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Valancourt Books has spoiled me, I think. By reprinting books by the likes of Michael McDowell, Ken Greenhall, and Bernard Taylor, they've come to represent a way to discover the lost gems of the horror genre. When I heard they would be publishing some reprints of the better novels featured in Grady Hendrix's Paperbacks from Hell, of course I signed up for the subscription service to get all of them. The Nest is the first in that series.
The thing is, Valancourt has also published books like Slimer and The Fungus, books that have some merit, but aren't really the best '80s horror had to offer. The Nest falls into that group, too, which surprised me, since it was the first novel in the series. The whole story felt overwrought, and the characters didn't resonate enough for me to care about them. As a result, it was hard to care much about the carnage that came from the mutated, giant, man-eating cockroaches.
For me, there are two classes of horror that are enjoyable: the first is the kind of horror that's effective, subtle and atmospheric, creepy and disquieting; the second is the kind of horror that's so bad that it's just fun to read, like riding a rollercoaster with your hands up the whole way. The Nest strives for the former while just dodging the latter, so it comes across as lackluster and uninteresting. I do give the author credit for giving the story some progressive touches (women scientists, strong women, and hints at an interracial romance) all the way back in 1980, but even then, it feels more like lip service than a genuine attempt at creating character. I'm hoping that the rest of the books in this short series will live up more to my expectations.
The thing is, Valancourt has also published books like Slimer and The Fungus, books that have some merit, but aren't really the best '80s horror had to offer. The Nest falls into that group, too, which surprised me, since it was the first novel in the series. The whole story felt overwrought, and the characters didn't resonate enough for me to care about them. As a result, it was hard to care much about the carnage that came from the mutated, giant, man-eating cockroaches.
For me, there are two classes of horror that are enjoyable: the first is the kind of horror that's effective, subtle and atmospheric, creepy and disquieting; the second is the kind of horror that's so bad that it's just fun to read, like riding a rollercoaster with your hands up the whole way. The Nest strives for the former while just dodging the latter, so it comes across as lackluster and uninteresting. I do give the author credit for giving the story some progressive touches (women scientists, strong women, and hints at an interracial romance) all the way back in 1980, but even then, it feels more like lip service than a genuine attempt at creating character. I'm hoping that the rest of the books in this short series will live up more to my expectations.