|
Post by David A. Riley on Sept 14, 2011 8:10:17 GMT
Mind you, those Haahoos are quite disturbing.
|
|
|
Post by dem on Jan 15, 2013 18:31:42 GMT
Many thanks to the staff at Watney Market Library for locating a copy of The Psychic Detective. There is no way I can improve on Lord P''s definitive blow by blow account of the action on p1 of this thread, but I can at least add the blurb and put a name to the cover illustrator.
Blurb Frederica Masters, commonly known as Fred, is an extremely gifted materialistic medium. One evening whilst dining out with an admirer, she bumps into Francis St Clare, a wealthy young man who is an authority on the occult. He at once realizes the enormous psychic power that Fred possesses, and convinces her that by becoming his assistant she can fulfil her potential.
However, whilst helping Francis destroy the evil spirits that lurk in his house, Fred is tricked by her new employer into going down to the lowest astral level, and there fights with an eighteenth century aristocrat who wishes to imprison her forever. Will Fred ever manage to escape and finally rid the house of its vicious elemental inhabitants?
Again in this novel, we have the kind of plot one has come to expect from R. Chetwynd-Hayes. A mixture of pathos, humour and horror.
Jacket illustration Barbara Walton E 14.99 net —
Have breezed through the first 40 pages, and, but for a short lapse into hideous "poetry", they're as tight as anything he ever wrote. Fred Masters, eighteen, is drop dead gorgeous, insolent and psychic from birth, the apple of her father, Dudley's eye, the bane of her stepmother, Elaine's existence. She dresses in EXTREMELY LOUD colours, utters smart-arse remarks around the clock, and pigs out like Simon Aaron in Wheatley's Gateway To Hell without gaining an ounce in weight. Tonight she's on a dinner date with Anthony Berkley-Smith, whose credit card sustains an almighty hit when Fred insists on banqueting as accustomed. When Fred refuses to reciprocate with a knee-trembler, Anthony turns nasty, attempts to drag her into his car. Enter Francis St. Clare, 28, far from the most gallant of gentlemen and not one to involve himself in violence, but he knows a gifted medium when he spots one, and Frederica Masters is just the girl he needs to compliment his encyclopaedic knowledge of matters occult. Berkley-Smith tells him to "fuck off," Fred gives the would-be rapist a kick, and departs with St. Clare, who brings her home to his Victorian, haunted house ....
|
|
|
Post by dem on Jan 17, 2013 19:07:23 GMT
Oh dear. If the first fifty pages were great fun, the next quarter is frustrating to the point of irritation as RCH allows his "sense of humour" free reign, and Fred's constant harping on about lack of 'nosh' and her 'boswam' is really getting on my nerves.
Anyway, the fabulously wealthy St. Clare lives at Bramley House, where his needs are catered for by cheery middle-aged couple, the Thompsons. Bramley House was originally the much larger Bywater Grange, built 1573, which burnt to the ground some centuries back. A den of Black Magic and Devil Worship from Elizabethan days, perhaps its most notorious owner was Lord Ramsey, an Eighteenth Century rake and diabolist whose talent was for conjuring forth 'nasties' (RCH's equivalent of the Elder Gods) from the seventh dimension. These include a hermaphrodite with a crocodile head, "huge knockers" and chorus girl legs, and a snake with the oversized head of Mr. Thompson's grandfather. St. Clare imposes on Fred to utilise her ability as she's never done before to draw these 'nasties' down from the astral where he can capture them in his latest invention, the Hadel-trap.
Is St. Clare an idealised version of RCH? It's easy to read too much into lines like "You and I must never become too serious. We are the perpetual clowns who keep horror at bay by continuous laughter", but that doesn't seem so far removed from his philosophy.
|
|
|
Post by Johnlprobert on Jan 17, 2013 21:15:52 GMT
Delighted to hear you've managed to locate a copy, Mr D! It's far from perfect but it is fun, and occasionally jaw-dropping!
|
|
|
Post by dem on Jan 17, 2013 21:27:13 GMT
Have you read Kepple, Lord P? The back-cover blurb makes it sound a very serious business, though surely that can't be the case?
also by the same author KEPPLE A mysterious criminal organization known to the underworld as The Management, have engaged an American hit-man – Kepple – to terminate certain wealthy businessmen who have stepped out of line. But when Chief Superintendent Lomax comes to investigate he finds there is no record of Kepple's birth or any kind of official records, save those of a series of well-planned and brilliantly executed killings that have taken place in every country in the world.
The soul-shattering truth is only suspected by Lomax's young assistant – Inspector Hargreaves – who is ridiculed by his superiors. As the violence escalates it becomes clear that Man has created Kepple after his own image. Carol Barlow comes to love a monster, even though she knows that eventually it will destroy her, and The Management are doomed when they try to use Kepple for their own ends.
In this novel the author tells a blood-chilling story that may well lurk behind tomorrow's headlines – the gradual emergence of a super-Hitler, who comes to be identified with violence and death.
|
|
|
Post by Johnlprobert on Jan 18, 2013 9:09:07 GMT
KEPPLE is seriously awful, or at least I thought so. I remember being unable to work out what it was meant to be about. I have to say I'm not a big fan of most of RCH's novels. I read them quite a long time ago & perhaps they need revisiting, but KEPPLE, CURSE OF THE SNAKE GOD and HELL IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT all have the features of a man having no idea how to develop an idea to novel length. And as we all know, when RCH gets stuck he gets very, very silly indeed.
|
|
|
Post by dem on Jan 18, 2013 18:29:28 GMT
KEPPLE is seriously awful, or at least I thought so. I remember being unable to work out what it was meant to be about. I have to say I'm not a big fan of most of RCH's novels. I read them quite a long time ago & perhaps they need revisiting, but KEPPLE, CURSE OF THE SNAKE GOD and HELL IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT all have the features of a man having no idea how to develop an idea to novel length. And as we all know, when RCH gets stuck he gets very, very silly indeed. Ain't that the truth! It's very strange that I still consider him among my favourite authors when most of the time I'm slating this or that story, but there you have it! Were it not for the promise of pervy antics to come i'm not so sure I'd have sufficient resolve to see The Psychic Detective through. As it is, for once it's research purposes over a proclivity for kinky goings-on that will win the day - for some reason, I find his avowed bachelor perspective fascinating. Of the very few RCH novels I've read, only The King's Ghost really did it for me. It's not the greatest, just he doesn't wander off into wackiness quite so often. Not sure we can consider The Monster Club a novel in the strictest sense, seems more a series of middling-to-very good novellas strung around a sporadically decent framing device, but when it works, it's terrific. Kamtellar .... let's not even go there. Incidentally, wonder who Hammer Films had in the frame for Francis, Sir Ramsey, and, perhaps even more importantly, Fred?
|
|
|
Post by dem on Jan 25, 2013 20:38:17 GMT
Up to Chapter 11 now and thankfully Chetwynd-Hayes has re-emerged from a wibbly, wobbly world of his own get the plot back on track.
Writing in his introduction to 13th Book of Great Fontana Ghost Stories, RCH reveals that a chapter in Wheatley's Strange Conflict enthused him to try astral projection for himself, and it's possible that he draws on the experience for a rollicking chapter eight. At St. Clare's insistence, and much against her better judgement, Fredericka ventures further into the hidden world than she previously dared, comes close to paying the ultimate price when, travelling ever upward in spirit form, she eventually reaches back to the eighteenth century and Bramley House during Lord Ramsey's tenure. This is good news for the reader as the novel picks up when he's around, the sparkling repartee between Francis and Fred having long lost it's lustre. Ramsey imprisons Fredericka in a Hadel-trap of his own, then unleashes a flesh coloured King Cobra (with her head) on St. Clare, who is fortunate to vanquish the demon before it can destroy his assistant's body. That still leaves the essential Fred a caged and very frightened prisoner on an alien plain.
St. Clare's psychic abilities are at best rudimentary, but by means of self-hypnosis, he successfully ascends to the astral and goes in search of Fred. First person he meets is his Great-Grandfather, Ralph Fortesque, a colourful chap who has taken a shine to Miss Masters ever since she manifested a corporeal body for him from ectoplasm in an earlier chapter. Ralph lambastes his descendant for his cavalier toward Fred's well-being - at last, someone who won't stand for his self-aggrandizing "the young master" bollocks - and, for all our sakes, we can only hope the old timer will drag him to Lord Ramsey's dungeon in double-quick time.
Somewhere in the midst of all this, another atypically straight St. Clare pearl which may or may not encapsulate the author's philosophy: "I always use words as toys and I make laughter bubbles in the face of danger, for, in the final analysis, knowledge must always be top priority whatever the circumstances."
What a fucking strange novel.
|
|
|
Post by dem on Feb 1, 2013 15:10:46 GMT
Back with the action in time to catch the the plot entering meltdown, or the bit Lord P so astutely sums up as: In fact things have been progressing nicely but oh dear RCH's tendency to 'write blind' has meant a dream sequence chapter where he himself has turned up confessing he's not sure where the plot goes next. "They normally work themselves out so don't worry' his sexy secretary Myna has reassured him, so we'll have to see if she was right. St. Clare has arrived at the fairyland of Hadel-town, stated his business (the rescue of Fred from Lord Ramsey), and been referred to 'The most worthy Archon', also known as 'The author', also known as 'H', better known to us as RCH, who is, we now learn, God. Between excruciating attempts at humorous dialogue and a load of nonsense about digestive biscuits, RCH concedes that the novel has lost its way, but that's the characters' fault for refusing to behave as he conceived him. "I like my characters to be disconcerted. Prepares the reader for a miserable ending." We live in hope. Truth be told, I was pretty glad to see the back of God and get back to the material world where Francis has just paid a visit to Madame Orloff, who can't be accused of outstaying her welcome, so maybe we're back on track again. Just sixty pages of this unparalleled mirth to go. God, I so desperately need a drink.
|
|
|
Post by dem on Feb 28, 2013 9:49:07 GMT
Oh dear .... Very glad The Psychic Detective wasn't the first RCH book to come under the dem microscope as it might well have been the last, and that would have been to be denied many a brilliant read. As he alludes to at least twice, RCH has absolutely no idea where he's going with the story, and, essentially, just dicks around for al least 120 pages until the final business with Fred's ego trapped inside a mouse, by which time this reader was thoroughly fed up. Madame Orloff's walk-on amounts to very little, likewise the return of The Pack ( Dracula's Children), this time in the employ of Lord Ramsey (was rooting for them to tear St. Clare limb from limb, but they don't even try). The Ramseys' daughter/ captive is forgotten about altogether and vanishes from the story. Only Ralph Fortesque emerges with any credit. Fredericka's brush with the birch is indeed a jaw-dropping "where did that come from?" moment, but by then, I just wanted it all to END. With the best will in the world, it's unlikely that too many of Ronald's fans would regard The Psychic Detective as a career high, and any petitioning to have it reprinted is perhaps a little premature.
|
|
|
Post by Johnlprobert on Mar 1, 2013 8:00:29 GMT
I do have a lot of trouble with all his stuff post 1990. CURSE OF THE SNAKE GOD is awful, and I still don't understand what's meant to be going on in most of the stories in SHUDDERS & SHIVERS. I wouldn't suggest anyone go near any of them, except for Vault academic research purposes.
|
|
|
Post by dem on Mar 1, 2013 11:47:54 GMT
The William Kimber books are something of a lottery, but it seems you venture beyond them at your peril!
I've been wondering about Shudders & Shivers. Not least, i've been wondering about the blurb, because either I was undergoing some kind of seizure when I transcribed it, or parts of it don't look right at all.
R. Chetwynd-Hayes - Shudders and Shivers (Robert Hale, 1995)
Prologue The Intruders The Man in Black Interlude Number 1 The Bed-Sitting Room Interlude Number 2 The Cumberloo Interlude Number 3 Twilight Song Night Of The Road Interlude Number 4 Old Acquaintance Epilogue
blurb:
This is another brilliantly original work by R. Chetwynd-Hayes: a collection of stories, each one connected to the other by a common theme or character.
Three old men are seated on an old bench under a much older oak tree. Soon children come out of the house and ghost men consider going in. Draw warmth and life force from the long cold attic. They become The Intruders. There is a wedding which goes very nicely until the Man in Black arrives. He takes the bride away and she is never seen again - or is she?
The beautiful young man who puts on an ugly mask and finds he cannot take it off.
The man who murders his wife only to find that she has murdered him.
A Cumberloo, another monster to add to the R. Chetwynd-Hayes list. It looks like a hideous spider monkey, but was somebody's landlady. Well, these things will happen. Sit under the old oak tree and listen to a bird sing the Twilight Song, before spending a Night on the Road where you will meet the girl who could perform miracles.
And what about the man who hated women?
Why not find out if you can shudder and shiver both at the same time? But in the name of sanity, do not bump into the Shiver Maker.
Altogether an unusual and entertaining book. Don't put it down until you have read it from cover to cover. You'll find it worthwhile.
|
|
|
Post by Johnlprobert on Mar 24, 2013 11:25:40 GMT
You've got the blurb right, Mr D. It's just...very strange. I wonder if it was written by someone who was, shall we say, not in full control of their faculties / drunk / asleep? That cover is lovely, though - one of the very best RCH covers. Shame the stories within are just as odd as the blurb. It's years since I read this one & I came away from it with such an odd feeling myself I wonder if it deserves another go.
|
|
|
Post by helrunar on Apr 22, 2017 13:03:14 GMT
What a bizarre thread! Thanks to Lord Probert and Dem for some fascinating reading!
Sometimes you really wonder at what was going on behind the scenes that led to certain books being published...
cheers, H.
|
|
|
Post by dem on Apr 23, 2017 7:29:54 GMT
What a bizarre thread! Thanks to Lord Probert and Dem for some fascinating reading! Sometimes you really wonder at what was going on behind the scenes that led to certain books being published... cheers, H. In the case of The Psychic Detective it seems a fair bet that Robert Hale had paid the commission up front so might as well publish the damn thing and hope for the best. That The Psychic Detectives is more pricey on the second hand market than his other work is a cause for huge amusement - can't help but think that Lord P.'s rave review played a part.
|
|