I’d heard good things about CJ Lines’s Cold Mirrors collection: dark, short fiction that would capture my imagination and leave me thinking long after the last page was finished. The book has left me thinking, certainly, but sadly for Lines - clearly an enthusiastic and prolific writer of fiction - these thoughts are far from positive.
The cover of this self-published collection gives due warning to readers: a poor quality photograph of an attractive but slightly baffled-looking young, blonde woman with sequins stuck to her face, and a back cover quote reading, “Possibly the finest writer in the country.” Even were this the finest anthology that self-publishing had ever seen, a quote like that sets it up to disappoint, and disappoint it does - in a multitude of ways.
With 14 stories to choose from, Cold Mirrors isn’t stingy in its offerings; the problem comes when one realises that certain themes are doomed to recur, creeping in on the first pages and ultimately trampling the seeds of good ideas that some of these stories undoubtedly contain.
The dead wife/girlfriend/mother trope is done to…well, death, actually. Women in Lines’s stories drop like flies: they’re either dead already, providing a convenient motivation for the frequently heroic male protagonists (The Trending, Debut, Monkey House), or they’re murdered in the course of events, either as a handy plot driver or just as par for the course (Lambkin, Duplicity, Emerson’s Last Stand), on occasions by the male characters themselves, in a lazy Male Violence As Horror move.
Where women aren’t literally murdered, they might as well be, being either completely absent (Stop Press, Emmeline, The Monkey House) or reduced to lazy and offensive stereotypes - Lambkin’s “desperate” and “annoying” female housemate who is unable to find a job, is jealous and possessive of the comparatively successful main protagonist (being secretly in love with him as she is - he concludes), and is ultimately murdered in a gruesome fashion while providing childcare to a friend. Or, from the same story, the landlord’s daughter - an unnamed “young brunette”; - whose only role is to serve the main character’s food and inform him of local legends as she sits opposite him “brazenly” before being called out of the scene by her father who wants her to go and cook more pies.
In the realms of extras, prostitutes and unfortunate women appear, to be groped or helped by male characters; other women are characterised as bitchy, gossipy harridans, and are frequently referred to as “girls”.
The only female characters with any agency (let’s say Katie from Nostalgia Ain’t What It Used To Be, Maria and Diana from Come Die With Me, and Sue from Patrick O’Hare: King of the Freaks) are egregiously treated: Katie, in her mid-thirties, is a wretched failure with no relationship, no friends and a career in which she has been promoted as “an act of mercy to soften the embarrassment” of being at least 10 years older than her female colleagues - the “admin girls”.
In Come Die With Me, we encounter “young” and “slim” Maria, who is used to distract victims by wearing a short skirt and a schoolgirl outfit, and Diana, a “much older” and “voluptuous lady” who finds pleasure in masturbating while killing.
Sue, the 12-year-old female protagonist of Patrick O’Hare: King of the Freaks, is characterised as cowardly and afraid; she is, in turn, mocked and comforted by the two main male characters as she encounters the women and people of colour who populate the eponymous freak show. Ultimately, she is rewarded for her compassion to one of the unfortunate exhibits by being kidnapped and mutilated to become part of the show.
In the entire collection of short stories, there are only two female protagonists, both of whom meet grisly ends. Two is also the number of explicitly non-white characters in the book: Nostalgia Ain’t What It Used To Be features a Chinese male character who speaks with simplified, broken English, runs a mystical herb shop and bows at the main character when she visits his stall, in what one assumes is a convenient generic Eastern gesture of servitude. Patrick O’Hare: King of the Freaks fares even worse, choosing as it does to have a Black man of small stature - imaginatively named “Congo” - eating raw meat in a cage as white people look on.
Let it not be said that there is no room for racist, misogynist and otherwise bigoted characters: there absolutely is, and perhaps especially in fiction designed to frighten, disturb and discomfit, as Cold Mirrors is. However, to encounter a collection of stories with such deeply entrenched white male privilege, right across the board, is an unfortunate and dismaying thing. Not one of the stories escapes these tendencies, and it renders the reader less than generous when confronted with other less-than-perfect moments: excessive alliteration and excruciating attempts at regional accents in Debut; an overly didactic exposition style throughout, in which the reader is force-fed pertinent details rather than being invited to nibble at them; and embarrassingly classless moments that unsuspend even the tiniest bit of disbelief - a conversation about sexually frustrated lesbian ewes in one story, a temptress black leather miniskirt in another.
In all, this is a deeply unfortunate collection of stories that left a sour taste in my mouth and a singing gap in my wallet where the money I paid for it used to be. I find myself wishing that I’d listened more carefully to the message that is transmitted loud and clear by the anonymous blonde woman on the cover: this is men’s work, but women are jolly handy for putting a pretty - or sometimes ugly - face on things.