[From Critical Wave #28, 1992. ‘Harry Adam Knight’ was a well-known front for Leroy Kettle and the late John Brosnan. This hardback edition is currently available via Amazon.]
There are many occasions on which a reviewer opens a book full of optimism and enthusiasm, only to have them dashed upon the reef of the author’s creative limitations. The reverse is rarely the case, although this horror novel from one of Britain’s more successful pseudonymous teams certainly qualifies.
Indeed, as Stan Nicholls observed in the October Dark Side, there’s a case for arguing that Bedlam is actually a science fiction novel, since its plot revolves around such genre elements as psychotropic drugs, psychic manipulation and telekinesis; still, it’s the manner in which these ingredients are blended which no doubt persuaded Gollancz to apply the ‘horror’ tag, and the liberal splashes of sex and gore will most definitely please fans of that particular literary vein.
Where this book rises above contemporaries such as Shaun Hutson’s ludicrous Captives or Guy N Smith’s endless reworkings of his ‘Crabs’ sequence, however, is in its imaginative plotting and its precision when dealing with the more blood-soaked scenes; true, certain of the images cut to the bone, the trail of carnage left by enhanced sociopath Marc Gilmour reminiscent of the shattered London in the first volume of Alan Moore’s Miracleman, but there’s always a sense of purpose in their use.
The irony, of course, is that Bedlam – as the authorial acronyn implies – was probably never intended to overstep its genre niche. But it has, and the end result may not be a Great Novel in the sense of a glowing TLS critique, but it’s a damned sight more fun than most of the tedious tosh served up for the Bookers and their ilk.