Oculus Presents: Latest finds for the Shelf

Heya, folks, this is Oculus Presents.

Been a bit busy these past few weeks with work, writing and suchlike, but that doesn't mean I stopped buying books or reading (these days I'm mostly doing literary fiction, that's why the blog has been a little quiet on the review front). As usual, I scour the used bookshops for anything neat I can find, and I've ordered a few... interesting things online as well, so the Shelf is quite teeming with life. I've managed to score an excellent vintage copy of To Kill a Mockingbird and a biography of Franz Liszt among others, but let me show you the ones relevant to my genre collection...

My earliest find, from last month, is this copy of Savage by Richard Laymon - a western novel about a young boy pursuing Jack the Ripper into the American Wild West. The premise sounds neat enough, and Laymon fans are eating up the book, but I haven't heard super mega great things about his writing skills from people whose tastes I trust, and the first chapter had a teenage boy in Victorian London calling people "tough hombres", which, er, yeah. I have a feeling that this is going to be an experience.

Something I'm already quite fond of, though, is this story collection by the awesome C. L. Moore. Catherine L. Moore was one of the pioneers of female speculative fiction writing in the pulp era of the 30's and 40's (although she didn't retire from writing until the early 60's). There had been other female specfic writers at the time, of course, but she had been probably the most iconic. This is a collection of her short stories with the rugged space adventurer, Northwest Smith, as the hero - including the first Northwest Smith story ever, Shambleau, which is one of my favorite short stories. She also wrote Jirel of Joiry, one of the earliest female sword-and-sorcery heroines, and let me just say, I'm dying to get my hands on a copy of that collection. I'm going to do a Moore-stravaganza on this blog where I review this collection and discuss Shambleau in more detail, but until then - let us admire this fantastic cover.

And finally, one of my favorite used book finds: this reprint of an iconic, much-respected collection of short vampire fiction, edited by the late Alan Ryan (who I'm quite fond of, if you recall from my review of Cast a Cold Eye). Dunno who the hell okayed this lackluster cover and the weird font choice (the original cover art, done by Edward Gorey, fit the book's themes so much more); but the collection has stories from Bram Stoker, August Derleth, Stephen King, Richard Matheson, C. L. Moore again and other genre greats, and I've heard that Alan Ryan was an editor of great taste in short fiction, so I'm very much looking forward to diving in. Not this year, alas (I have 25 books to read until the end of the year for various reading challenges I signed up for, pray for me - I swear it's fun though, or I wouldn't be doing it), but chipping away at this book, one short story at a time, sounds like the perfect entertainment for the upcoming chilly winter months.

Well, folks, that's it for today - I'll be returning soon with a few reviews, gods willing (two of the books I'm planning to read until December are Hawk & Fisher and Vampire Beat from the Shelf, and I'll try to fit in The Lure as well); and hopefully I can do something interesting to celebrate Halloween with, I'll figure out what. Until then, have a very spooky October, everyone.

Oculus Presents: The eighth passenger is Death

Hi, folks, welcome to Oculus Presents.

I'll be honest with y'all: the Hungarian title for Alien is mad dumb. A nyolcadik utas: a Halál (see the title of this post for the translation) is eye-catching, sure, but it doesn't represent the sheer dread in this movie nearly as much as the enigmatic original title - hell, it sounds more like the title of an Ingmar Bergman vehicle than 70's sci-fi horror. On the other hand, the first Hungarian cover for Alan Dean Foster's novelization might be one of my favorite book covers ever.

This edition is a 1987 release from the prolific speculative fiction publishing house Kozmosz Könyvek, translated by Piroska F. Nagy. I'll confess I haven't read it all the way through - I usually try to read books in their original language if I speak it - but the first few chapters had exactly the sort of moody, dreamlike tone you could expect from a cover like that. The work of artist Pál Varga, this cover evokes more the mood of vintage "cold" sci-fi flicks like Solaris or THX 1138, but at the same time it's actually faithful to the story, which is always welcome on a genre fiction book cover. The novelization has been released twice more in Hungarian with deeply "meh" covers (although hopefully better translations: as much as I liked the atmosphere of this version, it drove me nuts that both Ripley and Lambert were referred to as "girl" rather than "woman" by the narration, ugh), but the first edition of it is a real gem of Hungarian sci-fi publishing.

Oculus Presents: Vintage Hungarian sci-fi goodness

Welcome back to Oculus Presents, folks.

Pre-90's Hungarian speculative fiction was... Well, it sure was. Oh, there's some truly legendary stuff out there - Péter Zsoldos was one of our pioneers of science-fiction and even had a literary award named after him, the old run of the sci-fi magazine Galaktika is still fondly spoken of for bringing the stories of the genre greats into Hungary (as for the resurrected version of the magazine, let's... just not go into that) and even early literary fiction giants like Mór Jókai, Frigyes Karinthy and Mihály Babits had written some genuinely creative fantastic fiction that stand out as true curiosities in the genre. Translations of stuff like Soviet sci-fi, classics like The Black Corridor as well as unapologetic pulp fiction have brought color to everyone's bookshelves since the second half of the 20th century. But there have been some truly mediocre, forgettable and straight-up unbearable Hungarian sci-fi books out there as well. I suppose that's just Sturgeon's Law for you, but there's one particular, not very fondly remembered Hungarian sci-fi anthology that still lives in my brain rent-free. For reasons.

moly.hu

Morel találmánya is a 1986 speculative fiction anthology released in Bucharest by the publishing house Kriterion, edited by Hugó Ágoston and illustrated by artist Géza Nagy. It collects stories from Voltaire, Guy de Maupassant, several Hungarian authors and others, as well as the somewhat famous novella by Adolfo Bioy Casares, The Invention of Morel, which also gives the anthology its title. It's a book which I have seen in literally every single used bookstore and library I've ever set foot into, and my family owns a copy as well, but even though it's everywhere in the literary scene, it's not widely read at all. Oh, boy.

The truth is that this anthology is just... not super great. It does contain a few interesting tidbits of Hungarian and European speculative fiction history (I'd legit had no idea that Voltaire had written sci-fi until I opened this book), but several of the stories chosen are stuffy, bloated and dated, more curiosities than actually enjoyable reads. I'll admit that I've tried and failed to get through this book a few times in the past; but there are reasons I'm featuring it on the blog.

Reason one: two of the stories. The Horla by Guy de Maupassant is by far the highest point of this book, a suffocating 1887 horror tale with only a tinge of the fantastic. More than anything, it's a tale of slowly mounting paranoia and dread turning into near-insanity, as the nameless narrator's life gets twisted and dominated by a mysterious creature haunting his home: a being he simply calls Horla. You can read the story at East of the Web, just be sure not to do it when you're home alone in the dark (or hell, that might just be the perfect way to read it), because I'm not kidding when I say that this is one scary-ass tale - a near-perfect example of pre-Lovecraft eldritch horror.

The other story in this book that's seriously worth reading is Argentine writer Adolfo Bioy Casares's award-winning 1940 novella, The Invention of Morel. I also hesitate to call it a sci-fi story, as it calls to mind more the maddeningly logical, labyrinthine and unsettling works of Jorge Luis Borges (who himself commented on the story when it came out). The narrator is a nameless fugitive, hiding on what he thinks is a deserted island after his life in the outside world gets upended. Except the island isn't quite deserted: every now and then a flock of vacationers appears pretty much from nowhere, and disappears by the next day. And for whatever reason, they all totally ignore the fugitive despite his attempts to approach them. And when you find out who these people are, what they're doing on the island and why they just plain don't notice the narrator... Well, I won't spoil it for ya, but I still remember the chill crawling up my spine when I first read the conclusion to this novella. It's a little-talked about gem of fantastic fiction with a truly unsettling and suspenseful atmosphere, which culminates in an ending that won't leave your head any time soon. An absolute must-read for adventurous specfic readers who like oddities.

Now, reason two why I'm featuring this anthology here has nothing to do with the stories in it, and everything to do with the absolute creative genius of illustrator Géza Nagy. The book is full of crystal-clear and hyper-detailed black-and-white drawings, often done with a lot more style and personality than the stories themselves. The illustration for The Horla holds a truly special place in my heart as the scariest goddamn thing I've ever seen - I recall being maybe eight years old, innocently looking through the pages of the neat-looking book with the cool title, looking for something fun to read after I got through a few children's books from my family's library. And oh, god, I turned a page and got smacked in the face with freaking THIS:

Folks, I was days getting over the shock of this one. To this day I haven't seen such stark, gaunt terror captured in a drawing, except maybe in Munch's The Scream or the art of Junji Ito. An absolute, spine-tingling masterpiece.

This is my other favorite, from an odd and slightly creepy, but otherwise forgettable Hungarian story - just look at the rich details!

In conclusion... well, recommending this book would be a bit of a moot point unless you speak Hungarian, but it's definitely a real curiosity for genre fiction fans. Just not, you know, a great one. Read The Horla and read The Invention of Morel in English if you can find them, because they absolutely are worth a read - but given that both of these stories have been anthologized in other Hungarian editions, even as a Hungarian sci-fi fan it doesn't terribly bother me that this book kind of vanished from most people's eyes.

Except for the drawings. Man, those drawings.

Oculus Presents: Three rare vintage book covers

Hey, folks, this is Oculus Presents. Again.

I'm not exactly a book collector, my occasional eBay and Thriftbooks browsing aside - as much as I love forgotten and underrated genre fiction, I'm usually content to just long from afar for the truly rare out-of-print editions that go for huge prices on the collectors' market. One of the reasons I admire Valancourt Books so much (I urge y'all specfic fans to check out their catalog and throw a few bucks their way if you can - I'm not, like, affiliated with them or anything, I just think they're really neat) is the fact that they've brought back to life a whole lot of highly sought-after books that were either very rare or flat-out impossible to track down. But it does happen sometimes that I run into a real gem during my library and used bookshop trips - something that while not completely unavailable on the market, is enough of a curiosity to catch my eye. Hell, sometimes I won't even know they're rare until I check for them on the internet. I own three particular books that are really anything but rarities by themselves - but the editions in my library are very little known and very eye-catching, so I thought I'd share.

First off is this 1966 Pan Books Ltd. edition of Dead Man's Folly by Agatha Christie. I know Agatha Christie books are about as far from rarities as you can get - can't throw a stone in a bookshop or a library without hitting one - but this particular edition by London publisher Pan Books has pretty much vanished from consciousness, and I've seen copies of it go for 16 dollars and above. Not too shabby for a bestselling novel. Still, it's a shame, because I really dig the colors and the general layout of this cover - simple, but eye-catching with a real classy vintage flair. The book itself I've read and loved; I really think every single fan of crime fiction owes it to themselves to read at least one Agatha Christie book in their lives.

Mary Higgins Clark was a bestselling thriller and mystery writer, so also not what you'd call a rarity on the speculative fiction market; but this 1981 edition of one of her novels, published by Fontana Press, caught my eye with the absolutely gorgeous cover art at a used bookshop enough that I'd bought it on the spot. It's not a rare printing, per se, but it's definitely one of the harder-to-find ones; for a while I couldn't even track down a good-quality cover photo, which is a bit surprising given the gazillion editions of this book out there. I tried reading the book a while back and found the writing unbearably stuffy and one-dimensional, but I'll definitely be giving it another chance. I mean, I can't just not read a book I own with a cover this pretty.

Last, but not least, the 1973 New English Library version of Frank Herbert's The Green Brain is one of my favorite book covers ever printed. The colors, the composition, the rich detailing - an all-around masterpiece by cover artist Bruce Pennington. I've heard good things and bad things about the book itself, but the first few pages I'd read a bit back piqued my curiosity. I'll definitely feature this book in more detail on the blog, once the sci-fi mood strikes me again. And for extra charm, look at this inscription on the title page of my copy of this book:

I suppose we shall see if this book will also make me understand that insects are friends...

Oculus Presents: My favorite Hungarian sci-fi cover

I don't suppose I'll be reviewing this short story collection on the blog, since it's a Hungarian-only edition, but this cover was pretty much love at first sight.

The work of artists Gábor Szikszai and Zoltán Boros, I really dig that sweet retro cyberpunk goodness with just a hint of Terminator. And the title too: The Death of Lies. Badass. I do wonder if any of the short stories inside will live up to this image.

Oculus Reviews: The Terminator (no, not that one)

Good morning, y’all, this is Oculus Reviews. How do you like your coffee? I like it black and bitter like my soul. But what do you do if it’s fresh and too hot to drink? People have different solutions to that: some put it aside until it’s cool enough, or put cold milk in it… or drink it anyway. But me, I’ve invented a different path. Put water in it! Not only will your diluted coffee taste like the devil’s taint, and not only will you piss yourself off first thing in the morning with having to drink it, but you’ll get to enjoy that sweet, sweet caffeine straight out of the pot. It's a win-win scenario, isn't it?

When I told my Aussie friend about my shrewd coffee strategy, her response was “call that coffee a Depresso”—and wasn’t that the best thing I’d heard all day. I can practically hear the commercial. “Tired? Sad? Feeling like the whole world is against you? Why not make it worse? Depresso.”

Anyway, here I am, done with my daily Depresso and ready to talk about the movie I love the most in the whole wide world.


It’s no secret of mine that the first Terminator is my favorite movie ever—no secret because I will blather on and on and on about it to anyone foolish enough to bring it up. I just love it to bits, y’all. I’ve seen it at least six times all the way through, not counting the times I only rewatched parts, and man, it still makes me sob like my dog’s been shot every single time. As far as I'm concerned, the Terminator franchise is the best thing since celluloid film was invented; and by franchise, I of course mean Terminator, Judgment Day and Dark Fate. I don’t recall any other movies because those don’t exist. Right?

Now as for the novelization… that’s a bit more complicated. There are two versions for the original movie; one of them, the more widely accessible one, was written by Shaun Hutson. You know… THIS GUY.

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And let's just say that I ain't touchin' that one with a ten-foot spork. (Although the Slugs cover does rock.)

The other novelization was written by Randall Frakes and Bill Wisher, both people who have worked on the movie script itself—so you know the story was in better hands here. Unfortunately, the book has fallen out of print pretty much immediately, and nowadays it’s a rare collector’s item; good luck finding it under 40 bucks, really. I’d love to say that I was one of the lucky ones to snag it cheap, but the truth is that I dropped a pretty penny for this baby. Was it worth it? Hoo boy.

I assume most of us would be familiar with the basic plot of The Terminator, either from the first movie or the second one, but I'll give it a quick rundown nonetheless. From the year 2029, after a bitter war fought between humans and machines, two men are sent back into 1984 to find a nineteen year-old waitress named Sarah Connor—who's much more important to the world than she thinks. One of the men is her protector... and the other is a machine designed to kill her no matter the cost. It's a matter of who gets to her first that will decide the fate of mankind.

Boys, girls and pals, this book broke me. Here I thought the movie was heartbreaking. If it wasn't for the heinous prices and difficulty finding this novelization, I'd honestly urge every single Terminator fan to find a copy. It's beautifully written. Frakes and Wisher flesh out a lot that the movie doesn't show, from Sarah's everyday life and friendships to the Terminator's victims, or Kyle Reese's trauma and life as a soldier of the future; it's alternately funny, deeply romantic and absolutely devastating. Under the authors' pen even the most minor characters gain lives, become human and real rather than just set pieces. One of my favorite scenes from this story, for instance, is the one with the biker guy the Terminator shoves aside to get the phonebook in an early part of the story. After realizing that the huge, dead-eyed man is looking for women named Sarah Connor he briefly contemplates calling them to tell them about the weird person searching for them, only to forget it; and later he's filled with horror and remorse when he sees that two of those women were murdered and realizes that he might have been able to warn them in time. Even the nameless bit characters from the movie get names and realistic inner lives in this, and it's a real delight to see—for a 240 page-long book, it really packs some heart and humanity.

The action scenes, of course, are just as good, filled with as much relentless intensity as they are in the movie, so reading them will get your heart pounding as much as watching them would. I'm usually not a marathon reader—I prefer to immerse myself in a book, take it slow, as it were—but I stayed up until 4 in the morning to finish this one because I couldn't. Put it. Down. And this after already knowing the story by heart; the richness of this novelization, of the prose and the characters and all the emotion and adrenaline, really surprised me. And if you happen to like Kyle Reese, prepare to be absolutely demolished by pretty much everything he thinks and does in this novel. He picks a strawberry and feeds a stray dog, y'all.

Or there's this particular passage which I have to show you guys, because you're all welcome to cry with me.

The Terminator, page 173.

WHY MUST YOU HURT ME SO.

The good things about this book are many, and the bad are few; I could mention the occasional typo or the maybe one scene where I thought one of the protagonists was thinking a little OOC (at least as far as my own interpretation of the movie goes), but really, these bad parts are like needles in a haystack. If you're as immersed in this story as I was, you'll probably barely notice them.

In conclusion? The Terminator book is really freakin' good—because it was clearly made by people who knew what they were doing and gave a damn. It's a skillfully written, relentlessly dark, but also deeply touching novel that does the movie justice and fleshes it out in a way I haven't seen many movie novelizations do. If I could somehow make it so that every Terminator fan could get a copy of it, I would. And to answer the earlier question to myself... yes, it was worth it. Boy, was it ever.

Writing: While hardly literary fiction, this is really the best kind of vintage genre writing: rich, atmospheric, heart-poundingly intense when it has to be, soft and poetic where it hits you the hardest. 5/5

Availability: Why isn't this back in print?! 1/5

Entertainment factor: Couldn't. Put it. Down. 5/5

Do I recommend it? What else have I been doing until now? 5/5