Tuesday, 25 December 2012

"Made Flesh" - Part 2



"Marius turned at the sound of my voice and a smile lit up the questioning frown that had creased his features. He was stocky, which made him look shorter than he really was, and he had rich black hair, well-pomaded and slicked back. His eyes were deep blue and the boyishness of his features was marred only by the ugly scar left by a British bayonet which had scored a line from the lower left edge of his jawbone to the outer corner of his right eye. His strong right hand, clad in black leather, crushed mine as he happily doffed his jacket and took the seat opposite me.

'Egon! It’s good to see you! I thought I wouldn’t get to see a friendly face at all while I was here.' I signalled the waiter to make my order for two and soon we were toasting each other’s health in mulled wine..."

Monday, 24 December 2012

Sunday, 23 December 2012

"Made Flesh" - Part 1


"He blinked his eyes blearily around the room whilst polishing his glasses on a handkerchief, a trait which I find extremely annoying in those with decrepit vision, since there is no point trying to look if one cannot see. As he did so, I noted his other failings: his lips were altogether too pink, somewhat flabby and moist (I detest a wet mouth); his skin was pocked with the record of a past disease and sallow, as if too much of his time was spent indoors. Most alarming of all was his hair: it was dark and there was too much of it, although not on top of his head which was completely free of its contamination, but on his face which it covered completely up to the lower eyelids, leaving his grotesque mouth floating in a dark space, like the painted-on jape of an American comedian. Together with his large, spectacularly-broken nose and his low brow, I felt justified in immediately exclaiming:

'Mein Gott, Krupke! Is there Jewish blood in your veins?'”

Saturday, 22 December 2012

Review: Ladies of Fantasy



English, Seon Manley & Gogo Lewis (Eds.) Ladies of Fantasy – Two Centuries of Sinister Stories by the Gentle Sex, Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co., New York, NY, USA, 1975

Octavo; hardcover; 214pp., Light spotting to text block edges; previous owner’s ink inscription on front free endpaper; dustjacket (designed by Edward Gorey) sunned along the spine and top edges and mildly foxed, but now protected by non-adhesive plastic



This is one of a series of collections compiled by Seon Manley and Gogo Lewis, focussing on the writing talents of women authors since the Nineteenth Century. It caught my eye mainly due to the Edward Gorey dustjacket; but once inside, there are more treasures to be discovered.

For many years, women have found – in the face of changed and straitened circumstances or for want of any other opportunities – avenues of employment in the writing sphere. In Australia, during the 1930s, many women turned to writing and publishing to bring in money and to gain the satisfaction of employment, and thus we have such literary giants as Eleanor Dark, May Gibbs, Nuri Mass, Ida Rentoul Outhwaite, Ruth Park, Ethel Turner and Dorothy Wall. Similar booms occurred in journalism across the globe, as periodicals defined select readerships and the ‘woman’s perspective’ became a valid viewpoint from which to conjure reportage. Like most writers these working authors turned their hands to many styles and forms of writing and no few of them took on the ‘weird tale’ as a salient exercise.

Most of the women represented in this volume are either British or American and had trans-Atlantic upbringings; the two exceptions are Madame Blavatsky and Grazia Deledda, They represent a wide range of social opportunity from the idly rich to the working professional. All the stories presented are top notch, covering a wide range of sub-genres from hard sci-fi to the gothic romance. All are suitably creepy.

I was eager to read the Blavatsky piece – “The Ensouled Violin”. People say Lovecraft is fond of adjectives! Wow! La Blavatsky’s writing creates an aubergine haze over the pages! The story – about a violin virtuoso who uses his mentor’s intestines to string his Stradivarius in a devilish pact with the Powers of Evil – is suitably gruesome. Still, I have to admit that the purple prose tended to kill the effect, and the Gothic Novel pacing drew out the action far too much: a shorter snappier style would have made for a better tale. There’s a nice comparison to be drawn between this story and HPL’s “The Music of Erich Zann”: mad musicians and their devilish instruments...

Grazia Deledda was Italian and based in Sardinia. Her writings tend to focus upon her home region and in 1926, she won the Nobel Prize for Literature and was elected to the Italian Academy. The story presented here (“The Sorcerer”), too, is based amongst the Italian peasantry and deals with a local ‘cunning man’s’ curse placed on the wife of a man who disdains his magical prowess. The farmer’s wife is prevented from giving birth by the curse, and he must approach the sorcerer to beg him to remove the enchantment. Of all the stories here, this is the one that had the best (to my mind) twist and the most satisfying resolution.

Other notables in the collection are Edith Nesbit’s “The Pavilion” has a core of sand-dry humour, lightly spritzed with acid; Joan Aiken’s “Searching for Summer”, a convincing peek at a future world wherein bomb technologies used in a great conflict have left the planet enshrouded, making moments of sunshine sporadic and rare; and Grena J. Bennett’s “The Tilting Island”, a thoroughly convincing tale of the island of Manhattan sliding into the ocean due to the subsidence of subterranean strata from the weight of the city above. Her journalist’s background serves her well in this tale and it reads like an eyewitness account: I have to admit that the style is a bit clunky in places, but recent disastrous events in New York – Hurricane Sandy; 9/11 – make her observations leap right off the page.

On balance (and I admit that this is a generalisation) women writers are better observers of the social milieu, especially those working in the early Twentieth Century or earlier. What makes these pieces exceptional is their attention to the details of lives and interpersonal relationships. In horror fiction, or the weird tale, this level of observation is crucial; as M.R. James said about this genre:

“[Ghosts should be] malevolent or odious; [their victims should be] introduced in a placid way, undisturbed by forebodings, pleased with their surroundings, and in this calm environment let the ominous thing put out its head.”

These writers are experts at the creation of these sorts of “calm environments”; not less so their ability to manufacture “ominous things” and to let them emerge into focus. I certainly intend to keep an eye out for the other titles in this series, especially Ladies of Horror – Two Centuries of Supernatural Stories by the Gentle Sex.

Three-and-a-half tentacled horrors.

Friday, 21 December 2012

"Henshaw's Descent" - Part 3


"There was a bright burst of blue-white light and the inside of the shack flared into brilliance. The frame and boards of the ramshackle dwelling became sharply delineated and the circle of men outside was starkly silhouetted. With a loud crack, the front wall of the hovel ripped open to reveal a scene of carnage within: a circle of blackened bodies lay in contorted poses across the exposed floor of the room; in their midst stood the Chinaman with the ruined face, his hideous features alive in a maniacal grimace exposing the wicked fangs in his mouth. The scene pulsated with the grotesque white light, shining like phosphorescence on the dead margin of a lost shore. With this cold gleam dazzling off his opalescent eye, the wicked interloper resumed his unnerving chant:

'Iä! Iä! Cthulhu! Cthulhu ftaghn! Iä, naflghn Cthulhu R’lyeh mglw’nafh, eha’ungl wglw hflghglui ngah’glw, engl Eha gh’eehf gnhugl. Nhflgmg uh’eha wgah’nagl hfgluhf – U’ng Eha’ghglui Aeeh ehn’hflgh!'..."

Thursday, 20 December 2012

Problems with Individual Book Copies...


 
Sometimes you want a book real bad. You hunt it down: you leave your details with your bookseller; you pore through sites on the Web; you visit second-hand bookshops in parts of the city you never even knew existed. Finally you find it and you pay what seems like an exorbitant fee for what is basically a scuzzy, old, used book. You take it home and then there’s the big reveal – the last page is missing.

It’s well-known that particular issues of Mythos books are more or less effective than their original sources, but wear and tear on an individual copy may also compromise its effectiveness. Individual copies of books go through much heavy-handling throughout their lives. They get dropped, written in, torn, bent and splashed on. They get burned. Occasionally, while being produced, things go horribly wrong: the print registration slips; the text gets set up wrongly; the paper guillotine fails to work properly. Finally, books get broken, disbound and re-bound. Myriad accidents happen to books and sometimes the vital information – the identity of the killer, the secret ingredient for the perfect soufflé, the final line of code for that critical computer program – is missing. For extra-villainous Keepers, the following is a new mechanism that can make the search for a Mythos tome more involved and interesting (and also frustrating).

Whenever the party discovers some verminous volume, have them make a Luck Roll (possibly an averaged roll from the whole group): failure means that any of the following may apply to that copy of the book. Roll d100 to see how messed-up the book is:

%Roll: 1-10

 
Ruinous Result:
The Mythos tome was accidently set on fire at one point and then hastily tossed into a container of water or a convenient stream to extinguish the flames. Corners of pages in the middle of the text block are scorched and unreadable, while the ink on other pages has run and smeared to illegibility. In a more modern book, the burning is more even and the pages stick together: peeling them apart renders them mostly useless.

%Roll: 11-20

 
Ruinous Result:
Bookworm: these larvae have a particular fondness for older books whose paper is made with a high degree of pulped fabric rather than vegetable cellulose. These worms act like miniature drills, riddling their mazey way through the text block until it looks like Swiss cheese. A somewhat similar result pertains to the ministrations of termites. In modern books – which generally have lower quality paper – it’s silverfish which do the damage: they love the glue with which modern books are held together and, once they’ve eaten all of that, they start on the paper...

%Roll: 21-30
Ruinous Result:
Misbound: this copy of the book has been stitched together by careless bindery workers. The signatures are not in the right order (making reading difficult), the same signatures have been repeated over and over, or some of the signatures are blank.

%Roll: 31-40

 
Ruinous Result:
Rough Scholarship: Some researchers have no love for books; just for the information that they contain. In the course of using them, they tear out passages or whole pages with which they disagree, scribble over pages with indelible marginal notes and paste, tape, or staple in extra notes of their own devising. They also spill food and drink on the book and frantically scrabble through it with hands covered in God alone knows what. It’s amazing that the book has survived at all...

%Roll: 41-50
Ruinous Result:
All of the plates, maps and diagrams contained within the work have been sliced out with a razor, in order to be framed, sold, or kept close for reference in the field.

%Roll: 51-60

 
Ruinous Result:
The spine of the binding has split and the cords and stitching have begun to unravel: pages are beginning to come free and some have obviously already been lost (in more modern books, the glue holding the pages to the wrapper has dried and is cracking away, with the same effect). Unless some method of containing what’s left is devised (a bag, or box), every time the party hastily relocates the work, 1d4 more leaves will have vanished.

%Roll: 61-70
Ruinous Result:
Binder’s Proof: quite often the binder will ‘mock up’ a version of the finished volume, using a stack of blank paper as the text block, to demonstrate to the buyer what the final result will look like. Usually the proof will be broken back down to be re-used, but occasionally, it is given to the purchaser as an extra gift. In effect this is an exact double of the book but with no content whatsoever.

%Roll: 71-80

 
Ruinous Result:
Dessication: papyrus, parchment and all qualities of paper dislike being in extremely cold, extremely dry environments for long durations. When found, this volume starts to crumble into tiny flakes of useless matter at the first breath of air...

%Roll: 81-90

 
Ruinous Result:
Leather Rot:-poorly prepared leather sometimes begins to disintegrate, flaking away into a red powdery mess. This is easily remedied by re-binding, but the powdered leather gets on everything, including the pages, usually from the hands of the reader: the results are bright-red, greasy stains that ineradicably obscure the text. In modern books, the same result is gained from mould, which ruins printing by gluing pages together and blanking out words with greenish-black fungal blooms.

%Roll: 91-00
Ruinous Result:
The binding, labels, spine and endpapers are from the desired Mythos tome; unfortunately, the contents have been replaced by some far more innocuous work. With a more modern volume, it may be just the dustjacket which has been switched with another book of the same size.

On a critically-failed Luck Roll, roll twice (ignoring results which would make no sense).

To reflect the dangers presented by the damaged book, reduce the Cthulhu Mythos Knowledge score by 1d10 (or more) points; alternatively, spells from this source are only discernible by rolling LUCKx1 for each listed spell.

Wednesday, 19 December 2012

"Henshaw's Descent" - Part 2


                  "Suddenly the door flew open with a resounding crash and the bursting roar of a gunshot split the gloom. The knife sparked, flew from the shopkeeper’s hand and a tall glass cylinder of – something – shattered, disgorging its contents messily onto the floor. Chang held his wrist, his face stretched wide in shock, then, with a babble of Chinese, he rushed to rescue his ruined merchandise. Henshaw stared at the door: standing there, shadowed in the dim outdoor light, was a rangy figure, lean-muscled and wiry, in a singlet vest and suspender-hoisted trousers. A flat cap was mashed down onto his crown, pulled well down over his eyes and hiding his features, apart from a beaky nose and the grim, set mouth beneath it. Henshaw’s initial impression was that he’d been rescued by a drowned vulture with a handgun.

                  With practised nonchalance, the intruder dropped the dripping pistol into his waistband and pointed at Henshaw.

                  'You,” he growled, 'foller me.' He turned, his hobnails tearing at the floorboards, and stamped out into the rain once more. With no other options but bad ones, Henshaw chose to obey..."