When I was little I lay awake, scared of the dark.
Spooky things were out to get me, and I knew who conjured them up. Witches! But witches weren’t realWhen I was little I lay awake, scared of the dark.
Spooky things were out to get me, and I knew who conjured them up. Witches! But witches weren’t real … my parents had told me so. Yet I could see them in my imagination. How could I conjure something like that out of nothing? If I could see them in my mind’s eye, then they must be real. I lay there petrified, quietly sobbing to myself, lest the witches hear me.
Eventually my mother gently opened the door. “Is it a nightmare?” she asked, and I tried to explain. Somehow it was difficult. “Are witches real?” No. But … and eventually I expressed what I thought she was bound to laugh at.
“Can I make them real just by thinking about it?”
“No”. It was said seriously but said too quickly. Full of worry we talked some more, and then my father came in. A questioning look from my mother. “Shall we ask him?” A pause. “Yes,” I said in a small, scared voice.
To his credit my father did not answer straight away. He thought for a long time and then said “I don’t think so, no.”
“But are you sure?” “Yes, I don’t think you can make something become real just by thinking about it.”
I’m not sure I believed him, but I did get to sleep that night.
Even now it is a powerful feeling, that we can conjure up something terrifyingly evil, immense and unstoppable, just by believing it it. The relationship between superstition and horror is somehow built into all our psyches, popping out nastily when we least expect it.
It’s a great premise for a book, and the Irish author A.M. Shine bought into it with The Creeper.
I was intrigued by the Prologue:
“Fiona knew before hearing the operator’s voice that she was beyond saving. There was nowhere she could hide that it wouldn’t find her.”
Ah yes, I remembered, this is an Irish author, very probably inspired by folklore, history and mythology. The use of “it” stood out; folk horror then, although I knew that the author was known for writing “gothic horror”. His debut novel “The Watchers” in 2021 was critically acclaimed, and has been made into a film. Plus this one, written the next year, had been chosen as a monthly read in a group I’m a member of.
“It’s at the window. It’s smiling at me”
That was enough. I bought it on kindle … and from then on the wretched book went rapidly downhill, so that by the end I was heartily sick of it.
We learn straightaway that Fiona Quinn is (view spoiler)[doomed (hide spoiler)] with the entrance of a detective Eamon Barry, although this is inserted as a general teaser, and the main action in the novel swiftly swerves away.
It’s always a bad sign when we are so conscious of the actual writing. By chapter 4 I was distracted from what was happening by the amateurish writing, and getting fed up with all the similes. Everything seemed to be “like” something else; the author used the word “like” 534 times in this average-length book. Admittedly sometimes this might be use of the verb “to like”, but equally this does not count similes which use “as” or “than”. It really feels as if the author is practising a creative writing exercise. I expect better.
The novel also did not seem to have been very well proofread. There were quite a few typos, for example “too” instead of “two” in “her legs are too different lengths”… and at one point it did not make sense that one person said something when it was clearly said by another. I don’t expect every book I read to become an instant classic, but I do expect at least competent writing.
Yet I remained curious; a sucker for a story. Everything was in place now to tell a good yarn. We are introduced to Ben French, an historian with a knack for charming stories out of the elderly (and who inexplicably works with an outmoded cassette tape recorder! Surely anyone who has ever experienced mangled tapes and jammed heads would agree that there are more reliable methods, especially for recording essential interviews in out of the way places.) Ben has been unable to get a job commensurate with his qualifications since university. He feels as though he is letting everyone down: both his parents and his child (the result of a one-night stand). Then he receives a “project proposal” from an stranger.
Soon after we meet Chloe Coogan, a pert and pretty (of course!) archaeologist at the start of her career. Her field is the archaeology of indigenous communities in the nineteenth century. They have each been handpicked by a mysterious academic, Dr. Alec Spalding, who stresses that they are “perfect candidates” for his task, for which they will be paid handsomely. Greed (and lust, in the case of Ben) seem to succeed over any more cautious and more rational approach to check the credentials of their new employer, which is of course what the elusive Dr. Sparling is banking on. They agree to investigate the existence of a village which he tells them has been isolated from the rest of humanity for 200 years. How could this not be a great story?
One answer to that might be that the title is the creepiest thing about it. Or that it uses every tired trope in the book. Or that the two main characters are flat, gauche and unbelievable. Or … but I should give some examples.
The similes then. I think they first started to annoy me when I read:
“the lumps of stone rose through the weeds like distant dolphins.”
What? I think I can honestly say that I have never mistaken rocks in a desolate landscape for frolicking sea creatures. It did absolutely nothing to heighten the bleak atmosphere the author was trying to create, but just made me laugh! This author is supposed to be concerned with “all things literary and macabre” according to the blurb. I had seen little of either so far.
Not only was The Creeper hopelessly inept at creating atmosphere, but Ben and Chloe’s relationship echoed the worst kind of 1940-50s films. Whenever the action should have been at its most menacing, there was Ben lying alone in the tent they shared, getting distracted by Chloe’s legs and wondering whether to put his trousers on; or thinking to himself “raise your eyes, don’t stare at her breasts ... skimpy clothes” etc. Have we really got no further than this in the 21st century? The tale was always told from this adolescent boy’s point of view. One-dimensional stereotypes ... ah, but Chloe would not have fitted into a 1950s set-up because she swears like a trooper. Presumably this was a crass attempt to prove to us that she was empowered. Oh but wait, she’s small and pretty, so that Ben can show his gallant side by wanting to protect her. What decade are we in here? In fact what century? This is pure pulp. And with the underwear scene, pure farce too. A.M. Shine should perhaps have written a comedy.
When we got on to the villagers, it was just embarrassingly bad. I wanted to throw my kindle across the room.
By now I could see where the “gothic” tag came from. It came from the Victorians who believed that physical disabilities such as blindness or lack of hearing were the direct result of sins of the parents or grandparents. This led to such children being hidden away as sources of shame, and this would continue to adulthood. Anyone differently abled would have virtually no life at all, even if one kind person took pity on their situation and tried to shield them. Well let’s all breathe a sigh of relief then that 2 centuries later, this no longer applies in Western Europe.
But doesn’t it? The people in the village of Tír Mallacht have been isolated, not just for one lifetime but for hundreds of years. We are told the gene pool is restricted, and disease and injury are rife, so that:
“Every countenance carried some feature awry, or ever so slightly askew. Though not overly conspicuous in some cases, such peculiarities were ever present … contorted from labour or defect of birth … there was tiredness and there was sadness, and there was also distrust amidst the ugliness.”
The author stresses the “impoverishment ill health and oddity … filth and gormlessness.”
I probably don’t need to give more examples; the message is clear. Ugly = evil, and such people are to be feared as the source of horror. This is the worst sort of folk horror, peopled by characters and “human monsters” from the absolute golden turkey sci-fi films of the 50s. There is an abundance of “de-” words “deranged, deformed, disturbed, dysfunctional” and so on, appealing to the hive mentality that anyone different from the norm should be ostracised as they are bound to be deranged maniacs. Which they are. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy; a trope of the worst kind that any self-respecting author should be ashamed of perpetuating.
It isn’t even consistent. For instance, the author seems to be obsessed with the villagers’ dead eyes:
“Eyes as opaque marbles; lightless and veiled with shadow” … “cloudy eyes” … “dead eyes” … “glassy eyes” …“eyes were lifeless prosthetics.”
Any originality in the descriptions (and there is little enough of it) just misfires completely, such as “making her freckles glow like embers” (that I would like to see!) or “The press of his boots on the earth was like an insect crawling on skin.” Or how about the laughable “[The] heavy hand of uncertainty was brushed away before it could hold him back.”
But to resume the eye obsession, there seems to be no consistency. We are told of their “herd mentality … they all behaved the same and looked equally as feeble”, yet:
“Some of them wore hoods, with their beady eyes peering out from the shadows like jewels in muddy water.”
And then:
“her eyes were striking, glossy copper laced with reams of golden thread that snared the sunlight.”
Yes, this “poetic” description is of another of the villagers with their cloudy, dead eyes. Or was it beady eyes? By now it is merely confused.
And it gets worse. What about the “Creeper”? Do they exist? It would be a let-down if not. Yet as the novel staggers on to the ending, the inconsistencies are highlighted. (view spoiler)[The villagers have kept a “chosen one”, to routinely torture and operate on so that he is in permanent agony. (This idea briefly reminded me of Ursula K. Le Guin's excellent “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas”.) Then he is set free to terrify selected victims, and embody the words: (hide spoiler)]
“Three times you see him The first night he’s far far away The next night he’s closer So close that you can see him and he can see you On the third night his big ugly face is at your window The fourth night is your last, because then uh-oh.”
The “uh-oh” completely destroys the words’ power. A shame, as the idea of three is a recurring magical concept, but hitting a wrong note is par for the course with this book.
Even now, there might be a hope of rescuing this sorry tale. (view spoiler)[Ben and Chloe, having discovered the poor tortured body in a shuttered hut, are keen to rescue him - or Chloe is at least (not that this is a sexual stereotyope, of course). We readers are not so sure. Isn’t this the Creeper?
We know that the Creeper is a “deformed and deranged” human. We have been told by the little girl who quotes the chant, and Nu with the striking eyes, that the Creeper “used to be a man”. Ben knows he was a man, and at the end he bargains with him, and sacrifices himself to save his daughter. However, the Creeper has to be a supernatural entity, in order to get across the country to where he is supposed to appear next. How could this tortured body, in permanent agony, who can only attack when physically placed by others in position on top of a victim, a hammer put in his hand and his legs cracked and bent into shape each time so that he can kneel … how can he then be strong enough to kill people? It is ridiculous!
The million dollar question is, if he is a real man in permanent agony, how can he then appear in the right place at the right time? And this is where the cheat comes in. The Creeper isn’t a real man at all, but a supernatural entity, whom nobody would be able to bargain with. Nor would the unbelievably amoral Alec sit there like a lemon while the fire takes hold. He is able-bodied. He's not drugged. Why doesn’t he put it out?
It makes no sense. One way to resolve this could be that the Creeper could have been one of the earlier researchers who had disappeared, but had in actuality been subject to their torture rituals, and was now stuck there. We had learned that the Creeper was the way he was, because he had been tortured into that shape. Or Nu, with the striking eyes and mishapen head, might turn out to be Carole, an earlier researcher who had been tortured. That was a lost opportunity I thought, and might have rescued this book from the “ugly = evil” trope.
And what is the point of leaving a “next generation” child, and a frightened, blackmailed detective, both of whom are inconsequential but nicely placed ready for a possible follow-up novel, if you have killed off the threat? (hide spoiler)]
“The superstition would die and so would its monsters.”
A nice idea, but this story does not work.
There are many more problems with this book, but I have written enough. I do not like to give a newish author such a low rating, but the book has so many faults that I cannot in honesty say “it was OK” (i.e. Goodreads’ two star rating). As mentioned, A.M. Shine’s first novel “The Watchers” was well received and has been filmed. As I read this one, I thought at times that it read like a screenplay, so perhaps this one will be too. Nevertheless I feel it is misconceived and badly written, with too many plot holes. It is irritating.
The Complete Adventures of Peter Rabbit is a large format book which contains all 4 stories by Beatrix Potter, which feature Peter Rabbit.
They are “ThThe Complete Adventures of Peter Rabbit is a large format book which contains all 4 stories by Beatrix Potter, which feature Peter Rabbit.
They are “The Tale of Peter Rabbit”, “The Tale of Benjamin Bunny”, “The Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies”, and “The Tale of Mr Tod”.
The original watercolour illustrations from Beatrix Potter’s tiny books are used, but before her stories were ever taken on by a large publisher (Frederick Warne), the author had the Peter Rabbit stories printed privately. This large format volume also includes some of these black and white pen drawings, which is a rare treat.
We can follow the whole family history of Peter Rabbit through these 4 stories. After his adventures in Mr. McGregor’s Garden in the first ever book, Peter grows up to be a respectable vegetable gardener himself! He sometimes helps out his more feckless relations, and now and then gives the odd cabbage to his sister Flopsy (who has married his cousin Benjamin Bunny). We also learn what befalls some of their offspring.
The Flopsy Bunnies unwittingly eat too many lettuces and suffer from the soporific effects, thereby falling straight into the hands of Mr McGregor. The fourth story is twice as long as any of the three preceding ones. In it, Tommy Brock the badger tricks Mr. Tod the fox, and kidnaps another litter of flopsy bunnies, because of the carelessness of their grandfather Old Benjamin Bouncer.
We also discover that Cotton-tail has married the little black rabbit who was sweet on her in a different book. But of the 3 rabbits who were Peter’s sisters, nobody every mentions Mopsy, and we do begin to wonder about Mr McGregor’s fondness for rabbit pie …
“Brambly Hedge runs along the edge of a cornfield. There’s a hornbeam tree, four crabapple trees; a large tree stump overgrown with moss and ivy, some“Brambly Hedge runs along the edge of a cornfield. There’s a hornbeam tree, four crabapple trees; a large tree stump overgrown with moss and ivy, some elderberry bushes, a splendid oak tree, and a clump of hawthorn. Brambles and honeysuckle, foxgloves, ferns and wild roses grow alongside in a tangle of leaves and stems.”
If you, or small children you know, enjoy the Peter Rabbit stories of Beatrix Potter, Alison Uttley’s “Little Grey Rabbit” stories, or Kenneth Grahame’s unforgettable classic “The Wind in the Willows”, then you might enjoy the “Brambly Hedge” books by Jill Barklem. These too are anthropomorphic tales set in the English countryside featuring small, fully dressed woodland creatures. But Jill Barklem narrowed her focus right down, and just wrote books about mice, who live in the roots and trunks of trees and hedgerows surrounding one field, in a small area of countryside.
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Jill Barklem loved the countryside around Epping in Essex, where she grew up. After school she studied at the famous St. Martin’s School of Art in London, and for five years while she commuted on the tube train, she read about traditional English customs, flora and fauna and other related topics which would eventually be portrayed in her stories. Towards the City from Epping, the trains are horrendously overcrowded, so Jill Barklem chose to daydream, and transport herself in her imagination to an oldfashioned peaceful place, with plenty of space, and a friendly community of … mice! The tube train terminates at Epping however, so this part of the return journey is quiet, and yes, you can even get a seat!
As Gillian Gaze, she had written a handful of picture books for Lion publishing and later contributed illustrations for children’s Bibles. She was not satisfied with her work on these however and wanted to draw from nature. Jill Barklem illustrated the “Haffertee Hamster” books by Janet and John Perkins, and continued to be inspired by her observations of nature and the countryside. In 1977 she married David Barklem, an antiques dealer. Her new husband then urged her to use her knowledge and skills as preparation for a series of books, and “Brambly Hedge” was born.
The first four stories were “Spring Story”, “Summer Story”, “Autumn Story”, and “Winter Story”. All were initially published in 1980, in a miniature format and style similar to the books of Beatrix Potter. Since then there have been many new editions and reprints, in various sizes.
“Brambly Hedge is on the other side of the stream, across the field. If you can find it, and if you look very hard among the tangled roots and stems, you may even see a wisp of smoke from a small chimney, or through an open door, a steep flight of stairs deep within the trunk of a tree. For this is the home of the mice of Brambly Hedge.”
“Brambly Hedge” is a charming little world on a small scale. There are Mr. and Mrs. Toadflax and their children, but also their friends and family, who all live in the roots and trunks of trees and hedgerows. Jill Barklem went on to write 6 more “Brambly Hedge” books, the final one being in 2010. She made sure that every recipe for the tasty food enjoyed by the mice at picnics and feasts could actually be made from foraged ingredients. And even the strange contraptions and mechanical implements she created within Brambly Hedge were given the same treatment. She made miniature working models of all the machinery in the mouse mill and dairy.
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"Happy Mouse Mansion"
These books are now almost as popular with adults as with children, mostly for the beautifully busy and detailed artwork and the complete world in miniature that Jill Barklem has created. They have been translated into 13 languages and have sold more than 7 million copies.
As with “Peter Rabbit”, and all the furry and feathered folk of Beatrix Potter, the drawings lend themselves to merchandising. When the first 4 books in the Brambly Hedge series were first published, one large bookstore had a display depicting a kitchen scene from “Winter Story”. The set was 18ft x 6ft and had taken the design team from Collins’ publishing three months to create. The prestigious “Royal Doulton” china features her designs, there are posters, colouring and sticker books, collectables from “Border Fine Arts”, and even Brambly Hedge chocolates! All the titles have been adapted for television; “Winter Story” was first broadcast in the UK on Christmas Day in 1996 and in the US in 1997.
The Brambly Hedge Treasury is an oversize book, so the illustrations are particularly eyecatching. It has an introduction which consists of extra illustrations and text. One complicated watercolour has a numbered diagram of all 10 characters or families in the series alongside, which are shown in the large pictures. You do have to look quite closely though! The publishers say that this series is suitable for ages 3 - 6, but they were very popular in the school which the author’s children, Lizzie and Peter attended, (and where I was the deputy head teacher for a time) and that was for children between 7 and 11 years of age! This was due in a large part to the illustrations, which are like little puzzles, and authentic in their detail. The next double page spread is another numbered watercolour of the field and its environs, again with a key.
The hornbeam tree is where the Toadflax family live, and there are other locations such as Crabapple cottage, Elderberry lodge, Old Oak Palace (where Lord and Lady Woodmouse and their daughter Primrose live), Hawthorn Rise, home of old Mrs. Eyebright, the Dairy Stump, Old Vole’s Hole and so on.
Then there is a section about the history of the families who live in Brambly Hedge, followed by two full length stories (both of which had been previously published separately) “The Secret Staircase” (1983) and “The High Hills” (1986).
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"Crabapple Cottage, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Apple"
It is a visually stunning book, with the Autumnal hues of many beautiful, closely focused and detailed drawings. Jill Barklem’s illustrations top both Beatrix Potter’s and Ernest H. Shepard’s (the original illustrator of “The Wind in the Willows”) in my view. However, I do not find the stories match the quality, and are strangely unmemorable. They are nowhere as engaging as their classic predecessors’ tales.
However I was saddened to hear that this local author had died at the early age of 66. She has left a lasting legacy in the world she created, and the botanically correct and painterly Artwork is loved by millions around the world. These designs well deserve to be lifted from my default, hence I will rate this book at 4 stars....more
Cast your mind right back to your early teenage years … so now, what is the first thing that comes to mind about your school?
Did your thoughts go straCast your mind right back to your early teenage years … so now, what is the first thing that comes to mind about your school?
Did your thoughts go straight to your favourite subjects and the things or skills you learned? The teachers? Your best friend? The other kids? Team-mates, friends and school clubs? Day trips and school journeys? The dread of homework and exams? The long trudge through deep snow in Winter to the freezing classrooms where all the seats by the hot water pipes had already been claimed? (Sorry, that one’s mine!)
It’s likely that the other kids featured quite early in your thoughts. Even if you were home-schooled, you probably knew some other kids with whom you were expected to “get on”. Neighbours, relatives, visitors … and there were probably times when it wasn’t easy. Some people have memories of school which are so terrible that they push them aside, only half-remembering, and might feel uncomfortable even reading this. And for just a few, tragically they never get the chance to have bad memories, because life is so hard that suicide seems preferable.
Most of us don’t experience anything nearly so bad. Yet school lasts for so many years, with so many different encounters and situations, that we can all think of one or two which we wish had not happened. I carried my violin to and from school … and was a prime target for jeers and bullying from kids from other schools for a little while, until I was in a classroom where there was a piano, and my classmates “requested” me to play tunes they knew at lunchtimes. I was lucky; I felt included and appreciated. It even took me a while to recall this time. Others might have suffered the ignominy of regularly never being chosen for the team during sports lessons, and having to “be in reserve” or sit on the side. Or that of being a swot, and a “teacher’s pet”. Or perhaps you were one of the bullies, (shsssh!) and now do not like to think of it?
The publisher’s note after Lonely Castle in the Mirror tells us:
“According to a recent UNICEF report, Japanese children were ranked second-to-last in an international survey assessing children’s mental health across thirty-eight developed and emerging countries. While Japanese children were ranked first in physical health and often live in relatively prosperous economic circumstances, instances of bullying in schools, as well as difficult relationships with family members, lead to a lack of psychological well-being.”
In fact I’ve read another Japanese novel with bullying as the theme, Kawakami Mieko’s “Heaven” which was translated into English a little later, in 2021 (although I couldn’t bear to finish it, as it was so intense). Bullying is evidently a huge problem in Japan.
We see the world here through the eyes of a 12 year old girl, Kokoro. Kokoro is a middle school “freshman” at a Junior High school, and is in the 7th grade. The Japanese school system is evidently similar to the US school system, but the book is so clearly written that the unfamilarity of this, just as the precise naunces of honorifics, and unfamiliar national festivals and holidays, are easy to access by anyone like me, from another culture. (I’m English.) Kokoro has become reluctant and frightened to attend school, after getting bullied by her aggressive female peers. Despite her best efforts and feelings of desperation that she will not be believed, any reminder of school gives her a stomachache. Constant anxiety overwhelms her, and she might not even get out of bed. She remains mostly in her room.
We learn of a traumatic experience at school which leads to Kokoro hiding in her house, (view spoiler)[fearing for her life while her bullies shout and thump on the outside door (hide spoiler)]. Kokoro increasingly withdraws into herself, and finds herself unable to communicate with her parents and teachers.
“We’ll fight this,’ her mother said, her voice trembling. ‘It might be a long battle, but let’s fight it. Let’s do it, Kokoro.”
But despite her mother’s gentle encouragement, Kokoro becomes isolated from the world around her, developing agoraphobia. One concerned adult understands and says:
“You’re battling every single day, aren’t you?”
There’s no doubt that the teenage years can be awkward and painful for lonely kids who don’t fit in. This is Goodreads though, so perhaps this thought from Kokora on “fitting in” is more likely:
“She thought if she’d said she liked reading, the others would label her an introvert, so when several girls ahead of her said they liked karaoke, she copied them.”
And this?
“The musty smell that hit your nostrils whenever you ventured into the far corner of a tiny bookstore, the place where few people ever went. A smell she loved.”
You can tell from this that the book is written clearly, and it becomes evident when reading that it is geared towards a YA audience; perhaps 15 - 17 years of age. Having said that, it is the sort of book adults can also read and enjoy, especially if you like a dash of fantasy, or magical realism. The premise is pure fantasy, but most of what happens feels very real. It is character-driven; we engage fully with the characters and are rooting for them throughout.
And they really do all need someone to root for them. For it is not just about Kokoro, but about 6 other lonely young teenagers, all of whom have a problem with school. But a lonely castle? Well perhaps … there certainly is a castle, although we never see its situation. But each child is isolated for sure. And in each case their bedroom mirror is a portal to another world; a world in which to explore the fairytale castle, and meet others perhaps like them, perhaps different, but others who present no challenge and do not question them.
Just as Alice in a famous fantasy classic fell down a rabbit hole and discovered a Wonderland, and Lucy stumbled through a wardrobe and found Narnia, in Lonely Castle in the Mirror seven different children wake up at 9am one morning to find their mirrors glowing. When each of them puts their hand against the glass, they are pulled through to find a huge castle, which is nothing like their homes in Tokyo. In her neighbourhood, Kokoro can see:
“Houses just like the one she lived in; tall condos, apartment buildings that looked, from where she stood, like matchboxes. In the distance, she could catch the lights flickering in the supermarket.”
But the castle is just like the ones she reads about in European books of fairytales; a wondrous magical castle filled with a winding staircase, a huge clock, watchful portraits, and twinkling chandeliers. Each of them also has a private room of their own, filled with what they enjoy doing, as well as communal rooms where some can be together. It is a sanctuary, where they can be by themselves if they wish, or be with the others in a lounge. They can do just as they please; even play video games if they like, as electricity is laid on. Oddly, although it is beautifully furnished, there is no water or plumbing, so any food has to be brought in.
The castle is guarded by a wolf, and a little girl in a mask and an odd frilly costume explains the rules to them. She insists that they call her the “Wolf Queen”, and sets them a task. (view spoiler)[ They have exactly one year to search for the key to the wishing room. Whoever finds it, will be granted a single wish. But as soon as it is found, the castle will disappear, and so will their memories of it. If nobody finds the key, the castle will disappear on March 30th, at the end of the school year, and they will still not remember anything about it, or about each other (hide spoiler)].
Along with Kokoro, we meet the other six children who have been whisked to the castle, and get to know them. All of them have stopped attending school, because of some sort of trauma in their family or among their peers. Hence they are at home, and are able to notice their mirrors glowing. (view spoiler)[ But the mirrors only start to glow at 9am – the start of the school day - and it becomes evident that the castle is only open during school hours. During this time they are free to come and go as they please, but they must leave sharp by 5pm, or the wolf will eat them. On occasion they can hear the wolf howling when the exit time draws near (hide spoiler)].
The story is told from Kokoro’s point of view, and as her visits become more frequent, Kokoro gets to know the others: Fūka, Aki, Masamune, Ureshino, Rion, and Subaru. They are all very different, of slightly different ages, and from different family backgrounds. It soon becomes apparent to Kokoro, that each of the other children has had a similar experience, but all appear reluctant to divulge their story. There is a tacit agreement that nobody questions the others about what happened to make them avoid going to school. But we do gradually get to know snippets of their family circumstances, or how and when they were bullied. Poignantly we see that the children feel guilty for dropping out of school and missing classes, and worry that they are letting down their parents. The character affected always claims that it was not bullying, which is typical behaviour for many victims. We are even introduced to an alternative school for children who have dropped out of mainstream school. This apparently parallels the free schools which emerged in Japan in the 1980s, as a response to increasing truancy.
What is unique about the castle is that unlike other fantasy worlds, it is a safe haven for the young people, offering respite from the traumas of the outside world. They are being given physical space, every school day for a whole year, to enter the castle as they please, explore at their leisure, develop friendships, make connections, and slowly work through their trauma. I did feel Kokora’s real life became a little repetitive (although I’m not likely to forget what “bento” is now!) and would have preferred more of a fantasy feel. I was always keen to go back through the mirror!
However, the time allowed is always a threat hanging over everything.
“All we’ll have left are these memories. We won’t be able to help each other.”
and this lends a sense of urgency to the novel. There are also some dark themes underlying many of the stories, some tragedy, and we have a real sense of fear towards the bitter-sweet end.
Throughout, we see how the seven youngsters form connections, resolve difficulties, learn to communicate with each other, and navigate the nuances and complexities of friendship. There are shy exchanges of gifts and unreciprocated confessions of love; there is a little jealousy and fights, just as in any teenage group, with no adults there to mediate or interfere. It is only outside the castle, beyond the mirror and in the real world, that we observe the difficulties these characters truly have, navigating not only their peers but also their parents, other adults, and the limitations and rules of the school system. There are small acts of rebellion, (view spoiler)[such as one dying his hair, or another dressing older and having a much older boyfriend (hide spoiler)]. And it is by going through the portal of the glowing mirror in the castle which enables them to have autonomy, and the freedom to develop friendship skills and live as they please, and confront their anxieties and fears in their own way.
Lonely Castle in the Mirror is an absorbing story, which will appeal to lovers of magical realism. It is a clever way for the author Mizuki Tsujimura to explore important social and personal issues; themes of emotional wellbeing and friendship lie at the heart of the novel. We read seven very diverse accounts of isolation, through believable engaging characters. Yet within the fantasy framework, it is internally consistent, with problems which feel very real.
The set-up poses several questions. We can pick up clues, which are carefully dropped so that we can piece together some of the jigsaw, but not the whole. I have not revealed any of these under the spoilers; those are there merely because many people do not like to know too much about the plot. The tension builds gradually, and we pick up various hints of what is to come. The ending is satisfying, and although I had worked out part of what was happening, at least two aspects of the ending were a complete surprise to me.
I felt the pacing was good, and my keen interest in what would happen to each child, what the castle actually was, and the reason for its existence kept my attention focused. I liked this book very much, and will miss Kokoro, Fūka, Aki, Masamune, Ureshino, Rion, and Subaru, whom I feel I have got to know. The story has heart, sensitivity, and an original (and almost unguessable) ending which derives from what has gone before, rather than being deux et machina. Despite everything, the tone remains optimistic and hopeful.
Lonely Castle in the Mirror (かがみの孤城) by Mizuki Tsujimura (辻村深月) was originally published in 2017, and became very popular. A manga adaptation was then serialised in 5 volumes between June 2019 to February 2022, and an anime film adaptation was released in Japan on December 23, 2022. It was translated into English by Philip Gabriela, who has also translated Haruki Murakami. “The Guardian” newpaper has called it “Strange and beautiful”.
As I read the book, it did occur to me that it would transfer well to manga or film, but I have strong mental images of the characters now, and prefer to stay with them.
“A hypothetical reality seemed preferable to present reality, and the more she fantasized about how great it would if certain things could come true, the more reality that world seemed to take on.”...more
Top Fantasy is an anthology of 24 fantasy short stories and novelettes, originally published in 1984. Each story has been selected and introduced by aTop Fantasy is an anthology of 24 fantasy short stories and novelettes, originally published in 1984. Each story has been selected and introduced by a noted fantasy author of the time, and supposedly chosen as representative of their best short works. The stories were originally published in various magazines, and this collection is edited by Josh Pachter. It is the fourth in his series of “Authors’ Choice” anthologies.
The stories are:
The Man Who Walked on Air - Michael Avallone ⭐⭐
This is an entertaining story told by a circus manager, who employs a man who can walk on air. However it doesn’t really go anywhere, and becomes overly domestic and predictable, before fizzling out without having made any point, or impression. The final ironic “twist” is merely weak.
Report on an Unidentified Space Station - J. G. Ballard ⭐⭐
An unusual story for J.G. Ballard, as it takes place in outer space. The crew of a spaceship discover a deserted interstellar space station. The story takes the form of 9 survey reports. (view spoiler)[ Each one reports the estimated size of the space station as far vaster than the earlier estimate, until by the final approximation the crew members are worshipping the serenity of the station, which maintains them and gives their lives meaning. This seems to be an almost spiritual message about inner space. (hide spoiler)] Not for me.
The Ship of Disaster - Barrington J. Bayley ⭐⭐
Barrington J. Bayley was a friend of Michael Moorcock, and this story about an elven ship does feel Moorcockian, especially the fantasy descriptions. The main character Elen-Gelith, an elf lord, is very like Elric of Melnibone, although the story seems almost nonexistent; the descriptions meandering far more than Michael Moorcock’s ever do.
Collaborating - Michael Bishop ⭐
The story begins:
“How does it feel to be a two-headed man?”
Oh my sainted aunt - no!! Wrong ... and on so many levels. But the story continues:
“Better, how does it feel to be two men with one body? We can tell you.”
Too little, too late. If you shared your body with another distinct person, there is no way on Earth you could think of asking the first question in the way it is expressed. And it gets worse:
“I’m Robert. My brother’s name is James. James and I call our body The Monster.”
No - no - NO! But I kept these thoughts inside myself and listened. Maybe there was a good reason for this way of perceiving the world. Maybe these were not 20th century American men, but living in another time and place, or in an alternative fantasy world. Maybe they weren’t even human.
But sadly they are. The story continues to describe how they were taken from their mother at birth, who was given the convenient lie that her baby had been stillborn. Perfectly reasonable, since their father was “only an itinerant worker following the peach or cotton crops”. Instead the doctor who delivered them decided to do the job himself. Except that he didn’t. He farmed them out to a “black woman” … (Oh my giddy aunt, again …)
In vain I looked for signs that this was a satire. There were none. Eventually my reader (my husband) paused and said to me: “What do you think to this?” (It was too much for him too - and he’s a writer, so would recognise if there was a literary reason.) So I told him. We both remembered watching a very moving and inspirational documentary on dicephalic conjoined twins. The testimonies by several twins worldwide who currently share this condition, and from the parents of very young ones, were uplifting. They displayed amazing courage and determination to push themselves as far as they possibly could, the American ones fighting for the right to drive a car (and succeeding), giving talks, and starting up in business.
I suggested that the introduction by the author might cast light on the peculiar position taken. It didn’t. Michael Bishop said that people had sometimes been offended by the story (Really? Are you surprised?) and that it was about “the existential dilemma of two distinct intellects sharing one body … a persistent aspect of the human condition itself, namely the universal quest for some external validation of our own self-worth, and the concomitant fear that we are perhaps unworthy”.
Hmm. The word poppycock springs to mind. From the footage I watched, dicephalic conjoined twins usually have little leisure time for abstruse philosophical musings which have little bearing on their lives. They are more focused and concerned with practical matters, and have definite goals.
You can write, Mr. Bishop. The prose flows well, and as you “helpfully” gave a spoiler in your introduction (which I read afterwards) I can see that the story was developed into (view spoiler)[ the twins meeting a girl, who decided to love both of them, so as not to harm the other’s self-image (hide spoiler)]. (Ho hum hokum.) Seriously, you need to find another way to say all this!
In reviewing an anthology I have spent far too long on this one story. You might have guessed the reason. It is the fifth story in the book, and I resent giving it even one star. The other four barely scraped to two stars. Perhaps there might be one, or even two, good ones to come, but my heart is not in giving this editor any more of my time.
It remains an abandoned book, put in the charity box, since neither of us want to finish it. The rest of the stories are:
The Man Who Collected Poe - Robert Bloch The Fog Horn - Ray Bradbury The Day of the Butterflies - Marion Zimmer Bradley The Depths - Ramsey Campbell Touchstone - Terry Carr Let Us Quickly Hasten to the Gate of Ivory - Thomas M. Disch Trouble with Water - Horace L. Gold Harpist - Joe L. Hensley Blue Vase of Ghosts - Tanith Lee The Wife’s Story - Ursula K. Le Guin The House of Cthulhu - Brian Lumley The Real Shape of the Coast - John Lutz The Smallest Dragonboy - Anne McCaffrey Caves in Cliffs - Josh Pachter The Broken Hoop - Pamela Sargent Dancers in the Time-Flux - Robert Silverberg Amends: A Tale of the Sun Kings - Nancy Springer Sing a Last Song of Valdese - Karl Edward Wagner The Father of the Bride - Connie Willis Kevin Malone - Gene Wolfe
There are some good names here - but what if they all contributed their duds? After all, every writer has their off days....more
The Spirit of the Maasai Man is a beautiful book, about a topic very near to my heart. Why then have I give it a lower than average rating?
The simple The Spirit of the Maasai Man is a beautiful book, about a topic very near to my heart. Why then have I give it a lower than average rating?
The simple truth is that I think it is misconceived.
It is a large horizontal picture book, first published in 2000 by “Barefoot Books”, whose aim is to “work with artists, writers and storytellers from many cultures, focusing on themes that encourage independence of spirit, promote understanding and acceptance of different traditions, and foster a lifelong love of learning.”
The author Laura Berkeley has written several book in this series. She has worked for “Swan Rescue” and at the time of publication was the assistant secretary to the “Elsa Conservation Trust”, helping to educate African children in all aspects of conservation awareness. She is an extremely talented artist, whose detailed paintings are very naturalistic.
The spirit of the Maasai Man, it is said, is a powerful symbol of all that is best within the person who is in tune with the animal world. The author’s note at the end tells why she chose the Maasai Man to be the liberator of the imprisoned animals. It explains how East African children are taught to respect their cattle; animals who they believe were given to them aeons ago by their god “Engai”, who resides on a mountain in the Rift Valley. The author describes these peoples’ way of life, and tells us the reason why the Maasai Man is often depicted standing on one leg:
“To stand on one leg is an act of being still. It is a position that many aboriginal people adopt, and it serves to remind us that there should be balance in our own lives and that we should have moments of stillness to reflect on our action towards other living beings, human and animal alike.”
Laura Berkeley wrote the book to draw attention to the “Born Free Foundation” (formerly “Zoo Watch”) which was founded in 1983 by Virginia McKenna and Bill Travers. They had been inspired by Joy and George Adamson, after making the film about Elsa the lioness, who was restored to the wild in “Born Free”. The trigger was the tragic death of Pole Pole, an elephant in London Zoo. She had been taken from her wild family at the age of two, by the Kenyan Government, and was given to London Zoo after the film.
In 1969, Pole Pole starred with the couple in a film called “An Elephant Called Slowly” which was set in Kenya. But her time afterwards in London Zoo was a torture to the young elephant. She had a barren, concrete enclosure and swayed abnormally to and fro, a victim of what we now know to be stereotypic or repetitive behaviour. It is an abnormal behaviour, frequently seen in captive animals, especially large animals of high intelligence, and is considered an indication of poor psychological well-being in these animals. Pole Pole was lonely and confused, prematurely aged by captivity. Yet when Virginia McKenna and Bill Travers visited her in 1982 and called her name, Pole Pole went to them immediately, her trunk reaching out to meet their outstretched hands.
Having been unable to persuade the Kenyan government to set Pole Pole free after the film, Virginia McKenna and Bill Travers now campaigned to give Pole Pole a better life. In 1983, London Zoo agreed to send her to their country branch at Whipsnade to be among other elephants. Whipsnade in Bedfordshire is a huge parkland, where large animals have much more freedom, and can live more naturally in family groups. Apart from the two tigers who pace continually around the perimeter of their domain, I would say that it provides an acceptable and interesting environment for most of its animals. However, being kept in a travelling crate for many hours proved too much for Pole Pole. She collapsed and was euthanised. She was just 17 years of age, yet wild elephants can live for 60 years or more. The public were outraged, and “Zoo Check” was formed.
The Spirit of the Maasai Man is a fantasy, with the Maasai Man as a personification, or perhaps a metaphor, for the spirit. The story is about large animals such as elephants, tigers, gorillas and polar bears, for whom confinement in a zoo is a cruel agony.
‘“Why do the zoo beasts cry?’ ‘Because they cannot hear the songs of the wild.’”
The Maasai Man visits each of the animals in their cage in turn, and shows them the free life they could have. We learn the environment and lifestyle for each animal. The Maasai Man sings throughout the night, and in the morning all the animals are free, and in the wild where they belong.
“‘Why do the beasts sing?’ ‘Because they are free,’ replies the Maasai Man.”
Virginia McKenna (Travers) has written a foreword, in which she says:
“… most of us know there is ‘something’ beyond the world we see and touch and small, something intangible. We call it a spirit and we, like the animals in their cages, can be transported in our minds beyond the walls of our houses and school rooms into a world where our souls can be free from pain, far from suffering.”
The blurb puts it this way:
“by summoning up this spirit, we can give a voice to the voiceless and restore dignity and hope in the living creatures who surround us, whether animal or human. By subtly examining the timeless ideals of love, hope and freedom, this beautiful book will provoke deep thought, much discussion and a great sense of optimism in all those who read it.”
On the contrary though, I was left with a profound sadness, depressed about the ongoing confinement of zoo animals, especially those who were not bred to this half-life, and have no prospect of a better one. Wildlife parks are continually improving, but there is still much to be done.
I would put the book’s reading age at about 7 to 8, but the subject matter is very contentious, and it would need to be addressed very carefully. If I can be upset at these images, how much worse for a young, impressionable child. In my view, there are better ways to introduce the subject of animals in captivity; the improvements and the alternatives.
It is a noble effort, from people with high ideals, and I so much wanted to love this book. But it addresses real issues with fanciful thoughts, and I believe that to be foolhardy. Have the conversation by all means, with a child who is ready to address the issues. But do not divert them with imaginative ideas; tricking them into thinking this issue is illusory.
Animals live in the present, and we do them a disservice in anthropomorphising them when we talk of how we trap and confine them for our own pleasure and “education”.
“The dead don’t walk. Except, sometimes, when they do.”
Forget everything that you think you know about the House of Usher. This house is stranger than“The dead don’t walk. Except, sometimes, when they do.”
Forget everything that you think you know about the House of Usher. This house is stranger than you think, and the tale is even more weird, although many of the ideas are common to both.
Edgar Allan Poe’s tale was hailed in 1839 as a masterpiece of Gothic horror, with themes of madness, family, isolation, a crypt, an unidentifiable disease, resurrection and metaphysical identities. What Moves the Dead weaves some if not all of these into a new web of terror. Not only are the same characters present: the brother and sister Roderick and Madeline, and their visitor, but also many details. As we read, we recognise motifs and symbols common to both.
“The House of Usher” has a double meaning, referring both to the actual building, and the Usher family. It is therefore the first “character” that the narrator introduces to the reader. Edgar Allan Poe’s short story personifies the house, describing its windows as “eye-like” twice in the first paragraph. In What Moves the Dead, the protagonist:
“look[s] up at the cursed house, at the windows gazing down like alien eyes. The tarn flickered with light and woke reflections in the glass”
The tarn? Yes that is present in both. Edgar Allan Poe talked of the lake or tarn surrounding the house seeming to glow in the dark, just as Roderick depicted in his paintings, although there was no lightning or other explainable source of the glow. Here the narrator notices:
“the tarn blazed up with sickly light. Pale gelatinous shapes pulsed in the depths, but it had no power to reach us”
“a sickly greenish radiance … the lake was glowing [with] pulsating lights that seemed to chase one another along the edge of unseen shapes. The glow picked up the faint mist that had settled across the lake and turned it into a cloud of sickly light. The waters themselves seemed to pulse like a heartbeat … Not too far away, its eyes lit with reflected green fire, a hare stood and watched”
And squatting next to “this dark, miserable lake, in this grim, blighted land” is the crumbling house of Usher, where:
“wallpaper had peeled back from the walls, hanging in rags, leaving the exposed flesh of the building behind. Mould crept up the pale boards, tiny spots of black that joined together like constellations.”
In What Moves the Dead, published in 2022, the American author T. Kingfisher has paid a remarkable tribute to one of the first gothic novels. She has created a modern, almost scientific take on the story, while keeping the 19th century setting the same. It is an absorbing story, but unlike the original the writing style of this is contemporary, with a dry humour, and few lengthy descriptions. However both stories are full of atmosphere, and a slowly creeping dread.
So who is this oddly named T. Kingfisher? Such an absurd name has to be a pseudonym. Sure enough, we find that it is a nom-de-plume for Ursula Vernon. She started out as a freelance artist, and then established a reputation as a creator of web comics, moving on to writing children’s books. Ursula Vernon then decided on a pseudonym for her adult books, to avoid confusion. Ursula K. Le Guin had once joked that the initials “U.K.” could stand for “Ulysses Kingfisher” and thus the name T. Kingfisher was born, as Ursula Vernon paid homage to the earlier fantasy author.
Both works begin in the same way, with the narrator arriving at the house of his friend, Roderick Usher, having received a worrying letter from him in a remote part of the country, asking for his help. Roderick and his sister Madeline are the only remaining members of the Usher family, and now Roderick has reported that his sister is gravely ill. We witness that for ourselves as (view spoiler)[she falls into cataleptic, deathlike trances (hide spoiler)]. In the original story Poe described:
“the horrible white of his skin, and the strange light in his eyes. His hair had been allowed to grow, and in its softness it did not fall around his face but seemed to lie upon the air.”
Thus both brother and sister are sickly, but Roderick has become a recluse, and feels it is impossible to leave the house, even though it is the source of their miasma. And in both works, the strange, soft, delicate white hairs are dreadfully significant ...
What Moves the Dead is a short novel, with only 13 chapters. Nevertheless it is a much longer work than a short story, and there is room to develop many possibilities which were merely hinted at in the original, as well as adding new layers. The author explains in an afterword that the catalyst for What Moves the Dead was her recent read of “The Fall of the House of Usher”, which she had not read since childhood. This time she noticed many references to (view spoiler)[ fungi (hide spoiler)]. She has taken this motif and expanded on it, so that it has become the crux of the novel. But there are indicators we can pick up, such as outdated expressions such as “miasma”, as well as scientific achievements, which firmly indicate that this novel is set almost 50 years later, in the 1890s.
A staple of fiction at around this time was the Ruritanian romance. These stories were set in a small fictional European country, and featured a fictional monarchy. The one which has endured most and even become part of our popular culture is “The Prisoner of Zenda”, which was published in 1894.
In What Moves the Dead, we have more than a nod to this idea. Roderick’s friend, the narrator, is a Gallacian soldier: Alex Easton. We have quite a full picture of this “sworn” officer who served with Roderick, being a world-weary, courageous but slightly snobbish person, who—fortunately for our entertainment—has a droll turn of phrase. Take this description of the village:
“it looked like every other small village in Ruravia, which also look pretty much like every small village in Gallacia, although they carve flowers on their shutters here and we carve turnips. (That is a general we. I have never carved a turnip in my life.)”
So we have a named narrator, rather than Edgar Allan Poe’s unnamed narrator, and one with good sense and insights, and a history, albeit in a fictional country. Another interesting aspect is the differences in assigning gender. Alex Easton was born female, but in the eyes of Gallacia, is now referred to using the idiosyncratic neo-pronouns “ka/kan”, which are exclusive to anyone serving in the Gallacian military, regardless of their previous identification:
“You show up to basic training and they hand you a sword and a new set of pronouns. (It’s extremely rude to address a soldier as ta. It won’t get you labelled as a pervert, but it might get you punched in the mouth.)”
Gallacia uses seven set of pronouns in all, including those for children: ta/tan, one for rocks and one for God. There are ta/tha and tan/than, as well as va/var. Some are gendered, some not. Children, priests and nuns use va/van/var, the latter one being used for the adults. Using the incorrect pronoun is considered to be in “extremely poor taste”. It is advisable, Easton says, to tell people if one is not a native speaker of Gallacian, in order to not cause offence. It seems very complicated, but we can get a glimmer of how this affects their attitudes and behaviour, by considering other languages than our native one. It is all too easy to use the wrong word, and inadvertently cause merriment (or worse).
English people have difficulty with non-gendered pronouns, often not being multilingual and only thinking in terms of male/female. But even in standard English there are instances such as “Doctor”, “Professor”—and various army ranks—where one’s title is not genderised. Conversely many other languages assign gender far more widely, for instance German genderises objects and uses male, female and neuter indicators. In Gallacian, one’s identity is tied to the profession such as soldier or priest, rather than to one’s gender.
Gallacia is not just a quaint country which carves turnips on its houses, but one with a unique and clearly defined social hierarchy and structure. As I read on, I wondered whether the novel would be derailed by this aspect. It is not central to the story, but before it seemed too much like info-dumping, T. Kingfisher seemed to recognise this and move on. And there is no doubt that the central character Easton is engaging, flawed though ka is, being fond of a tipple of the favourite Gallacian warriors’ brew “livrit”. This sounds to be a heady mix, similar to vodka but sweetened with cloudberries until it is a drink which “starts syrupy, ends bitter and burns all the way down.” No self-respecting Gallacian soldier would be without a bottle of livrit, especially since it is traditionally made by Gallacian widows who have no other means of support. Additionally Easton is overly generous with kan favourite curses of: “Christ” and “Christ’s blood”. Officer Easton is clearly no saint, but is goodhearted and desperate to help kan friends, and at a loss to know how:
“I did not know how to deal with this sort of death, the one that comes slow and inevitable and does not let go. I am a soldier, I deal in cannonballs and rifle shots. I understand how a wound can fester and kill a soldier, but there is still the initial wound, something that can be avoided with a little skill and a great deal of luck. Death that simply comes and settles is not a thing I had any experience with.”
Easton’s viewpoint is equally dismissive of English and American traits—which I personally feel makes a refreshing change. This is facilitated by two other important characters: an American doctor, Denton, summoned to look after Madeline, and an English amateur mycologist studying all the local fungi: Eugenia Potter:
“I do not know what you know of fungi, but this place is extraordinary … so many unusual forms.”
Incidentally, for those who made an instant connection between the name “Potter” and fungi, your radar is working well! Before she became famous for her Peter Rabbit stories and other stories about woodland creatures, Beatrix Potter was involved in nature study and botany, and was an illustrator. She collected fossils and was interested in entomology, drawing and painting her specimens with increasing skill. By the 1890s, her scientific interests centred on mycology. (view spoiler)[ In particular she developed a theory of how fungi germinate, not accepting the current theory of symbiosis, but instead, proposing a more independent process of reproduction (hide spoiler)]. Beatrice is talked about with great pride by her aunt Eugenia, and little wonder, given the events which are to come ...
Eugenia Potter is frequently referred to as a “redoubtable woman” with a stiff upper lip: “one of the fine fierce old ladies of England … that fine, stern woman with the heart of a lion.”
Beatrix Potter was a redoubtable woman too: a sheep farmer, who owned a considerable acreage of Lake District land in the North of England, which she willed to the National Trust for us all to visit.
Dr. Denton, the brash American is the third, sensible down-to-earth character so dreadfully needed in this ghastly place. He talks of Madeline’s anaemia, but also something mysterious which he cannot properly identify; a sort of miasma caused by the damp mouldering house, and dank area.
And I cannot leave this group of irascible characters without mentioning Angus, who served under Easton in the army and is a dour superstitious Scot, who grumbles about everything. Whether it is the house, the surroundings, the weird (view spoiler)[ creeping (hide spoiler)] hares, the innards of fish he has caught or Easton’s own behaviour; all are fair targets for Angus’s sharp-tongued condemnation, and we delight in it:
“It ain’t canny. The sort of place you find devils dancing on the moors”
“They say mushrooms spring up where the devil walks” said Angus sourly “and where fairies dance”
“Witch-hares … familiars to devils”
Ah yes. Britain’s folk mythology is full of hares as witches’ familiars, and wherever you turn in this book, there seems to be one gazing at you. The original book cover has a painting by Christina Mrozik of a hare entwined in red mushrooms, but the endpapers are by Ursula Vernon herself. They are powerful and stark ink illustrations of a hare staring blankly at the edge of a tarn in the left foreground, plus one in silhouette in the distant background. These are no fluffy bunny rabbits. Hares are another creature entirely—and these particular hares seem strangely sentient.
(view spoiler)[ Their creeping movements are reminiscent of John Keats’s poem “The Eve of St. Agnes”, in which: “the hare limped trembling through the frozen grass”. St. Agnes the martyr is the patron saint of girls, chastity, virgins and victims of sexual abuse. Could this be a coded reference to the interpretation of “The Fall of the House of Usher” which deduces that Roderick and Madeline’s relationship is incestuous, and that the cataclysmic events are a judgement and consequence? (hide spoiler)] And Easton’s horse is called “Hob”, which as we all know is a nickname for the Devil, although this could merely be Easton’s sly dig at his steed’s mischievousness.
So many clues, and yet for all its originality of detail, the story follows the original pretty well. There will be those who disapprove on principle with any tinkering of Edgar Allan Poe’s work, but actually the ideas were not invented by him. They are likely to be based on events in the “Hezekiah Usher” House, which was located on the Usher estate which is now a three-block area in downtown modern Boston, Massachusetts, USA. (view spoiler)[A sailor and the young wife of the older owner were caught and entombed by the husband, where they lay together. When the Usher House was torn down in 1830, two bodies in an embrace were found in a cavity in the cellar. (hide spoiler)]
Arguably Edgar Allan Poe could have taken the name from an actual couple, Mr. and Mrs. Luke Usher, who were friends of his mother. The couple had taken care of him and his two siblings as children when she was ill and dying.
There are also many similarities to a story by E.T.A. Hoffmann, who was an inspiration for Poe. “Das Majorat”, published in 1819 included the breaking down of a house, eerie sounds in the night, a story within a story and the house owner being called Roderick. Edgar Allan Poe knew this story, and drew elements from it to create his own sinister tale.
Just as T. Kingfisher has done here, in fact.
The pacing complements the creeping dread perfectly. Do not expect twists, but be prepared for slowly building horror, and the certain knowledge that something is indeed very wrong here.
“The water was still dark and not entirely reflective. Patches seemed matte, as if the lake itself was mouldering. The house squatted on the far side.”
“The lake was full of reflected stars. The strange water gave them a faint green tinge, flickering slightly as I watched, probably from ripples … I looked up … there were no stars”
“Then she smiled and it was terrible. Madeline’s lips pulled up at the corners in a terrible parody of good humour, her mouth stretching painfully wide, her jaw dropped so far that it looked almost like a scream. Above that awful grin, her eyes were as flat and dead as stones. I do not delude.”...more
Tootle reminds me of "The Little Blue Engine Stories" by Ursula Hourihane, published in Great Britain shortly after World War Two. They were contemporTootle reminds me of "The Little Blue Engine Stories" by Ursula Hourihane, published in Great Britain shortly after World War Two. They were contemporary with the early "Thomas the Tank Engine books" by the Rev. Awdry, much smaller books which also followed the adventures of various small locomotives of different colours, with faces. Tootle is the American version, from 1945. This is a "Little Golden Book"; a series which was very popular in the USA and Australia. It has colourful illustrations in a cartoonish style, and is associated with the Walt Disney corporation.
The story of Tootle tells how the baby locomotives are trained to do their job, and the most important rule is to Stay On The Rails No Matter What. But Tootle disobeys this rule; he can't resist going to play in the meadow.
Eventually the problem is solved as the mayor of Lower Trainswitch gives everyone a red flag, and they all hide behind bushes and other places in the meadow. Tootle knows he must stop for every red flag, and there are so many that he can't avoid them. He gets very upset, but then sees that Chief Oiler Bill is waving a green flag on the track. Tootles puffs up to the track and everyone cheers. He has now passed the test to be a Flyer, and will always Stay On The Rails No Matter What.
Bionic Jean
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