Things that brought me delight in March, 2022:
Children of the Stones
Children of the Stones is a British children's television series from 1977, but there's something you need to understand from the outset: this show is actually unsettling. The plot concerns a father and son who move to a village located within a Neolithic circle of standing stones; as newcomers to the village, it quickly becomes apparent that something nefarious involving pagan beliefs, strange technology, and the all too happy demeanor of the other villagers. There are moments of the uncanny here that are a bit unnerving: some of the imagery verges on nightmarish psychedelia, the soundtrack is suitably eerie, and the baroque plotline offers much more than you would expect from a show aimed at kids.
There's something truly extravagant about Rosalie Cunningham's solo work post-Purson; perhaps its a detectable feeling of the freedom to pursue whatever sound catches her ear without having to curb it to the want and needs of a band. Two Piece Puzzle isn't far afield from the psychedelia of Desire's Magic Theatre, but it's amazing that an album this intricately constructed doesn't come off as sterile or overly composed. The balance is just right throughout Two Piece Puzzle; there's always a danger of veering into kitsch, but instead the record feels like an artifact that's slipped through a wormhole from an alternate universe where everything is still groovy.
I had built up quite a bit of hype in my head around Gretchen Felker-Martin's Manhunt, so much so that when it finally arrived I wasn't sure it could possibly live up to my heightened expectations for it. It exceeded them. Now, as much as I loved this novel, it's not one that I can recommend to everyone in good faith. It's absolutely brutal, both in terms of visceral violence and emotional heft. It also doesn't bow to any cultural niceties; this is the rare book that doesn't flinch from showing you true ugliness when it needs to.
On paper, the pitch for Manhunt is pretty wild: a virus called t. rex has descended on the world, turning anyone with too much testosterone into a ravening cannibal rapist. Beth and Fran, two trans women, spend their time traveling the wilds of post-apocalyptic New England hunting the men who have succumbed to t. rex for their balls so that they can extract estrogen--the hormone they need to prevent themselves from sharing the same fate as the men they slay. Throw in an army of TERFs and an enclave of women who want to talk to the apocalypse's manager, and you've got the gist of what to expect. Again, Manhunt isn't going to be for everyone, but this is going to be a hard book to top for the best of the year, in my opinion.
Julia Gfrorer, Devotion
Devotion is a mini-comic containing four stories of love and sex. Devotion isn't really about narrative; the space constraints in a mini-comic of this format don't really allow for that. Instead, the comics in Devotion are all about the atmosphere, which is melancholic, pained, but also insistently noble in its sacrificial bent--there is an abnegation of the self at the heart of the concept of "devotion," something that I think is on full display here in this comics collected in this work. You can get a copy from Julia's Etsy shop here.
I spent some time with Zeal & Ardor's third album last month, and my estimation of it hasn't really changed; I think it's a good album, but not a great one. It turns out that the fire that I was hoping for from it is in Wake of a Nation, the EP that proceeded it. This is the Zeal & Ardor I was hoping for from the self-titled disc! The rage, mourning, and riot is all here. I could do with a full album of this style, but perhaps the EP really is the right format for it as it never wears out its welcome.
Benedetta is based on the life of Sister Benedetta Carlini, a nun and Christian mystic who was condemned for her lesbian desires. As a film, Benedetta captures the curious hypocrisies of the Catholic Church: it views the body as a damaged vessel of sin, yet includes the Song of Songs among its canonical texts; the possibility of the miraculous is taken as a given, but the very idea of divine manifestation is left open to fallible earthly judgement; God is the basis of love, but not all love is viewed through the same lens. As a Paul Verhoeven film, it's also completely over the top and chock full of prurient eroticism. As it should be.
It's fascinating that "Victorian Gothic Body Horror Comics" has become it's own fully fledged genre at this point. Mercy is a good example of the genre in action: it concerns otherworldly monsters who wear human bodies as disguises, and they're absolutely desperate to reopen the portal in a ruined mine that leads back to their home world. Mercy doesn't quite stick the landing, in my opinion characterization goes off the rails in the final act, but overall this was a pretty fun comic. I'll definitely check out the promised sequel if it ever materializes.
If you're wondering if Alison Rumfitt's Tell Me I'm Worthless is the book for you, consider this: one of the protagonists is haunted by Morrissey, who steps from a Smiths poster like the girl from The Ring crawling out of a tv.
The book poses interesting questions (what if a haunted house was fascist?) and has some memorable moments (its riff on Bluebeard is particularly fine), but it also has a few flaws. Tonally, the novel feels like an off-balance combination of Bizarro fiction, self-serious theory-based capital L Literature, and traditional horror; the seams show and it oddly relegates its larger points to on-the-nose imagery. (I wish there was a way to spoiler tag on blogger because one of them is a doozie that I'd love to share. It's so gonzo it wouldn't be out of play in, say, the film Society.)
I'm also not convinced that all of the novel's experiments with form work or are strictly necessary. That said, what Tell Me I'm Worthless does better than any other novel I could name is illustrate what a fresh hell the Very Online have made for themselves. I don't generally like to speculate which beliefs belong to a novel's characters and which are extensions of the author's point of view, but Tell Me I'm Worthless does feel like it's too closely in conversation with Twitter-style politics--with all the simplistic takes over actual nuance that implies.
Call of the Netherdeep, a campaign set in Critical Role's bespoke D&D setting, surprisingly has a lot going for it. Underwater adventures are pretty rare, but this gives that premise a pretty full consideration. The idea of an alien substance called ruidium that corrupt magic items and monsters is pretty fun; it can also poison the characters in your game. (The tendrils that grow as you flip pages in the book is a nice touch.) Call of the Netherdeep also uses the idea of a rival party that develops in power and changes as the campaign progresses to good effect. I'm still digesting the contents of the book (it's long, these things take time), but this seems like a pretty strong entry in 5e's campaign offerings.
I was pawing through a cardboard box of Dazzler back issues and old copies of Life Magazine at the antique store when I came upon this: a 1878 edition of Regina Maria Roche's The Children of the Abbey. Although it's little-known today, The Children of the Abbey was one of the best-selling novels of the 19th century. (Roche is mentioned as one of the Horrid Novelists in Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey and this novel was cited in Emma!) Of course, their was no price tag on this wonderful find, but I managed to get it for a mere four dollars. Treasure!
I'm not sure I could say in good faith that In Secret is a great movie, but it's definitely my kind of movie. Based on Emile Zola's novel Thérèse Raquin, In Secret is a historical drama that is equal parts hot & sad, my personal favorite combination of flavors. The plot is exactly what you might expect from Zola: an unhappily married woman becomes embroiled in adultery and murder when she forms a too-strong connection with her husband's best friend. The naturalism Zola was known for really comes through; everything feels sordid, tortured, and destined to end in misery. Again, hot and sad, just the way I like it.
Rivers of Nihil's Where Owls Know My Name got a lot of buzz and a lot of critical acclaim, but for some reason I found it a bit impenetrable. The Work, the follow up to that album, is a different story; although the sonic palette they're working with is amazingly diverse (there's even a bit that sounds suspiciously like a cock rock ballad), the tangents keep you on the edge of your seat, wondering what will come next.
Messa, Close
I've enjoyed Messa's two previous albums, but Close feels like the band really finding its own voice. On Close, Messa fully assumes their role as the doom metal Dead Can Dance. Big songs, big range of influences, even bigger moods. This album is great fresh out of the wrapper, but I strongly suspect that it holds treasures and secrets that will only unveil themselves after repeated listens. Close is going to be in rotation for a very long time to come.
I can't help but think Ghost are ridiculously fun. Imperia follows suit with their other releases; it's got anthemic moments, earworms galore, and is fated to be deemed "not metal enough." All of which I am more than okay with. Also, it's pretty clever to pair the theme of fallen empires with so many musical inspirations lifted from 80s hair metal--itself a fallen empire, if you think about it. I've probably listen to this the most of anything new to me this month.
Print Weaver, Blood Heist, The Martial Cult of Blood Knight Gaius
Not only was I busy finishing up some of my own zine projects in March, I also made some time to check out a few game zines by other people. Let's take them one by one:
The Martial Cult of Blood Knight Gaius is a dungeon crawl intended for use with either Knave or B/X D&D. The adventure centers on vampires who eschew their unholy thirst for blood, drinking only from those they defeat in honorable combat...which may include any characters who venture into their monastery. Bloodheist is a self-contained game about playing thieves out to heist a valuable object from a vampire. Character creation is focused on random rolls, but the results are much more evocative than I'm used to. Print Weaver is the strangest of the lot, being a fantasy game where character creation is guided by your unique fingerprints!
With Allen Walker side-lined by injury, the rest of the cast gets a chance to shine in these volumes of D.Gray-Man. The gang takes part in a harrowing and tragic sea battle on the way to Japan. Things don't get much better when they reach Japan, as they find that the nation is the domain of the Millennium Earl and his army of akuma. It's nice to see the return of Miranda Lotto, I think she's quickly becoming my favorite character. The revelation of the new form of Allan's powers is a little wild; honestly not sure where that's going. We'll see when I tackle the next few volumes in April.
I'm not sure Lychgate have made a single misstep in their musical offerings. Great album followed by great album, all the way down. On Also Sprach Futura, an ep in between larger releases, the band shoots for the stars and gets a little sci-fi. The sound is still extreme metal, with a Gothic edge to it, but there's enough modulation here to let you know that they've headed to space for the time being.
I had been meaning to read Susanna Clarke's Piranesi since it came out, but something or other was always coming up and getting in the way. Thankfully, I finally found the time; this novel is a treat. A man wanders a world of statues, halls, and tides, his only "friend" the strange Other who seems to be using him for an obscure purpose. As the enigmatic story unfolds, it involves quack academics, other worlds, occultists, and some fairly interesting thoughts about how we acquire and maintain a sense of self. I know some readers were disappointed in Piranesi's ending, but it all worked for me.
I had also meant to find the time to read Hellcrafter and Shadow Puppet directly after reading The Secret Name, the first volume in the series, but as always things came up. So it goes.
Imagine if the heroine in Buffy the Vampire Slayer was a doofus with a blog, and you're on the right track with Kendra Temples. In Hellcrafter, she is given a pulp fantasy paperback from the 70s that seems to indicate that her dead boyfriend is traveling through a hellworld...and that it might be possible to save him. Shadow Puppet has djinn, goth clubs, possession, and the like. Both are fast reads, very entertaining and light, perfect for in between more serious or weighty tomes.
Anne from DIY & Dragons recommended Brent Hayward's The Fecund's Melancholy Daughter to me ages ago; I finally got around to reading it in March, and what an unexpected pleasure it is! Attempting to describe the plot without spoiling any of its reveals feels like a fool's errand. Suffice to say, it involves a city riven by class tensions defined along the lines of medieval humors, an imprisoned monster who gives birth after consuming dreams, decadent ennui, and strange things happening in space. I definitely recommend this novel for fans of M. John Harrison's Viriconium books or maybe even K.J. Bishop's The Etched City.
Shadows in Eden is a collection of writings about Clive Barker and his work. I had a copy of this in the 90s, but I suspect I lent it to someone who disappeared with it into the mists of time. Invaluable resource that it is, since I've been teaching Clive Barker's Books of Blood this semester, I decided I'd like to have this back in my life. Nice to see you again, old friend.
I taught "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter" this month as part of my lit class. Very interesting reactions from students. Worth noting: they were both unaware of the story and unaware of the controversy surrounding it. This was their first, unsullied encounter with it.
I feel like they picked up on everything the takes on Twitter missed, but then, they read past the title and have a different relationship to memes than older sff people do. To them, the central relationship was read as tender and actually open-hearted. The ending that gestures toward and always changing and evolving sense of what gender, sex, and identity are made sense to them, but then, I find it hard to see why people took issue with that--or with the story in general. They also picked up on how the story is critical of the military-industrial complex, but then they would...they aren't primed to pick up any awards from a Raytheon-funded convention. (Gray!)
I'm quite familiar with the Daniel Radcliffe-helmed adaptation of Susan Hill's The Woman in Black, but somehow I had never seen the earlier film version, even though it was frequently mentioned in hushed, still-terrified tones by the Brits of my acquaintance when I lived in London. Someone on my Discord mentioned that it was available to watch on Youtube, and I can now report that it indeed a creepy little film that sticks with you. I can see why this version of The Woman in Black was foundational for so many people of a certain era.
F. Paul Wilson, The Keep
This was a Bad Books for Bad People read, so as always I will have a lot more to say about it with Tenebrous Kateon our episode about it. I've had a copy of F. Paul Wilson's The Keep on my shelf for a very long time, and I never got around to reading it, so I'm glad that Kate picking this as our book for March actually pushed me to read it--even though, as you'll hear if you listen to the episode, this is a book I did end up having some problems with! I really do think the first-to-middle bit was pretty fun, but that last 50-75 pages become a struggle when the plot twist hit.
