Shadows & Tall Trees 8: 'The Sound Of The Sea, Too Close'

Shadows & Tall Trees 8, which features my story 'The Sound Of The Sea, Too Close', is officially released today. This is a story I'm especially proud of, and I'm pleased that its found a home with the utterly wonderful Undertow Press. As regular readers will know, I've often sung the praises of the work that editor Michael Kelly releases, and getting a story into S&TT is a genuine writing bucket-list moment for me. Especially seeing what other great authors are included, not least Alison Littlewood, Neil Williamson, Steve Rasnic Tem, V.H. Leslie, and... well, they're all brilliant.

Aside from where it's been published, I'm proud of 'The Sound Of The Sea, Too Close' because it achieved something I'd tried and failed at a few times: to write about climate change (and climate fear), in a way that was still speculative and 'weird'. (Maybe 'Heatstroke Harry' from Holding On By Our Fingertips was also a success in this regard.)

I've wrote before on this blog about climate change and fiction, but that piece was called Background Fears and that was largely how I'd tackled the theme in my stories up till now: as a background worry, a bit of atmosphere, a throwaway line. I wasn't sure how to present it as the main focus of a strange story without losing that very strangeness that interests me as a writer; I wasn't sure if it was possible to do so. 'The Sound Of The Sea....' didn't start out as an attempt to untangle that knot, it was originally gong to be a relatively simple and untroubled ghost story, set in an abandoned school. But what the school caretaker found in that abandoned school, in those ghostly classrooms, wasn't a ghost—without knowing I was going to, I wrote something very different and all the better for it. The climate fear—and the guilt—moved centre stage, but the ghostly air remained. Whether it's fully successful as a work of fiction, I'll leave others to judge. But as a way forward for my own work, it feels like an achievement to me.

You can purchase the gorgeous paperback and hardback editions of Shadows & Tall Trees 8 directly from Undertow, or get the ebook from Amazon (UK | US)

(Pathway to Paris brings together musicians, artists, activists, academics, mayors, and innovators to help raise consciousness surrounding the urgency of climate action and offers solutions to turning the Paris Agreement into action.)

Incoming: Two New Tales

I've had two stories accepted for publication in the last couple of weeks. They're two recent-ish stories that I think are among my best work, while being at opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of style. And I'm really proud and flabbergasted to say that they are both appearing in the latest volumes of two publications that I regard as absolutely essential for anyone with an interest in weird horror fiction:

'Defensive Wounds' will appear in Tales From The Shadow Booth #4 (ed. Dan Coxon)

'The Sound Of The Sea, Too Close' will appear in Shadows & Tall Trees #8 from the mighty Undertow Publications (ed. Michael Kelly)

I know, right?

All The Fabulous Beasts: Priya Sharma Interview

I couldn't have been more excited than when I heard Undertow Press were going to be publishing the debut collection from Priya Sharma. The stories I've read of hers over the last few years have always been superb, by turns creepy, beautiful, tender and terrifying. A whole book-load of them? Count me in. Especially one with such stunning cover art and design as this one.

I asked Priya a few questions about All The Fabulous Beasts, particularly focussing on the two stories new to the collection, 'Small Town Stories' and 'A Son Of The Sea' (spoiler: both brilliant).

So, without further ado...

JE: So, to warm us up, how do you think of your stories? Weird fiction, fantasy, horror? I wouldn’t know how to classify them myself (which I absolutely think of as a good thing). Do you find such categories useful as a writer, or limiting?

PS: Hello James! I find that a hard question, even now. I hope that All the Fabulous Beasts is all of the above. When Mike Kelly of Undertow put this collection together he was very careful about what he felt should go in (thankfully) as I've also dabbled in fairy tales, mythology and alterative history. If they'd been included, certain stories might have jarred with others.

The story that I'm writing dictates the form and flavours. I've had lots of rejections along the lines of "I like this but it's not horror". I certainly don't find strict definitions of genre helpful, but I think definitions are getting broader and more blurred.

My favourite books don't adhere to strict definitions and I think I've drawn on them. Things that are between the lines or bend genre are more interesting, such as novels like Beloved by Toni Morrison, Slaughterhouse Five by Vonnegut, and in the work of David Mitchell, Calvino, Helen Oyeyemi, to name a few.

JE: Regardless of how you think of them, your stories nearly all feature a supernatural element. What is it about the supernatural or surreal that appeals to you as a writer? What does it allow you to do that ‘straight’ realism couldn’t?

PS: I remember listening to Thana Niveau on a panel about horror and she said that she was drawn to it because it was hardwired in there somewhere, which I thought was very thoughtful, rather than it just being about exploring our personal fears. I feel like that about most speculative fiction.

The supernatural allows for a whole new level of allegory. Also, when it's done well it does double duty as there are thrills to be had.

I wish I could write straight fiction, and probably read more straight fiction than genre fiction. When I try and write 'literary' fiction it seems very flat on the page. I feel confined. I think I write speculative fiction because I am, in truth, an escapist. It's the perfect type of fiction for exploring big ideas, feelings, and for extrapolating, but also for having fun and pushing the limits. Human beings are all about the impossible (even at risk to ourselves and the planet).

JE: In both of the new stories in your collection, there’s a very strong sense of place — from the more exotic locations of 'A Son Of The Sea' to the very English, parochial English setting you use in 'Small Town Stories'. So I wondered how important you think a evocation of specific place is, to you as a writer?

It's a crucial part of worldbuildng for me, as important as character. We're all affected by our environments. You can character build in how a person interacts with that world. I always do more research for stories than I need and have to be selective about what I use. It's the same with the world that I'm writing about. There's more happening off page that never makes the cut. Sometimes it's as much as what I imagine for the characters themselves.

I love stories with a strong setting, that's crucial to the story. It's what I enjoyed most about The Loney by Andrew Michael Hurley, for example. The Titus novels by Mervyn Peake blew my mind.

JE: I was especially taken with the titular setting of 'Small Town Stories' — a lot of British horror fiction seems to be either city based urban horror or rural folk horror, but these kind of backwater small towns seem very British and very scary to me. Was it a conscious decision, to write about the kind of place normally ignored?

PS: No, in that it wasn't a conscious decision - I just wanted to explore feelings I had about the town I grew up in- a smallish Cheshire market town, and when I think about that era it brings back the child in me, for reasons good and bad. That place still has a lot of power over me. When I go back I realise that I'm a stranger there.

The thing is, I don't recognise the place that I knew, not really. New build homes are where the industries that employed most of the town once stood. Supermarkets have replaced the veg shop and the butchers. There are more coffee shops and hairdressers, but nowhere to buy books or music. There used to be a thriving market each week but now it's just a carpark. And I'm not sure who shrunk the schools I went to.

Every small town has its urban legends and outsiders, and I wanted to explore that concept as well. Births, deaths, affairs. Nothing was secret for very long.

I wanted to write my own love story to it all.

JE: As well as a strong sense of place, both of these new tales seem to be about the past being something we can’t escape from, or even move on from - was this a conscious theme?

PS: Sometimes it is, sometimes it just seeps in there. It's a form of haunting, isn't it? The past is important to most people I know, whether they're trying to recreate/relive it or escape from it. I read a lot of Fay Weldon in my teens (thanks to The Lives and Loves of a She-Devil) and one of my favourite lines by her is "Wherever we go, we take ourselves with us". We can't escape our pasts. We can only learn to live with the horrors and joys of it.

It's funny that you've brought that up. I don't think I've ever started a story at the beginning of a character's journey. I'd actually find that too difficult to chart, in some ways. I like flawed people, in the thick of their struggles. What does that say about me?

JE: And finally, can you tell me a secret - name an author who’s an influence on your work that no reviewer or commenter has ever picked up on...

PS: Jim Crace. I think he's woefully neglected in the UK. His novels vary widely in subject matter but there's something about his prose that is poetic. It has a rhythm that I find addictive, almost iambic pentameter, which some people will mock. Reading his work, I get the feeling that every single word is considered and deliberate. I think his style is unique, and can only hope that one day, if I work hard enough, I might develop a unique style too.

My favourite works of his are Arcadia, The Pesthouse, Being Dead and The Devil's Larder.

You can buy All The Fabulous Beasts from the Undertow Press site, in both paperback or hardback editions.

In Praise Of Non-Themed Anthologies

In relation to a few things seen on social media recently, I just wanted to say: non-themed anthologies of original fiction are brilliant, aren't they? Especially, I feel, for weird, supernatural & horror fiction. Why? Well:

1. They can give you a real sense of where the genre is right now, its trends & obsessions

2. Paradoxically, they also provide a purview of the breadth & depth of the genre, irrespective of current trends

3. So they provide homes to stories you sense wouldn't quite 'fit' anywhere else, especially for newer writers

4. They're the best place to find new writers to love in the future, writing from the gut & heart, alongside ones you already know can deliver the goods

5. And you can get a real sense of an editor's personal taste too, their own take on this genre of ours

6. In the best ones, you never know what the next story will bring

But... I confess I find them really hard to review on this blog. There's no theme, so you can't mention that: any connections you see between the stories are likely all in your own mind or too general & obvious to be worth mentioning. And writing about each individual story can feel too repetitive, too much of a time-drain. Especially as there seems to be a tendency for these anthologies to push 20 stories or more.

So I've been remiss on that score, but to repeat, I do love a good non-themed anthology of original horror or supernatural fiction. So here's a link to a few of my favourites of recent years:

Shadows & Tall Trees #6 (ed. Michael Kelly, Undertow)

Shadows & Tall Trees #7 (ed. Michael Kelly, Undertow)

Looming Low #1 (ed. Justin Steele & Sam Cowan, Dim Shores)

New Fears #1 (ed. Mark Morris, Titan)

Nightscript #1 (ed. C.M. Muller, Chthonic Matter)

Nightscript #2 (ed. C.M. Muller, Cthhonic Matter)

A Book Of Horrors (ed. Stephen Jones, Jo Fletcher Books)

Darkest Minds (ed. Ross Warren & Anthony Watson, Dark Minds Press)

For The Night Is Dark (ed. Ross Warren, Crystal Lake)

Strange Tales V (ed. Rosalie Parker, Tartarus Press)

Hauntings (ed. Ian Whates, NewCon Press)
The Shadow Booth #1 (ed. Dan Coxon)
ETA: The Black Room Manuscripts #3 (ed. J.R. Park & Daniel Marc Chant, Sinister Horror Company - suggested by Penny Jones)

Any further suggestions welcome in the comments!

Recommendation: Year's Best Weird Fiction Volume Two

Undertow Publication’s Year’s Best Weird Fiction series reaches its second volume, this time guest-edited by Kathe Koja alongside Michael Kelly. In comparison to the first volume (which I reviewed here), there are less stories this time that draw from the horror tradition of Lovecraft, Aickman, Ligotti & the like, and more dark fantasy. Whereas my memory of the first book is, perhaps erroneously, of stories of people isolated and alone, the stories here seem more concerned with the relationships between characters as a source of weirdness, whether those relationships be familial, romantic, civic, or more ambiguous. There seems to be more focus, too, on linguistic experiment and playfulness–exemplified by the two stories included by Carmen Maria Machado, once of which has the fantastic title Observations About Eggs From the Man Sitting Next to Me on a Flight from Chicago, Illinois to Cedar Rapids, Iowa. And it does exactly what it says on the tin.

There are twenty stories here, and as always each reader will likely have their favourites. Here are mine, with a few brief words why.

Wendigo Nights by Siobhan Carroll – the wendigo has, of course, been part of horror fiction dating back to at least Algernon Blackwood’s tale, but this story finds a new angle on it, featuring not an external creature (probably) but the internalised idea of ‘wendigo psychosis’. Centred around an stranded team of scientists at an Arctic research camp, it also owes something to The Thing's creeping paranoia. No bad thing.

Headache by Julio Cortázar­–not, of course, a new story, but one newly translated. And what a joy it is to read a ‘new’ Cortázar­ story; whilst maybe not quite up there with something like House Taken Over, Headache still has that characteristic aura of matter-of-fact strangeness. It tells of a group of people looking after creatures known as ‘mancuspias’, the exact nature of which is deliberately hard to visualise for the reader. The creatures’ keepers do not seem to know exactly what they are doing (or why) and as conditions deteriorate they increasing suffer from ailments like vertigo and migraines…

Nanny Anne and the Christmas Story by Karen Joy Fowler–a nanny tells the children in her charge a story, which may or may not have some relevance to their life. A story with an ambiguous, skilful blurring of what is real and what isn’t, and which plays on all sorts of childhood fears.

The Air We Breathe Is Stormy, Stormy by Rich Larson–a story similar in tone to some of the more horror themed material from Volume 1, the central character here is a man fleeing society and his responsibilities to work on an oil rig. There’s a mounting sense of tension as he thinks he sees someone or something in the dark and stormy waters, before an unforeseen emotional pressure change at the climax.

The Husband Stitch by Carmen Maria Machado–the other story by Machado might have the better title, but it doesn’t have the narrative and emotional punch of this one. A story of a woman’s sexual awakening and marriage, the weird element here only subtly intrudes, and the full, horrifying significance of it is only revealed towards the end.

Resurrection Points by Usman T. Malik­­–a story which uses the weird to explore political and religious conflict, Resurrection Points is centred on a young boy in Karachi with a miraculous power both to heal and make dead bodies move. As his sense of power grows so does the conflict and violence around him; the two strands of the allegory intertwine and together create a dramatic and disturbing climax.

Exit Through the Gift Shop by Nick Mamatas–a second-person post-modern riff of on the horror campfire tales of ghostly hitchhikers, this generates laughs as much as unease. At least for awhile... Clever, playful, and with some of the most horrific imagery in the anthology: a combination that shouldn’t work but in Mamatas’s hands really does.

Migration by Karin Tidbeck­–the weird is a self-contained world (or series of worlds) in Tidbeck's fascinating story where the inhabitants of a settlement that exists only as a vast staircase are forced to move to every weirder dwelling places.

As my selection above hints at, one of the highlights of Year’s Best Weird Fiction 2 is the range of authors it includes in its comprehensive and generous definition of ‘the weird’. There are new names and old faces; horror, science-fiction and fantasy; works in translation, an almost equal representation of women as men, and writers from a wider variety of countries than in most of anthologies. There’s even stories by writers a few years dead alongside those living, which is another kind of diversity I guess…

Both volumes of Best Weird Fiction come highly recommended by this reader, then, and it will be interesting to see where Undertow take the series with the third volume.

Year’s Best Weird Fiction 2 (UK | US)

Recommendation: Supernatural Tales #30

Regular readers will know I've recommended Supernatural Tales before, as well as having had the distinct pleasure of appearing in its pages. It's a testament to the quality of the magazine that it's reached 30 issues.

For this special issue, the editor David Longhorn has invited back authors who have appeared in previous issue of ST to provide a new story, and all of them have risen to the occasion admirably. It opens, appropriately enough, with 30 by Helen Grant. A story about a mysterious room in an Oxford college, this one initially evokes the atmosphere of a classic MR James story, but the ending evokes more contemporary, existential fears.

An Element Of Blank by Lynda E Rucker follows. For my money, Rucker is one of the best short story writers in the field, and this terrifying story about a sinister house, childhood friendships, and the distortions of memory is evidence why. The horror comes in small, staccato bursts, all the more vivid for being so fleetingly seen.

Next up is Mark Valentine's Vain Shadows Flee. A tribute to the late Joel Lane, this is a quiet, moving character study about a vagrant in an unnamed British city. Tears From An Eyeless Face follows, a surreal, Samuel Becket-like prose-poem from Michael Kelly. Both these pieces, a mile away from traditional horror but each disturbing in their own way, demonstrate the range of fiction published in Supernatural Tales.

Adam Golaski was an author I was first came across thanks to Supernatural Tales (his collection Worse Than Myself is superb) and his story here, Wild Dogs is another triumph. His cast of young characters go to a club, their lives and dreams seemingly as blank as people from a Brett Easton Ellis novel, before the story erupts into sudden, surreal violence.

Even Clean Hands Do Damage by Steve Duffy closes the issue, and fortunately it's a tale as a good as its title. A story about a medium, a dead child and a grieving parent, this one wrong footed me several times before it ended.

With not a bad story among the bunch (in fact not even a 'just quite good story' among the bunch), Supernatural Tales #30 is an essential purchase and I wouldn't be surprised if a few of these stories don't make the 'best of' anthologies next year. You can, and should, buy it here.

Here's to the next thirty issues.