In Camilla Grudova’s second short story collection, the conventions of horror, gore and the fantastic converge in a weird-fest, a carnivalesque parade of the most original, strange and often disgusting characters, set against the horrors of capitalism.
Back in April, I had the chance to see Camilla Grudova read in a horror fiction panel at Cúirt Festival. She talked about her debut novel, Children of Paradise, which is set in a decaying cinema. When asked about the inspiration for the grotesque horrors of the novel she simply replied that she had worked in a cinema, as if it was obvious to anyone who had ever held a similar job that there was an abundance of horrors to choose from.
In her latest book, a collection of short stories, the links between horror and working-class struggles intensify. The Coiled Serpent, out November 2nd, is not only set against today's economic climate and houseing crisis, but blatantly exposes the horrors and injustices of our systems with the same shameless chagrin with which Grudova answered questions. Most importantly, it does so in an utterly original way, a true feat in the genre.
The stories included in The Coiled Serpent deal with the grotesque, the supernatural and the weird, but also touch on unfair working conditions, gender violence and poverty, all delivered in Grudova’s matter-of-fact, fable-like manner, some to the point of appearing cryptic, although for me it’s more about the actual things on the page rather than about interpreting them, which is one of the reasons why I love her fiction.
The stories are all different although some seem to be set in the same universe, some in the same town of Margate, some linked through an infamous custard factory. Some are closer to dystopia and others too familiar: we meet a young archaeologist, a struggling art history graduate, a PhD dropout, factory workers, sauna employees, but also nepo-babies, computer programmers, evil scientists.
I thought most of the stories shared a common message along the lines of “eat the rich”, because in these stories wealth seems to equal decay, rot, a grotesque opulence which is mirrored by the spaces inhabited by these characters: houses overflowing with stuff, pipes bursting with shit, flooding saunas, bodies exploding due to containing too much semen (really). Grudova's aesthetic of the overflow —faeces, murky waters, custard, bodily fluids—is particularly disturbing considering how concerned we are, as a society, to hide all these. We rely on the fact that there will always be someone unclogging the toilets, draining the pipes, cleaning the pool—and these are Grudova’s characters, who also are cinephiles, avid readers, musicians, contemporary poètes maudits.
Each one of these tales is utterly disturbing and original, from a young woman starting her own poison garden at the Tudor House Museum in Margate, to a boarding school for boys of all ages, all ages. I could talk about each story for hours, but I'll just say read at your own risk. Also, Mayakovsky!!
Thank you Atlantic Books and NetGalley for letting me read an advance copy.