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Anytime I see Zachary Shatzer has a new book out, it’s an instant buy for me. Even if, as in this case, I have no idea what it’s about, his name alone is enough to get me to pick it up.

As it turns out, Mayor of Turtle Town is a collection of humorous short stories and essays. Some of them read like Dave Barry-style observational humor articles, others are more distinctly fictional. All of them contain the familiar wit and wisdom any reader of Shatzer would expect.

A few highlights:

  • “Dad Writes a Book” is a story about a good-hearted but creatively-challenged man who attempts to write a novel with help from his family.  The process will be familiar to many of us in the writing community, as will the payoff at the end.
  • “Characters” is a list of characters all meant to be in a single story, although how all of them would fit together is, by the author’s own admission, a bit of puzzle. Regardless, I would certainly read that a story if it were ever written! As it is, it’s quite entertaining.
  • “My Dad’s Tank” may be the most emotionally powerful story Shatter has ever written. It’s still funny in its way, but really bittersweet as well. Probably my favorite story in the whole collection.
  • “The Hottest Trend of 2034” is absolutely brilliant. I can’t tell you why. It just is.

There is much more to enjoy, but I don’t want to give it all away. Mayor of Turtle Town is a fine introduction to the wonderful, wacky world of Shatzer for those who have yet to enjoy his work. And for longtime fans such as myself, it’s another delightful addition to the collection.

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This novella combines Celtic folklore with a sci-fi twist. “The Otherworld” of the ancient tales, whose power is said to wax with coming of the dark half of the year, is here portrayed in the form of aliens rather than fairies or ghosts.

The book follows a pair of researchers, Dr. Siobhan Ryan and Dr. Michael Sullivan. There’s a Mulder/Scully-esque Believer vs. Skeptic vibe between them, which emerges as they witness increasingly strange phenomena. It begins with crop circles and other extraterrestrial appearances in the quiet village of Clooncara, followed by visions experienced by the town’s children, and soon escalating to even more bizarre, and more terrifying, events.

The story reminded me a little of Arrival, a little of Childhood’s End, and maybe just a dash of Lovecraft thrown in when describing the alien world. That is all to the good. On the other hand, some of the decisions made by the scientists reminded me a little of Prometheus. They might have been a bit more careful when dealing with world-threatening aliens.

But then again, we would have precious few good scary stories if characters behaved intelligently or cautiously. Let’s face it, practical thinking is antithetical to good horror, as is perhaps best illustrated by this Far Side cartoon that I was thinking about recently. So I could live with some poor decision making by our protagonists.

I liked the idea of the energy in the air as Samhain approaches, and indeed, I think this is a real phenomenon which careful students of Halloween can observe. Obviously, there was something about the changing of the seasons that has caused this part of the year to be celebrated since ancient times, and I like the notion that the old rituals were only other forms of what modernity dubs “space aliens.” The line between archaic superstition and modern scientific speculation can be a mighty fine one.

All in all, this is a good mix of sci-fi and folkish fantasy, and perfect reading for this most eerie time of year.

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This is a collection of various books, articles, short stories, poems, and even sheet music dedicated to Halloween as it used to be celebrated. The bulk of the book is devoted to chapters describing forms of Halloween celebrations in various countries and eras, and how the rites of other holidays, such as the Celtic Samhain, evolved gradually into the holiday as we know it today.

The editing and organization of the book is somewhat peculiar. For example, we are told over and over about the same superstitions and party games. I lost count of how many times I read the story of a young woman eating an apple and then looking into a mirror at midnight, in the expectation of seeing the apparition of her future husband. And as for quotes from the poem Hallowe’en by Robert Burns, well… as “Weird” Al Yankovic would say, “If you missed it, don’t worry; they’ll say the line again and again and again.”

Still, there’s no doubt the older customs are interesting. The practice of trick-or-treating is actually barely referenced; as most older Halloween celebrations seem to have been focused far more on parties and games, particularly those with divinatory elements.

As much as anything, this book is a window into what people did for fun in the days before television, video games, and the internet. Bobbing for apples with letters carved into them seems a rather dull pastime these days, but when one considers the otherwise limited entertainment options available, one sees it differently.

According to this volume, Halloween is closely associated with Scotland, and indeed, imagining the feeling of gloom that must have pervaded the denizens of the bleak moors with the coming of winter, it’s easy to see how a night of diversionary festivities would have been most welcome. Perhaps we moderns, with all our creature comforts, have forgotten the simple pleasures of sitting by a warm hearth with a blazing fire and a cup of cider, safe from the wind and darkness outside the walls of our little cottage, and surrounded by good friends.

As one essay, “Halloween: A Threefold Chronicle” by William Sharp, makes clear, even as far back as the 1880s the traditional ways were struggling to stay alive in the face of modernity. Here is Sharp’s quotation of one Mr. MacDonald’s description of the state of Halloween celebrations in Scotland, complete with regional accent:

Weel, sir, it’s dying oot. Schoolin’ an’ railways an’ a’ the rest o’t’s bad for auld customs like these. In some airts the pu’in o’ the kale stalks is no’ to be seen at a’; in others it’s lingerin’ on among the farm folk; but every here and there it’s believed in as firmly as it was in the day o’ our grandfathers.

This reminded me of one of my favorite scenes from the movie O Brother, Where Art Thou? where George Clooney’s character says:

Yes sir, the South is gonna change. Everything’s gonna be put on electricity and run on a paying basis. Out with the old spiritual mumbo-jumbo, the superstitions, and the backward ways. We’re gonna see a brave new world where they run everybody a wire and hook us all up to a grid. Yes sir, a veritable Age of Reason, like the one they had in France. And not a moment too soon!

You have to see it in context to really appreciate it. Somehow, the old ways still do manage to hang on in some form, don’t they? You can’t keep a good superstition down!

Is this book indispensable? No, not really; unless you happen to be a Halloween fanatic. And I know not all of you are. But if you’re the sort of person who wants to throw a traditional Halloween party, in an old barn, with candles and haystacks and paper cut-outs of witches, and so on, then this guide will contain many useful tips for planning same. I don’t even like parties, but reading this gave me half a mind to do just that…

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It was H.P. Lovecraft, you know, who wrote the phrase “the most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.” By that, Lovecraft meant that putting together seemingly-unrelated facts, human beings could discover undreamable wells of horror.

But, that was Lovecraft, and his business was horror. Naturally, he looked at everything from the horrorist’s perspective. Can correlating dissociated facts have other uses too? Well, let’s put a pin in that for now. (Either a pushpin or a grenade pin; your choice.) For now, we must get to the work at hand: reviewing The Thing From HR by Roy M. Griffis.

If you’re like me, when you see “HR”, you probably think “Human Resources.” But in this case, it means “Human Restraint.” The narrator of our story, Narg, is a shoggoth who works in benighted vistas beyond time. If you have read Lovecraft, you know what that is. If you have not read Lovecraft, just know that shoggoths are scary tentacled monsters.

And yet “Human Restraint” and “Human Resources” are not so different after all. As Narg explains, his work involves lots of tedious paperwork, office politics, and all the other things we associate with bureaucratic offices. The fact that his department deals with human souls is incidental; the annoyances of clerical life are, it seems, truly universal.

And then Narg is sent to do some field work among the humans. His consciousness is installed in the form of a Professor Weisenheimer, a newly-arrived faculty member at an American college. To guide him among the humans, the upper management has also provided him with a human guide also existing in the same body. A good idea in theory, but like so many bureaucratic operations, it is administratively bungled, and the human consciousness that guides Narg is that of a surfer dude named Murphy, or “Murph.”

Together, the two extremely different minds are forced to guide the vessel of Professor Weisenheimer among the humans. In addition to trying to discover why Narg has been given this assignment (again, like so many organizations, the memos are not clear!), they are soon drawn into a conspiracy among the college faculty involving stolen uranium, communist spies, and of course, eldritch blasphemies and horrifying rituals. This is a Lovecraftian story, remember.

And yet… it’s also profoundly anti-Lovecraftian at the same time. A fittingly-Schrödingerian duality. (And yes, this book does include a cat named Schrödinger.) Not only is it a comedy, which is not a word often used in connection with the gloomy old prophet of Providence, but it is ultimately about very human concerns and concepts; the things that make life worth living. Sentimentality, in other words, which is a concept almost entirely absent from the Cthulhu mythos.

I recently watched the film Living, starring Bill Nighy, which is a remake of an Akira Kurosawa film Ikiru. Both films are about a government clerk who, on receiving a terminal cancer diagnosis, is forced to confront the question of how he wants to spend his remaining time on Earth. Ultimately, what he discovers is that he wants to spend doing a modest bit of good in the world. Both versions are extremely beautiful films, and I highly recommend them.

But why am I bringing this up? What can a pair of slice-of-life drama movies possibly have to do with this Lovecraftian horror comedy? Well, this is where that bit about correlating contents from earlier comes in: because despite differences in setting, tone, genre, etc. The Thing From HR has basically the same theme: that what’s important in life is helping out as best you can. Even if you’re just a lowly bureaucrat in some department nobody cares about, you still may have a chance to, in some small way, make the world better. And you should have the courage to do it, even if it means going against standard practice and talking directly to the big boss.

Now, of course The Thing From HR is largely a bawdy, irreverent, horror-comedy, with all that entails. Lovecraft purists might object to that; but I would guess most readers will find it hilarious. Particularly enjoyable are all the exchanges between Narg and Murph trying to understand Earth slang. And by at least one metric, it’s the most suspenseful book I’ve ever read: for the first time ever, I actually skipped ahead a little to see if one character would be okay. (The answer, as it turned out, was ambiguous.)

If you like Lovecraft, but also don’t mind affectionate parodies of his oeuvre, then I highly recommend this book. Even if you’re not a fan of Yog-Sothothery, though, this one will likely be a hit. It’s got plenty of horror, but also plenty of humor, and plenty of heart.

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You may or may not be familiar with the game Doom. It was one of the first first-person shooter games, and help popularize the genre. Back in the ’90s, kids my age would play it, and our parents would worry that these violent games would warp our minds. Like we would all grow up to be a bunch of socially-maladjusted violent weirdos or something. But of course, we were all fine, just fine! It was merely a healthy outlet for our aggressive instincts, an aid to develop our hand/eye coordination, and a cure for adolescent boredom. We were cured, all right…

Anyway, the game was so popular, there was a series of novels based on it. This was before Harry Potter came out, so I guess they were desperate to try anything to get kids to read.

Unlike the game, where the protagonist is a silent cipher for the player to control, the novel introduces us to Cpl. Flynn “Fly” Taggart, a marine who has been disciplined for refusing to fire on civilians. Before he can be formally removed from the service, his unit is ordered to the Martian moon of Phobos, to investigate mysterious goings-on involving the Union Aerospace Corporation base there.

Fly is a likable character: tough, loyal, and unrelenting. A very Robert E. Howard-esque protagonist. Which is good, because he soon finds himself having to fight through hordes of nightmarish monsters that would be right at home in an REH story.

Also, in contrast to a game where the character’s motivation is up to the player, a character in a book needs specific and understandable reasons for doing what they do. And Fly has one: he’s searching for his fellow marine, PFC. Arlene Sanders, his best friend. And yes, they are just friends, that’s all. She’s going steady with another member of the unit, also a friend of Taggart’s. His narration keeps reminding us about their “just friends” status over and over until you know he’s lying, even to himself.

Is this a textbook 12-year-old boy’s fantasy; having to mow down hordes of increasingly horrifying monsters with an arsenal of increasingly powerful weapons, all in quest of finding that one girl that you insist you don’t have a crush on? Oh, yeah. Is it nonetheless surprisingly effective? Again, the answer is in the affirmative.

The writing is fresh and witty, and keeps the action moving along nicely while still allowing for some good character development. It’s not the greatest thing you’ll ever read, but I’ve read far worse. It was a story that kept me reading to see what would happen next, and that’s all you can really ask for out of a book.

Mark Paxson once described Stephen King’s The Gunslinger as “simple and brutal and intriguing”. That’s about how I’d describe this book… maybe with less emphasis on “intriguing”. It knows what it’s doing, and it does it well. There is no pretension here; just a simple story, told with hardboiled gallows humor and punctuated with cliffhangers at the ends of chapters. (And, for that matter, at the end of the book.) A latter-day pulp novel.

Truth be told, it was way better than I expected. Admittedly, it’s not a book for everyone. It’s violent, fast-paced, and doesn’t really break any new ground in terms of plot twists or the like. But it’s a fun way to kill a couple hours for anyone who enjoys sci-fi horror.

Now… if only someone had written a novel for Chex Quest.

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You know how I sometimes talk about I struggle with having enough description in my books? Mark Paxson, who is himself a fan of minimal description, has even said that sometimes I should add a little more description. He’s right, but unless it’s something really nifty, I generally get bored describing things. I’d rather move the story along.

Well, this book does NOT have this issue. It has some of the most description I’ve ever seen. Fans of description will be in, as they say, hog heaven.

Which, to be clear, is as it should be. It says right on the cover that it’s a cozy mystery, and cozy mysteries are, above all, about vibes. The town of Cape Mystic, Washington is shown in vivid detail as a windy, rainy, Halloween-obsessed community, with more than a few mysterious legends and secrets hidden away under its gray skies.

In short, it’s exactly the sort of place I could fall in love with; and so I didn’t mind reading about it described down to every last richly Autumnal detail. If you love Autumn and/or Halloween, you should enjoy this book.

Now, some of you might remember that a while back, I reviewed a book called Junkyard, which was also a sort of cozy mystery–albeit a sci-fi one. I enjoyed the book, but Chuck Litka read it after seeing my review, and his review was much harsher. (And frankly, extremely entertaining.)

And I can’t honestly say I disagree with what Chuck said in his review. The plot had holes you could fit 660 drums of maple syrup into. All Chuck’s critiques are quite valid; I don’t dispute them in the slightest. And yet, I enjoyed Junkyard. Why? I dunno; I guess just because I liked the setting and felt like all the rest was not meant to be taken seriously.

I think the same could be said of Harvest and Haunt.  It’s true that the mysteries which make up the plot are not the stuff of Sherlock Holmes or Hercule Poirot. And I’m pretty sure the Cape Mystic law enforcement officials do not follow proper police procedures most of the time. I bet if Chuck reviewed it—not to put him on the spot—he could find plenty more issues.

But, I’m not here for a taut legal thriller or complex detective story. No, a book like this you read because you want to feel like you’re immersed in the setting. Like you’re the one in the dark, rainy October evening; hurrying home along dark streets because the howling wind has knocked out the power, and a storm is rolling in, and loose Halloween decorations are swirling in the eerily charged air…

See? Certain things can bring out the desire to describe, even in me. If you want a strong Autumn atmosphere, this is a fine choice.

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I know we’re not supposed to judge this, but I think this book has a pretty cool cover. I’m a sucker for “The Shadow Knows” trope, and this one does it well. I’m also a sucker for Victorian fashion. Blame it on my love for Gilbert & Sullivan and Sherlock Holmes stories. So when I saw this book reviewed by Katie Roome on Periapsis Press, I knew at first sight that I had to give it a try.

It starts off like a Jane Eyre-type story, about a young woman hired to be a governess at a remote country estate. Elise Cooper journeys to Greenmere House to teach, but quickly ends up becoming a student herself, learning of the House’s ties to ancient mysteries and folklore. I won’t spoil it, but let’s just say we plunge deep into the world of Arthurian legend and the mythology of the British isles.

If I have a criticism, it’s that the book is a little too fast-paced. Elise goes from being an innocent young woman to confronting The Big Bad in a relatively short period of time. I wouldn’t have minded more time for the character to develop.

On the flip side, that could also be construed as a positive thing, because the world the author created was so interesting I wouldn’t have minded staying there longer. It’s a haunting, bittersweet, simultaneously creepy and yet also somehow serene place, at least when monsters aren’t actively attacking our heroes. I could say more, but I won’t. Hopefully I’ve intrigued you enough to make you want to give it a try yourself.

This is a great story for anyone who enjoys old-fashioned tales of mystery and romance; meaning romance not in the sense of love, but in the classic sense of a tale of adventure and chivalry. It features a charming protagonist, plenty of fantasy and magical elements, and a unique setting. Fans of C.S. Lewis in particular are encouraged to check it out.

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A number of people I follow have read and reviewed this book already. I’m not sure how I didn’t hear about it before a few weeks ago.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from the cover. As it turned out, what I got was part thriller, part magical-realism, and part revenge story.

The book follows Teri Altro, an investigator on an anti-drug task force in Michigan. Members of a drug cartel attempt to assassinate her, but a stopped by a mysterious man with inexplicable powers, who disposes of the would-be assassins.

This prompts Altro and the rest of the task force to try to uncover who the man is and what is motivating him. Gradually, they uncover a history of a soldier named John Walker, who fought in Vietnam, and is now seeking to liberate the Hmong people from oppression by a brutal drug lord.

That’s the high-level plot summary. But there’s more going on here. The strange and mystical powers which Walker possesses, and which he uses to take revenge against the people “without honor” who have used him and so many others, is in many ways about healing from trauma. The theme of the book concerns Walker and Altro recovering from their personal wounds.

So, it’s a page-turning plot about supernatural vengeance for corruption and conspiracies with interesting characters. Is there anything not to like?

Well, I had a couple nit-picks. Mainly, the members of the anti-drug task force just didn’t behave like I would have expected. Their maturity levels were more like those of high school students than professional government agents. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part.

Still, it’s a good story, and the flashback scene sin particular are very vividly written. Anyone who enjoys thrillers, mysteries, or good old-fashioned revenge stories should give it a try.

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Friends, I have a problem. Admittedly, it’s a good problem.

I’ve just read a new book by one of my favorite authors, and I’ve enjoyed it immensely. But the problem is now I have to review it. Ordinarily, when writing a review of a book, I start out by telling you something about the plot, the characters, etc.

But this book is the second installment in a series, and so to introduce you to it much at all, I would have to tell you a little about the first book, including what series protagonist Liza Larkin did in it. And this is the tricky bit, partially because to do so would not only risk spoiling the first book in the series, but also because Liza herself is always a bit of a Rorschach test. (Come to think of it, she’s also a bit like the character Rorschach, the anti-social vigilante from Alan Moore’s Watchmen.)

So what I say about Liza’s action in book one will carry over and affect how she’s viewed in book two. It’s a bit like how, at the beginning of Knights of the Old Republic II, you have to explain what happened in KotOR I, which can vary depending on your choices. And my interpretation of the first book may not be everyone’s interpretation. I alluded to this when I reviewed it, and it’s even more true now. All I can really say is the Liza discovers a friend’s aunt is dead. While the death is ruled an accident, Liza is not convinced, and this sends her analytical, logical—and sometimes paranoid—mind to work.

What happens from there, though, is very much a matter of who and what you choose to believe. There are all sorts of dark twists and turns: fentanyl overdoses, an ongoing attempt by an ex-con to blackmail Liza, and multiple visits to a BDSM club. And none of this is even the really strange aspect of the book.

Which, as I said with the first book, is exactly what makes it good. Your view of what happens here may not be the same as mine. The truth is that we, as readers, are being asked to solve a mystery as much as (or more than?) we are following Liza as she solves it. We get clues. But what do we make of them?

If you’re disappointed by the lack of specifics in this review, I hope I can at least convey this much: Malignant Assumptions is a terrific book, even better than the excellent Fatal Rounds. It is fairly typical for a thriller to keep a reader guessing what will happen next. What is more unusual is when it makes the reader second-guess what has already happened. But that’s what these books do, and so create a mental tension that, if nothing else, makes it easy to empathize with Liza’s own peculiarly (over?)active mind.

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As a critic of sorts, it is my business to traffic in opinions. As a result, I sometimes encounter people who disagree with my opinions. To steal a line from P.G. Wodehouse, probably most of them have been eaten by bears, but just in case, I regret to inform you that there are those who will take issue with my admiration for Adam Bertocci’s books. The chief complaint I hear from these people is that his books have “too much irony.”

Paraphrasing The Lion in Winter: “We all have too much irony! It’s 2024 and we’re millennials!”

Srsly, people! These books are by and for millennials. Having a book for millennials with no irony would require a trigger warning, at least.

Another thing I’ve heard people say is that the characters are “too self-absorbed.” Well, this is because they are usually young people on journeys of self-discovery.  I feel that most Bertocci characters are less self-absorbed by the end than they were at the beginning. And even if they’re not, the class of books which are called “literary fiction” frequently feature self-absorbed characters, and people fawn over them and heap accolades upon them and force innocent students to read them. Do I even need to say it?

But okay, let’s say you are one who doesn’t like the black cat’s lines at the end of Samantha, 25, on October 31, and are not charmed by the extremely meta dialogue in The Hundred Other Rileys. Well, perhaps this is the Bertocci book for you.

Ex Marks The Spot follows a typical Bertocci protagonist, high school sophomore Darian, who decides to dress up as a pirate for a Halloween party, which she is looking forward to as a way of forgetting about her ex-boyfriend Shane.

Unfortunately, she ends up being forced to take her little brother out for trick-or-treat night instead. And guess who they happen to bump into?

Like all Bertocci’s stories, the prose is witty and the theme is of a young woman finding her way in the world. All of us dedicated Bertoccioids, (whose numbers are swelling by the day) will find all the delights we expect.

But there is a little something different here, too: it captures the warm nostalgia of Halloween in an unapologetically fond way, and more to the point, Darian has to do a little growing up, and is certainly not self-absorbed. She comes into her own as a big sister, and that makes her all the more likable.

It’s got humor, it’s got romance, it’s got magic, it’s got spookiness, and–like Linus’s pumpkin patch–it’s got sincerity. Perhaps it can be the book that will make even the most ardent Bertocci non-enjoyer say cast aside their saber, fight no more, and say, “let there be commerce between us.“