Islington Crocodiles by Paul Meloy

My first glimpse of Paul Meloy’s fiction was a sparkler published in The Third Alternative—”Dying in the Arms of Jean Harlow,” a blue-collar urban horror-fantasy sharp as a crack on the back of the head with a bottle of lager. The story impressed me with its deliciously nasty sense of humor and its roller coaster ride from mundane grime to omigod what did he just do? shocks and scares. I recall really, really wanting more.

Islington Crocodiles is a chronological collection of Meloy’s short stories. It begins with “The Last Great Paladin of Idle Conceit,” wherein Meloy introduces us to Eddie D’Andrea, a second-rate comic who wakes up one night to find Lenny Bruce pissing in his sink. Soon enough, we learn that Lenny’s unhappy with the state of present-day standup comedy. It’s no longer risky or surprising, so people have become complacent once more.

This is where a lesser writer might have taken the setup and run it in, well, a safe direction. As in: Bruce remains a ghost who only serves to inspire a change in Eddie which radically shifts his career, perhaps for the good, perhaps for the bad, depending on the author’s target zine. Instead, Meloy uses his premise as an entree to a fantasy universe which will appear repeatedly in this collection. We learn that Bruce is a paladin, and that the paladins of idle conceit are the “writers and comedians, wits and playwrights” who, by their talent, wake us up and urge us onward to some higher level of consciousness. Paladins live a hazardous life, as they can see what the rest of us do not—that reality itself is breaking down.

Eddie changes, of course, but in a way that’s unpredictable and certainly not comfortable. Lenny Bruce’s return from the grave also has unexpected consequences. Even in this first story, Meloy shows a knack for the non-formulaic.

“Raiders” is a descent-into-madness story featuring Barwise, a cartoonist whose girlfriend leaves him for Martin, an Amway salesman. Barwise’s friend, Micky, flops as a support network, so Barwise falls in with a different crowd: he finds solace in the comic books of his childhood, and he finds a few other things besides.

Each scene in “Raiders” is crisp and cinematic, particularly Barwise’s confrontation with Trish and Martin at the end. Meloy’s writing has cleverness to burn; I laughed out loud at “I feel like I’ve had a raison d’ectomy” (Barwise’s mood post-Trish) and the listed detritus of Trish’s presence in his apartment, which included a “set of Branagh’s Shakesploitation movies.” While the dénouement is more conventional than that of his other stories, “Raiders” remains amusing from beginning to end.

In contrast, “Don’t Touch the Blackouts” surprises at every turn and brought me to tears with its penetrating study of grief. A shopkeeper in a vaguely postapocalyptic world welcomes a dark visitor, Bismuth, a man who “[does] not subscribe to linear time and by strength of will exist[s] at all points simultaneously.” Bismuth is no Billy Pilgrim, however. He’s a minister of sorts, a man with the ability to visit the dreams of people imprisoned by their personal losses and free them of their bonds. If that were everything, this would be a memorable fantasy, but it’s Bismuth’s own limitations (and the shopkeeper’s) which allows this story to transcend its genre.

The title telegraphs the story in “The Last Place on Earth for Snow,” which is probably the only predictable tale in this collection. It’s a short-short, though, and clearly not intended to be a “gotcha” story like some short-shorts. Rather, Meloy gives us a convincing glimpse of an aging father reminiscing about the old days when we had typewriters and snow, snow which the father’s grown son may no longer remember. The measure of such a story is whether the character comes alive and whether the evoked emotions feel genuine. Meloy succeeds on both counts.

What is it about a carnival that inspires horror? I’m remembering Ray Bradbury’s Something Wicked This Way Comes, Tod Browning’s 1932 film Freaks, and perhaps also the 1962 film, Carnival of Souls. Meloy takes a stab at carnival horror in “Running Away to Join the Town,” wherein Rainscissor and Morgoder’s Autoscopic Cavalcade sets up shop (at a crossroads, of course) near enough to tempt the ungrateful, gluttonous child, Marcel. Before the evening is done, Marcel disobeys his mother and runs off to get a glimpse of the animals. He gets what he wants and more, needless to say.

“Running Away to Join the Town” opens with some overly lush descriptive prose which hints at an approaching spectacle: perhaps some Big Top carnage on the grand scale, mass murder replete with homicidal clowns, tigers, and bears. But once again, Meloy defies expectations and delivers a much quieter tale of emotional longing and granted wishes. Oh, there’s carnage aplenty, but it’s all off-screen; Meloy seems far more interested in one person’s damnation than in shedding gallons of blood.

“Black Static” revisits the frozen, blasted dreamscape of “Don’t Touch the Blackouts.” Meloy weaves two threads: the first is that of Doctor Mocking, a Firmament Surgeon (like Bismuth) who defends innocents from the devil-in-dreams; the second is that of Lesley (herself a budding Firmament Surgeon), a small girl in a hot air balloon defended only by her wits and her stuffed tiger, Bronze John. Parallel metaphorical riffs course between the two stories, so that the reader never doubts the two are linked, and linked in dreams; but who is the dreamer, and who is dreamed?

Meloy commands a graceful rhythm here; flat declarative sentences introduce Dr. Mocking’s iron gray world of Quay-Endula, while Leslie’s scenes tend toward the lyrical. Both worlds are ripe with menace, and soon our protagonists face down a series of fantastic villains: the filthy Fluffplupps; Nurse Melt riding the skies like the Wicked Witch of the West; the hellish Uproar Contraption; and, in the end, a monster far less fantastical but all the more horrible. For the two stories converge, of course, and do so in a manner echoing the Hermetic “As above, so below”: As within, so without.

It’s a pleasure to read a story like “Black Static”: speculative fiction which creates its own rules and never insults the reader by over-explaining. Indeed, some of the unearthly appeal of these stories derives from their mystery—the unanswered questions the stories raise.

“Dying in the Arms of Jean Harlow” represents both a continuation of this same universe and a departure. Whereas “Don’t Touch the Blackouts” and “Black Static” are somber, otherworldly fantasies, “Dying in the Arms of Jean Harlow” is nasty and hilarious and full of earthbound characters. This makes it all the more striking when assorted horrors intrude on everyday life.

There’s Dean and Rory, blue collar grunts in dingy gray Invidisham-next-the-Sea, Dean the acid-tongued companion, Rory mourning the lack of glamour in his life as he adds link to his Jean Harlow website; and there’s Mick and Frank, Mick the panda-shooting comedian (and brother to Rory), Frank the brother-in-law with a Lolita complex.

Mick is more than a panda-shooter (and he isn’t even that—you’ll have to read it to catch the gag); he’s a paladin, too. When he isn’t using comedy to throw salt into the hungry eye of Entropy, he’s trying to find reborn Firmament Surgeons before the Autoscopes (the agents of Entropy) can find them. Mick and Frank show up one day in Invidisham-next-the-Sea in a clatter of gunfire, and after neutralizing the zombified remains of one of Rory’s coworkers, Mick briefs Rory and his fellow early afternoon drinkers about the Way Things Are.

Thus does “Dying in the Arms of Jean Harlow” flesh out the universe introduced in “The Last Great Paladin of Idle Conceit.” A Firmament Surgeon has been reborn in Invidisham-next-the-Sea; the Autoscopes want the child, and are willing to create all manner of havoc to do so. Unflattering comparison has been made to Shaun of the Dead and Hellboy, but “Dying in the Arms of Jean Harlow” has wit and charm exceeding that of Shaun of the Dead, and a fresher mythology than Hellboy.

In “The Vague,” Meloy returns to the themes of his previous stories: Adam and Robin are trapped in Robin’s dream of the coastal town of Quay-Katavothron, where ravenous shark-mouthed creatures and werewolves roam. The devil-in-dreams is here, again stalking hope, using as its agent of destruction the aptly named Jack Feculent and his killing machine, the vitreophim, which also made an appearance in “Black Static.” “The Vague” will impress folks who are new to Meloy’s fiction; the writing is crisp, the characters are fully realized, and their plight is poignant. Those who first encounter “The Vague” as part of this collection will see Meloy’s universe from a different angle, but will find little additional depth to the mythology. Nevertheless, “The Vague” is a key puzzle piece, a fact which only becomes evident in the next story.

In tone and pacing, “Islington Crocodiles” most closely resembles “Dying in the Arms of Jean Harlow,” and is equally fun. Meloy turns a bright eye on London’s lowlifes: the would-be super-villain Ray Cade, whose dreams of royal ascension bring to mind Anthony Burgess’s Alex; his mule, Steve Iden, smuggler of Dutch porn; the mysterious Plummer, and various assorted goons. Interwoven with the story of Ray’s latest bank job is the flashback story of Ray’s and Steve’s burgeoning friendship on an adolescent psychiatric ward. Adding spice, we have a triangle: Steve’s in a relationship with Ray’s sister, Claire, which, considering Ray’s flashpoint temper, might not be the best thing for Steve’s health.

A heist story soon becomes both horrific and fantastic as Meloy jacks up the stakes beyond measure. Ray’s successful theft opens our world to the Autoscopes, and soon, the true villains arrive. “Islington Crocodiles” is without a doubt the climax of this collection, the story that brings it all together, puts flesh on the bones of Meloy’s creation, and provides, if not closure, then at least a sense of rocketing forward movement. It’s a story that works far better in the context of the stories that have come before than as a stand-alone (indeed, I missed the boat on this one when I reviewed it last year!) This is a truly remarkable story.

The collection concludes with “An Ocean by Handfuls,” a deeply personal rumination on grief, wherein Meloy makes material both the effects of grief on the psyche, and the process of overcoming grief. It seems to be, perhaps, the author’s reflection on the source of his stories. It’s a haunting conclusion to a most memorable collection.

Publisher: TTA Press (Dec. 2008)
Price: £9.99
Trade paperback: 200 pages
ISBN: 0955368316