Book Review: Haint Country: Dark Folktales from the Hills and Hollers

 By Matthew Sparks (editor), Olivia Sizemore (illustrator)

• Pub Date: 2024

• Genre: Folktales

• Where I bought this book: Joseph-Beth Bookstore, Lexington, during the Kentucky Book Fair 

• Why I bought this book: The authors talked me into it  

 ******

     Just so you know: A haint is sort of like a ghost, likely someone or something that appears where the distance between the supernatural world and our world is thin, meaning spirits sometimes cross over. A booger is cryptid, an animal or person that has grown out of proportion on the other side. Stained earth is a place where something evil happened, and the spirits are restless. High strangeness is just something weird that happened and cannot be easily explained. 

    Haint Country is the Appalachian dialect terms for where all these things occur.

    If you pick up this book -- and you should -- you must read the forward and introduction to these tales. It'll teach you a thing or two and make them a lot more believable to you all.

    I swear to god and hope to die if I'm lyin'.

    Moving on, you'll find this an eclectic collection of tales told mostly in the mountains of southeastern Kentucky, the heart of Appalachian Kentucky, mostly from Lee, Owsley, Clay, Leslie, Perry, and Harlan counties. They have been handed down from family to family, friend to friend, some outright invented, and some recalled to explain a curious sight or occurrence.

      The tales are written -- or told to others over time -- by various authors, some of who are credited with more than one. 

    They have been told after dark on overnight fishing trips, in a school yard to explain why no one goes down that creepy corridor, or to a spouse to excuse lateness or a lack of pants.*

    Some are to remember the victims of the mining disasters that occurred regularly in Kentucky history and still haunt entire communities. Others explain the strange feelings one gets when passing a forgotten cemetery or jailhouse. 

    But some are just old tales told around the campfire when the stars come out and the night gets dark and spooky. The drawbacks with these are they sound like the least likely explanation for a simple event, like why a house brunt down, but the tellers insist that every word is true and verified by anyone with a lick of sense. This is mostly a problem in the second part of the book, when the good ol' boys think of something they saw on television.**

    The tales in the first part of the book seem more like those told and retold as a potentially plausible, maybe if you squint real hard, explanation. Or something told after a bunch of people got together to recollect why the old barn burnt down, and try to outdo each other with wild explanations after too much moonshine.

    The longest story concerns the spooking of a house in Breathitt County, most likely by Mary Jane Fox, who apparently didn't like the changes made -- or the fact that her husband killed her when they lived in the previous house on the site. 

-----------------------------------------------------

* See Paw Hensley and the Naked Haint Woman of Squabble Creek, attributed to Hensley Sparks, "a walking, talking tall tale, born and raised in Clay County, Kentucky."

** See The Legend of The John Asher's UFO, (an episode of X-Files, no less) "dedicated to the memory of Patrick Smith, who was also a witness to the events" in the late 1990s or early 2000s.

Book Review: The God of Endings

 By Jacqueline Holland

• Pub Date: 2023

• Genre: Fantasy

• Where I bought this book: Bookmatters, Milford, Ohio 

• Why I bought this book: It is a debut novel, and stories of immortality intrigue me   

 ******

         We give immortality to our gods, because they are perfect. We grant immortality to our book characters, because they are not.

    Collette LeSange is far from perfect. And she assuredly does not like her immortality. She did not ask for it, and her years on earth -- full of pain and loss, despair, failed hope, and taunts from the gods -- have not been friendly. She isn't living, she thinks, just existing.

    And as modern society grows around her, she's finding it harder to hide -- and to eat. Because Collette is a vampire, she must feed on blood, which gets more difficult to find as her years mount up.

    Holland's debut novel tells us how Collette gained immortality, her life over the next 150 or so years, and the fears that engulf her and remain constant companions.

    It's an audacious tale, full of adventure and sadness. It's a life writ large, and as much as Colette tries, she find it impossible to ignore the larger world. All too often, we find that her attempts to exude compassion and kindness rarely end well. 

    Collette grew up the daughter of a gravestone carver in the America of the early 19th Century, before her grandfather chose immortality for her -- a sore spot with her. She soon made it to Europe, where she met and was kept by others of her kind. But angry gods and angry mortals decried what they saw as her wickedness, so she was forced to wander alone and live apart from the vremenie -- those who live short lives -- for most of her days.

    Now, in the early 1980s, she is living and working in America as the owner of and only teacher at an elite pre-school. She senses the gods -- Czerobog* and Belobog, the former the god of darkness, destruction, and woe; the latter the god of light, life, and good fortune (the pair also may be just two faces of one god) -- have something planned for her. 

    In successive chapters, Holland alternates between Collette's history and struggles through the years and her current saga, which includes her growing relationship with a young artistic student with a troubled family life.

    The book has a few problems: Parts of it are overwritten, both stylistically and in the telling. Over-description is rampant, and some of the storylines could have been parsed or omitted.

    But it's a wide-ranging epic, and the ageless protagonist allows Holland to tell a tale over centuries of human history through the eyes of a single women, who is caring and strong, if also confused and lonely. It's overall a good read, depressing at times, but with a texture of hope that threads its way through some of the worst actions of humanity.

___________________________________

    *He's also called the God of Endings, hence the title.

Book Review: Glory

  By Noviolet Bulawayo

• Pub Date: 2022

• Where I bought this book: The Book Loft, Columbus, Ohio 

• Why I bought this book: I like fables 

 ******

     I really, really wanted to like to book. Tholukuthi, I wanted to like this book. But it took my slogging through some 325 repetitive pages, with too many words, tholukuthi, and a writing style that carried around too many blending ideas and voices, before I found it.

    It's difficult to say it was worth it. But two parts of the book -- one in which Destiny finds her mother's past of being a victim of violence linked with her own similar history, and a second in the final 70 pages, which featured the hope of butterflies and some extraordinary writing -- made me rethink all the thoughts I had while reading it.

    It's a tale of Zimbabwe, an African country that suffered colonialism and white minority rule before a revolution threw out the white overlords but brought in a murderous, native dictatorship. The persecution and disappearances of the population continued, with the government of Black nationalist  Robert Mugabe becoming increasingly more vicious and corrupt over his 40-year dictatorship.

    This fable shows the country as literal animals -- Mugabe is the Old Horse, whose presence strikes fear and loyalty among the population of goats and chickens and cats and all manner of insects. His army of Defenders are brutal dogs that attack and kill without warning or remorse. The majority animals are poor but loyal to the ruler, wearing his image on their clothing and waving the proper flag of the Country Country.

    All of this mimics the history of the land in the south of Africa, which during colonialism was called Rhodesia -- named after the rich English lord who invaded and declared the area part of Britain. If that's not the most colonial thing ever, I'm not sure what is. After World War II, the rulers declared independence from Britain, and, looking to neighboring South Africa, set up an apartheid-like state.

    The book begins with Old Horse celebrating his 40 years of power, and moves on to the coup that tossed him out and took over his rule. But it is a verbose story, told through a multitude of conflicting and confusing voices. It's often unclear what the animals represent -- someone from the Seat of Power, the Resistance, the Dissidents, the Sisters of the Disappeared, or just random citizens.

    The writing includes repetitive words, phrases, entire sentences. Some chapters, tholukuthi, include long-winded descriptions that go on and on and on and on and on. And there is the use of tholukuthi, a word of African origin that means -- seemingly, whatever the author wants it to mean. It's an interjection, a hallelujah!, a "really, really," an "and so," a "you'll find that," and is used so many times it means all of them, and none of them.

    Bulawayo even uses a social media style to tell the tale. But even there, the streams of Twitter feeds are as disembodied, annoying, and incomprehensible as the real ones.

    When one overdoes a stylistic point, it loses its magic.

    That's what happens here. In the later quarter of the book, the tone changes, becomes more personal, and focuses on a single family of animals, including Destiny and her mother, Simiso. This is where I started enjoying the book, and eagerly read the pages. But the writing still overwhelms the ideas and actions. The repetition and overwriting stand out and get in the way of the story.

    When she writes about the genocide that occurred, it's hard to read -- because it's true. I stuck through the book until the end, and I'm glad I did. It struck a chord in me. It touched me. It taught me something.

    It also showed me what this book could have been.

Book Review: Full Dark, No Stars

 By Stephen King

• Pub Date: 2010 

• Where I bought this book: I really do not remember 

• Why I bought this book: I buy every King book as it comes out.

********

    So. I was browsing in my local Barnes & Noble store this past week, and stopped by the horror section to see if they had a copy of A Face in the Crowd, a digital book he wrote a while back with Stewart O'Nan. 

    Instead, I came across a copy of 1922, a thin volume about a farmer who conspired to kill his wife in that year. I looked through it and did not recognize the synopsis. Looking further, I noticed it was originally published in 2010 with three other tales in the Full Dark, No Stars collection. I knew I had that copy at home.

    So I grabbed it and started reading the first story, 1922. Still did not recognize it. But I liked it, though it was a bit creepy. The second story, Big Driver, about a serial rapist, I also did not find familiar.

    Still, I was sure I had read this collection before, even if it was more than 15 years ago.

    But apparently, I had not. The next two stories, Fair Extension and A Good Marriage, also seemed new to me.

    I could have forgotten all of them, although I have often caught glimpses of King's past writing in his new works, But in these, nothing. So maybe I had bought the book and put it aside, then on the shelf, without even reading it. But my Goodreads page shows I read it from Nov. 25, 2010 -- Thanksgiving Day! -- to Nov. 27, 2010, about three weeks after it came out. So maybe I lied, or maybe I've read so much King my hippocampus cannot keep them all sorted out.

    *Shrug* I suppose I'll never knew.

    But I'm glad I have now read it (or read it again). The stories were good, if a bit unsettling, even for King.

Book Review: Cursed Bunny

 By Bora Chung

• Translated by: Anton Hur

• Pub Date: 2017 in Korean; 2021 in English

• Where I bought this book: Downbound Books, Cincinnati, Ohio  

• Why I bought this book: The bunny on the cover told me to, and that it was shortlisted for an International Book Prize

******

    

    Short stories are not just truncated novels but have a flow and a texture all their own.

    In the hands of Chung, short stories take on the aura of fables, using allegories that shock and horrify, and rise to the status of a legend devolving into fantasy.

    She writes about absurd ghosts and lives lived brutally, about children and capitalism, and about war, peace, and the aftermath -- which brings us back to those spirits that can haunt us. 

    These tales are seemingly simple, told with little fuss and a minimalist style. They have few characters, none more than needed, and often are nameless, with only enough detail to tell the tale without shame or scorn. 

    But, oh, do they hold power over your mind and thoughts. There's also some nods to the misogyny rampant in the culture, and a feminist take. In The Embodiment, an unmarried, pregnant woman is told -- by her doctor, no less -- to get a father or the child will not grow properly. The woman responds by going out on seon dates set up by a matchmaker for the specific purpose of finding a man to marry her. 

    The opening tale, The Head, begins with a woman seeing a head rising from her toilet, calling out for "mother." It is created from her excretions. The title story, which reads like an old fashioned fairy tale, is about a man who creates "cursed fetishes" -- in this case a lamp shaped like a bunny. A second, similarly told story, Scars, is about a man who finds riches in the most evil places.

    The stories are tough to read, and reach into places that most would rather avoid. But Chung's style belies their nature -- her basic, matter-of-fact narratives let the tales stand as the epitome of how to write a short story.

Book Review: Flight or Fright

Flight or Fright, edited by Stephen King and Bev Vincent

    In 1963, the Twilight Zone aired an episode, "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet," in which an airplane passenger, played by William Shatner, saw a gremlin tearing off part of the wing. Some 20 years later,  Twilight Zone: The Movie remade the episode, this time starring John Lithgow as the passenger.

    Flash forward to TV 16 years later, when Lithgow was starring in "Third Rock From the Sun," a show about an alien visiting earth. In one episode, his boss, The Big Giant Head, played by Shatner, came to visit, thus rendering one of the best inside jokes ever on the networks.

    The Big Giant Head was asked how his trip went. His response: "Horrifying at first. I looked out the window and I saw something on the side of the plane." To which Lithgow's character responded in horror, "The same thing happened to me!"

    You can read that original story, first published in 1961 by Richard Matheson, in this uneven anthology of airplane horror stories. It ranges from a brief 19th Century story by Ambrose Bierce, to a tale of envisioned "Air Jungles" above 30,000 feet written in 1913 by Sir Arther Conan Doyle (yes, the Sherlock Holmes writer) to a 2018 tale of being on an airplane when the world ends, by Joe Hill.

    I know many people dislike short stories, but I think they hold a place of honor. A good one is hard to write -- with a few words and fewer character, a writer must tell a tale with a grab-you-by-the-neck beginning, a now-sit-there-and-listen middle, and a see-I-told-you ending. This book has some of those, but a fair amount of WTF stories that leave you empty, and a couple of tales that never get off the ground.

    There are some out-and-out horror tales, some that are more wild imaginings, and a couple of hang-on-for-dear-life adventures. One of the best is a simple detective story, with an opening that pulls you in, a middle that keeps you wondering, and an ending that is satisfying and believable. It doesn't lead you around in circles, but tell the story and gets to the point like a good short story should.

    As an added bonus, you get to read a new tale by Stephen King, a good one that reaches into the supernatural heights, but makes you wonder just how much of what he writes is true.

Book Review: If it Bleeds

 If It Bleeds, by Stephen King

    OK. This is a Stephen King book. So you know it's going to have good writting, lively characters with distinct personalities, and a story that moves along in time and space.

    This collection of four novellas is all of that. Except for the stories. They are predictable, well-worn tales. Ideas that King dusted off and liked, possibly thinking they were good enough the first time around, so why not use them again. 

    I couldn't find a single plot device in this grouping that isn't a King trope.

    He's explored a tender relationship between a teenager and an older person. He's examined a writer who is haunted by his characters and his work. He's done apocalyptic events, using them for many purposes, including making it a simple tale about the end of the world. Almost all of his tales about children and teenagers show their being bullied or the bullies. In King's work, children's memories always come back to haunt them. And to top it off, he has to bring back a popular character to relive her torment.

    Really, Constant Writer, what should we Constant Readers have expected to happen when you put a cell phone in someone's coffin? Isn't that a bit mundane? Something that, perhaps, a lesser writer and storyteller would have come up with? When putting that one down on paper, and editing your work, did you really sit back, reflect on the idea, and think, "Awesome! Wow!"?

    Clearly, this is not King's best, most original work. 

    But despite all that, I enjoyed the collection. It was a quick read. If it isn't King's best work, it certainly isn't his worst. The characters are memorable, and for the most part, they are good, honest, salt-of-the-earth Yankees. The writing is compelling. It moves along.

    But Constant Writer has done a lot better.

Book Review: Little Red Chairs

The Little Red Chairs, by Edna O'Brien

A foreigner, handsome and debonair, moves to small-town Ireland.

Now, Dr. Vlad is a bit strange, who portrays himself as a philosopher, a poet, and a sage. He seems eager to open the natives up to a new world. Soon -- to at least one lonely woman -- he becomes a companion and, eventually, a lover.

But then he is outed as a monster. For Dr. Vlad is not the refugee from Eastern Europe that he claims. He is not a victim but a war criminal, who led the torture and slaughter of thousands of his people.

None of the preceeding is a spoiler -- it's all there in the blurbs for the book. Indeed, the title relates to a piece of performance art that lined up 11,541 little red chairs to symbolize the 11,541 people who were killed in the Seige of Sarajevo in 1992. (Indeed, Dr. Vlad closely resembles Radovan Karadzic -- the Serbian president during the Bosnian war, who was convicted of war crimes.)

During his own war-crimes trial, there is this passage about Dr. Vlad and his delusions:

Sarajevo was his adopted city, the city he loved, and every shell that fell there hurt him personally, As he looked out towards his muted audience, he was like a man on the brink of his own creation.

This is quite a confounding book. On the one hand, it is lovely -- exquisitely written, capturing the voices of the meglomaniac and his enablers, along with the fears and dreams of the Irish villagers. O'Brien shows how hatred and division can be both universal and invisible. Despair and hope co-exist. Compassion, madness, and evil make their appearances.

But some parts literally make you cringe. She describes some brutally gruesome scenes of horror from both the past -- and the present -- as the result of Dr. Vlad's followers and henchmen. These descriptions are so explicit that I cannot imagine how she wrote them.

I do not think they are needed to provide one with the horror of the war and its atrocities, and including them make the book almost unreadable. Indeed, in two places, I saw what was coming and managed to skip over them.

Book Review: Full Throttle

Full Trottle, by Joe Hill

Let me start by saying the introduction to the book, in which Hill talks about having a famous father, is wonderful. Also, I liked two of the stories -- Late Returns, and You Are Released. The former is based on the idea of not wanting to die in the middle of reading a book, and involves a curious display of time travel. The latter is set on an airplane when a nuclear war breaks out. It's told from the variety of perspectives of the people on the plane, and it works well.

The rest, well -- let's just say they are the bad and the ugly of Sergio Leone's trilogy.

Usually, I enjoy Hill's writing, especially his  novels. A couple of tales in this short story collection might have been better had they been given more room to grow. And the title story, which he wrote with his father, Stephen King, has been published before.

Some of the others, though, are bad. Meandering, pointless, and, quite frankly, boring.

Take By the Silver Water of Lake Champlain, for instance. It's a tale about two children finding a dinosaur body along the waters of the lake between Vermont and New York, which takes on the legend of Champy, the lake's resident "monster." But the tale is dull, and it focuses more on the children and their siblings arguing with each other. The ending is confusing.

In the Tall Grass, which also credits King as a co-author, seems to be little more than a grotesque version of King's 1977 short story, Children of the Corn. Thumbprint had some interesting characters, but a weak story to bring them together. Mums, about a fanatical right-wing family and their son, is  more a rant against the alt-right movement to overthrow the government than anything else.

 The Devil on the Staircase pages

I liked that Hill took liberties with style and structure in two stories. One, The Devil on the Staircase, was written in a typography that resembles flights of stairs. A second, Twittering From the Circus of the Dead, is what the story implies -- a young girl's tweets from a mysterious circus in a small, isolated town. In both cases, the experimental typography and format worked better than the story.

Book Review: Brave New World

Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley

I first read this book some 50 years ago, in the seventh grade, when I was about 12 years old. I kind liked it, and thought of the world it created as a nice place full of happy people. And when they weren't happy, authorities spread Soma into the air, making them happy.

More recently, I expressed the opinion, based on that reading in the long, long ago, that I did not understand why the novel was listed with other dystopias, such as 1984. Twitter raged at my stupidity.

So I gave it a re-read. I still have my copy (paperback, published in 1969, costing $3.50) so I didn't have to buy it again. That second reading showed how wrong I was.

Yes, Huxley's world is still a place full of happy people. Well, seemingly happy. Indeed, they are bred to be happy, then slotted into society where they will be happy.

But here's what I know now. They are happy on the surface, because they have everything they could possibly need or want. They are conditioned to think in certain ways. Their standing in society is based on on how they were bred. No mothers and fathers exist in this world, just a sperm and an egg put in a test tube, manipulated for certain conditions, and then turned into a baby. A baby who will grow into an adult who will fit perfectly into whatever role was predetermined -- whether that be a moronic, low-level Epsilon worker; a smart Alpha leader, or anything in between. And society will give proper respect to all those people, knowing that they are conditioned to accept their roles, which all carry value. No more discrimination and no more bigotry. Just acceptance.

All sexual fantasies are fulfilled -- and because love, or life partners, or family, are unknown, then guilt, deception, or rejection are not issues. For entertainment, sports and games and "feelies" -- a kind of interactive porn -- are constantly available.

And if none of those does the trick, there is Soma. Just a half-gram, and off you go to your own happy place, with no consequences -- no hangover, no sadness, no feelings of regret -- upon return.

But here's the thing: With all this happiness, based on constant entertainment and diversion, the loss is of self and identity. There is no need for contemplation, for self-reflection, or quiet time. There's no reading, or writing, or art, or creativity.

It's not that this world burns books; it just takes away the need for them. It's not that it bans theater, it just makes the arts unnecessary. It doesn't prohibit drawings or sculptures, or music, or history, it just replaces them with constant, public entertainment.

And as such, there is no individuality or privacy, only group-think and public behavior. There is no downtime, just consumption and control. But unlike Orwell's 1984, that control is not achieved through pain and fear, but with pleasure and distraction. Control is established through fulfilling people's childish and adolescent desires -- keeping them childish and adolescent.

Without unmet needs, without goals to strive for, without conflict, without the ugliness of life, there is no beauty, no art, no humanity.

It may be a happy place, but it's still a dystopia. 

Book Review: The Institute

The Institute, By Stephen King

The beginning of this book is wonderful, if a bit drawn out. It's the backstory of a guy who will return later in the tale, and you just know he's gonna be a good guy.

Then we hear about the Institute, a dark and shadowy (we never really learn) ... company? ... government entity? ... military operation? ... that kidnaps children for its own nefarious reasons. And we meet Luke Ellis, a 12-year-old genius from the Twin Cities, who is about to start attending MIT in Cambridge and nearby Emerson College in Boston to pursue separate degrees simultaneously. In a rare trope reversal, Luke is emotionally well adjusted and has perfect vision, without the need for dorky glasses. But Luke does have one outstanding characteristic -- a mild form of telekinesis, which means he sometimes can move things around by thinking about it. He's not great at it, but that could change.

Luke is kidnapped and taken to the Institute, where he meets and befriends the kids -- Kalisha, Nick, George, Iris, and others -- already there, who fill him in as best they can on what is going down. All of them are subjected to various physical and mental tests -- Stasi Lights, shots for dots, the kids call some of them -- for unknown reasons. Sometimes, the kids disappear to the Back Half of the building, but we are told little about that.

But about halfway through, things start to get thrillery, as the good guys and the bad guys run and chase the other. Kings displays some great writing, as usual, even when you feel a need to roll your eyes at some of the plot twists. He also depends on stereotypes -- even as he delights in pointing out some of his anti-stereotypes.

Slotting The Institute in the final place
 on the bottom shelf of my SK bookcase.

For instance, during a gun battle in a small southern town, residents come out of their houses, all carrying guns, and they know how to use them. "This is the South," they said.

And this King story continues to dabble in various conspiracy theories about the government, businesses, and the people -- although no one knows exactly who they are -- who are really running the country and controlling the world.

All in all, it's a basic King book. Not his best, and far from his worst. It has good writing -- if a bit overdone. It has decent characters, if a bit lazily developed. And it has a fine story -- even if you have sneaking suspicion that King wrote parts of it for his other books.

Book Review: Middlegame

Middlegame, by Seanan McGuire

At the start of this strange and wonderful book, Roger Middleton, then a young boy who already is a language expert, refers to the word play in a novel as a "meet-a-for." He explains to his new friend, "It's using a thing that's not true to talk about things that are."

Such is a good description for this novel, a combination of science fiction, fantasy, and perhaps a bit of horror thrown in. It also alludes to a vast array of myths, legends, literature, and science, from the Wizard of Oz to quantum entanglement.

The premise of the book is complicated. A fellow by the name of James Reed -- who leads a band of modern alchemists -- wants to bring out the humanity of something called he Doctrine. What the Doctrine is, or is meant to be, is unclear, although it appears to be a perfection of society.

But in bringing it about, Reed needs a perfect pair of siblings. So he creates several sets of twins, then splits them apart. And by create, I mean literally -- he takes parts of various people to form another human. By doing this, he hopes the twins will manifest into one, and become the embodiment of the doctrine.

One of the twins, in this case, Roger, is a language expert. The second -- Dodger Cheswich -- is a math wizard. (And yes, the names of the twins, dubbed as "cuckoos," always rhyme. Almost.) Together, they represent order and chaos.

The math children will die to defend the language children. Many of them have. Most of them will have no capacity for defending themselves. It isn't part of what they are made of -- and Leigh knows very well what they're made of. She was one of the people who did the making, after all.

McGuire, who sadly was unknown to me before this book,  has had a long and varied career as a writer, artist, and singer. She puts it all to use here.

Often, I found that she mimics the best of Stephen King, one of my favorite authors. This is neither a knock or a comparison. But what I like about King, I enjoyed about this book. McGuire creates a few, solid major characters who are unique and well developed. These characters are the sun of the story, the epicenter of which the rest of the system revolves.

She also describes various secondary and tertiary characters, who despite their lesser story arcs are well defined, complete, and fulfill their roles as either good and evil -- or possibly both, and sometimes changing between the two. Other times, a character is introduced to set part of the story in motion, but she is also given a full life and description.

McGuire is clearly a star in her own right, and an author who I plan to read more of going forward.

Book Review: Ghost Mine

Ghost Mine: by Hunter Shea

This post is part of a blog tour leading up to the publication of the book on May 30. I received a copy of the book for participating in the tour.

Ghost Mine is a scary little book, chock full of weird characters spilling over with wickedness and villainy, evil happenings beyond the imagination of most men, and places of darkness and horror that make your worst nightmares seem like a sunny field of flowers.

It is the fight between good and evil, of men and women against a literal devil, in a battle that could only be conceived in the mind, because it is too horrible to exist in any world we know. Yet there are also good men and women, willing to risk their very souls for others. There is friendship and camaraderie, love and tenderness, and trust and togetherness.

Hunter Shea calls himself the "product of a misspent childhood watching scary movies, reading, and wishing Bigfoot (who receives a mention in Ghost Mine) would walk past his house." He is the author of more than 25 books, including two series. He writes thrillers, horror, the paranormal, and is proud that his books are on display at the International Cryptozoology Museum. 

While I enjoy a good scare as well as the next person, I must admit I was a little leery reading the background and synopsis of this novel. I feared an over-the-top slasher/horror fest.

I was wrong.

What I read was a thoughtful exploration of fear and the afterlife, a look at how terror can exist on another level, and perhaps cross over into our world. It's a look at religion and death, and how we fit them into our existence.

The book, which is set in the early 1900s, during the term of President Theodore Roosevelt, has a small cast of characters. There's Nat Blackburn, an old-time cowboy and mercenarie, who fought with Roosevelt and his Rough Riders. There's Teta, who has ridden and fought alongside Blackburn. 

After a few introductory chapters introducing the characters and setting the stage -- which has Roosevelt sending Blackburn and Teta out west to find out why men, including U.S. troops, are disappearing in the small Wyoming mining town of Hecla. The copper mines were previously booming, and rumors spread that gold was discovered, but then all went quiet. Anyone sent out there never returned.

As the two men visit the area and their adventure begins, Blackburn and Teta eventually come across others who join them in their quest. They all play important roles in the story. Shea gives us no extraneous characters. 

Indeed, it's a tightly written book. Shea gets into a scene, and gets out. As each character is integral to the plot, each word he chooses is perfect for the sentence, and each sentence, paragraph, and chapter is essential to the plot. 

I like a writer who doesn't waste words. Shea is that writer.