First hardcover volume of three, each holding two Titus Crow novels from Lumley's earlier days as an H.P. Lovecraft disciple. Lumley is best-known for his Harry Keogh Necroscope vampire cycle (Necroscope: Resurgence Vol.II, The Lost Years, p. 1178, etc.). The two ``adventure-horror'' novels in the present book, The Burrowers Beneath and The Transition of Titus Crow, were written back in 1974 and 1975, when fantastic elaboration and great arabesques of description spooled out like bolts of paisley were more highly prized than they are today. Lumley borrows wholesale from Lovecraft's Cthulhu mythos, going into greater anthropological detail than the master cared to on those indescribable protoplasmic horrors with tentacled faces, the underground spawn of the gray, milelong mass of evil called Cthulhu, who swims ``into the deeper magma, against strange tides of molten-rock oceans, those oceans which hold these lily pads we call continents afloat!'' Cthulhu's children build nests, slowly multiply, and are given such names as Yibb-Tsill, Yog-Sothoth, Ithaqua, Hastur, and Lloigor. In The Burrowers Beneath, Titus Crow and Henri de Marigny join forces with a secret group pledged to fight the subterranean monsters. The telepathic creatures, it turns out, fear radiation and water, so Titus, Henri, and their comrades devise some ingenious ways to use these elements against them. At novel's end, Crow and Marigny tumble into a time-machine. In Transition, they return ten years later, looking hardly a day older. In fact, a robot culture in time-space has rebuilt Titus, turning him into a synthetic man in a considerably improved version of a human body. Transition follows Titus's adventures in time, ranging from his tour of Earth's earliest days to his trip forward to the end of time, and including his visit to Elysia, the home of the Elder Gods who were responsible for imprisoning the evil Cthulhu underground. Hideous mobile sludge, hellish dreams, babbling madness, the horror, the horror!
Pub Date: Jan. 1, 1997
ISBN: 0-312-86299-7
Page Count: 352
Publisher: Tor
Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 1, 1996
A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.
Are we not men? We are—well, ask Bigfoot, as Brooks does in this delightful yarn, following on his bestseller World War Z(2006).
A zombie apocalypse is one thing. A volcanic eruption is quite another, for, as the journalist who does a framing voice-over narration for Brooks’ latest puts it, when Mount Rainier popped its cork, “it was the psychological aspect, the hyperbole-fueled hysteria that had ended up killing the most people.” Maybe, but the sasquatches whom the volcano displaced contributed to the statistics, too, if only out of self-defense. Brooks places the epicenter of the Bigfoot war in a high-tech hideaway populated by the kind of people you might find in a Jurassic Park franchise: the schmo who doesn’t know how to do much of anything but tries anyway, the well-intentioned bleeding heart, the know-it-all intellectual who turns out to know the wrong things, the immigrant with a tough backstory and an instinct for survival. Indeed, the novel does double duty as a survival manual, packed full of good advice—for instance, try not to get wounded, for “injury turns you from a giver to a taker. Taking up our resources, our time to care for you.” Brooks presents a case for making room for Bigfoot in the world while peppering his narrative with timely social criticism about bad behavior on the human side of the conflict: The explosion of Rainier might have been better forecast had the president not slashed the budget of the U.S. Geological Survey, leading to “immediate suspension of the National Volcano Early Warning System,” and there’s always someone around looking to monetize the natural disaster and the sasquatch-y onslaught that follows. Brooks is a pro at building suspense even if it plays out in some rather spectacularly yucky episodes, one involving a short spear that takes its name from “the sucking sound of pulling it out of the dead man’s heart and lungs.” Grossness aside, it puts you right there on the scene.
A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.Pub Date: June 16, 2020
ISBN: 978-1-9848-2678-7
Page Count: 304
Publisher: Del Rey/Ballantine
Review Posted Online: Feb. 9, 2020
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2020
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK TO SCREEN
Suspenseful, full of incident, and not obviously necessary.
Atwood goes back to Gilead.
The Handmaid’s Tale (1985), consistently regarded as a masterpiece of 20th-century literature, has gained new attention in recent years with the success of the Hulu series as well as fresh appreciation from readers who feel like this story has new relevance in America’s current political climate. Atwood herself has spoken about how news headlines have made her dystopian fiction seem eerily plausible, and it’s not difficult to imagine her wanting to revisit Gilead as the TV show has sped past where her narrative ended. Like the novel that preceded it, this sequel is presented as found documents—first-person accounts of life inside a misogynistic theocracy from three informants. There is Agnes Jemima, a girl who rejects the marriage her family arranges for her but still has faith in God and Gilead. There’s Daisy, who learns on her 16th birthday that her whole life has been a lie. And there's Aunt Lydia, the woman responsible for turning women into Handmaids. This approach gives readers insight into different aspects of life inside and outside Gilead, but it also leads to a book that sometimes feels overstuffed. The Handmaid’s Tale combined exquisite lyricism with a powerful sense of urgency, as if a thoughtful, perceptive woman was racing against time to give witness to her experience. That narrator hinted at more than she said; Atwood seemed to trust readers to fill in the gaps. This dynamic created an atmosphere of intimacy. However curious we might be about Gilead and the resistance operating outside that country, what we learn here is that what Atwood left unsaid in the first novel generated more horror and outrage than explicit detail can. And the more we get to know Agnes, Daisy, and Aunt Lydia, the less convincing they become. It’s hard, of course, to compete with a beloved classic, so maybe the best way to read this new book is to forget about The Handmaid’s Tale and enjoy it as an artful feminist thriller.
Suspenseful, full of incident, and not obviously necessary.Pub Date: Sept. 10, 2019
ISBN: 978-0-385-54378-1
Page Count: 432
Publisher: Nan A. Talese
Review Posted Online: Sept. 3, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 15, 2019
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
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