There's something about the American writers that appeals to me (the good ones, at least), but I'm not exactly sure what it is. Maybe it's the romance of the settings, or the pacier prose. Maybe it's the nostalgia I feel for all the American films I grew up with as a kid, or that the first quarter of my reading life was spent on Stephen King. I just don't know. What I do know, though, is that I have a love for Southern Gothic.
The Deep American South has an aching emptiness that seems to be the seedbed for melancholic ponderings and sparse and poetic dialogues over crackling campfires and under midnight skies. If it's done right, you end up with novels such as Alden Bell's The Reapers Are The Angels, or Robert Jackson Bennett's Mr Shivers. Michael Koryta's The Cypress House doesn't have the literary gravitas of those aforementioned novels, but it's Southern Gothic done right, all right.
Arlen Wagner has a terrible gift: he can see smoke in men's eyes that warns him of their imminent death, and he is never wrong. Riding a train bound for the Florida Keys, Arlen sees this smoke in the eyes of the men his travelling with, but none of them heed his warning accept for his young companion, Paul Brickhill. He and Paul get off the train at the next stop and trudge through the rain to find a place to stay, and soon find themselves in a solitary boarding house located on the eerie marsh land of the Gulf Coast. At first it feels good to be out of the rain, but Arlen soon realises there are more deadly things at the Cypress House than the imminent hurricane.
The supernatural element is slight, and the story slips into standard thriller mode for long periods, with the corrupt local law enforcement supplying a good deal of the suspense, but Koryta has not merely adorned Arlen with a superficial and ghostly gift to serve the plot. It goes deeper than that. Along with a poignant back story, Arlen's gift supplies us with a well-judged arc that adds a touch of pathos to what is already an interesting and original character.
Koryta handles atmosphere and setting expertly too. With the impending threat of the hurricane and the undercurrent of the supernatural, the Cypress House positively drips with that aching emptiness and desolation that epitomizes the Southern Gothic tale. And in an industry where the quality of the written word is no longer a prerequisite of the published author, Koryta's prose is flawless and unfussy, and his dialogue is spoken by the characters and not written by the writer.
This was my first sojourn in Michael Koryta's world, and I plan on visiting again soon. A fine book by a fine writer. And if Southern Gothic is your thing, as it is mine, you could do a lot worse than lend Koryta your ear, and sit with him by the crackling campfire, under the midnight sky, and listen to his tale of The Cypress House.