Monday, 1 November 2021

On the Omnibuses: October

Various, American Gothic: An Anthology 1787–1916

Samuel L. Clemens (Mark Twain), From Life on the Mississippi (1883) ****

Shame I didn't meet any morbid vigilante detectives when I was travelling.

Sarah Orne Jewett, The Foreigner (1900) *

10,000 words of torturous regional dialec' building up to a momentary trick of the light.

Mary E. Wilkins Freeman, Old Woman MagounLuella Miller (1902–05) ***

The serial-killing vampire tale is considerably lighter than the down-to-earth one.

Henry James, The Turn of the Screw (1898) ***

I own three bloody versions of this in my otherwise efficient anthology bookcase, so I was going to bump into it sooner or later after bailing out previously. A certified classic of gothic psychological haunted house horror, it should theoretically be a favourite, if it wasn't dragged down by dullness. I might reevaluate it the next time we cross paths. The original illustrations would've helped, facsimile editions have spoiled me.

Kate Chopin, Désirée's Baby (1893) ***

Cherry-picked anti-racist ancestry horror, it's nice that it existed.

Charles W. Chesnutt, Po' Sandy & The Sheriff's Children (1888–89) ****

Dark fantasy and darker realism.

George Washington Cable, Jean-ah Poquelin (1875) **

Spooky house story told from the boring outside.

Stephen Crane, The Monster (1898) ****

Friendly neighbourhood Frankingstein.

Ambrose Bierce, The Death of Halpin Frayser (1891) ***

Either a brilliant multi-faceted jewel or just a mess.

Frank Norris, Lauth (1893) ****

Philosophical death simulator turned sci-fi horror.

Charlotte Perkins Gilman, The Giant Wistaria (1891) ***

Victorian Most Haunted.

Paul Laurence Dunbar, From The Sport of the Gods (1902) *

Two episodes from a violent soap, at least we were spared the full reprint this time.

Edwin Arlington Robinson, Six Poems (1897–1921) ***

Set them to some gothic rock and we'll be getting somewhere.

Lafcadio Hearn, The Ghostly Kiss (1880) ***

Polished nightmare vignette.

Edith Wharton, The Eyes (1910) *****

An apparition uncharacteristically lingers to invite close examination and unreliable self-diagnosis.

Jack London, Samuel (1913) **

Leave the island folk alone to murder their bairns in peace, god.



Clive Barker, Weaveworld / Cabal

Cabal (1988) ****

This bumper Book of Blood is all the excessive '80s Clive Barker antics you could ask for, from splattering self-abasement to nauseating transformations with a delicious cheese topping. He'd get deeper, but never so much visceral fun.



Terry Pratchett, Death Trilogy

Mort (1987) ****

As a young fan of the morbid personification, I was aware of this book seemingly forever before getting around to it, and it pulls off the theological comic fantasy drama very well. The series has a shallow well of stock characters, even when they're not officially recurring, but the eponymous apprentice is one of their better incarnations.

Reaper Man (1991) ***

The low-key pastoral pottering of Discworld's breakout personification will doubtless be one of the series' highlights, but the juxtaposed ensemble mayhem was typically tedious.

Soul Music (1994) **

I was enjoying these until now, but with Death largely in the shadows, it was just another run-of-the-mill thematic Discworld book, and I'm not really into those.



Arthur Machen, The Great God Pan & The Hill of Dreams

The Hill of Dreams (1907) *****

One of my favourite novels, its ghastly groves were long due cautious revisiting and its troubled bildungsroman is as occult or psychological as you're in the mood for each time. A celebration of literature that achieves its own high standards and rewards attention.

The Great God Pan (1894) ****

Squeamish supernatural serial killer mystery with an incogruous mad scientist prologue.



H. P. Lovecraft, The Complete Fiction of H.P. Lovecraft

The Rats in the Walls (1923) ****

Not my favourite of his haunted houses, but more interesting than I remembered, once it got past the dreary family history. It's what every hokey paranormal exploration video wants to be.

The Festival (1925) ****

"Things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl."

This Halloween reading turned out to be an unseasonal and particularly unfestive Christmas Yuletide special. A short, silly treat, it made up for the veiled teasing of the previous story with its monstrous bat people and river of slime. Merry Festival.