Review by Ben Bussey
Short stories have quite a role in horror history, don’t they? While often the format is regarded perhaps a little dismissively as simply an entry point into the field for fledgling wordsmiths, for many writers they’re an end unto themselves. Plenty of the horror masters have done some of their best and most recognised work in short format; Poe and Lovecraft would probably be the most notable examples, whilst more recently Richard Matheson, Stephen King, Clive Barker and Joe R Lansdale are arguably as celebrated for their short fiction as their novels. In some ways, a compendium of an author’s short work might just give a greater insight into that writer’s style, interests and overall personality than a single long-format narrative.
So, if you’ll forgive me for playing reviewer-as-psychoanalyst for a moment, what does the short story collection Splinters tell us about Joseph D’Lacey in 2012? Well, one need look no further than D’Lacey’s blog to get a taste of the man’s general temperament (this entry in particular gives some indication of how his career has not quite gone to plan). Hopefully readers remember a few years back when he was hotly tipped as the next big name in British horror fiction on the back of his hugely impressive novels Meat and Garbage Man, both of which combined a time-honoured splatterpunk sensibility with contemporary ecological concerns and undertones of the metaphysical. Much the same approach is in evidence here, but arguably with an even gloomier, less redemptive bent. This may simply be down to the format – traditionally a short horror story is more likely to end with the protagonist facing doom than victory – but I can’t help but ponder that it may also be a reflection of the author’s own feelings given his professional misadventures. Of course, regardless of whether or not this is the case, it would be for nought if the anxieties expressed in these stories failed to resonate with a broader readership – and that is most certainly not the case here.
As for just what those anxieties might be – D’Lacey tackles both the big, global fears, as well as those of a more intimate nature; indeed, the two often overlap somewhat. Opening story Lenses provides an eerily plausible look at the potential Big Brother culture threatened by the proliferation of CCTV, whilst penultimate story What They Want (What Aliens Really, Really Want) attacks our obsession with materialism and celebrity. On the more intimate level, Altar Girl tells of a disillusioned middle-aged wife whose fantasies of a better life start coming true, only to be not quite what she’d hoped for; a kitchen sink Monkey’s Paw, essentially. Questions of sexual uncertainty and identity are explored further in The Unwrapping of Alastair Perry, charting a man’s literal metamorphosis into an altogether different person. Perhaps the most eye-catching tale, Son of Porn, contemplates the proliferation of hardcore porn in our digital age, and darkly fantasises about how this might develop, not only in terms of our sexual tastes, but our literal evolution as physical, sexual beings. In keeping with D’Lacey’s best work, it’s as creepy as it is sardonically funny.
Underlying it all, of course, is that same big question that underlies all horror: the D word. For me, the most evocative and effective stories are the ones that dealt with that most directly. Rhiannon’s Reach, an account of a diving expedition gone wrong, takes the ocean both as a literal oppressive force and a symbol of the abyss of death. My personal favourite of the bunch, though, is Armageddon Fish Pie, which tells of how an everyday Joe Bloggs reacts to the incoming end of the world. It manages the comparatively rare feat of being at once inescapably bleak yet somehow uplifting, making the case for remaining optimistic and savouring life even whilst facing the end; a valuable lesson, I dare say. Also offering food for thought is The Quiet Ones, which contemplates whether anarchism could really work as a way of life, a question I’m sure many of us are pondering these days given how badly our current system seems to be working.
Still, whilst the ideas have the potential to resonate far and wide, there may be more question as to whether we can say the same of D’Lacey’s prose itself, as Splinters certainly isn’t the easiest read ever. This is writing that requires a bit of work from the reader, with some quite abstract structuring and not immediately apparent meanings, so not all readers will likely take to it; in which case, I’d recommend giving Meat and/or Garbage Man a go first to get a sense of how D’Lacey works (I also hear good things about D’Lacey’s other books which I’ve yet to read, including Snake Eyes). I suppose some horror fans might also be a little put off by the absence of traditional ghosts, monsters and whatnot, with the exception of the zombies in closing story The Food of Love. But assuming you don’t mind putting a bit of work in, and are ready to have your preconceptions challenged as to the form and content of horror – and if you’re not then, beg pardon, you’re looking at the wrong website – then you should find Splinters to be well worth your time and money. Another recommended work from a recommended author.
Splinters is now available from Timeline Books.