Nampa, Idaho: Fedogan and Bremer, 2014; $30.00 hc; 370 pages

Scott Nicolay’s debut collection consists of seven stories and one short novel. From what I understand, at one point the entire collection was be named after the novel; this is understandable, for that novel, “Tuckahoe,” is perhaps the most powerful and well-developed of all the stories presented within. A weird tale, “Tuckahoe” focuses on Detective Donny Cantu’s investigation of a tragic highway accident that took the lives of three people and left behind one arm too many, an arm that is clearly not human and which quickly deliquesces. Cantu’s estrangement from his wife, his sudden and heated relationship with the assistant coroner, and the investigation of the extra arm spiral into a descent into the unnatural. Through this, Nicolay evokes a sense of body horror and displacement with the skill of a master. Indeed, there is an intimacy to this story that makes the reader feel uncomfortable, intrusive, and perhaps even lecherous.
Nicolay’s mastery of drawing the reader into the character through a sense of intimacy isn’t his only skill. There is also a magnificent sense of place with these stories. The author’s attention to detail concerning the landscape, the buildings, and the stimulation of human perception and interpretation as a result of those details is evocative, as in this passage from “Soft Frogs”:
The buzzing, clicks, and whirs of unseen creatures surrounded him. The lot had been still and silent when he first stepped out of his car, the cacophony disrupted by his car door slamming, nothing but the crunch of his combat boots on the patchy gravel and the faint distant rumble of semis on Route 1. Only took seconds however before the night noises returned. One by one, then all at once. Now they thickened the dark air around him, already dense with polluted swamp reek and the general miasma of a humid late June night in Jersey. Crickets, less identifiable insects, peepers by the dozens.
“Soft Frogs” itself is another well-developed weird tale with a significant amount of foreshadowing and character development letting the reader know that something weird is going on, but what exactly that is cannot be determined until the very end. In retrospect it seems a fitting, almost unavoidable conclusion.
Other stories are not quite as successful. “alligators” follows the pattern of “Soft Frogs” and establishes that something is going on through the repetition of a horrific dream concerning events that simply did not happen, but in this case the ending is telegraphed and not quite as satisfying. Similarly, the collection’s title story “Ana Kai Tangata” has only the barest hint of the uncanny before the intrusion of the weird occurs, and this is true for “Eyes Exchange Bank,” “Phragmites,” and “Geschafte” as well. Indeed, barring the inclusion of these stories in an obvious collection of fantastic fiction, the sudden weird turns in these four stories could easily be replaced with more mundane endings drawn from other traditions. In particular, “Phragmites,” which is set in and around a Native American nation and concerns the quest for a long-lost anthropological site, could have easily taken a different turn and developed into a kind of Southwestern noir instead of a weird tale. This is not meant to denigrate the style, but four such stories in a single book do become somewhat repetitive. The noir is strong here; the sense of place, the troubled and broken protagonists, and the seemingly listless lives all combine to give Nicolay’s writing a gritty, noirish edge.
Even the traditional misogyny so often found in noir fiction is mirrored in Nicolay’s stories. I say mirrored because Nicolay’s handling of the subject is intricate and subtle and grapples with the issue that has so recently come to the forefront in genre fiction, fandom, and sadly, the whole of the American consciousness. Nicolay’s protagonists all have issues with women, and the failures of their relationships with the opposite sex often are significant motivators within the narratives. In some pieces, women are clearly treated as sex objects, but Nicolay makes it plain even there that his protagonists are damaged, unable to come to terms with the responsibilities of being an adult in a relationship, having the drives and desires of boys who have yet to grow up. Indeed, the author understands the failures of men to understand women and has used the misogynistic undertone of noir to mask his exploration of such themes. The entire collection might serve as a road map to the discussion of a critical issue in our culture, the force that drives some men to relate to women only through sex or hate, a force made manifest in “Tuckahoe”:
You men are great deceivers you are. You only want to push us full of babes and make us do the work. But you always hurt, hurt, hurt. I surprised the men though, learned how to make them into babes again. The Bottom can do it, so why should not I? You will make a splendid babe. Perhaps you will even have the wit left to speak still once you are born.
The one story that deviates from all the others is “The Bad Outer Space,” which is perhaps the most daring of all of Nicolay’s weird stories as it limits itself to the mind, vocabulary, and physical constraints of a small child. Here Nicolay must only hint at the failed relationship with a woman (in this case the child’s mother), sexuality (as represented by the teens who sneak off into the woods), and the intrusion of the weird, for the protagonist simply doesn’t have the knowledge to recognize that something unnatural is going on, nor does he have the willingness or capability to do something about it. Consequently, while the child is mostly innocent, that innocence is both corrupting and corrupted. It fails to recognize and act on a horror and instead simply accepts it with a touch of boyhood malevolence. It is a standout story not because the language and themes are different, but because it is a clear example that Nicolay is capable of doing more than just one style. Indeed, it hints that while the author may be comfortable with one tool in his workbox, he is willing to branch out and experiment with others. I hope in the future that he brings collections to the table that serve to highlight his clearly diverse skills more readily.
Despite some stylistic misgivings I find Ani Kai Tangata is a delightful, disturbing treat and a superb debut collection that is sure to resonate not only with fans of H. P. Lovecraft and Thomas Ligotti but also with those who are fond of the more visceral Richard Laymon and Jack Ketchum. Laird Barron writes in his introduction “Nicolay is one who has seen much, endured much, has undergone prolonged pressure and the result is a diamond among stones.” I find myself forced to agree, noting perhaps that the diamond could use a bit of polish here and there, but only perhaps, for then the charm of this gem might be lost completely.
Peter Rawlik lives in Royal Palm Beach, Florida.
Comments