What do you do when your life is falling apart around you because your kinks and perversions are too shameful for loved ones to accept? What if you also have neither the motivation nor the courage to sort things out? In the case of our protagonist, you pack your bags and head for China to teach English as a second language, evading your problems while hoping to return someday with unearned closure in tow. While unsympathetic, our protagonist is relatable in more ways than is probably comfortable to admit. Geick dips into the well of our shared experiences of insecurity, loneliness, shame, and isolation to craft a character that reflects some of our least appealing traits. A night of drugs and exotic dining, characterized by increasing haziness and disorientation, leads us to a conclusion that the reader sees coming just a short while before the revelation hits home. Nosophobia should rank among the best works of short fiction to arise from the pandemic conditions of 2020/2021.
You can obtain your own copy of this fantastic short story through http://www.godless.com at the link below:
If Italian director Lucio Fulci were alive today, creating movies at 94-years-old like those he’d filmed four decades ago, this novella could be the novelization of his newest masterpiece. Southard and Mangum display a sincere and passionate love for the atmosphere, over-the-top gore, and idiosyncratically disjointed flow of Fulci’s oeuvre. That deep and abiding adoration is necessary to so accurately capture the feel of a Fulci movie with The Final Gate. The more dedicated fans will perhaps experience a sort of wavering, rippling effect in their imaginations, seeing the face of Bob from House By the Cemetery transitioning into the much older face of Robert, the caretaker of St. Luke’s Orphanage. As pleased as we are to make his acquaintance again–and to see that he’s grown into a man who found a way to help children who were orphaned just as he was–it would seem that Bob’s encounters with supernatural horrors aren’t over. After racing into the orphanage in response to a young boy’s desperate cries for help, Robert’s story comes to an end when he enters Bryce’s darkened bedroom. The rest of the book follows Brandon, Bryce’s older brother, and various other characters as Brandon desperately tries to make up for the mistakes of his earlier years. He hopes that by locating his younger brother and rescuing him from an orphanage that seems increasingly sinister, the deeper he digs into it, he’ll find a sense of fulfillment and redemption. With the assistance of Jillian, his girlfriend, and Jillian’s ex-boyfriend, Dan, Brandon faces something far more mysterious and awful than he could have anticipated. In true homage to Fulci, the authors leave you wondering who–if anyone–will survive and whether there’s any chance of a happy ending when the gates of hell are involved. Any fans of Lucio Fulci, Dario Argento, Mario and Lamberto Bava, Ruggero Deodato, Umberto Lenzi, Bruno Mattei, and the other Italian greats should immediately pick up a copy of this book in August when it releases. No other book I’ve read has so perfectly demonstrated the Italian exploitation cinema tone the way this one has.
Andrzej Sapkowski’s The Tower of Fools won’t necessarily appeal to fans of his far more popular The Witcher series. While elements of his distinctive writing style carry over to this first book of the Hussite Trilogy, the story itself is a major departure from what readers might expect. The Tower of Fools is more akin to Neal Stephenson’s Quicksilver (the first book of The Baroque Cycle) or Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, in that it’s a dense fantasy tale firmly embedded within true European historical context. Whereas The Baroque Cycle transpired in a fictionalized version of the late 1600s to early 1700s, and Clarke’s novel took place in the 1800s, Sapkowski’s trilogy inserts itself into Eastern Europe of the 1400s. We are introduced to Reinmar of Bielawa, an unlikely and peculiar hero, as unwanted adventure is thrust upon him by virtue of Reinmar caught in the process of a different sort of thrusting–with the wife of a member of a wealthy and powerful family. On the run from vengeful aristocrats (and those working on their behalf), the inquisition (for being a magician and heretic), and sinister forces with unknown motives, Reinmar finds himself on a meandering scramble across the Eastern Europe of the late Middle Ages. Populated by an almost intimidating cast of additional characters, while not as bad as Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow–a book I’ve never been able to finish–it becomes challenging at times to keep track of precisely who is who. Strange acquaintances along the way become friends, friends become enemies, and enemies become victims of the peculiar sort of charmed life Reinmar seems to live. With the familiar wit and subtle comedic writing Sapkowski brings to the narrative, we witness an extreme example of fortune favoring the fool. As Reinmar stumbles from one bit of trouble to another, dragging unfortunate allies with him as he careens from frying pan to fire and back again. Densely packed with historical events and figures of the Hussite Revolutionary period, The Tower of Fools is as much a history lesson as a tale of fantasy. Though Sapkowski’s novel incorporates elements of magic, witches/sorcerers, and supernatural beings aplenty, the narrative is so deeply fixed in a foundation of historical veracity that it all feels more textured and real than it might otherwise. Of course, those familiar with The Witcher are well aware that the author is capable of fleshing out a fictional world without the benefit of drawing the fine details from real-world history. It’s a nice touch, though, being able to explore a historical period many of us aren’t familiar with. The titular Tower of Fools–though referenced at numerous points throughout the story–makes an appearance in Chapter 26, at almost the end of the book. It could be argued that the wider world we witness in the book is the real Narrenturm, and the whole of Eastern Europe and the Holy Roman Empire makes up the real Tower of Fools. Though the story is not one that I can praise in more than peculiarly specific ways, the narration provided by Petter Kenny is spectacular. This narrator is impressive, to put it mildly. He successfully tackles various accents, dozens of characters, as well as songs and chants performed in Latin and other languages, all with a clarity and quality that almost astounded me.
I had the extreme pleasure of reading this book a few months ago. I immediately procured a copy once it was available on sale through http://www.godless.com because I sincerely believe that Baltisberger deserves all the support the indie horror community is able to provide.
Abhorrent Siren takes Baltisberger’s love of kaiju and elevates it to a new level beyond what readers had witnessed from previous titles like Blood & Mud and the epic poem, War of Dictates. This book is truly the love letter to the body horror and giant monster genres readers didn’t even know they needed. It’s all too easy to get excited watching kaiju movies while never conceiving of the desperation and terror of those in the path of whatever horrifying monstrosity is lumbering their way. All too often, we witness those tales from the perspectives of individuals at a safe distance or the larger-scale perspective of the monsters themselves. Abhorrent Siren is not one of those stories. This book is Cloverfield rather than Pacific Rim. We are not on even footing with the creature slithering its slimy way North across Texas. We are not at any sort of remove from the horrific events taking place, at least not for long. This is not to say that we aren’t provided with some perspective from those analyzing the situation and struggling to find both an explanation and a solution. Following the scientists, as they race against both the clock and the toxic mist exuded from the monstrous axolotl, to share their findings with those who might be able to do something is fascinating and rife with harrowing experiences along the way. As we receive intimate, first-hand experiences of the body horror happening at ground level in advance of the creature’s arrival, we find ourselves equally horrified and disgusted by the transformations taking place both in mind and body. As readers, we are never allowed to forget the afflicted–while malformed and misshapen in every conceivable way–were once human beings. That constant reminder that these were once people serves to make the events all the more awful. The author wasn’t satisfied simply to write a violent, breakneck-paced monster story. As with other material from Baltisberger, there are layers of subtext and social commentary laced within his viscerally poetic imagery. Embedded within what is a captivating–sometimes alarming–tale of grotesque, splattery horror, one will find a scathing meta-commentary on the opioid epidemic plaguing America. As we witness Barbara’s inability to escape the nightmare unfolding around her in her attempts to distance herself from the clinic, the commentary becomes all the more poignant. Just wait until you reach the point in the story when Barbara comes home to Owen. It’s all downhill from there in the most gloriously, gratuitously disgusting way–especially after she brings another partner back with her.
The Grind House continues the descent into madness that is Pike’s Diablo Snuff series of books. If you’ve read A Foreign Evil and Passion & Pain, you’ll have some idea what to expect while still finding yourself surprised around every twist and turn captured by the author’s impressive imagination. While the previous two installments focused heavily on monstrous cruelty and torture inflicted by agents of the malevolent organization known as Diablo Snuff, this book leans heavily on things that can’t be perceived as anything other than the supernatural. The visions of demonic entities–post-climax–in A Foreign Evil could easily be dismissed as little more than the feverish hallucinations of a man who went through hell. It’s far more challenging to similarly write off shared visions of inhuman horrors and other aspects of the tale unfolding within The Grind House. Of course, we all knew these things were real–in the context of the story–but it hits home much harder in this book than the previous immersions into the world of Diablo Snuff. Fans of the previous two stories in the Diablo Snuff series will be happy to encounter some familiar characters at different points in this novel. I know I certainly was. In this book, as in the previous two, Pike’s history as a writer of dark romance and erotica comes to the forefront in a big way, weaving together heavily eroticized encounters with sheer, unrelenting lunacy. It takes a certain undefined skill to seamlessly blend graphic, sensual intimacy with a bewildering, undercurrent of horror, but it’s a skill Pike has in spades. It’s The Shining on MDMA. If Shirley Jackson had channeled Marquis de Sade when writing The Haunting, we might be coming close to what you’ll find within these pages. This isn’t necessarily to suggest The Grind House is a haunted house tale, but in a sense, it most certainly is. If a place can absorb the evil of those within its walls–or beneath its foundations, The Grand Georgina most certainly has. Tobias (T.K. Tantrum) is in for far more than he or his assistant anticipated when he was signed up to attend the writers retreat at The Grand Georgina. He hoped to write the masterpiece that had eluded him so far in his modestly successful career, but he finds himself drawn into real-life peril that rivals anything he could have written. As the abominations of both past and present are revealed, the insidious trap Tobias finds himself within may be something from which even madness provides no escape. As prurience gives way to panic, it may already be too late for any to escape the clutches of Diablo Snuff.
This one is a fast-paced and frenetic descent into horrors that lurk just below the surface of our reality, much as the dark web lurks just below the surface of the conventional, everyday internet of Google, Facebook, Twitter, and such. There are some fascinating parallels to be discovered in this story because of that mirroring aspect. Most of the novella focuses on true-crime novelist Niles Highsmith and his search for a missing younger brother, Leon. Through Leon’s friends, Niles soon learns that his brother had recently been searching the dark web in hopes of obtaining a firearm for protection–only to be diverted along the way–witnessing perversions and unsettling horrors instead, just before he disappeared. With no other avenues of inquiry available to him, Niles dives into the dark web as well, unaware of the attention he’s drawing to himself. Fans of the author will be pleased to find references to other works within the story as Niles explores the dark web for himself. The story, while captivating, takes a backseat to the intense, graphic visuals that Mangum conjures in his writing. If one were to toss the paintings of Zdzislaw Beksinski, Salvador Dali, and H.R. Giger into a blender, they might come up with something approximating what Mangum describes in parts of this narrative.
The newest book from Thomas R. Clark hits the ground running and never lets up. Beginning with a series of gruesome murders, The God Provides spins the reader a grimly beautiful tale rooted in old-world folklore and modern monster mythology. The blend of fantasy and horror is so perfectly combined as to produce something that transcends both categorizations. What you end up with is a narrative that feels like the modern-day retelling of a forgotten epic masterpiece. At the same time, Clark manages to craft a thrilling tale that feels like something fresh and new that only now sees the light of day. Delving into the McEntire family’s history–which isn’t at all what it might initially seem–we discover a community in rural upstate New York where ancient gods, witches, werewolves, fae, and other supernatural creatures thrive. All of this in plain view of any who might pass through the region…assuming they aren’t the sacrifices provided by the titular god. Take one part The Wicker Man (the original, not the god awful remake) and Midsommar, another part The Howling, and toss in some Macbeth and Beowulf for flavor, and you’ll have a recipe that might bring you within spitting distance of this story. You’ll also want to borrow a smidge of the considerable literary prowess Clark brings to the table. If splatter-folk is a genre…this is the introduction to that world.
From a literary standpoint, Rule of Cool is certainly not the best example of the LitRPG genre…but it is far from the worst. I don’t expect epic fantasy literary prowess from LitRPG novels–because I’m not a complete idiot–but there are plenty of books within the genre that successfully combine skilled storytelling, captivating characters, and ample humor. This one had a fair bit of humor, some slightly worthwhile characters, and a story that could have been assembled from a story-in-a-box plot development application. Personally, I prefer the stories where there’s some explanation–even a flimsy one–as to why we (and the characters) are exposed to stats, rolls, and other such RPG-oriented elements. Otherwise, it seems like a poor attempt to simply pad and shoehorn a story–decent or not–into a niche genre hoping to ride the coattails of those who came before. Combine all of that with a healthy dose of the fan service and the almost desperate geek appeal of Ready Player One, and you’ll have a good feel for Rule of Cool. A story focused on life within an RPG world from the perspective of a bitter, moody NPC has a lot of potential. Sadly, Matthew Siege couldn’t bring that potential to life the way the concept deserved. The world itself is nonsensical. Rule of Cool is centered on a starter town, Hallow, where prospective heroes begin their journey to obtain levels and make names for themselves. For some inexplicable reason, Hallow is filled with detritus from the real world for no apparent reason, except that it somehow slipped from our world into this fantasy realm through a rift that is never adequately explained nor explored. It struck me as a poorly conceived ploy to justify random pop culture references littering the narrative, much the same way that damaged electronics and toys from our world litter the realm where Hallow’s located. It’s not all bad. Don’t get me wrong. This is a fun, albeit generic zero-to-hero tale centered around a trio of gearblins (a hybrid of goblin and gremlin) struggling to take their home back from the heroes who have been grinding them into the muck for generations. There’s social commentary embedded in the plot that–while unsubtle–appeals to me in a Marxist workers’ revolt sense. The best aspect of Rule of Cool was that I listened to the audiobook edition. Felicia Day’s narration is fantastic, sufficiently so that it drags the story–kicking and screaming the whole way–to a higher level of quality than it would have had if I’d simply been reading the book. I can’t recommend reading this book, but I would recommend the audiobook because the superb narration makes other aspects of the story far more tolerable than they probably deserve to be.
Certainly, someone out there found themselves wondering what it might be like if Terry Pratchett had taken the time to focus his considerable talents toward writing an action-packed, ultraviolent ninja story. Or maybe not? Either way, Brian Asman’s Nunchuck City provides us with a glimpse of what that story might have been. This book is imbued with the same irreverent wit and hilariously meandering narrative elements one might have hoped for from just such a tale. If you’ve ever wondered what could have been, if only David Wong (Jason Pargin) had written the screenplay for American Ninja…you need look no further because this would surely be the novelization of that magnificent piece of absurd cinema. The story begins with Skip Baxter, a middle-aged, delusional sensei who proclaims himself to be The Most Dangerous Man In Turbo City. Imagine that kid from middle school, the one who bragged about being a black belt and how his hands were deadly weapons…now age him a solid 30 years or so, and you have Skip Baxter. Now, imagine Skip Baxter beaten senseless and hospitalized without even putting up a feeble effort to defend himself. That’s ok. This story isn’t really about him. You’ll see him again, though. This story is about Nunchuck “Nick” Nikolopoulis, a former ninja with a dark past. Nick is a man who studied under two masters, first, to become a formidable ninja and second, to become a stunningly proficient master of fondue. All he needs to do is get a signature from the Mayor of Turbo City, and his dreams of establishing a fondue restaurant, Fond Dudes, with Rondell (his only friend in Turbo City) will come true. Nunchuck City would be a painfully short book if it was that simple. Suddenly, a specter from Nick’s past throws the city into turmoil, unleashing devastation and kidnapping the Mayor for the express purpose of beating him in combat and usurping the title for himself. With another unexpected visitor from his past, Nick must find a way to save the Mayor–and the city–or admit that he failed to get the business license for Fond Dudes filed…and Nick isn’t one to accept failure. Stay tuned after your feature presentation for Lucas Mangum’s Curse of the Ninja, a terrific short story about Catholics, ninjas, and exorcism…something you probably don’t know you need just yet, but I assure you that you do.
If you’ve ever seen Green Room–a fantastic flick–you’ll recall the thrill you probably felt as the fictional band, The Ain’t Rights, begins performing “Nazi Punks Fuck Off” (covering the epic Dead Kennedys track) from the stage of a neo-Nazi skinhead bar. You’re going to feel the same sort of thrill reading the scene at the trailer park as John Stabberger carves his way through a crowd of skinhead punks. Unlike Green Room, the story doesn’t go sideways for the protagonists, and Stabberger keeps on ramping up the violence until he’s–literally–ramping a motorcycle up a crane to board a fucking dirigible to slaughter more Nazi pricks. Like a golem fashioned from flesh and blades, Stabberger is single-minded and fueled by rage, not to be deterred from his bloody business. As the first installment of the Godless League series of stories, this one hits it out of the park in a big way. This story is full tilt, no holds barred, unrelenting violence perpetrated against the most deserving victims.
You can pick up your own copy from www.godless.com at the link below. I absolutely recommend that you do so.
Domus Necrophagous 