Category Archives: Arts & Entertainment
Thomas Ligotti has this to say about my forthcoming book:
To Rouse Leviathan is one of those rare books that produces in a reader the most important reaction one can have to a work of, let us say, the literature of abomination. This reaction takes the form of a question: “From where could this marvel have come?” Quite aside from revealing an admiration for the author’s adept handling of spectral atrocities in such a work, the reader’s inquiry is more significant as testimony to an astonishment at the raw fact of its emergence.
The origin of this singular astonishment deserves further explication. While excelling in the domain of high imagination and literary achievement (when Matt Cardin sets his sights on conveying an idea or effect incongruous with equanimity, he invariably takes it as far as it can be artistically taken), To Rouse Leviathan contains an added element necessary to the provocation of the foregoing question. Pervaded by the aura of a domain at once monstrous and not of this world, the book is conspicuous as a worthy descendant of a distinguished line of supernatural horror. As such, it is successful in its aim — which is endemic to efforts, capable or not, in the genre of relevance here — to create a breviary of gruesome mysteries, the qualifier “gruesome” in this case being apt only because everything in the visible world warrants an inauspicious characterization of the invisible. It is, in fact, mysteries of this kind that compose the added element, the necessary constituent, that causes the interrogatory outburst, “From where could this marvel have come?” Furthermore, each one of Matt Cardin’s stories carries the message that there is an “elsewhere” that, by its nature, to quote a scholar of this realm, is both appalling and alluring. That the so-called reality we bump into on a daily basis should be seen as pure misconception is a fundamental assumption of Matt Cardin’s vision.
Without question, Cardin is no dilettante in the conception and expression of that which we would not know and yet, if our lives are to partake of mysteries that alone can give them meaning, we crave to know. To offer some satisfaction for this awful and wondrous craving is the gift of this book.Thomas Ligotti
To Rouse Leviathan will be published next month by Hippocampus Press.
This week Hippocampus Press revealed the cover for my forthcoming To Rouse Leviathan. The striking wraparound artwork is by Michael Hutter. The overall design is by Dan Sauer. The book is scheduled for publication later this year. I’ll share a specific date soon, along with preorder information when it becomes available. For now, the full table of contents is still available at my author site.
Vastarien, the horror journal established and launched in 2018 by Jon Padgett and me (with crucial input from a couple of other valued friends) has just been named Magazine of the Year in the annual This Is Horror Awards. In addition to launching the journal, Jon and I co-edited the first two issues, after which I had to bow out due to other mounting obligations (including an insane year at my college VP job plus a mountain of necessary work on my dissertation). Jon has headed up two more issues since then, with all issues being published by his Grimscribe Press.
The awards in question are based on reader votes and conducted by This Is Horror, the online horror mini-empire consisting of two popular podcasts — This Is Horror, hosted by Michael David Wilson and Bob Pastorella, and The Outer Dark, hosted by Scott Nicolay — plus a thriving website and a publishing arm. You may recall that in 2017 and 2018, Jon and I made appearances separately and together on both podcasts (This Is Horror 177, This Is Horror 178, This Is Horror 193, The Outer Dark 031). We talked specifically about the birth of Vastarien on TIH 193 and TOD 031.
Here is Jon’s public statement about winning the TIH Award:
Vastarien: A Literary Journal was conceived five years ago by a handful of people who wanted to see more writing about and in response to the work of writer/thinker Thomas Ligotti. Since then, our publication has been bombarded with stellar, but unusual, work by authors and artists — many of whom are underrepresented and/or newer voices. Without them and the incredible support Vastarien continues to receive from its devoted readers, this singular journal never would have come to fruition. Thanks so much to all of you and the staff of This Is Horror for this wonderful award.
—Jon Padgett, Editor-in-Chief of Vastarien: A Literary Journal
THIS IS HORROR FICTION MAGAZINE OF THE YEAR
Click to see the full list of 2019 This Is Horror Awards, which includes novels, novellas, short story collections, anthologies, magazines, publishers, and podcasts.
I’m quite proud of what Vastarien has brought to the world with its mission of publishing work that A) illuminates the work of Thomas Ligotti and/or B) shares a kind of Ligottian DNA. Thematically, it encompasses the swirling sea-galaxy of writers, thinkers, ideas, philosophers/philosophies, spiritual traditions, artistic traditions, etc., that intersect with the Ligottian literary cosmos. Formally, it encompasses fiction, nonfiction, poetry, art, and liminal and hybrid works of fiction/nonfiction/poetry. It gives a platform to both established voices and newcomers. It provides an outlet for ideas, perspectives, and emotions that are not often expressed elsewhere. The fact that it has been so well-received by readers is a welcome — and, quite honestly, surprising (at least to me) — validation of this approach. It’s also a testament to the able guidance of Jon, who has captained this ship and stood at the center of the whole project. After the publication of the second issue, Signal Horizon declared Vastarien “the most exciting thing in horror lit right now.” A year later, the TIH crowd has chosen it as their favorite magazine of 2019. Clearly, Jon is leading it from strength to strength. As for me, I’m looking forward to returning for some editorial involvement in the near future.
On a related note, Tim Waggoner’s short story “How to Be a Horror Writer,” which Jon and I accepted for publication in the second issue, is currently nominated for a Shirley Jackson Award.
During my senior year of high school, I was introduced to the writings of Richard Bach. I started, appropriately enough, with his first book, that ultra-mega-bestseller from the 1970s, Jonathan Livingston Seagull. I read it in my high school’s modern literature class, taught by Mrs. Ellis, who included it on a list of books from which students could choose. She conducted the class in an independent reading mode, where we could each choose our books individually, spend time in class reading them, and then write reports and deliver presentations. It ended up being one of my favorite classes in all of high school, not least because Mrs. Ellis accepted suggestions for books not included on her provided list, which is how I came to read The Vampire Lestat and Stephen King’s It while sitting in first hour.
But back to Bach. I thoroughly enjoyed Jonathan Livingston Seagull and grokked it at a deep level (although I didn’t know the term “grok” at that point in my life). I then chose to read his Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah on my own time. It was a pure joy, and I still love it all these years later, even though I’m not really aligned with its central New Thought-inflected philosophy (although I do find value in some aspects of that). Something about Bach’s truly engaging and elegant way of presenting spiritual philosophy through the vehicle of a winsome semi-fiction, the way he combined his real-life experiences with an obviously fantastic story of how he ran into a bona fide messiah (now retired, having decided to quit the job when nobody would understand him) while making a private living flying an old biplane around the American Midwest and giving three-dollar rides, really enraptured me. I think it also added impetus to my then-developing penchant for books that deal with philosophical and spiritual ideas; shortly after finishing it, I started on Alan Watts, Robert Anton Wilson (including his nonfiction, although the boundaries are nebulous for him), and Nietzsche. Bach was also a featured author in the creativity class taught by Dr. Betty Scott that I took at the University of Missouri, which I talk about in my post “Shadow Visitors: Sleep Paralysis and Discarnate ‘Dark Ones.'”
Years later, when I was a hardcore reader of Wilson’s books, I learned from his The Illuminati Papers that Bach had been one of the experimental subjects in Russell Targ’s and Hal Puthoff’s remote viewing research at the Stanford Research Institute. At the time, I was only just learning about that whole wing of paranormal history, and its connection with Bach blew my mind. It was some time later that I discovered this info wasn’t exactly a secret, as Bach had written the foreword to Targ and Puthoff’s semi-classic 1977 book Mind-Reach: Scientists Look at Psychic Abilities (which also featured a foreword by Margaret Mead [!]).
Which brings me to this: A few days ago I stumbled across the following eight-minute clip from Jeffrey Mishlove’s Thinking Allowed in which Bach talks about his experiences at SRI. This discovery was thoroughly accidental, and it resurrected all those old feelings of affection for Bach’s books. This was helped by the fact that in the clip, he presents what seems to me one of the most candid and enjoyable accounts of what went on at SRI during those heady years. He starts by talking about the relationship between fiction, reality, and the ideas that seem to guide one’s life because they feel native when one first encounters them. The part about remote viewing starts at 2:33 and features Bach’s detailed account of one successful experiment that blew his mind.
I look back now on the last twenty years of my life and say, “Now, Richard, what have you been doing?” What I’ve been discovering is the power of the imagination and how ideas translate into what we call the real world around us. . . . [Russell Targ] said, “Richard, next time you’re on the west coast, stop by [SRI], please.” I did, and I walked into this room, and they shut the door behind me, and they closed the blinds. I said, “What’s going on here?” He said, “A fellow experimenter, Hal Puthoff, is somewhere in the Bay Area. You have no idea where. Now just relax, Richard, and tell us where he is. Describe what he’s looking at this minute.” “Well, what do I do, Russell? Do I open my eyes? Do I close my eyes? What am I supposed to do?” “Anything. If you want to leave your eyes open, that’s fine.” So I closed my eyes. I opened them again and said, “Russell, I’m making it up.” He said, “That’s right. You’re making it up. Tell us what you make up.”
To my own considerable surprise, Leviathan is finally on the way to being roused. After a six-year delay that was entirely my own creation, I can now announce that my third collection of horror fiction, To Rouse Leviathan, will soon become a reality. I recently submitted the final story — a comprehensive revision and expansion of a collaboration between Mark McLaughlin and me that was first published in the early aughts — to Hippocampus Press. Presently, I’m given to understand that cover art has already been developed and preorders will open soon. I’ll share information about both when it’s available.
Currently, you can read the collection’s table of contents at my author site. Be advised that the cover image there is just a mockup of my own creation. The contents themselves comprise the complete set of stories that made up my first collection, Divinations of the Deep (with one of them being substantially revised), the stories from my second collection, Dark Awakenings (but not the essays; see below), and a third section titled “Apocryphon” that brings together four previously uncollected stories.
There’s been some discussion about another collection to follow this one. It would bring together many of my nonfiction writings about the confluence of religion, horror, creativity, and related matters, including the essays/papers from Dark Awakenings and various uncollected items. I’ll say more when the time is right. For now, I’m just sitting here contemplating the unaccountable return of my fiction writer’s muse, who went into hibernation in 2013 due to various factors and then emerged late last year to enable completion of Leviathan. It’s a strange business, this discipline of living and communing with a demon muse.
Recently, I was interviewed for the excellent Weird Studies podcast. The episode, titled “On Speculative Fiction, with Matt Cardin,” dropped yesterday. You can listen to it with the player above or by clicking through to the site itself. Here’s the episode description:
Neil Gaiman wrote, If literature is the world, then fantasy and horror are twin cities, divided by a river of black water. Flame Tree Publishing underwrites this claim with their recent publication, The Astounding Illustrated History of Fantasy and Horror. The book is a veritable gazetteer of these two cities in the heartland of the imaginal world. Writer and scholar Matt Cardin, founding editor of the marvellous Teeming Brain, wrote a chapter for the book focusing on the books and films of the Sixties and Seventies. In this episode, he joins JF and Phil to discuss the kinship of horror and fantasy, the modern ghettoization of mythopoeic art, the prophetic reach of speculative fiction, and the cauldron of cultural transformation that was the Sixties and Seventies.
Be advised that Teeming Brain readers will likely find Weird Studies to be an essential addition to their listening schedule. It was launched in 2018 by hosts J. F. Martel and Phil Ford. J. F. is an author, screenwriter, and film & TV director from Ottawa, Canada. In 2015 I interviewed him here in connection with his truly wonderful book, Reclaiming Art in the Age of Artifice. Phil is an associate professor of musicology at the Indiana University Jacobs School of Music whose books include Dig: Sound and Music in Hip Culture and a currently in-development project on music and occult styles of thought. The tagline of Weird Studies is “A filmmaker and a professor talk art and philosophy at the limits of the thinkable.” A browse through past episodes uncovers a rich feast.
I’m pleased to announce that The Astounding Illustrated History of Fantasy and Horror, just out from Britain’s Flame Tree Publishing, contains a chapter by me. S. T. Joshi served as consultant editor for the project. He also wrote the book’s introduction. Ramsey Campbell provided the foreword. Other chapter contributors include Roger Luckhurst, Mike Ashley, Michael Carrigan, Dave Golder, Russ Thorne, and Rosie Fletcher. The book is lavishly illustrated and fairly gorgeous; check out the preview at the publisher’s site.
My chapter focuses on fantasy and horror in the 1960s and 1970s. This means writing it felt a bit like conducting an archaeological excavation of my own most primal memories of the literature and cinema of fantasy and horror. A very enjoyable authorial experience indeed.
Here’s the full publisher’s description:
Companion title to The Astounding Illustrated History of Science Fiction, this new book reflects the same roots in Gothic literature but follows a complementary path through the 20th century, to the movies of Peter Jackson, the success of streaming TV series such as Grimm, and the fantasy of Neil Gaiman’s American Gods. From the wellspring of Frankenstein, Germanic fairy tales, and heroic, epic myths, a dark and fantastic path can be found to the fragmentation of the 1930s: the schlock horror of early modern movies, the invention of High Fantasy by Tolkien and fellow Inkling C.S. Lewis, and the pulp magazine powerhouse Weird Tales with Robert E. Howard’s sword and sorcery archetype Conan. A brilliant concoction of movie posters, stills, book covers, fantastic art and incredible timelines.
It’s available from Amazon and elsewhere.
This short film from 2016 is the official video accompaniment for Jóhann Jóhannsson’s “Flight from the City,” the opening track from his sublime final album, 2016’s Orphée.
Orphée traces a path from darkness into light, inspired by the Orpheus myth. A story about death and rebirth, the elusive nature of creation and art and the ephemeral nature of memory. It’s an album about change, love and art — a reflection of our relationships, as is the film Flight from the City, directed and produced by Clare Langan.
The film itself has been further described as a reflection on “connection, love and separation” that “focuses on the bond between a mother and daughter.”
Released this past March (to coincide with International Women’s Day), Ama is a short film by French free-diver, dancer, and underwater filmmaker Julie Gautier. As related by the website Colossal, “The piece is titled after the Japanese word for ‘woman of the sea,’ which is also the name for Japan’s traditional shell collectors. The film is a metaphoric nod to these united women, while also representing the relationship that connects women from all over the world.” Gautier herself describes the film this way:
Ama is a silent film. It tells a story everyone can interpret in their own way, based on their own experience. There is no imposition, only suggestions. I wanted to share my biggest pain in this life with this film. For this is not too crude, I covered it with grace. To make it not too heavy, I plunged it into the water. I dedicate this film to all the women of the world.
Booklist has named my horror encyclopedia one of the top ten reference works it reviewed between May 2017 and May 2018, saying that all the books on the list “represent useful resources for libraries of all sizes.”
You can also read Booklist‘s full starred review of Horror Literature through History, where the upshot is this:
Extremely informative in its content, easy to use, engaging in its writing style, Cardin’s comprehensive and inclusive reference work not only solidly makes the case for horror’s enduring importance in our lives, as humans, throughout history but also presents it in a package that is a pleasure to read.
A short film by BAFTA award-winning Scottish animator Ainslie Henderson, with music by Poppy Ackroyd.
Suddenly, what was just stuff becomes this character staring back at you. What I love about stop-motion puppets is that they have this inherent sadness about them. They’re like little actors that only ever get to play one role. Everything they do is their swan song. They have a tiny little life, and then they just go back to being inanimate objects again.