Alessandro Manzetti’s Whitechapel Rhapsody finds horror in beauty


Alessandro Manzetti’s Whitechapel Rhapsody offsets the deluded grandeur of Jack the Ripper’s psychological world against the vivid despair of his environment. Written as a series of thematically connected, free-verse poems, Manzetti’s collection functions as an interesting exercise in depicting this core dissonance: the serial killer’s self-aggrandizing, romantic view of his own violence versus the true horror of its consequences. By setting these ideas at the center of his book, Manzetti offers a worthwhile study of longstanding tensions and ideas central to the horror genre: namely, the aesthetic merits and problems of braiding beauty with violence, and the destructive potential of artists with God complexes (in an abstract way, this brings to mind Lars von Trier’s excellent and similarly complicated The House That Jack Built [2018]).

The book boasts a breadth of reference that is fascinating and, in line with its central concerns, conflicted (not only key characters from the New Testament and Greek mythology, but also Rembrandt, Poe and Dickens, among others). The book is rich with sensory detail, showcasing Manzetti’s penchant for invoking brutal imagery via gorgeous language. Taking the form of something close to prose-poetry, the collection’s verse is accompanied by evocative black-and-white illustrations by Stefano Cardoselli.

Interestingly, the final poem, “The Dark King,” deviates from the book’s fixation on the Whitechapel district of 1888. Presenting the book’s most explicitly psychosexual elements, this piece dehistoricizes Jack the Ripper and imagines him as a cipher for man’s social rot, transcending time and place: “I am … / … Bukowski’s drunk stomach,” Manzetti writes, before urging the reader to “take between [their] teeth / this ticket to a grotesque Musée d’Orsay / full of iridescent French and Tahitian vulvas.” The poem (and collection) closes with a disturbing final line that implicates the reader in this uneasy marriage between cruelty and aesthetic attraction: “I am your dark side.”

At a slim length of fewer than one hundred pages, Whitechapel Rhapsody is ambitious, richly developed, and well worth your time.

Shelter for the Damned Included on Read by Dusk’s 30 Most Anticipated Horror Books of 2021

“Are you ready for 2021? I am!

While 2020 has been a hellfire, fortunately the quality of horror fiction remained excellent. There were plenty of fantastic horror books released this year and I hope they entertained you, or at least took your mind off your worries for a while.

So looking ahead to 2021, I have compiled a list of the most anticipated horror books coming soon! To make it simple, I chose the ones that already have a cover and publication date.”

Check out the full list.

Beyond the Book of Eibon: A literary tribute to Lucio Fulci

I’m thrilled to announce that my new story “Offer to the Adversary” will be included in Beyond the Book of Eibon, a literary tribute anthology to the Italian horror master, Lucio Fulci! 

Secure your copy on Kickstarter.

Edited by Perry Ruhland and Astrid Rose, the book will also include contributions by Adam Cesare, Gemma Files, Orrin Grey, Michael Hoarty, Kai Perrignon, Matt Serafini, William Tea, Christopher Slatsky, and others. Featuring a foreword by Kier-La Janisse.

Dark Updates (for Better and Worse): Darkest Hours & Shelter for the Damned

It seems only yesterday that I unleashed my debut short story collection Darkest Hours on the world. November 10, 2020 will mark its three-year anniversary, and the end of its print run with Unnerving. So far, the book has been thriving thanks to support and enthusiasm from readers, reviewers, and horror enthusiasts from all dark corners. I fully intend to find it an excellent new home, and I will provide updates as they come!

Having said that, if you want to pick up a copy of Darkest Hours, now is absolutely the time. Order from Amazon or Barnes & Noble before it vanishes (for now…).

In other news, my debut novel Shelter for the Damned is scheduled for release with JournalStone on February 26, 2021. I have a lot of exciting updates related to that project, but I’m going to have to sit on those for the time being.

Here’s the synopsis:

While looking for a secret place to smoke cigarettes with his two best friends, troubled teenager Mark discovers a mysterious shack in a suburban field. Alienated from his parents and peers, Mark finds within the shack an escape greater than anything he has ever experienced.

But it isn’t long before the place begins revealing its strange, powerful sentience. And it wants something in exchange for the shelter it provides. 

Stay spooky, my friends! More updates soon…

The Weird Delights of Daniel Braum’s Underworld Dreams

Cover Reveal: Underworld Dreams by Daniel Braum – Ink Heist
Lethe Press, 2020

Daniel Braum’s new short story collection Underworld Dreams comes equipped with a Story Notes section; within these Notes, the author provides thoughtful reflections on his creative process, narrative intentions, and philosophical interests, among other things. Most prominently, Braum stresses his persisting interest in the ambiguous space between the psychological and the supernatural. Braum’s fiction inhabits this space and engages with the Weird tradition to depict our reality as innately interstitial, slippery, and impervious to “mastery.” By extension, Underworld Dreams repeatedly encourages us to scrutinize the artificial gap between human and nonhuman animals, between subject and world.

This coy, quiet, and unassuming challenge to human exceptionalism resonates throughout. The first story, “How to Stay Afloat When Drowning,” features a disturbing centerpiece in which a group of people brutally torture a shark; later, the story uses its psychological-supernatural ambiguity to blur the distinction between shark and human. “The Monkey Coat” lends attention to the suffering bound up in its titular object (the origin of whose horrors remain unknown).

Braum does not employ this symbolism to bluntly didactic ends; rather, he assesses the artificial divide between human and nonhuman animal to underline broader investigations about the human subject’s relation to the world. For example, the title story sees characters discussing acts of infidelity and dishonesty as reflections of their “monkey in the jungle” selves.

Braum cites Algernon Blackwood’s classic Weird novella The Willows in his Story Notes, and the imprint is visible: Underworld Dreams repeatedly sees its characters encountering eerily numinous spaces and reality-fissures in environments that have evaded global industrialism. Braum finds lots of potential for the ineffable in “natural” spaces, demonstrating a knack for imagery and atmosphere.

There are horrifying moments here (perhaps most notably in the aforementioned “Monkey Coat,” reportedly inspired by advice Braum got from the legendary Jack Ketchum), but this book mostly occupies Weird Fiction’s less macabre terrain. China Melville writes that the “obsession with numinosity under the everyday is at the heart of Weird Fiction,” and this is the obsession that most clearly characterizes Underworld Dreams. For readers seeking fiction with a strong narrative engine and a bold commitment to the unknown, this collection is one to seek out.

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