A Rant: On Four Great Books, Perspective, and the Greatest Spectacle in Racing
By James Reyome
05/03/2004
Lockley, Steve, and Paul Lewis. King of all the Dead. Surrey, UK: Telos, 2003. 120 p.; Bedwell-Grime, Stephanie. Guardian Angel. Surrey, UK: Telos, 2003. 201 p.; Lee, Edward. Infernal Angel. New York: Leisure, 2004. ¸ 2003. 338 p.; Williamson, J. N., ed. Darker Masques. New York: Pinnacle, 2002. 574 p.
By the time you read this it will be May. Spring has thus fully sprung: flowers are blooming everywhere, and we hikers are reveling in the warmer weather and the longer days. Of course racing season is well underway, and May means only one thing to a real race fan: Indy. The Greatest Spectacle In Racing. Lots will be happening at 16th and Georgetown: practice will begin in a few days, then two weekends of qualifying, and finally the biggest race of them all, and to a lot of us, the only one that really matters. To the average person it's just a bunch of airplanes flying low, round and around 200 times, but to me it's Spring in Indiana defined, a true Hoosier tradition, in its own way an anachronism despite all the present management has done to bring it kicking and screaming into the 21st century.
It is a spectacle, an amazing thing to witness if you've never been there. And, in its own way, it's drama, often horrifically thus. Who could forget Mario Andretti's spectacular flip in practice last year after coming out of retirement (at age 63!) to test one of his son's cars? It was terrifying to witness. Or Drivin' Dan Wheldon's weird roll with just a few laps to go in the race? Even non-race fans no doubt saw repeated highlights of both of those on the teevee news. Awful stuff, but the drivers walked away. And Mario promptly re-retired, naturally.
And then, rising star Tony Renna suffered a fatal crash during testing last fall.
Horrific.
It's reality, friends. Along with the ever-escalating conflict in the Middle East (and don't get me started on that) and the constant petty and often--no, usually-- childish sniping of our so-called leaders in Washington, it's sometimes hard to maintain perspective. Myself, I have lots of hobbies, some of which I have discussed in these pages. I have my family. I have my books, some of which I write and many of which I read. I have my burgeoning DVD collection. And yes, most of those are horrific.
A catharsis? Distraction? Perhaps. Myself I don't know. Lately I've decided I'm not nearly as smart as I figured I was before and I'm not even qualified to judge myself. But it all helps me keep things in perspective. And it beats dope. Usually, anyway.
So. That particular rant is out of my system and I feel lots better, like I've taken some great emotional and psychic dump. Thus, I can get on with the business at hand, which is, of course to discuss books, and as usual, a little more. We have four volumes to check out today, and I will admit to pleased beyond superlatives to share them, as they are all jim-dandies and more than worth the time. Out of fairness to their consistent high quality, I present them in no particular order, viz:
Lockley, Steve, and Paul Lewis. King of all the Dead. Surrey, UK: Telos, 2003. c. 2003. 120 p.
King of all the Dead. What a title! And for a change it's not misleading, though the rather gothic looking cover is. This is a genuine nailbiter from start to finish. Lisa Morgan and her sister Allison are driving when they happen upon a van. Inside is a man, Ben Matthews. And a hose that leads to the tailpipe. Yep, Ben's trying to off himself, and he'd damn near succeeded till Lisa and Allison came along. Lisa saves Ben, and with this selfless act the fun begins, as someone or something promptly grabs Allison and dispatches her rather gruesomely. At the risk of giving away too much of the story, said something is none to pleased with the Morgan sisters' interference, and it's bent on collecting its due.
Adventure after horrific adventure follows. For a while this reads like a zombie story, something akin to Night of the Living Dead, especially when Lisa and Ben (and is it just a coincidence that Ben is the name of Duane Jones's character in NOTLD?) take refuge in a cottage. As things progress it become more and more claustrophobic till it's darned near unbearable. There's also plenty of violence and gruey, gooey gore for those who like that sort of thing, which means me, and, I hope, you. But it's necessary for the plot, so that makes it okay, and it never goes so over the top that it becomes senseless. Check out Charlee Jacobs' Haunter for that sort of thing, reviewed a year or so ago in this space.
Back to a book worth reading, then: Lockley and Lewis have done their homework. Lisa Morgan is a character with a fascinatingly tragic past, one that catches up with her in the end, and no, I'm really not giving anything away here. The climax has such a neat twist that even I didn't expect it. I will note that it does coincide with my original theme of perspective. Balance. In all, it's very neatly done, and though it's a bit pricey, King lives up to its name. Lockley and Lewis have a winner here.
Bedwell-Grime, Stephanie. Guardian Angel. Surrey, UK: Telos, 2003. 201 p.
"If there's a Hell below...we're all gonna go..." Curtis Mayfield
Yep, Hell is where we're going for the next two volumes. It's a bit of a roller coaster...or should we use the British euphemism Helter-Skelter? It might be appropriate in more ways than one...
All right then, onto Guardian Angel, and here's one of those rare cases where you really can tell a book by its cover, which depicts shapely Porsche Winter (no, I'm not making that up) in a suggestive pose, seemingly on the edge of Hell. Heaven is a corporation (so is Hell, for that matter). God is "The Big Guy", and Porsche is, as advertised, a guardian angel. His current charge is one Alex Chalmers, whose soul is in grave danger. Porsche is on the case, but she's got company she doesn't like, nor trust, in a double agent of sorts named Wynn Jarrett.
It seems Hell is planning a hostile (and that's putting that mildly) takeover of Heaven, Inc., and Chalmers and Jarrett are central to the scheme. Part of this scheme involves Porsche losing her position as a guardian Angel and being demoted to the Dreams Department, although speaking as a man I can't see where dreaming of Porsche would necessarily be a bad thing. We should all be so lucky. Still, she's humiliated, and seeks not only to redeem herself, but save Chalmers' soul as well, and simultaneously prevent Lucifer's takeover bid. She's aided along the way by her friend Cupid--yes, that Cupid. The expected cast of Archangels all make appearances. Gabriel is second only to the Big Guy, Uriel is in charge of the Guardian Angel division, Raphael heads the Dreams Department, and Michael naturally ends up as the leader of the invasion force that eventually rescues Porsche from Lucifer's lecherous clutches. But it is Nemesis, as a lady lawyer, who really saves the day. Imagine that, a lawyer portrayed in a positive light.
So, in the end, Heaven, Inc. is spared the humiliation of coming under the control of Hell. That's not to say that Porsche gets off scot-free. She has to face the Wrath Of God for her miscues as a guardian angel, but her punishment is, well, agreeable, and there's always hope for retribution, isn't there?
Yes, it's all a bit silly, but it's all in fun, and Bedwell-Grimes style is well suited to the story. To me it reads kinda like a hard-boiled detective narrative, and it works as well now as it did back in the 50s and 60s for Spillane, Shayne, and the like. The story comes to a refreshingly sprightly climax, with more to come, apparently: there's a teaser following the author's bio for an upcoming sequel that should prove to be just as interesting. I'm looking forward to it.
So. There are two from Telos that are terrific. If you're buying one, consider getting them both. They come highly recommended.
Lee, Edward. Infernal Angel. New York: Leisure, 2004. ¸ 2003. 338 p.
Now that we're back from Hell, let's go back to Hell, shall we?
We shall. And gladly so, for the Etheress hero of City Infernal,
Cassie Heydon, is back.
Now, for those of you who partook of my review of City Infernal, you may recall I waxed enthusiastic (at least) on the story, the characters, the writing, the sheer outrageousness of it all...pretty much everything, in other words. I will echo that commentary almost as a whole for the sequel. Not quite, for as we all know, sequels never fully measure up to the original work. But this one comes awfully close. Close enough, anyway.
Such a contrast, this, to the light-heartedness of Guardian Angel! No corporations here; Hell is that huge Mephistopolis where perversion rules. This is it should be, naturally, and again Edward Lee follows what should be the golden rule of any good splattergoth story: anybody can die at any time. They sure do in this one, dozens of 'em. Including one Walter Grey, who is a pivotal character, pivotal in that he is an Etherean, kind of a male version of Cassie except for one key difference: he's a moron. Not a moron in the George Bush sense, but in the wholly-inept-clueless-nerd-who-can't-get-laid sense. Smart as a whip with the book larnin' but hopeless otherwise. He can't even kill himself properly, for God's sake, with a shotgun, no less. Now that's a moron. And of course the ineptitude is reflected in his inability to use his talents as an Etherean once he does reach the Mephistopolis, through the trickery of his brother. But fear not, said treacherous brother gets his in the end, if you know what I mean and I think you do.
Anyway, Walter has something of an ally in a disembodied head named, well, No-Name, who is, needless to say, more than meets the eye and a nifty addition to the plot. Cassie too has assistance in the form of an angel who calls herself Angelese, appropriately enough. Like No-Name, Angelese has a built-in handicap: she can never tell Cassie too much, because if she does, she's visited by an Umbra-Specter and she's punished. Severely.
Lucifer, naturally, has a plan to conquer the Earth, involving opening great portals from the Mephistopolis though rather an ingeniously conceived mass slaughter. How Lee comes up with this stuff never fails to amaze me. Cassie--and, eventually, Walter--do their best to stop the original Fallen Angel. Lee waits till the absolute end of the book to bring things to their climax, at which time I was damn near breathless. While it doesn't have the shocking originality that set City Infernal apart, Infernal Angel is a worthy sequel.
Edward Lee has a truly sick mind. I like that in a guy. Splattergoth lives.
Williamson, J. N., ed. Darker Masques. New York: Pinnacle, 2002. 574 p.
All right, so this review is tardy. Very tardy, in fact. I ought to be horsewhipped for waiting so long to bring this one to light, but I can't afford it and my wife wouldn't approve anyway (or would she?). Anyway, here at last is my take on the second collection for Jerry Williamson's acclaimed Masques series:
Holy shit!
That could be the review, right there. Two words. I kid you not. As much as I raved about its predecessor, Dark Masques (reviewed back in the Fall 2002 issue of Necropsy), Darker Masques is at least its equal. True, it doesn't have anything by that sicko among sickos Joe Lansdale, but it does have two entries from one of my favorite creep-out artistes, Mort Castle, two potential classics from Dan Simmons, and a pair from Ed Gorman as well. Gorman opens the show, in fact, with Drifter, which is actually a rather bittersweet piece. Adobe Jamess The Spelling Bee is not at all what you expect, and Graham Mastersons Ever, Ever, After is a love story that proves that till death do you part aint necessarily so.
Rex Millers The Luckiest Man in the World is about a close encounter of the worst kind and is one of the strongest stories in the collection, while Jeannette M. Hoopers Sunday Breakfast is probably the sickest. Euggh. Two fingers down the throat, and two thumbs up!
Joseph A. Citro checks in with Them Bald-Headed Snays, which is surprisingly poignant, and Gahan Wilsons Sea Gulls is, as one might expect from Wilson, amusing and shocking.
There are a couple of limpers, as in any collection, but theyre by far outweighed by really quality stuff, and Ive saved the best for last, as usual, in no particular order: Graham Mastersons The Heart of Helen Day, James Kisners Splatter Me an Angel (great title, that!), the always reliably stomach turning F. Paul Wilsons Please Dont Hurt Me,,which is not at all what you think, and finally, tied for Best of the Best is Chet Williamsons The Pack and John Maclays Safe, which most certainly isnt.
So there you have it. Four books that ought to enhance your perspective and should keep you busy through the post 500 blues too. Get on em.
The ultimate drive-in double feature of 2004: The Passion of the Christ and Hellboy. Why not?
As always, comments, suggestions and death threats are welcomed if not encouraged. Wire me at thingsthatexplode@excite.com today!