THE IDEAL CANDIDATE, the latest work from Damian Murphy, collects three of his short stories, two of which have appeared elsewhere, one that is original to the collection. The original (and longest) of the three is also the story that lends the collection its title. In “The Ideal Candidate,” a man named Sylvester travels to an unnamed city and checks into the Hotel Noturno, which is overseen by a mysterious entity known as Rebus. Sylvester is in town for a job interview, but quickly comes to the realization that his voyage inside the hotel is in all actuality the interview process itself. During the course of his nocturnal peregrination he encounters surly hotel employees, tape machines, malfunctioning elevators, ruined dining halls, mechanical panels, and various optical illusions (the latter of which bring to mind Constantine’s Mansion from “The Sword” mission in THIEF: THE DARK PROJECT). One thing I admire about many of Murphy’s protagonists is the sangfroid they maintain in the face of the craziness that surrounds them (in this aspect, they remind me of the cartoon cat, Heathcliff): like laid-back lab rats making their way through behavioral mazes designed by Surrealists, they generally just roll with things and are “eager to embrace the delirium” (though it must be said that there are moments in this tale where Sylvester DOES experience feelings of unease, irritation, and abject panic, even exclaiming “GOOD GOD!” at one point . . . perhaps we may attribute this uncharacteristic lack of self-possession to poor breeding). In some ways this story had kind of a retro science fiction feel to me, in a way I have trouble articulating: I suppose the ambient chorus in the background that gradually increases in volume made me think of 2001 (and that was even BEFORE Murphy makes mention of a “vibrating monolith”), while a bank of monitor screens displaying endless scrolls of green characters screams THE MATRIX, only here the simulacrum is less Wachowski and more Oerg-8.
The second story, “The Embassy at Fontainebleau,” is a short tale about a married couple on a train (the Mercator Express) en route from France to Rome. To pass the time, they take turns describing the various activities of the titular embassy, while also spinning fantastic narratives around the lives of various people linked to the embassy, along with discussing musical scores, the pacing of wolves, modulations of candle flames, avian wallpaper, and the lost art of diplomacy.
I think my favorite piece here is the last story, “A Token Derangement of the Senses.” It’s set during World War I, and is narrated by a military/soldier type fighting for the German army, whose unit has invaded France and is stationed in a house owned by a priest, where mysterious music plays from an unknown source at night. Because this is a Damian Murphy war story, it’s no surprise that as far as such things go, the battlefield is unorthodox, less gas-masked soldiers butchering each other in the trenches and more old school Gothic: “ . . . ruined cannons and crumbling stairways, garrets inhabited by raving insomniacs, ancient lace, flaming banners, underground rivers, and rat-infested mansions.” Shockingly, an unnamed minor character actually dies in this one, but then again, it IS a war story at the end of the day, so I suppose SOMEONE had to die at some point (though the narrator dismisses this incident as an “unfortunate fiasco”). The narrator and his comrades are utterly mystified by the fighting tactics employed by the French, which consists of various unconventional methods, including singing, burying a giant stone statue of a horse in a ruined church, and changing the text in the memoirs of John of Gaunt; really, the French here seem to be willing to do almost ANYthing to avoid actual physical combat, which might make this the most realistic Murphy story yet.