This is the first in a new regular series. I enjoy writing about stories that I love reading. With novels, there can be a slow turnaround. So something to keep me posting more regularly…
I have a mini library of ghost story collections. Great Ghost Stories, published in 1960, features ten such stories – perfect for this occasional simply chilling series. And it features one of my favourites. But more of that another time. The book is edited by Herbert van Thal, with illustrations by Edward Pagram. The first two stories are Running Wolf by Algernon Blackwood and The Haunted and the Haunters by Lord Lytton.
Algernon Blackwood (1869-1951) was an English writer of ghost stories. I’ve seen clips of the appearances he made in the early days of television, an urbane old gentleman in an ill-fitting suit. Reading Running Wolf directly after The Tenderness of Wolves is a strange coincidence. Like Stef Penney’s novel, it’s also set in a remote part of Canada, concerning an isolated individual who encounters both an enigmatic wolf and American Indian culture. Unlike Penney, Blackwood did spend some time in Canada, but although suitably atmospheric Running Wolf is a much slighter work. Penney also has the advantage of a modern and sympathetic perspective; there’s a whiff of disregard for the Indian culture in Blackwood’s writing. This aside, Running Wolf quickly establishes a tremendous sense of mood, it’s protagonist spooked and intrigued in equal spoonfulls.
Troubled by a pair of watching eyes in the night, a camper discovers he is being observed by a wolf. Eventually befriending the creature, he makes a strange discovery…
I don’t know if this short story is typical of Blackwood or not, but I’ll certainly be investigating more of his work.
Chill Factor: 4/5
Lord Lytton (1803-1873) is most famous for coining the phrase the pen is mightier than the sword in his play Richelieu; Or the Conspiracy. He was also a writer of occult and science fiction stories. His novel The Coming Race shares the distinction for being possibly the first ever sci-fi novel with the notoriety for being influential in Nazi thinking.
The Haunted and the Haunters is a typical haunted house story. Hearing of one such house, a man is over eager to spend the night there. He takes with him, as usually happens in this type of 19th Century yarn, his faithful servant. The story offers no surprises, and lurches from the usual haunted goings on, mysterious footfalls, discovered bundles of letters, a slaughtered dog, to cumbersome attempts at trying to describe what a ghost might actually be.
I’m keeping Lytton at arms length, although The Coming Race does intrigue me…
Chill Factor: 1/5
Freddie Francis was a prolific director for film and television, best known for his British horror films of the 60s and 70s. He worked for the two great production companies Hammer and Amicus. Highlights of Freddie Francis’ directing career, providing me with colourful and comfortable late night horror in my formative years, were Dr Terror’s House of Horrors (1965), The Skull (1965), Dracula Has Risen From the Grave (1968), Tales From the Crypt (1972), The Creeping Flesh (1973), Tales That Witness Madness (1973) and The Ghoul (1975).
Although these films are all excellent, he was very much a jobbing director, and there are other films in the Hammer and Amicus canon not directed by him that are equally good. It’s his work as an accomplished cinematographer that has gained him the most respect, including such gems as Room at the Top (1959) and Saturday Night and Sunday Morning (1960). Best is The Innocents (1961), a very eerie and disturbing adaptation of The Turn of the Screw by Henry James. This is always worth seeing, and Francis manages to create a menacing monochrome atmosphere that matches the original book. If you haven’t seen it, please make a point of doing so.
David Lynch also employed Francis for The Elephant Man (1980), another black and white masterpiece, and The Straight Story (1999), but I’m only touching the surface of his achievements. See the IMDb for the full story.
Freddie Francis, 1917-2007.
He says there are no bears in this part of the country. What about wolves? I want to know. He gives me a pitying look.
‘Wolves don’t attack people. They might be curious, but they won’t attack you.’
I tell him about those poor girls who were eaten by wolves. He listens without interruption, and then says, ‘I’ve heard of them. There was no sign that the girls were attacked by wolves.’
‘But there was no proof that they were kidnapped, and nothing was ever found.’
‘Wolves will not eat all of a corpse. If wolves had attacked them, there would have been traces – splinters of bone, and the stomach and intestines would be left.’
I don’t know quite what to say to this. I wonder if he knows these macabre details because he has seen them.
‘But’, he goes on, ‘I have never known wolves to attack without being provoked. We have not been attacked, and there have been wolves watching us.’
‘Are you trying to frighten me, Mr Parker?’ I say, with a careless smile, even though he is ahead of me and cannot see my expression.
‘There is no reason to be afraid. The dogs react as there are wolves about, in the evening especially. And we are still here.’
He tosses this over his shoulder as if it were a casual observation about the weather, but I keep glancing behind me, to see if anything is following us, and I am more anxious to stay close to the sled.
The Tenderness of Wolves by Stef Penney is set in Canada in 1867. It caused a minor stir when it won the 2006 Costa first novel award after it was revealed that its author had never visited the country. All her research was conducted at the British Library. Reading The Tenderness of Wolves I often wished I hadn’t known this; there’s a tendency to overlook many of the novel’s qualities in trying to spot flaws in Penney’s authenticity. So a word of advice if you haven’t yet read the book – don’t embark on an authenticity audit. Penney has never visited Canada, but she’s also never been to 1867, and who was it who said that the past is a foreign country?
I must admit that it took me a long time to settle into The Tenderness of Wolves. It’s a subtle piece of work that portrayed 1867 Canada convincingly to me as a sparsely populated country yet to find a real identity, with settlers from different parts of the world living alongside the native American Indians. It’s a perfect setting for Penney to explore physical and spiritual isolation, with some characters forcing themselves into the inhospitable and bleak winter landscape in bids of escape or missions of discovery, while others remain trapped in remote outposts, succumbing to addiction and madness. It takes commitment to persevere with and fully appreciate this novel, but it’s effort with a very rewarding outcome.
I’m not going to go too deeply into the plot of The Tenderness of Wolves. A man is murdered. Another is suspected. The suspect, his accusers and his defenders all embark on their own personal journeys to find the truth. There is also a background story; two girls disappeared several years previously and, despite extensive searches, were never found. As searches and discoveries take place, the harsh weather always lurks menacingly in the background, along with the wolves who may or may not be watching and circling in the distance. The novel also acts as a lament for the past, personified by the history and integrity of the American Indian, already fading at the time of the book’s setting.
There are a wealth of intriguing characters who, although they don’t immediately jump off the page, develop into complex and believable people. Donald Moody, the young officer thrown into the deep end of the Jammet murder case; Mrs Ross, haunted by her disturbing spell in an asylum; Francis, still only seventeen but already troubled by his memories; the enigmatic Stewart; the mysterious Mr Parker; the pathetically sad Nesbit and Mr Sturrock, a man with an intriguing mystery of his own to solve. There are many others too numerous to mention in this richly populated story.
The Tenderness of Wolves isn’t perfect. Penney is over-reliant on coincidence, and some of the threads in the novel are left unresolved. Mrs Ross, although fascinating, remains ambiguous and puzzling, and the reasons for Jammet’s murder are ultimately ungratifying. I’m not giving away any spoilers; decide for yourself if you’re satisfied with the overall resolution – I’m willing to overlook my slight disappointments.
The Costa success no doubt boosted the reputation of this novel, but I’m always pleasantly surprised when I read such a well crafted and intelligent book in the bestseller lists, albeit one that’s far superior in tone, character and atmosphere than it is in plot. It made me think of the past, our memories and the people we have to interact with – things, at times, that are all foreign countries. Recommended.
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