Deadite Press Gears Up

 
One of the saddest horror stories of 2010 was the demise of Leisure Books' horror line and ousting of editor Dan D'Auria. For several years, Leisure published two paperback horror novels a month from literary luminaries such as Brian Keene, Wrath James White, JF Gonzalez, Bryan Smith, Edward Lee, Ray Garton, Gord Rollo, Richard Laymon, Simon Clark, Mary Sangiovanni, Tim Lebbon, and many others.  I was a member of their horror book club and always looked forward to the thud of that cardboard box of pulp goodness on my doorstep. When they started sending me books from other publishers, I smelt a James Herbert-sized rat. 

For many of Leisure's authors, the end, like most ends, was a messy affair. Advances had not been received. Pending releases hung in holding patterns. Anger spilled over into blogs.

With 2011 now upon us, so is some very good news. Deadite Press, a specialty publisher with solid horror bona fides, has embraced and will be releasing the past and future work of Leisure lifeboat authors Brian Keene, JF Gonzalez, Bryan Smith, and Edward Lee, to name a few.

Deadite is already an active horror publisher and has demonstrated a healthy jones for extreme, wild, and deliciously subversive material. They also publish works from Bizarro writers such as Carlton Mellick III (Apeshit), AndreDuza (Necro Sex Machine), Adam Pepper (Super Fetus), and Robert Devereaux (Slaughter House High).

 Upcoming novels from Deadite include re-publishings of the Guy N. Smith-inspired Clickers books (there are two so far)  from JF Gonzalez -- if you haven't read his Survivor, you ought to, because then you'll know what it feels like to be ass-raped through your eyes. Jack's Magic Beans is coming from Brian Keene; and Bryan Smith has Highways to Hell, a new short story collection, and The Killing Kind 2, on the way.

Baby's First Book of Seriously Fuck-Up Shit, by Robert Devereaux, sounds like a must-read based on  title alone; it hits stores in March. Other upcoming Devereaux titles include Santa Steps Out, Santa Conquers the Homophobes (a certain reader of this blog had better watch out!), and Book Three of the Santa Chronicles

Wrath James Wright, who wrote the troubling Succulent Prey, has His Pain out in September, and Population Zero available for immediate fondling.

 Already available from Deadite and recommended is Edward Lee's Trolley No. 1852, a tale so much in the Lovecraftian tradition, it's backstory is that it was written by Lovecraft himself when he was skint. From what I've heard, the dark scribe was skint most of the time. The stories within this framework involve a strange sex club that smells like a more gentlemanly version of Ray Garton's den of slut vampires in Live Girls. By gentlemanly, I'm not suggesting that nothing much happens in Lee's club but cigar smoking and cricket chat --  on the contrary, much perversion occurs, but it's seen from Lovecraft's more sexually conservative point of view, and not described with the relish Mr. Lee is famous for.

Leisure has gone, but Deadite survives, and should thrive with its new roster of warped wordsmiths.  

 

Here's a more official rundown of the blood-, gore-, and semen-soaked magic upcoming from the publisher:

February
Urban Gothic by Brian Keene
Jack’s Magic Beans by Brian Keene
Clickers by J. F. Gonzalez and Mark Williams
Clickers II by J. F. Gonzalez and Brian Keene

March:
A Gathering of Crows by Brian Keene
Take the Long Way Home by Brian Keene
Baby’s First Book of Seriously Fucked-Up Shit by Robert Devereaux (a new collection of short fiction)

April:
Highways to Hell by Bryan Smith (a new collection of short fiction)

Coming later in 2011

The Corporation by J. F. Gonzalez
His Pain by Wrath James White
The Killing Kind by Bryan Smith
Freakshow by Bryan Smith
Depraved by Bryan Smith
Dark Hollow by Brian Keene
A Gathering of Crows by Brian Keene
Darkness on the Edge of Town by Brian Keene
Castaways by Brian Keene
Ghost Walk by Brian Keene
Ghoul by Brian Keene
Dead Sea by Brian Keene
Kill Whitey by Brian Keene
The Conqueror Worms by Brian Keene
The Conqueror Worms: Selected Scenes from the End of the World by Brian Keene
The Rising by Brian Keene
Walking Wounded by Robert Devereaux
Santa Steps Out by Robert Devereaux
Santa Conquers the Homophobes by Robert Devereaux
Book Three of the Santa Chronicles by Robert Devereaux

Depravity Served Wet by Bryan Smith

The dictionary.com definition of "depraved" is "corrupt, wicked, or perverted".

Like other words -- immoral, disgusting, deviant, for example -- that attempt to describe a certain type of behavior, "depraved" is a totally subjective term, and an often used and abused adjective.

The set-up for Bryan Smith's version of Depraved has more in common with the opening of Goodfellas than a standard horror novel. Jessica, the heroine, is driving down the highway with a live body in her trunk. The body belongs to Hoke, a Nashville music man who got a little rape-happy earlier in the evening. Jessica, who's not the forgiving type, plans to shoot and dump old Hoke. Of course, things don't work out that way.

Mr. Smith is a horror writer who clearly started life as a horror reader and viewer. Like all good work, his is a synthesis of disparate influences. Stuff goes in. Stuff comes out. But between the ins and outs, the stuff gets filtered, re-shaped, deep fried, and re-arranged. Smith adds his own genetic code, tosses in a salad of anger and frustration, and reduces the sauce with a Grand Guignol serving of humor.

In synopsis, much of Depraved is not blindingly original, but few things are in synopsis. One of my favorite film critics, Roger Ebert, once wrote: "...it's not what it's about...it's how it's about..." At the time, he was writing about Freeway, Mathew Bright's trash masterpiece; he was referring to Bright's kinky, warped, bizarre sensibility. Later on, that sensibility created the utterly wonderful Bundy, surely one of the sleaziest, sexiest, and most lurid serial killer pics in existence.
Well, Ebert could have been writing about Depraved because "how" Smith treats his subject matter is what makes the book a winner.

Mr. Smith's "influences" would not be strangers amongst my own. The opening feels like Scorsese's Goodfellas crossed with Laymon's The Woods Are Dark, a novel that, upon original publication, was mutilated by its publisher Warner Books. In Laymon's A Writer's Tale, my favorite book on writing, the author details what the publisher did to virtually rewrite the novel. In The Woods Are Dark, terrible things happen to not-so-terrible people. Behind the terrible things are a race of monsters called 'The Krulls'. In the original paperback, most of the background on 'The Krulls' was excised. It would have been awfully helpful to know more, but the publisher didn't think so. They opted for pace over every other aspect of the storytelling. The result for still a great novel, but it could have been so much better.

I mention The Woods Are Dark and 'The Krulls' because, in a strange way, Depraved feels (in spirit, at least) like what The Woods Are Dark would have been if the publisher hadn't hacked the living fuck out of it. Smith explains away the terrible things that happen to terrible and not-so-terrible people in his novel, and his explanation is solid. He takes the time and space to sketch a fascinating culture of depravity that has echoes of The Wicker Man (the original, not the shit-encrusted remake), but the acrid odor of extreme perversion.

Speaking of extreme perversion. Is the character 'Hoke' a distant relative of Hogg, Samuel R. Delany's vile creation from the long-banned book of the same name? The thought did occur to me right off the bat. Depraved also made me think of Last House on the Left, Two Thousand Maniacs, I Drink Your Blood, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Trapped, Captured for Sex 2 and Straw Dogs because it's spawned by that genre. But Mr. Smith takes these colorful canvases, stirs them lovingly and, viola!, pulls a snot-dripping rabbit out of his hat (with a killer Epilogue) that is pure B. (for "B-Movie" in this case?) Smith.

Depraved?

Well, maybe. Not that there's anything wrong with that!

***

The Killing Kind is Bryan Smith's next novel from Leisure.

Smith In The Vein of Laymon

On the back cover of Bryan Smith's Queen of Blood (Leisure, '08), the sequel to House of Blood (Leisure, 2005) Michael Laimo (Fires Rising) is quoted as saying that Smith's work is "In the vein of Bentley Little and Ed Lee."

I know Little's work very well (The Mailman is my favorite)...
and I've read pretty much everything by Lee (The Big Head always comes up trumps!)
...but if we're talking veins that criss-cross (and run parallel at times), I'd pair Smith with Richard Laymon.

Smith's Queen of Blood is salacious B-movie horror. Stylistically, it's vivid and not as spare as Laymon's work (whose is?) , but it revels in the filthy accouterments of modern horror. It's written by a horror fan for horror fans.

This exchange, from p. 234, would have brought a smile to Laymon's dial:

Dream eyed her up and down, a mocking glint in her eyes. "I'd tell you not to get your panties in a knot, but you're not wearing any, are you?"

The younger black-haired girl cackled. "Yeah, that's some robe, baby. Shit, it's like she's the female Hugh Hefner and this is the house of horrors version of the Playboy Mansion."

Of interest to me recently is the illustrative and tonal similarities in the horror cover art of these two fine writers.

Even the angling of the houses is the same.

It's also fair to say that a low angle on any house is inherently more dramatic.

These are iconic, Haunted House images.

This cover art impalement is to be loudly applauded; I'm sure it sent the book bolting off the shelves.

This head-on illustration of the Queen of Blood house suggests something more realistic and sinister to me -- not necessarily a supernatural presence.

Looking at this for the first time, I imagined acts of bestiality, child molestation, cruelty to animals, and incest occurring behind these walls.

After reading the book, I realized I was off the mark.

Still, caressing the imagination is what a good cover illustration does.
The above two covers are like brothers. Both are big on red, and boast lurid, carnival-style graphics and storylines inspired by the midway.
Mr. Smith's Deathbringer is not only a great piece of horror writing, it sports a brilliant cover illustration.

The fish-eye angle on the walking dead is perfect, as is the ashen, bluish tone.

When I first set eyes on this book, I didn't even need to read the back cover.

My only thought was: That's fuckin' fantastic!

My reaction to Deathbringer mirrored my reaction to Laymon's Resurrection Dreams (Onyx, '89).

After reading "The Dead Are Rising - To Live and Lust Again", I knew this was a must-have proposition.


But what intensified my eagerness to get stuck into the book immediately was the illustration.

There was something nasty and sexy and nihilistic about it.

It created questions and inspired an internal dialog.

For starters: Where was that skinless bastard from a Zebra Books novel going?
Had he just performed reverse necrophilia?

Why was this babe with an Adrienne Barbeau haircut looking kinda longlingly at the guy?

Had he just given her something that the living could not?

Or was she half considering a walk on the wild side with him -- and his calcium-ridden kind?

Whatever he was doing, and wherever Laymon was going with this, I wanted to be part it.

Smith's Soultaker (Leisure, '09), his latest, is the horror writer's answer to Tom Leykis.

It sounds a warning to men of all ages about the pitfalls of the fair sex.

It does so with excellent characterization, some deliciously repulsive sexual interplay, and a pace that doesn't let up.


The art associated with a writer does define the writer to a large extent; it's the first port of call for the curious reader.

Luckily for Bryan Smith , his cover art is consistent with his growing oeuvre.

from Laymon 's Nightshow (New English Library, '84)

Ruby Jean Jensen's Chain Letter (Zebra Books, '87)

A Writer's Tale

Bryan Smith's "Soultaker" (Leisure; 2009) has just hit the shelves and I'm enjoying it immensely; the opening chapter gets so much right about the birds and the bees. The author's "Depraved" will follow later in the year. I'm hanging out for that.

While reading "The Freakshow" (Leisure; 2007), also from Mr. Smith, my mind kept drifting back to a disturbing sequence from Richard Laymon's "The Woods Are Dark" (Warner Books; 1981). "Woods" was the late, great writer's second novel and it was butchered by its publisher.

Still, it had a strong impact on me.

From the first page:

Neala saw it, too. She hit the brakes. Her friend thrust a hand against the windshield as the car jerked to a stop. In front of them, the legless thing dragged itself over the road with powerful, hairy arms. "What the fuck is it?" Sherri muttered. Neala shook her head. Then it faced them.

***

It fumbled at an opening in its furry vest. A pocket? It pulled out a severed human hand, kissed its palm, and tossed it. The hand flipped toward Neala. She ducked her head, felt it in her hair, and knocked it aside. It fell into the gap between the bucket seats. The legless thing scuffled off the road and disappeared into the forest.

Isn't that great? The "legless thing"? The imagery that conjures! It's beautiful. The feelings it stirs! Ah, what delicious terror this is. What is it about a legless, misshapen sack of flesh and bone that spears us in the pleasure center? Why does the tossing of a severed hand at another human being seem so...right?

Laymon really nails it. He loved the freaky, the malformed, and the misunderstood. He shed tears for the denizens of the dark. When I read "The Wood Are Dark" for the first time, I felt like I was in the company of family.

The two books are very different, but they share a deep love for the grotesque and they're big on unspeakable monstrosities.

Clearly inspired by Todd Browning's "Freaks", Smith delights in imagining his freak-infested milieu, and his creations invite sympathy as much as horror. But they are driven by a force that distinguishes the story from others.

The cover art for Smith's book is slick and inviting. The size of Smith's name suggests that he's becoming a brand. His "Deathbringer" and "House of Blood" earn a byline, too.

Brian Keene, another writer from the Leisure stable, and one more established than Smith, has a quote on the cover.

It is not uncommon for authors from the same publishing stable to promote each others books.

As much as I enjoyed the subject matter of "The Freakshow", I felt it lacked contrast. It was "All Freaks, All The Time", and some of the weirdness just got overwhelming and repetitive. Still, I like Smith very much, and it's clear that he writes from a dark, bloody heart.

Contrast the reverential cover treatment Leisure gave Mr. Smith with the appalling presentation given Mr. Laymon.


It's important to note that Warner had recently made a killing with Laymon's "The Cellar", one amazing debut novel, so the author was deserving of some respect, right?

Wrong.

Laymon's name is much smaller than the title and you have to squint to read "author of The Cellar", which was a best seller. There's nothing there to grab your attention. The green foil doesn't help, either.

Just as unforgivable is the nonsensical, grammatically ridiculous blurb:

"Only fools stay in Barlow, the town the Devil built, when night falls and...The Woods Are Dark".

What clown wrote that?

Clearly, Warner had no idea how to sell this novel. They hired some hack to come up with a phrase that incorporated the title. It didn't have to make a jot of fuckin' sense.

And what the hell is that illustration buried between tree branches supposed to be?

Well, you have to flip the book over to find the answer to that.


Then there's this quote...

In Laymon's out-of-print autobiography, "A Writer's Tale" (Deadline Press; 1998), easily one of the most honest books on writing and publishing you will ever read, the author admits that the Hirschfeld quote didn't come from Hirschfeld at all; he'd never even read a Laymon novel.

Regarding the importance of cover art, Laymon had this to say:

Read this closely:

Well, the Warner Books cover of "The Woods Are Dark" did destroy the author's career (in America) for a very long time. Although publishers did release some of his books, the runs were short and publicity was minimal.

Luckily, he was embraced and treated with enormous respect and affection by British publishers in the decades to follow.

Recently, Leisure Books has been releasing US editions of the late author's extraordinary work, including a brand new edition of "The Woods Are Dark" that restores it to its original state.

It's nice to see that while Mr. Laymon is resting (or is that restless?) in pulp purgatory, the printing presses are not.