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A curious 90s relic, The Blackstone Chronicles is a trimmed-neat little piece of work that carries little fat and as a result, reads light as air.
In the heyday of the serial novel, writers like John Saul found a bit of respite from the antipolar demands of dense, complete novels and creatively demanding short stories; two disparate modes of writing that could offset the challenges of one with the boons of the other.
The idea is to lend the overarching structure of a novel the piece meal construction of a book of short stories. A framing narrative that builds its themes and resolution off the backs of near self-contained novellas that resolve within themselves yet inform the whole. It doesn't need to be as densely plotted as a full novel, and characters can be conveniently slotted in and out of the picture as needs be without any inorganic choppiness; the majority of their development confined to singular novellas, they can exist as fully formed entities for their own individual stories then converted to a more symbolic or thematic purpose within the framework narrative. The serial novel is a reliable skeleton for the author to flesh out.
Within the scope of that exercise, John Saul's The Blackstone Chronicles comes off as the example text for the serial novel method - it's basic, demonstrative, and satisfying lean, but it's also clichéd to the point of being a near non-entity - a barebones array of horror tropes wrapped in a comforting cloak of predictable prose.
Its horrors range from haunted, murderous dolls, to fanatical Christian matriarchs, to symbolic manifestations of abortion, the typical human anxieties that ache around the periphery of much of our horror film and literature. The Blackstone Chronicles is an almost impressive work in its adherence to convention. All the notes are struck so finely on the nose that it produces satisfaction merely to watch the pieces fall exactly as you suspected. A total "I knew it." of a book.
Just unsettling enough to give a flutter of the creeps, The Blackstone Chronicles is a totally average bit of pulp that feels wholly emblematic of what you'd expect from the typical 90s New York Time's Bestsellers List - easily forgotten two and a half decades after it made its bright little splash.
In the heyday of the serial novel, writers like John Saul found a bit of respite from the antipolar demands of dense, complete novels and creatively demanding short stories; two disparate modes of writing that could offset the challenges of one with the boons of the other.
The idea is to lend the overarching structure of a novel the piece meal construction of a book of short stories. A framing narrative that builds its themes and resolution off the backs of near self-contained novellas that resolve within themselves yet inform the whole. It doesn't need to be as densely plotted as a full novel, and characters can be conveniently slotted in and out of the picture as needs be without any inorganic choppiness; the majority of their development confined to singular novellas, they can exist as fully formed entities for their own individual stories then converted to a more symbolic or thematic purpose within the framework narrative. The serial novel is a reliable skeleton for the author to flesh out.
Within the scope of that exercise, John Saul's The Blackstone Chronicles comes off as the example text for the serial novel method - it's basic, demonstrative, and satisfying lean, but it's also clichéd to the point of being a near non-entity - a barebones array of horror tropes wrapped in a comforting cloak of predictable prose.
Its horrors range from haunted, murderous dolls, to fanatical Christian matriarchs, to symbolic manifestations of abortion, the typical human anxieties that ache around the periphery of much of our horror film and literature. The Blackstone Chronicles is an almost impressive work in its adherence to convention. All the notes are struck so finely on the nose that it produces satisfaction merely to watch the pieces fall exactly as you suspected. A total "I knew it." of a book.
Just unsettling enough to give a flutter of the creeps, The Blackstone Chronicles is a totally average bit of pulp that feels wholly emblematic of what you'd expect from the typical 90s New York Time's Bestsellers List - easily forgotten two and a half decades after it made its bright little splash.