Hallow-Reading: Green and Pleasant Land

Over the past few months my personal reading has taken a turn down an unusual rabbit hole resulting in a turn from fantasy and non-fiction to horror short story, "folk horror" in particular. A rainy October morning seems as good a time as nay to blog a touch about my most recent literary diversion.

Though I have long been a reader of Romantic (Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, for example) and cosmic (works of H.P. Lovecraft) horror sub-genres, folk horror is something of a new direction. Folk horror is defined by members of the Goodreads Folk Horror Revival Group as "a subgenre of horror fiction, but its roots go back at least into the 19th century. The horrific element in a folk horror story traditionally arises from a source associated with European pagan folk traditions." Think of the tropes and settings of either the original 1973 The Wicker Man or 2018's Hereditary movies (among numerous others), and you are on the right--or very wrong--track.

As with most literary genres, there is quite a bit of room for interpretation when it comes to considering what exactly meets the necessary folk nature of a text thought to meet the criteria. For example, a number of popular American folk horror reads reference the local folk lore of familiar spooky states such as Louisiana or Maine, drawing on the regional rather than the European. For my first venture into the genre, however, I went native and read Great British Horror 1: Green and Pleasant Land, a collection of modern short stories published in 2016 by Black Shuck Books and edited by Steve J. Shaw. As it announces on the back cover, the collection features "eleven previously unpublished stories of small town, rural and folk horror."

In addition to being an excellent primer for the genre, Green and Pleasant Land offers some  downright creepy reading, perfect for autumnal evenings. While I had not read any of the authors' previously, I was fascinated by their combined ability to draw me into their distinctive mythologies which remained grounded in a very discernable modern, real world context. Two personal favorites include:

• "The Castellmarch Man" by Ray Cluley. With nods to modern elements of geo-caching and stay-cation culture this standout introduces the reader to a couple, Charlie and Lyndsey, who learn "getting romantic" in unfamiliar stables might have unintended consequences. Throughout the story, Cluley intermingles touristy information about British landscape and lore which offers possible backstory to the journey our characters are on, as well as the origin of their antagonist. I've returned to this story twice and it's eerie tone, complex characters and the ancient dread in builds to still resonate. An excellent mix of the modern and archaic and therefore a strong entry in British folk horror.
• "Strange As Angels" by Laura Mauro. "It's a delicate little mannequin, tiny limbs curled and foetal, skin bloodless and rice paper thin." (54) And so begins the story of a broken couple who crash into a creature they refer to as an angel. As their relationship crumbles, Frankie grows closer to the creature they've adopted, while Jimmie begins to see it the angel as a competitor for his affection. While the initial encounter with the angel takes place in a natural setting ("dark and foreboding woods"), the story quickly moves to the modern confines of Frankie's apartment. A fascinating look at a fractured relationship that decays as quickly as the "angel" grows.

The other nine stories are also of high quality, each with a different approach tp transplanting the mythic or imaginative into the modern world. Small touches such as clearly British settings and nuances of spelling ("foetal", "arsehole", "programme") and grammar are the sole indicators of being British as the universal relationships reverberate throughout the collection. The collection is not necessarily for the very young reader due to the occasional expletives and mature content (none of which is gratuitous). Green and Pleasant Land has me looking very forward the next offering of Great British Horror, which should be arriving by mail soon.

Harvest of Stink 2014

Many very mature gingko fruit pile up at the base of the tree. (11/3/13)

Few things would make me happier than to be able to write that this fall has been different. But, sadly, the song (or the stink) remains the same.

It has been four autumns (2008) since I last posted about the stink that occasionally emanates in fall from the narrow strip of lawn between our house and our neighbors. After having determined the source of the smell (and happily realizing it was neither our neighbor nor the dog poo I religiously pick up and deposit into the garbage can): a large ginkgo tree. The ginkgo borders both yards and is in the area under which we park our vehicles each day and when it "blooms" it grows fruit. And when the fruit falls to the ground it lays there until being either stepped or run over by our cars... and then they STINK. The fruit releases its odor when it is bruised or crushed (triggering the decay process).

Trust me when I tell you that despite
driving for days at high speeds
that rotten fruit will still be on
 the car hood! (11/8/14)

Upon first experiencing the phenomena of this "stink fruit," I was particularly surprised to learn that that trees can come in “genders,” being either male or female. Because it does bear fruit, it was not too much of a leap to surmise that our tree was female.

This conclusion was not confirmed by checking under its leaves. According to one website, “…female trees will bear yellowish plum-shaped fruit with a somewhat foul smelling meat (like rancid butter some say) whose outer skin is mildly toxic. Fallen fruits will usually burst open their fleshy coating, thus releasing the odor. In an outdoor setting, the smell is not too overpowering, but avoid planting near car ports or along roads as some people have reported paint damage from the fruits juices…” Stupendous!

The gingko in fall; note the fruits swept
 off the driveway to avoid bruising...
and smelling. (11/3/13)

Even after 10+ years living in our home, it does not surprise me is that the previous owners would plant such tree especially given its unique (albeit noxious) nature. When we first moved in, every room was a different shade of grey (including the exterior), and because they had been recreational bonsaists(?), shelves cobbled together with cinder blocks and boards were a central component of the garden. And guess what... the ginkgo tree is a favorite of Bonsai enthusiasts, but they usually know it as the Maidenhair Tree, as the small, bonsai trained leaves turn to a striking gold hue in the Fall.

FYI, even better squirrels and other (gulp)
rodents dig the nuts!

Because ginkgo's will take about 20 years of growth before they start to reproduce, we can deduce that the tree has been here for at least two decades, and being the first time in our four years here that the fruits have appeared, we had not previously noticed the scent. Where we go from here is unclear, and while the fruit can be harvested and the nuts removed from the pungent smelling meat of the fruit roasted for eating, given the height of the tree, and my cowardice in the face of scaling it, this is unlikely. In some ways it is neat to have such an usual tree (one landscaper we had come a few years ago to trim some other trees in our yard was very enthusiastic to find it in the city), as according to an online blog post I came across by a former "street tree program manager" (forester?), "Many cities no longer plant the female ginkgo."

So while we will not be collecting fruit, we will continue to harvest the stink and continue to make the best of it while attempting to come to terms with our smelly, unique ginkgo! On second thought, looking out the window this morning I realize that the majority of fruit HAVE NOT EVEN DROPPED YET (looks like a bottom to top up pattern of dropping)! Perhaps it's time to either put the ginkgo up for adoption or send it on to tree heaven.

Still MANY more left to fall! (11/8/14)

This really is kind of a bummer. (11/8/14)

"Fallen fruits usually burst open their fleshy coating releasing the odor"... uh-oh! (11/3/13)

Frosty Flowers, Moon & Dog

This past Saturday, my wife and I loaded the dog into the card and headed out to Bath, New York, to help her mother shut down the summer camp. While we had been aware, task to the scare-mongering of the local weather-folks, that there was a chance of a frost Sunday morning, we had no idea how cold it would be. Fortunately it was also somewhat picturesque, so we took the camera with us as we walked the dog at 6 a.m. The cold temperatures, clear skies, fall foliage and goofy dog made for some interesting pictures.

Neophyte Urban Arborist: Harvest of Stink 2013

Many very mature gingko fruit pile up at the base of the tree. (11/3/13)

It has been four autumns (2008) since I last posted about the stink that occasionally emanates in fall from the narrow strip of lawn between our house and our neighbors. After having determined the source of the smell (and happily realizing it was neither our neighbor nor the dog poo I religiously pick up and deposit into the garbage can): a large ginkgo tree. The ginkgo borders both yards and is in the area under which we park our vehicles each day and when it "blooms" it grows fruit. And when the fruit falls to the ground it lays there until being either stepped or run over by our cars... and then they STINK. The fruit releases its odor when it is bruised or crushed (triggering the decay process).

The gingko in fall; note the fruits swept
 off the driveway to avoid bruising...
and smelling. (11/3/13)

Upon first experiencing the phenomena of this "stink fruit," I was particularly surprised to learn that that trees can come in “genders,” being either male or female. Because it does bear fruit, it was not too much of a leap to surmise that our tree was female.

This conclusion was not confirmed by checking under its leaves. According to one website, “…female trees will bear yellowish plum-shaped fruit with a somewhat foul smelling meat (like rancid butter some say) whose outer skin is mildly toxic. Fallen fruits will usually burst open their fleshy coating, thus releasing the odor. In an outdoor setting, the smell is not too overpowering, but avoid planting near car ports or along roads as some people have reported paint damage from the fruits juices…” Stupendous!

Even after 10+ years living in our home, it does not surprise me is that the previous owners would plant such tree especially given its unique (albeit noxious) nature. When we first moved in, every room was a different shade of grey (including the exterior), and because they had been recreational bonsaists(?), shelves cobbled together with cinder blocks and boards were a central component of the garden. And guess what... the ginkgo tree is a favorite of Bonsai enthusiasts, but they usually know it as the Maidenhair Tree, as the small, bonsai trained leaves turn to a striking gold hue in the Fall.

Because ginkgo's will take about 20 years of growth before they start to reproduce, we can deduce that the tree has been here for at least two decades, and being the first time in our four years here that the fruits have appeared, we had not previously noticed the scent. Where we go from here is unclear, and while the fruit can be harvested and the nuts removed from the pungent smelling meat of the fruit roasted for eating, given the height of the tree, and my cowardice in the face of scaling it, this is unlikely. In some ways it is neat to have such an ususal tree (one landscaper we had come a few years ago to trim some other trees in our yard was very enthusiastic to find it in the city), as according to an online blog post I came across by a former "street tree program manager" (forester?), "Many cities no longer plant the female ginkgo."

So while we will not be collecting fruit, we will continue to harvest the stink and continue to make the best of it while attempting to come to terms with our smelly, unique ginkgo!

"Fallen fruits usually burst open their fleshy coating releasing the odor"... uh-oh! (11/3/13)