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Capsule Reviews, October 2014, Part 2

Normally this would be the vault reviews part, but I only have two capsule-length vault reviews left. So I filled the rest with new reviews…


Neil Gaiman, Neverwhere (Avon, 1996)

[originally posted 7Jan2002]

A portrait of a London subway tunnel heading off into the distance decorates the book's cover.

Somewhere down there, King Rat awaits.
photo credit: Amazon

Gaiman took the script from his own miniseries and novelized it, and that’s where many of the problems with this volume lay. While the plot moves along at a fine enough pace, and the pages turn quickly, there’s not really much in the way of development going on. The characters are 2-D all the way through, and we never get to feeling that there’s more than that surface. So if you’re a person who can’t find anything worth liking in a novel with badly-drawn characters, this probably shouldn’t be the first place you turn when looking for something to read.

On the other hand, if a well-realized plot and some great place descriptions are enough to make you eschew characterization, you could do a lot worse. Gaiman is quite good at coming up with new and interesting places to send his characters, most of which obviously started with the question “why in the world was this tube station named <x>?” Gaiman creates an alternate London that’s quite a bit of fun to explore. I just can’t quite shake the feeling that the miniseries would be more absorbing than the book. ***

* * *

Friedrich Durrenmatt, The Visit (Grove, 1956)

[originally posted 24Jan2002]

The outline of the protagonist is cut out of the cover's red background, revealing newsprint.

She does not stroll. She does not stride.
photo credit: Better World Books

Another excellent piece of work from Friedrich Durrenmatt. The story of The Visit takes place in a dying town in central Europe somewhere; the country is not given (the reasons should be obvious). As the town is on the verge of bankruptcy, with almost total unemployment and a pervasive sense of despair, one of the town’s local folk made good comes back, hinting that she will give the town enough money to bail it out: get the factory working again, allow the stores to restock, that sort of thing. The night she arrives, she tells the townspeople that their expectations of the reasons for her visit are true, and that she will give them the money they need. She has one condition: she requires justice in the form of a lynch mob. She wants the townspeople to kill one of their own.

The revelation of the intended victim is the major twist here; in many ways, the play’s climax is actually this scene, at the end of Act I, and the following two acts are a painfully drawn-out dénouement as we watch the townspeople’s changing reactions to the woman and her demand. Unlike The Pledge, in which we see the gradual development of one man’s madness, in this case we’re given a woman who’s arguably mad from the get-go (certainly, she’s as obsessed as The Pledge’s protagonist
is at the end of that novel from long before the beginning of this play), and we watch the way her madness, combined with her wealth, affects the town around her over the course of a few days. Durrenmatt is a master at using small details to show how the community changes its views over a relatively short period of time, and even manages to make the rather horrific journey humorous at times (the play is defined as, and works as, a tragicomedy). We find ourselves alternately sympathizing with and horrified at the actions of the townspeople, and see no conflict in the two attitudes. A wonderful play. ****

* * *

The Reeds (Nick Cohen, 2010)

A lone figure wades through human-high reeds on the movie poster.

Water, water everywhere, and all the boards did shrink.
photo credit:

The Reeds is not a bad little film, certainly not one deserving of the kind of calumny it has received around the Internet (4.6 at IMDB, 10%[!!] at Rotten Tomatoes). It’s nothing spectacularly original, but if you’re looking for a somewhat understated supernatural thriller, this will do as well as most of your other options. A group of young-and-beautifuls head out of the city to spend a weekend boating in the middle of nowhere…but “middle of nowhere” turns out to be a much more accurate description than they were hoping, and the reeds are home to all sorts of the kinds of noises that make people wonder just how alone they are on the desolate moor. While the climax does get a touch ridiculous, that did not, in my estimation, detract from the basic enjoyability of the movie. It’s empty calories, but it’s an easily-swallowed ninety minutes that does not leave a nasty aftertaste. ***


* * *

From a Whisper to a Scream (Jeff Burr, 1987)

A headless body walks around with a machete in one hand and Vincent Price's head in the other on the movie poster.

The Headless Boresman.
photo credit:

I’ve said a great deal about American attempts to make horror anthology films since Creepshow, and it feels silly to reiterate it all here. From a Whisper to a Scream is another of those American anthology films where the framing device ends up working better than any of the stories therein, but unlike many movies of that stripe, the shorts in this one range from competent to pretty durned good, and the cast they dug up for this thing is pretty spectacular, with Vincent Price as the framing device’s narrator and a solid B-movie cast with names like Clu Galager, Susan Tyrrell, Larry Kiser, and Lawrence Tierney delivering the fun. I wish Burr had pushed a little harder to try and send this one into the realms of Creepshow (though in hindsight—Burr’s later output would include Pumpkinhead II and the fourth and fifth Puppet Master movies—he simply might not have had it in him), but what we got is watchable enough if you’re looking for a handful of short, sharp shocks. ***


* * *

La Casa de las Sombres (The House of Shadows) (Ricardo Wullicher, 1976)

The principal cast's heads loom over the titular house on the movie poster.

Teenage giallo grind, the geriatric remix.
photo credit:

Odd Argentine/US hybrid mystery that attempted to do giallo without any of the operatic cinematography or over-the-top gore scenes, with the expected result. Take away those things that make giallo what it is and you’re left with the parts that fans routinely overlook, namely the thin characters and anemic plot, with only a bit of faux-psychedelic camera trickery to give the same away (e.g., when Audrey witnesses the murder). If you’re a really big fan of seventies mystery/thrillers, this might be worth your time, but otherwise you’re better off forgetting you even know this exists. *

Not finding a trailer for it. You’re not missing anything.

* * *

Edge of Madness (Anne Wheeler, 2002)

Caroline Dhavernas looks apprehensive on the movie poster.

Can I play with… oh, forget it.
photo credit: IMDB

Historical drama/mystery set in nineteenth-century frontier Canada about a woman (Devil‘s Caroline Dhavernas) who walks into a sheriff’s office and confesses to murdering her husband (Final Destination‘s Brendan Fehr), and the investigation that follows. Enjoyable, if somewhat slight, and most of the relationships never quite rang true for me (the exception is that between the alleged murderess and the lead investigator); how much you can overlook that likely determines how much you’ll end up liking it. Would have been better with a slightly less predictable ending, but you can’t find many of those these days. ***


* * *

Nancy Shaw, Sheep Blast Off (Houghton Mifflin, 2008)

The beloved sheep of the series head for the stars on the book cover.

photo credit:

Another of the Sheep books that doesn’t measure up to the original (cf. recent review of Sheep Take a Hike), but that has the interesting side effect of revealing another facet of the original that makes it work so well. Obviously, if you’ve got a flock of sheep in a jeep with one driving, you’re suspending a modicum of disbelief, but once you’ve gotten to that level, you don’t need to go farther; everything works, everything is internally consistent. With Sheep Blast Off, on the other hand, it seemed almost as if Shaw was trying to outdo herself with every passing page with the silliness. On the other hand, the language is consistent and fun—if your child is already a fan of the Sheep series, take this one out of the library and give it a look. Else, start with the original (and still best) book in the series, Sheep in a Jeep. ** ½

* * *

Sebastien Braun, Digger and Tom (Harper, 2011)

Digger and Tom (err, Skip) pose on the book cover.

You’re not short, Digger. You’re bucket-challenged.
photo credit: Amazon

Okay, I don’t get it. Why did the publisher feel the need to change this book, originally published in England, to have the title Digger and Tom instead of Digger and Skip? You can’t seriously think that was a cultural reference that would not be glossed over by the intended audience (or their parents, so you really know anyone who doesn’t watch at least one British import home show on TV? I mean, I don’t even have cable and I know that one). One way or the other, though, out of the whack of books (six) that came home from the library with mommy and the Bean on Friday, this was the winner (Tubby was the only other one that came close). Digger is a small backhoe who works on a construction site with a number of other machines. The dump truck Tom is his friend, but the rest of the machines look down on him because he’s kind of clumsy. When the team runs into a problem they can’t solve, Ton encourages Digger to take a whack at it, because digging is his specialty. Pretty standard stuff, but for a construction-equipment-obsessed two-year-old it seems to be the best thing ever. If your kid takes a shine to it, expect to be re-reading this one a lot. Doesn’t hold up to that all that well, but it’s short and easy, so not a huge problem. ***

* * *

Watty Piper, The Little Engine that Could (Platt and Munk, 1930)

The little engine steams down the mountain on the spoilerific cover of the book.

I wish I didn’t have to. I wish I didn’t have to. I wish I didn’t have to.
photo credit: NPR

When I was a kid, I was pretty open to reading just about anything, really, and there were very few books I simply did not like. One of them was The Little Engine that Could. Well, a copy of it popped into our house tonight thanks to the mother-in-law, and I read it to the Bean tonight. Forty years later, my opinion of the book has not changed one bit. Repetitive prose, unlikable characters (in the engines who refuse), trite, inspirational resolution…I wouldn’t have put things in those words when I was four, of course, at that time all I knew was that I was bored by it compared to other books in my collection of which I wore out multiple copies (Big Max, The Snowy Day, Why Mosquitoes Buzz in People’s Ears, Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel, I could go on all day), but now, with a quarter-century of analysis and criticism behind me, I can put fingers on why the book rubbed me the wrong way so badly when I was young. And it still does. I know it is beloved of millions, but sorry, folks, I have never been able to get on this bandwagon, and at this point it’s pretty obvious I never will. * ½

* * *

Kathryn and Byron Jackson, The Big Elephant (Golden Press, 1949)

The big elephant in a natty suit and yellow cap adorns the cover of the book.

All ready for his first day of school.
photo credit: Amazon

The Big Elephant is one of those Golden books from when the company was still, I think, finding its feet and trying to come upon a winning formula for pre-lit. This one doesn’t quite get there, though it’s not as bad as some of their other experiments (have you read Polly’s Pet? [shudder]). I should note, however, that the Jacksons, a year before this, came up with one of Golden’s early winners, Busy Timmy, and note in passing that experimentation is a good thing. But this book’s one big problem is its repetition, which is so pervasive, and so noticeable, it’s the only book from this batch of six that we did not finish the first time through; it took another pass the second night to get all the way to the end of the book. Would have liked to see a rewrite of this one with some of the repetition fixed to see how much the book would have been improved, but almost sixty years later, I’m thinking that’s probably impossible, at least with the original authors. **

Mighty in Sorrow: A Tribute to David Tibet and Current 93 (2014): An Endless Winter in this Dog Day Age

Jordan Krall (ed.), Mighty in Sorrow: A Tribute to David Tibet and Current 93 (Dynatox Ministries, 2014)

Cats, holding hands, with blood-hungry expressions, dance around a tombstone on the book's cover.

And I lie in the arms of a smiling girl who calls on Christ and the pale queens.
photo credit:

If you’re a fan of British Dark Folk band Current 93, you don’t need me to tell you you need this book. This isn’t a review for the established fans; this is one for the folks who may not have ever heard of C93, or its brilliant, insane, workaholic, polymath of a frontman, David Tibet. Tibet is a man of wide-ranging, often obsessive interests, from the mundane (Enid Blyton’s relentlessly optimistic elf Noddy, Louis Wain’s cat portraits) to the dangerously “evil” (the works of Aleister Crowley and Byron Gysin). All of which makes his music endlessly fascinating, once you’ve developed a taste for it. More to the point, it serves as the broadest of launching pads for a literary tribute. Tribute albums come out all the time, with other, usually lesser, bands covering the work of the masters. When’s the last time you heard of a tribute book to a musician? The rarity of the concept alone should draw you in.

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Slices of Life (2010): You Say You Developed a Taste for the Flesh of Your Own Race

Slices of Life (Anthony Sumner, 2010)

Kaylee Williams, splayed against a wall, covered in blood, adorns the movie poster.

“Was it good for you, too?”
photo credit:

What is there to say about Anthony Metzger’s mess of an attempt at a horror anthology film, Slices of Life, that hasn’t already been said? One of my rules of thumb when looking at anthology films is that if your frame piece is the best thing about the movie, you have probably already failed. When your frame piece is the best thing about the movie and it’s this bad, well, I’m glad someone believes in your talents, but before the next time you release something, you may want to see if you can get some sort of outside, objective validation for whether it’s worth releasing (and maybe some constructive criticism on how you can make it better). I have a very hard time believing that happened here.

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Lhorn (2003): An Ill Wind Through the Branches

Lhorn (Soul) (Arphichard Phopairoj, 2003)

[note: review originally published 1Dec2008]


photo credit:

In Thailand, our tree spirits inhabit trees that grow on… twin peaks.

While the horror anthology hasn’t had much success in America over the past thirty years or so (a few good-to-great ones have sprung up, but never got the distribution they deserved), the form has flourished in Asia, with such notable recent examples as 4bia and Rampo Noir, which remains the finest anthology film I’ve ever seen, showing just how good the format can get. Phopairoj’s almost-as-recent Lhorn is not a bad example of the genre, but it doesn’t match either of those mentioned above, and actually doesn’t even come up to the standards of a run-of-the-mill anthology like Zoo; still, it’s not a bad little flick, and if you’re a fan of this sort of thing, it’s worth checking out.


photo credit:

“Some nights you get me in your dreams…

Four stories here. In one, a tree-spirit falls in love with a human, and plots revenge when her love is not returned. A second also revisits the tree spirit/revenge theme when a woman murdered beneath a tree has her spirit inhabit it to get her revenge. A third involves a magician who breaks the rules and is cursed by his teacher to become a demon who must survive by eating parts of humans you probably don’t want to think about, and the fourth, another tree story, involves a tree-spirit capable of transforming itself into a ghost, which is kind and helpful until someone identifies it as a tree spirit. (I guess when most of your country is full of forest…)

photo credit: Beyond Hollywood

…and some nights you get me. CHOOSE!”


All four stories are traditional Thai folktales, rendered capably, but without the flair of a film like, say, Krasue, which takes a single traditional Thai folktale and pulls out all the stops in the telling. This is not to say that fans of horror anthologies will not find anything enjoyable to be had here; the film does put one in memory of its framing device, sitting around the fire telling stories. The difference is that Lhorn‘s stories are told by the campers, where that of Krasue (or those of superior recent anthology flicks like Rampo Noir or Zoo) are told by the counselor. ** ½

Cthulhurotica (2009): The Lake at Inn-and-Outsmoth

Carrie Cuinn (ed.), Cthulhurotica (Dagan Books, 2010)


photo credit:

Would you like… a quince?

You see a name like Cthulhurotica and you gotta think “tentacle porn”. Well, okay, maybe not if you’re not into anime, but who isn’t these days? And Cuinn, in her amusing introduction to this volume, makes that exact same argument, and then basically says “we got a lot of that submitted, but hey, we got some good stuff too, and here it is.” And she’s right.

I grant you, by staying away from porn, Cuinn ended up treading a line in many places between Cthulhurotica and Cthulhuromance, which is not necessarily an awful thing at all (the most obvious example of this is Don Pizarro’s “The C-Word”, which, perhaps not coincidentally, ended up being my favorite story in the volume). Not to say that the authors who got down and dirty didn’t do so in ways that will get the reader’s Old Ones up and running; Gabrielle Harbowy’s “Descent of the Wayward Sister” is just delicious, and oh, Mae Empson’s “Between a Rock and an Elder Goddess.”

Which is not to say, as is usually the case with anthologies, there aren’t a few misses here and there. Andrew Searce’s “The Lake at Roopkund” is exactly the sort of lesbian-phobic nonsense I’d hoped we’d all gotten past by now (and if it was meant in any ironic sense, Searce did a bit too good a job at not tipping the wink), for example.

The book concludes with a handful of essays that turned out to be, well, just as interesting as the stories. Wasn’t expecting that in the slightest. Score! I must admit, I went into this one not knowing what to expect, and ended up liking it a great deal more than I expected. *** ½