Over the years – in
what I think is a natural evolution – I've become become somewhat cynical
apropos to the short story in the horror genre. ‘A quick kiss in the dark by a stranger’ Stephen King once described
them – and although this is a fitting metaphor, I’ve always found their
somewhat cryptic nature to be a hindrance to a rewarding experience. More often
than not, a reader will go in completely cold, for there is seldom an
accompanying description beyond a vague, only hinted at theme or
illustration. Not only that, but their overall incoherence has caused me to routinely abandon plenty of them.
Quotable syntax notwithstanding, there have been many occasions where
I’ve come away from the last sentence of a short story only to think: what the hell just happened? And: Did any of that actually make a lick of
sense?
Of course, there are exceptions to the rule - and one writer I will always make time for is Daniel I Russell. After consistently proving he knows the
formula for coherence over the extended length of a story, Daniel has finally
accumulated together in one volume the ‘bridgework’ stories that have
catapulted him to where he sits now ... as an industrious workhorse in the
field of horror, and an individual who cares about all facets of the genre.
Initially, this was a compilation I received in a protracted Word document –
and although I enjoy such ‘kisses in the dark’ within this format, I
ultimately wanted the full experience of the published book; not simply the heft
and weight of its physical binding, but the added extras of an introduction by Brett
McBean, and compelling end-notes on each story’s genesis by the author.
By
the Banks of the Nabarra
A domestic tale
revolving around the Australian Bunyip – a mythological creature from
Aboriginal folklore whose environs include billabongs, creeks, and waterholes.
Here, an isolated rural family is terrorized by a stepfather patriarch. Fed up,
the mother hatches a plan to dispose of the miscreant once and for all. But her
plans are waylaid with the introduction of a beast who resides in the nearby
lake.
Narratively,
this is a very straightforward horror premise ... but it’s ultimately made
entertaining by the domestic component and Daniel tackling his first home grown
Australian monster. One of the openers, By
the Banks of Nabarra is characteristic of what lies in store:
heavy, realistic dialogue and descriptive ‘gross-out’ horror that goes right
for the jugular.
Disproportional
First person narration
of romance that goes horribly awry. After her first husband walked out, lonely
single mother Agnes has finally worked up the courage to ask a co-worker to her
home for dinner. But first he has to meet her son ... a disproportional
creature with unconventional appetites. What I liked here was the miniature in
images – descriptions that are unexpected but don’t break a stories spell or
give us a mini-lecture:
My
house sits on top. When I drive up and see it there all alone, I always think
it’s been naughty and sent to sit in the corner, away from all the
cookie-cutter houses that like to behave.
It
Comes But Once a Year
A somewhat (Christmas) story featuring a character from Daniel’s early novel Samhane. In his notes, the author talks about composing an
‘ejaculation story.’ Although I consider myself well versed in sub-genres and grew up reading Richard Laymon, I will admit to a certain
non-exposure in this particular category. As you can imagine, the story
features Christmas lights ... but comes with a side-dish of monsters, mayhem, and seminal fluid.
Broken
Bough
Another domestic tale ... this one actually reminded me a little of King’s The Last Rung on the Ladder – at least
in terms of tone. Here, a zombie apocalypse has arrived, but
the dead are merely background static to a couples isolation, depression, and
misgivings. In a claustrophobic apartment, a baby that won’t stop crying is just
more white noise, forcing our mother to be backed into a corner ... or perhaps
a balcony. Broken Bough is the perfect
example of heart contained within horror.
Devolution
My personal favorite, and one that was composed for a short story slot (and set in the same universe)
as Brett McBean’s Jungle trilogy. It’s a miscellaneous cast – with our narrator
being a New Yorker of middle-eastern decent in a tropical rain forest
apocalypse. Sequestered on an island with a motley crew of varied misfits, it
isn’t long before a Lord of the Flies
mentality slips in ... and again I was reminded of King (in this instance The
Mist), where a character with unstoppable charisma latches onto the good book
and exploits it. As sides are chosen and division sets in, the value of belief
will be learned for narrator and reader alike.
This is just a small
snippet of the twenty-two tales contained within Tricks, Mischief and Mayhem – a vast funhouse of a collection
encompassing everything from B grade horror schlock (Fluffs), to World War 2
melodrama (A Picture Tells and Following Orders). Of the cryptic nature I spoke
of earlier, I will admit to finding some here, and occasionally I
struggled to find a linear map contained within the story. All told, however,
every positive facet of Daniel’s writing is put on display – chief among them
the ring of exactness and truth he can give to dialogue. Above all, the short
stories here represent a capstone to a segment of his career ... each tale
a snapshot of time from the life of a writer whose greatest work is yet to
come.
Welcome to the show.
Welcome to the show.
