Equal parts frustrating and riveting, Laird Barron's weird and creepy short fiction is like no other. Barron has a fervent cult following and I have been interested in jumping into one of his collections for a while now and decided to make this book my first. From page one, Barron’s prose grabbed me and held me close. But instead of whispering sweet nothings, the book growled at me with stories of hopeless protagonists, nameless horrors, ancient gods, cults, and black magic.
On one hand, Barron consistently takes forever with the set-up of each story. setting the stage and mood with trademark over-flourish that constantly tempted me to quit. On the other hand, each story left me thinking about it long after, and I wonder if the slow opening pace provided a hypnotic lull and creeping build that was necessary for that eerie feeling that stuck with me after every story.
Each story left me an impression on me, but the standouts were the sad and chilling "The Redfield Girls," "The Men From Porlock," the gangster-meets-cosmic horror story in "Hand of God," and the batshit stream of consciousness in "Vastation."
Although I can't deny the stories being a bit of a chore to get through, I also can't deny Barron's writing power and I'm looking forward to exploring more.
I was accustomed to liars, bold-faced or wide-eyed, silver-tongued or pleading, often with the barrel of my gun directed at them as they babbled their last prayers to an indifferent god, squirted their last tears into the indifferent earth. A man will utter any falsehood, commit any debasement, sell his own children down the river, to avoid that final sweet goodnight.
GRADE: B-
Equal parts frustrating and riveting, Laird Barron's weird and creepy short fiction is like no other. Barron has a fervent cult following and I have been interested in jumping into one of his collections for a while now and decided to make this book my first. From page one, Barron’s prose grabbed me and held me close. But instead of whispering sweet nothings, the book growled at me with stories of hopeless protagonists, nameless horrors, ancient gods, cults, and black magic.
On one hand, Barron consistently takes forever with the set-up of each story. setting the stage and mood with trademark over-flourish that constantly tempted me to quit. On the other hand, each story left me thinking about it long after, and I wonder if the slow opening pace provided a hypnotic lull and creeping build that was necessary for that eerie feeling that stuck with me after every story.
Each story left me an impression on me, but the standouts were the sad and chilling <b>"The Redfield Girls," "The Men From Porlock,"</b> the gangster-meets-cosmic horror story in <b>"Hand of God,"</b> and the batshit stream of consciousness in <b>"Vastation."</b>
Although I can't deny the stories being a bit of a chore to get through, I also can't deny Barron's writing power and I'm looking forward to exploring more. <blockquote><b><I>I was accustomed to liars, bold-faced or wide-eyed, silver-tongued or pleading, often with the barrel of my gun directed at them as they babbled their last prayers to an indifferent god, squirted their last tears into the indifferent earth. A man will utter any falsehood, commit any debasement, sell his own children down the river, to avoid that final sweet goodnight.</I></b></blockquote>