The Black Book of Horror, edited by Charles Black (2007)

Black, Charles, editor. The Black Book of Horror. Mortbury Press, 2007. 298 pp.

The Black Book of Horror at Goodreads
The Black Book of Horror at ISFdb
Mortbury Press website


Appropriately dedicated to Herbert van Thal (1904-1983), the legendary British editor of the Pan Book of Horror Stories series as well as numerous other original and reprint anthologies of the 196os, 70s and early 80s, The Black Book of Horror features some great, inspired writing.

I had not heard of many of the authors collected here and was really excited to start this one. Some good reviews, a brilliant cover and a newly awoken desire to read horror fiction sent me to the Book Depository to order a copy. (Living in Canada many of these British publications are quite pricey when considering shipping and currency exchange. The Book Depository has allowed me to broaden my reading scope with their great selection of British fiction.) When the book arrived I nearly jumped for joy (one of the great joys in life is receiving books in the mail), though about a month passed before I could start reading.

The book itself is very handsome. The cover art by Paul Mudie is gorgeous (I encourage you to visit his website); the facial expression combined with the smooth backdrop and warm colours is enticing. The pages of the book he is holding are exquisitely and minutely detailed, and there is a glow on the figure and his chair as though he were facing a fireplace. He is looking directly at us, and I get the impression that I am facing this man, the fireplace between us, to my left, and I can feel the warm blaze as I look into the deathly gaze of this near skeletal host. I don't dare move, so remain tight in my own seat, somewhat on edge should I need suddenly to bolt, and listen to the tales he is about to share with me.

And for the most part these tales are very good; in fact, this is the strongest anthology I have read in any genre so far this year. There are no true duds in here though there are a couple of weaker stories, and only one that I did not like. There is a little inconsistency that I will put down to editing (though this is an assumption): while some of the stories are incredibly tight, a few others, including some good ones, feel unfinished, whether because it is filled with typos ("The Sound of Muzak") or reads well but could have been even better with some tighter sequences ("Subtle Invasion," "Lock-In"). This is a minor point, but I would be interested to know what caused this, and hopefully editor Charles Black will some day publish an overview of his experiences and the processes of putting this series together. Incidentally, there are no female authors in this volume, and the first volume that includes a woman in its contents is #3 (unless there are some in disguise). This is merely an observation.

Now for the stories. While I might be critical of specific elements in certain stories, it does not necessarily diminish the strength of those particular works, nor of the anthology as a whole.

"The Crows" by Frank Nicholas. Real estate professional Ronson returns to his Aunt Jess's house where he lived for a short time as a child; he has now returned to claim the property following his aunt's death. Though the story spans perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes in time, it is a patient process of rediscovery, with Ronson moving toward and through the old house while flashes of confused memory piece together a dark and terrifying history. The writing is well controlled, the bits of memory potently revealed and Nicholas manages to give us some great lines, including "These were memories that brushed his skin and pecked at his eyes until they smarted with tears," a line more revelatory than Ronson could imagine. "The Crows" is a difficult story to write and Nicholas has managed to keep it consistent and interesting throughout. It is a great lead-in story. 8/10

"Regina vs. Zoskia" by Mark Samuels. The story of a minor law firm employee who gets mixed up with the unusual, lucrative and seemingly endless case involving the inhabitants of a mental asylum who cling to an unusual idea as proof of their sanity. Well written, the characters are all well delineated and Dr. Zoskia in particular is described with great visual sense. I liked the surreal ending and how it questions the actuality of everything else that occurrs in the story. The final line, however, is needless and seems to have been added in order to explain the ending, or at least remove its ambiguity. Without that last line the story would have been a good deal more effective. One of three previously published stories in the collection, as "Regina vs. Sycorax" in the now defunct website The Art of Grimscribe, November 2004. I wonder how that version differed from the one printed here. 7/10

"The Older Man" by Gary Fry. While on a scaffold painting the outside of a newly purchased house, a thirty-nine year-old man experiencing a mid-life crisis witnesses an unusual sight through one of the upper windows. By day a general labourer and by night a rock and pop cover artist, Jack Preen is faced with his weakening body as he discusses basic sociology with a new, much younger co-worker. Another story with a strong character emphasis, the horror element is almost incidental and I found myself interested more in Preen's own reflective state than in whether or not he saw a ghost. The potential ghostly element is nicely linked to Jack's musings and the end is revelatory in both plot and theme. A very nice story. 7/10

"Power" by Steve Goodwin. This one needs a re-read simply because I'm fairly certain I missed many points. An Englishman is in Poland where he is drawn to an abandoned Jewish cemetery and soon reluctantly befriends a local skinhead by the name of Marek. The young skinhead has taken a liking to the narrator while aggressively pursuing the notion of living life fully while forgetting the dead and refusing to fear the inevitability of death. Very well written, I was drawn into the story and Marek's character but was left wondering about certain plot points that seem to drop out unexpectedly, like Magda, the woman who accompanies the narrator through the cemetery at the beginning of the story. I will re-visit this one soon, not just for clarity but to better understand what I like about this story--the kind of story I am normally not drawn into. 7/10

"Cords" by Roger B. Pile. The first weaker story of the group, "Cords" is interesting in concept and presented in a straightforward method. Unlike the first four stories, it is interested more in its integral idea than in the characters or the method of its telling. While the concept is original and quite neat, as a story it ends up a little weak and predictable. 6/10

"The Sound of Muzak" by Sean Parker. An alien creature searching for a host finds itself mixed into a muzak recording, and inadvertently reeks havoc on shoppers. This is the only story in the collection I consider forgettable. Though long, it reads like a summary of events. Characters are merely standbys and the events themselves are dull. Moreover, the tone is non-committal, bordering on comic but oddly restrained. The oddest thing is that among the selections in this cleanly-edited anthology, this one is filled with typos. I would be curious to know the back-story if there is one; was this piece a last minute inclusion rushed through the editing process? 4/10

"Shaped Like a Snake" by D. F. Lewis. First published in Ghosts and Scholars #17, "Shaped Like a Snake" is a somewhat amusing short piece about Oxford Historian Dr. Tom Magri at a vacation hotel near a golf course. Magri learns of an odd and convoluted local wives' tale from Myrtle, one of the hotel helpers. This story works well because it gives little away directly, using a combination of details about Magri and Myrtle's comical monologue to tell its tale. 7/10

"Only in Your Dreams" by David A. Sutton. Late at night a little girl is awake, insisting that the jelly man is coming. Her overworked father has no patience for the interruption but her mom tries to reassure her that the jelly man exists only in dreams. This short piece was truly tense and the nature of the jelly man, though clearly linked with daddy's work, is never directly revealed, nor are the events leading to the finale. The writing is controlled and the concrete reality of a house at night and two sleeping children functions well amid the more abstract moments. Excellent build-up and a great finish, this was one of the better stories in the collection. 8/10

"The Wolf at Jessie's Door" by Paul Finch. I've been wanting to read something by Finch since I came across The Extremist and Other Tales of Conflict; a great cover and a strong review made me curious about the book and about Finch. This introduction to his work was not disappointing, and in fact, "The Wolf at Jessie's Door" is an example of great horror writing. A novelette, the story tells of an ex-cop/current failed writer Adam Verricker who awakens from a drunken stupor in the middle of the night and sees an immense sheep dog staring at him from outside his window. As luck would have it, his old flame from his police academy days has been relocated to his general area, including Adam's low rent and crime infested sub-area of Trapp Hill. Though slightly curious about the dog, Adam is more interested in rekindling his relationship with Jessie and pursues her a little maddeningly on the pretense that it is her duty to investigate. The story is well written, the characters very real, with a strong and unrelenting Jessie fighting off a somewhat lovable though very pathetic Adam. The mystery/horror element takes a back seat to Adam's obsession and desire, but as with every powerful story of its genre it all culminates well at the end. Nothing predictable here, the end has a slight element of ambiguity that works very well. My overall favourite from the anthology. 9/10

"Size Matters" by John Llewellyn Probert. This is an amusing story of a troubled man who uses the inheritance from his mother to buy the one thing he believes will help lead to a better life: a seven-and-a-half inch penis. Amusing with a neat little punchline. 5/10

"Spare Rib: A Romance" by John Kenneth Dunham. I quite liked this one. It begins as a light anecdote-like tale of a loser waking in his own vomit, only to reveal itself in the course of the short narrative as something a little more serious with some interesting thematic overtones. Somewhat (though loosely) reminiscent of the W.W. Jacobs classic "The Monkey's Paw." 7/10

"Subtle Invasion" by David Conyers. A man searches his vast property in the outskirts of Melbourne, Australia, for a wasp's nest after his daughter is stung. He finds the nest, and along with it something rather... unusual. And quite disturbing. This was a good story that could have been great. There are bits of weak writing scattered about, such as the unintentionally comic moment when the narrator's wife says "No one knows," and the narrator responds internally, "No one on television knew either." These awkward bits tripped me up and broke the story's momentum. Also, the scenario with the bikers is a scenario in which we always meet bikers (I'm being vague in order not to reveal anything integral), and finally the last line really dragged it down for me; an over-used idea and a sentence that could have been more effectively constructed. 6/10

"A Pie with Thick Gravy" by D.F. Lewis. A slice of flash fiction about a malevolent meat pie (yes, my "slice" was intentional). Short, quick, amusing, nothing more. 5/10

"Lock-in" by David A. Riley. Originally published in Hallows Eve, 2006. A group of older men are at the local pub in Edgebottom one night when the darkness outside begins to consume anyone who attempts to enter it. This story had the potential to be truly exquisite, but some problems with writing and/or editing mar it a little. The main problem is that the characters are often indistinguishable from one another; they are like a pack rather than individuals, with the exception of the first two victims who are nicely singled out. The foursome of elderly drinkers would have been each a little more unique had they not been members of such a single group, and had the narrator not dwelt on them so early as a group. Moreover, the dialogue is at times weak, and the author has the unfortunate habit of explaining the motives behind his characters' motions or words. For instance, someone makes a joke, obviously to make light of a tense situation, so obviously, in fact, that the author does not need to state, "...he said, trying to make light of a difficult situation." Nor does he need to explain that the characters are opening the door carefully "as no one wanted to risk suffering any of the mutilations that struck those who had already tried to get out that way." (p. 128) (I've discussed this odd technique when reviewing Joe Hill's Heart-Shaped Box). Finally, the explanation of the darkness is a bit of a cop-out; I don't even need an explanation since I was so caught up in the situation. It is possible, however, that the explanation was an attempt to tie the story in with those classic demonic British stories of the Van Thal era. A lack of explanation can make such a situation even more sinister; we awaken and the world is suddenly a different place. Aside from these criticisms I enjoyed the story very much: the suspense was strong and consistent, my interest never waned, and the ending was something truly unprecedented. 7/10 (easily could have been an 8)

"Last Christmas (I Gave You My Life)" by Franklin Marsh. On the verge of starting a new life, a woman on the road stops at the quaint Bide-A-Wee Guest House where the odd owners insist she join them for their little Christmas party. Marsh's story is part of a tradition of stories dealing with unusual road-side inns and their owners, often ghosts and often harbouring strange secrets, or secret knowledge of their unsuspecting guests. I quite enjoyed this one. Understated and adequately under-written, it is short and makes its point well. The eccentric owners are a pleasure to read. The ending is predictable; I saw it coming as soon as... but that would be spoiling it. Also, I would not have finished it the way Marsh did. I don't mean the resolution but the final image and that uninteresting final line. 7/10

"'Shalt Though Know My Name?'" by Daniel McGachey. McGachey's story employs the trope popular in the early modern short story: it is told by a narrator who tells of a friend who hears it first hand from an acquaintance it happened to. This technique was used in the late nineteenth century to create the illusion of authenticity without having to bring the author to bear, as he was never actually part of the events himself, and even his good friend only heard tell of it. The fantastical tale we are told is of an all-too serious scholar who was researching some old papers in a small isolated town museum, when a past competitor and possible plagiarizer suddenly appears. The serious scholar then proceeds to uncharacteristically play a practical joke on his competitor, and as to be expected the joke turns into a horrible tragedy. The technique is well handled and the prose is strong, the characters interesting and the overall effect is solidly creepy. Nothing surprising plot-wise, but a nice little ending and some great description to cap off a good, solid story. 8/10

"To Summon a Flesh Eating Demon" by Charles Black. Professor Greydin insists that The Book of Setopholes does indeed exist, despite his colleague's open ridicule and his pupil's non-committal interest. There is some good humour and I liked the interaction between the three different men, though admittedly the point of view shifts could have been smoother. Very closely related to the stories collected by Van Thal, it is a pleasure when the editor of an anthology includes a story of his own and it turns out to be one of its most enjoyable entries. And a great decision to end it here, with a story that is at times classic, at times comic but consistently suspenseful. 8/10

One Step Beyond - Season One (1959)

• Alcoa Presents: One Step Beyond
• Three seasons: January 1959 - July 1961
• Episodes: 97 (according to the IMDb, but other sources differ)
• Created by Merwin Gerard
• Director/host: John Newland

One Step Beyond was an anthology series that ran from January 1959 to July 1961. I had never heard of it before finding a copy of the first season DVD at my library, and since I like anthology series I immediately snatched it up.

Anthology series were popular throughout the 1950s, and One Step Beyond was one of a number that tried to blend a fantastical element with its dramatic story-telling. The show was not a copy of popular The Twilight Zone; in fact its first episode aired seven months before the latter's seminal, groundbreaking pilot "Where Is Everybody?" Instead of science fiction, horror or mystery, it utilized "factual" paranormal events to present its drama. It was quite successful, running for three seasons, quite a feat when most shows of its kind did not survive even one. The show lacked the originality and breadth of The Twilight Zone, featuring fairly traditional ideas and presenting them in a straightforward, conventional manner. What rescued many of its episodes was the show's often character-based drama, almost as though it were modelled after The Naked City (without its consistently excellent cast). Unfortunately, One Step Beyond was often predictable and uninteresting, though it did feature a small number of strong dramatic episodes. Of the first season's twenty-one episodes, I liked nine, but thought only five were well above average: "Emergency Only" (episode #3), "The Dead Part of the House" (#9), "The Devil's Laughter" (#11), "The Navigator" (13) and "Echo" (#20).


As with The Twilight Zone and the legendary Alfred Hitchcock Presents, each episode of One Step Beyond was bookended with an audience directed introduction & epilogue. Its host was the show's director, a serious though likable John Newland. Though a little too serious at first, the opening season experienced a noticeable change as the introductions became increasingly lighter in tone. Though Newland did not openly commit to believing in any of the paranormal elements presented in the show, he was so knowingly suggestive with his slight shrugs and active eyebrows that he might as well have claimed the events happened to him. After a handful of episodes he became a little playful, smiling at the audience and even having some fun, as in the Charles Beaumont scripted "The Captain's Guests" (episode #18) where he walked up the steps of the haunted house amid creepy sounds, looking quite worried at what might lie around the bend or behind the next door. Unlike the distant and often intense Rod Serling, Newland appeared friendly and neighbourly, the kind of guy you might trust as a guide into the unknown. Though unlike Alfred Hitchcock's humourous parodies and nonsensical monologues, Newland's introductions were (often overly) serious presentations of the episode's specific paranormal event. Moreover, unlike both Serling and Hitchcock, Newland was unfortunately faced with some poor writing, and forced to actually utter the nonsensical line, "Explain it we can't, but it has been reported as true by those to whom it happened." Talk about empirical evidence. Whether or not Newland was selected as the show's host for his affability or simply to cut costs (he was the show's prime director) I do not know; an interview with Newland I recently read did not address this point, mentioning only that he was the producers' choice prior to selling the idea.

The episodes themselves were a little all over the place. Those that succeeded were the ones with a good cast and script, that managed to mold the paranormal with the character-based drama. Many of the episodes dealt with serious human situations, such as "Epilogue" which dealt with a recovering alcoholic (Charles Aidman) trying to regain his family, and "The Dead Part of the House," featuring a man (Philip Abbott) and his daughter moving in with his sister (Joanne Linville) following the sudden death of his wife. These episodes were interesting and dramatic independent of their paranormal element, and the supernatural was well interwoven. While "Epilogue" was predictable and its fantastical element a little silly, the possible ghosts in "The Dead Part of the House" were integral to the family dynamics and the episode concluded very nicely, even warmly. Another favourite is "The Navigator" (episode #13) which was set on a ship and featured a heated relationship between a forgetful aging sea captain and his youthful first mate who was sent from the company specifically to write a report on the captain's mental health. The men discover that someone had written incorrect co-ordinates that sent the ship off-course into dangerous icy territory, which sets off a tense investigation almost reminiscent of The Caine Mutiny. The character dynamics made for a strong dramatic presentation though the supernatural element became predictable in the last five minutes. Unfortunately the actor playing the first mate, Don Dubbis (who actually had an uncredited role in The Caine Mutiny), looked the part very well but was a little lopsided in his performance.

Among sillier episodes are "The Dream," "The Return of Mitchell Campion," "The Aerialist" (which features some horrible Italian accents) and "The Front Runner." Not only were these chapters predictable, but were stuffed with filler to bide time until we reached that ending. "The Devil's Laughter" (episode #11) on the other hand, had an uninteresting twist but was so well scripted and fantastically acted by little known New York character actor Alfred Ryder that it is worth a re-watch. The surprisingly good and well acted episode (though you can tell the actor playing the bartender never poured a drink in his life) "Echo," is marred when the protagonist (Ross Martin) witnesses the ghostly image of a gunman in his hotel mirror. Though the gunman is supposed to be an illusion, the effect is so poorly filmed that the actor's shadow appears on the wall beside and beneath the mirror, and as he shoots the sparks and gunsmoke are clearly visible in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen. This completely breaks the illusion of a tense moment that while a frightened Ross Martin sat bathed in sweat, I was actually bathing in laughter.

It is clear why this show did not become as recognizable to later audiences as The Twilight Zone or Alfred Hitchcock Presents: it lacked the creativity, originality and consistent strong cast. Production values were quite strong ($30,000 to $50,000 an episode), though the incredibly vivid images on the CBS/Paramount DVD are no doubt far superior than those broadcast through a 1959 TV screen. Like its two more popular rivals, One Step Beyond also had a revival series. It was titled The Next Step Beyond and continued to feature host Newland, but it did not catch on and could not survive its maiden 1978-79 season. Newland himself had a long and successful television career as actor, producer and mainly director, including episodes of Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Thriller, Route 66, Wonder Woman and the Star Trek episode "Errand of Mercy" which introduced us to the Klingons, as well as the successful and acclaimed 1973 TV movie Don't Be Afraid of the Dark. Despite these successes he is barely remembered today, and known primarily as host of this very average television drama.

Aside from a very few episodes I would not recommend this show to the general public, though it is unfortunate that those few strong and well written episodes are forgotten since the rest of the show was quite mediocre. There is a Best of... DVD available, and in the case of One Step Beyond I think it is quite appropriate.

Robin Maugham, The Servant

Maugham, Robin. The Servant. London: Falcon Press, 1948
______. The Servant. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1949 (my edition, below right)
______. The Servant. London: Prion, 2000 (bottom left)

The Servant at Goodreads
The Servant at IBList

Rating:     7/10

"Something is rotten in the state of London."

Robin Maugham's 1948 novel The Servant is best remembered by Harold Pinter's 1963 film adaptation, also titled The Servant, directed by Joseph Losey and starring Dirk Bogarde. The film is quite different in content and approach, mainly because it was produced during a very different era. Maugham's novel is a grim depiction of post-war London; a squalid city where both the privileged and unprivileged must struggle to carve a place for themselves in society. Rules have changed, however, as the world has turned upside down.

As with F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby, the story of Tony and his relationship with his manservant Hugo Barrett is told through the point of view of an observer, an old army buddy of Tony's. It is through Richard's eyes that we witness Tony's steady decline. Unlike The Great Gatsby's Nick Carraway, however, Richard understands Tony's background and is aware of his current dilemma, and tries actively to intervene and change the course of Tony's descent.

The novel opens with newly retired yet still young World War II army officer Richard Merton beginning a new job at a publishing firm. Not particularly a literary man, the job is an attempt at remaining productive and a functioning member of modern society. The war is over and the officer's previous role has become obsolete.

These three male characters are mirrored by three female characters: Tony's initial love interest, Sally Grant, Hugo's sickly niece Vera, and Richard's housekeeper Mrs. Toms. The pairings are made interesting because they defy logic: the serious Richard should be paired with the intelligent Sally, the two servants should be paired out of rank, and the careless Tony should be linked with Vera. Of course appearances deceive and as we learn more about the character relationships we also discover the darker sides of some of these individuals and their ugliest desires.

The Servant is well conceived and well written. It is a short book with a plot so simple that there appears to be no plot at all. The progression of character decline is believable and Richard is a straight character with some subtly revealed flaws. What Maugham is expressing about post-war London is that society has transformed so intensely that the world seems to have turned upside down. Servants act like masters and masters lose control over their desires, becoming themselves enslaved. There is a powerful scene when Tony, defending his overly generous attitude toward his manservant, accuses Richard of hypocrisy when the latter explains that the flaw in military reunions is that the officers are separated from the average soldier. Richard argues that there is equality among men rather than among those of rank, though he refuses to believe that one's manservant can be on equal footing with the homeowner.

There are some problems with the novel. First of all, Chapter II is unnecessary; it is needless for Richard to explain that his life did not revolve around Tony but that he is condensing the years as he is focusing on Tony's story. Then there are some odd non-sequiturs when the narrator jumps from one moment in time or simply hops over to a fairly unrelated idea. It does not happen often but when it does the effect is glaring. I understand that the idea of space breaks was not common at the time, but the need for a stronger relationship between sentences and ideas seems to have been neglected.

Aside from these truly minor points, Maugham's novel is quite strong and unfortunately barely known; most people who have watched the movie adaptation are likely unaware that it was based on a novel. Both versions are strong and as they are both different, products of very different decades, the one can be watched and the other read without damaging the experience of the other.

A note on my copy (Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1949). I found this book in a box outside a library just last week. The volunteers collecting donations for the upcoming book fair often leave unwanted or unusable books in front of the side entrance for passersby to take. This was one of many excellent finds I have made over the last few years. It is the first American edition, a handsome hardcover with its original dust jacket nicely bound in hard plastic. The spine has a tear and the pages are brown (though not too brown for a 1949 edition) but otherwise it's in great condition. The cover is a great depiction of the novel, with its drawing of a man seated with a drink being looked over by an attentive young woman and, a little further back, a manservant with a tray, his head bowed and eyes closed. The woman can be either Sally or Vera, though I suspect it is Sally competing with Hugo for Tony's attention. The cover is dark, mostly black and grey but touched up with some browns and reds. The inside flap states: "Jacket design by G. N. Fish" but does not specify jacket art, though that might be what it's implying.

Glimmer Train Stories 70 (Spring 2009)

Glimmer Train Stories 70, Spring 2009


Glimmer Train webite.

Not just a publisher of literary works, Glimmer Train Press, the flagship that is responsible for the elegant quarterly Glimmer Train Stories, is an industry. Based in Portland, Oregon, the journal was launched in 1990 by sisters Linda B. Swanson-Davies and Susan Burmeister-Brown, a duo that made enough of a fortune in the software industry to leave work and begin their literary venture. With the success of Glimmer Train Stories they began a second quarterly, a journal on writing titled Writer's Ask. The venture has been a great success though the journal itself garners mixed reviews: while it pays its writers generously, frequently publishes first-time or developing authors and is a very high quality and physically attractive publication, it regularly promotes generic, bland writing. Glimmer Train Stories prefers internal philosophizing with a backdrop of some medical tragedy or alarming event. Narrators must make some kind of realization, and life goes on.

The journal's structure and operation is incredibly consistent and well organized. They solicit work not only from the general public, but they also offer different contests at predetermined times of the year, from a general Fiction Open contest to one for new writers, a "Very Short Fiction Award" and something called Family Matters, which seek stories dealing with family. Each of these contests requires a reading fee of $15, or $20 for the Fiction Open. Seeing as contest entries number in the hundreds, these proceeds likely help the editors/publishers in offering such high cash prizes to the contest winners and two runners-up. The Fiction Open award is valued at $2,000, plus publication and twenty copies of the issue their story will be featured in. Rather generous and appealing for established and new writers. I am personally not opposed to reading fees for contests since it is a lot of work and external readers are often hired to help with the submission load (though according to their site the two editors read everything themselves--all 40,000 submissions), and twenty bucks is a good investment toward a literary journal.

Among Glimmer Train's best feature is its website. An attractive, user-friendly site that is as well organized as the rest of the publication. So well designed that it is not difficult to believe that the two ladies behind Glimmer Train worked in the software industry.

I am unaware of the journal's early format, or even if they have gone through many changes (though I've searched for back issues in different second hand shops I know), but the current format seems not to have changed much over the last number of years. The journal features stories of varying length (they are open to publishing those awkwardly longer pieces that often have difficulty finding a home), an author interview, brief article and photographs of the editors and their contributors: childhood photos face each story's opening page, while other family-oriented photos grace the last few pages, a section under the heading "The Last Pages." Each of these photos contains a caption, and some of these cations by the authors themselves are more entertaining than their actual stories.

I subscribe regularly to different journals mostly in order to help them out; it is unfortunate that many of these periodicals, some quite excellent, are not more widely read. In 2009 I decided to subscribe for a year to see what Glimmer Train was all about, and with high expectations plunged myself into the first gorgeous glossy issue I received, Glimmer Train 70 (Spring 2009).

This particular issue features eight short stories, an author interview and a brief essay, and I was immediately impressed with the first story, Stephanie Dickinson's "A Hole in the Soup." The story deals with a young woman trapped in a hospital in New Orleans immediately following the flood. Not only does the story have a spectacular title, but the prose is solid and the situation more than gripping. Not just the strongest piece in the issue, Dickinson also provides the best entry among "The Last Pages," with a great photo of her dad and a genuinely touching caption. "A Hole in the Soup" proved to be by far the strongest piece in the issue, and really only one of two worth reading. The second is the following piece, Lauren Groff's "Delicate Edible Birds." It is a good story but drags a little at times and the protagonist can be somewhat uninteresting; it nonetheless has some strong moments and is well written.

The rest of the stories are forgettable.

There is a first-time published writer here, Joshua Canipe, whose "Preacher Stories" is dry, the prose generic and the characters uninvolved. Canipe's caption for his photo is the best in the collection among childhood photos; unfortunately someone screwed up and the photo that was supposed to appear with his caption in "The Last Pages" was omitted. Ed Allen's "Krakenhaus" is familiar and too self-involved. Mirian Novogrodsky's "Just Enough Food to Remember" is one of the two weakest of the bunch, as it tries to structure itself around a series of oddly-titled vignettes, a trope that is more irritating than neat, and does little more than distract from (yet another) self-involved piece. Scott Nadelson's "Aftermath" is the longest story though among the quickest to read. It is written in a clear style and is not a bad story. It deals with a married couple agreeing to a "trial separation," told through the point of view of the man. While it has some nice moments and interesting character relationships, it is too long and the protagonist is a little whiny to be sympathetic. This is followed by "Blind Spots" by Erica Johnson Debeljak, a story with some interesting ideas strung together with some dull writing. This is unfortunate because the concept here is interesting, about a boy who can only see peripherally, told through the point of view of his mother. The point of view weakens the story as it becomes about the mother and her own struggles and grief, victimizing her, rather than being about the boy himself. David Allan Cates's "The Rubber Boy" is the other weaker piece. It is a catalog of a man's life, asking why do I endure, which is followed a single event that gives him reason to endure. The last story, "Toward a Theory of Blindness" by Beth Aria Sloss, is uneven yet interesting at certain points.

This issue of Glimmer Train contains little variety. Most stories are in first person and most with unenlightened characters trying to philosophize about their place in the universe. Whether concerned about a sick child or a sick country, the bulk of the stories centre on a narrator attempting to come to grips with their place in the world or with what the universe has provided them, and each of them through some form of deus ex machina end up accepting that lot. In essence, notions of free will and independence are inherently dispelled, as characters learn to accept rather than make better, or different, the state of their selves or their immediate world. There is nothing challenging in the interpretations of the universe, nor of the self.

This issue features both an author interview and a short article. The interview in this issue is with author Will Allison, conducted by Andrew Scott. It is a fairly generic author interview, but a better read than many of the stories, and though I have never heard of Allison before reading the interview, I am curious about his novel and took note of it. One thing that bothered me about the interview is that, when quoting Allison on authors he read in college, the text reads "Nathaniel West," when his name is actually spelled Nathanael West. We are not told how the interview was conducted, oral or email, so I won't speculate as to who erred, but the editors really should have caught this blunder.

The essay is an all-too-brief account of Iranian author Yaghoub Yadali who was being persecuted for a novel he wrote about a couple involved in an extra-marital affair. The article is well written though wholly introductory.

I am uncertain as to the fate of my three remaining issues of Glimmer Train. They are still in their original plastic packaging so perhaps they will one day be worth more than the cover price. I was speculating on reading the first two stories of each issue, the photo captions and even the author interview, which I do like. The lack of free will in the Glimmer Train universe prevents me from over-speculating, because what I end up doing is likely predetermined. In the meantime each issue will look handsome on the bottom shelf of the little brown bookshelf beside my desk.

Dean R. Koontz, Twilight Eyes (1987)

Koontz, Dean. Twilight Eyes. New York: Berkley Books, 1987

Publication note: A "slightly different version" (as per the copyright page) of Part One was originally published in a limited hardcover edition by The Land of Enchantment in November 1985. It was illustrated in both black and white by Phil Parks, and was originally sold for $32.00 US. There were apparently some signed copies as well, that likely sold for considerably more.

Twilight Eyes at ISFdb

Twilight Eyes at Goodreads

Twilight Eyes at IBList

Rating:     1/10

(This review is spoiler free, though so little occurs in the 451 pages that it really doesn't make any difference.)

I am a firm believer in literacy, and have in the past argued that all genre has merit since, if nothing else, a "trashy" book nonetheless encourages people to read. Yet some books arguably serve no purpose. By this I mean books that are not only dull (which is essentially a subjective judgement), but so poorly written that the author should be ashamed for having brought it into the world. One of these books is the Dean R. Koontz novel Twilight Eyes, which is in competition with the Maurice Gagnon Montreal-based pseudo-mystery By Hate Possessed for the honour of The Worst Novel I Have Ever Read.

Twilight Eyes fails on every level: conception, plot, character, development, character development, setting delineation and writing. Even the title is weak: a misplaced 1980s pop tune. The novel focuses on a seventeen year-old boy who has the inexplicable natural ability to see through the disguises of certain "people" and recognize them for what they truly are: porcine creatures bent on exterminating the human race, driven by their predisposed hatred of humankind. The boy, Slim MacKenzie (as he has aliased himself), is on a journey to destroy these evil creatures which he randomly refers to as "goblins." The novel opens with Slim sneaking onto the closed lot of a travelling carnival, which is the setting for the first half of the novel. The second half of the novel is set in a small town that has become a hive for these monsters.

The narrator of his own story, Slim MacKenzie is a seventeen year-old drifter from Oregon, who is athletic, sensitive, morally upright and older than his years, traits that we are constantly being reminded of as though Koontz is trying hard to convince us of their accuracy. But as Slim sees through the goblin mask, I can see through Koontz and am blatantly aware that Slim is instead uninteresting and unbelievable, as flat as his prose and with less charm than the ink that was wasted in printing the text. The narration itself is immediately marred by the fact that the narrator is ageless, seventeen or a hundred and two, leading me to suspect that it is not Slim himself narrating but someone pretending to be him, and I am left with the notion that Koontz has merely immersed himself in what is essentially a juvenile male-driven fantasy.

Throughout my reading I kept wondering about narrator Slim's vantage point and his motive in telling the story. The events occur in 1963, but it is unclear at what stage in his life Slim is currently in and how distanced he has become from the events he is relating. The voice is ageless and remote, trance-like and devoid of personality, not seventeen but neither forty, which is likely what impels Koontz to keep reminding the reader that Slim is only seventeen. Koontz takes it for granted that this is even an issue, but while we don't require actual details of Slim's present circumstances, we do need to be somewhat grounded with narrator and narrative. The story should have been written in the third person. This would have eliminated the need for the grounding that Koontz is unable to deliver, and would have made Slim so much more interesting. I believe Koontz chose to write the story in the first person in order to allow for some dull moralizing that weighs the book down as heavily as a building would sink a rubber dinghy.

With such an elusive narrator we can only guess as to what inspired Slim to tell his story. The reader is expected to believe the narrator's every word; Slim doesn't even attempt to convince us that these goblins are real, and he proceeds with the presumption that we automatically believe him. Moreover, he is not trying to warn us of the danger of these hell-bent goblins, as he tells his story in a fairly casual way, withholding key pieces of information and revealing them at seemingly random points of the narrative. Slim is not even focused on these goblins and their threat to humanity, as he wades in a swamp of unimportant particulars. The emphasis on the most personal details of his sexual relationship with lover Rya Raines leads me to question his sensitive and moral nature, for he ends up coming off as an immature and overly-sexed man-child, bragging about giving Rya two orgasms before he even enters her, gushing embarrassingly over her perfectly rounded breasts, and then describing in odd detail his own orgasms: "through the medium of my sperm I passed my own heartbeat into her, the two now thumping as one." (p. 143) Perhaps this description is supposed to contrast the "spurting" blood of the goblins in the following paragraph, with "its thick warm jets of thick crimson serum," the serum in contrast with the semen, one giving life while the other steals it away (though this fails not only because of awful execution, but because Rya cannot have children and hence the life-giving aspect is moot). I don't believe any contrasts are attempted here; it is all part of a juvenile male fantasy.

Story-wise very little happens. Over the course of 451 pages we are given very little in the way of story and plot, with a rambling narrative that lacks direction. Instead of story we have naïve Christian moralizing and philosophizing (I don't mean that Christian moralizing and philosophizing itself is naïve, just that Koontz's own practice of it is less than insightful). Throughout the narrative Koontz/Slim reminds us that some people are good, while others are bad. Some are so bad that they may as well be evil "goblins," though overall humankind is filled with more good than bad and we should not harm the good because there is some bad in the flock. Destroy bad and maintain good; such is the purpose of life. Koontz tries to add ambiguity by illustrating extreme scenarios of "real" humans who act as though they are goblins, trying to drown us with the notion that the creatures may have a valid point in their desire to destroy humanity.

Furthermore, just like these goblins some "real" humans act friendly but are manifestations of evil and wear their friendliness as a disguise to allow them to perpetrate more acts of evil. These attempts at uniting story with base morality fall flat, as though Koontz was desperate to add some other dimension to the text in order to save it from its inherent uselessness. Amid this mess Koontz repeatedly uses Christian imagery or reference in everything from his similes and metaphors to the moralizing itself. Slim hears a scream that sounds like the voice of God (is it not sinful to assume that a mere man can imagine the voice of God?), and my personal favourite, Slim's statement near the end of Part One that love is the cross on which he was crucified. Each page is seemingly filled with such allusions that the practice is quickly tiring, and eventually more than irritating.

The novel is written with an agonizingly grating stream of repetition. Not only do scenes repeat themselves, but descriptions from death to sex are essentially reformatted every few chapters. We are plagued by constant repetition of how evil these "goblins" are, beaten over the head with overused adjectives such as "evil," "dark," and so forth, and are told over and over when and where Slim and Rya make love, and just how his semen intermingles with Rya's inner self, or some such nonsense.

This repetition is not reserved for descriptions and scenes, but the narrative is approached with a single, lackluster technique. Koontz begins each scene with a statement, either an idea, the introduction of a character or a single event, and he then proceeds to analyze that statement, however mundane. Koontz sticks to this pattern so avidly that I was able to survive the final hundred and fifty pages by reading only the first sentence of each paragraph, while reading in full those few scenes that manage to progress the limited plot. Perhaps aware of the repetitive structure, Koontz breaks off once in a while to gives us a series of brief sentences that are supposed to heighten tension, but that come across as dry and lazy.

One night last week as I lay awake in bed on a hot day in Granada, Spain, I decided to write a brief parody of Koontz's technique and content. I am presenting it here:

"Hello," Rya said.
She was greeting me as she did every morning, only this morning I noticed that her greeting was different. My senses told me that last night meant a lot to her, and that maybe she did not feel as alone as she was when I first stared at her silhouette while she sat in the darkness of her trailer. I was sure her greeting was sincere, so I decided to respond.
"Hi," I said. My own greeting was also sincere. I was beginning to look forward to seeing her in the mornings, to seeing that beautiful long blond hair and that perfect body clothed in jeans and a loose shirt that succeeded nonetheless in emphasizing her amazonian shape. I had to pull my own shirt down to cover my erection. She was smiling, but I am sure she did not notice the bulge, or was too polite and understanding to hint at it. I had the strong feeling that she wanted to ask me something, and knew that if I waited for a minute, or maybe a minute and a half, she would ask her question, and I was right.
"How are you?" she asked.
I don't know exactly how but I could sense that she wanted to know how I was. She wasn't asking just to make conversation, the way most people do, but because she really wanted to know. This made her unique and made me feel a stronger attachment to her, since I had the feeling that she felt that I liked sincerity when it came to questions. But I also knew that there was more: she wanted me to ask her how she was.
"Fine," I said, and I wasn't lying. Even though I spent an almost completely sleepless night, goaded by horrible nightmares that I spent the previous chapter relating in full ten-page detail, about being chased and chasing someone in a dark and evil graveyard, wanting to kill but not knowing why, until I awoke moaning and in a shiver of cold sweat. Despite these nightmares, the chasing and the graveyard and even despite the cold sweat, I felt fine because I was standing here admiring Rya in her blue jeans and loose flannel shirt. Though the world was being threatened by the evil goblins, I felt comfortable with the outcasts of this carnival because I too was an outcast, a freak with twilight eyes, but most especially I felt, for the first time in my life, my short seventeen years, utterly comfortable in the presence of this beautiful-breasted amazon.
She smiled.
I looked at her breasts.
They were nice.
I had an erection.
I was blushing.
I looked away.
I was only seventeen.
"How are you?" I asked. I knew that dark and evil things would come between us, but not on that day, I felt certain, but soon, very soon. At least by Friday. Or maybe by page 386. How was I supposed to know? I was only seventeen!

Truth be told, this is the third Koontz novel I have read, and likely the last. While I suffered through Twilight Eyes I also loathed The Funhouse (1980). I did somewhat enjoy Midnight (1989) despite the bad writing and uninteresting characters; there was something creepy about that novel, a level of authorial focus that was utterly missing in Twilight Eyes. And it was a good idea. Despite having liked Midnight, two terrible novels from a single, overly-prolific writer is far too many, and I doubt I will be reading any more from Mr. Koontz.

Joe Hill, Heart-Shaped Box (& “Bobby Conroy Comes Back From the Dead”)

Hill, Joe. Heart-Shaped Box. NY: William Morrow, 2007

______. Heart-Shaped Box. London: Gollancz, 2007.

Hill, Joe. “Bobby Conroy Comes Back From the Dead.” Postscripts Autumn 2005

______. 20th Century Ghosts, NY: William Morrow, October 2007

______. The Living Dead. Ed. John Joseph Adams. San Francisco: Night Shade Books, 2008

______. The Dead that Walk: Flesh-Eating Stories. Ed. Stephen Jones. London: Ulysses Press, December 2009.

Ratings: Heart-Shaped Box   4/10

               "Bobby Conroy Comes Back From the Dead”   7/10

(Semi-spoilers)

Heart-Shaped Box should have been a novella.

Joe Hill’s debut novel deals with Jude Coyne, a self-interested burnt-out rock star who purchases a ghost off the internet. This transaction results in a series of events that forces Coyne to take responsibility for some past actions, and allows him the opportunity to escape his rut and build a foundation for a strong future. Hill tries to build a character-heavy horror novel, but the result is uneven, as ghost story and character examination often exist on separate planes, never truly fusing into a single, solid work.

Beginning as an interesting horror mystery, the novel soon turns into a road trip as dreary as its dusty landscape. Along with two guardian dogs, Jude and his lover, former stripper Marybeth, drive to each of their respective childhood homes to put to rest both figurative and actual ghosts from the past. (With bought ghost in pursuit, though most of the time you wouldn’t know it.)

Not much is achieved at Marybeth’s grandmother’s home, just a lost little girl and a tiresome Ouija board. Excitement abounds, however, when the group arrives at the former home of their ghost pursuer, when once again we have a horror thriller on our hands. The real disappointment comes at the end of the road, the arrival at Jude’s old homestead. What begins as a promising sequence with a strong character in Arlene Wade, Jude’s dad’s nurse, and a sickly and dying father who may or may not see and speak, ends up as a weak denouement for the novel as a whole. Hill had a great opportunity to achieve something of a study of Jude’s character in relation to his estranged father, but sadly all form of reunion is avoided. I wouldn’t want nor expect a heart-felt moment of forgiveness, not remotely possible for these two characters, but I would like something to happen between the two, some element of conflict, especially since this is supposed to be a mainstream horror novel driven by character. What better horror than to be forced to confront the father you've been running from all your life, and what a great contrast Hill could have built between disposed father and purchased ghost? But as I mention above, once the horror enters the pages, notions of character are flung aside, and since we are nearing page three hundred and fifty, what better time to have a climax than now?

Joe Hill evidently struggled with this book. There is a long list of names he feels he must thank at the end, people who have read various drafts in order to help the work along, and perhaps the novel suffer from too much feedback and input; too many cooks in the writer's kitchen (not to mention a few sous-chefs and some big dude with a deep fryer). Hill does at times come across as  lacking confidence. He has the unfortunate habit of over-explaining characters’ motives rather than allowing the reader to gather that information through characterization, action, dialogue and all those other writerly tropes. This occurs frequently at the beginning of the novel, and once glaringly at the end, when Jude charitably slips some money into someone’s backpack. Since I included the adverb “charitably” I do not need to expand by adding a phrase at the end of that sentence for clarification, something along the lines of "in order to help her out because she was struggling and he sympathized with her unfortunate situation." Jude Coyne can’t seem to lift a hand without some narratorial comment which should have been stricken.

I decided to read this novel after having read one of Hill’s short stories, “Bobby Conroy Comes Back From the Dead.” The story tells of former lovers who get reacquainted while working as zombie extras on the set of George Romero’s Dawn of the Dead. I enjoyed the story because of the strong dynamic between the characters, the strong dialogue and interesting set-up. It is an ambiguous little story with a touch of comedy that comes together quite nicely. There is no actual horror involved, and the behind-the-scenes working with Romero and crew do not detract from the character elements of the piece. Heart-Shaped Box was perhaps an attempt at re-creating the effects of that short story, but unfortunately it does not work.

What is ironic is that what I enjoyed about the short story did not work in the novel, and what I enjoyed of the novel did not exist in the short story. The story is a character study with implied horror, and I liked the characters and was interested in their situation. With the novel I did not care much about the characters but enjoyed the tension, for the most part. I liked the mysterious ghost in the beginning, and the tense moment in the middle that I allude to above was well crafted, though another scene at a roadside diner and the climax do not work for me, primarily due to the situation and not the actual writing. It reads as though Hill is trying so hard to be original that he ends up being silly. Moreover, that razor that the ghost wields menacingly, but never actually does anything with, is superfluous and trite, an attempt to embellish the ghost with some horror when its mysteriousness alone was working quite well.

Heart-Shaped Box is certainly not a bad novel. I was interested enough to finish it and I will reiterate that it contains some good, tense moments. But it is also not a good novel. It is too ordinary, too conventional and mainstream to hang above the other multitude of ordinary, conventional and mainstream suspense novels. I do genuinely appreciate Hill's attempt at creating a character-driven ghost story. I was simply unable to get attached to Jude Coyne, while the women all molded into one, and though that was the point, to a certain extent, I did not like the effect; it was just too dehumanizing. I did like the ghost at the beginning of the novel and some minor characters, like Jude’s agent and the lawyer who appears briefly at the all-too-extended, post-climactic, seemingly never-ending character resolution sequence.

Despite these difficulties, Hill is not a bad writer (he is no David Shobin*). I will likely read his latest, Horns, and I do own a copy of 20th Century Ghosts which I am looking forward to on the strength of "Bobby Conroy Comes Back from the Dead."

Note: I do wonder if the name Jude Coyne is a nod to John Coyne.


*meaning he is not as bad as Shobin. I need to clarify since a reader misunderstood and was as a result confused by my review of the The Unborn.

David Shobin, The Unborn (1981)

Shobin, David. The Unborn. NY: Simon & Schuster, January 1981

______. The Unborn. Cosmopolitan Magazine (serialized). March 1981.

______. The Unborn. NY: Bantam Books, January 1982.

The Unborn at Goodreads
The Unborn at IBList

Rating: 4/10

The Unborn is a standard suspense/horror novel, lacking in suspense and devoid of horror. At times it reads like a trite medical romance, though I mostly enjoyed its elements of technological parody. Unintentional, of course.

The plot deals with a pregnant woman taking part in a medical sleep study, during which the foetus begins to communicate with the medical centre's super computer. An interesting, far-fetched idea.

Author David Shobin is himself an obstetrician and gynaecologist still practicing in New York (as of the writing this articles publication, June 2010). The Unborn, his first novel, utilizes a fair amount of medical knowledge to narrate its story. While Shobin's knowledge certainly adds to the somewhat thin plot and does help to ground the far-fetched premise, I kept wondering how a sleep-study researcher knew so much about obstetrics, including obscure bits of information related to pregnancy and gynaecology. Is the smart, dashing and sensitive hero of the novel the author in disguise? Or perhaps, while the foetus was communicating with the super-computer, the doctor was in tune with the narrator; a more frightening prospect and a neat idea for a future Shobin novel.

The unusual premise and medical slant help to save an otherwise bland novel. The writing, characters and plot are weak, and though it is a fast read, a third of the 301 pages could easily have been shaved off. Shobin spends far too much time in the first eighty pages delineating these all-too-familiar characters. Samantha ("Sam"), the pregnant woman and Jon, her sleep-study doctor, are both highly intelligent, exceptionally good-looking and hyper understanding of each other. If not convinced of these qualities, rest assured that the author will not hesitate in reminding his readers just how intelligent and good looking these two are. The two fall in love, which is evidently what good-looking people do, and unfortunately they must prove their love again and again at the expense of the reader.

The good doctor has an older, maternal assistant who helps him professionally and socially, and cares about Sam as much as he does. The minor characters, and there are very few, are stock and impossible to tell apart. The computer, sadly, does not act as a character, but as a machine. Shobin had the opportunity to create a creepy menace but avoids it altogether, though at times Sam's foetus does come across in a nice, eerie light.

The writing is weak, but I suppose passable for a doctor trying to write his first novel. The sex is laughable and Shobin seems quite taken by Sam's breasts, though I suppose the attention he lavishes on them might be an attempt at enhancing the focus on maternity. Dialogue is paint-by-numbers and plot is almost non-existent while scenes are quite repetitive. The reader knows well in advance what is happening, so there is no suspense for us (though in abundance for the doctor and his assistant) until about page 200 or so. What kept me reading was wanting to know what will the foetus turn out to be? Freak, innocent child or Damien? I give Shobin credit for not overdoing this in the course of the read, since some authors might find it tempting to fill reams of pages wondering what freakish being resides in the pregnant woman's abdomen to the point that the reader will get fed up and no longer care. I will peculate that Dr. Shobin, during his career, has developed a sensitive view of women in their pregnancy, and I applaud his sensitive approach to what could easily have been a juvenile speculation. Hence little time is spent on such musings, with the occasional mutter from Sam, so that the reader's own imagination can wander at will.

The Unborn was published in 1981, and social and gender roles come across awkward and self-conscious, with the good doctor clearly acknowledging that abortion is the woman's choice. Shobin wanted to make his doctor the well-rounded yet perfect modern male, who is sickened when he feels used by sex and all-understanding of women's lib. Modern at the time perhaps, but a little contrived and comical today.

Moreover, the computers are clunky machines of the past. I mention above that Shobin missed an opportunity in creating a menacing, life-like computer, but in reality this machine may have appeared more frightening in the dark ages of the early '80s. It is indeed 1981, and these massive data banks and "minicomputers" are hilarious. Have a look at Shobin's description of the precursor to the home computer:

"The minicomputer was a marvel of electronic wizardry and mechanical miniaturization... A product of advances in quartz and gold microcircuitry, the entire unit was twelve inches high and one yard wide, with a separate typewriter console for programming."

Not to mention a printer that filled up a closet and spat out folded reams of paper. Of course our brave doctor is also somewhat of a technical expert and manages to cross-wire his minicomputer with that of the medical centre's highly prized and tightly secured, multi-million dollar super computer.

I'm not sure what to make of the 1981 cover pictured at the top, but that it seems to beg for a sequel. As expected, Sam doesn't go into labour until the last few pages so there is no glowing baby in a crib. The 1982 paperback is identical but for a brief tag line below the title: "Before the baby cries you will scream." Whatever that means. I understand that labour and often pregnancy can be painful, so a scream or two is not unnatural. The cover on the left is by Pan, from 1982, and the one on the right is a Dutch translation. I am somewhat confused about the concept of glowing babies, or a glowing foetus. The woman on the Dutch edition cover looks nothing like our darling American Sam; in fact, the woman on the cover doesn't look at all pregnant. She looks like a healthy woman lying in bed and clasping an evidently scalding crystal of some kind. There are two things I like about this edition: the wonderfully appropriate dated technology hard at work behind her (is that a Geiger counter resting on her left beside the pillow? Is that crystal radioactive?), and I love the letter O in the title (take a closer look).

But I believe I have nit-picked enough about this novel and it is time to set my typewriter console aside, rest my minicomputer and pick up a better book.