David Dubrow's Blog, page 49

New Review of The Blessed Man and the Witch

Nev Murray at his Confessions of a Reviewer!! reviewed my first novel The Blessed Man and the Witch:

"You know those little men you see walking around with the placards around their necks declaring “The end is nigh”? Maybe we should speak to them and find out when because this book makes it sound like it is entirely possible, and just around the corner."


It's a lengthy, detailed analysis from an experienced well-read book reviewer who's not afraid to tell it like it is.  Did he like it?  Click to find out!

Friday Links: Slow Torture Puke Chamber, 1982's Poltergeist, and The Horror at Martin's Beach

Even though it's been a short week here in the States, it just means we've been busier the last few days.  Let's hit it:
Bob Pastorella at This Is Horror provided us with a horror comics roundup: "Herbert West has died…twice. Somehow, he was resurrected, and now funds his bizarre experiments by harnessing the psychedelic powers of the human pineal gland. Reanimator has returned to full force in comic book form, and even the slumbering Elder Gods approve. Dynamite brings Keith Davidsen (Poison Elves) and Randy Valiente (Headlocked, Vampirella Bites) together for this four part miniseries."  He also includes a review of Jasper Bark's Bloodfellas here, a graphic novel I'm reading myself.Nev Murray reviewed Tamara Jones's Spore on the heels of a two-part interview at his  Confessions of a Reviewer!! : "Think zombie story. Now scrap that and think of a zombie story with a difference. Living, breathing zombies that are trying to earn their place back in society. Do they deserve it? Should they be scorned? This story raises a lot of questions about our society in general. What we believe in. What we have faith in. What, some you may consider to be insane, believe in. Interesting? It is when it’s told as masterfully as this."At the inimitable, invaluable R'lyeh Tribune (happy second blogiversary, by the way), Sean Eaton discussed Lovecraft's collaboration The Horror at Martin's Beach: "L. Sprague de Camp, in his 1975 biography of H.P. Lovecraft, relates how the idea for the story originated.  While visiting Sonia Green in a small Massachusetts resort town, the two went for a stroll along the shore on moonlit evening, and heard “a peculiar snorting, grunting noise, loud in the distance.”  Green suggested this might provide Lovecraft an idea for a story, but he encouraged her to write one instead."  I snort and grunt too, but only at mealtimes.Zombos' Closet of Horror brought us a lobby card that really demands your attention.There's a lot of really good material up this week at Ginger Nuts of Horror, so I encourage you to click through and get reading.  One highlight is Alex Davis's review of the film Slow Torture Puke Chamber: "With that said, this film will be well off-limits for the faint of heart, and probably a sore test for even regular viewers of the kind of movies we cover at Film Gutter. We have puke, bile and blood by the bucketload – particularly in a horrendous scene featuring the truly disturbing Hank Skinny – and no shortage of piss used in various perverse sexual scenarios. Throw into that mix some truly upsetting sexual violence and what you have is probably one of the most incendiary films ever committed to celluloid."  Mmmm mmm mmm!Modern Horrors hosted a very interesting roundtable discussion about a very bad film: "Going into Human Centipede 3, I pretty much expected it to follow the formula of the previous two and try to top them. It successfully hits the mark in being vulgar, vile and offensive at every opportunity.  As the movie progresses it pokes fun at the previous two entries and had me laughing throughout. I also enjoyed Dieter Laser’s performance and his ability to scream every other line. But honestly this is a movie I’d only watch once."John Kenneth Muir gave us some very trenchant analysis of Poltergeist: "Secondly, specific images and compositions in Poltergeist , as also seen in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1973) highlight the notion that the world has grown disordered and unnatural under a "malefic influence." Again, this is a virtual trademark of Hooper's canon.  Think of the upside-down armadillo on the highway or the corpse atop a gravestone in Chain Saw .  Those images find distinct and unique corollaries in Poltergeist .  A woman is attacked by a ghost and pushed...to the ceiling.  A family's pet bird is found dead on its back behind the bars of its cage, and so forth."Here, I wrote about Memorial Day and American Exceptionalism, Charlie Charlie, and a review I wrote for Cthulhu Lives! Illustration by Tom Sullivan for Call of Cthulhu's S. Petersen's Field Guide to Cthulhu Monsters .

GNoH Review: Cthulhu Lives!

At Jim Mcleod's Ginger Nuts of Horror, I reviewed the Lovecraftian anthology Cthulhu Lives!:

"With a foreword by Leeman Kessler of “Ask Lovecraft” fame and an afterword by noted Lovecraft scholar S.T. Joshi, the short story anthology Cthulhu Lives! drags the Cthulhu Mythos flopping and gibbering into the 21st Century, making it relevant to today’s technological culture."


Which of the dark tales within are the most sanity-draining?  Click to find out!

Charlie Charlie

First we had séances, and they were pretty neat.

Then we had Ouija boards, and they were pretty neat, too.
Now we have Charlie Charlie:
Here's how it works: Take a piece of paper and draw a single horizontal line and a single vertical line that meet in the center. Put a "YES" in two opposing sections and a "NO" in the other two. Place two pencils across the middle of the drawing in a plus-sign formation, with one balanced atop the other so that it can spin.
Ask aloud, "Charlie, Charlie, are you there?" or "Charlie, Charlie, can we play?" and the top pencil will likely move at some point because of how it's balanced. However, some players believe it's a sign that "Charlie" is in the room and ready to take questions.
According to the BBC, Charlie Charlie's origins are murky, but it's clear they have nothing to do with Mexico.
It's an occult ritual like many others: you gather up your materials (pencils, paper), you draw a figure with words on it, you attempt to contact forces beyond the physical, and you complete the ritual with a valediction.  In fact, you actually have to ask the spirit you're summoning if you can end the ritual, and say good-bye when you're done.
So if the people engaging in the Charlie Charlie Challenge take it seriously, they believe, if only for a few moments, that the laying of one pencil upon another can, under certain circumstances, enable one to communicate with a demon or other potentially malevolent spirit.

Instead of gravity and air currents moving the pencil, it's the spirit world.

At least with a Ouija board, you need equipment like a board and planchette.  A séance requires a group willing to hold hands and, typically, a crystal ball.  Charlie Charlie is the most dumbed-down form of divination I've ever seen.

Memorial Day 2015

Today is Memorial Day in the United States.  It's a day set aside to respect the memories of those men and women of America's armed forces who gave the ultimate sacrifice.

Okay, but what does that mean?

Part of this is rooted in American Exceptionalism.  Unfortunately, most people in the U.S. and across the globe believe that American Exceptionalism is an ego trip devised by Americans to make themselves think they're awesome.  President Obama and his supporters in the media also think this way.

This is entirely wrong.  

American Exceptionalism is an acknowledgment that, of all the countries that sprang up before it, the United States is the exception in human history.  The framers of the U.S. Constitution were brilliant, learned men.  They'd studied the great philosophers like Charles de Montesquieu, John Locke, and Thomas Hobbes, and adopted the principles learned from them into the Constitution. They enshrined in this country's founding documents first and foremost the God-given rights of the individual. They deliberately limited their own power to govern despite the blood they'd personally shed to achieve liberty from England's tyranny*. That's different. That's the exception.  That's what's exceptional.  Prior to the founding of the U.S., the vast majority of human beings were born under tyranny, even slavery.

We can have long discussions about America's place in the world, what its current role should be, its history, etc, but without considering this first principle of American Exceptionalism, all arguments are incomplete.  America hasn't cornered the market on freedom, but we have built freedom's primacy into our country's very foundation.

Without the sacrifices made by the men and women in uniform, the American experiment would have been strangled in its crib.  There would be no American Exceptionalism.  There would be no America.

It's fine if you think America's latest military excursions have been unnecessary, even wrong.  I disagree, but disagreement is also built into America's system of government.  Nevertheless, if you're an American, you owe it to the people who fought and died on America's behalf to spare a few thoughts about them today.

They've left grieving loved ones behind to tend graves, light candles and shed tears.  They did so for love of country.

I don't take their sacrifice for granted.

May your Memorial Day be a thoughtful one, filled with family and friends.

*Of course, we Americans value our alliance with the UK, and respect its people like none other.  Brothers occasionally fight, but we're still brothers.

Friday Links: The Scarlet Gospels, Evel Knievel, and Antarctic Aliens

During your headlong dash toward the weekend, perhaps you might spare a look back to see what you may have missed in the world of the bizarre and horrific.
Clive Barker's The Scarlet Gospels has finally been released, and Ginger Nuts of Horror featured a really extraordinary series of articles relating to it, including reviews and retrospectives on both Pinhead and Harry D'Amour.  Get clicking and start reading for some excellent analysis.John Kenneth Muir brought us some nostalgia with Evel Knievel action figures.At the ever-expanding, never-relenting R'lyeh Tribune, Sean Eaton delved into Clark Ashton Smith and the Book of Eibon: "The Coming of the White Worm tells of the last adventure of Evagh, a sorcerer in the land of Mhu Thulan. Evagh is forcibly recruited by fellow wizards to join with Rlim Shaikorth on board his immense floating ice citadel, a vessel called Yikilth.  The ‘fat white worm” and his entourage travel up and down the coast of Mhu Thulan, destroying shipping and port cities with a kind of ice ray that enfrosts anything it touches."  (Sometimes, a white worm is just a white worm.  At other times, it's a penis.  Just saying.)At Soiled Sinema, we were treated to an in-depth review of the film Runaway Nightmare: "Like any respectable cult film, Cartel’s flick has a background history as ludicrously labyrinthine as the film itself as a work that was expected to be shot over a three week period but was ultimately stretched to three years, only to be released without the director’s knowledge in an incomplete form on VHS as one of the first ‘straight-to-video’ films after the distributor subcontracted it to another distributor called All Seasons Video. To add insult to injury and then some, the distributor not only released the work without Cartel’s knowledge, but also spliced in random shot-on-VHS nude scenes in an absurdly conspicuous way worthy of alpha-smut-peddler Lloyd Kaufman."Nev Murray reviewed Todd Keisling's Ugly Little Things: Volume One at his Confessions of a Reviewer!!: "This is a collection of four of his short stories. The stories in this book don’t follow a common theme. They are totally different styles and that to me makes it even more interesting. You get a true picture of depth of talent this man has."  Read on for in-depth analysis of each story.At Ghost Hunting Theories, we learned about alien bases in Antarctica: "The question is, why would Antarctica be of any importance? There is much to be said for being able to come and go as the military from an area so hard to see and get to that no one knows your business. But, might there be other things about Antarctica that makes it of importance to both Earthlings and aliens?"Here, I wrote about the Mad Men series finale and pointed you to a review I wrote at Ginger Nuts of Horror for Jasper Bark's extraordinary Stuck on You and Other Prime Cuts .

GNoH Review: Stuck on You and Other Prime Cuts

At Jim Mcleod's Ginger Nuts of Horror, I reviewed Jasper Bark's collection of stories titled, Stuck on You and Other Prime Cuts:

"You never forget your firsts.

Not long ago I was sitting on the sofa, reading Jasper Bark’s Stuck on You and Other Prime Cuts.

My wife looked over at me and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s…it’s just so horrible,” I mumbled without looking up.  Apparently, my face had been making some pretty spectacular expressions on its own.

“Another bad book, huh.”

“No.  This one…it’s great.  Amazing.  But it’s just so...horrible.”"


You need to read this review, and then you need to run out and get the book.

Mad Men Series Finale: Thoughts

I started watching Mad Men because I wanted to see the aesthetic I remembered fondly from such TV shows as Bewitched and The Dick Van Dyke Show.  Who could forget Larry Tate's mustache (not to mention Doctor Bombay's)?  Or Dick tripping over the hassock?  Mad Men through a haze of UHF nostalgia.  I was born too late to watch these programs live, but their syndication colored my childhood.

Mad Men was a great show, but not a great great show, like The Prisoner or the first few seasons of Lost.  It was a little too self-conscious, a little pretentious in its attempt to be art.  Occasionally it dipped too deeply into absurdity, like when the English guy got his foot eaten up by the riding mower or the fistfight between Pete Campbell and Lane Pryce.  And, of course, it had to insert itself into 2010-era presidential politics with an unnecessary dig at Mitt Romney's father, which took you out of the show and reminded you who was making it.  But it held my interest over seven seasons with excellent performances and some genuinely good writing.

I don't have strong feelings either way about the finale.  It could have been any other episode, which makes sense: it's its own fully realized world, and will continue to turn when we've stopped watching it.  Don may have made the Coke advert at the end, or he may not have.  With evidence for both, the question becomes an exercise in mental masturbation.  The inevitable comparisons to the ambiguous finale of The Sopranos are tedious insofar as that show's long gone, too, and we'll never know.

As the finale lacked any semblance of a plot or organizing theme, I'll take it character by character.
Don: A somewhat expected series of events: he goes to the hippie retreat and contemns it as expected, but later experiences an epiphany that opens him up to what it has to offer.  His last phone call with Betty was brutal and ugly, leavened only by the "Birdy" at the end.  Don's connection to the man at the encounter group who finds himself invisible is, by its nature, a very transitory thing.  Don is only invisible now because he's gone, and he's only unneeded because his dying ex-wife told him so.  Don fills up a room: you can't ignore him.  He can't be a nobody: he's just too big.  Om.Peggy: I wasn't terribly entranced by the declarations of love between her and Stan because it meant that their extraordinary, charming, platonic friendship would end.  They're both great, extremely likable characters, and it's a shame that their dynamic will now change.  At least I won't have to watch it disintegrate.Pete: They didn't give him much to do.  I liked the symbolism of Pete giving Peggy a cactus, and her holding it between them during their brief good-bye.  The issue of their baby is indeed a prickly matter.  Trudy Campbell will probably hate it in Kansas.  She's also the voice of Unikitty.  Betty: Dying has not changed her essentially toxic, self-absorbed nature, and I feel terrible for her kids.  It's awful that Bobby's close to setting the kitchen on fire in an attempt to make dinner because his sick mother won't tell him or his father that she's dying.  Bobby and Gene are adrift.  If there's a villain in this season, it's Betty.  It doesn't reflect well on Don that he let her talk him out of going back to New York immediately.  Just an awful situation across the board, making an unlikable character even less likable.Joan: A very odd, compressed relationship with the Bruce Greenwood character that needed to have been teased earlier to make sense at the end.  Her story's conclusion lacked punch, or even interest.  Will she be successful?  Do we care?  Should we?Nice to see that Roger's having a good time in Paris, but he's always having a good time, except when he isn't.  Ken's still missing an eye.  I wish he'd return to writing.  Harry's still a slimeball: yay!  Megan was thought of, but not missed.  Same with Henry.

I was hoping for a last-minute return of Sal.  Didn't happen.

Friday Links: Wherewolves, Vermiphobia, and the Hollow Earth

While you thank your deity of choice that Friday has arrived, do click on the following links to catch up on what's gone on in the world of the bizarre and horrific:
Joel Harley reviewed  Wyrmwood: Road of the Dead  at The Horror Review Hole: "There's few make genre movies quite as interesting as those of the Aussies. Their weird filmmaking prowess is such that there's a whole documentary dedicated to the exploits of Ozploitation (the itself-rather-fantastic Not Quite Hollywood). The Aussies have been relatively quiet in recent years, but they're back on the map with the critically and fanboy acclaimed zombie effort Wyrmwood: Road of the Dead."At the insightful, invaluable R'lyeh Tribune, Sean Eaton squirmed into vermiphobia: "There is a tendency in horror fiction to depict the simpler, less evolved creature as more reptilian in form, giving it eyes and teeth for example, which it does not possess in nature.  Doing this reduces the ‘otherness’ of the worm and makes it more recognizable as a predator."  It's a great piece, full of information.John Kenneth Muir analyzed The Road through the eyes of a parent: "Instead,  The Road  very explicitly -- and very emotionally -- concerns the bonds of family, and in particular the relationship between a loving father (Viggo Mortenson) and his young son (Kodi Smit-McPhee) as the duo attempts to navigate a planetary graveyard; one populated by hungry vultures, in the form of scavenging human cannibals. The boy's mother (Charlize Theron) has taken her own life rather than exist in such a world, and in his quiet moments, the boy fantasizes about joining her. The child doesn't really understand death, and wonders, when his father dies, if he will see him again; or if he can take him with him."Nev Murray reviewed Wherewolves at, where else, his Confessions of a Reviewer!!: "The book starts at 100mph. The first ten percent is a fast flowing chase with two people fighting for their lives to get away from an unseen evil, hell bent on ripping them to pieces. The next seventy percent is spent going through the lives of the school kids and getting them ready for the trip. It’s not until eighty percent through the story that it takes off again and leaves you pretty breathless with a rip roaring race to the finish."  Whither the wherewolves, indeed.Crimson Quill reviewed the golden oldie I Spit on Your Grave at Rivers of Grue: "Originally titled Day of The Woman, Zarchi’s film sparked an outcry upon its release and ended up branded as immoral, repugnant, and many other expletives all of which suggested that it was exploitative trash of the algae division. With a moniker such as I Spit on Your Grave it was asking for trouble and, even now, there is a stigma attached to this film which prevents many from giving it the time of day, although Steven R. Monroe’s remake helped to fill in the blanks for modern audiences and performed well enough to bankroll a sequel."Kit Power kicked off Ginger Nuts of Horror's essay series The Path to the Scarlet Gospels with an analysis of Clive Barker's The Last Illusion: "The opening is instructive in this regard, seeding very early the concept of the real magician hiding in plain view – performing acts of spectacular magic on stage, so that people know there must be a trick to it. That’s a neat concept in its own right, but in the context of the story as a whole, it's downright audacious – like the magician, Barker himself is giving you most of the information up front, trusting that you'll assume along with the fictional audience of the show that it's an illusion, misdirection – when actually, the whole story is right there in the intro. It's stunningly assured stuff."At Ghost Hunting Theories, we learned about Olaf Jansen's Hollow Earth voyage: "Olaf Jansen was a Norwegian who gave an account of his voyage to this Hollow Earth. Hollow Earth is a long-held theory by some that there is a whole world within our world. This hearty Norwegian in the 1800s had a father and uncle who encouraged him into ship owning and eventually he was able to sell the business, move to the Midwest of American in 1901, he moved on to Los Angeles. He spent the rest of his life drawing maps of new lands they found."Illustration by Tom Sullivan for Call of Cthulhu's The Great Old Ones supplement.

Flash Fiction: Sij-Thing

  Jayden tried to keep from grinning as he edged past the lady pushing a baby stroller through the crowd on Mandalay Avenue, but he just couldn’t help it.  Today was it.  Today was the day.
He was going to get what he deserved, and it felt so good.  The months, the years of practice would finally pay off.
Stepping into the Ron Jon Surf Shop, he paused, breathing in the salty, coconutty smell of the place.  This was where he’d get it.  His sij-thing.
Where were they?  It didn’t make sense that the store would have sij-things out for anyone to just buy.  There was a tradition to be upheld.  A…ritual.  Yes.  That was what they told him.
And he was so ready.
As if in a wonderful dream, he drifted past the shelves of paddle guards and board wax, of Fred Tools and trim planes, of leash cups and resins.  None of this stuff interested him, though he’d probably get into it at some point.  They would make him do it, wouldn’t they?  Maybe it would be part of the oath.
The board shorts were cool, though.  And the shirts.  But all that was for later.
At the register, a butterface blonde with nice tits smiled automatically when he approached.
“Hi!” she said brightly.
Oh, shit.  Now that he was here, they weren’t just going to give it to him.  He had to ask.  His face reddened.  This was like buying condoms or lube or something.  Why didn’t she just know?
“Uh, hi,” Jayden replied.  “I’m…uh…”  He swallowed.  “I’m ready.”
Still smiling, she asked, “Ready for what?”
“Uh…”  She was going to make him spell it out?  Wasn’t it written all over his—
The butterface girl laughed.  “Just kidding.  Go past the dressing rooms to the black door.  Down the stairs.  You can’t miss it.”
His relief was so complete that his knees came close to unhinging.  “Uh, thanks.”  He smiled back and went where she indicated, opening the black door covered with sij-things at the end of the corridor.
Double shit.  The stairwell past the door led to absolute darkness.
This was it.  He could either turn around and go home, or make the plunge.  Most people quit at this point.  Too scared.  Didn’t have the sack.  Punked out.
Jayden Silas Tucker wouldn’t be one of them.
He forced his feet down the stairs, stomach tightening.  Soon, he was swallowed up by blackness: step after step after step.
It seemed to take hours.  Days.  An endless descent.
Sweat poured off his brow.  His calves quivered like guitar strings.  Every breath whooshed in an exhausted pant.  Wouldn’t it be easier to just forget it?
No.  Never.  Not after all that preparation.
After a thousand more steps, a million, he reached the bottom.
Was this it?  A cinderblock room with a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling?  Shouldn’t there be something more, like a—
“Are you ready?” asked a deep, gargling voice from somewhere the light didn’t reach.
“Y-yes,” Jayden managed, catching his breath.
A fragment of darkness detached itself from the shadows.  It seemed to possess a vaguely manlike shape, though with massive curling horns and tiny, slit-like crimson eyes.  “Which color?”
“Uh, red.  No!  Um, white.  Definitely white,” Jayden said.
“Are you ready to take the oath and accept our sigil?”
Jayden nodded.
“Hold out your hand.”
Wincing in advance, Jayden extended his hand, palm up.
“Do you solemnly swear to forego all use of the turn signal in any driving situation, and for all time?”
“Yes.”
“Do you solemnly swear to tailgate at every opportunity, no matter which lane you are in?”
“Yes.”
“Do you solemnly swear to make all lane changes as quickly as your car’s steering will allow?”
“Yes.”
“Do you solemnly swear to ignore every merge line, jumping ahead at every opportunity?”
“Yes.”
“Do you solemnly swear to never let anyone merge into traffic ahead of you?”
“Yes.”
Jayden felt a cold, slick sensation as the horned darkness placed something in his hand.  “By accepting this sigil, you affirm that of all the people in the universe, the rules, customs, and courtesies of the road are beneath you, only to be followed by lesser folk,” it said.  “The road belongs to you and you alone.  Do you acknowledge it?”
“I, uh, ack…ackuh, um.  Yes.  Yes, I do,” Jayden said.
“Then go, with my blessing.”
Soundlessly, the terrible, man-shaped blackness vanished, leaving a sulfurous miasma in its place.
The instant Jayden’s fingers closed over the sigil, he felt an incredible jolt of electricity rocket through him.  Yes.  Yes!  A massive erection tented the front of his trousers and didn’t subside until he was up the stairs, out of the store, and back at his car, smoothing his brand new Salt Life sticker on the rear windshield.
“Everyone watch out,” he murmured, smiling.  “Jayden’s got his sij, uh, sign thing.  Sticker.  Yeah.”

Author's Note: I have to believe that this is how you get a Salt Life sticker.  This is not to say that every person with a Salt Life sticker is a terrible driver, but the worst drivers I've ever encountered have had Salt Life stickers on their cars.  Getting one must be a rite of passage.  A solemn oath.  An unholy vow.  Something.  I don't know if the worst drivers are attracted to Salt Life stickers, or Salt Life stickers attract the worst drivers, but there's got to be something to it.

Present readers excepted, of course.  You are, no doubt, all excellent motorists.