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Reddy Soames is working on a book about the urban legends of his childhood hometown, Blue Clay, Massachusetts. Now on the west coast, Reddy decides it's time to go back home and meet a few people he has been speaking with on the internet.
It doesn't take long for Reddy to meet up with some real nutjobs, and when his friend Luke's dogs are killed by a bizarre-looking creature, Reddy's simple research assignment leads him into an underground world that would baffle even Mulder and Scully.
Reddy is befriended by a man named HEK, who lets him stay at his mansion that seems to constantly be filled with college students partying. It becomes obvious HEK is some kind of cult leader, and he's now prepping Reddy to take over his position.
Like Soares' previous horror novels (the Stoker winning LIFE RAGE and the grossly underrated ROCK 'N' ROLL), BURIED IN BLUE CLAY is a weird and original tale that kept me guessing until the last chapter. I had no idea where this was going even into the third act, and while Soares throws everything at you including the kitchen sink, he ties everything up during the satisfying finale.
Part monster mash, part strange occult sex drama, and with a feel all it's own, Soares' latest novel is a refreshing treat in a genre flooded with rehashes.
Back in August, appropriately enough, I read and reviewed another in the author’s victims-of-Jack-the-Ripper series, A BRUTAL CHILL IN AUGUST. It blew me away, historical fiction done right, so you’d better believe I was ready for more!
Oh, and if you’re one of those brats saying yeah but they all must be the same because of how they ended, like someone I knew once refused to watch La Bamba because it’d have the same ending as The Buddy Holly Story, well, *raspberries* to you; that’s totally not the point and you know it!
These were real people. With their very own real lives, pasts, hopes, fears, dreams, and feelings. Different people. Individuals with their own stories, who deserve to be remembered as something other than statistics.
Sure, on the surface, there might be similarities between Annie Chapman in this book and Polly Nichols in Brutal Chill – both were underprivileged women of their time, struggling to get by in a difficult world. They had their flaws and weaknesses, they made their mistakes.
In Annie’s case, she was plagued by what we might call ‘being a sensitive soul.’ It’s hard enough even these days to be squeamish and easily upset, in a world with modern hygiene and conveniences. She had troubled relationships with her family and friends, and with alcohol as so many did and still do.
The real horrors of this book have nothing to do with the Ripper and his knife. They have to do with futility and hopelessness, the devastating legacy of realizing you’re becoming just like a loved/hated parent, the desperation, the loss of control.
For me, the most harrowing scenes by far, still haunting me even now as I write this, have to do with the move-along policies directed at the city’s legions of homeless. Not allowed to rest more than a few minutes in any given spot, hundreds take to the streets in an unending, plodding, circular trudge through the long hours of the night. It’s a cruel purgatory, and I couldn’t help thinking that too many places in this day and age still haven’t come very far, in terms of how society treats its least fortunate.
Once again, Clark’s skill shows through in terms of bringing the era and setting and characters to vivid life. Not a feel-good read, not a fun read, but another powerful one, and a stirring memorial for a woman who was more than a mark on a killer’s score sheet.
I found this collection to be a difficult read, not in a literary sense but a psychological one. Difficult, but necessary. In the way a lot of the works of Wrath James White are, for instance. Forcing us to face very real problems in society, problems like intolerance and blind righteousness and unwillingness to change or compromise.
It is intense. It is personal (perhaps very personal; many of the stories evoke elements seeming intimately autobiographical, the kinds of things that must have been both hard and cathartic to write). It digs in deep to the emotional core. It confronts some painful, turbulent, fraught issues. Profound issues of identity, belief, belonging, worth.
What this book isn’t, though I can see how it might get the reputation, is a big long hate-bash on religion. The greater sense I got from it was of hurting, of sheer bafflement and bewilderment, of a wounded sort of loss and betrayal.
Then again, I’m not much of a religious person, so, maybe I don’t have as much at stake. I do know that I’ve lost friends due in part to religious differences, just as I’ve had relationships damaged over politics, race- and sex-based differences, and those other hot-button issues.
As for the stories themselves, well, they venture many dark places. Into the “he seemed like such a good boy” upbringing of a killer, into supernatural horror, into hubris and hypocrisy, and the making of monsters of many varieties. As is often the case, it’s the real-life could-happens that prove far more horrific and spine-chilling than the more paranormal aspects of some tales.
Side note: in the introduction – itself a must-read chapter, to appreciate the full impact – Garton mentions getting angry letters when he writes about the deaths of pets … those, okay, those he does deserve; I’m very upset!
I was very glad to see an affordable digital rerelease of this 1973 hardcover brought to the Kindle earlier this year, and I just had the exquisite opportunity to finally check it out for myself after forking over a whopping $2.99. Let me tell you this: it was two dollars and some odd change well spent on some of the author’s earlier, more Lovecraftian voice, or, as stated in the introduction, “a collection of stories written with Lovecraft in mind.” The author’s motive worked out quite well because what we have here is a set of very original stories in the vein of one of the masters of macabre himself, but executed with Campbell's own dark, disturbing, and weird take on them. The stories collected here are by no means part of the constant regurgitation found in the genre, but arevery much a fantastically phantasmagorical, unique and powerful, with a strong sense of the author’s earlier roots shining through. One can get a strong sense of the beginning stages of his vividly dark, slow-burning prose being constructed here, as well as a distinct correlation between Horror and Weird Fiction.
Some of my favorites in this collection were 'The End of a Summer’s Day,' a tragic love story in a deep, dark cave tour led by torchlight, in which, a lover loses a loved one amidst the darkness by the end of the Summer Day. 'Sentinels' was my absolute favorite in the collection: A group of friends talk Science Fiction and Fantasy books and conventions over drinks at the pub, before venturing out to checkout a mysterious hillside location, in which, large concrete structures stand and shadows lurk eerily behind them...wait...how many structures are there at Sentinel Hill? And 'The Franklyn Paragraphs,' a true homage to H.P. Lovecraft that packs quite a punch!
Recommended for fans of Dark, Horror, and Weird Fiction alike.
-Jon R. Meyers
Nove is a meatcow, a genetically engineered creature who serves its skrall master (skralls are pretty much human) in a post nuked earth. While traveling the desert wasteland with his master Jebediah, they come upon a seaside community where Nove is quickly abandoned.
Meatcows were designed to feed skralls (their flesh heals overnight, providing fresh meat every day), and in return meatcows live off their master's feces. Yet now skralls have figured out how to grow vegetables, and meatcows are becoming obsolete.
Warner is a master of the revenge story (see his intriguing 2005 collection DEATH SENTENCES), and here he wraps one in a bleak, heartbreaking post apocalyptic sci-fi adventure. As always White Noise Press presents the tale in a gorgeous chapbook design (with cover art by the author's wife Deena) so collectors best hurry before this beauty sells out. Fantastic all around.
Grab one here: Meatcow Maker
Given the title here, my first thought was FUTURAMA, so I got it set in my head I’d be reading about some bizarroland orphanage of little misfits and mutants getting up to all sorts of adorable, quirky hijinks … that it’d be all fluff and fun and frivolity.
Wrong-O! And was I ever! The ORPHANARIUM is a surreal futuristic dystopian pandimensional temporally fluctuating epic. Vastly complex, intricate, intertwined. I like to believe I’m no slouch in the smarts department, and even I was left jawdropped and gobsmacked here. This is next-level stuff, upper division, way high concept like whoa.
I’m not sure how to even begin attempting a summary. There’s a pair of orphans, Daff and Dil (I first thought they were a bro-sis duo but turns out they’re brothers) with their cyborg guardian and their computer generated dog, on the run from these hulking warrior lizard enforcer things, while various demi-godlike Elementals help and/or hinder them as they travel through space/time/dimensions against a backdrop of love, loss, and war.
I mean, yeah, philosophical transcendence through breathtaking prose. Cosmic mythologies, not cosmic in the Lovecraftian sense but cosmic in a way far stranger, more distressingly beautiful, and just plain mythic … both put together, cosmic mythologies and mythic cosmologies … stunning imagery and language use that plain blows the doors off the ordinary or conventional.
Seriously, this one’s going to join works such as SKULLCRACK CITY and QUICKSAND HOUSE in the growing category of books with which to smack upside the head those people who think bizarro is (or should only be) nothing but crudity and outrage.
If there’s an award for most use of the word lazer in a single book, we have this year’s winner and probably a new world record. Not even Lazery McLazerface’s Compendium Lazerium of Lazers would have a shot.
This book is also pure Vince Kramer, who is one of the rarest living exceptions to the “show, don’t tell” rule. Reading anything by him is just like hearing him relate an anecdote or adventure ... which is, to wit: with more sheer gonzo exuberance and enthusiasm than anyone else I’ve ever met. Imagine a half-grown golden retriever turned loose in a tennis ball factory, and you’ll have an idea.
So yeah, DEADLY LAZER EXPLODATHON is Vince at his Vince-est. It’s a crazycake romp of fun-poking love at classic sci-fi, turning tropes inside-out, and ruining your childhood with cheerful offensiveness at no extra cost!
We open with terrorists from the future destroying the set and lazer-slaughtering the iconic cast of 60’s Star Trek, thereby changing history. Another time-traveler (who calls himself “Doctor Y”) collects a team selected from various eras – from cavemen to cyborgs! – to crew a spaceship against this temporal menace.
If you think that sounds kind of GALAXY QUEST, with the lovable misfits overcoming their differences, discovering their own strengths, and learning to work together to save the day … wellll … maybe a little, but with sloppy sex, psychedelic space-mushrooms, and of course ALL THE LAZERS.
Now, do be warned, there’s rude content in here. There’s violence and rapey stuff and racist stereotypes and lots of uses of lots of words that many people consider not fit for polite conversation. It may upset. It may offend.
It may also make you laugh your head off and then feel vaguely dirty and ashamed of yourself for doing so; the hilarious guilty going-to-hell pride/shame of winning a game of Cards Against Humanity is the feeling I’m talking about here.
Lynda E. Rucker opens this issue's commentary, this time on staying true to your craft, and Ralph Robert Moore's piece on understanding art will be of interest to David Lynch fans.
Opening novelette (also by Ralph Robert Moore) 'Will You Accept These Flowers From Me?' deals with a struggling but dedicated magician named Michael, who, along with his monkey assistant Bella, work with a hat that's actually magic. But its inconsistency causes trouble for Michael and ultimately, reveals he and his assistant's destinies. A spectacular story not to be missed.
'Sunflower Junction' by Simon Avery: a man becomes fascinated with a musician named Hugo Lawrence. With only one CD to his credit, and no longer playing gigs, our protagonist goes looking for Hugo, talking to his old band mates in the hopes of understanding one of his stand out songs. After finding a recorder possibly containing Hugo's final recordings, our narrator manages to find...himself. A moving tale of self discovery.
In the third novelette this issue, 'Shadows on Parade' by Mike O'Driscoll, James is trying to understand his new girlfriend Gillian's past: she keeps pictures and videos of her former boyfriends, claiming it helps her remember who she is. Jealousy begins to overtake James, and he eventually destroys her photo journals. O'Driscoll brings the weird and the chills in this excellent freak-out, complete with a truly haunting finale.
This issue's lone short story, 'The Chambermaid' by Aliya Whiteley, features Bonnie, a hotel worker, whose future is revealed by an allegedly clairvoyant resident named Xania. But Bonnie is determined to have a different outcome for her life in this well written if routine entry.
Gary Couzen's latest DVD/blu ray column includes a nice crop of old and new films (the Arrow release of 'Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia' sounds particularly good) and among Peter Tennant's always reliable book reviews we get in-depth looks at recent releases from "in house" authors Lynda Rucker, Gary Couzens and Ralph Robert Moore, plus a nice interview with Andrew Hook along with reviews of 4 of his books.
An all around great issue highlighted by Ben Baldwin's dazzling cover art, BLACK STATIC continues to deliver some of the freshest fiction in the genre.
Grab a copy (or better yet, a subscription) right here: Black Static No. 57