Friday, 17 January 2025

Men Without Women by Haruki Murakami

Those dastardly sailors can't be trusted.

Few authors can distill the intricate, often overwhelming emotions of melancholy and loneliness into such simple, evocative prose as Haruki Murakami. What makes his writing extraordinary is how he masterfully sidesteps the saccharine or maudlin, delivering stories imbued with an authentic longing for genuine human connection. His ability to make this seem so effortless is quite astounding to me. 

The titular story of Men Without Women exemplifies Murakami's inimitable craftsmanship—deceptively simple on the surface, yet brimming with complexity beneath. Paradoxically, while it seems like “nothing happens,” the story’s true action unfolds within the crevices of the protagonist's inner world, waiting for the reader to uncover it.

The premise is starkly minimalist: a man receives a late-night phone call from the husband of an ex-girlfriend, informing him of her suicide. That’s it. But the narrative’s focus isn’t on the event itself; instead, it delves into the protagonist's quiet reckoning—memories resurfacing, contradictory emotions swelling, and an understated exploration of grief.

What strikes me most about this story, and Murakami’s work as a whole, is his remarkable ability to balance tangential meanderings with subtle yet confident narrative control. In the hands of a less skilled writer, such an approach might easily unravel into nonsensical egotism. However, Murakami’s prose possesses an elusive, almost magical quality that allows these digressions to seamlessly coalesce into something profoundly beautiful. Familiar themes thread their way through: unrequited love, the ephemeral nature of life, and the dreamlike boundary between reality and imagination. His prose carries a delicate, almost ethereal quality that never fails to captivate me.

Murakami’s style isn’t for everyone, and even as one of my favorite writers, I find his work best enjoyed in small doses. Perhaps this explains why I’m drawn to his short stories, where his discursive approach feels more natural, even essential. While his novels have eluded me—unfinished on my bookshelf—the short-story form seems to elevate his strengths, distilling his themes into perfectly self-contained moments of reflection and wonder.

One of the few criticisms I have with this story—and Murakami’s work more broadly—is the undercurrent of misogyny that occasionally surfaces. While Murakami’s male protagonists are often deeply introspective, their views on women can sometimes feel toxic or patriarchal, framing them as enigmatic muses or vessels for male longing rather than fully realized individuals. Women are largely absent, fleeting, or rendered as catalysts for the male characters’ internal struggles.

This approach, while thematically consistent with Murakami’s exploration of solitude and disconnection, can feel limiting, even frustrating. The depiction of masculinity in his work often gravitates toward a kind of stoic detachment or quiet despair, and while this resonates with the emotional tenor of his stories, it also risks perpetuating a narrow, somewhat self-solipsistic view of male experience.

That being said, Men Without Women is still a solid effort and showcases many of the author’s strengths. It may not reach the heights of his finest short stories, but it remains an evocative meditation on loss, longing, regret and the unbridgeable distances between people. In the context of his extensive body of work, this story feels like a mid-tier entry—not lacking in merit but not quite achieving the transcendence of his most memorable pieces.

Wednesday, 15 January 2025

The City by Ray Bradbury

You can run, but you're already home.

Starting off 2025 with a banger, courtesy of the maestro of short stories himself, Mr. Ray Bradbury! It's highly probable that I have encountered this one before since it felt vaguely familiar—though I might be mixing it up with another one of his other post-apocalyptic sci-fi stories (the dude was prolific and chalk it up to my faulty memory). Regardless, this is a tightly woven and fast-paced little gem from start to finish. 

In this story, Bradbury introduces us to an unnamed "City" (hence the title), possibly a forsaken Earth, but with a twist: it’s alive, sentient, and out for revenge. This city has spent the last 20,000 years meticulously plotting its revenge against humanity. Don't let the cheesy sci-fi B-movie premise fool you, it's riveting stuff and Bradbury has a lot of fun here. He weaves a darkly comical narrative, balancing eerie suspense with moments of biting humor, all leading up to a twist ending that is unsettling as much as it is oddly satisfying. 

The author skillfully avoids the temptation of overwhelming the reader with excessive info-dumping or drawn-out backstory. Instead, every detail is carefully chosen, offering just enough to vividly paint the eerie, desolate landscape while leaving room for the imagination to roam. The sparse yet evocative descriptions perfectly capture the sense of foreboding that hangs heavy in the air, creating an atmosphere where danger feels omnipresent—lurking in every shadow and around every ominous corner. It’s a subtle but effective narrative approach that makes this such an enjoyable read.

The City is vintage Bradbury: entertaining, clever, chilling, and even a little cheeky. What a way to kick off the new year!

You can read this story HERE.

2024 Reflections

Hello 2025! 

Not to go off on a tangent here but is there a statute of limitations for when we should stop saying happy new year? Come on, it’s mid-January and at this point, saying "Happy New Year" feels like showing up to a Christmas party with a Valentine's Day card. Honestly, we need rules. Like, after January 7th, it should be illegal to start a conversation with 'Happy New Year.' By then, we’ve all accepted our fate, and no amount of forced cheer is going to fix the fact that we’re back to the grind.

Now that I have gotten that out of my system, here are some brief reading reflections of 2024:

  • Grand total of novels read in 2024? A resounding zero. That’s right, not a single one—just short stories. It’s not that novels and I are on bad terms; we’re just… taking some time apart. Plus, my attention span is terrible and any attempt at reading a novel puts me to sleep. 
  • My delusional reading goal for 2024 was to conquer 1,000 short stories. That was doomed to fail before I even started.
  • Despite my loft ambitions and the tumultuous year that left very little time for reading,  I somehow managed to read somewhere between 150-200 short stories. (Don’t ask for exact numbers—at some point, I lost count and just rolled with it.) Honestly, considering how my reading habits have been circling the drain for years, this feels like a monumental feat. Cue imaginary applause.
  • 2024 also marked my most prolific year on this blog, with 120 posts, most of which were reviews. I’ll take my pat on the back now, thank you.
  • Discovered some amazing short-story writers, including Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Lucia Berlin and Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah. I look forward to reading more of their work.
  • Rediscovered some old favorites like Bradbury, O. Henry, Updike, Murakami 
  • I read some of Donald Barthelme's work before but 2024 was the year I fell headfirst into his wonderfully weird world. I have come to really appreciate his ingenuity and satirical brilliance. He was my most-read author of the year and now holds a secure spot in my top five short-story writers of all time.
  • Best short story read in 2024: A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings" by Gabriel García Márquez
  • Worst short story read in 2024: Late, Late Show by John O'Hara

And there you have it—a year of short-story adventures and just enough success to not give up on reading entirely. Here’s to 2025, where I’ll probably set another delusional reading goal and regret it by February. 

Cheers.

Tuesday, 29 October 2024

The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe (1839)

Roderick!

"It was a dark and soundless day near the end of the year, and clouds were hanging low in the heavens."

Such an amazing opening sentence for a horror story that might seem cliché by 21st century standards but Poe was the OG. 

As this Halloween short-story reading challenge comes to an end, it would feel incomplete not to review at least one work by the horror master himself: Edgar Allan Poe.

"The Fall of the House of Usher" is the quintessential example of American gothic horror and remains one of the most celebrated short stories in the genre. Is this the greatest haunted house story ever written? Probably. To me, the horror genre truly begins and ends with Poe; his mastery of suspense, dread, and the psychological undertones of terror is unparalleled. In fact, I should make it a personal tradition to revisit Poe’s work every Halloween.

There’s little that I can add to the wealth of literary analysis attributed to this story. Instead, I’ll focus on a few aspects that stood out in this re-reading:

  • Atmosphere and Tone: Poe’s command over the macabre and the phantasmagoric is mesmerizing, creating a suffocating atmosphere of impending doom. This story oozes gothic horror, immersing readers in an oppressive, decaying world that feels almost alive. The mansion itself, the surrounding mist, and the very walls seem to breathe with a life of their own, embodying the decay of Usher’s family line.
  • Language and Style: Poe’s language is meticulously crafted to evoke dread and unease. His descriptions of the mysterious and sinister forces lurking in and around the Usher estate are as poetic as they are profound, layering imagery and symbolism that invites deeper reflection. Every line pulses with an eerie rhythm, balancing poetic beauty with a creeping sense of horror.
  • Narrative Perspective: The use of an unreliable first-person narrator whose own grip on reality becomes increasingly tenuous—adds another layer of psychological tension. Poe blurs the lines between the subjective and objective, drawing us into the narrator's fractured psyche as he himself questions what is real. The reliability of the narrator dissolves as the story progresses, and we’re left in a murky space where reality and illusion collide.
  • Realism vs. the Uncanny: On a similar note, Poe’s deft handling of realism and the uncanny propels the story beyond a simple haunted house narrative. As layers are peeled back, the story becomes a deeper meditation on themes of mortality, madness, and familial decay.

"The Fall of the House of Usher" is one of those rare short stories that works brilliantly on so many different levels. Indeed, it can be appreciated as pure entertainment—a chilling tale of horror and suspense—and, upon closer inspection, it reveals itself to be a profound exploration of existential dread and the haunting legacy of family. This is, without a doubt, an undisputed masterpiece of Gothic fiction, and one that only seems to grow in significance with each reading.


Cocoon by Thomas Ligotti

Metamorphosis.

By Thomas Ligotti’s standards of deeply disturbing and twisted horror, Cocoon feels relatively tame—though no less chilling. The story still possesses his signature creepiness and eerie allure, an interesting blend of mystery and horror that pulls the reader in slowly. The pacing is intentionally measured, allowing the author to immerse the reader in his unique brand of the macabre and psychological horror—a decaying, shadowy cityscape pulsing with despair, madness and an undercurrent of malevolent intrigue. He successfully creates this bleak urban nightmare, where decay and dread linger around every corner. The cocoon metaphor of rebirth and transformation is well integrated throughout the story.

The final act is stellar with a surprising twist ending that I did not see coming. The grotesque and visceral horror in these moments bring to mind the dark, flesh-crawling aesthetics of a David Cronenberg film. Ligotti’s unsettling use of imagery, particularly with insects and larvae, adds another layer of discomfort, making this a read best avoided by anyone squeamish around bugs. Overall, Cocoon is an intriguing, surreal and creepy tale that showcases Ligotti’s ability to disturb without veering into "what-the-hell-did-I-just-read" territory, like some of his other stories.

Monday, 28 October 2024

The Zombies by Donald Barthelme

"There are good zombies and bad zombies. Gris Grue said so."

If there is another author other than Ray Bradbury who can help me get out of this severe reading and writing slump, it would probably be Donald Barthelme. I didn't want to pigeon-hole myself into only reading scary horror short-stories this month. The horror comedy subgenre doesn't nearly get enough recognition but is even more difficult to pull off effectively. Sure, there have been several great movie/tv horror comedies over the years like Shaun of the Dead or What We do in the Shadows, but I don't recall coming across many memorable horror comedy short-stories. 

"The Zombies" by Donald Barthelme is so unique, absurd, clever, surreal and just pure vintage Bartheleme in all his satirical glory. This is no mere subversion of a familiar horror archetype, this is an author at the height of his imaginative powers, giving us something that feels less like a story and more like a bizarre, darkly funny thought experiment. Barthelme doesn’t just invite us to laugh at the undead—he compels us to empathize with them, turning our typical expectations on their heads and laughing at his own genre-defying creation along the way.

The story thrives on absurdity but never feels gimmicky like it’s trying too hard, which is what makes Barthelme such a master. He takes a concept as overplayed as zombies and breathes fresh, strange life into it with humor that’s as silly as it is profound. There’s a delightful dissonance here, where disturbing moments meant to chill instead make you chuckle, and the existential crisis of these undead characters is treated with a levity that somehow makes it hit harder.

Barthelme’s prose is the real highlight, like a jazz musician on a caffeine kick – unpredictable, sly, and filled with deadpan humor that’s at once clever and totally ridiculous. This shouldn't work and would be a mess in lesser hands yet, somehow it all works. Each sentence has a punchline simmering beneath it, and his zombies don’t stumble so much as philosophize their way through their humdrum existence. The narrative is spiked with satirical digs at modern culture, social conventions, traditions, relationships and media with a touch of literary madness that makes you want to double-check if you've really just read what you thought you did.

Ultimately, "The Zombies" is a reminder that horror can be many things—it can unsettle, amuse, even philosophize. Barthelme does it all with a wink and a smile, making this story a must-read for anyone looking to shake up their usual horror fare. This is the kind of story that leaves an impression, the sort you’ll think about long after you’ve read it, chuckling to yourself and wondering just how Barthelme pulled it off so effortlessly.


You can read this story HERE.


The October Game by Ray Bradbury

Bones, bones, rattlin' dem bones!

October is almost over and my Spooktacular reading challenge is on the verge of becoming a total bust. Granted, I did end up reading a few scary short-stories this month but lacked the mental capacity to write any reflections about them. if there is one author that might help me get out of this slump, it is Ray Bradbury. "The October Game" seemed like the perfect fit in terms of the title and taking place on Halloween. 

The author should be commended on slowly building up the sense of dread and creating a palpable tension until the sinister finale. Bradbury doesn’t rely on overt scares or cheap thrills; instead, he skillfully uses atmosphere and psychological paranoia to drive the narrative. What starts off as an innocent Halloween night in the suburbs, becomes increasingly unsettling, especially once the father figure takes everyone down into the dark cellar to play a game called "The Witch is Dead."

Bradbury peels back the layers of an unhappy nuclear family, revealing a darkness simmering beneath their carefully constructed facades, particularly in the intense dynamic between husband and wife. His ability to expose the sinister within the ordinary is quintessential Bradbury. Years of unhappiness and avoidance boils over into shocking rage that is quite disturbing. This story reminds us that the most scary monsters aren’t lurking in dark corners—they may be seated right at the family dinner table. Bradbury doesn’t rely on supernatural horror but on a more visceral, psychological dread manifesting into unspeakable madness. 

And that bone-chilling final line...

Well played Mr. Bradbury, well played.

Wednesday, 2 October 2024

Bite-Sized Nightmares: Quick Scary Reads for the Halloween Season!


During the
spooktacular month of October, I’ve set out on a mission to devour as many spine-chilling horror short stories as I can get my hands on. Not only is it the perfect way to embrace the eerie vibes of the season, but I’m also hoping it will reignite my passion for reading again, which took a nosedive near the end of May. 

Below is a list of some haunting titles I plan to tackle (some might be re-readers). If you have any favorite spooky short stories of your own, I’d love to hear your recommendations—feel free to drop them below in the comments!
  • Nightmare magazine
  • The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe
  • Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe
  • The Pit and the Pendulum by Edgar Allan Poe
  • The October Country by Ray Bradbury
  • Zombies by Donald Barthelme
  • The Summer People by Shirley Jackson
  • The Truth is a Cave in the Black Mountains by Neil Gaiman
  • Out There Screaming: An Anthology of New Black Horror (Edited by Jordan Peele)
  • The Yattering and Jack by Clive Barker (Books of Blood Collection)
  • midnight Meat Train by Clive Barker (online)
  • In the Hills, the cities by Clive Barker (online)
  • Pig Blood Blues by Clive Barker
  • How to Get Back to the Forest by Sofia Samatar (Lightspeed Magazine)
  • The weird : a compendium of strange and dark stories (2012) 
  • Contemporary Women's Ghost Stories : Spectres, Revenants, Ghostly Returns.
  • Supernatural noir edited by Ellen Datlow
  • Fearful symmetries : an anthology of horror edited by Ellen datlow
  • The Dark Descent edited by David G. Hartwell
  • Oh, Whistle, and I’ll Come To You, My Lad by MR James

  • Survivor Type by Stephen King
  • The Tower by Marghanita Laski

  • Selfies by Lavie Tidhar
  • Patient Zero by Tananarive Due
  • Hello, Moto by Nnedi Okorafor
  • The Birds and Other Stories by Daphne Du Maurier 
  • The Lady of the House of Love by Angela Carter (Bloody chamber)
  • All the Fabulous Beasts by Priya Sharma
  • In the Bag by Ramsey Campbell
  • The White People by Arthur Machen (online
  • The Willow by Algernon Blackwood
  • Thomas Ligotti (Anthology)
  • The Thing on the Doorstep by H.P. Lovecraft
  • Death and Suffrage by Dale Bailey (online)
  • Whisper by Ray Vukcevich (online)
  • In a Cavern, in a Canyon by Laird Barron (online)
  • Do you love me by Peter Carey
  • The Screwfly Solution by Racoona Sheldon 
  • Raphael by Stephen Graham Jones
  • Sanctified and Chicken-Fried by Joe Lansdale (available online through UTL)
  • Monkeys Paw by W.W. Jacobs
  • Lacrimosa by Silvia Moreno-Garcia (online)

Monday, 20 May 2024

Dr. A.H. Moynihan by Lucia Berlin

Mirror! Mirror!

Blood...so much blood. The grotesque and absurd collide in this darkly humorous coming-of-age tale where the vivid descriptions of tooth extractions are so exaggerated that they verge on camp. In "Dr. A.H. Moynihan", the narrator reflects on their youth when she was expelled from Catholic school and went to work at her grandfather's dental office during the summer (she is possibly the same narrator from "Stars and Saints"). Lucia Berlin's witty and economic prose is always reliable to keep the narrative flowing at a quick pace.  

The grandfather figure is an alcoholic and a curmudgeon who is estranged from his own daughter. It is implied that he might be have been abusive to her growing up. He is also a racist: "On all the windows, facing the main street of El Paso, were large gold letters that read, "Dr. H.A. Moynihan. I Don't Work for Negroes." The story's casual racism towards black people is disconcerting and difficult to overlook.  

The main comedic set piece involves the unqualified narrator performing oral surgery on the grandfather to remove his remaining teeth and install dentures. It is very chaotic and unfolds like a slapstick comedy with the narrator frantically trying not to kill the grandfather in the process, while blood is spraying everywhere. The entire scene is quite graphic and utterly absurd but the humor somehow manages to humanize the flawed characters, especially the grandfather. This is certainly one of my least favorite Lucia Berlin stories but she always impresses me with the her skillful use of humor that contributes to the sense of verisimilitude. Life is rarely devoid of humor, even in its most intense and absurd circumstances.