Unseaming by Mike Allen, reviewed by Peter Rawlik

Columbus, Ohio: Antimatter Press, 2014; $15.95 tpb; 224 pages

Mike Allen, the editor of Mythic Delirium and author of the novel Black Fire Concerto, presents Unseaming, his first collection of fourteen stories. Included as the opening piece is the Nebula Award–nominated story, “The Button Bin,” an exercise in the use of the second-person narrative. I am usually not fond of second-person narratives—they always seem so forced—but Allen effectively builds tension by placing the protagonist in an untenable situation and then leaving him with no choice. Horror is achieved through the reader’s identification with a man forced to do battle with a monster and who in the process becomes a monster himself.

Experimental pieces abound in this book: “Humpty” is an exercise in understanding what is reality; “The Hiker’s Tale” turns the concept of protagonist on its head; while “Monster,” told in the first person, serves as a counterbalance to “The Button Bin” and is just as effective. Outstanding in this book is “Her Acres of Pastoral Playground,” which first appeared in the anthology Cthulhu’s Reign, and is a subtle, perhaps even charming take on a life invaded by Lovecraftian entities. Here Allen shows a sense of mastery of understated, slow, creeping horror that envelopes the reader in a fully realized, surreal world that shows the lengths some people will go to maintain a sense of the normal. This same theme comes across in “The Blessed Days,” “Stone Flowers,” and “Condolences.”

In contrast to “Her Acres of Pastoral Playground” is “Let There Be Darkness.” This latter tale is also Lovecraftian, but whereas the former story is subdued, “Darkness” is a grand, sweeping tale of cosmic horror. Here, a dark herald preaches the gospel of what will happen when his Father returns to the Earth and graces it with His presence. It is in many ways a kind of Revelation soaked in cosmic horror, a dark summary of the future of the world when its true Creator comes to call as in this passage:

Constellations, occasionally glimpsed in the black night, wavering, fading—the stars that define them dancing around each other; shifting, merging—their shine distorted as their light passes through my Father’s translucent flesh. Auroras cavort in twilight hours—horizon-spanning fans of blazing iridescence, triggered in the ionosphere by the winds of radiation that compose my Father’s breath. In midnight hours rolling waves of mad color burst across the heavens; widening , spreading, vanishing—stars flickering within them like glowing fish seen in the abyss. Moon-sized spheres like raw red suns appear suddenly, cast aside the darkness, paint the world like an open wound—then are gone.

However, Allen’s ability and experiments are not always as fruitful. “An Invitation Via E-mail,” while a clever update of the use of epistles for storytelling, falls somewhat flat and is all too short. Similarly, “The Quiltmaker,” also an experiment in technique and composed of a series of vignettes once again told in second-person, fails to deliver. A sequel to “The Button Bin,” “The Quiltmaker” has a kind of charm and delivers terrors enough, but it is somewhat disjointed, and the overarching story never seems to solidify. It is a valiant attempt at experimental storytelling that seems stretched beyond the limits of credulity. Still, I can see the attraction that some have for the story and for what the author was attempting to achieve.

Unseaming is not a perfect collection, but overall, Mike Allen’s debut marks him as a writer to watch and should please fans of Laird Barron, Simon Strantzas, Richard Gavin, Caitlin Kiernan, and Gemma Files. Indeed, while Unseeming may not gain Allen a place on the faculty of what might be considered the school of the New Weird, it certainly places him on the Dean’s list for outstanding achievement.

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Peter Rawlik lives in Royal Palm Beach, Florida.