The final volume of Collected Speculative Works from Swan River Press covers the period 1858 to 1864. It was in the opening stages of the American Civil War that O'Brien joined that small but august company of authors who died in war or revolution. Some had already demonstrated their potential, others had yet reach it in full. O'Brien falls into the latter category, judging by the stories gathered here.
As always, the book begins with a masterly essay by John. P. Irish. 'Premonitions of Death' makes clear that O'Brien was strongly committed to the Northern cause early on, unlike many in his Bohemian circle. Combined with this, he was pugnacious and a bit of a scrapper. So it's not surprising that, not long after enlisting, he was shot in a skirmish with a rebel patrol and died of his wounds.
There are definitely some fingerprints that AI tends to leave behind—especially when it's not trying to hide. Here are a few of the most common tells researchers and editors have spotted:
Overuse of formal or Latinate vocabulary: Words like “utilize,” “commence,” or “ameliorate” pop up more often than they would in natural human writing, especially when simpler words would do.
Repetitive phrasing or tautologies: AI sometimes says the same thing twice in slightly different ways—e.g., “Let’s come together to unite” or “a true fact.”
Paragraphs that start with discourse markers: Words like “However,” “Moreover,” or “Overall,” followed by a comma, are a common AI tic.
Frequent use of the Oxford comma: That’s the comma before “and” in a list—AI tends to use it consistently.
Numbered lists with colons: AI loves structure, and it often defaults to tidy, formulaic formats.
Bland or journalistic tone: The writing can feel polished but emotionally flat—like it’s trying to sound neutral or encyclopedic.
Overuse of em dashes: AI often leans on these to create rhythm or insert asides—sometimes excessively.
Lack of deep analysis or personal insight: Even when the content is informative, it may lack the nuance, contradiction, or vulnerability that marks human thought.
That said, these signs aren’t foolproof. A skilled human can mimic AI, and a well-tuned AI can mimic a human. But when you start seeing several of these traits together, it’s a strong clue.
Would you like to test a passage and see if it raises any red flags? Or maybe explore how to blend your own voice with AI tools without losing that human spark?
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.
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.
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.
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.
