I should start this review with some honesty. In the spirit of full disclosure, Richard Gavin is a good friend of mine. Do our friendship and our discussions influence my opinion of his work? I suppose it's possible, but I don't believe it does so in a way that differs from how any of us treat our favourite authors. Should you enjoy the work of Thomas Ligotti, then you might come to a new collection of his with a pre-determined approval — an opinion that might change only
after you've read it. I don't believe that's unnatural, and certainly describes how I come to
THE DARKLY SPLENDID REALM. For, you see, I am a "Richard Gavin fan", and had been for some time before I met him. In fact — and this feels a bit embarrassing to admit — it's feasible the primary reason we became friends is because I launched a serious endeavour after meeting him a few years ago to make it happen. I chased him as a young school-boy might chase a beautiful girl, trying to tempt and woo her into being his. I assure you, though, it wasn't quite as creepy as it sounds, but the intent to win him over was there. Why? Because Richard's work, even from the beginning, seemed to be a dark mirror to my own, and subsequent discussions have only further cemented that belief. We are two different writers, of course, and use language in our way, but fundamentally, underneath it all, we share a view of the world based on liminal places, of nightmarish existence, and of things that live beyond the veil. I like to think this puts me in a unique position when it comes to reviewing Richard's work, one that might not be possible from other sources. True, my biases are set, and the fact that this review is posted means I enjoyed the work tremendously (as publishing a bad review of a friend's work can strain that friendship), but I believe, beneath it all, I can objectively express my thoughts in no more a compromised way than any other review you might read.
But enough justification as to why my opinion on the work can or cannot be trusted. What about the book itself? I'll be honest here: though it's only been two or three years since
OMENS, in that time I've read virtually no work from Richard's pen, so in many way receiving
THE DARKLY SPLENDID REALM was like discovering a friend of mine was a writer. Here was a fellow I'd spent a good amount of time talking to about nightmares and the way horror fiction works who had
actually produced a volume of fiction. The Richard Gavin who wrote
OMENS, after all, was a completely different fellow than the one who wrote this new book, one I'd met only once during a World Horror convention, but of whose work at that time I was already a large fan. How strange, I thought, it was going to be to read this new volume by an author I knew infinitely better than I was used to. It did not take long for that strangeness to wear away, replaced with that familiar sense of waking nightmare Richard so deftly delivers.
I've probably gone on too much in the past about the "different style" Richard is working in for this collection. The truth is, the fiction is very much the same
Gavinistic fiction it's always been. Perhaps it's a bit more accessible to the layperson, but not much more. And what I mean by that is that it's not really language that proves a barrier but perception, or at least the willingness to perceive. Richard's work asks only that the reader put aside the glasses through which he or she sees the world and instead open his or her naked eyes to the truth. We all see the world through filters of some sort, but Richard's work is an attempt to by-pass them all. He deals in revelations. Is it his fault that truth is something that is so existentially terrifying?
There are many standout tales in
THE DARKLY SPLENDID REALM, of which the following are just a sample:
"Where the Scarab Dwells" is a Campbellesque journey into a new housing project in which the loss of heritage that haunts a young man drives him to a fruitless search for absolution.
A paper dealer, a junkie, some greed, and a book of ciphers form the ingredients for "Phantom Passages", a tale that harkens back to earlier Gavin stories, and focuses on his strengths as a writer. A sense of gnostic mystery, of mysticism, and strange sects collide in a way we don't see enough of in fiction. Gavin's roots here are solidly in the weird, and prove his command of fiction's liminal spaces.
"Primeval Wood" is the longest piece in the book, a novella previously published by Burning Effigy Press. I've mentioned it before, but it's an extended journey into the darkness of loneliness and its outward manifestation in strange northern woods. Gavin makes good use of his Canadian heritage here, depicting the inherent eeriness of the country's boreal forests.
"Getting the Strap" exposes the ying-yang of strength and frailty in all of us through a rite of abuse. I can only come at fiction sometimes as a writer, and there is a small scene in this tale that I not only wish I'd written myself, but that I'd been able to think to write in the first place. The story in turn fills me with jealousy at and inspiration of what Richard is able to do.
I'd like to think that "Waterburns" is a tale I might have written (you're free to consider that a compliment or a criticism). Dream-like and metaphorical, it hints at the effects of existence on a soul without the use of standard tropes. The finale of the tale, the poetry of the outcome, will continue to haunt as all great stories should.
"The Bitter Taste of Dread-Moths" is perhaps the best story in this great collection. A familiar face (for us Gavin acolytes) returns to the life of a girl who is compelled to travel down the rabbit hole of her research. What she finds there is as bizarre and hallucinatory as one might expect from Gavin's pen. With secret cults and strange transformations, a tapestry that is so much greater than its sum is woven. An outstanding piece of work, and the climax of the collection.
And, as a fitting conclusion, "Following the Silent Hedges". Gavin shows his delicacy in describing the veil between worlds, and the passages through that liminal space from one to the other, though its never clear which direction the named
you is travelling.
In the author's afterword, Richard explains his views on horror and its place in the modern world. Many writers are steeped in the factual background of the genre, but few are also equipped with an innate understanding of the intangible aspect of horror. Gavin here shows a perception for the emotion of horror, for the effect reliving nightmares in prose might have on a reader and on his world in general. An essay as fascinating as any fiction, and a great way to close out a singular experience.
What ties much of this collection together, as I've suggested earlier, is the concept of what lies beyond. Richard is fascinated with "the other side", with our travels there, and with what might return. Tales like "Following the Silent Hedges" and "The Astral Mask" are most obvious about it, but it also plays a bit in "Waterburns" and the wonderfully bizarre "Children of the Mound". Richard's work is concerned a great deal with this topic, and his use of mysticism to convey it is rare in today's fiction. It harkens back to masters such as Machen and Blackwood, and reminds me of tales like Lewis's "The Tower of Moab" which suggest a deeper, longer history to events than anyone is aware. As I've said, Richard's work and my own share a similar "dreamscape", but whereas I'm fascinated by the minutiae of the individual experience, he's fascinated by the history of that dark world's intrusions upon our own. I honestly believe there is no one writing like Richard Gavin today, and it's only a matter of time before his contributions to the field of the weird are recognised and given their due.
Author, critic, and intellectual curiosity Matt Cardin was the first to suggest to me that something interesting was happening in the sub-genre of weird fiction. There's a movement occurring, a wave of new talent that we haven't seen in some time. Laird Barron makes mention of the same phenomenon in the introduction to this book. We're seeing a renaissance in weird fiction, work by writers who have read beyond the work of the past twenty or thirty years, writers who are familiar with past-masters and are able to take these influences and weave them into something new. Writers like the aforementioned Barron and Cardin, like McMahon and Pugmire and Ballingrud. My own pet theory for why this has happened is focused primarily on the rise of small presses like Ash-Tree and Tartarus and Ghost Story Press, publisher who brought back into print a lot of work forgotten during the boom-bust the genre went through in the eighties and nineties. Young writers were exposed to these works and from them a new generation of literate writers was born. Richard Gavin is a prominent member of this movement, and if there's any justice this latest book will finally earn him the accolades his work so richly deserves.
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