❄️Season’s Greetings to All ~ To mark the Winter Solstice, Wyrd Harvest Press & Folk Horror Revival are again making a charity donation of our book sales profits to a Wildlife Trusts’ environmental and conservation project – This year we have donated £500 to Gloucestershire Wildlife Trust’s ‘Corridor of Life’ project.
From ancient woodlands teeming with life and history, to buzzing hedgerows and towering oaks, trees play an essential role in our landscapes and lives.
They provide homes for a diverse range of species, act as natural flood management systems, purify our air and provide sanctuaries of solace. Yet our trees are under threat like never before.
Over-development and climate change have left the UK with some of the lowest amounts of tree cover in Europe… This hugely ambitious project aims to create, enhance and protect hedgerows, orchards, wood pasture and more to establish a 60-mile corridor of tree cover. Linking two of the UK’s biggest ancient woodlands, the Forest of Dean and the Wyre Forest, this corridor of life will give vulnerable species secure habitats that are critical to their expansion and future survival.
We wish you all a very peaceful and pleasant Yuletide and 2025. Special Thanks to everybody who has supported both nature and varied artists and writers by buying our books. ❄️
In Albion’s Eco-Eerie, author and professor, Phil Smith seeks an alternative readingof TV and Movies of the Haunted Generations suggesting looking at the media in terms of ‘unhuman characters, the materials and the edgeland spaces’. He suggests the term ‘hobgoblinology’ as a name for his contemplation of the subject matter, but I question whether that is necessary as the ‘Eco-eerie’ term he uses in the book title does a much better job of specifically conveying the centre of attention. If the use of a term helps the writer unlock what they want to say in the book, then it’s a useful tool, but going forward I don’t know if there is a need for any further terminology within the gamut of topics. I enjoyed reading Smith just talk about his selected subjects more than about the terminology and application of it, which I felt disrupted the flow a little. I have personally discovered with labels that they have a limited purpose – they only need to point in a direction rather than map a territory down to the millimetre. Sometimes too much definition risks stifling and suffocating further creativity in the crib, whilst a net cast too widely can serve no real purpose. Further labelling may be best served to supermarket shelves and the toes of mortuary corpses. I fully understand that as wider interest in the sub-genres/modes have grown that the terms ‘Folk Horror’ and ‘Hauntology’ may carry some baggage or alternatively are limiting but I don’t feel like the remedy for that is more terminology. That said, for the purpose of this book the term ‘Eco-eerie’ alone is ideal.
Smith’s lens upon the estrangement between humankind and nature when looking at specific examples is an intriguing vantage point to take. Smith adds an s to the end of Bob Fischer’s term ‘Haunted Generation’ to take us back before Generation X’s particularly spectre-ridden childhoods (a demographic that also seems particularly attuned to Burns’ predilection for a nostalgia that is part warm and fuzzy and part traumatised by monsters).
Smith’s book, as the name suggests, mainly concentrates its attention on British examples (some creations from other countries are discussed at times in comparison) and again there’s a nice range of choices including The Company of Wolves, Oh Lucky Man!, Whistle and I’ll Come to You and the work of the late Nigel Kneale (whom is currently enjoying a long renaissance of interest) is covered well particularly regarding one of his lesser-discussed creations The Quatermass Xperiment. One of the strongest sections in the book for me talks about the strange 1975 children’s television series The Changes. This curious show is possibly the epitome of Albion’s Eco-eerie, though I must admit that whilst I enjoyed watching that programme I was never as much a fan of its conclusion and its explanation as I was of what came before in earlier episodes.
Albion’s Eco-eerie is a slim book but there is a lot packed within its covers and I would recommend it as a book for those with an existing interest in the fields who want to look at the subject matter from a different and intriguing vantage point, and as a reference book for students and film-TV critics/writers rather than a first-stop introduction to the subjects covered.
Films and TV shows discussed:
Night of the Demon The Maze The Company of Wolves The Quatermass Xperiment Quatermass 2 The Strange World of Planet X Fireball XL5: ‘Plant Man from Space’ Quatermass and the Pit O Lucky Man! The Changes Children of the Stones Whistle and I’ll Come to You A Warning to the Curious The Lovecraft Investigations (podcast) Hellraiser and Hellbound: Hellraiser II The Girl with All the Gifts
As the number of books about Folk Horror and Hauntology is considerably increasing, focus falls now upon a quest for a unique selling point – the tone, the angle, which cultural examples will be concentrated upon. With Ghost of an Idea the aspect of Nostalgia is a point of interest.
There is only so much that can be said about the ‘Unholy Trinity’ of folk horror films or Jacques Derrida’s origin of the word Hauntology – mention of either is inevitable but this book mentions the former more in passing but gives the latter a fair bit of attention. Problem with the discussion of Derrida and his concept of political Hauntology is that quite a bit of distance has fallen between that and the ‘popular Hauntology’ of the Haunted Generation. It still has a place however as the associated mode of Folk Horror frequently has a political dimension. But here its introduction early risks the book being taken as dry covering a matter that Mark Fisher and others have adequately discussed prior, but anybody facing that qualm should stick with the book as it becomes more animated with the detailing of specific movies and music.
An issue facing Folk Horror and /or Hauntology arises then of how to shape a book on the subjects and which audience to target. This makes Ghost of an Idea something of a mixed bag as it at times reads like an academic tome (and would prove very useful for anyone studying the subject matter at university) and at others like a more mass-market book on the cultural entertainment examples – and at this it excels as it provides a very useful list of films and music – a good proportion of it straying from the well-beaten track.
The book opens with a dedication to Mark Fisher, the late writer whose own work investigated the relationship between emotion and the hauntological media of film, literature and music and political philosophy (as well as investigating the concepts of the ‘weird’ and ‘eerie’), and a quotation by the folklorist Catherine Crowe. Burns’ appreciation for Fisher is very clear and well-placed but I would have liked to have also seen more integration of ghost-lore within the book, though aspects such as Stone Tape Theory are covered.
The ‘unique selling point’ of this book is the discussion of Nostalgia. It’s a subject that I have a particular interest in and whilst I found the contemplation of it in Burns’ work intriguing – I did really want more. Indeed I would have preferred further discussion of the psychological conditions of Nostalgia and maybe related feelings such as Deja vu than the content matter of later chapters, which in some instances felt somewhat misplaced.
Burns masterfully covers the wide range of associated music from Blind Willie Johnson to Boards of Canada and beyond. This includes an apt and colourful description of Syd Barrett that I enjoyed – “Psychedelia’s first hauntological casualty Syd Barrett, the Edwardian psychonaut, had one foot on an interstellar spacecraft and the other on a penny-farthing bicycle, haunting his own acid-addled mind, becoming rock’s premier living ghost.” Included are some interviews with musicians extraordinaire such as The Rowan Amber Mill’s Stephen Stannard, Angeline Morrison and Epic45. Though interesting I wonder whether the interviews would have been better suited to a book collection of their own (with other interviewees included) as their inclusion does break up Burns own train of thought a little. Also I am not sure about the section where Burns recollects certain concerts attended. The recommended albums list however is a great inclusion.
With regard to the films that Burns discusses, again the range and inclusion of some lesser-known examples is very useful and to be applauded. Whilst in such discussions the personal views and tastes of the writer and different readers may vary – for instance I disagree with Burns in my opinion that the remake of Suspiria is a much better film than The Void. Sometimes though I feel that he may sometimes be a bit too harshly cynical towards some examples (even when I share a similar dislike towards some of the media mentioned) and a little too gushing towards others (an example being Alan Moore, although I do think that he’s a very good writer and a huge influence on the evolution of comics, I do feel that too many other excellent comic writers get smothered in his shadow). Though I do share Burns’ great admiration of David Lynch, some people for some strange reason don’t, but one man’s poison is another man’s meat.
I do question the amount of space devoted towards some films/shows and their actual inclusion – eg. American Horror Story, Star Wars and Toy Story. The attention to these feels somewhat incongruous to what has gone before and I would have preferred (along with the concert reviews) either their omission here, for possible use in other works, meaning that Ghost of an Idea be a shorter book or for other studies of the concept of Nostalgia / additional examples of place memory hauntings to have been featured in their place. Or possibly a deeper dive into more found footage/ fake documentary films may have been better placed (I’d have liked to have read about Lake Mungo for instance) or a discussion about Backwoods films or even more about Hoodie Horrors may have been a better fit.
In conclusion it is a well written book, in some instances it really hits the mark perfectly and the film and album lists would prove very useful to both newcomer and those already quite immersed in the fields covered. But … There’s just some inclusions and choices that didn’t fully land and spoiled the flow for me – though of course they may land very well for others. And it’s totally up to an author what they include in their own books as the ending quote from John Cassavetes, included in in Ghost of an Idea, states “I don’t give a fuck what anybody says. If you don’t have time to see it, don’t. If you don’t like it don’t. If it doesn’t give you an answer. fuck you. I didn’t make it for you anyway.” 😉
Ghost of an Idea: Hauntology, Folk Horror and the Spectre of Nostalgia is due to be released in early 2025 – More Information HERE
Wyrd Harvest Press are thrilled to present 21st Century Ghost Stories: Volume III the latest in our spooky anthology series. Featuring a host of new stories by a wealth of talented writers, edited by Paul Guernsey, illustrated by Andy Paciorek and created with great thanks to Richard Hing and Grey Malkin; sales profits from this book will be charitably donated to The Wildlife Trusts ‘ nature conservation projects.
This third volume in our 21st Century Ghost Stories anthology series features 39 astonishing short-fiction contributions from writers the world over, each with a surprising and contemporary twist on some aspect of the uncanny. The collection includes unsettling stories of supernatural seduction, episodes of AI gone terrifyingly awry, accounts of workplace witchcraft, and tales of ghostly and/or demonic forces that infest places and ensnare people. We invite you to open this book and feel the chill!
featuring …
Introduction – Paul Guernsey
The Carny — Ann O’Mara Heyward
Gina Of Golden Gardens — Shala Erlich
The Pickup — Kathryn Pratt Russell
Door To Door — Ruth Schemmel
Ghost Story — Isobel Oliphant
He Loved His Mamma And His Mayonnaise — Gerard J Waggett
The following article is not a review as such to avoid accusation of bias as I (Andy Paciorek) have essays in the books (‘Yesterday’s Memories of Tomorrow: Nostalgia, Hauntology and Folk Horror’ in The Routledge Companion to Folk Horror, and ‘Albion Unearthed: social, political and cultural influences on British Folk Horror, Urban Wyrd and Backwoods Cinema’ in Folk Horror on Film’) – but instead is a spotlight of some tomes that may be of interest and/or use to students, lecturers and aficionados of folk horror and its associated fields.
“The Routledge Companion to Folk Horror offers a comprehensive guide to this popular genre. It explores its origins, canonical texts and thinkers, the crucial underlying themes of nostalgia and hauntology, and identifies new trends in the field.
Divided into five parts, the first focuses on the history of Folk Horror from medieval texts to the present day. It considers the first wave of contemporary Folk Horror through the films of the ‘unholy trinity’, as well as discussing the influence of ancient gods and early Folk Horror. Part 2 looks at the spaces, landscapes, and cultural relics, which form a central focus for Folk Horror. In Part 3, the contributors examine the rich history of the use of folklore in children’s fiction. The next part discusses recent examples of Folk Horror-infused music and image. Chapters consider the relationship between different genres of music to Folk Horror (such as folk music, black metal, and new wave), sound and performance, comic books, and the Dark Web. Often regarded as British in origin, the final part analyses texts which break this link, as the contributors reveal the larger realms of regional, national, international, and transnational Folk Horror.
Featuring 40 contributions, this authoritative collection brings together leading voices in the field. It is an invaluable resource for students and scholars interested in this vibrant genre and its enduring influence on literature, film, music, and culture.”
Table of Contents –
General Introduction – Robert Edgar and Wayne Johnson
Part I: Origins and Histories
Christopher Flavin Fear of the World: Folk Horror in Early British Literature
Brendan Walsh The Early Modern Popular Demonic and the Foundations of Twentieth Century British Folk Horror
Katy Soar “Banished to woods and a sickly moon”: The Old Gods in Folk Horror
Craig Thomson “I am the writing on the wall, the whisper in the classroom”: The Changing Conception of the ‘Folk’ in the Western Folk Horror Tradition
Darryl Jones M. R. James and Folk Horror
Miranda Corcoran “Leave Something Witchy”: Evolving Representations of Cults and New Religious Movements in Folk Horror
Alan Smith The spectacle of the uncanny revel: Thomas Hardy’s Mephistophelian Visitants and ‘Folk Provenance’.
Charlotte Runcie ‘We’re not in the Middle Ages’: Alan Garner’s Folk Horror Medievalism
Peter Bell Terror in the Landscape: Folk Horror in the Stories of M.R. James
John Miller Folk Horror, HS2 and the Disenchanted Woods
David Evans-Powell Mind the Doors! Characterising the London Underground on Screen as a Folk Horror Space
Beth Kattelman Queer Folk: The Danger of Being Different
David Sweeney “Out of the dust”: Folk Horror and the Urban Wyrd in Too Old to Die Young and Other Works by Nicolas Winding Refn
Catherine Spooner Meeting the Gorse Mother: Feminist Approaches to Folk Horror in Contemporary British Fiction
Ruth Heholt Handicrafts of Evil: Nostalgia and the Make-Culture of Folk Horror
Lauren Stephenson Restoring Relics – (Re)-releasing Antrum (2018) and film as Folk Horror
Andy Paciorek Yesterday’s Memories of Tomorrow: Nostalgia, Hauntology & Folk Horror
Diane A. Rodgers Ghosts in the Machine: Folklore and technology onscreen in Ghostwatch (1992) and Host (2020)
Douglas McNaughton The Pattern Under the Plough: Folk Horror in 1970s British Children’s Television
Jez Conolly ‘This calm, serene orb’: a personal recollection of the comforting strangeness found in the worlds of Smallfilms
Jon Towlson ‘To Traumatise Kids for Life’: The Influence of Folk Horror on 1970s Children’s Television
Bob Fischer That Haunted Feeling: Analogue Memories
Stephen Brotherstone “Don’t Be Frightened. I Told You We Were Privileged”: The British Class System in the Televised Folk Horror of the 1970s
Dave Lawrence The 4:45 Club: Folk Horror Before Teatime in the 1970s and 1980s
Julianne Regan The Idyllic Horrific– Field, Farm, Garden, Forest and Machine
Richard D. Craig “And the devil he came to the farmer at plough” – November, Folk Horror and folk music
Julian Holloway Sounding Folk Horror and the Strange Rural
Jason D. Brawn Sounds of Our Past: The electronic music that links Folk Horror and Hauntology
Joseph S. Norman Even in death: The ‘Folk Horror Chain’ in Black Metal
Ben Halligan Towards ‘Squire Horror’: Genesis 1972-3
Barbara Chamberlin Patterns beneath the grid: the haunted spaces of Folk Horror comics
Max Jokschus From the Fibers, from the Forums, from the Fringe – Folk Horror from the Deep, Dark Web
Dawn Keetley ‘The dark is here’: The Third Day and Folk Horror’s Anxiety about Birth-rates, Immigration, and Race
Robert Edgar Hinterlands and SPAs: Folk Horror and Neoliberal Desolation
Andrew M. Butler “Why Don’t You Go Home?”: The Folk Horror Revival in Contemporary Cornish Gothic Films
Adam Smith Satire and the British Folk Horror Revival
Matthew Cheeseman English Nationalism, Folklore and Pagans
Keith McDonald Bound by Elusiveness: Transnational Cinema and Folk Horror
James Thurgill Strange Permutations, Eerie Dis/locations: On the cultural and geographic specificity of Japanese Folk Horror
Adam Spellicy “All the little devils are proud of Hell”: The First Wave of Australian Folk Horror
Folk Horror On Film: Return of the British Repressed.
Edited by Kevin J. Donnelly and Louis Bayman (Manchester University Press. 2023)
“What is folk horror and how culturally significant is it? This collection is the first study to address these questions while considering the special importance of British cinema to the genre’s development.
The book presents political and aesthetic analyses of folk horror’s uncanny landscapes and frightful folk. It places canonical films like Witchfinder General (1968), The Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971) and The Wicker Man (1973) in a new light and expands the canon to include films like the sci-fi horror Doomwatch (1970-72) and the horror documentary Requiem for a Village (1975) alongside filmmakers Ken Russell and Ben Wheatley.
A series of engrossing chapters by established scholars and new writers argue for the uniqueness of folk horror from perspectives that include the fragmented national history of pagan heresies and Celtic cultures, of peasant lifestyles, folkloric rediscoveries and postcolonial decline.”
Foreword by John Das Introduction: what makes the folk horrific? – Louis Bayman and K.J. Donnelly Part I: Debating The Wicker Man (1973) 1 The context of The Wicker Man – Ronald Hutton 2 A deeply religious people: The Wicker Man, contemporary paganism, and Dracula reversed- Laurel Zwissler 3 Folk horror: a discursive approach, with application to Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man (1973) and Neil Jordan’s The Company of Wolves (1984) – Mikel J. Koven Part II: Return of the British repressed 4 The folk of folk horror – Derek Johnston 5 Doomwatch: sacrifice zones and folk horror – Dawn Keetley 6 My ancestors died here: Requiem for a Village and the rural English horror of modernity and socio-cultural change – Paul Newland 7 Outsider history, or outside of history – K. J. Donnelly 8 Anglo creep and Celtic resistance in Apostle – Beth Carroll 9 Women’s folk horror in Britain: history, industry, style – Amy Harris Part III: Folk horror’s cultural landscapes 10 Ritualistic rhythms: exploring the sensory effect of drums in British folk horror cinema – Lyndsay Townsend 11 ‘Nature came before man’: human as subject and object within the folk horror anti-landscape – David Evans-Powell 12 Hieroglyphics: Arthur Machen on screen – Mark Goodall 13 Albion unearthed: social, political and cultural influences on British folk horror, urban wyrd and backwoods cinema – Andy Paciorek 14 ‘Isn’t folk horror all horror?’: a wyrd genre – Diane A. Rodgers https://manchesteruniversitypress.co.uk/9781526164926/
Interest in speculative fiction screenwriter Nigel Kneale has seen a 21st Century cult renaissance, mostly regarding his creation the rocket scientist Quatermass, but here Andrew Screen puts the focus on Kneale’s ATV series Beasts. Broadcast in 1976 during the golden age of British television plays and supernatural/thriller anthology shows, even amidst this bizarre telly miscellany, Beasts is something of a strange … well … beast. Each episode tangentially is related to animals or sometimes the animalistic within human nature – diverse beastly menace from an invasion of super-rats to a possessed kaiju film costume ensues. Screen dives deep into this strangeness seeking possible inspirations for Kneale’s manifestations. The folklore, history, Forteana and comparative media covered is wide and intriguing – resulting at one point in possibly the oddest and most amusing note disclaimer I’ve ever witnessed, stating that the author was in no way suggesting that Kneale was a viewer of equine erotica! – all the more bizarre by the fact that this is mentioned in relation to Buddy Boy, an episode about a dead dolphin haunting a potential porn theatre!
That extra special talking mongoose Gef gets coverage in the chapter covering Special Offer, an episode whereby teenager Pauline Quirke telekinetically terrorises a mini-mart. Discussion of therianthropy arises in relation to What Big Eyes, an episode where Patrick Magee, at his bombastic best, conducts weird experiments at a pet shop. Many aspects of weird history and preternatural phenomena are covered in this book making every chapter an enthralling read. Regarding the episode During Barty’s Party, I started to feel unsettled by the discussion of actual cases of rat attacks and infestation. I am pleased to see Screen feature Kneale’s TV play Murrain in this book. Although part of a TV play series called Against the Crowd, Murrain played a part in the commissioning of the Beasts show but also it feels akin, tonally, aesthetically and subject wise with Beasts, particularly to the episode Baby.
Both Murrain and Baby are set in bleak rural settings and deal with the fear of witchcraft and curses. Murrain, as the name indicates, concerns a rustic community that fears that a swine disease outbreak and other local misfortunes are due to the malfeasance of a suspected witch; whilst Baby concerns the discovery of an anomalous mummified creature found interred in an old rustic house – confined there not perhaps for apotropaic reason but for malediction. As well as rigorously covering production tech-specs and post-production reaction, Screen’s book is the most interesting, inviting and entertaining commentary on the work of Nigel Kneale I’ve encountered. A great tribute to possibly Nigel Kneale’s most peculiar body of work.
The Book of Beasts: Folklore, Popular Culture and Nigel Kneale’s ATV Horror Series Andrew Screen Headpress. 2023 pb. Illus. index. 434 pages. £22.99 ISBN. 191531609X
Over a half-century of waiting but finally that brooding member of the classic Folk Horror unhallowed triumvirate of British films, The Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971) has its own tie-in novel accompanying on the shelves the book partners of Witchfinder General (1968) and The Wicker Man (1973). Only in the case of Witchfinder General did the book precede the film (written by Ronald Bassett and published in 1966). The novelisations of The Wicker Man (which was initially inspired by David Pirner’s 1967 novel Ritual) and The Blood on Satan’s Claw followed the films after some years and were both penned by the screenwriters of said films – Anthony Shaffer (alongside the director of the film, Robin Hardy) in The Wicker Man’s case and Robert Wynne-Simmons with regard to The Blood on Satan’s Claw. With time passed this allowed the writers to return to their creations with a fresher mind and to alter or elaborate upon the stories – with greater success in the case of The Blood on Satan’s Claw, (The Wicker Man novel is a decent enough read and works well to flesh out Sergeant Howie’s character but the addition of the characters Beech and Sorrel and their narratives I find somewhat superfluous and distracting). Wynne-Simmons is more successful in fleshing out the bones of the characters (or rather furring up their flesh) without veering too far from the soul of the film.
Blood On Satan’s Claw or The Devil’s Skin as the book is titled, follows events that unfurled in the early 18th Century in a pastoral British village named Chapel Folding following the discovery of grisly remains by farmhand Ralph Gower when turning the soil of Tarrant’s Field – a patch of land that generally was left un-ploughed. Remnants of the unearthed mysterious body parts fall into the hands of some local children and things in the sleepy village begin to turn decidedly fiendish. It was not simply bodily relics brought to the surface by Ralph’s toils but a malign presence that endeavored to make itself felt through the bidding and worship of many of the locals – particularly the children.
It is this utter corruption of innocence that I feel is the heart of Blood on Satan’s Claw and which gives both the film and book power. It is also however the source of controversy that casts a shadow upon the movie. Without giving away Spoilers to either film or book, there is one scene in particular that regards the fate of one of the village girls. In hindsight the director Piers Haggard says that if he were to have done it now, he would have filmed the scene differently. I personally feel that the events of this scene are pivotal in showing the savage possession that the children have fallen under but do understand the criticisms of its cinematic depiction. Perhaps this was of consideration to Wynne-Simmons in his novelisation as on paper the events unfold thematically the same but stylistically different. I am categorically a fan of the film, though utterly conscious of any issues levelled against it; but there is something I find eerily spell-binding in it. The book also captivated me. I wonder though if this would differ much had I not watched the film so many times. Dialogue I heard spoken in the specific actors’ voices and I pictured them likewise, which I think speaks well of the casting in the film. The book is a page-turner, though, written in a flowing, inviting manner so I think that for readers with no prior exposure to the film, it would still prove an engaging and interesting read.
The film though also to an extent does seem to have influenced the artist Richard Wells whose chapbook-reminiscent prints illustrate the book. Depicted characters such as the beguiling Angel Blake (one of my all-time favourite movie villains) look very much like their onscreen counterparts (Linda Hayden in Angel’s case). I am a huge devotee to illustrated books so the imagery contained within is appreciated and a nice-touch. Wells being a prominent figure in the revival of Folk Horror being an apt choice for the job. One bugbear I have with the film is the visual reveal of the Fiend – I do not think the effects do the malignant entity justice (same bone of contention I have with the otherwise great 1957 film Night of the Demon). I would have preferred both to have been more unseen and would have found that more ominous and disturbing. However within the book the depiction of the devil of the fields in all his glory is reminiscent of the medieval texts and does suit the purpose better. The red bookmark ribbon is another small but pleasing touch – these visual attentions make the book more of a pleasure to behold and make for a nice ghoulish gift for someone.
It’s been a long time in coming but well worth the wait I feel, as I thoroughly enjoyed the book both for its narrative and writing and for its visual appeal.
Linda Hayden as Angel Blake in The Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971)
Blood on Satan’s Claw or The Devil’s Skin Written by Robert-Wynne Simmons, illustrated by Richard Wells
In this engaging and timely update to The Art of Wandering we are in the convivial company of Merlin Coverley, an author who has written on a variety of topics which will naturally intrigue many Folk Horror Revivalists, including hauntology, psychogeography and occult London.
Merlin Coverley
In the preface to the new edition Coverley reflects on the increasing popularity of walking, not least as an antidote to the stresses of modern life. Many of us will have experienced the positive impact which walking can have in relation to our general sense of wellbeing and in helping us to make sense of our lives. In this book Coverley guides us through the historical legacy of the ‘writer-as-walker’ and surveys the work of contemporary authors, all of whom illustrate how walking, sensemaking and writing are intimately connected.
We learn how from the ancient world to the modern day, the role of the walker has continued to evolve, ‘from philosopher and pilgrim, vagrant and visionary, to experimentalist and radical’. The deceptively simple act of placing one foot in front of another is explored in the context of a rich literary tradition which encompasses writers such as Rousseau, De Quincy, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Clare, Thoreau, Edgar Allan Poe, Machen and Virginia Woolf. We learn too of the work and lives of those involved in twentieth century movements such as Dada, Surrealism and Situationism. Other perspectives are shared such as that of the anthropologist Tim Ingold who reflects on how walking and writing are closely coupled in movement, for ‘to walk is to journey in the mind as much as on the land: it is a deeply meditative practice’.
As well as the philosophical reflections on the relationship between walking and writing, I very much enjoyed the colourful anecdotes which are peppered throughout the book. Coverley explains how Charles Dickens had an extraordinary capacity for walking, on one occasion choosing to get out of bed at two in the morning and walk for thirty miles into the country for breakfast. Another account relays how Dickens often expected his dinner guests to join him for a walk of many miles across the city at night before eating.
As might be expected given the author’s related work, some time is taken to explore the foundations and contrasting traditions of psychogeography, the space where psychology and geography intersect. Throughout the book an illuminating approach is taken to the use of literary extracts. One such example is that taken from ‘Introduction to a Critique of Urban Geography’ by Guy Debord for whom the psychogeographer, ‘like the skilled chemist, is able both to identify and distil the varied ambiences of his environment’, not least through walking in the form the aimless drift or dérive which enables the practitioner to determine the emotional characteristics of particular zones in the city in a way which would not otherwise be possible.
Several writers highlighted in The Art of Wandering will be of particular interest to those with an interest in horror. One such writer is Arthur Machen, author of The Great God Pan, who Coverley considers to be of equal significance as a literary walker to William Blake, De Quincey (Confessions of an English Opium-Eater) and Dickens.
Portrait of Arthur Machen by John Coulthart
Machen spent many years walking through the streets of London, frequently around Gray’s Inn Road but also further afield and often without direction, overwhelmed by a sense of awe bordering on sheer terror at the city’s dark undercurrents and occult associations. Coverley explains how much of Machen’s work can be seen as a strategy to combat this sense of dread and gain mastery over London’s streets by walking them, and through this knowledge overcoming their menace. Here Coverley draws a vivid picture of Machen as ‘the solitary walker seeking an escape from the labyrinth, yet fated to spend a lifetime in doing so’.
One contemporary author who appears to have been similarly fated, though not necessarily in such a solitary way, is Iain Sinclair. For more than fifty years Sinclair has pursued what he refers to has his ‘London Project’, a series of poems, novels, diaries and other non-fiction accounts of London’s neglected spaces.
Iain Sinclair in conversation with John Pilgrim at FHR’s ‘Otherworldly’ event
Early works such as Lud Heat took inspiration from work of Alfred Watkins’ thesis that much of the country’s landscape is connected by hidden ‘lines of force’:
A triangle is formed between Christ Church, St George-in-the-East and St Anne, Limehouse. These are centres of power for those territories; sentinel, sphinx-form, slack dynamos abandoned as the culture supported goes into retreat. The power remains latent, the frustration mounts on a current of animal magnetism, and victims are still claimed.
For Sinclair the city is to be re-discovered through a process of walking and imagination which has the potential to reveal the hidden relationship between the capital’s financial, political and religious institutions.
In more recent years Sinclair has extended the scope of his London project, one journey of note being his extraordinary walk around the M25 in the company of his wife Anna, the artist Brian Catling and the fantasy writer and magician Alan Moore. Participants in the Folk Horror Revival ‘Otherworldly’ event held at the British Museum may also recall Sinclair’s account of the pilgrimage which he and others undertook in memory of Edith Swan Neck, who may have been the first wife of King Harold II. This involved walking over one hundred miles from Waltham Abbey in Essex to St Leonards via Battle Abbey. In instances such as this walking and the act of writing are complementary tools by which hidden narratives and forgotten lives may be resurrected.
Lengthy and arduous walks such as those of Sinclair and Will Self (who once walked across London to New York in a day) are by no means the sole focus of Coverley’s exploration of writer-as-walker. One literary example which Coverley highlights is ‘Street-Haunting’ by Virginia Woolf. Subtitled ‘A London Adventure’, Woolf’s essay is essentially a light-hearted account of one woman’s walk across London in search of a pencil.
Virginia Woolf
The deliciously named practice of ‘street-haunting’ was a lifelong habit which Woolf first began when she moved to Gordon Square in 1904 and enabled much of the author’s creative thinking, planning and ‘scene-making’ to flourish. In this essay, Woolf leaves the solitude of her room to explore her fleeting impressions of London’s inherent strangeness and ‘that vast anonymous army of anonymous trampers’. The transitory nature of Woolf’s walking experience is reflected in her writing which reveals a sense of self which is fragile and free floating.
Importantly, Coverley notes the historical importance of Street-Haunting in relation to the female experience of writer-as-walker, a critical dimension which has traditionally been overlooked. In the preface to this new edition of the book Coverley rightly acknowledges the dominance of this ‘somewhat dispiriting demographic of ageing masculinity’ and welcomes the counter-narrative that has emerged in recent years, with Lauren Elkin’s Flâneuse providing a critical turning point in bringing the female writer-as-walker to the fore. I would have welcomed a deeper exploration of this aspect, for example, through a more detailed appraisal of Rebecca Solnit’s work (Wanderlust: A History of Walking, and A Field Guide to Getting Lost).
The updated edition of The Art of Wandering is an invigorating read, impressive both in its scholarly breadth and in the vivid way in which the relationship between walking and writing is communicated. It also offers the reader something more: a welcome stimulus to re-connect with our cities and landscapes in deeper, more meaningful ways. It is a tonic for our times.
Following 2017’s Holy Terrors (review here) the excellent film adaptation of various tales by the mystical author Arthur Machen, the directorial duo of Julian Butler and Mark Goodall return with a tale from another past master of the mysterious and macabre – Oliver Onions* and an adaptation of his short tale ‘The Beckoning Fair One’.
The premise of the story follows a writer as he moves into a new apartment in order to complete a novel. Eventually it is revealed that apartment is haunted by the ghost of a previous resident- the ‘beckoning fair one’ of the title.
Timed at 23 minutes, Goodall & Butler’s version of the tale stays closer to Onion’s original short story than the 1968 Don Chaffey directed adaptation that featured as an episode of the ABC/ITV supernatural/weird anthology series Journey to the Unknown. The Chaffey version has a different tone and replaces the author protagonist with a painter. It gives a specific time-setting in that it takes place 25 years after the World War 2 bombings of London and in doing so gives a more thorough exposition of the presence in the house than either Onion’s story or the Butler-Goodall version. The Chaffey adaptation runs at one hour which is perhaps too long to tell the story as it feels repetitive in parts rather than tension-building. It is however worth a watch both in itself and as a contrast to Goodall & Butler’s envisioning. (There is also a 1973 Italian Giallo film called Un Tranquillo Posto di Campagna – A Quiet Place in the Country inspired by the tale.)
Butler & Goodall only take 23 minutes on the tale which is enough to do it justice. Its tone and atmosphere is rather oneiric; slow-burning yet getting subtly under the skin delivering an entirely believable yet uncanny experience. Its sound design and crisp well-framed photography coupled with an aesthetically pleasing palette and good location choices serve up a pleasant yet eerie package – with a tale and delivery that does hazily unsettle. It is set in contemporary times, but still maintains a timeless quality. It keeps close to the psychological aspect of the original story, keeping the presence within the house and the brooding will of the building itself to the front and foremost -its horror is cerebral and suggestive not an exhibition of gore or jump-scares. Having a narrator detail the entire tale over live-action footage may not be to the taste of all viewers but for a film of this length serves its purpose well. Indeed I could see Butler & Goodall’s The Beckoning Fair One sit perfectly into A Ghost Story For Christmas slot. Having previously seen (several times actually) and loved their take on the tales of Machen, they have now displayed an empathy and understanding of Oliver Onion’s macabre tale and how to deliver it. I am left hungering to see them take on more of the past visionaries of the horror short story. I’d be curious and keen to see what they could do with the tales of Robert Aickman and Algernon Blackwood for instance. If anyone from the BBC happens to read this, take heed for Goodall and Butler are creating work that suits these times but also sits comfortably with established spooky series such as A Ghost Story for Christmas, Supernatural (1977) or The World Beyond etc.
The Beckoning Fair One can be seen in its entirety HERE
Portrait of Oliver Onions – Andy Paciorek
*Oliver Onions (1873 – 1961) was an author and artist from Bradford, England. Originally trained as a graphic artist, Onions began writing fiction under the encouragement of the American writer Gelet Burgess. Turning his hand to detective stories, science fiction and historical drama also, it is perhaps for his short tales of the weird, supernatural and spectral that he is best known. His 1911 collection Widdershins which features The Beckoning Fair One is amongst his most famous and critically acclaimed works (including amongst several other writers of weird fiction). As with The Beckoning Fair One, the theme of the relationship between creativity and madness is a theme that he returned to in his work several times. Married to the novelist Berta Ruck and the father of two sons, Oliver Onions passed away in Aberystwyth, Wales in 1961.
Lizzy Laurance’s debut album, Rocketman was released April 30th of this year. I would like to start by apologising to Lizzy for the delay in posting this review, however, a series of health issues and time constraints have held things up, which I hope are gradually coming to an end. Anyway, now that’s out of the way lets get down to Lizzy and her suitably impressive debut release.
Lizzy is a London based electronic musician who create “grainy pop-collages inspired by spatial locations; inner, outer and cyber”. In creating her music, she uses found sounds, ambient electronics, library samples, and electronic beats; stitching them together to create atmospheric aural soundscapes. Lizzy explores “the mythology of pop music and the icons who inhabit it”, through stories of “female identity, image-making and toxic masculinity”. Her inspirations are varied and thought-provoking, Lizzy cites David Lynch, Lana Del Ray and Godspeed You! Black Emperor as key influences on the sound of her album, and whilst this may sound like a disparate selection of artists, you can hear a little bit of each in the music, as well as a whole lot of herself. This is by no means an exercise in simply showing adulation for her heroes, she simply uses them to inspire and inform her own original sounding material.
The concept for the album came together while Laurance was artist in residence at Illutron, an arts and technology institute situated on an 800ft dredging boat in Copenhagen. She lived alone on the boat and made a number of field recordings that would form the basis of the songs featured on the album, not just from a musical perspective but from a storytelling perspective too. Lizzy says that she always felt there was “something rotten about the place” before she eventually uncovered that she was living at the site of the infamous Copenhagen Submarine murder of 2018. Founder of Copenhagen’s rocket building scene, Peter Madsen murdered a journalist (Kim Wall) who had come to interview him on board his home-made submarine. Laurance tries to reconcile the visionary ideals and technological innovations Madsen made with the destruction that was “left in its wake.”
After a short intro track (Promenade) that merely hints at what is to follow we are into our first song proper. “Baby Loves”, is a hauntingly atmospheric piece of Avant Garde audio that is eloquent and beautiful, yet possesses hints of a much colder, darker, industrial soundscape. “Come Down” almost sounds like drum and bass at times, yet Lizzy’s haunted vocals and the jazz trumpet samples give it a wholly warmer feel. “Gasoline Blue Jeans” reminds me a little of Portishead at their most experimental. There is also a starkness throughout the album that draws me back to Lynch’s solo albums Blue Bob and Crazy Clown Time. I also feel this particular track would have fitted nicely on the soundtrack to Lynch’s third series of Twin Peaks. “Too Hard to Die” is an off kilter, glitchy industrial nightmare that leaves the listener feeling drained, while “White Nights” is the sound of some sort of clanking mechanical hell, manifesting as music, with Lizzy’s ethereal vocals rising out of the clanking sounds of heavy machinery. “Shine” is a largely ambient track that allows Lizzy’s voice to take centre stage while strange otherworldly sounds move around it. I really like this track for the way in which it manages to create something that sounds like it belongs on the soundtrack to a 1970s Avant Garde science fiction movie. “Famous” starts off with what sounds like corrupted seabird samples before settling into slightly off kilter ethereal pop territory. The lyrics are written from the perspective of a man who stalked Lizzy during her time in Copenhagen, but it’s got a much deeper meaning about toxic masculinity and why women continue to fall for bad men. “Rocketman” is a collision of metallic sounds, screeching metal guitar punctuates ambient industrial drones amid the roar of mighty engines. This is a throbbing and pulsing masterpiece of wyrd electronica. The album closes with the incredibly sad, “Song for Kim Wall” a short, melancholy tour de force that reminds you of the horrific events surrounding her disappearance and subsequent discovery before coming to what feels like quite an abrupt end.
Overall, I found Rocketman to be a masterpiece of dark industrial electronica that sounds like nothing else out there. There are hints of other things from time to time, David Lynch’s albums really come to mind at certain points, but it retains a special quality all of its own. Lizzy’s ethereal vocals are somewhat reminiscent of the sadly missed Julee Cruise, but that may be a lazy observation on my part.
Folk Horror Revival & Urban Wyrd Project ⨘ 