As both a student and a writer of short fiction that could be classified as "supernatural," "horror," or just plain "weird," I'm constantly seeking out short story collections that fit the above terminology, if only to further refine my own craft. Hence my recent exploration of the work of Robert Aickman (1914-1982), an English conservationist and a writer of fiction (and mostly supernatural fiction at that). He wrote around 50 or so such stories, which were collected in around eight volumes over a period from 1951 to 1985 (many of these volumes are now out of print and very expensive). I first heard of Aickman through the music of Current 93: one of my favorite songs performed by that group, entitled "Niemandswasser," is named after an Aickman story of the same title. Cold Hand in Mine was originally published in England in 1975, but the American version (which I own) was put out by Scribner in 1977, with a dust jacket illustrated by one of my favorite artists, Edward Gorey. This collection of "strange" stories, Aickman's fifth, was, I believe, the first of his books to be published in the United States. It consists of eight short stories, four of which are over 30 pages long: "The Swords," "The Real Road to the Church," "Niemandswasser," "Pages from a Young Girl's Journal," "The Hospice," "The Same Dog," "Meeting Mr Millar," and "The Clock Watcher."
The collection opens with the following quote from Sacheverell Sitwell: "In the end it is the mystery that lasts and not the explanation." This is actually a perfect quote to use as it really does seem to sum up Aickman's stories, at least in this collection. Many of the stories here end in an open-ended or inconclusive manner. It's actually one of the things I find frustrating about Aickman. His (somewhat lenghty) stories have so much build-up and atmosphere, yet so often at the conclusion they just seem to fizzle out or go nowhere exciting. When Aickman is good, he's very good, but when he's not good, he just comes off as somewhat bland. There's a fine line between subtly and just plain perplexing, and Aickman walks it constantly. Some of the stories in this collection I would highly recommend (such as "Niemandswasser," "The Hospice," and "The Clock Watcher") but some of them, such as "Meeting Mr Millar" (the longest story in the collection at 36 pages) are just dull and go nowhere. I can't say that Aickman has the most exciting writing style in the world: while I enjoy the very controlled, elegant and somewhat cold manner of his style, at the same time I would often find myself hoping for a bit of chaos to seep in. For stories that were (I presume) written in the 1960's and 70's, these seem very old-fashioned, like products of the 19th century, what with their lack of profanity and sex that's only hinted at, for the most part (the writer who Aickman reminds me the most of is M.R. James, which might be a lazy generalization). His vocabulary isn't the most thrilling either, though he does drop a few words I don't often encounter in fiction, such as "ichthyologists" and "consecrationary." And there are some good quotes: "We control nothing of importance that happens to us" and "What other thought mattered than that nothing mattered?" or "As we acquire weight in the world, we lose it within ourselves" and (my favorite) "Everything to do with time is hideous." In the end, I think one of my biggest problems with Aickman (as skilled a writer as he is) is that his supernatural tales lack the grand unifying philosophies that make reading H.P. Lovecraft and Thomas Ligotti (what with their deep-seated cosmic pessimism) such a thrilling intellectual experience.
The first Aickman story I read was Larger than Oneself, an account of a New Age-y retreat on an English estate. I thought Aickman had written during the 'twenties and was genuinely surprised when I learned he was a postwar writer.
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