To Drown in Dark Water
A book review of Steve Toase's debut horror story collection
Hot on the heels of Seán Padraic Birnie’s I Would Haunt You if I Could, Undertow Publications has another cracking debut short story collection out in April 2021 – To Drown in Dark Water by Steve Toase. Although this is his first book of stories, Toase is no newcomer to the scene, having had several stories published over the past years. Indeed, alongside six new pieces, this volume includes three tales which were previously featured in Ellen Datlow’s acclaimed Best Horror of the Year, series as well as other stories which appeared in other well-received anthologies (including Undertow’s own Shadows and Tall Trees.)
Comparing Toase’s work with that of Birnie is illuminating since it shows that contemporary horror and weird fiction can take on various guises. Reading Birnie’s collection, I was struck by a sense of “normal life” suddenly going off-kilter, of darkness infiltrating close family relationships, of a creeping dread. On the other hand, Toase’s work is closer to what we would expect in traditional horror – no ghosts or vampires perhaps, but certainly visceral fear, violence and, at times, considerable blood and gore.
If pressed to classify the stories under a sub-genre, I would say that they are mostly at the intersection of folk and cosmic horror. There are certainly tropes of classic folk horror: such as arcane rituals (Winter Home; Dirt Upon My Skin) and outsiders stumbling upon local cults and/or celebrations (Verwelktag; Our Lady of the Tarpaulin). More often than not, however, there is a suggestion of ancient evils at play, and it is certainly no coincidence that unknown terrors lurk in or behind timeless natural elements – such as the forest (Beneath the Forest’s Wilting Leaves; Streuobstwiese; Grenzen), soil/earth (Verwelktag; Green Grows the Grief) and the birth of a slightly unusual calf (Call Out). Even water, which we would generally consider life-giving, assumes a corrosive effect (The Taste of Rot; Under the Banner of the Black Stamen).
The folk and cosmic horror labels are useful pointers to help us navigate the dark vision of Steve Toase and recognise some recurring themes and plot details along the way. However, the stories in this collection show a greater variety than these categories might suggest. There are experiments with form, with some stories following a longer, plot-based narrative, and others bordering on flash fiction or adopting a more conceptual approach. There are interesting genre-bending pieces – for instance combining horror with science fiction (Flow to the Sea) or even spy fiction (Grenzen). Intriguingly, some of the stories seem to evoke fairy or folk tales (Ruby Red and Snowflake Cold; Skin like Carapace; Why the Sea Tastes of Salt and Why the moon Always Looks Towards Us). Could it be that Toase, a Yorkshireman living in Germany, sees himself as a latter-day Grimm?
When faced with such a
wide-ranging collection, one’s choice of favourites tend to depend on personal taste. Thus, I tended to prefer the longer
narrative-based stories to the more metaphorical ones. However, perhaps what
are the most memorable moments in the collection are the striking – and sometimes
disturbing – images conjured by Toase in some of the pieces here. These are original
conceptions which characterise the best of contemporary weird fiction, for
instance the idea of animal skeletons acting as hard drives in Flow to the
Sea, the sadistic choreographies of Dancing Sober in the Dust, the
monstrous scarecrows and ‘sky of sticks’ in Children of the Rotting Straw. This is imaginative and seriously scary stuff.
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