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Post by nightreader on Oct 26, 2007 17:25:15 GMT
'God Of A Thousand Faces' - Michael Falconer Anderson (Heywood Books 1987) From the back cover: "A chance conversation in a Delhi bar leads Jack Law to the Indian town of Srinwanat to see the festival of the child godess, the Sedali. She is the earthly incarnation of one of the most evil of the Old Gods, Dacari - God Of A Thousand Faces..." While viewing the festival travel writer Jack Law causes a terrible accident, resulting in the death of the Sedali (the young girl chosen as the vessel for the evil god Dacari). He wisely flees back to London, but his troubles are just beginning. He's brought more than Delhi belly back with him. He becomes the centre of a series of manifestations, growing in intensity as the book goes on. People around him begin to die, one by multiple cobra bites in the middle of London... This is a good, quick, fun read. Nothing demanding about this. The supernatural bits are gripping enough, even though the exorcism sequence may seem a little familiar if you've seen a certain film... It ends with a great cliffhanger, an opportunity for a sequel that never came. Sadly. Shame about the uninspiring cover though - what Les Edwards could have done with this! MFA has also written: The Woodsmen (1986), Blood Rite (1986), The Unholy (1987), The Covenant (1988), Black Trinity (1988) and The Clan Of Golgotha Scalp (1989). As far as I know nothing more recent. Wonder what ever happened to him...
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Post by dem bones on Feb 9, 2012 13:44:31 GMT
Michael Falconer Anderson - The Unholy (Heyward, 1989: Robert Hale, 1987) Blurb: Violent death and mindless terror stalked the streets.
The hooligan on the train died screaming as he was torn limb from limb ...
Two lovers sneaking into a darkened lane ran when they saw the horror coming — and then one of them had vanished ...
A police sergeant ploughed his car into a crowd of children — children who did not exist ...
A nurse felt something embrace her and bend its filthy lips towards her ...
When newspaperman Jon Hammond saw the corpses mounting as terror gripped his town, he knew he must find the source of the evil. For the magnet of the horror lay hidden somewhere in the peaceful countryside, reaching out tendrils of cold evil, stalking the land for screams ... and souls ... and blood.A blurb like that screams unpretentious action-packed page-turner - can Michael Falconer Anderson deliver? Have just passed halfway and, if he can keep this up for the final 100 pages the answer is a resounding 'yes'! Kininsky, the ruthless Russian crime mogul, has involved himself in one dubious transaction too many. He's nervously awaiting a visit from anonymous party 'the Tall Man' for whom he's procured a box containing .... don't know. Kininsky's long career has seen him steal original Van Gogh's to order, but he's never touched anything as hot as this item and can't wait to get it off his hands. He's posted his two most trusted henchmen to watch over him and keep him awake until the Tall Man has been and gone. Because sleep brings the terrifying thing in the fog that punches it's fist through his chest and tears out his heart. At last the deal is concluded. The Tall man departs, and a relieved Kininsky collapses on the bed. His men continue with their game of cards - until they hear scream after bloodcurdling scream coming from the boss's bedroom .... Fitness freak Jon Hammond, a reporter on local rag The Balforth Chronicle, first spots the Tall Man in the crumpled trenchcoat on a platform at King's Cross, and immediatly wonders at that parcel he's carrying under his arm. Is it a bomb? Maybe that's why the guy looks so edgy. Hammond soon has other matters to deal with as his compartment is invaded by two malodorous, vodka-swilling denim thugs, Lennie and Eddie, the world's most rubbish hooligans this side of the 'vicious motercycle hoodlums' in Then Came Bronson #3: Rock!, who quickly make nuisances of themselves. Hammond intervenes when they begin mithering a bashful teenage girl and easily toughs up the mad, mouthy one by crushing his hand. So they play cards instead and content themselves with the odd surly look. Meanwhile, the temperature in the Tall Man's carriage has dropped to freezing ...
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Post by dem bones on Feb 14, 2012 12:05:37 GMT
for months now, i've been absolutely useless at finishing novels, so best get some notes down about The Unholy before i forget its existence which would be unfair.
The train spectacularly derails at Balforth after the driver has been spooked out of his senses by the something in the box. Among the surprisingly few casualties, Lennie the thug. The police soon establish that he was torn to pieces in the toilet well before the train shot over the embankment.
The Tall Man is depressed. He lost the box during the turmoil and won't be finding it any time soon unless he thinks to dredge the local ponds.
Hammond is insistent that, shortly before the accident, he saw a torch-lit procession advancing toward the track to the accompaniment of a marching song (won't tell you which one, but when Hammond's pal in the record shop identifies it, you'll likely be congratulating yourself on guessing right).
In the days following the train crash it becomes clear that something isn't quite right. Balforth has been transformed from the archetypal sleepy bastion of the law-abiding to the murder capital of Europe/ downtown Midsomer.
Adulterers Janet and Mick are attacked in their car by skull-faces and crones: he's plucked into the air by a giant putrescent fist, she's reduced to a babbling lunatic.
Fifty-year old Bunty Robinson, a bouncy barmaid with a thing for younger men, returns from the pub to find her latest toy-boy splayed across the couch in just a purple quilted dressing gown, his every limb pointing in the wrong direction ....
If you're thinking 'very Hamlyn' you'd be right - sort of. Toned-down Guy N. Smith is maybe more accurate in that, while there are violent episodes aplenty, the author doesn't really exploit their potential for gore, the few sex interludes to date have been strictly missionary position, and even the hooligans aren't allowed to swear properly. On the plus side, it's got pace and trying to fathom what the hell is in that box should sustain most of us through to the bitter end, which in my case is only 75 pages away.
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Post by ripper on Nov 29, 2018 11:14:29 GMT
God of a Thousand Faces sounds interesting. I am quite partial to horrors from the Indian sub-continent, and there seems to be a rich vein of that area's legends and folklore that could be tapped. I may well give it a go sometime.
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Post by ripper on Dec 4, 2018 9:13:41 GMT
My copy of The Woodsmen arrived yesterday and I am looking forward to reading it in the next week or two. I am trying to have only a couple of books on the go nowadays as I have sometimes found myself losing track of where exactly I have gotten to in the past.
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