Epeolatry Book Review: The Best Horror of the Year, Volume Sixteen, ed. Ellen Datlow

Readers of Horror Tree shouldn’t need any reminders of Ellen Datlow’s stature as an editor and anthologist of horror, and her Best Horror of the Year volumes are rightly recognized as waypoints in the genre’s annual progression. The compendious Summations of the Year for each volume, and the long lists of Honorable Mentions, make them indispensable for anyone writing or otherwise involved in the horror field, in its broadest interpretation. Each also represents a huge amount of work to stay on top of the proliferating horror venues and sub-disciplines. So what to say about this year’s Best Horror of the Year?

If there is any tendency or group of tendencies possibly representative of the current horror zeitgeist, I might point to a revisiting and a refreshment of old tropes and traditions, as though the horrors we had thought long buried had come back to haunt us. Maybe that’s not a bad reflection on the state of the world. There might also be a shift away from the weird, taken in a surreal/ambiguous sense, in that there’s perhaps less Aickmanesque obscurity and indefinable phenomena. The horrific tends to be more concrete and immediate in this go-round – again, possibly channelling wider socio-political currents into the cauldron of horror writers’ creativity. 

Perhaps this time there’s also less representation of voices from outside the Anglo-American orbit – although based on these anthologies’ past form, I’m sure that’s a statistical artefact rather than a deliberate preference. As a Brit, I applaud the large number of British writers in the volume, with 9 out of 19 – though again, I won’t speculate over what that says about the state of post-Brexit Britain. There is no evidence of any ideological axe to grind, although there are definite hints in a few tales. And yes, they do succeed in being genuinely some of the most horrific stories of the year. 

As for individual stories – spoiler alerts. The following synopses may spoil your enjoyment, so please feel free to skip. “The Importance of a Tidy Home” by Christopher Golden is a disturbing piece of folk (volkisch?) horror that resurrects an obscure piece of Austrian folklore to frightful effect. “Dodger” by Carly Holmes chronicles the disconnect between a mother and her son – or is he? The moral of “Rock Hopping” is, don’t go kayaking to ill-famed and treacherous rock stacks off the South Devon coast – and if possible, avoid any participation in any Adam Nevill story whatsoever. “That Maddening Heat” by Ray Cluley deals with the legacy of an apparent suicide, and the fetid influence of unseasonal heat. “Jack O’Dander” by Priya Sharma delves into the ongoing nightmare of the relatives of the disappeared – and perhaps the worse nightmares when they reappear. “The Assembled” by Ramsey Campbell – still writing up a storm in his seventies – concerns the awful consequences of accepting a ride from strangers, attuned to Ramsey’s fine ear for verbal disquiet and conversational menace. And for you avid readers, “R is for Remains” by Steve Rasnic Tem may leave you wary of ever stepping into a library again.

“The Louder I Call, the Faster It Runs” by E. Catherine Tobler dredges up the last lake monster you would expect. “Return to Bear Creek Lodge” by Tananarive Due turns what ought to be an icon of Black American success and autonomy into an insidious generational nightmare. “The Enfilade” by Andrew Hook takes a Nineties passage to India leading to the most extraordinary piece of trick photography. And Stephen Graham Jones lays a trail of words that click together as perfectly as ivory dominoes while he follows an “armchair folklorist” down “Lover’s Lane” to an utterly unexpected conclusion. As for “Build Your Houses with Their Backs to the Sea” by Caitlín R. Kiernan, well, with a title and an author like that, I shouldn’t even need to comment.

“Hare Moon” by H.V. Patterson and “The Scare Groom” by Patrick Barb both occupy territory somewhere between Shirley Jackson’s “The Festival” and The Handmaid’s Tale – and I won’t speculate what that says about the current state of America. “The Teeth” by Brian Evenson is a terrifically compact little ghost story. “Nábrók” by Helen Grant resurrects an Icelandic tradition, one you would rather stay buried. “The Salted Bones” by Neil Williamson finds issues around care for the environment going bone deep. “Tell Me When I Disappear” by Glen Hirshberg also brings out human encounters with the wilderness that do not end well. And “The Motley” by Charlie Hughes once again touches on folk horror territory, in the milieu of provincial towns.

I can’t say I miss anything, or anyone, in these choices. Lovecraftian Mythos fiction and cosmic horror is perhaps missing, but there’s plenty of that elsewhere, and I don’t feel the story choice suffers from its absence. As said, I’d welcome more representation from writers outside the immediate Anglosphere, but as Ellen Datlow herself says repeatedly, her door is always open, and all writers or publishers need to do is submit their stuff. Overall, horror looks in horribly good shape, with superb prose to deck the flights of the imagination.

/5

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