If I see a premise like ‘man remembers a book that everyone else insists doesn’t exist’, I am instantly sold. All My Colors follows an obnoxious wouldIf I see a premise like ‘man remembers a book that everyone else insists doesn’t exist’, I am instantly sold. All My Colors follows an obnoxious would-be writer, Todd, who’s outraged to find he’s the only one among his friends – in his whole town, even – who’s heard of the classic novel ‘All My Colors’ by Jake Turner. When he discovers he’s seemingly the only person who knows of it full stop, he decides to publish the thing himself and cash in. But, of course, when he does so, he quickly realises the original book will (literally) haunt him every step of the way. It’s fast-paced and funny – the blurb uses the word ‘rollicking’ and that actually feels appropriate. I’m always pleased when stories like this manage not to descend into some garbled cosmic horror nonsense; impressively, All My Colors maintains its tone and narrative control to the very end. A fun, quick, well-pitched horror novel that actually lives up to its concept – really good!...more
Having lost her fiancé in the First World War, Stella is packed off to stay with her sister Madeleine, accompanied by her maid, the artless and slightHaving lost her fiancé in the First World War, Stella is packed off to stay with her sister Madeleine, accompanied by her maid, the artless and slightly unearthly Annie Burrows. Madeleine lives at her husband’s ancestral home, a grotesquely gaudy pile called Greyswick, which quickly proves to be unwelcoming – not least because the sisters can hear a child crying every night. Their notions of a haunting are dismissed as hysteria, and with a suspicious mother-in-law, imposing housekeeper, Annie’s strange intuition and, later, the arrival of a paranormal researcher, they have lots more to contend with. Is there a ghost at Greyswick, or something even more sinister?
The Lost Ones is an excellent historical ghost story with lashings of period detail and atmosphere to spare. Writing about it now I realise there is an awful lot going on in the book, which could feel messy, but somehow it doesn’t. Instead it kept me consistently engaged. And even the climax and ending, normally the weakest parts of this kind of story, are pretty good. I’m not quite sure how this slipped off my radar when it was first published, but I’m glad I picked it up. Recommended for all your creepy autumnal reading needs – fans of The Silent Companions and This House is Haunted should enjoy.
I don’t know if it’s bad/strange that I found this book so comforting. Much of the material that coulI think my entire body of work is a suicide note.
I don’t know if it’s bad/strange that I found this book so comforting. Much of the material that could’ve otherwise seemed distasteful is transformed by the tenderness of Phillips’ writing. ‘Ophelia’ is also one of the finest strange stories I’ve read this year, even though ‘strange stories’ aren’t at all what the book is setting out to do....more
Homeless Bodies and Other Stories is a collection of eerie tales, each inspired by an object displayed in the WellAttempting to get into audiobooks #3
Homeless Bodies and Other Stories is a collection of eerie tales, each inspired by an object displayed in the Wellcome Collection’s permanent exhibition Medicine Man. It’s an Audible exclusive, otherwise I’d have preferred to read the stories in print. But it’s an impressive production.
‘Brothers and Sisters’ by Imogen Hermes Gowar (object: a chastity belt) is an atmospheric historical story, following a young woman as she is courted by a charismatic artist. It’s brilliantly read by Imogen Church and the sound design is great too, really conjuring up a vivid mental image of the setting and events. I wasn’t previously interested in reading Gowar’s novel The Mermaid and Mrs. Hancock, but this story was so pleasurable to listen to that I’m considering it.
I found ‘Scold’s Bridle’ by Oyinkan Braithwaite less enjoyable. The themes are similar to those in other fiction I have read by Braithwaite, and it’s also precisely the kind of story I would expect someone to write about a scold’s bridle.
‘The Master and the Student’ by Haroun Khan (object: a phrenology skull) is set in the 19th-century heyday of phrenology. Picked out for the shape of his skull, a Bengali boy is swept away from his small village and educated by a wealthy English ‘master’. He’s swiftly indoctrinated, but the pseudoscience ultimately makes a monster of him. The ending makes a neat joke of the story’s title and reveals the whole narrative to be a very clever take on the object.
‘The Fool’ by Andrew Michael Hurley (object: a trepanned skull) is an interesting case. Hurley’s involvement was one of the main reasons I wanted to listen to Homeless Bodies, and the story stands out from the rest for its more daring approach and inventive style. Set in modern times (rather than the pre-Christian era the object dates from), it’s about a woman who begins to hear voices after discovering her husband’s affair, and seeks a dangerous and radical form of cure. I have little doubt that, had I been reading this as a physical book, ‘The Fool’ would have been my favourite story. But listening to it, I didn’t feel the narrator’s voice was the right fit, and I also felt on a more fundamental level that the story itself was not suited to audio.
‘Vanitas’ by Laura Purcell is inspired by a wax vanitas head – I knew the one straight away, as it’s my favourite object at the Wellcome. Purcell crafts a gorgeous gothic tale that imagines the macabre portrait being gifted to a new bride by her former suitor. It’s wonderfully narrated by Annie Aldington and accompanied by an evocative leitmotif. A clear standout.
‘Homeless Bodies’ by Sarah Moss (object: two pieces of tattooed skin) is the only non-fiction piece in the collection. It’s a series of thoughtful reflections which functions as a sort of short, and somewhat personal, history of tattoos, incorporating musings on the ethics of holding these items in museum collections. Not something I’d typically either read or listen to, but I enjoyed it.
All in all, a good set of stories. Particularly interesting, for me, to see how my reactions differed from those I (think I) would have had to the stories in another format. If I’m judging it solely as an audio production, I’d say ‘Brothers and Sisters’ and ‘Vanitas’ are by far the most enjoyable; I would listen to both again, as I often do with favourite podcast episodes. But ‘The Fool’ is an excellent story, head and shoulders above the rest in a technical/formal sense, and I think would be served better by a print version. It seems the type of writing I would characterise as more ‘commercial’ (for want of a less derisory term) lends itself more naturally to audio. I’m now wondering whether genres/types of book I wouldn’t usually read might be a good way to get into audiobooks; perhaps that will be my next experiment.
I really wanted to love this. I’d heard such good things. I was hoping it would be the new Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, but it turned out to have moI really wanted to love this. I’d heard such good things. I was hoping it would be the new Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, but it turned out to have more in common with something like A Discovery of Witches. I hasten to add that it is not a romance; while the Mary Sue-ish, ‘poetically beautiful’ Taryn made me afraid it was going to go in that direction, Knox – admirably – swerves it; instead, the characters’ relationships develop in unexpected ways. The plot does a similar thing: first it gives us the bones of an ‘arcane thriller’ (think The Da Vinci Code), with mysterious and powerful people pursuing a mysterious and powerful historical object; then it folds out into something much richer and weirder, an epic fantasy that takes its characters through magical gates and into worlds of fairies, gods, monsters and talking ravens.
All this was interesting. I knew it was fantasy, and I was in the mood for that. I just couldn’t get to grips with the style; the heavily descriptive language too often turns infantile and/or flowery, a great deal of the dialogue struck me as unlikely, and, for all the exhaustive detail, the characters failed to fully come to life in my head, especially Taryn, whom I neither liked nor felt interested in. (It probably says something about my lack of connection with the story that my favourite character was the Muleskinner.) To enjoy a novel this long and involving you need to be truly immersed in it, and sadly I never got there.
The world Chris Beckett creates in Beneath the World, a Sea is breathtaking in its ingenuity. The Zona de Olvido, a place where memory doesn’t exist, The world Chris Beckett creates in Beneath the World, a Sea is breathtaking in its ingenuity. The Zona de Olvido, a place where memory doesn’t exist, so that a person remembers only the before and after, not their journey through it. The Submundo Delta, a region with its own bizarre ecosystem, entirely distinct from everywhere else. Duendes, creatures like humanoid plants, with beady eyes and suckered hands, and a strange ability to make humans feel intense despair. The plot concerns a British policeman, Ben Ronson, journeying to the Delta, ostensibly to determine how to stop the locals killing duendes – a common and long-standing practice, but one that has become a problem now the duendes have been legally designated as people. But Ben soon finds that writing a mere report on the situation will be impossible. He is drawn deeply into the local community, becoming entangled with others who have visited the Delta and never left, repeatedly losing track of his original intentions and desires.
Every element of this unique setting is used to its full potential. The mind-altering qualities of the Zona and the Delta mean we can never be quite sure which aspects of a character represent their true self, and which are distorted. Encounters with locals and duendes serve to highlight Ben’s (and others’) naivety in believing outside-world values can be imposed on the region. And of course, the weird and wonderful plants and animals conjure up fascinating, colourful images that made the book feel like a place I wanted to keep returning to. I struggled sometimes with Ben, who is often unlikeable, but reflecting on it now (especially considering the ending), he’s the perfect guide. The whole point is that Ben is a morally ambiguous person – the reader is repeatedly invited to wonder exactly what he did in the Zona, just as Ben himself is terrified to open the notebooks he kept while travelling through it.
The setting is imprinted on my mind, and I relished the details of the characters’ lives and the insights we’re given by way of their revelatory experiences in the Delta. This is a book that feels both imaginative and fearless, a great combination for speculative fiction....more
In the mid-1980s, with paranoia about communism at its height, Marie Mitchell is (you guessed it) an American spy whose mission is to seduce Thomas SaIn the mid-1980s, with paranoia about communism at its height, Marie Mitchell is (you guessed it) an American spy whose mission is to seduce Thomas Sankara, the charismatic young president of Burkina Faso. The title says action thriller, the premise says romance; the book is more slow-paced and thoughtful than either impression suggests, weaving in flashbacks to Marie’s childhood and reflections on her conflicting status as a black woman in a very white, male profession. This was a solid three-star book for me. I wasn’t always convinced by the dialogue, nor the concept of the protagonist writing this whole story down in a letter to her sons, but the plot’s interesting enough (and even quite informative) and it held my attention....more
'Will Williams' is an ingenious reworking of Edgar Allan Poe's 'William Wilson'. Like the original, it's about a man who is shadowed throughout his li'Will Williams' is an ingenious reworking of Edgar Allan Poe's 'William Wilson'. Like the original, it's about a man who is shadowed throughout his life by a hoarse-voiced, troublemaking doppelgänger. But Serpell makes her Will a young black man from a disadvantaged background, whose descent into crime is all too easily encouraged by those around him. The effect of the sinister double is palpably tragic, and I found the story so striking and effective that I can see it being turned into a film. It's a worthy equal to Poe's story.
'The Beckoning Fair One' is a strange story about two orphaned siblings, 16-year-old Shannon and 13-year-old Tyler. They're an eccentric pair who live'The Beckoning Fair One' is a strange story about two orphaned siblings, 16-year-old Shannon and 13-year-old Tyler. They're an eccentric pair who live alone in 'the Gingerbread House', their late grandmother's home, and seem to exist in their own little world. But Tyler grows concerned when Shannon develops an obsessive crush on, and begins stalking, a man named Walker Ransom. This weird yarn has something of the fairytale about it, though the ending veers into outright horror. It's bizarre, but I appreciated its unusual approach and the sheer oddness of the characters. If it has any links to the Oliver Onions story of the same title, I wasn't able to figure them out.
By far the weakest story of the collection. The title struck me as ironic, since the story's featurelessness strips it of any potential emotional weigBy far the weakest story of the collection. The title struck me as ironic, since the story's featurelessness strips it of any potential emotional weight. A lot of the positive reviews seem to refer to the audio version, so maybe it's better listened to than read.
'Ungirls' more closely fits my expectations of what the Disorder collection would be. It's set in the near future and has a large cast of characters: 'Ungirls' more closely fits my expectations of what the Disorder collection would be. It's set in the near future and has a large cast of characters: a group of sex workers in Cape Town; an online community of men who own genetically engineered sex dolls, known as 'growjobs'; and a motivational speaker clearly modelled on Jordan Peterson. The backbone of the plot is that Nats, one of the sex workers, takes on a job as voiceover artist for the growjobs, and is then doxxed.
But 'Ungirls' feels like it wants to be more than a short story, and really, there's just too much going on. For example, a thread about Nats' teacher friend being outed as a porn actor has no connection to the main plot and doesn't go anywhere; the extra detail might work in a novel, but is unnecessary in a story. It all seems like it's trying to Say Something, and it's not clear what that is; the message is a bit garbled. Beukes knows how to make a narrative gripping and readable, so for all its flaws I didn't dislike it.
I read this as part of the Disorder collection, which consists of six individually published short stories (if you're an Amazon Prime member, they're I read this as part of the Disorder collection, which consists of six individually published short stories (if you're an Amazon Prime member, they're all free to read). They're described as 'stories of living nightmares, chilling visions, and uncanny imagination that explore a world losing its balance in terrifying ways'.
Given that description, I wasn't expecting something like the harsh realism of the first story, 'The Best Girls' by Min Jin Lee. In 1980s Seoul, the narrator grows up in a desperately poor family. She and her three sisters frequently find themselves sidelined in favour of their youngest sibling, Jaesung, the only boy. The narrator excels at school, but her parents won't pay for tuition to get her to university; that privilege is reserved for Jaesung, who has been the family's hope for 'dignity and wealth' since the day of his birth. At first I wasn't sure how the plot fitted with the themes of the collection, which suggest horror; the answer lies in the dark, tragic conclusion the narrator reaches. 'The Best Girls' seemed rather slight when I was reading it, but has left a strong impression, and communicates a lot in a small number of pages.
'Loam' is a brilliant story and, for me, the standout of the Disorder collection. 51-year-old triplets Edward, Louise and Miriam are returning to thei'Loam' is a brilliant story and, for me, the standout of the Disorder collection. 51-year-old triplets Edward, Louise and Miriam are returning to their hometown for their father's funeral. On the way, they stop at a junk shop and make a horrifying discovery: a box of old photographs depicting children, including them, being abused. The problem is that the photographs portray things the siblings know for sure didn't happen. Everything about 'Loam' is fantastic – the pacing is superb, it's intriguing, its events and settings are vividly sketched. The atmosphere is killer, but what will really stick with me is the characters and how Heim portrays them with such compassion and empathy. I wasn't previously familiar with the author, but on the basis of this story I would definitely consider reading more of his work.
The preface frames Crossings as a three-part manuscript in the possession of a Parisian bookbinder. The narrator explains that he came to possess it bThe preface frames Crossings as a three-part manuscript in the possession of a Parisian bookbinder. The narrator explains that he came to possess it by way of a collector nicknamed the Baroness, who died – or was murdered – days after delivering it to him. It consists of 'The Education of a Monster', a horror story ostensibly written by Charles Baudelaire; 'City of Ghosts', a noirish tale narrated by Walter Benjamin; and 'Tales of the Albatross', the account of woman named Alula, a 'deathless enchantress' who has the ability to migrate her soul from one body to another.
There are, the bookbinder tells us, two ways to read these stories. Obviously, they can be read in chronological order. Alternatively, there is the 'Baroness sequence', which jumps from one narrative to another in order to stitch the three stories into a patchwork novel. At the end of each chapter, a page number (or, in the ebook, a link) tells you where to go next. This is how I chose to read it.
Possible spoilers ahead: read this way, Crossings emerges as the epic, fantastical love story of Alula and Koahu from the island of Oaeetee. The elders of their community have learned the art of 'crossing', which allows a person's spirit to enter another's body. When the lovers are separated, Alula dedicates the rest of her life to searching for Koahu – and because she crosses again and again, her quest spans two centuries. The Baudelaire and Benjamin stories are secondary to this emotionally powerful narrative, but Landragin weaves them all together ingeniously.
I certainly won't be the first to say it, but this wonderfully absorbing piece of speculative literary fiction is highly evocative of David Mitchell's work. Coincidentally, I read this shortly after Mitchell's forthcoming novel Utopia Avenue, which isn't vintage (or typical) Mitchell; Crossings turns out to be a more fitting recommendation for fans of, say, Cloud Atlas than the new book by its actual author. It's a really impressive debut.
I received an advance review copy of Crossings from the publisher through Edelweiss.
A near-future novelette in which an Iranian man must take a written test so that he and his family can retain their British citizenship. The test, howA near-future novelette in which an Iranian man must take a written test so that he and his family can retain their British citizenship. The test, however, is not what it seems. The sections told from Idir's point of view are not good; first-person present-tense narration really doesn't work in the way it's used here, with someone's observations and reactions (to increasingly dramatic events) essentially being related in real time. Other parts of the story are much more engaging, and – though rather basic in their analysis – raise some interesting points. Many other reviewers have made comparisons between The Test and Black Mirror, and I'd have to agree, not least because I have always suspected that this was originally written for the ill-fated Black Mirror short story anthology.
In Herzog’s stories, the ghosts are both supernatural and historical. I’d expected more of the first type, and the ending of the first (otherwise exceIn Herzog’s stories, the ghosts are both supernatural and historical. I’d expected more of the first type, and the ending of the first (otherwise excellent) story, ‘Tandem’ – about a newcomer to Berlin learning German from an oddly ageless woman – took me by surprise, seeming so abrupt I was genuinely disorientated. But then I readjusted, and most of the rest worked perfectly for me.
In ‘Ball Lightning’, a young woman learns the dark secret behind her mother’s bizarre claim of ghosts in their house. ‘Needle and Thread’ is a very enjoyable story about a beleaguered executive whose work woes intersect with his daughter’s unease in the family’s luxury flat (housed in a former asylum). ‘Ifrit’ tackles a different side of Berlin, with the narrator’s fate entwined with that of a group of squatters/activists/hippies. ‘Key’ also involves its characters contending with an eccentric neighbour, albeit one of a very different kind.
‘Ex Patria’ was my least favourite in the book – its trust-fund kids and their terrible relationship are frustrating to read about – but the last story, ‘Double-Decker’, more than makes up for it. Following a researcher who’s given a very strange, top-secret assignment, it’s the apex of the book’s project to combine tales of Berlin’s history with folklore and ghosts, culminating in a memorable sequence which delivers tension, humour and terror all at once.
The characters are a major strength throughout: I’d have liked to read more stories about Björn, the flawed yet loveable protagonist of ‘Needle and Thread’, or Beatrice, the self-assured narrator of ‘Double-Decker’. While Ghosts of Berlin is definitely more literary fiction than horror, it does a great job of bringing different aspects of the city to life, and is often wonderfully suspenseful.
In the Dream House is Carmen Maria Machado's memoir of her experience in an emotionally and verbally abusive relationship with a woman. I was aware ofIn the Dream House is Carmen Maria Machado's memoir of her experience in an emotionally and verbally abusive relationship with a woman. I was aware of the near-universal acclaim for this book – how could I not be – but had formed the wrong impression of it. I expected it to be much more experimental than it actually is; I was anticipating whole stories written as genre pastiches, and while there are flashes of that, most of this book is a fairly straightforward narrative told in short chapters, each using a trope, style or object as a metaphor for the relationship. The results are sometimes powerful (the 'Choose Your Own Adventure' chapter is quietly devastating) but not always fully successful (the folklore-index footnotes became a touch gimmicky after a while). In the Dream House is most successful when Machado examines the silence that surrounds the issue of abuse in lesbian relationships. Why don't these stories get told? Why are victims not heard when they do speak out?
In the Dream House tells an important story. It also turns a painful period of the author's life into an almost indecently compelling narrative, one I felt queasily keen to get back to whenever I put it down. I wasn't wowed by this as many others have been, but I admired its creative, taboo-breaking approach to a difficult subject.
My notes for 'Hardrada' by Ashley Stokes just say 'oh wow, this story!'. So I would like to reiterate: oh wow, this story. There is nothing else like My notes for 'Hardrada' by Ashley Stokes just say 'oh wow, this story!'. So I would like to reiterate: oh wow, this story. There is nothing else like it in the book and it stands out a mile. This isn't exactly because of the concept – it plays out like a lost folk horror film from the 1970s. It's the writing, the description, the intensely evocative names, the first-person-plural narration, the sly dialogue. I'm in awe of everything about it. I'm tempted to quote the final lines here because they are so fucking brilliant, but I don't want to spoil it, so just trust me on this one, this story is amazing.
In 'The Box of Knowledge' by Tim Cooke, a gang of young misfits find an abandoned container and adopt it as a place to drink and do drugs. This is the sort of story that creeps up on you, taking the time to establish a richly detailed world. Given its brevity, the characterisation of the narrator is fantastic – you feel like you really get to know him and what drives him. It almost doesn't matter whether anything horror-adjacent happens or not. But when it does, it's swift and brutal, yet somehow also dreamlike, leaving you wondering, imagining, haunted.
'Collector of Games' by Gary Budden is a sinister, drily funny journey through decades of urban legends. The narrator is a self-described 'archivist in the darkness' who seeks out 'lost' videogames, tracking down many assumed to be nothing more than campfire tales. I loved this; it seethes with darkness yet is also extremely entertaining, appealing to that part of us all that can't help but be intrigued by conspiracy theories and dark rumours.
'The Devil of Timanfaya' by Lucie McKnight Hardy is a strong opener. Tessa, her husband and children are on holiday in Lanzarote, staying in a villa that's 'not nearly as big as it looked on the website'. There's also a burnt-out building across the road. As Tessa juggles mental health concerns and the demands of parenting, she's haunted by the image of a strange and terrifying face. The story is elegant and unnerving, expertly detailing the kind of crumbling family bonds that seem to characterise Hardy's fiction.
'The Tribute' by James Machin comes directly after 'The Devil of Timanfaya' and has a similar setup: hot weather and a fractious family on holiday, this time in the south of France. Here we have a child's viewpoint rather than a parent's, though the narrator is telling his story some years after the fact. The horror of the otherwise ordinary tale hinges on the presence of an imaginary friend whose existence the narrator remains convinced of. Well-crafted and chilling; perhaps even more effective when read for the second time.
I also liked James Everington's 'Defensive Wounds' and enjoyed the atmosphere of Giselle Leeb's 'Drowning' and Jay Caselberg's 'The Verandah'. I'm not rating the book overall because any rating would be a compromise and wouldn't reflect how good the five best stories are, especially 'Hardrada'.
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