Those Across the River by Christopher Buehlman

Published by Ace on September 6, 2011

With only light foreshadowing of the horror to come, the first 40 percent of Those Across the River is devoted to atmosphere. Frank Nichols is a former history professor and recent transplant to depression-era Georgia, having moved into a house bequeathed to him by his aunt. Frank left Ann Arbor with Eudora Chambers, with whom he had been having an affair. Dora had been married to a faculty member who had enough influence to prevent Frank from finding employment at another university; hence the move to a house Frank's aunt had warned him not to inhabit. Frank decides to spend his time in Georgia writing a book about his great-grandfather Savoyard, a cruel and bigoted plantation owner who not only abused his slaves but refused to emancipate them after the Civil War ended.

As Frank settles into languorous rural life in the small town of Whitmore, passing time on the porch of the general store or conversing with hard-drinking Martin Cranmer (the only local resident who possesses even a smidgen of intellectual curiosity), he comes to learn that the locals avoid the nearby woods where the Savoyard plantation could once be found. The woods figure prominently in the town's annual social event -- the pig chase -- which inevitably culminates in the disappearance of pigs into the woods, never to be seen again. Frank's nightmares about his service in the Great War are supplanted by more immediate fears when, strolling through the woods in search of the Savoyard plantation's remains, he comes across a mute, half naked boy who may be nothing more than a phantom. After a neighbor's son is taken into the woods and ravaged -- a crime that prompts the lynching of a large black man found picking berries in the woods -- the novel begins to shift into horror mode.

The next 40 percent is ordinary horror fare: shape-shifting, once human creatures with supernatural abilities; silver bullets; frightened and ineffectual villagers. Well written though it is, this part of the story didn't grab me. Whether the creatures and their susceptibility to silver is viewed as traditional or unimaginative is open to debate, but it seemed too familiar to be frightening.

The final 20 percent ties the first two parts together in a way that redeems the novel. It is creative, intense, surprising -- and yes, at least one scene is genuinely scary. I like the story's open-ended conclusion, its effective use of the horror convention that more terror may be lurking beyond the final pages.

Although I wouldn't describe Christopher Buehlman's prose style as poetic, his background as a poet is reflected in his careful word choice and in the fluidity of his sentences. He assembled this novel with craftsman-like storytelling ability. I'd love to see him turn his talent to meatier subjects. In any event, while I'm far from a devoted fan of the horror genre, this novel tells a well-paced story that transfixed me in the last chapters.

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The Castle in Transylvania by Jules Verne

First published in France in 1892.  First published in English in 1894.  Published by Melville House on July 6, 2010.

Someone (or something) appears to be living in Transylvania's Castle of the Carpathians. It isn't Count Dracula -- Bram Stoker's novel didn't make an appearance until 1897, while The Castle in Transylvania was first published in 1892. Like the family name "Dracul," however, vampire stories existed in Romania for centuries before Stoker wrote his novel. Jules Verne relied on the superstitions that are rooted in the history of Transylvania -- a land, Verne tells us, that lends itself "to all psychagogic evocations" -- when he penned this tale of an eerie castle. But is this a tale of the supernatural? Verne does a masterful job of keeping the reader guessing until the novel's end. Readers should be warned, however, that the phrase "the original zombie story" on the cover of the Melville House edition is a tad misleading.

Verne's story begins with the shepherd Frick, who takes his first look through a telescope when he meets a peddler offering one for sale. Gazing at the Castle of the Carpathians nestled in the distant mountains, Frick spies smoke rising from the keep. This disturbs Frick because the castle has been abandoned since the disappearance of its owner, Baron Rudolf of Gortz, many years earlier. The castle is never visited by the superstitious villagers for they are certain it is haunted, filled with ghosts and vampires and werewolves, surrounded by dragons and mischievous fairies.

Word of the smoke spreads rapidly throughout the village. The villagers readily accept Frick's explanation: a fire in the keep has been set by the Chort -- that is, by the devil. The village leaders meet to discuss what becomes one of the novel's most interesting themes: the adverse economic impact the village will suffer if travelers, fearful of the supernatural, decide not to tarry in the village shops and inn (not to mention what the Chort might do to their property values!). The leaders draft Dr. Patak to investigate since he has often derided their superstitious beliefs. Patak isn't happy to be chosen and agrees only after forester Nicolas Deck volunteers to accompany him. A voice then fills the inn, warning Deck that if he goes to the castle, misfortune will befall him. This foreshadows a terrifying adventure for Deck and the doc, and the events that follow certainly terrify Patak.

Is the castle infested with evil spirits or are the villagers falling prey to their own superstitions? It falls to Count Franz of Tellec -- who travels through the village by chance -- to answer that question. Count Franz and Baron Rudolf happen to have a dark history involving a beautiful opera singer. Is the opera singer alive or dead? Or is she undead? The genius of this story is the mystery that Verne creates. The reader doesn't learn until the final chapters whether supernatural beings inhabit the creepy castle. Unfortunately, Verne resolves part of the mystery in a clumsy narrative that slows the novel's momentum. Still, the story gets back on track before it ends.

Verne devotes a fair amount of this novel to the creation of atmosphere. The book is replete with information about Transylvanian history and customs. Readers who crave nonstop action might be put off by Verne's digressions, but I thought they added interest and authenticity to the story. Besides, reading Verne is a pleasure; even at his least exciting moments, his prose is never dull. The pace quickens considerably in the last third of the novel. The conclusion (like an earlier chapter involving the opera singer) is melodramatic but that's hardly a surprising feature of a nineteenth century story. This might be lesser Verne but it's still a story that fans of horror fiction, mysteries, and Victorian literature should enjoy.

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Eutopia: A Novel of Terrible Optimism by David Nickle

Published by ChiZine Publications on April 15, 2011

Eutopia is divided into two parts: nurture and nature. The first section (nurture) sets up what appears to be a terrific horror story, one with dynamic characters, a strong sense of place, and a variety of interesting but disquieting conflicts. The second section veers a bit off track with plot developments that are more silly than horrific, yet the story held my attention even when I was questioning its premise.

The setup creates the perfect atmosphere for a horror novel. Set in the fictional town of Eliada, Idaho, Eutopia begins in 1911 with the attempted hanging of Juke, a person (or perhaps a thing) with intensely black eyes. Juke survives the noose and Eliada's private police arrive in time to save Dr. Andrew Waggoner, the only black physician at Eliada Hospital, from the second half of the intended double lynching. The hangmen are wearing KKK garb and at least one is the brother of Maryanne Leonard, a seemingly deranged patient who died while Waggoner was trying to save her from injuries that apparently resulted from a botched outhouse abortion.

Joining the population of Eliada are Jason Thistledown, the only survivor of a mysterious epidemic that wiped out the town of Cracked Wheel, and Germaine Frost, a gatherer of information for the Eugenics Records Office. Jason and Waggoner soon discover that Maryanne isn't the only woman who suffered a grizzly death in the vicinity of Eliada. The other victims had similar injuries, but not all of them were pregnant.

Eliada's founder is Garrison Harper. His intent was to create a "stern Paradise," a "community devoid of strife and class warfare where men happily lifted their tools at sunrise and set them down again at sunset, not once tempted by Bolshevism or bad morals" -- in short, a 1911 version of Utopia. All the residents share common traits: the men are tall and strong, the women are "lean and comely," and none seem to suffer from a physical or mental infirmity. In contrast to Eliada's residents, many of those who live in the nearby woods are far from prime specimens of humanity. Neither is Juke, who lives in the hospital's quarantine building. Juke is a project of Dr. Bergstrom, who claims Juke is "beset by idiocy and infirmity. And certain -- irregularities in his anatomy." And then there are the mysterious Feegers, who seem to linger in the woods while worshipping ... something.

David Nickle's weaving of two real world horrors -- eugenics and racism -- into the novel's twin mysteries (the deaths near Eliada and the epidemic in Cracked Wheel) is ingenious. Nickle's writing style is at least a step above the ordinary. His prose is efficient; Nickle uses a few carefully selected words to set scenes that some writers would have wasted pages developing, a skill that allows the story to develop at a brisk pace. The mood and atmosphere are perfect for a tale of the supernatural. Nickle's writing, and particularly the sense of characters rooted to a particular place and time, reminded me of Joe Lansdale.

Much of the time, Eutopia has the feel of a conspiracy thriller: characters don't immediately realize they are in danger, and when they do, they don't understand why; puzzling out the "why" is the key to their survival. The nature of the threat is revealed about halfway through the novel, and (unfortunately) the story loses some of its zest at that point. The explanation (and the abilities manifested by Juke and his ilk) struck me as a little too silly to be truly chilling. In fact, the book might have been better without the supernatural element, although it probably wouldn't qualify as a horror novel at that point. Still, my dissatisfaction with the Juke/Feeger aspect of the plot didn't stop me from following the story to its surprising (and satisfying) conclusion. Nickle's strong writing and the carefully fashioned characters are reason enough to read and enjoy this novel.

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