By Keri O’Shea
Threaded through what little we understand of early British pagan beliefs – and one of the reasons they continue to hold such fascination is that so much about them has been obscured by time – is the central idea that Nature is cyclical, with birth and death not only following one another, but necessary to one another. Although it is an idea which at least partly formed the basis of the rather anaemic Wicca movement in the twentieth century, perhaps its most well-known representation in horror cinema is still via the greatest ever British horror movie, The Wicker Man, with its OST song ‘The Maypole Song’ providing a succinct summation of the belief. In referencing a British folk song, ‘The Cauld Lad of Hylton’ in his prologue – one of a wealth of songs which surely influenced Paul Giovanni in his own work – author Frazer Lee seems from the outset to be calling to that set of beliefs, and to their representations. This was not the last time that The Wicker Man crept into my head as I read his latest book. However, as a horror fan himself, Frazer doesn’t just stick with psychological horror in his latest novel, The Jack in the Green. The opening of this book packs a visceral, horribly sensual punch which makes it clear that body, mind and soul are always at risk here.
Tom McCrae is a man in his mid-thirties who, outwardly at least, has signed up to the sanctioned routine of wife-home-career. However, Tom is plagued by nightmares about the murder of his parents, who were killed when he was just six years old, and these dreams continue to have a terrifying, destabilising effect on his waking life. Now living in California with his wife Julia, living day to day and seemingly deeply dissatisfied with his lot, he takes an assignment which requires him to travel to Scotland to secure important real estate for the expansion of his company’s biofuel business. Upon arrival, his nightmares begin to escalate, and worse – they now seem to have become invested with an unpleasant sense of foreboding. Predestiny? Tom certainly seems to be entering an unpleasant and inescapable chain of events which call to an existence of his beyond him.
There has been, of late, something of a pattern in Frazer Lee’s fiction: as in his recent novella The Lucifer Glass, here we have in our central character (though not our narrator) Tom McCrae another contested modern career man, one who only has the appearance of stability and contentment. For Tom, it only takes one shift in circumstances to propel him towards confronting his true self. These divided, often guilt-ridden men whose devils on their shoulders are only too ready to begin to speak louder allow for a pleasing ambiguity to develop in the narrative, and also for flawed, yet believable conduct from main characters towards others. There’s a constant note of cynicism here, too: Tom McCrae often lapses into sneering dissatisfaction with the system he has found himself part of, his internal monologue lashing out at everything which is wrong with the world even as he is carried along with it. This believable grounding permits the fantastical which creeps in to feel more weighty – as if all of these horrific things are happening to someone that for the most part you can easily believe in.
And the horror which unfolds brings with it some very neat, well-wrought ideas. One thing which Lee does very well is write about dreams, creating convincing nightmares that are integral to the plot, but not simply stopping there; the other side of the coin is to see what effect these have upon his characters as they try to make sense of the nonsensical, and try to disbelieve in what they have just experienced. As the story progresses, it becomes increasingly difficult for his characters – and for us – to make this distinction. This creates some very engaging and effective horror sequences, described in vivid detail (though at times the number of similes used in the text feels excessive). The location of the story in remote Scotland is also important to the success of these horror sequences, as Lee renders some deeply evocative descriptions of the woodland which surrounds the village of Douglass, making it fundamental to the dreams themselves, but also using it to again remind us that Nature is as pitiless as it is picturesque. Bad dreams, childhood trauma, darkest woods…The Jack in the Green knowingly shuffles the horror archetypes like a pack of cards.
I have alluded to the novel’s outward connections to The Wicker Man: certainly, the barest description of the plot – a professional man called from suburbia to an isolated Scottish community which seems to retain odd, atavistic beliefs – makes the comparison inevitable. There are other common points, too, but as the story moves along, Lee’s evident awareness of these sends things into a much different direction. In many ways this is the sequel to The Wicker Man that I wish existed instead of the abysmal Wicker Tree; The Jack in the Green takes recognisable elements, sure, but allows them to extend into the supernatural in a way which The Wicker Man never does. It takes the ‘old gods’ of Summerisle and makes them real – and terrifying – in Douglass. Not only this, but there are also graphic, bloody scenes in this novel more akin to Hellraiser than The Wicker Man. By the time we reach the finale of this book, it is a very different beast to the one I expected and which, if you are yet convinced that this is too close to The Wicker Man for comfort, you will expect either.
In order to create greater complexity, though, Lee introduces several supporting characters, one of whom in particular I felt became ever more rootless as his presence in the narrative increased. I wanted to know a lot more about him – but he was moved aside for an end sequence about-face which felt slightly frustrating. There are also other characters whom I questioned at first, but they – to a greater or lesser extent – prove their worth, eventually tying into the plot well. This is not to say that Lee’s determination to close his tale in the same dark way it begins doesn’t pay off, but it means at least one compromise is made in order to do so.
However, it is a small detail considering the many things to recommend this novel. Skillfully blending quintessential British horror with vivid interludes of bodily trauma and mental anguish, The Jack in the Green is as ambitious as it is enthusiastic. In reading this book you will vacillate between different states: terrified child, restless sleeper and horrified bystander. There is plenty here to call to each.
The Jack in the Green is available from 1st October 2013 from Samhain Publishing.