There are horror writers who take
themselves oh so seriously, and then there are horror writers who crank out the
pages with the intensity of a pulp writer, and have fun doing it. Guy N. Smith
falls into the latter category, and that’s why he is so enjoyable to read.
Smith knows what his readers want, and he gives it to them in proper dosages. His
novels are not overlong but they are heavy with action, mood, thrills, plot
twists and energy. They are also chilling. The
Wood is a 1985 scream-fest that is wickedly fun to read. This one gets off
to a fast start: During World War II Bertie Hass, a Luftwaffe pilot, parachutes
from his crippled airplane over England
and lands in a place called Droy Wood. He doesn’t know it, but he’ll never see Germany again.
Droy Wood is haunted, and Hass becomes part of an ancient and sinister tableau.
Cut to modern times: Carol Embleton is pissed at her boyfriend, Andy Dark, and
walks home from the discotheque, passing perilously close to Droy Wood. Carol
accepts a ride from a stranger as she passes Droy Wood, and suddenly she’s been
stripped naked and raped. Fearing for her life, she runs naked into Droy Wood,
pursued by James Foster, the rapist. Later Andy and the police organize a
search party and everyone slips into Droy Wood looking for Carol, who remains
naked, frightened but most decidedly not alone. In addition to Bertie Hass,
there are strange creatures in the cold bog and an ancient army preparing for
battle. Droy Wood is one spooky damn place. There are multiple characters in
this book, and many of them come to a gruesome end. Guy N. Smith lives in England and has
published dozens of books, all of them good. The Wood is a typical example of his work, and I mean that in a
positive way. I much prefer Smith over certain horror writers who write
thousand page tomes that are ultimately unreadable. Smith provides horror in
just the right percentages. Watch this blog for additional reviews of Guy N.
Smith’s books in the near future.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Sunday, December 22, 2013
Cult of the Witch Queen by Richard S. Shaver
Richard S. Shaver was never a
great writer, but there is enough entertaining nonsense in his pulp fiction to
make his stories interesting. Some of his stories are better than others, but
more often the plots and ideas he presented were far more interesting than the
stories themselves. It was as if his talent couldn’t rise to the occasion of
his ideas. Still, he is entertaining, and there is a lingering interest in his
work. Shaver is best known because “The Shaver Mystery,” a series of science
fiction tales published in Amazing
Stories in the late 1940s. Shaver claimed his stories were autobiographical
and that an advanced civilization lived in large caverns deep below the earth’s
surface. Editor and publisher Ray Palmer exploited Shaver’s stories, going so
far as to state he agreed with Shaver’s claims. Shaver stated that Deros, the
people living in the caverns, had held him captive for several years and that
his stories were but thinly disguised accounts of his own adventures. Although
the Hollow Earth theory was far from original (Edgar Rice Burroughs did much
better with it in his Pellucidar stories), Shaver’s fiction became popular and
helped increase sales of Amazing Stories.
In fact, “Shaver Mystery Clubs” were fashionable activities for young readers
and fans. In later years, Shaver asserted that certain rocks contained the
remnants of an ancient language. One thing is certain - Richard S. Shaver had a
wild imagination.
Cult of the Witch Queen was originally published in the August 1946
issue of Amazing Stories. It features
all of those elements that made his stories popular. Big Jim gets hoodwinked
into servitude in the caverns beneath the earth. Held captive by The Watchers,
he falls for a Venusian named Ceulna who tells Jim about The Limping Hag, the
vampire queen who is breeding Venusians for their children’s blood. Jim himself
is slated for a trip to Venus to help defeat the Venusian rebels at war with
the Witch Queen. The Rulers want Jim to become a soldier for them. Jim has to
be careful because sometimes The Watchers can read his mind. The Venusians held
captive on earth are naturally quite beautiful, and Jim brews up a plan to stow
Ceulna on the spaceship so they might reconnoiter on Venus and somehow set her
and her people free. Out in space, Jim learns that the followers of the Witch
Queen are the remnants of the cult of Hecate, an offshoot of the Rosicrucians.
And then it gets a lot weirder. Shaver even throws in footnotes relating to
mineralogy and other “relevant” historical points. The second half of Cult of the Witch Queen is pure
bombastic Space Opera. Once on Venus readers will learn of the Elder Race and
you’ll get glimpses of Venus including the tree city of Lefern. Armies at war, Venusian political
intrigue and even Ray Guns come into play in this wacky but entertaining tale.
Cult of the Witch Queen is but one of Shaver’s stories available as
reprints. This edition from Fiction House and Pulpville Press reproduces the
original cover from Amazing Stories. Visit www.pulpvillepress.com for
additional information, and watch this blog more reviews of Shaver’s fiction.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
White Fire by Preston & Child
In a previous post I mentioned that FBI Special
Agent Aloysius Pendergast ranks among literature’s greatest detectives, and I
linked him to Sherlock Holmes, Sam Spade, Philip Marlowe and others. Now, with
the publication of White Fire, authors
Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child have actually linked Pendergast directly with
Holmes in a story that left me breathless. Keep in mind that ALL of Preston
& Child’s Pendergast novels leave me breathless. With White Fire, Pendergast’s young friend, Corrie Swanson, takes center
stage for the first time as she pursues a college education in a story that
leads her – or Pendergast – to a lost Sherlock Holmes story by Arthur Conan
Doyle. That story is included in the text, so readers get a double treat here. Pendergast
and Holmes have a lot in common, and now I’m wondering if those similarities
weren’t intentional. Authors Lincoln Child and Douglas Preston know their
literature, and they certainly know Holmes. Corrie Swanson discovers some tantalizing
clues in a series of deaths 150 years earlier, all of which has great relevance
today. There are the requisite nasty villians, some twists and turns and loads
of suspense. After the incredible events of what is being called “The Helen
Trilogy,” which consists of Two Graves,
Cold Vengeance and Fever Dream, I was curious has to how
the series might continue. White Fire
does NOT answer that question, and I view the book as more of an interlude.
There are but the briefest references to previous events in White Fire, so readers interested in
learning the status of Pendergast’s two sons (one good, one evil), and his
relationships with Constance Green and other longstanding characters will have
to wait. The good news is that we are introduced to a fascinating new character,
Captain Stacy Bowdree, USAF. White Fire
is a taut, suspenseful book and a fine addition to the Pendergast canon. With
Aloysius Pendergast, authors Lincoln Child and Douglas Preston have created a
literary character that will stand the test of time. People will be reading the
Pendergast novels in one hundred years, just as we are reading the Sherlock
Holmes novels today. This is literary history in the making.
Monday, December 2, 2013
Indian Summer by John T. McCutcheon
John T. McCutcheon's Indian Summer was first
published in the Chicago Tribune on September 30, 1907. It was reprinted nearly yearly until 1992 when concerns of
it being “political incorrect” prompted it’s removal. When asked about his
ever-popular cartoon, McCutcheon replied: “There
was, in fact, little on my young horizon in the middle '70s beyond corn and
Indian traditions," he recalled later. "It required only a small
effort of the imagination to see spears and tossing feathers in the tasseled
stalks, tepees through the smoky haze. .” Inspired by his youth in Indiana in
the 1870s, the cartoon was a favorite of mine as a child. I’m not aware that
the Chicago Tribune prints this cartoon very often, although they do receive a
lot of requests for it. Here it is along with McCutcheon’s original
text. Enjoy!
*****
Yep, sonny this is sure enough Injun summer. Don't
know what that is, I reckon, do you? Well, that's when all the homesick Injuns
come back to play; You know, a long time ago, long afore yer granddaddy was
born even, there used to be heaps of Injuns around here—thousands—millions, I
reckon, far as that's concerned. Reg'lar sure 'nough Injuns—none o' yer cigar
store Injuns, not much. They wuz all around here—right here where you're
standin'. Don't be skeered—hain't none around here now, leastways no live ones. They
been gone this many a year. They all went away and died, so they ain't no more left.
But every year, 'long about now, they all come back, leastways their
sperrits do. They're here now. You can see 'em off across the fields. Look real
hard. See that kind o' hazy misty look out yonder? Well, them's Injuns—Injun
sperrits marchin' along an' dancin' in the sunlight. That's what makes that
kind o' haze that's everywhere—it's jest the sperrits of the Injuns all come
back. They're all around us now. See off yonder; see them tepees? They kind o' look like corn shocks from
here, but them's Injun tents, sure as you're a foot high. See 'em now? Sure, I
knowed you could. Smell that smoky sort o' smell in the air? That's the
campfires a-burnin' and their pipes a-goin'.
Lots o' people say it's just leaves burnin', but it ain't. It's the
campfires, an' th' Injuns are hoppin' 'round 'em t'beat the old Harry. You jest come out here tonight when the moon is hangin' over the hill off
yonder an' the harvest fields is all swimmin' in the moonlight, an' you can see
the Injuns and the tepees jest as plain as kin be. You can, eh? I knowed you
would after a little while. Jever notice how the leaves turn red 'bout this time o' year? That's jest
another sign o' redskins. That's when an old Injun sperrit gits tired dancin'
an' goes up an' squats on a leaf t'rest. Why I kin hear 'em rustlin' an'
whisper in' an' creepin' 'round among the leaves all the time; an' ever' once'n
a while a leaf gives way under some fat old Injun ghost and comes floatin' down
to the ground. See—here's one now. See how red it is? That's the war paint
rubbed off'n an Injun ghost, sure's you're born. Purty soon all the Injuns'll go marchin' away agin, back to the happy
huntin' ground, but next year you'll see 'em troopin' back—th' sky jest hazy
with 'em and their campfires smolderin' away jest like they are now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)