Book Review: The Serpent's Shadow by Daniel Braum

I've been away from this blog for a long time, especially when it comes to reviews, which I've had little to no time for unfortunately. However, when the (hopefully one day) legendary Daniel Braum sends you his new book to review, and it's released by Cemetery Dance, you make exceptions. Because you know you're in for a treat.

Before The Serpent's Shadow, Braum has proven himself to be a master of dark magical realism in the short story form. I'm always disappointed when certain writers are only masters of this particular form, and the novels they release end up being a tad lackluster. Though this tale is more of a novella than a novel, it's longer than Braum's other work, and the point I'm trying to make is that he is still able to pull of the vibe he's become known for, yet he manages to concoct a few surprises along the way. 

Set in Cancun in the mid-80s (those familiar with Braum's work will certainly not be surprised by the setting), a young, naive, inexperienced American named David is on vacation with his family. He meets a young woman named Anne Marie at a club, and as their relationship grows, so does the mythology of the story, which relies heavily on Mayan culture (whether the impetus for this story is based on actual mythology or is a creation of Braum's, I am unsure and too lazy to look up). Pyramids are explored, visions are had, and a dreaded killer known as the White Lady stalks the land. You know me...I don't discuss plot much in these reviews, and that's really all you need to know before diving in. Whether you're diving into the clearest water at one of Cancun's beaches or something far murkier, Braum is reticent to share. Which is a good thing. I always appreciate a little ambiguity in fiction.

One of the major pluses of Braum being allowed to spread his literary wings a little more in these 100+ pages is that the character development is much deeper than could be managed in a shorter story. Braum has always managed this better than most lesser writers in his shorts, but the characters in The Serpent's Shadow are given plenty of breathing room, and with David telling the story in first person, we are really able to get inside his head.

The greatest surprise of this book is that, at times, it is a smidge more violent than what I'm used to from Braum (especially the climax of the story). It never goes overboard, as that would be a major tonal shift from the rest of the book, but it still shocks when it occurs. Though much of Braum's work walks a fine line between magical realism and horror, it is in these moments that the latter prevails.

There's a lot to love about this book thematically, and I've got plenty of thoughts about that element of the book, but this isn't a literature class, so I'm going to let you read this and make up your own mind as to what those themes are (I believe there are more than a few). Your assignment is to write a paper exploring these themes and turn it in to me later.

If you think magical realism begins and ends with South American authors such as Márqez and Borges, think again. Try a little taste of Braum's interpretation of this genre, and you won't be disappointed.

Reading/Signing for Sexy Leper ay Mysterious Galaxy April 6th 2PM

Hey, if you're in San Diego, please come to my event for my new novel Sexy Leper, coming up in a few weeks! I'll be reading an excerpt from the book, there will be a Q & A, and a signing after.

Mysterious Galaxy 

5943 Balboa Ave #100

San Diego, CA 92111

Sexy Leper Available for Pre-Order

Hello all. My second novel, Sexy Leper, is available for pre-order from Bizarro Pulp PRess/JournalStone. It's a wild one.

You can check it out here:

http://journalstone.com/bookstore/sexy-leper/

Book Review: The Cabin at the End of the World by Paul Tremblay

I know it’s a total cliché to say you just can’t put a book down, but screw it. Tremblay’s latest novel is the epitome of such a claim. Problem is, I was reading it during breaks at work, so I HAD to put it down. Gah!

I’ve been a huge fan of Tremblay since A Head Full of Ghosts (easily one of my favorite horror novels of the last ten years or so), and have been meaning to get to his back catalogue eventually, despite it not being of the same genre (I’m of the belief that authors this good generally excel at whatever genre they attempt to tackle. See Joe R. Lansdale for another example of incredible writing trumping genre). But in the meantime I’ve been moving forward. Despite it being a very different beast from AHFOG, I loved Disappearance at Devil’s Rock quite a bit, so I was rip-roaring ready for some more Tremblay to consume. Gimme gimme gimme.

I wasn’t ready for The Cabin at the End of the World.

Holy macanoli.

Allow me to give you just a quick setup, a taste if you will. A gay couple (Andrew and Eric) and their adopted Chinese daughter Wen set off to a cabin in northern New Hampshire to enjoy some alone time. Since this alone would not make for a very interesting book, naturally something has to foil their plans. And that something comes in the form of Leonard, Sabrina, Redmond, and Adriane, a group of intruders who show up feigning friendship but harboring something much darker. All signs point to cult, but something’s off. You see, these four individuals (who allegedly have never met before that morning) have all foreseen the impending apocalypse, and the only way to stop it is from coming (and it’s coming, like, really goddamned soon!) is for the happy family to choose to do something unspeakable. To share anything more would be spoiling, so I’ll leave it at that.

Tremblay employs a breakneck pacing I’ve not seen in his previous efforts, only taking a few brief breaths for reflective flashbacks, and it works well for this book. I was sufficiently stressed from the moment things turned bad until they grew much, much worse. And if you’re familiar with Tremblay’s love of ambiguity (which I also love, love, love), The Cabin at the End of the World is no different in the sense that you may think you have a handle on what happens by the time you hit the last page, but you can’t really be sure. One thing you can be sure of: this is a dark, dark book.

As is to be expected, the prose shines in a way that perfectly sates my appetite for language. To manage this while maintaining such manic energy throughout is no small feat. A brutal story, beautifully worded. As long as Tremblay keeps pumping out novels of this quality, I’ll keep shelling out my hard-earned dough.

P.S. Paul, you need to promise to come back to San Diego one day. I regret to inform you that, though you managed to personalize my book and leave a message, you never technically signed it! Haha!

Deleted Scenes from Secrets of the Weird

In honor of the one-year anniversary of the release of Secrets of the Weird, I thought it might be fun to post a couple of brief deleted scenes from the book. Enjoy...

Deleted Scene #1:

This would have taken place right at the beginning of Chapter Fourteen, just before Civilized Cannibals played their show at Club Club. In this brief exchange between Mace Akers and Steve London, there's some fun dialogue and setting description, but ultimately it was just slowing down the chapter as a whole, so away it went.

     Steve London inched his way toward Club Club’s infamously grotesque restroom. He looked like an animated skeleton doing the graveyard boogie. Frail old stickers and flyers on the Wheat Paste Wall attempted to escape from their positions. The pathway leading from the main hall of the club to the restroom was stickier than a rug weaved with freshly chewed gum. A few thoughtful and inspirational graffiti statements tattooed the restroom’s outer door:

FOR A GOOD TIME, CALL 1-800-YOUR-MOM

VIV & THE VACCUUMS SUCK

LIBERACE IS GAY

JOANIE BLEW CHACHI CHARLES TOSSED BUDDY’S SALAD

      A strident flush roared behind the door, as if the whole city was about to be sucked into the Earth’s toilet. Moments later, Mace Akers burst through the door like a firefighter on the way to save a kitten. He lifted each arm and sniffed at his pits, confirmed they were acceptable for public interaction. A devious grin was smeared across his cinderblock face.

     “Is it safe to go in there?” Steve asked. Worry haunted his eyes.

     “Well,” Mace said, “it’s not my finest work, but I think you’ll still be impressed.”

     Steve froze, weighing out his options. He puffed on the remains of a clove cigarette as if it were providing him with oxygen. His pupils bounced around inside his eye sockets.

     “I used the last of the TP, too,” Mace said, already halfway across the club before Steve had a chance to make up his mind.

     “I think I can hold it just a little longer.”

Deleted Scene #2:

A very tiny cut from the fanzine interview with Civilized Cannibals. There's some funny stuff here, but I also realized Mace and Steve had already given Christopher a lot of grief about his previous relationship with Cypress, so it would have been a little redundant.

S.S.: What’s this I hear about one of you guys dating some chick from the Sweetville Hitlerjugend? Is that true?

M: Well, all I’m saying is that it wasn’t me. Not saying that I wouldn’t partake, just that I didn’t.

S: Not it.

M: Posi swazi.

C: Shut up. Okay...shit. That’s done and done, all right?

M: Sure it is.

C: Come on...can’t a guy make one stupid mistake in his life? Let’s just get this clear: I don’t agree in any shape or form with her politics. Never did and never will. I thought she had a couple of good qualities—

M: I bet I know just what those two wonderful qualities are. Tune in Tokyo!

C: Shut it. Basically, I was hoping she’d grow out of it. Didn’t happen. The past is just that. Let’s move on.

Book Review: The Wish Mechanics by Daniel Braum

I’ve sung the praises of Daniel Braum’s work enough both in person and on this blog at this point that some of my sentiments might come off a bit redundant here, but I’m not stopping until many, many more people convert to the Church of Braum. If you’ve yet to read my thoughts on the genius work of a writer who deserves to be far more well known than he is, this review will hopefully serve as a suitable introduction.

The Wish Mechanics is Braum’s second full collection of short fiction (his first being The Night Marchers). Unless, of course, you count the much shorter collection Yeti. Tiger. Dragon., which only features three stories. I’ve read enough of Braum’s work at this point that I’m guaranteed two things when opening one of his books: 1. I know what to expect & 2. I honestly have no idea what to expect.

Allow me to clarify. My first statement is regarding consistency of style. Some writers are chameleons, deciding their prose should take multiple forms depending on the story’s needs (I count myself as a member of this particular group). Others maintain a strong, steady voice so invariable it leaves you breathless at the ability to accomplish such a feat. Now, I don’t think one approach is necessarily better than the other, but Braum falls firmly in the second camp, and it works as nothing less than a major strength in his case. As for comment #2, despite having a pretty good idea of how Braum’s words will appear on the page (or how they will sound if read aloud), I never know where those words are going to take me. It is this combination that makes Braum a true visionary of modern fiction.

The quality of the stories never wavers, regardless if Braum is attempting magical realism (“Tea in the Sahara”), introspective horror (“Tetsuya and the Ranagareet”), science fiction (“Resolution Seventeen”), or whatever else he chooses to write. His stories are always threatening to transcend genre, skirting around the hallmarks one might expect and instead opting for an emotional rawness that cannot quite be described. Sometimes the tales are deceptively normal, then take a turn for the weird when you least expect it (“This Is the Sound of Your Dreams Dying”). There is always something not-quite-right going on, almost Twilight Zone-esque, but looking toward the future. In fact, I’d love to see one (or more) of Braum’s stories adapted into a Black Mirror episode (the title story, for instance, might be an especially great fit).

In this collection, Braum’s writing is (as always) earnest, poignant, dark, and moving. If you’re a fan of literary fiction that operates on a fantastical level, I can’t think of another living writer who pulls it off with greater finesse than Daniel Braum.

Book Review: Paperbacks from Hell by Grady Hendrix

So I think this might actually be the first nonfiction book I’ve reviewed, but if I’m going to toss one of those in the mix it might as well be a doozy such as this one.

Before I get into the actual review, I have to mention I had the pleasure of seeing Hendrix do a presentation for this book at Mysterious Galaxy, and it was without a doubt the most entertaining author event I’ve ever been to. Words can not describe…but lets just say if I had randomly wandered into the bookstore that night not knowing a thing about this book I would have bought it after just a few minutes into this maniacally organized presentation. I’m not sure if Hendrix is still doing events for this book, but if he is, and if he’s coming to your town, you’d be a damned fool to skip it. Would I lie to you?

Quirk has done a bang-up job with this book. From the gorgeous embossed cover to the beautiful reproductions of the infamous covers throughout the pages, they weren’t skimping on the professionalism here. And these aspects alone would make this a good coffee table book. Luckily, the content is just as entertaining as the book is easy on the eyes. She’s got beauty and brains, folks.

The thing that immediately strikes me is Hendrix’s enthusiasm for the material. This wasn’t just sheer research (though, yes, there was much research to be done). This was a true labor of love. Hendrix seemingly knows every minute detail of practically every book he mentions, from the names of the people who created the cover art to (in the case of some authors) what happened to the “one-hit wonders” of horror fiction. And the best aspect of Hendrix’s writing is that he effortlessly speaks about these books with a keen sense of humor. I chuckled more times than I could count, and it’ll reel me in to read this book again eventually.

Though I’ve read my fair share of obscure horror novels, I realized after reading Paperback from Hell that I am just an amateur and have much catching up to do. There were at least a dozen books with descriptions that made my jaw drop at how full-blown bonkers they were, ones that I now must try to hunt down in some dusty old used bookstore (SO many books in the “Hail Satan” chapter, for instance. Yowza.)

If I were to voice one small complaint, it would be that I thought Hendrix was a tiny bit dismissive of Splatterpunk. I wish he had delved into the subversive elements of this sub-genre a bit more, as it’s a very important movement to me, and most of the first-wave Splatterpunk authors are my biggest personal influences. To be fair, he did name a few authors who stood out to him, so I could just be taking it personal, as Hendrix took plenty of digs at other sub-genres. I also thought Rex Miller’s Slob got the short end of the stick (despite giving it so much page space, which I do applaud Hendrix for). I just feel this novel deserves more respect, as it’s one of my all-time favorites. Really, though, at this point I’m just nitpicking so I don’t sound like I’m giving Hendrix a massage with a happy ending. Time for me to shut up.

You probably already know if you want this book or not. There’s a pretty specific audience for it. The average soccer mom probably isn’t going to be too into this. However, if you are within the target audience and were on the fence, trust me…it’s well worth your hard-earned cash.