THE DIAMOND LENS AND OTHERS by Fitz-James O'Brien

I received a review copy of this book. This is the second volume of three in the impressive Swan River Press collection of O'Brien's speculative works. It covers the years 1855-58 and shows the flowering of the Irish-American author's talent. As with the first volume (see review above) the book begins with a masterly essay by John P. Irish. In 'Bohemian Horrors', Irish gives an overview of the fashionable literary world of mid-19th century New York. O'Brien threw himself into the Bohemian lifestyle, which of course retained its glamour well into the 20th century.

The first story in the volume is aptly entitled 'The Bohemian' and is an interesting twist on a familiar theme - the treasure hunt. The narrator, impoverished and obsessed with wealth, encounters the eponymous character, a louche Englishman called Brann, who promises him riches via startling and questionable methods. Brann is a powerful mesmerist, while the narrator's fiancée has clairvoyant powers. Brann proposes putting her in a trance and ordering her to locate a pirate horde on a small island. This works, but the vast wealth the narrator acquires proves worthless. It's a moral tale, presumably influenced by Poe's 'The Gold Bug', but with a very different tone. Brann makes an interesting anti-hero. All in all, an assured piece of work.

Very different in tone and showing the influence of Poe is 'The Comet and I'. This takes a jokey approach to one of the very frequent comet scares, in which it was assumed by many that a cosmic fireball was going to incinerate the earth - or something along those lines. O'Brien's approach is to offer various suggestions to the comet as which particular areas of New York deserve to be devastated. A nice bit of dark humour and a hint of the way the author would exploit the Victorian fascination with science in future stories.

'The Hasheesh Eater' is even darker and foreshadows a similar theme in O'Brien's most famous story. It's the tale of an American who becomes addicted to the drug in Iraq and then manages to kick the habit. However, in a twist that genuinely left me gobsmacked, he is urged by his future father-in-law to try the drug again as part of an experiment. This story is one of several that showcase O'Brien's skill as a weaver of visionary images - a writer of reveries. 

Il gatto e la luna (2019) Dir. Roberto Lippolis

I watched this Italian mystery on Prime and got a bit confused from about the tenth minute in. It was recommended by an algorithm when I asked for genre movies from the continent. So it came along with a bunch of Euro-cinema devoted to horror, sci-fi, the paranormal etc. And yet at first it seems to be nothing of the sort. Here's the synopsis from IMDb.

A man is found dead in an office. Sonya, a charming 55-year-old woman, has abandoned her family for a love affair with a younger man. The two stories end up intertwining but nothing is as it seems.

First things first, this is a short, beautiful film. We see Italy at its loveliest, the weather perfect, the people stylish and attractive. Even though a brutal murder is at the centre of the mystery, the pace is languid, punctuated by some sex and intrigue. But what's it actually about? 

One reviewer described it simply as a confusing mess, which is fair enough. To me it was an intriguing mess, as if an episode of Inspector Montalbano had been helmed by the guys who brought us Last Year in Marienbad. A lot of people talk, dress well, and inhabit wonderful buildings. The leading lady models a bikini and high heels for a photoshoot. There is some malarkey about a company fraud. A former call girl infiltrates the family. Various people have sex. Sonya encounters her old professor, and he gives her advice that does not enlighten the viewer. The cops close in. Slowly. 

The central character, played by Maria Grazia Cucinotta, is stunning. But why has she left her loving husband and adult children? And how does this somehow connect to the murder of a sleazy businessman? Eventually, all is revealed. There is - more or less - a satisfactory ending that does indeed put it in the genre slot. Some may find the denouement disappointing. But there's a lot to be said for a movie that looks this good in every scene. And I did find myself caring about Sonya and her husband (Enrico Lo Verso). 

Oh, and there is an actual cat, but it only gets a brief cameo and is totally fine.

LE HORLA (2023)

This TV film (first broadcast on the Arte channel) directed by Marion Desseigne-Ravel is an updated adaptation of Guy de Maupassant's classic tale. I enjoyed it, though I felt the story flagged in places and - perhaps inevitably - lapsed into horror cliché at times. It is available on Amazon Prime at the time of writing. 

Le Horla begins not with a solitary gentleman but with a young family moving into a new apartment near a river. The river plays a key role in the original story. Here, there is also an implicit link, although nothing is ever stated. One of the film's strengths is that much is left unexplained, but not too much. This does, however, lead to one obvious weakness. Why is it entitled 'Le Horla' in the first place, when the name of the malign entity is never revealed in the movie? 

What of the plot? The father, Damien, has opted to work remotely so that his wife, Nadia, can take a prestigious new job. Their little daughter Chloe seems happy with the new apartment, though there is some nice foreshadowing when she can't find her favorite top for her first day at a new school. Damien, working from home, soon finds that the apartment is beset by odd noises. 

One detail of the original story is nicely handled. Damien leaves a water bottle by his bedside every night. Every morning it is empty. He has not drunk more than a mouthful from it. Is someone playing mind games? Gradually, the sense of an unseen presence grows, yet only for Damien. Pressure of work and other hassles make him increasingly paranoid and prone to outbursts. Sensible friends recommend a psychiatrist, which leads to a fairly predictable course of events and a marital crisis. 

This is not a brilliant movie, but it has a good stab at updating a classic. Reviews are understandably tepid, but a strong central performance by Bastien Bouillon holds things together very well. It's worthy rather than great, but engaging nonetheless. 

AN ARABIAN NIGHT-MARE AND OTHERS by Fitz-James O'Brien

This is the first volume of three, collecting for the first time all of the horror and supernatural works of the Irish-American author whose life was tragically cut short by the Civil War. I was fortunate to receive review copies, which was a very pleasant surprise. The books are things of beauty. The enchanting cover art is by Brian Coldrick.

The introduction to the first book, by John P. Irish, gives an excellent overview of O'Brien's early life and times. I learned in school about the horrendous Irish famine - the 'Great Hunger' - that began in the mid-1840s and was exacerbated by chronic misrule. Had it not been for the potato blight, O'Brien might well have remained in the UK and lived to a ripe old age. But, as it is, we have a considerable body of work from a man with such a relatively short career. 

The first volume covers 1848 to 1854. Not surprisingly, the author's early output includes some mediocre efforts. While I appreciate the insights into the man's thinking offered by his poetry it is, for the most part, standard early Victorian fare. However, there are glimpses of quirky humour and darkly imaginative flourishes that hint of things to come in O'Brien's prose. 'The Spectral Shirt', for instance, progresses from a conventional tale of a poor needlewoman treated unjustly to a tale of spectral vengeance. 

Of the stories, the title tale still manages to entertain. It also reminds us of how often Arabic myth and legend featured in early Gothic literature. The story tells of a Muslim merchant in old Muscovy and the strange vision he has of Eblis. The Islamic version of Satan presides over his court of demons not in hell within the earth, but at the North Pole. O'Brien's imaginative power is evident here. His descriptions of the polar waste with its pinnacles of ice shining with unholy radiance is first-rate. 

Nightmare Abbey 8

  

The latest edition of Nightmare Abbey is as strong as its predecessors, which is heartening. Editor Tom English continues to attract first-rate talent. Many of the writers in this, the eighth issue, will be familiar to ST readers. But before I pick out a few highlights of the fiction, let me mention how solid and entertaining the non-fiction is. There’s an excellent overview of that classic The Black Cat by John Llewellyn Probert, an interview with Ghostwatch and Gothic writer Stephen Volk, and John V. Navroth continues his aborbing history of US horror comics.

‘A Legend of the Ile de St Anselm’ by Steve Duffy is, as we’ve come to expect, a slow-burn tale of weirdness that lingers in the mind. The setting is a frequently fog-bound isle off the French coast, reached by a tidal causeway. A retired psychiatrist is approached by a man with an unusual problem, and the doctor agrees to take the case. The story this special patient tells is one of strange dreams and stranger realities. It’s an atmospheric tale with a good twist.

Steve Rasnic Tem’s ‘I Forget What I Was Going to Say’ is oddly similar in theme thought very different in approach and style. The first-person narrator tells of a strange and disturbing phenomenon that is fogging the minds of millions. But is the menace real at all or a product of ‘mass hysteria’? I often feel the world is going wrong is some hard to define but awful way, and this story suggests that Tem feels the same way.

‘The Ancient Groves’ by John Llewellyn Probert is altogether more traditional in its account of a man and his dog who go for a walk in the woods. I was surprised by the turns the tale took and quickly found myself rooting for the dog (and his owner). Quite traditional in approach, this one reminded me of Blackwood and Benson, authors who grasped the potential for horror in the seemingly passive and picturesque English countryside.

In ‘Localism’ Helen Grant conjures up one of the most enduring legends of Scotland – that of strange, aquatic beings who are notoriously tetchy if humans encroach upon their realms. This is also the story of a surfing resort with a huge artificial lagoon and wave machine. Some things do not mix. It’s a detailed and – at the end – bloody tale. All good messy fun.

I expected to be impressed by Sean Hogan’s ‘After and Before’, given his sterling record on two excellent films – The Devil’s Business and the Bordelands. I was not disappointed. Hogan evokes a grotty holiday village on England’s coast and a couple taking a break from the mundane pressures of a rickety economy. Instead, they find a different kind of escape – or is it captivity? An excellent tale, full of atmosphere and nicely understated.

If you haven’t already discovered Nightmare Abbey, you should give it a try. It’s probably not trying to be the Weird Tales of our time, but it’s coming pretty close in my estimation. I suspect we will see even greater things emerge, quite possibly blinking and wriggling in the unaccustomed light of day, in future issues.

 

NOTES FROM THE SHADOWS by Christopher Harman (Sarob Press 2025)

Christopher Harman's work has been appearing in ST for quite a while. This new collection of nine stories contains three that I had the pleasure of getting first dibs on. Those tales - 'Cold Air from the East', 'The Abbey Hoard', and 'Black Water' - are all excellent, I need hardly add. Rereading them confirms how well Harman builds his tales. He is, to coin a phrase, an architectural writer, creating a strange edifice that we can explore and inhabit for a while. And yet he is also a writer of the great outdoors with a very British love of the countryside, the coast, the long hike in the rain. 

Cover by Paul Lowe for 'Wet Jenny'

Harman is arguably a folk horror writer, at least for some of the time. 'Wet Jenny' is certainly in that category, with its variation on the regional bogeyperson that is Jenny Greenteeth. 'Cold Air...' is a remarkable take on a Russian folk tale. And 'A True Yorkshireman' is a wry, somewhat hallucinatory account of a very familiar entity, the troll under the bridge.

TALES NOCTURNAL by Tim Foley (PS Publishing 2025)

I received a paperback review copy of this debut collection because several of the stories first appeared in ST. And I'm proud of that fact. I seldom talk about why I accept or reject stories because in the end it's all personal taste, instinct, 'vibes'. With Tim Foley I knew there was something good here - I enjoyed his work and felt good about putting it in front of my (admittedly tiny) readership. Let us dive in...

The subtitle is A Collection of Stories of the Uncanny. Not horror, though horror is to be found here. Not ghost stories, though most of these tales qualify. The uncanny is the key ingredient, the mortar that binds together every story. Fans of old-school pulp fiction will enjoy this book, as will ghost story aficionados. More importantly, anyone who appreciates well-crafted short fiction will find plenty to savor and admire.

Foley's world is a realm of abandoned buildings, shabby apartments, ageing hotels, second-hand cars. Above all, it's a world of failed or failing relationships, uneasy solitudes, lost hopes, and faded dreams. The supernatural shades into the psychological in a familiar but still compelling fashion. Sometimes Foley's characters escape the worst that mystery and the night can offer. Sometimes they don't. 

Thus in 'Snowman, Frozen', a writer struggling to meet a deadline rents a rural cabin in winter, drinks too much, and becomes obsessed with who might be building snowmen in an nearby field. It's a simple tale, but would make a splendid segment of a portmanteau horror movie. The frozen wasteland is beautifully evoked, and the final showdown as the writer's mind gives way is excellent.

'Galen's Closet', by contrast, is about young people partying in the big city. But they, too, become fixated on a strange phenomenon. The eponymous closet is apparently haunted. At first, the members of a goth-adjacent band and their hangers-on have fund and hijinks. But  eventually risk-taking exacts a heavy toll.

The collection begins with an epigraph from E.F. Benson, and I think that author's term 'spook stories' fits quite a few tales here. Not exactly ghostly, but chilling and hard to dismiss. Thus 'The House Opposite' follows the familiar template of a troubled man becoming fixated on a maybe-haunted place. But the denouement is genuinely surprising, as something worse than any ghost is discovered.

One can see 'The Figure on the Sidewalk' as another instance of a familiar trope updated. A man tells another man a story about a mysterious maybe-stalker. There is no explanation, no overt threat, merely a presence that can neither be explored nor explained. A low-key study in paranoia and alienation? Perhaps. 

In another (admirably terse) story a young man hitching finds himself somehow entangled with an older guy he doesn't really want to know. The hitchhiker tale is another old warhorse, but 'A Hitch' offers a new twist. The situation becomes bizarre and disturbing as the stranger reveals some details about himself. They both get a lift, but where are they going? One suspects that it is nowhere fun. 

More lighthearted is 'The Ghost of Niles Canyon' - a tale of a phantom hitchhiker is told, and then the listener and teller take a drive. Of course, somebody hitches a ride. But all is not as it seems. 

Also automotive in theme is 'Flowers Along the Seawall', with its dedication to Amelia Edwards. I particularly liked this one as it does indeed capture that old-fashioned feel yet remain true to modern sensibilities. 

'Room 413, Silver Spruce Hotel' first appeared in ST under a slightly different title. Re-reading the story, I was impressed by the way the traditional signs of a haunting are evoked quietly, but not too quietly. Foley's protagonist - stuck in another snowy wilderness - reacts realistically. We learn about what Robert Westall called the 'metabolism' of the haunting, and the ending would have pleased Benson and the old guard. 

'Deer' is one of several stories that evoke the great outdoors, with a troubled couple setting out on vacation. When they hit a deer, things are already going badly. This one is told from two perspectives, husband and wife, and again blurs the line between the psychological and paranormal explanations. 

'The Sound of Children Playing' is a particular favourite of mine. This takes a deep dive into the USA's troubled history as a superpower, but from an unusual angle. A Vietnam vet, isolated and increasingly strange, spends his time at an old abandoned schoolhouse. I recall reading this for the first time and thinking, 'Yes, this is the genuine article'. 

And that can be said for all the stories here. There is a sincerity and humanity behind the weirdness that makes these stories doubly entertaining. I unreservedly recommend this collection. It's been a long time coming but it was worth the wait.