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(Satan's) Dick in a Box
Apr. 5th, 2010 10:54 amContext: One of the things I bought at WHC was a hardback copy of Graham Masterton's Mirror, because A) it ain't horror in Britain without Masterton and B) it has one of his craziest storylines ever, which is...really saying something, because this is Graham frickin' Masterton we're talking about here. The guy who made Isobel Gowdie into a creditable villain in Night Warriors, only to let the narrative degenerate into some weird physics-vs.-magic superhero lightshow at the climax. The guy who built an entire novel (Portrait of Evil) around a hilariously hideous literary pun ("No, Oscar, you cannot possibly call it The Portrait of the Darien Greys..."). The guy who constantly juggles genuine dread, surreal weirdness and total disgusting grue. He's a utilitarian writer at best, but man, I wish I had his ideas--and his chutzpah.
Okay, so: Mirror is the story of Martin, a 1980s Hollywood hack, who desperately wants to escape his daily drudgery of rewriting episodes of The A-Team by jumpstarting his true love-project--a musical about "Boofuls", a long-forgotten eight-year-old 1930s child star (the "male Shirley Temple"). Unfortunately, everybody thinks he's crazy for doing this, since no one who hears about it can ever get over how Boofuls' story ended...he was chopped to death by his grandmother, who then hung herself, and buried as a collection of collops.
"But it's got singing and dancing, snappy songs, all in the public domain! It's called Boofuls!, with an exclamation point, for Christ's sake!"
"Ummmm...yeah. Martin, seriously, boychik--just stop it. Write that McGyver I sent you, cash the check, STFU."
Depressed, Martin's about to give up on his ridiculous dream for good when a collector friend of his tells him that some of Boofuls' furniture has come onto the market. Martin ends up buying a mirror which once hung in Boofuls' living room, and probably witnessed his death. Naturally, Martin buys it, and hangs it in his apartment.
Bad idea.
The rest of the book is pretty much a roundelay of creepy mirror trickery, weird hauntings, grotesque deaths, Hollywood Babylon Satanism, the making of a cursed film designed to cause its audience to tear themselves to pieces in a frenzy of misery, etc. And yes, the absolute best moment is when a nice, helpful priest trying to save Martin from his own stupidity makes the ill-advised move of opening a safety deposit box rented in Boofuls' mysterious secretary's name ("Miss Redd", who turns out to be a witch's familiar named Pickle-nearest-the-wind in slinky human form), only to discover Satan's actual junk inside it. Said junk then jumps out of the box, burrows inside poor Father Whatever and busts right on out again, through his groin. (It has teeth!)
Oh, Graham M. Never change.;)
Happy Monday, everybody!
Okay, so: Mirror is the story of Martin, a 1980s Hollywood hack, who desperately wants to escape his daily drudgery of rewriting episodes of The A-Team by jumpstarting his true love-project--a musical about "Boofuls", a long-forgotten eight-year-old 1930s child star (the "male Shirley Temple"). Unfortunately, everybody thinks he's crazy for doing this, since no one who hears about it can ever get over how Boofuls' story ended...he was chopped to death by his grandmother, who then hung herself, and buried as a collection of collops.
"But it's got singing and dancing, snappy songs, all in the public domain! It's called Boofuls!, with an exclamation point, for Christ's sake!"
"Ummmm...yeah. Martin, seriously, boychik--just stop it. Write that McGyver I sent you, cash the check, STFU."
Depressed, Martin's about to give up on his ridiculous dream for good when a collector friend of his tells him that some of Boofuls' furniture has come onto the market. Martin ends up buying a mirror which once hung in Boofuls' living room, and probably witnessed his death. Naturally, Martin buys it, and hangs it in his apartment.
Bad idea.
The rest of the book is pretty much a roundelay of creepy mirror trickery, weird hauntings, grotesque deaths, Hollywood Babylon Satanism, the making of a cursed film designed to cause its audience to tear themselves to pieces in a frenzy of misery, etc. And yes, the absolute best moment is when a nice, helpful priest trying to save Martin from his own stupidity makes the ill-advised move of opening a safety deposit box rented in Boofuls' mysterious secretary's name ("Miss Redd", who turns out to be a witch's familiar named Pickle-nearest-the-wind in slinky human form), only to discover Satan's actual junk inside it. Said junk then jumps out of the box, burrows inside poor Father Whatever and busts right on out again, through his groin. (It has teeth!)
Oh, Graham M. Never change.;)
Happy Monday, everybody!
