 |
| Cover by Paul Lowe illustrating 'Screen Burn' |
Steve Duffy's latest collection offers the discerning reader eight stories, five brand new and three previously published (two of which appeared in ST). As always, these are well-wrought tales in the great tradition of British supernatural fiction. But they are also modern in the best sense - offering characters and settings instantly recognisable to anyone who inhabits the UK. Drizzle, darkness, and decay are seldom absent.
'Dead Centre of Manchester', the first story, is a prime example. Steve takes a fragment from a notorious true crime case and runs with it in a strange and gruesome direction. The overall feel might be described as Alan Bennett meets Joel Lane. In a good way, of course. There's a whiff of Vick and a taste of blood. Believable characters reacting to extraordinary circumstances are one of the author's specialities and he does a splendid job here.
Cath, newly retired, joins Facebook groups and does some litter picking to keep busy. She also joins a group that attends what used to be called paupers' funerals - send-offs for those who have no friends or family to mourn them. After one funeral a mysterious figure - somewhat Gothy in appearance - is often glimpsed by Cath but seems to elude the gaze of others. As autumn draws in, a series of deaths linked to the dead man suggest an unholy covenant of some kind is being fulfilled. A first-rate story that has the authentic M.R. Jamesian touch.
'The Harvester of Ladslove' might not have won the approval of Dr. James, though, as the key event takes place during the Great War. Wartime settings are problematic for supernatural fiction, given the horror that's already there. But when I accepted the story for the fiftieth issue of ST I was more than satisfied by the raw power of the narrative. It's bold to suggest that there might be something even worse than the carnage of the Western Front. As we should know by now, things can always get worse.
'Screen Burn' (from ST#53) is a prime example of what I've decided to call dark nostalgia in Steve's work. Again we are following the M.R. Jamesian dictum that a ghost story should be set a few decades ago but usually within living memory. In the author's notes at the back (always worth reading) he reveals that he checked on what his characters might have watched on a certain second-hand telly. He found that From Beyond the Grave, a British portmanteau horror, was showing on a particular night. The story could indeed be part of one of those Amicus efforts, with its deft use of a neat idea that doesn't - as they always say - outstay its welcome.
'Stations' sees a detective forced by his superiors to seek the help of an unusual expert in the wake of a baffling spree killing. I suspect the X-Files spin-off series Millennium might be an influence here, as the power of the expert, Ellie, is to see the world through a killer's eyes. The story also offers a new take on the Yellow Sign concept, and Machen's idea of sacraments of evil. As the ill-matched duo follow the route taken by the assailant, even the detective's mordant scepticism can't hold out against evidence that a seemingly mad rampage had a transcendent end in view.
The British seaside town sometimes has a weird bleakness all its own. 'Last Rites in Saltstrand' offers a quasi-Skegness as the setting for a strange family drama. Natalie and Doug journey to Saltstrand after their brother Mark dies. The house Mark inherited from their parents is knee-deep in rubbish. Natalie starts to sort things out and a skip is hired. But soon memories of childhood events start to surface and, after Doug leaves, Natalie is haunted by a grotesque pale entity. This nods to the classics, notably '"Oh Whistle..."', but is uniquely odd and disturbing.
'The Strathantine Imps' first appeared in Terror Tales of the Scottish Lowlands, edited by Paul Finch. It does a great job of evoking the long, hot summer of 1976 as seen by the daughter of a rich, self-indulgent hippie who has chosen to live in a fairly remote Borders mansion. One of her father's weird friends visits and takes a disturbing interest in her little brother. A Machenesque ritual is performed in the woods and the little boy is, perhaps, enchanted in the old, bad sense. The climactic scene on Bonfire Night is intensely cinematic, with a Jacques Tourneur feel. Just enough is revealed, just enough concealed.
In 'Three Deals With the Supreme Being' the author points out that Kate Bush originally wanted 'Running Up That Hill' to be entitled 'A Deal With God' but EMI nixed it. As someone who once received a review copy of a book about 'real life' angels, I can testify that Steve's take on the concept is more believable. Here a woman who prays (sort of) for divine intervention gets what she wants, but of course, that's often a terrible thing. The writing soars. There is a feeling of inevitability about the chain of events, but never any sense of a trope being overused.
According to the author's notes, the final story, 'Lake of the Lost', is one of those miraculous tales that springs into existence fully formed, like Athena from the brow of Zeus or something along those lines. A beautiful and passionate Frenchwoman, Claudine, chooses on a whim to stay at a lakeside hotel. There she encounters a somewhat older but interesting clientele and sets out to seduce Roger, a fiftyish factory owner. The story feels like like a Simenon tale, but gradually the truth about the lake and what it sometimes reveals. Claudine's journey from self-indulgent temptress to tragic antiheroine is a fascinating one. Aickman fans might note a slight influence but this is really a Duffy-esque piece, full of telling detail that never hides the clean lines of the plot. A paean to loss and sadness.
This is the best Steve Duffy collection so far. I know he worked damn hard on it, and the fruits of that labour are there for all to see. Stories this good should be read and re-read, savoured, and remembered. I cannot think of a better UK writer working in the genre today.
No comments:
Post a Comment