The Ancestor

The AncestorIf someone were to ask me to direct them to a modern gothic novel, I’d point them straight to The Ancestor by Danielle Trussoni. While I was drawn to the story by the premise of discovering a monstrous ancestry, I just did Ancestary.com last month, the sense of the gothic is what truly fascinated me about this read. Of course, cryptozoology also plays a significant role in the plot, and, since I previously won a contest concerning cryptid monsters for my flash fiction, Feeding Time, those elements of the story appealed to me too. Overall, Trussoni brought all the eclectic elements together into a perfect mix.

The novel opens with the protagonist, Alberta, finding out she’s the heir to the prestigious Montebianco family in Italy. I absolutely loved this setup because I had no second thoughts about why Alberta would be willing to go off and visit her family’s ancestral castle in exchange for a fortune. If someone told me I was royalty and had a castle, and I could pay off my student loans, I’d be on the first plane to Italy too. In horror stories, even exceptionally good ones, I often struggle to rationalize why the protagonist investigates a strange noise, heads into a spooky basement, etc. Trussoni deftly dodges that pitfall, and you totally buy Alberta’s willingness to travel to an isolated castle in the Alps. Before I get into some spoilers, I should also add that I listened to this story on Audible, and the reader, Heather Masters, did an incredible job bringing the narrative to life.

Spoilers Below (although I try to keep things vague)

Most of the story takes place in the Montebianco Castle, and you get the strongest gothic horror vibes from this section. Alberta becomes more and more aware of her own isolation as the helicopter that dropped her off doesn’t come back, and the harsh winter weather makes any other escape from the Alps impossible. She also gets better acquainted with the family’s dark secrets while exploring the castle and getting to know the residents. Throughout this part of the book, I kept assuming her ex-husband, Luca, would eventually show up and save her. I was conflicted on this point because, while I liked Alberta and wanted her to be okay, I didn’t want to see her turned into a damsel in distress rescued by her ex. Thankfully, Trussoni made a shocking decision regarding the character of Luca and his super nice father. This was the highlight of the book for me because it took me by complete surprise. Everything after that moment felt like icing on an already delicious cake because my assumptions on where the narrative was heading vanished.

The horror in this story comes from a lot of different places too. First, there’s the horror of isolation, Alberta being trapped in Montebianco Castle reminded me of The Shining at many times, except, in The Ancestor, the protagonist isn’t confined with family. Instead, she’s trapped with strangers, like the dangerous groundskeeper. Next, there’s the horror of Alberta’s monstrous ancestry. This plays out in two ways. One, she inherits a high risk of miscarriage. Two, there’s the horror of the actual identity of some of her relations, who are, let’s say, unique beings. All these ingredients culminate in a terrific book-stew. And I didn’t even mention the fast pace, which keeps you moving through the story quickly.

I highly recommend giving The Ancestor a read or listen. I first heard about it by watching The Lovecraft eZine, and if you’re on the fence about picking up the book, I suggest giving that interview a watch (it’s linked here). Trussoni also wrote Crypto-Z, a narrative podcast, that ties into The Ancestor, and I’ve listened to the first episode, which was excellent. Lastly, I had the pleasure of attending Trussoni’s first Writing Hang-Out Session via Zoom, and I enjoyed getting to listen to the attending writers and Trussoni discuss their work. I believe it’s open to any interested writers, and you can find the details about attending here.

Read more of my work

View all my Goodreads reviews

The Color Out of Time

The Color Out of TimeWhen I first read H.P. Lovecraft’s The Colour Out of Space, I was immediately excited at the thought of writing a sequel. The ending makes continuing the story an enticing proposition. When I investigated the subject, I found Michael Shea had already written a second installment, The Color Out of Time. This didn’t stop me from writing my own follow-up, A Night at the Arkham Reservoir, but I desperately wanted to read Shea’s work to see what he did with the same idea. I couldn’t procure the book until Ramsey Campbell, a Weird Fiction Legend, provided a link to an affordable copy on the Horror Writers Association Facebook page.

Aside from the perfectly chosen title, I immediately fell in love with The Color Out of Time’s cover, in all its skeletal glory. The artwork is gruesome and perfectly conveys the fact that this book is a work of horror. This is something that modern horror novels aren’t doing as much of. My attention was drawn to this subject by an excellent video called Horror Books Have Lost Their Identity by In Praise of Shadows, and I highly suggest giving it a watch if you’re interested in the subject.

As to the writing quality, I was already a fan of Shea’s Weird Fiction because I read his story, Tsathoggua, in New Cthulhu: The Recent Weird, edited by Paula Guran. The Color Out of Time is written in a no-nonsense style that reminded me a bit of Roger Zelazny’s work. The story is effectively told, but I occasionally found myself wanting a little more from the descriptions. The Colour Out of Space is a rare story where, I feel, Lovecraft’s purple prose serves as an asset instead of a detriment, and I would’ve enjoyed reading a little more about the color in lush detail. I also felt that, while I loved the protagonists in Tsathoggua, I didn’t have an excellent sense of them in The Color Out of Time. There is a fantastic character introduced halfway through the story, but I need to delve into spoilers to discuss her.

Spoilers Below

While The Colour Out of Space’s Wikipedia page currently lists The Color Out of Time as a direct sequel, it’s actually not. The story posits that H.P. Lovecraft was inspired to write The Colour Out of Space by a real-life event that occurred in the 1930s. The Color Out of Time deals with the ramifications of a reservoir being built over the spot where those events occurred and where, like in Lovecraft’s story, a lingering piece of the monstrous color remains under the lake. That sets this story outside the universe of The Colour Out of Space. It’s an especially odd turn of events for the story because The Color Out of Time is written in such a way as to make the reader think it’s a direct sequel to The Colour Out of Space until about halfway through. When I got to the reveal, I was disappointed that I wouldn’t be visiting Arkham or getting details on the surviving characters from The Colour Out of Space. I’m not sure why Shea decided to go this direction with the narrative. It could be that whoever held the rights to The Colour Out of Space didn’t allow Shea to continue the story. Sadly, since Shea passed in 2014, I’m unable to ask him why he made this choice, but once I got past that twist, I still enjoyed the tale.

To summarize the story briefly, two older gentlemen are enjoying a trip to a lake when they discover strange mutations and a negative psychic influence surrounding the area. They soon realize a mysterious, indescribable color in the lake is at fault, and when a park ranger dies, they team up with his surviving sister, Sharon Harms, to confront the color. Harms was the character I mentioned earlier. She’s motivated to kill the color as revenge for what it did to her childhood friend, who lived on the farm the color plagued, and for what it did to her brother. Harms gets my two favorite moments of the story. First, she relays how she met and befriended H.P. Lovecraft in her youth, and second, she faces off with the color using an Elder Sign. I’ll leave the ending for you to discover, but I thought it fit the story well.

Of course, having characters fight the color makes it much less frightening. Shea even has the color assume a more physical, spider-like form. The climax of the novel, where the three human protagonists battle the color, reminded me more of an adventurous Call of Cthulhu role-playing session then the end to a Lovecraft-inspired story. The real horror of the novel came from the primary human antagonist. He’s a vacationer who’s so committed to making money, off card games with the other visitors at the lake, that he won’t heed the protagonist’s warnings that everyone is in danger. He actively undermines their efforts to save lives. I couldn’t help thinking of businesses that fought to stay open during the worst of the COVID-19 crisis, and the mayor in Jaws.

Well, this review sprawled a bit, but I appreciate you reading to the end. If you’re interested in this subject, you might also enjoy my review of Richard Stanley’s The Color Out of Space. I’d suggest you check out this book if you liked the Colour Out of Space, or if you want a quick summer read. The pace is fast, and the page count is small. If you’re extra committed to immersing yourself into your fiction, you can do what I did and visit a local lake while you read Shea’s book (pictured below). As long as you don’t start The Color Out of Time expecting it to continue the story of The Colour Out of Space, you won’t be disappointed.

Reading at Laurel Lake

Read more of my work

View all my Goodreads reviews

Milo

Milo Cover01001101 01101001 01101100 01101111 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100111 01101111 01101111 01100100 (Milo is Good). That’s my short review of fellow Seton Hill alumni Alexander Pyles’ excellent chapbook. It was published by Radix Media as part of their Science Fiction Futures Series. The company did a superb job of elevating the traditional chapbook into a more prestigious format. Aside from the stellar layout, the cover and interior art by Nico Roxe is stunningly original. So, what makes the story 01100111 01101111 01101111 01100100 (good)?

Spoilers Below

Well, I’ve already demonstrated one of my favorite elements. Pyles has his protagonist occasionally thinking in binary, which is rendered in the same manner I illustrated above. This is a uniquely cool idea, and it works perfectly in this tale. Milo, the namesake of the narrative, is a disabled man who decides to have his brain removed from his body and inserted into a robotic one. Things are great, at first.

There are two different elements at play in Milo that I really enjoyed. The first is the way the story reminded me of the horror inherent in the isolated brain trope, wherein a character has their brain removed from their body. My favorite example of this trope is in H.P. Lovecraft’s The Whisperer in Darkness, but Milo is not a horror tale. Pyles just renders Milo’s situation so well that readers will find themselves unnerved by the presentation of the character coming to grips with not having a body.

The second element is Milo’s slow loss of humanity in his robot form. At first, Milo only thinks in binary occasionally, but, by the end of the narrative, he only thinks in binary. This reminded me of moments in Paul Verhoeven’s classic, Robocop. Except, in this case, the robotic components consume the human, instead of the human transcending “literal” programming. The reader is left wondering what it means to be human, and I believe that is precisely the response the best science fiction should inspire in readers.

To conclude, Milo is an excellent story. It’s original, and it makes you think about fundamental questions we need to be discussing as a society. On top of that, you can pick up a copy without breaking your bank, and you’ll be getting a gorgeous piece of art to display on your bookshelf. You can also spring for a copy of the entire Science Fiction Futures collection from Radix Media and discover what the other entries in the series have to offer. I’m sure the quality is just as good as Milo. It’s a great time to be a reader when a chapbook can pack so much punch, but I’d certainly be interested in spending more time in Milo’s world if Pyles wanted to expand the tale further.

Read more of my work

View all my Goodreads reviews

Creatures of Will & Temper

Creatures of Will & Temper CoverIt was an absolute pleasure to re-discover the joy of book binging with Creatures of Will & Temper. My excitement levels were high when I discussed starting this novel in my post about coping with the world’s current COVID-19 situation. I am happy to report that my enthusiasm for the story carried through its entirety. I read it in only four sittings, and I finished the last 150 pages in a mad dash, the sure sign of a page-turner.

As an English Major, I was immediately captured by the Victorian setting and the elements derived from Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. As a genre reader, I loved the short excerpts from the grimoire, On the Summoning of Demons, which start almost every chapter. As a writer, I was extremely impressed by Molly Tanzer’s pacing. She spends much of the tale’s first half developing the characters and adding layers to her world instead of rushing forward with heavy doses of plot, but the book’s momentum is never hindered. In fact, I think getting to know these characters and their world might have been my favorite part of the reading experience.

Minor Spoilers Below

There is young Dorina Grey, who is enamored with art and wooing attractive ladies. There is her older and more conservative sister, Evadne, who’s only true passion is fencing. And then there is the fantastic Lady Henry, the head of a demonic art appreciation society. She’s the David Bowie of this novel, and every story is vastly improved by a character who reminds me a little of Bowie. The villain reminded me quite a lot of Professor Rathe from Young Sherlock Holmes. In fact, I found that I was picturing him as the character before he was revealed as the tale’s primary antagonist. And since I love Young Sherlock Holmes, that only added to my enjoyment of this book.

One of the challenges of discussing a novel you really like is not rambling on forever, so I will try to keep my final thoughts brief. I loved Tanzer’s attention to detail. Minor things, like the fact that one character really likes ginger, becomes important later. I should add that the focus on ginger also made me crack open a bottle of Ginger Ale that I’d had in the fridge since February. It was delightful. About halfway through reading this, I started thinking about how fun a role-playing game set in the world of Creatures of Will & Temper would be. You could hunt down other demon worshipers or use your demonic powers for heroics. Finally, the story’s ending includes a thrilling bit of swordplay, but what I really loved about it was the profound cost of triumph for one of the heroes. It should go without saying, but a good ending needs to have characters suffer consequences and change. The Dorina and Evadne who begin their journey in Creatures of Will & Temper, aren’t the same ones who end it.

Lastly, Molly Tanzer just put out the third entry in The Diabolist Library Series, which started with Creatures of Will & Temper. While I usually wouldn’t urge someone to begin with the third tale in a series, you could actually do that with this series. The books are set in the same world but don’t follow the same characters. Think of the Diabolist’s Library series as the Castle Rock or Fargo of novels. So why not pick up the newest installment, Creatures of Charm & Hunger, and support a book baby during this continuing COVID-19 catastrophe? Based on Creatures of Will & Temper, I can assure you of an excellently structured, detail-rich, and fun read.

Read more of my work

View all my Goodreads reviews

The Rust Maidens

The Rust Maidens CoverBack in October, which feels like a million years ago, I did a short review of Gwendolyn Kiste’s And Her Smile Will Untether the Universe. I loved it, and I couldn’t wait to find some time to read Kiste’s novel, The Rust Maidens. This past February, which also feels like a million years ago now that Spring is arriving, I finally got to devour it.

In summary, I adored many of the same things in Kiste’s novel that I did in her short fiction. There is a lyrical quality to her prose, and her narrative is filled with metaphors and subtexts for readers to digest. While I haven’t read a vast amount of Shirley Jackson, I have read enough to see parallels to Kiste’s work. So, if you are someone who enjoys Jackson, I think you’ll find The Rust Maidens to your taste.

Reading novels now that I have a graduate degree in writing, I often find myself looking at the structure of books. In The Rust Maidens, the story is told from a single protagonist, Phoebe, but Kiste foregoes a simple linear narrative in favor of one split over two different years, 2008 and 1980. The novel opens with a world-weary Phoebe returning to her hometown of Cleveland in 2008. Since the older Phoebe has already experienced the climax of the story, Kiste can build mysteries to intrigue the reader by teasing revelations to come with the inner monologue of the protagonist. At the end of the first chapter, Kiste leaves readers pondering the two primary questions at the heart of the novel. Who are the Rust Maidens, and what happened to them? These are the questions that will propel readers through the book, but in case that’s not enough to keep you reading, there is a healthy dose of juicy cliffhangers. These are effective in novels because you can always choose to flip to the next page, whereas in television, especially classic network fair, you’re stuck waiting for a period you have no control over.

While I won’t get into deep spoilers, as I feel the secrets of books are for readers to discover and not for reviewers to impart, I do have a few additional thoughts on this novel. I loved the fact that the older Phoebe’s story takes place in 2008, the year of the great recession, which perfectly parallels the economically challenged Cleveland presented in 1980. Kiste’s descriptions of both the settings and the Rust Maidens themselves leave you feeling like you’re covered in grime, in the best kind of way. While the community in which Phoebe grew up in 1980 has significant issues, I loved a moment near the novel’s climax where the reader gets to see that not everyone within that community is as heartless as they seem for a large portion of the tale. There is a tremendous grey quality to the morality of the characters at the heart of this story, and I live for that kind of complexity.

If you’re hesitant to jump into a novel by Kiste because you haven’t read her work yet, I’d advise you to check out her short story, The Eight People Who Murdered Me (Excerpt from Lucy Westenra’s Diary). It’s a fun addition to the mythology of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, it’s got a lot of thought-provoking subtexts, and it’s nominated for a Stoker Award. If you’re already familiar with the works of Gwendolyn Kiste, there’s a world of other great horror writers to explore, a few of which I discuss in my Women in Horror Month article.

Read more of my work

View all my Goodreads reviews