Still at the beginning of working my way through the volumes of Paperbacks from Hell released by Valancourt books to date, Bernard Taylor’s The Reaping was the first title whose gothic horror synopsis really struck me as something I should look forward to thoroughly enjoying. Supernatural or haunted plots within gothic horror might be my absolute favorite of the sub-genres, but a good “cult horror” is a close second.
Rather than writing my own version of the plot synopsis to set things up, I’ll just quote the one provided by the publisher, which more than suffices:
When Tom Rigby is commissioned to paint a young woman’s portrait at Woolvercombe House, the offer is too lucrative to refuse. But from the moment of his arrival at the secluded country mansion strange and inexplicable events begin to transpire. Soon he is drawn into an impenetrable maze of horror, and by the time he discovers the role he is intended to play in a diabolical design, it will already be too late. For the seeds of evil have been sown, and the time to reap their wicked harvest is nigh!
Like The Nest, the first entry in this reprint series of horror pulp from Valancourt, The Reaping unfolds in a manner that could be easily visualized as a 1970s era horror feature film. With the novel published in 1980, the influence of the previous decade or so of horror cinema is evident in the novel’s plot. But I’d also say that this plot, along with Taylor’s protagonist and his writing, evoked memories of literature like 1965’s The Magus by John Fowles.
I feel it’s regrettable that The Reaping wasn’t ever produced into a film as at least a couple of Bernard Taylor’s other novels were. The story just exudes a gothic atmosphere that gets increasingly bizarre in ways that simultaneously attract and repel Rigby and the reader. There’s a slow build of discomfort and the sense that something is just a bit off, slowly increasing in creepiness as Rigby’s curiosity and failings further entrap him in the situation. Where Taylor creates all this with words, a skilled team of writer, director, cinematographer, and actors could translate it into visuals and sounds with equal success. The themes of the novel also hold depths that could be worked well into cinema by one of those auteur style of horror directors.
Alas, we have the novel, but no movie so far. The most unfortunate part of that is the book wildly succeeds for most of its page count (particularly for a patient reader who likes atmosphere) but then ends with some twists and a conclusion that hold a certain camp silliness that I found mixed oddly with the vibes of everything leading up to the end reveals. Perhaps I’m more forgiving with the movies I watch, or I’ve just seen more campy atmospheric horror movies to still love, but I could just see the ending playing out better on film.
That being said, I certainly enjoyed The Reaping overall, and would probably enjoy reading it again in the future to glean more from its pages while knowing more about what’s coming. The character of Tom Rigby is a sort of generic mostly likable chap who’s trying to generally do the right thing but has some flaws that sometimes can impede that. In this way he’s eminently familiar to readers of literature as one type of relatively privileged white man. But Taylor does at least a couple of things to make the novel work well despite this cliché.
Firstly, of course, is the inherent mystery of the plot, with Rigby trying to figure out both what exactly this situation is that he finds himself in as he also tries to figure out who exactly he himself is – what he wants to be. The second aspect that really brings a uniqueness to this novel would be how the female characters of The Reaping relate to Rigby. I don’t want to go into too many specifics on this lest there be spoilers, but I’ve noted some readers comparing aspects of the plot of this book to Rosemary’s Baby. What fascinated me about Taylor’s novel, however, is that it isn’t really about what is happening – what is done – to a woman, but rather a kind of sex reversal with a cult of women exercising power and control over a man, not caring what his opinion or input might be in situations of biology.
That probably already gives away a bit too much, but hopefully it encourages some to check the novel out where one might otherwise have thought not to try it.
I continue to be impressed by the varied selection of horror literature in this series, and the high quality of all the writing within that diversity of plots, themes, and styles. These may have been pulp, but they have far greater worth than the material they were first physically published with. Like the ‘Boutique Blu-Ray’ labels with movies, Valancourt is doing phenomenal work in further preserving these novels and bringing them to the attention to readers who might otherwise never discover them.
