last issue and has won me over.
Finally, in 'Stanislav in Foxtown' by Ian Steadman, Stan works at a greasy chicken restaurant and is constantly bullied by his muscle-bound boss. With the help of some feral foxes, Stan manages to advance his position. Steadman demonstrates how suggestion can be as, if not more affective than "showing" graphic violence. Great stuff here.
Seven top notch tales that prove why this magazine is the best in the business. Writers would do well to pay close attention.
Gary Couzen delivers another batch of DVD/blu ray reviews (I'm looking very forward to the Arrow DRILLER KILLER blu), and Peter Tennant provides a fantastic interview with Stephen Volk (after reviewing his latest collection), and also dissects a few anthologies and novellas (seriously folks---Peter's reviews are worth the cover price alone).
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