A review by readthesparrow
Star Spawned by Mark Howard Jones
Did not finish book. Stopped at 20%.
I genuinely could not get through this. I'm sorry, I really don't want to be mean, and I relly did try to give this a chance, but genuinely I thought this was just some really sub-par writing.
The way the author was hyped up in the beginning as the next Lovecraft, on par with Poe was the first warning sign. Even though he wasn't writing the introduction himself it felt like the editor was trying way too hard to sell him to me. Ironically, the very things the editor praises him for I found to be things that were not worthy of praise at all.
I will admit, his ideas (at least, the scenery presented in the second part of Beneath Black Spires) were interesting. Yet that's all they were--interesting. I found myself skimming over the descriptions because I was bored out of my mind and waiting for something to happen--all of the imagery was so empty. So wanting for substance. The character or Beneath Black Spires was so painfully without personality is hurt. So though e had interesting weird imagery (with the singing building and the poppy field floodplain), the way that the architecture of that world was approached rendered it complete uncaptivating. To me, good horror--especially horror that deals with the futility of the human existance and feelings of powerlessness--are built on empathy. When the main character of your short story is nothing more than a glorified pair of binoculars, it's very hard to feel horrified by or engaged with the landscape. He's not even a particularly good pair of binoculars--he doesn't examine, doesn't discover, barely has a wander around. He's so passive. He shows up, wanders about, "symbolically splays his fingers against the icy stonework" (whatever that means. How on earth does one symbolically splay their fingers?), eats a chocolate bar, sees some possible remains of a ritual sacrifice and is only a little perturbed, gets screamed at by a building, sees some cultists, hides, thinks about running then just decides it is too dangerous to try to cross, gets scared of some imaginary birds (like he doesn't have so many ACTUAL dangers to worry about. The sentence "They might do him harm or even kill him" actually made me roll my eyes. Like, yeah, man, they probably would. Good job, being supoer spooked of something you made up, buddy. Real prescient. Real in the moment. Real aware of your surroundings.), falls asleep for two sentences (???????), then finds his boat and just. Floats off. Like, come on, man. I learned nothing about him as a character besides that his dad used to hunt and his daughter evidently dates cultists or something. There are these little moments where we risk getting some interesting characterization for him and then they're snatched away. He thinks he recognizes some faces in the people being brought in as sacrifices--who does he think he see? Why does he just turn away and do nothing? He feels nothing. Gives us nothing more than brief recognition then it is left behind.
This story did not feel like "a narrative that appears to progress from beginning to end as though it was an actual event". Nor any of the other parts of Beneath Black Spires or Put on the Mask--and that's not because of their eldritch subject matter. No, it was the complete lack of characterization beyond the barest surface level. It was the complete lack of humanity, of *people* as a genuine presence in these stories. Also, sorry, but praising someone for their ability to "craft a narrative that appears to progress from begining to end as though it was an actual event"because doing so is "exceptionally difficult" is... like. It's almost embarassing. You couldn't find anything else to praise him on? Really? Crafting a narrative that feels real and genuine is one of the most basic fundamental skills to write successfully. I agree, it is extraordinarily difficult--otherwise everyone would be a writer--but that doesn't mean he is somehow special or extremely talented for knowing how to do it. (And, in my opinion, he doesn't know how to do it, or at least did not display that skill in the works of his I read).
Also, the idea that there is never a wasted word in his tales--has he never been advised about filter words? I kept noticing 'he felt', 'he saw', etc. Words that increase narrative distance, served no purpose, and could easily be removed. For example, one piece that I saw: "Black, grey, and charred brown were the only colours in this world. The only fitting hues to represent the archaeology of an apocalypse. Anything brighter might seem a blasphemy in this barren place."
I loved the idea here. The image being presented. But it ended up faling flat. Lacked impact. So I tweaked it, just to practice my editing skills.
"Black, grey, and charred brown: fitting hues for the archaeology of apocalypse. Anything brighter would be a blasphemy."
Removed the filter word 'seem'. Removed the extra fat of 'the only colours in this world', 'to represent.' Did something a little more interesting with the sentence structure. Also removed 'this barren place' because like. Yeah, man. Yeah. Where else would it be a blasphemy in?
And then the forward goes on to praise his titles. Look, man. They're fine titles. I'm not saying they're not. They're perfectly good. I just... the praise for them is bizarre. Like, they're good titles! And yes, titles are important! But they're being praised as though he's some kind of genius. His titles are not brilliance that must be noted. They're exactly what I would expect from a horror/weird fiction/eldritch title. Like, *exactly* what I would expect. And, again, not a bad thing! They do their job and do indeed set the tone. But when I was reading that paragraph I just got the vibes that the Joshi was just trying really, really hard to sell the idea to me that these are REALLY GOOD TITLES. So hard it felt fake. So hard it made me actually think about the titles and realize that they're just... fine, and that's it. Or painfully on the nose (Beneath Black Spires for a story about dudes under black buildings. Put on the Mask about a performer who is a pedophile and being forced to perform and put on a mask/take off the mask. Like, it does not take a genuis to come up with these).
That brings me to my final point about these stories: they are all painfully on the nose and have forgotten show, don't tell. The first story of Beneath Black Spires started out great! I was leaning forward, I was loving the mysterious noir vibes, there was a real sense that the narrative was going to be really interesting. And then we get the whole anwer dumped right into our laps and the story ends. There is no sense of mystery, no questions we are left to try and figure out. Exactly what happened is packaged up in a neat little square just for us, and it makes the story *boring*. They were in a cult, he got a little tipsy on the evil cult wine when they were driving home, he crashed, she necromized him back to life (then just left him in a hospital for a month I guess? for some reason?), and then when he finds her again he decides he actually does want to die because the place he's seen in his dreams is just So Super Scary, he swears, and so she does some chant and reduces him to a drooling mess and boots him through the Evil Cat Church Door. The biggest twist is that she's his daughter! The whole point of eldritch horror is the fear of the unknown, of what isn't being told, of what's just below the surface. But here it's given to us exactly as it is. And the mere presence of an eldritch cult isn't going to cut it. I can go buy a C'thulu funko pop. I own a jacket that says 'Reduce Reuse Reanimate.' The thought that the allusion to an eldritch cult that can do necromancy is still something unknown, something strange, enough to leave lingering questions is just... well. It's not going to cut it, sorry.
Put on the Mask is a worse offender. We don't get any details or attempts to build him as a character until the first "hint" (and I use hint loosely, as it's not a hint but painfully obvious) is dropped as to him being a pedophile. His daughter gets no characterization either beyond being a victim. The evil eldritch orchestrator gets no characterization, either, or enough substance to really even make me interested in him or to make him stand out as an interesting figure. The imagery of him I have seen before, the concept I have seen before, and the characters are only present because they are present.
Anyway, at this point I decided I was absolutely not going to push through the remaining 500+ pages I had remaining. The problems had repeated themselves enough times to convince me I would not like this and it would not be worth forcing myself through the rest of it.
The way the author was hyped up in the beginning as the next Lovecraft, on par with Poe was the first warning sign. Even though he wasn't writing the introduction himself it felt like the editor was trying way too hard to sell him to me. Ironically, the very things the editor praises him for I found to be things that were not worthy of praise at all.
I will admit, his ideas (at least, the scenery presented in the second part of Beneath Black Spires) were interesting. Yet that's all they were--interesting. I found myself skimming over the descriptions because I was bored out of my mind and waiting for something to happen--all of the imagery was so empty. So wanting for substance. The character or Beneath Black Spires was so painfully without personality is hurt. So though e had interesting weird imagery (with the singing building and the poppy field floodplain), the way that the architecture of that world was approached rendered it complete uncaptivating. To me, good horror--especially horror that deals with the futility of the human existance and feelings of powerlessness--are built on empathy. When the main character of your short story is nothing more than a glorified pair of binoculars, it's very hard to feel horrified by or engaged with the landscape. He's not even a particularly good pair of binoculars--he doesn't examine, doesn't discover, barely has a wander around. He's so passive. He shows up, wanders about, "symbolically splays his fingers against the icy stonework" (whatever that means. How on earth does one symbolically splay their fingers?), eats a chocolate bar, sees some possible remains of a ritual sacrifice and is only a little perturbed, gets screamed at by a building, sees some cultists, hides, thinks about running then just decides it is too dangerous to try to cross, gets scared of some imaginary birds (like he doesn't have so many ACTUAL dangers to worry about. The sentence "They might do him harm or even kill him" actually made me roll my eyes. Like, yeah, man, they probably would. Good job, being supoer spooked of something you made up, buddy. Real prescient. Real in the moment. Real aware of your surroundings.), falls asleep for two sentences (???????), then finds his boat and just. Floats off. Like, come on, man. I learned nothing about him as a character besides that his dad used to hunt and his daughter evidently dates cultists or something. There are these little moments where we risk getting some interesting characterization for him and then they're snatched away. He thinks he recognizes some faces in the people being brought in as sacrifices--who does he think he see? Why does he just turn away and do nothing? He feels nothing. Gives us nothing more than brief recognition then it is left behind.
This story did not feel like "a narrative that appears to progress from beginning to end as though it was an actual event". Nor any of the other parts of Beneath Black Spires or Put on the Mask--and that's not because of their eldritch subject matter. No, it was the complete lack of characterization beyond the barest surface level. It was the complete lack of humanity, of *people* as a genuine presence in these stories. Also, sorry, but praising someone for their ability to "craft a narrative that appears to progress from begining to end as though it was an actual event"because doing so is "exceptionally difficult" is... like. It's almost embarassing. You couldn't find anything else to praise him on? Really? Crafting a narrative that feels real and genuine is one of the most basic fundamental skills to write successfully. I agree, it is extraordinarily difficult--otherwise everyone would be a writer--but that doesn't mean he is somehow special or extremely talented for knowing how to do it. (And, in my opinion, he doesn't know how to do it, or at least did not display that skill in the works of his I read).
Also, the idea that there is never a wasted word in his tales--has he never been advised about filter words? I kept noticing 'he felt', 'he saw', etc. Words that increase narrative distance, served no purpose, and could easily be removed. For example, one piece that I saw: "Black, grey, and charred brown were the only colours in this world. The only fitting hues to represent the archaeology of an apocalypse. Anything brighter might seem a blasphemy in this barren place."
I loved the idea here. The image being presented. But it ended up faling flat. Lacked impact. So I tweaked it, just to practice my editing skills.
"Black, grey, and charred brown: fitting hues for the archaeology of apocalypse. Anything brighter would be a blasphemy."
Removed the filter word 'seem'. Removed the extra fat of 'the only colours in this world', 'to represent.' Did something a little more interesting with the sentence structure. Also removed 'this barren place' because like. Yeah, man. Yeah. Where else would it be a blasphemy in?
And then the forward goes on to praise his titles. Look, man. They're fine titles. I'm not saying they're not. They're perfectly good. I just... the praise for them is bizarre. Like, they're good titles! And yes, titles are important! But they're being praised as though he's some kind of genius. His titles are not brilliance that must be noted. They're exactly what I would expect from a horror/weird fiction/eldritch title. Like, *exactly* what I would expect. And, again, not a bad thing! They do their job and do indeed set the tone. But when I was reading that paragraph I just got the vibes that the Joshi was just trying really, really hard to sell the idea to me that these are REALLY GOOD TITLES. So hard it felt fake. So hard it made me actually think about the titles and realize that they're just... fine, and that's it. Or painfully on the nose (Beneath Black Spires for a story about dudes under black buildings. Put on the Mask about a performer who is a pedophile and being forced to perform and put on a mask/take off the mask. Like, it does not take a genuis to come up with these).
That brings me to my final point about these stories: they are all painfully on the nose and have forgotten show, don't tell. The first story of Beneath Black Spires started out great! I was leaning forward, I was loving the mysterious noir vibes, there was a real sense that the narrative was going to be really interesting. And then we get the whole anwer dumped right into our laps and the story ends. There is no sense of mystery, no questions we are left to try and figure out. Exactly what happened is packaged up in a neat little square just for us, and it makes the story *boring*. They were in a cult, he got a little tipsy on the evil cult wine when they were driving home, he crashed, she necromized him back to life (then just left him in a hospital for a month I guess? for some reason?), and then when he finds her again he decides he actually does want to die because the place he's seen in his dreams is just So Super Scary, he swears, and so she does some chant and reduces him to a drooling mess and boots him through the Evil Cat Church Door. The biggest twist is that she's his daughter! The whole point of eldritch horror is the fear of the unknown, of what isn't being told, of what's just below the surface. But here it's given to us exactly as it is. And the mere presence of an eldritch cult isn't going to cut it. I can go buy a C'thulu funko pop. I own a jacket that says 'Reduce Reuse Reanimate.' The thought that the allusion to an eldritch cult that can do necromancy is still something unknown, something strange, enough to leave lingering questions is just... well. It's not going to cut it, sorry.
Put on the Mask is a worse offender. We don't get any details or attempts to build him as a character until the first "hint" (and I use hint loosely, as it's not a hint but painfully obvious) is dropped as to him being a pedophile. His daughter gets no characterization either beyond being a victim. The evil eldritch orchestrator gets no characterization, either, or enough substance to really even make me interested in him or to make him stand out as an interesting figure. The imagery of him I have seen before, the concept I have seen before, and the characters are only present because they are present.
Anyway, at this point I decided I was absolutely not going to push through the remaining 500+ pages I had remaining. The problems had repeated themselves enough times to convince me I would not like this and it would not be worth forcing myself through the rest of it.