On the eve of war, a priestess is left for dead in the ruins of her temple. The life she built reduced to ash, she sets herself on a path of vengeance, resorting to a long-buried power and a past she’s spent her life escaping. Aided by an estranged ally, she sets out into the desert in search of things better left forgotten.
A circle closes, a reckoning comes due. In the pit of the desert, beneath the heart of a dead star, something wakes.
Ethan J. Pollard is a writer and graphic designer living in Oregon with his wife/editor and an assortment of rabbits. He is the author of the dark fantasy novella Sanctum, as well as a number of short stories in different publications. Often described by researchers as some manner of cryptid, he enjoys reading, woodworking, dark coffee, old scotch, the sense of cosmic enormity experienced while staring into the depthless void of the night sky, and the music of Peter Gabriel. He has been sighted intermittently on Instagram under the handle @theinksmithe, and online at ethanjpollard.com.
Darkly poetic, vivid yet elusive. Nothing is explicitly spelled out to the reader, which is something that seems to be a forgotten form of art in itself. There's so much packed into fifty pages, that it's difficult for me to say anything more than I loved going into this completely blind. I already want to re-read it to unravel more of the mystery, see if I can figure out more of how this world runs.
Pollard proves himself as an expert sculptor of dark, fantastical fiction and I cannot wait to read more from him.
If you love an unsettling revenge story with tinges of fantasy, look no further than Sanctum. Sanctum is a wquick read, but it’s incredibly evocative, super mysterious, and packs a punch of cosmic horror reminiscent of Laird Barron and John Langan, albeit in a more fantastical setting. It’s hard to say whether Sanctum is more horror or fantasy, as it melds the two genres together so perfectly; I was immediately drawn into the story and it never let me go.
Sanctum, by Ethan J. Pollard, is a blood orange & honey pound cake.
Wet batter settles in a steel dish in the center of a room. Awaits its demise. Raw, beige, lifeless thing.
Oranges picked that morning, oranges fallen far from the hollow tree. Small, misshapen things having gone on a journey themselves. Ready to rot, overripe. Sliced thin atop their loaf, the batter dips like a pool of heavy blood but holds them high in its grasp.
An ancient, crusted jar of honey pours to liquid now, liquid gold that spills over the edges.
Ready now, ready to become that of flesh, of a dense and thick center. The ingredients awaken over the blazing fire. Snapping and popping when the uncooked batter falls to the ashen floor. Turns from yolk and amber, then puce and umber. Alive and dead within mere moments, but a lifetime for this loaf.
Bruised oranges sweat in the burning heat of this stone hearth. Spread their molten juice through the honeyed cake. Like welts of blood over a bloated corpse.
Glistening, now. Something to desire. Something to worship.
Too soon it’s removed, a collapse in its middle that bubbles black. Oranges sinking, eaten away.
The heat is a smoldering sun, but a handful of cake anyway, juices dripping down your wrists, stinging the inner corners of your lips at first bite. The sour, acrid taste of foul fruit.
This is a beautifully written piece of fiction. It's short, but every word sinks in, forming vivid scenes and delivering emotional impact.
The plot struck me as one of destiny and justice; putting right a wrong by returning to an old life and undertaking a journey to embrace destiny.
This is a fast-paced book, and Pollard weaves in so much emotion and purpose. I don't know how to sum this up without spoiling things.
You get fantasy, bloodshed, and magic. There are eldritch implications and emotional dilemmas.
This is a great read, and though not particularly horrific in my opinion it hits hard and leaves an impression.
My only real critique would be that there were moments of confusion for me at times. There are two characters using she/her pronouns, only one of whom is named. This meant that sometimes the story would state that "she did X" and it wasn't entirely clear which character it was referring to.
But this was a minor thing and didn't impact my enjoyment of the story.
Well worth a read. You can get through it in a sitting or two.
The writing in Sanctum is environmental and encompassing. You find yourself looking up from the book surprised that the world you exist in is not the one you have been living in for the past hour.
The story keeps you always on the edge of understanding the full picture. Much like VanderMeer’s Annihilation, Sanctum doesn’t hold your hand. It doesn’t spoon feed you lore or exposition but relies on experience to captivate you.
Mr. Pollard paints a grim yet sensual picture with each and every line. It feels almost like cracking open a door and seeing something not meant to be seen. With each page, you feels as though there is a coil writhing in your own gut - and you welcome the horror. Tis a shame it feels like but a glimpse into this world.
I discovered Pollard in a dinosaur anthology in which I also had a story. His descriptions are out of this world, and his characterizations are top notch. When I found out he had a novella out there I had to pick it up.
It is riveting from the first paragraph, the story calls you to listen and absorb the intensity of his tale. Who doesn't love a good novella? It is an intense dive into a deep and intricate story.
very thematic, grimey ambiance, and visceral word choices throughout. The middle was a bit tooo different from the whole for me, it definitely could have been creepier, but definitely worth a quick read! 3.5 to 3.