What an exceptional book within the horror genre - a true masterpiece and extremely hard to put down.

The problem with reviewing it is that it is hard to comment without 'spoiling'. To appreciate it you have to cast your mind back to the period when, and the places where, it was formed in the mind of Dan Simmons as a young American liberal and literary intellectual - in the India and the US of the late 1970s and the early 1980s, just as the former looked like an intractable social problem of never-ending poverty and consequent cruelty and the latter was still in or emerging (just) from a recession similar to the one that we are now entering.

The book could not be written now. The South Asia of that period of hopelessness has been replaced by a vibrant, expansive India (though let us see what the recession brings) and the despair has shifted to a declining West. The book is filled with a vision of the teeming filthy hordes of Calcutta that would be regarded as insulting, almost racist today. In that sense, this book is oddly much closer to the imperial adventure tales of the thuggees of the Raj than it is to our 'modern' world only 25 years on.

There is also an undercurrent of despair at the Holocaust and nuclear destruction that somehow has also become attenuated - Rwanda and Srebenica have not normalised the horrors of the 1940s but, as the survivors of older horrors die of natural causes, modern small genocides seem more managable to liberals - if only the UN could get its act together. Such massacres are no longer placed in that category of all-encompassing global existential evil that excites hopelessness - like Calcutta does to Simmons' narrator.

Similarly, the war on terror is scary but the opponents are gangsters not the corporatised mass murdering bureaucrats of competing ideologies. Gangsters, despite Simmons' hero's experience, are very bad but not capable (or are they?) of destroying the world. Maybe that is the one doubt that nags at us tweenty five or so years on - that maybe gangsters, terrorists and insurgents can bring the Kali Yuga to pass.

And this is the point of the book - it is not pure psychological horror nor is it the horror of monsters and demons but it is something different again, a novel of cultural horror of its own time and place with elements of both. I do not recall the phrase Kali Yuga being used but that is what it is about - a deeply conservative sense that the Age of Kali was upon us.

And it is beautifully and clearly written with scarcely a wasted word - indeed, my heart sank in the first few pages because I thought I might be lumbered with that great American literary vice, the egoistic first person story that slows down the story with precise and self-indulgent description of place and sentiment. I was very wrong. The prose is, well, perfect.

Simmons takes the standard literary model and subverts it into a narrative that works precisely because we can see a highly cultured but often weak and often dim 'one-of-us' be out-manouevred and out-classed by a cunning underclass of consummate brutality. It is a novel about crime and criminality as much as it a novel of horror - and the horror is visceral because it is real, the filth, the mortuary, the decay of the human body, the disease, the fear of the dark, of monsters ... and the last chapters will shred you if you know anything of love. There is even a skilled irony as the 'hero' notes the difference between his position and would happen in a movie about his position.

This is a masterpiece that might be read as a companion piece to Ligotti - http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24... - and King's The Stand - http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/14... . It does offer some small hope in a way that Ligotti does not (I cannot say more without spoiling the tale) and it is much better than The Stand (written around the same period as Simmons' book), if only because it is more 'real', but all three are explorations of the dark side of the condition of humanity from a uniquely American perspective.

The sense of decay and of impending evil that was felt by some in the age of Jimmy Carter may be coming around again but these books may also be read to show that such fears are both reasonable but also exaggerated and that, unless one's philosophical back is broken like Ligotti's, the dark may, again, be replaced by the light. Perhaps we are not, in fact in the Kali Yuga but only in a simulacrum of it that will pass in its due time.

Wow. Where do I even start?
As an Indian, I found this book disgustingly racist. In fact, I’m disappointed that more people in these reviews aren’t pointing it out.

The plot of this book just felt like an excuse to shit on Calcutta, all while vilifying Indian culture and the goddess Kali, who is not an evil “bitch goddess” at all.

Almost every chapter starts with a quote about how evil/terrible Calcutta is, not to mention the douchebag main character refers to Calcutta as a “stinking shithole of a city” and a “panorama of human hopelessness”. In fact, at the end of the novel, he literally calls the city a “black hole in reality”. There are also many incorrect and offensive references surrounding Indian culture that are littered throughout the novel, and a general feeling of distaste towards India, as if the author himself is speaking from personal negative experience.

I don’t know why a white man felt the need to write so negatively about another culture that is not his own, especially to the extent that his intent seems to be to make nobody want to go to India, ever.

Not to mention that, racism aside, this book was a mediocre horror novel, at BEST. Or maybe I’m just not frightened by such an insulting, distasteful portrayal of a beautiful and powerful Hindu goddess.

Horror novels aren’t usually my go-to genre but this book may sway me into reading more. Set in the backdrop of 1970s India, this book does an excellent job of utilising the ‘Other’ as a tool to both instil fear and mysticism which aids the storytelling perfectly. However, the use of India as a backdrop also depicts India and its people as primitive which left a bad taste in my mouth. The storytelling was so strong and the description used was nothing short of brilliant.

Si algo fascina en los libros de terror publicados en el siglo pasado es la conciencia de que sus letras son el soporte perfecto para transmitir una idea. Alejados de la influencia audiovisual de los tiempos actuales, en donde muchas historias parecen más enfocadas en adaptar los miedos inmediatos, que en desarrollar una premisa hasta sus últimas consecuencias, estos libros buscan estremecer al lector basándose en el desarrollo de sus personajes y en una acertada y quirúrgica ambientación que estremezca a cada página.
En La canción de Kali, la recreación de una atmósfera ponzoñosa, sucia y húmeda guiará a sus personajes a un estado de locura malsana en la que el propio lector sentirá en sus vísceras esas calles plagadas de ratas y cadáveres. Es cierto que hablamos de otros tiempos y que hoy en día, con una perspectiva más moderna, el paso del tiempo juega en contra de ese exotismo perverso que se esconde en las calles de la Calcuta que recrea Simmons. Las acusaciones de racismo al autor por recrear esta sucursal del infierno en la India no dejan de tener su propio peso, pero no es menos cierto que lo desconocido juega a su favor para atemorizar al lector con los lugares ocultos en donde conviene aceptar nuestra humildad y apartar la conocida prepotencia occidental que ya el propio Kipling reflejaba en sus obras.
El miedo a lo desconocido sustenta toda el poderío de una novela a la que el paso del tiempo ha jugado en su contra. Eso no impide que la disfrutes, pero si arrastra su lectura con el estigma de que hueles, nunca mejor dicho, lo que ocurrirá a cada instante del desarrollo de esta historia. Eso no impide que se disfrute. De hecho, hay ciertos momentos en que la ambientación que recrea Simmons pone los pelos de punta al narrar esos rituales ancestrales que rodean la figura de esa diosa de la muerte que da título al libro, describiendo con todo lujo de detalles situaciones que estremecerán al lector experimentado en más de una ocasión. Pero sí que, desde una perspectiva actual, leer este tipo de historias arrastra la condena de su época, mostrándola ingénua y previsible.
Aun así, La canción de Kali es una estupenda novela de terror que desarrolla hasta las últimas consecuencias una terrible odisea hacia lo desconocido a lo largo de sus páginas. Uno de esos libros que descubre la suciedad que se puede encontrar en el propio horror a través de las palabras. Una historia que, si bien no inventa nada, reaparece en medio de tus pesadillas.

It’s far from full on horror, or as described, “the greatest horror book of all time”.

It’s readable, but I never really got that spark while reading the book that I was expecting.

However, it’s written very well being his first novel.
Dan Simmons has quite the following of people and I’ve noticed he is geared more to the intellectual readers.

The subject matter was interesting enough, that I had to stop reading and do my own research. Once I jumped back into the book I couldn’t help the fact that the research I did on my own was more enjoyable than the book itself.
(Heavy sigh)

I neither hated nor loved this book. It was simply just ok IMO.

Thoroughly researched

I generally like Simmons but I went into this book with some trepidation due to the tepid response I read in the reviews. Overall I liked the book, but I brought an interest in India and the theological ideas that have emerged from there to the table.
I stopped occasionally and researched groups or concepts as I read and I found this interesting as well. The book has been called xenophobic. I agree and then again I disagree. It definitely has an anti-attitude towards this particular form of Kali worship, but considering the first person perspective from which the story is told and the horror the narrator is faced with I can only ask "what would one expect?".
I think the author raises some valid points and the tensions mounts nicely in the setting of Calcutta where all of this does indeed seem possible, or maybe even likely.

I have definitely crossed Calcutta off my short list of any possible future holiday Destinations. a great book that vividly brings home the utter urban nightmare that is Calcutta.

Spellbinding tale of psychological horror by Dan Simmons that comes on like a fictionalized account of books like The Serpent and the Rainbow or In Sorcery's Shadow, which chronicle a white man's descent into native superstition, existential dread and finally, life threatening evil while studying abroad. An appropriate subtitle might be "Never get off the boat".

In 1977, Robert Luczak is a creative writing instructor, poet and co-editor of a literary magazine in New York who ignores the advice of his editor and accepts an assignment to Calcutta,. He is given permission to bring his Bengali-born wife (a translator) and their infant along, though the former is far from beguiled by the opportunity to return to her country of origin. Luczak is tasked with obtaining a new manuscript by a famed Indian poet named M. Das. The only problem is that M. Das disappeared eleven years ago. Either the manuscript is a fake, or M. Das has a story to tell.

Over half the novel seems dedicated to building mood and slipping intrigue into the story. To Simmons' credit, he does not cart out stock villains but instead, the city of Calcutta becomes the antagonist. It is portrayed as an abyss of poverty, famine, disease, pollution, corruption and suffering that threatens to suck the soul out of the protagonists. From the moment Luczak exits the airport, his dread is palpable and so is the reader's.

Simmons trusts the reader to use their imaginations to determine whether Luczak is plagued by demons he packed with him or is being tormented by the goddess of death herself. The language is exquisite, full of vivid, sensual detail. And it's scary. The climax drops a hammer on the reader and made me consider the wisdom of ever getting my passport stamped in India.

Uno de los libros que más me impactó en mis tiempos mozos, creo que mi quinta novela no sería lo que es de no ser por esta.

La leí cuando tenía la cara llena de granos y ahora que peino canas y voy por Internet soltando pastizales por mis descatalogados fetiche pues la he releído, pese a que yo casi nunca releo... Y pienso que ha envejecido tirando a mal; o tal vez lo haya hecho yo, porque el desenlace me ha parecido mal resuelto y los momentos álgidos del nudo se me han hecho un tanto manidos, o superados, no sé. En fin, el caso es que se trata de un libro que yo creo que asienta las bases del horror sucio y que te enseña a desembarcar en los ambientes más duros. Pero lo que más me gusta de él es que es una demostración apabullante acerca de por qué para documentar un escenario lo peor que puedes hacer es preguntarle a Google y lo mejor que puedes hacer es viajar.

n  n

Thus begins Dan Simmons’ visceral, violent travelogue through the dark, murderous underbelly of Calcutta. This was an excellent read, but you should know going in that this is NOT a warm, fuzzy, feel better about humanity story. In fact, you might want to have your favorite blankie or stuffed animal or a bottle of Scotch and some happy pills with you before you begin reading this to help hold back the glooms.

Here’s the basic set up.

n  PLOT SUMMARYn

M. Das, one of India’s greatest poets, mysteriously disappeared many years ago and was believed dead. Recently, however, new material purporting to be Das’ work has begun circulating in Calcutta. Robert Luczak, writer, columnist and our main character, is sent with his family to Calcutta by Harper’s Magazine to find and interview Das, verify the new work is authentic and bring back a copy for publication in the United States.

Luczak’s search for M. Das leads him to an ancient, brutal cult of Kali worshippers who practice a whole host of depravities including human sacrifice of children. As Bobby delves deeper and deeper into the history and customs of the cult, he discovers a bizarre connection between the cult and the re-emergence of Das whose new verse is a celebration of the goddess of death.

From there…you’re on your own.

That’s the plot in a nutshell, but it doesn’t convey the feel of the novel and the dark, deeply disturbing atmosphere that Simmons manufactures with his sense-laden depictions of Calcutta.

n**Quick Aside: For the record, I’m not endorsing Simmons extremely negative portrayal of Calcutta (I’ve never been there) and my praise is for the effectiveness of Simmons' writing while ignoring any judgments on the accuracy thereof.n

From the moment Bobby arrives in India with his wife and baby girl, he is swallowed up into a grim netherworld of festering violence, callousness and a palpable sense of evil. Simmons prose makes you perceive Calcutta as a living presence. The stifling, sticky heat, the claustrophobic “pressing in” of the crowds and the filth and squalor of the living conditions. All of this comes right off the page and Simmons imbues it all with an overarching sense of tangible, directed malevolence.

Can you tell that I think Simmons is a pretty special writer.

As very good as this was, it is important to note that this was Dan Simmons first published work. Thus, fans of Simmons should know going in that Song of Kali does not reach the level of quality and polish of his later works, most notably the Hyperion Cantos. However, since only a handful of speculative fiction works have EVER reached the level of the Hyperion Cantos, I don’t think this is much of a criticism. This an accomplished tale a real horror and at just over 300 pages, is considerably shorter than his later works which generally approach the size of doorstops.

I'm very glad to have finally scratched this off my “to read” list. But be warned, despite being a fast and relatively easy read, it has the potential to leave a chilling impression on you lasting far beyond the final page. It certainly had that effect on me.

4.0 stars. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.

Winner: World Fantasy Award for Best Novel
Nominee: Locus Award for Best Horror/Dark Fantasy Novel

This has one of the most terrifying reveals in all of fantastic fiction. It's also full of the quirks that drive me nuts about Simmons. This is a very personal dislike, so I really want to give this book 4 stars. I have a strong feeling that Dan Simmons is a real son of a bitch... all of his protagonists are unbearable. also, the racism.

A strange thing happened while I was reading this book.

All through the first half or thereabouts, I gritted my teeth and cursed. I didn't think I would enjoy the rest of the journey. Had I given up partway through, I would have come to goodreads years later (I read this book in 2007 or so) and probably given it two stars.

Then, something happened. I realised, or at least I think I did, what Simmons was trying to do, and I understood that the reason I was having a hard time with this book was that I had a developing, intense dislike for the narrator/protagonist, Robert Luczak. I have been examining other reviews on this site, and it doesn't seem that anyone else had this issue, but from almost the first page, I simply felt a lot of scorn for this man, so clearly far out of his depth, yet so obviously full of a self-satisfied complacency and full-bellied relief that he was living in a nice, safe country where he could raise a stable, middle-class family and strive toward being some kind of intellectual paragon whilst writing for his little magazines. He even took a step toward embracing liberal multiculturalism by marrying an Indian woman, though one born into privilege and far removed from the cesspits of Calcutta. "Well, good for you, Mister Luczak, you pretentious prick," I thought to myself, with my worst and most cynical sneer.

Then, Simmons, through the voice of Luczak, made some offhand, disparaging comment about science fiction, and science fiction writers, and I chuckled. I suddenly got it. Simmons, a science fiction writer, among other things, wasn't just trying to say something about India and its culture. This is as much a commentary about western foolhardiness and ineffectual dabbling as anything else. At one point Luczak sees a low-caste cleaning girl accidentally electrocuted while doing her job, and, while justifiably horrified, all he can do is complain to his hosts. There's this attitude, completely unconscious and unintended on Luczak's part, that despite the fact that he's apparently doing serious work and is intellectually capable of learning and growing, he can't help but be grumpy about a lot of dirt spoiling his holiday. While I wouldn't say Luczak distorts the truth enough to be considered an "unreliable narrator", he is part of a longstanding horror tradition: one who is too busy looking at the trees to see the forest around him.

Ultimately, I let the tension of my contempt go, because I realised that Luczak was not a stand-in for Simmons himself, but rather a well-intentioned but ignorant man who just gets himself deeper into the muck without even realising what's going on. In fact, the buildup to the book's harrowing climax is really quiet and subtle, so that one just sort of reads along and, like Luczak, doesn't quite realise how dire things have become until the very last moment. Then, there's no turning back. The ending...oh, the ending: an ascension of madness and the most nerve-wracking tension followed by one of the most downbeat and depressing conclusions I can remember reading. While Luczak is not exactly redeemed, I felt so sorry for wishing him ill by the last pages. The man goes through so much so suddenly, and deserves so little of it, even though he may be a blunderer. Initially I gave this book three stars, but as the final quarter or so has stuck with me for so long, and has left some kind of permanent scar on my mind, I found I had to increase the rating.

There's a good amount of ambiguity here, too. Did supernatural events take place? Luczak doesn't believe in such things, but his drug-addled brain is by the end ill-equipped to explain anything. We, the readers, can infer what we like. I like how the novel doesn't spoon-feed us; though Luczak in his nice high-rise tower loftiness would certainly have tried, the last pages show that this tower is truly shattered, even though Calcutta is far behind him, and he can't even make the effort anymore. This is powerful stuff, all the moreso because it is ultimately told in a voice that I found rather unsympathetic through large portions of the narrative.