Chiarascuro Void

CHIAROSCURO VOID by Rhys Hughes
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Chiaroscuro Void (Goyesquean Fictions and Visions)”, Raphus Press’ newest offering, is a dark delight, oddly bound (I am no expert on binding, so I can’t name the style, but it is unlike any book I’ve held before), wonderfully designed, and teeming with a physical character of its own. A variety of fiction, poetry, and prose-poetry by some of the best contemporary authors now writing fills the pages like a grey mist. I am reticent to use the “weird” label here because while some of the stories do contain weird, supernatural elements, some work just fine without any interpretations lying outside our daily perceptions. But where the weird or eerie elements are there, they add to the backbone of each specific work in which they appear, and the collection as a whole. Without further ado, here are my thoughts on each:

Rhys Hughes' "The Distant Critics" is everything I've come to expect of Hughes’ work: dark and erudite, but with a sense of humor that is infectious. You'll never view Goya's painting of Saturn devouring his son the same again.

D.P. Watts' "Quinta del Sordo" is a boiling churn of darkness, as one would expect from a story named after the residence where Goya created his (in)famous Black paintings. The story is a poetic, baroque depiction of depravity and, ultimately, collapse under the weight of fate. The plot is thin, the atmosphere thick.

Karim Ghahwagi, you have broken my heart. "Dandelion Spring" has shattered me. Never have I thought that a piece of existential hard science fiction could hold so much emotion. I literally had tears in my eyes when I finished this story. The emptiness and beauty of the story are absolutely gut-wrenching. I've rarely felt so deeply reading a work of science fiction, let alone hard sci-fi. This was an unexpected surprise, to say the least, full of melancholy.

Jonathan Wood is at his most transgressive (and that is saying something) in "The Face That is Not There". Eros and Thanatos entwine in the shadows, twisting together until both are shaded impressions of one another. I can think of no greater words to describe this enthralling, poetic story than "Chiaroscuro" and "Void". The sum is greater than the obfuscated parts.

I have not read a Brian Evenson story I haven't liked. "The Devouring" is no exception. The rule stands. Though "like" might not be the right word. Can one really like such a bleak, hopeless story that makes you feel like you are suffocating while reading it, that robs you of any good feeling? Maybe "admire" is a better word. Or "respect". In any case, I prefer to read it.

Wade German's "I, Goya" – is a short, powerful poem. Evocative in few words, this packs a punch.

Colin Insole digs into the grotesqueries of marriage - the realizations that your spouse is far from perfect - in the ghost story "Memories of the Bone People". Emotional distortion and the realization of the potential shallowness of a loved ones' devotion act as a prise between husband and wife. They will never be the same, their vision of one another and of themselves forever corrupted.

Stephan Friedman's short tale, "The Fiery Serpent," I found iridescent, but too blunt. The prose is excellent, but the story unrefined, perhaps intentionally so. His two poems, though, "The Dog Night" and "The Full Moon," I found more rewarding. Though they were, at points, also forward in their transgressiveness, the weaving of the poetic voice here with such starkness, works exceedingly well.

The title of Fernando Naporano's poem "Whims of Goya, Nagoya In Paranoia" seems to be nearly as long as the poem itself, but upon examination, the poem's layers unpeel and reveal treasures of carefully obfuscated insight. A dark delight to see these stanzas unfold into the intellect.

In "Soplones!", Alcebiades Diniz Miguel takes the readers' delight - a story about purchasing rare books - and turns it into something horrific. That musty mold-tinted smell of old bookstores is a warning that is best heeded before the bookseller approaches you! Buyer beware!

"Futility and Wonder," a long series of verses by poet Joseph Dawson, plums the depths of existential hopelessness and heretical thought better than anything I've read since Jonathan Wood's poetry; to the point where the poet admits even the futility of fully capturing such despair in the poem itself. It is a black hole of a poem from which nothing, including its own hopeless creation, escapes. A poetic mobius strip, wonderfully realized!

I did not expect the strong emotional response I had to Fabio Waki's story "Lessons by Candlelight". I am a grandfather, and any proud grandfather who reads this story should be ready to feel the tears well up. This was an unexpectedly powerful story that cut deep. A "dark" piece, in many ways, yet so very full of light shining in the darkness. Any grandfather worth his salt that does not get wet eyes from this story needs to have his pulse checked.

The quote on the back cover of the book, "There is only light and shadow," aptly captures Thassio Capranera's "Dithyrambs in Ancient Cantabria," a sumptuous pleasure shattered by abject horrors. One does not know where reality ends and fantasy/horror begins, because the terror one wakes to may be as horrid as the worst of nightmares preceding that awakening. Exquisitely written, for pleasantry and pain.

Jean Du Bois' "A Thing of Nature" is rich in sumptuous detail, but poor on movement. The idea is to show the overlap of past and present, the ghosts of the old infecting the new in an ever-repeating pattern. While I enjoy the hauntological idea greatly, the execution is too staid and static for my tastes. A quiet, a too quiet experiment that passes the theoretical test, but is a bit too cold.

"Sad Presentiments of a Proud Monster" by Timothy J. Jarvis provides the apocryphal story about what happened to Goya's skull after his death. A wondrous tale featuring painter Rosario Weiss Zorrilla, who may or may not have been Goya's daughter (but was definitely his God-Daughter), a strange diviner, several prints of the deceased Goya's work, and an uncanny divination ritual. This was the perfect tale with which to end the anthology.

In summation, Chiarascuro Void is a complete artifact. From the font to the book’s tones (both hue and literary tone), the varied looks at Goya’s work and his life, this volume hangs together, framed perfectly as a celebration and a warning. I would love to see similar books around the works of such artists as Gustave Moreau, Odilon Redon, and Felicien Rops, to name a few. I could see an entire series emerging via this model, something which I would gladly subscribe to.

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