'Damnable Tales is a worthy effort at a folk horror anthology. If it falls down, it is not in its intention but on the fact that historic literary folk horror (as opposed to its later television and cinematic versions) is not, in fact, very inspiring and rarely truly horrific.
Richard Wells has delivered, in broadly chronological sequence, 23 tales that might be regarded as within the genre but, while some are important in framing it, they are often rather disappointing in purely literary terms. It might have been better to refer to Folk Unease.
Yes, we have Machen's 'The Shining Pyramid' and M. R. James' 'The Ash Tree' but these are already much anthologised and, I argue below, may be outside authentic folk horror though rural witchery might reasonably be included in the genre.
Many of the remainder are rather weak potboilers by famous writers (Stevenson, Hardy) or stories that helped create the genre but are otherwise not remarkable. Others are more interested in the idea of Pan and the old gods or in historical survivals and ghosts.
This is mostly literary source material and so useful in defining the style (so worth having in the library) but it also reminds us that folk horror was a relatively minor part of English literature, a variant of the modernised folk tale, the ghost story and the fascination with Pan and rural mystery.
What does make a difference are Wells' illustrations. These are done in a rough woodcut style, one for each story. These help tell us that the book was a labour of love which is confirmed by the over 12 pages of small print 'supporters' who helped make the book happen.
The stories range from 1872 to 1964. The vast majority were written for periodicals which helps us to understand their often ephemeral nature and the tendency to entertain more than to explore what they are addressing in depth. There is nothing bad in here, just fairly ordinary and unsurprising.
Having said that, as in all anthologies, there are some works that stretch beyond being interesting just because they shape a now-established genre or as literary expansions of folk tales into horror. Of the latter, 'The Sin Eater' (1895) and 'The Black Reaper' (1899) may be the best.
Of the later works, Margery Lawrence's 'How Pan Came to Ingleton' (1926) has a charm to it that has nothing of the horrible, Walters De La Mare's 'All Hallows' (1926) exudes menace and Rolt's 'Cwm Garon' (1948) captures a common intuition that some landscapes can be evil by their very nature.
The problem here is that all three represent tales that drift away from folk horror. Lawrence's is not horror, De La Mare's is more about evil or the cosmic and is Gothick in tone and Rolt's, though it does have a legitimate folk element, concentrates on a landscape. The last probably counts.
Two of the three last works are superior. Shirley Jackson's 'The Summer People'(1950), an American addition, offers us the essence of folk horror which is the educated urban middle class out of place in the country. The horror is the insidious truth that summer visitors do not matter to locals.
Finally the inconclusive 'Bind Your Hair' (1964) by Robert Aikman is possibly the most interesting because of its realism in depicting its characters (too many protagonists in these stories are cardboard cut-out sterotypes). It leaves us with a sense of unease yet not quite knowing why we are uneasy.
Rolt and Aikman, Scott's 'Randall's Round' (1929) and the grim 'The First Sheaf' (1940) by Wakefield certainly pass muster. Others too perhaps but I should explain why I am reluctant to allow folk horror to be defined too broadly and be too inclusive.
As a compendium of themes to be plundered in popular culture by a full-blown genre as it stands today,'Damnable Tales' is useful but there is not a lot of true horror here. The folk aspect constantly feels like urban literary types inventing memes for their own type of person who reads periodicals.
If much of this does not persuade as horror and only a few works as 'unease', it does not persuade as authentically related to folk either. If the concern is to show the unease of the urban middle class, then some of the work does that but very few cut to the chase of an essential cultural clash.
To make folk horror work it either has to be set well within the 'other' (the rural world) and be horrible (like Nevill's 'The Reddening') or the incomer needs to show some emotional engagement with being at the margin of the 'other' that creates unease if not outright horror.
Telling a story about rum doings by peasants might be included as folk horror but not re-telling their own stories in literary ways. We also need to be clear that unease or horror at nature or 'rurality' (as Pan) is not the same as unease or horror at rum doings.
'The First Sheaf' is grim because the urban type is confronted not with nature but another type of person's relationship to nature. This is also the case with the unease in the Aickman story. Nature is a source of horror only indirectly as belief system. The nature of the 'folk' is what should interest us.
Folk horror should be anthropological horror first and existential or cosmic horror second. If it is historical horror, the folk must be like us and embedded in the knowable past but not Neanderthals or degenerate cave dwellers under the moors.
Even Adam Nevill in 'The Reddening' makes sure his story is centred on the realism of a corrupt folk on the surface of things that taps into something dark rather than having the primary focus being on something dark that erupts from below that is not human (though his ambiguities here are clever).
Unease or horror at some prehistoric atavistic and supernatural force (like the fairies) is thus a different kettle of fish from unease and horror at nature or the 'volk'. 'Ballinghurst Barrow' (1892) and 'The Shining Pyramid' (1895) fall into this category.
So, folk horror (in this anthology) seems to confuse three different 'others' under the same label- our past selves (which was very much a late Victorian post-Darwinian concern), nature as 'being' (Pan) and others who live a very different life closer to nature and often interpreting it through ritual.
Yes, these can be interconnected - the 'folk' seem to have a different relationship to 'nature' than us and this relationship may seem atavistic (again, Nevill's 'The Reddening' brilliantly merges these three conceptions) - but if they are not melded folk horror should just be about the 'folk' in its relations.
The cinematic and television variants of the genre tend to get this more right because things have moved on from the era of literary concerns with Pan and Darwinism. Atavism is now a matter for science fiction and the relationship with nature has become eco-horror (Vandermeer).
The atavistic branch of horror dragged on into the work of Nigel Kneale and Dr Who. Given 'Quatermass and the Pit' and 'Quatermass IV', Kneal was in the world of science fiction and not that of anthro-horror. A true folk horror film like 'The Wicker Man' is still about a (albeit fake) 'folk' cult.
Even 'The Children of the Stones' is set more in a science fiction environment though it scrapes in as folk horror because of the village atmosphere. We have to go to 'Blood on Satan's claw' or even 'Witchfinder General' to find again this concern with the horror that arises from the 'folk' out there.
Those stories that have an urban middle class type entering into the nearby unknown or which describe the behaviours of the unknowns in their own country must be regarded as authentic. Ghost stories, literary folk tales, 'Pan tales' or tales of degenerated or atavistic primitives need not apply.