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Post by mattofthespurs on Oct 25, 2011 8:29:03 GMT
Couldn't find a thread for this one but if there is please feel free to delete. Spankingly large new horror anthology series. Published by Cemetery Dance, PS, and Jo Fletcher books. I have just received the latter. Introduction "What Ever Happened To Horror" - Stephen Jones "The Little Green God Of Agony" - Stephen King "Charcloth, Firesteel, and Flint" - Caitlin R. Kiernan "Ghosts With Teeth" - Peter Crowther "The Coffin Maker's Daughter" - Angela Slatter "Roots and All" - Brian Hodge "Tell me I'll See You Again" - Dennis Etchison "The Music Of Bengt Karlsson, Murderer" - John Ajivide Lindqvist "Getting It Wrong" - Ramsey Campbell "Alice Through The Plastic Sheet" - Robert Shearman "The Man In The Ditch" - Lisa Tuttle "A Child's Problem" - Reggie Oliver "Sad, Dark Thing" - Michael Marshall Smith "Near Zennor" - Elizabeth Hand "Last Words" - Richard Christian Matheson This arrived today along with "House Of Fear". It's going to take me a week or so to get round to actually reading it because I have the last 80 pahes of "Ghost Story" to finish and then to finish off "Best New Horror 22" but it is a delight to see not only a brand new horror anthology but a hardback no less. Looking forward to reading this one.
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Post by dem bones on Oct 25, 2011 9:38:38 GMT
a tasty line-up to be sure, but more than anything I'm intrigued by the title of his introductory essay ....
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Post by noose on Oct 25, 2011 9:55:30 GMT
Under fair usage laws the first part of the introduction...
WHAT THE HELL happened to the horror genre?
Whatever happened to menacing monsters, vicious vampires, lethal lycanthropes, ghastly ghosts and monstrous mummies? These days our bloodsuckers are more likely to show their romantic nature, werewolves work for covert government organisations, phantoms are private investigators and the walking dead can be found sipping tea amongst the polite society of a Jane Austen novel.
These are not the iconic figures of fear and wonder that we grew up with. These are not the Creatures of the Night that have scared multiple generations over the centuries and forced countless small children to hide under the bedclothes reading their books and comics by torchlight.
Today we are living in a world that is ‘horror-lite.’ This appalling appellation was coined by publishers to describe the type of fiction that is currently enjoying massive success under such genre categories as ‘paranormal romance’, ‘urban fantasy’, ‘literary mash-up’ or even ‘steampunk’...
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Post by Dr Strange on Oct 25, 2011 10:58:40 GMT
Under fair usage laws the first part of the introduction... Can't argue with that... When monsters stop being monsters and instead are just another version of the tired old "troubled outsider with personal issues, but a heart of gold" genre (see almost any recent US medical/legal/detective series), then (IMO) it simply ain't horror and it definitely is of no interest to me.
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Post by David A. Riley on Oct 25, 2011 11:33:13 GMT
Under fair usage laws the first part of the introduction... Can't argue with that... When monsters stop being monsters and instead are just another version of the tired old "troubled outsider with personal issues, but a heart of gold" genre (see almost any recent US medical/legal/detective series), then (IMO) it simply ain't horror and it definitely is of no interest to me. I agree completely. At least no one - to my knowledge anyway - has come up with creating a friendly Lovecraftian Old One. Cthulhu with angst would be one step too far!
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Post by dem bones on Oct 26, 2011 8:40:20 GMT
Thanks Johnny. Pretty much a continuation of his theme for this years BNH then.
It gladdens the heart to learn that The Book Of Horrors is available in a traycased hardcover deluxe edition for a recession-busting £595.00. I guess anyone is entitled to ask ""What Ever Happened To Horror?" in the circumstances.
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Post by pulphack on Oct 26, 2011 11:14:57 GMT
a fair point, dem... the collectors market keeps small presses going, but at what cost (other than cash). many years ago i had a chum who used to produce reissue and new psych albums on vinyl in numbered editions of 500. he had wraparound sleeves that you had to slit in order to get the record out. he did this on the assumption that hardcore collectors would buy two copies, one to listen to, the other to retain in pristine condition. which was extrememly astute of him, but morally very suspect. i feel the same way about these small presses. but then again, no-one is forced to buy them... it's just that barnum wasn't wrong.
incidentally, david is obviously unaware of my forthcoming series 'Live From Innsmouth', where troubled talkshow host Yog Sothoth gets involved in trying to resolve the issues of fishmen and women who cannot adapt to the twenty first century... or living on land, come to that.
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Post by dem bones on Feb 11, 2012 14:28:49 GMT
They're building another of those wretched idea stores on the Commercial Road which almost certainly spells curtains for the small trad library around the corner in Watney Market, so i'm making the most of the old place before it makes way for a Domino Pizza, Paddy Power, whatever. The staff have already come up trumps for me three times this year with The British Comic, Tales Of Terror From The Tunnel Mouth and now, a virgin copy of A Book Of Horrors, so thank you very much to them! Stephen Jones - Whatever Happened To Horror?: Without wishing to invest Mr. Jones' introduction with too much seriousness, some of it is bizarre! "... if you enjoy the stories assembled within these pages, then you can say you were there when the fight back [against 'horror-lite'] began." That's hardly an endorsement for the several, often excellent imo, horror anthologies published during the past five years, many of them edited, or even 'created by' Stephen Jones himself. Let's quickly move onto the stories and, if these three are typical of the rest, then A Book Of Horror has every chance of living up to the editor's claim that "this is what modern horror fiction is all about", namely radio torture porn, the Patron Saint of arsonists, and a demon that manifests itself as a green tennis ball-cum-sickly oversized conker ... A truly jolly black comedy to get things underway. If you can imagine The Exorcist crossed with (as I live and breathe) R. Chetwynd-Hayes' The Jumpety-Jim, then you'll surely appreciate: Stephen King - The Little Green God Of Agony: Andrew Newsome, the world's sixth richest man, is recuperating in a luxury private hospital in Vermont after surviving the light air-plane crash that claimed the lives of his fellow passengers. Two years after the staff assured him that he'd walk again, Newsome is still bedridden, at least partially on account of his unwillingness to put sufficient effort into his recovery. Guys like him should be able to buy perfect health, not goddam work at it! And then he hears of this humble Alabama priest who has quietly built a reputation as a healer. The Rev. Rideout doesn't think of his work as healing. He's more a cross between a pest-controller and exorcist. To him, pain is a demon and, with God's will, he has the ability to expel it. Newsome's long suffering, albeit very well paid nurse, Kat MacDonald, has the Reverend figured for a charlatan the moment she sets eyes on him, but is finally persuaded to remain in the room while he goes about curing the patient .... Caitlin R. Kiernan - Charcloth, Firesteel, and Flint: The hitcher has the body of an attractive young woman, but she who has adopted more pseudonyms than even Rev. Lionel Fanthorpe in his Badger days is old as time itself. 'Aiden McKenzie', accepts a ride from young Billy, and, if he notices that she forever directs their conversation to the subject closest to her heart - conflagration - then he doesn't let on. They take a room in a motel and throw themselves into a brilliant sex session with the minimum of fuss. 'Aiden' makes Billy a party to her secret, that she's borne witness to every major inferno in history, from the burning of Rome to the bombing of Dresden, through Hiroshima and beyond. Billy also has a dark secret, and it's the very reason why our lady of flames has tracked him down. Ramsey Campbell - Getting It Wrong: Ramsey is quoted in the introductory note, "I think I may have had in the back of my mind one of our friend John Probert's wickeder delights", which already tells you far more about what to expect from Getting It Wrong than I ever could, though would suggest fans of Michael Marshall Smith's More Tomorrow will absolutely adore it. When his retro video business fails, Eric Edgeworth, authority on classic cinema, takes a job on the ticket desk at the local Frugoflex where the staff are all so much younger than he and share the audiences abysmal taste in movies. One night Eric receives a distressed phone-call from Mary Barton, the popcorn lady. She's a contestant on the radio Night Owls quiz-show Inquisition, and smarmy host Terry Rice has just posed her a tricky question concerning James Dean. Knowing his field of expertise, Mary has selected Eric as her get out of jail card. Edgeworth immediately suspects a pathetic stitch-up perpetrated by his moronic colleagues and deliberately reels off a wrong answer to spite them, whereupon ..... It really is most distasteful of Mary to howl like that, as though good old Tel really were treating her to a nasty session with the thumbscrews ..... Three winners out of three bodes well for the rest, and as if to get us onside from the start, have just noticed Peter Crowther's Ghosts With Teeth opens with a quote from Seabury Quinn's macabre masterpiece, The House Of Horror!
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Post by Johnlprobert on Feb 11, 2012 17:34:14 GMT
Ramsey Campbell - Getting It Wrong: Ramsey is quoted in the introductory note, "I think I may have had in the back of my mind one of our friend John Probert's wickeder delights", which already tells you far more about what to expect from Getting It Wrong than i ever could, though i'd suggest fans of Michael Marshall Smith's More Tomorrow will absolutely adore it. Needless to say I was chuffed to be namechecked by my very good friend Mr Campbell in this book. I think you're in for a good read, Dem - there are only a couple that had me scratching my head, otherwise this is a seriously solid anthology.
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Post by dem bones on Feb 13, 2012 11:55:06 GMT
I think you're in for a good read, Dem - there are only a couple that had me scratching my head, otherwise this is a seriously solid anthology. Have already drawn up a list of suspects though am far too polite to name the [three] authors in question, but it's five smash hits out of five so far, and I have to get me a copy! Peter Crowther - Ghosts With Teeth: "I am the Pain man ... Delivered to your very door, agonies beyond belief. Beyond even your most fevered imagination."The blurb promises that 'classic pulp style' action has not been overlooked and Ghosts With Teeth, a fifty-four pager centring on the exploits of a body-hopping poltergeist with a lust for torture, reads like an, admittedly sophisticated, take on the type of thing Terror Tales would advertise as "a novelette of blood-freezing horror and eerie mystery" or something equally top. Halloween night, and Hugh and Angie Ritter return home during a rainstorm to Tuboise, Maine (pop. 41) to find roadblocks in place around the tiny hamlet. Sheriff's deputy Maude Angstrom lets them through with a cryptic "ain't likely you're gonna be going any place once you get there", before seemingly vanishing into the night. The Ritters wonder about this. They also wonder how come the other houses look vacant, or why their neighbour swears he saw 'em getting up close and personal in their front room earlier in the day when they were miles away in Boston? Hugh's uneasiness and mistrust of those he calls friends increases with the inexplicable disappearance of his wife, especially as the Sheriff is so blasé about the incident. Then there's the matter of the radio tuning itself into a debate on paranormal activity (at one point it cuts to the opening bars to Hotel California, a clever pointer to what's going down in the community). Most portentous of all, the mocking telephone calls that can only be coming from his own house. The eerie mystery in place, the story takes a turn for the grisly, building to a terrific finale so grim it's actually laugh out loud funny. The relevance of the quote from Seabury Quinn's story becomes apparent when the shape-shifting poltergeist ushers Hugh down to the cellar to meet what's left of his neighbours ... Richard Christian Matheson - Last Words: A real nasty kiss off to the collection narrated by a serial killer whose obsession is the final utterances of those he slowly tortures to death. He's compiled an expansive home made snuff movie library.
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Post by Shrink Proof on Feb 13, 2012 16:52:15 GMT
OK, you convinced me, I've just ordered a copy.
Which will go onto the "To Be Read" pile.
That's currently so large it has time zones...
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Post by dem bones on Feb 14, 2012 12:03:11 GMT
OK, you convinced me, I've just ordered a copy. Which will go onto the "To Be Read" pile. That's currently so large it has time zones... Normally, I'd not give any recommendation of mine the time of day, but in this instance there's a fair chance I've got it right. Not only is our next 57-pager, a very macabre ghost story, well up to the high standard set by the rest, it might even be the finest story in here. John Ajivide Lindqvist - The Music Of Bengt Karlsson, Murderer: Translated by Marlaine Delargy. "You're not allowed to look at them. If you do, they take your eyes.": When his wife Annelie is killed in a road crash, the narrator, a greengrocer, sells up and moves to a smaller, remote property in the forest, with his eleven-year old son, Robin. Concerned that the boy is spending all his time playing video games, dad bribes him to take piano lessons. Much to his father's surprise, Robin shows some aptitude for the instrument, the one item of Annelie's he didn't consign to a skip, though our man can't help but notice the boy is drifting away from him, seems to have conjured a pair of imaginary friends. And what the hell is that discordant tune he's taken to repeating over and over? Robin astounds his father by informing him matter-of-factly that the previous owner, Mr. Karlsson, was a child murderer. A chat with a local historian reveals that the house has a dark recent history on account of Karlsson hanging himself in his bedroom, but there has never been any suggestion that the old boy was a murderer. Robin remains adamant that Karlsson killed two youngsters - he knows, because their ghosts have been visiting him ever since he arrived here. Terrified, he begs dad to get rid of the piano so he'll no longer be compelled to play the notes that summon the rotting boys - and something worse.
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Post by Johnlprobert on Feb 14, 2012 15:04:47 GMT
Normally, i wouldn't give any recommendation of mine the time of day, but in this instance there's a fair chance i've got it right. Not only is our next 57-pager, a very macabre ghost story, well up to the high standard set by the rest, it might even be the finest story in here. I thought this one was very good as well.
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Post by dem bones on Feb 15, 2012 9:04:39 GMT
Lisa Tuttle - The Man In The Ditch: Unusually for me, had the ending sussed from the first paragraph though that diminished my "enjoyment" not a bit. J. D. is driving wife Linzi to see the dream home he's bought them in the secluded Norwich countryside when she briefly catches sight of a corpse by the roadside. J. D. has a tendency toward the over-bearing and, sparing no sympathy for wife or victim, drives on. Things have been a little strained between the two since Linzi, a former exotic dancer, took one for the team (as it were) when a cop let J. D. off three speeding points in return for a blow job from his wife. As their dream home comes together, Linzi is still haunted by the man in the ditch. It's not a subject she can raise with tetchy husband, so Linzi consults Maeve the psychic who sees something bad in the cards and good as throws her off the premises. Meanwhile, the demands of J.D.'s business require him to stop over in the city once a week and it's these nights Linzi has come to dread, so it's with some relief that she wakes in the dark to feel him already in bed beside her. No, that can't be right, because she can hear him calling to her as he climbs the stairs ....
Dennis Etchison - Tell Me I'll See You Again: People swear blind by this guy, and, when I get his stuff - it's usually his greatest hits click with me - I can see why, but then there are those stories have me shrug my shoulders and move on. On first acquaintance, Tell Me I'll See You Again, is typical of the quiet, unresolved tales you'll find in abundance throughout Charles L Grant's Shadows series, many of them excellent but not always ideal reading when you're on the verge of sleep. Rematch later, if/ when I've come to life.
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Post by dem bones on Feb 17, 2012 10:51:06 GMT
Angela Slatter - The Coffin Maker's Daughter: Stephen Jones includes this among A Book Of Horror's three "lyrical and literary" tales, which, i freely admit, put me on my guard from the off. More fool me because The Coffin Maker's Daughter is properly nasty and Ms. Slatter has even dug up an all-time favourite horror theme for the occasion!
Eight month's dead and still Hector Ballantyne is on his daughter Hepsibah's shoulder, barking orders and belittling her around the clock. The only decent thing Ballantyne ever did by her is teach her the family trade, so when the fabulously wealthy Mr. D' Aguillar dies, it's only natural that Hepsibah is hired by his widow to provide a suitably ornate coffin for his remains.
The lowly, lonely, Hepsibah is immediately overcome with lust for Lucette, the strikingly handsome daughter of the house, and the object of her desires gives every impression that the feeling is mutual. Lucette keeps up this pretence until the beautifully crafted coffin is safely lowered into the vault, whereupon she laughs in Hepsibah's face.
In her heart of hearts, Hepsibah maybe even expected as much, but she's an astute businesswoman and has already hit on a means of achieving her ends which won't do trade any harm either ...
Still not had that rematch with Denis Etchison's offering, and am struggling to write anything even vaguely coherent about Robert Shearman's very wonderful Alice ... which reads in part like Robert Aickman by way of Dave Allen, or at least it does to this reader.
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