The Bone Man, by Frederic S. Durbin

The Bone Man is a novelette from The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, December 2007, here published as a chapbook with illustrations by Daniel Williams. Durbin's story begins familiarly: a traveler stumbles upon some sort of local festival in an unnamed Midwestern town. Here the stranger is a hit man, Conlin, who has just finished a job. He comes to a town on Halloween that is preparing for an annual parade for The Bone Man, an animate skeleton who can only be seen by some people. Conlin is intrigued, and stays for the festival. Durbin notes in a six-page Afterword that the town takes some aspects from Sauk City, Wisconsin, the home of his first publisher, Arkham House, who released his novel Dragonfly in 1999. Durbin has published two other books, a novel A Green and Ancient Light in 2016; and a serial from Cricket Magazine  as The Star Shard in 2012. The Bone Man is well-written and stylistically appealing, and because of this I ordered copies of all three of Durbin's books. The illustrations by Daniel Williams are symbolic rather than representative of the plot, but they complement it nicely.

The Woman Who Fell to Earth, by R.B. Russell

The ingredients used to make this novel promise something delectable. There is a deceased and disreputable writer,  Cyril Heldman, who wrote weird and occultish tales and who died under very strange circumstances. His literary executor, Catherine Richards, whose house is crammed full of books, papers, newspapers, herself dies bizarrely in the first chapter: by falling from the sky onto the nearby roof of her longtime friend Tanya Sewell, who is also Catherine's niece, after meeting and marrying Tanya's widowed uncle years earlier. Tanya inherits Catherine's house, which she had known in childhood, and becomes involved in several mysteries, particularly to do with an online forum devoted to Heldman that has its usual share of cranks and trolls. Add to this an unscrupulous book dealer and a collector of occult artifacts, bent on finding Heldman's relic called the Sixtystone (lifted from one of Arthur Machen's tales), which was the subject of one of Heldman's novels, and you have the basics of an intriguing literary weird tale. The writing, too, is fine, but somewhere along the line, the characters begin to act in ways that don't fit with how they were established, and they make decisions that move the plot forward at the expense of literary belief; and the workings of the Sixtystone, never really set forth, are variable enough to belie concrete aspects of the plot and leave important points (like the methodology of strange deaths) without any context. The result is somewhat unsatisfying, but it is a mostly pleasant read to reach the end of the novel. 

Barrowbeck, by Andrew Michael Hurley

Novelist Andrew Michael Hurley has published what is basically a thirteen story collection, centered around a fictional border town between Yorkshire and Lancashire called Barrowbeck. This provides a thin skein that connects the stories, and the hint that the setting is something rather more significant enters into only a few of the tales. The first is set in the distant past, while the final story is set in 2041 in a post-climate crisis. These bookends turn out to be the best in the book, while the rest are various kinds of oddities. A baby is grown from a plant by a kind of witch for a childless couple. Disadvantaged children are bussed into the town for a day to enjoy life before being taken back to their grim existence--this inspires one local boy to an unusual solution. A domestic story of two close sisters turns very cryptic at the end when a B&B guest returns to find them cocooned in a back room. Hurley plays with different styles, and with different types of story, but most feel fragmentary and as a whole the collection remains less than satisfactory, though not without some high points.

The Devil's Looking-Glass, by Simon Rees

This book looked interesting. Two college associates secretly experiment with extra-sensory perception, and one encounters some old mirrors of obsidian of a type associated with Dr. Dee, Edward Kelly and ancient Aztec worship. But any interest is quickly ruined by the style. The book has three main characters, the conniving and mysterious Doctor Wiston, and the researcher Gwyn Thomas, who is doing some kind of sensory deprivation experiments on John Born, who then has visions and becomes obsessed with mirrors. The setting, per the blurb, is the University of Cambridge, but no location is specified in the novel. Within the first few pages we learn that Born is already dead, and the novel plays out as a kind of unnatural compendium of mixed perspectives that shift all too quickly between characters (and the dead Born's very descriptive letters he wrote to his mother). As a technique this might be made workable, but the real problem lies in the unfathomable motivations of the characters. Wiston, who is not directly involved in the experiments, happens to be a collector of antique mirrors (and a gourmand--all food is lovingly described at length), and manipulates the other two without the reader ever being let in on what he is up to--which on its own seems to change through the book. So it all comes across as a bunch of unfortunate and cryptic scenes without causal logic that add up to nothing other than boredom.

The Modern Fairies, by Clare Pollard

The idea of a novel set in and around the late 17th century Paris salon meetings of Madame d'Aulnoy, where modern fairy tales came to life, seems like a good idea. Or at least an interesting one. What Clare Pollard presents is more of a kaleidoscopic documentary than a novel. And it's filled with twenty-first century diction, and various contemporary "isms": feminism, sexism, lesbianism, etc., along with the author's sharp take on free speech and authoritarian rule,  and her poised comparisons of what are to us well known fairy tales with the people and activities of the era. The result is not bad, but far from satisfying, for the reader is never pulled into the novel or the numerous characters (some are so much alike as to be confusing--and I referred many times to the two-page cast of characters at the beginning of the book in an attempt to recall who was who), and occasionally the author breaks the fourth wall to comment on the evolving story. The endless descriptions of clothing and makeup are tedious. Angela Carter did stuff like this decades ago, and rather better.

The Wood at Midwinter, by Susanna Clarke

I liked Clarke's previous novel, Piranesi (I reviewed it here on Jan. 12, 2022), so the idea of a new book by her attracted my attention. Disappointment after disappointment followed. First, I learned the book is only sixty-three pages: so, a novella at best. But then I got a copy. Nineteen of those pages are publishing matter, or illustrations without text. Eleven pages have only a small amount of text, and in the rest of the book, the text is generously double-spaced. What remains is a mere short story, bloated by many illustrations, and further bloated by a nine page afterword by the author which is primarily a why-I-wrote-this-story-and-why-I-like-Kate-Bush confession. Yawn. The story was written as a Christmas 2022 radio broadcast. Though nowhere evident in the tale, Clarke claims in her afterword that it is set in the world of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. This means nothing. What's left is a short quasi-fairy-tale about a young nineteen year old girl who ventures into a wood at snowy midwinter with her talking animals (two dogs and a pig), and she has conversations with other animals and the wood itself. She tells them she wants a child of her own, and something mysterious happens. That's all. Shame on the publisher for putting out this money-grubbing contrivance.

Charnel Glamour, by Mark Samuels

A collection of nine stories by Mark Samuels, who passed away suddenly in December 2023, after this collection had been put together. Seven of the stories are arranged as "The Gallows Langley Sequence of Tales," as they are all set in and around fictional places in Hertfordshire, including the town Gallows Langley and the valley of Thool--a setting used previously by Samuels, most notably in the novel Witch-Cult Abbey (which I reviewed previously on this blog on February 14, 2021). Six of the seven of these stories are excellent--the final one "A Letter from Jack" is made somewhat lesser by the bringing in of Jack the Ripper, which was just too trite for me. The rest of the sequence develops an attractively bizarre and decadently otherworldly fictional setting. The two uncollected stories reprinted in the section "Other Tales" begin with some imminent or ongoing eschatological catastrophe, but disappointingly don't carry on with the repercussions of it, evolving into smaller and less interesting character studies. Overall this still a pretty good collection, beautifully produced, but it is bittersweet in that it is the last work of Samuels, whose voice will be missed.