Fleshbags by Gerald Rice

Fleshbags by Gerald Rice

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


The zombie subgenre has really taken off in the last ten years. Personally, I thought it would have died five years ago, but today it’s still running strong. The zombie is like the vampire. Both creatures are undead, and yet we love them. We love them so much that it might take another ten years before we finally get bored of them, if ever.



Fifteen years ago, zombie literature was scarce. Today it’s everywhere. This brings me to Gerald Rice and his short gem of a novella, Fleshbags. The title of this book itself reeks of the undead, and what Gerald has managed to do with this story is not revolutionize the zombie market so much as help it evolve. His undead creatures are a different beast from your typical zombie, and it is really welcoming.



What I liked most about Fleshbags, however, were the interesting characters that populate the story. Loman is on a mission to get to his daughter from school and save her from the sudden outbreak that makes people strip naked and their stomachs to look like translucent sacks filled rotting organ tissue. Along the way he teams up with a person who wears all leather and a motorcycle helmet, the latter of which he/she never takes off. Ms. Mila is a teacher at Loman’s daughter’s school who hates the children she teaches. Bill and his wife, Sarah, notice that Mr. Anders is home early from work, which he never is, and that there seems to be something wrong with him. When Bill goes over to investigate, he finds much more than a sick man.



I once had a conversation with a friend about how zombies can be used for any metaphor the writer chooses, and Gerald Rice does a marvelous job of doing so in Fleshbags. The story, I thought at least, is about the dark things we store and lock away. Beneath the skin of every individual, there is something darker, perhaps even dangerous, lurking. There’s a secret behind every locked door you pass ignorantly by every day. Not only has Gerald created his own zombie, but he put them in a setting that was easy to believe, amongst humans, everyday people we all know, love and hate.



My biggest criticism is that this is a novella with a large cast. It was difficult at first to remember who was who and what they were doing, but once I caught on, it was one hell of a ride. I also would have liked it if some of the subplots were smoothed out more. But don't let these things deter you from what is very much a fun read. If you like zombies and the zombie subgenre, then I invite you to give Fleshbags a try. Do so, and you just might meet some interesting people.





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Ghosts

I just read a great blog post by James Everington, titled A Drunken Conversation About Ghost Stories.

This post brought back memories of when I was a kid, having conversations with friends about whether or not we believed in ghosts. These kind of conversations happened regularly, and inevitably the ghost stories would come out.

When I got older and began drinking with friends, the ghost stories became more and more animated. Yet, as I get older, the less people want to talk about ghosts. The people I know now either get too spooked about such topics or they are complete atheists.

Which is cool. I'm an agnostic in pretty much all matters regarding the supernatural and spiritual, myself, so I find both atheistic and theistic conversations about ghosts fascinating.

Here is my comment in James's blog post:

"Great post. I love a good ghost story, but I don't think I believe in them. That makes me sound indecisive.

What I mean is, I've seen and experienced some things in my life that I cannot explain. But I know that they could have been hallucinations. If they were not hallucinations, then that doesn't mean that the things I've seen were ghosts. I don't think we can know for sure until science proves it, or more than one person actually talks to a ghost at the same time."

The things I've seen and experienced, as I said above, could have been explained as anything but having seen something supernatural. There was one time, and I didn't mention this one because I wanted to write about it here, when a friend and I were sitting together in the basement of a mutual friend's home. I was on the phone with my girlfriend of the time and there was some music playing softly. The lights were very dim. Someone entered the basement. He was wearing a sweater with brown and white stripes. He sat down on the easy chair next to us, and then faded and disappeared.

As you can imagine, both me and my friend made a strained "ahhhhh!" sound at the same time. This, however, was reassuring; my friend had seen it too. If that wasn't bad enough, the figure came again, doing the exact same thing and eliciting more "ahhhhh!" sounds from us. My girlfriend, still on the phone, kept asking, "What's going on?" but I was too afraid to speak. I hung up on her and me and my friend took off upstairs where everyone else was.

Once we explained what had happened,, we were told by the people who live there that we had just met Bill, their ghost.

Despite having had this experience, I still realize that there might not be any such thing as ghosts. Granted, my friend saw it and reacted to it at the same time as I did, but the lights were so low as to be nearly nonexistent. There was just enough light to see the mans sweater, the white and the brown stripes. His face was lost in shadow.

I cannot explain what it was we saw that night, but I've thought about it a lot since. Ghosts, or things like it, could be anything from mere imprints we leave on space and time, or they could indeed be lost and confused spirits. It's certainly more fun to think of them as the latter, but when it comes down to it, I don't believe in ghosts.

I suspect they might exist, but that's just me. I spend a lot of time sitting on a fence, observing. One thing I do know, though, is that if I was an eccentric millionaire with time on my hands, I'd be a ghost investigator. The Skeptical type, but I'd do it nonetheless!

CLAN by Harry Shannon

This is a short review I wrote for Amazon.com:

I'm a chronic reader. Because of this, it can be difficult to find a book that will knocks my socks off. I was lucky enough to come across Harry Shannon's CLAN recently, and now I must tread barefooted.

All silliness aside, CLAN is a lot of fun to read. Case is an ex detective and recovering alcoholic. His sister is worried about her scumbag husband, who has disappeared. She has asked Case to look for him. Kelly is an assistant to a small movie production company who has just lost her boss's Russian mob money and is now on the run for her life. Both journeys lead these two dynamic characters to the small town of Salt Lick, where bodies have been recently found torn to pieces.

What fascinates me about this book is that the genre crossing is so well done, it all makes perfect sense and is very easy to suspend your disbelief. The characters are also so well-drawn that they feel like real people, and by the end of the novel it feels as though they've become close friends.

I love it when that happens.

Shannon is so good with characterization, in fact, that even the lesser characters get their moment to shine.

What this really comes down to is that if you don't read this book, you're missing out on a great time. I don't rave about books like this very often. As I said, I am a chronic reader. It's difficult to get me excited about a book. So do yourself a favor and lose your socks.

I also recommend his book of short stories A Host of Shadows. This book contains some of the best short fiction I've read in a long time.

H. P. Lovecraft and Thomas Ligotti

Today was H. P. Lovecraft's 121st birthday. Not only that, it was also Thomas Ligotti's Un-birthday, as described by Matt Cardin. For it was on this day in 1970 when Ligotti had a psychic break, realizing that the universe is both meaningless and malicious, and a great artist was borne.

To celebrate this, below is the link to Matt Cardin's brilliant blog post, where he describes the meaning of all this much more eloquently than I can. Enjoy!

Celebrating Lovecraft's birthday and Ligotti's un-birthday.

Lamenting Blind Melon

As a teenager, the 90s were my years. They will be the years I will brag to my children about, if I ever have any, annoying them with the stories and books and the music of the decade. As though it’s the only decade that ever existed. Although I don’t think I’ll actually be that bad, I do know that I will always cherish the 1990s. It was the decade I became passionate about books and music. Throughout the years since, I have stuck with the books, always remembering my old favorites, but some of the music has fallen to the wayside. One such band is Blind Melon.

Now, it was easy for me to let Blind Melon go. Their singer, Shannon Hoon, died of a cocaine overdose while on tour in October 1995. I remember that the day I heard the news well, actually. I was a big fan of Blind Melon’s and I heard of the dark news while watching Much Music, Canada’s equivalent to MTV. I didn’t believe it at first. And the fact that nobody else reported it nearly stamped my belief that the singer was still alive, his death nothing but a terrible rumor. I didn’t believe it until surviving band members appeared on Much Music, talking of their experience of losing the singer and their plans for the future.

Finally learning of Shannon Hoon’s death was a massive letdown for me, and for good reason. Anyone who is or has been a fan of the band knows what I’m talking about. Blind Melon wrote music that was infused with passion almost unmatched by any other band. They used many different instruments, infused many different genres, and the singing along the lyrics, in my opinion, was always topnotch. I’ve recently had the chance to check out newer Blind Melon music, their 2008 release “For My Friends”, but I just can’t get into it. Not yet, at least. The music doesn’t have the same “umph” and the lyrics, and therefore the music’s arrangement, seems dry in comparison to Hoon’s.

I am smart enough, and know myself well enough, to know that I might be biased, though. I’ve only recently rediscovered Blind Melon, and I might just need some time to adjust to the newer sound the band has acquired. Some say that it’s a lot like the old stuff. But right now, I just can’t hear it.

All this just brings home the fact that Shannon Hoon’s death pissed me off back in the 90s, and it still does today. The man, along with the band, was highly talented. His death was nothing but a waste. At the same time, however, I am glad to have just reconnected with this band and their great music. And I hope that, in the future, I can forgive and forget enough to enjoy what is new and what ought to be appreciated for what it is. Music. Life. Passion and art. It’s all there. I just have to find it.

Divorce and the Black Cat

An interesting thing happened to me this week. On Monday, I learned that I had made the "panic list" for Title Goes Here:, a great new magazine that has published three of my stories. The panic list is for any story that they had planned on publishing getting pulled at the last moment before publication, therefore leaving a gap in their magazine or web edition. Well, this very thing happened to them this week, for whatever reason, and so they sent out the email to their list.

This was the first time that they had to do this, and I was proud to have made that list. I was even more proud to have had them accept the story I sent in: Divorce and the Black Cat, my retelling of Edgar Allen Poe's The Black Cat.

Even better were the words Inanna Gabriel said about me and my story in the web edition's editorial. My work has never received such a kind review publicly before, and so I was, and still am, overjoyed. It feels good just getting an acceptance, but to have your editor compare you to Clive Barker in the editorial makes one's skin tingle.

And to think that I almost shelved Divorce and the Black Cat.

I was writing it for an anthology based off Poe's style, and at first I hated the story. I thought nothing worked and that it had collapsed on me. Then, one night while watching the Masters of Horror episode of The Black Cat, I decided to pull it out and give it another look over. After a few adjustments, I gave it to my first readers. That lead to an interesting conversation on what else could be changed about some of the content. After that, the story, I felt, was good enough to send out.

Only problem was, who would want a retelling of a story? It would be a hard sell, I knew, so I almost shelved it again. When Title Goes Here sent me their panic email, I thought, "What the hell?" The worst they could say is no.

And now it is ready to be read, for free, on their web edition.

I'm proud to have worked with Inanna Gabriel and C. Bryan Brown, editors of Title Goes Here. I highly recommend the magazine, and not just because they've published my work. They put out consistently great issues, both in print and their web editions. And I thank them and my first readers, Jen and Richard, for all the help and encouragement! It's guys like you who offer the rewards of writing fiction other than the self-gratification: that buzz I get when I feel that I've written a well done short story and have trouble believing that I wrote it. Which, in itself, is rare.

When Darkness Calls Pt 1

I’ve been reading a lot of interesting fiction lately. About a year ago, I made a commitment to read all the H. P. Lovecraft I could find. Finding it all was easy. You can get the entire short stories and poetry, including some essays, all in one volume for your Amazon Kindle for something like ninety-nine cents. Reading it wasn’t that difficult either. If you’ve never read Lovecraft, or even if you have and loved it, I would highly recommend that you read a short story then go over to The H. P. Lovecraft Literary Podcast and listen to the corresponding episode. Chris and Chad, who host the show, are both awesome.

But I digress.

H. P. Lovecraft is a fascinating writer of dark fantasy/science fiction/horror. Where I simply admired the man’s work earlier, he has now become a favorite. But I am now learning of even more fascinating authors; writers who are taking horrific and weird fiction in the vein of Lovecraft in entirely new and refreshing directions.

I’m speaking, of course, of Thomas Ligotti.

As an avid reader, I’ve heard of Ligotti’s fiction for years now. His work has even been recommended to me, but for some reason I never got around to it. Such is life. I don’t know how many books I have in my to-be-read mountain, a lot of them from authors I’ve never read before. Thankfully, however, I recently decided to give Ligotti’s Teatro Grottesco a try. It, of course, is brilliant. I somehow knew that it would be, and so I regret not having read this man’s work before this year.

What I like about Ligotti’s work the most is how much it seems to speak to me. Nearly every theme is a topic I have thought of more than once in one way or another. The overall landscape and pure beauty within the stories themselves is almost like opening my ribcage or cracking a hole in my skull and seeing what’s inside. Stories like Purity, The Town Manager, Sideshow and other stories, and The Red Tower were fascinating journeys into nightmares perhaps a little too familiar. Other stories, like My Case for Retributive Action and Our Temporary Supervisor come straight from my life.
These stories are not simply stories. They are art. They are a mirror to any soul with substance. I look forward to reading more from Ligotti, and I can’t recommend him enough.

This isn’t all. There’s a lot more in fiction that I’m finding fascinating. Not all of these writers are Lovecraftian, but they are great. I will post more about these fascinating reads when I have the time. But for now…

Happy reading!