Burnt Black Suns

Simon Strantzas is one of an abundant crop of Canadian horror writers who emerged over the last ten to fifteen years. Burnt Black Suns falls squarely into the modern horror genre (if I'm any judge, which I may not be). The overall tone is somewhat grim, but there are a few touches of humour - and indeed absurdity. Indeed, at times I was genuinely unsure whether Strantzas is offering 'straight' contemporary horror or a satirical commentary upon it. But perhaps that's the point?

'Thistle's Find', for instance, is a grisly little story in which the narrator - a typical pulp fiction low-life seeking sanctuary - discovers that the eponymous mad scientist has build a strange portal. Something has come through this trans-dimensional door, and without giving too much away it sums up why a lot of horror fiction puts me off. It manages to be wholly incredible as a story, and at the same time rather unpleasant.

'Emotional Dues' is a more sophisticated take on the body horror theme, with an artist unwisely trying to cut out the middle man and sell his paintings directly to a shadowy collector.The collector, it transpires, does more than simply gloat over his purchases... A problem I had with this one is that it feels as if two very different stories have been bolted together. One is a pulpy tale of a strange, grotesque entity and its bizarre needs, the other concerns the source of an artist's creativity. Arguably, one idea informs the other, but for me they merely seemed to get tangled to no good purpose.

Several stories show Lovecraft's influence. 'On Ice' is an almost straight Mythos tale, in which a scientific expedition to an Arctic island find more than they bargained for. There are some powerful passages, but it is somewhat undermined by the impression that these are Hollywood movie scientists and nothing like the real thing. A similar problem besets 'One Last Bloom', in which a deep sea expedition finds alien life. All good fun for the Arkham academics.

Altogether different is 'By Invisible Hands'. It has a whiff of Ligottian fantasy about it, with its tale of a puppet maker recruited to perform one last job. It works as horror because the nightmare situation is dramatised rather than explained, leaving the reader unsure as to how much of it is real and how much the product of a mind that has forgotten what humanity is like.

'Strong as a Rock' also recalls he author's earlier fiction. Here two brothers embark upon an ill-advised climb, and one is injured. The reasons for the climb - a way of bonding and overcoming grief over bereavement - become interwoven with the strange events at the hospital where they seek help. There is a genuine sense of disorientation, here - the horror of a world that we can pretend makes sense, but which falls apart under stress, as do we.

'Burnt Black Suns', a novella that closes the collection, is also powerful. A man sets out (long-suffering, pregnant girlfriend in tow) to find his ex-wife, who absconded with their son. The quest takes them to a Mexican town where the locals follow a strange hybrid of the Aztec and Christian faiths. The atmosphere is well-evoked, as is the protagonist's selfish, blinkered obsession with his son. The grand finale is suitably overwhelming, and bizarre enough to be a genuine religious experience - something few horror writers can manage.

I preferred the earlier collections Cold to the Touch and Beneath the Surface - get them if you can. But Burnt Black Suns has plenty to offer, and I suspect that its sheer diversity means that most readers will find something to satisfy them.

Le Fanu

Born 200 years ago today, J. Sheridan Le Fanu is one of a handful of authors of Victorian Gothic fiction to register on the radar of the modern horror fan. Unlike Bram Stoker and Mary Shelley, Le Fanu wrote more than one classic tale - 'The Familiar', 'Green Tea', 'Schalken the Painter' and 'Carmilla' are all much-anthologised, and at least one of his novels, Uncle Silas, has never been out of print.

That said, 'Carmilla' has made most of the running when it comes to film and other adaptations. Without Le Fanu the history of vampire fiction would have been different, and the British horror film of the late Sixties/early Seventies would have been stuck for ideas.

So, here is my little tribute page for an author whose work I've always enjoyed and often find myself re-reading. Let's begin seriously, with an article at the Time Higher Educational Supplement that places Le Fanu the writer and the man within the sweep of Irish (and British) history. There is also an appreciation at The Irish Times. The latter ends with the following from V.S. Pritchett.

“Le Fanu’s ghosts are the most disquieting of all ghosts ... The secret doubt, the private shame, the unholy love scratch away with malignant patience in the guarded mind. It is we who are the ghosts. Let illness, late nights and green tea [the title of one of the In a Glass Darkly stories] weaken the catch we normally keep clamped so firmly down, and out slink one by one all the hags and animals of moral or Freudian symbolism.”

Over at Project Gutenberg, we find Le Fanu's books ranged by order of popularity. 'Carmilla' is number one, followed by Uncle Silas, then a collection of 'Ghostly Tales'. Not at all surprising.

Here is a fairly recent BBC dramatisation of 'Carmilla'.



And here are some covers of Le Fanu books from around the literary world.

Joel Lane stories online

The death of Joel Lane last November was a considerable shock to many lovers of horror/weird fiction. He was only fifty years old. Spectral Press has an online archive and it will soon include several of his stories. One is already up. You can read Joel's story 'Black Country' here.

Joel Lane was very encouraging in the early days of ST when I wondered if the game was worth the candle. He even contributed stories and a memorable essay ('This Spectacular Darkness'), for which I was very grateful. I have nothing brilliant or insightful to say about him, except that he left us all a legacy of fine, intelligent writing.

Count Magnus in the Frame

Art by Paul Lowe

Chatting recently (via trend social media) with celebrated ghost story author Steve Duffy, we touched upon the various adaptations of M.R. James stories. 'Count Magnus' was mentioned, as a story that has not been filmed despite being very popular. Most admirers of MRJ would put it in their top ten, if not top five.

One possibility is that the framing narrative causes problems. As you may recall, the papers of Mr. Wraxall fall into the nameless narrator's hands after a house he inherits is torn down. Thus we know from the the start that the story is happening at two removes - it's a story on the page for a person in a story on the page. As a framing device it's fine, but it might be a bit tricky on screen.

Or would it? Because the essence of the story is the excessive and arbitrary nature of the Count's violence. We know that, when he was alive, he dealt out brutal punishments to fractious peasants 'with no sparing hand'. We discover that in death he exacts an appalling toll upon two poachers in his woods. One is driven mad by witnessing he fate of the man who is killed by having... Well, if you haven't read the story I won't spoil it. Heh heh heh.

Where was I? Oh, yes, the only reasonable view is that Mr. Wraxall falls foul of the Count simply because - like the poachers - he shows insufficient respect for an old-school aristocrat. The English tourist is rather flippant about Magnus, calling him a rascal and so forth. This is enough to trigger what is essentially a kind of wild hunt across northern Europe, with Wraxall as the prey.

Getting back to our putative adaptation, what might work is simply this. Narrator chappie is presented with MS found in demolished house. Produces it in front of friend(s) and reads it to him/them. Asks 'What do you think?' A sensible chap remarks that it's a load of nonsense - of course a long-dead Swedish count couldn't do such things. 'Count Magnus is at best a heap of old bones, dear fellow - and has been for centuries!'

Woops. Cue closing shot of sceptical chap exiting onto night-bound street, at the end of which we see the profiles of a tall, cloaked figure and a much smaller companion. Perhaps a quick flash of tentacle, give the punters what they want.

Well, that's my take on it. If anyone called Spielberg wants me, I'll be in the bath.

That's All, Folks!

I've decided to close ST for submissions a bit early because I have received a great many stories. There is another reason that I'm not at liberty to reveal at the moment. Yes, a big mysterious secret, but such is the glamorous world of tiny magazine editing. Sorry to disappoint anyone planning to submit this week, but I'm snowed under and I've got to take the time and do justice to everyone.

A Row About Lovecraft

The World Fantasy Award is a little statuette of H.P. Lovecraft, who was intensely racist. Some people think this a bad thing and want to change the award. Others claim Lovecraft's racism was no big deal at the time and that we shouldn't just a writer of the inter-war years by modern standards anyway. I disagree with this - to me, as an admirer of Lovecraft, racism is obviously central to his artistic world-view. If they don't change the award now, they'll only have to repeat this debate in few years when a sufficiently high-profile writer rejects it, or refuses to be nominated in the first place. But someone says it far better than me here. Well done David Nickle (an author new to me) for summing things up so well.

The legacy of racists like Lovecraft is still very much in play in contemporary society, from the Obama birthers to the Ferguson cops and most points between... and the discussion as to how to contain that legacy is far from over. In a perverse way, Lovecraft's retrograde views on race may be his most socially relevant contribution to 20th century weird literature... not as an advocate of his views, not by any means, but as an example of where we've been and what too many of us still share, an opportunity to critique those views through the lens of cosmic horror and alien gods. 

Ian D. Montfort

Why aren't more psychics like this?