Review: Haunted, Chuck Palahniuk

17 writers answer an add for an exclusive writer's retreat and upon arrival are only mildly shocked to find themselves forcibly locked up in a building for three months together with the organizers, and are then forced to write their great novel, poem, or screenplay, completely isolated from the world, and with all the usual distractions removed.

They're being treated alright actually, hot water, plumbing, copious supplies of food, clothing and so on, but most of them wish that the situation was a bit more dire, a bit more harrowing, so that they can sell the desperate story of their 'kidnapping' to the world outside when the three months are up.

To then live the rest of their lives in luxury and attention.

And so, to up the stakes a bit, each individual begins to sabotage the group's supplies and their surroundings, and as a result, the situation begins to grow a lot more dire than anticipated.

As food begins to run out, the lights grow dim and bodies start to drop, and with boredom inevitably setting in, the aspiring writers have no other choice than to share their stories.

Stories which make it clear that each one of them is on the run from someone or something, and that each of them harbours dark and terrible secrets.

     Chuck Palahniuk's Haunted was written as a novel that would explore stories where the horror would be supplied by the most mundane of things. To paraphrase the author: "Carrots, candles, swimming Pools. Microwave popcorn. Bowling Balls." But that's not completely true of course, The ones mentioned here are just elements of the stories, and those first three are present in the infamous 'Guts' short story, the short story that kicks off the collection of tales from the writers-to-be/ aspiring celebrities.

Guts is notorious because it garnered a name for itself as being such an upsetting story that it quite routinely made people faint whenever Palahniuk gave a reading whenever he promoted his books. There's quite an interesting, and rather hilarious, afterword in the book which has Palahniuk stating that he's made 73 people pass out at his readings over the years, and that he still gets mail that reveals that there's still readers and listeners out there who pass out whenever the story's being read.

I myself laughed when my turn came, though I had been spoiled quite a bit beforehand, and I knew the general gist of the story before I began. But it ended up being quite a bit funnier than I was expecting, written with the genuine humour of someone looking back after the fact.

     The stories that the characters tell each other are pretty much always offensive, inspired as they are by themes of depravity, crime, terrorism, violence, cannibalism, and just all-round weird shit. The depravity in particular is a theme that runs throughout and is present everywhere and even if you've got a strong stomach and open sensibilities you'll probably still find a story in here that'll disgust or horrify you.
     But what's maybe most horrifying is that a lot of the stories that the characters tell each other were in fact inspired by true events, anecdotes that Palahniuk had gathered over the years concerning some of the most disgusting and repulsive acts that human being have gotten up to. They're probably not even a thousandth of some of the worst shit that this world holds, but still, surely it's bad enough (or good enough?) that the novel has gotten so much of these between its pages.

     The most repulsive one, and yet strangely, also the one I most appreciated, was Director Denial's story; Exodus.
     It was so vile and disgusting, the acts hinted at giving such a low and degrading opinion on humanity that it quite simply revolted me, even more so when I reasoned that, yes, this stuff undoubtedly happens. It's the kind of stuff, the kind of actions you couldn't conceive of anyone actually doing, until someone says it, suggests it, lifts the rock and lifts the monster out into the light, and then you realize that, fuck, there is definitely people doing this kind of bile-inducing shit, and your stomach just turns at the thought of it.
     And then, this really quite short little tale, it ups the ante by offering you vengeance against those people, and gleefully you take it, oh yes, you want to see this wrongness punished... until you actually see it enacted, and it's a bit more nasty than you expected. Karmic justice, sure, but there will be a queasy cast to your vindictive laughter nonetheless.
     And then it just made laugh out loud, which is something that very few books ever have managed from me.

     I'm not going to talk to much about the stories, and the poems themselves, as people should probably read the book on their own, without spoilers, as it is such a unique and memorable experience.
     But I must stress that all the short stories in here are all incredibly polarizing, not suited for an immature audience, and that some people will find themselves targeted, or even confronted by their past, and that for some old sins might come back to haunt them, whether they be victims or sinners themselves.

     Either way, with any type of fiction you take and accept what you're given, really, but if there's one negative here, it's that I found that it never became believable that these were stories by 19 different people. Palahniuk's voice was always dominant, and as it's such a distinctive voice, it's never any less than clear that we're reading something written by a single writer. It's a minor niggle, but I felt I had to remark on it nonetheless.

Books of Blood Top 5

Here's a few books that should be on any horror aficionado's shelf.
     I've talked here at various times about my love of Clive Barker's works but I realize that I still haven't actually said anything about his first, and in many ways, still his most significant contribution to the horror genre: The 6 Books of Blood.
     When The Books of Blood were published back in the long forgotten yesteryear of 1984 they were an instant success, and though Barker attributes that mostly to the generous endorsement by Stephen King, the quality of the work itself makes The Books of Blood, even now 35 years later, stand out from a lot of other horror literature, despite his detractors all too eagerly labeling them as the very cheapest form of Splatterpunk.
     They still stand out and are still popular now because besides the expected horror-elements there's also an occasional touch of poetry to Barker's writing, and because despite a lot of these stories having heavy elements of violence, sex and gore, there's also an element that is quite bit rarer in horror fiction, and even in fiction in general. Barker manages to evoke something that harkens back to some of the earliest horror masters in the genre; in the tradition of Arthur Machen, Algernon Blackwood and Lovecraft he frequently manages to evoke awe in the face of the unknown.

     I've felt this quite strongly when reading Weaveworld and Cabal; and of course also here in the Books of Blood. It is a quiet feeling, mute and wondering in the face of something much bigger than ourselves, something darker, or maybe just different, but certainly almost always unknowable, and it is almost always present in his work. Barker has stated throughout the years that he is merely the tool through which something, something outside of himself, makes itself known, that this is where his creativity comes from. It is likely that this belief is relevant to the man's depiction of massive incomprehensible forces that impinge on and transform his character's lives. It is something I've come to expect to be present in all of his works that I pick up. And here in the Books of Blood is where it all started.

    The Ink-Stained Beard and I once had a conversation that led to us listing our top three Books of Blood stories. The Books themselves number 6, with about 30 stories between them (though 2 of those are about a page long and serve as the framing device for the entire collection), and a top three is kind of an easy order, so for the purposes of the post I'm making it 5 now.

Without further ado: My Top 5 Favourite Books of Blood short stories:

5

In The Flesh

Inmate Cleve Smith has been ordered to safeguard his new cellmate, the young Billy Tait, from the attentions of the other inmates. Though he resents the duty, Cleve does as he's told, and takes the vulnerable newcomer under his only slightly indifferent wing, and is in return made Billy's confidant. The young man reveals that he purposefully committed a crime exactly in order to be imprisoned, and that there was a very good reason for it;  his grandfather had murdered almost his entire family, and had hung himself in the very same prison Cleve and Billy are in right now, and that he had been buried here, and Billy reveals that he still has a spot of business with the dead man.

Thinking the young man insane, Cleve does his best to stay aloof, but soon becomes interested despite himself in his cellmate's odd doings anyway after Billy's found weeping and seemingly talking to himself near the prison's graves. From that moment on the boy begins to isolate himself, and Clive can't help but become more and more uncomfortable sharing the cell with him. His nights become burdened with strange dreams of a dead and silent city, and around the boy himself scary things begin happening.

     In the Flesh is a curious little tale, though it's actually one of the longest in the entire collection, and it's curious because its premise is so, well... almost banal. It seems familiar in its set-up of 'the protagonist has an associate who is haunted/tortured or who delves into forbidden secrets, until associate is delivered unto horror' type story. But it's interesting because Barker manages to make the mystery so compelling, his protagonist Cleve so down-to-earth, and the secret that Billy tries to unearth so obviously oh so very bad for him, and that quite quickly Billy also realizes this himself, and that despite of this it is unstoppable. It has creepy moments and the outright splatter and gore that usually is in full effect in other stories is here quite muted. Instead there is strangeness, something that ties into the flow of time, and life after the death. The theme of this one is similar to Cabal, and a few other of his stories, but here is its earliest form maybe.

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4

The Last Illusion

A stage illusionist has had an 'accident' under almost stage-show circumstances, and private detective and frequent dabbler in the occult, Harry d'Amour, has been hired by the late illusionist's wife, Dorothea Swann, in order to fulfill one of the man's requests as stated in a letter to be opened on his sudden death.

And so, beguiled by the lovely eyes of the widow Swann, Harry agrees to take up the ghoulish task of holding vigil over the deceased man's corpse. Soon after he suffers a vivid hallucination and is wakened by the late man's wife and her lawyer and then promptly sent on his way. But it's already too late and Harry is soon embroiled in a demonic struggle between two parties vying over a magician's soul.

     The Last Illusion is one of those that's an absolute favourite for many fans.

Despite being very good on its own, its horror quite strange and exotic, it also features the first appearance of Barker's very own occult Detective, Harry d'Amour, who went on to star in various of Barker's later novels.

     The story moves along at a break-neck speed and once the set-up is complete Barker wastes no time in letting the insanity begin. What follows is some of the most evilly imaginative stuff that only could've come from the mind of Clive Barker. I'm not sure how to describe it, but I've seen it in his other work too, and haven't seen or felt it in any other writer; there's a dark vibrancy to his monstrous creations that quite does away with the usual idea of how evil powers are generally depicted in western fiction. Barker's evil monsters are strange and wholly his own.

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3

Rawhead Rex

In a sleepy village in the British countryside

 an ancient monster has awoken,

 and proceeds to rip the cowering locals to shreds.

Yep,

that's all you need to know.

     Raw-Head Rex is an uncomplicated story; Splatterpunk through and through, shocking in its depiction of violence, and positively brutal in the way that it crosses lines with screaming wild abandon. I can confidently say that Rawhead Rex is a guilty pleasure kind of read. The violence is staggering, and the... ahem, phallic nature of the titular monster is something that is both disturbing and highly intriguing. Barker has no idea he will leave unexplored or un-visited if it's something that genuinely interests him.

     This one was also in The Ink-Stained Beard's top three... Quite an unrepentantly bloodthirsty sort of fellow, wouldn't you say?

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2

The Midnight Meat Train

New York City is awash with rumour and speculation, the nasty ghoulish appetites of teeming humanity on full display, as they latch onto the newest sensation: The Murders in the Underground.

First, a pile of bodies had been found in one of the city's subway cars, all hacked open, and in various stages of disembowelment. Then, another car with a woman inside, her teeth pulled, and her body removed of hair, hung up by a hook to the ceiling and left there to drain of blood like a hog. And now another three bodies in another train car, in similar condition.

The subway is leaking violent death, but Leon Kaufman's only thought is getting home after a late night at work, and the express train is still the best way to go. But as he wakes after a brief doze to the dizzying movement of the swiftly accelerating train and the sounds of slaughter he has no way of knowing that work is only just about to begin.

     I had actually seen and loved the movie before I had read the short story, and to my surprise even knowing how this one would go, I really found it quite an arresting experience. It differed only a little from the movie: Though its story was largely the same it was noticeably shorter in its length, mainly due to the movie's inclusion of more characters and a clearer story arc overall, and there were certain elements of the story's resolution that had been left out of the movie.

     And as it was, I did not expect what eventually would shuffle out into the light, and so was left to taste awe in the face of the unknown. This is what I was talking about earlier. Barker always brings a supernatural element into his stories, and sometimes the shape it assumes is familiar, and sometimes is isn't, and when he just shows it standing there, revealed, and you have no real point of reference, and the character that's come face to face with it has no real point of reference, both of you just end up sitting there in dumb, fascinated shock.

     Still just a perfect little tale.

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1

In The Hills, The Cities

In the villages of Popolac and Podujevo excitement reigns; the annual ritual contest that is about to pit the two villages against each other is about to begin. But venerable Nita Obrenovic, the organizer and leader of 60 years worth of contests on behalf of Podujevo, has died and her inexperienced daughter has no choice but to take up the mantle of her responsibilities. And they weigh heavy indeed, and too many mistakes might prove disastrous.

Judd and Mick have come to realize that their interests really don't match up, and both feel that their relationship has probably run its course. It's only unfortunate that this realization has only come about halfway through their vacation in Yugoslavia, with no quick way out of the others' lives and companionship.

To make the best of it the two men move into the hills, to see new and unexpected sights, but as they feel the rumble of the ground and a deafeningly loud multitude of voices, they can not imagine the sight that'll greet them next.

     Also one of the Ink-Stained Beard's list, and how could it not?

In the Hills The Cities is quintessential Clive Barker. Everything you could expect from the man is in here: graphic sex, violence, the dirty grubby underbelly of human nature, stunning amounts of gore, and an almost paralyzing sense of awe that you won't find anywhere else.

     What's maybe most impressive about In the Hills, The Cities is that nobody but Barker could have written it. It's absolutely remarkable. He weaves his penchant for impressive body horror in such a way that it ends up being the thing that evokes that awe in the face of the unknown. He manages to construct his story in such a way that certain of its elements, despite being explained and understood by the reader, at a certain point in the tale transcend their base and understandable origins and become something 'greater' and almost incomprehensible, to both the characters in the story, and the reader reading it. There is imagery here that is fit to stand alongside the best of the hellish imagery in Dante's Inferno.

     It is also easy to believe that the sight that eventually greets Mick and Judd as they follow the sounds that lead them on could very well prove madness-inducing. Whenever I read Lovecraft and another one of his main characters goes insane looking at something he shouldn't have been looking at I always find it hard to credit. But not so here.

     But also unfortunately, the set-up can't quite entirely work, logically. The premise strains the bounds of credulity just a bit, but who cares really, because Barker somehow manages to draw you in, and he graces you to see his own blood-drenched visions, to share in the delight of horror and awe. The only logical response would be gratitude, wouldn't it?

So, say thank you to the Master, and please understand that you're very much invited to continue further into his worlds, and that he still has such sights to show you.

Review: Beehive Books' The Willows

A short little look at the contents of Beehive Books' The Willows.

     First off, the Introduction by Ramsey Campbell is an odd one, as there are definitely insights to be found here, but nonetheless, there seems to be something a little off. There are words out of place, misused (or at the very least, they seem to be misused, though I might just be stupid.), there are also a few missing letters, and most annoyingly, some of what Campbell has written seems to be a bit out of sync with what the stories are actually about, as if he wrote an introduction to something he barely remembered rather than something he had read recently.

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     The Titular The Willows is the first and longest story in this collection, and takes up, together with its own many double-page artwork pieces, around half of the book. The choice to lavish this much time and effort on it is quite understandable, given that the story itself is legendary in some circles, frequently dubbed one of the best tension-building horror stories of all time, effortlessly evoking awe rather than horror, something that is very hard to do.
     The art is moody and striking, and manages to gift the text and the imagery it conjures up, already pretty strange, with an added layer of strangeness, an alien colouring to all its elements. The art didn't really always follow what was described though, and the 'scribbles in the air' were definitely a loose and rather more ethereal depiction of the strange phenomenon the narrator is presented with as he stares out of his tent in the night.
     However, the story itself is pretty good. We follow the narrator and his companion on their canoe-journey down the Danube as they arrive at a place where the mighty river pools into a vast marshland, isolated and dotted with islands overgrown with willow-bushes. Struggling with the river and irritated by the ever-present roaring wind, they decide to make landfall on one of the islands to set up camp.
Shortly after they begin to experience various strange phenomena and a building sense of unease. Try as they might, they aren't able to dispel their misgivings and soon after they come face to face with an undeniable supernatural presence.

     The story does indeed manage to slowly ratchet up the tension to a level where the reader is compelled to venture further. It never ends up getting  really scary, but I've never found this to be the case in most horror literature anyway. But I did really appreciate that some events that at first were thought to be commonplace later were revealed to be quite ominous portents of the things to come. It gave quite a thrill, and even though it's a writer's trick it's pretty effective when delivered with skill.
     The conclusion is undeniably a deus ex machina though, and there is absolutely no information concerning the exact element that manages to divert the what seemed to be up until that moment an unavoidable doom for the two travelers.

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     The second story, Accessory Before the Fact, is a bit of a lesser tale, a lot shorter and trying for the same vibe of a supernatural experience in a lonely, isolated area, as a man on walking holiday is overcome by a strange and subtle compulsion to take a different road than the one he had planned on. On the unfamiliar road, he meets 2 vagrants who seem to harbour ill intentions towards him. As they attack him, he passes out and then wakes up out of a trance at the very crossroads that had sent him awry earlier.
     Overcome by terror he hurries along to his destination, but he's plagued by doubt and yet also overcome by the certainty that what he had just experienced had not been meant for him.

     Though its goal is very similar to that of the Willows it maybe pulls it off a little better, but only by the grace of never even giving a hint of what this supernatural agency might be, which is something where the Willows might have overplayed its hand a little. Also, the title of the story is a bit of a misnomer as it seems to be exactly the point of the story that the protagonist wasn't even supposed to know of the thing that is to come, let alone act to stop it from happening. As such, just dubbing this tale 'The Glimpse' or 'The Message' would have been way more apposite.

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     Thirdly, Smith: An Episode in a Boarding House is good little tale, catering quite nicely to my specific tastes.
     A professor tells a tale of a supernatural experience from the time of his student years. As the audience sits with baited breath, he tells them of the man Smith, a charismatic and intense fellow, who inhabited a different room in the same boarding house where he had his residence, and whose mysterious activities led him to experience a glimpse of the truly awesome heights attainable by those deeply interested in the occult.

     It's a fun little tale, but I find I don't have much to say here. Smith is an interesting and intense character, his physical description evoking a sense of the alien with his seemingly mismatched body parts, and his manner effortlessly evoking attention and interest. Oddly, in these 5 tales, only 2 characters are given an in-depth description; Boarding House's Smith and the Swede in the Willows. Both characters are almost eerie in their interactions with their surroundings and seem more removed from the world than the narrators they live alongside with, as if they are more vulnerable to whatever is about to encroach on the borders of their reality.
     The theme of awe in the presence of the supernatural and the unexplainable rears its head once more, and by now I've come to realize that this, in Blackwood's tales, feels different than the supernatural in other fiction, less overtly malign maybe, or maybe just inimical because it operates in different realms than us, (living) according to different rules.

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     An Egyptian Hornet then is a bit of a surprise as it's not at all what I expected. I was expecting maybe something along the lines of Marsh's The Beetle except immensely shorter, but instead what I ended up getting was a comedic little tale of man's pettiness, which also at the same time manages to give one an insight into the theory of relativity; one man's mere-bug-to-be-swatted might as well seem like a dangerous monster to another.

     It's a bit of a throw-away story maybe, but it shows that Blackwood had more up his sleeve than horror stories. There are also enough elements here to, if one is so inclined to do a Freudian reading of the the story.

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     The tale that closes out this collection has a theme that'll be familiar to any avid horror reader. Led by dreams of prophecy, a scientist goes on a quest to find a forbidden tome of secret knowledge. He leaves a hopeful optimist, and comes back a changed man. Though successful in his quest he seems to have found more than he expected, and gripped by the revelations of The Tablet of the Gods, the once-great man begins to spiral into a deep depression.

     His assistant, unable to do anything but watch his friend's decline, is forbidden from reading the tablet until the man's death. But with the scientist's rapidly declining health, the time of revelations draws swiftly closer.

     The Man Who Found Out (A Nightmare) is probably my favourite story in here, with elements of nihilism, occultism and even a few mentions of 'Gods', though this is probably more of a metaphor, rather than any real indication of divine mythology.

     The story's resolution hints at truly terrible revelations, though of course, we aren't privy to them, and we are left outside, wondering if any text, book or tome, could ever engender from us a reaction such as that of the narrator. Probably not, but one can hope.

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     The artist's note is worth a look and quite insightful in some places, though it stopped short of being able to explain to me why, in certain pieces of art, the imagery didn't correspond with the text at all, e.g.; a naked man depicted where there seems to be no naked man in the text, or, violently iridescent sky-scribbles where the text seems to point to a more bronzed palette, and limbs of flowing darkness, etc...

     Minor quibbles aside, Paul Pope's piece really does manage to give some rather interesting background on Algernon Blackwood and specifically on how The Willows short story came about. 

     On top of that it gives some insight on the collaboration between the artist and the producers of the book. It seems to reveal that the artist had a lot of say on what'll be put in the book, etc, down to the choosing of which stories to put in. It's something that caught my attention, is why I mention it.

     Anyway, Beehive Books' edition of The Willows is lovely, and the short stories therein also turned out to be rather good. A great addition to the shelves.

The Vampire Genevieve series, Reading Order

I'm one of those people who wants to read things precisely in order and so the (somewhat) convoluted Vampire Genevieve series gave me a bit of a headache. For your benefit I set down the Chronological Reading Order, which follows the events exactly one after the other, below, and further down on the page, my actual recommended Reading order, together with my reasons for having this one be different than the Chronological.

The Chronological Order

1.  Drachenfels, the 30 page +/- prologue: the book-end of 'The Quest for Constant Drachenfels'
2.  Red Thirst (Silver Nails): Genevieve and Vukotich and the Great Escape
3.  No Gold in The Grey mountains (Silver Nails): Lady Melissa and the ruin of Drachenfels
4.  The Ignorant Armies (Silver Nails):  Johann and Vukotich in the North
5.  Drachenfels, the Main of the novel: Detlef Sierck and Genevieve and the play of Drachenfels
6.  Beasts in Velvet: Harald Kleindeinst and the case of The Beast
7.  Stage Blood (Genevieve undead): Detlef and Genevieve and the Phantom of the Opera
8.  The Warhawk (Silver Nails): Harald Kleindeinst and another killer
9.  The Cold Stark House (Genevieve Undead): Genevieve and the Endless Play
10.  Unicorn Ivory (Genevieve Undead): Genevieve and the Family Drama
11.  The Ibby the Fish factor (Silver Nails): Detlef and Genevieve and the end of the line

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However, the reading order for the entire series I'd recommend is a little different from this one:

Recommended Reading Order

     I'd start with The Ignorant Armies as that one stands alone quite well.
Next I'd go with Red Thirst as Vukotich will be the connecting thread that'll introduce you to Genevieve, and the story will also make reference to the ending to the Quest of Oswald and its successful completion, which will slowly hype up your interest in the Drachenfels storyline.
     The third to read will be No Gold in the Grey Mountains short story, which will subvert your expectations somewhat (though depending on the reader, this might be a bad thing, or a good thing), while introducing you to both the environs of Drachenfels and the character of Lady Melissa, who, though she isn't that important, she will be immediately present upon the start of Drachenfels proper and will have an emotional bond with Genevieve, which you, as a reader of the No Gold short story, will al have.
     Then, naturally the Drachenfels novel, followed by the Stage Blood novella.
     I'd advise not immediately continuing into the Cold Stark House short story as, though it follows Genevieve, is a bit of a confusing and almost soulless continuation of her story line. Following on from the superb Stage Blood, it can not be anything but a let-down. It's best to make the side-venture into Beasts in Velvet first, as it is a magnificent novel, though it isn't a Genevieve novel per se (but then that's actually a plus since reading Cold Stark House next would be a bad idea), then followed by the Warhawk short story. Both follow Harald Kleindienst and  Rosanna as they solve crimes.
     The Warhawk's ending is a little abrupt but this'll be a good opportunity to go ahead with the Genevieve storyline and to plunge on into the Cold Stark House story. When that misadventure has been dealt with, prepare for an uptick in quality, and a return to the feeling of Red Thirst, the lady Vampire teamed up with an unwilling ally, in Unicorn Ivory.
     Then, to round it all off, with a good ending and happy feelings, comes the Ibby The Fish Factor.

To reiterate, without a wall of text:

1.  Ignorant Armies (Silver Nails)
2.  Red Thirst (Silver Nails)
3.  No Gold In The Grey Mountains (Silver Nails)
4.  Drachenfels
5.  Stage Blood (Genevieve Undead)
6.  Beasts in Velvet
7.  The Warhawk (Silver Nails)
8.  The Cold Stark House (Genevieve undead)
9.  Unicorn Ivory (Genevieve Undead)
10.  The Ibby the Fish Factor (Silver Nails)

6 and 7 could possibly be left out if you want to just read about Genevieve but, really, you'd be missing out.

And that puts to rest my extended look at Newman's classic horror series.

A very good addition to the Warhammer Horror imprint.

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Small note:

These books were written in a time where the spirit of adventure was paramount, and the original writers liked to put in references to the works of the authors they shared their little sandbox with. As such there are references to Steve Baxter's The Star Boat, The Tilean Rat, The Wolf Riders and likely a bunch of others.

And there are also a bunch of references, flat-out or oblique, to larger works: David Ferring's Konrad trilogy, Brian Craig's Orfeo trilogy and William King's Gotrek and Felix series. It is of course not necessary to read any of these if you enjoy or enjoyed the Genevieve series.

Review: Silver Nails, Kim Newman

     Silver Nails is the last book in the Vampire Genevieve series, at least publication-wise, as it collects all the short stories that Newman wrote during his stay in the Warhammer universe. Despite being part of the Genevieve series two of these actually don't have Genevieve in them as a protagonist. However, both of these excursions; The Ignorant Armies and The Warhawk, feature characters that will meet or have met Genevieve in other adventures.

     There are various possible reading orders but I'll keep that for the next post. The short stories, in the order as they are presented here, follow the in-universe chronology, so it's a serviceable order to read them in any case.

Red Thirst

Glinka Claes' Moral Crusade sweeps the land.

Gambling, whoring, swearing and other vices are outlawed, and every transgression is severely punished with iron rod and articles of faith. Under the cover of law and night "sinners" are press-ganged into slavery for their crimes and transported west in convoys.

The mercenary Vukotich finds himself among them, but as soon as the opportunity presents itself he'll find a way to escape into the wilds together with the young girl that is shackled to him. But little does he know that the frail thing only has the appearance of a girl, and that it harbours dark secrets, and an even darker thirst.

If man and monster are to stay ahead of their pursuers they'll have to find a way to work together, and put aside their mistrust and fear. And when they, over the course of their escape, uncover an evil plot to lay the empire of man low, what then will they do? Monster and man, would they both be served by stopping this evil design, or would one of them rather work it in hand?

Yeah, it's a bit of a massive info dump but I couldn't really help myself. Newman usually puts a lot of different elements in even the slightest of short stories, and you can't really (or shouldn't) sum these up in a few sentences. I could've just said that Vukotich and Genevieve escape enslavement and, over the course of their escape uncover a plot to lay the empire low, and distrustful as Vukotich is of Genevieve, can he allow himself to work together with a Vampire, a creature best served by the fall of man, but... I think that would lessen the mood somewhat, don't you think?

     Either way, something rather interesting is that the villain here is a Cathayan (I think), who showcases a strange and different magic system than you'd usually find in the Old World, but that does have its roots in Chaos. It hardly works hand in hand together with the Warhammer World, since Cathay was quickly rendered off-limits to the authors and sculptors at GW, but then the Genevieve novels do stand apart of them somewhat, anyway.

      Red thirst is a decent short story, though it misses a lot of the heart that usually can be found in the Genevieve canon. There's little to no actual horror here, but as these stories tie in to Drachenfels, there's no real objections from me when you lump it under Warhammer Horror regardless. I'm a completionist above all things, anyway.

Chronologically this is the first story in the Genevieve timeline, but in my opinion it should be read only after you've read The Ignorant Armies one, as that one stands more or less alone, but is tied firmly to this one by the Vukotich character, who is hugely relevant there. He's of course relevant here as well but there are elements in this one that'll be more clear and more emotionally rewarding if you've read IG first. Red Thirst also has some neat foreshadowing to the Detlef/Genevieve relation in Drachenfels.



The Ignorant Armies

To the north of the Empire, in the forests of Kislev, a young man silently reminisces on the events that led him and his retainer in pursuit of the warlord who razed his family's mansion to the ground, who murdered his family and kidnapped his younger brother, Wolf.

Relinquishing his hereditary title and the claim on his lands, Johann has been giving chase to the warlord's forces, in a desperate bid to save his brother, or, if Wolf is beyond saving, to take vengeance on the monster who upset the course of all their lives.

And now the hunt draws to a close, and soon Johann, Vukotich, and the warlord will meet on the plains where champions clash and lead their ignorant armies in never-ending war for the bloodthirsty joy of the Chaos Gods.

     The Ignorant Armies was Newman's first Warhammer story, and it doesn't even focus on Genevieve at all, instead focusing on Johann and the mercenary Vukotich, the last of whom will also appear in the Red Thirst short story, which takes place about 30 years earlier.
Wolf will also have a small cameo in the Drachenfels story. Which means that this one takes place after Red Thirst and before Drachenfels proper. We'll follow Wolf and Johann around in Beasts in Velvet too. So much for how this one ties in to the rest.

     The story itself is very, very good. Newman, as usual, sets out his pieces quickly and seeds his ideas and story-tools well in advance, without giving too much away beforehand.
     Now, if this was a modern Warhammer story, the conclusion would be a foregone one: 10 years is a long time to be in the thrall of the servants of Chaos. See, for instance, Dan Abnett's classic Warhammer story, Riders of the Dead... or, really, any later Warhammer tale with characters captured by Chaos forces.... or... ooh, like Dark Apostle; an insanely dark and brooding Chaos tale in the 40k setting, also has a large part of its run-time dedicated to one such character. But as it is, the conclusion to this story is rather surprising.
     Looking back one can see the neat foreshadowing, that is nonetheless quite invisible the first time. The highpoint of the narrative, the scene itself, is a glorious but dark miracle. And as usual, Newman is excellent in his delivery, adding force to something that, in a less skilled writer, might've come off as silly or blatantly contrived. I think this is my favourite one in here.
The horror is adequate, though the intriguing strangeness of the scenes, the central idea and the setting easily drowns out allegiance to horror this story might have.


No Gold in The Grey Mountains

A small band of criminals have taken up residence in the ill-rumoured castle Drachenfels and have been using its ruined grounds to stage their robbing of the nearby road.

When a travelling coach arrives, expected to be bearing a load of taxed gold from a nearby mine they find instead of the promised gold a little girl, rich, by dress and manner. Turning a bad situation into a good one they take the girl with them with the idea of selling her back to her family for ransom.

But when they arrive in their walled lair they find that something old and hungry is in there with them, stalking in the shadows.

     This one takes place somewhere in the years between the vanquishing of Constant Drachenfels by Genevieve and Oswald in the Drachenfels prologue and the main story of Drachenfels. It follows the Lady Melissa, who will harbour Genevieve in the cloister in Drachenfels proper and will have a starring role in the Ibby the Fish Factor.

     It's another very good story that is very much  enmeshed in horror, and that could stand apart from reading the Genevieve series quite well.
     The reading pace is fast and quite interesting as a lot of details get effortlessly squirreled away in every sentence, forming a rich layer to the story. It has wholly believable and interesting characters and twist and turns to the tune of an exciting narrative.
Ieuw, I hate it when I write like this. I find it appalling. But that doesn't make my assessment of the story any less true though.


The Warhawk

The streets of Altdorf are unquiet once again, as another Pattern-Killer stalks its streets, or rather, haunts its skies. With a body count of seven and rising, The Warhawk is Altdorf's most profligate killer since the Beast's reign of terror, and the corpses haven't even finished piling up.

Rosanna Ophuls joins Harald Kleindeinst on the case, but the killer has been expecting this and is about to incorporate both investigators in his diabolical plans.

     As the 'another' should indicate, this one takes place after Beasts in Velvet, and features Harald Kleindeinst and Rosanna Ophuls. It's sadly the last story to follow them around and doesn't tie much into the rest of the Genevieve-storyline. Its ending is also a bit abrupt and though not completely unsatisfactory, one can't help wishing there was just a little bit more to tie it all off a little better.
     But. Holy damn, there's a big surprise in here: a damn cross-over with Gotrek and Felix. With Gotrek having an actual speaking role, and with Felix, looking on worriedly from the sidelines, having a quiet flirt with Rosanna.
      Gotrek actually shows up to give Harald some information on the Warhawk killer's antecedents. This doesn't feel forced either, although I do wonder if this can be constituted as canonical still, since Gotrek and Felix's Journey is such an extensive one, and has been chronicled in detail. Man... I really wish there could be a complete and definitive collection that puts everything in perfect order.

     Anyway, the story itself treads the line between silly and grotesque, with the nastiness of the actual killings themselves easily swaying one to place it on the side of horror. It's also a lot of fun to read about the two investigators again and a few off-hand comments might also clue you in on at least one of the last open threads left dangling at the end of Beasts in Velvet. It wasn't really necessary to do this as Beasts still stands on its own after The Warhawk concludes, but I'm glad for the information nonetheless.


The Ibby the Fish Factor

Genevieve Dieudonné has returned to Altdorf, but though it's only been little under 2 decades since she'd been declared a hero of the Empire, humans have short lifespans and even shorter memories, and where once she'd been welcomed with cheers and shouts of joy, now there is only violence and the promise of true death for the Undead. For a new faction has popped up, and this time Vampirekind is being targeted directly.

Ibrahim Fleuchtweig, also known as Ibby the Fish, warchief of the Fish gang, has allegedly been murdered by a vampire, and Antiochus Bland, head of the Anti-Vampire movement has ideas on how to use the murder for his own ends.

Meanwhile, Detlef Sierck, aging but still quite genius, and writer of pieces of theatre, sonnets and other assorted writings, is about to come face to face with his Undying Lady once more, as she has came to him for help.
Because there is assassination attempt afoot, and if the plot against Vampirekind is to be thwarted, Detlef and Genevieve will have to be the ones to stop it.

The very last of all of Newman's stories in the Warhammer setting, both in the internal chronology and publication-wise, Newman wrote it because he wanted to give Genevieve and Detlef a happy ending. It's an enjoyable tale, though maybe a little flighty. The horror this time is nonexistent, but who really cares? If you're still reading these stories you're not just solely here for the horror, and you've probably come to care for these characters. If so, this one will be a fun one to read. There's love, action and death, all the ingredients needed for a page-turner.

The Grimbscribe's Puppets: Top 5

The Grimscribe's Puppets is a short story anthology collecting a variety of tales that homage the work of horror writer Thomas Ligotti. There's 22 of them, all written by different authors, and they run the gamut from garbage to excellent, and as I'm feeling both lazy, generous and rather uncertain concerning my understanding of some of the tales that I labeled as tripe, and allowing for the possibility that I'm just too dim to understand what those were really about, I'll just be writing about those I think are the best in here. The really bad ones I can count on one hand, as there really are more good than bad, but I'll only be talking about my favourite 5 anyway.

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First off, I haven't read much Ligotti. Specifically I've only read Teatro Grottesco, the Vastarien short story, and as of now am only about three quarters into the Conspiracy against the Human Race, but I do have a firm grasp on the ideas and themes present in the man's work.
Said themes can be rather confronting to read about. As someone who's suffered from depression and the darkness that comes with that, to this day, reading these tales has sometimes been too much, and at other times it's been almost therapeutic.
I have an affinity with this type of stuff and when I saw the lovely cover art on this one I immediately bought it, together with the Seasons in Carcosa anthology, despite me never having read all the King in Yellow short stories... I really should remedy that somewhere this year.

Now, apart from The Grimscribe's Puppets I've also read all 4 issues of the Vastarien magazine that are out right now, and I've found that, occasionally, writers who take their influence from Ligotti don't exactly tread lightly when telling their own stories, and that the themes that Ligotti subtly (but clearly) weaves throughout his fiction, will by them be splashed on the page in an explicit and sometimes even quite shocking manner. Whether this a good idea or whether this devalues the thing in the way of common shlock-sensationalism, is for each individual reader to say. Needless to say, whether this is for you or not, there are always times one just simply should stay clear of this type of fiction.That's just a little warning: If you're depressed, Ligottian fiction will find a fertile soil in you.
For some this can be a help, for others it won't be.

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That's just a bit of an aside. Without any more prattling from me; here are the top 5 short stories from The Grimscribe's Puppets.

5. Gailestis - Allyson Bird

     At number 5 Gailestis, by Allyson Bird, is the story of Gerda and her twin Kay, who, bereft of their parents, try to survive in relative isolation. It's a story that's got more going for it in terms of imagery  than in any competency of style or skill at storytelling. There's barely any story to speak of even. We follow around Gerda for a while, listen to her thoughts, learn of her being different from the people around her, but I'll admit, as it continued I found among its elements intriguing oddities that implied more than that they stated outright, hints of strangeness, dangers that might've been supernatural, or not, it's hard to say because the story just ends, kind of.
     I can't really say why this one's in my top 5. It was this one or Diamond Dust, which was also very good, and for some reason I chose this one. Diamond Dust was more sensational, way more active, whereas this one had something more placid going on.
     I didn't think I would like it as, at its beginning, it seemed to me to be one of those pretentious stories where the author just foregoes telling a straightforward narrative, in favour of something more experimental, with sentence structure delivered in a complicated manner, jagged and disconnected, in a way that hampers the read itself, rather than something with a coherent vision or idea in mind.
     But after a while, lo and behold, it actually clicked. Maybe it was the titillation stuff, not outright erotica mind you, but still: to imply is sometimes better than to make explicit, and there also seemed to be something definitely nefarious going on with this particular element. Anyway, whatever the reason, though there might be better stories in here, this one managed to stick in my head and so gets my fifth spot.

4. Where We Will All Be - Paul Tremblay

This one struck a chord with me.
     A young man is different from everyone around him. It's been known all his life; troubles at school required him to have consultations that eventually pin-pointed the problem; that his brain just seems to work differently. And maybe this might turn out to be a good thing. Because when Zane wakes up one day to find his father storming out the front door to join what seems to be a mass exodus of humanity, in response to a kind of summons Zane himself can not hear, he can not help but tag along on the journey, of his own accord and in curiosity, unbeholden to the terrible signal that seems to compel the rest of the teeming masses.

     It's implied that main character Zane is autistic, and that this is the reason why his brain doesn't receive the same 'signal' everyone else seems to pick up and this, of course, is quite interesting to me, as someone with Aspergers.
     But I also liked this tale because of the sheer shock and gore factor, and some very nice and nasty apocalyptic imagery at its ending.
     It also reminded me of some of Clive Barker's tales. Frequently labeled and dismissed as Splatterpunk, Barker's work often uses supernatural elements not just to horrify but also to evoke a sense of awe when finally a higher power stands revealed. Think of The Midnight Meat Train, or Cabal. Although maybe Tremblay's story has more akin to In the Hills, the Cities, where the level of gore on display is of such scale that it simply becomes awesome, and mind-numbing.
Either way, the gist of the thing is that something bigger than mankind has touched it, and in Where We Will All Be the consequences of that touch are undeniably malign, or at least inimical to humanity's well-being, and their presence can not be denied. And their demand can not be stopped.

3. Furnace - Livia Llewellyn

     Furnace is the very first story in this collection and it's a great opener, immediately hooking you with a variety of horrors.
     I've done a separate post on this one already as I didn't really expect to be giving the book its own post too, but the short story bears an extra little bit of attention nonetheless.
     There's enough stuff in here to constantly keep the reader engaged. Under the guise of the familiar 'Dying Town' theme Llewellyn introduces us to a young girl's experiences with growing up in this kind of setting. And though it might seem familiar and even a little comfortable (quite reminiscent of childhood nostalgia) at its beginning, soon we're introduced to some really horrific stuff, courtesy of the girl's grandfather, who's been keeping an eye on some of the town's stranger goings-on.
     As the townspeople move away (or disappear) from their residences, violent and shocking things begin to happen, but what might be stranger still is how that this is simply expected, as if it's not all as fucked up as it really quite obviously is. And you do get the feeling that the longer this goes on, the more reality itself will begin to unravel.
     The story's ending is quite something, though there are multiple possible explanations for what exactly might be happening. There is added value in such an ending, inviting re-reads and analysis.
And usually I can come down easily on my preferred possibility, but here I found that the two possible explanations of what was happening were both rather plausible, and genuinely interesting.
But these things operate according to their own rules in any case, so I'm not going to try to explain and instead I'll just recommend you read this one for yourself.

2. Into The Darkness, Fearlessly - John Langan

     I am absolutely going to read more of John Langan's work. There's a quality to Into The Darkness, Fearlessly that I absolutely loved, and it might be my favourite short story in here.

     "The morning after the police found the final piece of Linus Price, Wrighton Smythe, his frequent editor and occasional friend, opened the front door of his apartment and saw a manila folder lying on his doormat." Within is Linus' last work; A grammar of Dread, A Catechism of Terror, a previously not even hinted at volume, that swiftly reveals itself to be an autobiographical work, primarily focusing on the 6 last months of Linus' life. The novel is undoubtedly by Linus' hand, and following up on the mystery of who left it at his front door leads Wrightson into something more dreadful than even Linus' darkest imaginings.

     It has a great opening line, the focus on the literary world is delicious, and I absolutely adore the story conceit of a writer whose darkest work is uncovered after his death. However, I found that the finale was a bit off. Not a dud, exactly, but less than what could have been, certainly. Still, the writing is hugely enticing, and of a higher level than the bulk of contemporary authors writing today.

1. By Invisible Hands - Simon Strantzas

     By Invisible Hands sticks undoubtedly the closest to the Ligottian themes of all the stories in the anthology. The story elements of the puppet and the puppeteer rears its head once more, and though the plot might seem very straightforward, its execution is masterful nonetheless.
    A once-great puppet maker sits alone in his basement, tormented by the decline of hands once capable of crafting true masterworks. When he is requested for another project he can not help but have his reservations. But a forced visit to his would-be client makes him decide otherwise, even though he can't actually remember much from the visit itself.
     As his newest masterwork begins to take shape his old pains fade away and the joy of the craft becomes paramount. But he's losing more and more moments of his day, and whole hours pass without notice or remembrance. He seems to space out, or forget. And worst of all, there's an acute sense of dread for what comes when the puppet will be completed. And slowly the craftsman begins to understand that a dreadful revelation might be waiting for him up ahead.
     It's a great story, with uncomplicated prose, an eerie, alien atmosphere and capped off with a perfect ending, what more can I say?

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There's definitely more stories I could talk about, but this month's been an impossible slog for me in the writing department so I'll leave it at just giving honorable mentions to Diamond Dust, The Human Moth, The Lord Came at Twilight, Basement Angels, The Holiness of Desolation, The Prosthesis and Oubliette.

Review: Perdition's Flame (audio drama)

Perdition's flame is the first audio drama from the Warhammer Horror range.

I'm not one for audio books or dramas but, drawn as I am to horror, and in particular keen to explore the 'Horror' aspect to the Warhammer license, I felt obligated to check this one out.

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A tiny bit of a rant here... Feel free to skip if you dislike me harping on about my ideas and negative responses to the audio format.

I dislike audio-dramas/books because it doesn't take much for me to get pulled straight out of the story, my bubble of immersion too easily punctured by even the smallest of things; off-kilter accents, stilted line-delivery, disharmony in dialogue, etc... but in this particular story I'm pleased to announce that I only gritted my teeth in absolute supreme irritation only once. In case you're interested: It is in Chapter 13, right at the 1-minute mark. You can't miss it.

The voice actors do a mixed bag of a job, their accents ranging from the bad to the flat-out excruciating. This might not be because of the actors themselves and rather because of the material they have to work with, the stereotype accents they have to deliver, or it might just be because of an inherent bias on my part, although I went into this story very open-minded and willing to be entertained.

And you know, this is probably what is always going to be my main gripe with audio-adaptations of any kind and the reason why this particular format just isn't for me. Prose can be perceived as perfect for the reader as it requires the imagination to fill in all the possible blanks, while auditory input from another party (not yourself, and thus alien to yourself) can cause, and very likely not in a way that is all that conducive to the listener, associations that might not be expected leading to negative reactions.

Every single one of the characters sounds like a stereotypical cliché, and not even the acceptable kind, and in fact they're all quite dubiously rendered by the voice actors. Our main character and narrator Vosk's thick and distinctly Russian/Vostroyan accent is mildly off-putting at first but due to a kind of stockholm-type syndrome, swiftly becomes comforting. Especially when we veer from his drawn-out tones into the nasal whines of the female characters who you'll be begging to shut the fuck up. Both Captain Brandon and Inquisitor Herryn are awful to listen to. Brandon's gutter-British and Herryn's upperclass entitlement ooze with every syllable out of the actor's mouths. If you're looking for subtle: this isn't it. Commander Treece, with barely a minute of dialogue to his name, isn't much worth mentioning either.

Honestly though, I'm not here to slag these people or their choice in profession off, so I won't be mentioning names, and you can just file all of the above under 'Levi just does not like audio dramas'.

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All of that being said.

The story was ok. It wasn't really worth being made an audio drama out of, but it was at least acceptable.

In a lonely cave, with a howling blizzard raging through the night outside, a Vostroyan guardsman sits in front of a fire and welcomes you to sit with him, to listen to his tale. He'll treat you to a tale of cowardice and redemption aboard a haunted ship, where voices whisper in urgent entreatment, and where the shadows wait in the darkness, patiently waiting for their chance to break free.

It is a tale of terror, of the risen dead spawned by the dark plague come for mankind. It is the tale of those that fight it. And it is a tale of an unknowable horror that can not possibly be contained.

In the grim licensed future of 40k there's not much chance of being surprised. Any and all plot developments must adhere to the rules of the setting, after all. And if you are well-versed in the lore, or if you've read a lot of the novels, chances are you can figure out story revolutions well in advance.
Worley knows this. and uses it to his advantage, managing to wrong-foot lore-enthusiasts and delivers an at least decent twist, in a story that threatened to become quite bog-standard 40k. As it turns out after the drama's close I actually found myself left with some questions, which is a good sign of my engagement with the story, or at least, with this particular lore aspect. I'm not sure how this would float with people completely new to 40k but I appreciated this element most.

As for horror, well... it definitely was not worthy of the Warhammer Horror label. It does make a point about horror in the Warhammer 40k universe (and which relates to the plot twist), but it's not explored enough, and as such, to any new listeners this point would be entirely lost, I think, making me wonder if anyone who's not already into the setting would actually have anything positive to take away from this.

A spoken story that has to last all of 70 minutes has a very limited amount of time to leave a good impression. This is genuinely a tall order. I don't think the Library should be trying to churn these out, and should instead be trying to make something truly unique, maybe something experimental, that'll validate audio dramas, and in particular, Warhammer Horror audio dramas.

 Imagine it: some kind of Barker-esque visionary who could create some new type of Horror, unseen and unheard of before, and drawing in legions of horror enthusiasts. The type of dark prodigy you sometimes read about in horror stories, the type that went mad and died or disappeared, leaving behind a secret, much sought-after body of work.

As it is now, this really isn't it. Hard pass.

Furnace Short Story

Though I debated against it, here's a quick little post on my favourite story (so far) of the Grimscribe's Puppets anthology, a short story collection homage-ing Ligotti's body of work.

Furnace by Livia Llewellyn is so far the most original and arresting story in the collection.

If you're familiar with the name, then well done you, you pervert, but there's no erotica to be had here. It is a very good and horrifying little tale though.

It's about a young girl's experience of growing up in a town that has started to decay in an irrevocable sort of way. The theme will be familiar to Ligotti readers, but Llewellyn does some remarkable stuff with the premise. The above fragment is one of a series of anecdotes compiled by the girl's grandfather chronicling the weird goings-on in the town. They're pretty much all like that; horrifying , violent and shocking. And yet, there was quite a sweet nostalgic feeling at the story's start, reminiscent of Dan Simmons Summer of Night.

I'm unsure about what exactly the ending meant, what it implied and whether or not it held the key to all the town's happenings or whether what was being described was just the last of the town's happenings inevitably coming to a close.

Whatever it meant, this was a very good short story. 

One to re-read.

Review: The Wicked and the Damned

     The Wicked and the Damned is the second short story collection under the new Warhammer Horror imprint. Unlike Maledictions this one takes place entirely in the 40k universe and showcases three very different types of horror tales. If you are up for the dispassionate ramblings of a psychopath, an actual honest-to-the-God-Emperor haunting, and some good old fashioned Warhammer splatterpunk, then this is definitely one to pick up.
     Like with the Maledictions anthology, people's favourites seem to vary and most are still unconvinced of the imprint's merit. But for my part; any doubts I had about whether or not The Black Library could actually deliver horror that could stand out from the rest of the Warhammer fiction are now laid to rest. I had a lot of fun with this one, and it's been a while since I have been so taken with any amount of horror prose.

On the cold and misty cemetery world of Silence three strangers meet.

Led here by the guidance of the half-dead mortuary servitors they have been corralled together, and for some reason they are now not allowed to leave. Mystified with how they got to this remote place, normally only suitable for the burial of the God-Emperor's servants, they begin to question each other, trying to discern a common thread.

And as the servitors chatter and look on in the distance, they each tell their story. 

You can pretty much guess what is going on here, but that shouldn't really be a deal-breaker. The framing story of Silence is just a little extra on top of three well-crafted novella-length short stories.
But because of how the framing device is laid out, any reader will also likely be able to guess where these stories end up and as such, they will individually need to be able to deliver some serious tension, mood and dread if they're going to keep the reader engaged. It was a bit of a gamble, but wouldn't you know it: it worked out quite well in the end.

    The first one up, The Beast in the Trenches, is an absolutely riveting read.
Through the eyes of a commissar we are regaled to the horror of trench warfare. Under a sky filled with shrapnel and fire, while drowning in boiling mud and choking on cloying smoke, he begins to become aware of an insidious enemy hiding among the troops. With calculation and violence he starts to root out the threat, but as he slowly becomes aware of a vast conspiracy, he begins to realize that he'll have to take more drastic measures if the Imperial Guard are to win this conflict.
   This one is a tense affair, one moment seamlessly leading into the next, compelling any reader to keep turning the page. Josh Reynolds, who is also responsible for the overarching Silence narrative, delivers an interesting character piece of a complete sociopath in the middle of war.

    The Woman in the Walls is my favourite Warhammer horror experience, bar none, and as that horror hasn't got a capital, this means that even outside of the imprint it's been my best horror experience from Warhammer as a whole. And I've read a lot of those books let me tell you.
     The second story is a chilling little tale of a vengeful haunting. A beating gone wrong delivers a woman to the top echelon of power, but her murdered rival was well liked and now someone seems warp-bent on vengeance, legal or otherwise. But as long as she keeps her head cool and her henchmen in line, the investigation into the murder will most likely blow over. But as her allies start dying in brutally violent ways, and as her dreams begin to spiral into an almost continuous nightmare, she knows that something is already well on its way to get her.
     Phil Kelly delivers a phenomenal horror story.
Part mystery, part slow-burn gothic horror story that turns into full-on violent nightmare-vendetta, this is the cream of Warhammer Horror Fiction. This is how it should be written. This is what Warhammer can offer.
   Tension building throughout, a tapestry of military characters all at odds with each other, politicking and scheming, with strange new beasts and engaging lore that might just have expanded the rules of the universe a little, and an ending in perfect serendipitous convergence where all the threads get solved, preferably bloodily. Just perfect.

The third story, The Faith and the Flesh, is a mad sensory overload of imagination, peppered with brief bursts of gore. While it isn't my favourite tale here, David Annandale nonetheless delivered a story that goes above and beyond in its depiction of how absolutely insane Warhammer can get. In the Warhammer universe there are forces that can come to be understood as unending description in themselves. This is fine in theory, and honestly quite a neat concept too, but in practice there always comes a point where an excessive level of description can cross the line from horrific straight into cartoonish, and this story crosses that line at several points. Despite of this, the steady escalation of the insanity on display makes it all very readable.
    To go with the rampant levels of body horror, we have the Wicked and the Damned's most introspective and annoyingly apologetic character.
    On what is likely to be his last tour of duty around a system, a missionary priest stops at a Ship-Wrecker installation to find guidance and support from his lover. No longer willing to meet his obligations to a religion that has grown empty, he has come here desperate for a way out, to ask her for a miracle. Leaving himself open to the guiding will of the God-Emperor he prays for help, for a sign that faith is what this bleak and uncaring universe warrants, and that the Emperor would show Himself to dispel his creeping doubts.
    And then one of the Ship-Wreckers approaches the station with a derelict vessel in tow, and a mysterious signal coming from deep within.

Given that all three stories are relayed to us by unreliable narrators, there are obvious fabrications, and it can be quite fun to spot where exactly the truth ends, and the lies begin. But don't hold it against them though; because sometimes the truth is just too hard to face.

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    I've seen a lot of complaints about the ending either being predictable or abrupt, but it should be obvious that the Silence chapters, about 2 or 3 pages in between the bigger stories, are merely meant to serve as the narrative framing device to tell 3 individual tales. They're not meant to be hiding some grand twist; they're here for framing, and to serve as mood makers.
    Any reader will likely quite quickly figure out, after the first Silence chapter even, what exactly the deal is with these characters and why they might be here. The moody environment of Silence, its nature, the audience that looks on as the characters tell their tales, they all speak for themselves.
   
But outside of that I did think this was interesting enough to merit some thought as I found there is a strangeness here. You see, what is interesting in these Silence chapters is how the characters whose stories we have learned appear to still have an influence on the world around them, and after their respective narratives had drawn to a close, this plainly should not have been possible. It is this that I had the most questions about. There's a fascinating enigma here, but to be given an answer to it would dispel the mystery, of course. I wonder if this might become something interesting; some sort of new folklorish element to the Warhammer universe. I'm not sure why this grabbed me so. But I really, really liked it.

Obviously, I hugely enjoyed this collection. I'm already looking forward to the Warhammer Horror yet to come. Drachenfels and Genevieve Undead will get a re-read and a respective review after I've done the Grendel Reading-goal, else I might just keep stalling it, and that just won't do anymore.

And so, though it is for now gone from us, rest assured; Warhammer Horror will return!