Post by laurenscharhag on Sept 10, 2013 12:42:02 GMT -6
As I was reading Holes for Faces, a new collection of short stories by Ramsey Campbell, all I could keep thinking was, How is it possible I've never read any Campbell before? Where have I been?
Seriously, WHERE? I cast my mind back through the horror anthologies I've read over the years, and somehow, I've never come across him before. But I'm so glad I have now.
Holes for Faces is a quiet, quietly astonishing cluster of tales (14, to be exact) that remind me strongly of old Twilight Zone episodes, where the true horror is always something man visits upon man, or that man draws up from the well of his own insecurities. If you're looking for blood, gore, snarling monsters and/or gratuitous sex, this is not the collection for you.
The main characters are either elderly or children-the powerless, in other words. The elderly have the expected fears of their own mortality, of losing their loved ones, of losing their faculties (both mental and physical); but they also have the fears of becoming irrelevant, of losing touch with the world around them. The main character in "Peep" has a visit from his adult daughter, her husband and their children. They chide him for not owning a cell phone, for trying to feed them fried food, for getting overwhelmed by the shopping mall. Another character, in "Getting it Wrong," is a film buff who lost his video store business, and now works at a movie theater to support himself. He doesn't understand the youngsters around him who have never heard of Alfred Hitchcock or Cary Grant. Again, I kept thinking of the Twilight Zone: "You have no function, Mr. Wordsworth, you're an anachronism, like a ghost from another time. . . You are obsolete."
Indeed, the characters that populate these tales are like their own ghosts-largely ignored, dismissed, solitary. Traditionally, the very old and the very young are considered to be the most in touch with supernatural forces-they are the closest, chronologically speaking, to whatever comes before or after life. The young have overactive imaginations and the old reconnect with their spiritual or superstitious natures.
The children in these stories are frequently being raised by a single parent, or otherwise have unfair burdens placed upon them. In "Holding the Light," a teenage boy must deal with his autistic cousin. In "The Long Way," another boy serves as the go-between for his parents and his disabled uncle. When things go awry in their lives, children are quick to blame themselves, an unfortunate byproduct of youthful self-absorption. Guilt and anxiety dogs their steps as they struggle to meet the expectations of their friends and family. It's no wonder, then, that when these children slip up, their terrors take on unspeakable manifestations.
I have long been of the opinion that to be a good author, one has to be a connoisseur of small gestures. Campbell perfectly depicts the interaction between his characters-friends, relatives, waiters, passersby. He captures the awkwardness or the frustration of many of these interactions. Sometimes, the thing you dread most is the holidays, when you will be trapped at yet another insufferable family function. I was also struck by Campbell's ability to show how the human mind makes bizarre connections. In the titular story, a young boy is vacationing with his parents in Italy. The parents are on the verge of splitting up. His mother is an absolute nightmare-nagging, criticizing, wound tight with her own worries and fears. She does not wish to stray too far from their hotel room for fear of "gangsters." The young boy observes that the Italians sound an awful lot like gangsters in films he's seen. Then, his parents decide to take him on a tour of the catacombs, which are called the "underworld." (Taking an eight-year-old to this particular attraction seems questionable to me, but then, his parents are educators, so one assumes they're hoping he'll absorb the historical significance.) He absorbs a lot more than that-he knows that the underworld is associated with gangsters. All of these negative connotations swirl in his young mind as he sees skeletons preserved in the walls, with holes where their heads should be. This is how neuroses are born. For the rest of the trip, the poor kid sees faces everywhere he looks, his anxiety growing along with the looming specter of his parents' divorce.
All the stories have themes and images in common. Many of the characters are traveling, whether just out walking, commuting, or actually traveling abroad. Many of the stories take place around the holidays, when people's tension levels tend to be at an all-time high. Campbell has a real gift for subtly building and sustaining atmosphere: unease, dread, confusion, panic. A pervasive sense that something is not quite right.
I think my favorite tale was "The Address," a brutally effective story about an elderly man who gets lost and stumbles upon a scene right out of Shirley Jackson's The Lottery, or Lord of the Flies.
I suppose it should come as no surprise that Campbell, as a master of the craft, is also a pleasing stylist. I was struck by descriptions like "unraveling skeins of rain," or "He managed to breach the carapace of a second potato . . ."
It's always a delight to discover a great author you've never read before. I look forward to treating myself to a Campbell retrospective.
Seriously, WHERE? I cast my mind back through the horror anthologies I've read over the years, and somehow, I've never come across him before. But I'm so glad I have now.
Holes for Faces is a quiet, quietly astonishing cluster of tales (14, to be exact) that remind me strongly of old Twilight Zone episodes, where the true horror is always something man visits upon man, or that man draws up from the well of his own insecurities. If you're looking for blood, gore, snarling monsters and/or gratuitous sex, this is not the collection for you.
The main characters are either elderly or children-the powerless, in other words. The elderly have the expected fears of their own mortality, of losing their loved ones, of losing their faculties (both mental and physical); but they also have the fears of becoming irrelevant, of losing touch with the world around them. The main character in "Peep" has a visit from his adult daughter, her husband and their children. They chide him for not owning a cell phone, for trying to feed them fried food, for getting overwhelmed by the shopping mall. Another character, in "Getting it Wrong," is a film buff who lost his video store business, and now works at a movie theater to support himself. He doesn't understand the youngsters around him who have never heard of Alfred Hitchcock or Cary Grant. Again, I kept thinking of the Twilight Zone: "You have no function, Mr. Wordsworth, you're an anachronism, like a ghost from another time. . . You are obsolete."
Indeed, the characters that populate these tales are like their own ghosts-largely ignored, dismissed, solitary. Traditionally, the very old and the very young are considered to be the most in touch with supernatural forces-they are the closest, chronologically speaking, to whatever comes before or after life. The young have overactive imaginations and the old reconnect with their spiritual or superstitious natures.
The children in these stories are frequently being raised by a single parent, or otherwise have unfair burdens placed upon them. In "Holding the Light," a teenage boy must deal with his autistic cousin. In "The Long Way," another boy serves as the go-between for his parents and his disabled uncle. When things go awry in their lives, children are quick to blame themselves, an unfortunate byproduct of youthful self-absorption. Guilt and anxiety dogs their steps as they struggle to meet the expectations of their friends and family. It's no wonder, then, that when these children slip up, their terrors take on unspeakable manifestations.
I have long been of the opinion that to be a good author, one has to be a connoisseur of small gestures. Campbell perfectly depicts the interaction between his characters-friends, relatives, waiters, passersby. He captures the awkwardness or the frustration of many of these interactions. Sometimes, the thing you dread most is the holidays, when you will be trapped at yet another insufferable family function. I was also struck by Campbell's ability to show how the human mind makes bizarre connections. In the titular story, a young boy is vacationing with his parents in Italy. The parents are on the verge of splitting up. His mother is an absolute nightmare-nagging, criticizing, wound tight with her own worries and fears. She does not wish to stray too far from their hotel room for fear of "gangsters." The young boy observes that the Italians sound an awful lot like gangsters in films he's seen. Then, his parents decide to take him on a tour of the catacombs, which are called the "underworld." (Taking an eight-year-old to this particular attraction seems questionable to me, but then, his parents are educators, so one assumes they're hoping he'll absorb the historical significance.) He absorbs a lot more than that-he knows that the underworld is associated with gangsters. All of these negative connotations swirl in his young mind as he sees skeletons preserved in the walls, with holes where their heads should be. This is how neuroses are born. For the rest of the trip, the poor kid sees faces everywhere he looks, his anxiety growing along with the looming specter of his parents' divorce.
All the stories have themes and images in common. Many of the characters are traveling, whether just out walking, commuting, or actually traveling abroad. Many of the stories take place around the holidays, when people's tension levels tend to be at an all-time high. Campbell has a real gift for subtly building and sustaining atmosphere: unease, dread, confusion, panic. A pervasive sense that something is not quite right.
I think my favorite tale was "The Address," a brutally effective story about an elderly man who gets lost and stumbles upon a scene right out of Shirley Jackson's The Lottery, or Lord of the Flies.
I suppose it should come as no surprise that Campbell, as a master of the craft, is also a pleasing stylist. I was struck by descriptions like "unraveling skeins of rain," or "He managed to breach the carapace of a second potato . . ."
It's always a delight to discover a great author you've never read before. I look forward to treating myself to a Campbell retrospective.