Dagon (1968) by
Fred Chappell is a short novel, mixing elements of the southern gothic, with the
mythos of H.P. Lovecraft. The Lovecraftian elements are minor, at least until
the conclusion, and most of the novel moves at a slow pace with unlikable
characters doing unspeakable things to each other. It starts out with the
minister Peter Leland and his wife Sheila taking up the house and four hundred
acres that Peter has inherited from his grandparents.
There he plans to work on his theological
book on Dagon, a forgotten ancient pagan god who is mentioned in the Book of
Samuel. Peter finds a bizarre family of squatters who have lived on the
property for generations, and some strange torture implements in his attic that
seems to relate to his father’s mysterious death decades ago. So far, so good,
but the story abruptly shifts, as Peter brutally murders his wife, and takes up
with the young girl of the family of squatters, who keeps him supplied with
moonshine and uses him for occasional sex, eventually taking him and her other
boyfriend on a road trip with a predictable result. Much of this novel feels
like unnecessary padding, and it would probably have been more successful for
this reader at a much shorter length.
The Craft of Writing
(1979), by William Sloane, was put together five years after its author’s death
by his widow. Though Sloane had published two science-fictiony horror novels,
he was mostly known as a publisher, and he was one of the main people behind
the annual Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference for a quarter of a century. This slim
book collects materials from some of his Bread Loaf lectures as well as from
his correspondence. It has some real wisdom in it, but it doesn’t really hang
together as a book on the craft of writing. Here are a few kernels:
“Let the material dictate the form” (p. 20). “Art
cannot be taught . . . What can be taught is technique, craft, method,
understanding of the medium” (p. 27). “People are not the principal subject of
fiction; they are its only subject” (p. 81). “I urge those of you who are
writing fiction to shun the impulse that diminishes the tension inside you
while you are writing. Don’t talk about your novel to other people” (pp.
106-7). The sections on “Scene” (Chapter 5) and on “The Nonfiction Writer”
(chapter 8) are the least effective in the book.
The Craft of Writing
(1979), by William Sloane, was put together five years after its author’s death
by his widow. Though Sloane had published two science-fictiony horror novels,
he was mostly known as a publisher, and he was one of the main people behind
the annual Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference for a quarter of a century. This slim
book collects materials from some of his Bread Loaf lectures as well as from
his correspondence. It has some real wisdom in it, but it doesn’t really hang
together as a book on the craft of writing. Here are a few kernels: “Let the material dictate the form” (p. 20). “Art
cannot be taught . . . What can be taught is technique, craft, method,
understanding of the medium” (p. 27). “People are not the principal subject of
fiction; they are its only subject” (p. 81). “I urge those of you who are
writing fiction to shun the impulse that diminishes the tension inside you
while you are writing. Don’t talk about your novel to other people” (pp.
106-7). The sections on “Scene” (Chapter 5) and on “The Nonfiction Writer”
(chapter 8) are the least effective in the book. 
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