Mary Lawson, Crow Lake (2002)

Lawson, Mary, Crow Lake, Toronto: Alfred A. Knopf Canada, 2002. 291 pages


Crow Lake at Goodreads
For more Friday's Forgotten Books visit Patti Abbott's blog


Rating: 7/10


Not all tragedies are at the caliber of Oedipus Rex. Some are quiet and personal and play out in a land less opulent and recognizable than Ancient Greece. Crow Lake is the story of four siblings growing up in the harsh, farming landscape of the fictional Crow Lake, and their setting is amid the vast landscape of Northern Ontario.

Told through the point of view of adult child Kate Morrison, once the third child of the orphan quad and now a well educated graduate researcher. Since leaving home Kate has been lugging the guilt of having been the one to leave the farm to earn a modern education and an urban career. Originally it was eldest Luke who was destined to go to teachers' college, then brainy second son Matt, but it is Kate alone who has managed to make the leap from Northern Ontario small town to big city education.

Though education is portrayed as the single stepping stone toward success, life on the land, along with its hardships and drama, is not entirely frowned upon. This is Canada, after all, and in Canadian literature it is often our ties to the land that help define a great part of who we are as individuals. The geography of the novel is well delineated, as are the characters, and these two and their relationships are what make Crow Lake such a good read, more than the actual events of the story. The plot is made up primarily of smaller events and struggles: in the past it is the family and the community's attempt at keeping our orphans together in the family home, whereas in the novel it is Kate's inability to bind the life of her childhood with that of her academic present, and of the man she loves. Melodramatic sounding, but quite interesting and very real.

There is an inconsistency between past and present, and I found myself far more interested in child Kate over the adult version. Boyfriend Daniel is too good, and exists primarily as a deus ex machina, being the outsider who finally brings Kate to accept that the tragedy of the past is not the real tragedy of her relationship with brother Matt. The childhood sequences, on the other hand, are vivid and compelling, and I would not have minded a greater detailed buildingsroman, as in the days of the Victorian and Edwardian eras.

But of course what I wouldn't mind is not necessarily the author's intention, and in Crow Lake Lawson's intentions are clear. Though there is little subtlety in her approach, she succeeds with the end result.

Shimmer Magazine Screwed Up

Shimmer Magazine website
My review of Shimmer 15


It was when I received their last newsletter, featuring their latest volume, Shimmer 16, that I suspected an oversight. While others were raving about the issue, I was without a copy. As a subscriber I felt I should have had my copy in hand, but knowing that in this chaotic post-modern age nothing is reliable, I was prepared to be patient and gave myself one week before inquiring. During that week I considered possible reasons why my issue was not in my hand.

Perhaps it was due to that heavy snow storm wreaking havoc along the Canada-US border. Perhaps Montreal, foreign soil as it is, lies legions away from Salt Lake City, and the shimmery carrier pigeon was too worn out to make it to my mailbox on time (the two are 3,119 kilometres, or 1938 miles, apart). Maybe it had to do with the Canadian dollar once again falling below that of the US. Or maybe, just maybe the shimmery staff simply forgot about little insignificant me.

A week passed and I wrote them a polite (I am Canadian) note, kindly inquiring about the delay. This was a Friday. On Monday I received this reply.



It looks like we screwed up your address when we entered it in our database -- so your copy has been returned to us. Woe!

I'll put another copy in the mail right away -- meanwhile, here's the electronic edition for you to read while you wait for it to arrive. I'll also extend your subscription by an issue to make up for the inconvenience!

I'm so sorry.


The term "screwed up" was theirs. A little harsh, I think. Excellent customer service though, particularly that "I'm so sorry" at the end. Something about it, either the "so" or its position at the bottom somehow managed to touch my cynical heart. I'm prepared to renew my subscription on the strength of this prompt response alone. I still have a couple of issues to go, however, and in the meantime I can only hope that the fine people at Shimmer screw up again.

You can support Shimmer Magazine via their subscription page.

Lou Cameron, Behind the Scarlet Door (1971)

Cameron, Lou, Behind the Scarlet Door, Greenwich, CT: Fawcett Gold Medal [T2493], 1971. 192 pages

Behind the Scarlet Door at Goodreads
For more Friday's Forgotten Books, this week please visit Davy Crockett's Almanack.
[Edit] Just realized that TomCat reviewed this title just as positively on his blog.

Rating: 7/10 (8, if considered among pulp novels alone)

Due to his knowledge of Cymraeg, a Welsh cop is recruited to help investigate an unusual case involving the occult. The autopsy of a recent corpse belonging to a dancer reveals it to be at least two weeks old, and yet police interviewed her only two days before. Later the body of a local witch is discovered, dead for well over a month, though our hero himself had just interviewed her. This is the nifty premise of this highly entertaining piece of pulp.

Lou Cameron was a prolific genre writer of primarily westerns. With Behind the Scarlet Door, however, he manages to weave a plot involving zombies, witches and warlocks, invisible cats, black roses, hallucinogenics, voodoo, Welsh folk tales, Moravian customs and the hint of time travel. Not to mention a love plot involving our Welsh hero and a small-town German widow.

The plot complication is far busier than the plots of your average pulp mystery, with various characters, locations and a mountain of unusual events. Our cops are pretty certain the occult is cultish fantasy and a ruse, and that there are rational explanations for all the odd events, and their investigative drive leads the reader to concur. It is clear early on that this is not a supernatural novel, but an unusual mystery.

The writing is pulpy but in a good way. It is energetic, at times humourous, and despite the repetition and stereotypes, it never wanes. The publication date of 1971 is evident throughout, displaying bellbottoms and afros, but dated primarily from a self-conscious awareness of race and gender. Black people are constantly referred to by their race ("The black detective said"), but not in a repressed racist ilk: black detective Pete Custis is the smartest of the cops, a Columbia-educated and entirely indefatigable investigator. He is far superior in every conceivable way over our often clueless protagonist Morgan. Women are also well educated, and there is no struggle to create a feminist world-view, no awkward "living in a man's world" comments as Michael Crichton drowned us with in The Terminal Man (1972).

The glaring exception to the easy social awareness is, perhaps, with Cameron's allusions to homosexuality. There are no openly gay characters in the novel, and yet there are several mentions of homosexuality, usually derogatory though primarily as an attempt at humour. Cameron himself was not necessarily homophobic; instead the era, beginning to accept blacks and women as equal to white males, was still feeling insecure around gay men.

The novel's complication is, well, complicated, and don't expect to try to piece everything together. The ending is unexpected though not shocking, and many of the puzzle pieces are semi-red herrings, leading perhaps to one piece of clue, but not always to the outcome.

This entertaining bit of silliness from Fawcett Gold Medal books is highly recommended.

Crying Just Like Anybody: Stories from The Fiction Desk 4 (2012)

Crying Just Like Anybody: Stories from The Fiction Desk 4, edited by Rob Redman, The Fiction Desk, 2012. 142 pages

Crying Just Like Anybody at Goodreads.
Overall Rating: 7/10


It took me a little longer getting around to the fourth release by the good people over at The Fiction Desk (where they've recently updated their site). Volume four reads much like three in that while there are no truly stand-out stories, they are all good. Unfortunately the last two stories were a bit of a let down for me, though not bad stories by any means. My favourite story here is "Crying Just Like Anybody," followed by "Just Kids."

I recommend a subscription to The Fiction Desk, my favourite fiction journal of 2012 (no I haven't read them all), particularly now that they are offering a deal.


Crying Just Like Anybody by Richard Smyth. 7/10

Depression-era New York and an almost nineteen year-old Anna tells of when her boyfriend Johnny (really Gianni) found a Martian. Amusing and even touching, "Crying Just Like Anybody" has a simple theme clearly implied by its title, and contains some nice detail to elevate its ideas.

And its the details that make this story so engaging. Like Mars's moons, Phoebus and Demos, no one in Manhattan goes by their actual names. Not only are we all alike, we are also not truly ourselves. Notions of individuality are set aside as we are told that Manhattan is a cosmopolitan place where, regardless where you are from, Ireland or Germany or Italy or even Mars, we are alike.

Incidentally, being Hungarian (as I am in part) transforms the story since, though I didn't catch on to the phonetics right away, I quickly realized what our Martian was wanting. Of course I won't give it away.

There is also an interesting background story by author Richard Smyth posted on the TFD blog.


I'm the One by Miha Mazzini. Translated by Maja Visenjak. 7/10

A voice message from a Slovenian mid-level government clerk to an estranged child who had fled to America. Not as much about the paternal-child relationship as I originally expected, and more about accepting responsibility on a humanistic scale. Some solid bureaucratic absurdity reminiscent of nineteenth and early twentieth century Eastern European fiction.


Just Kids by S.R. Mastrantone. 7/10

Frank is fed up with the young teens who loiter on the street below his third-floor window, and when his more forgiving wife leaves town for a while, he takes it upon himself to start a little war, only to then fear for his safety.

This one surprised me, for though the intent was obvious early on, the direction was not. Another story to hover the line of amusing and effective, it touches upon a variety of themes ranging from prejudice (ageism), media influence and how we can be driven by anxiety despite reason being so close at hand.

For some back-story, visit the TFD blog.


Wonders of the Universe by Colin Corrigan. 7/10

Kevin and Edel are having marital problems and their counsellor recommends they watch Wonders of the Universe, a BBC series, which oddly brings them closer. Yet while Edel becomes curiously attracted to the show's host Brian Cox, Kevin begins to notice tenant Angela and her overt sexual flirtations. Told through Kevin's point of view, the story is highly entertaining. It reveals to us that the most insignificant thins can be the most important, and proves it with the story's touching conclusion.

Corrigan's second TFD story after "The Romantic" in issue two, All These Little Words, "Wonders of the Universe" is easily the superior story of the two.


Across the Kinderhook by Matthew Licht. 6/10

A childless couple visit a successful old friend, only to discover that the facade of perfection is marred by the fact that their beautiful little girl is non-responsive. Until she inexplicably responds to the visiting woman. A good story but unfortunately the narrator is a little too unlikeable and the scene where he wanders the woods a little too uninteresting, partly because he is not terribly likeable while the more interesting characters in the story were left behind in the house.

Matthew Licht's previous TFD story "Dave Tough's Luck" appeared in issue one, Various Authors.


Phantoms by Die Booth. 6/10

"The scariest thing I've ever seen was my granddad's phantom." This story of a bullied little girl and her collector of oddities grandfather took me by surprise. I anticipated the ending, and yet it was effective nonetheless. The two stories, girl and grandfather and girl bullied at school, are narrated in separate sections, not interwoven except when the anticipated revenge comes about. The story closes with a strong image.


Carolina Carioca by Luiza Sauma. 6/10

A rare second person story tells of the doomed relationship between a young Londoner teaching in Brazil and the beautiful woman he falls for and takes home. There is nothing extraordinary about the story but the prose is solid and the emotions well delivered on paper.

For background story by the author you can check out this blog page.


Can We Have You All Sitting Down, Please? by William Thirsk-Gaskill. 6/10

This sketch features a professor who recounts some important points on current social behaviour via the achievements of computer science pioneer Alan Turing. The narrative, told through the point of view of the single attentive student, is less story and more lecture, and yet the lecture is a fascinating one, placing the technologies we are constantly hooked to in a thought-provoking context. As a non-fiction piece I would rate it higher than as a short story, per se. Good, smart stuff.


Me, Robot by Mike Scott Thomson. 5/10

Having lost his job and not wishing to upset his wife by telling her, our narrator takes on the career of robot busking, painting himself silver and impressing passers-by with his combination of statuesque stillness and slow robot whirring motions. Amusing, entertaining, but not too memorable. I like the title and its play on Isaac Asimov's popular collection I, Robot.


Tripe Soup and Spanish Wine by Matt Plass. 6/10

A troubled man hosts an unusual dinner party, during which he serves the barely edible while humiliating his guests. A good enough story but I was anticipating a more satisfying finish. Plass wrote "The Maginot Line" for TFD 3: The Maginot Line, a far superior story.

Michael Crichton, The Terminal Man (1972)

Crichton, Michael, "The Terminal Man", Playboy Magazine, March-May 1972 (serialized in 3 parts, cover of the March 1972 issue below)
_____________, The Terminal Man, NY: Alfred A. Knopf, 1972 (cover right, by Paul Bacon)
_____________, The Terminal Man, NY: Ballantine Books, 1993 (my edition)

Visit The Terminal Man at Goodreads
Visit The Terminal Man at ISFdb
This week's summing up of Friday's Forgotten Books can be found at Davy Crockett's Almanack.


Rating: 2/10

Harry Benson, an average man suffering from violent blackout episodes following a car accident, takes part in an experimental operation that involves implanting wires in his brain in order to control his seizures. Though average, Benson is a computer programmer who has a great fear of becoming a machine, a fear that nears reality when his brain and the treatment it's receiving prove to be a dangerous combination, and he flees on a murderous rampage.

Which turns out to be not quite so murderous and perhaps a little less of a rampage.

The Terminal Man, Michael Crichton's second novel as Michael Crichton, is blurbed as being a "modern Frankenstein," when in essence it's more like a take on The Incredible Hulk. Our transformed man is not a constructed man, but instead is pushed to acts of violence which he cannot recall when in his Bruce Banner-like normal state. Unlike Dr. Frankenstein's monster Benson can be reverted to his previous self, while just like Banner he fears the monster that he can become.

Whether a Frankenstein or a Hulk or a Little Orphan Annie, the novel is downright terrible, offering us a minimal story-line with loads of filler and some of the laziest and silliest characterization I've encountered in a long while. Moreover, the dated and lengthy discussions of what the future of computers will bring is overdone and quickly tiring, likely more so in 2013 than when it was first published in 1972.

Author Crichton is a graduate of Harvard Medical School and frequently wrote about the dangers in expanding technologies. His most famous novel, the entertaining Jurassic Park, succeeds far better on all levels than this earlier and simpler work. In fact, Jurassic Park is more like Frankenstein than The Terminal Man, with near-zombie dinosaurs rather than a reanimated man (or parts of men). Jurassic Park has its own problems, but one thing Crichton managed to accomplish is rather than spout on about the dangers of this, that and the other, he let his characters do the talking while the narrator simply directed.

The blurb on the front of my Ballantine Books edition (eighth printing of the 1988 edition) reads "An absolutely riveting novel" (Life Magazine) while the back cover explodes with "A fascinating, splendidly documented thriller" (The New Yorker). These statements are likely peeled off from reviews printed in 1972, when the novel might have been more riveting and fascinating. In today's terms it is dated, silly and poorly written.

With such a minor plot-line the novel would have been a far better read at a hundred pages. At two hundred and sixty-one pages Crichton packs in details about what a future Los Angeles would face with greater subsistence on computers.

The novel is dated not only through a technical point of view, but its social stance is very much embedded in early 1970s notions of feminism. Our heroine Dr. Janet Ross is very conscious of being a woman in a man's profession, and had to deal with such tribulations as growing up with a father who was disappointed in having a girl rather than a son to follow in his surgeon footsteps. Despite Crichton's continued focus on the more basic issues related to feminism, he nonetheless has Dr. Ross putting on skirts and thinking of make-up, and the one real victim of the novel is a poor dancer (i.e. stripper) who is brutally stabbed to death with a screwdriver.

Not only are the characters badly delineated stock, they are downright silly. Surgeons head off on their own to investigate obvious leads as to Benson's whereabouts, and of course get beaten to a pulp. The most idiotic aspect is that these brilliant doctors select Harry Benson as the subject for the electrical implants, even though it is known to them that Benson's greatest phobia is that he become a machine. Crichton badly wants us to sympathize with Benson, reminding us throughout the novel that he is the victim, that his rage is the result of an overly-ambitious experiment, that he never wanted to hurt no one, that he is kind and charming (though he repeatedly stabs a dancer with a screwdriver). I could not for the life of me care about the man, and I wanted him to remain alive only long enough to kill off the other characters.

Oddly there are two computer techies who are discussed at length at the beginning of the novel, only to pretty much disappear, begging the question "What was their point?" It's as if Crichton made it up as he went along and forgot a few items along the way.

All of the lunacy that is The Terminal Man is made even worse by downright awful writing. Crichton gives us a bit of action, then rambles on about feminism or the terrifying computer-controlled future of Los Angeles, or the advances in neuro surgery, or whatever else he feels like spewing on about. Amid this tiring structure we are given such sloppy sentences such as this paragraph: "Suddenly Anders froze. She stopped and listened with him." The 'she' is technically referring to Anders, but since Anders is male the pronoun is referring to Dr. Ross, whereas Anders, the subject of the first sentence, is unexpectedly relegated to the object of the second. Aside from grammar, Crichton twice uses the simile "like a snake," first describing the Los Angeles freeway, and later Anders's arm. A little later the narrator tells us of Dr. Ross's fear of snakes, and I wonder at Crichton's anti-serpent attitude.

In other words, you might want to skip this one.

The Terminal Man was made into a movie directed by Mike Hodges, released in 1974. Benson was played by George Segal and Ross by Joan Hacket. I haven't seen it but am curious. Incidentally the movie featured two actors from John Carptenter's The Thing, Richard Dysart (Copper) and Donald Moffat (Garry). It also featured Jill Clayburgh and James Sikking, who will later rise to fame with his role on Hill Street Blues.

Patrick McGrath, Blood and Water and Other Tales (1988)

McGrath, Patrick, Blood and Water and Other Tales, Poseidon Press, February 1988
McGrath, Patrick, Blood and Water and Other Tales, Ballantine Books, April 1989

For Friday's Forgotten Books

Blood and Water and Other Tales at Goodreads
Blood and Water and Other Tales at ISFdb
More Friday's Forgotten Books at Pattinase

Rating: 7/10


Patrick McGrath is most often described as a Gothic writer, which is certainly a more appropriate description than horror. Though the two are closely connected, McGrath's stylistics are heavily Gothic, whereas many of his stories have only a tenuous link with horror as we have come to understand the genre. Genre aside,   is a strong collection of stories that are vastly varied in their approach and content, but utterly similar in their tone.

This is McGrath's only collection of stories; the later book The Angel and Other Stories (Penguin Books, 1995) includes four stories from Blood and Water, and was part of the Penguin 60s series of books celebrating the publishing house's 60th birthday, and issuing a series of short books at 60 pence apiece. Amid its varied approach, the stories in Blood and Water offer tales narrated by both men and women, as well as by other more unusual narrators, such as a boot and a fly. Stories take place in England, India and the US, from Manhattan and Greenwich Village to the Louisiana bayou. We have tales about houses, family histories, vengeance, psychological breakdowns and the post apocalyptic, with the prominent undercurrent of sexual repression and perversion. Consistent throughout is McGrath's elegantly verbose and controlled prose. The writing throughout each of the thirteen stories is a pleasure to read.

While the stories in this collection do include some clear horror tales, they encompass aspects of the darker parts of our inner selves rather than of an exterior threat. Whatever horrors the characters encounter, they are inflicted not by outward malevolent forces, but as a result of human malevolence. Our dark subconscious, our repressed desires and our inability to recognize truths about ourselves and those around us, or to simply deal with them appropriately, are factors lying in abundance here. These stories are unconventional, and many don't have a clear, linear plot, but are presented more as character sketches, people confronted or dealing with unusual circumstances. Most of the stories borrow elements of classic literature, both of classic supernatural tales as well as elements of Victorian and Edwardian prose, Gothic and otherwise.

McGrath is very much a stylist. His prose is flawless, smooth and literate. His sentences are so well constructed that often I read them aloud in order to better appreciate them. The stories also embody elements beyond simple story-telling, as McGrath imbues many of his tales with serious thematic elements. Often he will open a story with a kind of discussion on a topic, such as colonialism in "The Dark Hand of the Raj" and the humourous considerations on priesthood in "Ambrose Syme." He is not being didactic or preachy in any respect, but rather playful.

There is not a bad story in this collection, but a few do suffer in that the plot aspect is lacking in a tale that should be more story than sketch.


The Angel     6/10     The Quarterly #4, Winter 1987
During a sweltering New York heat wave, our narrator makes the acquaintance of Harry Talboys, an elderly and eccentric old man. Over gin Harry talks while our narrator thinks of topics to use for a book, yet Harry manages to grasp the other's interest when he tells him he once met an angel. "The Angel" uses the classic supernatural trope of a narrator telling a story he heard from another, the act of removal adding distance between the narrator and the unusual event, yet McGrath's use is more modern as narratives come together and our narrator is a less than trustworthy conduit of information.


The Lost Explorer     7/10     Blood and Water and Other Tales, 1988
Playing in the family garden, little Evelyn encounters an explorer struck with malaria and mumbling in a fevered haze that they must get away from the pygmies. Evelyn is both fascinated and sympathetic, while her parents, oblivious of the world outside their own little cocoon of concerns, are wholly unaware of Evelyn's new interest and of the explorer's existence.

This story was an absolute pleasure, fusing pathos with comedy and the obscure. The sadness lies in Evelyn's father's self-importance and in her mother's unnatural estimation of him, whereas the little girl is partially neglected. Conversations and aspects of this self-interest is treated with humour, and the explorer's existence provides the obscure.

"The Lost Explorer" was made into a short film by photographer Tim Walker, starring Richard Bremmer. I have not yet seen it but here is a trailer. Interestingly Walker's site refers to the short story as a novel.


The Black Hand of the Raj     7/10     Blood and Water and Other Tales, 1988
In 1897, Lucy Hepplewhite travels to India to meet her fiancé Cecil Pym (a reference to Edgar Allan Poe's The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket?). Excited and concerned, she's heard that once an Englishman has spent ample time in India, he is a changed man, and once reunited she is immediately aware of Cecil's brooding silence and the fact that he will not remove his hat. To her horror he reveals that, after receiving a slight bump on the head from an old Indian man, a hand has begun to grow from the top of his head.

Cecil's fate is predictable, but his fate is not what the story is about, nor where the story ends. Lurking behind the curse is a comment on colonialism, since Cecil is cursed after stepping out into what he considered to be "my" garden. Yet beyond the curse we have a story of sexual repression and carnal sin.

Like "The Angel," "The Dark Hand of the Raj" uses classic weird tale tropes. For one thing it is set in colonial India and involves a British officer and a curse. Yet also like "The Angel," McGrath modernises these aspects by taking the story in other direction, and the creepiness in "Dark Hand" lies well beyond the presence of that malicious hand. Moreover, McGrath opens the story with some details about British imperialism which is a nice, unique touch, both paying homage to its story-telling roots, while simultaneously distancing itself by being conscious of those roots.


Lush Triumphant     6/10     Between C & D, 1988
An alcoholic painter slowly reveals to himself the nature of his current work, and thereby of himself. "Lush Triumphant" is a difficult story to pull off, since McGrath relies on a combination of character and description to reveal what is lurking behind both. Another tale of sexual repression and latent homosexuality.


Ambrose Syme     7/10     Bomb, 1988
The third tale of sexual repression and the second involving homosexuality. A young Ambrose Syme is forced by his father to enter the seminary, and though he progresses with his education he is nonetheless overly aware of his sexual desires, which unfortunately culminate in a terrible tragedy.

The story begins with a humourous attack on the inherent sexual repression of the priesthood, and evolves into something quite tragic and sad. Among the more powerful pieces in the collection.


The Arnold Crombeck Story     6/10     Blood and Water and Other Tales, 1988
In 1954, an ambitious American woman reporter is sent on assignment to London to interview serial murderer Arnold Crombeck shortly before he is hanged. Again McGrath takes on a familiar premise, the relationship between a level-headed interviewer and a man, evidently unstable, behind bars. Mildly similar to the 1975 Thomas Harris novel, Silence of the Lambs, in that an up-and-coming female career person is involved in a potentially dangerous series of interviews with a serial killer behind bars. There is a little twist in this one which I saw coming early on, though the story does not hinge on this twist. Well written but as fresh as the other stories.


Blood Disease     8/10     Bomb, 1988
A multi-layered and complex story. Anthropologist "Congo Bill" is struck with malaria among the Pygmies (elements used also in the story "The Lost Explorer"), yet manages to survive a broken man. On his return he, wife Virginia and son Frank, along with a monkey he had brought back for his son, find themselves at an inn, where Virginia meets an old flame Ronald Dexter who is travelling with his attendant Clutch. Only Clutch is aware that the inn is run and inhabited by a kind of vampire community, victims of pernicious anemia, a condition according to our omniscient narrator, which can result in a chemical balance that can lead to the craving for blood.

This is a busy story, and without ruining any elements of suspense I will note only that the story is superbly written, with strong, descriptive prose, solid characters, great elements of both mystery and suspense, as well as a good, rounded structure and mysterious, open-ended finish. There are many nice allusions to vampirism, with the anemia, the descriptive passage on malaria development, fleas sucking blood and so forth, marking "Blood Disease" among the better vampire stories, or rather non-vampire vampire stories.

Of McGrath's short stories, this is the most anthologized, which isn't stating much since his work tends not to appear in anthologies. "Blood Disease" appeared in both The Oxford Book of Gothic Tales (Chris Baldic, editor, Oxford University Press, 1992) and A Taste for Blood (Martin H. Greenberg, editor, Dorset Press, 1992).


The Skewer     7/10     Confrontation #37-38, Spring/Summer 1988
Neville Pilkington experiences odd hallucinations as he sees the miniature forms of Sigmund Freud and other analysts, such as Otto Rank and Ernest Jones. The story is pieced together by Neville's nephew from journal entries, Neville's own psychoanalyst's impressions of the case, and the truth as our narrator sees it.

The story is an homage to Sheridan LeFanu, with unusual ghostly appearances as we have seen in LeFanu's excellent stories "Green Tea" and "The Familiar." In case the reader is in doubt, Neville visits the LeFanu café, and one of the ghosts is described as "simian," a direct allusion to the ghostly monkey in "Green Tea."

An odd premise rewards well as the story is simultaneously entertaining and suspenseful, and features a solid finish. Psychoanalysis is poked at, and the title refers not only to the object but to the fact that psychoanalysis is like putting a skewer to the brain.


Marmilion     7/10     Blood and Water and Other Tales, 1988
This Louisiana tale features a female photographer specializing in, you guessed it, monkeys. Specifically spider monkeys, and while in the Louisiana swamp she comes across a crumbling house where, spending the night, she hears an odd scraping in the chimney. This leads her to research the house, Marmilion it's named, and learns of former owner Randolph Belvedere, his family and the tragic circumstances surrounding all. A strong story with a creepily mysterious conclusion.


Hand of a Wanker     5/10     Between C & D, 1988
The weakest of the stories, this one features the runaway hand of a chronic masturbator. The story doesn't fit in with the others in the collection. It tries to be funny and playful, but McGrath's other somewhat humourous story of the collection, "The E(rot)ic Potato" works far better, particularly since it also carries with it some serious undertones. "Hand of a Wanker" is just silly.


The Boot's Tale     7/10     New Observations, 1988
A post apocalyptic tale of the decline of an American family told through the point of view of an old and wise boot. Yet another strong story, this one with a kind of 1950s atmosphere, mixing dark humour with an apocalyptic scenario featuring a bomb shelter and a commentary on modern American families and their gluttonous nature. The story can be narrated by an omniscient voice rather than footwear, and it's not fully clear why it is told by a boot since throughout much of the story the boot takes a back seat and we even forget about it (as I did), but McGrath succeeds well in that the boot narrator does not detract from a great story.


The E(rot)ic Potato     6/10     East Village Eye, 1988
A short piece told by a fly as it searches for food along with a myriad of other insects. This fly is observant and McGrath does well with giving him a personality, and the narrator has more (obvious) purpose than the boot in the previous story. Not as strong as "The Boot's Tale," it is nonetheless good, with a vivid and striking image to finish off, and an incidental commentary on human life.


Blood and Water     6/10     The Missouri Review 11.1, 1988
This tale of a man snapping under the pressures of keeping his wife's unusual sexual secret from the public features much to nearly make the reader snap. Boilers and boiling water help escalate our madman's plight in a story that manages to garner sympathy for its aggressive and eventually violent protagonist.

Unthology No. 2 (2011)

Unthology No. 2, edited by Robin Jones and Ashley Stokes, Unthank Books, November 2011.

Unhology 2 at Goodreads
My review of Unthology No. 1 is over here.

This edition of Friday's Forgotten Books has something recent released under the mainstream radar.

Overall rating: 6/10

It took me some time to get through volume two of the Unthology anthology published annually by Unthank Books. There's something about the dense print and the odd minimal spacing between paragraphs that I just don't like. If we're trying to reduce space and page numbers we can eliminate the individual story title pages which aren't necessary, otherwise I don't see the purpose of such compressed print. My vision is 20/20 and I don't expect something along the lines of the Magnum Easy Eye Books, but something a little more aesthetically appealing and, since I do read a fair amount, less straining to the eye.

Content-wise (which is also important) Unthology No. 2 is on par with its predecessor. While there are some fine and varied stories, many do fall a little flat. The problem with trying to be different and offering less of the same is that not every story will appeal to every reader. While no story is strictly bad, there are just some that I simply, within the boundaries of my own eclectic tastes, did not care for. Variety is the winning force, something the Unthology has so far proven to contain more than other periodicals, and variety forces the brain to work a little harder. My favourite stories include the non-experimental opening story by Sarah Evans and the surreal "Siramina" by M. Pinchuk. Other strong entries are those by Melissa Mann, co-editor Ashley Stokes, and the closing story by Joshua Allen.


Stuck by Sarah Evans. 7/10

At the end of his bachelor outing in Prague, Simon is stranded for an additional day due to severe weather conditions. Tensions with his bride-to-be and panic over being trapped in matrimony send the thirty-or-so year-old to wonder about a possible last fling with a pretty girl he's just met.

There is nothing terribly original about "Stuck," and nothing experimental in terms of what the editors seem to be seeking, but it is nonetheless a very well written piece and a great opening story to any anthology. The title works on several levels. Simon is stuck in Prague as well as in a relationship with Selina. He is stuck in a unvarying profession and life routine of weekend drinking bouts that marriage threatens to eliminate, only to replace it with another routine to keep Simon stuck. Most integral to the story is that he is stuck in a moral quandary, not in his pursuit of matrimonial bliss but in how far can he go with this new woman without crossing any obvious boundaries. These considerations are complicated by Simon's all-around averageness, his inability and unwillingness to seriously consider the dilemma, and even drinks a half a glass of wine in order to not have to think too seriously about it. He cannot make a decision and wants something to happen, possibly in order to "save" him from this impending union he doesn't seem to really want.

The story itself doesn't plow into the philosophical considerations of Simon's thoughts, but follows him as he forges ahead, simultaneously with purpose but lacking direction. The story offers no answers and acts more as a kind of character sketch; there are no wrenches and no surprises, just the numbness of someone who has, in an array of ways, become stuck.


Differences in Lifts by Lander Hawes. 6/10

In a paranoid totalitarian society, where citizens are ruled by police and regional councils, notions of responsibility and friendship are challenged. I like the story for its approach to theme. Skewed notions of responsibility are presented in a society where citizens are made responsible for their actions to the extent that the fire department has been dismantled and people must walk around at all times carrying a bucket of water. The story also features a strong revelation of the narrator which implies this society is the result of human nature, that as a race we lack the ability to be responsible even for those around us. My problem with the story is that it is in need of a desperate re-write.

When I first started the story I had to put it down before finishing the first page. I was frustrated with the awkward wording and sloppy sentences, and wanting to give the story a fair chance, I put the book down for a few days. I returned to the story prepared for the flaws, and managed to get through and enjoy it.

Let's look at some sentences.

Opening sentence: "In the office where I work there are two lifts, positioned next to each other at the rear of the lobby." Aside from the unnecessary comma that acts as a misplaced speed bump, there are far too many needless words. "In the office where I work," first of all, sounds like a literally translated sentence, whereas "positioned next to each other" is not specific enough, and my brain placed them at one point side by side and at another facing each other. Overall the sentence begins with the information that we are at an office, then mentions the two lifts, only to return to location with the insert of that lobby. Using the author's own vocabulary I would recommend: "At my office lobby there are two lifts positioned side by side." Of course we can play around with this, attempting something like, "Side by side at my office lobby are two identical lifts" ("identical" I borrow from the next sentence to add an element of mystery).

Sentence two: "...they were both identical in every way..." Why not just "...they were identical..."? Similarly, the third paragraph phrase "...I said to Paul, my colleague from the marketing department" can be reduced to "...I said to Paul from Marketing."

Second paragraph: "I began to notice that the lift on the right had a door that closed more quickly and forcefully than the door of the lift on the left." The flaw here is grammatical; read it closely and you'll notice its literal sense is off. The lift on the right is compared to the door on the left, rather than the intended target, which is the other lift.

The story is filled with many unfortunate word and phrase errors, so that the narrative, like an old rickety elevator, is a bit of a bumpy ride. Yet I will commend the author for that great side-swiping sentence introducing buckets, and would suggest it or a slight variation as the story's opening line: "It was around this time that the county council changed the health and safety regulations, and we all had to start carrying buckets of water." Precious.


Hang Up by Shanta Everington. 6/10

Ian works at a help line, struggling with calls as he has his own tragedies to deal with, tragedies that come to the fore when a woman named Anne calls. A good story, though I am confused with the last paragraph and can't quite get the tone. I blame myself here and promise a re-read.


Gottle O' Geer by Melissa Mann. 7/10

During his stay at a sanitarium, an alcoholic listens to the tribulations of other addicts, from sex addicts to those with obsessive compulsive disorder, and has even taken up knitting to bide his time and keep his hands busy. Both serious and amusing, "Gottle O' Geer" is a well written cynical sketch on our sense of self and a societal system that has little to offer in helping us deal with our real problems.


The Swan King by Ashley Stokes. 7/10

The view from Adrian's apartment window looks into the window of the unusual man known as the "Swan King." The Swan King is normally seated behind the glass, staring directly into Adrian's room, upsetting girlfriend Zara, who is convinced the odd neighbour is responsible for the disappearance of university student Elaine Preece. Well written and well developed, I feel it should nonetheless be shorter, hence losing some of its middle monotony, and perhaps eliminating that opening that reads like a prologue but adds little; the closing paragraphs did not require the opening scene. A few other moments I felt didn't grab me, either a paragraph or a series of thoughts, but overall it is a strong, thinking story, with tight prose and some nice play on expectations.

Stokes wrote the good "A Short Story about a Short Film," which appears in the first Unthology, reviewed here.


Nine Hundred and Ninety-Something by Nick Sweeney. 5/10

Narrator tells of a buddy's experience in a small town in southern Poland, when the friend was lured away from nine hundred and something dollars. Things do come around. While I like listening to such tales, I didn't feel this one added much to the travelogue, and I found the writing a little too self-conscious, unnecessarily attracting attention to itself and away from the narrative.


The Poets of Radial City by Paul A. Green. 5/10

A satire on poetry and art. I gave up early on this one, unable to get into it, primarily as the humour is not to my taste. The story quickly reminded me of that terrible Aldous Huxley novel Antic Hay which I barely remember so perhaps the relationship between the two is tenuous.


Hours of Darkness by Tessa West. 5/10

An overnight encounter, an urban tale of birth, renewal and second changes. Some nice moments but overall a little flat. I prefer West's story "Paralax" from Unthology No. 1.


Stations of the Cross by Ian Madden. 5/10

A westerner living in a commune in a homophobic Sultanate searches for a fling while trying to evade those who wish to entrap him. Solid prose, but like the previous story a little flat.


Recovery by Charles Wilkinson. 6/10

Another short piece, but this is more than a sketch, involving a retired English professor, an obscure (fictional) poet and the mysterious death of the professor's brother. Mysterious, subtle and quite good, with some nice plays on time and tense. Like the opening story, the title of this one encompasses various instances of recovery, such as recovering a manuscript, the past and the truth concerning an old tragedy. The opening is great, with the professor seeing the world without his glasses, telling of the uncertainty of the universe and the unreliability of detail, as it stares us straight in the face, yet we nonetheless can't always see it clearly. The professor, the inspector investigating the brother's death, and the poet all search for detail, while the reader wonders whether there is such a thing as clarity.


Siramina by M. Pinchuk. 7/10

A gentle and surreal piece of a tourist visiting an unmapped island by the name of Siramina, in search of its only hotel. The story is haunting and engaging, and manages to present us with a potential horror that becomes somehow welcoming. The stranger wandering through a maze-like town is reminiscent of Kafka and other, lesser-known Eastern European contemporaries, and can be a metaphor for so many things.


127 Permutations by Stephanie Reid. 6/10

A short and amusing sketch of seven people living at Number Seventeen, whose harmony is about to collapse due to a simple act of human nature.


Classified by Joshua Allen. 7/10

The paranoid journal of an Aryan idealist, intelligent yet mentally unstable, who spends much time at the library ruminating over various permutations of hierarchy among men. Disturbing in its seriousness, yet nonetheless comical in its exaggeration. While we cannot sympathise with the modern Nazi narrator, we can be amused because he is such a caricature of paranoia and angst. A character I would certainly have followed for a longer narrative, and a solid finish to the unthology.

For more Friday's Forgotten Books, please visit Patti Abbott's site.