Showing posts with label RB Russell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label RB Russell. Show all posts

Bibliomania Meets Weird Horror Fiction

Friday, October 7, 2011



Many thanks to Tartarus Press owner and author Ray Russell for this fine mini-documentary on his book collection. Bibliomania strikes when least expected, even though it has become more expected in weird horror than in many other genres. Undoubtedly a product of limited print runs and deluxe editions, the average literary horror devotee is also a lover of well made books and obscure tomes.

Russell's video is the first known video record of this phenomenon. His intense collecting interest in Arthur Machen and other writers is discussed at length, while handsome shots of the books in question materialize. Rare volumes by Thomas Ligotti, Mark Valentine, and Edgar Allan Poe with Harry Clark's celebrated illustrations sit not far from the Machen books. An impressive collection, without question.

It's little wonder that Tartarus has always carried a strong sense of identity. The rich history behind their operation seems to be standing the test of time, especially if the latest developments are any indication. Just recently, Tartarus issued the latest short story collection by Reggie Oliver, Mrs. Midnight and Other Stories, which met out-of-print status at a breakneck pace.

-Grim Blogger


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R.B. Russell's Literary Remains Reviewed

Saturday, May 29, 2010


R.B. Russell's weird fiction has hit the weird literary world in a remarkable surge, balancing quality with production. Close on the heels of his first story collection Putting the Pieces in Place and the novella Bloody Baudelaire, both published by Ex Occidente Press, is a new offering by PS Publishing: Literary Remains. This collection of ten new tales is an expression of haunting otherworldliness seeping into realities well known to Russell. At times, reading the book seems like a journey through a carnival funhouse, but one filled with pale whispers and wayward gentleman instead of gaudy ornaments. More than anything, Literary Remains presents the emergence of an unusual other reality so disorienting that it dazzles and terrifies in equal proportions.

Russell's attention to clearly writing what he knows convincingly solidifies the recognizable setting in his stories, and perhaps this is why their nicely paced breakdown is so strange. The author's position as Tartarus Press' chief operator is no secret, so it is not surprising that many of this collection's stories are set in bookish environs. In the titular story, "Literary Remains," a young woman's work at a bookstore leads her into tending the graveyard library of a deceased collector and writer, which seemingly harbors more ghosts than old books and papers in his house. "Asphodel" toys with the dark side of the publishing world when an elderly religious fanatic seeks to get his treatise published through a vanity publisher. The astounding success of this shadow writer and his bizarre transfiguration ring the notes of religious mystery, extracted and distilled from the world's orthodoxies. The publishing world's troubles are again displayed in "Another Country," where a representative of a major house journeys to a strange land to meet a reclusive, bitter writer. The foreigner's painful secrets are awkwardly revealed in a land made genuinely unintelligible to Russell's visitor, and these elements are only a precursor to the real horror.

If any one source of inspiration can be pinned down for this collection, it is unequivocally Robert Aickman. Russell's mixture of erotic tension and unexplained elements strongly reflect an Aickmanesque worldview, though his stories are original enough to avoid obvious parallels. Not surprisingly, the best tales have the strongest Aickman traces. "Blue Glow" spins the old dream of exchanging lives with someone else in a new direction. A middle aged fellow is slowly integrated into the luxurious flat and lifestyle of a wealthy playboy across the street, while his old life is seized by this other man. A bizarre transference of apartments, women, and wealth occurs beneath the inexplicable and melancholy aura of dark blue lighting that seems to follow the narrator's evasive partner.

Other stories also drive on the fog of Aickmanesque mystery, which is often so impenetrable it forces readers to invent their own interpretations, like reading constellations in the stars. "Loup-Garou" (which means "werewolf") showcases an artsy French film that uncannily mirrors its viewer's life. Later, the movie has an unsettling transformative effect (or is it a second transformation?) when it is viewed anew many years later. "A Revelation" hides a secret in the attic--an ancient plot device of the horror and mystery genres--but Russell's garden shed in the rafters is far more baffling than horrifying. This brief narrative is especially forceful in the sheer oddness of its revelation, which mirrors the best cosmic awe in H.P. Lovecraft's "The Music of Erich Zann" and the eeriness of "doubles" from Rod Serling's The Twilight Zone.

"Where They Cannot be Seen" exudes further architectural mystery, but tangles it with strands of forbidden longing and lust in a way that admirably demonstrates the layered power of Russell's prose. In this story, two adulterous spouses at a couples' retreat discover a hidden chamber in their vacation house invisible to everyone else. Curiously, the room rearranges itself as their emotions evolve, reflecting and encouraging their affair, until the disturbing and sad climax. Consciously or not, Russell effectively utilizes structural unease and spacial anomaly to generate a weird atmosphere, somewhat like Mark Z. Danielewski's novel, House of Leaves. "Another Country" exhibits another type of placement distortion. Russell's authentic depiction of a foreign land (probably inspired by Eastern Europe) is an anxiety-inducing trap that accurately represents the horrors of finding oneself among strange buildings and garbled languages.

Despite Aickman's ghostly polish, R.B. Russell's fiction differentiates its mysteries by conjuring disorientation and distortions that often probe deeper into our world than Aickman's. Russell's blurring of memory is a useful and recurring tool for making the dizzy uncertainty that dominates Literary Remains. No story better exemplifies memory distortion than "Llanfihangel," where a guest at a party leads a man to mount an effort at assisting an old girlfriend, Cara, who has fallen onto hard times. Questions abound in this tale, from the narrator's own uncertainty about Cara's status and possible fraud, to the estate she formerly occupied which seems as haunted as everything else surrounding this memory ghost. The supernatural encroaches more ominously than in any other tale in "Una Furtiva Lagrima," as a young man visits the home of his father's mistress. This story takes on the appearance of shared haunting, as the literal and figurative ghosts of a terrible incident from her past manifest themselves. "An Artist's Model" sees an art student achieving the unlikely success he longs for from the story's outset. However, it comes only after sleep tainted episodes painting his instructor's curious model and a physical altercation he cannot understand. Overall, memory confusion and misunderstanding in these tales are the worst demons of all.

The most important gift of Literary Remains is a small peek behind reality's curtain into another realm, with landscapes and players which cannot be fully understood. This short story collection forces readers to become active investigators rather than passive observers. Fortunately, this follows the best tradition of weird literature, and unraveling the book's many mysteries can be immensely rewarding, besides being the only way of really appreciating the high class strangeness Russell has cultivated here. Since Literary Remains is already the third thoughtful book R.B. Russell has released in a short time, readers can expect even more from this talented conqueror of weird fiction writing and publishing. This collection sets the bar high for himself, not to mention future authors, but also ensures a special place for his fiction in the contemporary weird's bright future.

-Grim Blogger


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R.B. Russell's Bloody Baudelaire Reviewed

Wednesday, October 21, 2009


R.B. Russell's Bloody Baudelaire is one of the latest books from the upstart publisher Ex Occidente. This novella is a bold new effort by Russell, whose short stories have haunted journals of supernatural literature for years, amid his work as chief operator of Tartarus Press. His previous short story collection by Ex Occidente, Putting the Pieces in Place, sold out rapidly and was well received by readers of weird fiction.

Unlike other books that seek out catchy titles in a bid for attention, Russell's Bloody Baudelaire lives up to its name in every way imaginable. The 71 page book is a quick, but fulfilling tromp through a heavy atmosphere of decadence and multifaceted tension. A fog of uncertainty clouds the strange happenings of this story just enough to give it an aura of unease, without any openly supernatural horrors coming onto stage. Readers are introduced to the young and ignorant Lucian, who is a guest at the Cliffe House, an almost Gothic construct haunted by the preternatural presence of the alluring Miranda and the Baudelaire-quoting miscreant Gerald.

The friend and girlfriend Lucian arrives with soon slip away from the narrative after a disastrous night of gambling, leaving him and Miranda sealed in the tomb like house with the ambiguous visitations of Gerald hanging over their heads. For a thin volume, Bloody Baudelaire is stuffed with all manner of thoughtful, heady dialogue among slabs of colorful description. Miranda and Lucian discuss art, life, love, and everything in between as they are assaulted by a battery of internal and external anxieties infesting the Cliffe House.

Russell boasts a definite talent for portraying troubled characters in a nominally modern setting. His figures are as talkative as they are reflective and philosophical--recalling an entertaining trait of 19th century literature (particularly French and Russian)--in a refreshing departure from most mainstream novels today. The conversations between Lucian and Miranda blossom into observations about existence. Thoughtful readers will enjoy pondering these from both their own perspective and those of the novella's odd characters. However, far from sounding like one of Plato's dialogues, Russell's story flows with an almost theatrical quality, leaving ultimate conclusions up to readers instead of handing down concrete truths.

The author also taps his considerable experience with weird literature to cast a spell of mysterious unease behind the actors' exchanges. The youthful Lucian is confronted with the disturbing mental and physical manifestations of Miranda's inner torture. Meanwhile, the evasive Gerald plays the part of specter until the potent mystery is uncovered at the novella's close. A painting of Miranda mysteriously changes throughout the story, leaving readers to speculate on the true identity of the artist as well as any Dorian Gray allusions. Russell might have exhibited this chief artifact of brooding strangeness a bit more in the novella, but the descriptions that are there enliven Bloody Baudelaire with an added layer of eeriness that should satisfy lovers of the weird and the decadent alike.

Like many effective stories, Russell's book defies genre labels. A solid case could probably be made for Bloody Baudelaire as a wide legged performer straddling the gap between weird fiction, neo-decadent literature, and modern mysteries. But why bother? The novella is what it is: a jittery, intelligent conundrum that leaves the shadowy questions raised by Cliffe House and its inhabitants with readers well after the book has been placed back on the shelf. On a strictly literal level, one could plow through its pages in the space of a couple hours or less. Fortunately, the weird and the decadent have never been one dimensional, and Bloody Baudelaire is proof that Russell understands this. The book should be read slowly for maximum effect, until the emotion-charged shadows of Cliffe House beam out through the ink and into one's mind, where the private hells of Miranda and Lucian can become strange neighbors to one's own.

-Grim Blogger


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