Paperback review: Gwen, In Green (1974)
A reissued gem sits comfortably in horror’s nostalgia wave
by Diane Newberry
The horror section of Savannah’s E. Shaver Booksellers is small, even by the standards of the cozily claustrophobic sales floor. Unfortunately, true crime books also take up a significant piece of its real estate, but the bottom two or three shelves have a modest offering. Since E. Shaver generally has good taste and the collection is slim, I assume the selection is a fair sampling of the trends in the genre. If this is the case, then the publishing world has aligned with its television counterpart in prioritizing one theme for horror these days: nostalgia.
Crouching down in a squat alongside the low shelves, I saw the most eye-catching title was My Best Friend’s Exorcism by Grady Hendrix (2016), decorated with a patina of early-80s paperback illustrations, and done up to look like a plasticy VHS tape a la Blockbuster. It looked like the corporate conclusion of Stranger Things’ consistent Netflix success, and it gave me the uncanny-valley creeps.
The thing felt contrived, fake. The warm illustrations of vintage Stephen King and Baby-Sitters Club: Mysteries usually connote comfort, the visceral sense-memory of childhood paperbacks. But these were contrived, bloodless recreations. Horror novels from this time – for me – belong in the back rooms of used bookshops at $1.50 a pop, accessible to anyone on a lazy summer afternoon. This was an expensive imitation.
A slimmer book a few inches down seemed to be hawking the same deal, until I looked a little closer. I just had to buy Gwen, In Green, a modest paperback done up with a graphic ‘70s font and haunting picture of a blue-eyed swamp-woman. The back advertises it as “the first-ever reissue of Hugh Zachary’s eco-horror novel.”
The introduction, written by horror fiction blogger Will Errickson, is a great read, giving background on Zachary’s long career as a workaday paperback writer, writing across a number of genres over the years. Gwen was originally published in 1974, and, as Errickson writes, “is almost a perfect example of its type, a paperback original featuring an eerie yet undeniably gorgeous cover illustration, complete with dated social motifs, iffy sexual shenanigans, and a paranormal concept ripped right from a New Age pseudoscientic bestseller.”
A young couple, Gwen and George, commit their original sin by buying up real estate made cheap by the impending nearby construction of a nuclear power plant. After moving into their secluded dream house, Gwen begins to have dreams in which she feels as if she is being ripped apart, leaving lingering pain and soreness. Faced with a suddenly heightened libido and growing anxiety, Gwen takes comfort in caring for the Venus Flytraps native to the area, and her strange behavior is starting to remind her elderly psychologist of a half-remembered case from decades ago. Meanwhile, the construction operation is being gummed up by the mysterious disappearances of its workers.
Gwen doesn’t really have any surprises, but it’s deftly told and sufficiently entertaining. The atmosphere is rich, and brainy horror fans will delight in unraveling the book’s treatment of environmentalism and the sexual revolution. For being a pretty straightforward, fun book, its handling of political themes is not hamfisted. It’s a neat little find, and I recommend it.
Something about Gwen’s packaging kept bugging me, though, after I flipped the last page. I was sold mostly from the “first-ever reissue” bit from the back-cover summary, and reveled in the authenticity of the vintage vibes. But, then again, hadn’t vintage vibes been what turned me off of the E. Shaver horror section’s My Best Friend’s Exorcism? Even though I had bristled at the manufactured nostalgia, I guess in the end I still wanted what it was selling.
Horror movies and TV have been in a nostalgia moment for a while now. Movies like 2015’s It Follows have explicit throwbacks to slashers of the ‘80s, even if they are set in modern or ambiguous times. Stephen King’s version of childhood was a smash at the box office with 2017’s It. While King’s book, which came out in 1986, flashed back to the 1950s, the updated film now flashes back to the decade the book was first released. Stranger Things, of course, continues to be a mainstream success that Netflix has tried (and failed) to follow up with projects like the bloody three-parter Fear Street. Many seasons of the anthology American Horror Story are set in or explore the past.
Of course, nostalgia is often a feature, not a bug of the horror genre. Hauntings are about the sins of the past. But Gwen is interesting to me because its themes are both of its time and shockingly relevant in 2022. Putting aside the marquee messages about sustainability and sexism, there is even a mention of George’s steadfast belief in “law and order” policing and casual racism. These beliefs are not presented as sympathetic.
The world of ‘70s and ‘80s genre paperbacks is a simpler one than our digital age, but its problems don’t yet seem too outdated to a modern audience. America has done little over the past 50 years to remedy most of its issues, after all. Errickson in his introduction to Gwen describes it as a “comfort read,” which is a phrase I kept turning over in my head as I enjoyed the slow-paced creeps of the little lost-to-time story. Audiences are happily returning to these decades because they seem like a comfortable, less complicated place to work out their anxieties – the ultimate goal of most horror products.
I understand the urge, but I also wonder if the nostalgia wave is to the detriment of modern horror. Admittedly, I haven’t been keeping up with what’s hot in horror fiction, and really only have my observations of bookstore shelves to let me know the trends. But, because so many places like E. Shaver have such limited space for the genre, I think it’s valid to worry about our past sucking up too much of the air.
Gwen’s reissue sports a bright logo in its top right-hand corner, “Featured in Grady Hendrix’s Paperbacks from Hell.” I was embarrassed when I realized the connection – Hendrix was also the author of My Best Friend’s Exorcism, and a few other original horror books. Paperbacks from Hell is a 2017 non-fiction book about ‘70s and ‘80s paperbacks, and seems to have spurred the reissue of Gwen and similar forgotten gems by Valancourt Books.
My immediate distaste of My Best Friend’s Exorcism wasn’t really the fault of the book, but more a result of an overdose of ‘80s lately. The throwbacks can become flat and meaningless, less a way of examining modern issues through a different lens and more of a cheap escape from the pressing horrors of the internet. My trip to Gwen’s 1974 was refreshing and dynamic, and I think there’s still a lot to be explored in this area for modern horror writers. My next horror read will likely be a Hendrix, and I’m open-minded.
Barnard Street Tattler 