Collings Notes

THE SLAB--Another Perspective

2012-02-29T11:47:00.000-08:00

Dan Wells, a writer whose works I admire and whom I honor as a friend, has posted the following review of my horror novel The Slab at Amazon.com. I don't usually reproduce comments about my works but when someone really gets it, there's an uncontrollable urge to share. So here it is:

"Most haunted horse stories follow some similar tropes--an old house, maybe out in the woods or a large estate, some ghostly noises or floating candelabras, etc.--but The Slab is something I'd never read before. This is a horror story for a decidedly modern, relentlessly banal society: a tract house in a cookie cutter development, made horrific not by an ancient curse or an Indian burial ground but simply by the greed and corner cutting of a contractor more interested in money than the well-being of his customers. Which is not to say the house isn't haunted--there is a real evil here, a malevolence far grimmer than I've seen in a long while.

"Part of the reason The Slab is so effective is the way it combines supernatural horrors with the very real horrors many homeowners are all too familiar with. Family after family is destroyed by the house, not just because of the darkness beneath it but because it is a money pit, difficult to maintain and almost impossible to sell; som of the darkest moments come as you watch the characters slowly put the pieces together, realizing that the house is hellbent on destroying them, but knowing that they can't really do anything about it. They owe more than it's worth, they can't sell it, they can't cut their losses and leave...what else is there to do but stick it out and try to fight back?

"At times the book is painful to read, and some of the house's attacks are truly vicious, but the quality of the writing and the connection you feel to the characters keeps you hooked, hoping against all odds that someone will finally 'win.' The conclusion is tragic and satisfying at once. Highly recommended."

This from the author of several outstanding novels, including the I am Not a Serial Killer series and his newest, Partials. All well worth the read.

Stephen King’s 11/22/63 and the Freshman Composition Essay

2012-02-22T14:05:00.000-08:00

This is not a review of Stephen King’s recent novel 11/22/63, although there might be a review forthcoming eventually.

Instead, this is a meditation on writing, triggered by the first part of that novel, “The Janitor’s Father.”

In the opening pages, King’s narrator recounts reading essays from a high school Adult Education class he is teaching. Essentially, the task is mind-numbing…an experience perhaps all composition instructors have shared to one degree or another.

Then he comes across one written by the lame janitor at the school—and is stunned. The piece is misspelled, grammatically inept, mechanically flawed in just about every way possible.

He gives it an “A,” then adds a “+” for good measure.

And in doing so, he changes his life.

I was startled by that introduction, not because I had any preconceptions as to how King would enter the world of his narrative but rather because I had once receive that essay, or one so near like it that the differences seem inconsequential.

I was teaching Freshman Composition as a teaching assistant and graduate student at the University of California, Riverside. The year must have been 1974 or 1975—I know it was my first or second year in the classroom, at any rate. I had assigned as a topic “Discuss the most important event in your life.”

Almost immediately after stating the topic, I knew that it was a mistake. From the back row came a tentative whisper, “What if it hasn’t happened yet?” I stifled the impulse to respond, “Are you planning something for tonight?” and instead modified the assignment to “an” important event.

A week later, the essays arrived on my desk. And, much like King’s high-school teacher, I began wading through a stack of essays written by the book. The events might have once been important to the students, but the papers succeeded in demonstrating that, after all, the students really didn’t care about what had happened. The writing was flat, tedious, largely passive, and tendentious; the unstated purpose in all of the essays was to get the onerous task over with, get a decent grade, and get out of Freshman Composition as quickly as possible.

In most cases, it seemed that I could have assigne a grade—a safe “C”—to all of the papers, walk into class on Monday, fling the essays into the air, and whatever paper the students grabbed would do them as much good as my giving them the ones they had written.

Then…then I came across the essay.

It was far from flawless. Paragraphics were sloppy. More sentences were run-ons than not, and the ones that weren’t, were comma splices. Spelling was nothing exceptional, about what one might expect of first semester college students in the U.C. system back then. Grammar was spotty but the sentences were readable.

I gave the essay an “A.” I probably would have added the “+” but at that time, UCR didn’t recognize such a grade.

The narrative was simple.

The writer’s older brother had just graduated from high school with honors and had received a scholarship to a local university. He would be the first one in the family to attend college. The family was having a party to celebrate and had run out of soda. He offered to go to the corner store to buy more. The writer followed, lagging behind slightly, and so was half hidden by bushes when three boys stepped out from behind the corner of the store and stabbed the brother to death.

He had been a drug-runner but had turned his back on his former colleagues and straightened his life around. They didn’t like it.

So they killed him.

I later found out from the writer that this essay had been her first attempt to articulate her feelings about what had happened, her emotions at the sight of the murder, her fright, her fear, her horror.

I handed the graded essays back at the end of class that Monday…all except one. I requested that the writer stay behind for a few minutes; the paper was too precious to merely drop on her desk in passing. We talked for a long while, more about the experience than about the essay, then I asked her permission to reproduce the essay, without names, and hand it out to the class.

She graciously agreed, and the next class meeting we had a long discussion about rules of composition, conventions of punctuation and spelling, requirements of sentence structure…and when it was all right to ignore them.

That might have been the first time that I truly understood what one of my undergraduate professors had said about language, that one of its primary purposes was emotional adjustment. The essay was far from perfect, yet it was perfect. The run-ons and comma-splices gave it a breathless, hurried sense, as if the writer still could not believe what had happened and wanted to get through re-living the experience in words as quickly as possible. The occasional mechanical wobbles intensified the emotional values in her words, her sentences. And the fact of its very existence was a tribute to the courage and strength the writer admired in her brother and was demonstrating in her own actions. She had overcome something horrendous, she had completed high school in spite of her fears, and she was now the first in her family attending college.

From then on, I taught English composition pretty much the way I was expected to. I had the students buy the required texts, although I frequently ignored the books as much as relied on them. If the students did the reading, their writing would show it; if not, well, they were adults and capable of choosing for themselves. I assiduously marked errors, at first with a red pen, then later with a pencil, to suggest that many of the things I noted might not be all that terrible.

But always I kept my eyes open for other essays like that one.

I found a few. Not all were as terrible in content as that first one. Some committed “errors” because of excitement, or enthusiasm. I even found a few cases in my poetry classes where students were carried away by the power of words and didn’t actually writing in perfect iambic pentameter as the assignment requested. Occasionally, I wrote “This one is an ‘A’—but don’t do this to me again” on the bottom of a paper whose author, I hoped, would understand what I meant.

It is now almost forty years since I read that essay. In important ways, it determined much about my approach to teaching, to writing, to poetry, and to life. Re-living that experience through the eyes of Stephen King’s high-school teacher reminded me how much I owed to that long-ago student, who committed an act of courage beyond anything her classmates could have understood (at least in so far as their run-of-the-mill essays might have indicated). It reminded me of why I loved teaching, why I love writing, why writing is important—to me and to anyone who discovers its secrets.

I may write a review of 11/22/63, eventually. But I am already grateful for having opened the book.

Paul Genesse's THE CRIMSON PACT, VOLUME 2...Once More into the Breach

2012-02-20T13:37:00.000-08:00

Paul Genesse, editor. The Crimson Pact, Volume 2. Alliteration Ink, 1 September 2011. Kindle edition, 777 kb, $4.99. ASIN: B005LXST8G. Paperback, 13 October 2011. 584 pp., $19.99. ISBN-10: 0984006508, ISBN-13: 978-0984006502

Whenever I see an anthology of short stories with the subtitle Volume 2, I automatically anticipate more stories like the ones in the first volume, perhaps following a similar theme, or placed in the same landscape (real or imagined), or exploring further the exploits of certain individuals.

The Crimson Pact, Volume 2, fulfills that expectation...and much, much more.

There is the expected continuation of underlying theme: all of the stories in CP2 take as their ultimate starting point the cataclysmic battle between humans and demons outlined in “The Failed Crusade” (CP1). The human forces apparently win. Or so they think. Because the true outcome of the battle is that the demons—in whatever size and shape they choose to appear—are now free to re-group, and absorbing the power released by the death and suffering they have released, now determine to infest and infect as many worlds as possible, throughout all time and space. Volume 1 gave readers an introduction to those worlds as imagined by over two dozen writers of short fiction and flash fiction, with many of the stories (especially the shorter ones) crying for continuation.

Which is precisely what Volume 2 provides. Ten of the twenty-eight tales are direct or indirect sequels to stories in CP1. Some pick up quite literally at the point where the earlier tale stopped; others shift time, locale, character to follow the actions of humans (and not-quite-humans) as they continue their one-sided struggle against the waiting hordes of demons.

And there is more. The remainder take us to new worlds and explore possibilities undreamed of in the first volume. In some sense, the stories—both the new and the continued—demonstrate a deeper maturity in understanding and expression, perhaps simply because CP1 exists and, whether taken as a starting point or merely suggesting potentials in the human-demon wars that had not yet been specifically examined, illuminates the wealth of permutations on history, religion, philosophy, art, and other elements that still exist.

After all, CP1 posits an infinity of worlds and universes in which demons may appear. CP2 moves further outward and inward.

Few of the stories in Volume 2 do anything except satisfy. The flash fictions titillate with the promise of more while offering carefully crafted moments that, in their compression and almost poetry-like texture, encapsulates the essence of the larger struggles. Old friends from Volume 1 reappear; some continue victorious, others do not.

The longer stories provide the more substantial landscapes, characterization, and narrative that a war of such epic scale requires. Again, there are heroes who face down demons in all of their horrific array; and there are perhaps even greater hero who give their lives to further the cause. From my perspective as reader, those stories—including the final two, Patrick M. Tracy’s “Red Bandanna Boys” and Suzzanne Myers’ “Seven Dogs”—represent humanity, whether demon-hunting or merely standing for the right, at its finest.

I strongly recommend The Crimson Pact, Volume 2. If you read and enjoyed Volume 1, this addition of tales will expand upon that enjoyment. If, for some reason you missed Volume 1, these stories provide an introduction to the basic theme and more than sufficient reason to go back and read the earlier ones.

And, somewhere near the end of March 2012, The Crimson Pact, Volume 3 is scheduled to appear, with a new contingent of flash fiction, short stories, continuations of previous tales, and further explorations into time, space, and demons.

Drawing out the Dragons: James A. Owen on Challenges and Choices

2012-02-15T20:29:00.000-08:00

I was not able to hear James Owen’s Guest-of-Honor Address at last week’s Life, the Universe, and Everything XXX, the annual symposium on science fiction and fantasy, located this year at Utah Valley University in Orem UT.

Quite literally, I was not able to hear it.

The range and intensity of my deafness makes it almost impossible—even with up-to-date hearing aids—for me to understand clearly in groups larger than two or three. In the audience at the Centre Stage at UVU, I was audibly lost.

So, as more than a few people assured me, I had missed something remarkable.

Missed, that is, until I read Drawing out the Dragons, his small, beautifully written book on meeting challenges and making choices…the latter being the fundamental point of the volume. There are always choices.

On the other hand, I did enjoy one experience that only a few others at the symposium could: I was asked to participate on the “Tolkien and Lewis: Why They are Still Relevant after Seventy Years” panel, along with Robin Weeks (our more than capable moderator), Jessica Harmon, and…James A. Owen.

Sitting at the table with the Guest of Honor, knowing little more about him than had been included in the symposium program booklet, I was immediately impressed with him. He began his introduction by wondering why he had been invited to that particular panel, since he was not a Lewis/Tolkien scholar per se, then proceeded to demonstrate—not to explain—that he was indeed more than qualified; that his Imaginarium Geographica series, beginning with Here There Be Dragons (Simon & Schuster 2006), brings not only the works of Lewis, Tolkien, and their constant companion Charles Williams to life, but elements of the authors’ lives as well; that he was a quiet, soft-spoken gentleman whose every word (which I could actually hear, since I was sitting at the table with him) was worthy of consideration.

Later in the symposium, I had the opportunity to speak with him informally, as he was signing a copy of Drawing out the Dragons and illustrating it with one of his characteristic dragons while an enormously patient young fan waited as we chatted.

One on one, he was every bit as warm and generous as he was on the panel as we talked a little more about Tolkien, Lewis, fantasy, writing, and the symposium in general.

Which brings me (finally!) to Drawing out the Dragons itself.

I downloaded it tonight, in response to a kind offer Owens made as a thank-you for his reception at LTUE XXX. Initially, I intended to load the .mobi version onto my Kindle and begin it tomorrow morning while eating my breakfast at a nearby Subway.

But I made a mistake.

I opened the accompanying .pdf instead, and abruptly found myself facing…a dragon. Very like the one he had drawn in the young fan’s book. I scrolled to the second page, and couldn’t resist the reference to the Superman ring Owen wears.

And I was lost again, for the next hour or so.

Until I finished reading Drawing out the Dragons.

It is not, as Owen makes clear in the introduction, about his Imaginarium Geographica series, or his other writings; others—fans, readers, scholars—are capable of talking about what he does in his books. Instead, it is about the great lesson he wishes to share with his younger readers.

There is always a choice.

He approaches his subject through autobiography, which is fascinating enough on its own account to make the book intriguing. His life is distilled to a retelling of challenges—professional and personal—to the choices he made in meeting and overcoming those challenges, and to their consequences to and throughout his life. Whether it be a lingering childhood illness that made even the doctors despair, or a car accident that seemed effectively to have put an end to his drawing career, or the promise of a job that resulted in disappointment and severe financial straits—whatever the occasion, he recounts it clearly and objectively, never reaching for the easy way out, for sentimentality or undue sympathy, but always moving toward his final goal: to demonstrate the importance of choice in his life…and by extension in everyone’s life.

It would be of little value for me to go into detail about the contents of the book. It is fairly short and easily read, and speaks more for itself than any summary or précis could accomplish. But what emerges from the experience of reading it is the sense that one has encountered a remarkable man. Insightful, determined, even brilliant, yet at the same time open-hearted, generous, and above all optimistic.

The same man that shared a table for a panel discussion. The same man that took five or ten minutes to speak from the heart to a near stranger.

I recommend both the man and his words. Both are extraordinary.

See the book at: http://www.amazon.com/Drawing-Out-Dragons-Meditation-ebook/dp/B004VN31NK/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1329366502&sr=1-1

Introspections: On Sex, Gender, Mormons, Marriage, and Exaltation

2012-02-05T15:28:00.000-08:00

As I understand them, here are several points relating to the stance of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints concerning marriage:

*Marriage between a man and a woman is ordained of God.
*Marriage as so defined is a key element in the Plan of Salvation, which is ultimately available for all of God’s children—that is, all of humanity.
*When solemnized by priesthood authority, marriage is intended to extend throughout eternity, along with relevant family relationships and ties.
*Sexual intercourse outside of marriage is not in accordance with God’s will.

These and other salient ideas are contained within "The Family: A Proclamation to the World" as published by the First Presidency and Council of the Twelve Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints more than a decade ago. Appearing as it does over the signature of President Gordon B. Hinckley, his Councilors, and the Quorum of the Twelve, the proclamation is, according to generally accepted definitions, considered as revelation by millions of members world-wide and remains as such unless or until the President of the Church should receive additional revelation modifying it in any way.

Recently, someone on Facebook posted what was essentially a statement of intent, defining whom he would accept as friends and whom he would defriend:
I don't judge anybody by what they believe, only by how they behave.
I don't defriend republicans for being republican, I don't defriend conservatives for being conservative. I don't defriend people for being Christian or Mormon or Muslim or any other faith.
I defriend people for denying the civil rights of others. I defriend people for not doing their homework and promulgating lies and foolishness. I defriend people for bad manners. And not because I hate or despise, because I don't have time for that. I defriend people because I have neither the time nor the obligation to be friends with anyone who fails to contribute to others.On first reading, the pronouncement seems clear and cogent. It seems fair, even reasonable, particularly the comment concerning hatred—one need only keep one’s eyes and ears open in the public forums to witness the excess of hate-speak that floods in from nearly every direction.

A further reading suggests, however, that the statement is more than a bit disingenuous, particularly the second sentence of the second paragraph (although much the same arguments could be made about other sentences): "I don’t defriend people for being Christian or Mormon or Muslim or any other faith."

Not, perhaps, for being any of those things listed. However, as an English professor, I have to note that to be as a verb is deficient in action; it merely asserts a state of…well, of being.
But for being religious…as in practicing one’s religion? I’m not certain how one can differentiate between being a Mormon (passive, static) and living as a Mormon (active, dynamic).

And if that is the case, there doesn’t seem to be any way for the author to avoid the conclusion that underlying the surface impression is an unstated willingness, almost a requirement, to defriend people for being/living as Mormons.

The LDS religion is unlike almost any other Christian religion in that it is based on the principle of continuing revelation, on the existence of prophets today who have the authority to communicate the will of our Father to His children. They do not have the authority to force anyone to accept those communications; anyone who chooses to do so may ignore anything the LDS prophets declare—and millions of people clearly have chosen to do so.

They do, however, have the authority to guide and direct those who willingly become members of the LDS Church, those who have whole-heartedly accepted the premise of a God-inspired leadership and signaled that acceptance by baptism into the church. And, logically, anyone who no longer accepts that leadership and the mores of the LDS community may turn away from them.

But in doing so, they essentially cease to be LDS, even if for various reasons they hold on to the name.
The issue becomes significant when one compares the Facebook declaration-of-intent (quoted above) with the focus of "The Family." One of the civil rights the Facebook author espouses is marriage equality. In an earlier post, the author’s stance was made crystal clear: If you don’t stand for marriage equality, I will defriend you. No discussion invited or necessary.

That is the author’s right.

On the other hand, "The Family" states explicitly that marriage, as ordained by God, is between a man and a woman.

That is within the rights of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is, in fact, fundamental to the belief in human progression throughout the eternities that makes necessary the temples and the ordinances performed within them. To achieve the highest degree of exaltation a man and a woman must be married by priesthood authority "for time and all eternity."

(Please don’t bring up the frequency of divorce among contemporary marriages as a counter-argument. There are cars that have over a million miles on their odometers—for the purposes of this essay the automotive equivalent of "eternity." But without proper care, attention, and maintenance, those same cars might have broken down and become useless after only a few tens of thousands of miles…in fact, most do. Simply put, in spite of current trends, divorce is not the ultimate purpose of marriage.)

Celestial marriage requires a man and a woman participating in unity. Neither can do it alone; the man is as dependent upon the faith, the love, and the support of the woman as the woman is upon the man. Both are equal. Both must work together.

And the goal of those celestial marriages (how many of them there will be in the human family as a whole, I have no idea) is eternal increase.

Thus the problem. As we understand the biology and physics of generation, males cannot beget children upon males, nor can females upon females. Well, it might be retorted, there are a great many male-female unions that produce no children—and the response is, of course, yes, that is true.

But when talking about celestial marriage, members of the LDS church are not discussing the world as we know it, but a finer, more refined, more ‘god-like’ world, in which much that we do not now understand will be possible, in which the inhabitants do not possess mortal, imperfect bodies of flesh and blood, subject to weaknesses, illness, and disabilities. In such a state—and for such a union—eternal increase will be possible, although we presently know almost nothing else about the mechanics, the processes and the requirements. Only about the promise.

As things now stand, then, many LDS are concerned, not so much about the fact of same-sex marriage (although many would argue that to accept such unions fundamentally alters the definition and implications of the word marriage) as about the ramifications of such a change. Specifically, there are concerns that outspoken opponents of the church might exploit the opportunity to apply legalisms to force LDS bishops to unwillingly perform same-sex marriages or, as has already been intimated by even more extreme parties, to literally force public entry into the temples under the threat of lawsuits and, by extension, potentially destroy the LDS faith. Analogous situations have occurred in the past. At least part of the public opposition to polygamy over a century ago stemmed from a generally-felt public desire that the LDS church be legislated out of existence, that its properties be seized and its leadership imprisoned … for acts performed before the relevant laws were passed. As with other responses to similar threats, the 1890 Manifesto halting the practice of polygamy in the LDS church is seen by members as a revelation to protect and support the church.

And thus it stands.

At this point, the church may be confronting an external situation as potentially damaging as the federal antagonism to polygamy in the 1870s and 1880s. On the one hand, there are the stated beliefs of the church and the practices that support those beliefs. On the other are the actions and pressures by groups who neither belong to the church nor share those beliefs, some of whom are overtly antagonistic toward the church.

Will the current situation force changes in LDS policies and practices?

I do not know.

Could such changes occur?

Possibly.

If they do, they would not be the result of protests, pressures, demands by dissident groups outside or inside the church.

Like all other key decisions in the church’s history, any alteration or modification of the church’s stand on marriage would be the result of revelation. While those not of the LDS faith might point to alleged flip-flopping, or challenge the church’s authenticity based on changes in practices, they seem unable (or unwilling) to confront a key belief within the church…that the church is based on continuing revelation, that as society alters (even, perhaps, as the membership of the church grows in understanding and ability to deal with increasingly complex issues) the church may and will change.

Such changes are to be expected and, as in the case of inviting black males to participate in full priesthood blessings in 1978, may be widely welcomed within the church.
Would such be the situation now?

Again, I do not know.

But I am patient. I am willing to wait.

LTUE--Life, the Universe, & Everything 2012

2012-02-02T16:08:00.000-08:00

This year marks the 30^th anniversary of Life, the Universe, & Everything: The Marion K. “Doc” Smith Symposium on Science Fiction and Fantasy. Since it first convened in 1982, the Symposium has drawn aficionados of the genres from across the United States, including world-class authors and recognized authorities in a variety of fields. It has offered panels, presentations, and addresses aimed at literally every facet of reading, writing, and enjoying speculative fiction. For something like a quarter of a century I have attended LTUE, acting in just about every capacity the symposium has to offer—participant, panelist, presenter, speaker, workshop director, Special Guest, Academic Guest of Honor, and Poet Guest of Honor. I’ve shared the table at dozens of panels, getting to know some of the brightest, most effective thinkers and writers in SF/F/Horror…and along the way making a number of friends.

This year, my pleasure in revisiting LTUE is even greater than usual, since I will be accompanied by my son, Michaelbrent Collings, himself a significant SF/F/Horror novelist and screenwriter. This will be our second year together at LTUE, and I am looking forward to hearing what he has to say in his panels and presentations.

As usual, I will conduct a one-on-one poetry workshop (sitting down with individual poets for an hour or so and looking closely as one of their pieces) as well as participating on a panel discussing how a knowledge of poetic conventions and devices can help make prose fiction even more entertaining and valuable.

In addition, I’ve been invited to read from my Taliesin series, a sequence of sonnets that draw imagistic and imaginative connections between the life-history of Joseph Smith and the mythology that surrounds King Arthur. The poems began as a way to explore the interaction of fantasy and reality, then—once I discovered that I was speaking through the voice of Taliesin, Arthur’s legendary bard—emerged as a vehicle by which I could investigate and assess my own faith.

The series, along with several other sequences, was published in 2009 as part of Som Certaine Sonets, about which the publisher has stated: “Sonnets are among the most widely recognized of poetic forms, dating back almost a thousand years. In this book, Michael R. Collings blends past tradition with contemporary experimentation, public commentary with private meditation, lyric compression with epic breadth, rigid structure with ‘nuclear-fused sonnets, free radicals, one electron away from exploding.’ As Robert Reginald says: ‘Once again Collings shows that “traditional” does not have to mean “staid,” and that all things are possible with imaginative word-play of the highest order. Great fun, great reading, GREAT poetry!’” (http://www.amazon.com/Som-Certaine-Sonets-Revised-Enlarged/dp/1434412318/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1328227153&sr=1-1)

Although I have shared several of the sonnets at earlier LTUE symposia, this will be the first time I’ve read the majority of the poems.

For these—and many other reasons—I hope those of you within traveling distance of Provo UT will consider taking the time next week to visit Life, the Universe, and Everything. The full program and all necessary information is available at: http://ltue.org/LTUE_2012.html.

See you there!

War of the Worlds--Revisited, Expanded, and Completed

2012-01-27T12:43:00.000-08:00

Reginald, Robert. Invasion! Earth vs. the Aliens: War of Two Worlds, Book One. Borgo Press, January 2011, 248 pp. $14.99, trade paperback. ISBN-10: 1434412253, ISBN-13: 978-1434412256.
_____. Operation Crimson Storm: War of Two Worlds, Book Two. Borgo Press, February 2011, 220 pp. $14.99, trade paperback. ISBN-10: 1434412253, ISBN-13: 978-1434412256
_____. The Martians Strike Back!: War of Two Worlds, Book Three. Borgo Press, February 2011. 206 pp. $14.99, trade paperback. ISBN-10: 1434412458, ISBN-13: 978-1434412454

About: Invasion!

H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds (1898) remains one of the most frequently reproduced narratives in modern literature. As print book, comic book, ebook, radio play, teleplay, and screenplay the story has been told and re-told throughout the past century—with results ranging from the superb to the near-idiotic. Robert Reginald’s War of Two Worlds rests securely on the ‘superb’ side of the spectrum as an adaptation/updating of Wells’ visionary masterpiece, bringing the well-worn tale of horror and hope into the twenty-first century. Incorporating not only Wells’ general outline of interplanetary war but even snippets of Well’s incomparable prose, Reginald nonetheless manages to make the oft-told story come alive, transferring locales to contemporary California; retaining many of Wells’ typically universal characters while simultaneously giving them depth and interest as individuals; expanding on such themes as community, communication, and the essence of humanity; and blending Wells’ seriousness of purpose with his own trademark humor and forthrightness. The result is a narrative that stays true to the power and imagination of Wells’ original and serves as the bedrock for further explorations of the urge to warfare and the unknown limits of space itself.

* * * * *

About: Operation Crimson Storm

“Where are the Martians?”
“Who are the Martians?”
“Where do we go from here?”

These are the questions that haunt Alexander Smith as Earth forces initiate the second phase in the War of Two Worlds…the invasion of Mars itself. Commencing several years after the action narrated in War of Two Worlds, this second volume in Robert Reginald's Invasion! trilogy moves readers from the familiar locales of Southern California to the arid, frigid, unknown and ultimately unknowable reaches of the Red Planet. With his interactions with the Martians—particularly one Smith refers to as “Big Guy”—increasingly frequent, complex, and perplexing, Smith finds himself part-prisoner, part-guest, and part-guinea pig in his incessant attempts to understand and communicate. Technical difficulties inherent in mounting military actions, transporting personnel across vast distances of interplanetary space, and dealing with the perpetual permutations of the Martian threat intertwine with the intensely personal and private concerns of Smith as observer, commentator, and participant, resulting in a story that intrigues on multiple levels.

Expanding far beyond Wells’s original conception in The War of the Worlds, reminiscent of Stanley Weinbaum’s 1934 masterpiece “A Martian Odyssey” without being overtly derivative, Operation Crimson Storm again and again confronts readers with the realities of life on Mars in the form of landscapes, artifacts, and consequences of actions against the natives, without ever truly discovering clues as to their meaning. The failure to understand anything the Martians are and do frustrates both Smith as narrator and the reader, impelling the story on by holding out the hope of someday unraveling mysteries, interpreting communications, and penetrating the perpetual enigmas of life…both earthly and alien.

Throughout the volume Reginald continues his trademark voice—clear, direct, and humorous Names of characters double as homages to novelists, short story writers, poets, even publishers of science fiction over the past decades, adding to the immediacy and the texture of the book while enhancing its depth by the aptness of many of the allusions. Alexander Smith himself demonstrates the universal vision of an Alexander and the anonymous individuality of a Smith. Similarly, moments of technological intricacy balance deftly constructed conversations among individuals. Rigid rationality balances authentic emotion. And throughout ring echoes of Smith’s unending questions:

“Where are the Martians?”

“Who are the Martians?”
“Where do we go from here?”

* * * * *

About: The Martians Strike Back!

The challenges:

To extend and complete one of the most respected and well-known narratives in science-fiction literature, H. G. Wells’ The War of the Worlds;

To explore commonalities that might possibly exist between humanity and the truly alien;

To define the essence of being truly human and being uniquely ‘other’;

To communicate that which cannot be communicated;

In a phrase, to express the ineffable.

Throughout the first two volumes of Invasion!: Earth vs. the Aliens, Robert Reginald adroitly captures the movement, the power, and timelessness of Wells’ original narrative, updated it, and finally brought the War back to the Martians. In volume three, The Martians Strike Back, he brings the conflict between peoples, between species, between planets to a resounding conclusion that is at once acceptably concrete and believably fragile. Peace between two worlds cannot come easily, especially since the conflicts between them have persisted for literally millions of years; and new-comer humanity may not be quite prepared for the perceptual shifts, the revisions of history, the expansions of understanding that will be required to accomplish it. Alexander Smith, indefatigably seeker after truth and meticulous observer of events, suddenly finds himself and his family—and his Martian counterpart, Big Guy—at the center of attempts to mollify factions on Earth and on Mars that seem intent on war, threatening mutual destruction. And when the specter of a third and far more threatening race is added into the mix, Smith must make decisions and accept the consequences of actions that threaten his family, his sanity, his very life.

Part techno-thriller, part traditional science fiction, part commentary on humanity and human society, part quintessential human comedy, Invasion! promises much and delivers even more. It leads readers carefully through mazes of possibilities, constantly overturning expectations and revealing yet more unanticipated potentialities, until a successful outcome seems almost unattainable…and then with stunning imagination, there is hope, clarity, and ultimately, resolution both surprising and inevitable. Alexander Smith, bowing to necessity, discovers the way. And as the Martians would say, “May you know your way, and may it be One.”

Monsters & Mormons & Mayhem, Oh My!

2012-01-19T12:14:00.000-08:00

Monsters & Mormons. Edited by Wm Morris and Theric Jepson. El Cerrito CA: Peculiar Pages, 2011. 510 pp. $29.99, trade paperback. $4.99, Kindle edition.

Perhaps the most intriguing thing that comes to mind upon reading Monsters & Mormons is the extraordinary range of ideas, themes, images, and tales that fit underneath the general umbrella of “Mormon.” Whether the stories hinge on those unavoidable twin theological imperatives of Utah Mormondom—green jello and fry sauce—or sweep through the distant reaches of time and space to explore the inner workings of alien minds, all offer something that is uniquely ‘Mormon’ without overlaying their narratives with preachments.

Among the offerings are Eric James Stone’s justly honored Nebula-winner, “That Leviathan, Whom Thou Hast Made.” It is overtly “Mormon”; the central character is an LDS bishop whose congregation includes a handful of swales, inhabitants of the sun. On the surface a story of one individual struggling with new thoughts, new beliefs, and new situations, it is ultimately about the age-old conflict of faith colliding with circumstance. In its own way, it is as applicable to social and political questions confronting 21^st-century Mormondom as it is to eternal issues of right and wrong…and the complications that emerge as definitions of each become strained.

At an opposite extreme (an rather than the because in the multi-dimensional worlds of the tales included in this collection, opposite can come from just about any direction), Jaleta Clegg’s “Charity Faileth Never” is a delightful homage to The Blob and all amoeboid aliens, placed in the familiar setting of a Relief Society dinner at the local chapel. Its characters and their interactions are accurate (given, of course, the single exception of the sentient jello), their dialogue exaggerated just enough to punctuate the humor, and the resolution perfect.

The thirty stories present pasts, presents, and futures peopled not only by (and not exclusively by (Mormons), sun-dwellers, and motile jello, but also ghosts and other revenants, vampires, werewolves, zombies and cyborgs (and their fascinating combination, zomborgs), trolls, spirits, demons, Lovecraftian horrors, a golem, and alien abductions—a nearly complete encyclopedia, as it were, of things monstrous and horrific. The stories range from deadly serious, as in Erik Peterson’s “Bicho,” to overt parodies of serious elements of LDS history and theology, as in Adam Greenwood’s “I Had Killed a Zombie.” Some reproduce to devastatingly comedic effect speech patterns and cultural norms of contemporary Utah (Lee Allred’s deftly handled “Pirate Gold for Brother Brigham” is a solid example) while others treat the basic trope of Mormonism almost elliptically, as in Katherine Woodbury’s “First Estate.”

The stories are interlaced with several first-rate poems and stark black-and-white illustrations that do much to communicate the essence the various tales.

In all, Monsters & Mormons generally lives up to its title. Most of the tales could stand on their own in any anthology of horror or science fiction, regardless of their Mormon content; many are first-rate, truly exceptional examples of contemporary storytelling. A few venture perhaps a bit too close to the boundary between imagination and reality as they configure worlds in which priesthood powers and demons intersect—I had a couple moments of feeling distinctly uncomfortable—but most of the 500+ pages proved entertaining, intriguing, occasionally enlightening, always thought-provoking. In many ways, this is as definitive a collection of speculative LDS fiction as Fire in the Pasture: Twenty-first Century Mormon Poets (not coincidentally produced by the same publisher) has provend to be.

Strongly recommended.

The Gummi Bear Omnibus--Now Available!

2012-01-04T11:30:00.000-08:00

Some years ago, my younger son came home from school and showed us a series of short poems he had written, inspired by the Gummi Bears students had stuck to the ceiling of his classroom. With a little encouragement, he expanded that original opus to a twenty-four book mock-epic, Gummi Space Armada. Shortly thereafter, my younger daughter—inspired by the actions of Ethan’s Gummi heroes—transposed the original into a number of haiku…or rather, GummiKu: Tales of the Gummi Bear Space Armada.

The GSA circulated for a while in a number of handmade formats, culminating with the entire series a small paperback issue, with the following information on the jacket flap:

The Adventure Begins…Titillating romance, spellbinding mystery, and intense drama can all be found within these pages.

Actually, the mystery is minimal, you’ll miss the drama if you sneeze at the wrong moment, and as for the romance, well…I LIED!

What you will find is a series of poetry about homicidal confections bent on universal domination. So snuggle up in front of the fireplace (or the gas-burners on your stove) and enjoy!

For several years, the two sets of poems languished, mostly unread, mostly unheralded.

Then Amazon.com/Kindle happened, and suddenly it was possible to share these remarkable poems with the world at large.

After nearly a week of back-breaking labor, consisting of me typing my poor already-stubby fingers to the bone, the result has been published: The Gummi Bear Omnibus, including Gummi Space Armada, Tales of the Gummi Bear Space Armada, and two commentaries by world authorities on all-things-Gummi: Herr Professor Doktor Herr Professor Doktor Bjørn Cummis, President of Das Berlinische Institut fűr Untersuchungen der antiken Gummibärchen; and Bergetah Kuma, distinguished author of The -Ku: The Evolution of a Literary Genre, who devoted an entire 69-pasge chapter to an intense discussion of the fourteen GummiKu (an excerpt is reprinted in the Omnibus).

Anyone interested in a giggle or a chortle is cordially invited to enter the world of the Gummi Bears:

Prepare yourself for the invasions of the GUMMI SPACE ARMADA. This hilarious collection of mock-heroic poetry and pseudo-scholarship follows the 50,000+ years of the Four galactic Gummi Bear Empires, including their multiple defeats by the insidious Intergalactic Licorice Whips. First told as an Epic in XXIV (very short) books of verse by Ethan H. Collings, then transposed into XIV GummiKu by K.E.C. Santa Cruz, the poems exploit the conventions of epic in ways never before imagined. And they are followed by super-scholarly analyses of both sets of poems, complete with highly illuminating footnotes. All told, the GUMMI BEAR OMNIBUS is a rollicking send-up of serious poetry and of serious (if not overly serious) attempts by literary types to explain poetry.

Available online at: http://www.amazon.com/The-Gummi-Bear-Omnibus-ebook/dp/B006T3HNOI/ref=sr_1_1_title_0_main?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1325704906&sr=1-1

Through Dreams and Visions: Anne C. Petty's SHAMAN'S BLOOD

2011-11-25T16:12:00.000-08:00

Anne C. Petty. Shaman’s Blood. San Mateo CA: JournalStone, 5 August 2011, 272pp. Hardcover, $27.95. ISBN-10: 1936564211; ISBN-13: 978-1936564217. * * * Trade paperback, $12.95. ISBN-10: 1936564203; ISBN-13: 978-1936564200 * * * Kindle ebook edition, #5.79. ASIN: B005FR1AD4.

After finishing the first 75 pages or so of Anne C. Petty’s Shaman’s Blood, I wrote the following note to remind me of one point I wanted to make in any review I might write:

Shaman’s Blood is somewhat difficult to get into. The opening chapters alternate between present-day and 1953, although since the dates are clearly given, that presents little difficulty. What are more problematical are the frequent hints of past events and adumbrations of future events within each chapter that are never quite clearly defined and that keep the individual chapters from flowing freely. Add to that the fact that the book intimates early on that all of the main characters are somehow related and have shared hideous, even monstrous—but undescribed—visions, and it requires an unusual amount of confidence in the author to continue.

Normally, when I come upon what seems a major bobble in a novel, I ask myself two questions: (1) Does the apparent problem stem from the author’s ignorance, and if so what do I need to say to suggest ways to overcome it; or (2) Does the apparent problem stem from my ignorance of the author’s purposes, and if so, how does the novel demonstrate that it is not, after all, a problem.

I like to give authors the benefit of the doubt. After all, it takes courage to write a novel and send it out into the wild unknowns of the reading public. And it takes work, dedication, and care even to write a novel—so I try to be as generous as possible when reviewing one.

Now that I’ve completed Shaman’s Blood, the resolution seems fairly straightforward. The novel is a complex blend of the hallucinatory and the real, with visionary characters frequently intruding upon our world and interacting with real characters in frightening ways, and real characters likewise intruding upon the worlds of dreams and visions and interacting with visionary characters in equally frightening ways.

The landscape constantly shifts, from an almost mystical but vivid and terrifying Florida backwoods replete with magic and dangers; to the hallucinogenically kaleidoscopic streets of San Francisco at the height the age of the hippies; to coastal Florida, normal and sedate on the surface but concealing decades of black magic, of death, of curses that weave throughout time and eternity; to the outback of Australia with its heritage of spiritual walk-abouts and its immortal protectors, their images and their powers etched by aboriginal shamans onto the very stones of the desolate wastes.

And time blends fluidly, past to present, present to future, making it essentially impossible to tell the story in any other way and still maintain the sense that real and unreal, here and there, then and now are little more than convenient labels used in an unattainable attempt to understand the multiple possibilities of the cosmos.

At its core, Shaman’s Blood is a Quest novel. In a climactic moment, one of the characters exclaims, “The thing I drew…it’s a magical object, some kind of holy grail. In the trance, I saw how it got created for a tribe by one of their gods. Then something happened to it, stolen or something. But really, I’m just guessing. The snake spirit I channeled said I’m supposed to return it. But how can I return something I don’t even have?” (146).

Therein rest the challenges that have extended over six generations. What is the object? Where is the object? What are its powers? To whom does it belong? Where does it belong? Who must return it? What sacrifice of life—or sanity—will the attempt to return it require? How are all of the significant characters that have come into contact with it related? Why does the curse associated with it, including night- and day-time visions of horrendous creatures, follow one bloodline? And how can mere mortals even hope to contend with the evil, powerfully magical creatures of shadowlands?

Petty does a good job weaving all of these questions—along with some of the answers—into the fabric of a novel. True, the flashbacks and flashforwards continue almost throughout the novel. And true, it is at times difficult to determine precisely what is happening, whether it is real or visionary.
But also true, Shaman’s Blood offers unique insights into the worlds of magic, especially Australian mythology. Tales told by tribal “senior men,” as well as tales too sacred to be told outright, combine with the modern world to create an engaging, intriguing, and ultimately enjoyable excursion into the intricacies of belief and unbelief.

As long as the reader remembers to trust the author and the structural decisions her subject has forced upon her.

Recommended.

In Memoriam: Miss Mabel Grafel

2011-11-25T13:19:00.000-08:00

Mrs. Robinson and Miss Grafel

This morning I received an email telling me that my fifth-grade teacher, Miss Mabel Grafel, passed away last week at the age of 97.
Judi and I had had the opportunity to visit with her about ten years or so ago (she was in her eighties at the time), so I didn’t really have a sense of Oh, I wish I could have told her…. Still, I read the news with a pang.

Few people have been so instrumental in molding my adult life as she was.

My love affair with Miss Grafel really began while I was in Mrs. Robinson’s fourth-grade class at Burlington Elementary School in Billings, Montana. I don’t have very many clear memories from childhood but I do remember sitting in my desk in Mrs. Robinson’s class and looking out the open door and across the hall to where Miss Grafel could frequently be seen moving up and down the rows of students. Two things stand out to this day: the passion which she brought to teaching and the tables along the windows where she kept dozens of African violets that bloomed profusely throughout the year, bringing color and life to bleak Montana winters. Occasionally I would see signs that she maintained strict discipline in her classes—once or twice, I saw her snap a ruler at the back of a student’s hand (then that was perfectly within the prerogatives of an elementary teacher…and Miss Grafel used that ruler to good ends).

Even so, for whatever reasons, all during that fourth-grade year, I wished that I were in her class.

During that summer, my older sister, who in fact had been in that class although I couldn’t see her desk from where I sat across the hall, let it be known that she was going to grow up and be a teacher. To get in practice, she, my brother and other sister, and I held daily practice runs in the basement. Cleta was the teacher and we were her students, sitting dutifully at her feet and learning about adding and subtracting and dividing and multiplying…and reading. Especially about reading.

Cleta so completely channeled Miss Grafel’s love of teaching that the daily classrooms became our primary activity. For years afterward, out mother used to claim—with more than a hint of pride in her voice—that she was the only mother on the block (which included probably thirty or so elementary-school-aged children) who had to send her kids outside to play for at least an hour a day.

She would also talk about how eager—and anxious—I was for school to start that fall. I wanted to be in Miss Grafel’s class. Apparently, my desire was so strong that it nearly made me sick, so it was with a tremendous sense of relief when we received our school assignments and I saw that I had indeed been placed in her class.

What I didn’t know—and would not know for some years—was that Miss Grafel had gone through the names of incoming fifth-graders and picked me for her class.

Nor did I know for some time that on the first day of school, my mother confronted Miss Grafel after class and told her in no uncertain terms that if she ever compared my work with my sister’s, or me to my sister, my mother would, in her words, “yank him from that class so fast it will make your head spin and send him to his grandmother’s for the rest of the school year.”

Now, my mother was a pretty intimidating person. I still cringe at the thought of the tongue-lashings waitresses received for putting mayonnaise on a BLT in a restaurant, or for mixing up items on orders. And that carried over into every aspect of her life…and her children’s. So I can only imagine her reaction when Miss Grafel straightened to her full height (which, to a particularly short almost-eleven-year-old, seemed like at least ten feet) and stared right back at her. “Mrs. Collings, I don’t ever compare students’ work.” And she never did.

I don’t recall much from the day-to-day lessons in Miss Grafel’s fifth-grade class. I remember thinking that the word ‘perimeter’, which came up in math one day, was probably pronounced perry-meter, until Miss Grafel spoke it out loud. That was the first time my early training in phonetics played me wrong, and from then on I was wary about saying new words out loud. (About the same time, I had a Sunday School teacher who would frequently talk about her little idi-o-syn-CRA-sies, so at least I wasn’t the only one with the problem.)

I remember her reading stories to the class. We could rest our heads on our desks while Miss Grafel read book after book. One was about a basset hound named ‘Potlicker’ who, at the end of the story, was killed by a passing train. That was the first time I remember crying over a character in a story.

But most of all I remember moments after class, when most of the other students had raced out to head home as soon as possible.

Once in a while I would stay behind. Cleta would find me in the classroom, watching as Miss Grafel watered and groomed her stable of African violets and talk to me about the plants. She would occasionally pinch off a leaf and show me how to fill a cup with moist soil, secure plastic wrap around the cup’s rim, and push the leaf stem through a small hole. I would take the cup home and, in a few days, when the leaf began to root, transplant it to a small pot. After a while, I had half a dozen African violets of my own growing on the window sill.
That’s pretty much what I remember…but I know that more must have happened because I graduated from fifth-grade every bit as determined to become a school teacher as my sister had been.

Both of us remained true to that determination, Cleta as a teacher in the Tehachapi California junior high school, and me as a professor of English at Pepperdine University for nearly thirty years. And both of us credit Miss Grafel with first instilling that desire.

During my school years, I was blessed with several extraordinary teachers. I remember Miss McGranahan, who taught high-school biology and cancelled a scheduled test so that we could watch John Glenn begin the first orbital flight of the earth—“Nothing I could say today would be as important as seeing this happen,” she told us.

At Whittier College, Dr. Gilbert McEwen showed me, perhaps more than any other professor, how to communicate a love of literature to students. Dr. Harry Nerhood, of the history department, encouraged me to learn and love research, going so far as to sponsor me in several semesters of independent study. And Dr. William Geiger took my incipient love of Milton and the Renaissance and nurtured it until it became full-fledged. It was on his advice that I began graduate studies at the University of Riverside, California.

There were two compelling reasons for me to attend Riverside. First, my family lived there, which would give me a kind of home-base when needed. And second, Professor John M. Steadman, a world-class Milton scholar, taught in the English program.

My first graduate class was with Dr. Steadman—a seminar on the Epic as literary form. At the first mid-class break (we met for three hours once a week), I felt like quitting school and becoming a ditch digger. I hadn’t understood a thing he said. Then I overheard two fourth-year grad students talking.

“Did you follow that?”

“Not a word of it.”

I figured that if they were as lost as I was, maybe I could make it through the program. By the second and third weeks, I had discovered that Dr. Steadman simply knew more than any other person I had ever (or have ever) encountered. And he did us the honor of assuming that his students were equally knowledgeable. We weren’t, but that didn’t keep us from trying to catch up with him. We never did. Still, being exposed to an intellect of his caliber was the most stimulating part of my graduate experience. I took a course from him every semester—he only taught one class at a time, and fortunately he didn’t repeat any while I was there. Eventually he became my dissertation advisor and the chair of my doctoral committee. He placed my doctoral hood on my shoulders at commencement, the symbol that I had completed by formal education.

Each of these men and women contributed immeasurably to the person—the teacher—I was to become.

But at the beginning, and as a memory-presence throughout, was Miss Mabel Grafel.

Around thirty years ago—at least two decades after my tenure in her class--while I was mid-career at Pepperdine, I had several recurrent dreams about Miss Grafel. I mentioned them to Judi, and, being of the practical sort, she said, “Why don’t you call her?”

I called directory assistance for Billings, Montana, and received a single listing for M. Grafel. When I dialed the number, a cheerful voice answered, “Mabel Grafel.”

“Are you the Mabel Grafel who taught at”—here I stumbled, because I had almost forgotten the name of the school; then it came to me—“at Burlington School?”

There was a slight pause before she said, “Yes.”

“Well, I was one of your students. Michael Collings.”

There was a slightly longer pause, then: “Michael! How are you? How is Cleta? And Bruce and Valerie?”

She remembered us all, even though only two of us had been in her class. What a thrill!

It turned out that she and a number of other retired teachers were planning a trip to Hawaii the next week and that she would be passing through Los Angeles on her way. We agreed to meet at the airport.

When the time came, we bundled our four children in the car, and Judi and I went to meet her. I remember looking for this ten-foot-tall, stern-faced authority-figure and nearly passing by a neat, diminutive woman with soft grey hair and a smiling face. We had a wonderful if short reunion, and I had the opportunity to introduce her to my family, and my children to the person who had taught me to want to teach.

Twenty years later, Judi and I took a trip to Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana, and stopped in Billings. I didn’t expect Miss Grafel to still be there, but she was…living in a tiny little ivy-covered house (which she had shared with her mother until her mother’s death) filled with memorabilia—and African violets. Even though she was in her eighties at the time, she was as bright, as full of life, as energetic as always. We had a delightful visit.

Thinking back over it, except for family, there is no single individual who has played such an integral part of my life for as many years—from when I was a child of ten to when I was a husband, father (and grandfather), and teacher. A number of years ago, I tried to express in words her effect on me and on my life. The result was three versions of a poem—“Mabel Grafel (I),” “Mabel Grafel (II),” and “African Violets.” None of them quite realized what I was after, but each tried to suggest what this woman meant to a shy, bookish, somewhat introverted boy who found a life-long calling through her. Here is one of them:

Mabel Grafel

Mabel Grafel--unsmiling, iron-haired,
Grim gargoyle to all fifth-grade rowdies--
Kept rows of violets in neat formations on
A narrow table tucked as if
A lonely afterthought beneath high
Window-banks along the north-most wall of
Burlington School.
                                        That winter,
Snow began in January and fell for weeks.
The road to Burlington was graded once a day,
But we small pupils scuttled between iced
Prison walls that towered two feet
Over us as we threaded our long three miles
To the school.
                                     Everything froze.
Headbolt heaters froze while still
Plugged into engines; sewer lines burst,
Turning whole long blocks of new backyards
Into only slightly fragrant skating rinks--
We ran short PhysEd races on ice-slick walks,
Tucked inside thick fur-lined parkas, and still
Half-froze our lips and noses with each painful
Breath.
                                 But in her room, laid out
In rigid rows upon brown boards that glowed
Rich birch-grain-gold in the angled light,
Her violets prismed winter into spring.

Thank you, Miss Grafel, for the African Violets…and for everything else.

After WOLF’S HOUR: Stephen M. DeBock’s THE PENTACLE PENDANT.

2011-11-21T13:45:00.000-08:00

Stephen M. DeBock. The Pentacle Pendant. San Mateo CA: JournalStone, 14 October 2011. 258 pp., $12.95, trade paperback. ISBN: 1936564270; ISBN-13: 978-1936564279. * * * $27.95, hardcover. ISBN-10: 1936564289; ISBN-13: 978-1936564286. * * * 942kb. $6.00, Kindle edition. ASIN: B005RR5BL4.

My standard of excellence for werewolf tales is—and probably will long remain—Robert R. McCammon’s ambitious, deft, and seamless Wolf’s Hour, with its superb rendition of a hero, Michael Gallatin, caught between two worlds, between two ways of being, yet able to function completely in both. I have read other werewolf stories, of course—I still enjoy the many manifestations of Stephen King’s Cycle of the Werewolf/Silver Bullet—and I have written my own versions, but McCammon’s is the one I return to and reread with expanding pleasure.

So, then, how does Stephen M. DeBock’s The Pentacle Pendant measure up?

Well, on the one hand, it is no Wolf’s Hour.

On the other hand, it doesn’t attempt to be; and at what it attempts to be, it succeeds admirably.

Wolf’s Hour is, for want of a better term, global in scope. It encompasses the horrors of Nazi Germany and its threat to freedom around the world. It works well on an individual level, which may well be the only way to tell such a story, but McCammon makes it clear that Gallatin’s private successes and failures will have ramifications far beyond his own survival. He blends the two visions—microscopic and macroscopic—beautifully, to such a degree that readers care as much for the outcome of Gallatin’s mission as they do for his own struggles to create and hold on to a personal identity.

The Pentacle Pendant, on the other hand, is domestic. It concentrates on an individual, Claire Delaney, who is abruptly thrust into a world of ecstatic power and nightmarish guilt. Turned by her lover, who prefers the term metamorph to the more traditional werewolf or the clinically distanced lycanthrope, she must cope with her twin identities and their consequences, intentional and unintentional, on everyone she knows and loves. To that extent, Wolf’s Hour is the werewolf story writ large, and designedly so; Pendant is the werewolf story writ smaller…and also designedly so.

Nor is The Pentacle Pentacle exclusively dedicated to the metamorph. The heroine’s quandary, in both its moral and its physical senses, is aggravated by the existence of yet another extra-human in her life, although for most of the novel Claire has no suspicions that she has unwittingly made a mortal enemy of a hemophage…or, in more common parlance, a vampire. It is not an accident that the final confrontation in The Pentacle Pendant occurs between two species of extra-human beings. Nor is it accidental that both werewolf and vampire appear in the same novel; the conclusion of their savage battle reveals that key elements of the plot depend upon both being present, upon both viciously and savagely attacking each other, and upon both spilling copious amounts of the opponent’s blood.

In spite of the differences between McCammon’s vision of the werewolf and DeBock’s, the two novels share much, most critically the extent to which they treat the werewolf/metamorph seriously. Both assiduously remove accumulated layers of mythology and legend to concentrate their attention on the most important element—the human being in the temporary guise of a wolf. At the core of both stories is the same question: “Does the werewolf have a soul?” Both use a similar image in exploring that question, the werewolf, not as a mindless killer reveling in blood and gore (although both novels have their fair share of violence), but rather as a cleanser and purifier. Early in The Pentacle Pendant, Lukas (who has initiated Claire’s transformation into metamorph) states: I’ve never killed wantonly. My parents taught me that. They were good people, and they followed my grandparents’ example. Listen, my German ancestors took out many a Nazi during the war, but never a Jew or nor a Romani did they harm. Nor, for that matter, an intellectual or a homosexual” (43). Claire follows that example. Her few victims are vicious victimizers—murderers, abusers of humans and animals, womanizers.

Significantly, the vampire-figure thinks in precisely the opposite terms, validating herself as a villain when she boasts that she has “fed on both Germans and Jews, and their blood tasted basically the same, even those who kept a Kosher household” (177)—an equal-opportunity slaughterer of humans and beasts.

This is not to say that The Pentacle Pendant is a serious, sober, quasi-scholarly treatment of the metamorph. It can be gory and gruesome when the plot requires it, especially in the early pages when the nature of the metamorph is most under scrutiny. Shedding blood causes Claire unbelievable inner torment; at the same time, much like Clifford D. Simak’s lopers in his classic short story “Desertion,” she exults in the glory and the freedom she discovers as a wolf, which makes her moral crisis that much more heart-rending. The cruelest and potentially most shocking moment in the novel is in fact not actually recounted. Only obliquely does DeBock let readers know that a two-month-old baby has been killed. To have described the scene as fully as he does the deaths in the first portions of the book would have been unendurably callous, given the circumstances of that death. Language, too, can become coarse at times, although again DeBock nicely modulates his language and the language of his characters to meet the occasion.

The novel can also be comic, in much the same way that many of Shakespeare’s greatest tragedies incorporate comic subplots. De Bock often eases tensions that have been building over several pages with a light-hearted display of verbal play—puns in particular, outright jokes on occasion. Those moments allow readers a respite from the horror of death and psychically prepare them for greater horrors to come.

There are twists and turns in the final pages that promise to lift Claire Delaney beyond the ‘domestic’ and into the ‘global’. Some are surprising, given the closely knit, even intimate relationships among characters in the early chapters (although perceptive readers might legitimately be expected to anticipate several of them); others develop out of revelations in later chapters and abruptly but acceptably move the book in new directions.

And at the end there is the potential for sequels every bit engaging as the original. After all, if there are metamorphs and hemophages loose in the world, what other kinds of outré creatures might also exist as threats to human life and society? It would be intriguing to see Claire gain the maturity, the self-control, and the secure sense of self-identity that would enable her to go out into the world…and help purify it.

Highly recommended. Some moments of R-rated sex and violence (but what else would you expect in a werewolf story?)

Fire in the Pasture: Gleaning After the Harvest

2011-11-16T12:28:00.000-08:00

Fire in the Pasture: Twenty-first Century Mormon Poets. Edited by Tyler Chadwick. El Cerrito CA: PeculiarPages, 15 October 2011. 546 pp. $17.99, trade paperback. ISBN-10: 0981769667; ISBN-13: 978-0981769660

First things first: a necessary disclaimer—Fire in the Pasture: Twenty-first Century Mormon Poets includes five of my poems, pieces that I am proud of and that I am pleased to have available to a wide audience.

Having made that admission, I intend to continue writing about the anthology for three reasons: (1) my meager contributions constitute less than 1% of the total—five pages out of nearly 550; (2) Collings Notes is my personal site, which means I can post whatever interests me—and the possibilities and directions of contemporary poetry by LDS writers interests me enormously; and (3) regardless of numbers 1 and 2 above, this collection is such a treasure-house of riches that it deserves all of the attention it can garner—and as many readers as possible.

Tyler Chadwick’s highly perceptive “Preface” gives a brief overview of LDS poetry during the past half century, beginning with Richard H. Cracroft and Neal E. Lambert and their seminal collection, A Believing People: Literature of the Latter-day Saints (1974), followed by Eugene England and Dennis Clark and Harvest: Contemporary Mormon Poems (1989). In some senses, these two volumes helped to define a “Mormon poetics” for the twentieth-century, and Harvest remained the standard collection for over two decades.

Fire continues that work, with a slight but significant departure from its predecessor. Rather than being a compilation of “Contemporary Mormon Poems,” with the implication that each of the poems contained therein will somehow reveal its inherent “Mormon-ness” to a discerning reader, Fire shifts attention to “Twenty-first Century Mormon Poets”—the difference being that this collection concentrates on the poetry (and thereby the poetics) of poets who are Mormons.
On poets.

Since the term “Mormon” is itself capable of multiple meanings—defined by doctrinal adherence, cultural behaviors, or familial ties, among others—the key term, I think, remains poets. And in Fire, readers will find—to borrow Dryden’s assessment of Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales—poets that reveal to us “God’s plenty.” Literally something for everyone.

I tend toward formalism in my own writing. I appreciate the effect of clear-cut structure merged seamlessly with form, resulting in something with a strength that exceeds the sum of the two parts. And in Fire, I find that. A sonnet that doesn’t reveal its meticulous adherence to tradition until the final couplet—the text reads as smoothly and as convincingly as might the finest prose…but beneath it lies a complex tissue of sound patterning, rhythm, rhyme (both end and internal) and compression, all serving the ends of a powerful message. Or a villanelle that is equally deft in both structure and meaning. A sestina that uses repetition so masterfully that the final word in each line—and their recurrence in the envoi—seems both inevitable and surprising. Quintets. Quatrains. Tercets. Decasyllabic lines (not to be confused with blank verse, which also occurs). Elegies, pastoral and otherwise. An eclogue.

Since Fire emphasizes twenty-first century publications, many of the poems are free verse in all of its variety. Long-line verse. Breath unit. Nonce structures that keep the free verse both free and verse; there are no samples of prose chopped helter-skelter into oddly shaped lines that dribble down the margin of the page.

Everywhere in Fire readers will find evidence of artistry, of control and discipline, of structure wedded to content…of poetry.

What they will not discover, however, is Mormon verse. That is, doctrine scantly or overtly dressed up in the costumes of rhyme and rhythm. Some poems are firmly embedded within easily recognizable LDS beliefs, but none of them are overwhelmed by those beliefs. Many of the pieces solidly and powerfully affirm and re-affirm the core concepts of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints without becoming exercises in sentimentality or cliché. And many of them reflect the intriguing recognition that, even without explicit LDS references to matters of faith and practice, they could only have been written by someone with an LDS background. As Susan Elizabeth Howe states in her Foreword, “To perceive of life as having an eternal purpose and of choices as having eternal consequences leads Mormon poets to serious engagement with their subjects,” whether those subjects entail experiences recalled and re-invented, contexts imagined or actual.

Fire in the Pasture is not a volume to be read in a day, or a week, or perhaps in a month or longer. Page after page reveals fruits to be tasted, savored, lingered over, and transmuted into ideas and images that may change lives. Each reader will discover favorites that speak directly to the individual’s mind and heart—and for that reason I have hesitated to point to particular titles that pleased me, since what I look for in poetry may not be consonant with what others seek. Instead, at one point or another, with one poem or another, the anthology is likely to feed any hunger, resonate with any need.

Highly recommended.

Welcome to the JOKERS CLUB!

2011-11-07T12:13:00.000-08:00

Bastianelli, Gregory. Jokers Club. San Francisco: JournalStone. Kindle edition, 28 October 2011. 360 kb. $6.00. ASIN: B0060Y5DMA.

San Francisco: JournalStone, 4 November 2011. 202 pp., $26.95 hc. ISBN-10: 1936564319, ISBN-13: 978-1936564316.

San Francisco: JournalStone, 4 November 2011. 202 pp., $11.95 trade pb. ISBN-10: 1936564300, ISBN-13: 978-1936564309.

Toward the end of Gregory Bastianelli’s Jokers Club, the narrator, Geoffrey Thorn, composes his own six-word epitaph: “He was a teller of tales” (179). In many ways, the words can stand not only for the narrator’s life but for the novel as well: Jokers Club is essentially a story about a story about a story….

When five adult members of a childhood “Jokers Club” attempt a reunion in their home town, things immediately begin going wrong, particularly for Thorn, who is struggling to recover his long-lost enthusiasm for writing, laboring to re-create (or perhaps create) through stories the reality of his past associations with the other club members, and wrestling with the consequences of a recently diagnosed brain tumor—including horrendous headaches, increasingly terrifying hallucinations, and the overwhelming sense of the presence of death. As each of the other men arrives and reveals both truth and secrets about their adult lives, the relations among them become physically and psychologically strained. When one of them is found brutally murdered, the closeness they had once felt finally and forever disintegrates beneath a hail of fear, suspicion, hatred, and ultimately, madness.

When more bodies begin appearing, the impact upon each member of the Jokers Club intensifies…except for one of them.

The only one who was not expected at the reunion, Jason Nightingale.

The novel begins by evoking Nightingale’s presence, but significantly indirectly, through story-telling. The first line informs readers that the as-yet-unnamed narrator has “only typed a single line on the page”; and that line reads: “Jason Nightingale had no idea when he joined the Jokers Club of the horrible events that would follow.”

Horrible indeed, not only for himself but for every member of the Jokers Club, for their families, for those still living in the old home town. Death by asphyxiation, by impalement, by slit throat stalks each of the boys-become-men, striking in the darkness, wielded by unknown hands.

Bastianelli does a fine job of guiding readers through the intricacies of Thorn’s multi-leveled tales. He deftly intercuts first-person narrative with third-person story-telling as Thorn uncovers a bit more of the truth about the Club’s past, then couples that awareness with memories and re-casts the hybrid into story form, each story told by an apparently omniscient narrator and including Thorn as a character. In this way, Bastianelli controls the readers’ increasing understanding about both the horrible things that happened to Jason Nightingale and the equally horrible and terrifying things that continue to happen to Geoffrey Thorn as he works his way closer to the final revelation.

In its way, Jokers Club suggests the best of child-into-adult, cross-generational horror on the order of King’s IT, and childhood rite-of-passage stories such as King’s “The Body.” There is much the same nostalgia for times past—times of innocence and experience that can never be recaptured; times that shaped the adults the boys were to become and made inevitable their individual tragedies. Imagistically, it echoes such equally successful horror tales as King’s “Gramma,” with its bloated, bed-ridden, monstrous mother; and the famously ambiguous scene in Golding’s Lord of the Flies, in which boys cluster almost reverently around a severed animal’s head and, by doing so, announce and accept their descent into evil.

Jokers Club is about truth and falsity, sanity and madness, innocence and guilt, life and death. It presents clearly defined portraits of weakness and strength. And at the same time it intrudes the spectre of the supernatural (who is that character in the many-belled joker’s cap who speaks to Thorn so often?), of the unknown, and of the unknowable. There are twists and turns aplenty, especially as the novel shifts back and forth from Thorn’s narratives to the tales that he tells.

And no fair peeking ahead. This tale-telling is not over until the final page. Wait for it…. Wait for it….

Highly recommended.

WORDSMITH reviewed

2011-11-05T11:54:00.000-07:00

Wordsmith, Volumes 1 and 2, has been reviewed by J. Andrew Byers at Tales from the Bookworm's Lair (http://bibliorex.wordpress.com/2011/11/05/book-review-wordsmith-vols-1-and-2-the-veil-of-heaven-and-the-thousand-eyes-of-flame-by-michael-r-collings/). The review is lengthy, positive, and insightful (pardon my pride at my novel being treated so nicely) and serves as both an overview of and an introduction to Wordsmith. Please take the time to look at it...and while you are there, check out Byers' other reviews and comments. Always worth a look.

2011-10-31T15:16:00.000-07:00

Brett J. Talley. That Which Should Not Be. San Francisco: JournalStone, 7 October 2011. 260 pp. $12.99, trade paperback. ISBN-10: 1936564149; ISBN-13: 978-1936564149. Hardcover: 260pp. $27.95. ISBN-10: 1936564157; ISBN-13: 978-1936564156. Kindle edition: 641 kb. $6.00. ASIN: B005RR20RM.

Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/That-Which-Should-Not-Be/dp/1936564149/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1320099152&sr=1-1#_

“Words, words, words” (Hamlet, II, ii).

As Hamlet—and Shakespeare—well knew, words are all we have to tell our tales. And within each language, writers and storytellers must perforce choose from among a common word-hoard.

As the various tales-within-the-tale incorporated into Brett J. Talley’s That Which Should Not Be clearly evidence, some writers seem more adept at selecting and arranging from that common word-hoard than others. In Talley’s case, his ingeniously constructed frame-narrative requires that he tell several stories, from differing points of view, narrated by characters whose backgrounds, histories, and experiences demand that each speak using a unique vocabulary, constructing sentences and paragraphs in different ways and yet each contributing to the sense that the resulting novel is a seamless whole rather than merely a random collection of stories.

Talley rises to the challenge beautifully. His woodsman/master trapper, his solicitor, his physician, and his ship’s captain each take turns regaling the primary narrator, Carter Weston (note the surname), with episodes that, taken individually, deftly illustrate Talley’s mastery of the motifs and protocols of horror—and specifically, Lovecraftian horror. Weston himself frequently speaks in the rich cadences and employs the heightened vocabulary of eighteenth-century prose, often using key words alone, rather than elaborate descriptions, to establish his moments of high horror. Since he is recalling his own tale along with the other four, his tone suffuses the novel; at the same time, Talley provides subtle differences for each of the four. It is difficult to read a passage from any of the individual stories and misidentify its narrator.

That Which Should Not Be clearly acknowledges its debt to Lovecraft and his canon, to the universe in which the Great Old Ones have been defeated and ejected from the surface of the earth, only to await the moment when some human, arrogant in his greed and ambition for power, speaks words from the Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred in conjunction with certain spells from an even more ancient, more infamous volume, the Incendium Maleficarum. Twice such an attempt is made. Twice mere mortals find themselves confronting the monstrous entities from beneath the sea, treading the eldritch surface of the risen city of R’yleh. (It is a mark of Talley’s control of his materials that he only uses the super-Lovecraftian word eldritch two or three times in the novel.)

It is also much to his credit that his pastiche attains a life of its own. His characters remain individuals, hinting at some of Lovecraft’s creations but never slavishly following the master’s lead. The fifth story, with its potentially cataclysmic meeting between mortal and the greatest of the Great Old Ones, nonetheless carries within it its own sense of suspense, of climax, of surprise.

It is equally clear that Talley had a great deal of fun in writing his novel. I’ve already mentioned the name Carter Weston—at least half of it alludes to Stoker’s Dracula with a possible side-glance at C. S. Lewis’s master villain in the Space Trilogy; the first part may be an off-hand reference to Burroughs’ John Carter of Mars, who, like this Weston, was forced to confront monsters not of this world. In addition to Weston, however, we also meet a Dr. Seward and a Dr. Harker; an Abbess Bathory (not quite the same person as the historical Countess Báthory but quite as horrifying); an inn named the Kraken in which the key tales are told; ships variously called the Kadath and the Lydia Lenore; and, not the least, the Danvers Insane Asylum. And, of course, the primary action of the novel begins and ends on the campus of Lovecraft’s own Miskatonic University. Meeting these familiar names, often in new and unexpected guises, merely adds to the fascination of Talley’s novel.

If there is one thing that definitely separates Talley’s vision of the cosmos from Lovecraft’s, it is the revelation, late in the novel, of the final word of the final spell to defeat evil, the Logos Creed, an immensely powerful incantation used only once before, capable of returning the awakening Great Old Ones to their place of banishment…but it can only be found through intense and dangerous searching and itself requires an almost more-than-human sacrifice to be wielded. In Talley’s universe, unlike Lovecraft’s, God has power.

Taken as a whole, That Which Should Not Be is a welcome addition to the ranks of the Cthulhu Mythos. It takes the originals seriously but at the same time feels free to take certain liberties with them as well. It exploits multiple possibilities in storytelling but at the same time remains a coherent novel. It is a pastiche but at the same time strives for—and attains—its own level of creativity.

Highly recommended.

And Yet More Demons....

2011-10-26T12:39:00.000-07:00

Linda Addison. How to Recognize a Demon Has Become Your Friend: A Collection of Prose and Verse. Cover and Interior Art by Jill Bauman. Necon Contemporary Horror #9. Necon E-Books, 2011. 114 pp. Kindle edition: Necon E-books, 23 October 2011. 184 kb. $4.99. ASIN: B005YRL0KI

Online at: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005YRL0KI/ref=cm_cr_mts_prod_img

So here I am, just emerging from a delightful immersion in Paul Genesse’s masterful anthology of demon-driven short stories and flash fiction, The Crimson Pact, Volume I (review at http://michaelrcollings.blogspot.com/2011/10/of-demons-there-be-no-end-paul-genesses.html), only to face another demon incursion in Linda Addison’s equally masterful collection of short fiction and verse, How to Recognize a Demon Has Become Your Friend. In both books, the idea of ‘demon’ is given free rein, the result being tales that embrace and explore an extraordinary range of possibilities.

Above all, Addison’s stories offer unexpected extremes. They range from depictions of hard-edged, open-mawed, tentacled monstrosities to rapid-fire sketches of whimsical, at times comic aliens (I’m thinking here of the story about the barkeeper’s hair!). From external demons that must be destroyed to internal ones so deeply ingrained in the secrets of the human heart that it takes decades for the victim to realize how completely she has been possessed, and makes the reader consider things carefully before discovering where in the story the demon hides.

Here you will find a zombie perplexed by the sudden awareness of a same-sex attraction…to a living being; and the zombie’s agonizing, contradictory desires to consume and to consummate. A corpse whose only wish is to become disenfleshed…and who faces the horrifying possibility of resurrection. A group of scientists who confront the most alien beings of all…or at least a distinctive artifact from that alien culture. A child whose concept of the devil is frighteningly literal and terrifyingly concrete.

Here you will travel page-by-page from vaguely-limned, visionary landscapes to the gritty realism (if that’s the proper word for such rich fantasies) of a seedy bar. From the direct narratives of “The Power” and “Milez to Go”—companion tales that that help to bracket the collection—to exercises in alternative possibilities: computer reports, e-mails, pages from tourist guides.

Throughout, Addison never loses her way, whether conjuring a poem-vignette in a dozen or so finely crafted lines, or spinning a tale over multiple pages. As befits her status as an award-winning author—two Bram Stoker Awards from the Horror Writers of America—How to Recognize a Demon Has Become Your Friend showcases a fine writer at ease in her medium. Words seem to flow effortlessly, in precisely the correct style for the story being told. Lines of verse give structure and form to far-reaching, emotionally intensive evocations of time and space.

The first poem in the collection is “How to Recognize a Demon Has Become Your Friend”; the final entry is “How to Recognize Your Friend Has Become a Demon.” With that seemingly-simple play on word order and ambiguity, Addison provides an architectonic for her work—each story, each poem continues the transformation of human into other-than-human, of demon into other-than-demon.

Highly recommended.

Happy Halloween!

2011-10-22T13:02:00.000-07:00

With Halloween and its attendant hauntings just a week or so away, here's a list of my spine-tingley horror tales available at Wildside (wildsidepress.com) and Amazon.com as either print edition or e-book.

*The House Beyond the Hill (2007): "The quiet suburb seems peaceful enough, until loner Donny Mann succumbs to the irresistible urge to drive the web of the Southern California freeways, armed with a stolen .38 -- and the unspeakable need to fire it. He finds his victims soon enough -- an old, black Cadillac alone on a dark stretch of highway. Three people witness the shooting. Three people see the Caddy crash. Three people know that no one left the wreck. But when the police arrive, they find the car empty of anything save blood ... and the horror locked in its trunk!" And from that point, the horror begins.

*The Slab (2010): "1066 Oleander Place seems a typical tract house in the Southern California town of Tamarind Valley. What no one grasps is that this house is deadly: dark, dangerous, EVIL to the core. It consumes all who enter it, one by one--spiritually, psychologically, physically. Even to visit the place challenges fate--and promises a VERY BAD TIME for everyone there. In the tradition of Stephen King and Dean Koontz, a phantasmagoria of fear, horror, and terror!"

Static! (2011): "When Payne Gunnison inherits his great-aunt's house, he discovers that the entire structure has been wired for video and sound--both to record and to play--and that "The Greer" (as the locals called the elderly recluse) had accumulated a superb library of tapes and DVDs--including some filled with scenes of extreme sex and violence. Payne quickly befriends his next-door neighbor and tenant, Nick, who becomes concerned when his new buddy becomes obsessed with the video technology. Something strange inhabits this old house--something bizarre and totally evil. Another classic tale of modern horror by a rising master of the macabre!"

Shadow Valley (2011): "Shadow Valley is an isolated farming community known to few, but in one of its ramshackle farmhouses dwells a power that threatens death and destruction to any who walk within its walls. Now, Lila Ellis arrives to make the final arrangements for a project that will flood Shadow Valley for a reservoir--and the house is not happy. When she enters the old place, she alone must face its terrors--beginning with a pile of seventy boxes of chocolate, one piece missing from each, that have been delivered to the decaying ruin each year on St. Valentine's Day. Can Lila escape the horror that fills the Stevenson place? Or will the curse continue for yet another generation? A haunting tale of terror by a master storyteller!"

Wer Means Man, and Other Tales of Wonder and Terror (2010): "Enter into a kaleidoscope of atmospheres, landscapes, characters, and alien worlds, and along the way meet:
* A murderer forced to confess by pressure from his own confederates;
* A monstrous creature that slaughters ruthlessly by day, and that by night…dreams;
* A psychic vampire with a curiously restrained taste for fine chocolate;
* An alien with the inexplicable ability to create beauty…and death;
* A world whose polluted environment means extinction for one species…and life renewed for another;
* A gravedigger whose avocation is providing plots for fledgling storytellers.
All of these—and more—lie compressed within the pages of Wer Means Man, and Other Tales of Wonder and Terror. This volume collects short stories by Michael R. Collings, author of The House Beyond the Hill, Wordsmith, Three Tales of Omne, and Singer of Lies and a widely known scholar of science fiction, fantasy, and horror. Ranging from fully developed narratives to short-shorts hinging on ambiguities in a single word, these stories offer something for every taste…as long as that taste runs toward the uncanny, the eldritch, and the macabre."

For readers who prefer a more science-fictional edge, here's a space tale with a brutish monster that might fill the bill:

Singer of Lies (2009, 2011): "Shipwrecked on a savage planet sunk into Dark Ages barbarism, Erik Baanfeld must find a way to adapt his modern-day skills into a primitive mode--or face a short, unhappy life as a beast of burden. His only chance is to become a...Singer of Lies!"

Five by Kevin Quigley

2011-10-19T18:04:00.000-07:00

For a number of years now, Kevin Quigley's Charnel House has been a mainstay of the online Stephen-King presence, functioning as a clearing house for new information about King, for reviews of books by and about King, and for sharing enthusiasms for Things-King in general. And during those years, Kevin has himself become a valuable resource, particularly when it comes to some of the less-frequently visited niches in King studies...resulting in a series of special-interest chapbooks that cover King's often tradition-breaking incursions into e-books, audio-books, comic-books, among other delightful topics.

Kevin just announced that another standard name in King studies--Cemetery Dance--has made his earlier chapbooks...and a brand new one...available as ebooks. Below are his comments (directly from Charnel House, so you know they're up-to-date and accurate). Or check them out directly at his website: http://charnelhousesk.com/

You'll have to go a long way to find a more passionate fan or a more comprehensive series of studies. Thanks, Kevin, for the work you put into them....

* * * * * * * * * *

FIVE NEW EBOOKS ABOUT STEPHEN KING, all written by me, Kevin Quigley, your Charnel House webmaster! These limited edition chapbooks had small print runs and most are no longer available in print form. Now publisher Cemetery Dance offers each of these books as eBooks ... including one, Blood In Your Ears, which actually precedes the print version! That's right, folks, Blood is making its first worldwide appearance in eBook format!
Even if you've read the print versions of these, I've been working diligently to keep these books as current as possible; all have new material and new information. Plus, best news: they are ALL available for only 99 cents, and ALL come in both Kindle and ePub format. No matter what e-reader you prefer, these books are perfect!
Folks, I am super excited about this release. I've always been fascinated with the odd nooks and crannies of King's career, and it was out of a need to read books on these topics that I was compelled to write them. If anyone says there's nothing new to write about Stephen King, they're not looking hard enough. I truly loved writing these books, and I am thrilled that they're reaching a wider audience with these ebook releases!
Here's the full rundown!

INK IN THE VEINS

Stephen King has written over seventy books, a stunning figure for any writer. Even more stunning? There are more books written about King than by him. INK IN THE VEINS profiles the writers who have written on King, from pioneering authors like Douglas Winter and Michael Collings through new experts like Justin Brooks, Bev Vincent, and Rocky Wood. There's information on Castle Rock, the now-defunct Stephen King newsletter, and a mostly-complete list of every book ever written about King.
Rounded out with interviews with the world's most prominent King scholars, INK IN THE VEINS is a fun and fascinating look at the unsung world of Stephen King criticism! Get your copy here!

BLOOD IN YOUR EARS

Enter the recorded world of Stephen King, where he not only writes your nightmares, he actually reads them to you, too! BLOOD IN YOUR EARS examines everything Stephen King has given his voice to, from his early DARK TOWER novels and his audio-only collection BLOOD AND SMOKE to his recording of "Stand By Me" with the Rock Bottom Remainders and his role as Abraham Lincoln on Sarah Vowell's audiobook, Assassination Vacation. In addition to the books Stephen King has recorded, BLOOD IN YOUR EARS also delves into the Stephen King work of audio superstar Frank Muller.
Rounded out with an examination of dramatic recordings of King work, King's Top Ten Best Audiobooks, and a list of every Stephen King audio title ever recorded, BLOOD IN YOUR EARS is your one-stop guide to answering the question, "Heard any good books lately?" Get your copy here!

CHART OF DARKNESS

For nearly forty years, Stephen King has been making history on the bestseller charts. CHART OF DARKNESS is a surprisingly exciting jaunt through that history, from the quiet early success of Carrie through recent chart triumphs Under the Dome and Full Dark, No Stars. You'll learn what books hit the number-one spot, which ones didn't, and why. Along the way, you'll discover secrets of King's career, like why King switched publishers — twice — why King decided to create, kill, and resurrect his pseudonym, and the weird way the general public first heard about the Dark Tower series.
A unique, compact, and intriguing journey through the storied career of the only author in history to have written over thirty number one books. Get your copy here!

WETWARE

Stephen King has long been at the forefront of experimental publishing. As the world grows more digital each day, King has consistently remained on the edge of breakthrough trends and technology, finding new ways to publish and interpret his stories. King's digital journey has been strange and fascinating. Wetware is your guide. From the prehistory of King’s involvement with digital media such as The Dark Half video game and F13 to his online release of the lost work, The Cannibals, Wetware covers it all — in a concise and engaging pocket history. Explore the controversy surrounding King's online serial publication, The Plant. Relive the groundbreaking excitement of King's landmark e-book publication, Riding the Bullet.
If you ever engaged in interactive fiction with The Mist, were intrigued by the Kindle-only release of UR, or terrified by the motion comic N., Wetware is essential reading. Get your copy here!

DRAWN INTO DARKNESS

Most Stephen King fans remember him playing Jordy Verrill, the "lunkhead" who becomes a giant plant monster from outer space in the movie version of Creepshow. But King's association with comic books goes way beyond that. DRAWN INTO DARKNESS delves into the hidden world of King's comics career, from the creepy early adaptation of "The Lawnmower Man" to his part in creating the Eisner Award Winning Best New Series, AMERICAN VAMPIRE. We look at the ongoing success of adaptations like THE DARK TOWER and THE STAND, and examine why the similar adaptation of THE TALISMAN failed.
See how King tried to kill Kitty Pryde from the X-Men, whether he prefers Betty or Veronica, and why he continues to be obsessed with Batman: all here in DRAWN INTO DARKNESS! Get your copy here!

MORMONISM: Cult or Christian?

2011-10-13T16:05:00.000-07:00

Most readers will recognize that the question implied in my title is impossible to answer accurately. It is—as becomes obvious after a moment’s thought—an “apples and oranges” kind of question, one which, given its form, has no “correct” answer.

The two questions embedded more deeply in my title, however, prove far more difficult to deal with.

Is Mormonism a Cult?

Are Mormons Christian?

Both are ultimately non-questions. As presently stated, both invite—if not require—a simple “Yes” or “No” answer. Yet because of an elemental characteristic of language, either answer would be inadequate or incorrect.

Years ago, one of my professors, Albert Upton, taught us that one of the most complex ideas about language, and one at the center of both the greatness and the perniciousness of language, is what he called the “doctrine of essential ambiguity.” He devoted a chapter to it in his book, Design for Thinking, and spent several weeks in his course discussing it.

Condensed to a sentence or two, it states: (1) The great advantage of a language such as English is that most of its words have multiple meanings, thus eliminating the need for an almost infinite vocabulary to communicate ideas critical to modern culture; and (2) The great disadvantage of a language such as English is that most of its words have multiple meanings, thus facilitating miscommunication and misunderstanding.

As long ago as the seventeenth-century, scholars recognized several things about language. One was that it was basically impossible to translate perfectly from one language to another, since the range of meanings (“denotations”) and emotional overtones (“connotations”) for words would differ from language to language, particularly if one language had a restricted vocabulary (as in traditional German) and the other an expansive vocabulary (as in English). Another was that there were precious few actual synonyms in languages; there might be any number of words that meant almost the same thing—as ocean and sea, for example—but there is almost always at least a narrow area in which the two do not overlap. We don’t, for example, speak of the Pacific Sea and the Mediterranean Ocean, even though both are large bodies of water. The two words are partially synonymous but not entirely interchangeable.

And a third, crucial thing, the one that concerned them the most, was that since words are ultimately arbitrary signs—hence the totally unrelated sequences of sounds in dog and Hund in English and German to designate the same thing—was quite simply that most of the time, we do not actually understand each other. We only approximate understanding.

To give an example: in my English and Creative Writing classes at Pepperdine University, I would frequently go around the room and ask each student to give a definition of a simple word: set. At first, the students would have no difficulty. “Set of encyclopedias.” “Television set.” “Set of dishes.” “Jello sets.” “Concrete sets.” “Ready…set.” Gradually, the impetus would slow, and usually by the time I went through twenty or so students, the final few would have difficulty coming up with something different.

Then I would ask if they wanted to go around again.

Their faces usually indicated their answer: “Not in a million years.”

Yet we could have gone around again. And again. And again. And again….

The Oxford English Dictionary in fact gives over 200 definitions of set. If printed on paper of normal thickness, instead of the Bible-thin paper that dictionaries frequently use, and cut to the dimensions of traditional trade paperback books, just the definitions of that one word would comprise a decent-sized book.

Thus the problem.

I say a sentence using “set.” You hear the sentence and mentally assign a meaning to the word. If we are lucky, the two meanings may be relatively close. If we are less fortunate, they may be quite distant…and any attempt at communication fails.

English is replete with words that have multiple meanings. Generally, the longer the word, the fewer the possibilities; the shorter the word, the more the possibilities. Pneumonoultramicroscopic-silicovolcanoconiosis has a single definition. Set has over 200.

Now the problem with the two questions given above becomes clearer.

“Is Mormonism a cult”? Most dictionaries give anywhere from five to a dozen definitions for the word, ranging from “any system of religion” to far more specific, and in recent decades, far more pejorative, connotatively negative possibilities. In the world that contained Jim Jones, David Koresh, and others, merely to couple a group with the term cult is tantamount to putting it in the same small category—secretive, fanatical, ultimately murderous.

Similarly with “Are Mormons Christians?” The word Christian has gone from being a term of opprobrium imposed by the enemies of the earliest saints to being an omnibus term that ranges from signifying overt obedience to the doctrines Christ taught (and, of course, obedience, doctrine, and taught are themselves multiply ambiguous) to meaning something akin to merely “decent, appropriate” as in a “Christian burial.”

“Is Mormonism a cult?” and “Are Mormons Christians?” are both doubly, fatally flawed as questions. The format and the tone usually imply that the hearer will respond with a simple “Yes” or “No” and that the respondent will understand precisely what the questions mean.

Neither is possible.

The resolution to the problem—assuming that we are interested in dialogue rather than nose-to-nose, blood-vessels-bursting arguments (ah! argument, another ambiguous word)—should be fairly obvious: Restate the question to incorporate a clear, precise definition. For example, “If by Christian, do you mean one who follows Christ’s example?” is more nearly answerable: “Yes.” Or, “If by Christian, do you mean one who adheres to the historical councils and creeds—a “creedal Christian?” the question is also answerable: Mormons are not creedal Christians but believe in a restoration of first-century Christianity.

The same works with cult. “If by cult you mean the general sense of religious organization, then, yes, Mormonism is.” Or “If by cult you mean a secretive, isolated, relatively small group who follow their (mortal) leader with fanatical devotion, then, no, Mormonism isn’t.”

These responses may lead to further questions, many of them perhaps couched in the same fallacious Yes/No format, others more amenable to discussion and clarification. But at the least, questions and answers will be moving in the same broad direction…toward greater openness and accuracy, understanding, and community.

A Series of Modest Proposals: A Review of 'The Mormon Puzzle, and How to Solve It' (1887)

2011-10-10T14:20:00.000-07:00

R. W. Beers. The Mormon Puzzle, and How to Solve It. New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1887. 216 pp. Rpt. As Kindle edition. General Books LLC. 14 October 2011. Free. ISBN-10: 145888838X, ISBN-13: 978-1458888389

In The Mormon Puzzle, and How to Solve It, R. W. Beers seeks to present an even-handed overview of LDS doctrines and history. To avoid being influenced by any charismatic personalities on either side of the issue—and to get the “real facts”—he tells us, he has taken particular care not to get too close to the subject. He has spoken with neither Mormons nor non-Mormons; he has assiduously avoided visiting Salt Lake City, where visitors are liable to be taken in by extremists of either camp; and he has focused his arguments on information available in books (by both Mormons and non-Mormons) and newspapers.

So far, so good.

However, when he actually begin his presentation, his bias becomes more than clear. He almost immediately refers to Joseph Smith as a “false” prophet who “(it is alleged) was an adept in robbing hen-roosts and orchards.” He states as fact that among the young Joseph’s “standard volumes” was a biography of Captain Kidd, ignoring for the moment that he will later refer to Joseph (and Brigham Young) as “illiterate.” He relates Joseph’s assertion that a “heavenly messenger” visited him and forbade him to join any church; in spite of the fact that Joseph’s own account of the First Vision had already been published for over forty years, Beers scrupulously avoids even the appearance of blasphemy by refusing to specify that Joseph actually claimed to have been visited by two personages, the Father and the Son.

By this point, lest there be any confusion as to Beers’ ultimate purpose, he makes clear the options he (and his book) is willing to entertain concerning Joseph Smith and the Church he founded: “There are TWO VIEWS that may be taken of Joseph Smith by the Christian world. One is that he was a base swindler and concocted the Mormon scheme for the express purpose of deluding the people; the other is that he was a religious enthusiast, deceived and deluded himself” (capitals and italics in the original).

(Please note here that enthusiast did not mean in the late 19^th century precisely the same thing that it means today; it still carried the 18^th century connotation of irrationality, if not outright madness … certainly extravagant and unsupported religious fervor. Beers is not simply saying that Joseph Smith showed an interest in Mormonism or considered it an enjoyable hobby.

This being said, what point is there in reading—much less recommending—a book that was written a century and a quarter ago, that readily identifies its bias through an ultimately untenable either-or assertion, and that represents little more than the prevailing attitudes of the day?
The answer: It is worth reading because, except for occasional and obvious historical references to 1887 as a terminal date (Beers misses Wilford Woodruff’s 1890 Manifesto prohibiting polygamy by a scant three years), the book might have been written today. The claims made, the charges mounted, and the assumptions underlying the arguments—nearly all are identical with modern anti-Mormon publications; that is, with books that have as their fundamental purpose neither a restatement of LDS positions in neutral terms nor an explication intended to illuminate, but rather a determination to demonstrate that Mormonism is false, of the devil, the unhealthy spawn of an unlettered and illiterate, but brilliant if possibly epileptic mind.

A checklist of topics reveals that more than a century ago, the same old charges were being leveled … and essentially left unanswered except through adroit linguistic manipulation of evidence.

Some examples:

* Joseph Smith was “alleged” to be a thief; by putting the phrase in quotations—“(it is alleged)”—Beers is able to introduce an oft-mentioned canard (then and now) without producing any evidence pro or con; and at the same time, should the accusation ultimately be proved false, he is safe. He didn’t actually call Joseph Smith a thief;

* “It is asserted” that as many as eleven persons saw the Plates from which the Book of Mormon were taken, another manipulation similar in structure and purpose to “it is alleged”; and, should that stratagem fail, Beers implies that since all but three were members of Joseph’s family or neighbors, readers should be under no compulsion to believe the claim, even if it were actually true;

*”It may be said that Joseph Smith was evidently a swindler”—a doubly padded accusation, since “It may be said” allows literally for anything to be said and evidently is what we might now consider a ‘weasel-word’ that introduces an equivocality into the statement. The second half of the statement is more straightforward: “because most of the Book of Mormon was copied from the manuscript of one Solomon Spaulding…”; although later he acknowledges that since a Spaulding manuscript had recently been discovered that had no resemblance to the Book of Mormon, there must be yet another, still undiscovered manuscript that would prove Joseph Smith a forger. Another book of the same name;

* “Doubtless” shows up regularly throughout the text as a way of supporting assertions that otherwise remain unproven, even undiscussed.

Beyond the linguistic manipulations, Beers makes a number of accusations that will resonate with anyone familiar with present-day anti-Mormon arguments.
Mormonism itself is:

*Evil—an “iniquitous system” that, although sprung “from the boson of the American nation” must be throttle by that nation;

*Non-Christian—in fact, it is closely linked to Diabolism, Animalism, Paganism, Mohammedanism, and Thuggism, among other unsavory and pernicious belief-systems;

*Stained by a history of murders and assassinations;

*A closed society with tyrannous leaders, secret principles, and mindless dupes as followers;

*Anti-American and inimical to the social order; an “organized treason against our Government and our laws”;

*Intent upon establishing a secular government, first in Utah, then in the United States, and then throughout the world;

*Unaccountably wealthy (although he does not provide figures, nor does he show where the wealth is spent—there are no references, for example, to ancestral mansions of the priesthood authorities).

Mormon men are:

*Credulous and superstitious;

*Avaricious and power-hungry;

*Blasphemous;
*Illiterate;

*Despotic;

*Spies on other members in service to the Mormon hierarchy.

Mormon women are:

*Illiterate;

*Ignorant;

*Servilely subservient;

*Unfitting to vote; at a time when the Utah Territory was one of the few areas which enfranchised women, part of Beers’ proposal is to disenfranchise them: “there is no particular reason or justice in allowing the confessedly ignorant and enslaved women of Utah to vote, while the hightly intelligent women of Massachusetts and New York are not allowed to vote.”

Occasionally, especially in the latter portions of the book, Beers attempts to give the Mormons their due. Church elders held in the Utah Territory Federal penitentiary for violating recent anti-polygamy laws are honorable in their refusal to abandon wives and families, he notes; it is too bad, however, that they are being honorable in defense of a perverted and wicked doctrine.

Frequently, his attempts at being even-handed lead him into contradictions (as also frequently happens in present-day arguments). The Mormon priesthood, he states, depends upon the ignorance of their dupes for their power; in another part of the book, however, he states that the majority of Mormon men are members of the priesthood. Where then do the all of the dupes come from?

Even at his most positive, Beers’ compliments remain empty since for him, as he asserted at the beginning, Mormonism is one of two things: a swindle or a delusion. No matter how much he praises the perseverance of the commonality of the Church in the face of persecution, he constantly reminds readers that members must either be co-participants in the swindle or mindless victims of the delusion. There is no chance that what they believe and practice has any ultimate validity.

Supported by random anecdotes, frequently undocumented quotations that thus cannot be verified, percentages without obvious foundation, statements of opinion dressed as facts, linguistic buffers to protect the writer while savaging his victims, repetitions of charges then already half a century old and still unproven, Beers’ arguments—then and now—demonstrate little connection with reality. As such is it an oddly worthwhile handbook to anti-Mormon strategies.

A Short Story by Rand Barrus

2011-10-05T11:52:00.000-07:00

            Once there was a moon. It was a purple moon with two space explorers. Their names were Jack and Mathew. They were making an alliance with the Indians of the Purple Moon.   Their tribe was called the InfoCaros.   They were purple and green. They had weird tents called wiggawams.
            The purple moon they lived on they called The Purple Moon, because in their language, it meant Big Rock.
            The creatures on it were very dangerous. There were Pike Rocks, Ferenass, and Terras, and the scariest of all, a little pink girl! She could scare away the most fierce of all the animals! Her name was Kelby.
            Kelby tried kicking the space explorers, but every time she did, they would spray her with string cheese! She was so happy because she ate cheese. While they were spraying her, they noticed that she liked it, so they switched to pepper spray. When they sprayed her with that, she started bellowing. She took out a pocket knife and swung and swung until the space explorers finally took her out with a shovel!
            As soon as she got knocked out, they buried her ALIVE!
            As soon as she was under the ground, the space explorers stopped for a rest; but when they did, they heard a BIG rumble! They went to check the underground moniters, but there was nothing there. They found out what the creature was. It was a Stykross! A Stykross is an underground creature that digs as fast as an airplane flies through the sky! They didn’t know how to stop it. They grabbed their NT48s and got on top of a big, large rock.
            As soon as they did that, they heard a scream! It was a triantula! It was soaring as fast as the fastest jet! Then they heard another loud noise. A boy named Devin came. He started shooting at it with his NT18. It was still coming at them fast! The boy could not shoot it! He shot IN FRONT of it, and got the wing! The creature fell down with a big CRASH!
            The Space Explorers went to dissect the triantula to find out where its weak point was. It turned out that the weak point WAS the wing! It had more nerves and more meat than any other part of the body.
            Devin started running towards the Explorers. He said that he was there for the Infestation. The Explorers didn’t know what the Infestation was about, but they knew that he was there to help. They all went inside the cabin to get some rest, but as soon as they got inside, and closed the door, they heard a loud, loud bang!
            It was a Screature!
            A Screature is a body with no heart, no meat, no blood cells, and no nerves! They were HARD to kill! However, as soon as it got in, Devin took out his NT18 and started shooting. The Explorers all got down and ducked below the bullets. They crawled towards the safe house that was on the purple moon. They got the mini guns out of the safe house. They looked out the window, and they didn’t see Devin!
            It turned out he was playing poker with the Screature!!!!
            It was fun to watch, but he signaled the Explorers to start shooting at the Screature. As soon as they got out of the safe house, Devin got down and the Explorers shot the Screature until it was down on the ground, too. It was a very short time, but it helped!
            They examined the body carefully, like it was a pet dog. They injected a liquid into the body and took some blood. If they drank the blood, they would be teleported to a bizarre room with water on one side, and NOTHING on the other. On the side with the water, there was a door. If they could reach the door, they would go back to their homes, and the Purple Moon would never have existed.
            So they tried one time and a creature came into the water! It was a Box Jellyfish. As soon as they tried to shoot it, the bullets would get electrocuted and disintegrated before they could harm the creature. So they all went in at once and traveled on the bottom.
            As soon as they got to the door, they opened it. They were all teleported back to earth. They were so happy that they were back on Earth that they hugged and screamed with joy! After that, they went to their homes, and took the rest of the year off.

The end!

* * * * *

Pretty good for a 10-year-old (and I say that even though he is my grandson). I for one would like to hear more about the Triantulas and Screatures!

Thanks for sending it, Rand. Hope you enjoy seeing your labors on the internet.

Love, Poppa.

StarShine and Shadows: Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror

2011-10-04T16:11:00.000-07:00

Anyone interested in reading my longer, online literary studies is invited to visit StarShine and Shadows at http://www.starshineandshadows.com/ and www.michaelcollings.com

The following essays are currently available for viewing:

“On Writing The Nephiad.” 10 March 2010.
“An Essay into LDS Writers and the Fantastic.” 18 February 2010.
“Who is Billy Jones: Some Suggestions Toward an Understanding.” 23 November 2009.
“Myth and History: Epyllion in Anamnesis—The Taliesin Poems.” 19 November 2009.
“The Persistence of Darkness.” Academic guest of Honor Address, World Horror Convention. March 2008. 28 April 2008.
“On Kubrick’s The Shining.” Originally published in Phantasmagoria. Online at: http://starshineandshadows.com/essays/2007-05-30.html
“Considering The Stands.” Posted 10 September 2004. Online at: http://www.starshineand shadows.com/essays/2004-09-10.html
“Orson Scott Card’s The Folk of the Fringe and Medieval Mystery Cycles: The Story That Binds Them Together.” Posted 1 September 2004. Online at: http://www.starshineandshadows.com /essays/2004-09-01.html
“Imago Christi: Christ-Figures in the Fiction of Orson Scott Card.” Posted 18 June 2004. Online at: http://www.starshineandshadows.com/essays/2004-06-21.html.
“Fantasy, Science Fiction, and Horror in Paradise Lost: ‘And on his Crest Sat Horror Plum’d.’” Posted 19 May 2004. Online at: http://www.starshineandshadows.com/essays/2004-05-18.html
“Dialogues by Starlight: Three Approaches to Writing SF Poetry.” Posted 29 March 2004. Online at: http://www.starshineandshadows.com/essays/2004-03-29.html.
“Ender’s Game and the Hero’s Quest.” Posted 15 March 2004. Online at: http://www.starshineandshadows.com/essays/2004-03-15.html.
“Welcome to StarShine and Shadows.” Posted 15 March 2004. Online at: http://www.starshineandshadows.com/about.html.

Of Demons There Be No End: Paul Genesse’s The Crimson Pact, Volume 1

2011-10-03T10:39:00.000-07:00

Paul Genesse, editor. The Crimson Pact, Volume 1. Alliteration Ink, March 2011. 516 pp. $17.99 trade paperback. ISBN-10: 0983263159; ISBN-13: 978-0983263159. Kindle Edition: March 2011. 683kb. $4.99. ASIN B004SY6A76.

It’s a standard PR/Marketing ploy for an announcer to declaim in a stentorian voice that a certain product offers “SOMETHING FOR EVERYTHING!”

Well, in the case of Paul Genesse’s anthology of short stories and flash fiction, The Crimson Pact, Volume 1, the claim would be true...as long as the ‘everyone’ involved has an unquenchable interest in things demonic. Please note, however, that in this case, the demons are (probably) not your typical straight-from-Hell, pitchfork-tailed monstrosities, or (perhaps) even in any realistic sense of the term ‘native’ to Earth. No, the demons you will encounter in The Crimson Pact are rather more like H. P. Lovecraft’s Great Old Ones—unknowable creatures from beyond the Void, waiting only their opportunity to invade helpless earths and rule them with devastation and despair.

Yes, Earths.

The introductory tale clarifies the essential situation. In an attempt at destroying demonic invaders, great armies are gathered and a cataclysmic battle is fought, with victory—albeit at a horrendous price—finally going to the human forces.

Or so they think.

Because, as in all things moral and just, evil often has the power to subvert and overcome, even at the moment of triumph. In “The Failed Crusade,” by editor Paul Genesse and Patrick M. Tracy, we discover that precisely this has occurred—that ostensible victory is in fact crushing defeat, as the hordes of demons abruptly withdraw and, siphoning the vast power of death and suffering and pain concomitant with the battle, break through the barriers that separate worlds, systems, dimensions, and universes.

And all at once, the entire multi-verse comes under attack.

More than that, however, the human forces realize what has happened and understand the enormity of their vulnerability in the face of the new conditions. A few elect to return to their long-abandoned families and live out whatever years of peace they may find; others—and more specifically, many of those who will become characters in the stories to follow—determine to carry the battle beyond the Void to the strongholds of the enemy, even though to do so requires their own deaths.

Thus the stage is set for the fifteen short stories and eleven flash fiction stories that make up the collection…tales that range from the atmospheric, to the psychological, to the theological; tales that take as their central figures characters who have chosen to confront evil as well as characters upon whom the choice is forced; tales exploring landscapes as varied as Chicago, New York, and London, landscapes as unassuming as nameless hamlets and isolated farms, landscapes both mythologically rich and technologically overpowering… and extending the sense of strangeness and danger inherent in each into uncharted worlds beyond. With a turn of the page (metaphorically, in the case of the Kindle edition), the stories might abruptly transport readers to the world of Steampunk; or to the Roaring Twenties, complete with gangsters and molls; or to a religious enclave whose sole function is to combat the demons. And each will be as complex, as well-realized, as intriguing as the last…and the next.

Understandably, an undertaking on such an epic scale that it will require almost innumerable confrontations throughout the multiverse against creatures magical, seemingly immortal, and without any of the moral compunctions that (one hopes) characterize humanity will not be easy. Certainly it cannot be compressed into twenty-six stories, some as short as a thousand words or so. As a result, many of the entries in CP (as well as the appended “Volume 1”) indicate that there will be—there must be—additional volumes. Several of the shorter pieces seem merely to create fascinating worlds in which larger conflicts must occur and to introduce characters strong enough to endure them. Few of the stories seem satisfied to stand alone.

This is as it should be. Genesse has offered writers a canvas of almost unlimited scope and—in the form of e-publication—potentially wide distribution. Having read The Crimson Pact, Volume 1, I for one am eager to engage the enemy again in the next volume.

Bring on the demons!

Word by Word: Some Thoughts on Bruce Boston’s Surrealities.

2011-09-30T12:31:00.000-07:00

Bruce Boston. Surrealities: Texts and Images. Colusa CA: Dark Regions Press, August 2011. 66 pp. ISBN 978-1-937128-13-5.

Several decades ago, an eminent science-fiction writer, poet, and critic explored the idea that at least part of the attraction of SF for many readers lay in a combination of expectation and reversal, signaled initially at the level of language and syntax.

To demonstrate his meaning, he began constructing a statement. His first word: The. He then examined the assumptions readers would immediately make upon seeing that word. The is an article; therefore it will ultimately be followed by a noun or a noun-like word…most conventionally, by the name of a person, place, or thing. The ‘thing’ named will be specific (the desk, for example) rather than general (a desk). Given these two assumptions, the number of possible words, while still enormous given the extent of the English vocabulary, is at least in some senses limited.

He then added a second word: yellow. The adjectival alerts readers to several more possibilities. First, the noun, the thing-named, has not yet arrived. And second, whatever that thing is, it will have a specific characteristic. The reader might legitimately anticipate “yellow flower” or “yellow bird.” Already, within two words, the range of possible meanings has been radically narrowed.

The third word—sun—verifies each of these assumptions. Yes, there does exist in our universe such a ‘thing’ that is yellow and that we conventionally preface with the (or other indicating words), and the phrase makes perfect sense. We as readers may continue, feeling at ease with our understanding of the words and the ‘thing’ to which they refer.

The fourth word added was set. Acceptable. We all know that setting is one of the things that our sun can do, even though most would recognize that the verb is being used metaphorically—that is, the sun does not move, the earth does. But even within that proviso, the sentence—for it is a full statement, with subject, verb, and complete idea—resonates easily.

The fifth word—and—indicates coupling, and coupling of a certain sort. Something is to follow, and that something will be analogous to, or at least equal in subordination to, The yellow sun. We know this because and links. But would convey a contraindication. Therefore might indicate a conclusion. So would suggest cause and effect. But and lets us know that something of equivalent value will follow.

Fifth word: the. Again, this is to be expected. The word amplified our expectation that whatever follows will be specific, and will eventually name something

We are still comfortably within our universe.

Sixth word: blue. Ah yes, we have a yellow sun, which has just set; and now we have a blue something that will follow logically (and equivalently) on the previous action. In fact, the words already given are so powerful that many, if not most readers, will make a further assumption—that the next word will be sky or one of its synonyms. Perhaps the full compound sentence will even read: “The yellow sun set and the blue sky faded to black.”

At this point, we have actually moved ahead of the writer, anticipating the direction that the sentence—and perhaps even the story—will move.

Then, just when we are comfortable in our assumption, he adds the next word: sun.

Wait! That can’t be.

There isn’t a blue sun. There is just the single yellow one….

In our solar system….

And at that instant, the writer springs his ‘gotcha!’

We are not in our solar system. The words we know and understand, the grammar that we depend so completely on for communication, has in fact led us into another world, where thing not possible in this one are everyday commonplaces.

And with that disjuncture, science fiction takes over the story. We have learned not to trust our assumptions that language will always take us to familiar places, that grammar will always reflect that which we know to be true.

In Bruce Boston’s Surrealities, this process is carried to its logical conclusion.

Poetry is not prose (although a number of Boston’s poems are ‘prosaic’ in the finest sense of the word, combining the cadences of prose with the meticulous language of poetry). It relies more heavily on metaphor, image, and symbol than prose. It already requires that we set aside certain assumption about language—that it will conform to the overt grammar and rhythms of speech; that it will reflect reality directly rather than indirectly, elliptically, asymmetrically; that it will favor strictly factual effects over ‘poeticisms’. As a result, we as readers already approach poetry with a slightly different set of protocols that we would use in reading prose.

Boston takes that slightly different set of protocols and wrenches it even further, creating a texture that at times nearly defies affinities with what we know of words and things…that, in a word, approaches and at times defines surrealism.

In poem after poem, Boston’s technique forces us to concentrate on the semantic and grammatical possibilities implicit in each word , knowing as we do that the instant we move on to the next word, all of our assumptions may be proven false, misdirected, or utterly meaningless. In the universes of Surrealities, meaning is created, not by the seamless sequence of logical thought, but rather by disjunction, by the juxtaposition of word/images that in our commonplace, prosaic view of things, may seem to have no connections at all.

Then, having proceeded with care, and with frequent pauses to reconsider our place in the universe—whatever universe we happen to be in at that instant—as defined by the series of words that compose a poetic line, we are confronted by the identical challenge on a larger scale…in the relationship of line to line.

And of stanza to stanzas.

And finally, of poem to poem.

Through it all, Boston crafts words, phrases, images, symbols that stretch the limits of our vocabulary, and of the words we once felt comfortable in believing that we understood.

In some instances, poems present narrative fantasias, as in the teasingly titled piece “Two Nightstands Attacking a Cello,” a meditation on form and function and on the redemptive consequences of “pain and humiliation.” The poem is literally about surrealities—the juxtaposition of opposites: angular versus curved, functional versus artistic, aggressive versus passive, even (in the most fundamental senses) masculine versus feminine. There is an “unprovoked assault,” an unconditional retreat, a seeming victory that abruptly transmutes—“transforms”—into defeat as the cello reaches into the depths of its pain, its suffering, to achieve a “doleful” epiphany and a heart-wrenching transcendence.

In others, lines and stanzas simply stand in opposition to themselves and each other. “Surreal Wish List,” for example, eschews overt narrative for—as the title implies—a simple listing…simple on the surface but ultimately complex and engaging. The poem consists of nine short stanzas, each a straight-forward noun phrase; there are in fact no functional verbs in the entire poem. Yet in spite of that grammatical ‘deficiency,’ each stanza seems to vibrate with implied action stemming from the proximity of impossibilities: “The Roman numeral/for zero” or “A chateau with blue eyes.” Each stanza—and each grammatical subunit within each stanza—invites the reader to stop, to consider, to imagine, to explore.

“Surreal Domestic” transforms every-day objects into phenomena imbued with wonder and surprise…and more than a hint of threat. Speaking of a zipper in the back of a walk-in closet, the narrator says bluntly, “I have never touched it./ Believe me.”

Again and again throughout Surrealities, the reader will encounter, understand, and internalize the persistent theme of the collection, summarized in the final stanza of “Surreal People”: “If surreal people were the world,/the wonders and horrors of existence/would forever begin anew.”

Scattered through the text are half a dozen images—Rorshasch-like patterns in stark black and white with titles such as “Architectonic Dream” and “Butterfly Cinder” that indicate quite clearly that the images are in visual cousins to the verbal poems…explorations of shapes that are not quite shapes, of meanings that emerge from rather than are imposed upon the images. In their own way, they are as intriguing, as thought-provoking as the poetry itself.

Surrealities is not an easy book, nor was it (I think) intended to be so. It teases, it hints, it suggests, but each time the reader feels comfortable with a reading, with an interpretation, the text shifts, twists, turns in unexpected way and forces new understandings. And because of that, rather than in spite of it, the collection is more than worth a reading; it is worth multiple readings and long moments of thought.

Recommended.

First foray

2011-02-28T14:39:00.000-08:00

Well, here goes.
This will be my first attempt at writing a blog, so things are apt to be a bit sketchy at first.

At the moment I'm waiting for the mail to deliver author's copies of Som Certaine Sonets, which is in some ways the most important of my poetry books...second only perhaps to The Nephiad. It contains about 30 years worth of sonnets in various complexities, including experiments with the form that led to Elementals (one of the sections) and Taliesin (another section--an attempt at fusing the history of Joseph Smith with the symbolism and mythology of King Arthur).

At the same time I am re-reading The House Beyond the Hill to format it for eBook publication through Wildside Press. It's an eerie feeling--I know the broad outlines of the novel. After all, I wrote it. But two years after it was published by Wildside, and about twenty after I first began it, many of the details have blurred. So it is intriguing to discover the intricacies of the horror...and be startled by some of the things I wrote.

Where did that come from? seems to bubble up more frequently than I would have imagined.

Still, it comes across as effective horror. More diffuse than The Slab, in some ways more graphic and disturbing, but still effective.