BOOK REVIEW: BORN IN BLOOD VOLUME 1 BY GEORGE DANIEL LEA

Of Barker, Baudelaire and Bosch
 
I have to start this review with a confession that my interest in all things horrific has waned considerably over the past year or so. What would have previously gotten me waxing lyrical has left me feeling somewhat cold and disinterested. I’m not really sure why or when this started but I do know that this year’s ability to spew forth what seems like a continual tsunami of nightmare sights, sounds and experiences from reality has more than compensated for any desire to read or watch fictional horror on my part.
 
So, I find myself pleasantly surprised that I’m sitting at my keyboard and thinking about how I’m going to possibly describe the experience of reading “Born in Blood: Volume 1” by George Daniel Lea without sounding completely divorced from reality. This is one of those rare books that comes along and is so completely different from anything else you’ve read that you can’t help but sit up and take notice. That however, wasn’t my initial reaction as time for another confession here; my first response was less than enthusiastic.

Upon reflection, I can only chalk that down to my own narrowly defined perceptions of what constitutes horror fiction combined with a general feeling of torpor towards the genre as a whole. The more I think about it in relation to this though, the more I have to concede that my attitude to the book evolved from being rather disdainful to a feeling that what I was reading was one of those rarities I’d previously mentioned; the kind of book that challenges your perception and makes you reassess it from a fresh perspective.
 
Yes, I know that does sounds a somewhat pretentious statement to make but there’s certainly a lot more to this book than first meets the eye. When I first started reading the book, the style and tone of the book really alienated me. The way in which Lea writes is very much like the abstract nature of dreams and memories; snatches and glimpses of beautiful, strange and disturbing imagery interspersed with snippets of story in a surreal and ephemeral fashion. Whilst this style is intrinsic to the weave of the mythology presented here it does make for a very discordant and disorientating read.
 
This non linear style of writing coupled with momentary flashes of story lends the stories a highly surreal quality and this proved to be quite difficult to follow at times. The result was that I would frequently feel frustrated and stop reading from what I thought of as jarring shifts and blurs of language and imagery. There was a point however where I had some kind of epiphany and just thought of reading without consciously thinking about it. And you know what? I’m glad I did.
 
At times Lea’s writing flows like a stream of pure unconsciousness in the midst of a particular fevered dream or hideous nightmare and this translates into a profound sense of feeling disconnected and alienated from the world with which you are being presented. Born in Blood is meant to be a jarring and disorientating read. This is after all a collection that is seeking to elicit the thoughts and feelings you might associate with fractured states of mind and being and that is woven into the fabric of each and every story like a fine thread.
 
I write that and the thought that immediately springs to mind is how much that sounds like I’m talking about something written by Clive Barker. It’s certainly apt as I was racking my brain trying to think of the last time I read something that had such a profound impact on me and the immediate though was “The Books of Blood.”  Whilst it does feel like there are some elements reminiscent of Barker, I could just as easily say that the contents of the book evoke the paintings of Hieronymus Bosch or H.R. Giger. Lea’s writing at times flows forth like some deranged heretical poet ranting and raving about religious agony, ecstasy and sacrifice coupled with stunningly grotesque visions of malleable flesh and spirit.
 
The cumulative effect of all this is that the book does feel like sensory overload and I did stop reading several times. However, the overwhelming aesthetic feel of Born in Blood is to create a distinct sense of otherness and Lea excels at creating this very real sense of disorientation throughout the course of his book. I realise that by this point in the review most of you are probably wondering what the fuck I’m talking about and to be honest I’m not altogether sure myself.  There are hints and allusions to a grandiose mythology that drifts in and out of the stories mentioning something called the Loom alongside warring celestial ideologies, metaphysics, questions of identity, sexuality and relationships, tortured flesh and of course lots and lots of blood.  I do appreciate that that sounds extremely vague but set within the context of the amorphous and insubstantial nature of Born in Blood’s structure there’s definitely a method to the madness that Lea presents.
 
What Lea has conjured forth feels very much like a journey into personal apocalypse, almost like a Lament Configuration made flesh; an esoteric object that at first glance doesn’t readily yield its secrets but with persistence eventually spills forth its desires, torments and suffering. I’m not really sure what else I can say about this collection as I still feel strangely lost for words at how well written this collection actually is. The stories here are as hallucinatory and disturbing as they are bedazzling and beautiful and the more I sit here and think about these weird juxtapositions, the further down the rabbit hole I fall.  
 
The one overriding thought I do have though is that it evoke the sensation that what you are reading is a work of art. Art is meant to transport you to other realms and realities and challenge how you perceive and interpret the world around you. I can only speak for myself when I say that Born in Blood: Volume One is one of those rare and revelatory works that jolts you out of a slumber and makes you look at the world with fresh eyes. Quite simply, this is a stunning collection of horror fiction.

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