Leeds, Massachusetts. The patrons of the Look Diner await their meals, drawn by something greater than hunger, something stronger than the need for shelter from the oppressive heat and humidity of summer. Waitresses hustle. Cooks sharpen knives and light burners, giving birth to blue blossoms of flame. Something is stirring in the greased air sliced by whirling ceiling fans. You and I, we have a corner booth. A front row seat. Abrecan Geist . In Leeds, Massachusetts, the name evokes dangerous magic, unspeakable blasphemies, black rites in the basement of Anne Gare's notorious book shop. Outsized rumors surround him. He lived a full three hundred fifty-eight years, dying in 1982 and taking to the casket the cadaver of what appeared to be a sixty-year-old man, and he could speak to birds. He and his coven, the Hilltown Ten, were responsible for the notorious priest murders and disappearances of the early 1980s. He could bend reality to suit his will. And in his later years, his dreams took over, warping reality even as he slept. Something is going to happen tonight, here, in the Look Diner in Leeds, Massachusetts. Something devilish. Something unnatural. All will play a part. You and I? Though we are but observers, we may not live through the night. But we will see something no one has ever seen before. It might be starting soon. Yes . . . the lights are flickering. The ceiling tiles are bulging like brown-stained bellies. The yolks of the eggs on my plate are filling with blood, and my water is boiling in my glass. Don't look away. Don't even blink. What does all this have to do with our favorite occultist, leader of the Hilltown Ten, dreamer, diarist, monster? Sit tight. Soon all will be revealed.
Matthew M. Bartlett was born in Hartford, Connecticut in 1970. He writes dark and strange fiction at his home in Western Massachusetts, where he lives with his wife Katie and an unknown number of cats.
Felt a lot like Hyperion; seven locals wash up at a shady diner, and the bulk of the book is each person having a long flashback about what drew them here. Then the Leeds Shrike rolls through and fucks everyone's day up.
Leeds Massachusetts was home to the legendary occultist Abrecan Geist. Seven different locals all go through some strange and vile dreams that land them at the Look Diner. Little do they know, they will be involved and witnesses to the resurrection of Geist! What a crazy and wild story. I loved how there was so many weird dreams that we went through. This was a great Bizarro! 
A slimmish piece, but it took me a while to read, because freeform in long form is an extended obstacle course. The individual bits are mostly good and better, occasionally great, but for me they didn't cohere enough to rate four stars, much as I like Bartlett's shorter outings (and I like them plenty).
Odd things are happening in Leeds, Massachusetts, home of the legendary deceased occultist, Abrecan Geist. It all seems to center on the Look Diner, where various citizens of Leeds seem to find just somehow find themselves there, after having experienced very disturbing happenings.
This brief premise doesn’t really even describe The Obsecration, one of the best horror novels I’ve read in years. Filled with imagery that, many times, is unforgettable, along with an incredible use of the English language (the author’s Lovecraftian style makes Lovecraft’s look juvenile), the novel is an unputdownable read. While various plot elements seem to jump all over the place without rhyme or reason, it all makes sense in the brilliant craziness of the last portion of the book. An amazing novel that I’m so thrilled to have read.
My profuse thanks to Broken Eye Books and to Netgalley for providing a digital copy of this great novel.
Where as many books to me haven't been very fun lately this one broke the streak of boredom I've been dealing with. Quick read that is just a fun and silly time through the whole thing.
Having finished Matthew M. Bartlett’s The Obsecration a few hours ago, I would assume—or at least I did assume a few hours ago—that, by now (approximately 12:56 post meridiem), I’d have assembled in my brain the words necessary for a somewhat coherent review. But I don’t. Not quite.
Here’s the thing: one does not read and simply understand a Bartlett story, one feels it (if you’ve read Gateways to Abomination—and you should if you haven’t—you’ll know what I mean).
In my reviews, I usually like to compare books with other books or films (for the potential reader’s consideration, but probably a considerable amount of writerly laziness on my part, too). I almost said “The Obsecration is Rob Zombie meets Douglas Adams” or “C.S. Lewis, if Tolkien didn’t convert him to Christianity and he became an occultist instead”; both of those comparisons ain’t bad, all things considered, but the truth is that Bartlett’s style—in the way he structures his stories, in the way he writes prose—is incomparably original.
Roughly speaking, The Obsecration is about a group of strangers who are summoned—metaphysically, psychedelically, occultly—to the Look Diner in Leeds, Massachusetts, where something wicked is waiting. (I won’t spoil what it is, or why it is; only that I feel like that Tim Robinson meme where he’s repeatedly yelling out, “What the f**k!”)
Sentence for sentence, paragraph for paragraph, chapter for chapter, The Obsecration is truly one of the best written horror novels I’ve read. The prose and word choices are so consistently good that I got tired of jotting down notes.
This book is psychedelically delicious. A must-read for the weird fiction connoisseur and the logophile. While this is a short read (137 pages), the prose is dense and rich as a thick cheesecake.