Category Archives: Fiction Reviews

Review – “Weirdtongue: A Glistenberry Romance” by D.F. Lewis

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“I come here,” the Weirdmonger roared, “to sell Weirds, and Weirds are merely Words that materialize into all sorts of true existence the moment I release them from between my lips…”

I’d put off reading this book, concerned that it would be over my head, or that I’d see nothing but waffle. I was pleased to discover that the former was only partly the case, the latter not at all.

This isn’t a traditional story, it’s more a book of wordplay. It does have structure and plot, of course, but I’d describe it more as an album of exquisitely linked ideas and visions, almost presented as a linguistic piece of art. But is it any good? While I was often lost with the narrative thread, the text is so rich that it satisfied an itch I didn’t even know I had.It would be difficult and unecessary to break down the plot, but I’ll briefly mention the characters. First we meet the recently hospitalised Gregory Mummerset, a sufferer of the fantastic dream-sickness, and his girlfriend Suzie. There’s a Victorian cat-meat vendor called Blasphemy Fitzworth, and Modal Morales, a black rosette-wearing clown with the Circus of the Tourettes. And not to forget Padgett Weggs, a homeless man who just might be writing this story in his head.

We follow their entwining adventures, but the essence of Weirdtongue lies in the metaphors, the tricks with language and rhyme, the narrative interjections. I was going to give a few examples, but there are too many to choose from, and to pull them from context would lessen the accumulative effect.

The concepts here are intricate, sometimes lucid, other times baffling: themes of identity, reality and the transcience of memory. The Glistenberry Romance of the subtitle refers to a parallel of the Glastonbury festival, and this element is evocative and contains some rather poignant scenes between the characters, which is something I wasn’t expecting.

Reading this book made me feel tired but refreshed, almost like the endorphin rush of a work-out, which is probably because that’s exactly what it is. Weirdtongue certainly demands patience and effort from the reader, but plenty of realistic and sometimes amusing dialogue balances the semantic exuberance. D.F. Lewis is an extraordinary narrator and storyteller, and one is swept away by the feast of words, or weirds as the Weirdmonger itself would call them: the nemophile wordsmith who ties the chapters together.

At times I felt frustrated, and found myself becoming lost in the ever-changing textures, not to mention needing to reach for a dictionary. This author doesn’t pause to let the stragglers catch up. But I pressed on and found that such moments just heightened the rewards, and the whole experience just left me wanting more. I intend to read it again as I suspect there are nuances of fantasy and humour that were missed (or misunderstood) the first time around.

It is quite short in length, but this is balanced by the time it takes to read it, and a longer work of this type would have been imposing. After all, you don’t sprint through the Louvre. You amble, pausing to reflect and analyse the layers, and should you find yourself confused or lost, you can just shrug, sit back and bask in the deeply colourful wonderland of language that D.F. Lewis has presented.

Weirdtongue is very immersive and subjective: I don’t believe that any two people would read it and have the same experience. It’s certainly not for everyone, and there will be those who actively dislike it. But if my attempt to review it has piqued your interest, then perhaps give it a shot. This peculiar and elusively satisfying book deserves it, and so do you.

D.F. Lewis

Review – “Angels of the Silences” by Simon Bestwick

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I’d been looking forward to some new Bestwickian horror, and beamed when I read of “Angels of the Silences” impending release, and then again – twice as wide – when the beautifully produced novella flopped onto my doormat. I acquired it as part of a generous bonus offer when purchasing another chapbook from Pendragon Press, but I would’ve happily paid the cover price.AngelsThe tale concerns our narrator, Emily, and her best friend Biff. They’re likeable goth girls full of attitude and heart, and fairly normal other than the fact that nine months ago they were brutally murdered. They try to keep their other friends from harm, but it soon becomes clear that even undead guardians can’t control the darkness in the world.

Simon’s 1st person prose has always been realistic and Emily proves to be no exception. She’s endearing, intelligent if sometimes naive, loves her friends, and her story shines with that simplistic combination of angst and hope that comes so effortlessly to the young.

The novella reflects subtly on our tribal natures, both its positive and most horrible elements, and I suspect it was inspired by real life events. I also love this idea of the afterlife in which ghosts range from concrete through to mere lurking shadows. The story hints at the reasons, but leaves us to ponder and although I would like to see this concept expanded, there was no need for it here.

This author always stirs me. There’s sobering anger, dark satisfaction, and some incredibly fragile scenes. “Angel of the Silences” made me fill up, so suddenly that it took me by surprise, and I admire anybody who can inflict that merely with simple words on a page.

A one-sitting read, it has real warmth and humour as well as the horror, and should have broad appeal whatever your particular tastes. Put aside the time and savour it.

Simon Bestwick

Pendragon Press

“One Monster Is Not Enough” by Paul Finch

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I became familiar with Paul Finch through his anthologised short fiction, and he always ticks all the boxes. One Monster Is Not Enough, a themed collection of 8 novellas and novelettes courtesy of Gray Friar Press, continues that tradition of quality. With the freedom to expand his tales, this book is a treat.One MonsterIt kicks off with one of the shorter stories: “The Old North Road”. Here we find a down-on-his-luck historian travelling to a ruined abbey for a project on the legendary Green Man. He meets a suspicious couple out in the quiet countryside, and the unease notches up slowly towards a terrifying climax in which the supernatural almost takes a back seat to the three human characters. But only almost.

“The Tatterfoal” concerns the widowed wife of an 80s pop star. She arranges for his former band-mates and family to attend a party in her isolated mansion: a place rife with tales about the legendary man-horse of the title. This story keeps us guessing throughout, and ladles on the atmosphere including the best use of fog since… well, The Fog. My only complaint is that it felt slightly too long, and shorn of a few pages, it would’ve been truly unputdownable.

“Calibos” is an immediately gripping SF story in which a titanic mechanical crab – designed to harvest seabed specimens – clambers onto dry land and wreaks a trail of carnage across the country. We follow a crack squad of soldiers into the crab’s guts as they try to bring it down, fighting off the brilliantly anatomical internal defences. Although this is a lighter tale, it’s not without horror, especially when we encounter the human “specimens” the Calibos has collected and processed. The angle of innocent technology gone awry is handled with aplomb, and it also reflects on the value of human life within the world of politics.

Next up is a story with a strong urban flavour. Set in Manchester, “Hag Fold” is a serial killer tale told by an ex-cop. The childhood reflections are superb, and reading it is like watching a grim jigsaw being assembled.

“The Retreat” is a definite favourite. Set during World War II, a group of German soldiers trek across the frozen Russian Steppes and discover a forest shack that seems strangely welcoming. Utterly intriguing from the off, this story has a nightmarish quality to which the hardened soldiers respond perfectly. It’s also notable for its battle scenes, which are nothing short of breathtaking. To read brutal, realistic, wince-inducing bloodshed in such elegant prose is an unforgettable experience, and you would think the author was actually there.

“Kid” is narrated by a tough, bitter ex-boxer. He plans to tell his ex-wife what he thinks of her – and knock her new fella’s teeth out – but instead gets lost in a threadbare and indifferent part of London called Baker’s Wood. He’s an eloquent narrator, despite his primal nature and other shortcomings. I won’t ruin the surprises, but the whole package is a triumph of both concept and voice.

In “Red in Beak and Claw” we meet Ben: gangster muscle in the witness protection programme. When he’s relocated to a country cottage with his wife, he learns of a local robber’s hoard said to be protected by a gigantic, man-slaying cockerel. This tale shows the author’s talent for keeping those pages turning fast, and like the previous story, you engage even though the protagonist is somebody you might avoid in the street. This investment is helped by plenty of character back-story, but as always, not a whiff of infodumping. The conclusion doesn’t quite have the clout as some of the others, but it certainly isn’t disappointing, and it’s a brilliant story to re-read once you know what’s going on.

“Crow-Raven” brings the entertainment to a close. The first couple of paragraphs give a rather bland tour of a medieval manor called Buckton Hall. Okay. Then the narrative begins to describe a couple of murdered corpses in that same polite, slightly jocular and informative tone of a tour-guide, and suddenly I was beaming. This is writing. It transpires that Buckton Hall used to be owned by a family of vicious hunchbacks, and we follow the efforts of a specialist police unit for investigating strange and paranormal crimes. The whole thing pans out like the pilot for an English adult version of the X-Files with plenty of humour, gore, scares, and a dollop of sexual tension.

I suggest getting hold of One Monster Is Not Enough immediately. All the stories are strong. They conclude with a satisfying flourish, with not a hackneyed twist in sight, and the supernatural tales are just as real and chilling as those with concrete foundations. Paul Finch also has an extraordinary ear for dialogue: there are big-budget scriptwriters who can’t pen scenes as natural as those in this book. Regardless of genre, it’s genuinely heart-warming to see the short fiction form in the hands of somebody so bloody good at it.

Gray Friar Press

Paul Finch

Review – “Pretty Little Dead Things” by Gary McMahon

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During the last year, I’ve enjoyed watching Gary McMahon rise from a champion of the small press to the bigger leagues, and his lastest mass market release perfectly demonstrates why this is so. This novel is a very tight combination of noir, horror and character drama.

In Pretty Little Dead Things, we meet Thomas Usher, a man who loses his wife and young child in a traffic accident, but develops a supernatural talent to keep him busy through the years of bitter grief. He can see the recently deceased, and they want to tell him things. As the story progresses, and he investigates the murder of a gangster’s daughter and the kidnapping of a local child, it becomes clear that his gift is the only thing that keeps him trudging through life. He yearns for redemption, yet refuses to let go and punishes himself with tattoos to commemorate those he has failed.PrettyAs with all Gary’s previous publications, the characters are strong right down to the cameos. I expected to become weary of Usher’s grief-stricken self-flagellation, but the pathos is such that I discovered myself right in his corner, and the other characters – including an old romantic interest and a cancer-addled police colleague – also force your investment. And you won’t forget the menacing figure of Mr. Shiloh and his plastic, soulless smile.

The author’s attention to detail is as sharp as ever. He has a neat trick of  allowing the subconscious to notice little things that you only fully acknowledge later on when they turn out to be important. Perhaps his prose is slightly less rich than before, but this isn’t a complaint. Far from it: silent narration takes real writing skill.

This book has a very bleak atmosphere at times, and some segments are nightmarish in their lucidity. A scene involving some recently deceased corpses dangling from the protagonist’s landing is an image so clear that I might as well have seen a photograph of it. This makes it very difficult to forget. And after Usher is menaced by faceless hoodies, walking through the city at night after reading this isn’t quite the same.

There are creepy layers of reality throughout – some ghostly, others concrete – but even with the latter, everything seems slightly off-kilter and wrong: the essence of any quality piece of ghost/horror fiction.

It’s a less “noisy” novel than Hungry Hearts – his 2010 zombie novel from Abaddon books – and feels more like old-school Gary McMahon. Here, he relies more on mood and atmosphere rather than action. But that’s not to say Pretty Little Dead Things doesn’t slam its foot on the accelerator when required. The first part of the book has a gentle, more literary flavour, but it has all pleasingly kicked off by the end.

As usual, I can do nothing but recommend this book. The follow-up Dead Bad Things is due later this year, and I’ll be at the front of the queue, rubbing my hands like a hungry ghoul at the kicked-in doors of a city morgue.

Angry Robot

Gary McMahon

Review – “Roots” by Daniel I Russell

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I’ve been reading more and more e-books recently, lured by the price, immediacy and sheer number of titles available. I particularly like the opportunity to casually download single novelettes or novellas, which during the days of print-only publishing, would’ve been part of a larger and more expensive collection.

One such particular pleasure is “Roots” by Daniel I Russell. In this standalone novelette, we meet Richard, a regular copper frustrated by an increasing number of missing person cases in the neighbourhood. Unbeknownst to him, the murderous culprit lives right across the street, and has been using the butchered corpses to fertilise his garden. But there’s a very hungry and dangerous bit of greenery in that garden, a plant that absorbs the memories of the dead. And it’s growing stronger…RootsThere are no crime procedural elements to this story: this is proud horror and all the better for it. It throws the tropes of serial killers, the undead and monster vegetation together and the results are a crisp and well constructed tale. Roots has the air of a chapter in a television show, like an episode of Masters of Horror or a particularly lurid Tales from the Crypt. The author’s matter-of-fact prose style helps, letting the dialogue and actions speak for themselves and making for an effortless read.

There’s plenty of threat lurking throughout, both subtle and immediate, so even moments of domestic normality seem shadowed and askew. The violence is realistic, and one particular assault from the monster induced an actual writhe. But the author understands there can be as much horror in a footstep echoing down an empty street or a rustle in the trees, and uses such atmosphere and tone to great effect.

My only complaint was an odd situation involving a lift home from a nightclub during which a woman ended up wandering the deserted streets alone. It didn’t quite add up, and felt like she had been shoehorned into jeopardy for the purposes of a scare. But it’s my only complaint, and that scene is still pretty terrifying once it gathers momentum.

Give it a shot. Roots delivers half an hour or so of monstrous fun and is certainly worth the price.

Daniel I Russell

Favourite Books of 2010

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Some of these were actually 2009 releases, but it wasn’t their fault they were adrift somewhere in the middle of my eternally towering to-be-read pile for a year or so.

So in no particular order, my top 10 genre reads of 2010 were…

  • The Harm – Gary McMahon
  • Nekropolis – Tim Waggoner
  • Warrior Wolf Women of the Wasteland – Carlton Mellick III
  • Mostly Monochrome Stories – John Travis
  • Taste of Tenderloin – Gene O’Neill
  • Null Immortalis: Nemonymous #10 – Various Authors (Edited by DF Lewis)
  • The Seventh Black Book of Horror – Various Authors (Edited by Charles Black)
  • Tide of Souls – Simon Bestwick
  • In Sickness – LL Soares and Laura Cooney
  • One Monster Is Not Enough – Paul Finch

Forced to pick, my overall favourite has to be Paul Finch’s “One Monster Is Not Enough”. It’s an exceptional collection, which made it onto this list before I was even half way through.

Review – “In Sickness” by LL Soares & Laura Cooney

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I fancied something ghastly to read, so “Stories from a Very Dark Place” sounded like just the ticket.

LL Soares and Laura Cooney are a husband and wife team, and reading this alarming book makes me wonder if they should ever have been allowed – for the good of humankind – to form such a terrifying partnership. Dubbed “the Bonnie and Clyde of the horror genre” by Brian Keene, they have very different voices, but both pack an equal punch, and many of the situations presented here will simmer long after the book is closed.In sickness“In Sickness”  is divided into 3 parts: a solo selection of stories from each author, followed by a collaboration. Laura Cooney is up first, and “Wasps” is a powerful curtain-raiser. Here we meet Clint, a young boy who can’t shake off the ghost of a slightly odd and embarrassing girl he’d been forced to play with before her brutal death. It evokes the guilty frustrations of childhood with an uncomfortable poignancy, and concludes with an ice-cold blow.

“The Hirsute You” is a solid monster story before we plunge into “Puppy Love”. For me the most chilling piece in the book, it’s a subtle study of a woman who plays constant psychology with both her rescue-shelter puppy and new girlfriend. It unsettled me for several reasons, and the atmosphere of control and abuse is just as disturbing as what actually occurs. An incredibly effective piece of writing.

Next is “A Crown of Mushrooms”, a slice of self-destructive desire starring Rasputin, the Mad Monk himself, before part 1 concludes with “Number 808”. This is a sharp story with a dystopian flavour about a lonely victim of abuse. The bitterness of exploitation drips from the pages; Laura Cooney writes with her finger on the pulse,whatever the subject matter.

While his wife infects your imagination and unsettles your conscience, LL Soares has more of a lurid attack to his stories, favouring direct jeopardy and letting the actions of his characters speak for themselves.

First we meet Julie in “Little Black Dress”. A nervous, straight-laced girl, she decides to don the fish-nets and dress up as a saucy witch for Halloween. Despite the initial liberation and empowerment, she gains perhaps more than she bargained for. It’s engrossing, with moments of palpable threat that we share thanks to the strength of the characters.

Location is also put to good use in LL’s fiction. “Second Chances” haunts us with a hardened drinker who is drawn back to a beach of blue clay, before we venture inside the “Mating Room”. Here a doctor uses unwilling women in his treatment of a lustful missing link called Billy, and it has a rewarding pay-off for those who can stomach the sexual violence.

“Head Games” is a grisly yarn featuring a troop of intelligent monkeys before we lose all hope in “The No! Place”. This is a triumph, the title referring to a mental refuge into which an abused woman retreats from her vicious boyfriend. Engaging right from the first line, it forces us to share in the helpless plight and makes for a very tense read: certainly not your average abuse/revenge tale. The pitch-black twist might have even made my jaw drop a little.

Closing part 2 is “Private Exhibition”, describing a human exhibit in a public gallery who aggravates her physical wounds and refuses to let them heal. Dealing with need and personal scars, it’s one of LL’s less visceral stories but leaves an appropriately bitter taste.

Part 3 is the collaborative title novella and I was fascinated to see what this marital hybrid entity would produce. “In Sickness” introduces a married couple, Zach and Maddy, deteriorating beneath the weight of their personal demons. They’ve suffered several pregnancy miscarriages, and Zach keeps a pregnant mistress while Maddy hits the bottle, both haunted by ghosts of what could have been. The dialogue is uncomfortably realistic, and the tale juggles rage and tenderness with aplomb. The inevitable descent slowly turns down the dimmer switch towards a conclusion that ends the book perfectly. And that’s in a very dark place indeed.

These two authors clearly love what they do, and that twisted passion has resulted in an unashamed horror collection with plenty of chills. The stories mostly fit the themes of obsession, damaged love and the cruelty that lurks in relationships of all kinds, and their varied styles complement each other. LL Soares makes you afraid of the darkness, and Laura Cooney makes you brood about why.

“In Sickness” indeed, and it’s a good job the authors neglected to include the rest of that particular marital vow. There’s nothing healthy to be found in these pages.

With creepy interior artwork, this collection is available now from Skullvines Press.

LL Soares

Laura Cooney

Review – “Mostly Monochrome Stories” by John Travis

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A couple of years ago, I was lucky enough to be in a pub on the edge of the Yorkshire moors one misty night and hear John Travis read an old story of his from an issue of “All Hallows”. I was struck by the prickly atmosphere his words created, the power and subtle humour of his literary voice.

With his gentle Yorkshire brogue whispering in the back of my head, I finally opened this book: his first collection from Exaggerated Press. John Travis writes thoughtful, precise and wildly entertaining stories. His ideas are sometimes utterly outrageous – his imagination has long since gnawed through its chain and escaped – yet this doesn’t prevent an extraordinary level of pathos. And while fun, this book is littered with traps that keep the reader on their toes. The prose is suffused with dark wit, not of the wiseracking variety, but the wry.

The author’s note explains the intriguing title: John has a medical condition named synesthesia, which is a kind of merging of the senses through which he sees colour in music and art. These Mostly Monochrome Stories are those he viewed as being akin to little black and white films, and there is a definite mood and resonance throughout. But onto the stories themselves. While there were none of the 23 that I disliked, a few certainly linger in my memory and I suspect will do for some time.MonochromeThe wild opener “Pyjamarama” gives a great taste of what’s to come, the title referring to a dimension of punishment where naughty children are supposedly sent when they refuse to sleep. Reading this tale is like watching a nightmarish animation, but it packs a sobering pay-off.

“Idle Hands” is in the form of an essay written in class. It’s an immediately intriguing piece that reflects upon the generation gap between young and old before the tone turns sinister and it leaves us guessing.

“Nothing” is a gem. A truly heartbreaking story of a man grieving his wife and child in a dingy flat, he deteriorates before our eyes into a figure of miserable delusion. The nostalgia is brittle as bone china, and all humanity laid bare. This is one of those rare stories that finds a dark nook of your brain where it will remain for good.

“The Happy Misanthropist” is an apocalyptic short take on genie in a lamp tales, in this case a discarded beer can, told with a wonderfully paranoid, bitter voice and concluding with a wicked flourish. I immediately reread the story, and enjoyed it even more once I was in on the joke. The same can be said for “Dance of the Selves”, which involves a devilish set of rubber-tipped pencils (I know!) and could’ve been one of the stranger segments in an old portmanteau horror movie.

Other definite peaks are “The Terror and the Tortoiseshell” and “The Mutt Who Knew Too Much”. Both are set in a speculative world after The Terror: an event that gave animals the size, abilities and intelligence of humans, and they’re now firmly in control. Our narrator is a noir detective cat by the name of Benji Spriteman, solving murders on the mean streets with his lieutenant, a scruffy basset hound named Dingus. They’re brilliant slices of droll crime fiction, and only improved by the fact that they’re cast with animals, especially ones so amusingly dead-pan. This just shows the author’s range of style and voice.

“Self Disgust” is an ice-cold piece of flash that inspires grave reflection, but we’re soon saved by the arrival of “The Arse of Dracula”. This bawdy homage presents an unearthed screenplay from 1970s “Anvil” studios, and is even more entertaining if you imagine Cushing and Lee in their pivotal roles.

“The Splintered Forest” is a old-fashioned, haunting tale that oozes a fractured reality, but it’s tales like “Reduced to Clear” that made me truly uncomfortable. Here, a discontented child and busy mum take us on a descent from hustle-bustle normal life into a nightmare of cynical consumerism and conformity. It left a bitter taste and the bleak undertones remind me very much of Susan Hill at her peak.

“The Strainer” is a 3-page delight, concerning the fate of a man who suffers from terrible constipation. The prose shines with ghoulish glee and while I expected the humorous tone, there’s a knowing menace to the imagery that rouses a shudder too. With shades of Pan, it would’ve sat nicely in one of Charles Black’s Books of Horror. The same goes for the drunken wild ride that is “Ode to Hermes #54”, rounding off the collection with a bang.

John Travis is a very gifted writer of weird fiction and possibly even ridiculous ideas are redeemed by his craftsman’s pen. We genuinely empathise with his characters, struggling to cope with the menace thrown at them, be it in the form of pyjamas, stationery or undead postmen. There is a Lovecraftian threat to many of the stories and several unpleasant truths are revealed along the way: themes of alienation and reflections on modern society.

John is an old-fashioned storyteller who cares not for rules or the beaten path, he strives only to take us on a journey that we will enjoy. His monochrome world shines with sharp dialogue and poignancy and we’re lucky that he has a whip vicious enough to tame his grinning imagination onto the page.

With a pleasant and revealing introduction from Simon Clark, “Mostly Monochrome Stories” is available from Exaggerated Press here.

Review – The Amicus Tributes of John Llewellyn Probert

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Fans of old-school British horror will fondly remember Amicus studios. Popular in the 60s and 70s, Amicus favoured modern portmanteau anthologies such as Asylum, From Beyond the Grave and Tales from the Crypt, providing an alternative to the saucy period gothic of Hammer. If you’re a fan of these movies, or just enjoy intelligent, wry and entertaining horror fiction, then these two books from Gray Friar Press are certainly for you.Faculty“The Faculty of Terror” and “The Catacombs of Fear” are standalone collections, each bound by a sumptuous framework story. In the former, a young man is invited to dinner at a creepy university building one damp night where storytelling is to be the order of the evening. In the latter, a nervous priest arrives at his new post in a sinister black cathedral, and must learn the shocking experiences of his parishioners.

The tales transport us to a wide array of locales, such as a rain-lashed urban office block, an isolated cottage in the Welsh valleys, and an illegal surgeon’s lair in the back streets of Calcutta. We meet all manner of characters, including a beautiful wheelchair-bound ballerina, a group of murdered asylum seekers, and a ghost in a photo booth. I tried, but couldn’t for the life of me pick a favourite story. Every single one is an expertly-crafted slice of macabre.

Catacombs

The author writes with a crisp, educated prose that moves the tales along at a confident pace towards their final twists. Some of them conclude with dark humour, others with moments of true horror, both poignant and shocking. The twists themselves are in the spirit of the Amicus films, but wonderfully inventive and easily avoid well-trodden horror punchlines.I particularly enjoyed it that music features prominently in several of these stories, be it in the form of composers, musicians or instruments (including the most grisly church organ ever created). As the old Amicus films were beautifully scored, this adds an appropriate element of theatre and also a layer of authenticity to the text.

I can only hope the author pens another installment. John Llewellyn Probert’s imagination is a national treasure, and perfectly suited to this brand of horror. He gets away with lurid and cruel material with his eloquent, delightful tongue – he isn’t afraid to tell a tale right down to the bone – but there are no cheap shots. It’s unusual for such traditional technique and atmosphere to be merged with modern content. It’s even more unusual that it succeeds so mightily.

Complete with genuinely interesting introductions, interviews and story notes, these books are available from the publisher below. Be brave and give your spine a well-deserved tingle. You won’t be disappointed. Just amused, disturbed and very glad that you discovered them.

Gray Friar Press

John Llewellyn Probert

Review – “Apeshit” by Carlton Mellick III

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I normally only review current releases for the Hellforge, but I enjoyed this 2008 beauty from Eraserhead Press too much to let it sneak by without fanfare.

Stop me if you’ve heard this before…

Six teenagers go to an isolated cabin for a party weekend of booze and sex, only to discover themselves being stalked by a mutant freak lurking in the woods.ApeshitFamiliar? Of course it is. The author is an unapologetic fan of bad slasher B-movies, and this book is his indulgence. The problem can be that parodies of this kind often end up as a checklist of clichés masquerading as homage. But not here. We have Carlton Mellick III at the helm, and his imagination is far too out of control for that.

Much, in fact most of the content wanders from this beaten path. The author has countless nasty and hilarious tricks up his sleeve, but I’m not going to let on what they are. After all, the back cover blurb had the decency not to spoil anything for me. And to be honest, that is the only remotely “decent” thing about Apeshit.

The original idea was for a screenplay, which would be stunning if there’s anybody out there with the balls to film it uncut. The prose creates an appropriate cinematic feel, being comprised of short sentences and told in the present tense. This can be a risk, but it clearly comes naturally to the author.

But the real strength is the characters. The six teens – your average bunch of horny jocks and pretty cheerleaders at a glance – are so intriguing and damaged that we barely need any murderous slayers lurking in the woods. There’s so many neuroses, deformities and vile festishes bubbling beneath their clean-limbed exteriors that after a while, the mutants aren’t necessarily the main focus. They become just one thread amongst many, and the pace is powered by sharp dialogue as well as action. This author shines when nailing the subtle nuances of human interaction, and there are times when I was surprised by the level of insight and maturity in such a proudly “fucked-up” book, to quote the back cover.

One element of Apeshit I particularly admired, was that the idea of it being a parody fostered a deceptive sense of security. But there are times when the black humour takes a back seat to the horror, and this played cheeky mind games with my comfort zone. It’s a device I hadn’t yet encountered in the author’s work, and it added a welcome edge to the experience.

Other than a couple of annoying text errors (I do wish these books were more thoroughly proof-read) I have no complaints. The elements are combined with the skill of a bestselling author, and at 170 pages of well-spaced text, it doesn’t outstay its welcome. Like any good showman, it leaves you wanting more. While considerably less bizarro than much of Carlton Mellick III’s canon, it soon descends into an outrageous gorefest, constantly surprising you with new highs (or lows!) of twisted imagination. And once you’ve got your breath back, the explanatory epilogue neatly ties up this sick little package.

The back cover declares it is perhaps one of the most fucked-up books ever written. For much of it, I thought “Nah, it’s not that bad”. By the end, I thought “Actually, maybe they’ve got a point…”

If you’re a little tweaked in the head, buy it and enjoy. Then give it to your mum for Christmas.

Carlton Mellick III