I have not, but I've heard good things.
I wasn't sure where to put this - in the sci-fi thread, or here - but I opted for here, since it seems to be a little more horror-centric.
I've begun reading a collection of short stories called "Angel Dust Apocalypse" by Jeremy Robert Johnson.
It is one of the most widely acclaimed books to come from the Eraserhead Press label, and one of the best known collections to come about in the recent (past 10 years or so) uprising of "bizarro fiction".
I've read the first 3 stories and, well, it's certainly bizarre, and very disturbing.
The first story, "The League of Zeroes", is about body modification, and Johnson seems to say here that people who are into this sort of things (piercings, tattoos, or more extreme stuff) simply do it for attention.
A young man who has recently had his tongue split into three has decided to do one of the most extreme body modifications ever - to have his brain removed from his skull, and kept in a glass case which he can carry around and show off.
He does all of this because, it is revealed, his mother always told him he would be "special", and she told him that "special" means people watching you, looking at you, and paying attention to you without even knowing you. So, he decides to havethese procedures done so people will look at him.
I thought this was kind of an offensive generalization on the part of Johnson, especially since I, myself, have tattoos and piercings, and I do them for my own reasons.
The second story, "Disassociative Skills", involves a boy gutting himself in his bedroom. As the story progresses, we find that he often does strange things like this whenever he finds himself embarassed in public places. For example, sneezing in class (resulting in snot all over his hands) led him to eat an entire pound of Crisco. And getting an erection in gym class made him give himself a colonoscopy with his toothbrush.
These "experiments in control" are interesting in concept, but nothing particularly new is said about this (a phenomenon I have read about many times before), and the writing is pretty amateur.
The third story, "Amniotic Shock in the Last Sacred Place" is about a grown man who is kidnapped from a hospital by a woman who wants to have the "perfect baby".
Her breasts secrete a liquid which causes him to shrink to the size of a baby, and she then places him inside a machine over and over, which constantly re-births him with different series' of deformations.
It takes nearly 150 re-births before he is born in her view of perfection.
On the whole, all the writing is pretty amateurish, really. The attempts to shock greatly outweigh the attempts to make the reader think, and when these times do happen, it feels more like a high school philosophy paper than anything of real value or intellectual merit.
On a side note, Chuck Palahniuk absolutely loves this book.
"All right, that's too hot. Anything we can do about that heat?"
"Rick...it's a flamethrower."
Quoting Daniel Davis (view post)
Yes, it seems this "splatterpunk"/"bizarro fiction" has become quite the cult sensation.
There are some very popular authors out there.
I've read some here and there, but I generally find that most of the authors are more interested in writing about the weirdest, most grotesque images possible, rather than making the reader think.
Which is a shame, because some of these stories have incredible themes that could be explored in great ways, but aren't.
"All right, that's too hot. Anything we can do about that heat?"
"Rick...it's a flamethrower."
So, Michael Cisco...
This guy is awesome.
Fans of Lovecraft and Ligotti, start grabbing these books.
The first proper story in this small collection is a short Herbert West tale.
The first long story (I think the longest in the book), The Depredations of Mur, is quite good. It's full of deliciously detailed passages such as:
"...in a circle they had with carving knives loosed the 'bubbling hippocrene' from their breasts and in their final ecstasies babbled and murmured through mouths clogged with their own gore the secrets that appeared in their minds as they died..."
This story is about some ancient monastery for occult mathematicians or something.
Good stuff.
I am finding that my praises and complaints for Mr. Cisco perfectly mirror those that I register for/against Lovecraft, Ligotti et al. While I really like about 1/2 of the stories in Secret Hours, the others I find too bloated and verbose for their own good. That is, the prose actually gets in the way of the story, and more than a few times during a story I have to go back and reread something just so I can remember what is actually happening. That's not say they are poorly written, or bad stories. They are full of atmosphere, and definitely haunting. It's just that I find these authors frequently trade prose for plot - and that's cool, that's their thing.
Cisco's story, He Will Be There, a part of the King in Yellow mythos, has a particularly haunting ending. In it, two men kidnap a boy. They bring the boy to a field, in which stands an old barn and a slab of concrete. One of the men sits on the concrete and sets himself on fire while the other man forces the boy to watch him die. The man-left-alive then brings the boy back into town and lets him go, telling him to remember what he has seen.
That's awesome.
Last Dragon - J.M. McDermott
Have you ever watched a movie late at night while dosing off? As you alternate between falling asleep and waking up, the film begins to seep into your shallow dreams, and you struggle to make sense of what you've seen. Some of the pieces fall neatly together, while others seem out of place. It's hard to tell the differences between your waking reality and your dreams, as each become more twisted by the film's imagery. Things become fragmented, kind of confusing, but somewhat alluring, and while this situation may not make for the most sound viewing, in some ways it creates a memorable experience that haunts you for days.
Reading J.M. McDermott's first novel, Last Dragon, is like this.
And it is a fantastic experience.
Last Dragon is about a warrior woman named Zhan. The story is told through her fractured memories while she is laying on her death bed. Some things she remembers clearly, while other memories are mere shadows of the actual events. Her memories are all jumbled up, rarely in chronological order, and her mind bounces from one moment to the next, sometimes with clear transitions, and other times with jarring juxtapositions.
My fingers are like spiders drifting over memories in my webbed brain. The husks of the dead gaze up at me, and my teeth sink in and I speak their ghosts. But it's all mixed up in my head. I can't separate lines from lines, or people from people. Everything is in this web, Esumi. Even you. Even me.
And so begins Zhan's tale, a quest to kill her family's murderer that morphs into a journey in which the well-being of an entire nation hangs in the balance. Joining Zhan are her brother Seth, a shaman; Adel, a paladin of the Last Dragon; Korinyes, a Gypsy woman, Seth's love; Fest, a black-skinned mercenary with sharpened teeth; Prince Tsui, a politician in hiding; and a hideous creature, a golum created from a strange magical ritual.
McDermott presents to us a puzzle, one that is not clearly defined, one with odd pieces that don't always fit. And while reading this may sound like more effort than you are willing to devote to a work of genre fiction, I assure you that it is worth the effort. For this is not a typical fantasy (you'll hardly find an ounce of cliche here), and for all of its experimental nature it is surprisingly captivating and easy to follow.
Last Dragon does so much right that it is nearly impossible for me to describe its accomplishments with any amount of brevity. And because I am now striving to keep my reviews short, I will do my best to convey the nature of this tale in as few words as possible. It is easier, perhaps, to list some things this book is not:
1. It is not the first book in an epic, seemingly-never-ending fantasy series.
2. It is not a typical quest narrative, even though there is a quest at the core of story.
3. The characters are not part of a typical party. Yes there is a party of characters, but McDermott does not follow the tried-and-true archetypes all too often detailed in the genre.
4. There are no elves, fairies, dwarves, or dragons - even though the book is called Last Dragon.
5. While it does deal with the politics of a make-believe world, it is neither a king-and-court novel, nor is it a book infatuated with its own world-building.
These five items are all things that I've encountered far too many times when dealing with fantasy. I used to be a big fan of the genre, but it seems as though I have outgrown it; I have moved on while the majority of these stories have remained the same.
However, I didn't just love Last Dragon for the things it is not - on the contrary, I never even thought of these things while reading it. McDermott does such an amazing job at creating his world and telling his tale that it felt like I was reading a fantasy for the first time. It was like being reintroduced to a long lost friend, one who I had been secretly longing to meet again. I read Last Dragon with a perpetual smile on my face, constantly amazed at McDermott's ability to eschew convention and tell a powerful story full of action, adventure, and emotion.
In a word, Last Dragon is haunting. I wish I had read it in the dead of winter, perhaps in a single sitting or two during a bitter-cold and rainy weekend. Not that it needs perfect reading conditions, but I can imagine how much more atmospheric such conditions would be. McDermott's book consumed me - I couldn't read it fast enough, and yet I didn't want it to end. Zhan's tale is tragic, and her voice rings true with emotion. I truly felt as though I were experiencing the memories of a woman on her deathbed, a woman who had lived an extraordinary and challenging life - a life worth reading about.
I cannot recommend this book enough, but I do so with some trepidation. It is always a little scary to like a book so much and to recommend it so enthusiastically. I consider this the new bellwether of fantasy fiction, and I would hope that everyone who reads it feels the same. I would hate for someone to read this and not love it - it is just too good, and I like it far too much.
From what I gather, it has not sold very well, and this is a tad bit upsetting. As I look across the shelves of the fantasy sections at the local bookstores, I can't help but notice the plethora of me-too-looking fantasy fiction, often parts of never-ending series - why do fantasy book covers still look Tolkienesque, have we not moved away from Dungeons & Dragons yet? People are buying this stuff in droves. If you've read a fantasy book in the last year, or if you've outgrown the genre as I have, or even if you've never read a fantasy in your life, do yourself a favor and buy this book. Do the author a favor and buy this book. Do the publisher a favor and buy this book - send them a message. Do me a favor and buy this book. It is damn good and worth your time.
Sold.
"All right, that's too hot. Anything we can do about that heat?"
"Rick...it's a flamethrower."
Sold.
Good man.
I am starting William Peter Blatty's novella, Elsewhere, in the short story collection 999. I've heard it is a pretty killer little haunted-house story.
Damn it's good to be reading Blatty again. Why hasn't this guy written more? I've come to the conclusion that he is my favorite writer of dialog. The dialog he writes is massively entertaining, and it has a wonderful rhythm. It is not "realistic," but it always feels natural for the characters, the situations, and the story being told. It's like old fashion movie dialog, written in a way that makes it clear the writer and the actors enjoy delivering the lines. It is easy to imagine Blatty's characters as actors and actresses in a movie, verbally sparring with one another.
He is simply a superb writer. I hope he gets a chance to make Elsewhere into a film. I know he expressed interest in it, but seeing as how The Ninth Configuration and Legion (Exorcists III) were treated, I can't imagine he is in any hurry to go back to Hollywood.
Book of Skulls - Robert Silverberg
Is there anything more smug, pretentious, and self-absorbed than a young, twenty-something, know-it-all college student? I think not. Arm a developing and impressionable mind with a little bit of esoteric knowledge, coupled with a new found sense of freedom and self-discovery, and watch out! Timothy, Ned, Oliver, and Eli are four such college students, and Robert Silverberg expertly paints these insufferable douche bags with strokes revealing deep rooted insecurities hidden behind masks of debauchery and selfishness. With the promise that two of these jerks would die I read with glee; that two of them would live forever filled me with despair.
You see, Eli has discovered an old, archaic manuscript called The Book of Skulls, that promises eternal life for those willing to make the journey to a hidden monastery in Arizona and partake in a ritual. The ritual demands for four participants, but only two will live: one must sacrifice himself, and another must be murdered in order for the two remaining to be granted immortality. Eli convinces his three roommates to make the journey, and so the four young men embark on a road trip filled with sex, drinking, food, posturing, and pontificating on the greater things in life (and the afterlife). It's a supernatural On the Road mixed with some Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and Robert Anton Wilson.
The book's execution is both a boon and a curse. It is told from the first-person perspective, and each chapter is told from a different character's POV. The chapters are titled with the specific character's name, but Silverberg does such a great job at defining their voices that by mid-book it becomes clear to tell who is speaking without being overtly told. More than anything, this book is a detailed character study, and in this regard it is quite good.
While I do like first-person narratives, there are some problems with them if the author is not careful, and here Silverberg commits one of my biggest pet peeves. We know from the beginning that two of the characters must die, and two of them do die. So how are we reading their tales? We are never told that the characters are writing in diaries, or keeping a journal of their adventures. We read their thoughts told in the past tense, but two of the characters are dead, so then we must be hearing the tale told by ghosts. This is a minor quibble, but it is something that bothers me.
Beyond this slightly flawed execution lays a mysterious narrative wrapped around a nuanced character study. Towards the end of this unfortunate adventure I felt as though I really knew Timothy, Ned, Oliver, and Eli, and I hated them. I wanted to reach into the pages of the book and strangle them, or at least knock some sense into them. I wanted to let them know that they are not great, they are not special, and the world really does exist past the distance of their limited view. And just when I thought their characters couldn't get any more despicable, along comes the confession, a moment in the ritual in which they must each purge themselves of a great and terrible secret.
The road trip to the desert monastery is relatively uneventful. It is not a haunting trip fraught with danger or despair. Truth be told, The Book of Skulls is a surprisingly mellow affair. This was my first experience with Silverberg, and for some reason I was expecting something more fantastic, or something with more horror, and more elements of the supernatural. You could remove the idea of the quest for immortality and still have a decent narrative detailing these four young mens' lives. But by adding the promise of impending doom, this proverbial road has a literal dead end, Silverberg sets a literary timer thus increasing the suspense in a meaningful and immediate manner. We do not need any artificial action, scares, or fantastic situations because everything is working up to a single, great, climatic moment: the ritual itself, one dealing with the ultimate mystery.
The most impressive thing about this short novel is Silverberg's prose. He really is a fantastic writer, much better than I had imagined. I don't know why, but for some reason I had always imagined his prose being only serviceable. However, with Book of Skulls he totally impressed me. Meaningful and well-written passages were jumping at me from every page, and I read each passing chapter with glee and astonishment. This is saying a lot considering how despicable I found the main characters, and, what's more, I can tell this will be a book I will return to for greater understanding.
A book that makes me want to read more from its author is a good book, and I will definitely be reading more from Robert Silverberg in the near future. He seems like an author with something to say, and does so by using genre conventions and solid prose. I am grateful for the time I spent with The Book of Skulls and I look forward to my future adventures in Silverberg's worlds.
Finished up Elsewhere. It is great. Not particularly original, it is a pretty standard haunted house story, one that echoes a number of others, but it is written very well, and the entire thing is executed with great skill. It's short, sweet, and scary - it actually creeped me out a bit towards the end. It also has a subtle and sinister ending.
I love Charlie Huston's vampire-noir series.
The first three were all great, and the fourth looks to be just as good.
"All right, that's too hot. Anything we can do about that heat?"
"Rick...it's a flamethrower."
I've decided to re-read George R. R. Martin's "A Game of Thrones", because I never read the three other books and they're on my shelf.
I really wish I could figure out why my reading retension is so bad. I already don't remember stuff like character names, major plot points, etc. from books I read just a month or two ago.
Anyways, when I'm done with the Martin books, if I am still in a fantasy mood I'll move on to Erikson's "Malazan Book of the Fallen" series, which I also have most of the books from.
"All right, that's too hot. Anything we can do about that heat?"
"Rick...it's a flamethrower."
I read "A Game of Thrones" last year, and absolutely loved it. One of the best (if not THE best) high fantasy I've ever read.
It's actually strikingly similar to Shakespeare, in that it's more about the politics and intimate goings-on of the families, rather than big battles or dragons and elves.
"All right, that's too hot. Anything we can do about that heat?"
"Rick...it's a flamethrower."
Meg, it's definitely worth reading the other books in the A Song of Ice and Fire series. I finished the four books earlier this year and it gets better and better. I you loved the first one, then I'm pretty sure you will like book two and three as well. The fourth book, A Feast For Crows, is a bit weird because it seems that a lot of characters were missing. It's still pretty good though. But the author decided to split the book in two, with one book focusing on the events in King's Landing and the second book focusing on the events in the North and the situation with Daenerys. The second book isn't out yet and there is still no release date.
I'm currently reading the first book of the Malazan series. I had a hard time getting through it at first. The book was a bit disorientating in the beginning but after a while I got a better grip on the world and I'm enjoying it more now.
I was actually recommended the "Malazan" series by my boss, Oleh.
He also said he has enjoyed a lot of the "Wheel of Time" series, but says that even he - a huge fantasy nerd - feels Robert Jordan should just wrap it up already.
"All right, that's too hot. Anything we can do about that heat?"
"Rick...it's a flamethrower."
Last night I started and finished T.E.D. Klein's Children of the Kingdom - amazing. All the atmosphere, horror, and mystery of Lovecraft, but with a far more straightforward and less flowery prose. Even though I love Lovecraft, I often find that I have to be in a very particular mood to read him, I often find that his prose gets in the way of his stories. Klein blew my mind. I expected something like a Lovecraft pastiche, something closer to Michael Cisco, but what I got was something that was similar, and yet all together different in its execution.
I cannot wait to read more of Dark Gods; I hope the other 3 novellas are this good.
That sounds awesome, D.
*bookmarked*
"All right, that's too hot. Anything we can do about that heat?"
"Rick...it's a flamethrower."
You should definitely check out Dark Gods, I think you'll love it.
Yep, it sounds like something I'll like.
I'm checking out copies on the Amazon marketplace.
"All right, that's too hot. Anything we can do about that heat?"
"Rick...it's a flamethrower."
Petey, the second novella in Klein's Dark Gods, is not as good as the first, but it is good none-the-less. It is quite interesting in its execution - the horror elements are barely there, but there is something sinister bubbling away just below the surface. I like how the the unsettling atmosphere of the horror is juxtaposed with the celebration of a party. It ends abruptly, but in all honesty I don't think a more prolonged conclusion would have been any better.
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