I have found classic horror stories like Stephen King, or Edgar Poe, to be anachronistic nowadays. We have the WW-2, the U-235, and the B-52. Who would still worry about a few gothic castles or willows in the woods? Aldapuerta's fables have finally brought horror fit for the 1950s.
The book has the feeling of a universe fated for maximizing artistic pain, and if logic or causality needs to be broken, so be it. The elements and the terrestrial orb and the generations of mankind and Germany and America and Russia and Japan were extracted from nothingness in order to clash together. Perhaps supernovae burned for the uranium, and diatoms evolved to produce dynamite [which uses diatomaceous earth], and sodium and chlorine for the neurons. This baroque idea glimmers behind Aldapuerta. The idea of a universe animated by a necessary logic of suffering.
This is especially so for Ikarus and Orphea, which I think are the best. The philosophy of the book is described in "B.V.M." as
> A rose is sweet, but the nose becomes habituated to its scent. And what of the most intense pleasures, the personality-annihilating ecstasies of sex? ... if youth were restored to me fully, and I engaged again in what was once my greatest delight – to be fellated at stool by nymphet with mouth still blood-heavy from the necessary precautions – what then? Give me a cubic centimeter of your flesh and I could give you pain that would swallow you as the ocean swallows a grain of salt. And you would always be ripe for it, from before the time of your birth to the moment of your death, we are always in season for the embrace of pain. To experience pain requires no intelligence, no maturity, no wisdom, no slow working of the hormones in the moist midnight of our innards. We are always ripe for it. All life is ripe for it.
## The stories
- Indochine
- During the Vietnam war, an American lieutenant fucks a dead girl every Tuesday in a highly symbolic way: First, an agent from the South Vietnamese army would go to a refugee camp and lure one with the promise of normal prostitution. Then she would be told to go into an oil tank truck on the pretense of smuggling into the army camp. Then the tank is closed and the agent waits until suffocation, then drives in to hand the corpse to the lieutenant. The lieutenant has a highly symbolic fetish. He has sewn toy model B-52 bomb-bay doors to his pants, so that his penis would emerge like bombs from B-52.
- > Turning his head to one side so that he could watch the map, he enter and begin to thrust – sometimes, almost mantra- like, and most often as he approached orgasm, gasping out the names of Vietnamese or Laotian or Cambodian cities or districts. At orgasm, he was fucking not the undernourished body of a teenaged refugee whore, but an entire nation.
- Ikarus
- During the dying days of Nazi Germany, a man from who-knows-where got into a Bachem Ba 349 Natter. Back then, the Allied powers had air supremacy, and Germany was being bombed to oblivion. The Ba 349 was designed to be a rocket-powered manned missile, which takes off on a steep ramp, so it had with no need for airports. The pilot would guide it towards Allied bomber formations, fire a volley of rockets or MK 108 cannons, then press some buttons to separate the manned nose cone section from the rocket motor, and descend via parachute. The rocket motor would also be salvaged via parachute.
- His rocket slammed right into a B-17 bomber, then he saw a surreal torture scene: a woman crucified on a weird machine, bleeding while also being fed blood from an annular tank of blood. Inside the tank, fish swam.
- > From one white hand, thin and flat as a leaf and pierced by a beak of copper, a slender twisting pillar of blood fell, so perfect and unchanging that it seemed to be carved of transparent red crystal. ... A single slack reiterated vowel, fattened rhythmically with nasalization. He realized that this was perhaps as close as she could get to ma-ma-ma-ma-ma. The sculpture was set with many long blades and serrated edges that were not touching her skin, and with coiled springs and little hearts of clockwork.
- He pressed a button and the machine came to life, twirling her meat into shreds. The story ends on a beautiful surreal scene that lives rent-free in my brain forever.
- > Cradling her in two hands, he walked over the flak-hole in the fuselage wall. The moon rode beneath him, a negative pupil in a giant eye of water. He sat down on the edge of the hole, legs dangling over kilometers of emptiness, and waited , dangling the head in his lap like a child, for the impulse to come to push himself and her out and down to the black, unending sea.
- The Sand
- A bomber crew of 4 crashes in the desert. One was crippled and left behind. One rushes to the bomber, settles into the gun turret, and waits. When the other two arrived, he fired on them, killing one and incapacitating the other.
-
> A cliché from a detective novel he’d been reading on his bunk in base the day before occurred to him. Something about not avoiding death, only postponing it. The thought that he’d never finish the book now maddened him. He thought of it sitting beneath his pillow in the cool of the barracks.
- He burns the man as a signal to guide the search-and-rescue aircrafts.
- > He fetched the can of fuel and poured a little into a cupped hand. “Asperges me,” he said, sprinkling the aviation fuel. He poured the rest of the fuel into the stomach wound. It flowed into the wound clear and out to the ground dark. The Zippo caught light first time. He stepped back, hearing the screams of the burning man ascend to the Lord of Night. After a time, there was only a crackle of burning fat and hiss of overamplified static from the plane, looming temple-tall against the dunes. He waited, kneeling, for wings to sweep out black wounds in the star-cankered flesh of the heavens above him.
- Yin & Yang
- A passenger plane crashes in a field of ice in the north. A man living there uses a large knife to hack off their frozen organs "like enormous jewels, very cold and hard and beautiful in his hands". He then makes decorations in the field of ice.
- > metre-wide whorls and zigzags on the ice, trying to find the most pleasing combination of colours and shapes, the hard red fists of hearts beside the fat white tubes of intestine section, the fat glossy shells of kidneys beside the intricate glittering venation of single small lungs.
- Armful
- A sex tourist is caught buying the service of a child prostitute. Because of plot-necessary stupidity, the child was put into the same holding cell as him. So he eats her then shits her out. I like when he ate her brains, he referenced the James V. McConnell's debunked experiments on planaria memory transfer.
- > I thought of this as her brains spilled down my chin, as I chewed and swallowed and reached my hand within the small vessel of her skull for more. If it were true, what should I see, what feeling rising, as if from mist, into memory? The wretchedness of her life, the hunger, the privations, the glitter of oily scum upon the waters of the harbour, the buzz of disturbed flies from some victim of the death squads near her childish place of play, if time for play she had ever had?
- > The flies shrouded her in buzzing black, swirling up where my hands moved on her to reveal their eggs dry white pearls against her moist red meat. I was stripping her to the bone now, scraping muscle from the thin struts of the framework on which she had hung herself and moved... the hollows of her face were sprinkled with the eggs, like a dust of sleep.
- A la Japonaise
- A group of people went to Matsue during a fictional WWII, which had just been atomic-bombed. Note that Matsue had never been bombed at all during WWII, let alone atomic-bombed. Anyway, they drove towards ground zero, when a half-roasted woman waved for them to stop. So of course, they carried her off to fuck then eat.
- > I scalded myself in doing it: even internally, she was boilingly hot. The congealed fat in my pubes I wouldn’t be entirely free of for more then a day. A second before orgasm, I jerked myself free and had salted her from belly to face before one of the waiting gourmands, shouting, could push me off aim. I thought she was dead by then, but as my semen hit her face her tongue emerged and tasted it. I think she though it was perhaps rain, finally falling to quench her from the smoke-shrouded heavens. ... Toward the end her heart had been visible, throbbing irregularly through the stripped cage of her ribs. Gimel had thrust a chopstick into it and blood had fountained thickly and surprisingly, washing her upper body and face clean of what Quoph and I had seasoned her with.
- Orphea
- A man, driven by unknown fate, knew how he would die, and so he went forth to meet his death. He drove through a desert, carrying photographs of a movie star. He would masturbate with those photos as he approached his death. When he finally reached his destination in the evening, he checked into a hotel and waited until 3 in the morning watching through the window, when his fate was fulfilled. In the road beneath the window, two cars crashed, killing the movie star. He went down and grabbed the detached head that he knew was inside, and gave himself a posthumous blowjob, and then set himself on fire.
- > Two cars flowed together beneath him, on opposite sides of the road until the last few seconds. Sound crashed out beneath him, and the glass vibrated violently in its frame. ... Beneath a wide star-strewn sky, enormous, like two beasts brought together in a semi-cannibalistic mating, the two cars waited for him, perfectly silent now, lying in an irregular circle of scattered debris... He put a finger between the half-open lips and ran the tip over the teeth that had smiled for him over the days of his coming to this moment. He put more fingers into the mouth and levered it gently open. Blood form the stump was soaking into his trousers. He unzipped and eased his penis out. It had been erect from the moment he smelt the gasoline... He brought his arm in towards his chest and touched the flame to the gasoline-soaked cloth above his heart. Presently semen began to drip from the oval tracheal opening visible in the raw muscle of the underside of the stump.
- Upright: A teacher flogs a boy.
- The Winnowing: A man fills an extremely boring form.
- Pornoglossa: A constructed synthetic language designed for writing "ultra-violent sadistic pornography". Here's one example sentence:
> *Yellaógwomng*: a dying female was bleeding spasmodically from a sexual orifice (after rape)