Strange Seed by T.M. Wright (1978): Strange Eyes Fill Strange Rooms

It's rare that I'm at a loss for words after reading a horror novel of any kind. Usually I can gather an argument somehow, pro or con, or even just wing a review going by gut instinct. But in the case of Strange Seed, a vintage horror paperback that's garnered a fair reputation over several decades as an effective example of "quiet horror," I'm a bit baffled. T.M. Wright's first novel, published by Playboy Press Paperbacks in 1980, is a subtle and even obtuse tale of nature and its effects on the human psyche. Or maybe it's about the disintegration and reintegration of personhood. Or the ineffable and alluring evil of natural perfection. Or perhaps it's just about a couple's crappy misadventure in the country. It's kinda up for grabs, folks.

Original hardcover from Everest House

The setup is simple enough: newlyweds Paul and Rachel Griffin escape from the stress of city life to the countryside, moving into Paul's childhood home in upstate New York. There they meet Hank Lumas, the neighboring handyman who remembers the tragedy of the Schmidts, the family who lived there after Paul's father died. Lumas doesn't think the Griffins will be able to adjust to life so far removed from "civilization," but Paul is determined, grimly so, to prove him wrong.

...the day the Schmidt woman threw herself from the second-floor window, followed soon afterward by her husband - those small deaths proved what Lumas had contended all along: Some folks can learn to accept what happens here, and some can't. Some can't shake what the cities do to them...

1987 Tor reprint

Then the odd, silent child from the forest appears in the Griffins' kitchen, naked, mute, its eyes and face unwholesomely perfect, harmonic, hypnotic. The boy appears from nowhere, and Rachel thinks as she realizes she can't look away, He is some wild creature that's gotten into the house, and the only thing human about him is his form. And there are more of them, and while they don't speak, they are excellent mimics, which makes for some chilling confrontations for those unfortunate enough to run across them in the woods...

One thing I've found while reading '70s horror is that in general it tends to be better written than '80s horror; it's obvious the "horror boom" of the later decade allowed the publication of many lesser authors whose talents were wanting. Wright's style may be enigmatic and oblique but it's definitely literate, allusive, even poetic. He melds scenes of the heartless natural world with the slow-burn collapse of the Griffins' relationship, and the letter Rachel writes to her mother throughout the novel gives insight into her hopes as well as her denial. Why Wright was doing this felt too vague to grasp; the allusive becomes elusive.

However Wright strains credibility when the Griffins accept the weird "earth children" as part of their new world, even when, after death, Paul has to bury them beyond the house. That really threw me off, but just as Wright does that, he also tightens up the narrative and his prose gets sharper as the story begins to close. A decidedly erotic undertone makes its appearance and we do get some sort of ultimate explanation of the eerie events. That was a relief.

Overall, Strange Seed made me feel off-center quite often, as I was not sure what I was reading. The cover art of both editions makes you think of Invasion of the Body Snatchers or Children of the Damned, but that's not really the case. Stephen King included it in his horror fiction appendix in Danse Macabre, and has compared Wright to Ramsey Campbell and Michael McDowell, which I can sorta see. Strange Seed is unlike other horror novels I've read recently, I'm just hesitant to say whether I liked it or not. Well, that'll happen. For a more positive take on Wright's stuff, be sure to check out this Phantom of Pulp post.