Gerald Suster - The Offering

[H_P_Saucecraft]

Gerald Suster - The Offering (Hamlyn 1982)

Got this one through on friday, book is in great condition & was sealed in a plastic bag, obviously been well looked after :

[dem bones]

Thanks ever so for posting this, Dave. Reading between the lines of Stephen Sennit's article in the current PF, this one is Suster deliberately setting out to provide Hamlyn with something worthy of the name 'nasty', and that razor is put to plenty of use on a certain delicate part of the male anatomy. Do let us know some more about this Kevin Street character when you eventually get around to reading it as he's sure to be v. amusing in Suster's hands.

[dem bones]

Jun 18, 2009 16:45:12 GMT justin said:

On the subject of the 'Double' books I've just received a mail from John Harvey saying Laurence James wrote 75% of them and that he really doesn't consider it part of his body of work.

I asked him if he had written all four of the Wasteworld books as during a recent interview with Nick Austin who as the editor at Granada commissioned them was sure they were mainly the work of Angus Wells. John has confirmed the only one he produced was Angels and the other three were by Angus.

Nick Austin also knew Gerald Suster- watch out for the letters page in Fanatic 11!

Just been reading through Volumes 10-12 of The Goth (Dec. 1992-June 1993) and an amusing spat that arose around Mr. Suster's The Truth About The Tarot (Skoob, 1992) when it was reviewed (i.e., totally slated) in #10. Mr. Suster, it seems, was not amused and sent in a lengthy defence-cum-character assassination of the sarky scribe, gleefully published in the following issue. Hopefully this will give you the flavour; "our dunderhead .... who lurks behind a cowardly cloak of anonymity .... endeavouring to portray me as a male chauvinist pig .... Byron would've taken a horsewhip to Mr. Reviewer on account of the latter's flagrant dishonesty, dishonour and fatuous twittering, but this would have been a waste of leather ...."

Well! After such a tongue-lashing from Mr. Scary, you'd expect the object of his derision to quietly scuttle off in search of the nearest stone to crawl under, but Ian Moreland is clearly a fearless man as, not only did he 'fess up to authorship, he continued to argue his case in Vol. 12 (Body-Snatchers special) where-in he was joined by another trouble-maker, a Shirley Williamson, who was clearly as keen as the rest of us for these regrettable hostilities to escalate.

"I thoroughly enjoyed the riposte by Gerald Suster. An odd mix of a man: part Bernard Manning: part pantomime horse (guess which end). He was quite inaccurate on a number of points: de Sade was not interested in female masochists; feminists (in inverted commas or not) do indeed have a well-developed sense of humour - I laughed all away through his apoplectic fit."

You suspect that Suster's reply to the above would have made everything else in Vol. 13 (ironically, a Crowley/ Occult heavy issue) seem very small beer in comparison, but either he didn't reply or his reaction was so terrifying that even The Goth thought twice about running it, as, sadly, the debate seems to have ended on that note.

[H_P_Saucecraft]

Just finished this one & it certainly delivers, it may not be as graphic as Hutson, but is certainly nasty in the mean spirited sense (a recommendation). Antagonists that are just that, you really want to see something happen to them. One of the best scenes coming when protagonist Richard has had enough of stuck up cow patricia & her treatment of her husband & really lets go.

The witchcraft angle is worked in well as a matriarchial stepford wives-like cult. Kevin Street is a great Character, even though dead, everything the town of reddingdale hates, to the point of people refusing to discuss him.

That razor doesn't get put to lots of use, but when it does it's very effective. If you find this one, definitely pick it up. Certainly worth it.

[dem bones]

Have put Margaret Tabor's The Understudy on the back burner for the time being. It's shaping up into a decent ghost story, no question of that, but heroine Maddy is so utterly wet she's beginning to get on my nerves.

So, to more reliable ground with the mighty Suster!

"Anyone see that Tales Of The Unexpected thing on TV last night?"
"Tales Of The Expected, you mean ... The thing was about as subtle as a steam-engine - I saw it coming a mile off. They're just no good when they're not by Roald Dahl, you see."
- Algernon Botolph, The Kings Head's resident pub-bore, gives his verdict on everything.

Reddingdale village, Suffolk. Richard and Carol Leighton have stayed happily married for seven years. Richard is in books and the industry has been hit hard by the recession. It doesn't help that he harbours "a prejudice against publishing books that lacked all merit" but fortunately his business partner, Irene Naylor, is sane and has kept them afloat by commissioning rubbish to guarantee healthy paperback sales. But London is expensive so the Leightons quit their flat for 'The Offering', a des res cottage on the coast which was surprisingly remained unsold since the death of previous owner Kevin Street, macho rock star. When the estate agent shows them the attic, Richard steps in the remains of a mutilated sparrow which, as it turns out, is the Offering's way of letting them know this is not going to be quite as 'home, sweet home' as they'd hoped. Hardly have they began unpacking than Carol almost loses a hand to the waste-disposal unit ("It started sucking on my arm like some living force") while Richard is plagued by nightmares which feature a composite of all the women he's ever known leading him up into the attic and slicing his dick off with a razor.

Never mind, thinks Richard, the village is pleasant enough, and you can get a decent pint of Beard's Sussex Ale in The Kings Head. It's just .... there's something about the women .... in particular the one with the blinding arse and the lady in black who gave him the most hateful glare in the pub during Algernon's anti-Thatcher tirade ...

To be Continued ...

Thanks Dave!

[dem bones]

He's not lived there a week but already Richard is beginning to wonder if all is right with the people of Reddingdale. Despite the bad dream, he and Carol are optimistic enough about their new life and the crowd at The Kings Head have made him welcome even if the women are .... strange. The men seem awful wary of causing them the least offence. Algernon has confided that Kevin Street was last to live at the Offering ("but don't let anyone know I told you") and Richard finds it bewildering that no-one wishes to talk of their erstwhile famous neighbour. The best he can get is a murmur from Sydney Gregson, landlord of The Kings Head, that the late wild man of rock was locally unpopular.

Richard decides to research both Kevin Street and the history of Reddingdale. In the case of the former, he still has the two albums, Street Level and Razor Edge, which he insists on playing full-blast to an unappreciative Carol while giving her the lowdown on punk. "Now let me get me dates right" he begins. It can only be a bizarre joke on Suster's part that he then proceeds to relocate the Jubilee to 1978 "the year of punk" (!) as he certainly has the music biz circa 1976 bang to rights.

"D'you recall that shit that was just guitars twurdling around for hours and going nowhere along with wimpish self-indulgent lyrics some idiots thought were profound?"

Carol can't share his enthusiasm for either the Sex Pistols or the Clash, and as for Kevin Street! Plain old nasty minded misogynist crap. Even the album covers give her the creeps (the one Suster dreams up for Razor Edge suggests some familiarity with Wild Man Fischer's An Evening With .... Sorry to blabber on! i just love pop culture references in horror novels!).

Anyway, that night in bed it's Carol's turn for a full blown nightmare. Richard's erection awakens her just as she's going to be gang raped by four knife-wielding thugs. Just for a second there, Carol despised Richard. Is she going the way of the mystery woman who gave him daggers in The Kings Head?

Richard consults the inscrutable Mrs. Channing at the local museum who deflects his every question with well-practiced ease. Back to The Kings Head for yet more evasion from the otherwise pleasant regulars. He finally learns that the woman in black is Mrs. Devereaux, the Lady of the Manor and Justice of Peace, noted for her inflexibility in matters of law. The Devereaux's displaced the impoverished Botolph's at the Manor House which perhaps explains why Algernon despises the ground she walks on. Mrs. Devereaux is widowed - her late husband wrote a bland history of the village and his is the seriously skewed map that is still sold at the library. She is something of a style-guru to Reddingdale women who invariably favour her trademark stylish suits and trendy perm.

While out exploring the fields while Carol is at work in a Brighton school, Richard exchanges hellos with she of the magnificent arse he's so admired since his arrival. At first he's delighted when Patricia Rycroft suggests a drink at The Kings Head, but a few minutes in her company entirely disillusions him. Mrs. Rycroft is as stupid as she is snobbish and utterly vacuous, a pretentious and thoroughly irritating flirt. True, when she leans forward "her breasts threatened to split [her] fussy white blouse" but even the most desperate among the Vault Globeswatch contingent have their standards.

Richard has made the acquaintance of a third woman, Katie, seventy-seven years young and proudly independent of her fellow Reddingdale women who, she sneeringly informs him, are practicing "Bitchcraft". Katie is the only local they've not attempted to inveigle into the cult and she hints that the Witches were involved in Kevin Street's horrible death (the details of which we've been spared thus far).

Best pause for breath now or this post will be longer than the novel. But as we reach the halfway mark it's a case of so far, so intriguing.

[dem bones]

Sailed through the second half of this without taking any notes so i'll cut straight to the chase and say it definitely lived up to my expectations, and, after The Scar, The Handyman and The Elect, my expectations were high. If Suster's intention was to write the ultimate Hamlyn nasty then he failed abysmally but what we have with The Offering is a whole lot better. While he sustains an atmosphere of malevolence and impending violence throughout, as Dave put it, "That razor doesn't get put to lots of use, but when it does it's very effective".

As Mrs. Devereaux and her stooges get their claws into Carol Leighton, explaining that if she wants to become part of the community she will have to make a "sacrifice". Carol ditches her jeans and t-shirt in favour of the Tory councillor look, Richard takes to dressing like a really rubbish version of a HM fan (even the Manowar get up would be preferable) and invests in a cutthroat razor. Slowly but surely Richard is possessed by the spirit of the dead rock star. For all his self-manufactured "faults" - who would buy a nice punk's records? - Kevin Street was the last man to stand against this Woman's Institute from Hell and we finally get to learn what he eventually did to his girlfriend (it wasn't pleasant) and what the Reddingdale women did to him. As support characters meet with grisly ends, i think it's fair to say we know where it is all heading and Suster isn't one to let us down.

In his informative and entertaining article Write What Thou Wilt (Paperback Fanatic #10, June, 2009) Stephen Sennett is lukewarm about this and (in particular) The Handyman but i couldn't disagree more.

[marksamuels]

Found out recently from my fellow Machenites that I very nearly got into trouble with Gerald . He wrote some nonsense occult article in our Machen journal about Machen practising OTO magical masturbation, and I disproved his claim under a pseudonym in the next issue (which action was the esoteric equivalent of knocking over Alex Higgins's pint). Apparently, he wanted to know who it was; but didn't find out. Phew. I'd have been in line for one of his special handwritten curses he sent through the post, filled with abracadabras.

Mark S.

[David A. Riley]

"I disproved his claim under a pseudonym in the next issue"

You don't mean you had Richard Staines disproving "magical masturbation"?

[marksamuels]

Jul 27, 2010 6:26:48 GMT David A. Riley said:

"I disproved his claim under a pseudonym in the next issue"

You don't mean you had Richard Staines disproving "magical masturbation"?

Nay, it predated RS, tho' I wish I'd thought to have done so! Very appropriate

It was another pseudonym.

Mark S.

[marksamuels]

David

Suster used to warn travellers against going to Bulgaria (e.g. this article about him). Have you seen it?

old.disinfo.com/archive/pages/article/id1435/pg1/index.html

I do remember once phoning him up to invite him along on a Machen jaunt in Hampstead & Highgate (Machen used to visit The Spaniards on the Heath, when he was in the New Bohemians, and his first wife is buried in Highgate Cemetery) since Gerald was in the society. His wife Michaela (she of the intense and unblinking eyes) answered the phone, refused to let me speak to him directly (you could be a bloody reporter, she said cf: www.media-underground.net/images/devil_teacher.jpg) and relayed all my comments to him. Anyway, the upshot was that Gerald wasn't interested in coming. I heard him groaning disdainfully in the background.

Next time I saw him, in person, over a pint at another Machen shindig, Gerald lit up his tenth cigarette in the space of 20 minutes, took a sip of his real ale and told me about some bloody stupid oaf in the society who had tried phoning him up and invited him to go to Highgate, a place he had been to a thousand times before and which had no Machen connections.

I said nothing. Merely grinned. It was pure entertainment.

Mark S.

[David A. Riley]

That's a fascinating memoir, Mark, and an interesting article you gave a link to. He must have been a colourful character at the Machenite meetings!

I think the warnings against Bulgaria were probably very apt when they were made. Of course, having survived street parties fuelled with home-made rakia of dangerous potentency, I disagree with those warnings now.

[David A. Riley]

Just realised I was born in the same year as Suster. The poor fellow didn't have a very long life, did he? Died the same age as my father.

[marksamuels]

Jul 27, 2010 18:48:00 GMT David A. Riley said:

Just realised I was born in the same year as Suster. The poor fellow didn't have a very long life, did he? Died the same age as my father.

You could tell he lived life on the edge. He was a big-time smoker and boozer: also handy with his fists. I suspect he was quite a ladies man at one time too. First time I met him I thought "who's this homeless drug addict"? He looked as if he'd dragged himself (un)fresh from the nearest gutter. But when he opened his mouth and began to talk, the reaction was "hang on, this chap's probably some noble who likes to slum it"; very well spoken, charming manners, first to the bar to get a round, quick to offer round his ciggies and very attentive.

After more than ten minutes though, I have to admit, I did get a bit nervous around him. You could tell he was an occultist. They have this way of trying to stare into your soul and catch you off guard ... and he wasn't one of those former occultists--the casualty brigade--who are now nervous wrecks after one too many excursions into truly murky depths of the secret art.

I remember knocking around 4 Verulam Buildings (Machen's home in the 1890s) with Gerald, and him banging on to me about what a piece of biographical shit John Symond's Crowley biog The Great Beast was. At that time I didn't realise he was a thelemite himself.

They don't make 'em like that anymore. More's the pity.

Mark S.

[dem bones]

Loving the Suster anecdotes, Mark, but can't help thinking you missed out as I'm sure you would have come to cherish a handwritten curse from a master of black sorcery.

Don't know about "OTO magical masturbation", but in his The Supernatural In Fiction, Peter Penzoldt decides that The Novel Of The White Powder is Machen's thinly veiled anti-tribute to the guilt and self-loathing that follows the act. Not read it in ages but there's a little more detail on the Marjorie Bowen/ Great Tales Of Horror thread.