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)
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