Brief Reviews

Climer, Steven Lee. Soul Temple. Grandview, MO: Dark Tales, 2000. 181 p.

After his mother's death, a young Spencer Welles accidentally invokes Thoth, a fallen angel who now thrives on death and misery. Now as a college student, Welles must discover a way to rid himself of Thoth's maniacal musings, before Thoth uses him to kill his friends, his family, his fiancée, and his unborn child. Although this is a well written and subtle text, with a storyline bordering on both the supernatural and the psychological, its ending is predictable. Of the Christian Fiction crossover writers (Marilyn Lamb, Martin Hunt) Climer is without a doubt the best; however, this hybrid subgenre of horror is inherently weak as readers are well aware that the hero/heroine will resist evil and will ultimately triumph over evil. The best horror texts are those that are not so black and white in their philosophy. Unfortunately for Climer, who is a rather talented writer in general, Christianity is black and white, as are pretty much all religions. I kept hoping he would break the mold and at least have Welles be irrevocably changed, made more of a round character if you will, by his brush with pure evil. But as usual, pure evil is surprisingly easy to defeat with love. One would think that by now Satan and his minions would have gotten wise to this weakness and steeled themselves so they don't crack like a guilty witness being cross-examined by Perry Mason. However, that is not the case. Everyone is saved who needs to be saved (and of course unborn children, like children and pets in horror, cannot under any circumstances be injured by all-powerful monsters; I think I'm going to reread some Dan Simmons just to reassure myself that evil, when it destroys, doesn't respect what is taboo, which is what makes it evil). Climer capitulates, and Welles triumphs, soul in tact, much to the detriment of the story.

Gonzales, J. F., and Mark Williams. Clickers. Grandview, MO: Dark Tales, 2000. 238 p.

The small town of Phillisport, Maine is invaded by giant crab-like creatures that possess not only voracious appetites for human flesh, but also foot long claws and poisonous stingers that immobilize.  Having been asleep for centuries, they are ready to strike again--and aided by the Dark Ones, semi-intelligent reptilian humanoids that co-existed with primitive homo-sapiens, they threaten to destroy the entire town. Unfortunately for horror novelist Rick Sychek, he has chosen to vacation in Phillisport. Sychek must pit his survival skills against monsters that rival anything ever created by his own imagination. Gonzales and Williams tale reads like the Sunday morning B movies hosted by Morgus the Magnificent (New Orleans' version of Elvira, Morgus was a mad scientist who was part Colombo, part Doctor Demento) on which I cut my teeth as a child. But like those Godzilla flicks and Peter Cushing vehicles, Clickers is delightful. Gonzales and Williams infuse the text with just enough gore to be believable, as well as plenty of scenes of giant crabs feasting on hapless human victims. Granted, the novel is silly and predictable in parts, and the evil sheriff versus innocent newcomer to town motif wears thin quickly, but a good horror yarn is supposed to scare us, and after reading Clickers, many tourists will wish to stay out of the fishing waters for quite some time.

Hopkins, Brian A. The Licking Valley Coon Hunters Club. Alma, AR: Yard Dog Press, 2000. 173 p.

Private Investigator Martin Zolotow is kidnapped at an airport and taken out into the desert, where he is physically coerced into working for a mobster who needs him to help save his daughter--from a man who thinks he is a vampire. Zolotow must now travel to Oklahoma City to visit a vampire nightclub, if he can survive long enough to get there. This IHG award-winning novel is at times a fun read, as it is half hardboiled detective novel, half vampire wannabe b-flick. However, Hopkins is in no way a comic genius, as is Laurell K. Hamilton, so his Zolotow character falls flat. Those who recall Fred Dryer as Hunter back in the 1980s will find similarities in Zolotow, and although I myself sat through many an episode of the series, I would never have wanted to pick up a Hunter novelization. The character simply is not complex enough to sustain a decent narrative. The same can be said of Zolotow, and to make matters worse, the eroticism of the black female characters in the novel  borders on being insulting (perhaps Aphra Behn can be forgiven this type of eroticism, but we approach the 21st Century and hopefully times, and attitudes, have changed). I kept waiting for one of Hopkins's full-lipped African-Americans to break into a chorus of Baby Got Back, which of course Zolotow/Hopkins would have shrugged off as erotic. Count Dracula's prop-like women have nothing on the women in this novel when it comes to being cardboard cutouts. Still, I can't help but think that Hopkins had a good idea in Licking Valley, a horror novel that exposes violent racism and unites black and white protagonists for the common good, and perhaps it is the idea of the novel itself that merited its award status. But in my opinion, despite its potential, Hopkins's story ultimately falls flat.

Sanders, Dan. Chelydra Serpentina: Terror in the Adirondacks. Santa Barbara, CA: Astral Publishing, 2000. 332 p.

Two scientists at a Harvard research facility, in order to study a case of time lapse evolution, create a reptilian creature that evolves in a matter of months into a humanoid. During that time, however, people begin disappearing from a nearby lake, and women are attacked by a serial rapist. Biology professor Matt Goddard suspects that the experimental creature is responsible, but he is mysteriously fired just as he begins investigating. This intriguing read is written from both the human and reptile point of view, and Sanders cleverly traces the creatures evolution in scientific terms at the beginning of each chapter. Unfortunately, the human hero in question, Goddard, is long-winded and at times as dense as Stoker's Van Helsing. Although he is thwarted by the local police and his own university at various points in the text, Goddard's pomposity keeps him from solving the mystery of the killings sooner rather than later, and tests the reader's patience, especially in scenes between Goddard and his love interest (and why do these horror novels always have to have a love interest?). Faring not much better are the bad guys of Sanders novel, two gay lover scientists who deserve a lot less plot time than they get. What saves this novel from extinction is the complexity and care with which Sanders creates his monster, the giant snapping turtle turned humanoid turned human male. By presenting the killings through the eyes of the chelydra serpentina, Sanders keeps readers from seeing the world in black and white terms. The creature kills because it needs to eat, and ultimately it becomes serial rapist John Lake because Lake does not possess the higher reasoning skills to properly grasp human sexuality. He/it is simply attempting to propagate the species. What is particularly worthwhile in this novel is the way in which the horrific situation is resolved: There is no hunt down the monster, kill the monster scene. Rather, Lake (now fully human) is confronted with his past in a touching final scene that is unique in horror. This is one horror novel that despite its weaknesses, is worth reading simply for its originality.  

Wooley, John, and Ron Wolfe. Death's Door. Tulsa, OK: Hawk Publishing, 2000. © 1992.  388 p.

In this thoughtful and intelligent character study, Security Guard Case Hamilton faces his innermost demons and fears of death after being given a second chance at life. While a cop on the beat, Hamilton was fatally wounded, but was resuscitated after ten minutes of death. Hamilton becomes a Security Guard at a famous surgeon's lab, where he discovers questionable practices. Mindful of the fact that he is himself one of the "experiments," he struggles on until a second brush with death leads to visitations by The Grey Man, Death itself, who wants more from Hamilton than just his own life. Like Old Fears, Death's Door is a novel that deserves to be reissued, as Wooley and Wolfe once again show that a horror novel does not need to read like pulp fiction. Their characters are more complex, and their writing more intelligent than that of typical genre writers. In fact, I would place them with the top echelon of writers in the genre: Poppy Z. Brite, Ramsey Campbell, Tanneries Due, and Peter Straub. Despite the popularity and reputation of Old Fears, I personally find Death's Door to be the duo's finest work. In its eeriness and atmosphere, it is as good as my favorite horror text, Campbell's Nazareth Hill. Although it is a bit long-winded, it is certainly a delightful read, and the emphasis on the father-daughter relationship, rather than in a love interest, makes it unique in its vision.