I like Joe Hill’s fiction, no matter which selection it is. I am particularly drawn to and sometimes revisit his amazing anthology 20th Century Ghosts. The collection comprises 15 short stories, each with its own unique theme and style. Joe Hill’s versatility shines through as he explores various aspects of horror, from traditional ghost stories to psychological thrillers. The stories are infused with elements of fantasy, science fiction, and dark humor, creating a diverse and engaging reading experience.
The opening story, “Best New Horror,” sets the tone for the entire collection. It tells the tale of a jaded horror fiction editor who stumbles upon a manuscript that takes him on a horrifying journey into a world he could never have imagined. Hill’s use of meta-fiction in this story adds layers of complexity to the narrative, leaving readers with much to ponder.
Joe Hill’s ability to create compelling characters makes his fiction unforgettable. Whether it’s a young boy who can transform into a living comic book character in “Pop Art” or the ghost of a movie projectionist in “The Projectionist,” his characters have a depth and humanity that gives the supernatural elements all the more a stirring and relatable feel. Hill’s skill in creating atmospheric settings also permeates the collection. Whether it’s a creepy movie theater, a haunted tunnel, or a sinister roadside attraction, the locations in these stories are as much a part of the narrative as the characters themselves. The sense of place adds to the overall immersion and tension in each tale.
While horror is its primary genre, 20th Century Ghostsdoesn’t rely solely on scares. Many of the stories delve into deeper emotional territory, exploring themes of love, loss, and the complexities of human relationships. “Better Than Home” and “Voluntary Committal” are poignant examples of Hill’s ability to tug at the heartstrings. Joe Hill’s imaginative storytelling is a defining feature of this collection. He doesn’t rely on clichés or tired horror tropes; instead, he constantly surprises the reader with fresh ideas and innovative twists. “My Father’s Mask” and “The Black Phone” are prime examples of his originality and the ability to keep readers on the edge of their seats.
The titular story, “20th Century Ghosts,” is a beautiful and melancholic piece that serves as a fitting conclusion to the collection. It explores the idea that we are all haunted by the past in one way or another, and Hill’s prose resonates long after the final page is turned.
Angie is an Instructor & Research Specialist at Central Branch and is a co-facilitator for Reads of Acceptance, HCLS’ first LGBTQ-focused book club. Her ideal day is reading in her cozy armchair, with her cat Henry next to her.
This is a True story. The events depicted took place in Minnesota in 2006.
At the request of the survivors the names have been changed.
Out of respect for the dead, the rest has been told exactly as it occurred.
What defines the ‘truth’ of a story? Is it accuracy to the literal account of events, or that it resonates with a more elusive truth about our perceptions of ourselves and the world? Every episode of Fargo opens with the passage above, adjusted for the specific time and place of the season’s focal bedlam. Each season is independent, although loose connections unite each season into a shared world with Easter eggs for the eagle-eyed viewer. But each season is a ride along, a shocking and surreal crime wave that disrupts the deceptively quaint communities of the Midwest.
Watching Fargo is like having an intimate view into two trains hurtling towards an inevitable collision. It is tense and dramatic, unpredictable and quirky. As if the trains were full of seemingly supernatural criminal murderers and diffident Minnesotan house-spouses who would use phrases like “You betcha” and “Aw Jeez” even as the world burns down around them. A mix of crime drama and magical realism with a substantial dose of Minnesota Nice, all brought to a boiling point.
I cannot overstate my love for this series. The creative aesthetics behind the production are unlike anything else on TV. The sets are gorgeous; nigh-eternal winters loom over the Midwestern plains, enhancing a sense of stasis that stands in contrast to the rupturing of the status quo. The music fills the show with an exciting dynamism. The theme song is stellar, evoking a kind of folk melody that is nostalgic, yet somber and plaintive. As it pertains to the larger show, the music is curated to great effect. The soundtrack is a diverse mix of iconic songs of the time and original compositions, which all serve to influence the emotions of any given scene.
However, it is the writing that stands above all else. The framing device which opens each episode always fills me with anticipation. Borrowed from the original Coen Brothers’ film, the statement “This is a true story” calls to mind Truman Capote’s creative nonfiction novel In Cold Blood, which itself serves as a founding inspiration for true crime as a literary genre. Stories about crime have always drawn audiences, but true crime’s magnetism is unique. The next two lines of the opening comment on respect, for the living and the dead. The contrasting means of showing this respect are wryly humorous. One wouldn’t be remiss in wondering if the calls for respect are a means to an end so that the story can be told. Perhaps elements of these stories compel us to share them, as a lesson to be learned or a chance to understand something better.
However, contrary to the opening lines, Fargo is fiction. Many of us are familiar with films that take liberties with their claims of truthfulness (looking at you, The Conjuring). Fargo is different. The show revels in the contradiction of this deliberate and ironic narrative choice. This narrative flourish prepares the audience for a cavalcade of untrustworthy narrators. Truth is, unfortunately, not easily uncovered.
The police investigations which act as a through line for the series are not the pinnacle of competent detective work. There is neither a Sherlock nor a Hercule Poirot to be found. Instead, we are presented with a motley crew of eccentric characters possessed each by their own perspective, and everyone is wrestling for control. Their actions are influenced by their respective worldviews and the lengths they will go to ensure their particular truths remain unimpeachable. When these characters are pitted against each other, their perspectives paint a dynamic portrait of what it looks like to live in our world.
This interplay reveals discussions on all manner of philosophical and political topics. Uncovering the reference behind each episode title is a fun bonus game for an active viewer. I want to focus on one particular example from Fargo’s second season entitled “The Myth of Sisyphus.” Season two takes place in 1979 and covers the grisly collision between a hapless couple who accidentally killed a member of the local Gerhardt crime family, the vengeful crime family in question, the encroaching Fargo mob, and the state troopers who are trying to prevent the violence from spreading. The season opens with the words of Jimmy Carter:
It is a crisis of confidence. It is a crisis that strikes at the very heart and soul and spirit of our national will. We can see this crisis in the growing doubt about the meaning of our own lives. And in the loss of unity and purpose.
Fargo places Carter’s crisis of confidence in direct conversation with Albert Camus’ essay on Absurdism, “The Myth of Sisyphus,” with a handful of characters reading the essay.Camus’ essay discusses how we crave meaning and purpose in our lives but are confronted by a world that has no meaning and is defined by chaos. In the classic myth, Sisyphus was cursed to push a boulder up hill, which ultimately rolls back down once it reaches the top. Sisyphus must then return to the boulder and begin pushing it again. Forever. The myth represents futility and the struggle against meaninglessness. Arguably, none of the characters gained a great comprehension of this essay. Some of them flatly reject the framework of the essay, but nonetheless act in ways that exemplify Camus’ different propositions for responses to the Absurd. Through the contrasting reactions to the text and the responses to increasingly absurd circumstances, we see the show develop its philosophical inquiry into the issue.
This inquiry is not accomplished without a lot of heart. Fargo is ultimately hopeful. The largest source of friction, the catalyst of all chaos, stems from the inability to communicate and the resulting misunderstanding chips away at our sense of unity. Giving up is not an option, or at least, not a particularly good one. We make meaning in our lives through the things we cherish, that we wish to protect or pay our attention to. Whatever trial or tribulation, we face those challenges to preserve what is valuable. To do otherwise is tantamount to letting it fade.
Fargo is special for how it juggles this stylistic blend. It presents humor and horror together with sentimentality. None overshadows the other. Fantastic casting choices breathe life into the writing. No matter how quirky the characters may be, they embody a sense of realism that makes the world feel alive and not too distant from our own, especially now in our own bizarre and heightened reality. Sometimes, even truth must be disguised for others to regard it. Fargo uses the medium of fiction to bypass our skepticism and take us on a journey through and around the strange heart of the modern world. And it makes sure that the journey is going to be wild and fun along the way.
If your interest is piqued, the good news you can borrow the first three seasons of Fargo on DVD. Season 5 of Fargo is currently airing on FX and select streaming services.
Ian is an Instructor and Research Specialist at East Columbia Branch.He is a huge nerd with too many interests to list here. Currently, he is fixated on the interconnection between history and fiction. His favorite kind of stories are stories about stories.
I first read Night Film earlier this year over the course of a long weekend. Though the temperature was hot and the humidity almost unbearable, author Marisha Pessl transported me to a chilly October night in New York City with ease. Night Film is a perfect November book and is best enjoyed as the temperatures cool and the nights grow longer.
The book opens with the mysterious death of Ashley Cordova, piano prodigy and daughter of infamous horror director Stanislas Cordova. Stanislas, who has a huge cult following, hasn’t been seen outside of his huge upstate New York estate in 30 years.
Investigative journalist Scott McGrath has long been obsessed with Cordova and the mystique surrounding him and his films. He teams up with two unlikely sidekicks – a drifter and a wannabe actress – to uncover the truth behind Ashley’s death. Along the way, the three encounter a fair share of kooky and offbeat characters who offer insight into the case.
Pessl peppers newspaper clippings, online forum posts, and other documents throughout the book, making you feel immersed in the investigation. This immersion is taken a step further with the bonus content available on Pessl’s Night Film Decoder website, which includes even more mixed media sources, like video and audio recordings.
On top of all this, it’s clear that Pessl took her time devising Stanislas Cordova’s filmography. The details included about some of the fictional films are so illustrative and specific – down to the blocking or costumes in his most iconic movies’ scenes. All the descriptiveness surrounding the fictional films culminates in a jaw-dropping sequence about two-thirds through the novel. A sequence that I still find myself thinking about, nearly five months after reading the book.
Night Film is an engrossing, unputdownable read perfect for fans of horror and mystery. It’s a book whose atmosphere and characters stay with you for a long time.
You can request a physical copy here or check out the e-book and e-audiobook versions on Libby/Overdrive.
Emily is an Instructor & Research Specialist at the Central Branch. She enjoys puzzling, reading, listening to music, and re-watching old seasons of Survivor.
Hello there, fellow horror enthusiasts! If you’re on the hunt for a bone-chilling, pulse- pounding read to get you into the Halloween spirit, look no further than Julia by Peter Straub (print and e-audiobook). The author emerged as a rising star in the 1970s alongside his friend and sometimes collaborator, Stephen King. Together, they revitalized the horror genre, redefining its bounds with The Talisman (print and e-audiobook) and Black House (print and e-audiobook).
Despite this early success, Straub and his individual contributions to literature have often taken a backseat to the towering presence of King. However, his unique writing style, masterful storytelling, and depth of character development make him a force to be reckoned with, especially in stories like Julia – about a woman with a haunting past and a dark secret. As the narrative unfolds, you’ll find yourself drawn deeper into the web of her life, unable to escape its sinister grip. Straub’s character development is top-notch; you’ll feel like you know Julia intimately, yet she remains shrouded in mystery, making her all the more compelling.
What makes Julia a standout Halloween read is its ability to mess with your mind. Straub has this knack for creating an atmosphere so thick with dread that you can practically taste it. The line between reality and the supernatural blurs, and you’ll start questioning everything you thought you knew. Is it ghosts, madness, or something even more sinister? The pacing is relentless. The tension keeps ratcheting up, and Straub’s prose is beautifully haunting, painting vivid, unsettling images in your imagination. You’ll be right there with the characters, wandering the eerie, fog-shrouded streets of their world.
The novel is not just about cheap thrills and jump scares. Straub explores profound themes like guilt, redemption, and the nature of evil. It’s a thinking reader’s horror novel that will haunt your thoughts long after you’ve finished it. Julia is the perfect spooky holiday read, as it’s a master class in psychological horror, filled with unforgettable characters, a chilling atmosphere, and plenty of twists and turns. So, grab your favorite blanket, and prepare for a Halloween night you won’t soon forget.
Angie is an Instructor & Research Specialist at Central Branch and is a co-facilitator for Reads of Acceptance, HCLS’ first LGBTQ-focused book club. Her ideal day is reading in her cozy armchair, with her cat Henry next to her.
Good horror scares me, but great horror breaks my heart and mind, seeping into me and playing in my head like a found footage trope. I find solace in horror somehow, and I know I’m not alone because others feel this way, too, even if they are quiet about it (“Why do anxious people love scary movies?”).
The first horror fiction I ever read was The Mist by Stephen King (e-book on Libby), which first appeared in a 1980 anthology called Dark Forces (an outstanding collection of stories I cannot recommend enough). It is hard to come by these days, but you can check interlibrary loan. Director Frank Darabont took The Mist and gave it an unimaginable, twisty, emotionally devastating ending – hence the heartbreak.
The Cabin at the End of the World by Paul Tremblay evokes similar feelings of heartache, and, like The Mist, captures themes such as faith and trust and how both can be warped by strangers we have the fortune (or misfortune) to meet under trying circumstances. Do we take a chance on others, or ourselves, or possibly a mash-up of both? A contributor to the website Bloody Disgusting sums up what could easily be said about both Tremblay’s and King’s novels, saying that a complete lack of faith can be just as insane as a fanatical sense of faith.
The novel invites readers into the lives of Eric and Andrew, a couple vacationing at a remote cabin with their young daughter Wen. Tremblay’s sensitive storytelling allows us to witness their love and vulnerability, amplifying the impact of the anguish that unfolds. Their journey takes an unexpected turn when a group of mysterious strangers appear at their door, whose mission (they say) is to save the world from an impending apocalypse. Their ominous beliefs shatter the tranquility of the cabin, leaving the family trapped and frightened.
The strangers demand an impossible choice: sacrifice one of their own to stop the apocalypse. As fear and uncertainty overcome them, the bond between Eric, Andrew, and Wen deepens, revealing the strength of their love and the resilience of the human spirit. You’ll find yourself empathizing with the family’s plight, feeling their fear, and grappling with the moral dilemmas they face.
Ultimately, The Cabin at the End of the World is not just a horror story; it’s an exploration of family ties, sacrifice, and the will to protect those we love. Like The Mist, The Cabin at the End of the World has a haunting film based on it: Knock at the Cabin. Both novel and film create an air of mystery and seclusion, but they do so subtly, evoking different atmospheres.
Knock at the Cabin may appear superficial, but it carries a sense of abruptness, brevity, and vagueness distinct from Tremblay’s novel. The former hints at the story’s initiation and leaves us questioning, “Who’s there?” The Cabin at the End of the World explicitly suggests apocalyptic themes. Both titles succeed in unique ways, captivating the audience with their enigmatic allure.
I could go on about both Tremblay and King, but I won’t. If you also seek out heartbreak in your reading, though, consider the following:
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley: Published in 1818, this classic Gothic horror novel tells the tragic story of Victor Frankenstein and his creation. The creature’s isolation, rejection, and search for acceptance evoke profound empathy from readers.
Dracula by Bram Stoker: From 1897, the epistolary novel delves into themes of loss, love, and the consequences of immortality. The tragic fate of some characters, such as Lucy Westenra, leaves a lasting impact on readers.
The Road by Cormac McCarthy: This post-apocalyptic novel from 2006 depicts the journey of a father and his young son through an ashen landscape. The bleakness and desolation of their surroundings combined with the father’s love and determination to protect his son create an emotionally compelling narrative.
Beloved by Toni Morrison: While not typically thought of as a horror novel, the 1987 Pulitzer Prize-winning work incorporates ghostly, supernatural elements. Set in the aftermath of slavery, the book explores the haunting effects of past trauma, loss, and the desperate longing for freedom.
These masterpieces blend elements of horror with deep emotional resonance, leaving readers with a poignant sense of heartbreak and empathy for the characters’ experiences.
Angie is an Instructor & Research Specialist at Central Branch and is a co-facilitator for Reads of Acceptance, HCLS’ first LGBTQ-focused book club. Her ideal day is reading in her cozy armchair, with her cat Henry next to her.
An American ballet student discovers that sinister things are afoot at a prestigious German dance academy. The film is regarded as one of the most influential horror films, with its striking visuals and haunting soundtrack.
An eccentric millionaire invites five strangers to a party at a haunted house, offering $10,000 to whomever survives the night. Partially inspired by Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House, this film has solidified itself as a campy horror classic.
A man and his daughter attempt to survive a rapidly-spreading zombie infection that breaks out while they are on the train. This record-breaking Korean film will soon undergo an American remake.
A woman accompanies her boyfriend and his friends on a trip to Sweden for a midsummer festival and chaos ensues. Don’t let the beautiful setting and cheery color palate of the film deceive you – Midsommar is one of the most disturbing horror films I’ve ever seen.
A woman, in the midst of divorce negotiations, moves to a run-down apartment with her young daughter. A mysterious ceiling leak and ghostly appearances ensue. In 2005, an American remake of this Japanese film starring Jennifer Connelly was released.
Horrifyingly creepy. Creepily horrifying. Either way, it’s gothic. The author tells you right there in the title. I’m not a big fan of horror – gothic or otherwise. You can keep your atmospheric creepies to yourself.
This book absorbed me. I literally could not put it down.
Noemi Taboada is my kind of girl: smart and sassy. She’s contemplating an advanced degree in anthropology, if only she can convince her father that there’s more to a well-off woman’s life than marriage and family. In Mexico in the 1950s, this is a harder sell than it should be. She’s also something of a party girl, who enjoys dancing and smoking with her active social circle.
Her cousin Catalina, though, is cut from more traditional cloth. She is married and has moved to her new husband’s remote estate, away from the family in Mexico City. When the family receives troubling letters from and about Catalina, Noemi agrees to her father’s plan to visit her cousin and investigate the situation.
Catalina has married Virgil Doyle, oldest son of a family that immigrated to Mexico generations ago but have maintained an English sensibility, including not speaking Spanish. They came for the silver mines and stayed for reasons that become clear later. The house (in all honestly, a sinister mansion) is dark – literally with drapes pulled and limited electricity – decorated with overwrought furnishings in a variety of mythological motifs and loaded with tarnished silver. Gothic oozes out of the story’s rotting wainscoting.
Noemi is not a particularly welcome visitor. She smokes. She asks questions. She’s not particularly interested in being obedient to the Doyles’ odd rules. She wants to see her cousin. She visits town. She roams the family’s cemetery where she befriends younger cousin Francis, who helps her understand that not all is right or well at High Place – and not just because the family’s fortunes are dwindling with the mines being closed.
Francis has a fascination with fungus. Mushrooms are his main interest, and I don’t want to spoil too much – but it’s relevant. He also seems to spend plenty of time outdoors to get away from his overbearing family: Virgil who reeks of ambition and charisma but codes as emotionally abusive, and Florence, the strict maiden aunt who is the enforcer for Howard, the ailing patriarch with a keen interest in eugenics. Honestly, I’d spend as much time outside as I could, too.
Noemi’s questions reveal that the Doyle family has all sorts of secrets and scandals, including murder and incest. Things start to fall into place just as Noemi begins to demonstrate the same sort of worrisome symptoms as her cousin Catalina. Noemi’s vivid dream sequences contribute to the sense of impending doom and overall wrongness. When Howard and Florence forcibly insist that Noemi marry Francis, it all comes apart at the seams and a nightmare of truly gothic proportions ensues. The author fully embraces Latin magical realism as she dives into the deep end of the horror genre.
You should read it, preferably on a dank, rainy day in a spider-infested garret. Personally, I am glad I read it on a hot, summer day next to a window while traveling on a train. Mexican Gothic is available in print, ebook, and eaudiobook.
Kristen B. is a devoted bookworm lucky enough to work as the graphic designer for HCLS. She likes to read, stitch, dance, and watch baseball (but not all at the same time).
Until recently, if someone mentioned Stephen King around me, all I pictured were the usual horror staples: clowns, spiders, dark hallways, mysteriously red and sticky substances. Of course my familiarity with King’s work was about the same as the average media consumer – starting and ending with the Hollywood blockbusters like It and The Shining. As a reader who prefers historical fiction over horror, I never ventured into his dizzyingly enormous body of work.
It was not until my recent read of King’s 2019 novel The Institute that I realized I may have been missing out on his ever-developing literary skills. The Institute delivers on a terrifying antagonist, but rather than supernatural, the bad guys in this story are all-too human. In the “Institute,” inmates with telekinetic abilities are kidnapped, imprisoned, and tormented with unexplained experiments. The inmates are children. The story primarily revolves around Luke Ellis, a 12-year old with extraordinary genius, as he wakes up in the Institute and attempts to navigate the sadistic staff and build peculiar friendships. As he and his newfound friends and allies learn more about where they are, readers come to understand that those working for the Institute believe they serve a higher good, and that there exists a place for cruelty with a purpose. The staff members in charge of the children would show up to work, run their terrifying tests, stop for coffee in their breakrooms, chat and flirt, then head home each night. Even as Ellis and his fellow captives live their days bouncing between mysterious injections and surreally normal basketball games, the real horror is apparent in the quiet complacency towards child abuse as a necessary evil, and at its worse no more than daily routine.
How could children survive in a place designed to strip them of dignity and humanity? Could they even survive? The Institute weaves together a story of unimaginable scale with the most authentically human characters: policemen, innkeepers, custodians. And yes, there is a 12-year old genius and kids who can read minds, but their abilities are the least important things about them. Their moments of anger, sadness, courage, and joy are their characters’ truly grounding elements.
While definitely a tough read, it surprised me how much I enjoyed this novel. Ruthless and brutal, but at times captivatingly heart-warming. If you’re interested in making a foray into the Stephen King sphere, The Institute is a great book to pick up and get absorbed into.
CHAPTER CHATS 