“Another world was beside them even now. Jack would never be able to articulate it, but he knew there were aspects of his time in Blackwood Cottage with Polly that he could not fully accept. There was how things might be explained or ignored, and then there was the truth. The truth that Robert Hobbins never left, he just became invisible; that the tall man’s cat namesake was more conscious than any other cat; that if Jack was still working towards dusk, when the air was still, the faint almost-heard knocking he heard was not a distant axe chopping wood, or a picture being framed in a village cottage, the sound carrying for miles, nor even a late woodpecker: the knocking in truth came from within the grave he had himself dug.”
Wild Marjoram Tea by Sylvia Littlegood-Briggs was steeped in peninsular folklore, and her new novel, Old Children, returns to the same landscape to tell a tale of theft and return, once again taking us far from the fields we know and deep into a sinister world that exists just next door—
Like its predecessor, Old Children is both haunting and filled with disquiet. As ever, it might not be for you—
One of my all-time favorite strange stories is Arthur Machen's "The White People," a story about a diary kept by a young woman recording her experiences along the border of reality. Without being in any way imitative of the Machen story, this recent short novel from Broodcomb Press expands in hallucinogenic detail on the concept of life along that border. It's pretty much a folk horror nightmare tour de force.
Broodcomb's books are consistently atmospheric, smart, and unsettling. They continue to be my favorite contemporary horror fiction.
Jack, walking with vague purpose, heard the child, trapped under fallen stones, crying on the other side of the wall. He rescues the child, only to see it seemingly disappear. Jack is noticed, however, by a woman who advises him that queer things happen where he is, Hunters’ Wood, and worse at the top, Birdyard. She introduces herself as Polly, then offers him job at her home, Blackwood Cottage, where she wants a stone wall built, rather a stone maze.
As mentioned, Jack has been noticed. He has a quality “not quite of the fields we know, with more than a touch of the fields don’t know.”
This section, Jack’s observations, training, experiences, make for engaging reading. Two thirds in, however, the author pivots the narrative, dropping Jack into the realm of the Fairy Feller. Jack is added into a caravan, similar to those of Edith Bikker’s The Night Of Turns.
For me, this proved to be a narrative error and I found myself reading with diminished involvement. It seemed as if Littlegood-Briggs lost interest in her own tale, or if she simply lacked the story-telling ability to properly fill and conclude the opening section.
What is here, is excellent, despite the feeling that the two halves have been crazy glued together.
The first 2/3rds of Old Children are magnificent, an eerie folk horror story set in an isolated corner of the Peninsula, involving the construction of a stone maze and a menacing owl-dominated forest.
The last third, alas, forays into Faerie, or the Peninsula equivalent, and was extremely tedious for me, as has been in other Broodcomb titles. This has to do with the absurdity of the realm, and the fickleness of the plot there, making it almost impossible for me to follow.
The thirs part aside, the writing is amazing as always, so fresh and unexpected in each turn, full of corporeality and an animistic edge.
The first half of this novel had the truly disturbing power I've come to expect from Broodcomb's output, but, to my disappointment, in the second half this drained away, with the writing feeling almost rushed. Still, miles ahead of most contemporary weird writing.