Kristopher Kelly's Blog, page 4

A Review in 100 Pieces: The Century’s Best Horror Fiction, 1903: H. G. Wells’s “The Valley of Spiders”

Recently, I purchased The Century’s Best Horror Fiction, a beautiful two-volume set of short horror stories, edited by John Pelan and published by Cemetery Dance Publications. I feel like something this epic deserves special treatment, and so I’m challenging myself to read one story a day for the next 100 days, posting reviews as I go. Tonight, I read a tale chosen from the year 1903: H. G. Wells’s “The Valley of Spiders” …

Three men enter a valley, chasing a runaway girl. I’ll let you guess what kind of creature soon attacks them.

What I won’t do is spoil the beautiful way in which the spiders (oh, oops, sorry–I just gave it away! damn!) arrive. Wells came up with some striking visuals in his stories, and “The Valley of Spiders” likewise impresses. It’s creative and fresh even a hundred years later.

Likewise, the story, which could otherwise seem like a plot-centered adventure stories, does some nice things with its characterizations. The final two scenes overlap the behaviors of men and spiders, while also offering some dramatic interplay between pride and cowardice. The themes come together well in quite a short amount of time.

Wells pulls off a bit of an interesting trick here, too, by having the actual heroes of the story are more or less nowhere to be seen for the duration of his tale (unless, like me, you’re the type to route for the spiders). Part of the suspense has nothing to do with the fate of the men we’re reading about; as things get worse for them, curiosity increases as to the fate of the people these men are pursuing. When Wells resolves the mystery, he does so with characteristic grace and economy.

Some of the description of the more action-heavy scenes left me cold, but overall, this is another really solid story.

Giving it 4/5. Classic spider mayhem!

 

 

A Review in 100 Pieces: The Century’s Best Horror Fiction, 1902: W. W. Jacobs’s “The Monkey’s Paw”

Recently, I purchased The Century’s Best Horror Fiction, a beautiful two-volume set of short horror stories, edited by John Pelan and published by Cemetery Dance Publications. I feel like something this epic deserves special treatment, and so I’m challenging myself to read one story a day for the next 100 days, posting reviews as I go. Tonight, I read a tale chosen from the year 1902: W. W. Jacobs’s “The Monkey’s Paw” …

Tonight was not my first time reading this classic short story, and I always want to like it more than I do. Yes, I respect the craft; the writing is decent enough, and I admire the little flourish of beginning with a chess game lost (chess being one of those games where it is important to think ahead, look before you leap, etc., etc.), which I think was lost on me the first few times I read this story. The prose is clean, the details evocative, and you have to at least give some points to any story where a character is described as being “armed with an antimacassar.”

Oh, domestic weapons!

But the truth is, I resent this story a little. The plot involves the hideous results of a family making three well-intentioned wishes on a shriveled monkey’s paw after being warned not to by the person who brings it into their house. It reminds me of the standard situational comedy model, where a TV show’s characters could concoct all sorts of crazy plans to better their lives, but the viewer always knew that nothing would ever work and that next week everyone would still be right where they started. Or, if not sitcoms, it reminds me of all the hundreds of clones of this story I read in the old EC Comics. Wishes never work out in fiction, and there are few tropes more irritating to the intellect; if I could have a wish, it would be that all characters who make wishes on monkeys’ paws could make smarter wishes. Instead of saying, “I wish for 200 pounds,” say, “I wish to find a forgotten sack of two hundred pounds on my front lawn and for no one to be hurt or harmed or emotionally scarred in the process.” But no. Every character wishes for things that are easily done in horrible ways.

But I  guess the point is conveyed: be careful what you wish for, indeed!

Still, the events of the story seem overly manipulative to me in a way I don’t appreciate. The end is a foregone conclusion, and it’s more frustrating than fun to read about the failure of these characters to think just a little bit ahead.

I give this story 3/5 stars, with apologies for bringing my own personal baggage into a classic tale.

A Review in 100 Pieces: The Century’s Best Horror Fiction, 1901: Barry Pain’s “The Undying Thing”

Recently, I purchased The Century’s Best Horror Fiction, a beautiful two-volume set of short horror stories, edited by John Pelan and published by Cemetery Dance Publications. I feel like something this epic deserves special treatment, and so I’m challenging myself to read one story a day for the next 100 days, posting reviews as I go.

Tonight, I read a tale chosen from the year 1901: Barry Pain’s “The Undying Thing.”

What a way to begin a collection! This story is outstanding.

I’m unfamiliar with Pain’s work, so I had to look him up. I’m not surprised at all to find that he was primarily a humorist. There are a great number of delightfully funny lines in “The Undying Thing,” despite a somber beginning, and its tone reminds me a lot of The Haunting of Hill House, where the only thing that matches the excellence of the spookiness is the wit of the characters.

“The Undying Thing” spans several generations, moving through time with beautiful ease. It’s an effortless story to read, which surprised me given its age. A family is cursed because of a choice made during a time of crisis. Lord Edric, the third baronet in the Vanquerest line, tries to rid the family of an abomination, but, as such things often do in tales like this, it is not so easily discarded. For decades, it haunts the village, until it becomes local folklore to be considered over drinks at the local bar.

Pain creates well-rounded characters in precious little time, and they’re all quite likable. Even the biggest curmudgeon at the bar has a few admirable qualities and is given a moment to shine. While the end may seem somewhat rote and the sum total somewhat ordinary at this late date, the execution of it is damn near perfect.

Giving this story 4/5 for being classic horror, really well told.

February’s Story Drafted, So How Do I Feel? (Plus: Reading at Black and White on Sunday)

First of all, for any readers of this blog in the NYC area, I’ll be going to Black and White (86 E. 10th St, btw 3rd and 4th Ave.) to participate in the readings starting at 8pm this Sunday. Who knows what I’ll read.

But who am I kidding. I think I know all my readers by name, and most of you live out of state.

More importantly, last night I compiled all the pieces of the first draft of “Seal,” which is the second short story in my 12 months, 12 stories project for 2013.

Today, I’ve been wondering how I feel about it. I think I feel good, but I can’t escape a crippling sense of depression. Maybe it’s my standard post-partum; maybe it’s something else. I feel super-critical of the piece right now (the story centers around a mom who doesn’t want to be a mom, and writing a horror story about that strikes me now as potentially terribly sexist, which was exactly the opposite of my intent), and perhaps the sadness of having fallen short of my own goals is what’s at work on me right now.

Or maybe I’m just tired. It’s been a long couple of days.

But now I’m going to let this one sit and go back to “Sprachlos” for another draft before March comes around the corner and I start work on “Special Formats Processing.”

Empty Road: Hydra Passes on Abraham Road

Just got the word that Random House’s Hydra imprint for ebooks will, like the Kindle Singles program before them, be passing on Abraham Road. 

Time to get busy recording the audiobook version, I guess.

Anyone out there want to tell me what you think is wrong with my story? I’d listen.

12 Months, 12 New Short Stories (Plus: My First Full Manuscript Request!)

It’s time to generate some more new content. Given that my new mission is to always have something out there waiting to be rejected, I feel like I want some new stuff to send around.

To that end, I’ve embarked on a mission to write twelve short stories in twelve months. Started with a story called “Sprachlos,” which I wrote and edited in January. It’s about a literary forensics guy investigating a pseudonym that perhaps would be best left alone. It’s cute, amusing — I like it and have started to send it around. It’s already been rejected by Nightmare Magazine, and now it’s waiting its turn in the queue over at Cemetery Dance. 

February’s story is also now well on its way to first-draft-dom. It’s about a day in the early summer for a family of three living on a lake. They have a bad day. I hope to have the story drafted by the end of this weekend while Winter Storm Nemo does its thing to the northeast.

In other news, I sent a query to Random House’s new horror ebook line Hydra to see if they wanted to help me put out an improved version of Abraham Road. They liked the sample chapter and requested the full manuscript, and I’m waiting to hear back. It’s been over two months, so I expect to hear any day now. If they do end up turning it down, I’m probably going to spend a few weeks turning it into an audiobook.

As for those novels still waiting in the wings, progress is slower. I guess the problem is that, before I go down another long road with a full-length project, I’d like to have some validation that I’m getting the knack of this story-writing business. This year, it’s all about getting that first real acceptance letter for a horror story.

 

There, Where I Saw Someone Had Left a Message (I Think They Used Finger-Paints)

The Universe is a saucy little minx. The Universe knows how to mix it up, send a message, take names, make a list, and spike a drink.

The Universe has all the time it needs. The Universe doesn’t mind telling you what your problem is. The Universe doesn’t know why you’re always in such a goddamn hurry. 

The Universe has a substance abuse problem.

The Universe doen’t give a fuck.

But The Universe cares.

The Universe laughs at its own jokes. Every time!

The Universe looks at itself with your eyes, touches itself with your hands, smells its neighbor’s ass with your neighbor’s neighbor’s dog’s nose, tastes itself with an old man’s tongue, and listens to itself even with the ears of the deaf.

The Universe already knows when you’re going to die.

The Universe is going to win, it’s going to lose, and it’s going to be here after all your teams are finished playing all their games and all the people who remember those games have decomposing brains.

The Universe values that bag in the wastebasket beside you just as much as it values the emergence of multicellular lifeforms.

If the Universe continues into the future without you, does it still exist? Do you?

The Universe leased you a few cells, and you’re behind on your payments. The repo man is looking for you.

The Universe pays you a per diem from a wallet stuffed full of what happens next. Layoffs are coming soon.

Reasons I’m Moving My Social Networking Activity Behind a Paywall

This should come as no surprise to my Facebook friends, who’ve long known me for quality status updates and only the most salient and amusing links, but, to quell some of the recent controversy (based in large part on gross misunderstandings), I’ve decided to offer a modest explanation for my recent decision to move my profile page behind a paywall.

Put simply: Baby photos and family portraits do not come cheap. Photographers, editors, and fact-checkers all have to be paid for the work they do crafting my updates and photo albums. Even the interns I employ need to have a few free lunches thrown their way while they comb Gawker and Jezebel and The Onion and YouTube for links and videos.

Going behind a paywall will allow the staff here to continue delivering polished self-obsession, but it will also allow us to step up our game. For example, we hope to reopen our foreign offices and report to you the details of all my amazing vacations abroad. Without your support, I might not be able to take those vacations at all, and you would miss out on all my beach and snorkeling adventures. The documentary crews hired to cover my parasailing adventures and my horseback riding journey across Patagonia would have to be laid off, and my hot-air balloons would have to be sold. Indeed, it’s likely we would be forced to shutter all overseas bureaus and report solely on local updates happening around my one-bedroom apartment, which covers primarily what I had for dinner last night, what’s happening on television, and the latest faces my children have made.

Similarly, my Twitter and Tumblr accounts have become far too time-consuming to continue without a full-time staff and will likewise have to be subscription-only. All social networking requires a careful editorial eye to maintain a reasonable level of quality, and I care about maintaining the @burritofan34 brand.

We also have exciting new projects in the works for the coming months that you won’t want to miss out on. For example, we have set up a Kickstarter campaign for those interested in helping us produce an ebook version of my collected tweets, links, and updates. Buy it later or fund it now and receive framed, signed copies of my most retweeted bon mots.

This choice was not easy, but I hope it is clear that the aim is to deliver more rather than less. It takes a lot of work to bring you the highest quality me possible. We believe you will agree the investment will be worth it.

What Florida’s “Stand Your Ground” Law Should Really Be Called

After this weekend’s burial of another black youth shot for no good reason (he was in the back seat of a car playing music some white asshole thought was too loud before opening fire and claiming he felt threatened), maybe it’s time Florida re-branded their “Stand Your Ground” Law. Might be time for a name change, face-lift … something.

Here are my suggestions for new, more accurate names.

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What “Stand Your Ground” Really Means

Review: Off Season

Off Season by Jack Ketchum

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

The legend of Sawney Bean, the mythical Scottish cannibal who fathered a clan of 48 insane children who chomped their way through a thousand corpses, relocates to rural, coastal Maine, where six New Yorkers are terrorized by some inbred lunatics over the course of a rather harrowing night.

Oh, if only they knew … the truth is so much worse! You should see what things are like inland!

I kid. I kid my homeland.

This book was an engaging read, even if I didn’t feel like I had a real solid grasp on the characters. I continually got the cops confused (who was the young one? who the older one? their dialogue often sounded exactly the same, and they both seemed equally competent). I eventually memorized everything and got it straight, but in the beginning it was a bit of a nightmare to keep things sorted.

Also, I feel like the story itself echoes too many other things. For starters, it’s based on the whole Sawney Bean stuff, which has been done a lot over the years (notably as Wes Craven’s The Hills Have Eyes; I was talking about the plot of this to a friend over lunch, and she smiled and called it, The Coastal Cliffs Have Eyes, which is pretty appropriate). I do like this version much better than Wes Craven’s, but the story suffers for the familiarity.

There’s also a moment toward the end of the story that recalls another scene from a Wes Craven film, this time from The Last House on the Left. And a climactic moment is a nigh-on direct rip-off of a scene in George Romero’s The Night of the Living Dead. I think Ketchum is aware of these grafts, but even so, once again, it saps the story of some of its luster to have so many echoes of other stories.

After reading the afterword to this revised version, I am so freaking glad I read this one and not the version that came out in 1988. I agree with the changes Ketchum made.

But all that doesn’t and shouldn’t take away from the simple fact that this is another Ketchum novel I couldn’t stop reading. I’m looking forward to diving straight into the first of the two sequels and seeing where he takes this next (and if someone is going to end up swinging from the Hairy Tree).

One more note: I bought this for Kindle from Amazon, and the formatting might have cost my appreciation of the story a modicum of enthusiasm. Whatever they used to OCR this book should never be used again!

Here’s a sample image of what my copy looked like … oh yeah … you know a book has to be fairly gripping to keep you reading through crap like this …

careful with that text, eugene

View all my reviews