Friday's Forgotten Book: The Farm by Scott Nicholson (Southern horror)

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For a handful of years, horror author Scott Nicholson released a paperback original each year through Pinnacle Books. He quickly became one of the genre's "writers to watch." Recently, he has embraced the viral marketing potential of electronic books and has begun to self-publish a selection of his high-quality horror fiction.

His latest novel is Drummer Boy, though he is probably still best known for his Bram Stoker Award–nominated debut, The Red Church (recently reprinted by his own Haunted Computer Books). He also has a free ebook of tips for writers, called Write Good or Die.

This review covers his 2006 novel The Farm, one of his paperback originals, now out of print (and thus, by my own definition, "forgotten") but readily available used. One wonders if his fellow North Carolinians appreciate how he portrays their home region in his novels, but the number of readers who do is still growing, and I am one of them.

Katy Logan and her tween daughter Jett Draper are trying to start over. After divorcing her husband Mark because of his drug addiction, Katy was looking for a more stable type of fellow to help raise her daughter through these trying years. She found Gordon Smith, a theological scholar living on his ancestral farm in the small town of Solom, North Carolina (a town patterned after rural Todd, NC).

Gordon's family has a long history in Solom. His first wife (whom Nicholson has rather cleverly named Rebecca) died mysteriously five years ago, but her spirit still haunts the farm, leaving the scent of lilacs in her wake. And Gordon's great-great-great-grandfather was Harmon Smith, a circuit-riding preacher who was killed by members of his own church and still, 200 years after his death, reappears regularly in town — so regularly, in fact, that the locals have gotten quite used to his presence (though he always takes one of them with him each time he comes through).

If that weren't odd enough, Gordon's goats have also begun acting peculiarly — especially in their newly carnivorous eating habits — and his scarecrow, made to appear as lifelike as possible, doesn't tend to stay where you leave it. Does the stranger in the black hat have anything to do with these odd occurrences, or is he just one more of them?

The Farm is not a "barn-burner." Nicholson does not follow the typical horror style here (lots of extreme scenes with a little down time in between), opting instead for a more thriller-like progression where things build and build to a climactic payoff. Nicholson leads us leisurely into these events, always leaving plenty of room for description, character thoughts, and history. Life in Solom is usually pretty slow, and Nicholson's prose offers a taste of that same feeling.

That is not to say that The Farm isn't damned frightening. Nicholson maintains a strong sense of dread, fear, and foreboding, as each character responds to these new events in different ways. Luckily, there are enough recent arrivals in town for us to also experience the old events through new eyes.

Like Stephen King, Nicholson has a tendency to offer up quite a bit of information about each character as he introduces them before moving on with the story. Whether it is too much is up to the individual, but I find this very appealing — and in some ways comforting — as I get to know each person as an individual before he or she is put in mortal danger. But more viscerally focused readers who like a lot of action may find it frustrating that the first 100 pages or so of The Farm is mostly Nicholson setting the stage for what is to follow.

Nicholson has a wonderful eye (and ear) for the details of rural Appalachia; he writes of its pluses and minuses with the same affection his fellow North Carolinian Sharyn McCrumb gives to her mystery novels. Both authors aspire to write more than just another typical genre entry, opting instead to bring a taste of literature into their usually pulpy arena.

The Farm has a more literary feel than the average horror novel. Nicholson even incorporates a good deal of folklore, from Appalachian to ancient Jewish to modern urban legends. The ending is somewhat unsatisfactory, and the book as a whole could have used a little more tightening, but generally speaking, I enjoyed the languid flow of the story. It reminded me of the slow pace of small-town life — one of the few things, other than the mountains, that I miss about living in the South.

The Twisted Thing by Mickey Spillane (included in The Mike Hammer Collection, Volume III)

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14-year-old genius Rustin York is kidnapped and his father reflexively points the finger at the one ex-con in his employ. The ex-con calls Mike Hammer to help him out, and Hammer gets the guy released and rehired. The father is remorseful and asks Hammer to help find his son.

The Twisted Thing is the novel that author Mickey Spillane (who preferred being called a "writer" since he only did it for the money) sent to his publisher instead of finishing The Big Bang. It was actually his intended follow-up to I, the Jury and was originally titled For Whom the Gods Would Destroy. But when the public responded to the intensity of that book, he wrote the more similar My Gun Is Quick instead.

So, the "real" second Hammer novel sat unpublished for over a decade until the deadline for The Big Bang approached and that novel wasn't done. Spillane dusted off For Whom the Gods Would Destroy, added some references to cases Hammer had taken in the intervening time, changed the title, and turned it in instead, leaving readers without a true Hammer response to the late '60s until Max Allan Collins completed The Big Bang this year.

This novel has all the Spillane hallmarks: deep characterization, a fast plot, realistic dialogue (peppered generously with tough-guy slang), and a great deal of sensitivity shown through Hammer's treatment of Rustin York, boy genius. It also has the expected "surprise" ending (though honestly, anyone who doesn't see this one coming a mile away hasn't read enough Agatha Christie). So, though The Twisted Thing doesn't reach classic status, it still has a lot to offer Hammer fans.

Further reading:

Big Bang co-author Max Allan Collins's recommendation of The Twisted Thing on the The Rap Sheet's continuing series of The Book You Have to Read.

Friday's Forgotten Book: My Lolita Complex and Other Tales of Sex and Violence by Max Allan Collins and Matthew V. Clemens (short story collection)

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Prior to the release of their first recognized collaboration, You Can't Stop Me, Matthew Clemens collaborated with Max Allan Collins on the research and plotting of nearly all of his popular TV tie-in series (CSI, etc.). Between novels, they have slowly built a cache of short stories published in various magazines and anthologies. My Lolita Complex and Other Tales of Sex and Violence collects nine of those stories. It is a slim volume, but it really packs a punch.

It is a motley collection, to be sure, with stories based on Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Hellboy, as well as pastiches of such cultural landmarks as James Bond and The Thin Man. Those only familiar with Collins's and Clemens's tie-in work may be surprised by the range present in My Lolita Complex, but probably not by the authors' adeptness with the characters of others, displayed in five of the nine stories.

Putting the weaker tales at the beginning isn't the greatest idea, but it gets them out of the way. "A Woman's Touch" is a mostly pointless Civil War story with an admittedly surprising ending, and "A Pebble for Papa" (the authors' first collaboration), is a tedious Prohibition-era mob tale.

I don't know how Collins and Clemens managed to write a story faithful to both the Buffy the Vampire Slayer mythos and also to Collins's own specialty (1940s private eye with connections to Frank Nitti), but "Stakeout on Rush Street" offers the best of both worlds. Hellboy meets cryptozoology in "I Had Bigfoot's Baby!" which shows the crimson hero investigating the title legend for the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense — and finding more than he bargained for.

In "Sand on the Beach" and "Lie Beside Me," Collins and Clemens bring forth international superspy John Sand — the "inspiration" for James Bond — and show that even a retired and newly married intelligence agent has made too many enemies to expect peaceful marital bliss, even when that marital bliss is as healthy (and happens as often) as occurs in these stories. There is a lot of humor, especially in "Lie Beside Me," as Sand discovers that, even in marriage, sexual shenanigans can be dangerous.

In "East Side, West Side," Collins and Clemens bring their own touch to Nick and Nora Charles from Dashiell Hammett's The Thin Man — here Mickey and Maryanne Ashford, though Mickey still looks like "a taller, unmustached William Powell" — as they solve their first mystery as a couple. The inclusion of celebrity cameos harks back to Collins's Nathan Heller series, but the lighter tone reminds me more of Stuart Kaminsky's Toby Peters mysteries.

All three of the previously mentioned stories were originally the first chapters of novels for a publisher that wanted to produce sexy books for and about married couples, and Collins and Clemens add a lot of spice to these relationships. Another story that was originally the first chapter of a novel (the inaugural CSI release, Double Dealer) is "Graveyard Shift," which has been rewritten with a more shockingly unexpected finale that suits the theme of My Lolita Complex perfectly.

Finishing up, the title story, "My Lolita Complex," is a bit of a disappointment. It is lurid in all the right ways but also predictable, and the details of Clemens's life used as atmospheric details were distracting. I would have thought this was Collins's and Clemens's first collaboration had I not known that "A Pebble for Papa" held that claim. "My Lolita Complex" is not a bad little tale; it simply lacks the extra touch necessary to take it to another level and end the collection with a "wow finish."

All in all, however, My Lolita Complex and Other Tales of Sex and Violence is an entertaining volume of sexy and violent stories. Fans of Max Allan Collins's and Matthew Clemens's other collaborations like You Can't Stop Me should enjoy this shorter side of their fictional output.

Road to Purgatory by Max Allan Collins (sequel to Road to Perdition)

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It seems odd to write of a book as "forgotten" when it's only a few years old, but since Road to Purgatory is already out of print, I guess it applies. But perhaps it's not as much forgotten as it is simply little-known. One hopes that the film version currently in production (directed by the book's author, Max Allan Collins) will bring the story to more people, however, because it just may be the best thing he's ever written.

Michael Satariano, formerly Michael O'Sullivan Jr. — son of John Looney's "Angel of Death" — has become the one-eyed war hero who won the Congressional Medal of Honor for his service in Bataan. He is looking to avenge his father's murder by the famous Chicago gangster Al Capone, now released from prison but sequestering himself from all but his most intimate fellows (including acting Outfit boss, Frank Nitti) due to the advanced debilitating effects of syphilis.

To succeed in doing that, Michael will have to infiltrate the highest echelons of the Outfit, using his apparent Sicilian heritage to his benefit (Papa Satariano, his adoptive father, ran a restaurant that was a favorite hangout of Outfit personnel) — and with the full knowledge of FBI agent Eliot Ness, who has kept Michael's true identity a secret (and even assisted with his eventual adoption).

Part sequel (primarily to Collins's Road to Perdition novelization — the events begin ten years later) and part prequel (four chapters focus on Michael O'Sullivan Sr.'s, role in a political riot in 1922, his antagonistic relationship with Connor Looney, and the birth of Mike's brother, Peter), Road to Purgatory is, above all, a novel of betrayal.

Mike can't seem to keep his promises to anyone but himself — not even the too-good-to-be-true hometown girl he left behind when he went to war — and a good deal of the novel's suspense comes from wondering when Frank Nitti, who all but adopts Mike as a surrogate son, will find out the truth. Mike digs himself deeper with each new relationship, and things really start to fall apart when someone from his pre-war past resurfaces in the present.

The Chicago gangland of the 1920s, '30s, and '40s is author Max Allan Collins' specialty. Eliot Ness, in particular, has appeared in many of his novels, including the author's well-known series starring historical private-eye Nathan Heller. Ness is also featured in his own quartet of novels (Bullet Proof, et al.) and the film Eliot Ness: An Untouchable Life, which Collins wrote and directed. So, it's hardly a surprise that Ness plays a sizable role in Road to Purgatory — though, with Prohibition over, he's pretty much stuck fighting that other social pariah, venereal disease, giving him yet another connection to Capone.

Collins' characteristic exhaustive research (he even lets us in on the Outfit's "made man" ceremony) adds considerable depth and atmosphere to this not-so-simple revenge tale, the middle story in a saga named after the three parts of Dante's Divine Comedy. He takes the bold step of making Capone and Nitti sympathetic characters and also manages to add Nitti's death into the narrative in a way that does not contradict his earlier dramatization of it in his Nathan Heller novel, The Million-Dollar Wound — something that was reportedly in his mind while he was writing it. In many ways, Road to Purgatory is a culmination of certain parts of Collins's career, and I look forward to what he does with the film adaptation.

Friday's Forgotten Story: "A First Blooding" by Max Brand (from The New Frontier edited by Joe R. Lansdale)

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In 1987, an up-and-coming author named Joe R. Lansdale edited an anthology of Western short stories called The Best of the West, from which the Western Writers of America took all of that year's short-fiction Spur nominees. (If you're curious, Loren D. Estleman won for "The Bandit.")

A sequel was inevitable, and Lansdale served up The New Frontier two years later (dedicated to his "friend and favorite Western writer," T.V. Olsen). This follow-up had the same intention as its predecessor ("reaching for new horizons, new frontiers"), so it's interesting that it opens with a piece by Max Brand (née Frederick Faust), who died 45 years before its publication.

But "A First Blooding" is not a reprint; it's a 14-page excerpt pulled by Brand biographer William F. Nolan from Brand's unfinished Civil War novel, Wycherley (as yet still unpublished, since only 200 of its planned 600 pages were completed before the author's death). As one who has enjoyed all the Max Brand I've read to date, I leapt right into it.

"A First Blooding" consists of two connected vignettes wherein Yankee Lieutenant Allan Loring kills his first Rebel soldier then hears another executed. These two events are chronicled separately, and Brand seems to take two different approaches with them.

It doesn't feel much like a full story, but it is a very welcome look at the more serious writing Brand was doing before his death. In fact, the scene between Christopher Hodge and Major Acton was so effective the first time through that I went back immediately and read it again to see if I could discern how it was done.

This excerpt (only reprinted once to date, rather inappropriately in the Max Brand collection More Tales of the Wild West) certainly whets the appetite for more of Wycherley, and I, for one, would like to see it printed, however incomplete, as a testament to its author's continued ambition. (A master of the pulps, Faust deeply wanted to be taken seriously.) I'm as big a fan of his cowboy and Indian tales as anyone, but an author of Brand's stature should be appreciated for all facets of his career, and more writing like "A First Blooding" could help improve that.

Friday's Forgotten Book: White Star by James Thayer (audio book read by David Purdham)

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During Vietnam, Owen Gray was a sniper with the greatest reputation, having eliminated 97 enemy targets, after which he retired. At each site, he would fold a white star out of paper and leave it behind as an identifier. This led to his nickname, White Star. Gray's list of kills was supposed to have included his main rival, Russian Nikolai Trusov.

But Trusov wasn't killed, only deeply humiliated, and he yearns for a rematch of sorts in a one-on-one sniper fight to the death. Interestingly, author James Thayer has written Trusov as a villain with a strong moral compass, however misguided: he refuses to meet Gray in anything but a fair fight. If an advantage appears on Trusov's side, he eliminates it. Likewise, if one of Gray's friends tries to give Gray an advantage, Trusov kills them.

White Star culminates in the grudge-match duel that is the main reason for reading the book. Preceding it, though, are enough details about the sniper life, in addition to the suspense of whether it's going to happen and then how it's going to play out, to keep things interesting until then. The showdown is truly fascinating, as we get to see a pair of evenly matched supermen as they repeatedly attempt to outwit each other, and succeed a little more each time.

What Thayer puts his characters through is jaw-dropping. A highlight is certainly the scene where Trusov tries to flush Gray out of his hiding place in a field of tall grass by setting fire to the area. Gray knows that any motion on his part equals his death, and so he has no choice but to let the fire overtake him. Thayer does not flinch in his description of the damage to Gray's skin or the resulting pain, and the reader feels roasted right along with him.

Reader David Purdham's intensely serious reading style fits right along with Thayer's text in the audiobook (only available abridged, as far as I know). It's a perfect listen for the work commute or any other road trip, chore, or event that needs to go by quickly. White Star isn't a classic by any means, but it's certainly a forgotten book that needs remembering — if only for as long as it takes to experience it.

Friday's Forgotten Book: Walk in Shadows by Nicholas Kaufmann (horror short stories)

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Author Nicholas Kaufmann was one of a select handful of writers chosen to pen the inaugural novels of the Gabriel Hunt adventure series from Charles Ardai (founder of Hard Case Crime). Kaufmann's book, Hunt at World's End is the third in the series, and though he was nominated for a Bram Stoker Award for his novella General Slocum's Gold, many readers may not previously have heard of him. A good place to get an idea of his range (and especially his skill at fast-paced narratives) is his first book, a collection of short stories called Walk in Shadows.

Despite what some reviewers would have you think, it's really not very often that a debut fiction collection comes along that trumpets an exciting new talent (at least new to me). I've probably only read three so far in my life. The first was Soft and Others by F. Paul Wilson, then more recently there was Douglas Clegg's The Nightmare Chronicles.

Now, add Nicholas Kaufmann to that list. With Walk in Shadows, he shows a sure hand at horror, from the psychological profile ("Not That Kind of Story") to the kinetic escape (aptly titled "Go!").

There are several highlights in Kaufmann's debut collection (culled from several magazines and anthologies of which mainstream readers have likely never heard), beginning with "The Jew of Prague." This story starts out as a simple jewel heist and turns into something else. The atmosphere is the strongest point of this story and Kaufmann layers it on with gusto. Similarly, "VIP Room" is the most disturbingly sexy story I've read since Dan Simmons' "Dying in Bangkok" (from Lovedeath), and that is mostly due to Kaufmann's skill at setting the scene properly.

Unlike many authors who seem to tread similar ground over and over, Kaufmann doesn't write the same kind of story (although many of them take place in his fictional Quick City); each has a different tone — and, surprisingly often, a different voice — from the preceding one. This allows him to excel as the first-person narrator, since his "author's voice" is completely absorbed into the character's (one prime example is with "Better Off with the Blues").

The only story in Walk in Shadows that shows its obvious origins in a themed anthology (a tribute to Jack Finney's The Body Snatchers), "With Its Sleeves Rolled," is a weaker entry, although it does manage to achieve the unthinkable: making Senator Joseph McCarthy a sympathetic character and causing the reader to think of Communism in a new way.

Kaufmann's characters aren't always the nicest people (like the assassin in "The Dead Stay Dead"), but he manages to make them easy to identify with. Even the gang members in "Street Cred" — which takes hazing to a new low, adding zombies to the equation with complete believability — are somehow familiar enough to elicit empathy.

"Voir Dire" is original to this collection and is another highlight. I read it prior to my own jury duty, and it gets the details right, but it's really about fear: the universal fear of being found out, because everyone has a secret they wouldn't like discovered, however small. I've also ridden in a taxi in New York, but luckily it was nothing like "Hail" (a double entendre dealing with taxis and the weather). I must admit I didn't care for the ending, but I was willingly carried along up until then.

Only "La Bete est Morte" was what I would call mediocre, and that only because the "surprise" was entirely predictable (in fact, I hadn't realized it was a surprise until it was "revealed"), and without that, there was little remaining. This is a small complaint because the story reads so well that it almost doesn't matter.

But all of the stories in Walk in Shadows are great reading. The only piece I actually regret reading is not even Kaufmann's doing; that honor goes to the rambling introduction of Brian A. Hopkins, in which he talks about himself for several pages, saving only a few paragraphs for praise of Kaufmann.

Aficionados of new voices would do well to pick up a copy of Walk in Shadows. It is filled with imagination and natural storytelling ability, as well as a talent for action that should serve well in a pulp-style narrative.

Friday's Forgotten Book: A Man Called Brazos by T.V. Olsen

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"Brazos — that is a strange name. Isn't that a river?"
"Yes, ma'am, in Texas. My father settled by it, and I was named after it."

In Twentieth Century Western Writers, author Joe R. Lansdale says of T. V. Olsen, "He should be better known outside the immediate Western field, and ... I can not help but feel that with the right press, Olsen could command the position currently enjoyed by the late Louis L'Amour as America's most popular and foremost author of traditional Western novels."

The author of 40 novels under his own name and pseudonyms such as Joshua Stark and Christopher Storm, Theodore Victor "T.V." Olsen won a Spur Award for The Golden Chance, and two of his novels were made into films: The Stalking Moon with Gregory Peck and Soldier Blue with Candice Bergen. Olsen has lately become known for his often-sympathetic treatment of the American Indian in his fiction (see Bob Herzberg's recent Savages and Saints), though he considered his Jefferson Davis novel There Was a Season to be his most important work.

This week's "forgotten book," A Man Called Brazos, was originally published by Fawcett under their famous Gold Medal banner. It showcases Olsen's skill at the traditional Western tale. Based on my experience with it (and Lansdale's high praise), I'll definitely be looking for more of Olsen's work in the future.

Brazos Kane's parents were killed when he was ten by a raid of Choctaw Indians, and he was sent to live with his uncle, whom he left one night after a few too many beatings. Afterward, Brazos lived like an urchin in a trail town for a year until he picked the wrong drunk to roll — Pop Melaven. Pop offered Brazos a choice: work for him, or get his ass beaten right there. ("He'd rubbed his brass-studded belt, and Brazos was two seconds making up his mind.")

Brazos pulled his own weight and then some (as Pop liked his whiskey) in their partnership and was never treated as less than an equal for ten years. Then, after selling their largest herd of horses yet, Pop took the $12,000 into town and was promptly robbed and murdered. ("It was easy to anticipate a brutal and bitter end for the man, and yet when it came it had dropped the bottom out of Brazos' life.")

From that point on, Brazos's only goal in life was to find the man who'd killed his friend and mentor. Following up on a vague description of the culprit, Brazos zooms in on John Lambeth as his prime suspect. He hires himself out with Lambeth's crew on the Nugget ranch during the middle of a range war with the neighboring Montalvos.

The revenge story alone would be enough for some authors, but Olsen fills out the majority of A Man Called Brazos with the bad blood between the two ranches. Olsen also adds the spice of a femme fatale of sorts in the character of Lila Mae Lambeth, John's wife — a Southern belle with vast ambitions and just enough Lady Macbeth in her to make them happen.

All she needs is a cowpoke dimwitted enough to follow along while thinking he's in charge. The cast of characters is a little hard to keep straight at times, but the tension of the war, the suspense of Brazos's quest, and Lila Mae's machinations (while insightfully illustrating the difficulty of getting a man to see the truth about his wife) combine to make A Man Called Brazos a gripping read with a fine, fast-paced finale that more than satisfies the justice requirement.