The week’s weird tale being discussed over at LibraryThing.
.Review: “It Only Comes Out at Night”, Dennis Etchison, 1976.
This story was very evocative for me.
While I have never driven between Flagstaff, Arizona and San Bernardino, California through the Mojave Desert anytime much less at night in the summertime, it brought back memories of night car trips through largely deserted areas on interstate highways.
A cautious person, in an age of what I remember as less reliable and comfortable cars, a cautious person might do what our protagonist McClay has done: pack a number of emergency supplies and provisions.
Etchison’s story is full of details: the tires heating up on the pavement and their constant flexing sidewalls pushing them closer to failure and the bug covered radiators and windshields. I don’t know if he invented the whole roadside complex of restaurants and hotels that cater to people who take the safer and more comfortable course of traveling this area at night. But it seems plausible.
The trip back home to San Bernardino for McClay and his wife, asleep in the back seat, has the air of desperation. Has something awful happened on the trip? Is his wife sick? Are they running from something? Have they killed someone? Committed a crime?
But, it seems, it’s just a vacation trip that turned into an ordeal, a car trip extended way beyond plans. Wife Evvie just wants to get to a hotel and sleep. McClay doesn’t want another argument so doesn’t tell her that’s a two hour drive away.
Continue reading ““It Only Comes Out at Night””
Just finished listening to the most recent episode of the Coode Street Podcast.
Much more interesting than their usual talk about awards. It featured a interview with Elizabeth Hand about her most recent book, Wylding Hall, the influence of Arthur Machen on her and many other writers, and her interest in depicting artists and the numinous in her work.
It’s just possible I’ll give her Cassandra Neary mysteries a try since it sounds like the series will start to involve matters of the arcane, occult, and ancient sort as it progresses.
My exposure to Hand is pretty perfunctory. I found her “Chip Crockett’s Christmas Carol” pleasant enough, but, not having any childhood memories of a beloved children’s tv show, there was nothing in my background for it to resonate with.
I was unaware, until I looked at her Internet Speculative Fiction database entry, how much critical work she had done since I’m not a regular reader of the Washington Post or The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction.
The only other fiction I’ve read by her is “Near Zemnor” … and that’s why you get a retro review, from September 18, 2012, of the book it appeared in.
Review: A Book of Horrors, ed. Stephen Jones, 2012.
You can ignore the short introduction which claims this anthology is out to reclaim the label “horror” for scary stories. Not all the stories here are scary. Some aren’t even dark fantasy. And some left me somewhat unsatisfied.
But they all kept me interested. Continue reading “A Book of Horrors”
I was beginning to question my taste, my abilities as a “critic”.
Do I just like anything I read? Sure, I read slow and not as much as I like so I’m somewhat careful what I chose, but still …
The Future Is Now has reassured me that I have retained some powers of discernment. Its execrable collection of stories cleared my palate and reminded me what crap tastes like. Continue reading “The Future Is Now; or, Adventures in Reviewer Parallax”