Now It's Dark

 

Now It's Dark by Lynda E. Rucker
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I first encountered Lynda E. Rucker's work in such magazines (remember those?) as The Third Alternative , Shadows and Tall Trees , and Nightmare Magazine . I've always admired her work, but I've read it intermittently, in sparse doses. The wonder about short story collections is that a reader can encounter stories by the same author, one after another. Sometimes this is disconcerting - quality is varied, voices change so dramatically as to be jarring, the same themes are done to death - but the best collections show just enough of the author's range of voices and themes, all at high quality, to introduce the reader not just to a new world, but to new worlds.

The worlds that Rucker takes us to in Now It's Dark are, well, dark. Not gory, not reliant on jump-scares, but more than just weird. At times, her work is creepy, emotionally gut-wrenching, or shocking, and sometimes (as in the last story of this volume) all three at once. Let's explore each story, in turn.

"The Dying Season" is composed (with a deft authorial hand) of a series of mis-steps by a fragile, emotionally-shaky woman who is on a supposed vacation in an off-season resort. This is not a fairytale but a tale of dark fairy that leaves one befuddled and even less sure of one's place in the world, like a psychogeographic black blot on the map, where being found is being lost. An unsettling tale.

"The Seance" was first published in Uncertainties, volume 1 and I can . . . certainly . . . see why. It's the vagaries peeking around corners, not the jump scare or obvious gore, where the real terror lies. Or does it? Just when you think you know something or, worse yet, someone, another angle reveals a hint of things you really don't want to see clearly. But you're the curious type, aren't you? Careful! You don't want to peek! But Rucker forces the issue and you are helpless and wide-eyed.

Rucker captures liminality in a bottle in "The Other Side". It's not a horrific tale, far from it, though the weird element might be considered horrific by some. Dark? Yes. But this was a somber contemplative piece drenched in sadness. Reflective and vaguely hopeful at the same time. Not only is liminality the subject of the story, but Rucker has captured the feel and mood of the liminal. Outstanding!

Egaeus Press's anthology A Soliloquy for Pan recently went through it's second printing and, once again, I missed my chance to get a copy. If Rucker's "The Secret Woods" is representative of the quality of the other stories in that volume, I have lost out on a treasure. It evoked in me both a deep emotional response and intellectual resonance. It's a gem in Rucker's crown.

I needed to sit with "Knots" for a while. It's a story about control and abuse, but there's a supernatural thread passing throughout that takes it firmly into the territory of the weird. It's heartbreaking, though, to think of those in abusive relationships that can't or won't get out. What are the knots that tie them to the situation? Mental illness? Emotional immaturity? Or something much more sinister than that? If you like to feel helpless, this is the story for you. And therein lies the horror: the horror of co-dependence.

Another story in the register of Aickman, "The Vestige" tracks a hapless traveler who has lost his passport, phone, and money. A traveling worst nightmare scenario. I've been in a similar situation when I last travelled to the UK and, on my way back, was detained in Heathrow Airport and had to give up my passport to authorities for reasons that were not clear to me then, but are now. I'll spare you the details of what is a very long story, but suffice it to say that I (and several others) were on Homeland Security's list for extra vetting and the first thing they did was confiscate our passports. Of course, that is a terrifying thing, but it's not the terror of the loss or fear of being a stranger in a strange land that affect the reader. These are sharp elements in the story, but it's the mystery of a past that might not have been and a present that also might not be that create the most emotional dissonance in this tale.

The next story was written for the anthology Gothic Lovecraft . There's just enough Lovecraft in "The Unknown Chambers" to call the story Lovecraftian. "Deep Ones" are mentioned once, as is Lovecraft himself. If you're familiar with the mythos, you'll figure out what's happening or going to happen early on. If not, then this might be a good introduction to Lovecraftiana not from the man himself. Disconcerting and stultifying, it's a good mythos tale, but not spectacular.

I suspected the final conceit of "So Much Wine" about three-quarters of the way through. The obtuse narrative could only lead to one conclusion, in the end. I was right. But I still love this story, not because of the way it concludes, but because the writing throughout devoured my attention, pulling it away from the fact that I already knew what was coming. The journey is more important than the destination.

"An Element of Blank" presents a coming-of-age story of three girls, now women, who experienced something - though it's never quite clear how fully - which may have been a demonic possession, those many years ago. Now, the possessor is back and the girls are wiser and braver than . . . what, exactly? Memory is a fickle mistress and cannot be trusted. And, yet, it must. But trauma, while it cannot erase the past, can redact it.

"The Seventh Wave" finishes this volume with, dare I say it? A splash. At turns, deeply sad, empathetic, and desperate, this story ends on a high note of pure terror. Possibly the most effective story in the volume, the voice of the narrator is strong, not in intensity, but in its depth. And the story will push and pull at your heartstrings until they're about to break until the inevitable, yet shocking end. I cannot recommend this story strongly enough.

And I cannot recommend this collection strongly enough. The physical object, as with all Swan River titles, is crisp and engaging. It might sound silly, but I love their size, the way they feel in the hand. The cover art for this volume is a painting by the amazing

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The Creative Act: A Way of Being

 

The Creative Act: A Way of Being by Rick Rubin
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I studiously avoided reading reviews of this book until I was done because I (correctly) predicted there would be those who praised it as a new book of holy scripture and those who would utterly trash the work as thin and inconsequential. Neither of those two camps is right. And while I do not condone tossing a book before you've given it a fair chance (though I have utterly given up on a book or two, opinions will differ on what a fair chance is. I can see the naysayers who feel that the book is a bunch of twitter quotes strung together, and I can even see why people who went into it not expecting a philosophically-oriented book would be turned off to it (though why you would think that a book about creativity would NOT have a philosophical orientation is beyond me). That said, I lean towards the cult of those who sing this books praises. I'm not all-in drinking the Kool-Aid, but I am at the edge of the clearing watching everyone line up, considering.

If one reads the book to the end, one finds the admission:

You are you.
The work is the work.
Each person in the audience is themselves. Uniquely so.
none of it can truly be understood, let alone distilled to simple equations or common language.

And herein lies the heart of the matter. Creativity is very difficult to pin down. There are exceptions and contradictions. What works one time doesn't work the next. That's the whole point of creativity. If you're looking for an end-all-be-all truth, study Accounting. Paint-by-numbers is not creativity, and it never was. It's good practice, and one can learn principles from it, but the true teachers in creative acts are experience, intuition, and failure.

Rubin does, however, share practical ways of thinking/being for those who might be struggling through the creative process. He also shares ways to ensure that you are creating good art when you think you've got a finished product. Any writer who's been writing for a while will tell you that the most difficult part of writing is editing. And if they don't, you can bet that their work shows it. I can categorically state that my early work, even those for which I was paid good money, could stand another edit. Or two. Or ten. Here Rubin doesn't spare the rod, but reminds us of our responsibility to create the best work we can, while giving us some tools to work with.

Now many of these tools come in the last third of the book, but if one doesn't buy into the foundational principles (remember that old concept of "willing suspension of disbelief"?), then the latter parts of the book are going to be far less impactful. No, you don't have to drink all the Kool-Aid, but you have to be willing to read and observe with an open mind. If you can't at least accept, theoretically, that "art is our portal to the unseen world," then this book is not for you. But if you'll give that thought a serious chance, the rest of the book will make sense to you. Again, if you want paint-by-numbers-so-you-can-monetize-everything-with-high-productivity, you need to look elsewhere.

If you're onboard with exercising a little faith, you'll be able to grok the book. The practicum really starts with the chapter on "Seeds," about a third of the way in. From here to the end, I've marked so many passages and taken so many notes that I won't take the time to put them all (if any) into this review. I've begun marking it up (in pencil - yes, I write in my books) with marginal notes, much like the ancient rabbinical scholars used to litter a verse of scripture with their annotations. As a result, this book has become highly personal to me and will continue to do so as I revisit it. It serves as a mirror to my own creative process, revealing all of its beauty and flaws. I will gaze into this book many times in the future both for inspiration and for practical solutions when I'm stuck (and there are many methods given for how to become un-stuck in the last third of the book).

I have a handful of reference books that I keep "hot at hand" in my writing area. An old Roget's Thesaurus, Tim D. White's Human Osteology, Francis D.K. Ching's A Visual Dictionary of Architecture, and now: Rick Rubin's The Creative Act: A Way of Being.

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Ossuary of Dreams: Twenty-Five Tales of German Horror and Weird Fiction

 

Ossuary of Dreams: Twenty-Five Tales of German Horror and Weird Fiction by Robert Grains
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

My kids are great. They're all adults now, so to call them "kids" feels a little disingenuous. But my kids are great (and my wife and grandkids, too, I must add).

"So why," you are likely asking yourself "are you leading off a review of a collection of weird horror fiction with 'My kids are great'."? Well, here's the deal. At around Christmas time, I do a bunch of massaging to my Amazon wishlist. Before you go ballistic, I try to order my books direct from publishers or, even better, directly from authors, so get off your high-horse for a second. I keep that Amazon wishlist to help my kids with Christmas shopping for dear old dad. One of the biggest issues with this is a recency-bias. If I see something new and shiny and it's getting near Christmas, I add it to my wishlist.

Such was the case with Ossuary of Dreams. I don't remember why I added it to my list last minute, but I did. Maybe it was the cool title or the even cooler font on the cover (no seriously, I live that font), or maybe I read a review about it that impressed me . . . I don't know. But, added it, I did.

So, this might be a sort of apologia to my daughter, who bought me the book. Kiddo, I really do appreciate the gift. It means a lot to me . . .

But I gotta give this one two stars.

The collection had its high points.

I found "A Walk in the Morning" to be a highly effective story.

There are echoes of Dhalgren in Grains hurtling-toward-the-collapse story "Our City at Night," but with a strong injection of occult forces. Here, I found that I prefer Grains at longer word counts. It gives his voice needed breathing space and makes the flourishes more emphatic and impactful.

I rather liked the unfolding-apocalypse (with a dream-time glimpse into the pyrrhic acknowledgment of respect to the lone survivor, imparted by the new God of this world) portrayed in "The Golden Age". I, for one, embrace the arrival of our robot overlords. This was an effective story, paced perfectly, with an air of reverent restraint that fit the tale to a tee. Well-played, not-quite-terminator.

"The Portraits of the Baron," the second-longest work in this collection, was, admittedly, very enjoyable. I loved the deep dives of esotericism here and the ending, while predictable, was satisfactory and held an ironic twist. This is the strongest work in the book.

"Metamorphosis" is an apocalyptic horror story somewhere between Clark Ashton Smith and China Mieville, wherein the narrator embraces the inevitability of change on the cosmic level, accepting fate with a philosophically stoic attitude that masks the shock of an undeserved fate of extreme horror.

So, there was something to like the collection. But, as Stepan Chapman used to say, there's also "something for everyone to hate".

I didn't hate most of the other stories. They ranged from "meh" to "I want to lem this book," but few of them went to the extreme of me wanting to do physical harm to the actual object. I reserve most of that hatred for one book in particular, which I'd like to see burned off the face of literary history. So, I didn't hate any of them that much. But there were some in there that I just kind of wanted to punch in the mouth.

I think that there are two fundamental problems, for me, with the work. First, the absolute fascination, nay, worship of overwrought and just plain faulty description drove me batty.

For example:

. . . a rumbling like from a squadron of unleashed poltergeists in the entablature.

This phrase has so many problems, I can't even begin to enumerate them. Well, maybe I can, but I really don't want to. Suffice it to say that I have more questions than answers about what is happening here.

Unfortunately, this was not an isolated incident.

Secondly, the overuse and downright abuse of adverbs had my inner editor clawing at my innards the whole way through. I honestly wanted to scream at times. Instead, I sighed heavily (I wince at having used an adverb here - is there no escape?!?) so I wouldn't wake up my wife. the "ly" ending now makes me twitch whenever I see it, like an abused puppy. It's going to take a while before I can see it without twitching.

Finally, I think that while the translation is mostly very good, you can also tell, in places, that it is a translation. I speak conversational German, and I know how convoluted German sentences can get. I don't envy anyone translating such a work of purple prose from German to English. The effort was good, but it is inevitable that there are some hiccups, and given the often awkward phraseology, they really show.

Had this been my first weird fiction rodeo, and had I read this, say, thirty years ago, I might have felt differently. But I can't, in good conscience, say anything beyond "it was ok," hence the two stars.

As always, your mileage may vary.

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The Jade Cabinet

The Jade Cabinet by Rikki Ducornet
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

In the interest of full disclosure, I know Rikki. I've helped publish her work a couple of times and have an irregular correspondence with her. Just sent her a letter (handwritten, of course) a few weeks ago, in fact.

Knowing Rikki and reading The Jade Cabinet again after having been away from it for so many years, I am struck, most of all, by the sheer restraint she shows in presenting this devastating, yet beautiful novel. It's a clear case of the power of editing and craftsmanship at work. Her pen is under strict control here, concentrating the power of whimsey and, indeed, some degree of madness into a self-restrained, almost ethereal (pardon the pun - one of the main characters is named "Etheria") critical examination of male dominance, the Victorian social paradigm, and the favoritism of technic over magic.

This is a character-driven novel, first and foremost. What I love about Rikki's work here is that none of the characters are presented as "either/or". Radulph Tubbs, a notably brutal man with few redeeming qualities, almost none, in fact, becomes, in his older years, a bit sympathetic. But not too sympathetic. More just plain pathetic. But the narrator (who, in a surprising twist, ultimately . . . well, I don't want to give away the surprise) feels a pity that borders on admiration for Tubbs' inner world, even though his actions in the physical world are violently misogynistic and crassly materialistic. Baconfield, the architect, who is hired by Tubbs, is a staunch industrialist, bent on bringing sterile order to everything, but later, through a series of misfortunes, becomes a mad mystic. Angus Sphery, father to both Memory (the narrator) and her sister Etheria, is a loving, whimsical father and a friend of Charles Dodgson (yes, that Charles Dodgson) who also abandoned his first daughter and ultimately ended up in Bedlam asylum. Sphery's wife, Margaret, likewise, lost her sanity, but for altogether different reasons.

Yes, it's that sort of novel. Full of frivolity, madness, and (mostly) tragedy.

And at the center of it all is Etheria, the mute daughter of Angus Sphery, who is essentially sold off to Radulph Tubbs for the price of The Jade Cabinet, a Wunderkammer, of sorts, filled exclusively with figurines carved from jade. One of these figures, which I will not reveal here, becomes the pivotal tool (I use that word reluctantly, but it works on several levels), the wrench in the works, as they say, that leads to the vanishment of the lovely, innocent Etheria and the subsequent emergence of the one true monster of the novel, the Hungerkünstler. No, not that Hungerkünstler, but one of the same mien.

Unlike many character-driven novels, however, The Jade Cabinet is fully-engaging throughout, with something for everyone (or "something for everyone to hate" as my friend Stepan Chapman used to say). The magic realism borders, at times, on that ill-defined subgenre known as "The Weird". The writing itself has a strong focus on not only the language itself, but the role of language as it affects the inner worlds of each character. Ultimately, I suppose, the work is about language and memory, though it never beats the reader over the head with a philosophical stick. It is subtle. And this is really the greatest compliment I can give to it: it breathes softly, with occasional rushes of wind, but it's underpinnings are mere whispers that overwhelm, if one is paying attention. It demands such attention, but not in a bombastic way; rather, it engages like a soft mountain breeze through the trees, simultaneously caressing the ears and overwhelming them. It is an elemental force: the force of the air.

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SPQR: A History of Ancient Rome

SPQR: A History of Ancient Rome by Mary Beard
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I am, by academic training, at least, a historian (MA African History, University of Wisconsin-Madison, '99, if you must know). So, I am rather persnickety about my history books. Note that I am not a student of Classic Roman history - I've been trying to fill that gap in my knowledge base the last couple of years through the History of Rome podcast and a little reading, including this book and some specious fiction in the form of I, Claudius. I've also been studying Latin because that's something I promised myself I would do from my childhood (thank you, Asterix & Obelix), so I recently read Ad Infinitum: A Biography of Latin and have just begun Lingua Latina per se Illustrata, which I'm enjoying thus far (it doesn't hurt that the first city mentioned in this Latin primer is Brundisium, or, modern Brindisi, where I lived as a child for a few years).

But what of Beard's SPQR? I have to admit that I was a bit taken aback by Doctor Beard's starting point. Did I mention my pickiness when it comes to history books? The book starts in an unlikely place, the political clash between Cicero and Catiline. Even with my rudimentary knowledge of Roman history and chronology, I can think of many other starting points that might be a better "spring" into the subject. As I read, though, my skepticism melted away. What Beard has done here is set a trap for the reader, a clever ruse to begin, not with history, but with historiography disguised as history. This is a genius move, as it sets the stage for the evidence that is presented in such a way that the reader, also, becomes a critically trained (at least heuristically) historian. Thus, SPQR is not only a history book, it's a history training ground.

The emphasis here, unlike other Roman histories I've sampled, is not primarily on military campaigns and military leaders. They aren't ignored, by any means (an impossibility if one is being honest about Roman history), but Beard does her level best to provide a broad vision of Roman society, inasmuch as the available evidence allows. You'll learn about all the big emperors, of course, but you'll also learn about slaves and freed-slaves and merchants, the more common people and the mass of humanity that kept the Roman machine oiled and working. This is a refreshing change from the prominent pseudo-idol worship of the emperors that makes its way into many high-level histories. Beard is, of course, restricted by the evidence, but her work in archaeology, as well as history, allows her a more "in the trenches" view of Rome and Romans, something I was hoping to find.

All-in-all, this is fantastic recounting of the first millenium of Roman history. I find it interesting that Beard ends the book at the moment when Caracalla, for enigmatic reasons, granted Roman citizenship to all people in the empire, ironically, and effectively ending the empire itself, or at least changing the structure of the empire to such an extent that earlier Romans would hardly recognize it. Maybe elitism has something going for it? You decide, but be sure to read this account before making that decision. You may be surprised at the parallels to modern life. The Romans still have something to say to us.

If you're interested in more Latin language and history books, try I, Claudius or Ad Infinitum: A Biography of Latin

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2024 on Goodreads

 

2024 on Goodreads by Various
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I kept my reading goal to 11 books this year because I had plans to read some BIG ones. Fact is, I got in a couple of BIG ones, but not nearly the amount I had anticipated. As always, some books came fluttering along out of thin air and grabbed me by the shirt collar (at least the idea of reading them did). Yes, Finnegans Wake is still sitting on my shelf, squatting and staring at me. And there are others I had intentions on that will have to wait for 2025. Sorry, not sorry. I read what the voices in my head tell me to read.

As far as superlatives go this far, here you go:

Book that will stick in my brain and never depart, living rent-free in my head till I die (I might call this "a classic"): Dhalgren

Book with the most surprises in the form of authors whom I've never read, but will read more of: Appendix N: The Eldritch Roots of Dungeons and Dragons

Book that will actually affect my day-to-day life in a most useful way: The Bullet Journal Method

Most stunning presentation, and the contents matched the beauty of the artifact: Cathode Love

Most elegant and profound (also living rent-free in my head): The Explosion of a Chandelier

Most intellectually challenging (and rewarding): On Poetic Imagination and Reverie

And if I took the time, I'm sure I could find or invent categories of all the other books I read this year. It was a good year of reading.

Next year, I am keeping my challenge low. I haven't decided on a number of books I plan on reading yet. I'd like to think I could read through all 22 on my TBR shelf (I have physical copies of all of them) plus the three I'm currently reading, but I am planning on doing a few re-reads this year, which will slow my consumption of new books. This is by design, as I have dubbed 2025 The Year of Simplification, and I plan on sticking with that. If you must know, some of the books I will be re-reading are: Malpertuis, The Jade Cabinet (I recently got back in contact with Rikki and am writing a handwritten letter to her now), and I will be actually doing Thousand Year Old Vampire (take that as you will, Lestat). So, I have a busy reading year ahead of me.

As for writing, look for a short story collection to come out from Underland Press this year, sooner rather than later. I'm pretty excited about this. This will collect many of the short stories that have been published by boutique publishers in South America and Eastern Europe, which are very difficult to find and incredibly expensive, once found. I am currently working on two short stories, one just about to be finished up, and another in the early stages. We shall see what else I can write this year, but I'm planning on a year of good output.

Part of the reason for my optimism on writing output is that after grousing a lot about social media and all of its issues, I am essentially withdrawing from Twitter (this actually happened years ago, though I still have an account open), Bluesky, Facebook, and Instagram. My social media of choice will be Goodreads, my blog, and handwritten letters to a select few individuals - the original social media. If you'd like to be one of the select few, message me here and get me your address. No promises, as I have a handful of "must write to" people, but I will do what I can. Since I won't be polluting my life with social media of the most banal kind (see above), I will have a bit more time to write to friends, and some of you here I do consider friends, so don't be shy, message me. And I don't expect a handwritten reply in return. I'll do me, you do you.

On to 2025!

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2025: The Year of Simplification

 2024 was, for me, a year of change and renewal. The previous year, 2023, was one of ever-escalating stress at the workplace. In January of 2024, driving home from another long, depressing day of work, I hit a deer, which was the impetus for a major life change, namely: changing my place of employment. Another change was that, after having the car totaled, we decided to try and make it as a one-car family. My wife works from home and my new job is an 8 minute drive away, so we've made it work. She has three days off, so on her off day, when I have to work, she drops me off and picks me up. 

All that said, I've been taking time to assess 2024 using YearCompass. It's been a very valuable exercise to examine the previous year, acknowledge the successes and challenges and failures, and move on to the next year. If you're one who likes to do New Years resolutions, or if, instead, like me, you just want to process the previous year and prepare for the next, I strongly recommend it. 

Over the last couple of months, I've taken a significant amount of time to study Minimalism and Slow Living. I've found several Youtube channels to be of great help. The three most helpful and practical ones I've watched (and subscribed to) are Seve - Sunny Kind of Journey,  Gabe Bult, and The Swiss Simpleton. Honorable mentions go out to Olly Staniland, Poetry of Slow Life, and Helena Woods. There are others that have proven helpful, but they might only peripherally touch on these lifestyles, or some (and I find these the most insidious, if I'm being honest) use Minimalism as a leverage to productivity/Hustle. And I am not about the hustle life. I'm about simplicity.

This hasn't always been the case. My dad was in the military, an NCO for as long as I was being raised, so we led a fairly middle middle-class life. I was a child in the 70s, a teen in the 80s (yes, you did miss out, if you must know, they really were that great), the perfect receptacle for the decidedly American (at the time, though this has spread elsewhere like a disease) culture of buying and holding on to whatever you possible could. I've heard that the poorest people value, above all, relationships, the richest value connections, and the middle-class values . . . stuff. As I examine myself and those I come in contact with, I've found that to be a good thumbnail assessment, with many exceptions, of course, but generally speaking, I've found it accurate. So, I was firmly planted in the camp that values stuff. My parents did nothing to discourage that. In fact, my Mom was a bit of a hoarder, when it came to physical possessions and both of my parents ended up in financial counseling because of their indebtedness and addiction to gambling (which, thankfully, didn't really manifest until I was out of the house). My parents taught me many great life lessons, but how to manage one's wants was not one of them. 

Fast forward through life to today, with me firmly planted in middle age. My parents are gone, and I have unlearned many of the things I learned that I wish I had not and have benefitted from many of the things I learned for which I am eternally grateful. Mom and Dad did the best they knew how, and I am the beneficiary of the things they taught me, whether intentionally or not. Now, it's my opportunity to leverage the past and look to the future.

In the manner of Seve, I have dubbed 2025 The Year of Simplification. The changes of 2024 have set the stage for this year of simplification, wherein I am striving to take the best lessons I've learned over the course of life and stripping out the un-essential. I could not have done so back in 2023, simply because of the emotional duress and mental health challenges I was undergoing. I was not in a good place. Now, I am on a stable footing and ready to move on, to calve off the things that I have been burdened with and with which I have burdened myself. Here is the simple plan.

1. I will simplify Technologically. I recently committed some money to buying a "dumb" phone, which I am planning on supplanting my "smart" phone when the Mudita Kompakt arrives sometime late next spring. I am also saving to buy the Boox Go 10.3, an E-ink reader with android capabilities. I won't be abandoning technology, but by adding some friction to the interchange, I am hoping to stall myself in order to divert to more analog activities (something I've been working on for some time now) when I am tempted to dwell too long in the digital sphere.
2. I will simplify Digitally. Yes, I will still keep my Instagram, Blusky, and Facebook accounts open, but they shall join the eerie ether-zone that my Twitter account is in, namely, full dormancy. Will I occasionally check these accounts? Probably. But by not having any of the apps on my phone or my tablet, I will have to make an intentional choice to go to my PC to engage in any of them, again, adding friction to the interchange, a moment to stop and think "is this really what I want to do with my time right now?" I will still be on Goodreads and, of course, here at the blog, but I am otherwise severely limiting my social media interactions. Part of this will involve writing more physical letters (something I actually love to do) to a limited number of friends. 
3. I will calm my mind. I'm not talking about a full-on meditative practice here, though that might come into play down the road. Here I will strive to further leverage my existing Bullet Journal practice I've read and re-read the Bullet Journal Method and have taken time on Youtube to see what others have done with their own bullet journals. Here, I must point out Jashii Corrin and Elsa Rhae and Barron for their wonderful guides to bullet journaling. Because of what I've learned, I will be making more time to be introspective and have an appropriate "space" (physically and mentally) as a receptacle for this introspection. Part of this will be a gratitude journal to help me to see the good in my days, in my circumstances, and in other people.
4. I will simplify Physically. I've already pointed out, above, some of the many Minimalism practitioners. Part of Minimalism is loving what you have, minimizing physical clutter, and putting the reins on consumerism. Yes, I have already outlined two pieces of technology that I'll be buying, but I am buying them intentionally and foregoing a lot of other things (meaning physical stuff) in order to purchase these tools. I have other "big ticket" items on my list: expensive, high quality tools for living, for example, or experiences that I hope to have that require more than just a bit of change. Of course, I won't stop buying books, but I am going to be very picky about getting new ones. In fact, a couple of weeks ago, I went through my books, tabletop games and supplements, clothes, and knick-knacks (I have a lot of these in my writing area) and ended up donating two huge bags of books and a garbage bag full of clothes and knick-knacks to a local charity shop, and selling some of my higher-end books and tabletop games and supplements for credit at the stores at which I sold them. Granted, the book money immediately went to a book I've been eyeing for some time now, but I shrank my book collection by about thirty books in exchange for one very nice signed edition of Centipede Press's edition of Quentin Crisp's I Reign in Hell. From what I understand, this may be one of the last signed copies "out there" available now. Crisp is a writer I love, and now I have what is sure to become an heirloom for my kids and grandkids, as well as providing me with hours of enjoyment. Win-win! And I have a large amount of credit waiting at one of my favorite places to buy RPG games and supplements online, just waiting for that perfect treasure to come through. 
5. I will prioritize Experience. Here, I mean a couple of things. First, I want to savor the moments. I'm only getting older, and when I think of the frantic pace that my life has been at times, I see a black hole of missed opportunities to enjoy the people and places that surround me. Did I say "screw Hustle culture" yet? I'm saying so now. I'm ready to live more slowly, whenever it is in my control, and take my time. I was thinking a lot lately about what I missed the most about my childhood, and it's the sense of time. Time seemed almost endless then. And while I'm glad to have learned the many lessons I've learned through the loss of innocence, I want to regain that sense of time as a friend to embrace, rather than an enemy to be run away from. With my new employment, I get an hour lunch break, and more often than not, I take the majority of that time to walk down the Ice Age Trail (which is conveniently less than a quarter mile from my work) and go for a languid walk, sometimes reading a book (a print book, not digital), sometimes not. This has helped me a great deal to decompress in what can sometimes be a very stressful job (though way less stressful than the place I fled). I've learned, during those walks, to pay attention to my surroundings and really absorb the experience. I've gained perspective on the shortness and fragility of life which has given me resolve to practice all the things I'm outlining here. One thing I noticed in my examination of the past year is that I only went to one live concert (outside of high school concerts we might have attended to see friends' kids perform). Usually, I try to hit a few shows. Now, I am picky about the shows I see, but I might have missed a couple of opportunities along the way. I'm going to keep my eyes open for more shows this year. Also in the realm of experience: we are going on a cruise to Alaska this summer. I'm guessing there are going to be some memorable experiences there! And, of course, I'll be going to Schimpkon, Garycon, and Gameholecon, as far as it is in my power. I can't live without gathering with my tribe frequently!

This is my blueprint. Are things going to go wrong? Absolutely. Will I hit all of my goals perfectly? I hope not, otherwise I'm not truly experiencing life. In any case, this is how I will strive to live my life this year: more simply, more intentionally, more meaningfully. A special thanks to all those who make this possible. 

I'll end with a poem which I first heard on one of the aforementioned Slow Living/Minimalism Youtube channels. It sums things up rather nicely:

My Symphony

To live content with small means.

To seek elegance rather than luxury,

    and refinement rather than fashion.

To be worthy, not respectable,

    and wealthy, not rich.

To study hard, think quietly, talk gently, 

    act frankly, to listen to stars, birds, babes, 

    and sages with open heart, to bear all cheerfully, 

    do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never.

In a word, to let the spiritual, 

    unbidden and unconscious, 

    grow up through the common

This is to be my symphony

William Henry Channing

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Rumbullion

 

Rumbullion by Molly Tanzer
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I keep telling myself I don't like epistolary novels, which seems a bit odd, as I do truly love to handwrite letters to a select few friends, so it's obviously not the format itself. Perhaps it's that many novels of letters completely miss the "show, don't tell" bandwagon. So, I'm always a little leery when it comes to these kinds of novels.

My misgivings, in this case, were misplaced. I loved Rumbullion.

It started out slowly. Another Goodreads reviewer noted that it took them two months to read the slim volume, and I can see why. Though it's short, it's not a quick read, at least not at first. This probably has to do with the stodgy views of the narrator and his need to explain in great detail with several asides - much as you would expect from a novella that is, at its heart, poking fun at the societal mores, the "morals," and even the writing style of 18th-century England. Once one cottons on to what is being said (without being said), the story rolls out like a well-maintained red carpet, and off you go down the promenade.

I had caught whiffs of Tristram Shandy right from the beginning (a book that I need to re-read and review, truth be told - it's been far too long). About halfway through, the influences were clearly apparent, but not in a way that interfered with the reading. Cloudsley's letter had me laughing out loud, something I don't often do while reading. "I loved that horse," indeed! Tristram Shandy meets Bertie Wooster meets a Shakespearean comedy. The Bard (whoever he is) would be proud!

And to top it all off is another trope that I normally hate: Vampires. But here, one is never quite sure about whether the vampires are truly vampires (though I interpreted them that way), and the subtle allusions to the possibility of vampirism (and cannibalism) are in lock step with the conversational propriety of the times. "Necromantic diabolism" is the watchword of that day. There is a fair amount of diabolism, subtly introduced, to go around.

Now, to be fair, there is one trop that I do love that also figures prominently in the whole narrative(s), that of a Bacchanalia (I was going to say "Dionysian Bacchanalia," but that's kind of overkill, isn't it?). Yes, several characters may or may not have been possessed by Panic (in it's true, Greek sense) forces. Seemingly superhuman achievements of various, sometimes sordid sorts, are reached due to the fact that the characters might not all be . . . well, themselves.

If it sounds like a confusing riot, that's because it is a glorious mess, and I mean that in the most positive way possible.

This one's worth your time, slow start or not. You will, in time, be carried away.



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Appendix N: The Eldritch Roots of Dungeons and Dragons

 

Appendix N: The Eldritch Roots of Dungeons and Dragons by Peter Bebergal
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

First off, thanks to Peter Bebergal, editor, who graciously sent me a review copy of this book. I've long admired Peter's work and he is definitely one of the better human beings on the planet. That said, I've been careful to keep a critical eye on the ball here.

The question to be answered is: Did the book hit its mark? Of course, the answer depends, in part, on the audience. For me, a reader, a writer, an editor, and a long-time gamer, the answer is yes, with some slight caveats. They will be registered in the reviews of the stories themselves, below.

Those who have been playing D&D for some time (I've been playing since 1979) and those who have read extensively in the fantasy genre will, likely, approach with caution. All of us old-skool gamers have read Gary Gygax's "Appendix N" from the first edition of the Dungeon Master's Guide (still, as far as I am concerned, one of the best helter-skelter amalgamations of gaming tools and even some gaming wisdom - though the absolute best guide on how to run a game is found in the Call of Cthulhu 7th edition Keeper Rulebook: Chapter 10). We all know about it, but how many of us have read those works in their entirety? Not me! That might have something to do with a lazy streak, because digging up all those titles is a lot like real work, especially with some of the older, more obscure works.

So, here, Bebergal has done the work for you, and then some. Okay, not every work is collected here (that would take entire volumes), but he has picked out some of the best short work mentioned in Appendix N, and mingled in some pieces not specifically mentioned, but that may have influenced the game, and definitely have influenced players and dungeon masters for decades. But you won't find many direct corollaries with D&D spells, monsters, classes, magic items, or dungeons. No, outside of a few notable exceptions (all noted in the Introduction or Afterword), you'll have to extrapolate from the material provided - you'll have to use your imagination! After all, TSR, the founding company for D&D and many other tabletop roleplaying gems, told you right up front that these are "Products of your Imagination" all the way back in 1983. So, get with it! Get reading and get imagining!

Here's what you have to look forward to:

Right as I started reading this book, my next turn on the Play By Mail game Hyborian War arrived. I read the report on how my Darfarian armies and heroes were doing (not well, honestly - and since then, things have gotten worse). Then I read Lin Carter's "How Sargoth Lay Siege to Zaremm" and I couldn't differentiate between the two. I count that as a very good thing. I can use a lot more epic sword and sorcery on that scale (and yet, in such a short story) in my life.

"The Tale of Hauk," by Poul Anderson: Viking undead undead undead undead. Three stars. The epic "poetic" language came across stilted to me. Even ten-year-old-OMG-I'm-new-to-D&D-and-everything-is-so-awesome Forrest would have balked at the choppy only halfway-historically-accurate prose. What can I say? I was a jaded snob at a very young age. I blame Lewis Carroll. So, not bad, not great. But do not let this stop you from reading more of Anderson's work. He really is an excellent writer!

I've read my share of Leiber's Fafhrd and Gray Mouser tales, but not "The Jewels in the Forest," until now. These are not mere Murder Hobos, but people with real emotion. I could have used these role models in my early TTRPG days (I started when I was 9): Adventurers, but not sociopaths. It's the humanity of the two that I love. There is some genuine pathos here, and Bebergal has slipped other stories into this volume with more emotional impact than you might expect ("Tower of Darkness" and "Black Gods Kiss" most especially). But the pulp-action adventure and mystery here is also up front and real.

Clark Ashton Smith's "Empire of the Necromancers" may be the absolute highpoint of grimdark sword and sorcery (with an emphasis on the sorcery, though swords are utilized). It's difficult to find a darker story, where the level of vengeance would make Poe pale and Evenson blush. The voice is Dunsanian, but a Dunsany gone horribly wrong, which makes this tale horribly right. Machen might have loved this.

I've read "Turjin of Miir" before, but this reread did not tarnish the experience at all. On the contrary, now, more than ever, I can see the subtle genius of Jack Vance's work. There's a cleverness that never becomes self-seeing, a burbling sense of unaware-of-itself humor and a phantasmagoric atmosphere that's weird enough, but not crazy

I have to admit that I haven't read much Tanith Lee. But after the outstanding "A Hero at the Gates," I want more. Cyrion, the protagonist, uses his keen power of observation and quick decision making with even more skill than he shows as a swordsman. Steel may finish the deal, but the critical analysis is made in the hero's head long before a blade is unsheathed. A fantastic character study. In my mind, I couldn't help but picture Erol Otus' D&D character Valerius as I read.

I've read and enjoyed Howard's "Tower of the Elephant" thrice before, and I know why it was contained in the current volume. Still, it's not without it's faults, and I would like to have seen some other Conan story, maybe "Rogues in the House," which, to me, is more of a D&D adventurer's tale. Still, the volume would be incomplete without "Tower," I think, at least for someone new to Sword and Sorcery. So, it's really a must-have. Shame that another Conan piece couldn't have been squeezed in.

Poetry? In Sword & Sorcery? Well, of course. What do you think the old epics were? Here, in Saberhagen's "The Song of Swords," poesis and evocative epic storytelling meld perfectly. This would make any bard proud.

I've had the chance to talk with Michael Moorcock a few times on the phone, while co-editing the Leviathan 3 anthology with Jeff Vandermeer. Mike is a scholar and a gentleman, and I enjoyed some long conversations with him about the writer's craft and his time working with Blue Oyster Cult and Hawkwind. One wonders how he could create such an anti-hero as Elric, but when you read carefully, you realize that Elric might have been a "good man" once. But his world, as shown in "The Dreaming City" is broken. The dream has shattered, and so, the man, who is a shell of his former self, driven by his evil sword.

"The Doom That Came to Sarnath" is one of those tales in which a deep lore is established. Here Lovecraft paints the picture of a lost city saturated by a long-duree history of corruption and fear. Just the sort of place adventurers might go to seek treasure, and just the sort of place where they might meet their own doom!

David Madison's "Tower of Darkness" is amazing. The protagonists, Diana and Marcus, are thoroughly-realized characters that might have been every bit as well-written as Fafhrd and Gray Mouser, had Madison not died an untimely death at age 27. I want to read more of his work. Much more. Absolutely fantastic fantastical work, and such a loss to the world of Sword and Sorcery.

I've often mused on where Gygax found his monsters. I think that Manly Wade Wellman's "Straggler from Atlantis" might be a source for what later became the gelatinous cube (I'm certain his ochre jelly came from Hiero's Journey). Regardless, Wellman crafts a good tale of sword sorcery, and even a crashed flying saucer here. Expedition to the Barrier Peaks , anyone?

Margaret St. Clair's "The Man Who Sold Rope to the Gnoles" holds no surprises, nor does it need to. This is one of those rare stories where you can sense what's coming, what is almost inevitable, but it is so cleverly written that you gladly come along for the ride. This was a joy to read, alas for Mortensen, and the ending was a delightful (for us, not for the salespoerson) cherry on top. I loved this little story.

I've ,read my fair share of Ramsey Campbell's work, especially his Cthulhu mythos fiction. I didn't quite know what to think when I saw that his story "The Pit of Wings" appeared in this collection. Now I see that it's a brilliant mix of Sword & Sorcery and outright horror; exactly the type of game I like to run! If you've ever worried about stirges, don't read this story. Oh, and stirges are one of my favorite things to throw at a party of adventurers!

I will run out of words before I can explain how absolutely marvelous C.L. Moore's "Black God's Kiss" is. Jirel of Joiry is so well-realized in this one story that I immediately ran off to find more of Moore's work. She is a complex character who encounters turns of emotion and morality that reflect an inner reality absent in most Sword and Sorcery. And Moore's Hell is truly a Hell; terrible, yet beautiful. The image of a herd of fleet-footed blind white horses stampeding through hell will probably never leave me:

As the last one of all swept by her, sweat-crusted and staggering, she saw him toss his head high, spattering foam, and whinny shrilly to the stars. And it seemed to her that the sound was strangely articulate. Almost she heard the echoes of a name - "Julienne! Julienne!" - in that high, despairing sound. And the incongruity of it, the bitter despair, clutched at her heart so sharply that for the third time that night she knew the sting of tears.

"The Fortress Unconquerable, Save for Sacnoth" is everything you'd expect from Lord Dunsany. I have to admit that his penchant for hyperbole in all of his stories is simultaneously endearing and annoying. But he wrote in a epic mythological register, so it's to be expected. Still a great story, especially if you haven't read Dunsany before. Plenty of inspiration here for dungeoneers old and young, though! Note that Stormbringer isn't the only great sword of fantasy fiction. I'm going to venture a guess that Gygax took his idea (or was it Arneson's?) for intelligent swords both from Moorcock and from Dunsany.

I have heard A. Merritt's "The People of the Pit" as a great exemplar of pulp weird fiction. That may be true, but the telling of the tale felt off to me. The mimicry of Lovecraft's prose wore thin, and the high vocabulary of a character that clearly wouldn't use it was also a hindrance, throwing me out of my willing suspension of disbelief. So, it might be iconic, but it isn't particularly good. Didn't hate it, didn't love it.

As much a morality tale as an adventure tale, "Legacy from Sorn Fen," by Andre Norton is told in a register one step down from Dunsany's high flights. This suits the story more, with a grit that will appeal to most gaming tables. The biggest takeaway is to be careful what you wish for. Anyone who has been playing D&D long enough realizes the potential pitfalls of fulfilled desires. "Is that what you really want?"

Following these prose pieces are two comics. The first one is "Crom the Barbarian," a comic from 1950 that reads and looks like, well, a comic from 1950, with all that implies. The plotline definitely informed that of a certain '80s movie staring Arnold Schwarzenegger.

The final piece is "Sword of Dragonus," from 1971, three years before the appearance of the epic black-and-white adult comic series The Savage Sword of Conan. I have a special place in my own Appendix N for Savage Sword. This is where I cut my teeth on sword and sorcery fantasy. While living at San Vito AFB, Italy, my parents dropped me off one night at the base day care so they could go watch Superman. I was 7 or 8 years old. Someone, probably some half-drunk airman, had left a copy of Savage Sword in among the kids books and comics that people had donated to the child care. It was there I read my first Savage Sword story, The Slithering Shadow. I had no idea why the women hardly wore any clothes, but I didn't really care. I was all about the swords and monsters! Thankfully, the guy running the Stars and Stripes Bookstore on base thought I was just buying comics when I bought my own issues of Savage Sword. This was what set me on the path that prepared me for my encounter with D&D about a year later. But that's a different story.

In summation: I'm impressed by the breadth of the collection. The varied tones and excellent writing make this not just a book about stories for gamers, it is a collection of good to outstanding writing in and of itself. What ties it all together is the imagination and the potential for collaborative imagining, riffing off the themes, characters, settings, plots, monsters, and, of course swords (lest we forget them). The book itself is an experience that rewards both the non-gaming reader and the long-time gamers.

I can't end without noting that though this copy is a paperback, there is fold-out endpapers that are - you nerds guessed it - an old blue dungeon map! Would you expect anything less from Strange Attractor Press? If not, you obviously haven't read enough of their books. So, intrepid adventurer, start here!

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Note: I would be remiss if I didn't mention my own, personal Appendix N. There's some overlap here. The Venn Diagram does cross in a few places, but it's obvious that old E. Gary and I might take an oblique view of each other. No worries, there's room under the TTRPG umbrella for just about anyone!




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Lost Estates

 

Lost Estates by Mark Valentine
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I'm not shy about my opinion of Mark Valentine as one of the best writers of strange tales penning today. Or maybe he's "quilling," yes, that seems more like his protagonists, most of them people who you can't help but like, from the book collector of "Worse Things Than Serpents" to the four quirky mystics of "The Readers of the Sands" to the curious amateur historian of "The Fifth Moon," his protagonists are just so darned likeable. I think this intensifies their rather strange encounters (some of them downright horrific). I'd like to think that they reflect aspects of the author's personality, but you know where that gets us when assessing fiction. And, having never met him, I can't say if these are projections of his inner life or not, but if not, he does have a convincing way or portraying people, like myself, whose curiosity can get them in a bit of trouble, innocent as they may be. And perhaps that's why their various discoveries and predicaments carry such a sense of immediacy. I could easily see myself, or people I know, blissfully blundering into situations with the beyond that they can barely comprehend, let alone deal with in any kind of meaningful way. These are not stories of highly-competent detectives who flippantly "figure it all out". If you want that, I'd point you to Valentine and Howard's excellent The Collected Connoisseur or his Herald of the Hidden . No, these are not the same as the highly-competent Connoisseur or Ralph Tyler, these are rather ordinary people with strange interests thrust into extraordinary circumstances. And I am all for it. My notes for each story (with some post-note-taking embellishment as always) are here presented:

"A Chess Game at Michaelmas" is classic Mark Valentine, but with an air of folk magic, like sage hanging heavy in the air, a consecration to a sort of tale that Valentine has avoided, or at least minimized, in the past. It's a new "look," but with the same rigor and steady hand that Valentine practices so well. The horrific element is quick, a flash in the pan, but it turns the tale completely, capturing the reader.

Valentine is a connoisseur (note the lack of capital leading letter - see above) of rare and strange books, and "Worse Things Than Serpents" has this avocation on clear display. The wandering narrator enters a bookstore called "Brazen Serpent Books" wherein he finds a rare book, not a grimoire or antique tome, but a book that piques his interest. His presence at the bookshop, in turn, piques the interest of something else. Something he doesn't want to take an interest in him. No one would . . .

How to place my finger on "Fortunes Told: Fresh Samphire"? I can't do it. I'm reminded of a recent substack post by Matt Cardin about the need for mystery in writing. I told him he's gonna love this Robert Aickman guy I heard about. This story is much the same. A mystery. But not a mystery to be solved, a mystery to be savored. Let the prose poetry wash over you and wander for awhile. But don't get lost along the way.

As I read "The House of Flame," I kept thinking "this sounds like it was almost lifted directly from Machen's Hill of Dreams," only to find that the story was written for a volume in homage to Arthur Machen. I have to admire that it even matched Machen stylistically; no easy feat. But then I ask, for the first time ever, "did Valentine do anything new here"? Maybe not. But to be blunt, I don't care. This is still a worthy and well-crafted tale, and maybe it will lead others down the Machen road.

"The Seventh Card," like its protagonist, ambles along at a slow pace, languidly moving, then melding with a soft sense of the strange, not sudden or harsh, but gently enveloping him (and us) into a softly spoken, but inevitably odd new reality.

I'm not fond of the title "And Maybe the Parakeet Was Correct," but I am quite fond of the story. A side-passage into sports journalism leads to a side-passage into a sport that has no heroes, only villains. The stakes here might be much higher than your standard football match and there is no willing audience and no cheering. On the contrary, no one wants to be a part of this match, though some must. If you've ever walked down the wrong alley in the wrong neighborhood - and I have done this many times in my travels - you'll relate to the awkwardness and dull sense of background dread in this story.

"Laughter Ever After" strikes a hopeful tone for a book collector's story. And it's set in Biggleswade, not far from where I lived in England. It's on the dull side, but that's kind of the whole point of the story.

"The Readers of the Sands" is a strange, yet subtle tale, the sort of story that balances in a razor, but never falls one way or another. It is a quiet tale of four individuals, each with an affinity for sand, each with their own insights and talents, all of them distantly cognizant of something Other in the shifting patterns, something sentient and, perhaps, inimical to them, individually and collectively. I think this story, surprisingly, has stuck in my head the most out of all of the stories in this volume. It was one of the least horrific of the stories, or perhaps one of the more "triumphant" stories, but this contrasts rather sharply with the strange ouvre of the tale, a sort of, well, shifting, slithering something that underlies . . . well, everything. Maybe it's the ontological questions that arise long after the story is read that have captured my lingering attention. I shall have to go read it again and again, as there's something expansive beyond just the events portrayed here. Something . . . I don't know . . . just . . . more.

What starts as a dry, treatise on pub signs and their origins slips from the academic to the folksy to the downright hallucinatory. This is a path that Valentine sometimes embarks on, but doesn't always finish the journey. Here, I am glad to say, we are plunged into phantasmagoric visions that might drive the bookish seeker after fact and data completely over the edge of madness. I was happy to dive off that cliff and swim in strange waters.

I suppose every short fiction collection has one - that previously-unpublished piece with an amazing title and mysterious premise that just doesn't quite connect with the reader. "Lost Estates" was that for me. A "minor piece" as the literati say. It just didn't jive with the rest of the collection, which is strange, given the story is about the creation of music, at it's heart, maybe even ironic, if unintended.

The next tale, "The End of Alpha Street," has the signature marks of Valentines work that I so love: a warmth of character, a hint of witty humor, a fascination with the outre and the neglected sides of life, and a mystery left mysterious. The story is eerie and yet so human; the juxtaposition pulling the reader in, even while alarms are going off in your head. But is there really need to be alarmed? Maybe.

Take "Oh, Whistle, and I'll Come to You, My Lad" and add ten layers of sinister intent. James was just scratching the surface, but Valentine goes all in, even if his protagonist is incredulous. If you think King John wasn't evil, your naivete won't save you. This is folk horror taken to the next level by Valentine's deft hand. A nod to James, but a story that is completely Valentine; well, outside of a sprinkling of The Bard's work. Five stars for "The Fifth Moon"!

I can't end without mentioning the absolutely beautiful presentation here. The dust jacket is, obviously, striking, but strip that thing off for a minute and just admire the even-more-striking hardcover. The aesthetic of this book is complex in its simplicity. Swan River keeps producing elegant hardcovers in limited editions that one must keep one's eye on, lest they sell out and you are left with a gaping hole on your bookshelf that could have been filled with a true gem. I've regretted missing more than one Swan River title, and I plan on snatching them up more often. If you're on the fence, splurge!

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Greener Pastures

 

Greener Pastures by Michael Wehunt
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The blurbs that introduce this collection are a who's-who of writers whose work I greatly appreciate: Gemma Files, Steve Rasnic Tem, Brian Evenson, Nathan Ballingrud, and S.P. Miskowski, among others. So, I had high expectations going into this lauded collection.

Unfortunately, things started slowly.

"Beside Me Singing in the Wilderness" takes the old tropes of vampirism and twists it up a bit. It's good, smoothly written, but not extraordinary to me. Your mileage may vary.

"Onanon" was more the sort of thing I expected from all the blurbs and praise I've read. Cosmic horror of the natural world told in a sparse, unforgiving voice.

And from here on out, the stories were incredibly strong, outside of one dip, which I'll mention below.

The title story is strong. Very strong. Like "could have been an episode of Rod Serling's original Twilight Zone" strong. It's the power of the unspoken and the unseen between the words that is so unsettling. The words only mark the boundaries. It's the gaps in-between where the horror dwells. I have a few friends who are truckers that I'm going to recommend this story to. Or maybe I shouldn't . . .

"A Discreet Music" is subtle and strange, but mostly not horrific. And this is good. I actually like the calm weirdness of this transformation, of the shedding of an old life for the new. It's not without its painful moments. On the contrary, there is deep pain in Hiram, the protagonist. And there are jarring revelations about the self, as well. But the metamorphosis is profound and moving.

"The Devil Under the Maison Blue" is such a gently-delivered story that one embraces the horror as, well, just fine. A horror story needn't be stark or harsh or jarring in any way to elicit a powerful response. This is a clear case in point. Sometimes it's the devil you don't know that makes the biggest impression.

I, too, am a sucker for lost footage stories. "October Film Haunt: Under the House" is a melange of the weird and the eerie, full of things that ought not to be, but are, and empty of things that should be, but are not. The lines between fact and fiction and between observer and observed are smeared beyond recognition, resulting in a kaleidoscope of horror that will haunt the reader for a very, long time. And if you're wondering what the cover art is all about: this is it!

"Deducted From Your Share in Paradise" defies expectations in every way. It's a story of maintaining innocence while in a maelstrom of selfish choices, about endings and new beginnings, and possibly about heaven and hell. But it's not so cut and dried as these pairings. One must worm their way between these things and question the very meaning of their outmost bounds. Or maybe, boundaries need to be ignored.

"The Inconsolable" presses deep on the depression button, then asks "what is faith?" and "what is comfort?" It's a poignant tale about breakups and new beginnings, along with the caveats inherent in leaving a piece of one's old life, and a piece of one's own soul, behind.

"Dancers," while weird, was just too soft-spoken for my tastes. It might even be an (gasp) "ineffective" story, trying too hard to be too many things at once. This was the one gap in this collection. I guess every collection has to have one.

"A Thousand Hundred Years" pushes even further through the boundaries of Mark Fisher's "Eerie" and "Weird", namely "that which should be there, but is missing" and "that which is there, but should not be," to great emotional effect. The story is a strange admixture of tears and fears, of melancholy and hope, a tale of being pulled in multiple directions, some good, some bad, all at once. It is life and loss in all its complexity, and reveals the true, confusing horrors of the world. Like many of the stories in this collection, this injects a great deal of emotion, without becoming sickly sweet or cynical, into a tale that squeezes the breath out of you.

Oof (again). "Bookends" is a poetic, sublime, beautiful gut punch. Grief is at the heart of it all, grief and loss, both of which I've experienced in bucketloads over the course of the last few years. Do not read this if you are dealing with an open emotional wound, specifically the death of a close loved one. This story will absolutely wreck you. Then again, it might just open some doors. Approach with caution.

The blurbs are deserved. Minus one miss, this collection hits on all cylinders. I will be reading more of Wehunt's work, for sure. But that's for the future, after I've recovered from this one and the deep emotional grooves it cut in me start to smooth out. For now, I am left scarred, but better for it. Kind of like . . . life.

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Mus Mortuus Non Respirare

 I've probably written that sentence incorrectly. There are tens of thousands of people who could correct me if I'm wrong. At least I think there are. But now it's my turn to learn Latin.

Where does this poor dead mouse come in? Well, I have to admit, it's a long stretch from this erstwhile rodent to this page, but in my mind it's not far at all. 

I've been "studying" Latin for a year now. Meaning I've been doing Duolingo. Meaning, I haven't really been studying, but more . . . familiarizing myself with Latin. 

This winter, I intend to begin an honest attempt to learn some Latin. I understand, I'll probably die before I'm fluent. But I'm going to give it my best college try.

Meaning, I'm going to treat it like a class. Sort of. 

As you know, I recently finished I, Claudius. And I'm currently reading Ad Infinitum: A Biography of Latin. I have SPQR lined up to read, as well. And I've listened to a fair clip of The History of Rome podcast. And, of course, I've been trying to translate the little quips from Asterix and Obelix since my youth. 

So, I've read around the language and dabbled a bit. But now it's time to get a little more serious.

I've got a little thumb drive with something like 200 Latin primers. Nice pickup from Etsy. But only recently have I picked up some honest to goodness books. Physical books. Something I can sink my eyes and brain into. They are:

Lingua Latina per se Illustrata: pars 1: Familia Romana, because I hear that this is truly the best book to learn Latin from (Reddit told me so)

Winne Ille Pu, and this one for a couple of reasons, not least of which is that when I lived in Italy, my third grade teacher, Mrs. Wells, who was the best teacher I had until college, read us Winnie the Pooh with all the voices, just like in the movies and when the movie came out at the Air Force base we lived at at the time (San Vito de Normani, if you must know), I stood in line for an hour only to have the theater sell out as we were ten people back in line and I cried and I cried and I cried. Yeah, I was a sensitive kid. But now I get Winnie the Pooh in Latin, and I will always hear in my mind Mrs. Wells, who could have slotted in on any of those movies and given all those professional voice actors a run for their money. No, I'm serious. She was *that* good!

Perseus et Medusa, because I have this recent fascination about Medusa that I can't explain and I'm fairly certain she is going to creep into my next piece of fiction. Almost 100% certain, in fact. 

And, finally, Medieval Latin Lyrics, because I understand the language was very different during the Middle Ages than it had been during the Classical Era and I want a taste of them knights-in-shining-armor kicking but while poorly-quoting Cicero. 

I think I'm going to just dive into all four at once. And I might also give a shot at De Spectris Lemuribus et Magnis because who doesn't like books about ghosts in Latin? 

I'm curious how others have fared in studying Latin outside of the context of a formally-taught course in a bonified educational institution? I suspect that it would benefit me to try that. Maybe later. Much later. When I can take college courses for free because it's interesting to watch retirees march to their grave with their nose in a book. 

Did I mention a book about ghosts in Latin? 

By the way, yes, I laid those flowers by the dead mouse. He just looked so vulnerable there, and I wanted him to be remembered. Plus, it gave me a reason to practice what little Latin I do know, even if it's wrong. Besides, when the world is cold and dead outside and I'm trying to just survive the Wisconsin winter, I can look at this post and think back on the very hot day I took that walk and realize that there's always another spring coming. Well . . . almost always. 

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A Token Derangement of the Senses

 

A Token Derangement of the Senses by Damian Murphy
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I never ceased to be amazed by the way I feel when I read Damian Murphy's writings. The settings change, the circumstances of exploration and discovery (always a theme) change, the characters change, yet there is always a specific feeling to a Damian Murphy story. That feeling is indescribable, incommunicable, if you will. And even if I could communicate it, I don't think I'd want to. It's a resonance that must be, by its nature, within me and no one else. But I hope that other readers can feel their own resonance with his work. I sense that many do.

A Token Derangement of the Senses, unlike just about everything I've read by Murphy, takes place in the midst of war, and is told by one of the soldiers. Yes, soldiers, or at least those who appear to have served in the military at one point or another, can be found in other works. But this is the first I've read that takes place on the field of battle . . . but it's a strange battle, one you would not expect, where the enemies are not so obvious (though they are caught in the throes of The Great War), and the front line is less a line and more of a liminal zone between ordered civilization and the chaos of destruction. It is a place of secrets and subliminal communications, where some spaces are permanently sealed off from the rest of the world and one is unable to enter by mundane means. Much is, in a word, Mystery. And it's weaving between these hidden places, these occulted structures, that I find that feeling described earlier. You must journey there yourself to find your feeling, your resonance.

This volume also contains "Wittgenstein," a short piece, also set in a time of war, penned by Alcebiades Diniz Miguel, the man and motor behind Raphus Press. It is of a more philosophical than magical bent, contrasting the high-mindedness of intellectual knowledge against the blood-and-mud reality of combat experience and its aftermath.

The book itself is, as with many Raphus Press books, dignified, with a whiff of fine art; solid, refined; correct to its contents, but elevated out of the trenches, despite its subject matter.

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