Dark Promotions

Am I the only one who still associates “Black Friday” with the stock market crash and people jumping out of windows?

Anyway, it seems that we all must celebrate this newfangled mercantile holiday, so I’ve scheduled promotions on my two older books.

Robin Hood: Wolf’s Head is on a Kindle Countdown deal from November 22nd to November 29th ( in both the U.S. and U.K. stores).

The Road to Hel will be free from November 23rd to November 27th.

Also my celebration of a much older holiday is just out:  Father Winter: A Yule Story.

Found Books and Lost Opportunities

When I was young, my family went to the library fairly often. I would always scan the shelves for books by my favorite authors, which definitely included Fritz Leiber. There was no Internet yet, of course, and I didn’t subscribe to publishing newsletters or own a copy of Books In Print, so the only way I knew that he had a new book out (well, new to me, anyway) was if it turned up in the library (or possibly, if a title was mentioned in the book’s end matter). Later, when lawn mowing brought me in a bit of cash, I would also check bookstores–of the brick and mortar variety, naturally–in the same way.

It was always a thrill when I found that one of my favorites had written something that I’d never read before–especially if the author had shuffled off his or her mortal coil, and I never expected anything new from them this side of the afterlife. I remember feeling this way when I came across C.S. Lewis’ The Dark Tower, for instance. But now that I’m older and living in an environment saturated with information, that kind of thing can’t happen any more…right?

Wrong again. A couple of months ago Colette and the kids and I went to a library book sale. The fiction shelves didn’t offer much that appealed to me, but I did spot a hardback copy of Leiber’s The Big Time that looked brand new. (Now free on Kindle, by the way!) I almost didn’t get it–I did have a copy of that book already, a signed British first edition, in fact. But Colette convinced me to get it anyway–after all, the books were only costing us maybe 50 cents each, and we still had at least one space to fill in some forgotten corner of a spare room bookcase. Also this edition (which turned out to be from the Science Fiction Book Club) included an introduction by Leiber, which wasn’t in the one I had.

Well, in that introduction, Leiber mentioned that he’d written a sequel to The Big Time–a novella that I’d never heard of before: No Great Magic. This being the information age, it was quick work to find it and order a copy–in fact, a copy of ChangeWar, which includes all of Leiber’s Changewar stories (including at least one other that I’d never read).

My review is here.

Finding this book reminds me of a long-ago lost opportunity. While I was living in San Francisco in the eighties, the famous City Lights bookstore hosted a Leiber book signing–The Ghost Light had just come out (it seems to be out of print now). I didn’t have enough money at the time to buy a copy–this was before credit cards, too, at least for me–and though I looked in at the window, I was too diffident to go in and talk to him. I’ll always regret that–at least I could have shaken his hand and told him how much his stories had meant to me. Not that I’d know from my own experience, but I’ll bet an author never gets tired of hearing that.

Halloween Reading: Russell Kirk

Russell Kirk was probably the greatest American conservative political thinker of the 20th century. He also wrote ghost stories and threw, by all accounts, one hell of a Halloween party (see here and here).

Kirk wrote several books of political history and philosophy, as well as the only auto-biography I’ve ever read that was written in the third person. But the books I keep coming back to are his collections of ghost stories (The Princess of All Lands and Watchers at the Strait Gate are the two I’m familiar with) and his three more or less Gothic novels: Old House of Fear, A Creature of the Twilight, and Lord of the Hollow Dark.

It’s a strange and unaccountable fact that these books have even fewer reviews on Amazon than mine do. Lord of the Hollow Dark is the hardest to find–I’m lucky enough to have a nice hardback copy.

Here are my recent reviews of the latter two.

A Creature of the Twilight blends Gothic romance and geopolitical thriller. Told in a mixture of voices, including diary entries, letters, newspaper articles and broadcast transcripts, there’s a nineteenth-century flavor to its style–something like Dracula, if Stoker’s vampire prince had still taken an active hand in the wars and political maneuverings of the day. Indeed, Kirk’s hero Manfred Arcane, collector of souls damned or nearly so, has been given the title ‘Father of Shadows’, which I suspect Vlad himself would have been proud to own.

The wars and political intrigues in the story wouldn’t seem too out of place in a modern newspaper (which is a bit sad when you consider the implications for American foreign policy in the last fifty years). There are satisfying revenges, narrow escapes, desperate battles, loves both doomed and destined, and hints of the occult. Kirk’s writing is erudite; you may have to look up a few words, some of which might join your list of favorites–how did I ever survive without knowing what ‘crepuscular’ means, for instance?

Then there’s the amazing scene where Arcane rallies his motley troops who are about to face the Russian-backed Communist forces, giving the mother of all speeches to inspire Christians, Muslims, and Pagan jinn worshipers to fight as one. Not to be missed!


I’m on my fourth or fifth re-reading of Lord of the Hollow Dark. Each time, there is something new to appreciate. If you like mazes and labyrinths, archaeology, ghost stories, history, spelunking, metaphysics, Gothic atmosphere, or a combination of all of them, you will love this book.

In this story, Manfred Arcane, the central figure of A Creature Of The Twilight, returns to battle powers and principalities in a moldering Scottish mansion, trying to head off a diabolic ritual set in the underground caves of a medieval Purgatory. Along the way he finds allies among the dead and the not-quite-so-dead. He also adds to his collection of rescued souls, though that requires some very tough love (the best thing he can say to one of his proteges is ‘at least your vices are natural vices’.)

Note that there are two prequels to this book among Kirk’s short stories: ‘Balgrummo’s Hell’ and ‘The Peculiar Demesne of Archvicar Gerontion’. It isn’t required to read these before Lord of the Hollow Dark, but it would add to one’s enjoyment.

As other reviewers have noted, the story moves slowly, and there is no overt horror (though a few chills are delivered along the way). Actually, I appreciate that; my imagination is quite capable of filling in the blanks if I feel like it.

There’s a strong Christian element in the story, but the conflict boils down to good vs. evil, and all of us (I hope) have a dog in that fight. And the uplifting ending makes Lord of the Hollow Dark a book for all seasons: good reading for the Spring as well as the darkening Fall.


Cover reveal: Father Winter

Coming in November:



What can Holly do for a big brother who’s decided to be Naughty? Her plan is simple: find an elf, convince him to take her to the North Pole, and change the List so Connor will be Nice.

Connor follows, and the journey will test both her faith and his unbelief. They travel through a dark landscape where bears turn into men and dreams drift over the ice. Their quest leads them to an Inuit village, the den of the crafty Snow Fox, a secret paradise for retired reindeer, and finally to Father Winter’s magical palace and the hidden chamber where the List waits.

But to get what they really want, they must learn all of Father Winter’s Rules. And the most important one is: there are no guarantees.

My review of “50 Stories 50”: Something for Everyone

The flash review:
Fifty stories. Two short of a full deck. Which cards are missing?
Not the wild ones, that’s for sure.

The micro review:
Reading this book is a bit like having a traveling storyteller show up at your door. You try to say, “I gave at the office” or something equally inane, but he just begins telling a story. You have a lot of things to do, but somehow you decide to put them all off. You just sit there listening to this stranger. As soon as he ends one story, he begins another.

After a while, reality starts to blur. You can’t tell if that voice is inside or outside your head. Are you really sitting here alone, imagining the storyteller, talking to yourself? In that case, you might be crazy.

But on the plus side, you’re a lot more talented than even your mom ever thought.

The short review:
As promised, this is a grab bag of all kinds of fiction: short, shorter and shortest. It’s structured something like a concerto, starting with very short pieces, expanding in the middle to traditional short story length, then ending snappily with some more ultra-shorts. There’s fantasy, science fiction, literary surrealism, Westerns of a sort, fairy tales both fractured and sweetly whole, and possibly some new genres that I could identify if I were an expert in the field–think of finding out that bug you just flicked out the window was an entirely new species and would have made you famous. There’s one story that’s like Riddley Walker meets Billy the Kid. Another one reads like Beowulf transposed to a football field. Yet another, written from the point of view of an artificial intelligence, takes you on a journey way past the Third Law of Robotics. Then there’s a fairy tale that might have come straight from someone’s great-grandmother sitting by an Eastern European hearth.

It’s easy to read quite a few of these at one sitting, though you risk having a kind of mild hallucinogenic effect set in, possibly similar to the kick Sheridan Le Fanu got from drinking green tea. If you disregard this, the effects might build to the point where all of a sudden, you’re riding on a unicorn and swapping stories with Randolph Carter, without really feeling that anything out of the ordinary is going on. It might be better to read and savor these stories one at a time, with world and time in between, but I couldn’t do it that way.

Of course, I liked some stories more than others. There were a few where I could have done with more resolution in the ending, for instance. But with this collection, if you find something you don’t care for, you can always just move on to the next story…and the next.

Cave of the Fire Giant

As the author of one-third of a trilogy based on Norse mythology, I couldn’t pass up this Archaeology Magazine article on a cave in Iceland called Surtshellir (“Surt’s Cave”).

Surt is, of course, the ruler of Muspelheim, the fire giant who is said to destroy all of creation in accounts of Ragnarok, notably the Voluspa.

Surthshellir is a lava tube cave, an eminently desirable residence from a fire giant’s point of view. The cave used to be nearly inaccessible until relatively recent times, when a partial ceiling collapse opened up a sort of “skylight”. As a bonus, the cave boasts an underground stone wall and caches of smashed bones (one of the side caves is called “Beinaheller”–Bone Cave.)

The Icelandic settlers apparently recognized this early on, when Thorvald Thordarson traveled there to offer a drapa to Surt.

I found it interesting that the archaeologists researching the site can’t quite agree about what went on there. Some favor the hypothesis that it’s the abandoned lair of a famous outlaw band. (There are stories in Iceland to this effect–actually a good many over the centuries.) This contrasts with what some other archaeologists think, which is closer to their usual position when they don’t understand something: wave your hands vaguely and mutter ‘It must have had religious significance.’

Well, in the case of Surtshellir, I’m going to side with the wavers and mutterers. Let’s start with Thordarson’s drapa. I think that incident fits right in with other accounts of Iceland’s new settlers immediately recognizing some sites on the island as sacred (for example, Helgafell). In Surtshellir’s case, ‘unhallowed’ might be a more appropriate designation. So why a drapa, which is usually a poem of praise? Why would Thordarson celebrate a world-destroying fire giant? I would guess that it’s the same tendency that led those who feared fairies to refer to them as ‘The Good Folk’. Thordarson may have reasoned that if he praised Surt, the giant might stay put and rest on his fiery laurels.

The smashed bones piled up in the cave certainly seem like the remains of sacrifices. The bones weren’t cooked, but what need is there to pre-roast offerings to a fire giant? He can obviously handle his own cooking.

Then there’s the little detail of the fortress wall built across the cave, eight hundred feet away from the entrance. When it was built, there would have been no natural light down there. And no signs of human occupation have been found past that point. So I don’t put much stock in the idea that the wall was some outlaw’s defense structure. It was built to keep something in, something that might otherwise erupt (literally) from the dark places under the earth.

There’s also the incident of Snorri Sturluson’s son being mutilated, then left on the wall to die (amazing that he didn’t–even post-Viking Age Icelanders must have been pretty tough). It’s really hard not to see this as his enemies killing two birds with one stone, combining revenge with a sacrifice to Surt.

As for the stories about the cave being an outlaws’ hideout, I’m guessing that tradition arose to provide a convenient explanation for avoiding the cave, after Christianity had driven heathen culture and religion underground (no pun intended). The only thing I wonder about is, why not a tradition that the Devil lived there, at the entrance to the Christian Hell? Maybe just because outlaws were better characters for sagas.

Anyway, the cave is still there, Iceland is still there, so the strategy to contain Surt must have worked!

Sometimes Ghosts Are the Only Survivors

Those of us who write and blog in relative obscurity can be forgiven if sometimes we find comfort in meditations on the fleeting nature of fame. I recently found food for such thoughts while reading The Complete Wandering Ghosts, a collection of the eight (8) short ghost stories written by F. Marion Crawford.

Before this, I knew very little about Crawford, though I’d read a couple of his ghost stories that turned up in anthologies. (Yes, his–another thing I didn’t realize before. ‘F. Marion’ sounded like a woman’s name to me.)

Apparently, if I’d been around in the early 1900s, I would have had to be living under a whole pile of rocks not to have heard of him. His novels were read all over the English-speaking world. He was so famous that when he fell ill, the New York Times carried daily reports of his health on the front page. In the Italian town where he died, they shut all the shops in mourning, and one of the streets was named after him.

Today, pretty much all that’s left is this handful of ghost stories. (Well, I guess the street is probably still there, too.)

So what about the stories themselves?

The Dead Smile
You can see the plot twist in this one coming from a mile away, glowing brightly, waving its tattered cerements around, and wailing like a banshee. But Crawford builds the atmosphere up skillfully, and the upbeat ending is refreshing.

The Screaming Skull
Bad things happen to sailors who retire to live alone in the country, while keeping boxes of skeleton parts around the house. Particularly those who have given helpful advice to an opportunistic murderer.

Man Overboard!
Worse things happen at sea…especially when there are twin sailors who both fall in love with the same woman, before one of them falls (or did he?) overboard. This story moves slowly but it also captures the helpless, trapped feeling you can get when you know something bad is going to happen, is happening, but you can’t do anything about how long it will take to play out.

For the Blood is the Life
I’m not a big fan of vampire stories, but this is a good one with a picturesque Italian setting. It’s also unusual in that the vampire is original–created, it seems, by the circumstances of her death rather than the bite of another vampire.

The Upper Berth
Even worse things happen at sea. This is Crawford’s classic, anthologized more times than I can count. The ghost here is disconcertingly solid, closer to a Norse draugr.

By the Waters of Paradise
More of a romance than a ghost story, and almost a deconstruction of nineteenth-century romanticism–the brooding, melancholy hero, instead of getting consumption, grows a spine and wins love despite the opposition of dark forces.

The Doll’s Ghost
The book’s introduction dismisses this one as ‘sentimental’, but it’s my favorite story of Crawford’s. I defy any parent who ever thought they lost one of their children, even for a moment, to read this without tears. And of course it features a very unique kind of ghost.

The King’s Messenger
A fitting last story for this collection. Not surprising, but beautiful, and with a bit of a twist inherent in the structure of the story itself.