Book Review: A VOICE CALLING

TITLE: A Voice Calling

AUTHOR: Christopher Barzak

103 pages, Psychopomp, ISBN 9798891160019 (softcover, also in e-book)

MY RATING: 5 stars out of 5

Christopher Barzak’s new novella A Voice Calling is ostensibly a haunted house story, but it is also very much a haunted community story, an elegiacally written and unsparing look at the way secrets and violence can permeate and shape both places and people (individually and collectively).

In Barzak’s hands, Button House takes a rightful place alongside Shirley Jackson’s Hill House, Poe’s House of Usher, King’s Marsten House, and Elizabeth Hand’s Wylding Hall as iconic haunted houses (each of those listed left an indelible mark on my imagination; your list may be different). Button House has a mood I can only describe as “habitable desolation,” thanks to its history. That history, revealed through flashbacks of varying lengths throughout the narrative, starts with an unsurety as to whether the house or the orchards that surround it came first. One way or the other, the property has roots that are more than one hundred years old, and most of that history is sordid and bloody. House and orchard together are fixed in my mind as someplace I wouldn’t want to be alone in at any time of day – and Barzak works this magic with very few detailed descriptions of the house and grounds. It is largely through mood and inference that a picture of the property forms in the reader’s mind, which I think is far more effective than overly detailed descriptions of the furniture in every room.

But as I said, it’s not just the house that is haunted. It is the nearby community as well. This community narrates the story with a collective “we.” These faceless, and mostly nameless, voices are at times judgmental, speculative, defensive, infuriated, occasionally even concerned – but they are never warm, never really welcoming or hospitable. And thus they are also blind both to how complicit they are in the events that occur (by turning a blind eye to the house and its inhabitants when attention might have swayed matters) and to how haunted they are by those events. The fear of a community is a palpable thing, self-perpetuating and uncontrollable. As the book progressed, I found myself increasingly picturing the narrators as one of the angry mobs from the early Universal monster films. Like those mobs, Barzak’s narrators never really gain any sense of individuality. Sure, we get a townsperson’s name here and there, for color. But we never get to know them.

We do get to know the focal character of the present day portions of the novel, the character the nameless narrators are most concerned about because she used to be one of their own: Rose Billings (the narrators never really accept her marriage to Button House’s last living resident, Jonas Addleson, and thus never refer to her by her married name, another manifestation of their fear and mistrust). Caught out near Button House during a bad storm, Rose, who has heard voices in her head all her life, feels called to the House. But did the House call to Rose because Jonas needed rescue, or because something else did? Barzak neatly conjoins this mystery with the bloody history of the house in prose that is compelling and engrossing, with not a superfluous word in the work. Even with chapter breaks, the story has so much momentum that it qualifies as my first “couldn’t put it down until I was done” read of 2024.

Throughout my reading, I kept feeling like the story was familiar, like I’d read it before. I chalked it up to Barzak being one of my favorite writers and just feeling at home in his style, because this is the first publication in any form of A Voice Calling. My feeling was correct, though. This novella grew out of a short story “What We Know About the Lost Families of –House,” which I’ve read at least once. The original story is great, but the novella format gives the story a bit more room to breath and to suck the reader into Button House’s history.

This book is also the first release from small press publisher Psychopomp (previously known for The Deadlands magazine). It is an excellent start to what I am confident will be a lengthy line of eerie books that explore our relationship with death in all its myriad facets, as well as what may or may not come after.

Book Review: SOMEONE ELSE'S STORY

TITLE: Someone Else’s Story

AUTHOR: Laird Ryan States

128 pages, The Seventh Terrace, ISBN 9781990082245 (paperback, e-book)

MY RATING:  5 stars out of 5

REVIEW: Someone Else’s Story perfectly melds various types of horror (gothic, cosmic, body) with the classic stylings of the weird pulp genre in a sharp, fast-paced story that touches on the ways in which we lie to ourselves and others to protect ourselves from the pains of our past and sometimes our present.

Tom Bradstreet: investigative journalist with a death wish; occasional troubleshooter for a British spy agency that keeps tabs on the supernatural; unwilling immortal; and usually the supporting character in other people’s adventures. Having exiled himself to Edmonton, Canada to drink himself to oblivion, Tom thinks he’s out of the spy game, but they pull him back in to investigate a controversial artist named William S. Frankenstein, whose works are pure body horror and whose abilities may be supernatural.

Tom is, personality-wise, a contemporary of characters like John Constantine and Harry Dresden: world-weary, acerbic, keeping people who could love him at an emotional distance while at the same time feeling every emotional high and low relationships bring. His character comes through clearly in every line, a bit lovable despite his clear attempts to be otherwise.

The main antagonist is exactly who you think he is, but there are layers to his characterization that develop him beyond the way he’s usually presented in sequels to the work he originally appeared in. He is just as world-weary as Tom but is far angrier about it. I enjoyed the juxtaposition between the two in how they see the world, how they cope with their own personal histories, and how they deal with the world around them. Frankenstein’s wife is also an intriguing character and if I have any complaint about the book, it’s that we didn’t get a deeper look inside her thoughts and motivations. Then again, maybe that’s a good thing, because she was easily the scariest part of the book.

Forewarned being forearmed, readers should note that there is a lot of graphic gore and violence throughout the book, as indicated by the mention of body horror earlier. Fans of body horror especially will enjoy this book, but so will fans of occult detectives, cosmic horror, and classic horror. States brings it all together satisfactorily. This is the first Laird Ryan States book I’ve read, and now I plan to seek out his earlier work.

I received an advance reading copy of this book for free from the author in exchange for an honest review. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review. Someone Else’s Story published July 7, 2023.

Book Review: THE SALT GROWS HEAVY

TITLE: The Salt Grows Heavy

AUTHOR: Cassandra Khaw

106 pages, Tor Nightfire, ISBN 9781250830913 (hardcover, e-book, audiobook)

MY RATING:  4 stars out of 5

The Salt Grows Heavy cements Cassandra Khaw as one of the modern masters of the horror novella. Tonally, the book is very different from Khaw’s magnificent, ethereal 2021 novella Nothing but Blackened Teeth, which just proves the author’s range, as both books kept me engrossed through very different means.

Salt is narrated by a mermaid who married a king, but this is no happily-ever-after tale. The King has tortured his wife (including cutting out her tongue) and forced her to bear his daughters who, just prior to the start of the novella, have devoured their father, his court, and most of his kingdom. Among the survivors are the now-free mermaid and the court’s mysterious non-binary Plague Doctor, who flee the castle in search of safe haven. Which, this being a horror novella, they do not find, encountering instead a group of nearly feral children and the men they worship as gods. And this is when the story gets really disturbing.

The mermaid’s narrative voice is lush and detailed, bordering on archaic, while still being relatable to the modern reader. The weight of her experiences at her husband’s hands, the pride and fear she expressed about her daughters, inform every sentence. The developing bond between mermaid queen and plague doctor as they learn each other’s secrets, is the beautiful core of an otherwise horrific and bloody story; the fits and starts of awkward mutual attraction are so real that I recognized myself in each moment. But fair warning: this is not a cozy romance. The mermaid also narrates, in visceral detail, moments of brutal body horror that disturbed me even while I was unable to look away. The mermaid and the Plague Doctor each have experienced debilitating trauma at the hands of people who should have cared for them, through which the author explores the abuses of power endemic to so many fairy tales.

In The Salt Grows Heavy, Cassandra Khaw comingles threads and themes from fairy tales both famous (The Little Mermaid) and less-so (The Three Army Surgeons), along with works as seminal as Frankenstein and The Lord of the Flies – a combination which in lesser hands maybe would not work, but in Khaw’s hands becomes a vessel for exploring othering, outsidership, and the myriad ways in which we find ourselves controlled and confined.

I received an electronic advance reading copy of this book for free from the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review. The Salt Grows Heavy was published on May 2, 2023

Book Review: THE HOUSE OF DROUGHT

TITLE: The House of Drought

AUTHOR: Dennis Mombauer

106 pages, Stelliform Press, ISBN 978177709178 (paperback, e-book)

MY RATING: 4 stars out of 5

SHORT REVIEW: Mombauer expertly weaves threads from different times through the common ground of a haunted house, keeping the reader guessing as to how it will all come together. The taste of dust and a sense of desperation permeate every page, with hope blooming unexpectedly in small corners.

LONG REVIEW: In The House of Drought, Dennis Mombauer combines the tropes of classic Gothic literature – an abandoned mansion with a questionable history situated in a remote location – with the contemporary climate emergency and Sri Lankan history to create a tightly-written novella that keeps the reader guessing how it will all come together as it spans multiple time frames and drips with atmosphere. The taste of dust and a sense of desperation permeate almost every page, with hope blooming unexpectedly in small corners.

The mansion at the hear of things is a Sri Lankan colonialist relic, long abandoned by the Europeans who built it when a caretaker named Ushu brings four children there to protect them from racially biased violence. When thugs arrive to collect a debt, eldest child Jasmit leads most of the children into a bathroom whose running tap is a portal to a mystical Dry House. The Dry House is both haven and horror. One child runs into the forest that surrounds the plantation, encountering the supernatural Sap Mother, who has her own agenda.

Parts of the story are told through Jasmit’s eyes, and parts through those of a climate disaster documentarian who has become obsessed with the plantation and begins investigating its history and reputation – including another family who lived there after Ushu’s charges disappeared. The shifts between POVs, the stories within stories, are sometimes jarring – but that adds to the overall sense that something is very not right with this house and the forest surrounding it, something dangerous that continues to threaten adults and children alike. I think this is part of the reason the story has lingered with me months after my initial reading: I feel as off-kilter as the characters do.

The generational similarities and differences, the backgrounds the characters are coming from, also add to that overall atmosphere … almost, but not quite, a “the more things change, the more they remain the same” feeling. I know very little about the history of Sri Lanka, and I do wonder how this book resonates with readers more familiar with the actual history.

Another reason the book has lingered with me is that pure atmosphere. The sweltering heat of the climate-change present day scenes is palpable, as is the parched sur-reality of the Dry House. Mombauer is at his best with the visceral sensory details (I felt dehydrated just reading the Dry House scenes), as well as in the way he expressed the unreality of the supernatural forces at work. Even his “jump scares” are potent.

I suppose if there’s one thing I wanted more of it was Sap Mother. A looming presence throughout, a counterpoint to the Dry House (both malevolent but in different ways), I felt like she deserved a bit more screen time than she got. But the scenes she does get are chillingly effective.

The House of Drought clocks in at a fast, engrossing 106 pages, and I suspect I’ll be seeing something new every time I re-read it.

Book Review: THE HITHERTO SECRET EXPERIMENTS OF MARIE CURIE

TITLE: The Hitherto Secret Experiments of Marie Curie

EDITORS: Bryan Thomas Schmidt and Henry Herz

350 pages, Blackstone Publishing, ISBN 9781665047036 (hardcover, also e-book and audio)

MY RATING:  5 stars out of 5

SHORT REVIEW: An excellent collection of stories that consider what might have happened had Marya Skłodowska (who grew up to be Marie Curie) used her scientific knowledge to combat threats to her family and friends. While most of the stories feature a supernatural threat, a few are more standard mysteries. The tales are grounded in the truths of Marya’s childhood: the early deaths of her mother and elder sister, the Russian occupation of Warsaw, and the lack of public education for girls. Many of the stories are followed by author’s notes explaining the science Marya uses to solve problems and help her friends, which I hope will add to the editors’ intent of inspiring children, especially girls, to go into STEM fields.

LONGER REVIEW: The Hitherto Secret Experiments of Marie Curie posits a world in which the teenage Marie Curie, née Skłodowska, uses her scientific knowledge to protect family and friends from threats ranging from murderers to the supernatural. While a few of the stories stray from the concept (either by not including a science-based solution to the problem, or by having the title character do something downright villainous), most fit the bill.

Marya Skłodowska grew up in Warsaw, which was then under Russian dominion. Girls were only allowed to attend school to a certain age, and Poles were treated by the Russians as second-class citizens in their own city. When laboratory instruction in the sciences was removed from the curricula for Polish students, Marya and some of her peers attended a “flying university” that changed locations to avoid Russian detection. Most of the stories take place during the time Marya and her friends were students at a regular “gymnasia” (school) for Polish girls, but a few take place during the “flying university” years, and at least one during the year Marya spent living with relatives in the Polish countryside. Only one (“The Beast” by Stacia Deutsch) features an adult Marie Curie and is a neat twist on the typical time-travel story.

The volume opens with “Uncrowned Kings” by Seanan McGuire, who herself knows more than just a little bit about using hard science in science fiction and horror. After the death of her eldest sister by typhus, Marya stops believing in God and starts trusting in science. When something that seems like typhus rears its ugly head six years later but only affecting children and teens including another of her sisters, Marya follows the evidence to find the true source of this latest scourge: a mythical rat-king in the sewers. McGuire’s tale sets the tone of the book perfectly: showcasing Marya’s determination to not let others fall victim to preventable disease, her curiosity about the scientific underpinnings of the universe, her devotion to family and friends, all ensconced in a story that includes some fantastical element. “The Cold White Ones” by Susanne L. Lambdin also uses the return of typhus to Warsaw as a launching point but with a different supernatural problem at the core.

Marya’s grief and anger over the untimely deaths of her mother and eldest sister, Zofia, are palpable in many of the stories, not just McGuire’s. Sometimes the emotions spur the action, sometimes the action helps Marya process her grief – I’m thinking particularly here of Alethea Kontis’ beautiful “Marya’s Monster,” in which Marya returns from a St. Andrew’s Day birthday party to encounter a wolf-like monster under her bed. I don’t want to say too much more about how the story progresses, except that it is a stunning look at how we process grief and loss.

Other favorites in the anthology that feature a supernatural menace of some sort as Mylo Cabria’s “Three Ravens,” Scott Sigler’s “A Glow in the Dark,” and Jonathan Maberry’s “The Night Flyers,” which closes on the book on as solid a note as McGuire’s story opened it, focusing as it does on the other bane of Marya’s existence: the Russian overlords controlling Warsaw. The story is especially affecting as in 2023 we watch Russia’s continued war on Ukraine.

Not every story features a supernatural element. In “The Magic of Science,” co-editor Bryan Thomas Schmidt teams with author G.P. Charles to give us a wonderful “cozy mystery:” a girl in Marya’s dorm wakes up to discover her skin has turned blue. Later that day, a cook at the school dies. Supernatural explanations are put forward by her fellow students, but Marya is sure there is a rational scientific explanation. There is, and the path to it is well-developed, a very “fair play” kind of mystery. Steve Pantazis’ “The Prize” also seems to lack, or at least downplays, a supernatural element, pitting Marya and a rival classmate against the impending death of the classmate’s father by metal poisoning.

Many of the stories are followed with an explanation of the science that underpins the story, which I think enhances the book’s ability to interest young readers in the sciences and encourage them, especially young girls, to pursue STEM studies.

I received an electronic advance review copy of this book for free from the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review. The Hitherto Secret Experiments of Marie Curie was published on April 11, 2023.

So Who Publishes Novellas These Days?

When genre readers think of novellas, they tend to think of either TorDotCom, who release a steady stream of awards-nominated novellas every year (including this week’s release Feed Them Silence by Lee Mandelo, which I’ll be reviewing later today, and next week’s The Lies of the Ajungo by Moses Ose Utomi), or of magazines like Asimov’s, AnalogSF, and The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction which have regularly featured novelettes and novellas in their monthly content over their decades of publication.

But there are plenty of other magazines and small press publishers bringing out novellas every year in a variety of genres, and I’d like to mention some of them. This is far from a complete list, and I encourage readers to mention any I don’t in the comments!

Neon Hemlock Press puts out novellas in the horror/SF/fantasy genres, with a focus on LGBTQIA+ creators and stories. They are currently in the last days of their annual novella crowdfunding event, where you can back (a.k.a. preorder) their 2023 slate in print and/or e-book formats. Go check them out before the crowdfunding effort ends on Thursday, March 16th at 4pm.

Speaking of queer-focused publishers: several items in the catalogs of both Lethe Press (including Octavia Cade’s The Stone Weta) and Rebel Satori Press are novella-length, spanning all the genres of speculative fiction and moving into historical, romance and mimetic fiction as well.

Looking novel-length queer romance? Check out Bold Stroke Books. I’m a particular fan of ‘Nathan Burgoine’s “Little Village” novella series, and I’ve been meaning to check out some of their lesbian romance novella collections.

Stelliform Press’s novellas focus on the on-going climate emergency and intersectional views of environmental justice, and range in genre from horror (The House of Drought by Dennis Mombauer) to fantastic science fiction (Weird Fishes by Rae Mariz), and every point in between. Their latest, Another Life by Sarena Ulibarri, comes out May 25th.

If the classics and mimetic fiction are more your thing, look no further than Melville House Publishing. Their “Art of the Novella” collection reissues classic novellas, some in solo book form for the first time ever. They also have a “Contemporary Art of the Novella” series if you’re looking for modern mimetic works at novella length.

Aqueduct Press’ Conversation Pieces series brings feminist science fiction to the demanding reader. While not every volume in this long-running series is a novella (some are poetry or short story collections, others works of non-fiction), quite a few are. Recent releases include To The Woman in the Pink Hat by LaToya Jordan and Apollo Weeps by Xian Mao.

On the mystery side of things, The Mysterious Bookshop’s Bibliomysteries series are usually novelette length excursions into everything from noir to cozy mysteries.

And in addition to the magazines listed at the start of this post, I would be remiss in not mentioning Clarkesworld, which also regularly includes novellas in their pages.

Book Review: DRACULA'S CHILD

TITLE: Dracula’s Child

AUTHOR: J.S. Barnes

576 pages, Titan Books, ISBN 9781789093391 (paperback, e-book, audio)

MY RATING:  4 stars out of 5

REVIEW: Dracula’s Child is just one of the most recent in an overwhelming and ever-growing number of sequels to Bram Stoker’s classic, but it stands out from the crowd for a number of reasons.

This is one of those sequels that mimics the original novel’s epistolary style successfully. Dracula’s Child is told through entries from characters’ private journals, correspondence between characters, and press clippings that coalesce into an expansive whole where the reader usually knows more than any individual character knows – heightening the palpable sense of foreboding and doom that befits a gothic adventure novel while at the same time giving the reader glimmers of hope that the characters don’t have. The perspectives of new characters are woven well with those of characters we’re already familiar with; Jonathan and Mina Harker, Arthur Holmwood, Jack Seward, and Abraham Van Helsing are all back, as is Jonathan and Mina’s now almost-teenage son Quincey.

If I have one complaint about the book, it’s how miserable all of the returning characters seem to be. If you know me, you know my deep attachment to the original novel and characters. It is hard for me to read a book in which those stalwarts who defeated a great evil appear to have led lives of such deep unhappiness in the aftermath. But that is a personal qualm, and I will readily admit that the unhappiness of the Harkers, et al, contributes to the overall sense of impending disaster the novel maintains.

Another positive: this is one of those seemingly rare sequels that does not riff on the now overused trope that Mina Harker (nee Murray) is the incarnation of Dracula’s lost love (which was nowhere in the original novel). There is no romantic connection between them here. In fact, it’s clear that Mina is still dealing with the trauma from Dracula’s assault/rape of her in the original novel. This really was a breath of fresh air compared to many recent sequels and retellings.

Barnes also incorporates something Stoker could not possibly have done overtly in the original: gay characters who are more than just stereotypes. The author deftly includes scenes of what it was like to live an “openly secret” homosexual life, or as much of one as could be lived given the strictures of the time. I appreciated the period-appropriate representation.

Overall, Dracula’s Child is a sequel that builds well from the original source material rather than rewriting or supplanting it. Like most sequels, it “goes bigger” than the original but in ways that feel original and exciting. And while it leaves room for a follow-up, if Barnes decides to never revisit these characters I feel content with where he leaves his cast in the final pages.

Book Review: SUMMER SONS

TITLE: Summer Sons

AUTHOR: Lee Mandelo

372 pages, TorDotCom Publishing, ISBN 9781250790286 (hardcover, also available in audiobook, e-book. Paperback due on August 16, 2022)

DESCRIPTION: (from inside front cover): Andrew and Eddie did everything together, best friends bonded more deeply than brothers, until Eddie left Andrew behind to start his graduate program at Vanderbilt. Six months later, only days before Andrew was to join him in Nashville, Eddie dies of an apparent suicide. He leaves Andrew a horrible inheritance: a roommate he doesn’t know, friends he never asked for, and a gruesome phantom that hungers for him.

As Andrew searches for the truth of Eddie’s death, he uncovers the lies and secrets left behind by the person he trusted most, discovering a family history soaked in blood and death. Whirling between the backstabbing academic world where Eddie spent his days and the circle of hot boys, fast cars, and hard drugs that ruled Eddie’s nights, the walls Andrew has built against the world begin to crumble.

And there is something awful lurking, waiting for those walls to fall.

MY RATING: 5 out of 5 stars

MY THOUGHTS: Lee Mandelo’s Summer Sons is about as close to an ideal modern gay Southern Gothic novel as we’re likely to ever get. An intriguing set-up (the apparent suicide of a best friend uncovers secrets perhaps best left covered) allows Mandelo to explore not just the bonds between best friends but the way toxic masculinity fosters secrets and separation. All the men in this book have a tough time expressing what they’re really thinking and feeling; there’s a lot of deflection, denial, and just plain silence. There were several times I found myself shouting at the characters to “JUST TALK ALREADY.” It’s frustrating, but in an effective way, building tension for characters and reader alike.

It’s clear from the beginning that it’s not just Andrew’s long-unrequited love for Eddie that drives him to find out why Eddie so suddenly committed suicide. Exactly what else is driving Andrew, why even while in denial he always placed Eddie so much above every other relationship, is one of the slow-burn sub-plots of the novel. All is revealed eventually; the slow parceling-out of the details is paced perfectly for the reveal to hit with maximum “holy shit” effect. As Andrew struggles with accepting his own past, his love for Eddie, and the possibility that he might be falling in love again, his mental state swings from depressed to disturbed and back again. It’s a fantastic character study, a deep look into how depression and anxiety work, especially on someone as closeted as Andrew is.

The new circles Andrew finds himself thrust into are full of interesting characters with their own secrets and agendas that don’t overlap quite the way one might expect. There wasn’t a character introduced that didn’t pique my interest.

And Mandelo fills the book with mood: from the first scene to the denouement, the story fairly drips with claustrophobia. The three main locations (three very different houses) feel close and confining, but so do the outdoor scenes (especially a particular party scene), and even the racing scenes (these boys love their fast cars, and so do the ghosts) despite, or perhaps because of, how well Mandelo captures that sense of speeding down dark roads with the woods on either side barely visible on moonless nights.

There are plenty of twists and turns, and a healthy dollop of supernatural activity and dread, making this a great summer horror read.

I originally received an electronic Advanced Reading Copy of this book from the publisher via NetGalley. For assorted reasons, this review did not get posted at that time. With the paperback edition coming out in August 2022, I thought it was time to rectify that.

Book Review: SLIGHTS

TITLE: SLIGHTS

AUTHOR: Kaaron Warren

528 pages, Angry Robot Books, ISBN 9780857660077 (paperback, also available in e-book, audio)

DESCRIPTION: (from Goodreads): STEVIE IS A KILLER.

But she brings her victims back to life to demand of them: "WHAT DO YOU SEE?"

Now she's about to find out for herself...

After an accident in which her mother dies, Stevie has a near-death experience, and finds herself in a room full of people - everyone she's ever annoyed. They clutch at her, scratch and tear at her. But she finds herself drawn back to this place, again and again, determined to unlock its secrets. Which means she has to die, again and again. And Stevie starts to wonder whether other people see the same room... when they die.

MY RATING: 5 out of 5 stars

MY THOUGHTS: Most of the horror in Kaaron Warren’s Slights is subtle – hints at dreadful things that have happened, the occasional more solid sensory description – because the main character doesn’t allow herself to really experience/process the things she’s doing/seeing/learning. That doesn’t make the horrific aspects of the story any less compelling. In fact, it makes them almost insidious as the hints and sensory descriptions slowly work in the back of the reader’s brain. There are bits and pieces of Stevie’s story that are lingering with me long after I’ve finished the book (it has taken me a while to finally write this review, for which I apologize to the author), little things that pop back into my head because of something I see in my peripheral vision or half-hear because I’m concentrating on something else. And isn’t that the way the best psychological horror works, planting itself in your hindbrain until something brings it out in stark relief?

I say “most of the horror” because there are several scenes of disturbing body horror sprinkled in during each of Stevie’s near-death experiences in the “room” with the people she’s “slighted.” The damage these figures do to Stevie is more graphically presented, but there’s still a psychological aspect: is this really happening, or is it her subconscious attacking her for the things she knows she’s done but can’t bring herself to consciously acknowledge? Most of the “slights” she believes she’s paying penance for in the room are minor things that the “slighted” individuals probably don’t even remember – but the people she’s really harmed don’t seem to show up, or at least not as often and not as brutally. And we’re never sure what Stevie’s victims see, lending weight to the question of what’s really happening. I think disparate readers will interpret what’s going on here differently, a tribute to Warren’s talent.

Stevie herself meets my criteria for an “unreliable narrator.” Whether she’s talking about her own current circumstances, her childhood, or the lives of her parents and their siblings, there are always details she omits or shares and then recants. There are also the things other people say to her that jog the reader into realizing that Stevie doesn’t remember events the same way as others who were present. This forces the reader to pay attention, to start connecting dots on their own. I am a fan of “unreliable narrators,” so it should come as no surprise that I loved this aspect of the book. I enjoy trying to figure out what the narrator is hiding (whether she’s doing it intentionally to mislead the reader, or honestly doesn’t realize she’s doing it at all). I found Stevie’s voice – wistful yet agonized, firm yet shadowy – compelling throughout the book.

Slights is also an excellent crime novel – not only the aspect of whether Stevie will get caught for the thing’s she’s done (she’s a killer – that’s not a spoiler because it’s right there in the book’s tagline), but also the slow unraveling of the truth of her family’s life before her father, a policeman, died in the line of duty. That truth explains a lot about Stevie and her brother and their relationship which is as much at the core of the book as Stevie’s obsession with the room and the people she’s slighted.

SUNDAY SHORTS: Two from The Deadlands

I love short fiction, and Sunday Shorts is the feature where I get to blog about it. Posts will range from flash to novellas. At some point, I might delve into individual stories/episodes of anthology formats in other media, like television and comics, but for the time being, I’m sticking to prose in print and audio.

I don’t think I’ve yet done a Sunday Shorts about The Deadlands, a relatively new (just a year old) online speculative fiction magazine focused on the Afterlife – or afterlives, more accurately. Stories, poems, and non-fiction about grieving, about ghosts, about what happens after, or sometimes as, we are shuffling off this mortal coil, plane of existence, etc. The Deadlands is published by Sean Markey and E. Catherine Tobler is the editor-in-chief. Here are my thoughts on the two fiction pieces in the latest issue.

In KT Bryski’s “This is I,” Elaine, the Lady of Shalott, crosses paths via a magic mirror with a woman she comes to know as “Gug,” but who is really poet/artist Elizabeth Siddal, wife of Dante Gabriel Rosetti. In a story that blurs not only the lines of reality but also of narrative voice (with sections alternating between first, second, and third person points-of-view), Bryski delves into the ways in which men control women and alter the courses of their lives. Elaine has the curse on her that if she stops weaving in her high tower and looks out over Camelot, Camelot will fall, and she will be cursed. “Gug” has been used as a muse, been manipulated into marriage, and told her womanly nature means she can’t create art the same way a man can. Bryski also plays with the various versions of “The Lady of Shalott” that Tennyson wrote, plus interpretations by others. It took me a page or so to understand what the author was doing with the alternating POVs, but then I settled in, and the story flowed towards a perfect ending.

Maria Haskins’ “The Morthouse” focuses on a mother who has lost her teenage son to a horrific winter illness and who is so distraught she cannot do anything but haunt the village “morthouse,” where the bodies of those who die during winter are held until the ground is soft enough to dig graves, with occasional trips to the church she might no longer believe in, and the fields around the village. She regrets not asking the midwife who brought her child into the world during a problematic birth for help in keeping him alive, and eventually goes to ask for help in bringing him back to life. The midwife sets the grieving mother three tasks to gather items that might help. The mother’s grief is palpable throughout, as is her estrangement from her church and from her husband. The author also nicely explicates the traditional distrust in religious communities for anyone who works with nature to cure illness instead of just relying on God, without going the traditional route of showing the midwife (in this case) being abused by other members of the community. The story takes its time before coming to a satisfying, emotional, conclusion.