The Children of Epiphany
Frances Oliver
Ash-Tree Press (176 p) $21
ISBN: 1553100670
(April 2004)
I don't see enough of Ash-Tree Press books, I am sure you don't either. Many of
you Cemetery Dance readers are true aficionados (and even collectors) of dark
lit, so I'm sure you are at least aware of their fine record of publishing high
quality supernatural fiction over the last eleven or twelve years. One of the
best anthologies of 2004 (published very late in the year) was Acquainted With
the Night, edited by Barbara Roden and Christopher Roden. Dancing on Air by
Frances Oliver was one of the best collections. Since both were original titles,
one can hope they turn up on "year's best" and award lists. But Children of
Epiphany, also by Oliver, is a re-publication and, therefore, not qualified for
such recognition. The novel originally appeared in 1983 and has been re-issued
as the third in Ash-Tree's Classic Macabre Series. The first two, The Door of
the Unreal (1919) by Gerald Biss and The Ghost Pirates (1909) by William Hope
Hodgson are considerably more "classic" by decades.)
Children of Epiphany is set in the expatriate community of a
small Greek island, the kind of place older woman come "in hopes of sleeping
with young Greeks" and those who think of themselves as artistic free spirits
but are more likely to be pathetic and spiritless. The story is told by Tamsin,
a fourteen year-old-girl who is far wiser in the idiosyncrasies of the adult
world than most children. In the grand horror tradition of Bad Things Happening
in Isolation, we have a child (thus an outsider) who lives in an outsiders'
community isolated on a small island who then is moved to an even more remote
locale -- a Pirgos, an "impressively lonely" tower -- in a mountain village with
only a few residents. The villagers, especially one old woman (they are told),
are a little strange, but they are not to worry. Tamsin's mother Lisa -- an
artsy superstitious sort -- and her boyfriend Robert -- an intellectual writer
who Lisa is pressing to finally write his "great book" -- have been loaned the
residence by its wealthy Venetian owner, Giovanni Morelli.
Tamsin has never gone to school (except for one bleak fourteen-month period
while in the care of grandparents in Cleveland, Ohio -- "a place which seemed to
me the ends of the earth") but is well educated. Her bohemian lifestyle seems to
suit her and she, like most young people in an amoral environment, has a
well-developed sense of self-discovered morality. Her romantic mother is often
less mature and far less perceptive than Tamsin.
Once housed at the Pirgos, Tamsin is delighted to find a friend her age, Heleni,
and her handsome, heartthrob of a brother, Petros, almost next door. They are
members of the family who care for the crazy old lady they had been told of.
Hugo, a sinister German appears on the scene and begins telling strange tales
and bringing dissention. Tamsin sees his "shit-stirring" for what it is, but the
adults seem entranced by him. One of his stories is of a local belief in the
children of Epiphany. Those born between Christmas and Epiphany are, supposedly,
soulless and can only survive by taking the souls of others. He claims that
Heleni and Petros are thought to be such. Hugo lives near a ravine that has been
deserted by other humans and that the locals avoid. Tamsin, perhaps more
psychically attuned than the adults, picks up the bad vibes of the geography and
Hugo, but Lisa and Robert remain not only ignorant, but also disdainful of
Tamsin's fears. Things get creepier and Hugo grows creepier still -- if anyone
is preying on anyone, it is obvious to Tamsin that it must be Hugo. Jo, a former
fat girl, who has lived with Hugo for two months suddenly appears and is
listless and skeletally thin. Signor Morelli is rumored to be returning, the
danger thickens, and the supernatural becomes more palpable. The grown-ups
spiral downward into a strange abyss. Tamsin starts to be seen as mentally
disturbed or overly influenced by Heleni and Petros.
There is no possibility the reader will be able to stop reading. Oliver's
atmosphere and plot may play on Gothic convention and ghost story tradition, but
her exquisite rendition of locale and vibrant modern characters make it all
fresh. Positive comparison to M.R. James is unavoidable and the author herself
references Henry James. There is much here of "the expected" and even the hokey,
but it is all so well-executed you can just indulge in a novel that passes
Lovecraft's "one test of the really weird" -- that "there be excited in the
reader a profound sense of dread, and of contact with unknown spheres and
powers; a subtle attitude of awed listening, as if for the beating of black
wings or the scratching of outside shapes and entities on the known universe's
utmost rim." (from Cemetery Dance #53)