W.H. Chesson and "Possessed"

Johnny Mains's latest discovery was published earlier this month by the British Library in their Tales of the Weird series. It is the first ever reprint of a forgotten 1927 novel by the pseudonymous "Rosalie and Edward Synton" entitled Possessed. My copy arrived a few days ago, and I haven't had the chance to read it yet, but I noted in the introduction that Mains quotes from a short review of the book by the journalist Wilfred Hugh Chesson "of the famed W.H. Chesson diaries." 

Are Chesson's diaries really well-known? I happened upon Chesson some twenty years ago, and was struck by his numerous reviews in The Occult Review, covering expected writers of the weird, like Bram Stoker and William Hope Hodgson, but also covering many more names then-unfamiliar to me, like Regina Miriam Bloch, and Vere Shortt.  The reviews ran from 1905 through 1931--I wasn't able to get copies of every one that had been indexed (and some years of The Occult Review had not been indexed), but I got a fairly thick folder of a bunch of them. They made for interesting reading, and gave me many titles to seek out.

Chesson was one of those figures who become more and more interesting as one learns about them--at least that was the case for me. He wrote a few novels, one of them, A Great Lie (1897), is a fantasy about  a crippled fisherman's son who body-swaps into a handsome man, and whose behavior and morality are altered. It has been suggested that it was influenced by M.P. Shiel, but my friend the late John D. Squires, one of the great Shielians, told me that A Great Lie predated Chesson's friendship with Shiel (which began after Chesson's wife's death in 1906), and that any influence by Shiel on A Great Lie was unlikely, for Shiel hadn't published much before 1897. 

John also told me about Chesson's many reviews of Shiel's books, and of the inscribed leatherbound set of Shiel volumes that one of Chesson's daughters owned (she committed suicide in 1926 or 1927, shortly after her marriage). Chesson's first wife, the poet Nora Hopper (1871-1906), was, and remains, better-known than Chesson. She was the chief breadwinner of the family, and wrote in her application to the Royal Literary Fund the year before her death that her husband had had "a complete mental breakdown and is now suffering from persistent spiritualistic delusions." After Hopper's death of puerperal fever in April 1906, Chesson, unable to cope, arranged to have one of their three children, the only son, Dermot, adopted by the Spence family. As Dermot Chesson Spence he published the weird fiction collection The Little Red Shoes and Other Tales in 1937. Chesson remarried in 1923 and raised another three children. 

Chesson also had been a reader for the publishing firm T. Fisher Unwin in the 1890s, and it was he who recommended to his colleague  Edward Garnett the publication of the manuscript of Almayer's Folly (1895), which became the the debut book by Joseph Conrad.  

Those "famed" Chesson diaries are now held at the Special Collections Division at the Georgetown University Library, covering primarily 1904 through 1934. They were catalogued in 2008, just before one of my visits with Georgetown friends, so I spent a few hours perusing them, fascinated by the details and saddened by the content. I had no real aim in reading them (though I took some notes on what Chesson wrote about giving up Dermot to the Spence family for adoption, and some on the weird dreams he recorded). I have long felt that Chesson deserves a retrospective article on him.

Chesson remained friendly with Shiel until the latter's death in 1947. Chesson himself died on 16 February 1953, aged 82. 

I close here with his September 1927 review of Possessed. 

Possessed. By Rosalie and Edward Synton. London: Hutchinson & Co. (Publishers), Ltd. 7s. 6d. net.

It would he hard to name a subject of discussion richer in debating material than the death-penalty, and those who read Possessed will have a lively consciousness of the tyrannies of justice possible under existing rules. Still the novel, though it provokes controversial thought, is not in the least a tract: rather is it an occult “shocker,” exciting curiosity in a more weirdly unpleasant mother-in-law than I remember to have hitherto met in my travels through fiction. An atmosphere of fetid hypocrisy portentous of crime accompanies her: she is worthy to be the villianess in a romance by Wilkie Collins.

Why does she apparently want to destroy her daughter and her daughter’s soldier-husband?—that is the question which eggs one on to the denouement, The title gives a clue to her awful predicament, and it would be unfair for me to provide another. The novel may be recommended to readers who like a “creepy feeling” with very little psychology and scarcely any interruptive elements.

W.H. Chesson

 

'All the Fear of the Fair' edited by Edward Parnell: A Guest Review by John Howard

  

For several years now the Tales of the Weird series published by the British Library has been reprinting classic novels and story collections as well as a constantly growing number of anthologies based around an improbably wide and ingenious – but only if the imagination is limited, for they are really out there – range of themes. Intriguing selections with apposite titles are the rule. One of the latest is All the Fear of the Fair, the second anthology in the series to be edited by Edward Parnell, author of the rightly well-regarded Ghostland: In Search of a Haunted Country (2020).

Subtitled ‘Uncanny Tales of Circus and Sideshow’ All the Fear of the Fair prepares us from the outset for more than just a few roundabouts and coconut shies (the settings for which youthful memory inevitably recalls summer cold and damp). Luckily we are not to be treated only to stories of traditional British fairs, but to much more. As Parnell writes in his introduction: ‘Circuses, carnivals and fairgrounds are fleeting spaces. They arrive seemingly out of nowhere, occupying a strip of waste ground at the edge of a town for a few summer nights, before departing as quickly as they appeared. There’s danger and a hint of violence in these garishly lit corners too – the thrill of attractions that can send you spinning to the heavens, or plunge you into darkness…’

The earliest of the sixteen stories chosen is “Hop-Frog” by Edgar Allan Poe (1849), a delightful piece of grue now probably best known for its adaptation in Roger Corman’s film The Masque of the Red Death. The owner of the travelling circus in “Satan’s Circus” by Eleanor Smith (1931) might not be the Devil, but there must – surely – be some explanation for its bad reputation. “Circus Child” by Margery Lawrence forms one of the cases taken up by Dr Miles Pennoyer, her occult detective; it first appeared in Master of Shadows (1959). L.P. Hartley’s “A High Dive” (1961) is a wry glimpse into the mind of the performer – and what its motivation could be. “Spurs” by Tod Robbins (1923) formed the basis for Tod Browning’s film Freaks.

“Waxworks” by W.L. George (1922) does not surprise – yet certainly not disappoint, with its evocation of London grime and crime, with an innocence out of its depth. In “The Harlem Horror” by Charles Birkin (1932) innocence is perhaps swallowed in the depths of another great city. “Freak Show” by Robert Silverberg (1957) dates from his days as a machine writer, one of a group who would be contracted to provide the entire contents of a magazine, often using several pseudonyms. His story of a small boy’s desire coming true packs a poignant kick. So does Richard Middleton’s “The Conjurer” (1912), told with similar economy. Stage magic also forms the basis for “The Vanishing Trick” by Charles Davy (1931) – where timing is all.

“The Little Town” by J.D. Beresford (1918) is a memorably nightmarish vignette, described by the author as a story which ‘reveals the apparently commonplace as a vision of wonder’. “The Extraordinarily Horrible Dummy” by Gerald Kersh (1939) is true to its title; it also formed the basis for the concluding section of the film Dead of Night. The death of a showman in Frederick Cowles’ “Punch and Judy” (1975) reveals what is not ‘the way to do it’. Although “The Haunted Roundabout” by ‘Simplex’ (1929) has little of the mystery of its unknown author, it sets briskly about its business and whirls us through a few thrills before allowing us to get off. Ray Bradbury, surely a master of the dark carnival, takes us into an October of childhood – and beyond, during a ride on “The Black Ferris” (1948). And our trip ends fittingly with “The Swords” by Robert Aickman (1969) – one of his strangest stories, with settings and imagery that will never quite go away, just as every attempt at rational explanation must also fail (and miss the point).

Each story is prefaced by a short essay giving some context along with biographical details of its author and information on first publication. All the Fear of the Fair admits us for a while to a ‘world that transgresses societal norms, drawing on our willingness to be lured towards the novel and the sleazy, the desire to step outside our regular bounds and experience a glimpse of the other…’

That is the way to do it.

(John Howard) 

The Magus of Mexico: Malcolm Lowry, Magic and Myth - paperback edition

Zagava have confirmed that the paperback edition of The Magus of Mexico: Malcolm Lowry, Magic and Myth has just been published. This offers an affordable copy of this anthology of nine essays exploring Lowry's interest in the esoteric, one of the first approaches to draw attention to this important area of his work. Among its many other interests, his classic novel Under the Volcano (1947), and his sequels and short stories, can be viewed as part of the occult fiction tradition, and these studies guide the reader through the many facets of his deep interest in the hermetic. 

(Mark Valentine) 

 

Votive Offerings

  

Sarob Press have announced pre-orders for Votive Offerings, edited by Robert Morgan, a new anthology of four long stories, with contributions by John Howard, Peter Bell, Colin Insole and me. It will be published in a hand-numbered, limited edition hardcover, with dustjacket art by Paul Lowe. 

As the notice describes, 'John Howard’s weirdly enigmatic “Desire Path” takes the unwary reader along pathways long forgotten and thought lost ~ but what if you could walk along ways that no longer exist? “Figures in a Landscape” by Peter Bell finds its heroine seeking a lost (or possibly mythic) Welsh hill figure and discovering the seemingly harmless to be anything but. Colin Insole’s “The April Rainers” is a tale of the re-emergence of something old, powerful and malevolent, and the story of the centuries-old fellowship pledged to protect the land and keep it safe from the terror.'

My contribution, "Roman Masks", is set on the Solway Coast, west of Carlisle, and draws on the rich remains of ancient altars and tablets found in the area, devoted not only to the classical Roman deities, but also to local gods, and to those from other far-flung outposts of the Empire. The story imagines what happens when some of these powerful forces are re-invoked.

I have been interested in this lonely, little-known shoreline for some years after I visited it just after the sea had encroached on the coastal road and was now gradually rippling away. It has relatively few visitors, since most people are more drawn either to Hadrian’s Wall to the north or to the Lake District to the east. The few villages on Solway seemed set apart, as if they were on an offshore island.

While I was writing the story I chanced upon two items that were just what I needed for the plot. One was an obscure archaeology pamphlet from a box at a book fair: the other was from a haberdashery stall at a village craft market. The first of these gave me an excellent framework for the story, while the other proved to be a key talisman.

. . .

Vestige (A Story of Aubrey Beardsley)

The Zagava letterpress edition of my short story ‘Vestige’ has now been published, in a limited edition of 99 copies. Each of these has been hand-set, hand-printed and hand-collated. ‘Vestige’ is a book-collecting story about the reputed existence of a volume of verses composed by Arthur Malyon, an author conjured up by Aubrey Beardsley in a letter to Leonard Smithers, the publisher of The Savoy. But was that reference really the last of this shadowy figure? Is it possible that a copy of his fabled book exists? The text is richly illustrated with the artist’s work.

. . .

aswirl

aswirl is a quarterly literary magazine celebrating brevity. It arrives adroitly folded into a neat small envelope but opens out to reveal an eight page selection of adventurous texts. The Winter 2025 issue includes my three-line vignette ‘My Hat’.

. . .

(Mark Valentine)

 

The Magus of Mexico: Malcolm Lowry, Magic and Myth

  

I am very pleased to pay homage to Malcolm Lowry with a new anthology of essays from Zagava, The Magus of Mexico: Malcolm Lowry, Magic and Myth. This will appear in a highly limited collector's edition, followed in about ten days by an affordable paperback. 

My copy of Under the Volcano has faded to a sort of smoky lilac, and the back of the book is striped like a deckchair in bands of the original pale blue and the faded hue. It must have lain on a table where sunlight filtered through slatted shutters. 

It was given to me by my friend P J Beveridge of Crash Smash Crack Ring zine, who had already introduced me to Michael Arlen, Denton Welch, Ronald Firbank, Llewellyn Powys and others who became favourites. Malc, as we breezily called him, was soon added to these. My friend was studying to be a designer bookbinder and had made a striking binding inspired by Lowry’s poem ‘The Lighthouse Invites the Storm’.

I began to look out for Malc’s other work, which includes a short story collection, Hear Us O Lord from Heaven they Dwelling Place (1961) and several posthumous, reconstructed novels. Lowry was a jazz enthusiast and persuaded his long-suffering stockbroker father to pay for publication of two of his songs: ‘I’ve Said Goodbye to Shanghai’ and ‘Three Little Dog-Gone Mice’. For years I have rummaged through piles of sheet music in junk and book shops on the off-chance of finding them

Malcolm Lowry’s work is infused by a persistent interest in the esoteric. For example, in the first chapter alone of his classic work Under the  Volcano (1947), there are numerous specific references to the supernatural.

The deserted hotel on the hill in the Mexican town which is the scene of the book has a casino haunted by the ghosts of gamblers. The character of M. Laruelle, the French film director, visits the ruined palace and gardens of the Emperor Maximillian and his Empress, which seem haunted by their fate. And he remembers a visit to Chartres, the vista of the cathedral’s towers and the numinous ambience of the city.

All three of these could be regarded as poetic images, or simply personal impressions, but the book does not rule out that they are also a form of reality. The same chapter includes numerous other uncanny images, and allusions to Blake, Swedenborg and the Kabbalah It is, in short, an occult novel. And indeed we are told the Consul, the main protagonist, was a Cabbalist and is writing a book on Secret Knowledge.

I thought that this aspect of Lowry’s work was worth exploring further and so I invited fellow writers and Lowry enthusiasts to contribute to an anthology on this theme. I also wanted each piece to have a personal, creative element to it, reflecting Lowry’s own practice.

In The Magus of Mexico, Helen Tookey explores Under the Volcano with the help of Tarot imagery, Mark Goodall looks at Lowry’s use of alcohol as a magical practice, James Riley considers the book in the context of shamanism, and Michael Romer studies Lowry’s links to Aleister Crowley. Adriana Diaz-Enciso explores Dark As the Grave Wherein My Friend is Laid, a sort-of sequel to Volcano, and its handling of the themes of friendship and returning.

Jonathan Wood offers a ‘meditative semi-fiction’ on Lowry’s fascination with the sea, my own essay looks at Lowry’s interest in supernatural fiction in his story ‘Elephant and Coliseum’, and John Howard discusses landscape mysticism in the story ‘The Forest Path to the Spring’. Finally, John Hyatt recalls his own acts of art-magic in response to Volcano and other work.  

 I am grateful to all the contributors for their celebration of Malcolm Lowry, illuminating the esoteric secrets of his work. 

 (Mark Valentine) 

 

A New Issue of 'Gramarye', Journal of Fairy Tales, Fantasy and Speculative Fiction

The Winter 2025 issue (no 28) of Gramarye, the journal of the University of Chichester Centre for Fairy Tales, Fantasy and Speculative Fiction, has been announced. Pre-orders are now being taken: print copies are only available to pre-ordering customers or subscribers. 

 Edited by Paul Quinn and Naomi Foyle, this issue includes essays on ‘The Kinder Mermaid and the English and Welsh Lake Ladies’ by Simon Young; ‘“Places of a Lonely Character”: The Landscape of the Pooka’ by Natalie Hagar; ‘Reinventing the Green Man: Myth, Ritual and the Construction of a Modern Folklore Icon’ by Anil Balan; and ‘Of Technology and Fantasy: Fairy Tales, Fables, and the Transformation of Illustration in the Long Nineteenth Century’ by Susana Montañés-Llera.

The journal also includes fantasy and folklore poetry, and this issue has two poems by me. ‘Sea Myths’ draws on legends of Phoenician voyagers to Cornwall, while ‘Three Spells for the Conjuring Stone’ responds to the folklore associated with an ancient recumbent stone in North Yorkshire: this is accompanied by my note on the ghostly traditions associated with the stone.

There are also substantial reviews of books of interest, including faery encounters in the medieval world and Irish wonder tales of the otherworld.

(Mark Valentine)

Carnacki on Film

John Coulthart's blog { feuilleton } has a  post about the recent appearance on youtube of an early television adaptation of one of William Hope Hodgson's Carnacki stories, "The Whistling Room." A version of this adaptation appeared on youtube in the 2010s, and the unusually crisp version up on youtube now is diminished only by the lack of quality of the adaptation.  Coulthart notes:

Whatever power the original story may possess is thoroughly absent from the TV adaptation, a mere sketch of a narrative that wasn’t very substantial to begin with. Alan Napier—Alfred the butler in the Batman TV series—is hopelessly miscast as Carnacki, being more of a bungling buffoon than any kind of serious investigator.  

Coutlhart dates the production to 1952, which is doubtful. Oddly, IMDB gives two separate listings for this show, the first, gives it as Season 1 episode 32 of Chevron Theatre, broadcast 22 August 1952.  The second, gives it as Season 1 episode 42 of the Pepsi-Cola Playhouse, broadcast on 18 July 1954.  The new youtube version, linked at Coulthart's blog but also here, sources it from the 1954 Pepsi-Cola Playhouse. 

I suspect the 1954 date is the correct one, for on 2 April 1953, Hodgson's sister Lissie wrote to August Derleth, pleased that she was imminently to receive $125:  "It is most exciting to know you may be able to sell other Carnacki stories to be 'televised'. I am afraid I am very foolish, but I don't understand what a 'television film' is! They surely cannot act 'The Whistling Room'!" Lissie was paid in May 1953, but no other Carnacki stories were sold to be filmed at that time. 

Coulthart suggests that the source of interest in "The Whistling Room" was probably the printing of the story in Dennis Wheatley's A Century of Horror Stories (1935),  but the above correspondence shows that the proposal came to Derleth and it was likely a result of the Mycroft & Moran edition of Carnacki, the Ghost-Finder, published on the 31st of December 1947. Derleth had spent much of the month of August 1952 in California working on teleplays of his own stories, so he certainly had Hollywood connections by that time. 

I previously wrote about the surviving Hodson adaptations at Wormwoodiana in 2009. I am pleased to add this newly discovered one to the short list.

 

 

 

Newly published: 'The Uncertainty of All Earthly Things'

Tartarus Press have announced a new edition of my short story collection The Uncertainty of All Earthly Things, originally published by Zagava in a limited edition seven years ago, in 2018.

This new edition includes all of the short stories in the original volume and now adds nine briefer stories or vignettes. It omits the journal of notes and ideas in the earlier version. The stories include ‘Vain Shadows Flee’, selected for Best British Short Stories 2016 edited by Nicholas Royle (Salt Publishing), and ‘Yes, I Knew the Venusian Commodore’, which was later translated into Spanish by María Pilar San Roman in an award-winning anthology.

The artwork depicts the mysterious Three Headed King motif from the ancient church at Sancreed in the far west of Cornwall, which appears in the title story. Other stories are about the ancient mysteries of Palmyra and Jerusalem, the music of Stonehenge and of the fabulously rare record Goat Songs, the uncanny in performances of Milton’s Comus and Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale, and the wondrous influences of a toy cockatrice.

The Uncertainty of All Earthly Things is available as a 350 copy limited edition hardback in dustjacket, printed lithographically, in sewn sections, with silk ribbon marker, printed boards, and head and tailbands.

(Mark Valentine)