Ramsey Campbell is one of
the most prolific Horror authors living today, along with Stephen King, Clive
Barker or Peter Straub, but he does not nearly have the name power of those
two, and by reading his first novel The Doll Who Ate His Mother, I can kind of
see why. Campbell’s brand of horror is not the kind that is plot driven or
violence driven. It is more focused on creating a sense of dread or terror for
whomever is reading it by creating a creepy atmosphere much like Lovecraft. And
for the most part he does it very, very well, making him a truly talented
writer where some are just really good storytellers. His prose is very neat and
tight on a word for word basis, but in large chunks a lot of the important
details get lost in the fancy descriptions, and he has a great tendency to be
very slow when the reader desperately wants him to move fast. This novel starts
out really cool, with a truly creepy event involving Clare, our heroine, and
her brother getting into a car crash caused by a guy who would not get out of
the road. In the aftermath, her brother’s arm disappears and he ends up dying.
A few months later, a sleazy crime novelist insists on her help when he thinks
the guy might be the culprit. Them, along with a theater owner whose mother
also may have died at the hands of this madman and a wannabe hippie whose cat
was a victim, enter into a world of voodoo, occult and some seriously
disturbing pregnancies. The little moments are what make the book effective,
but as a whole it is very confusing and hard to put together. In the end, this
is a very unique experience from a true horror master, but not a great one.
Rating: 4/5
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