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Acolyte, v. 4, issue 1, whole no. 13, Winter 1946
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misshapen figure which appears on his estate. The story employs with great effect the device of the pursuer becoming the pursued. The ghost in this story proves to be a Popish suicide who had been buried on the site of the proposed sundial. Easily one of the best stories in the volume is "Between Sunset and Moonrise", which contains gradations of horror almost Lovecraftian, telling as it does of a woman living entirely alone in a cottage and finally destroyed by the evil forces she is wont to summon. Another effective tale is "The Blank Leaves", which deals with the witchcraft custom of securing a dead man's hand and making a lamp of it by coating it with human fat. "The Thirteenth Tree" tells of the reenactment of a murder on the ground where lies the body of a vengeful old woman, who had murdered the son of the judge who had unjustly sentenced her son to death. "The Coxwain of the Lifeboat" tells of a man who had entered into a pact with powers of evil, and of the frightful visitor who comes at last to claim him. The final story, "The Priest's Brass", tells of an antiquarian who makes a rubbing of a brass of a priest of ill repute. He is led to do this through information from a very dubious grave digger named Clenchwarton. The rubbing made, he becomes aware that he is constantly followed by what appears to be some small animal. Finally, crossing a meadow, he is pursued by a ferocious bull. He manages to evade it, and is killed by plunging into an abandoned quarry. Yet on telling his story, he is told that no such quarry exists in that meadow. Shortly afterwards, it is discovered that Clenchwarton has fallen downstairs and broken his neck. As to Malden's future as a writer, one would speak with some hesitation. Like James, he has written entirely for his own amusement, and that of his friends, though he is reputed to have one unpublished story somewhat longer than the ones in this volume. Certainly, one would counsel a less slavish imitation of his model, and the developement of a more individual style. However, for anyone who wishes the thrill of a posthumous volume of James, this book is highly recommended. Malden does not quite have James' mastery of sly, humorous dialogue, nor can he play quite so skillfully on the nerves of his reader. Nevertheless, the likeness of these stories to those of the greatest master of the pure ghost story makes them well worthy of the attention of the discriminating fantaisiste. TRAVELERS Here ghostly travelers, forever striving Out of the moldy pods of changing thought, Now pause astride brief borderland, contriving To match obscure statistics they have brought In faint remembrance, with the stark rigor Of present life, until the final breath; Always seeking as finite brains grow bigger, Escape from obdurate routine of death. Lured by promise beyond the act of dying The single soul precarious, alone, Springs from an indistinct design, trying To claim substance of shadow for its own, Reluctantly submits and moves away Because it lacks some valid right to stay ---Verne Moore -- 17 --
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misshapen figure which appears on his estate. The story employs with great effect the device of the pursuer becoming the pursued. The ghost in this story proves to be a Popish suicide who had been buried on the site of the proposed sundial. Easily one of the best stories in the volume is "Between Sunset and Moonrise", which contains gradations of horror almost Lovecraftian, telling as it does of a woman living entirely alone in a cottage and finally destroyed by the evil forces she is wont to summon. Another effective tale is "The Blank Leaves", which deals with the witchcraft custom of securing a dead man's hand and making a lamp of it by coating it with human fat. "The Thirteenth Tree" tells of the reenactment of a murder on the ground where lies the body of a vengeful old woman, who had murdered the son of the judge who had unjustly sentenced her son to death. "The Coxwain of the Lifeboat" tells of a man who had entered into a pact with powers of evil, and of the frightful visitor who comes at last to claim him. The final story, "The Priest's Brass", tells of an antiquarian who makes a rubbing of a brass of a priest of ill repute. He is led to do this through information from a very dubious grave digger named Clenchwarton. The rubbing made, he becomes aware that he is constantly followed by what appears to be some small animal. Finally, crossing a meadow, he is pursued by a ferocious bull. He manages to evade it, and is killed by plunging into an abandoned quarry. Yet on telling his story, he is told that no such quarry exists in that meadow. Shortly afterwards, it is discovered that Clenchwarton has fallen downstairs and broken his neck. As to Malden's future as a writer, one would speak with some hesitation. Like James, he has written entirely for his own amusement, and that of his friends, though he is reputed to have one unpublished story somewhat longer than the ones in this volume. Certainly, one would counsel a less slavish imitation of his model, and the developement of a more individual style. However, for anyone who wishes the thrill of a posthumous volume of James, this book is highly recommended. Malden does not quite have James' mastery of sly, humorous dialogue, nor can he play quite so skillfully on the nerves of his reader. Nevertheless, the likeness of these stories to those of the greatest master of the pure ghost story makes them well worthy of the attention of the discriminating fantaisiste. TRAVELERS Here ghostly travelers, forever striving Out of the moldy pods of changing thought, Now pause astride brief borderland, contriving To match obscure statistics they have brought In faint remembrance, with the stark rigor Of present life, until the final breath; Always seeking as finite brains grow bigger, Escape from obdurate routine of death. Lured by promise beyond the act of dying The single soul precarious, alone, Springs from an indistinct design, trying To claim substance of shadow for its own, Reluctantly submits and moves away Because it lacks some valid right to stay ---Verne Moore -- 17 --
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