
BLOODY BAUDELAIRE
by R. B. Russell
(Ex Occidente Press 2009)

This is a stunning novella I've just been compelled to read in one sitting - compelled by a fear of its words changing before I got to them. It starts as a country house shenanigan where young people might say in a different book: "Anyone, for Tennis?"
Not that famous Monty Python sketch, well, maybe it is, in a sense.
No, it is something seriously decadent and Dorian Gray and Stephen Poliakoff and pre-Raphaelite ... with Elizabeth-Bowen-esque nihilism of a fractured soul. The Tabula Rasa of love ... and a rite of torture that unfolds so slowly in such a quick book, one is driven along by it. This whole force of onward fiction has a very clever ending. I believed every word.
I felt I wrote it. The book itself - as a physical object - struck me as one of those old French books whose pages you needed to uncut. But someone had done it already.
Very well done indeed. In two Acts.
Other real-time fiction reviews by DFL at link immediately above.