Canavan’s Comments (group member since May 15, 2018)

Canavan’s comments from the Spells, Space & Screams: Collections & Anthologies in Fantasy, Science Fiction, & Horror group.

“Lost Hearts”

James reportedly never thought all that much of “Lost Hearts” and it was only included in Ghost Stories of an Antiquary because the publisher, Edward Arnold, asked for additional stories to fill out the book. I’ve always felt much the same as James; it's a good enough effort by most standards, but falls short when compared with James’ other early stories.

(view spoiler)[It begins well enough, although Abney is so transparent in his intentions toward his young cousin and ward that it borders on the cartoonish. The passage involving Stephen’s “sleepwalking” episode outside of the unused bathroom is perhaps the story’s most powerful. In contrast, the climax — involving the two spectral children and Mr. Abney’s comeuppance — has never particularly impressed me. And the aftermath, in which Abney’s writings and thoughts are explored, is a bit too lengthy and detailed for my taste. (hide spoiler)]

✭✭✭½

I confess that I will probably not be re-reading these stories for the group exercise. I feel as though I’ve read each of them so many times over the years that I have them all more or less memorized. But I would like to contribute to the discussion, so what I will probably do (as below for the first story) is re-edit and post here a few of my old posts on these tales.

“Canon Alberic’s Scrap-Book”

This remains one of my favorite James stories and I’ve read it so many times that it’s probably difficult for me to be completely objective about its pluses and minuses.

(view spoiler)[Like many of James’ stories, “Canon” is a Faustian tale in which individuals seek to make ill-advised bargains with powers best left undisturbed. One assumes, although James is tantalizingly inexplicit, that things do not end well for Alberic de Mouléon. And, of course, in James’ universe, such bargains have a nasty way of causing collateral damage; hence bad things can happen to comparatively innocent folks like the sacristan and Dennistoun.

James is very good here (as he often is) at slowly ratcheting up a sense of menace. Hence we have the nicely done passages in the cathedral wherein the significance of the unseen laughter is clearly understood by the sacristan, but not, of course, by Dennistoun. And the story finally culminates in the great scene taking place in Dennistoun’s room, which starts with him wondering about the true nature of the object laying near his left elbow. (Dennistoun briefly considers whether the object that has captured his attention might be a spider; James apparently has a “thing” about spiders.)

The original edition of Ghost Stories of an Antiquary was to have been profusely illustrated by Monty’s close friend, James McBryde. Sadly, McBryde passed away (due to surgical complications) after having finished only four illustrations. Edward Arnold, the publisher, suggested another illustrator, but James instead opted to publish with just the four McBryde drawings. Here is one of two that McBryde did for “Canon Alberic’s Scrap-Book”.



A few comments about the illustration. One, the hand is on the wrong side of Dennistoun. (I know, I know, a minor quibble.) Two, a number of commentators have noted that McBryde’s Dennistoun looks a lot like James. (hide spoiler)]

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I never did quite finish this book during the month that the group was reading it (*blush*), so I thought I would over the course the next week polish off the last of the stories I have yet to read...

“Shit Happens”, Michael Marshall Smith

There is a point about midway through the story where the protagonist compares his actions to those of a character in a video game. It struck me at that point that the video game metaphor could equally well apply to the story as a whole. It was quick-paced, unsubtle, uncomplicated, and mildly entertaining. But I never cared a whit what happened to any of the characters. Live, die, who cares? On the other hand, maybe that was what Marshall was going for.

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Lena said (in part):

They can be hit or miss. Personally, weird fiction is usually more miss for me.

I think anthologies, by their very nature, are hit or miss affairs for many readers. The way I rate stories, it’s rare for a collection to get more than three and a half stars. But that’s really okay — a three- or a three-and-a-half star collection is not necessarily a bad one or one I wouldn’t recommend to a fellow reader.

“Infestations”, Michael Cisco

Last story for me. I found this one a little puzzling and somewhat unsatisfying (although I don’t think I disliked it as much as some others in this thread seemed to). Part of my reaction is probably due to the use of the present tense; that’s not a stylistic choice I typically care for. (view spoiler)[I did like the way the author built up the idea of numerous and anonymous others (typically referred to throughout as “they”) watching and judging Miriam. This ultimately ties into Juan’s actions (obliquely alluded to) and the specifics of the ectopic pregnancy discovered at story’s end. I’m a little less clear on how this all connects to her relationship with the “other” Miriam. (hide spoiler)]

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Some final thoughts on the anthology. The editor, Simon Strantzas, writes that “reading Aickman is like reading the dream journal of a stranger and trying to make sense of its meaning. It’s impossibe and yet the joy is in the trying.” Thinking about that description as a yardstick against which to measure the success of the stories in this collection made me reflect on just how hard it is to that well. You need to cloak the tale with enough ambiguity to make it somewhat surreal and induce sufficient unease, but also supply enough detail and meaning to give the reader the sense that if the curtain were to be fully pulled aside, something very real would be there.

All of the writers here are good ones, but some do a better job than others in tackling this assignment. The real standout here is Lynda E. Rucker’s “Drying Season”. Two very good runners up: Brian Evenson’s “Seaside Town” and Lisa Tuttle’s “The Book That Finds You”.

Overall: ✭✭✭

As usual I enjoyed reading everyone’s thoughts and opinions!

“A Discreet Music”, Michael Wehunt

I may have to think about this one for a while longer before coming to any kind of definite conclusion. It’s yet another transformation story. There are a number of threads/allusions that run through it. (view spoiler)[The title is, according to the author, a reference to Brian Eno’s 1975 studio album, Discreet Music. According to Wikipedia:

“The inspiration for this album began when Eno was left bed-ridden in a hospital by an automobile accident and was given an album of eighteenth-century harp music. A friend, as she was leaving, asked if Eno wanted her to put a record on, and he said yes. She did so and left. However, the volume was turned down too low and Eno could not reach to turn it up. It was raining outside, and Eno says he began listening to the rain and to ‘these odd notes of the harp that were just loud enough to be heard above the rain’. Eno said this experience taught him a new way to perceive music.”

The parallels between Eno’s hospital experience and Hiram’s first awareness of this “discreet” music while similarly recovering from his fall are fairly clear. Wehunt seems to connect this aural experience to Hiram’s on-going transformation.

The primary foundation for this story would seem to involve the old Greek myth in which Zeus, in the guise of a swan, seduces (or, in different versions of the tale, rapes) an Aetolian princess named Leda. It’s probably significant, in this context, that our unidentified woman at the story’s conclusion calls Hiram a “a god of want”, a reference both to Zeus’ and Hiram’s lust. In this regard, Hiram’s attempted “seduction” of Jim, which occurs while he is in the throes of his transformation seem uncomfortably forceful; the scene comes off almost as an abortive rape. Some versions of Wehunt’s story make more explicit the connection to the Leda myth by prefacing it with an epigraph that comes from the W.B. Yeats poem, “Leda and the Swan”.

The final theme/thread that repeatedly pops up in Wehunt’s story has to do with circularity. It first show up in Hiram’s emotionally-charged recollection of Jim telling him about Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 1841 essay “Circles”, in which Emerson expounds upon the vast array of circles found in nature. What I find noteworthy is Hiram’s belief that he can close his own personal “circle” by reuniting with Jim after the death of his wife. As it turns out he is mistaken in belief. But Hiram is mistaken about many things (or perhaps self-deluded would be a better description). For example, early in the transformation process he believes he is morphing into an angel. And he stresses how happy his marriage to Sandra was, although later events in the narrative cast doubt on that assertion.

In the end, I found myself wonder how the author means for his audience to feel about Hiram. Empathetic? Or, what is more likely, some more complicated mix of emotions? (hide spoiler)]

✭✭✭½

“A Change of Scene”, Nina Allen

Well written, but for its length I might have hoped for something a bit more substantial content-wise. The other point to be made with respect to Allen’s story is that I suspect the plot coalesces into something a bit more coherent if one has read the Aickman story, “Ringing the Changes”. (view spoiler)[That 1955 story concerns itself with the events surrounding Phyrnne and Gerald’s honeymoon at Holyhaven. The problem from my perspective is that the events of the Allen story, especially given its exhaustive length, don’t really add to the insights one gleans from that earlier Aickman piece. And the other facet of the Allen story, the complicated relationship between Iris and Phyrnne, struck me as more tedious than compelling. (hide spoiler)]

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“The Lake”, Daniel Mills

This story is, I suppose, about the long-term effects of guilt. (view spoiler)[Both Jason and Samuel are made aware of Nick’s dilemma vis-á-vis his abusive father, but they fail to do anything substantive about it. As a result of their inaction, they are haunted, both literally and figuratively. The story ends by citing a few lines from Philip Bliss’ popular 19th-century hymn, “Let the Lower Lights Be Burning”.

Brightly beams our Father’s mercy
From His lighthouse evermore,
But to us He gives the keeping
Of the lights along the shore.

Chorus:
Let the lower lights be burning!
Send a gleam across the wave!
Some poor fainting, struggling seaman
You may rescue, you may save.

The hymn suggests that although God is taking care of the big stuff, the members of His flock have their own responsibilities and duties as well. (hide spoiler)]

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“Two Brothers”, Malcolm Devlin

Nicely atmospheric, but I was hoping for a bit more content-wise. Without getting too spoilery, I’ll just say that I found the symbolism here a bit too on the nose.

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Stephanie commented:

Ooh I love your spoilers! Makes me think even more about the story.

Thanks, Stephanie! :)

“Underground Economy”, John Langan

I like Langan’s writing here; it’s prosaic quality reminds me a bit of Joe R. Lansdale’s. Although I like the style and enjoy the plot enough to give the story a thumbs up, it was a bit of a frustrating read. (view spoiler)[Langan makes the rather straightforward connection between Nikki’s insectile wings and the old 1959 Roger Corman film, The Wasp Woman. And what happens to one of the patrons during the course of a lap dance with Nikki has very rough parallels with some of the incidents in that film and similar ones involving predatory insect-type women. So one might presume that Langan is comparing the way in which the female employees of The Cusp treat their clientele to the predatory actions of the women in these old B films.

But Langan expends a fair amount of time and space on rather specific, yet idiosyncratic, story details — e.g., Nikki’s tattoo; the injured patron’s frantic, but ambiguous utterance about “the cards, the hearts”; and the “Easter Island” guys. All of this detail makes me think the author has some very specific set of referents in mind, but if that’s so, I’ll be darned I definitively recognize them. (hide spoiler)]

✭✭✭½

“The Dying Season”, Lynda E. Rucker

I almost always like Rucker’s stories, which makes me wonder why I haven’t taken the time to read more of them. Of the stories I’ve read thus far in this anthology, “The Dying Season” is the strongest. (view spoiler)[The story rests on a pair of interlocking horror/fantasy tropes, the one being the home invasion and the other being the old admonition about bad things happening to those who get too involved with magical folks. In the latter case, Rucker draws on Christina Rosetti’s sorta well-known 19th century poem, “The Goblin Market”.

What I found nicely Aickmanesque about the tale was the fractured sense of reality that soon sets in. This is seen, for example, by the recurring way in which Sylvia is never quite sure of her bearing in the leisure village (and by the corollary that a wrong turn may affect one’s destiny for good or ill). Even in her personal relationship with her partner, Sylvia’s perception vacillates between a clear-eyed appraisal of John’s abusive nature and the view that maybe she is somehow the cause of the problems.

In contrast to Rosetti’s poem (where things end happily for the sisters), Rucker’s story ends on a less clearcut note. While not made explicit, it seems likely that things end badly for John. But what about Sylvia? She seems to physically escape, but psychically? As she runs down the train platform, Sylvia still reports “the feeling that she was no longer real”. On the other hand, the very last line might be interpreted as at least semi-hopeful. “...they were gliding into a night that was dark, and secret, and uncharted.” (hide spoiler)]

✭✭✭✭½

“A Delicate Craft”, D. P. Watt

Well written, but fairly ordinary and straightforward. I’m not sure the story is a particularly good fit for this anthology.

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It’s been an extraordinarily hectic few weeks at work and, what with the 12- to 14-hour-long work days, I’ve had a hard time fitting in much reading. I’m going to endeavor to catch up over the next week.

“Camp”, David Nickle

I liked this story, but confess to some misgivings. Nickle drops a few clues early on that warn the reader that there is cause for concern. During the initial meeting between the married couple and the Greens, the author obliquely hints that the Greens may not have Paul and James’ best interests at heart. Later, and more concretely, the encounter with the cormorant colony, with its stench of death, serves as an additional signpost. Nevertheless, the story’s shift from the normal to the abnormal was, I thought, remarkably abrupt. Maybe too abrupt. I might have appreciated a few more hints. (view spoiler)[What eventually happens seems clear enough — Paul’s transformation into a cormorant and James into a fish. (That’s a rather chilling last line.) The why is a lot less clear. (hide spoiler)]

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“Least Light, Most Night”, John Howard

In Howard’s story a rather fussy nonentity is forced out of his comfort zone during the course of a social visit to the residence of a business acquaintance. (view spoiler)[His precipitous departure initially leads the reader to believe that he has escaped the consequences of his visit, but the story’s final lines lead to a different conclusion. Although exactly what lies ahead for our protagonist is left unclear, the fact that his predecessor in the Number 6 spot is unaccounted for gives cause for some concern. (hide spoiler)] Not a bad story, but a near miss for me.

✭✭½

“The Vault of Heaven”, Helen Marshall

I typically enjoy Marshall’s stories, and so was doubly disappointed that this one was (for me, at least) such a failure. Marshall juxtaposes a number of interesting ideas — the nature of beauty, the divine, underlying reality, etc. — but perhaps not that interesting. Maybe this is just my problem, but when the author started talking about Plotinus and “formedness”, I immediately flashed back to my 20-year-old self struggling through a course in Western philosophy. I think my major criticism, however, has to do with “strangeness”. Marshall talks about it, but never really shows it to us over the course of the story; never once did I really have any sense of unease or disquiet.

✭½

Lena said:

It is open to interpretation but I thought it was a bodythief, Dawn. It reminded me of that Alyssa Wong story we read in The New Voices of Fantasy. They leave behind the decaying heaps of flesh of their victims.

I agree, Lena, that that’s a viable interpretation, although I personally wonder whether Evenson means for the reader to walk away from the reading experience with so concrete a conclusion.

Melanie wrote:

Haven't read that one, but WTF was the (view spoiler)[dead horse (hide spoiler)] all about?

I found that a bit baffling as well. (view spoiler)[Part of me speculates that it might represent an oblique tie-in to another of the author’s stories, “A Collapse of Horses”. Maybe Evenson just had horses on the brain when he wrote “Seaside”. ;-) (hide spoiler)]

Kimberly wrote:

This is the book I was SURE I had, then realized it was another one--when you have too many books currently in your TBR pile (and keep adding to it) to remember what you've already purchased, is that considered a "good" thing??? ;)

As Mike noted above, there is a cheap (but well-edited) Kindle version of this volume available if you want to go that route.

I haven’t been reading these in any particular order; jumping around a bit. Great cover, by the way, by Yaroslav Gerzhedovich.

“The Book That Finds You”, Lisa Tuttle

Due, I suppose, to my proclivities as a bibliophile, I’ve always been a sucker for stories about books. Maybe it’s that bias that makes me like this story as much as I do. For example, Tuttle’s description of what it feels like to “discover” some obscure author is spot on. (Another factor may be my slight familiarity with the Austin locale over much of the period during which the story takes place.) (view spoiler)[“Book” is a clever yarn in which J. W. Archibald and Sarah Anne Lyons are stand-ins for Robert Aickman and Elizabeth Jane Howard. (Sidebar: The real-life analog of the fictional Archibald/Lyons collaboration, The Secret Game, is We Are for the Dark, an excellent 1951 short story collection, half written by Aickman and half by Howard.) The meta nature of Tuttle’s story is all the more intricate in that elements of the relationship between the narrator and Tommy also mirror those between Aickman and Howard. There is a supernatural component in Tuttle’s story, but it’s a minor one (and to my mind the weakest aspect of the story); “Book” is really about the complex and enduring nature of relationships: “the heart doesn’t know what time it is”. (hide spoiler)]

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“Seven Minutes in Heaven”, Nadia Bulkin

This story appeared in the author’s collection She Said Destroy , which the group recently read. With a few edits, here’s what I previously wrote about this one in the course of the group discussion: “Heaven” is essentially Bulkin’s meditation on death. If we could somehow stave off or reverse death, should we do so? This isn’t exactly new territory. Supernatural literature has been fascinated by this theme dating at least as far back to Leonid Andreyev’s “Lazarus”, but I’ll give Bulkin props for addressing the question in an artful manner. I would have ranked this one a bit higher but, as with some of her other stories, Bulkin lets “Heaven” drag on a bit longer than necessary.

✭✭✭½

“Seaside Town”, Brian Evenson

Of the handful of stories in the anthology that I’ve read thus far, this one seems the most Aickmanesque. The plot has that odd ambiguity typical of Aickman — perceptions, intentions, and events are seen as though through a fog. The story also has the flavor of a fever dream sometimes found in Aickman’s fiction. (view spoiler)[There is a scene in “Seaside Town”, as an example, when Hovell stumbles onto a nude beach. His feelings of awkwardness and embarrassment at his clothed state is a comical inversion of the classic dream in which the dreamer finds him or herself unaccountably unclothed. Evenson makes a connection of some sort between the dimly seen couple in the courtyard and Hovell and Miss Pickaver (a connection emphasized by the story’s final sentence), but the nature of the link, or how it came to be forged, is left unclear; as is the precise nature of the “heap” (a dead horse?) and just what happens to Hovell in the courtyard (although I really liked the vague way in the which the author conveys this to the reader — “For a moment he hesitated, wanting to understand what was happening, to give it a logical explanation. This turned out to be his undoing.”) (hide spoiler)]

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“Neithernor”, Richard Gavin

“Neithernor” is another take about the ambiguous nature of perception, although, for reasons that are difficult to articulate, I found this one less satisfying than the Evenson story. (view spoiler)[Gavin is an admitted fan of Austin Osman Spare, the early 20th century occultist artist/writer. There are some similarties between Spare’s work and that of Vera. Overlapping this are the somewhat murky allusions to Dante Alighieri. I’m awfully rusty on my Dante, but the temptation (I think) is to see in Vera’s closet the ante-chamber to Hell, that place for souls neither good enough for Heaven nor evil enough for Hell proper. (hide spoiler)]

✭✭✭

“He Shall Sing of Salt and Wormwood”, Brian Hodge

A solid tale from a talented writer. Hodge does a good job of emphasizing the alien and ultimately unknowable nature of the sea. Very good ending.

✭✭✭✭

“What My Mother Left Me”, Alyssa Wong

(view spoiler)[Not much to say with this one. It’s turns out to be a well-told selkie story, one that emphasizes the possessive, selfish aspect that love can assume with some people. I liked the concluding plot twist involving Gina. I didn’t see that one coming, although looking back over the narrative, the author left a sufficient number of signposts. (hide spoiler)]

✭✭✭½

“Census” (1944)

(view spoiler)[When I first read this story as a kid, I remember marveling at how insightful and clever were Simak’s ideas on furthering ant evolution. It’s impossible to read these same passages decades later without wryly smiling at the author’s (and my own youthful) scientific naïveté. Unfortunately the story is littered with such infelicities, all of which have the effect of yanking the reader out of the story. Natural selection, stripped to its basics, is actually a pretty straightforward idea, so it’s always disappointing to see how many science fiction writers fundamentally misunderstand the tenets. Without going into the boring details, I’ll just note that Simak seems to misunderstand the role mutation; he seems to believe that acquired characteristics can be inherited; and there are points that suggest he thinks of evolution as goal directed. Lena, in a previous post, noted the improbability of the Juwain philosophical MacGuffin.

And yet, in spite of all my grousing, I really like this story. For all of of Simak’s shortcomings as a purveyor of scientific ideas, he remains a pretty good story teller. I liked Webster, I liked the dogs, and I liked the passage at the story’s conclusion in which Webster passes the metaphorical torch to Nathaniel and his kind. Those story elements impressed me as a kid and still impress me as an adult. (hide spoiler)]

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