Clown in a Cornfield, by Adam Cesare

I saw a new movie, Clown in a Cornfield. It's a vapid mess, filled with cliches upon cliches, and with characters whose actions and motivations do not make any sense. It is plotted like a roller-coaster ride, and once you are strapped in, you follow it to the end, slightly amused by a few unexpected twists. I learned it was based on a novel, so out of absurd curiosity, I read the novel to see if it makes any more sense than the movie. In short, it doesn't.  It's written as a thriller-- in simple words to pad out the screenplay plot. The movie streamlines the plot, and alters many things. But the characters still operate as the author needs them to instead of within the context of their situation. As one character puts in in the middle of the book, "she had no idea why any of her dumbass friends did the dumbass things they did."  Neither does the reader. More bewilderingly I learn there are two sequels Clown in a Cornfield 2 and Clown in a Cornfield 3. I can't see a market for such books or movies beyond vacuous teens, but they must be a multitude.

The Wrath of Peace or How the Wellikens Saved the World, by Jack Zipes

Jack Zipes is some months shy of 88, He is a renowned scholar of folklore and fairy tales, including critical works as well as translations and anthologies. The Wrath of Peace or How the Wellikans Saved the World is a story written for and dedicated to his grandchildren Anya and Little Jack, about two twin witches Anja and Zack who try to save the world from the evil dictator Nexus with help from the Wellikans, a hidden and underground magical people. Nexus is described in completely Trumpian terms, a man born to be a "genius" who became bitter, narcissistic and cruel on his way to rule the world, using poisons to diminish the humanity of the people he rules over. The blurb on the rear cover says: "it is a hopeful tale of resistance and defiance," but the manner in which Anja and Zack laugh and dance their way through the story belies the seriousness of how to resist a real world tyrant. Still what's left is a mostly pleasant short tale (about ninety pages), but the feel-good attitude about how to deal with Nexus  diminishes both the impact of the story and its relevance to the modern world.

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.