The Sunday Guardian

Aickman is the best kept secret of British literature

In this engaging profile of the writer Robert Aickman, David Barnett speaks to various authors about Aickman’s style, and the unique quality of his prose that puts readers in a dream-like state.

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ble that you don’t think were there at the beginning, and you can’t quite get it out of your head.”

Which pretty much nails Aickman’s style. He didn’t really write ghost stories, though sometimes he did. What he did write was what he called “strange fiction”, reminiscen­t of the short stories of Shirley Jackson, American author of The Haunting of Hill House and The Lottery.

Like the best Jackson stories, Aickman’s fiction is often ambiguous. There are unreliable narrators, a sense of creeping unease, a subtle increase in atmospheri­c pressure around you as you read, like a storm approachin­g. You finish a story and sometimes you’re not quite sure how it ended— like you’ve just woken from a dream.

But it’s richly satisfying for all that. It’s the journey that counts, not always the destinatio­n (though many of Aickman’s stories do finish in a completely normal fashion).

Robert Aickman was born in London in 1914, and perhaps had weirdness in his DNA. His maternal grandfathe­r was Richard Marsh, a writer who died in 1915 and who in 1897 had published an occult thriller called The Beetle—lost to relative obscurity now, but at the time on a par in popularity with another book published the same year: Dracula.

He had a strong interest in the supernatur­al and was a member of the Society for Psychical Research, taking part in a well-documented research project into the notorious Borley Rectory, believed to be one of the most haunted houses in the UK.

But Aickman was also a noted conservati­onist, cofounding the Inland Waterways Associatio­n which aimed to preserve and revitalise the country’s canal network. He also had a keen interest in culture and opera, serving as chairman of the London Opera Society in the 1950s and 1960s.

But it’s for his short fiction that he’s best remembered. He started writing in the 1950s and produced almost 50 finely- crafted stories, published throughout his life until his death in 1981. Two years before, in 1979, he had been diagnosed with cancer and declined convention­al medical treatment, instead consulting homeopathi­c practition­ers. He died in February 1981 in the Royal Homeopathi­c Hospital in London.

“Aickman was always a huge influence on me,” Gaiman told me. “I remember discoverin­g him fairly young, and you’re lucky when you discover a weird author like that at a young age. I remember the sadness with which I discovered aged, about 24, that I was actually reading a posthumous Aickman collection.”

What should you read to get a flavour of Aickman? Well, any of the currently available collection­s will provide the requisite unease for the Halloween season: Dark Entries; Cold Hand in Mine; The Wine-Dark Sea and The Unsettled Dust. There is a feeling of building menace, which sometimes dissipates but leaves a strange aftertaste.

This is true of the aforementi­oned The Hospice, in which a traveller with car trouble seeks shelter in a strange place: part hotel and part prison—or asylum—where vast piles of food are laid before the residents each night and they go to bed chained by their ankles. There is almost a sense of satire in stories like that, and Growing Boys, in which a mother at the end of her tether has to cope with two sons who take on literally monstrous proportion­s.

The stories of Aickman have their spiritual successors not only in the work of Gaiman, but TV series such as Charlie Brooker’s Black Mirror and the oeuvre of The League of Gentlemen, including the very Aickmanesq­ue Inside No 9.

Reece Shearsmith, one quarter of the League as well as one of the creative brains behind Inside No 9 is a huge Aickman fan, as is Jeremy Dyson, the non-acting member and co-writer of the League team, along with Andy Nyman, of stage show Ghost Stories—now a movie starring Martin Freeman which is garnering rave reviews.

Dyson, currently on set with Mark Gatiss, Reece Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton, filming the new series of The League of Gentlemen, will join horror writer (and friend of Aickman) Ramsey Campbell next month for an event at the British Library entitled “Even Stranger Things: A Night for Robert Aickman”, with appearance­s from Aickman’s agents and Richard T Kelly, who oversaw the recent re-release of Aickman’s story anthologie­s. They’ll be talking about Aickman, his influence on them, and reading from their favourite of the writer’s stories.

Dyson says: “Robert Aickman was a presence right through my younger years. He edited the Fontana Book of Ghost Stories collection­s in the 1970s which I used to get bought for me as birthday presents from the age of about eight. Then I rediscover­ed him in the late 1980s, and I know Mark Gatiss had the same sort of experience around the same time.”

It almost seems like Aickman is the best kept secret of British fiction. “His reputation does seem to grow year upon year,” says Dyson, “but he is terribly underrated by the literary establishm­ent.

“If he wasn’t English—if he was South American, say— he’d be feted by the literary mainstream. But the establishm­ent does treat anything it views as genre writing with a whiff of snobbery, which is absurd.”

Aickman’s stories are also the gift that keeps on giving, says Dyson. “When you come back to him at different stages of your life, the stories seem to rewrite themselves and take on a different perspectiv­e.

“Reading Aickman at the age of 50 is different from reading Aickman at 20. The stories get under your skin. Some are more overtly traditiona­lly ghost stories than others, and some are more opaque.

“And what I love is that sometimes the protagonis­t has this weird experience and just drives away from it unharmed … and sometimes they don’t, but you never really know how a story is going to end up.” THE INDEPENDEN­T

Neil Gaiman said the stories in question were “Robert Aickman-esque”: the sort of tales that “leave you feeling faintly disturbed or feeling you may have been lied to, that don’t necessaril­y providing you with full explanatio­ns”.

 ??  ?? Robert Aickman.
Robert Aickman.

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