Fangland

By John Marks
It’s been a long time since I read any horror, because, you know, me and horror don’t get along so well, so I’m not sure if I’m correct here, but I think this book might, well, be sneaking over into the horror genre. There are no ice picks involved, or chainsaws or people being skinned or anything (not directly, anyway) and the book cover doesn’t make use of dripping blood; the horror it contains is more of an intellectual quality - the horror that has been inflicted on real persons throughout the centuries.

Interestingly, also, Fangland is a post-9/11 horror story; the horror that was nearly 3000 people’s last moments (plus all the associated shock and emotional damage that was the survivors’) is woven into the narrative. I’ve only read one other book that was quite so directly a post-9/11 novel, Jonathan Safran Foer’s Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close; and although I thought Foer’s book was excellent, I think Fangland was more effective at capturing what the events of that day did to the city of New York.

Fangland is a modern take on the vampire legend, and at the start I thought it was going to be a bit too clever for itself, but I ended up really quite liking it. I will look for other novels by John Marks. It is set (for a good part of the action) in the offices of a television current affairs program (The Hour) in downtown New York, located just next door to the holes that exist where the World Trade Centre used to stand. The rest of the story is set in Romania, as we follow what happens to one Evangeline Harker, who has been sent there by her bosses at The Hour to assess the possibility of a story on an Eastern European crime lord called Ion Torgu.

The story is told from the viewpoints of a number of different characters; for me it was Evangeline’s voice that read best, challenging my pet theory that it is difficult for men to write convincing female characters and vice versa. (I can’t really test the vice versa; male characters written by women often seem quite convincing to me, but what would I know? You blokes will have to confirm/deny). Not all of the book works for me and there are, to paraphrase the C&C Music Factory, a few bits that made me go “Hmmm” - such as the scene in which Evangeline uses her sexuality to fend off an attack by Torgu. To paraphrase the evil Mexicans in For a Fistful of Dollars, “ehhhh??” I suppose at least it wasn’t the same old “vampires are sooo sexy” thing that most authors peddle. But overall, the book was moving and chilling…if you feel in the mood for a vampire novel, definitely read this one over Elizabeth Kostova’s The Historian.

Rating: 8 out of 10

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow (2003)

By Washington Irving
In case you were wondering, this book bears very little resemblance to the recent movie of the same name – there is a headless horseman in the book, and many of the characters’ names are the same, but that’s about it. There are no wicked stepmothers, no crazy witches, no secret Wills, no bizarre dreams about long-dead parents, no magical symbols drawn on the floor, no autopsies and not much of a love story. Also, the hero isn’t anywhere as good-looking as Johnny Depp, but then dentistry wasn’t as advanced back then, was it?

The book isn’t very scary either, but it was written in the nineteenth century and tastes were different then – after all, in Bram Stoker’s Dracula, everyone seems to sit around drinking cups of tea, despite the presence of an all-consuming evil that could destroy the world at any minute.

It is well written, and kind of cute, but not very relevant, somehow – it’s good, but not compelling. I can’t see that many people would find it very interesting these days. It does have the advantage, though, of being very short.

Rating: 5 out of 10

Frankenstein (2005)

By Mary Shelley

Heyyy, wait a minute…where’s Igor? Where’s the lightning? Where are the bolts coming out of Frankenstein’s head?? Where’s Sting???

Well it certainly was interesting finally reading the original. There is no Igor about to say “A brain, a brain, I need a brain for my master!” and Shelley is surprisingly coy about the whole how-to-bring-a-bag-of-bones to life thing. All of a sudden, Frankenstein’s monster opens his eyes, and there he is. Descriptions of the monster are few, apart from a general suggestions of supreme ugliness and the yellowness of his eyes. He is also very agile and strong, which does not suggest the lumbering zombie of the films.

What is more surprising than the lack of Hollywood special effects, though, is that whatever brains Frankenstein managed to get hold of (yes he did all his own dirty work), they appear to be top quality. No grunting here – Frankenstein’s monster teaches himself to read and write and is quite happy to converse on topics as in-depth as man’s inhumanity to man, the nature of God, the meaning of life etc…You see, the monster taught himself to read and speak from such noble texts as Milton’s Paradise Lost and Plutarch’s Lives. Also he finds Frankenstein’s diary, carelessly left lying around when he fled his laboratory, and so learns the circumstances of his creation.

The creation of the monster casts Frankenstein into a deep existential funk, into which he relapses numerous times throughout the novel, beating his breast and cursing himself for bringing this evil upon the world. (This gets a bit tiresome). He makes it his mission to destroy the “daemon” he has created. Yet we seem almost invited to side with the monster, who was created imperfect and then spurned – mirroring Satan’s struggle in Paradise Lost.

Rating: 8.5 out of 10
Even though Frankenstein drones on a bit, beautifully gothic.

The Picture of Dorian Gray (2005)

By Oscar Wilde
Amongst other things, this novel was accused by contemporary critics of being effeminate – and it really is quite startlingly so, in places, especially at the beginning. I did catch myself thinking at the start, oh for goodness sakes stop poncing around (oh look at the pretty flowers ooh ahh), but then thought I was being mean and that I may as well say something like “this is so gay”, in the unfortunate terminology of today’s yoof – today’s yoof! Don’t get me started – and after all, Wilde does write about those flowers so prettily. (An interesting aside – The Picture of Dorian Gray started life as a short story, and Wilde consciously made the longer version much less “effeminate” than the original).

However, I did find myself agreeing a bit with the critic in the June 1980 St James’s Gazette, who found Dorian’s petulant behaviour near the start of the novel a bit silly: “…when he is rebuked for being a naughty, wilful boy, he makes a pretty moue – this man of twenty!”. I mean really. In my defence I will say that I find moues unbecoming in women also; if you’re going to be sulky you should at least stomp around a bit and maybe throw something and stop trying to be sexy at the same time. (I tell you what, though, they knew how to write a totally decimating review back in the 1890s).

The book does get going a bit after the moue incident, when Dorian starts to dabble in doubtful activities, all the while staying youthful and unblemished while his portrait becomes steadily more ugly and decrepit. His friend Lord Henry, who really should cop more flak than he does for his part in the whole sorry story, really started to tick me off during his long speeches on how nothing is important except for pleasure and the senses and enjoying yourself. Oh yes, you’re so clever, Lord Henry, now shut up will you? Perhaps I inherited more of the Scottish Protestant Work Ethic than I thought. This all makes it sound like I didn’t like the book, which is not true; I enjoyed it very much. It is a strange mix of philosophy and horror; lovely writing; a good book for a cold rainy winter’s night with the fire going and a bottle of vintage port nearby.

Rating: 8 out of 10
One point deducted for the bit about the moue.