Barring religious and mythological texts, the oldest form of
horror tale is that of the ghost story. Mankind has always been fascinated with
spirits and the afterlife, and every culture not only has their own idea of
what happens to us after we die, but every culture also has their own idea of
ghosts.
Ghost stories in Western culture became popular in
the Victorian era, with writers such as Le Fanu. The turn
of the century saw a rise in spiritualism, and an even bigger rise in the ghost
story. M.R. James, Oliver Onions, and Algernon Blackwood all helped foster the
ghost story even further.
Now, early on in the 21st century, ghosts still remain
as popular as ever. I can’t even turn on the TV without finding it riddled with
ghost-hunting shows, or shows like Paranormal Witness, where people share their
experiences while actors recreate key scenes. Horror cinema is much the same,
with ghost films seeing another rise in popularity due to movies such as
Paranormal Activity and The Conjuring. Publishers seem to be jumping on this
opportunity as well, in the last two-three years alone I could easily name five
or more anthologies all dealing with hauntings and ghosts, helmed by many of
the big-name editors including Ellen Datlow, Stephen Jones and Paula Guran, and
there’s definitely no shortage of novels dealing with the subject either.
Readers may wonder why I’ve included such a lengthy opening
talking about ghost stories without getting to the review. The reason is
simple: it has to be understood that the industry is flooded with ghost
fiction. Some use time-worn tropes but are written well enough that they are
worth reading. Some take the concept of ghosts in radical new directions,
making for a fresh take on the genre. Michael Aronovitz’s Alice Walks does a
bit of both.
I came across this book on a recommendation by my friend CM
Muller. It didn’t hurt that the book was published by Centipede Press either,
as Centipede Press is pretty much synonymous with quality. I went through this
book rather quickly, and putting it down to head into work was a struggle.
Alice Walks takes place in a Pennsylvania suburb in the
1970s. The book’s narrator, now an older man suffering from health problems in
modern time, is passing his story on to his son. Michael, the narrator, relates
the life-changing events that took place during the winter of his own
fourteenth year, when he and two friends go playing around in the cemetery his
father works and awaken the spirit of a girl their own age that rather recently
died. Things escalate from there.
Aronovitz does a masterful job at conveying character and
setting. His characters are believable, and he easily puts the reader in the
shoes of Michael, who is a rather average fourteen year old boy. The emotional
weight that Michael feels every day in his household, due to his father’s
shameful suspension from a teaching career over dubious circumstances, has a
very authentic feel to it.
When it comes to the ghost, Aronovitz also does something
fresh. Alice is a very interesting ghost as far as ghosts go. Many times ghost
stories can lose their sense of terror by the end, when the ghost usually
becomes a sympathetic figure. The reader finds out that the ghost responsible
for all the spooky moments was a murder victim, trying to gain closure and
finally be at peace. Aronovitz does something much different with Alice, who
goes from evoking terror, to being a sympathetic figure, and then back to
evoking terror. Alice’s motivations are different from the norm, and this keeps
the story very interesting, as the reader never knows what to expect.
Alice Walks is a shorter novel, and Aronovitz has a strong
sense of pace, never allowing the story to slow down or become overburdened and
bloated. This sense of focus, combined with an excellent sense of character and
setting, as well as an original take on the ghost, make for an excellent debut
and marks Aronovitz as a writer to watch. Being a Centipede Press book, the
novel's price tag is heftier than average, but it’s worth every penny.
The novel can be bought HERE.
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