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Reign of Terror: The 2nd Corgi Book of Great Victorian Horror Stories
CONTENTS:
7 • The Dream Woman • (1920) • novelette by Wilkie Collins (variant of The Dream-Woman 1874) [as by W. Wilkie Collins]
37 • The Compensation House • (1866) • short story by Charles Allston Collins [as by Charles Collins]
58 • The Haunted and the Haunters; or, The House and the Brain • (1905) • novelette by Edward Bulwer-Lytton (variant of The Haunted and the Haunters; or, the House and the Brain 1859) [as by Lord Lytton]
104 • The Dead Man's Story • (1858) • short story by James Hain Friswell [as by Hain Friswell]
126 • Horror: A True Tale • (1861) • novelette by John Berwick Harwood
152 • The Cold Embrace • (1860) • short story by Mary Elizabeth Braddon
164 • The Merchant of Rotterdam • (1866) • short story by Henry Glassford Bell [as by H. G. Bell]
173 • The Child Stealer • (1872) • short story by Alexandre Chatrian and Émile Erckmann?
(trans. of La voleuse d'enfant 1862) [as by Erckmann-Chatrian]
7 • The Dream Woman • (1920) • novelette by Wilkie Collins (variant of The Dream-Woman 1874) [as by W. Wilkie Collins]
37 • The Compensation House • (1866) • short story by Charles Allston Collins [as by Charles Collins]
58 • The Haunted and the Haunters; or, The House and the Brain • (1905) • novelette by Edward Bulwer-Lytton (variant of The Haunted and the Haunters; or, the House and the Brain 1859) [as by Lord Lytton]
104 • The Dead Man's Story • (1858) • short story by James Hain Friswell [as by Hain Friswell]
126 • Horror: A True Tale • (1861) • novelette by John Berwick Harwood
152 • The Cold Embrace • (1860) • short story by Mary Elizabeth Braddon
164 • The Merchant of Rotterdam • (1866) • short story by Henry Glassford Bell [as by H. G. Bell]
173 • The Child Stealer • (1872) • short story by Alexandre Chatrian and Émile Erckmann?
(trans. of La voleuse d'enfant 1862) [as by Erckmann-Chatrian]
190 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1977
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August 15, 2014
Another anthology of Victorian horror/supernatural tales polished off. I'd previously read about half the stories here, but gave those a re-read, even though my initial reaction hadn't been too hot - ended up reaffirming my opinion on some, but also changing it in one case...
Wilkie Collins's "The Dream Woman" is a prophetic dream story - person has strange dream/vision (in this case, a woman attempting to stab him in his sleep as he rests at a roadside inn) and then later connects up with individual/scene from the dream. Understandable why, given their interest in Spiritualism and psychic powers, Victorians would be fascinated with this topic - but in truth it's been so heavily integrated into our pop culture that the novelty has mostly worn off. The dream itself resonated with "The Monk's Tale" from the previous volume (Reign Of Terror: The 1st Corgi Book Of Great Victorian Horror Stories) - interesting to posit why a fear of being attacked in one's sleep was so prevalent in the fiction of the time (aside from the obvious point that you're at your most vulnerable) - and the best bits were Collins' writing (clear, direct and efficient storytelling) and the main character's suicidal, dissolute and alcoholic betrothed (who, he eventually realizes, is the figure from his dream). Can he escape his fate?
I'll give Edward George Bulwer-Lytton something - his writing style is also clear-eyed and direct (mostly - he can be plodding when not driving the plot forward), and even familiar enough that he slips into some clipped dialogue. I'd previously read Zanoni by him and don't remember a thing except that it ends on Mount Vesuvius and there was a little bit of practical "occult knowledge" tucked in there (which made him a popular topic amongst Rosicrucians, IIRC). Here, in "The House And The Brain" (aka "The Haunter and the Haunted") he tackles that most standard of supernatural story plots - and he may actually be the one codifying it for genre history - the rational man who decides to prove that an undeniably haunted house is not haunted. I'd say the eventual discovery of the house's secret - when it comes - is rational/logical... except it's nothing of the kind - it's just that Lytton's rationality, which had to deny the superstitious belief in "ghosts and spirits" while trying to come up with some quasi-scientific/psychic phenomena malarkey of the time, forces him into one of these - "I say it is not supernatural and that there is no supernatural phenomena, only unexplained natural phenomena" - which in this case involves the human will broadcasting its psychic energy into the place, and an nearly immortal occult mage/hedonist. That last bit is where the story really goes off the deep end - as if Lytton was writing something that struts his esoteric knowledge about occult orders (his main character knows a secret password that proves to the immortal gentleman that he is an adept himself) for those out in the world who cared about such things. The start of the story is pretty tense (I like his stalwart, unflappable batman) and I guess you could see the plot as an inspiration for Matheson's Hell House, but mostly it still seems to meander to me - although I appreciated the bizarre ending, in which the mage uses our narrator as a psychic resonant sounding board to get a glimpse into a very strange future eons from now. Neat but still an oddly unsatisfying story for an accepted "classic" of the genre. Proves the old adage that, in general, "devout occultists - as opposed to dabblers - don't write good supernatural fiction" - Theosophists, Spiritualists, Rosircrucians, Ceremonial Magicians - they all have too much of an agenda to work the controls of the thrill machine effectively. Working against that theory - Machen, Meyrink, Blackwood...
Hain Friswell's "The Dead Man's Story" a fairly standard "deal with the Devil" tale with a nice atmospheric opening (friends gathered around a fire on a stormy night - as one suddenly tells a story about a romantic obsession that leads to his own death) and an enjoyable conception of the Devil (shocked that anyone would find it hard to believe he occasionally does good deeds, and bothered that the main character doesn't consider him a friend!) but not much of a pay-off.
"Horror: A True Tale" by John Berwick Harwood is a good example of both the stylistic tools and excesses of the Victorian horror tale. Written in huge blocks of paragraphs, the story builds atmospheric and plot detail to choking lengths (a lot of the latter proves to be superfluous to the final reveal) - a tale told in flashback recounting a horrific fate? check! Christmas party at sprawling manor house? check! use of rooms that haven't been opened in decades? check! Appearance by superannuated godmother who never liked main character after unexplained familial spat over her christening? check! Does said oldster make vague, prophetic warnings? You betcha! Discovery by narrator that she's been displaced into the notorious, haunted "Green Room" in the tower - the one she was taught to fear as a child? check! Fireside tales of some mysterious beast tearing apart local cattle and eating their hearts? check! and then, that night, she's visited by a moaning, clutching figure dragging chains... This is very similar to the previous volume's "A Night In The Old Castle" - it's all the tricks of a Gothic horror story concentrated into one short tale (you can just see some frightened, lower-class staff reading it aloud to each other by the kitchen fire!), creating a febrile stew that bubbles up into the moment of sensation-heavy "absolute horror" - which here is telescoped out into a time stretched moment in which our main character's heart palpitates, her eyes bulge, her throat tightens, her bosom heaves and other portions of her anatomy verb - this is all in preparation for a mad rush to the bedroom door (but not before, hilariously, she stops to slip on a wrap - she's Victorian, after all!) that's halted by a sudden grasp - and then it's throb, palpitate, gasp all over again! I won't reveal the secret, but like I said it has almost nothing to do with anything used to create the tension before (except the dead cattle) and can only be a disappointment after that build up. Still, interesting as an exercise (and note that "A True Tale" - man, that dodge has been around in horror for centuries!)...
I re-appraised, for the better, my opinion of "The Cold Embrace" by Mary Elizabeth Braddon. With some remarkably clear-eyed and straightforward writing, Braddon lays out a familiar series of events (loving maid, untrustworthy rake, broken heart, suicidal plunge, eternal haunting) in such a way that they almost resemble a folk fable (he can't escape the feeling of her cold arms around him, you see). The writing of the climax is nice, subdued yet evocative as it paints an image of vast, empty ballroom and one dead body. Most probably I read this before during my growing hunger for more literary forms of horror and mistook it's simplicity and folkloric strength for predictability and naivete and so dismissed it. Won't happen again.
"The Compensation House" - written by Charles Collins (Wilkie's brother) - is about a man unable to look in mirrors and explores some guilt driven psychology along the lines of De Maupassant (but not as sharply as that great writer) to satisfying effect. I liked the scene where the man's doctor finds him transfixed by a large mirror in a dark, empty hotel room.
Also strong, but in a totally different tone, is Henry Glassford Bell's comic-horror cautionary tale about "technology" gone mad (or perhaps the dangers of replication/simulation), "The Merchant of Rotterdam" - in which a master craftsman of prosthetic limbs creates a cork leg for a wealthy client that seems to have a life of its own and eventually sends him galumphing over hill and dale, doomed forever to walk the world as an ambulatory skeleton after he dies (this last bit at the ending - very tall tale or fable-like, again). Good fun!
Finally, a nice little piece of direct, pulpy (pre-dating pulp, so let's call it well-written "shilling shocker") horror - "The Child Stealer" from the writing duo of Erckmann-Chatrian (Émile Erckmann & Alexandre Chatrian) who produced many horror stories during their career. I recently wrangled a bit with their tale "The Spider Of Guyana" in another review and I liked this story more in its dry tone and story-forward plot chops. It wastes no time telling of a city plagued by child disappearances and the unexpected team-up between a crazed beggar-woman and a stalwart man of action as they trace the mystery to its final end (which, while familiar, is pretty damn disturbing for its time, even though it's not exactly stated so much as heavily intimated). Effective, commanding storytelling skills here - for the time, of course - and a good read.
And that's it for now.
Wilkie Collins's "The Dream Woman" is a prophetic dream story - person has strange dream/vision (in this case, a woman attempting to stab him in his sleep as he rests at a roadside inn) and then later connects up with individual/scene from the dream. Understandable why, given their interest in Spiritualism and psychic powers, Victorians would be fascinated with this topic - but in truth it's been so heavily integrated into our pop culture that the novelty has mostly worn off. The dream itself resonated with "The Monk's Tale" from the previous volume (Reign Of Terror: The 1st Corgi Book Of Great Victorian Horror Stories) - interesting to posit why a fear of being attacked in one's sleep was so prevalent in the fiction of the time (aside from the obvious point that you're at your most vulnerable) - and the best bits were Collins' writing (clear, direct and efficient storytelling) and the main character's suicidal, dissolute and alcoholic betrothed (who, he eventually realizes, is the figure from his dream). Can he escape his fate?
I'll give Edward George Bulwer-Lytton something - his writing style is also clear-eyed and direct (mostly - he can be plodding when not driving the plot forward), and even familiar enough that he slips into some clipped dialogue. I'd previously read Zanoni by him and don't remember a thing except that it ends on Mount Vesuvius and there was a little bit of practical "occult knowledge" tucked in there (which made him a popular topic amongst Rosicrucians, IIRC). Here, in "The House And The Brain" (aka "The Haunter and the Haunted") he tackles that most standard of supernatural story plots - and he may actually be the one codifying it for genre history - the rational man who decides to prove that an undeniably haunted house is not haunted. I'd say the eventual discovery of the house's secret - when it comes - is rational/logical... except it's nothing of the kind - it's just that Lytton's rationality, which had to deny the superstitious belief in "ghosts and spirits" while trying to come up with some quasi-scientific/psychic phenomena malarkey of the time, forces him into one of these - "I say it is not supernatural and that there is no supernatural phenomena, only unexplained natural phenomena" - which in this case involves the human will broadcasting its psychic energy into the place, and an nearly immortal occult mage/hedonist. That last bit is where the story really goes off the deep end - as if Lytton was writing something that struts his esoteric knowledge about occult orders (his main character knows a secret password that proves to the immortal gentleman that he is an adept himself) for those out in the world who cared about such things. The start of the story is pretty tense (I like his stalwart, unflappable batman) and I guess you could see the plot as an inspiration for Matheson's Hell House, but mostly it still seems to meander to me - although I appreciated the bizarre ending, in which the mage uses our narrator as a psychic resonant sounding board to get a glimpse into a very strange future eons from now. Neat but still an oddly unsatisfying story for an accepted "classic" of the genre. Proves the old adage that, in general, "devout occultists - as opposed to dabblers - don't write good supernatural fiction" - Theosophists, Spiritualists, Rosircrucians, Ceremonial Magicians - they all have too much of an agenda to work the controls of the thrill machine effectively. Working against that theory - Machen, Meyrink, Blackwood...
Hain Friswell's "The Dead Man's Story" a fairly standard "deal with the Devil" tale with a nice atmospheric opening (friends gathered around a fire on a stormy night - as one suddenly tells a story about a romantic obsession that leads to his own death) and an enjoyable conception of the Devil (shocked that anyone would find it hard to believe he occasionally does good deeds, and bothered that the main character doesn't consider him a friend!) but not much of a pay-off.
"Horror: A True Tale" by John Berwick Harwood is a good example of both the stylistic tools and excesses of the Victorian horror tale. Written in huge blocks of paragraphs, the story builds atmospheric and plot detail to choking lengths (a lot of the latter proves to be superfluous to the final reveal) - a tale told in flashback recounting a horrific fate? check! Christmas party at sprawling manor house? check! use of rooms that haven't been opened in decades? check! Appearance by superannuated godmother who never liked main character after unexplained familial spat over her christening? check! Does said oldster make vague, prophetic warnings? You betcha! Discovery by narrator that she's been displaced into the notorious, haunted "Green Room" in the tower - the one she was taught to fear as a child? check! Fireside tales of some mysterious beast tearing apart local cattle and eating their hearts? check! and then, that night, she's visited by a moaning, clutching figure dragging chains... This is very similar to the previous volume's "A Night In The Old Castle" - it's all the tricks of a Gothic horror story concentrated into one short tale (you can just see some frightened, lower-class staff reading it aloud to each other by the kitchen fire!), creating a febrile stew that bubbles up into the moment of sensation-heavy "absolute horror" - which here is telescoped out into a time stretched moment in which our main character's heart palpitates, her eyes bulge, her throat tightens, her bosom heaves and other portions of her anatomy verb - this is all in preparation for a mad rush to the bedroom door (but not before, hilariously, she stops to slip on a wrap - she's Victorian, after all!) that's halted by a sudden grasp - and then it's throb, palpitate, gasp all over again! I won't reveal the secret, but like I said it has almost nothing to do with anything used to create the tension before (except the dead cattle) and can only be a disappointment after that build up. Still, interesting as an exercise (and note that "A True Tale" - man, that dodge has been around in horror for centuries!)...
I re-appraised, for the better, my opinion of "The Cold Embrace" by Mary Elizabeth Braddon. With some remarkably clear-eyed and straightforward writing, Braddon lays out a familiar series of events (loving maid, untrustworthy rake, broken heart, suicidal plunge, eternal haunting) in such a way that they almost resemble a folk fable (he can't escape the feeling of her cold arms around him, you see). The writing of the climax is nice, subdued yet evocative as it paints an image of vast, empty ballroom and one dead body. Most probably I read this before during my growing hunger for more literary forms of horror and mistook it's simplicity and folkloric strength for predictability and naivete and so dismissed it. Won't happen again.
"The Compensation House" - written by Charles Collins (Wilkie's brother) - is about a man unable to look in mirrors and explores some guilt driven psychology along the lines of De Maupassant (but not as sharply as that great writer) to satisfying effect. I liked the scene where the man's doctor finds him transfixed by a large mirror in a dark, empty hotel room.
Also strong, but in a totally different tone, is Henry Glassford Bell's comic-horror cautionary tale about "technology" gone mad (or perhaps the dangers of replication/simulation), "The Merchant of Rotterdam" - in which a master craftsman of prosthetic limbs creates a cork leg for a wealthy client that seems to have a life of its own and eventually sends him galumphing over hill and dale, doomed forever to walk the world as an ambulatory skeleton after he dies (this last bit at the ending - very tall tale or fable-like, again). Good fun!
Finally, a nice little piece of direct, pulpy (pre-dating pulp, so let's call it well-written "shilling shocker") horror - "The Child Stealer" from the writing duo of Erckmann-Chatrian (Émile Erckmann & Alexandre Chatrian) who produced many horror stories during their career. I recently wrangled a bit with their tale "The Spider Of Guyana" in another review and I liked this story more in its dry tone and story-forward plot chops. It wastes no time telling of a city plagued by child disappearances and the unexpected team-up between a crazed beggar-woman and a stalwart man of action as they trace the mystery to its final end (which, while familiar, is pretty damn disturbing for its time, even though it's not exactly stated so much as heavily intimated). Effective, commanding storytelling skills here - for the time, of course - and a good read.
And that's it for now.
Displaying 1 of 1 review