Oculus Presents: More bookses!

 

Greetings, everyone!

 

As I said in my last book-collecting post, I had a couple more books relevant to this blog on the way, and they arrived a few weeks ago, I was just a bit busy (read: lazy) to properly introduce these beauties.

Not that the one on the left needs an introduction, I think: it's an original edition of the first book in legendary Scary Stories series, which has been scaring the living bejezus out of American kids for generations now. Like many people, I'm not a super great fan of the more recent editions with the new drawings; I perfectly understand wanting to make these books more kid-friendly than the gnarly nightmares concocted by Stephen Gammell were, but the horrifying black-and-white watercolors were at least half of the charm of these books for me when I first encountered excerpts from them on the internet. Especially the drawing for the story called The Dream - yeah, I mean her. Hats off for spicing up my nightmares, Mr. Gammell. I've had my eyes on this book for a while now; and when it arrived, it was to my great delight that I saw: yes, it does contain the drawings. I won't review this book on the blog, because it's not rare or obscure at all, quite the contrary - but I can definitely appreciate it on my own.

The book on the right with the gorgeous cover, meanwhile, is a short story collection by the esteemed former horror author (I say former because as far as I've heard, she's mostly moved on to other genres lately) Kathe Koja. If you know anything about American horror literature history you know her: she is the author of the groundbreaking, legendary horror novel The Cipher, kickstarting the famed Dell/Abyss line of boundary-pushing horror books. For a while The Cipher had fallen out of print and became a collector's item, going for tens if not hundreds of dollars on the book market; but just last year Meerkat Press fulfilled every broke horror fan's dream and released a brand-new paperback edition of it, which I'm so buying next year. Until then, Extremities will be my first book of hers I'm actually going to dive into - the reviews on the back cover liken it to Poe and Calvino, two authors I love, so I think we're in good hands here.

Apologies for the quiet on the blog lately, I'm especially sour about not doing a Halloween-themed post like I said I would, but I do have something very cool planned to finish this year with a bang, so keep your eyes peeled in the next few weeks for new posts. Cheers!

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: 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: 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 smart, intimate horrors of Lisa Tuttle

Hey, y'all, this is Oculus Reviews.

How do you like your horror fiction? Some people like it old-fashioned, with vampires and ghouls and ghastly creatures; others like to dip into the strange, the amorphous, the unnamable. Some seek sophisticated scares that reach deep into the psyche, others are here for blood and guts and a trashy good time. Me, I'm a pretty anything-goes kind of horror fan, but if I had to choose a favorite subgenre, I'd be pretty torn between psychological horror and ghost stories (I read my first "true" ghost story at age 5 and it was love at first sight). What I like the most, though, in any subgenre, is smart horror. I like my ghouls and creepy-crawlies and buckets of blood just fine; but sometimes you just really want to read or watch something carefully written, well-thought out, something with real insight that shows you a thing or two about human nature.

Enter Lisa Tuttle, a new horror favorite for me.

My first Lisa Tuttle was actually a short story in the groundbreaking 1980 horror anthology Dark Forces, titled Where the Stones Grow, a beautiful, folkloric chiller with a very unusual supernatural twist; but her 1986 short story collection, A Nest of Nightmares, had been on my to-read list for a while. And now that I've read it, I really wish I'd gone for it sooner.

goodreads.com

A collection of 13 stories with mostly female protagonists, this is a gem of short horror writing for everyone who likes their horror fiction thoughtful and personal. The really scary things in this book aren't just ghosts and monsters and maniacs with chainsaws, but something much more down to earth: isolation, loneliness, the stress of everyday life, grief, failing relationships—and insidious real-world horrors like SPOILER/trigger warning rape, child death and child abuse. Yes, Lisa Tuttle goes there, and while her approach to some issues feels like a product of its time, for the most part they're handled in a thoughtful and not at all crude way. One story in particular (I'm not spoiling which one) has one of the most chilling portrayals of rape I've ever seen, written with a woman's hand and a woman's eye. The women and girls in these stories are mothers, sisters, wives and lovers who have their own flaws, their own problems, their own—sometimes ugly—worldviews and insecurities. They feel like real people, which in horror short stories is a real blessing.

The first story, Bug House, is one of my favorites from the book, a dark and suffocating tale of a woman in marital trouble visiting her dying aunt, with an absolute gutpunch of an ending. The next tale, Dollburger, is more traditional horror with a child's perspective and a nice and nasty finale. The high points of the book for me, though, were the next two tales, Community Property and especially Flying to Byzantium. They're not the kinds of stories to make the reader afraid to turn off the lights—they couldn't be more everyday—but they're amazingly uncomfortable, bleak looks at a failing marriage between selfish people and at the ugly world of female insecurities. The characters in these tales just aren't good people (Community Property has to hold a record for some of the most slap-worthy protags I've ever seen, and oh, Flying to Byzantium had me squirming the entire time), and I love 'em for that. These tales wouldn't look out of place in a literary fiction anthology either—smart and insightful, like I said.

Treading the Maze is another favorite, a lovely mix of pagan horror and heartbreak; The Horse Lord, on the other hand, I don't feel guilty not personally recommending. It's great as a horror story, with a particularly chilling twist, but I'm just tired to death of the good ol' 80's horror trope of the cursed Native American property, and I didn't much care for the protagonist's husband writing "slave novels" and wondering "how to get the chief slave into bed with the mistress of the plantation without making her yet another clichéd nymphomaniac". Yikes. Yicycles.

The Other Mother, though, is another beautifully written story, this time about the frustrations of motherhood with a supernatural twist. Lisa Tuttle acknowledges the reality of women who were never meant to have children but did so anyway, who love their kids at the same time that they feel suffocated by them, in a sensitive and understanding way that was a real delight to read. The horror side of this tale is excellent too, and genuinely gave me a chill, even though I wouldn't call A Nest of Nightmares a terrifying book per se:

That night Sara dreamed of a woman in white, gliding along the lake shore, heading towards the house. She was not a ghost; neither was she human.

Need and A Friend In Need are both tales about lonely people reaching out to others in hard times; one is a story of a melancholy loner and a self-centered college girl forming an unlikely friendship in a cemetery (and I think every single woman would nod with understanding at the part in Need where Corey feels creeped out by the strange boy but feels compelled to be polite anyway), while the other one is a heartbreaking story of female friendship reaching through the bounds of imagination. The story between these two, The Memory of Wood, features one of my favorite scary tropes, the implied horrors: what will horrify you about this tale is not what actually happens (although that's plenty spooky) but what it doesn't state outright because it doesn't have to. Connect the dots and be disturbed, dear reader.

Stranger in the House is a somewhat unassuming story that again, leaves a lot implied but has an absolutely spine-tingling ending; Sun City is probably the most outright scary of the collection, with gruesomeness and more intimate horror intertwined, but I'd recommend to read this one with a critical eye because it's a very... white person-y horror story. The Nest on the other hand is a beautiful note to end the book on, a tale of troubled sisterhood and ominous almost-Gothic imagery that leaves just enough to the imagination to chill the reader.

Despite its (few) flaws, I feel pretty much obligated to recommend this book because of how well-written and sensitive it is; at its core it's an examination of human relationships, but with beautifully done horror imagery and a uniquely female focus. It's the exact kind of intelligent, literary horror I'm always eager to see more of, ranging from simply dark stories to a few genuine chillers. And since the Kindle version doesn't cost a whole lot, I'd say it's a crime for any fan of short horror fiction not to grab this one and at least give it a try.

Writing: The best of the best; sharp, clean prose with great imagery and insight. 5/5

Availability: The original 1986 paperback edition of this book is a collector's item that you won't find anywhere under 40 or 50 dollars; the Valancourt Books reprint from last year, I think? Is still a little pricier than some of the paperback horror out there, but those folks are truly doing the literary gods' work making obscure and rare fiction available in new print, so I say support 'em if you can. The Amazon Kindle version on the other hand is only a few bucks and an absolute delight, even if you can't hold the beautiful original cover physically in your hands that way. Go and get it! 4/5

Entertainment value: I wouldn't call this a fun book; but if you're aiming for some genuinely unsettling fiction, you couldn't find any better. 5/5

Do I recommend it?: For any horror fan who's not strictly with the blood 'n' guts crowd. 5/5