Scan barcode
A review by steveatwaywords
The Rim of Morning: Two Tales of Cosmic Horror by William Sloane
adventurous
dark
emotional
mysterious
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
Sloane is a new discovery for me, mostly because these are the main two novellas he wrote and--unless you are digging in to cosmic horror specifically--you might miss him. But don't.
Yes, for a writer of the 1930s, there is something staid and patriarchal about his characters and settings. But after some sighing over his era, we find some potent writing and ambiguous slow-burn horror. Combines with a kind of whodunnit plot structure and his stories move into really original territory.
What I was drawn most to is his character development. Sloane's protagonists (or his antagonists and minor characters) are not "simply" any one type, singularly motivated, or stereotypically founded. They trip, make mistakes, misspeak, get distracted (usually by women), remain too passive at awkward moments, wonder just a bit too long, miss important details, even while working fairly diligently to accomplish their tasks. They're people, and we can understand them for it.
When applied to his antagonists, we really find ourselves not thinking of them in that way. Struck by grief, walled in by poor past choices, determined to complete their work, broken by circumstance, we understand their choices, even sympathize--is it any wonder that, largely, conflict is not about good vs. evil but more often, "Is this a safe and wise choice?"
Of course, behind all these relationship challenges lurks something quite terrible, and while we come to learn its general nature as these stories progress, we are not permitted to look directly at it (that way, says Lovecraft, lies madness). But I don't think this is a matter of Sloane's being unable to describe the unnamable "things" that wait beyond the natural world. Rather, he understands that the nature of horror lies in the weight of our imaginations.
In the movies, we are always waiting for the creature to finally show itself. And when it does, we too often throw ourselves out of the movie experience and judge its believability, its CGI, its measure as a creature we might kill with a handy screwdriver. Sloane would rather leave us with dread that his horror is far larger, more implacable, and that its physical threat to us is the very least of our worries.
Yes, for a writer of the 1930s, there is something staid and patriarchal about his characters and settings. But after some sighing over his era, we find some potent writing and ambiguous slow-burn horror. Combines with a kind of whodunnit plot structure and his stories move into really original territory.
What I was drawn most to is his character development. Sloane's protagonists (or his antagonists and minor characters) are not "simply" any one type, singularly motivated, or stereotypically founded. They trip, make mistakes, misspeak, get distracted (usually by women), remain too passive at awkward moments, wonder just a bit too long, miss important details, even while working fairly diligently to accomplish their tasks. They're people, and we can understand them for it.
When applied to his antagonists, we really find ourselves not thinking of them in that way. Struck by grief, walled in by poor past choices, determined to complete their work, broken by circumstance, we understand their choices, even sympathize--is it any wonder that, largely, conflict is not about good vs. evil but more often, "Is this a safe and wise choice?"
Of course, behind all these relationship challenges lurks something quite terrible, and while we come to learn its general nature as these stories progress, we are not permitted to look directly at it (that way, says Lovecraft, lies madness). But I don't think this is a matter of Sloane's being unable to describe the unnamable "things" that wait beyond the natural world. Rather, he understands that the nature of horror lies in the weight of our imaginations.
In the movies, we are always waiting for the creature to finally show itself. And when it does, we too often throw ourselves out of the movie experience and judge its believability, its CGI, its measure as a creature we might kill with a handy screwdriver. Sloane would rather leave us with dread that his horror is far larger, more implacable, and that its physical threat to us is the very least of our worries.