Reviews of Old and New Stories. Mostly Old

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

Review of “Man-Size in Marble” by Edith Nesbit: Halloween Countdown

11) “Man-Size in Marble” by Edith Nesbit

Plot:

Newlyweds Jack and Laura find a cottage in the country at a fantastic price (uh-oh) and move in. It was once part of a larger house, but with a little work and a couple of trips into town, they have the perfect place for Jack to paint and Laura to write her little verses.

It’s near a centuries-old church. Along with its ancient interior, there are two knights in armor in effigy laid out near the altar.

Jack and Laura hire Mrs. Dorman “to do” for them because they’re helpless in matters of housekeeping.

After three happy months of married life, Jack comes back from visiting their neighbor, an Irish doctor, to find Laura weeping. Mrs. Dorman wants to leave. When will they find time to work if they have to do the housework?

Jack talks to Mrs. Dorman, who remains adamant about leaving. Her daughter is ill. Her daughter is always ill.

When Jack presses her about leaving, Mrs. Dorman says the knights in the church were evil men. They’re only in the church because their families had money. On October 31—this coming Friday—they sit up and walk to their old house, the cottage where Jack and Laura are living. No one wants to be in their path.

Jack is annoyed, but thinks Mrs. Dorman wants nothing more than a few days off. He acquiesces and allows her to come back the following week.

She leaves, and Jack and Laura spend a couple of days living as the other half does. Laura even manages some edible steak and potatoes.

Friday night, Halloween night, Jack steps out for a pipe. He goes for a walk and hears footsteps. He goes to the church to see the knights so he can tell Mrs. Dorman they stayed put.

They aren’t there.

He dashes back toward the cottage and Laura, but runs into the Irish doctor, who is out late on a call. Seeing how frantic Jack is, the doctor takes him back to the church. The two effigies are right where they always are, but something is wrong.

Thoughts:

On the one hand, this is a creepy little story. The ending, however, is visible from a couple of miles away.

A few other things occurred to me while reading this. First, Laura is a shrinking violet. Jack finds her in tears when she hears Mrs. Dorman will be leaving them. Oh, no! They’ll have to do the housework themselves for a whole week! How will they ever have time to do their artwork?

They make do while she’s gone for a couple of days. Jack doesn’t tell her what’s really going on with Mrs. Dorman because it’s silly, and he doesn’t want to try his little wife’s nerves.

Yet, she turns out to be made of sterner stuff than the reader is led to believe. In the time they’re in the cottage, she also brings in the most money, writing stories from Mrs. Dorman’s tales. What makes her act so dependent?

While I found the tale not without merit, it also annoyed me. And it is primarily sad. I’m on the fence about recommending this one.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (34:05)

Bio: British author Edith Nesbit Bland (1835-1915) is now best known for her several children’s book series: the Bastable series, the Psammead series, and the House of Arden series, among other children’s books.

She wrote children’s tales of adventure, fantasy, and magic, as well as more realistic stories. Her best-known works include The Story of the Treasure Seekers (1899), The Wouldbegoods (1901), The Revolt of the Toys, What Comes of Quarreling (1902), and The Railway Children (1906).

Additionally, she wrote fiction for adults and poetry.

She and her husband, Hubert Bland, were among the founders of the Fabian Society, a democratic socialist organization that still exists. It attracted people such as George Bernard Shaw, a friend of the Blands. Its goal is to slowly bring about lasting social change rather than through sudden radical change or revolution. Nesbit and her husband edited the Society’s journal, Today, and entertained friends and colleagues at their home.

Title: “Man-Size in Marble”
Author: Edith Nesbit
First published: Home Chime, December 1887
Length: short story

Review of “His Unconquerable Enemy” by W. C. Morrow: Halloween Countdown

10) “His Unconquerable Enemy” by W. C. Morrow

Plot:

Our hero performs “a difficult surgical operation on one of the women of a great [unnamed] rajah’s household.” In return, the rajah invites him to stay at his palace for as long as he likes.

The rajah is a man of “noble character,” but “possessed a sense of cruelty purely Oriental in contrast to the indolence of his disposition.”

A male servant in the household, named Neranya, loves his master. In a fit of anger, he fatally stabs a dwarf. As punishment, the rajah has Neranya’s arm severed with an ax. (YIKES) The axman does such a poor job that the narrator has to surgically sever the stump to preserve Neranya’s life.

When he’s feeling better, Neranya tries to stab the rajah with his remaining arm—another poor choice on his part. Things go downhill for Neranya from there.

Thoughts:

Not long after finishing the first page, I realized I first read this story during the dark ages, long before the internet, in some anthology that included an introductory note praising the imagination of writers of yesteryear and wondering how anyone could forget such an ingenious tale. I was a lot younger then and thought I was about to enjoy an overlooked gem.

Sometimes, there are reasons gems are overlooked. I remember being repulsed by the whole thing from beginning to end and thinking that it could go on being forgotten.

On the one hand, the author shows skill in building tension every step of the way. On the other, the poor, punished servant is a pitiful character, whose fate is uncomfortable to read about on several levels—even if he is a murderer.

While it’s tricky to judge an old work by present-day standards, I can say unequivocally that I found the piece annoyingly steeped in Orientalism, coupled with an ICK factor that repelled me. The rajah is a man of character, but also of indolence and cruelty. His servant loves him, but he’s hot-tempered, due to probable “Malay blood in his veins.”

I didn’t like this story any more on the second reading years later in my cynical old age than I did the first time around decades earlier in my wide-eyed innocent youth, though I can now appreciate its craftsmanship. Just the same, I would have to say it is an unqualified never mind. There are so many better stories to read.

This story can be read here:

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

Bio: W. C. (William Chambers) Morrow (1854-1923) was an American writer, journalist, playwright, and teacher. He was born in Selma, Alabama, to a slave-holding family. After the Civil War and Reconstruction, his family owned and ran a hotel. He moved to California in 1879, where he submitted stories to The Argonaut and The San Francisco Examiner. Ambrose Bierce admired his writing and his 1899 essay, “To Train a Writer.” Roughly half a dozen stories were re-published (posthumously) in Weird Tales.

Title: “His Unconquerable Enemy”
Author: W. C. (William Chambers) Morrow (1854-1923)
First published: The Argonaut, March 11, 1889
Length: short story

Review of “The Haunted and the Haunters” by Edward Bulwer-Lytton: Halloween Countdown

9) “The Haunted and the Haunters” by Edward Bulwer-Lytton

Plot:

The unnamed narrator of this story is happy to hear of a haunted house in London that no one seems to be able to spend more than a night or two in. A friend of his recounts how he and his wife booked rooms for a week, but neither could stay in the place after the third night. His friend is vague about exactly what bothered him. He spoke only of “an undefinable terror… whenever we passed by the door of a certain unfurnished room.”

Our hero takes his servant F— and his dog (oh, just put a red shirt on the poor wee beastie!) and engages the house.

The owner, Mr. J—, who has recently returned from service abroad and inherited the house, warns him that no one, not even he, is comfortable in it. Most people flee in terror after a single night. Later, they cannot say what terrified them. No two parties tell the same story. The narrator and his servant can’t say no one warned them.

The dog has more sense than either of the humans and begs to be let out the front door the moment the company crosses the threshold. They talk him into staying. As soon as the humans settle in for the evening, chairs start moving of their own accord, just like they’re not supposed to.

His servant runs past him in terror, begging him to flee. The front door slams shut, and our hero is alone.

Thoughts:

This may sound like slapstick, but it is in deadly earnest. It reflects the mid-19^th-century interest in spiritualism, as well as ancient beliefs in hauntings by evil and wronged people. But it also blathers on about “scientific” notions of the true nature of spirits. They are not supernatural per se, but are human in origin and should therefore be something one can deal with.

Our hero finds letters that hint at dark things, without giving too many details. Later, the candles dim—along with the fire in the fireplace—someone takes the letters, and he witnesses a series of violent and tragic vignettes play out almost as if he were in a theater. He is powerless, but he refuses to give in to fear.

The author goes on—and on— in places. When trying to account for things like furniture moving on its own, he reasons that there must be a human—a medium, perhaps—behind the phenomena, similar to the way people influence others through mesmerism. The human would have extraordinary capabilities, but he would be a human, not a supernatural entity. This is philosophy, not superstition.

Many things are involved. As a good old-fashioned Victorian novel that wants to rise above all that medieval nonsense and still play with the occult, this tale might strike the modern reader as a bit much. When I first read it as a kid and again some years ago, I didn’t care for it. I admit, it takes some effort to work through, but it’s not irredeemable. It is, however, quite sad.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here:

Bio: Edward Bulwer-Lytton (1803-1873) was an English politician and popular English author and writer in his day. Among his books are Pelham, The Last Days of Pompeii, and Godolphin. He contributed many common phrases to everyday speech: “The pen is mightier than the sword” and “the great unwashed.” His greatest contribution (ask Snoopy) is perhaps the opening to his 1830 novel, Paul Clifford: “It was a dark and stormy night.”

Title: “The Haunted and the Haunters; or, the House and the Brain”
Author: Lord Edward Bulwer-Lytton (legal name: Sir Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton) (1803-1873)
First published: Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, August 1859
Length: novelette

Review of “The Gateway of the Monster” by William Hope Hodgson: Halloween Countdown

8) “The Gateway of the Monster” by William Hope Hodgson

Plot:

Upon his return, Carnacki, the occult detective, invites Dodgson (the narrator, whose name curiously resembles the author’s), along with their friends Arkright, Jessop, and Taylor, to dinner. They expect him to regale them with another tale of his strange adventures.

Once they’ve finished dinner, Carnacki launches into his tale, with no interruption from the small audience:

A man he’ll call Anderson asked him to investigate a haunting at his home. When Carnacki arrives, he finds that Anderson can’t come (what?) but that Peter, the butler, will answer his questions. Peter’s worked there for twenty years.

According to the story, one of Mr. Anderson’s ancestors was found strangled in the Grey Room with his wife and child at some indeterminate time in the past. Now, the door to the Grey Room slams loudly all night long, even though the butler knows he’s locked it. In the morning, the bedclothes are on the floor.

Carnacki wasn’t born yesterday. He asks Peter to unlock the room. The butler stands on the threshold, trembling in fear and begging Carnacki to conclude his business with all dispatch. Real danger lurks in this room after dark. Carnacki pooh-poohs the terrified man’s concerns and runs “baby ribbons” over doors, windows, mirrors, the fireplace, and the floor, “sealing” the ends. This will tell him if any material being enters the room and how it got in.

As they’re leaving, Carnacki places his card over the keyhole. No one gets in the easy way. Carnacki also seals the doors on the five rooms between his and the Grey Room.

It’s late now, and the two men turn in.

Before long, the slamming begins. Carnacki gets up to investigate, but finds he can’t get beyond his room, as if some force is holding him back.

In the morning, Peter arrives with coffee, surprised to see Carnacki among the living. The two examine the Grey Room. The seal on the door is broken, but Carnacki’s card over the keyhole remains in place. The bedclothes lie scattered on the floor. None of the baby ribbons has been disturbed.

Carnacki has everything removed from the room except the bed, then examines the room but finds nothing suspicious.

Hmmm… It’s time to get serious.

He goes into town for supplies.

Thoughts:

This was initially published, along with four other Carnacki stories, in The Idler in 1910, introducing the character of Carnacki the Ghost Finder. There is humor alongside horror and dabbling in the occult. Carnacki is adept at setting up protective pentagrams inside circles. The pentagrams and circles are not without their fumblings, however.

In this particular instance, he uses a cat as a canary in a coal mine. A dirty trick. May its ghost haunt him.

The storytelling lends an air of a guy talking to a bunch of guys after dinner, with a bit of alcohol involved. Carnacki entertains his buddies (and the reader) with tales of his adventures, but he is not above poking a little fun at himself. After all, this is supposed to be a good yarn. If Carnacki looks silly for a moment or two, that’s okay. He’ll emerge triumphant.

I enjoyed going along for this ride, though there are a couple of weak spots with respect to credibility. Why would Mr. Anderson ask for Carnacki’s help and then not be available? How could Peter stand twenty years of nightly door-slamming and little sleep without losing his marbles? The first sight of the monster is more strange than scary, and its explanation is a bit of a stretch.

All that aside, I liked this tale. It’s chilling, but doesn’t take itself too seriously.

This story can be read here:

This story can be read and listened to here: (55:30)

Bio: William Hope Hodgson (1877-1918) ran away to sea at a young age and spent nine years as a merchant marine. His experiences at sea affected his writing and poetry. His occult detective, Carnacki, through the force of science, often found rational explanations for odd phenomena—but not always. The short story “Voices in the Night” is regarded as one of his strongest. H. P. Lovecraft praised his novel The Borderlands—conditionally. Hodgson was killed in battle at Ypres in 1918.

Title: ”The Gateway of the Monster”
Author: William Hope Hodgson (1877-1918)
First published: The Idler, January 1910
Length: novelette
Series: Carnacki

Review of “A Chapter in the History of a Tyrone Family” by J Sheridan Le Fanu: Halloween Countdwon

7) “A Chapter in the History of a Tyrone Family” by J Sheridan Le Fanu

Plot:

Our hero, Fanny, is a young heiress whose mother pushes her into a marriage with a middle-aged Lord Glenfallen. He is quite besotted with her and conducts his courtship properly.

Fanny’s parents, though wealthy, are pretty cold to her. Lord Glenfallen is not old or ugly (though he could be younger and more handsome), but she figures living with him will be easier than living with her parents.

They marry with all the bells and whistles, and he takes her to one of his nearby estates, Cahergillagh. Fanny finds the surroundings lovely, but the house gloomy. When the old maid Martha shows her to her room, a black curtain falls across the doorway, making her take a few steps back. Nevertheless, she crosses the threshold again and sees a warm and cozy room with no black curtains. Feeling a little foolish, she tells this to Martha.

“The cross of Christ about us,” Martha says and turns pale.

While he’s showing her around the place and the grounds, the charming Lord Glenfallen turns grave and extracts a promise from Fanny to avoid certain areas of the house. “I do not urge this in jest or in caprice, but from a solemn conviction that danger and misery will be the certain consequences of your not observing what I prescribe.”

Whiffs of Bluebeard much?

The plot thickens. But wait! There’s more.

One day, Fanny runs up to her room to retrieve a bonnet and shawl, only to find her bedroom occupied.

Thoughts:

This story is part of the Purcell Papers, which purport to be the literary collection of the (fictional) late Father Francis Purcell (appeared 1838-1850).

LeFanu creates a heavy, gothic atmosphere. Early in the tale, Fanny’s older sister marries and moves away, leaving Fanny alone. Tragedy strikes, and the sister passes away. Fanny is isolated. Her parents treat her as if she were unimportant, even though she is an heiress.

When she is sixteen, her mother takes her to Dublin to shop her around. That she catches Lord Glenfallen’s eye delights her.

“You are not in love?” her mother asks Fanny. After receiving assurances that she is not, her mother tells her she is glad and launches into a horror story about some silly girl who married for love and came to a bad end.

The tale bears some resemblances to Jane Eyre, but it preceded that novel by some years. The ending, however, differs radically from that of Brontë’s book, and, to be blunt, Lord Glenfallen is no Mr. Rochester.

Fanny has little say in what happens through most of the story, but she does find her feet. Her new husband tells her to stay clear of certain parts of the house without giving her a reason, other than it’s for her safety. She doesn’t raise a fuss.

The vision of the falling black curtain also adds to the atmosphere. Not all the mysteries are explained, but several things are hinted at. (Why does Lord Glenfallen speak Dutch?)

I rather liked this tale. It was not gentle, but this was long before Disney arrived to clean up the blood.

This story was later reworked and expanded by Le Fanu as The Wyvern Mystery (1869).

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (1:35:52)

Bio: Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu (1814-1873) was an Irish writer of Huguenot descent. His early writings include a group of short stories, initially published anonymously in The Dublin University Magazine in the guise of the literary remains of one (fictional) Father Frances Purcell (The Purcell Papers 1838-1850). These range from the creepy (“Strange Event in the Life of Schalken the Painter”) to the silly (“The Quare Gander”).

Le Fanu’s writings include many ghost stories and supernatural pieces. His works influenced such writers as M. R. James and may have inspired portions of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre (1847). His vampire tale, “Carmilla” (1872), influenced Bram Stoker’s Dracula. “Carmilla” has been adapted for film several times with varying degrees of success.

In 1858, his wife died after what was described as a fit of hysteria. Le Fanu ceased writing for years and became a recluse, taking to his bed.

Title: “A Chapter in the History of a Tyrone Family”
Author: J Sheridan Le Fanu (1814-1873)
First published: Dublin University Magazine, October 1839
Length: short story

Review of “Fear” by Achmed Abdullah: Halloween Countdown

6) “Fear” by Achmed Abdullah

I would like to warn the reader that this story, published in 1919, sometimes uses language that would be, at best, insensitive and at worst offensive by today’s standards. It comes with white supremacist/darkest Africa undertones. However, if the two MCs are examples of the master race, we may as well let the dolphins run the show.

Plot:

Stuart McGregor and Farragut Hutchison are two young adventurers and world travelers in the early 20^th century. The reader is told that Hutchison disappeared into the African jungle ten years earlier, and the surviving McGregor is haunted by the last sight of him, walking away with “six giant, plumed, ochre-smear Bakoto” warriors.

In one earlier drunken adventure, Hutchison received an elaborate tattoo on his back in an effort to impress a young lady. It featured an eagle in profile, showing one eye that appears to wink when Hutchison moves or flexes his muscles.

In a subsequent drunken escapade, our heroes (?) “insulted the fetish of the Bakotos” while the men of fighting age were away from the village. They did a “vulgar, intoxicated dance in front of the idol” and ground burning cigar ends into its “squat, repulsive features.” They then looted the village and fled before the warriors returned, all the while looking over their shoulders as they headed toward the coast and the protection of the Union Jack and the comfort of white-people faces, slang, curses, odors, and obscenities.

Dang. Can’t take you boys anywhere.

When McGregor and Hutchison aren’t paying attention, the Bakoto warriors overtake them. Reasonable men, the warriors want payment for the insult and theft. They demand an impossible choice, and Hutchison walks off into the jungle with them. McGregor swears the eagle tattoo winks at him. He is terrified and remains terrified.

Thoughts:

Author Abdullah sets a mood of dread and hidden danger on the first page of the story, describing the African jungle:

“The pall of sodden, stygian darkness all around; the night sounds of soft-winged, obscene things flapping lazily overhead or brushing against the furry trees that held the woolly heat of the tropical day like boiler pipes in a factory; the slimy, swishy things that glided and crawled and wiggled underfoot; the vibrant growl of a hunting lioness that began in a deep basso and peaked to a shrill, high-pitched, ridiculously inadequate treble; a spotted hyena’s vicious, bluffing bark; the chirp and whistle of innumerable monkeys; a warthog breaking through the undergrowth with a clumsy, clownish crash—and somewhere, very far away, the staccato thumping of a signal drum, and more faintly yet the answer from the next in line.”

Sometimes, the drumheads are made with human skin. Uh-huh.

In this brief tale, the author creates an atmosphere not of guilt or pangs of conscience but of fear. The guilty party does not regret his actions or choices. On the contrary, he says he would do the same thing again. He’s simply scared out of his wits, ten years later.

In short, the story is about jerks and karma with a bit of magic and a warning not to piss off gods you don’t understand, even in “darkest Africa.”

I was unfamiliar with the name “Bakoto,” but couldn’t find it anywhere. Perhaps it is an alternative spelling for a real people or, as I strongly suspect, a name the author conjured out of thin air.

I’m on the fence about this one. On the one hand, it shows a coward living in fear and getting his well-deserved comeuppance. On the other, the two main characters bring to mind the s-faced yahoos at the end of the bar who talk too loudly, harass the female barkeep, and remain astonished about why “that miserable bitch” eighty-sixed them. I found reading about them unpleasant, but that’s my take.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (22:04)

Bio: Achmed Abdullah (legal name Alexander Nicholayevitch Romanoff) (1881-1945) is believed to have been born in Yalta, Crimea, of Russian and Afghan heritage, but was educated in Great Britain and served in the British military. He is now best known for his novelization of the 1924 film The Thief of Bagdad, but wrote widely for the pulps following WWI, publishing some one hundred short stories between 1915 and 1939. While little of his life story can be verified, he claimed to have been a spy for the British military and to have traveled widely in the Far East and Middle East.

Title: “Fear”
Author: Achmed Abdullah (legal name Alexander Nicholayevitch Romanoff) (1881-1945)
First published: Detective Story Magazine, February 4, 1919
Length: short story

Review of “The Door in the Wall” by H.G. Wells: Halloween Countdown

5) “The Door in the Wall” by H. G. Wells

Plot:

Redmond tells the reader he’s relating the story as Lionel Wallace told it to him. He and Wallace were in school together for a while, during which Wallace outperformed him in everything. Even now, Wallace, at 39, is a successful politician who has attained a Cabinet position.

When Wallace was five or six, he happened across a green door in a white wall that led him into a garden of wonders. He found two panthers that played with him. He did not fear them. He met a girl and two boys. Try as he might, he could never remember the games they played. A grave but kind woman showed him a book with moving pictures that depicted the story of his life.

He found himself outside the garden, back in the city he knew, crying inconsolably. When he tried to explain where he’d been, his father thrashed him for lying.

In adulthood, he’s seen the green door three times, but never walked through it. Each time, he was busy with some important matter and couldn’t take the time to investigate.

“Three times in one year the door has been offered me—the door that goes into peace, into delight, into a beauty beyond dreaming, a kindness no man on earth can know. And I have rejected it, Redmond, and it has gone—”

Thoughts:

This story strikes me more as fantasy than horror, though it has horror elements. It is primarily a sad story rather than a frightening one.

The reader understands from the beginning that Wallace is mourning something, and Redmond states that he is convinced his companion believes the story. Redmond says, “whether [Wallace] himself saw, or only thought he saw, whether he himself was the possessor of an inestimable privilege, or the victim of a fantastic dream, I cannot pretend to guess.”

The dreaminess of the garden contrasts with the stark realities of everyday life. Wallace must rush to appointments for academic exams or other obligations. He can’t stop for another trip to paradise. At one point, he tells Redmond, “You say, I have success—this vulgar, tawdry, irksome, envied thing. I have it.”

The reader can’t help but feel for Wallace. Redmond feels a bit of jealousy, too, for he recalls how Wallace outshone him almost effortlessly in school. The grass is always greener. The reason Wallace confides in Redmond isn’t clear.

While the ending of the story wasn’t a surprise, I still felt sorry for poor Wallace. Redmond leaves the end of the story open to some speculation as to whether the garden was “real” or all in Wallace’s mind. I can recommend this story, but because of the sadness involved, it may not be the best one for the kiddies.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (53:25)

Bio: H(erbert) G(eorge) Wells (1866-1946) was a UK journalist, social critic, and author. He is now best known for his science fiction, including The Time Machine (1895), The Island of Dr. Moreau (1895), and The Invisible Man (1897). He also addressed such issues as history and the future, and wrote non-fantastic novels such as Kipps (1905), Tono-Bungay (1909), and Ann Veronica (1909), for which he was famous in his day.

Title: “The Door in the Wall”
Author: H. G. Wells (1866-1946)
First published: The Daily Chronicle, July 14, 1906
Length: short story