Following in the footsteps of M.P. Shiel's exotic savant Prince Zaleski and Arthur Machen's Mr Dyson, Mark Valentine and John Howard's The Connoisseur - aesthetical detective extraordinaire - unravels a cornucopia of arcane mysteries in these twenty-three tantalising tales. Collecting together all the adventures in previous Tartarus volumes In Violet Veils and Masques and Citadels, along with four further tales published elsewhere, this volume provides the lover of esoteric mystery and adventure fiction with the complete Connoisseur casebook.
Venturing from his fire-lit study in an English cathedral city, The Connoisseur encounters, among other phenomena, strange masquerades in country houses; a Scottish island whose Prince may not be named; a poignant relic from the Black Sea region, sought after by a ruthless order; a secret account of the first crossing of an Arctic land and an Art Deco cinema which may retain resonances of its mysterious former occupants. From your own fireside, follow The Connoisseur into the delicate shading between this world and other realms of wonder, tragedy and trepidation.
Contents: 'Introduction' by Mark Valentine, 'The Effigies', 'After the Darkness', 'The Paravine Cries', 'Pale Roses', 'In Violet Veils', 'The Lost Moon', 'Café Lucifer', 'The Craft of Arioch', 'The Secret Stars', 'The Hesperian Dragon', 'The Lighting of the Vial', 'The Nephoseum', 'Sea Citadels', 'The Prince of Barlocco', 'The Black Eros', 'Mad Lutanist', 'The Mist on the Mere', 'The White Solander', 'The Last Archipelago', 'The Rite of Trebizond', 'The Serpent, Unfallen', 'The Temple of Time', 'The Descent of the Fire'.
Mark Valentine is an English author, biographer and editor.
Valentine’s short stories have been published by a number of small presses and in anthologies since the 1980s, and the exploits of his series character, "The Connoisseur", an occult detective, were published as The Collected Connoisseur in 2010.
As a biographer, Valentine has published a life of Arthur Machen in 1985 (Seren Press), and a study of Sarban, Time, A Falconer (Tartarus Press), is published in 2010. He has also written numerous articles for the Book and Magazine Collector magazine, and introductions for various books, including editions of work by Walter de la Mare, Robert Louis Stevenson, Saki, J. Meade Falkner and others.
Valentine also edits Wormwood (Tartarus Press), a journal dedicated to fantastic, supernatural and decadent literature, and has also edited anthologies, including The Werewolf Pack (Wordsworth, 2008) and The Black Veil (Wordsworth, 2008).
Hail to Tartarus Press! This book is a work of art - the finest binding and printing a connoisseur and lover of literature will ever have the pleasure of owning. Holding a work published by Tartarus Press almost makes my fingers and hands tingle. Among the tales of the supernatural and fantastic in the Tartarus collection are those penned by Mark Valentine, an author I've come to treasure, this particular title most especially.
The Collected Connoisseur - a series of tales where Valentine recounts conversations with a suave gentleman only referred to as The Connoisseur, a personage by no means wealthy and who shuns contrivances of modern living in order to indulge his pleasure in all things relating to literature and the arts, a gentleman of personal discrimination who can be seen as a "connoisseur of the curious, of those glimpses of another domain which are vouchsafed to certain individuals and in certain places."
Of course, these tales are fiction not fact. However, as the saying goes among lovers of novels and short stories, words I have always taken to heart, fiction, so called, is truer than truth. So, in the spirit of this splendid spinner of tales, I offer the following glimpses into three of Mark Valentine's polished gems. (Note: Mark enlisted the help of his good friend and fellow author John Howard in compiling the tales herein).
EFFIGIES The Connoisseur relates his traveling to the remote cottage of Austin Blake, a skillful maker of ceramic pottery. When The Connoisseur presses Blake as to why he retired from engaging in his art, Blake opens a cupboard whereupon The Connoisseur's eyes behold:
"Shelf upon shelf was stacked with the work of many hours - yet these were not the lucent, lovely creations that had earned him such fame, but withered black abstracts which each seemed a cruel mockery of the human form in torment; dark, foul knots like the twisted boughs of trees which shun the sunlight or the dank eruptions of fungus. they were shapes such as a madman might make who is beyond cure; or, rather, the stumps a demi-urge might leave who had grown tired of trying to create perfect evil."
The Connoisseur takes action, action that places his very person in peril but action needed nonetheless if an equally powerful second transformation is to be effected.
THE PARAVINE CRIES A tale so appealing, so moving, so telling for those of us dedicated to art, literature and the aesthetic experience, a tale I read over and over, luxuriating in the language, the rich imagery and all things Mark Valentine.
We have the battle repeated again, again and again - on one side there's the hardheaded father, a business type casting himself as the guardian of Respectability (author's caps) forever pursuing business, local politics and other men's wives - thus revealing himself as bloated buffoon and prototypical hypocrite.
On the other side we have his eldest son who "fell under the posthumous spell of the poetry and art of the Aesthetics (again, author's caps), and still more their philosophy, their "religion of beauty." He turned his rooms into a shrine of the exquisite, and received there all those he found soothing or stimulating to his senses or his intellect."
And to add an extra helping of the scintillating, this is a supernatural tale with peacocks. A Valentine not to be missed.
CAFÉ LUCIFER The Connoisseur recounts his partaking of the rescue and reopening of an architectural rarity that lead him to yet another encounter with the curious and recondite. Regarding the building itself, the architect was Emil Zaska, a Czech émigré, and his creation is far and away the most authentic Cubist construction in all of Britain. The project was financed by Charles Barwick-Fowkes, a wealthy young radical who had a fascination for structures consisting of glass, concrete and metals that would express the potential for pure light, symmetry, color and form.
The name bestowed was Lucifer Hall, a name coming from classical mythology – Lucifer being the name for the planet Venus and personified by a male “light-bearer.” However, so The Connoisseur suspects, the name was also chosen as a deliberate provocation. Be that as it may, the hall became a model of pure line and geometric invention – streamlined, sleek, capturing the most profound complexities of abstract art – and served as “mission headquarters” for the architect’s vision, attracting avant-garde artists, poets, inventors and dancers.
Sadly, when young Barwick-Fowkes died in an airplane crash some time thereafter, the project was abandoned and the building sold under the less eyebrow-raising name of Barwick House to be converted into offices. Then, via a stroke of good fortune, the building was mostly restored to its original design and returned to its intended purpose - mostly rather than completely since a number of things like the unique tables and lamps from the Cubist café are forever lost. The Connoisseur took great pleasure in helping to administer the trust responsible for the rescue of this unique building.
Then it happened: following the project’s completion, while alone in the space that was the café and bathed in the brilliant light from the windows, The Connoisseur was overcome by a strange exultation. He thought initially such a feeling could have been caused by the success of the restoration combined with the intense aesthetic pleasure of being in such a finely conceived design but there seemed to be more to it than that. “As I stood in that triumph of proportion I felt possessed by a – well, a shiver of soaringness, a literal enlightening of my thought, senses, consciousness. I felt extraordinarily in harmony with things, with what I can only describe as a kind of crystalline blitheness. As I gazed around me, I began to sense too something more, some hint of an active force in the elevations of the room and in the directions of the light and in the nodal points where symmetrical shapes met.”
After some time, The Connoisseur begins pacing softly around the room, pausing before each one of the art works placed in the room until he finds himself drawn toward an object on a black plinth – a plain glass sphere somewhat greeny and grainy in tint and inside this sphere is embedded a long prism, refracting bright, sharp light so that “with the effect also of shadows, flaws and curving reflections in the sphere, there was an impression of facing a very singular instrument, enacting rapid mysterious formulae within its depth, well beyond our understanding.” The sphere commands The Connoisseur’s attention for many minutes.
Wishing to read papers providing both the background and details of this mysterious sphere, The Connoisseur races to the stars leading to the office. As he is heading down, he nearly bumps into a slim, dark figure ascending. Once at the office, it transpires that the only information available on the sphere is the note: "Lumina Studio, Prague. Replica of an original Cubist artefact.”
Some days later in the very same room, The Connoisseur meets a well-groomed gentleman with white hair by the name of Edward Cleobury and mentions the remarkable sphere. Cleobury speaks of his past association with the globe of greeny tint and prism as well as his own experiments with "Colour Music," that is, attempts to create symphonies of coloured light. Cleobury goes on to relay his meeting a slim, dark woman with “eyes the most brilliant viridian green he had ever seen and seemed to gleam with an inner intensity that sent shockwaves through his body." But there's more to Cleobury's story as The Connoisseur tells us: "For as he focused on those fountains of green fire, he also saw, within the deep dark core of the pupils, a scintillant glinting as of a prism capturing and refracting light from an unknown source.”
What follows is sheer magic. I can’t recommend The Collected Connoisseur highly enough. How much have I fallen in love with the British author's tales of the supernatural? I myself plan to read and review three other Mark Valentine collections published by Tartarus Press in the upcoming weeks.
Many thanks to Goodreads friend Forrest Aguirre for recommending Mark Valentine to me.
Two of my favorite contemporary authors, Mark Valentine and John Howard, combine their talents on what I thought might be a promising character, The Connoisseur - aesthetical detective extraordinaire. I had been waiting a while to savor this. With a few days off on holiday, I was able to bathe in this reading a bit more than is usual with my frantic life. I'm glad I took this one slow - I'm hoping I've given Valentine and Howard more time to write more Connoisseur, because I didn't want this to end. This might be as close to a perfect short story collection as I will ever read. This is definitely becoming one of my "chained books" (meaning I'm figuratively chaining it up so you'll have to remove it with a bolt cutter to get it out of my library or pry it from my cold, dead hands). It ranks up with Brian Evenson'sThe Wavering Knife and Thomas Ligotti'sTeatro Grottesco as one of my favorite single-author collections of all time. Every story is excellent, and the sum of the parts is an order of magnitude more magnificent than the stories themselves. Yes, this collection is THAT good. Tartarus Press is offering this in an affordable paperback version. I cannot recommend it strongly enough.
You probably have some sort of notion about what an "aesthetical detective extrodinaire" should be and do. And, in places, you would be correct. But it's when the stories buck my preconceived ideas that they shine the brightest. That's not to say that I was displeased when a story met my expectations, but the surprises were the best.
The collection starts with "The Effigies," which is just what I had hoped it would be: witty, erudite, fantastically well-written in such a way that the eloquence is un-noticed, just absorbed. The Connoisseur explains his vase, which holds water, but never flowers, and for good reason. Imagine if the physical objects of Huysman's Against Nature each had a tale to tell. This should give a bit of a hint as to what an "aesthetical detective" is all about. Five stars.
"After the Darkness" has it all: a pre-Great War poet, a masquerade, an apparition, and a mystery involving a sundial - or is it a moondial? In any case, what's not to like? Five stars.
I was reminded of Doyle's "The Hound of the Baskervilles" when reading "The Paravine Cries," for reasons that become obvious when one reads the story's conclusion. I won't spoil that ending, however. Suffice it to say that, while it does reflect some of those old tropes, it does so in a fresh way. Fresh enough for four stars like glowing eyes in the night.
"Pale Roses" is as English a winter's tale as there could possibly be. It brought back those always rainy, sometimes snowy days of my youth when I lived in England. If you're not familiar with English history, you may want to brush up. If you are familiar, you are in for a treat, a mystery surrounding the Connoisseur's ailing cousin leads to decay and a discovery about a possible lost scion of the Stuart house. How does the protagonist know what he knows? I don't care. I want to believe. Five stars.
"In Violet Veils" is an exquisite piece that owes its existence to both the Decadents and the Symbolists, but that takes it's own place in the hierarchy of each. Five stars
How apropos that, so close to the end of the year, I read what may be the best story I've read all year. "The Lost Moon" is a hypnotizing piece of esoterica. Truly an "occult detective" story so deeply immersive and compelling that it will not leave me for a long, long time. An enigmatic orrery, a secret society, and Saturn. What more do you need? Five stars circling the wrong direction, summoning chaos itself!
From darkness to light . . . "Cafe Lucifer" is not merely a switch in emphasis from "The Lost Moon", it is a deeply poignant story. Any who have loved and lost quickly will feel a pang of deep emotion resounding in the heart. I recall a "tryst" I had in the Netherlands with a girl who I met there. Vicki was her name, but I can't recall her last name. It's probably changed now anyway. She was beautiful. Probably the most beautiful girl I ever loved. We were together for two weeks, while we were both representing our High Schools at the Model United Nations in the Hague. Alas, her father was stationed at a different Air Force base in England that was a ways away from the base I lived at. Given our meager means and the fact that I didn't have a car (no one really *needed* a car in England), I didn't ever see her again, though there were two occasions where I might have run into her: once, when I visited the base she lived at and another when I went to London to see U2 and a bunch of her friends were going to the concert, as well. It was a grueling few months, and I don't know that I ever got over it. I am quite happily married to the most wonderful woman in the world, but I'm still curious what ever happened to her. So, if you know anyone named Vicki whose father was stationed at RAF Upper Heyford in 1987, let her know I'd love to hear from her and find out how she's doing. But it wasn't just the deepness of my own emotions that caused this story to stand out. I still have the images of Cafe Lucifer and its mysterious prism-embedded-in-a-glass-sphere burning deep in my brain. The visual cues were enough to make this story unforgettable, let alone the emotional connection I made with the characters. Needless to say, this story gets five stars.
Oh, I would spend a healthy sum of money on the creations of "The Craft of Arioch". Or an unhealthy sum of money. A wonderfully whimsical tale of rocking horses . . . and others. The phrase "flights of the imagination" perfectly encapsulates this magical story, but doesn't do it enough justice. It is an exquisite piece of fancy with a central conceit that is simple, yet enervating. This five star tale was one of the more playful of the collection, but play of the most serious sort!
"The Secret Stars" feels, at first, like Valentine and Howard are veering far away from The Connoisseur's oeuvre, like the narrative is spinning in a different direction than the authors intended. But, at the end, the narrative clearly "belongs" to The Connoisseur. Four secret stars.
"The Hesperian Dragon" should be turned into a BBC one-shot staring, of course, Benedict Cumberbatch as The Connoisseur. This is the longest and most "film ready" of the stories in this collection so far. Unfortunately, it is way too "smart" and steeped in aesthetic theory for it ever to be translated to the screen. A shame. Brush up on your Milton/Confucius, cretins! Five multicolored stars. You'll know why . . .
"The Lighting of the Vial" may be a perfect story, without blemish or fault. It is the most beautiful thing I have read in many years, possibly the most beautiful and poignant story I've ever read. Here, the Connoisseur relates his journey to the museum of an artist, Hugh Kerwyn, a friend of his, from the hints that are given. Kerwyn's friends and admirers gather there for a wake for the recently deceased artist. There hope is to recreate the moment captured in his most-perfectly-realized still life painting. But, for some reason, the anticipated moment does not "take" as they feel it ought to have done. Afterwards, The Connoisseur is approached by a young woman who admits to replacing one of the objects in the still life with a substitute, which is enough to break the spell, as it were, of the original.
'I looked at her. she settled herself on the bench, straightening her pale dress. I resumed my place, and she continued: "I sometimes wonder if poeoples' thoughts might stay in a place. You know, if they thought about something in a certain way so they were almost a part of it, whether that might stay behind when they are gone. We would sort of know their thoughts were there but not quite. So we would feel strange about the place, or feel it was special somehow, but we couldn't be sure why."
'I nodded thoughtfully and prodded the dust with the toe of my shoe. The drifting fragrance returned dimly to my senses. It was as if there was a palpitant ache in the air. We gazed at the tumbledown garden silently.
'Suddenly I thought that I did not want these moments to end: the decaying garden, the earnestness of the young woman from the quiet town below, the frail flow of the late noon, the cracked stone flags, the slow flowing of the countryside beyond, the cool lustre of the little flagon in my hand, the merest possibility of some lingering presence of the thoughts, the whimsical meditations of Hugh Kerwyn: all these things seemed so finely, so perfectly poised before me; I did not want to emerge from them. I would gladly have stayed all the while that the long day dwindled into dusk, trying to stem its ebbing, to seize some moments of it, some few fragments, to try fiercely to prevent it all from disappearing into the darkness.
'But: "I must go," she said. The words descended like a first chill shiver across that strange onrush of bliss. I shook her hand somewhat awkwardly, told her I was sure she had acted rightly in saving the little jug from that foolish ritual, and said I hoped our paths might cross again whenever I revisited the museum. Then, settling back on the bench and watching her go through the blue wicket gate at the garden's end, savouring the active, poignant vacancy caused by her leaving, I thought again of what she had said, comparing her impressions with what I remembered of Hugh Kerwyn's art and thought.'
This touched me deeply. This is something I believe. Something that rings a familiar, melancholy chord, especially since the death of my parents last spring. I will never forget this story. It may be the most wonderful, sad, and meaningful story I've ever read. 5 stars.
"The Nephoseum" is as fragile and ethereal as its subject-matter and its protagonist. Unfortunately, despite its utter stunning beauty of form, the story's frailty is one touch too ephemeral. Of course, anything would be a disappointment after reading the perfect story just before. Four stars.
"Sea Citadels" is a song to the British isles, a sort of keening for the ancient days that taps into a certain resonance between the sea and human longing. It is the tonal inverse of Lovecraft's "The Shadow Over Innsmouth". And where HP's loquacious purple-prose falters on the shoals of the ears, Valentine's simple eloquence is like a gentle wave-born lullaby, like a Dunsany for the sea. Four stars.
"The Prince of Barlocco" is a gentle, yet powerful tale of dignity in the midst of degeneration. It's almost a sort of parable (though not exactly such) about the power of family in one's later years. Or maybe I'm just reading it this way because my daughter just told us our 2nd grandchild is on the way (!). 4 stars.
"The Black Eros" holds a compelling idea. It is far more sinister than mere satanism or the occult. Yet the "reveal" seemed a bit contrived. Still, a beautiful idea, mostly well-executed. Four stars, but it could have easily been five had the underlying tensions and reveal been left to boil a little longer. A textbook example of what happens when the author is over-eager to get to the end or when artificial word-limits hold a story back from its full potential. I'm not sure which way to interpret that here, but it is a bit of a shame, either way.
"The Mad Lutanist" starts off slowly and hits a crescendo of supernatural strangeness, but it is in the denouement that Valentine pulls his most deft auctorial maneuver: just when one thinks that it is an unnecessary info dump via Deus-Ex-Machina, the other shoe drops and one is smitten by the perfect brilliance of it all. I love this sort of sleight-of-hand. Five stars.
"The Mist on the Mere" feels like the Classic English Ghost Story, with deep roots in James and Dunsany. It is the first of these that is structured like a standard Occult Detective story. This is, simultaneously a strength and a weakness. Four stars glowing like Celtic goddesses in the mist.
"The White Solander" is exactly the sort of story I imagined for The Connoisseur before I had ever read any of these stories. I'm glad it came later in my reading, however, so that I could explore his many other facets first. Here, though, is a true occult detective story, replete with incantations, swordplay (of a sort), Symbolist poets, and a beautiful conspiracy from early modern times. Five stars to this gem.
"The Last Archipelago" is what Algernon Blackwood would have written had he he wished to reprise "The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym" or "At the Mountains of Madness". It's more subtle than either of those, more spiritual, if you will, but clearly a story of nature's winsome personality. This is my least favorite story of this collection, thus far, and still it clocks in at a very solid Four stars.
Empires folded within empires in a timeless, but time-stricken state. "The Rite of Trebizond" is a mystery and a history of the trickle of power between the interstices of civilization. The Holy of Holies is hid right in our midst, and we do not see it. World-builders walk in our midst and we are unaware of the intrigue. This is a beautiful story in which nothing happens, but everything happens. Five stars.
"The Serpent, Unfallen" would make an excellent Call of Cthulhu scenario. I am not joking. And I am seriously thinking about writing such a thing. Anyway, the Oil of Mercy figures prominently in this occult tale of satanic ritual and its despoilers. One of the more straightforward tales of the Connoisseur, and yet a very satisfying one. Five stars on the crown of a black serpent . . . with or without wings.
Even a less-clever Connoisseur story like "The Temple of Time" deserves four stars. The plot is unsurprising, the main protagonist (not The Connoisseur, this time) is forgettable, the language is, as always, excellent. But what gives this story strength is it's poignancy of speculation: a "what if" that sinks deep into the heart and mind.
Folk horror, Phaeton, and fire-worship are all on brilliant display in "The Descent of the Fire". This is an excellent conclusion to the collection, gathering all of The Connoisseur's cohorts in an effort to stop the burgeoning of luciferean cabals. Five bright stars!
Your reading experience may be different than mine, of course. As I have shown, this collection hit some emotional resonances with me that are the result of my experiences and my time in life. I'm glad I read it when I did. The perfect book at the perfect time. Perhaps it's your time?
a box of charming confections, if stories that nonchalantly discuss gateways to other dimensions, clockwork devices that can end it all, and various haunting entities bleeding into our world to lead us astray could be considered either charming or confectionary. the feel of these yarns is soft, gauzy, wispy. despite the frequent bits of weird horror, this is a collection of dreamy sighs rather than fearful gasps. The Connoisseur is a stylish and erudite gentleman of leisure, often seen gazing wistfully at a striking view or a melancholy painting before pouring a cup of exotic tea or a thimble of even more exotic liqueur then sitting himself down to slowly unspool his various cozy tales of unsettling portals and vaguely threatening extradimensional disturbances. the authors Valentine and Howard write similarly, their prose a rarified pastiche of the classic weird fiction style. probably best not to be greedy, and to enjoy these lovely little treats a bit at a time and not all in one fell swoop. except for one misstep (the overly arch "Hesperian Dragon"), I enjoyed them all. I especially liked the strange rocking-horse creatures that bear their riders to bizarre dreamscapes in "The Craft of Arioch" and the Cubist building whose architecture encourages otherworldly encroachment in "Lucifer Cafe" and the Mysteries-reenactment gone awfully awry of "In Violet Veils" and the sinister anti-orrery of "The Lost Moon". my favorite was the very atmospheric "The Prince of Barlocco" - although calling any of these pieces 'atmospheric' feels rather obvious, as they are each dripping with it.
A fine collection of well-crafted 'occult detective' style tales. To be more accurate, though, these are not always explicitly about the occult, nor does the Connoisseur necessarily 'solve' a mystery. The Connoisseur himself is an elusive figure, with an air of aestheticism swirling about him. I read most of these stories right before falling asleep at night and am certain they informed my dreams. Valentine's prose is richly meticulous and his vocabulary prodigious, so overindulgence is sure to muddle the experience. Definitely best to space these out and savor them over time.
Over the years I've read my fair share of stories featuring supernatural detectives, and prior to starting this book, that's what I thought I had here. What I discovered was not at all what I was expecting, but something unique instead: an "aesthetical detective extraordinaire" in the form of the Connoisseur. He is described as a
"connoisseur of the curious, of those glimpses of another domain which are vouchsafed to certain individuals and in certain places."
It is not difficult at all to recognize the influence in these stories of those writers Valentine notes in his introduction as "lifelong companions," and "household gods": Arthur Machen, Algernon Blackwood, Lord Dunsany, Walter de la Mere and William Hope Hodgson. "The Hesperian Dragon," for example, is easily recognized as a delightful sort of play on Machen's "Three Impostors." Blackwood's finely-tuned sensitivity to the hidden awe of the natural world is reflected in "The Last Archipelago," and as in the case of our narrator throughout The Collected Connoisseur, Hodgson's Dodgson serves as chronicler of the adventures of Carnacki. Beyond the recognition of Valentine's "household gods" however, lies something even deeper where these authors are concerned -- in the introduction, in discussing a few other writers of the 1890s he'd read, including M.P. Shiel, Valentine notes that
"These then, the wondrous, the spectral and the aesthetical, were the airs floating around me when I began to think whether I could go one step further than reading, and try writing, the sort of fiction I enjoyed."
It is this sense of the "wondrous, the spectral and the aesthetical" that he and in the last few stories, John Howard capture here in a style that reflects the writing of those previously-mentioned authors who came before, but still quite original. Not everyone can carry off the voice of times past in his or her writing, but here it is pitch perfect. The last six of these stories were collaborations between the two authors, and anyone who's read the work of John Howard will recognize his style immediately. These tales are also a bit more fleshed out, with a bit more action involved, and provide a great ending to this collection.
At the beginning of "The Secret Stars" The Connoisseur in conversation with Valentine notes the following:
"What we seek, and what we also half-fear, is all around us, always, had we the necessary calm intentness to discern it. "
The Connoisseur's "rare glimpses" are the very heart and soul of this book.
The Collected Connoisseur is one to read curled up in your favorite reading space, hot cup of something or other in hand. Like the Connoisseur, I am quite partial to Qimen/Keemun tea; I am also one of those people described on the back cover blurb -- "the lover of esoteric mystery and adventure fiction. " More to the point, I am also in complete awe of Valentine and Howard's visionary writing here and elsewhere. Every reader of the weird, the fantastical, and of the occult should have this book sitting on his or her shelves. No collection would be complete without it.
In his introduction Mark Valentine describes the inspiration for these 23 stories as those of Prince Zaleski, Mr Dyson and Carnacki. I've only met the last of those gentlemen, but these stories are not at all shamed to be mentioned in the same breath. Yet where Carnacki is immensely practical, an almost scientific investigator of the paranormal, The Connoisseur rather experiences events, or provides an understanding of them. The clue's in the name: he is a connoisseur of the weird, as well as the lovely. Occasionally he gives events a nudge towards a conclusion, but more often he's there simply to witness the moments of sadness or glory or terror offered by his mysterious world.
One other thing that sets these stories apart from Carnacki, and gives the book a territory wholly its own (at least in my limited experience of the genre) is their focus on the arts; literature, sculpture, architecture, poetry, music, woodcarving and metalwork all give rise to fascinating mysteries. The stories are generally very short, leaving the reader with a chocolate box dilemma – wolf them all down, or force oneself to save some for later? I'd recommend wolfing them down, since unlike chocolates you can return to a book a second time, and the flawless writing here deserves a second, careful reading, free from the consideration of what-happens-next. Very much recommended.
A very fine collection of atmospheric, beautifully imagined short stories that tread a fine line between mystery and dark fantasy/horror with a distinct decadent edge.
For me, the finest stories here were those with clearly defined narratives and discernible plots*. Among these, I especially enjoyed 'The Violet Veils', 'Café Lucifer', 'The Hesperian Dragon', 'The Prince of Barlocco', 'The Mist on the Mere', 'The Last Archipelago', 'The Serpent, Unfallen' and 'The Descent of Fire'. While Carnacki is obvious and explicitly referenced by Valentine and others have noted the influence of Arthur Machen and Conan Doyle (the set up of an older, rather reclusive man of unusual powers and a younger, more worldly amanuensis screams Sherlock Holmes), the emphasis (often humorous) in so many tales on eccentric academics and their sometimes dangerous interests reminds me strongly of M.R James. All this coupled with a very Continental sophistication, a remarkable gift for pastiche, a deep and clearly well informed love for the arts, and a decadent sensibility makes these tales unique and quite memorable.
(As opposed to the more nebulous tales of pure atmosphere which I will admit occasionally put me quite literally to sleep.)
This is a collection of supernatural short fiction, influenced by Arthur Machen, Algernon Blackwood, Lord Dunsany, Walter de la Mare, William Hope Hodgson and M.P. Shiel.
The stories take place, I would say, during the Edwardian Age--the period in the UK roughly from 1900 to the outbreak of World War I. The characters are telling their stories after the Great War, and it is perfectly understandable that they have nostalgia for the years leading up to the Great War.
The prose style is excellent throughout, reflective of the best qualities of early 20th Century fiction.
Some of the stories, usually the shorter ones, were not as effective for me. Those stories were not about about a conflict. For example, one story is about a ghost from the House of Stuart. That ghost is not a menace. Call me old fashioned, but for me a story is about a conflict.
The stories that were about a conflict were effective for me. For example, in another ghost story, "The Mist on the Mere", the ghosts were creepy and were an existential threat to the characters in the story. The last story in the book, "The Descent of the Fire", is an occult thriller which I found funny at times. An occult group seeks to evoke the god of fire, Vulcan, and the connoisseur and his eclectic band of allies tries to prevent it. This story should be adapted into a movie.
Mark Valentine, and his unique "occult detective" the Connoisseur, are well-known to all lovers of supernatural. The characteristic features of Valentine's fiction (in rather commercial terms which may be described even as his USP) can be summarised as under: -
1) The fiction is gently paced, without ever being hurried into any conclusion, but rather enjoying the building up of that rarity: atmosphere, as well as the characters.
2) The stories are invariably haunting and almost unearthly in their delicacy and austerity of language.
3) The horrors that are there (apart from the almost palpable pain & suffocation that gets built up inside our chests as we 'walk-the-talk' with the Connoisseur) are lurking in the corners of our eyes, and never in-our-face.
4) The characters are real, despite their surroundings and circumstances often being strange (to say the least), and they act in a realistic way, with real fears, vanity, pain and longing.
Tartarus Press has done their usual accurate and pleasing job in bringing out this paperback, but they deserve much more than simple gratitude if you consider the fact that all the other books containing stories involving the Connoisseur are now out-of-print and are available only at obscenely high prices. Highly recommended.
The Collected Connoisseur is a series of stories in which the main character, the Connoisseur, explores mysteries involving strange events, places, books, and objects affecting people in uncanny ways. Not quite an occult detective, more an aesthetic problem solver?
Some tales are poignant in their simplicity and emotional eloquence ("The Paravine Cries"). Others brush against diabolism ("The Lost Moon," "The Serpent, Unfallen"). "The Hesperian Dragon" is a wonderful 'New Arabian Nights' comedy of manners. Several stories achieve a cosmic glamour ("Sea Citadel," "The Last Archipelago," and "The Descent of the Fire"). All are brief and mercifully free of the mugging and humbug of the occult detective subgenre.
If you feel these stories are too precious or pretentious or wishy-washy for you, then you need to meet them halfway, as you will then begin to see how they will yield much bespoke for you as well as for the lover of sleuths, ghosts, patterns, oneiric cosmogony and exquisite language for its own sake.
The detailed review of this book posted elsewhere under my name is too long to post here. Above is one of its observations.
An excellent collection of occult detective stories. While none of the stories deal with the usual sorts of ghosts or ghouls, they're all the stranger and more intriguing for their lack of a physical horror.
For the most part, this is a collection of very low-key supernatural stories, told by the titular character. Only a few of them could be described as "horror"; for the most part, they tend towards the wistful. A few stories go a little too far in that direction, to the extent that nothing really happens in them, and a few go too far in the other (the stories are mostly so low-key that when the Connoisseur suddenly turns into Carnacki, it's pretty jarring), but Mark Valentine is mostly successful in trodding a middle path, and when he does, he's a very effective writer.
Occult detective stories in a deliberately throwback style, though thankfully without the regressive attitudes which can come with such a style. Full review: https://fakegeekboy.wordpress.com/202...