A review of The White Hands and Other Weird Tales by Mark Samuels
The republication of Mark Samuels' "Mysteries of the Abyss" in Fantastic Horror seems, with the advent of this editorial supplement, a fair occasion for a review of his first collection of stories, published in 2003 by Tartarus Press.
Samuels is one of numerous contemporary writers strongly influenced by the classics of weird fiction and particularly by Poe, Lovecraft and Machen. But it would be well to notice in the work of the contemporaries an element not found, or less predominant, in their predecessors. In the gloomiest tales of Poe, in the darkest works of Lovecraft, I do not remember as thorough an atmosphere of fatality as can be found in those of Thomas Ligotti, Quentin Crisp and Mark Samuels. It is something new. The reader who observes the gloom of Poe's "Usher" sees that it is not precisely the narrator's gloom, much less Poe's, but that of Roderick Usher--a gloom that is treated throughout as an aberration. The unprejudiced reading of Lovecraft will also show that, however the protagonists may be confronted by great powers, they are not quite deprived of the ability to choose and their choices are not deprived of consequence. It is perhaps in Machen's work, if anywhere among the three canonicals, that strong traces of fatalism may be found.
But if I have not made myself clear, an overview of this quality in White Hands with the survey of its strengths may clarify the point.
In the story "The White Hands", the work of a dead writer of weird tales has an irresistible power of fascination over the living. In "The Grandmaster's Final Game", a man once obsessed by chess is haunted by the demonic spirit of a man obsessed by the game even in death. In "Mannequins in Aspects of Terror", an architect whose building has fallen into neglect stages an exhibit that transfixes and enslaves the its observers. And so on, throughout the stories, the protagonists are continually confronted with powers of enchantment that they are powerless to resist. It is not so much that their struggles are futile but that, in most cases, they are strangely deprived of the very morale on which struggle depends.
A supernatural power of words too is frequently in evidence. Not only in the title story but in "Vrolyck" and "The Search for Kruptos", the protagonists (or their victims) are drawn by secret or obscure texts that no will can defy, no power suppress, and no hope relieve. And concomitant with the dark prevalence of these texts is a world of impenetrable mazes. In "The Impasse" and "Colony" alike, characters are forced to wander, half-hypnotized in a twilight world of corridors or streets, deprived of the spirit of life. The fatality implied by the denouements of the tales takes palpable shape in books, mirrors, the enclosure of horizons by the interminable walls of rooms and corridors or by the boarded-up facades of labyrinthine streets.
Yet among these fatalities lurks a vibrancy of imagination and words that belies the very plots of the tales. One in particular caught my fancy from among the rest:
Borges' name is indeed invoked during the course of the tales, along with those of Poe, De Quincey, Le Fanu, M.R. James, Coleridge and others. Here, although the spirit of the times may pervade the episodes, the memory of the dead nonetheless persists and animates the narration with more than what is a la mode. And what, in so many writers, is more eminently penetrable by the gimmickry of their devices or the crass gratuity of their effects is here more itself--the setting a reflection of the plot, the plot of the characters, the characters of the setting, in general correspondence and pervasion--both within each piece and, to a great extent, between the stories of the collection.
I cannot recommend this book to everyone. Not everyone likes horror stories and some will not have them without blood. Nor is it plain to me that every reader born to the English tongue cares for the English language--how to explain the perennial literary extravaganzas that wantonly violate its usages except by a bloody hatred of its vocabulary and grammar? But there are readers who will not only recognize the spirit of our age in the phantasms Samuels presents but will appreciate the attentive and eloquent directness with which he depicts each--showing, not making, monstrosities of letters--showing, not exemplifying, the illusion of futility.
Samuels' site
Jack Faber
The republication of Mark Samuels' "Mysteries of the Abyss" in Fantastic Horror seems, with the advent of this editorial supplement, a fair occasion for a review of his first collection of stories, published in 2003 by Tartarus Press.
Samuels is one of numerous contemporary writers strongly influenced by the classics of weird fiction and particularly by Poe, Lovecraft and Machen. But it would be well to notice in the work of the contemporaries an element not found, or less predominant, in their predecessors. In the gloomiest tales of Poe, in the darkest works of Lovecraft, I do not remember as thorough an atmosphere of fatality as can be found in those of Thomas Ligotti, Quentin Crisp and Mark Samuels. It is something new. The reader who observes the gloom of Poe's "Usher" sees that it is not precisely the narrator's gloom, much less Poe's, but that of Roderick Usher--a gloom that is treated throughout as an aberration. The unprejudiced reading of Lovecraft will also show that, however the protagonists may be confronted by great powers, they are not quite deprived of the ability to choose and their choices are not deprived of consequence. It is perhaps in Machen's work, if anywhere among the three canonicals, that strong traces of fatalism may be found.
But if I have not made myself clear, an overview of this quality in White Hands with the survey of its strengths may clarify the point.
In the story "The White Hands", the work of a dead writer of weird tales has an irresistible power of fascination over the living. In "The Grandmaster's Final Game", a man once obsessed by chess is haunted by the demonic spirit of a man obsessed by the game even in death. In "Mannequins in Aspects of Terror", an architect whose building has fallen into neglect stages an exhibit that transfixes and enslaves the its observers. And so on, throughout the stories, the protagonists are continually confronted with powers of enchantment that they are powerless to resist. It is not so much that their struggles are futile but that, in most cases, they are strangely deprived of the very morale on which struggle depends.
A supernatural power of words too is frequently in evidence. Not only in the title story but in "Vrolyck" and "The Search for Kruptos", the protagonists (or their victims) are drawn by secret or obscure texts that no will can defy, no power suppress, and no hope relieve. And concomitant with the dark prevalence of these texts is a world of impenetrable mazes. In "The Impasse" and "Colony" alike, characters are forced to wander, half-hypnotized in a twilight world of corridors or streets, deprived of the spirit of life. The fatality implied by the denouements of the tales takes palpable shape in books, mirrors, the enclosure of horizons by the interminable walls of rooms and corridors or by the boarded-up facades of labyrinthine streets.
Yet among these fatalities lurks a vibrancy of imagination and words that belies the very plots of the tales. One in particular caught my fancy from among the rest:
The distinction between the fatality of the plots and the vivacity of their narration is not the only welcome inconsistency. There is a great distinction between the arcane and mystic backgrounds against which the stories unfold and the simple manner of their narration. But the mode is no more conventional than the style is identifiable. Between the more elaborate manner of Lovecraft and the clipped sentences of Borges, Samuels' prose lies perhaps halfway. And to judge by the story quoted immediately above, the spirit of the Argentinian fantasist may well preside over this collection as much as that of any other author.We drew close to the town and passed through a titanic arch with four pillars. I saw narrow and intertwining streets and bridges suspended over frozen canals. The spires and domes were of extreme antiquity, their interiors gutted and dark and choked with tattered volumes.
I have never seen so many books. They were everywhere: on icy streets, floors, in doorways, blocking windows. . . . There were tiers of sagging or collapsed roofs above and below us and endless mazes of hollowed steps leading up to railed streets. The houses tottered, their garrets shedding books from high windows like autumn leaves scattered by the wind.
Borges' name is indeed invoked during the course of the tales, along with those of Poe, De Quincey, Le Fanu, M.R. James, Coleridge and others. Here, although the spirit of the times may pervade the episodes, the memory of the dead nonetheless persists and animates the narration with more than what is a la mode. And what, in so many writers, is more eminently penetrable by the gimmickry of their devices or the crass gratuity of their effects is here more itself--the setting a reflection of the plot, the plot of the characters, the characters of the setting, in general correspondence and pervasion--both within each piece and, to a great extent, between the stories of the collection.
I cannot recommend this book to everyone. Not everyone likes horror stories and some will not have them without blood. Nor is it plain to me that every reader born to the English tongue cares for the English language--how to explain the perennial literary extravaganzas that wantonly violate its usages except by a bloody hatred of its vocabulary and grammar? But there are readers who will not only recognize the spirit of our age in the phantasms Samuels presents but will appreciate the attentive and eloquent directness with which he depicts each--showing, not making, monstrosities of letters--showing, not exemplifying, the illusion of futility.
Samuels' site
Jack Faber
1 comments:
Great review, really fanned the flames of my interest in Samuel's collection. Sounds like "White Hands" is essential reading for anyone who admires this style of horror writing.
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