Datlow's Inferno
Through the magnanimity of Ellen Datlow I received a copy of Inferno in the mail just before Christmas. As I told Ellen at the time, I was primarily interested in the book for thehollowbox, who had been chomping at the bit to get his hands on it for months. So it will be a less-than-surprising Christmas present, and as per the agreement on Ellen's blog, pre-read. ;)
I am not what you'd call an experienced reader of horror by any means, and I know that a lot of you who read my journal aren't, either. Some of this stuff is heavy, and I say that having read Gary Braunbeck's In Silent Graves (The Indifference of Heaven in the UK), and greatly enjoyed it, even though "enjoyed" always feels like a strange word to use with Gary's work. It is an intense ride through areas of the psyche that most reasonable people generally try to avoid.
So I came to Inferno trusting in The Datlow (which, after Salon Fantastique and SCIFICTION, I did) and that the book had received several glowing reviews and knowing not much else. The trust was worthwhile, and I concur with Publisher's Weekly that this is some of the best SF/F of the year, assuming that it is okay with you that a story make a transition into "fucked up beyond all reason", as several of these do.
I knew a handful of the names in the collection -- Lucius Shepard, Jeffrey Ford, Joyce Carol Oates, P. D. Cacek (one of our guest instructors at Odyssey), Pat Cadigan -- but only a handful. And I'm pleased to have read the collection if only to be introduced to so many other amazing writers. Shepard and Ford delivered as they tend to -- Shepard's "The Ease with Which We Freed the Beast" is carefully crafted and as vivid as it is unsettling, which is a difficult juxtaposition to achieve. But some of the most memorable stories out of the collection come from writers I'd never read before -- Nathan Ballingrad's "The Monsters of Heaven", Laird Barron's "The Forest" (this will not surprise pantlessjohnny or thehollowbox, I'm sure -- I'd heard of Barron and wanted to read him but this was my first introduction), and Lee Thomas's "An Apiary of White Bees".
The writing here is just solid to the point of being instantaneously classic. I will pull, mostly at random, from Thomas's story, one of many passages in the collection that made me pause with appreciation:
Oliver didn't care much for the Cortland. It was a landmark, decorated with extravagance and taste, but without a single concession to warmth. His wife Amanda wanted it, so he bought it, and they lived here because she wanted that too, but it was hardly a home. A home should be filled with personal belongings and intimate, happy memories. And at least one person in that place should love you.
Simple, solid, and masterful -- like most of the stories in this collection. With the caveat that there are a couple of stories in the collection I have not yet read -- I've been mostly catching them late at night, trading reading for sleep during the pell-mell craziness of this particular holiday season (I am currently writing this from a hotel room in West Palm Beach, Florida -- my brother is getting married tomorrow) -- Pat Cadigan's "Stilled Life" stands apart from the rest for me. This certainly is no judgment of the quality of the other stories -- the nice thing about a well constructed anthology is that there will be, hopefully, something for everyone. And this one was something for me. But I also think that it is one of the finest stories I've read this year, and among the best short stories I've ever read. A study in friendship and the frantic way that we can attempt to escape the human condition, it is smart and funny and intense and beautiful and unnerving all at the same time. I am not, generally, a Cadigan fan -- again, no judgment here, just my taste, aka what the hell do I know -- but I will follow her work more closely from here on out.
So in closing, there are a number of stories here that are individually or as a group worth the price of the collection, which, aesthetically, is also very fine -- it's a much more handsome book than I was expecting, in a world of increasing trade paperbacks. I do maintain that I would prefer, if possible, to do the majority of my reading on a medium that does not kill trees, but if books should exist (and they should), I think they should look and feel like this.
So that's my synopsis of Inferno, and thanks to Ms. Datlow for sending it my way via the fine folks at Tor. Though I will never be primarily a horror reader or writer, I do enjoy reading widely, and it helps to be able to put my trust in an editor that will provide a prime expreience of the genre being sampled. I do think that the experience of horror is an individual peak in a reading experience -- really fine horror is an unmatchable phenomenon. I owe my openness to its basic symbolic function to Jeanne Cavelos (and Odyssey), whose explanation of the heart of horror led me to write "The Bearer" while at the workshop -- and it has been an element of my writing consciousness ever since. These are important parts of the human condition to be aware of, important dimensions of experience -- and if you're curious, Inferno would be a good way to open that door.
I am not what you'd call an experienced reader of horror by any means, and I know that a lot of you who read my journal aren't, either. Some of this stuff is heavy, and I say that having read Gary Braunbeck's In Silent Graves (The Indifference of Heaven in the UK), and greatly enjoyed it, even though "enjoyed" always feels like a strange word to use with Gary's work. It is an intense ride through areas of the psyche that most reasonable people generally try to avoid.
So I came to Inferno trusting in The Datlow (which, after Salon Fantastique and SCIFICTION, I did) and that the book had received several glowing reviews and knowing not much else. The trust was worthwhile, and I concur with Publisher's Weekly that this is some of the best SF/F of the year, assuming that it is okay with you that a story make a transition into "fucked up beyond all reason", as several of these do.
I knew a handful of the names in the collection -- Lucius Shepard, Jeffrey Ford, Joyce Carol Oates, P. D. Cacek (one of our guest instructors at Odyssey), Pat Cadigan -- but only a handful. And I'm pleased to have read the collection if only to be introduced to so many other amazing writers. Shepard and Ford delivered as they tend to -- Shepard's "The Ease with Which We Freed the Beast" is carefully crafted and as vivid as it is unsettling, which is a difficult juxtaposition to achieve. But some of the most memorable stories out of the collection come from writers I'd never read before -- Nathan Ballingrad's "The Monsters of Heaven", Laird Barron's "The Forest" (this will not surprise pantlessjohnny or thehollowbox, I'm sure -- I'd heard of Barron and wanted to read him but this was my first introduction), and Lee Thomas's "An Apiary of White Bees".
The writing here is just solid to the point of being instantaneously classic. I will pull, mostly at random, from Thomas's story, one of many passages in the collection that made me pause with appreciation:
Oliver didn't care much for the Cortland. It was a landmark, decorated with extravagance and taste, but without a single concession to warmth. His wife Amanda wanted it, so he bought it, and they lived here because she wanted that too, but it was hardly a home. A home should be filled with personal belongings and intimate, happy memories. And at least one person in that place should love you.
Simple, solid, and masterful -- like most of the stories in this collection. With the caveat that there are a couple of stories in the collection I have not yet read -- I've been mostly catching them late at night, trading reading for sleep during the pell-mell craziness of this particular holiday season (I am currently writing this from a hotel room in West Palm Beach, Florida -- my brother is getting married tomorrow) -- Pat Cadigan's "Stilled Life" stands apart from the rest for me. This certainly is no judgment of the quality of the other stories -- the nice thing about a well constructed anthology is that there will be, hopefully, something for everyone. And this one was something for me. But I also think that it is one of the finest stories I've read this year, and among the best short stories I've ever read. A study in friendship and the frantic way that we can attempt to escape the human condition, it is smart and funny and intense and beautiful and unnerving all at the same time. I am not, generally, a Cadigan fan -- again, no judgment here, just my taste, aka what the hell do I know -- but I will follow her work more closely from here on out.
So in closing, there are a number of stories here that are individually or as a group worth the price of the collection, which, aesthetically, is also very fine -- it's a much more handsome book than I was expecting, in a world of increasing trade paperbacks. I do maintain that I would prefer, if possible, to do the majority of my reading on a medium that does not kill trees, but if books should exist (and they should), I think they should look and feel like this.
So that's my synopsis of Inferno, and thanks to Ms. Datlow for sending it my way via the fine folks at Tor. Though I will never be primarily a horror reader or writer, I do enjoy reading widely, and it helps to be able to put my trust in an editor that will provide a prime expreience of the genre being sampled. I do think that the experience of horror is an individual peak in a reading experience -- really fine horror is an unmatchable phenomenon. I owe my openness to its basic symbolic function to Jeanne Cavelos (and Odyssey), whose explanation of the heart of horror led me to write "The Bearer" while at the workshop -- and it has been an element of my writing consciousness ever since. These are important parts of the human condition to be aware of, important dimensions of experience -- and if you're curious, Inferno would be a good way to open that door.