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A review by mullane45
Bone Harvest by James Brogden
3.0
3.5 rounded down.
James Brogden’s folky British horror novels are a reliably entertaining read, although I don’t think any have quite hit the heights of Hekla’s Children, which was the first I came across.
This one opens unexpectedly, in the trenches of World War I, as a deserter runs into a strange group out in No Man’s Land that will change his life forever. Indeed, it’s well over a hundred pages before literally anything referenced in the book’s blurb comes into play, which was fun, as it meant I had no idea where any of it was going. And it certainly goes to some places.
Eventually we meet Dennie Keeling, an aging woman in the present day, who is worried that dementia is slipping in, and spends her days tending her allotment and trying not to dwell on past regrets. When a strange couple arrives to take over a neighbouring plot – a plot with a sordid past that Dennie had more than one hand in - strange events begin to occur in the allotment and in the wider community. But with Dennie’s suspicions about the newcomers growing just as fast as her mind is slipping, who will ever believe her wild claims?
Enjoyed this on the whole, but ultimately, I feel like it bit off slightly more than it could chew. There’s a lot going on here, with everything from ancient gods, ageless cults, psychic abilities, ghosts, and murderers getting a look-in, alongside more grounded issues like aging, dementia, cancer, and how to keep slugs off your allotment. It’s a heady mix, and the balance is struck quite nicely up to a point, but it somewhat collapses under its own weight by the final act, especially with new characters suddenly introduced and given unexpected prominence. The set-piece that ends the second act feels like it should have been the climax, as what follows during the actual denouement doesn’t have anywhere near the same impact or excitement.
Still, there’s a lot to enjoy. The WWI opening is great, with the sense of misery, blood, mud and shit that was the world of the trenches very palpable, and Brogden continues to conjure some deliciously (horribly) evocative imagery throughout. He’s not the most flowery writer, but he can certainly paint an image.
Obviously nobody is as good as Stephen King, but if you want a folky British version – with effective horror stories set around the West Midlands, rather than Maine – then Brogden is your guy.
James Brogden’s folky British horror novels are a reliably entertaining read, although I don’t think any have quite hit the heights of Hekla’s Children, which was the first I came across.
This one opens unexpectedly, in the trenches of World War I, as a deserter runs into a strange group out in No Man’s Land that will change his life forever. Indeed, it’s well over a hundred pages before literally anything referenced in the book’s blurb comes into play, which was fun, as it meant I had no idea where any of it was going. And it certainly goes to some places.
Eventually we meet Dennie Keeling, an aging woman in the present day, who is worried that dementia is slipping in, and spends her days tending her allotment and trying not to dwell on past regrets. When a strange couple arrives to take over a neighbouring plot – a plot with a sordid past that Dennie had more than one hand in - strange events begin to occur in the allotment and in the wider community. But with Dennie’s suspicions about the newcomers growing just as fast as her mind is slipping, who will ever believe her wild claims?
Enjoyed this on the whole, but ultimately, I feel like it bit off slightly more than it could chew. There’s a lot going on here, with everything from ancient gods, ageless cults, psychic abilities, ghosts, and murderers getting a look-in, alongside more grounded issues like aging, dementia, cancer, and how to keep slugs off your allotment. It’s a heady mix, and the balance is struck quite nicely up to a point, but it somewhat collapses under its own weight by the final act, especially with new characters suddenly introduced and given unexpected prominence. The set-piece that ends the second act feels like it should have been the climax, as what follows during the actual denouement doesn’t have anywhere near the same impact or excitement.
Still, there’s a lot to enjoy. The WWI opening is great, with the sense of misery, blood, mud and shit that was the world of the trenches very palpable, and Brogden continues to conjure some deliciously (horribly) evocative imagery throughout. He’s not the most flowery writer, but he can certainly paint an image.
Obviously nobody is as good as Stephen King, but if you want a folky British version – with effective horror stories set around the West Midlands, rather than Maine – then Brogden is your guy.