The Carp-Faced Boy and Other Tales E-Book

Thersa Matsuura

• Herausgeber: Independent Legions Publishing
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Beautiful, haunting, and grotesque, The Carp-Faced Boy and Other Tales offers stories reminiscent of traditional Japanese folktales alongside contemporary horror fiction. Matsuura’s unique voice, in its poignancy and lightheartedness, is unforgettable.
From the Introduction by Bram Stoker Award Winner Author Gene O'Neill: "I have Thersa Matsuura’s name underlined on the side of my fridge. I will watch for her byline. As I’m sure, you, the reader of this collection will, too." Cover Art by Daniele Serra

Leseprobe

THE CARP-FACED BOY AND OTHER TALES

by Thersa Matsuura

ISBN: 978-88-99569-39-6

Copyright (Edition) ©2017 Independent Legions Publishing

Copyright (Text) ©Thersa Matsuura

February 2017

Introduction by Gene O’Neill

Editing: Jodi Renée Lester

Cover Art by Daniele Serra

Digital Layout: Lukha B. Kremo

Table of Contents:

THE SPIDER SWEEPER

SASA’S ROUGED CHEEKS, SASA’S REDDENED LIPS

FOUR GUYS WALK INTO A BAR

GO-AWAY MONKEY

MAY BE DIM

THE UN-HARMONIOUS MAN

MY DOG BUCKY

THE CARP-FACED BOY

THE MOTHER OF ALL DEVILS

PINWHEELS AND SPIDER LILIES

Thersa Matsuura

INTRODUCTION

Some Interesting Ways to Divide Horror

by Gene O’Neill

In discussions of the structure of horror, it is often defined by way of two extreme ends of a continuum. Let’s take a look at three of the most popular or colorful divisions.

Karl Edward Wagner was a writer that dark fiction lost too early, passed away as a relatively young man. In addition to being an excellent writer of a wide range of fiction, including horror and sword and sorcery, he was a publisher and an editor of distinction. For a number of years he edited DAW Books’ Best Horror series. Somewhere in one of those introductions, Karl made his colorful division of horror. He said that sometimes it was detached, quiet, and emotionally calm as if the characters were victims of a sniper, shooting so far in the distance his weapon made little sound. But at the other end of the continuum was a killer kicking in a door and blasting away with a shotgun. And even though Karl selected stories across the continuum for his Best series, he didn’t say much about mixing the two extremes.

Of course academics have long divided horror fiction into two distinct categories, psychological or supernatural stories. They mean stories either have supernatural explanations—there are ghosts, vampires, werewolves, or otherworldly fantastic creatures scaring us. In these kinds of classic tales, events are normally external and do not usually conclude well for the protagonists. Dracula and Frankenstein come readily to mind. But in a story with a psychological explanation, significant events are mostly internal, seen from the point of view of the protagonist—he/she may be mentally unstable or deteriorating mentally before our eyes. A good example of this type of fiction is Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper.” Yes, and there are many stories that tread a thin line between both extremes. The exceptional story often leaves the explanation—psychological or supernatural—up to the reader. The great novella by Henry James The Turn of the Screw is usually considered a ghost story, but it can also be considered to have a psychological explanation—the governess perhaps mentally unstable.

When I was breaking into markets in the early-mid ’80s, there were two distinct camps of horror fiction roughly similar to, but not exactly like, the academic division. There were dark fantasy and splatterpunk stories at the extreme ends. Dark fantasy, I believe, was a term Charles Grant used to guide writers in what he wanted for his Shadows anthology series. The stories were usually psychological in structure. But, occasionally, if there were a supernatural element, it was introduced in a quiet manner. Very little or no graphic violence. A Shadows story was more unsettling to the reader than terrifying. On the other hand a splatterpunk story was at the opposite end of the spectrum, lots of graphic violence, the blood and gore intended to have a terrifying effect. Skipp and Spector were early practitioners of this kind of tale. Of course good writers often practiced both extremes; and the best writers combined extremes in the same story, these stories often appearing in the Best of Horror anthologies.

And we come to Thersa Matsuura’s very fine collection, The Carp-Faced Boy and Other Tales. As one might expect from the author’s last name and title, the stories in the collection are heavily informed by Japanese culture, village architecture, superstitions, characterization, and even to some degree syntax. (Ms. Matsuura is actually an American who has lived in a Japanese village for many years). Still, to an American reader the stories have a slightly foreign feel. Technically, the writing is precise—the right verb chosen, eliminating the need for excessive use of adjectives or adverbs. More with less. The strongest aspect of all the stories is in the superior plotting, resulting in jolting surprises for the reader along the way. Even though the ten tales are varied in subject matter and tone—they range from a very odd alien story to the shortest one about a punk rock band—I think the tales that appear most traditional with an almost Japanese legend feel are my favorites.

They are also the stories that combine the quiet development of a psychological/dark fantasy explanation through the bulk of the story, but end with just a bit of supernatural/splatterpunk sensibility. I’ll give examples from three favorite stories, without giving too much of the endings away, I hope.

“The Spider Sweeper” is about a gentle man living in a monastery who carefully sweeps up day spiders without damaging them—in fact he is called Kumo-harai, which in Japanese means spider sweeper. He reminds one of the Jainism religious sect of India who revere all life so much that they sweep in front of their path to ensure that tiny insects are not crushed and harmed. The bulk of “The Spider Sweeper” is essentially a psychological quiet love story between the common-man spider sweeper and a mysterious stranger, who revisits in a different form mid-story. But a bit of splatterpunk terror is introduced at the very end that shocks, but definitely makes the story result in a satisfying conclusion.

The title story, “The Carp-Faced Boy,” is about a grumpy, reclusive grandfather, who nevertheless is kind to a horse that has carried his daughter and grandson for a visit to his rural village. We are introduced to the internal life of the grandfather and soon realize the old man may be suffering from a kind of demented paranoia directed at his grandson, whom the grandfather often describes in a very unflattering manner. So, the heart of the tale is psychological and quiet. But the story concludes in the grandest of splatterpunk manners indeed.

“Pinwheels and Spider Lilies,” concerns another common man, actually kind of a loser. Akito has lost his job, his wife, and his daughter. But we learn he is grateful for the very little that life brings him. A supernatural element is introduced early in the form of a mountain witch, who demands a number of trades with Akito. But the transactions are not too terrifying or demanding, the story moves along in the quiet dark fantasy manner. Akito even regains first his daughter, and then his wife. But as we might guess, all does not end well for our protagonist.

I have Thersa Matsuura’s name underlined on the side of my fridge. I will watch for her byline. As I’m sure, you, the reader of this collection will, too.

--Gene O’Neill, Lethal Birds and The Cal Wild Chronicles

For Mom and Dad,

Mom, whose generous and cheerful heart taught me to be open to life, cherish people, and when something knocks me down, to bounce back with vigor. You taught me kindness and love.

Dad, who taught me never to take anything at face value, to always ask why and how and what makes this thing/situation/person tick. From you, I learned to be questioning and curious.

THE SPIDER SWEEPER

Kumo-harai balanced a fat-bellied spider on the end of an old, twiggy broom. He was hurrying to reach the persimmon tree before the creature leapt to the ground and scrambled away. Morning spiders were always taken to the same tree and carefully placed in its craggy branches. Everyone knew that they were good luck and should never be harmed. Kumo-harai could boast—if he were the type of man to do such a thing—that in his three years of working at the temple he had never killed or injured a single morning spider.

His kindheartedness, though, embraced even the night spiders, which were all thieves and should be crushed beneath a tightly woven sandal. These creatures he feared. Placing his palms together as he saw the monks do every day, he bowed, recited some pieces of the Heart Sutra he’d managed to memorize, and left the night spiders entirely alone. It had never occurred to the young man that they could possibly be the same exact creature.