The Fig Garden & Other Stories

The Fig Garden & Other Stories was published by Tartarus Press in May. It is a new collection of eleven stories (and an afterword) consisting of:

‘Except Seven’ – a long story which began with a visit to a remote Herefordshire church harbouring inside a Roman altar to ‘the god of the crossroads’

‘Seaweed Tea’ – prompted by the arcane interest of booklet ephemera, in this case tide tables. What if one particular book of tide tables wasn’t quite right?

‘Character’ – a sequel to M R James’ ‘Rats’ set in an East Anglian pub and involving Norse magic

‘The Pale Sentinels of Asphodel’ –in the quieter quarter of an ancient city, a silver vessel of pot pourri casts an ancient spell

‘For She Will Have Her Harvest’ – the secret of an episode in the short life of graveyard poet Henry Kirke White

‘Candle Land’ – a new story about the genuine custom of candle auctions for the use of certain church lands, and an under-considered aspect of the Grail romances

‘The Veiled Republics’ – also new: an official investigates a society devoted to an alternative history, inspired in part by the idea of ancient civilisations visiting Britain

‘The Forwarding Agent’ – a hobbyist who collects admission tickets; and the mysteries of museums, industrial estates and motorway bridges

‘The Witch Heath’ – a scholar seeks out the original site of a well-known scene in the Scottish play

‘Red Lion Rising’ – the secret of the most popular inn sign in Britain, and why it imperils the government

‘The Fig Garden’ – a long story about a childhood ritual, an eccentric visionary, and the places where worlds overlap

‘The Real Map of England’ – an afterword

Update: the hardback edition is now out of print.

(Mark Valentine)

And We the Shadows - Richard Gray

Some years ago I found a novel called And We the Shadows by Richard Gray (Cassell, 1945). A previous owner had put their rather hurried-looking signature in blue ink in the top left corner of the fixed front endpaper: W. Francis/1945. The title, which was what drew me to the book, as it sounded promising for one seeking the supernatural or strange, is from Shelley: ‘And we the shadows of the dream’, quoted on the title page.

The book is dedicated ‘To/Mercy Legh/A Token of Regard’, and above that there is another, unattributed quotation: ‘Wrest not from me those eager hopes/Which in this so encumbered world/Have moved me to delight’ (this poem will appear in full later in the book). The opening lines of the book proper are: ‘Allen Swain opened the door of Trinoll and for a moment he stood still’. It’s a good beginning: you want to know more about him, about the place, and about why he stands still.

Swain, an artist, has used a substantial legacy to buy an old house in the West Country that he believes is perfect for him. It has its own watermill, stream, island, meadows, and may once have belonged to a nearby abbey. There is a good library, which he hopes will be his own special den. He is evidently aesthetical and sensitive, and wants everything to be just so. The move is opposed, however, by a fearsome aunt, of the pterodactyl type who preyed upon Bertie Wooster. She thinks the place is damp, rat-infested and haunted. Her attitude mars the enjoyment of his arrival: he sees shadows, reflections, hears things. Is Allen Swain coming into possession of this remote old house, or is it coming into possession of him?

Brief, unexplained incidents and impressions build up an intense sense of unease, but none are quite definite, and Swain, as he tries to piece them together, feels there is some explanation he is missing. He is in a state of constant trepidation. The effect is rather like some of Walter de la Mare’s stories, for example ‘A Recluse’ or ‘Mr Kempe’. We are not quite sure how much is in the protagonist’s mind and how much is real. There is an appreciative allusion to, and quotation from, Israfel: The Life and Times of Edgar Allan Poe by Hervey Allen (UK edition, 1927: Gollancz reprint, 1935), so perhaps there are aspects of the House of Usher here too.

There are other enigmas. Associates from Swain’s past visit, but he finds them irksome and is no longer in sympathy with their casual, bohemian ways. There are allusions to an incident, not described, in his past. Also, Swain has engaged a housekeeper, a beautiful young woman who proves to be mute, though she can hear, and there is some mystery about her background. Some amatory complications ensue and in these and in the pervasive influence of the house I was also reminded somewhat of David Lindsay’s The Haunted Woman. 

Gray is attempting a difficult, delicate task, trying to depict his protagonist in the everyday world while also conveying an undercurrent of the sinister and unearthly.  The work is uneven: sometimes awkwardly written, even gauche, but in other passages finely shaded and elusive. But it is also adventurous, asking questions about the nature of fiction and the imagination. The ending is ambiguous: just how much of what has gone before was purely visionary? The clue may be in the line of Shelley’s poem preceding the one used for the book’s title: ‘Where nothing is, but all things seem,’.

Richard Gray is not all that distinctive a name, so it was at first hard to find out anything about him, except that he had written just one, earlier, novel, Salutation Inn (Michael Joseph, 1941). This proved to be very hard to find. I had it on my wants list for years until one day a very rough, ex subscription library copy at last turned up. This book had earned praise from Margery Allingham, who said: “It has an indescribable urgency about it. I couldn’t put it down,” and so it has a certain cachet with crime fiction collectors. There is a very full 2014 description of Salutation Inn at the ‘Journal of a Southern Bookreader’ blog. This explains that the fictional town of Ilham in the book is based on Topsham in Devon, where the real inn of the title still exists. The location of And We the Shadows is not so obvious, other than that Trinoll is in Wessex, though there are some descriptions that may provide clues. 

The blog discussion also reveals that ‘Richard Gray’ was the pseudonym of the artist Jasper Salwey (c.1883-1956: his birth year is elsewhere given as 1884 or 1885). This would seem to be the Jasper Philip Salwey who published a Guide to Rothbury, Northumberland (Alnwick, 1913), perhaps suggesting origins there, several “how to” books on drawing in pencil from 1921 to 1931, and albums of his own sketches in Cornwall, Lincoln, and French seaports, then, after his novels, Heart of Northumberland, a walking guide (St Catherine Press, 1949).

And We the Shadows is a peculiar book and I am not sure I have quite conveyed (or even, perhaps, understood) its visionary thesis. But it is certainly an original and thoughtful attempt at an oblique, modern, metaphysical thriller.

(Mark Valentine)

 

The Wormwood Interview - R B Russell

And Other Stories have recently announced pre-orders for Fifty Forgotten Books by R B Russell, due out in September. The author recounts autobiographical episodes alongside discussing books that have been important to him, many of them not very well-known.

All enthusiasts of fantastic, supernatural and unusual literature will enjoy encountering the titles the author chooses, but the book also introduces us to a cast of decadents, bohemians, cult musicians, the odd (very odd) spy, shady publishers and backstreet booksellers, as well as the writers of the weird and wayward.

David Tibet calls it ‘A groovy and delicious and intimate jigsaw of memories and passions and books . . .  Falling in love with books voraciously, whilst growing up ferociously, has never been so beautifully described.’

We asked R B Russell to join us for The Wormwood Interview. Here he has chosen some different titles to those in the book.  Ray notes: ‘I have tried not to repeat myself in this interview for Wormwoodiana, and this time I discuss only well-known books!’

 The first book I remember

This would be the first in the Ladybird Key Words Reading Scheme—the “Peter and Jane” books. They were not page-turners, but that was not the point. I didn’t discover that phenomenon until Enid Blyton’s “Five Find-Outers” and her “Mystery” series. Blyton has been rightly maligned, even in her own day, for not being particularly challenging, for creating lazy stereotypes, and not engaging with the issues of the modern world. Nevertheless, she made me, and hundreds of thousands of other children, desperate to read all the books in her various series, and that was important. I know it will have helped that I was like most of her characters—a white, middle class child, living in the countryside, with parents who didn’t mind if I left the house early in the morning and didn’t reappear until bedtime. The adventures of her characters merged with my adventures and are almost inseparable from my memories of childhood.

 

The first book I bought for myself

Through the Scholastic Book Services, The Tomorrow People in The Visitor by Roger Price and Julian R. Gregory (Piccolo, 1973). I loved the television series about young people from a range of backgrounds (very un-Blyton), brought together by their telepathic, telekinetic and other abilities. Looking back, it has that strange “period” feel of the 1970s, probably enhanced by the fading of the colour on the cover of my original paperback. It was essentially science fiction, and the evocative title music of the ITV television series was created by the immortal Delia Derbyshire (who was moonlighting from the BBC). It makes sense that children should recognise themselves in the characters they read about, but also that they should read about those with different experiences from their own. The educationalists who despise Blyton probably wouldn’t be too impressed, either, by children reading novelisations of popular television programmes. However, once again it got me reading and collecting (I eventually obtained all five books in the series). It was important for me to discover that, unlike ephemeral television programmes in those days, I could go back to a book again and again.

The book I thought was my discovery

This is difficult to answer because I’ve always assumed that any book I’ve come across will have been appreciated by other readers at some time or other. Before the internet, the problem was finding anybody else who appreciated the same authors as me. I’ve always enjoyed discussing books with other people, not least because everyone brings a different perspective, even a different understanding to a book. I well-remember discussing, at school break times, Camus and Kafka with Danny Goring and Tim Rich, and Machen and Lovecraft with Adrian Bott.

The book that changed me

I don’t think any one book has ever changed me, but all the books I have read have had some effect on me—even books that I haven’t enjoyed and have given up reading! If forced to name one book, it would have to be Machen’s The Hill of Dreams, which I have discussed often before.

 The book a friend told me about

The Robber Bride by Margaret Atwood (McClelland and Stewart, 1993) was recommended to me by Rosalie Parker fifteen years ago, when I was starting to write fiction seriously. It was, perhaps, the first time I had read a book and paid attention to the craft of novel-writing. In some ways it feels like going back to what I very first appreciated—a book being a page-turner. Many critics seem to denigrate this ability in writers, as though it automatically makes books shallow or second-rate. It strikes me as a bigger problem that there are writers who have great intellectual or philosophical ideas but who fail to engage the reader because they forget to write a decent story. I was impressed by the quiet way that Atwood drew me into the novel, kept me interested, and raised so many ideas without making an issue of them. It appears effortless, but once you start to pick it apart you can see what skill it takes.

 

The wildest weirdest book I ever read

Entangled Life by Merlin Sheldrake (Random House, 2020) is perhaps the weirdest, wildest read I’ve experienced in a long time, not least because it is a book of non-fiction. Fungus is strange stuff, but its relationship with so much of life on earth is inextricable and often defies understanding. And lichen! The more that is discovered about lichen, the more alien it seems. Perhaps the most memorable section of the book deals with a fungus that infects leaf-cutter ants, but I won’t spoil it for those who are yet to read the book. Highly recommended!

The book I treasure most

An impossible question! If the house was on fire and I could only choose one book to save, I would probably not get out of the house in time.