OR: The Eleventh Letter

A review that originally appeared on the Case Notes blog at the TTA Press website on 27/9/23: –

Published by Dodo Ink in 2016, The Eleventh Letter is the first book by Tom Tomaszewski, a psychotherapist specialising in addiction at a private clinic in central London.

The protagonist of this novel is also a psychotherapist (write what you know). Chris Katiwa is packing up his Harley Street office prior to moving to new premises when he discovers tapes from the 1980s, when he travelled to Italy to interview Louise, a young woman suspected of murdering two friends, Kate and John, who had gone missing. An unexpected snowfall finds him marooned and with Kay, a young woman who he invites in from the street, Chris starts to listen to the tapes and remember what happened all those years ago, with the rest of the book divided between events in the present day (London, 2010) and the past (Pisa, 1986), when a serial killer named the Wolfman was preying on young women..

A word about the book’s title, which may stumble into the territory of spoiler – the missing Kate, an academic, was fascinated by the poet Jack France, John’s father, and in particular with the book K, a reproduction of ten letters France wrote to a mystery woman, identified only by that initial. Jack France disappeared from the same hotel Kate and John were staying at when they disappeared. Left behind, and found by Louise, is a letter from Jack France addressed to Kate/K, the eleventh letter of the title, while K is also the eleventh letter of the alphabet. It introduces a time slip element to the narrative, though it could also be a red herring, as there are other names in the frame for the mysterious K.

Much of the novel’s underlying foundation has to do with Chris’ family past, his abusive father who spent time in prison for attacking a young woman, a crime of which he may or may not have been guilty, the victim herself being an unreliable narrator. Throwing a sidelight onto Chris’ character are the discussions he has with his supervisor Blanca, her insights into his personality. And although it’s pitched ambiguously, there’s a supernatural element, with certain characters turning out to be ghosts.

This is a book about which I am in two minds. On the one hand it is compulsively readable, well written and packed with wry observations, and along the way it plays intricate games with time and memory. On the other at the end of the book while I enjoyed the journey I had little to no idea as to what had actually taken place, the meaning and intent behind this string of incidents and events, and was left with a vague feeling of having been short changed by an author who has made ambiguity too much of a virtue. Yes, authors are supposed to know more than they reveal, but here I feel Tomaszewski misjudges how much to share.

Although the events in 1986, particularly the disappearance of Kate and John and their back story, are all fascinating, with some imaginative twists and turns that at times threaten to capsize the plot, I suspect the real focus of the book is meant to be Chris and his troubled family past. And yet, as everything appears to have been revealed to his younger self, why mature Chris twenty four years later is given a spirit/psychological prompt to dig this stuff up again is something that puzzled me. Similarly the whole thing with the Wolfman just seems like window dressing, unless this ruthless serial killer is meant to somehow represent Chris’ father. One interpretation that occurred to me, is that the ghosts Chris interacts with are in fact projections of his subconscious, with the cynic in my soul noting that they all end up in bed with him.

A back cover blurb describes the book as ‘a ghost story about story as much as about ghosts’, adding ‘memories are the real spectres of this world, and each of us is haunted’, which is fair enough. Chris is in a very real sense haunted by these memories of the past, but in showing that does the book provide anything more concrete for the reader to sink his teeth into? I’m thinking not, so much as I enjoyed it I wasn’t really satisfied and felt left with more questions than I started out with, which would be okay if I felt they were anything more than artificialities generated by another. The various elements of the novel were certainly interesting but as far as I could tell they simply didn’t add up to anything larger than the sum of their parts. It’s an ambitious book, but one that for me failed to achieve whatever aims its author intended.

Trailer Trash – Boy Kills World

The latest from Sam Raimi.

OR: Look Where You Are Going Not Where You Have Been

A review that originally appeared in Black Static #82/83:-

And so to the book that at the time of writing (mid-December) I consider to be the best I’ve read in 2022 and one of the finest fiction collections of recent years, LOOK WHERE YOU ARE GOING NOT WHERE YOU HAVE BEEN (Luna Press Publishing pb, 342pp, £12.99) containing eleven stories by Steven J. Dines. Dines has nine Black Static credits and seven of those stories have found their way into this collection, along with one apiece from Interzone and Crimewave. The two remaining stories are previously unpublished and also the longest pieces in the book. To my mind the distinguishing feature of Dines’ fiction is the risks that he takes, both with narrative structure and the emotional authenticity of what he commits to the page, the personal aspect. Of course all writers worth their salt bring something personal to their fiction, but in Dines’ case the feeling is rawer than with most, an impression confirmed by the end story notes in which he reveals something of the events in his life that bled into these stories.

After a brace of introductions by Ralph Robert Moore and Johnny Mains we get into things proper with ‘Men Playing Ghosts, Playing God’ in which four residents of a care home try to ease the feelings of a recently bereaved widow by leaving messages from her dead husband, only to end up imprisoning Death in the basement of the home, with dire consequences for all. This is a superficially light hearted story, with Henry Eddowes and his three friends vividly drawn and each given their own endearing quirks of character. Death is an ominous figure, but easily overpowered. But as the story progresses more serious concerns intervene, with the idea that the natural order of things cannot be impeded with impunity, Dines wrapping it all up with a brilliant end twist that seems completely against the run of play, but at the same time so appropriate given who these people are. In ‘So Many Heartbeats, So Many Words’ failed writer Simon, wife Sue, and their verbally challenged son Alfie live in a rental property they refer to as the House of Mould. The couple are drifting apart for various reasons, but after a romantic revival of sorts everything is plunged into chaos by a final shock. There is so much to commend this story, which is told in a series of “chapters” that seem to count down to the end reversal of fortune. Many will be able to identify with Simon’s stalled writing career, his attempts to put down in words his imaginative visions, while the dementia of his father and their failed relationship adds yet another frisson. Dines catches another trick in having Alfie twist words, which is both amusing and at the same time embodies the communication problems that exist within this family unit. Running through it all is the sense of life and love having gone wrong, of people struggling to do the best they can with the cards that have been handed them, all of which ends in a moment of heart shattering disaster.

The family in ‘The Space That Runs Away With You’ have had one of their boys abducted, subsequent to which they have moved into a new home where they are forbidden to go into the attic. The artist father wants the attic to remain a place of unknown possibility, but his son has other ideas. Underlying the story is a sense of grief, an awareness of how loss can sour every aspect of our lives and tragedy lay the roots of obsession. Wracked by guilt the protagonist draws the missing Michael into every illustration he produces in a tale that is keenly felt and heart-rending. ‘The Broken and the Unmade’ is a ghost story with a difference. In 1943 Saul in the death camps is saved twice by a young boy. In the present day Saul lives with son Nate and family and is horrified, both by Nate’s bullying of his wife and the world itself in which figures of darkness achieve iconic status. It is up to grandson Joshua to achieve closure for them all. This story is so keenly felt and beautifully realised, with the horrors of the Holocaust and how they echo down into the present day brought to compelling life on the page, while the end twist took me completely by surprise, but at the same time made perfect sense within the context of the story. Brilliant and clever.

‘The Things That Get You Through’ is the story of James Graves whose wife dies in a road accident, and James tries to hurry the grieving process, along the way enlisting the help of a mannequin. As with some of the other stories, there is an amusing side to this, with James’ emotional contortions delighting the reader at the same time as they shock and disturb us. The schlock horror ending shouldn’t work, but it does and magnificently so. In ‘Pendulum’ a woman is deserted by her partner when she gives birth to a handicapped child. Years later there comes a moment of reckoning. This story is constructed in a way that mirrors its central conceit, narrated by the woman who swings the story back and forth through time. It is a terrible, heartbreaking work of fiction, one that disturbs and at the same time makes you want to cry for the wasted lives, to grab gamer Ellis by the throat and choke the life out of him, to love and care for Jack and his mother Milly, to rage and rage at the bullies who make an already heavy life such an intolerable burden.

In the post-apocalyptic world of ‘The Sound of Constant Thunder’ Alan remains behind in the city to protect the rabbits from so called “Eaters”. The arrival of the woman Charlotte and her baby bring his existence and its purpose into sharp focus, but as ever no good deed goes unpunished. Dines is excellent at bringing the details of his apocalypse to vivid life, with the very mundanity of existence after the worst appears to have happened reinforcing the feel of authentiticy, while in the character of Alan, a simple minded person who has found a kind of happiness, but ultimately cannot escape the worthless judgement of his hateful father, he has created a memorable protagonist. We’re back with the Fenwick family of ‘So Many Heartbeats’ for ‘The Harder It Gets the Softer We Sing’. They have moved into a new, mould free house, but the events that took place in the previous story are still echoing in their shared lives. Sue takes delivery of a baby doll and claims that he is their son. Resistant at first, Simon is forced to accept this compromise with reality if the family is to continue. It’s an epic story, with each section titled from some literary rule that the author then breaks in what follows. The result is a bravura performance, with shocks and epiphanic moments in equal measure, showing how sometimes you have to embrace the impossible to continue, Simon’s acceptance of “the baby” mirroring his mother’s acceptance of her husband’s “foible” (another revelation contained in the narrative).

Rust is ‘Looking for Landau’, a search that takes him through encounters both violent and sexual in nature. We are never told who or what Rust is, though he seems to be immortal and seeks Landau for access to a “door”, all of which suggests either an alien or an angel. It doesn’t really matter though, as it’s all in the journey. At bottom the story is a quest of sorts, riveting and full of incident, from fights at biker bars to conversation with a dead woman, the unnatural quality of it all seeping through the words. The final trick which Landau uses against Rust winds up the story with a novel twist. The third story to feature the Fenwick family, a novella titled ‘This House is Not Haunted’, deals with the fallout from the decision in the previous story to allow a doll into their lives as a substitute son. Doll Sam is driving a wedge between Sue and Simon while at the same time having traumatic effects on Alfie. The story opens with Simon resolving the situation and ends with that decision taken and the reader told to start again from the beginning, so that it is a story that swallows its own tail. Again the emotions are keenly felt, with Simon’s writing career helping to shape how he reacts to things and also becoming part of the battleground between him and Sue. He realises how badly his own father let him down and doesn’t want to repeat that failure with his own son, but Sue sees things differently. The story is engrossing and compelling, with an emotional intensity that is almost stressful for the reader. Taken in conjunction with the other two Fenwick stories it gives us a wonderful example of literary fiction merged with horror to the betterment of both.

Brothers Stephen and Cai are the only survivors of an overthrown royal family, marooned in a wintery wasteland and keeping close to the corpse of the dragon that took them to safety so that the heat of its body will warm them, and which they call ‘dragonland’, Stephen envisaging a new kingdom for him to rule. Against them are wolves and a monster, while Cai is beguiled by the light on a distant mountain top that he thinks is proof their mother still lives. The story is told from the viewpoint of Stephen, who is his father’s son, annoyed with and yet at the same time jealous of Cai, their mother’s favourite. The dissonance between the two drives the story, each of them haunted by the events of the past, its dead hand ruling Stephen’s life, while Cai is free to forge a new future. This is a story rich in detail, one where much more is hinted at than is revealed, with the father seeming like a tyrant for all that Stephen honours his memory, so that you can see he might fare better if he was to let go of this family tie that is like a noose round his neck, binding him to an empty dream of dragonland. While the setting is fantastical, it is the clash of character that drives the plot, the fight to survive at odds with the absence of any real reason to do so. I loved it. Finally we have some story notes in which Dines gives the background to these fictions, with details of how events in his own life were used to flesh out the authenticity of the work, the fiction helping to make sense of the reality that inspired it. With its confessional quality, this is an act of bravery on the part of the writer and something that makes me love the book all the more. To repeat myself, it is one of the best collections of short fiction that I have ever read, unique not just for the depth of emotion but for the technical virtuosity and range displayed by the writer, and the way in which the stories interact with each other, something I’ve only hinted at here. And regardless of the cover price shown above, if you nip over to Amazon right now you can nab a copy for only £2.98*.

*No longer true, alas, but still well worth the cover price

Rebel Rebel

On the Diamond Dogs album after “Candidate” we have a reprise of “Sweet Thing”, but I’ll give that a miss and go straight to the last track on the first side.

OR: The Devil’s Only Friend

A review that originally appeared on the Case Notes blog at the TTA Press website on 21/9/23: –

Released by Tor Books in 2015, The Devil’s Only Friend is the fourth book in Dan Wells’ series relating the adventures of John Wayne Cleaver, a teenage sociopath who has found a ‘healthy’ outlet for his urges in killing demons, and follows directly on from I Don’t Want To Kill You, which I reviewed on Tuesday. A warning to those who need to know – this review contains spoilers regarding the plot of the previous book.

John is now a member of an FBI sanctioned team of demon hunters under the command of Linda Ostler. His friend Brooke, who was possessed by the demon Nobody, is in a perilous mental state but has access to Nobody’s memories and can give the team guidance on where to find the demons and how to fight them. The team are now in Fort Bruce, where Brooke has identified two demons, or Withered as they refer to themselves. While she is kept in a mental facility, the rest of the team stalk the demons and try to figure out their weaknesses. But things get complicated when more of the Withered arrive in town, led by a cannibal who calls himself The Hunter. John and his team suddenly find themselves out of their depth.

Like its predecessors, this book is a gripping and compelling read. The revelation of the true nature of the demons/Withered is a masterly stroke that enables the author to strike out in a new and original direction. Each Withered has his or her own powers, weaknesses and identity, with the apparently omniscient Hunter/Rack a particularly sinister and fully rounded manifestation of the kind. I loved this larger than life villain and his interaction with John, the way in which he plays the team and then brings down the roof on their heads. John’s growing maturity plays counterpoint to his flippant nature, while he dreams of killing members of the team in horrible ways as a safety vent for his inner rage. The team themselves are equally interesting – psychiatrist and profiler Trujillo, tech genius Nathan, ex-cop Kelly, ex-forces Diana, and the monstrous Potash, who isn’t so different from John, but kills with license rather than for the satisfaction of any inner need. Each of them has secrets that both make them eligible for the team and at the same time vulnerable. Brooke is a tragic figure, broken mentally by her ordeal in the previous book, but at the same time a conduit to the enemy, similar in a way to Renfield/Mina Harker in Dracula. There are moral complications as well, as with John’s attitude to the demon Elijah, the recognition that the Withered can be good people too. Oh, and John acquires a dog, which provides him another route to reader sympathy. There are two more volumes in the series, which I hope to read if I can ever find them in an affordable format (the copies available on Amazon cost far more than I’m willing to pay barring lottery wins, and there don’t seem to be any e-editions). I love this series and wholeheartedly recommend it.

Trailer Trash – Abigail

High concept – a vampire ballerina.

OR: The Night Doctor and Other Tales

A review that originally appeared in Black Static #82/83:-

Steve Rasnic Tem has twelve Black Static appearances under his belt, including a story in this issue. His collection THE NIGHT DOCTOR AND OTHER TALES (Macabre Ink pb, 274pp, £13.97) contains twenty five stories, four of which first appeared in the pages of Black Static and two published for the first time in this volume. Four of the stories I’ve previously reviewed before and as regards three of them – ‘Lost in the Garden of Earthly Delights’, ‘Half-Light’, and ‘Domestic Magic’ – I’ll reprise those reviews on the Case Notes blog at ttapress.com rather than repeat myself here.

Opening story ‘Breathing’ tells of Charlie who is haunted by his wife, or believes himself to be so, the story a heartfelt eulogy for all the things we have lost by the time we have reached our own personal end days, that time when breathing is the only difference between the living and the dead, and even that barrier grows thin. After the death of his wife and end of his employment, Tom moves to a retirement complex and ‘Apartment B’, but his existence becomes increasingly meaningless to him. It’s a touching account of a man who has lost his will and his way, who feels so deeply that he no longer has any purpose that he begins to question if he ever did. Matt’s wife Clara keeps seeing a ‘Red Rabbit’, remains left by a predator, or perhaps just a premonition of her own self-mutilation, the story building gradually, the horror of dementia conflated with very real menaces in the real world, or perhaps not.

Roger in ‘The Hanged Man’ gets into the habit of hanging himself, his failure to die a mirror image of the failed relationship he has with his family, especially son Matt who he wants to protect but feels incapable of doing so. It’s an intriguing and sad story, one where the weirdness of what is happening only serves to emphasise the ordinary, the common humanity of the moment. Advised by his physician to take up fishing as a form of relaxation, Bishop finds ‘The Fishing Hut’ and its enigmatic occupants, with the suggestion that it is a halfway house between life and death. This was an unsettling story though nothing really happens that is overtly disturbing, so that the final twist when it comes is even more of a hammer blow. In ‘A Sudden Event’ married couple Roger and Ann are haunted by an elusive sound, one that he dreads hearing in case it alters their lives forever. This is another story that confronts the theme of dementia, an invisible thief that robs us of reason and understanding.

‘Paula Breaks’ is a tale of desperation and hope, the protagonist kept prisoner in their house by her husband for her own good, though there is a weird element to what takes place emphasising how unnatural it all is. One feels for Paula, wants her to escape, but the bittersweet ending is both the thwarting and culmination of these dreams of freedom. In ‘Blattidae Wine’ Scott’s wife Lisa is metamorphosing and he is having visions of a giant, talking insect. The story starts ordinarily enough, with Scott’s dissatisfaction with his life, then escalates taking in the truly weird things that he thinks are happening to him, learning to embrace the changes. A young man out campaigning for a politician is invited into the home of ‘Mister Ainsley’, who is far from being who (or what) he at first appears to be. This is a delicious story, one that starts grounded and then steadily escalates the amount of weird, but maintains a tone of propriety throughout. I loved it.

In ‘The Long Fade into Evening’ elderly Simon is allowed to stay in a property in a desolate part of town, but what he sees from his window and encounters on the streets only brings home to him that his life is as good as over. It’s another sad story, one where the sense of loss is palpable. Inanimate objects talk to Ed revealing ‘The Secret Laws of the Universe’ and cheering him on in his ambition to kill wife Jillian. Superficially this is a tale of someone who hears voices urging him to kill, but the droll humour of the situation, the dialogue with various domestic items and the way in which Ed keeps screwing up, all help to elevate it into something memorable, with a twist ending that is almost triumphant in tone. ‘The Man in the Rose Bushes’ is a homage to M. R. James, with American tourists on a coach trip round England’s stately homes subjected to a hellish visitation from the past. The story is an object lesson in the Jamesian, with so much unsaid that just adds to the strength of the piece.

Title story ‘The Night Doctor’ I reviewed when it appeared in The Spectral Book of Horrors and I had this to say about it – “Mental illness and the frailty of old age are at the heart of ‘The Night Doctor’ by Steve Rasnic Tem, as a couple in a new home find themselves cursed by illness, the man externalising his fears in the eponymous figure of a bogeyman from his childhood. It’s a fascinating account of reality refracted through the eyes of somebody whose sanity is out of alignment with true, and running under the narrative is a warm current of emotion that mitigates both the menace and the sadness of the situation.”

Inspired by Joel Lane, ‘The Enemy Within’ tells of the troubled relationship between Ian and Paul, with jealousy running amok. It’s a compelling ghost story, with subtle effects that help engender a feeling of dread, as Paul’s controlling nature becomes apparent. Asako’s mother has brainwashed her to the point that she is terrified of men, so much so that she has visions of pervasive ‘Stick Men’, in another story of mounting dread, all culminating in the final revelation of why her mother acts as she does and the underlying hypocrisy.

Hector in ‘Too Many Ghosts’ does wood carvings that unintentionally resemble dead people he has known. Set at Halloween, this is one of the best stories in the collection, with Hector’s resistance to his daughter’s religiosity and the sadness/anger he feels at the loss of his wife driving the plot forward, and an ominous note in the background courtesy of the explosions that keep occurring. ‘When You’re Not Looking’ is a homage to Robert Aickman, with definite echoes of ‘The Hospice’. Johnson is residing in some mysterious institution, but has no idea if he is undertaking a rest cure or something more long lasting, with his own sense of himself and of his world slowly fading. It is another story in which loss of control seems central, with the protagonist lacking agency, just someone who is acted upon, can embrace only small acts of rebellion as a way of asserting his individuality. Whitcomb, the protagonist of ‘Between the Pilings’, returns to Innsmouth where he had a family vacation when he was eight years old, and finds little changed, though the sinister place brings back memories of his mother that he would rather have forgotten. This is an entertaining foray into the realms of the Lovecraftian, with plenty of weird effects that cumulate to make you query the nature of the people involved, if they are fully human.

Roy finds his whole existence disappearing in ‘The Erased’, while friend Willem clings onto things as a way of maintaining corporeality, in a story that is weird and unsettling, that brings into being a strong sense of dislocation, for character and reader alike. Philip attends ‘The Wake’ of his father, but a chain of surreal events leave us wondering if he is dreaming or is actually himself the person who is dead. It’s an intriguing piece, with plays on the idea of being late for one’s own funeral, and an end twist that throws everything up in the air. In ‘The Weight Lost’ Clyde’s attempts to lose weight result in obsession and visions of body horror. The story takes a common theme and turns it on its head, showing how things can so often go awry. A man’s tales to his grandchildren results in their becoming monsters in ‘The Monster Makers’, the story building gradually, reinforcing the idea that stories shape the world in which we live, but giving that a monstrous twist. It’s a fine end to a collection in which impressionistic horror is centre stage rather than narrative driven fiction, and in which themes of dementia and loss dominate, the concerns of an author in his twilight years.

Back-Door Angels

Fourth track on the first side of Jethro Tull’s fifty year old album War Child.

OR: I Don’t Want To Kill You

A review that originally appeared on the Case Notes blog at the TTA Press website on 19/9/23: –

Published in paperback by Headline in 2011, I Don’t Want To Kill You by Dan Wells is the third volume in a series of book featuring John Wayne Cleaver, teen sociopath and part time mortician. I reviewed Mr Monster, the second book in the series, back in Black Static #20 (there’s a link to that review at the foot of the page), when I described it as ‘Dexter as one of the Winchester boys from Supernatural‘, and there’s nothing in this new outing to make me reconsider that assessment.

The Handyman has turned up in John’s home town of Clayton, a serial killer from Florida, whose thing is to take the hands of his victims, who are then left impaled by long poles and on public display. But John knows that the Handyman is really the demon Nobody, who he challenged at the end of the last book. With the help of police officer Jensen’s daughter Marci, John starts profiling the demon, trying to figure out its identity, and along the way he seems to drift into a relationship with Marci. But John has made a fatal miscalculation that is going to cost him dearly and impact on those around him.

This is every bit as much fun as the previous book, with John’s sociopathy in full evidence as he fights with his mother over little things, fails to realise friend Max is feeling shunned, tries to figure out how he is supposed to act with Marci, and blunders into a relationship with a priest that threatens his whole position. Also compelling are the ways in which he and Marci try to second guess the killer, with one back step for every two forward. It’s a fascinating game of hide and seek, with the Handyman’s traits as compelling as they are gross. And on that score the book also delivers, with some truly gruesome murders, but is never gratuitous. There are twists and turns as what is really going on becomes apparent, with a high human cost as John tries to deal with the consequences of his over-confidence for those he was closest to actually caring about. It is in a way through these violent crimes that John Wayne Cleaver is humanised; we can identify with him to a degree because he tries to control and channel his worst impulses, while the demons have no such restraint. The atrocities add depth to the story and show the cost of fighting such an implacable enemy. And on another score, we learn more about the nature of the demons, thanks to the memories Nobody leaves in the mind of one of her victims, so that the wider picture is expanded. Similarly, the idea of Clayton as serial killer central had pretty much run its course, so the way in which the story opens out at the end is promising, while also resolving plot tangles that might have boded ill for our hero’s future.

Trailer Trash – Civil War

Alex Garland’s latest offering.