Adrian Collins's Blog, page 85

REVIEW: TENEMENT #2 by Jeff Lemire (W), Andrea Sorrentino (A), Dave Stewart(A)

TENEMENT #2 from Image Comics, is an absolutely absorbing issue that mixes the mundane reality of urban life and all its complexities, with the overwhelming cosmic indifference of an entity too vast and too unknowable to comprehend.  It is that incomprehension that lends TENEMENT #2 all its strength and power, exemplifying an ability by writer Jeff Lemire to capture the imagination with a vision so horrifying it’s like looking on existence through a film of blood tinged darkness.

Artist Andrea Sorrentino and colourist Dave Stewart are the real stars of  TENEMENT #2.  Jeff Lemire’s overall vision is stunning, but his scripting is little more than serviceable, with some risible dialogue between the young protagonist Isaac and his mother particularly wince inducing.  For sure, Lemire’s ideas permeate the story, infecting the visuals and helping create an uncertain vibe, but the dialogue at times really does come across as clunky and obvious.

It is the art of TENEMENT #2 that digs deep into your skin.  Set in an urban environment, TENEMENT #2 depicts a world largely empty of people.  The stark, almost desaturated world outside the building is full of empty plazas, looming, off kilter buildings, dead trees clawing at a blank sky, over which an ominous omnipresence hangs. Sorrentino is excellent at creating a sterile landscape of straight lines that is always vaguely menacing in the sense that it isn’t a place for people – indeed, if there is any theme that permeates TENEMENT #2, it is that humanity has no place in the world Sorrentino has created.

And while I did say Lemire’s dialogue is somewhat lacking in places, there is no doubting the skillful pacing he brings to this issue, building up to a jaw dropping last couple of pages where everything goes to hell in a handbasket.  The introduction to a broader swathe of characters is expertly done – it is interesting that just about every major character in the story has a partner with which to experience the destabilisation of the world around them.  And Sorrentino helps matters greatly with the realisation of this world, and how off kilter it all is.  The photo realism of the characters is almost too realistic, making the experience of looking at the page just as jarring for the reader as it is for the characters that inhabit it.  Little touches of the artwork in TENEMENT #2 also adds to the odd atmosphere.  The motif of a blowfly appears several times, and the first time is as a print above the bed of one of the characters.  It is a small moment that underscores a larger point which is that there is something fundamentally strange happening to the characters, at the margins of their existence at first, but is at risk of overwhelming them in an instant.

TENEMENT #2 is an issue that infects the reader with its stark, disturbing visuals as much as it does the characters.  The world artist Andrea Sorrentino has created is certainly a memorably disturbing one.  The contrast of the workaday lives and problems of the characters, with the mind bending horror about to descend on them, is typical of the horror genre, exemplified by the storied career of Stephen King.  TENEMENT #2 starts small, but when it goes big, it goes cosmic.

Reviewer score:  4/5

Read TENEMENT #2 by Jeff Lemire (W), Andrea Sorrentino (A), Dave Stewart(A)

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REVIEW: Red River Seven by Anthony Ryan

In this non-stop action ride, Resident Evil meets 28 Days Later as eight people wake up on a boat, heads shaved, a name tattooed on their forearm, and all memory of their lives gone. The first to wake up blows their brains out, and, woken by the gunshot, the remaining seven are left to face an increasingly impossible mission as they unpick their own pasts. Red River Seven, Anthony Ryan‘s first foray outside of dark fantasy, is a white knuckle ride through post-apocalyptic London.

Huxley, assumed to be a detective, is our protagonist. Through his inquisitive nature he starts to unpick the mystery of their collective amnesia, their crew, their purpose, and an odd dream he’s having about a woman wearing a hat. The rest of the crew is made up of a seemingly random assortment of skillsets such as a soldier, a rock climber, a doctor, a historian, and a scientist. Each has no idea who they are, or what their past or purpose is, only that they have a skillset and seemingly no choice but for the boat to take them deeper into a city bereft of human life.

When a satellite phone buzzes and demands Huxley tell them if any of the crew are displaying signs of aggression or delusion, or if any of them are having any dreams, and to immediately kill whoever does, the dangers within their midst are revealed and the tension ramps up.

Red River Seven has definite Resident Evil vibes, especially as we get further into the book and start to understand what’s going on. Ryan uses the characters’ odd forced-selective amnesia to reveal piece-by-piece the danger they are in. Some readers might find this a little info-dumpy, but I quite enjoyed the experience of the characters talking through mental muscle memory to figure out a way forward and to decipher more about their fellow crew.

Overall, the Red River Seven story is a relatively simple and straight forward one, the kind of book that would probably translate quite well into movie production without needing to make sweeping changes to the story arcs from the book to make the movie medium work. It’s a short book, and incredibly fast paced, with the complete lack of back story (due to amnesia) meaning we get very little in the way of character back-story info drops to slow down forward progress. This also makes it quite difficult to really get addicted to the characters in the way you might when you’re invested in the “why” of their current selves based on their past. I find this search for the why to be a trait sought by many grimdark fans, and so this aspect is likely something that that won’t land well to people seeking that deeper investment–which probably makes it a good thing this book seems to be the one-and-done kind.

Red River Seven is an easy, fun, action-packed thrill ride for lovers of action post-apocalyptic military squad-style horror. Having just DNFed an absolute slog of a novel, it was exactly what I was after to get my reading flowing again.

Read Red River Seven by Anthony Ryan

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REVIEW: No Place for Heroes by Justin Harnick

In the Known lands, god has become a mere reference point for legality and royalty. Desirables, those few who wield magic, are considered blessed. Those born without this ability are considered less than and subservient. The power to unbarren the lands comes not by prayer but by the will of a few royal families. The Desireable’s control is settled and absolute across the known lands, that is, until an unlikely cast of characters find themselves on the path of rebellion. A revolution is near. There is one problem. Not one of these characters would be considered virtuous. Justin Harnick brings an exciting new voice to grim fantasy in his debut No Place for Heroes.

No Place for heroes is told from several perspectives including a street urchin, a mercenary, a drunkard, and an unhinged princess. Despite this sizeable cast, each perspective is distinct. Some of his characters are truly unexpected. The style in which Justin Harnick flips typical certain gender roles makes his characters memorable. All the same, he grounds his characters to his grim reality.

Ester Rayther is a mercenary or should be. In the Known Lands, women are barred from most work and learning any magic. Ester had her place in the Brotherhood of Arms (the largest mercenary company in Cumberland) while her father was alive. When he died, she lost everything. I appreciated how Justin Harnick follows the rules of his world. Because she is a woman, Ester is barred from the brotherhood. She soon realizes no one will hire her at all. Desperate for work, she accepts employment from a mysterious gentleman.

Princess Catalina Woller is not your typical princess, and neither is her story. While she is known as the “Eastern Beauty” she has some not so beautiful personality traits. Her cruelty to Samuel Guidry rivals any sadomasochistic storyline where typically the man takes charge of the relationship. Her boldness to learn and use her magic gives depth to this complicated character.

Characterization is not the only way Justin Harnick spins fantasy tropes. No Place for Heroes has unique worldbuilding. I was captivated by this world where religion isn’t to blame for disparity. I also enjoyed the size of his chapters. While No Place for Heroes is not a short book, most of the chapters are only a few pages long. These chapters are quick and punchy.

I wanted more time with some of the characters, one being Weston Fairchild. Weston is a dangerous man. He made a legend of himself in the Rain wars. Now he has a new chance to kill the King he hates. His character intrigued me, but I wanted more of his back story. I wanted to witness more of his corruption.

Justin Harnick takes fantasy tropes and twists them into something magical on the page. No Place for Heroes is a bold and defiant debut. I am excited to read more from this new author.

Read No Place for Heroes by Justin Harnick

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Weird Horror

Do you remember the first time you felt it?

Perhaps you were chopping wood one Alaskan night, enjoying the play of muscles and the ache in your hands as thick logs of birch gave way beneath the heavy wedge of a splitting maul, falling like soldiers to be stacked neatly against the killing cold, when something made you look up into the night sky. And there it was, pinning you with the malevolent glare of a billion cold suns, so vast and alien and unknowable that the air turned to ice in your throat.

Did you drop your maul and flee into the safety of your home, did you feed wood into the woodstove with shaking hands and huddle close to the fire, shuddering as though you’d never be warm again?

Or perhaps you were drifting in the tourmaline sea, buoyant and blissfully peaceful in salt-rich waters, smiling around the snorkel’s mouthpiece as small fish darted in and out of your drifting hair, when the shadow came. One moment you’re an apex predator in a new element, feeding bread to the tropical fish and enjoying the womb-warm water sliding along your skin, and the next you’re a scrap of flotsam flailing and gasping between white-maned waves as something peers up at you from the abyss, all tentacles and teeth and flat-eyed hunger?

Did you climb into the boat, feigning seasickness, and refuse to go back into the water?

Did you lock your door?

Turn on all the lights?

Did you turn the television on full blast, call your mom ‘just to say hi’, and shy away from the edge of hysteria in your own voice?

You know you have. It is the reason we build cities—communal campfires made big and bright and knowable—a bulwark against the omnipresent Other. The reason we look away from the plane’s small windows when lightning tears through the sky outside. The reason we fear to skip stones across a still, black pond, or stick a hand into a shoulder-deep hole in the wall, or linger too long in a heart-rotted swamp.

The all-knowing, unknowable weird.

Mary Shelly peered too long into the void, and came back with an undead monster, a wretch with maggots in its heart and madness swimming to the surface of his mad, yellowed eyes.

H.P. Lovecraft, pickled in the brine of his own bigotry and world-loathing, delved too deeply into the mines of nightmare and dredged up the tail end such horror that he turned his face from the sun, ashamed and afraid and small, and begged to know no more.

China Miéville.

Neil Gaiman.

Daphne du Maurier.

Stephen King.

Phillip K. Dick.

Tanith Lee.

Edgar Allen Poe.

These are a few of the storytellers who have tried, with black ink smashed upon bone-white paper like tiny magical wards, to warn us of the ancient horrors which we sense, but which lie beyond our ability to understand.

Like ants pinned beneath a glass lens we freeze, casting wildly about for some clue as to the nature of this threat.

But we cannot comprehend the source of our terror because it is too big, an extinct shark risen from the depths to swallow us whole, a moss-encrusted horror risen once more to suck the marrow from our souls.

We cannot know because we must not know. If we stare too deeply into the expanse, the depths, the void, we will attract the attention of the Unseelie Court, a monster, a god.

And when those terrible eyes meet ours, when the questions we should never have asked are answered, we will see our true selves reflected endlessly, destroying the beautiful lies we have woven about our world, our worth, our place in the universe.

Since our ancestors first gazed up at the night sky, or into a fire’s heart, or into the still waters of a moonlit pool, we have asked: “Who am I? What is out there?”

But we ask in a whisper, and then throw more wood onto the fire, and pretend we don’t feel that searching gaze.

Because in the answer to those questions lies madness.

And it is hungry.

 

Weird Horror was originally published in Grimdark Magazine Issue #35.

Header image sourced from https://wallpaperaccess.com/creepy-dark.

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REVIEW: Engines of Chaos by R. S. Ford

 Engines of Chaos is the second instalment of R. S. Ford’s The Age of Uprising trilogy. I reviewed the first in the trilogy, Engines of Empire, for Grimdark Magazine, and I loved it. It is safe to say that Engines of Chaos did not disappoint, and if you love really well-written epic fantasy, you should pick this up. The events of Engines of Chaos pick up soon after the ending of Engines of Empire, so the first novel is essential reading. Although Ford provides a map, dramatis personae, and an explanation of the guild system, you do need the foundation of this world given in Engines of Empire. To me, Ford is one of the great writers of epic fantasy, and Engines of Chaos further proves that he deserves some serious shelf space. 

 

Ford has written an entertaining and engaging novel with excellent pacing. Even though Engines of Chaos has multiple points of view and takes place over a vast space, it was easy to follow all of the novel’s threads and keep track of who everyone was and what they were up to. Even as someone who could not read vast chunks of the book in each sitting, I can imagine that if I had been able to, I would have found it to be a truly immersive world. I wish I could sit and enjoy it more; Engines of Chaos is a novel deserving of my full attention rather than a stolen chapter here and there. 

 

As before, the main characters of Engines of Chaos are the Hawkspur family – matriarch Rosomon and her adult children. In the last novel, I felt like it was their ‘coming of age’ stories, even though there were all adults of varying maturity levels. The Hawkspurs were relatively naïve and trusting and did not expect the betrayals at the first novel’s end. The characters in Engines of Chaos are harsher, more damaged, and in many ways, a whole lot more relatable because of this. Engines of Chaos is grittier and more brutal than its predecessor because it takes place during a war rather than setting up one. There are still many political machinations, but there is more viciousness than before. 

 

Ford has also given new perspectives in Engines of Chaos who are not part of the Hawkspur allegiance. I enjoyed this, and the new view from Ansell, a fanatic knight who is commander of the Draconite guards, was my favourite in the novel. Ansell may only be one of the ensemble cast of characters, but it shows just how good a writer Ford is that he can evoke sympathy for a murderous zealot having a crisis of faith. 

 

As I said about Engines of Empire, this is not an exceptionally dark novel, so it might not appeal to all people who hang out in the Grimdark Magazine part of the internet. However, it is an excellent epic fantasy, and Engines of Chaos is significantly darker than the first novel in the trilogy. Ford does not shy away from how horrific war is and shows its violence and cruelty without being gratuitous or hyperbolic. Engines of Chaos has everything I want from a fantasy novel; there are flawed characters, magic, politics, and even an animal companion. What’s not to love?

 

I really enjoyed reading Engines of Choas (notwithstanding having to read it in frustratingly small amounts at each stint) and thoroughly recommend it. If you still need to start The Age of Uprising trilogy but like authors like Richard Swan, John Gwynne, or David Gemmell this book will appeal to you too. If reading this means you want more from R.S. Ford, check out his completed trilogies War of the Archons and Steelhaven. Thank you very much to R.S. Ford and the team at Orbit for sending over a copy of Engines of Chaos for me to review. 

Read Engines of Chaos by R. S. Ford

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An Interview with Carissa Orlando

Who better to write psychological horror than someone who has studied and seen all the nuances of the human psyche? Carissa Orlando is the debut author of The September House, out from Berkeley this September, in which a woman is faced with an unusual haunted house and layers upon layers of secrets.

She spends her days as a clinical psychologist ensuring children and teens have access to the mental health care they need and her nights writing. A long-time devotee of the macabre, it was only a question of time until she merged her understanding of human nature with her love for horror, drawing on the darkest sides of the psyche. Grimdark Magazine had the pleasure to catch up with her about The September House, her background and writing process.

[GdM] What inspired you to become a writer?

[CA] I’ve always been somewhat imaginative, and my brain is constantly making up and running with little stories. This was true even when I was a kid—creating vast worlds for my action figures and writing little comic strips about my favorite toys. It was only logical that I start to write down the strange, rambling creations I conjure up. Otherwise, they’re just taking up space in my brain, and there’s already too much detritus up there as it is.

[GdM] Are there particular elements that define what a horror story is to you? If so, what are they?

[CA] This is a question to which I can see my answer changing over the years! For right now, however, I think my answer is fairly simple: a horror story has to bring the frights. It doesn’t matter what the themes are, who the characters are, or what the plot is, a true horror story is one that will send a shiver down a reader’s spine and have them thinking twice before stepping foot in a dark room later that night. Truly, I don’t need much out of my horror stories—just scare me!

[GdM] What scares you? Are there any ideas that you would love to explore?

[CA] I’m an anxious person, so all sorts of objectively boring things terrify me. Unexpectedly running into someone I know in public—a literal nightmare. Being texted we need to talk with no context—actual panic attack. Cockroaches—kill with fire. One day, I would love to write a novel that translates the anxious brain into something understandable and horrifying for the rest of the population as well. There’s something about that that seems fun and incredibly satisfying.

[GdM] Can you tell us about your new novel, The September House?

[CA] The September House tells the story of Margaret, a woman who currently lives in the house of her dreams. There’s just one, tiny flaw—the house just so happens to be haunted. Very haunted. Still, Margaret is determined to live peacefully with her formerly-living roommates—pranksters, as she calls them—and has developed a set of rules for surviving in her house of horrors. She has no intentions of fighting back, even when the paranormal events worsen each September, and definitely not against the creature who lives in the basement. Then Margaret’s husband, Hal, vanishes. Their estranged daughter, Katherine, insists on coming to visit to look for Hal, unaware that the house is haunted. Margaret’s priority is to keep Katherine safe, a difficult task with September starting. As Katherine’s search for her father turns up distressing findings, Margaret is at a loss on how to protect her daughter not only from the pranksters in the now but from the past she so desperately wanted to keep in the then.

[GdM] I understand you are a big fan of horror stories. What attracted you to the haunted house trope?

[CA] I’m not even sure I can fully articulate what it is about them, but I just love haunted house stories. I love them. I love all the tropes—the screaming and the bleeding and the formerly-living residents and the monsters in the basement and the immense metaphoric potential. I love a good metaphoric potential. Also, there is something so fantastically lovely about ghosties and goblins coming to get us in the place where we live and eat and sleep, the place where our family is, the place where we’re supposed to be the safest of all. The fright in that is so universal, and it makes my twisted little heart deliriously happy.

[GdM] You have a doctorate in psychology; how has your education helped your creation of characters?

[CA] I’ve been studying and practicing psychology for over a decade now, and it is oftentimes the lens through which I view the world. My background certainly shaped the novel in many ways, although not all of them are spoiler-free! One of the many, many lessons I’ve taken from my career is that every person’s actions, no matter how perplexing they are at face value, are completely understandable once you learn a bit about the person and their context. I feel that I took that lesson into the characters in this novel—Margaret definitely engages in a lot of behaviors that readers might not choose for themselves (electing to stay in a house full of ghosts, for example). However, this all makes perfect sense for Margaret and who she is as a person. Margaret makes a great deal of sense, even when she makes no sense at all. As do we all.

[GdM] The September House is your debut. Has the process of writing from start to a finished novel been surprising?

[CA] The most surprising thing thus far is just how many steps there are to the publication process. I sold The September House towards the end of 2021, and my friends and family were all a little confused to hear that it wouldn’t be out on bookshelves for nearly two years. It all makes sense now: that time is filled with countless little steps along the way—revisions and copyedits and proofreading and more proofreading and formatting and re-formatting and decisions upon decisions upon decisions! All sorts of people put their brains and eyeballs onto the thing to be sure that, once it is out in the world, the book is as close to perfect as it could be. Between myself, my agents at Folio, and all the wonderful folks at Berkley, taking this story from manuscript to publication has truly been the very definition of a team effort!

[GdM] How do you balance writing with other aspects of your life, such as work or family? I read in the acknowledgments that you have quite a support system of family and friends.

[CA] Not needing a lot of sleep is pretty helpful. Also, I recommend keeping hobbies to a minimum.

In all honesty, I am grateful to have supportive people in my life, particularly my spouse, who doesn’t mind me disappearing behind my laptop for hours on end, hearing the questionable little factoids I’ve learned in my research for a horror novel, or being asked to read the fourth iteration of an ending to the same story yet again.

[GdM] Speaking of characters, can you tell us about Margaret? Was she difficult to write? Did you have any particular inspiration that helped create her?

[CA] Sometimes when writing, I am blessed with having characters show up knowing exactly who they are and what they want to do, and Margaret was one of those characters. She arrived fully-formed, and all I really had to do was write her down. There is a lot that I love about Margaret. She is near-impossible to rattle, is pragmatic and no-nonsense, and is delightfully unimpressed by her own tremendous ability to survive. She is completely willing to do whatever it is she must, sometimes to a fault. And of course, Margaret has her flaws. She has a superficiality to her, has learned when it’s best to keep her head in the sand, and sometimes her understanding of reality isn’t quite in line with what is actually real. Do her actions always make sense? To her, yes. To others, not so much. God bless her, though—she tries her best.

[GdM] One of the things that were so remarkable about how you wrote The September House is how blasé you wrote Margaret’s attitude. Can you tell us a little about Margaret’s reaction to the house?

[CA] When we meet Margaret, Margaret’s attitude towards the horrors of the house is the exact opposite of that of any other character who has found themselves in a haunted house story—complete indifference. Margaret refuses to be driven out of her home by some paranormal pranksters and has, over time, developed a series of functional but not entirely foolproof rules for surviving in the house relatively unscathed. After all, this is all old hat for Margaret—she’s been through all sorts of things at this point in her life, and she knows how to adapt, to survive. Heck, compared to all that, living in this house might just be a cakewalk.

[GdM] The ghosts that haunt the house on Hawthorne Street are memorable, to say the least; how did you choose how they would manifest and why?

[CA] When I initially came up with the concept for the book, I wanted Margaret’s house to be the most haunted of haunted houses. Every way a house can be haunted, I wanted it to happen in Margaret’s house. Thus, I threw pretty much every haunted house gimmick I could think of at Margaret, just to watch her roll with it. Bleeding walls—check. Screaming at night—check. Invasions of flies and birds—check. Ghostlike, horrifying former residents who may or may not mean harm—check. Terrifying basement that definitely means harm—double check. No haunted stone was left unturned!

[GdM] Did the story end up where you thought it would when you first started writing it?

[CA] It did not, and literally so! When I first developed my plan for the story, it had a completely different but not particularly satisfying (to avoid spoilers) ending. Midway through, I had an idea for an even better ending, although even that didn’t quite hit the right notes once all was said and done. After feedback and support from a bunch of people, I was able to get to the ending readers will see in the book, which I personally enjoy the heck out of. I remember being physically excited when I wrote the first draft of what is essentially the current ending—heart pounding, giggling, excited—and that was when I knew that this novel was going to end in a place that was both satisfying and memorable!

[GdM] What do you hope readers take away from The September House?

[CA] If you see a gorgeous, well-maintained Victorian house on the market for a surprisingly low price, maybe check for bodies.

Read The September House by Carissa Orlando

This interview was originally published in Grimdark Magazine issue #35.

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REVIEW: Thornhedge by T. Kingfisher

The latest novella from Hugo, Nebula, and Locus Award-winning author T. Kingfisher is Thornhedge. Kingfisher is a definite favourite in the halls of Grimdark Magazine and personally is one of the authors on my auto-buy list. Thornhedge is another of Kingfisher’s fairytale-inspired stories, which perfectly balances the creepy and the cosy and has a heroine that I just loved, even when she was a toad. If you are already a fan of Kingfisher’s other novellas like Nettle and Bone or A House with Good Bones, Thornhedge should be in your hands as soon as you can grab it off the shelves of your favourite book-selling establishment. If you are new to Kingfisher’s worlds, please pick this up; Thornhedge will hurt and heal you all in the few hours it takes to read this beautiful book.

Now I know that adjectives like beautiful are not the most expected of words to be found in a review for the darker corners of the fantasy world. But that is what Kingfisher does so perfectly, in a way that almost no other author can. Thornhedge is no exception to this signature style. It is a stunning novella, both materially if you pick up a physical copy and linguistically. Kingfisher writes in a classic style which I love. Though the story’s darkness is inescapable, even our heroine, Toadling (who is so sweet she should be protected at all costs), is a changeling baby stolen at birth and raised by child-killing, flesh-eating, fish fey in fairyland. Thornhedge should not feel as nice as it does, but that makes it such a good read for people who enjoy darker novels. Kingfisher shows that, even with some very dark events in a short space of reading time, darkness is not overpowering. Is Thornhedge the darkest or dark things you can pick up? No. But does it tick the boxes of dark, gritty, with an imperfect protagonist? Absolutely.

Sleeping Beauty inspires Thornhedge, but not the Disney version. Even the Grimms might raise an eyebrow at some of the events, which are set in the expected medieval European-esque world. It is also not the story of the princess sleeping in the tower. Thornhedge follows the changeling Toadling from her time in fairyland to her return to the human realm. She is tasked to serve as a fairy godmother and protect the princess. It is a thankless task that Toadling is ill-suited for. As well as Toadling, there is Halim, a hapless but endearing knight whose curiosity makes him cross paths with Toadling after centuries of her guarding the princess and learn more about this cursed castle which has slipped from human memory into legend.

Like all of the other Kingfisher novellas I’ve read, Thornedge is an exceptionally written, bitesize piece of escapism. I read Thornhedge in one sitting for a couple of hours, and it was so nice to do that. I loved this world, but everything is all wrapped up, so I do not expect Kingfisher to return to it. But as long as she keeps writing the way she does, I will keep singing her praises. I want to say a huge thank you to T. Kingfisher and the team at Tor for sending over a copy of Thornhedge so that I can review it. Thornhedge is released on the 15th of August 2023. 5/5.

PS If you have a tweenager in your life who loves fantasy, it might be worth checking out Kingfisher’s writing for younger readers, written as Ursula Vernon.

Read Thornhedge by T. Kingfisher

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The Comfort in Horror

Horror: an intense feeling of fear, shock, or disgust.

Horror is an odd genre. Its content, as its name suggests, is designed to instill a feeling of fear, shock, or disgust in its audience and yet there are many of us who go out of our way to delve into the genre through books, games, tv shows, and films. Why do we wish to have such an experience? What is it about the horror genre that draws us into its shadows and jumps out at us with a bang? It is a genre that has evolved throughout time to stay relevant and, when done well, there really is a strange comfort in horror.

There’s nothing new about scary stories. Search back through human history and you’ll find dark tales and spooky stories designed to teach and entertain and give us reasons for why we are afraid of the unknown. There are unique monsters and devils to almost every culture in history designed to explain strange situations and understand the fear of the people and the stories have continued to develop and keep tight their stranglehold on society as we progressed to new types of storytelling. Horror is ever changing and connects itself to a shared trauma of the times, holding a dark mirror up at society and forcing us to take a good look. The stories can often be warning tales, developed with a message for its audience about the dangers of taking certain pathways. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein forced people to look at the danger of pushing the limits of science without knowledge of what will happen next. It also explored the idea of loneliness and rejection in society and its causes. It was a book that was ahead of its time and entertained its audience even whilst scaring them. The 1800’s brought scary stories like Frankenstein, Dracula, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and The Turn of the Screw. All have been adapted for the screen to various degrees of success, each designed to unsettle the viewer. In the early days of cinema, horror was all about monsters. Nosferatu, The Werewolf, Frankenstein, and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and others were memorable, successful productions. The 1930’s saw Bela Lugosi become a star playing Dracula and this was also the period where these dark films had the ‘horror’ label attached. Of course, the next decade witnessed the true horror of the Second World War, and this brought with it an interesting evolution in the genre.

The fear of atomic power and invasion and the shared trauma of what the world had witnessed led to films such as Godzilla, and The War of the Worlds. Such films provided their audiences with a chance to process their own emotions and fear. Horror films allowed groups of people to come together in a cinema and witness their fears being played out in front of them on a big screen whilst safe in the knowledge that at the end of the film, they would be safe. This is where the comfort in horror lies. Whether it is a Psycho slasher masterfully brought to screen by Hitchcock, demonic horror in The Exorcist, or a bunch of Korean schoolkids hiding from a horde of zombies in All of Us Are Dead, the audience is able to spend time being frightened out of their skin but also fully aware that they will be fine afterwards. Scientific studies have even claimed that the resilience built up from experiencing events that scare us in a safe environment help us to deal with times of difficulty. Horror gives its audience the opportunity to play out their fears, to look for the monster under their bed or the ghost in the shadows and see the event play out in safety. They can walk away from the content after getting their shocks and scares completely safe in the knowledge that they are okay. It is similar with grimdark content. The same ideas draw audiences to grimdark and horror. They allow audiences to process darkness in a safe and manageable manner. If something is overwhelming, the book can be closed. The episode or film can be paused. The game switched off. It is under the audience’s power and control. And this control is everything. The emotional regulation skills developed through experiencing content that scares us can be of great use. It has often been the unknown that has scared humans throughout history, this is why we spend so much time searching for answers to big questions. Horror offers some answers in the form of worst-case scenarios and gives the platform for us to tackle them safely. The story might scare us, but at the end of the day, it’s just a story. It is all about the experience.

Horror provides a space for people to come together and face their fears. The Last of Us tv series hit very differently to the game due to the fact they were released either side of an actual worldwide pandemic. The beats of the story were the same but the connection and understanding of the audience added that extra uncomfortable layer to the tv series. We had seen what a pandemic was like. There were still supernatural elements to the story but it felt more real than in the game. There were ideas, moments, actions that were more easily identifiable and allowed some to immerse themselves in the story and perhaps even find comfort in seeing Joel deal with some of the issues in the dystopian world. Video games can be quite interesting when looked through the lens of processing our fear and developing resilience. In The Last of Us, Resident Evil, Silent Hill, or Bioshock, the gamer takes on a more active role and is given a chance to feel in control (at times) of the path the character is taking and the comfort comes with taking on the antagonists with a controller in hand and feeling as though you are playing an active part in facing those fears. There is a catharsis in all horror and grimdark content. They allow audiences to tackle frightening concepts, supernatural or not, in a safe space where they can process their fears at their own pace whilst also promoting discourse with others.

It may seem strange to devour media created to scare but the human experience calls out for us to feel something. This is what good horror does. It makes us jump. It frightens us. It shocks us. It makes us think. It makes us feel. And that’s what we need from any story. Thankfully, horror remains as popular as ever. It, A Quiet Place, The Last of Us, Get Out and so many more stories are proving that we still want to be scared and we’re all the better for it. It may not be for everyone but well-written horror serves a bigger purpose than just entertainment. It remains relevant for each generation and can be mapped alongside some of the major turning points in human history. The world wouldn’t be the same without horror. And I think you’d agree: a world without horror would be an absolute nightmare. So turn the lights off, grab some popcorn, and try not to scream. Facing your fears is actually quite good for you, and you’ll have loads of fun doing it!

 

The Comfort in Horror was originally published in Grimdark Magazine Issue #35.

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REVIEW: The Traitor by Anthony Ryan

The Traitor completes Anthony Ryan’s (Blood Song, Red River Seven, Raven’s Shadow ) excellent The Covenant of Steel trilogy. Set in a medieval inspired fantasy world full of battle and religious fervour, The Traitor continues the chronicles of Alwyn Scribe following on from The Pariah and The Martyr. Alwyn’s path from outlaw to knight continues as he supports Lady Evadine Courlain and tries to bring order to a fractured kingdom.

The Traitor continues Alwyn’s evolution as a character and it is his growth and awareness that anchors this story as he becomes aware of the dangers of the power held by those close to him. Alwyn is faced with the difficulty of seeing someone who is revered and worshipped being corrupted by the power and faith placed in them and it puts him in the tough position of having to question what he feels is right not just for himself but for the kingdom as a whole. The Traitor focuses on the cult of personality around Lady Evadine and the dangers that come with her growing power and the blind faith around her. With the nature of Alwyn narrating, he has an awareness of where he has gone wrong and of the poor decisions he has made that led to fatal consequences for some of his allies. This form of narration (also pulled off to perfection in Matthew Harffy’s A Time for Swords) provides a level of suspense as the reader is aware that though Alwyn is alive, his actions often impact on those around him, as seen in the previous novels, and Ryan is certainly not shy at killing off important characters when needed to drive the plot forward and add that level of uncertainty needed for the big set pieces in the novel.

Fans of the series will know that Ryan does not hide from the brutality of battles and war. Alwyn lives in a dark, murky world where life is harsh and change only comes through blood, sweat and tears – The Traitor is no different. Though this is Alwyn’s story, Ryan gives him a group of morally grey characters to support him on his path and they are all written well and fleshed out to a point where readers will feel a sense of dread whenever they are placed in danger. At times they bring humour to the dark tale as well as adding another layer of humanity to Alwyn’s character as we see the relationships build throughout the story and this is something that Ryan has perfected throughout the trilogy. He has managed to create a story chronicled by one character who has grown through the relationships and interactions that he has had across a long, turbulent period of time. It is, in my opinion, Anthony Ryan’s best work yet and it is a world that I would love to return to.

The Traitor wraps up The Covenant of Steel trilogy in satisfying fashion (with room for more…). A fantastically brutal medieval fantasy story told by one of the best characters in the genre. A grim tale, a dark world, and interesting characters filling every corner of it – this is Anthony Ryan’s best work yet and one of the best novels of 2023.

Read The Traitor by Anthony Ryan

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An Interview With Cassandra Khaw

Cassandra Khaw is an acclaimed game writer and author of over ten books. Their breakout horror novella, Nothing But Blackened Teeth, was a finalist for the Bram Stoker Award, Shirley Jackson Award, and World Fantasy Award.

Khaw is publishing two new books in 2023: the dark fantasy novella, The Salt Grows Heavy and the urban horror, The Dead Take the A Train. The latter is co-authored with veteran horror writer Richard Kadrey.

Khaw recently took time out of their busy schedule to chat with us about their new books and writing process.

[GdM] Thank you for joining us for this interview! Please tell us the origin story of your collaboration with Richard Kadrey. How did you two meet and develop the idea for co-authoring a novel?

[CK] Through Twitter. I got intensely upset about someone stealing my Kindle, and Richard shared my apocalyptic fury about the whole situation, which was how we got to talking. I’d been a fan of his for years; I basically immediately wanted to work with him on something and he was sweet enough to not bonk me on the head and laugh.

[GdM] What was the collaboration process like working with Richard Kadrey? Was it easy to find a groove writing together and to converge on a unified narrative voice?

[CK] It took a few tries. We’d initially set it up so that we’d alternate chapters, but discovered quickly that Richard likes having the context of previous chapters to write his—so my erratic skipping around was messing with his rhythm. Things sped up when we realized it wasn’t a bad idea to have one person writing first and then the other almost editing them, with the first checking in regularly. As for the unified narrative voice, I think that came from rounds of edits, where we made little tweaks to each other’s work until we ended up with a truly different thing.

[GdM] After reading The Dead Take the A Train, I assume that you are… not a fan of American corporate culture. I love the unrestrained way you skewer boardroom culture and the obsession with climbing the corporate ladder. Could you tell us how you developed this satirical aspect of the novel? Did the idea come before or after choosing New York City as the setting?

[CK] Hahahaha. Most of my inspiration comes from the games industry. I love my work. I love so many of the people I’ve worked with. I can’t imagine working anywhere else. But some of the personalities you meet and some of the ways the bigger companies allow little pieces of shit to perpetuate an environment of abuse while they look away—well, woo boy. Anyway, a lot of observations about that definitely seeped into the book.

[GdM] Who were some of your influences when writing The Dead Take the A Train? It’s such a unique read, and hard to make comparisons to other novels.

[CK] Romantic comedies as a genre, haha. If you really pay attention, if you look through the curtains of hanging entrails and baby hands, The Dead Take the A Train absolutely is a rom-com. I swear. Honest.

[GdM] Julie Crews is a great protagonist in The Dead Take the A Train, bringing chaos wherever she goes. She seems to be equal parts self-destructive and destructive of everything around her. Were there any particular inspirations for her character? She seems like a lot of fun to write.

[CK] God. A lot of it is derived from memories of being young and stupid, I think. (At least on my end.) Like, if you’re in your twenties and you had a rough past but can fight like a cornered pitbull, you start testing the world to see what you can get away with. It was certainly true for me. I got into so many fights. I was so angry; I hated how the world expected me to be a meek little thing and just snarled at anything that moved. And it’s a defense too, honestly. People don’t hurt you if they know you’ve got teeth. (It also makes it difficult for people to get close to you and people to show you that not everything is suffering, but those are the lessons you learn in your thirties…)

[GdM] The Dead Take the A Train is the first volume of your planned Carrion City duology. What can you tell us about the follow-up novel?

[CK] … there is a fox and the fox got stuck and the thing the fox got stuck in was a corpse. She has no idea how she got in there, but she’d really like Julie and Sarah to find out.

[GdM] I read an interview on Clarkesworld where you talked about generational trauma and how women are viewed. “…the idea that good women are seen, not heard; good women work hard and don’t complain; good women give everything in hopes that the people who come up after them might have more…A lot of my work, I think, screams at the idea of that silence, that sense of being restrained and small, of not asking too much, of being tidy.” Did you write Julie with these ideas in mind? She is certainly not a woman to be silenced or restrained.

[CK] I think I write all my femme-presenting characters that way. I don’t think it’s possible for me not to. I am surrounded by so many powerful AFAB people, people who push back against impossible odds, people who have survived incredible horrors, people who choose to be soft and who choose to be kind and who choose grace despite the world. Everyone I know is someone who won’t be extinguished by the world, and who burns with want to make it better. How can I write anything else when I’m surrounded such fire?

[GdM] We are so accustomed to Disneyfied versions of fairy tales that tone down many of the dark aspects of the original stories. But The Salt Grows Heavy goes in the opposite direction, giving a chilling variation of Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid. How did you develop the idea for this book?

[CK] I think the world is a feral place. I was nomadic for about ten years of my life, and it quickly became clear to me how easily one can just vanish. What we see as a civilized world is really a facade. Some of my tendency to darken fairytales is because of that. The other inspiration for the book, hilariously, is 9gag. There was a CollegeHumor college strip from years and years ago that asked the question, ‘What if Ariel laid eggs?’ I naturally had to take that to a horrifying conclusion.

[GdM] I’m also intrigued by the plague doctor in The Salt Grows Heavy. Is the plague doctor meant to provide a comment on the COVID-19 pandemic? Or did you have something else in mind when developing this character?

[CK] Nope! Not commentary on the COVID epidemic. I did have an idea some time to go to play with the imagery because of what the plague doctor used to represent to so many medieval communities: how their coming often signals terrible things, even if they had nothing to do with the plague itself. (The plague doctor is also, in many ways, a representation of what it is like to be queer, to grow up under so much external pressure, to have your early life torn apart and built by people who don’t really care much about who you really are. They’re a complicated beast and I love them so.)

[GdM] We had a raging discussion on Twitter about whether a mermaid eating human flesh constitutes cannibalism. Would you like to give a definitive answer to this question?

[CK] It is totally cannibalism, at least to me.

[GdM] Your prose in The Salt Grows Heavy is absolutely beautiful. How many rounds of edits did it take to get this polished to perfection?

[CK] Oh, man. That’s incredibly kind. I edit as I go so I don’t know how many rounds of edits. Sometimes, I spend hours on a single sentence until it sounds right in my head. (I have synesthesia and a lot of my writing involves writing so it ‘sounds’ right. Because if it doesn’t sound right, it’s just, well, it’s a lot like trying to practice with a guitar that hasn’t been tuned. You might get all the notes right but god almighty, your ears are gonna hurt.)

[GdM] For all its darkness, the ending of The Salt Grows Heavy is actually rather sweet. Is it important for a horror novel to provide a ray of hope in a world of darkness?

[CK] I think so. At least it is for me. There are plenty of people who would say otherwise. I think I’ve seen numerous discussions on Twitter about how it isn’t really horror if there’s some kind of happiness at the end; horror needs to break your heart.

But I don’t think I can do that. Not in this time of the slow apocalypse. I need something to survive the darkness otherwise, it feels a bit pointless. (Is this how all horror should be? No. Horror is all-encompassing. Horror should have everything for everyone—same with any other genre.)

[GdM] Could you tell us about some of your work as a game designer? Did you work on both video games and tabletop games? How has your career as a game designer influenced your writing?

[CK] I am not a game designer, per se. I’m a narrative designer; we do a lot of work trying to figure out how to bridge story and gameplay, how to enhance the latter, how to build something that is faithful to the creative vision. (I’m also very often just a game writer and it’s a lot of the same thing, except with less official focus on how the game works).

I’ve worked on tabletop games and also video games, yes. I’ve been very fortunate that way. And I haven’t felt as if there was any correlation between my video game work and my fiction writing. They’re different mediums, different fields.

[GdM] You work in multiple areas of creativity: game design, novels, short stories, poetry, and editorials. Is there a commonality between all these areas in approaching a creative project? Do you start with an idea, a feeling, a setting, or a character?

[CK] I’m definitely noting a pattern to my approach. Regardless of the medium, I often block out the big ideas and vibes first and figure out a vague flow to things before I kick off any project.

[GdM] I am fascinated with people who can write poetry. You mentioned in an article how Accents by Denice Frohman moved you and made you want to write poetry. Could you talk a little about that? Why did this particular poem strike a chord with you?

[CK] Because of my own accent. These days, I sound like I moved to the States in my teens: you can hear the ghost of an Asian accent in the way I put emphasis on certain words, and how I can’t pronounce ‘th’s. That was intentional. I learned quickly that people dismiss you if you sound too Asian and I basically did everything to iron out my history from my voice. Frohman’s poem, however, made me want to be kinder to my voice; it made me see again the poetry (if you’d excuse the pun) in the musicality of it. And it left me utterly awed by how the poem captured Frohman’s love for her mother’s voice.

[GdM] You are one of four esteemed guest lecturers at this year’s Alpha Workshop for young writers in science fiction, fantasy, and horror. What are some of the key pieces of advice that you offer to young aspiring writers?

[CK] Mostly, that it is okay to want to make money off your passions. I think there are a lot of people out there who act like it’s a bad thing to want to make your writing a career and that you should be grateful to even be published. But the truth is we live in a hard world and you damn well are within your rights to demand for more.

[GdM] What are you doing next?

[CK] Richard and I have another novel to come up with. I’m also working on a big dark academia novel, an IP-related novel, and am really excited about some game stuff I probably can’t talk about for another decade.

Read The Dead Take the A Train

This interview by John Mauro and Beth Tabler was originally published in Grimdark Magazine Issue #35.

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