The Bizarchives V

A Review of the Malignant Mag of Blasphemous Proportions

I will never forget the day.

A few weeks ago, a package arrived in my mailbox. The plain white paper belied the treasure inside. Actually, “treasure” is an improper description. An eldritch tome bleeding magick and madness is more accurate. The fifth volume of The Bizarchives is the largest issue yet, and thus the most dangerous. Being from a hardy breed, I consumed the entire book over several nights of delirium. These after-midnight sessions tested my faith and fortitude, but alas I prevailed.

Here are my thoughts.

A wondrous tale of science fiction opens the volume. Jim Bonner’s “Inertia of a Protean Tantalus” is a strange, and at times mystifying yarn set in a future world of powerful synthetic drugs, cults, the so-called N2 Parasystem, and designed consciousness transfers. These tidbits of information are not spelled out or explained easily; Mr. Bonner relies on the readers’ intelligence to sus it all out. “Inertia of a Protean Tantalus” is immersive and emotive. It also has a fin de siècle quality to it, which is unique for something so futuristic. Admittedly, this tale does not immediately feel like a good opener. It is slow, decadent, and cerebral, and thus might miss a few, more pulp-hungry readers at first. However, “Inertia of a Protean Tantalus” does establish what becomes the unifying theme of The Bizarchives #5—the heroism and vitality of a lone man amongst the ruins. And Bonner does this theme better than anyone else.

Next is “Big” Dave Martel’s “Human Candles.” The founder, primary editor, and all-around hawker for The Bizarchives brand, Martel also happens to be an exceptional wordsmith. “Human Candles” is a stylistic departure for him, as his typical sword & sorcery (with heavy dallops of red sauce) is here replaced with classic horror in the vein of Arthur Machen or Algernon Blackwood. “Human Candles” tells the morbid tale of Henry Jacob Wharton IV, a Quaker State blueblood and a student at the prestigious University of Pennsylvania. Henry falls in with a far-sighted professor named Dr. Levick. Dr. Levick, it turns out, takes inspiration from the 16th century alchemist Dr. Dee. As such, he and the impressionable Henry dabble in scrying, albeit scrying turbocharged with mad science. “Human Candles” is arguably Martel’s best story. This Gothic potboiler is a surefire hit that makes the standards sing with new and very brutal life.

The novelist M.S. Jones has two entries in this new volume. The first, “Tears of the Flower Princess,” is a beautiful high fantasy tale about a treacherous journey only undertaken by a brave few. These recueillers of Mount Osserad seek to obtain the blood orchids of immense power and myth. The climb proves dangerous and deadly, with at least some of the deaths being sacrificial. The protagonist Angan experiences it all, plus he sees the bewitching (and bewitched) Flower Princess as she conducts a private communion. Jones’s predilection for the epic is also contained in his translation of “A Poem of The First High Chief.” The translation is truly an original, even despite its close affinity to Dark Age poetry. Blood, brotherhood, and nobility are the themes of Jones’s poem, and unlike contemporary scribbling done by better-funded poets, “A Poem of The First High Chief” has meter, logic, and story. Bravo!

Speaking of poetry, Cyprus Walter’s “Fall of Eryth” recounts the bloody conquest of a victorious warband. Anglo-Saxon in the best sense, “Fall of Eryth” radiates the type of masculine energy that is practically extinct in the larger world of verse.

This island nation that the king had made his mind to conquer

Had once beaten in the past but would again no longer.

With the rage of history’s memory, the defenders held their line,

And the spearmen bleeding feel that day, when the sun refused to shine.

Much like Jones’s epic poem, Walter’s “Fall of Eryth” seeks for and obtains the aesthetic of the sub-Roman West, what with its many battles, kings, and barbarian heroes. And it rhymes!

Not to be outdone, Martel also has a poem in the fifth edition. “The Boglord’s Curse” proves why Martel is one of the best weird poets in world. This strange poem oozes blasphemy so much that it feels like the chant of a wayward Cthulhu cultist.

I sink into the murky mud

A fetal fluid sack

Embryonic ooze and blood

Chthonic morphing black

Man, if these words were accompanied by down-tuned guitars and blast-beat drums, “The Boglord’s Curse” would reek of 1990s death metal (the best kind of death metal). Beyond “The Boglord’s Curse,” Martel also has his own comic. Inked by artist Donald Kent, “Lex and the Snake Cult” features Martel’s Lucious Lex character. The brawny and violent monster-slayer Lex is silent in Kent’s comic. Indeed, everything is unspoken, as the short comic contains no word bubbles at all. They are not needed. The story is straightforward and kick-ass. The only criticism so far is that Martel can be credibly accused on betting on the house. A poem, a comic, and a short story by one man in one volume seems like a lot, especially when said man is the head honcho. Martel gets a pass though because they are all good, and because weird tale nepotism ain’t that bad.

“The Bounty Hunter of Harmony” by Jordan Allen is yet another macho piece published by The Bizarchives. Here, Malcolm Kent is the big swinging fist of a future United States. Kent is a bounty hunter with a mission to destroy Livelong—a dangerous drug with hideous side effects. In “The Bounty Hunter of Harmony,” Kent takes out Caplan, a major producer of Livelong. The story does not mess around; Allen gets straight to the point, which is turboviolence. Kent is the quintessential American cowboy set in a world far beyond the Wild West of the nineteenth century. It works, especially given that such a drug as Livelong already exists in another form…

“The Mystery of Gearhart’s Beach” by co-editor Arbogast is the second throwback yarn of this volume. While “Human Candles” traffics in 19th century horrors, “The Mystery of Gearhart’s Beach” reads like something from the Jazz Age. Here, Arbogast’s series character Patrick Midnight is on a mission to thwart Japanese espionage in Oregon. He stumbles on much more than that in the tiny seaside town of Gearhart’s Beach, as Midnight and his “ancestral shade” the Reverend Blackstone run afoul of unemployed rioters, a communist agitator, and the infamous Marsh family of Innsmouth. The story is enchanting and fun, but unlike other entries, the editor and the author missed several typos. Still, these mistakes do not really take away from what is a very solid horror-adventure tale.

Paul Fahrenheidt, a first-time scribe for The Bizarchives, tells an all-American folktale in “Crimson Canyons.” The hero of the piece is a cursed Spanish conquistador named Roberto Torres. Torres’s curse sees him forever doomed to the life of a wandering minotaur—a half-man, half-bull hybrid. In “Crimson Canyons,” Torres makes war on a group of bloodthirsty Apache, some of whom brag about scalping Spanish priests. This story is a weird permutation on the classic tall tale of the Southwest. Fahrenheidt channels Robert E. Howard and the mostly nameless raconteurs of Old America to create arguably the most unique story in The Bizarchives #5.

While Fahrenheidt covers Americana, C.P. Webster offers an Anglo alternative in “The Pimlico Vampire.” This story, which was my favorite of the bunch, is set in 1970s London and features a different kind of bloodsucker. Like Webster’s The Horror Beneath, “The Pimlico Vampire” is redolent with Hammer-style horror. This type of horror is meant for rainy and foggy afternoons in the Cotswolds, or dark, starless nights somewhere south of London. Webster’s Luke D’Arcy may not be a saucy Jack (or even a fanged-out Chris Lee), but he is nevertheless a fantastic villain that the police just cannot catch.

After vampires we have giant trolls in William Gable’s “Grim and Troll.” The Viking Grim finds himself on an enchanted island. On said island is a beautiful damsel in distress. What distresses her is a gigantic troll. What follows is a story so classic that it is almost archetypal. It is the type of story that Georges Dumézil could have found written on parchment in Proto-Indo-European. Gable needs to be commended for making something so ancient feel so in-place in a collection that features future machines, robots, and the like. If nothing else, “Grim and Troll” proves that the world needs more neo-Scandinavian yarns about seafarers killing monsters.

Bizarchives legend A. Cuthbertson continues to recount the exploits of the necromancer Count Choralure in “The Cloak of Hands.” One of the longest entries in this collection, “The Cloak of Hands” is typical of the Count Choralure stories in that it combines fantasy and horror with deceptively hilarious humor. “The Cloak of Hands” sees Choralure and his reanimated servant Prospero once again at war with the Alabaster Order and their many Drained soldiers. There is a reason why Cuthbertson’s Count Choralure stories are so popular, and “The Cloak of Hands” will only contribute to this popularity. Choralure’s invasion of the damned Castle Werevar, and his fight against a powerful knight of the Alabaster Order will, I predict, make this particular story the most widely celebrated of all in The Bizarchives #5.

The final piece that closes out this magnificent volume is Tristan Powers’s “Dead Men Tell No Tales.” As evinced by the title, this is a pirate story. Once again readers meet a two-fist and square-jawed hero. This one is named Veirtarn, and he loves nothing better than a good cup of wine and a nice donnybrook. He gets both in “Dead Men Tell No Tales.” Plus, the rambunctious pirate manages to steal himself an entire ship that even comes with a bathing beauty in the captain’s quarters. “Dead Men Tell No Tales” reads like a precursor to larger tale, but even if it is not, it is majestic all by its lonesome as a rough and tumble fighter’s tale.

The Bizarchives #5 is the best edition yet. This book has it all and covers all the necessary pulp genres. Sure, it has a few hiccups, but nothing is perfect. This is a book for readers who crave action, adventure, and characters who lust, have hunger in their guts, and who don’t mind getting dirty. The sheer parade of tough guy protagonists here shows that Martel and company know their core demographic. The Bizarchives is the working class and masculine alternative to the overwhelmingly feminine, overeducated, and bourgeoisie pabulum published by today’s “slicks.” Thank goodness for this alternative and thank you to all the authors in The Bizarchives #5. It is exhilarating to be witness to a legitimate groundswell of creativity, especially creativity done even in spite of cultural and economic handicaps.

Be TRVE and buy this book.