50 films that I dug up on Tubi.
Enjoy!
How to Make a Monster – 1958, AIPAs a slight deviation from our usual programming of themed lists, here are the results of a deep dive I recently undertook, pushing Tubi to the limits. So here we are with How to make a Monster, a follow-up of sorts to the two spectacular schlock movies, I Was a Teenage Frankenstein and I Was a Teenage Werewolf, both released a year earlier in 1957 from American International Pictures. Monster double-billed with Teenage Caveman (which I previously reviewed when I was on my cave people kick), and is probably my favorite of the film series.
It isn’t your usual narrative, but rather a meta-tale of the studio itself, and I LOVE movies about making movies. In this one, Pete Dumond, the ‘Jack Pierce’ of his day, is the makeup wizard who designed and applied the prosthetics for the two previous films. When he discovers that the studio has been taken over by a company that isn’t interested in monster films, and is subsequently fired, Pete goes on a murderous rampage, only he doesn’t do the killing himself. Instead he brainwashes the young actors playing the monsters via a strange foundation cream (bear with me here) and coerces them to killing the new studio stooges while in full makeup.
Eventually, the cops figure out what is going on, and it all ends up in a rather bonkers and fiery final act. One of the great gimmicks employed here is the final reel being in full colour (a similar stunt was pulled on Teenage Frankenstein), and it’s quite jarring, but in a good way. Fun stuff!
7/10
A strange little film from one of my favorite directors, Freddie Francis (who hated this one), Craze is based on the novel The Infernal Idol by Henry Seymour. It tells the story of an English antiques dealer who is wrapped up in black magic, and who worships a spooky African idol called Chuku. After a bloody alter, he begins to associate human sacrifices with financial gain (via Chuku), and promptly goes on a murderous spree to keep his idol happy.
Jack Palance is the most unconvincing Englishman ever put on film (until Keanu in Dracula), but he is ably supported by Julie Ege, Diana Dors and Trevor Howard. There are moments that echo the Amicus glory days, however it’s an uneven film, and the version I watched appeared to be edited for ghastliness.
Good if you’re planning a scary idol night.
5/10
The Fifth Floor (Film Ventures International, November 15, 1978)
and The Boneyard (Zia Film Distribution, June 12, 1991)
Based on a true story, The Fifth Floor is about a young woman, Kelly (played by Diane Hull), who is accidentally poisoned at a disco and is taken to hospital. Her records indicate that she has tried to self harm before at age 15, so she is recommended for psychiatric assessment and care, leading to a three day stay at a facility. She soon runs afoul of a sleazy attendant, and her stay is increased to two-weeks, eventually being drawn out to 60 days. During this time she is abused, both mentally and sexually, and nobody believes her, especially her useless boyfriend.
It’s a pretty run of the mill movie, but the cast is the standout, and makes this an interesting watch. As with One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, the patients are portrayed by some familiar faces, notably Robert Englund (fresh off telling his roommate to try auditioning for a space movie…), Anthony James (the villain in every TV show and film you ever watched), Earl Boen (who would go on to become a psychiatrist himself in the Terminator films), and Michael Berryman (of course).
The uncaring boss of the facility is played by Mel Ferrer, and the sleazy, abusive orderly is played by none other than Bo Hopkins. Julie Adams plays one of the nurses, so of course this Black Lagoon lover was very happy about that.
Not fun, but I didn’t hate it, which is high praise considering the films I seek out.
5/10
The Boneyard (1991)Here’s an interesting one I hadn’t seen before, and when I say interesting, I mean a bit dull, then utterly barking mad.
Two years before The X-Files gave us Mulder and Scully, The Boneyard gave us Jersey Callum (Ed Nelson) and Alley Oates (Deborah Rose), a detective and psychic respectively, both at the end of their games and leaning against each other for support. A child murder case leads them both to a vast mortuary, run by Phyllis Diller (who totally over-Dillers every scene she’s in). Before you know it the child corpses turn out to be flesh-eating demons, and shenanigans ensue.
Yes, this one is painfully slow to get started, but once it does, it’s a lot of fun. The child demons are quite ghastly and really well made, and it’s a pity the same cannot be said for the two goofy monsters that crop up toward the end. James Cummings was a bit of a makeup legend before he tried his hand at directing, and it showed in the monsters — unfortunately the rest of his direction was really pedestrian.
There are some hilarious moments, some gooey moments, and a poodle moment that would make Ang Lee go off in his pants. Worth a look if you’re feeling brave.
6/10
Schizoid (The Cannon Group, September 5, 1980)
and Dark August (Howard Mahler Films, September 10, 1976)
Next up is this non-politically correctly titled slasher from the start of the best decade. Someone is stalking and murdering the members of a therapy group run by the terminally horny Dr. Fales (Kinski).
A newspaper columnist (Marianna Hill) is being sent threatening letters, and the cops (led by Richard Herd) don’t take them seriously. Her creepy ex-husband (Craig Wasson) is more concerned with getting the wallpaper up in his office (!), and Kinski shags everyone.
It’s fine, I guess, except the mystery killer is given away at the beginning. Oh, and Christopher Lloyd is in it, being all weird and sinister, so a bonus point there.
1/10
Dark August (1976)Sal, an artist recently moved from NY to Vermont, doesn’t do a good job of fitting into his new rural life because he immediately runs over a young girl. It’s an accident, but the girl’s spooky grandfather doesn’t see it that way, and proceeds to voodoo Sal up the wazoo.
Creepy apparitions, bloody coughing and tummy aches ensue. It’s a bit slow, but there is a handful of inspired shots. Kim Hunter is in it as a committed medium, so that’s a bonus.
1/10
Just five months after the US Thanksgiving celebrations, here is a delicious slice of Turkey, all wrapped up in one hell of a mind-bending horror film.
Baskin is a simple tale about a squad of police officers just mooching about, not doing much, when they get a call to a ‘disturbance’ in a dodgy part of town.
They answer the call, but crash their van along the way and end up at a big old house. The minute they go inside they are confronted by assorted ghastliness, and another officer banging his own head against a wall, and then it all goes rapidly downhill.
They find themselves quite literally in Hell surrounded by writhing masses of flesh and blood, and soon they are in the clutches of a cannibalistic cult, led by an enigmatic and terrifying figure. The sense of dread is astounding, and the film itself is gorgeous, albeit utterly horrific. Its surreal sensibilities put me in mind of Mandy (2018), and its overall sense of doom reminded me of Descent or Dog Soldiers. It’s a bit of a hard watch, and certainly not fun, but it’s worth a watch if you fancy something darker (and stickier) than molasses.
8/10
Previous Murkey Movie surveys from Neil Baker include:
What Possessed You?
Fan of the Cave Bear
There, Wolves
What a Croc
Prehistrionics
Jumping the Shark
Alien Overlords
Biggus Footus
I Like Big Bugs and I Cannot Lie
The Weird, Weird West
Warrior Women Watch-a-thon
Neil Baker’s last article for us was Part III of What Possessed You? Neil spends his days watching dodgy movies, most of them terrible, in the hope that you might be inspired to watch them too. He is often asked why he doesn’t watch ‘proper’ films, and he honestly doesn’t have a good answer. He is an author, illustrator, teacher, and sculptor of turtle exhibits. (AprilMoonBooks.com).
Alright, let’s talk about science fiction novels and fantasy novels, and escape reality for a…
The post Exhilerating Escape! 6 Mind-Bending Science Fiction & Fantasy Novels appeared first on LitStack.
Tor Double #1 was originally published in October 1988. This volume marked the beginning of the official Tor Double series. The two stories included, Arthur C. Clarke’s Meeting with Medusa and Kim Stanley Robinson’s novella Green Mars complement each other, although by doing so, Green Mars also points out a weakness of Meeting with Medusa. The volume was published as a tête-bêche, with both covers were painted by Vincent di Fate.
Meeting with Medusa was originally published in Playboy in December, 1971. It was nominated for the Hugo Award and Nebula Award, winning the latter, as well as the Seiun Award.
The novella opens with Captain Howard Falcon commanding a massive airship, the Queen Elizabeth IV, over the Grand Canyon. A collision with a drone camera causes the ship to crash, killing nearly everyone on-board, including the uplifted chimpanzees who served as part of their crew. Although horribly injured in the crash, Falcon survived and spends years regaining his ability to function, eventually returning to his job as a pilot with an audacious plan.
Falcon proposed a mission to fly through Jupiter’s atmosphere. He notes that many probes have been lost in the atmosphere, but believes that he is uniquely qualified for a crewed mission because he can take evasive action if necessary, noting that he was not at the helm when the Queen Elizabeth IV was struck. His proposal seems like a mix of hubris and a need to atone for the loss of the airship. While Falcon’s reasoning may make sense, the decision to fund and permit him to take on the mission seems a little too pat. However, characterization and motivation has never been Clarke’s forte.
Where Clarke excels, and where Meeting with Medusa succeeds, is building a sense of wonder for the reader. Extrapolating from what was known about Jupiter in the years prior to the first flyby, by Pioneer 10 in 1973, Clarke creates an alien world high in the Jovian atmosphere. Buffeted by hurricane force winds, Falcon provides testimony of the miracles of life that are able to exist there, from the enormous and buoyant medusa, named for the tentacles that dangled beneath them, to the ray-like predators that glide through the skies. The size of these creatures, and the requirements for living where they do, mean that Clarke has incorporated aspects of biology that only exist on a small scale on Earth, if at all.
Gardner Dozois commented that Meeting with Medusa “is a bit traveloguish,” but there is more to the story than simply Falcon’s sightseeing through Jupiter’s skies and achieving a sense of closure for the Queen Elizabeth incident. Clarke provides a more specific reason why Falcon may be the right person for the job, but that final revelation feels a little tacked on and Clarke didn’t make full use of it throughout the story.
Forty-five years after its original publication, authors Stephen Baxter, who collaborated with Clarke, and Alastair Reynolds published a sequel to Meeting with Medusa, the novel The Medusa Chronicles, which expanded on the world Clarke described and the character who explored that world.
The novella Green Mars was originally published in Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine in September, 1985 and should not be confused with Robinson’s 1993 novel Green Mars. It was nominated for the Hugo Award and the Nebula Award.
Roger Clayborne, who is around 300 years old, has resigned from his position as Minister of the Interior for Mars, a position he has held for 27 years. A member of the Red Party, which championed the maintenance of Mars in its natural state, he has come to realize that his ideology has lost out to the Greens, who have successfully terraformed Mars to an extent that conserving its pristine nature is no longer possible.
In his own attempt to get back to nature, Clayborne signs on with an expedition to climb Olympus Mons, at 22 kilometers, the tallest mountain in the solar system, with a peak that juts out of the planet’s atmosphere. All expert climbers, including a woman Clayborne knew more than 250 years earlier, the trek up the mountain proves dangerous, between the threat of rockfall, weather, and the thinner Martian atmosphere.
Set over the span of several weeks, Clayborne interacts with nearly all of the other members of the expedition in various ways and the expedition leader, Eileen Monday, makes sure to rotate who partners with whom. With a cast of eleven characters, some do get short shrift (only one of the four “Sherpas” is given a last name and none of them are fleshed out), but Robinson does limn out distinctions between most of the characters, from Marie Whillans’ exuberance to Dougal Burke’s quiet competence. Roger’s interactions often depict part of the story, but Robinson makes clear that there are complex relationships behind the scenes.
Robinson also describes the climb in details, introducing the reader to a variety of concepts used to scale mountains and showing that, even with the relatively gentle slope of Olympus Mons, the ascent is difficult, with a lot of climbing and descending as paths and dead ends are discovered and materials are carefully positioned to ensure the expedition’s chance of success. At the same time, injuries happen and must be dealt with, not always in the most obvious ways.
As Clayborne climbs the mountain, the natural beauty and his discussions with the other climbers slowly begins to make him reconsider what it means to be a Red in a world in which terraforming has already taken hold. By the time he reaches the summit, he comes to a conclusion that he can still work to preserve Mars under what he considers to be less than ideal circumstances, but also understands that a terraformed Mars as a beauty all its own.
Both stories are explorations of strange vistas, with Clarke exploring the atmosphere of Jupiter and raising perceptual questions about both the concept of landscapes and life, introducing cloudbanks that were seen as mountains and massive creatures that lived in the atmosphere, never landing. Robinson presented the different layers of Olympus Mons, drawing parallels between mountains and rock formations on Earth with those on Mars as his climbers made the dangerous ascent. However, while both are explorations into the unknown, Robinson also focused on the relationships between the members of his climbing expedition, while Clarke’s protagonist spends most of the story is solitude. The result of this is that the strength of Robinson’s characters highlights the weakness of Clarke’s characters.
Steven H Silver is a twenty-time Hugo Award nominee and was the publisher of the Hugo-nominated fanzine Argentus as well as the editor and publisher of ISFiC Press for eight years. He has also edited books for DAW, NESFA Press, and ZNB. His most recent anthology is Alternate Peace and his novel After Hastings was published in 2020. Steven has chaired the first Midwest Construction, Windycon three times, and the SFWA Nebula Conference numerous times. He was programming chair for Chicon 2000 and Vice Chair of Chicon 7.
I received a review copy from the publisher. This does not affect the contents of my review and all opinions are my own.
Mogsy’s Rating: 3.5 of 5 stars
Genre: Horror
Series: Stand Alone
Publisher: St. Martin’s Press (April 8, 2025)
Length: 304 pages
Author Information: Website | Twitter
The Cut by C.J. Dotson was a book where the cover caught my attention before I even knew what the story was about. I mean, look at it! There’s just something about the image of a slimy tentacle curling out of a shower drain that instantly gives off the heebie-jeebies, and as a horror fan, I was immediately curious. Was this cosmic horror? Or some kind of creature feature? Either way, I was all for it.
At its core, The Cut is a woman trying to rebuild her life after escaping an abusive relationship. After the death of her first husband, Sadie Miles thought she’d found a second chance at love with her new fiancé Sam. But as his words became increasingly controlling and his temper harder to predict, she came to realize she and her toddler would no longer be safe—especially after discovering she was pregnant. Packing up her daughter Izzy and some meager belongings, Sadie flees to a quaint little inn called the L’Arpin Hotel, nestled on the shores of Lake Erie. There, she lands a job as a housekeeper with a temporary live-in arrangement, where she hopes to hide from Sam until she makes enough to afford her own apartment.
From the very first day, however, it’s clear something is off about the hotel and the people who work there. In the dead of night, Sadie hears the unmistakable sound of splashing in the hotel pool, only to find it empty when she arrives to investigate. Yet the management’s response is dismissive, with hints that they might even be hiding something. And when Sadie presses the issue, she begins to uncover strange occurrences that only deepen her fears. Security footage goes missing. The owner of the property next door accuses the hotel of poisoning the land. A maid disappears, which only gets covered up. Then Sadie begins to see things—squirmy things wriggling out from faucets, inside takeout boxes, and seemingly out of the very walls of the hotel itself. Sadie may have escaped Sam for now, bringing her young daughter and unborn child to what she hoped was safety, but the events unfolding at L’Arpin suggest that danger has followed them, just in a different form.
Once the story got going, I found The Cut to be a suspense and unsettling slow burn read, and several main themes began emerging. Sadie is a pregnant and single mom who has no support from her own family, and as a result has to face the challenges of fleeing abuse on her own. Dotson leans hard into the protagonist’s harrowing emotions in order to create suspense but also mixes in the gothic atmosphere of a decaying hotel that’s long past its heyday. And yes, there is a bit of Lovecraftian influence as well, bringing that particular brand of weird fiction and horror element to northwestern Ohio.
As such, this book is definitely more of a “vibe” story, aiming for creeping dread rather than in-your-face terror or all-out gore. One of the strongest aspects of the book is now the supernatural tensions mirror the emotional tensions, playing them up in tandem. The threat of Sadie’s past is never far behind, but it’s also the everyday anxieties—whether she can be the mother her children need or hold down the job that’s keeping a roof over their heads—that weigh the heaviest on her mind. Still, that’s not to say there weren’t plenty of more traditional horror elements in the book, such as disturbing imagery. It’s just not over-the-top, which, as a fan of subtler horror, I appreciated a lot.
That said, The Cut didn’t quite do it for me in every area, especially when it came to the pacing and the ending. The first half dragged in places, with the “Sadie discovers something weird, staff then proceeds to gaslight Sadie and pretend it’s nothing” pattern becoming repetitive. Her character also frustrated me at times, as more than once her decision-making made me question her intelligence. And this might just be me, but I didn’t always care for the way Sadie’s relationship with Izzy was portrayed. At times, the little girl’s behavior bordered on grating, written in a way that made her come off more like a tantum machine than a real child. Sadie’s response to that was just as hokey, as is the obnoxious “stinker” nickname she has for Izzy, making it hard to fully buy into their dynamic. Finally, the ending felt rushed, with the resolution feeling overly tidy considering how much had been built up, especially with the supernatural elements.
Still, despite a few stumbles, there’s a lot to admire here, especially for what I believe is C.J. Dotson’s debut novel. No, it isn’t perfect, but nevertheless it’s an entertaining entry into the horror genre with a strong emotional core that I think many readers will probably be able to relate to. Fans of slow burn horror with a supernatural twist will find a lot to like here, and I’ll be keeping my eye out for what the author writes next.
It’s been a while since we’ve had the chance to bring you a brand-new convention offering, and in 2025 we’re bringing you two. First up is one of the biggest celebrations of all things spooky, creepy, and downright chilling heading to Chicago for the first time this May. GalaxyCon, the powerhouse of fan events, is bringing its first-ever Nightmare Weekend to the Donald E. Stephens Convention Center in Rosemont, Illinois, from May 2-4, 2025 — and it’s shaping up to be an unforgettable fright fest.
“We’re thrilled to deliver our unique fan experience to Chicago,” says Mike Broder, GalaxyCon’s founder and president. “Our events have brought millions to local economies, and we can’t wait to make a positive impact in this area too.”
Translation? A weekend of scares and a boost to local businesses. Win-win!
Over three days, Nightmare Weekend will transform the convention center into a playground for horror lovers including:
Prepare for meet-and-greets, photo ops, and autograph sessions with stars from your favorite films and shows. This year’s nightmare-worthy roster includes:
Whether you’re a hardcore horror fan or just looking for a fun weekend escape, Nightmare Weekend has something for everyone. Tickets start at just $40 and are available now at GalaxyCon’s website.
Our second new outing comes up a month later in June. The Haunted America Conference is making its spine-chilling return for the 28th year, but covering it is a first for Black Gate Photog Chris Z and I. From June 26-29, 2025, the historic town of Alton, Illinois — often hailed as one of the most haunted small towns in America — will host this legendary gathering at Lewis and Clark Community College.
And before you come for me on this one, we just report what we see for your entertainment. If we only wanted to report facts, we’d go work for the BBC.
Besides, this isn’t your typical fan convention. Founded in 1997 by renowned author and paranormal historian Troy Taylor, the Haunted America Conference offers a deep dive into the world of ghosts, hauntings, and all things unexplained.
Here’s a glimpse of what’s in store:
Tickets are available now, with general admission granting access to all main events on Friday and Saturday. For a detailed schedule, list of speakers, and ticket information, visit the official Haunted America Conference website.
So, stay tuned. We’ll be saving all the receipts.
Today’s Women in SF&F Month guest is Antonia Hodgson! She is the author of four historical crime novels and a soon-to-be released epic fantasy novel, The Raven Scholar. The first book in the Eternal Path trilogy, her upcoming novel is an excellent story with factions competing for a throne and a murder mystery that just opens up more and more new questions about the past. Her latest book will be out next week—on April 15 in the US and April […]
The post Women in SF&F Month: Antonia Hodgson first appeared on Fantasy Cafe.Glass Century by Ross Barkan is a tour de force of ambition and grace, a…
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Today’s Women in SF&F Month guest is Lucia Damisa! She is the coordinator of Path2pub (Path To Publication), a website where writers offer tips and advice while sharing about their journeys and experiences. Her first novel, A Desert of Bleeding Sand, was just released with Darkan Press at the end of March, and it will be joined by A Winter of White Ash, the second book in her five-book series, this summer. Inspired in part by Nigerian and other African mythology, […]
The post Women in SF&F Month: Lucia Damisa first appeared on Fantasy Cafe.The Irish writer Brian Moore, who died in 1999 (he pronounced his first name in the Irish fashion — Bree-an) was one of the most interesting novelists of his time, at least based on the four books of his that I’ve read, all of which deal with areas where the supernatural, the philosophical, and the theological intersect and blur into each other.
Catholics (1972) is set in the near future after a hypothetical Fourth Vatican Council has banned private confession, clerical garb, and the Latin mass, while the fictitious Pope of the novel is engaged in negotiating a formal merger of Roman Catholicism and Buddhism, radical changes that are resisted by a handful of monks living on a small island off the coast of Ireland. In The Great Victorian Collection (1975), a scholar dreams of a fabulous collection of Victorian artifacts, and when he wakes up, it has actually appeared in the parking lot outside his California motel room. Who will believe such a thing? Can he believe it himself? Black Robe (1985) is a painstakingly detailed — and bracingly unsentimental — historical novel about the material and spiritual struggles of a Jesuit missionary to the Hurons in seventeenth century Canada.
Cold Heaven (1983) was the first Moore novel I read. That was over thirty years ago, and though the details faded over the decades, I retained a fairly strong memory of the theme and overall shape of the story. The impression that remained the strongest, however, was a feeling of general dislike. Because I very much enjoyed the subsequent Moore novels I read, I’ve often wondered whether my tepid response to Cold Heaven was my own fault; perhaps I just didn’t know how to read the book all those years ago. It was in this frame of mind that I recently reread the novel, reconfirming some of my original impressions and altering others.
Issues of faith and belief are central to all four of these books. Moore was raised a Catholic (and not just any Catholic — an Irish Catholic), though by the time he began his writing career he was no longer a believer. Though faith is a closed issue for most believers and non-believers alike — they’ve just come to different conclusions — for Moore the question is far from settled. Despite his rejection of his religious upbringing, in his books dealing with faith isn’t like picking up a lifeless broom handle — it’s like grabbing a snake. You can never be sure you’ve got a secure hold on it, and you have to adjust your grip constantly, because the thing you’re dealing with is alive, with a will of its own.
Before going any farther, a disclaimer — I am not a Roman Catholic, but I am a Christian, and though I am unable to entirely set aside my philosophical and theological convictions when I read a piece of fiction, I do make a good faith effort to take a writer’s work on his or her own terms. Given the subject of this book, I tried especially hard to assume as “neutral” a position as possible. I will say that Moore didn’t make that easy, which was probably his intention.
Cold Heaven is told (almost) entirely from the point of view of a young American woman in her mid-twenties named Marie Davenport. When the story begins, Marie is on vacation with her physician husband, Alex, in the south of France, where he is attending a medical convention. Marie has decided to leave Alex, an arrogant, controlling, selfish man, for her lover Daniel, whom she has secretly been having an affair with for over a year. Marie hasn’t yet summoned the courage to tell Alex this, however.
Before Marie can bring herself to confront her husband with her decision, Alex is struck by a motor boat while swimming in the Mediterranean and suffers a skull fracture. He is taken unconscious to a hospital, where he dies without ever regaining consciousness.
Things immediately shift from the tragic to the bizarre and inexplicable when Alex’s body disappears from the hospital. Has it just been “misplaced”, or is there something else going on? Marie begins to think the latter when she checks her hotel room and discovers that Alex’s clothing is gone and that someone has used his airline ticket to return to the states. Marie follows and catches up with this person, who turns out to be Alex, very much alive — sort of.
What happened? All Alex knows is that he woke up in the hospital morgue; confused and seized by panic, he fled the hospital and the country. When Marie finds him, he is wildly unstable; sometimes he seems almost normal, but most of the time he swings between combative agitation, and most frightening to Marie, a dull, glassy-eyed affectlessness when he seems little more than a zombie. Physically, his vital signs also go through extreme fluctuations; at times, his pulse and temperature readings are so low as to literally be impossible, and sometimes he seems to again be dead. Alex is apparently helplessly suspended between life and death.
Unwilling to abandon him in this condition, Marie wonders whether her husband is being used to punish her for something that happened a year before, and it is this mysterious event and Marie’s response to it that form the crux of the novel.
Exactly one year before Alex’s accident, Marie had been in Carmel, California for a tryst with Daniel. She had been taking a solitary stroll along the cliffs by the ocean when the figure of a young girl appeared lower down the cliff side, in a spot where it would have been virtually impossible for a person to be. Bathed in an eerie, unearthly light, the girl called Marie by name and told her, “I am your mother. I am the Virgin Immaculate.” She also instructed Marie to tell the priests of this encounter, because that spot must become “a place of pilgrimage.” These pronouncements were immediately followed by lightning and thunder, after which the figure faded away.
Such an experience would startle and discomfit almost anyone, but it especially shakes Marie, and for a very good reason — she’s an atheist who has nothing but hatred and contempt for religion and mistrust and suspicion for religious people.
Marie’s mother was a barely-practicing Catholic and her father wasn’t religious at all. When her mother died, Marie’s father put her into a Catholic boarding school in Montreal simply to have the girl out of his hair. She hated it there and never forgave her father for ignoring her pleas and abandoning her in a place that tried to indoctrinate her in an unwanted faith. (A convent of the same order as the despised school is in Carmel, near the spot where Marie saw the apparition.)
In the year between her experience in California and the disaster in France, Marie has gone about her life as if the vision never happened; not only did she not tell any priests about it, she has never told anyone else, either. She treats this possible encounter with the divine as if it were a shameful, dirty secret.
Alex’s accident and his strange condition coming exactly one year later — can it just be a coincidence? Marie thinks not; she very much fears that she is being punished for her disobedience, and that her husband is a kind of hostage, that through him she is being compelled to obey the apparition’s directions. She finally speaks to a sympathetic member of the Catholic clergy, Monsignor Cassidy, a cautious, commonsense religious bureaucrat who is nevertheless not insensitive to higher things. Marie’s main concern is not to be publicly implicated or involved in any way in this situation, whatever the church decides to do about it.
As Monsignor Cassidy tries to decide how to handle this situation (he would much rather be swimming or on the links) and Alex continues to lurch between extremes, Marie frantically tries to escape something that she can only think of as a trap; seeing herself as a victim of unseen forces, she suspects every word spoken, every action taken by anyone she meets as a move in a sinister chess game, the object of which is to steal her life from her. With a barely suppressed hysteria, she comes to see herself and everyone else in this drama as little more than powerless marionettes.
Her extraordinary dilemma is finally resolved when the apparition appears again, this time to a nun from the nearby convent. (Marie is present when this happens, but rather than see the vision again she closes her eyes, places her hands over her ears, and flings herself face down on the ground.) As the charge has now been “passed on” to someone else (due to Marie’s adamant refusal?), Monsignor Cassidy assures her that he will completely leave her out of the report that he will make to his superiors. She is free to resume her old life on her own terms.
People are sometimes spoken of as “clinging desperately” to belief; throughout the book, Marie has clung desperately to unbelief, and in the end, she has successfully outrun the Hound of Heaven. At one point, she declares (repeating Catholic doctrine, no doubt unintentionally), “a person has a right not to believe.” Monsignor Cassidy agrees: “I think God has let you go.”
It did not take long for me to remember why I felt a vague dislike when I thought of Cold Heaven — the reason is Marie; she’s a difficult character to warm up to, to say the least. We’re in her head for virtually the entire book, and for the whole course of the story, she’s driven by nothing but fear, hatred, anger, resentment, and suspicion that frequently crosses over into outright paranoia. Even if you think that these reactions are entirely understandable and justified, it’s still extremely unpleasant to be locked up with such a person for two hundred and fifty pages.
She’s also a frustrating character because the above-mentioned reactions and attitudes make her, quite literally, stupid. When she talks to the good-humored and reasonable Monsignor Cassidy or the friendly nuns from the convent, her preconceptions about them and her absolute refusal to concede that their worldview might have anything at all going for it, cause her to be almost literally unable to see them, unable to hear them, unable to understand the simplest things that they say to her, unable to extend them the smallest degree of trust or sympathy. (At one point, when she sees a minister in the hospital, she immediately bristles. She knows that there are always ministers around such places, “bothering people.” It never occurs to her that some people may actually want a minister, may benefit from their presence. If she were told that, she would likely stare blankly; the words wouldn’t even register.)
As she avoids the apparition’s directions, so she avoids any uncomfortable question or issue. She never once confronts the fundamental incoherence of her position, that of thinking that her husband is being threatened and that she’s being blackmailed by something that she doesn’t even believe exists. (Most of the time, she reflexively thinks that some unnamed “they” are forcing her to do what she doesn’t want to do. But exactly who are “they?” A golf-playing prelate and some dirt-poor nuns couldn’t be pulling the strings in a cosmic conspiracy, could they?)
We’re not much better off than Marie, because we never get a clear enough view of this struggle to be able to render a judgment on it — Marie seems to be just a recalcitrant piece of rope in a game of tug-of-war, the real nature of which we never understand, because we never know who’s holding the ends of the rope.
On a more down-to earth level, Marie never understands that she’s just like her hated father, who also would admit no impediments whatsoever to living his life precisely the way he wanted. Likewise, she avoids thinking about the irony of being desperate to save her husband… so that she can tell him that she’s leaving him because she never loved him. (After all, isn’t Alex as much a threat to the life Marie wants to live as any apparition?)
Still, despite its frequently infuriating protagonist, simply taken as an intricate, offbeat thriller, Cold Heaven is often a gripping read. If it ultimately feels somewhat unsatisfactory, that may be because of all the issues that are never addressed, the greatest of which is this — Marie “wins”, in that she successfully rejects the call that was placed on her (which, from everything that we can see, was a genuine one, not a dream, not a hallucination)… but in this context, what does winning mean? Has she really won a hard-fought victory, or has she actually suffered a defeat — one that may have eternal consequences?
That’s the question of questions, but a definitive answer to it can’t be given within the bounds of the story that Brian Moore has given us; perhaps one of the things that he was saying in Cold Heaven is that it’s a question that can’t be answered within the bounds of the “story” that we’re all in, this little life that begins in darkness and ends with a blank wall that it’s impossible to see over.
More now than after my first reading, though, I believe that Brian Moore was canny enough a writer to know what questions his book was posing but not answering, and also to know just what kind of impression Marie is likely to make on readers. I do wonder, though, if it might it not have been better to have given her some corner of herself, however small, that was beguiled — “tempted”, even — by the apparition’s call; it certainly would have made her a less strident, more interesting, more nuanced and sympathetic character. Moore almost certainly considered such a strategy, but we must assume that the Cold Heaven that would have resulted from that change is not the Cold Heaven he wanted to write.
In the end, it might be best to regard this odd, ambitious, unsatisfactory yet haunting novel as a sort of metaphysical nightmare. Some of my favorite books fall into this category — The Man Who Was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton, The Unpleasant Profession of Jonathan Hoag by Robert A. Heinlein, The Third Policeman by Flann O’Brien, The Land of Laughs by Jonathan Carroll, The Arabian Nightmare by Robert Irwin, Typewriter in the Sky and Fear by L. Ron Hubbard, The Mysterious Stranger by Mark Twain, UBIK by Philip K. Dick, and Conjure Wife by Fritz Leiber are some outstanding examples.
These are books in which the face of reality is veiled, and more than that, in which there is a strong implication that we can never pierce that veil, not because of any inherent limitations in our perception but because the appearance of things has been consciously contrived to deceive us. Contrived by whom? Ah, now that’s a question…
In a metaphysical nightmare, not only is there a sense that reality is inexplicable and sinister (that it’s somehow fundamentally wrong), but the characters must also have an overpowering feeling that they are trapped in that warped reality with no possibility of escape; that’s the nightmare aspect of the story. (The nightmares are literal in several of the books I mentioned, Fear and The Arabian Nightmare, especially, and even in Cold Heaven, where Marie begins having terrifying dreams after she first sees the apparition.)
Metaphysical nightmares are the very opposite of comforting, and reading one can give you a chill that can’t be dispelled by turning up the thermostat; certainly they’re not stories that you read for reassurance. Is the world really like that, though — are we actually living in a metaphysical nightmare? I don’t think so, but I know some people do. (I have to admit that there are days when it’s difficult to disagree with them.) I do know this, though — in a world like that, options are reduced to just a few: faith, despair, madness, or, as in the case of the triumphantly intransigent Marie Davenport, just lower your head, charge forward in your chosen direction, and whatever you do, avoid asking certain questions.
Thomas Parker is a native Southern Californian and a lifelong science fiction, fantasy, and mystery fan. When not corrupting the next generation as a fourth grade teacher, he collects Roger Corman movies, Silver Age comic books, Ace doubles, and despairing looks from his wife. His last article for us was To Save Your Sanity, Take Steven Leacock’s Nonsense Novels and Call Me in the Morning (or, Why Are Canadians Funny?)
Here are seven Author Shoutouts for this week. Find your favorite author or discover an…
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Today’s Women in SF&F Month guest is T. Frohock! Her short fiction includes “Dark Places” (The NoSleep Podcast), “Every Hair Casts a Shadow” (Evil is a Matter of Perspective: An Anthology of Antagonists), “Love, Crystal, and Stone” (Neverland’s Library), and “La Santisima” (free on her website along with a couple others). She is also the author of Los Nefilim, a series of three historical fantasy novellas set in 1930s Spain, and Miserere: An Autumn Tale, an excellent character-driven dark fantasy […]
The post Women in SF&F Month: T. Frohock first appeared on Fantasy Cafe.Orr’s Dancing Woman follows Isabel and her husband, Nick, over the course of 3 years…
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The thought sent chills down her spine. Surely they knew what she was soon to do...
(page 9, In the Shadow of the Fall by Tobi Ogundiran
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