**** “Das Gesicht,” Dale Bailey
**** “Drunk Physics,” Kelley Armstrong
**** “Exhalation #10,” A. C. Wise
*** “Scream Queen,” Nathan Ballingrud
** “Family,” Lisa Morton
*** “Night of the Living,” Paul Cornell
*** “The One We Tell Bad Children,” Laird Barron
** “Snuff in Six Scenes,” Richard Kadrey
***** “Insanity Among Penguins,” Brian Hodge
*** “From the Balcony of the Idawolf Arms,” Jeffrey Ford
**** “Lords of the Matinee,” Stephen Graham Jones
** “A Ben Evans Film,” Josh Malerman
**** “The Face Is a Mask,” Christopher Golden
** “Folie à Deux, or the Ticking Hourglass,” Usman T. Malik
** “Hungry Girls,” Cassandra Khaw
*** “Cut Frame,” Gemma Files
**** “Many Mouths to Make a Meal,” Garth Nix
**** “Altered Beast, Altered Me,” John Langan
I gave up reading horror for the most part in the early 1990s, burning out on the gore and guts then in favor, switching instead to reading mostly humor as well as travelogues. I’d made exceptions upon occasion, like a new Iain Banks novel that contained horrific elements, confident enough of Banks’ ability to give me something more than just bloodsplattered pages. But I obtained this book through the recent Hugo voters packet and decided to explore what the current state of the horror market was like, trusting in the experienced hands of Ellen Datlow to provide stories with something more going for them.
As a theme anthology, the stories do have a sort of sameness to them—the two types tend to be either the characters engaged in making a horrific film or centered around the secrets behind a horror film. Some of the stories achieve some really disturbing elements to them (the Armstrong, Hodge, and Langan ones in particular), and there’s only four that I thought tired or simply missed the mark (the Morton, Kadrey, Malik, and Khaw stories). A solid anthology, but not a great one.
“Das Gesicht,” Dale Bailey — Unsettling, this combination of army and movie horror works because of Bailey’s attention to the historic details, both in the depiction of the World War I battlefield and the heydey of silent film. It is a slow tale, as the narrator is rightfully reluctant to tell it, but yet inclined to do so at least once in his twilight years, although he regrets it as quickly as he finishes it. Of course, it also works because of its combination of body horror and our fear of insects, or really, of anything that would feast on our flesh. I wouldn’t recommend it to those who don’t like horror, but for those who do, it’s very well done.
“Drunk Physics,” Kelley Armstrong — A nice, twisty story filled with great detail and some unease, if not exactly horror, at least suspense and mystery. Like many a horror story, the actual fantasy of it doesn’t make much sense, but that’s not the point. Armstrong captures the paranoia of the Trinity character wonderfully, as well as creating in Hannah a fairly unique character with very believable doubts and cares. Extremely readable style. Recommended, for those who like a touch of horror.
“Exhalation #10,” A. C. Wise — A twisted, psychological horror tale both centered in the real—the snuff films found by the detective Paul and shared with his friend Henry—and the unreal—Henry’s supernatural ability to hear sounds that others can’t hear. I’m not sure I followed everything about the plot, especially the ending and the movie Henry makes that somehow addresses the films he has seen as well as his troubled relationship with sound and his unrequited love for Paul, but the mood evoked by Wise here is evocative and disturbing in ways few other horror stories are able to achieve.
“Scream Queen,” Nathan Ballingrud — It’s unsurprising that a book about filmic horror would have a story in it about B-grade horror films and center on a starlet from one of them. It also shares some similarities with other stories about such films and how their filming, even though poor quality and all, shared something that was actually real. Ballingrud does a good job here with depicting a horror that could come from that, and the story has a few surprises in it, especially the turnabout of the starlet herself and her composure in the face of an unbelievable evil. Endings are hard, though, and this one didn’t quite work for me, although everything leading up to it was good.
“Family,” Lisa Morton — Because most people wouldn’t be familiar with Hong Kong cinema, there’s a lot of extra here, provided in little info-dumps to establish veracity and background. The beginning, especially, seemed hamhanded. After the introduction of the film, the story settled into something of a rhythm, but the ending seemed too contrived: the whole point of the story is this concept of a film that makes you see ghosts of dishonored ancestors if you had been the one to dishonor them, and then the main character has his father die, leading to an expectation of seeing something in the film.
“Night of the Living,” Paul Cornell — The trouble with theme anthologies is getting stories that do something new with the tired old tropes. Take, for instance, the movie that causes a horror show, like this one. Cornell attempts to infuse it with something new by centering it around the manager who is simply floating through life after the trauma of seeing both of his parents suicide, and the situation between him and his staff has an Office-like quality, but the way the plot unfolds, this realism is offset by the simply ridiculous nature of the movie and its effect on people. Nicely written, but just not effective as it stands.
“The One We Tell Bad Children,” Laird Barron — This has to be one of the oddest stories I’ve read in some time. It’s set in a truly alternate universe where America is feudal, but there exists some of the same people in our world: John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Gregory Peck. The plot itself concerns an animated film, which is not quite like our films but has some similarity to early silent pictures, called Ardor of the Damned, and a very disfunctional family, or at least an unhappy youth who, as the viewpoint character, is not entirely reliable. The writing style is just as strange, conjuring up elements of 18th and 19th century prose in both word choice and structure. I found it fascinating at the least.
“Snuff in Six Scenes,” Richard Kadrey — No, I didn’t like this. Yes, I see how it twisted expectations. But it’s still lacking in any real insight—or it’s just its reliance on stereotypes of sad little men and spunky young women that seems not as surprising as it should be. This is the kind of horror that just seems pointless to me, and is the reason I stopped reading horror until recently.
“Insanity Among Penguins,” Brian Hodge — This is the prize of the anthology—a truly disturbing bit of existential horror found at the center of a rumored but never seen documentary by Werner Herzog. Does it exist? But the story isn’t quite as much about the documentary as it is about people who decide they have no future and decide it’s time to give up, but not simply give up, to sacrifice themselves. But that’s not quite it, either. It’s hard to pin, this thing that Hodge has done, but I’ve not ready anything quite as creepy as this in some time. I’m giving it a high rating, but I hesitate to make a recommendation. Like the film at the story’s core, once you’ve read/seen it, you can’t unread/unsee it.
“From the Balcony of the Idawolf Arms,” Jeffrey Ford — Adequately creepy and well written, but I didn’t much care for the somewhat ambiguous ending. A couple of poor children have to be left alone each Saturday in their apartment by their mother who works as a waitress in order to make ends meet. They discover a show from the only other occupant of the building, the landlord who lives on the top floor, whose round picture window displays in silloutte his activities, which are—disturbing. During the latest such episode, the children bring attention to themselves, and something changes. My speculation is that the mother is met by something on her way home and everything is about to end very horribly, but that’s left to the reader to determine.
“Lords of the Matinee,” Stephen Graham Jones — The thing I liked first about this was the style, a first person voice that felt fairly unique yet understandable. The initial situation is portrayed well, too, setting you up for the entry into the weird when the protagonist gets his father-in-law into the movie. You can wave your hand at the fantastic bit—it’s just a method by which a revelation comes to the protagonist, but even then it’s done in a unusual and effective manner. The ending, with its resolution that’s not quite a resolution, is both satisfying and not, leading the reader to wonder, yet also see that there is a difference there between the protagonist and his father-in-law.
“A Ben Evans Film,” Josh Malerman — A poor version of Psycho. I couldn’t see that it added anything with the focus on the filmmaking. Nothing about this story made me want to read it, and I likely wouldn’t have finished it if it hadn’t been in this collection.
“The Face Is a Mask,” Christopher Golden — Okay, this one qualifies as truly creepy and unnerving and surprising, with extremely well-drawn characters and a situation that is horrific in ways that will linger. It uses the film theme to its best. A b-grade movie interrupted, but one in which the actors may have had more of an intent than expected. There’s a twist here, and it’s one that is totally unexpected, and I’m unsure if it’s entirely reasonable within the story logic, but hell, it seemed to work, so there’s that.
“Folie à Deux, or the Ticking Hourglass,” Usman T. Malik — The setting is likely Pakistan, although it is not so named, but I’m assuming given the references to Islam combined with other details. The story—that’s not quite so clear. It references a djinn, but an extremely cruel one (this is a horror story, after all), but the composition goes between a child molester, or possibly cannibal, up to that kind of unknowable, eldritch kind of being that Lovecraft was so fond of. Creepy? Yes. But I felt frustrated by the things left unsaid, by not quite understanding who the protagonist was and what he thought he was doing.
“Hungry Girls,” Cassandra Khaw — A disappointing story about an independent film production and the four auteurs who meet up with a new ingenue in Kuala Lumpur. To be fair, perhaps this might work for someone else, but as someone who has actually lived in Malaysia for three years, nothing about the setting rang true to me, especially not the drug use, out in the open. I realize that the author is from Malaysia, but frankly, it could have been set anywhere: except for the references to the humidity and jungle, it used nothing of the city or country that I recognized. I can’t say I cared for the style, either—an amalgamation of Erica Jong meeting Hunter S. Thompson.
“Cut Frame,” Gemma Files — The format of this—found documents and interview transcripts—help make this more interesting than a straightforward story, and the depiction of the film and its leading lady is quite interesting, but the ending is quite anti-climactic and disappointing, failing to reveal or explore the reasons behind Tamar Dusk’s hold on people, or explain the last film she made, the one that is explored in the interview. Everything up to the point had such promise, though.
“Many Mouths to Make a Meal,” Garth Nix — This is horror bordering on fantasy. That is, rather than the opposite of fantasy bordering horror, which uses the trappings of fantasy—magic, wizards, creatures—and then turns horrific, this begins with the horror and ends up almost, oh I’ve got to say it, hopeful (you’ll get that joke if you ever read this story). Halfway through it, I was afraid it was going to be something out of Clive Barker’s or one of the splatterpunks’ playbooks, and yes, it had its visceral imagery there as well as the kind of crazed, over-exaggerated elements that Barker became known for, but it redeemed itself in its ending.
“Altered Beast, Altered Me,” John Langan — There’s always a danger for writers to write about writing—it is what we know, and one of those dictums (that needs to be discarded in as forceful a manner as possible) is to write what you know. Even knowing this, we all feel the call, the urge to be more meta than meta. I’ve succumbed at least twice, publishing the second in a webzine devoted to such meta tales. Langan goes for the throat here, not only having his main characters be writers, but making it an epistolary tale told in the emails between them. Not only that, but it contains three draft stories written by one of the characters shared with the other. That of course makes this fairly long. It works, for the most part, and reminds me favorably of Stephen King, who also wasn’t afraid of using novelists as his main character in at least two books, by mixing some of the psychological horror of the descent into madness from The Stand with a host of newly invented vampire myths like ‘Salems Lot. Recommended, if you like those books by King.