The Raging by Tim Stout

[cromagnonman]

I can't imagine there are many people whom, upon finding an abandoned car in a remote country lane with its interior slathered in blood, would feel much of a compulsion to hang around and investigate. Out of the hardy minority who might I suspect fewer still would be bold enough to then follow the trail of blood to an isolated church, much less venture inside to be attacked by a deranged old man wielding an axe. Martin Chandler, the hero of this late 80s horror offering, not only undertakes each of these escalating challenges to common sense but goes so far as to end up handing over his personal details to the madman before watching him drive the blood caked car over a cliff.

If this all reads like the most ludicrous kind of contrived melodrama then that is because it is. But persevere beyond the utter absurdity of this opening gambit and you enter the hinterlands of a strangely entertaining pseudo scientific horror thriller.

Soon after Chandler finds himself the recipient of a bizarre bequest from his deceased antagonist. He inherits a grotesque figurine fashioned out of some unidentifiable material. To borrrow the description of the Gorgon found in Richard Lederer's classic compilation of student essay howlers the figurine looked like a woman "only more horrible". In actual fact it is the image of a savage pagan diety  "hideously proportioned with massive thighs and a monstrous, flaunted bosom...the mouth gaped open in a soundless, animal snarl." No sooner has Chandler taken possesion of the thing than he suddenly develops a hair trigger temper. Petty irritations balloon into murderous furies under the least provocation. Almost before he knows what is happening Chandler has all but raped his girlfriend and subjected an innocuous elderly music teacher to a maniacal exhibition of road rage. By the time Chandler overcomes his own scepticism about the statue's responsibility for his change of character and attempts to dispose of it by throwing it into the sea it is too late. The diabolical relic has already exerted a stranglehold on his subconcious and he hallucinates that he is drowning in his own bed, an experience which forces him the retrieve the thing.

At this point the book changes tack, progressing from a straightforward account of demonic possession to something more interesting as Chandler attempts to discover exactly what the statue is and how it is able to exert its baleful influence over him. His inquiries lead him to the West Midlands community of Maidenbury, a place which, he comes to discover, has an historical proclivity for violence out of all proportion to its size.

Chandler may not make for the most sympathetic of heroes but his travels and travails do make for a highly enjoyable read. Strangely though, for a book ostensibly all about mindless rage, Chandler's own bouts of violence - rather like Lou Ferrigno's Hulk - are mostly directed against inanimate objects. A phone kiosk, the roof of a car and - in one particularly distressing episode - a defenceless shopping trolley, are all subjected to mindless thuggery of a sort that sees Chandler vilified as "the Fiend of Frogland" by the local rag. Even when a confrontation with a group of skinheads opens up a promising avenue for condonable violence in self defence both character and author strangely shy away from indulging it. Chandler makes do with laying one of them out with a wooden post before legging it. I'm sure any cinematic adaptation of the scene would be far less coy.

But then this is a book which seems to take place in a sort of alternate reality, the sort of world where people only have jobs when they serve the purposes of the narrative and are conveniently jettisoned when they don't. For instance, the day on which Chandler meets probation officer Lee Valance is the only one she spends at work in the entire book. For the rest of the time she's blithely free to indulge her equally convenient speciality of quack parapsychological research.

Valance is no more sympathetic or believable a heroine than Chandler is a hero. She is a woman so clinical and self-possessed that she can even view her own near rape with scientific detachment and equanimity. What she does do though is to drag the narrative down some excellent and absorbing avenues of pagan ritual. Despite taking some quite thumping liberties with Dark Ages history this is the point  when the book as a whole really comes alive and elevates itself a notch above the average lurid potboiler. The climax especially is really really good, taking in some criminally irresponsible ill equipped potholing, medieval combat atop a steam engine and finally an erotically charged spectacle of primal female sexuality. This bit particularly has to be read to be believed. And then reread for preference.

I can't say this is a book which follows the most plausible of linear paths, and it could be argued that it is a tad too buttoned up for its own premise; at least until that gobsmacking climax. But it is never less than entertaining and eminently readable, and even boasts some congenial humour; the 'nutters board' at the Maidenbury rag is particularly amusing.

Its a shame Stout didn't appear to go on and build much of a career on such a promising foundation.      

[dem bones]

I rate Tim Stout's short horror fiction highly but have never set eyes on a copy of The Raging so your excellent review is doubly welcome. Think this was his only novel? As you're doubtless aware, much of his other genre fiction is found in Richard Davis anthologies "for children" - the Spectres and Space series', The John Pertwee Book Of Monsters etc - and often as not steals the show.

[cromagnonman]

Oct 13, 2017 15:21:06 GMT dem bones said:

I rate Tim Stout's short horror fiction highly but have never set eyes on a copy of The Raging so your excellent review is doubly welcome. Think this was his only novel? As you're doubtless aware, much of his other genre fiction is found in Richard Davis anthologies "for children" - the Spectres and Space series', The John Pertwee Book Of Monsters etc - and often as not steals the show.

To be honest I wasn't really conversant with Stout's work at all when I picked it up. I had the story in PAN HORROR 9 but that's about all, I think. It was really just another mercy purchase from the local junk shop. You're welcome to borrow it anytime. Happy to bring it along to the fair in a fortnight if you'd like me to.

[dem bones]

Thank you for the kind offer, Crom, but would prefer you kept hold of it. In my experience, loans have a habit of ending in disaster. Am of a mind that, if I'm meant to read it, a copy will show up somewhere when I least expect it.

Remain hopeful of attending the pulp fair but, as ever, won't know if it's a doer until the evening before. Best give that thread another plug - only thirteen days to go!