Reviews of Old and New Stories. Mostly Old

Review of “The Watcher by the Threshold” by John Buchan: Halloween Countdown

21) “The Watcher by the Threshold” by John Buchan

Plot:

Our hero, Henry, a lawyer, is enjoying some vacation time out shooting (ICK, but yeah) at a friend’s estate when he receives a letter from his cousin, Sibyl, asking him to visit her and her husband in Scotland. She adds a postscript: “For Heaven’s sake, come and see us. Bob is ill, and I am crazy. Don’t bother about bringing doctors. It is not their business.”

As much as he doesn’t want to leave the comforts of the present place, he sees how desperate his cousin is and goes to see them. It is a miserable drive. Henry describes the landscape as dreary and full of “faded gentility.”

To his surprise, he finds his cousin’s husband as cheerful as ever. He looks healthy. Sibyl, on the other hand, has changed. She is pale, her pretty eyes are now mournful, and, in place of her “delightful shyness,” are “the self-confidence and composure of pain.”

Is it perhaps Sibyl who is ill, and not Bob?

At dinner, Bob seems to be unable to recall the recent past. A bust of the Byzantine Emperor Justinian is both a prominent decoration and something of a forbidden topic. Something panics Bob, and Sibyl comforts him, stroking his hair “as one would stroke a frightened horse.”

A few minutes later, Bob picks up the conversation as if nothing happened. Has Sibyl calmed him, or has he forgotten whatever it was that frightened him?

Later, when Bob and Henry withdraw to smoke cigars, Bob refuses to smoke. Sibyl has asked Henry to find out what is bothering Bob; her husband won’t tell her.

Henry tries some tactful inquiry. After some hemming and hawing, Bob says his concern involves, “The devil.”

Thoughts:

This novelette is atmospheric and sad. As much as Henry wishes nothing were wrong with Bob, there is clearly something going on. He refers to the other man as “a commonplace man, with fair talents, a mediocre culture, honest instincts, and the beliefs and incredulities of his class. … He had a kind of dull, bourgeois rationalism, which used to find reasons for all things in heaven and earth.”

Not the kind of person Henry would expect to be subject to hallucinations.

In discussing Justinian at the uncomfortable (to say the least) dinner, Bob says he recalls a story about Justinian selling his soul to the devil for laws. Sibyl tries to tell him to change the subject. A less demure woman would have kicked his shin black and blue.

Henry is concerned about his cousin as well as her husband, but he really wants to be gone.

The ending of the story I read proved unsatisfying. Apparently, it is sometimes anthologized as a fragment with an unsatisfying ending.

There is a reason for that. Apparently, the version I read is truncated. A fuller version, available at the Gutenberg Project (see below), wanders a bit but at least leaves our hero looking less like a jerk.

An unabridged version of the story can be read here:

An unabridged version of the story can be listened to here: (1:47:41)

Bio: John Buchan (1875-1940) was a British statesman, writer, and publisher, best known for his adventure stories. Among his best-known books is Thirty-Nine Steps (1915), which was adapted into the movie of the same name, directed by Alfred Hitchcock. He also wrote a biography, Sir Walter Scott (1932). In 1935, he was appointed governor-general of Canada.

Title: “The Watcher by the Threshold”
Author: John Buchan (1875-1940)
First published: The Watcher by the Threshold and Other Stories, 1902
Length: novelette

Review of “Wake Not the Dead” by Ernst Raupach: Halloween Countdown

20) “Wake Not the Dead” by Ernst Raupach (often attributed to Johann Ludwig Tieck)

Plot:

Walter, a powerful lord in Burgundy, marries a beautiful woman named Brunhilda. They are very much in love. Alas! Brunhilda dies, leaving Walter heartbroken. He eventually remarries a wonderful, beautiful woman named Swanhilda. They have two children, a boy and a girl.

But Walter can’t forget Brunhilda. Instead of sleeping next to Swanhilda, he goes to weep by Brunhilda’s grave in the middle of the night.

One night, as he’s weeping over Brunhilda’s grave, he cries aloud, “Wilt thou for ever sleep? wilt thou never more awake, my beloved?” That’s not all he says, of course.

A sorcerer approaches and says he can bring his dead wife back, but there are dangers. He repeats the refrain, warning Walter, “Wake not the dead.”

Walter doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about Swanhilda back home or their children, either. He wants his beloved Brunhilda back.

The sorcerer agrees. After several delays that nearly drive Walter out of his mind, he brings Walter’s beloved Brunhilda back from the dead.

And so, Brunhilda once again walks among the living, almost as if she never died. Now Walter has a bit of a problem on his hands. Two living (kinda) wives? Not really. He sends Swanhilda back to her father. The children stay with him.

Walter and Brunhilda are deliriously in love, just like when they were first married. Well, maybe not exactly like when they were first married. Walter doesn’t even notice that young people keep disappearing around the castle…

Thoughts:

The little tale is deliciously, straight-faced gothic. The affectation of using “thee” and “thou” is a bit much, but it is forgivable for the over-the-top atmosphere the author creates.

The language is evocative, as if this were indeed a play. When the sorcerer brings poor old Brunhilda back from the dead, the reader is told:

“The old man [sorcerer] now drew a circle round the grave, all the while muttering words of enchantment. Immediately the storm began to howl among the tops of the trees; owls flapped their wings, and uttered their low voice of omen; the stars hid their mild, beaming aspect, that they might not behold so unholy and impious a spectacle…”

This is all without the benefit of a Jacob’s ladder or thunder and lightning.

When the vampire Brunhilda seduces children into letting her suck their blood (Lucy Westerna, hold her beer), she induces gentle dreams:

“Then did visions of the most surpassing magnificence attend their dreams: they would fancy themselves in some garden where flowers of every hue rose in rows one above the other, from the humble violet to the tall sunflower, forming a parti-colored broidery of every hue, sloping upwards towards the golden clouds where little angels whose wings sparkled with azure and gold descended to bring them delicious cakes or splendid jewels; or sung to them soothing melodious hymns.”

An ICK warning: Brunhilda eschews drinking blood from the necks of her victims like a respectable vampire, but from their “bosoms.” Even though “bosom” can mean “chest,” it’s still pretty dang icky.

I did not realize until I did some reading on author Ernst Raupach that he lost his first wife a year or so after they were married. She died in childbirth. There is always a danger of psychoanalyzing someone, but perhaps one can see his grief and the letting go in the story.

I liked this story. I’ve come across it in a couple of different anthologies. It’s unapologetically gothic, a warning not to mourn too much, that there is a separation between the living and the dead for a reason, and mostly don’t forsake the living for the dead.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (1:39:19)

Bio: Ernst Raupach (1784-1852) was a German dramatist and writer. He was born in Straupitz, Silesia (present-day Strupice, Poland), the son of a village pastor. He studied theology and worked for a while as a tutor in Russia with his older brother, then settled in Berlin, where he wrote plays.

Title: “Wake Not the Dead”
Author: Ernst Raupach (1784-1852) (often attributed in error to Johann Ludwig Tieck)
First published: (German) “Laßt die Todten ruhen!” Minerva: Taschenbuch für das Jahr 1823 (1822); first English translation 1823 in Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations
Length: short story

Review of “Unseen—Un[f]eared” by Francis Stevens: Halloween Countdown

19) “Unseen—Un[f]eared” by Francis Stevens

Before I proceed, I would like to offer a few content warnings, specifically about suicide and some racially and ethnically insensitive elements of the story. About the latter: the narrator is ill and not himself, so it could reflect a paranoid, altered state of mind. Or he may just be a racist snob.

Plot:

Our hero, Blaisdell, tells of meeting his “ever-interesting” friend, Mark Jenkins, by chance at a little Italian restaurant near South Street in a large city. Jenkins is a detective with juicy stories.

When Blaisdell mentions something he saw in the morning papers, Jenkins laughs and says, “Poor old ‘Doc’ Holt! Fascinating old codger.” He also mentions saving a young assistant of Doc’s from a false accusation of poisoning.

“Why are you so sure he couldn’t have been implicated?” Blaisdell asks.

Jenkins shakes his head and says he has his grounds. “But the only reason he was suspected at all is the superstitious dread of these ignorant people around him.” He offers Blaisdell a cigar, which the other man gratefully accepts.

Careful, dude. Those things will kill you, ya know.

Jenkins makes his apologies. He has to leave for another appointment.

Blaisdell stays for a while, then leaves. Outside, the atmosphere feels oppressive. The people he passes on the street seem evil, almost bestial. He soon feels ill and blames the cheap wine they drank with dinner. He decides to tough it out.

Pausing outside a drugstore, he notes a sign:

SEE THE GREAT UNSEEN!
Come in! This Means You!
FREE TO ALL!

Well, why not? The man in charge of the exhibit at first doesn’t seem to see Blaisdell. He’s surprised that anyone wants to see his exhibit, goes back into his apartment ahead of him, and closes the door. Finally, he comes back out and asks Blaisdell if he’s coming or not. Blaisdell follows.

At first, all he gets is an interminable lecture on photography. Then the strange man turns off the lights.

Blaisdell is horrified—terrified at what he sees. He passes out.

When he wakes, the strange man is gone.

Thoughts:

This is a bizarre little tale framed in a detective story. Poor Blaisdell spends a horrifying evening, finally coming to doubt the nature of human beings to the point of convincing himself to do away with himself so he’ll never have to suffer the company of such detestable beings again. He recalls the unrelenting hostility from a passing Italian man who turned to him the evening before. The neighborhood is “unsavory,” full of Jews, Italians, and (in the parlance of the day) “negroes.” All this sets our hero on edge.

Interestingly enough, Blaisdell receives a rational explanation for his adventures, but he and his friend Jenkins agree to destroy the evidence. And questions linger.

The anthology I found this in had a typo in the title and the Table of Contents, titling this story “Unseen—Ungeared.” I wondered about it, since it made no sense. It also posed a challenge when trying to find any information about the story. It is, nevertheless, correctly “Unseen—Unfeared.”

This story was an intriguing little ride. I liked the way it played with reality. None of these positives overcame its negatives for me, however. Unfortunately, it is a product of its time, so it’s difficult to recommend. If going in forewarned, the reader may enjoy the LSD-trip-like little yarn. Or, the reader may wish to avoid the racist crap altogether.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (45:11)

Bio: Francis Stevens (legal name Gertrude Mabel Barrows Bennett) (1883-1948) was an American author of fantasy and science fiction short fiction and novels. Most of Bennett’s writing was published between 1917 and 1920. She made her living as a stenographer and turned to writing to supplement her income while caring for her ill, widowed mother. After her mother’s death, she gave up on writing and returned to stenography.

Title: “Unseen—Un[f]eared”
Author: Francis Stevens (legal name Gertrude Mabel Barrows Bennett) (1883-1948)
First published: People’s Favorite Magazine, February 10, 1919
Length: short story

Review of “The Tale of Satampra Zeiros” by Clark Ashton Smith: Halloween Countdown

18) “The Tale of Satampra Zeiros” by Clark Ashton Smith

Plot:

Satampra Zeiros of Uzuldaroum writes about all that happened to him and his friend and partner, Tirouv Ompallios, in the shrine of Tsathoggua. Satampra and Tirouv live by thieving and adventuring. They’ve enjoyed some glorious times, but right now, they’re down on their luck. They spend their last three pazoors (which could have bought them two loaves of bread) on a bottle of pomegranate wine.

“Is there any reason why you and I, who are brave men and nowise subject to the fears and superstitions of the multitude, should not avail ourselves of the kingly treasure of Commorion?” Satampra asks his friend as the level of the pomegranate wine drifts ever earthward. “A day’s journey from this tiresome town, a pleasant sojourn in the country, an afternoon or forenoon of archaeological research—and who knows what we should find?”

Commorion is the former capital, deserted hundreds of years earlier because the White Sybil of Polarion foretold an undescribed and abominable doom would fall for all mortal beings who should dare to tarry within its environs.

Tirouv agrees to go to Commorion. It’s rumored to lie untouched all this time. Imagine the jewels in the idols of the temples! And who’s to stop them from taking what they want?

They leave, robbing and duping people on the way, because that’s what they do.

The jungle has grown up around the site of the city, adding a sense of gloom, but that doesn’t deter our heroes. They find the city almost perfectly preserved. The first temple they come across differs from the other buildings. It is a shrine of one of the elder gods, Tsathoggua, whom no one worships anymore. The only signs of decay are the several splinters and crumbled places in the lintel along the door.

Our heroes work hard to push the door open, certain to find treasure inside. To their dismay, only a plain brass cauldron and an unadorned statue of the god meet them. There are no jewel-encrusted idols, no piles of gold on the floor.

However, something stirs within the brass cauldron.

Thoughts:

This story is one of two of Smith’s Satampra Zeiros stories and part of his Hyperborea cycle, which combines the Iron Age with a touch of Lovecraft’s cosmic horror and a little Cthulhu Mythos thrown in for fun. It comes across as something out of Lord Dunsany’s sword-and-sorcery, with a couple of ne’er-do-well adventurers thieving and running away their way through life before something bites them on the rear end—or, in Satampra’s case, the hand.

The writing is atmospheric. The reader knows immediately that Satampra has lost his right hand and that Tirouv is probably dead. After they leave the highway for the overgrown road to Commorion, it’s like they enter another world. As they walk further into the forest, they lose daylight, and the air grows “fraught with oppressive odors of lush growth and of vegetable corruption.” “Stealthy vipers” glide by at their feet, but there are no birds, only “huge purpureal bats with eyes like tiny rubies” who feast on “poisonous-looking fruits.”

Yet, our heroes, certain there’s a pot of gold just waiting for them, sally forth, not missing a step—regardless of what else they miss.

While the end may not be a surprise, this yarn gives the reader some good old-fashioned horror. The prose might be a little heavy for the modern reader. Nevertheless, I enjoyed it. It’s a good little Halloween tale.

I could not find an online version with a secure connection and legible text, but here is an audio version: (31:41)

Bio: Clark Ashton Smith (1893-1961) was primarily a poet but is now best known for his weird fiction, much of which was published in Weird Tales. His prose tends to be extravagant. His protagonists are often drawn, against their better judgment, toward some dangerous or forbidden object. He also painted and translated works.

Title: “The Tale of Satampra Zeiros”
Author: Clark Ashton Smith (1893-1961)
First published: Weird Tales, November 1931
Length: short story

Review of “Spurs” by Todd Robbins: Halloween Countdown

17) “Spurs” by Todd Robbins

Plot:

In early 20^th-century France, Jacques Courbé is a dwarf who performs in Copo’s Circus, riding his “gallant charger”—a dog—St. Eustache, like a knight of old. The crowd laughs and throws orange and banana peels at him, for he is a parody of the circus bareback horse riders.

Only by dreams does Courbé tolerate this job. He sees himself elsewhere, a knight in shining armor winning the hands of fair maidens.

A new bareback rider joins the circus, the tall, beautiful, graceful, and daring Mlle. Jeanne Marie. She and her mare, Sappho, are a delight to watch. Courbé falls in love. He hates her partner, the “swarthy,” herculean Simon Lafleur, with black eyes and hair that glistens “with grease, like the back of Solon, the trained seal.”

St. Eustache, however, dislikes Jeanne Marie from the start. He growls at the sight of her.

Courbé knows his love is hopeless and stays silent until he inherits a country estate from his uncle. His proposal surprises Jeanne Marie, to say the least. He asks if she is laughing at him.

“I am not laughing,” Jeanne Marie managed to say. “You have taken me by surprise. I never thought, I never even guessed—”

“That is well, mademoiselle,” the dwarf broke in. “I do not tolerate laughter. In the arena, I am paid to make laughter; but these others pay to laugh at me. I always make people pay to laugh at me.”

He then promises her the country estate, with servants and a carriage.

Well, that’s a horse of a different color. Jeanne Marie stops laughing. As she later explains to Simon, she won’t actively work to become a widow, but the little guy could have an accident.

At the wedding, Jeanne Marie sets Jacques on her shoulders and carries him out.

Simon says, “You are strong as an ox, and he is only a marmoset; still I will wager a bottle of Burgundy that you set him down by the roadside.”

“I swear that I could carry my little ape from one end of France to the other!” Jeanne Marie says.

Something changes in M. Jacques Courbé.

Thoughts:

This horror story contains no supernatural elements. The author evokes horror through the various sideshow performers, such as “Griffo,” the giraffe boy, or Mlle. Lupa, who has an unsettling liking for meat and resembles a wolf in more than just the physical. “I have a sense of humor and sharp teeth,” she tells the guests at the wedding reception. “Let the erring hand not stray too near!”

However, the true horror lies in how people treat each other. “There can be no genial companionship among great egoists who have drunk too much,” the narrator tells the reader as an introduction to the wedding feast. The horror goes beyond mere squabbling or obnoxious drunks.

It goes without saying that one should always listen to the warnings of one’s animals.

This horror story is not bad, but it is sad. I’m on the fence about recommending it. It is relatively short, so it’s not a big time investment, but it is an unhappy tale.

This story can be read and listened to here: PseudoPod 653: Spurs | PseudoPod (1:04:34)

Bio: Todd Robbins (legal name Clarence Aaron Robbins) (1888-1949) was an American short story writer and novelist of horror and mystery. His 1917 novel The Unholy Three was filmed in silent and sound versions, both times with Lon Chaney (not Lon Chaney, Jr, who played the wolfman). The short story “Spurs” was adapted into the 1932 film Freaks, which later developed a cult following. He lived on the French Riviera and refused to leave during the Nazi occupation. He spent time in a concentration camp.

Title: “Spurs”
Author: Todd Robbins (1888-1949)
First published: Munsey’s Magazine, February 1923
Length: short story

Review of “The Shining Pyramid” by Arthur Machen: Halloween Countdown

16) “The Shining Pyramid” by Arthur Machen

Plot:

The Welshman Vaughn visits Dyson, an occult investigator in London at the turn of the 20th century. The two have met before.

Vaughn mentions an unfortunate girl, Annie Trevor, who disappeared while walking a couple of miles to a relative’s house. Locals say the fairies took her. The rural Welsh are as bad as the Irish when it comes to such nonsense, Vaughn says.

Dyson asks about possible lovers? Or undermined areas she could have fallen into? Vaughn denies all this. He thinks it’s more likely the girl fell prey to a foreign sailor who ran from his ship (It’s always the foreigners).

But there’s something else on Vaughn’s mind. Maybe it’s nothing. He describes finding flints arranged in a series of particular patterns on his walks. Could this be thieves signaling to each other to break in and steal some expensive dinnerware he owns? Some of those pieces date from the reign of Charles II, you know.

Dyson asks to see one of the flints.

Vaughn shows him one.

It’s—it’s an arrowhead like the ones he’s seen in museums around the world! They are of “vast antiquity” and “quite peculiar.” Now there’s something. Yeah! Let’s go catch a train to—where is it you are from in Wales again?!

Thoughts:

A possible murder and conspiracy to commit domestic break-in and theft? YAWN! But ancient arrowheads? Oh, cool.

Dyson is independently wealthy. He does not take “cases” for money, or out of concern for the parties involved. He accepts them when they seem interesting.

More mysterious signs follow that seem at first unrelated to the flints. But Dyson knows better. Not all of Dyson’s initial guesses are correct, and he plays a lot of his correct ideas close to his vest. The reader is offered glimpses, but not enough to make sense of everything until the horrific reveal.

Frankly, I have mixed feelings about this one. On the one hand, it is an interesting little mystery to solve. Some of it is see-it-coming. Parts of the first chapter tell the reader the solution. On the other hand, I detect an undercurrent of misogyny. Perhaps people who have read the story will tell me I’m exaggerating, but I don’t think I am.

Dyson’s robust sense of his superiority to other human beings is part of the problem. An equal-opportunity coldness runs through him. If I decline to invite him to dinner, it would hardly hurt his feelings; he’d have more important things to do.

If I hesitate to recommend it, it is not because it’s a bad story so much as because it’s a not-quite-pleasant experience. So, in the case of this story, caveat lector.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (50:33)

Bio: Arthur Machen was the pen name of Arthur Llewellyn Jones (1863-1947). The son of a clergyman, Machen was a Welsh translator, actor, and author. Among his best-known works are “The White People” and “The Three Imposters.” “The Great God Pan” was his first major success. His 1914 short story, “The Bowmen,” gave rise to the Angel of Mons urban legend.

Title: “The Shining Pyramid”
Author: Arthur Machen (legal name Arthur Llewellyn Jones) (1863-1947)
First published: The Unknown World, May 15, 1895
Length: novelette
Series: Dyson

Review of “The Portrait” by Margaret Oliphant: Halloween Countdown

15) “The Portrait” by Margaret Oliphant

Plot:

Our hero, Philip Canning, tells the reader that he lived with his father at The Grove, a Queen Anne-style place, “a large old house in the immediate neighborhood of a little town,” that is being torn down as he writes to make way for townhouses.

Philip’s mother died during his birth, and aside from a motherly maid, Mrs. Weir, he grew up in a house without a woman. Morphew, the butler, looked after his and his father’s needs.

After school, he went abroad for work, but returned after seven or eight years “invalided,” in bad health and in poor spirits, “disappointed with my first trial in life.”

While he and his father weren’t close, they got along well enough. Philip didn’t have to make a living, but he was bummed that at thirty, he was hanging around the house. His father, at seventy, was hanging around the house, too, but he was busy. A lot of mail made its way to the house.

One day, a life-size portrait of a lovely young girl arrived. Mr. Canning Senior explained that it was from a cousin of Philip’s mother, with whom he did not get along. The cousin had recently passed away and willed the painting to Philip’s father.

The two of them hang it on a wall in a drawing room that hasn’t been used much. It gave the appearance that she might step off the painting into the room.

Philip’s father explains the young lady is Philip’s mother. This didn’t occur to Philip. The reader has probably been shouting it at him.

Later, when Philip is reading alone in his room, he feels his “heart leap.” He has no idea what’s going on, but some unseen force is leading him to his father in his library. Once he gets there, his heart calms down, but he can’t explain what bringing him to the library.

Thoughts:

This is a slow burn of a tale. Even after the fire is lit, it mostly smolders. After reading about Philip’s early life, perhaps one-third of the way through the narrative, when the heart-leaping starts, the reader is told something to the effect of, “And here is where my story begins.”

The story is told with sadness and a request for compassion for the less fortunate, especially family members, even if your own life is not ideal.

While this is not a long piece, I think many 21st-century readers, particularly those not used to Victorian literature, will find it a slog. It is a while before something interesting happens, and even then, it’s more confusing than interesting.

I found the story long and the ending predictable, but not unpleasant. It was a nice, easy read, but the length may put off most readers.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (1:46:36)

Bio: Mrs. Margaret Oliphant’s (1828-1897) literary output totals nearly two hundred works, including novels, short fiction, and various articles. She cranked them out, in part, to pay the bills.

She lost her husband to tuberculosis (then referred to as “consumption”). Three of their six children died before reaching adulthood. Oliphant outlived even those who did. She also supported an alcoholic brother, Willie, and another brother, Frank, after his bankruptcy, in addition to various nieces and nephews.

Her early novels include a sensation novel, Salem Chapel. Later in life, she wrote supernatural stories. Most of her work reflects her Scottish heritage and her religious reverence, as well as the personal tragedies she suffered.

Happily, she developed a close relationship with the Blackwoods of Blackwood’s Magazine, who would at times offer her assignments in addition to publishing her short stories and serialized novels.

Title: “The Portrait”
Author: Margaret Oliphant (1828-1897)
First published: The Open Door, and the Portrait: Stories of the Seen and the Unseen, 1881
Length: novelette

Review of “Passing of a God” by Henry S. Whitehead: Halloween Countdown

14) “Passing of a God” by Henry S. Whitehead

Plot:

Gerald Canevin is an American writer living in the Virgin Islands. While visiting his friend, Dr. Pelletier of the U.S. Navy Medical Corps, he hears the story of the doctor’s patient, Arthur Carswell. The 45-year-old American Carswell sought treatment two years earlier in Port-au-Prince for an abdominal tumor diagnosed in the States. The doctors in the States told him it was fatal, so he’s not expecting a miracle.

Dr. Pelletier and Canevin discuss spirit possession and the Haitian idea of demigods, “like Ogoun Badagris, Damaballa, and others taking up residence for a short time in some devotee.” Canevin pushes him to get to the point.

Dr. Pelletier says Carswell spent about seven years in the interior of Haiti and got to know Haitians. When he came to Pelletier’s clinic, he appeared fit, although there seemed to be a bit of flabbiness about him. His fingers and thumbs appeared swollen and looked sore, as though a string had been wound around them. He then shows Dr. Pelletier the protrusion on his belly. It hasn’t given him much trouble until recently. Is there anything to be done?

The doctor describes the tumor as about the size of a man’s head. After taking X-rays, Dr. Pelletier agrees to remove the growth surgically.

But the growth turns out to be something completely unexpected.

Thoughts:

On the one hand, this is a nice and creepy little tale, even if told in a comfortable, safe room, long after the events have concluded. On the other, it relies on mythical voodoo practices, “devilish deities” among Haitians, that the author doesn’t necessarily understand or wish to take time to investigate.

While there are things to recommend this little tale—humor in Canevin’s impatience, and the doctor’s dithering over which cigarette to choose, for example—this one did not click with me. The ending isn’t a surprise, the buildup is much longer than it needs to be, and the twist is more of a gross-out than a shock, IMseldomHO.

I couldn’t find a text version of this story.

This story can be listened to here: (45:26)

Bio: Henry S. Whitehead (1882-1932) was an American writer and clergyman. He served as an Episcopalian Archdeacon in the Virgin Islands. He drew upon the local folklore for many of his short stories, particularly those involving Gerald Canevin, who was, whaddya know, a writer and a church-going Christian. He was a friend and a correspondent with H. P. Lovecraft, with whom he collaborated on two short stories.

Title: “Passing of a God”
Author: Henry S. Whitehead (1882-1932)
First published: A Dead of Night, 1931
Length: short story
Series: Gerald Canevin

Review of “The Metamorphosis” by Franz Kafka: Halloween Countdown: Halloween Countdown

13) “The Metamorphosis” by Franz Kafka

Plot:

Gregor Samsa wakes up to find himself transformed into some form of vermin. This doesn’t provoke the panic that one might think. Gregor has more important things on his mind—first, he has to get out of bed, and that’s difficult to do with a domed back and a bunch of little legs.

He’s late! Did he sleep through his alarm? He has to get up and get to the train. He can’t risk losing his job. His aged parents and little sister depend on him.

His father and his sister talk to him from the next rooms, telling him what time it is. He knows. He struggles to get out of bed. He struggles to stand upright.

Is that the doorbell? Did the office really send someone to check on him? Oh, how will he get out of this?

The head clerk? Oh, why did it have to be the head clerk? He’ll be right there—doesn’t anyone understand him?

His father tells Gregor’s mother and sister to go for a locksmith.

Now he struggles to unlock the door—he no longer has opposable thumbs. He usually locks his door at night. He takes the key in his mouth and tries to turn it. This is difficult, for he no longer has teeth. He harms himself doing this, for liquid runs down his mouth.

He sees the head clerk, who says only, “Oh,” puts his hand over his mouth, and backs away. His mother sits down. His father stares at him with hostility.

Gregor speaks, trying to assure the head clerk that he will be down in a moment. He loves his job. Before he’s finished, the clerk has vanished.

Thoughts:

Greater minds than mine have spilled much ink and sent untold electrons into cyberspace analyzing this story. Does it have to do with Kafka’s difficult relationship with his father? The struggle of the artist in an uncaring world? The world’s disregard for the working man? Sure. Whatever. Maybe. I dunno. I doubt I can add much to those discussions.

As a reader, I initially got a feeling of humor. In the original language, the description of the “monstrous vermin” that poor Gregor finds himself to be is “ungeheueres Ungeziefer”—nice and alliterative.

Who hasn’t gotten up late, slept through an alarm, or worse, dreamed of getting up late and a series of frustrations that conspire to prevent you from even getting to work or school? The dreams only cease when the alarm goes off, or better still, when you wake up fifteen minutes before the alarm goes off.

Not too many people wake up to find they can’t get out of bed because they’ve physically transformed into a bug.

Popularly, Gregor is depicted as a cockroach, but from the reading, it sounds more like a beetle, or maybe a ladybug. He speaks in what appears to him to be a normal voice, but no one understands him. This, too, is like a frustrating nightmare. His sister Grete arranges food for him—for a while.

He was proud of his role as family breadwinner, even though he hated his job, despite what he told others. Now that he can no longer work, his parents and his sister must find some source of income. They take in boarders, but that doesn’t work well with Gregor in the house. He can’t leave or go anywhere else that would be more convenient for those around him.

The family loves and cherishes Gregor when he provides for them. When they must provide for him, they revile him. He is unworthy of their caretaking. In disgust, his father throws an apple at him, which lodges in his carapace. Oddly, Gregor accepts this treatment. He doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t rebel against the way his family treats him.

The horror is not that he is inexplicably changed into something ugly, unproductive, that needs to be cared for, and something that cannot communicate with his family. The horror lies in how quickly his family views one of their own as disposable. Furthermore, Gregor accepts his family’s verdict and comes to see himself as disposable.

I can recommend this story to anyone who isn’t bothered by indeterminate, not necessarily happy endings. It is short and can easily be read in a single sitting.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here:

Bio: Franz Kafka (1883-1924) was a German-speaking Czech born in Prague, a city then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. He trained as a lawyer and took a job at an insurance company. In general, his writing deals with absurdity, bureaucratic black holes, and alienation. “Kafkaesque,” drawn from Kafka’s writings, depicts a situation that is confusing as if by design, nightmarishly complex, and with no clear way out. It often involves bureaucracy or government officials.

Kafka’s best-known works include Der Prozess (1925; The Trial) and the story Die Verwandlung (1915; The Metamorphosis).

Kafka died in obscurity, having instructed his friend and literary executor, Max Brod, to burn all his writings at his death. Brod defied Kafka’s directive and edited and published many of Kafka’s writings after the latter’s death. Many of Kafka’s known writings were published posthumously.

Title: “The Metamorphosis”
Author: Franz Kafka (1883-1924)
First published: 1937 (English), originally “Die Verwandlung.” Die Weißen Blätter: Eine Monatsschrift, vol. 1, #10 (October 1915) (German)
Length: novella

Review of “The Master of Hollow Grange” by Sax Rohmer: Halloween Countdown

12) “The Master of Hollow Grange” by Sax Rohmer

Plot:

Jack Dillon arrives at Hollow Grange seeking rest and quiet while a storm is brewing. He’s recovering from a war wound. No one appears to greet him. He tells the taxi driver to leave his baggage at the gate and walks up the winding, confusing drive to the gloomy house.

He senses that he’s crossed into fairy. Is this the front door? When he sees a young woman snoozing on the couch, he dubs her Sleeping Beauty.

She lets him in, obviously expecting him. Her name is Phyrné, and Jack finds her beautiful.

“How I envy Hypereides!” he said.

“A blush quickly stained the lovely face of Phyrné, and the roguish eyes were lowered, whereby penitent Dillon, who had jested in the not uncommon belief that a pretty girl is necessarily brainless, knew that the story of the wonder-woman of Thespiæ was familiar to her modern namesake.

‘I am afraid,’ declared Phyrné, ‘that you are very wicked.’”

Bummer for Jack! He’s not dealing with an empty-headed pretty little thing, but someone who understands the insult he’s dealt her.

The arrival of his host, Dr. Kassimere, saves him from further foot-in-mouth disease. Dr. Kassimere welcomes him as the son of a friend. Jack finds his appearance repulsive and compares it to the Egyptian god Thoth. As something of a doctor, he can help our hero recover from his (unspecified) war wound in peace.

Dr. Kassimere spends most of his day in scientific research in his lab, but never discusses what he’s researching. Hmmm… it must be black magic or something equally nefarious.

Phyrné is Dr. Kassimere’s adopted daughter. Her father was Louis Devant, a famous Paris cartoonist, who died penniless in 1911.

While in a local watering hole called the Thresher Inn, Jack hears that Dr. Kassimere has had other young men as guests. They’ve died or disappeared mysteriously. The local parson won’t talk to Dr. Kassimere. Hmmm… it must be black magic or something equally nefarious.

The bar patron tells our hero: “[Parson] spoke about them heathen women livi’ on an island—sort of female Robinson Crusoes, I make ‘em out, I do—as saves poor shipwrecked sailors from the sea and strangles of ‘em ashore.”

Is he saying Phyrné is a Siren?

What does that matter? Jack flies back to Hollow Grange, now madly in love with her. He will ask Dr. Kassimere for her hand. (Hint to Jack: talking to the lady involved increases the chances of a happy outcome).

Thoughts:

This tale makes for a great little adventure, but unless I’m being dense, some things don’t add up. I understand why Jack would fall in love with Phyrné—he’s lonely, in a strange place, and she’s beautiful as well as intelligent—but what does she see in him? He’s insulted her, assumed she was stupid, and, in general, been a jerk to her. He doesn’t court her. She should fall for him because he’s wonderful?

Why doesn’t the evil Dr. Kassimere object? Well, truth be told, he’s got plans. You know, black magic or something equally nefarious.

I had fun with this odd, puzzling little story, but there’s a lot that’s left unexplained. The little lady simply falls in line because that’s what little ladies do, especially the pretty ones, you know. I’m being a little unfair; our hero does get a chance to play knight in shining armor, but the damsel in distress never gets to hear the details. No need to trouble her pretty little head, you know.

I can recommend it despite its flaws. It is fun.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (37:17)

Bio: Sax Rohmer (legal name: Arthur Henry Sarsfield Ward) (1883-1959) was a UK stage lyricist, journalist, and author. He created the character Fu Manchu and wrote fourteen works based on the evil mastermind, beginning with the 1913 The Mystery of Fu Manchu. Early in his career, he wrote lyrics for the music halls and some mysteries. He served in the First World War.

Title: “The Master of Hollow Grange”
Author: Sax Rohmer
First published: The New Magazine, June 1918
Length: short story