There are dark places everywhere. The world outside your front door, and the one inside your head. Dreads and longings. Pasts and futures. Loneliness and relationships. Love and hate. Life and death . . . and what might lie beyond. And then there's the place the stories come from. The council estate where the dead walk . . . The farmhouse attic filled with mummified corpseThere are dark places everywhere. The world outside your front door, and the one inside your head. Dreads and longings. Pasts and futures. Loneliness and relationships. Love and hate. Life and death . . . and what might lie beyond. And then there's the place the stories come from. The council estate where the dead walk . . . The farmhouse attic filled with mummified corpses . . . The old tramp's blanket, and what slept in it at night . . . Here, collected for the first time, are Simon Bestwick's pictures of the dark - 23 despatches from a world very like ours, but where those dark places take on a life of their own. The damaged and forlorn men and women in these stories pit themselves against their own demons or worlds gone mad, uncover the rot at society's core or in their own souls - but they're all caught by the dark. And nobody gets away clean. Will you? Open the book and find out....
|Title||:||Pictures of the Dark|
|Number of Pages||:||288 Pages|
|Status||:||Available For Download|
|Last checked||:||21 Minutes ago!|
Pictures of the Dark Reviews
No Goodreads reviews of this superb collection of stories? Perhaps others have felt daunted by the task, as I do, and as Gary McMahon did when he felt "unworthy" to write its introduction.I think Bestwick's secret is his extremely intense emotional investment in his work. I never sense that he feels casual about it, or cooly detached, or clever; instead, he writes as if his life depends on arousing his reader's darkest fears and innermost sorrows. At the same time, some mysterious discipline ensures that he never quite strays into gratuitous vulgarity, and his style, while free from pretentiousness, at suitable moments acquires unexpected poetry.At the heart of his artistic impulse is a mingling of indignation and sorrow. The sorrow is for the wounds which life inflicts on our better selves, and the indignation is at the unfairness of it all---which sounds trite when I put it so baldly, but is anything but trite when it is felt deeply and sincerely and expressed through such powerful means.That indignation probably underlies the burning for political justice which many of the stories display. It's possible that a Thatcherite or Reaganite might reject them out of hand, but I suspect his art is strong enough to overcome ideology. For me, this aspect of his work is icing on the cake, and a story like "To This Darkness, We Give Light", which improves on Orwell, voices with exactitude what we have lost as we harden against our true selves in order to cope with the new Age of Terror.Almost all the stories are memorable. "To Walk in Midnight's Realm" is heartrending and wonderfully mysterious in its refusal to offer explanations: Bestwick knows plotting can have the logic of a dream if the emotions and mood are strong and clear. "Vecqueray's Blanket" is nearly as good. Other stories are effective but more modest in their ambition. Only one or two left me feeling that Bestwick hadn't pulled it off. Sometimes he starts out with what seems like an overfamiliar premise, subverts our expectations, and renders our misgivings irrelevant by delivering a devastating emotional impact. A good example is the zombie siege in "When the West Wind Blows", where you start out thinking, "Oh, not this again!", but you finish with a thrill of mystery (these Romeroesque lurchers may in fact be something much older, and much stranger), and emotionally sideswiped by the narrator's doomed, hopeless, redemptive love. Well, I know I haven't done Bestwick justice, so read the book and improve on what I've written, fellow Goodreaders.