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Post by Steve on Aug 14, 2009 1:25:18 GMT
The Naked LightJames Moffatt, New English Library Original First NEL paperback edition October1970 Like it says, it's "an appalling exposure". Satanic rites, drug-inspired orgies, black magic slayings. It's James Moffatt - written around the same time, I believe, as the Manson cash-in Satan's Slaves. 126 pages. What more do you need to know?
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Post by dem bones on Aug 14, 2009 9:22:48 GMT
A few things. That black magic pentagram was revived on the backside of June Johns' exposé Black Magic Today the following year, so am guessing NEL were promoting The Naked Light as 'non-fiction'? Also, is Moffatt taking more of an investigative reporter role in this one or has he just bumped into a couple of likely Devil Worshippers and let his imagination do the rest (the Skinhead/ Bootboys/ Teeny-Bopper Idol, etc. technique?) |
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Post by Steve on Aug 14, 2009 11:48:26 GMT
That black magic pentagram was revived on the backside (so to speak) of June Johns' exposé Black Magic Today the following year, so i'm guessing NEL were promoting The Naked Light as 'non-fiction'? Also, is Moffatt taking more of an investigative reporter role in this one or has he just bumped into a couple of likely Devil Worshippers and let his imagination do the rest... I think that's just your all-purpose black magic pentagram that could be slapped on anything vaguely devilish, dem. Naked Light is a novel rather than a 'journalistic' exposé - the implication being of course that it's a 'fictionalised' account and this stuff really does go on in the lifestyles of the rich and debauched. A sort of backstage pass - or maybe a peep-hole drilled in the wall would be more fitting - allowing unrestricted voyeuristic access to all those parties you'll never be invited to. In truth it's just another of Moffatt's largely joyless topical exploitationers dressed up, in this case, with all the satanic trappings. As to how much 'research' he did for this one - well, I believe the legend states that Moffat did live in California for a while before washing up in the UK but I suspect his sources here are simply the scandal sheets of the day and a bit of lurid imagination. It's a funny thing - I don't think I've ever really 'enjoyed' anything Moffatt wrote (with the possible exception of bits of Queen Kong) and yet his stuff somehow manages to exert some strange fascination. I think it's that, however far removed he may be from his actual subject, he still puts something of himself into his work, i.e., a seemingly boundless misanthropy. What can you say? The bloke was an 'auteur'. The overall tone of Naked Light is less one of titillation than loathing. Self-loathing that he's having to lower himself in order to eke out a living writing this stuff, but also loathing for just about anything else which happens to occur to him as he's writing. One of his many pet hates in this particular book is method actors, however you can almost hear Moffatt himself echoing Brando's famous quote from 'The Wild One'; "What're you railing against, Jim?" "Whaddya got?" Because of the late '60s Hollywood setting a fair amount of bile is directed towards the new "hippy-type" stars who've replaced the Hollywood 'greats' - "The so-called nouvelle vague was simply an excuse for rotten acting and worse directing. It stank in decent eyes and ears. It rated the garbage-can". Because this is James Moffat he has his usual problems with women, but the book is also peppered with all these seemingly unprovoked little side swipes - a passing reference to a German-made car sets him off (with apologies in advance to our German readers); "the Teutonic bastards. He remembered what they had done to Greece during the war. It added spice driving his British-made Triumph just ahead of the Hun chariots". None of this is any great revelation of course - you'd be hard pressed to find any review of Moffat's work, even from his admirers, which didn't contain the words 'reactionary', 'misogynistic' and 'racist' (oh, and apparently he enjoyed the odd drink as well). What never ceases to surprise me though is that I still read his stuff any chance I get. "Candles flickered in the dark... Crooning a mournful chant like Satan's helpers vomiting deep in Earth's bowels, Chloe stepped out the final ten paces. Head thrown back, eyes glinting in the mysterious candlelight, her pregnancy appeared as an obscene nudity to Stefanos. It excited. As did her cold, weirdly gleaming flesh. She was some monstrous evil slowly, inexorably drawing nearer... nearer... 'Your robe...' Chloe whispered urgently now. Every fibre of her vibrated with an unholy desire to play out the grotesque scene. Stefanos sighed, lifted his flowing black robe and anchored its hem inside the scarlet sash round his waist. Naked below the robe, he grasped two candles..." Great writing? Well, no, Moffatt probably spent about as long writing it as I just did typing it (possibly less, he'd had more practice). A solid slice of sordid black magic pulpsploitation? "His buttocks tingled when she kissed them - prolonging her degradation until, it seemed, she was glued to each cheek." Hell, yes. |
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Post by Dr Strange on Aug 14, 2009 12:46:00 GMT
Sorry to be pedantic, but that isn't a pentagram (a five pointed star, drawn with five straight lines).
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Post by Steve on Aug 14, 2009 14:47:56 GMT
Sorry to be pedantic, but that isn't a pentagram (a five pointed star, drawn with five straight lines). Ah, of course... from the Greek. I feel such a tw*t. |
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Post by dem bones on Aug 14, 2009 16:28:20 GMT
'Your robe...' Chloe whispered urgently now. Every fibre of her vibrated with an unholy desire to play out the grotesque scene. Stefanos sighed, lifted his flowing black robe and anchored its hem inside the scarlet sash round his waist. Naked below the robe, he grasped two candles..." "His buttocks tingled when she kissed them - prolonging her degradation until, it seemed, she was glued to each cheek." And Anne Rice reckons she's the last word in "erotica" ... sorry 'bout that nasty pentagram business, Dr. Strange, that was my mistake. Anyway, i just checked and the 'Satanic Triangle' shows up yet again on the reverse of Francis King's snappily titled Sexuality, Magic & Perversion: do you think they were intended as a loose series, like? Know what you mean about Moffatt, Steve. The only one i could say i "enjoyed" in anything like the conventional sense is Terror Of The Seven Crypts, but there's something uncanny about him where the books stay in the memory years after you've read them, certainly far longer than many that are actually "good". I don't know how or why that should be - i mean, i near enough flat-lined during Virgins Of The Undead and Punk Rock - but still feel the lit world is the poorer for his passing. Naked Light is a novel rather than a 'journalistic' exposé - the implication being of course that it's a 'fictionalised' account and this stuff really does go on in the lifestyles of the rich and debauched. A sort of backstage pass - or maybe a peep-hole drilled in the wall would be more fitting - allowing unrestricted voyeuristic access to all those parties you'll never be invited to. Actually, i was thinking "peep-hole drilled in the wall" When i read your The Demon Syndrome post when the Rev. John Marshall persuaded Jolene to join him and Ann on the couch so they could achieve the "final victory" together. Call me cynical, but i could almost hear that distinctive click-whirr of a craftily concealed wind-up camera when i got to the bit about the sandwich. Was a time when there was only one "most awesome and terrifying account of demonic possession ever recorded" but ever since The Exorcist you can hardly move for the bastards. |
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Post by Dr Strange on Aug 14, 2009 18:02:44 GMT
Quote: "Ah, of course... from the Greek. I feel such a tw*t"
And I feel like a geek. Or possibly a Greek.
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Post by dem bones on Sept 4, 2009 20:01:57 GMT
"Now, Lucy .... grasp his thighs .... bend forward .... place your lips to his ass ... and KISS HIM, LUCY, KISS HIM!"
Finished The Naked Light in one sitting and .... I reckon you'd have to redefine the meaning of "enjoyment" to do Moffatt's work justice! Often his work bores me rigid, but when he's on form I can think of no author as compellingly unreadable. And he's certainly on form throughout The Naked Light!
A party-cum-Satanic-orgy at the Hollywood mansion of film starlet Chloe Young culminates in the massacre of the hostess and five guests when a hit-man catches up with the drug dealer who ripped off his Mafia bosses. The Mermaid Productions executives are distraught: Chloe has two movies scheduled for release and now this scandal! They turn to their publicity officer, young, ambitious Lucy Christian, to research an article that will show the late Chloe as more sinned against than sinner, an innocent led astray by crazy drug hippies, etc. Lucy certainly has her work cut out and as, she delves deeper into the investigation, turns up all manner of non-conformists for Moffatt to vent his loathing upon. Steve has already noted the prime targets, but perhaps a special mention for Mish-Mash the corpulent, wrinkled DJ and his "wrong way up hormones" ("If ever Lucy wanted to smash a man's face into pulp, this was the moment"), as he comes over as a mish-mash of many of the author's pet hates.
"Let some half-baked creep like Mish-Mash come along and pour phoney sentiments in their ears about the evils of Vietnam and they believed. Let some sloppy, queer coot tell them he wouldn't obey the 'call to arms' and they'd burn the flag, storm the State seat-of-power and demand Governor Reagan's resignation. God, what a crazy counterfeit age they all lived in!"
That's a piss-poor synopsis, I know, but Moffatt introduces characters and sub-plots as randomly as he forgets them so it's difficult to keep up (for example, we don't get to meet the master Satanist until the finale: his party piece is OK but hardly worth the wait. And where did the Mafia disappear to?). Besides, the story isn't really as important as detailing the "harmless" deviations of Lucy and her friends versus the disgusting perversions of these no-talent, Hollywood hippie acid freak so-called stars!
Needless to say, all this obsessing about sexual perversions is thirsty work, and product placement fans will be delighted that by page 52 Moffatt needs to restock his supply of Seagrams VO, Canadian Club and Watney's Red Barrel although he's still good for a pack of Camel until he reaches the home straight.
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Post by bushwick on Sept 5, 2009 11:57:50 GMT
Bravo, you've sold this one to me. Cynical misanthropic hack exploiting hippie counterculture is always a good look, with some good Manson vibes in there. Have never read a non-Richard Allen Moffat book - I have 'Terror Of The Seven Crypts' at home but haven't yet got round to it. Might try Amazon for this one.
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Post by dem bones on Sept 5, 2009 19:56:59 GMT
It's clear he wants us to think 'Manson murders', but Satan's Slaves, sounds even more distasteful than The Naked Light! Here's the cover and blurb, as originally posted by Steve on Vault Mk ISATAN'S SLAVES James Taylor An NEL Original, New English Library, 1970 "The shocking cults whose activities have created international headlines.
The recent brutal killing of actress Sharon Tate has turned the horrified eyes of the world onto the bizarre and perverted underworld of California.
Readers have learned of the roaming ritual killers, 'Satan's Slaves', of black magic practices, of free-love societies and numerous cults devoted to all manner of sexual deviations.
In the astonishing report by a writer who has lived and worked in the 'golden land' of California (he, in fact, even tried to found his own religion) the curtain is pulled back on the hippies, degenerates, cranks and odd-balls who are all striving to create their own promised lands." I wonder if the shady but minor character 'Salom Piliski' ("it was as though he existed within a hard shell of Polish sausage and his own deep, fathomless thoughts") from The Naked Light makes his debut in this one? |
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Post by markewest on Jul 24, 2015 8:07:09 GMT
Picked this up at Eagle Books on Derby market the other Saturday when I was in town for Edge-Lit and just about to start reading it today. After all this, I'm torn between looking forward to it and wishing I'd brought something else to work for my lunch break...
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Post by markewest on Jul 30, 2015 13:43:07 GMT
Well, I read it and didn't like it but enjoyed it at the same time. Very odd. Here's the review I posted at Goodreads.
Following a Black Mass ceremony-cum-orgy, Hollywood starlet Chloe Young is brutally murdered and the studio she’s contracted too - Mermaid Films - is worried because they have a couple of her films waiting release. They task ace publicist Lucy Christian with finding out the truth whilst trying to cover up the darker aspects of Young’s life to make her palatable for the movie-going public again.
Well, this is a genuinely odd little book (126 pages, small type). A real pulp paperback obviously ripped from the headlines (the Manson Murders were in late 1969), this seems to have the misfortune of being saddled with a writer who clearly wishes he was writing something else. Lucy is the main character, though there are chunks of the book where she doesn’t appear, a 33-year-old single girl (mentioned on several occasions), who’s very moral but also a bit wanton, not at all religious though she carries a cross (and during one discussion of abnormal sexuality gets strength from the ‘old-fashioned Gospel’) and an apparent nymphomanical prude - no, it didn’t make much sense to me either but that’s how Moffatt tells it. And Lucy is easily the most sympathetic character (and she’s not at all, on occasion).
Cynically constructed (Moffatt clearly believes in the ‘give the public what they want’ school of thought), he uses the text to extol his apparent dislike of modern Hollywood, the looseness of the women around it (whilst never missing a chance to mention jutting breasts and pubic hair), hippies, promiscuity and gay people (a gossip-radio-DJ called Mish-Mash comes in for some appalling abuse from the writer, the other characters seem to tolerate him okay), whilst telling a confusing tale that takes in ex-pat Brit movie stars, hoodlums, hookers, drug dealers and a poet who isn’t what he appears to be. Add into the mix a skirt-chasing police Captain who actually (I swear I’m not making this up) offers to adopt a child who’s given him some clues to the case (in the worst, syrupy, TV-movie-of-the-week style) and more references to the Salem witch trials than you can shake a stick at and the book becomes something I’m certain Moffatt never intended it to be. I also have no idea what the title refers to.
Arguably, you could say this is a product of its time (it was published in 1970) but equally you could argue that it’s badly written and contains pretty much every “-thropic” tendency you can think of, but it’s so formless, so wonderfully delirious, that it almost redeems itself. This isn’t a good book and I can’t imagine ever reading anything else Moffatt wrote, but I did quite enjoy it for all its sins. Not sure who I’d ever recommend it to though.
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Post by franklinmarsh on Jul 30, 2015 15:25:37 GMT
I think you have already recommended it, Mark, as if Steve and Dem hadn't already held it up as prime Moffatt.
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