Author! Author!

When discussing the grimoire of award winning acclaimed acknowledged horrorist Anton Kerzouav it is difficult to elucidate on his many masterworks without acknowledging the elephant in the room (or the “hellephant” as it were).

I could go on at some indeterminate length regarding Comebackers (or Those Who From Going Come Back in the European edition), but I think it might be best to let the reviews speak for themselves.


“Could have been worse…”  – The Trapsburg Hamiltonian

“Moderately perturbing. Like when you smell a fart but you’re alone in the room and it definitely wasn’t you this time…”  – The Aventine Register

“Not a porno…”  – ChadBroChill87, forum poster


Powerful words. Powerful words about powerful prose. Which is really another way of saying words. So on the large we’re really just talking about a lot of powerful words all around ultimately, finally. Comebackers broke the mold from which it had been cast, leaving only the imprint of Kerzouav’s opus on the Jungian zeitgeist. Chronicling the trials of a middle-American small town beset by the spirits of the damned, forcing them to confront their own inner demons through the lens of a proletarian dialectic. Like the book itself though, its strokes of verse cannot be properly engaged with in the absence of another proverbial “hellephant,” rather like an infernal nesting doll hand carved by cursed Romani on the road to purgatory during the Holocaust (incidentally the subject of another Kerzouav spine-curdler Gypsy Halloween).The book’s true transcendence lies in its daring and innovative “double-blind twist.” The feint of heart and probably also the pregnant should read no farther (also if you don’t want spoilers I guess).

Those damned spirits which so bedevil and derange the small town inhabitants of Comebackers are in actuality the fraudulent agents of a nefarious corporate entity, seeking to scare the townsfolk from their land in order to exploit the rich uranium deposits beneath. Not content to bend our mortal minds but once though, Kerzouav performs origami with the delicate folds of our psyche. In the true climax of the tale it is revealed that the townspeople themselves are in fact lingering spirits of the dead, unaware of their unmortality until their unconsciousness is undermined by the underhanded undertakings of the underworld underlings under guise as unfathomable unlivers. ‘They’ are the comebackers, those who from going have come back. This bone-thrilling spiral of revelation takes the reader on a tantric rollercoaster of necromantic soul-expansion past the very ragged edge of our own reassuring complacency and into a terrifying parallel universe of terror.

To say that Anton Kerzouav is a practitioner of “horrorism” is often taken as a term of art for describing his unique process of crafting brain-melters (and also face-melters, and other-melters, and really melting just kind of happens a lot you learn to roll with it). In truth though the truthful facts are that horrorism is not merely pretension, but rather premonitionary. In the words of Anton Kerzouav himself the practice of horrorism “[…]is a deeply spirituoso act of metaphysicality which we as a society must embrace in order that we might shed our loose bindings of flesh and ascend to the plane of the Sublime Skull, where all marrow is bleached clean of sin.”

In this it should become obvious that Anton Kerzouav is not simply the foremost auteur of our human epoch, but also the prophet of mankind’s new twenty first century collective mindspirit. To say that the story of man has been immeasurably enriched by his voice, which I am told is a resonant baritone and which in this case is also telling literal stories of its own to add to the metaphorical one I just referenced, his tending to be about things like vampire babysitters and volcanic sea monsters wearing elaborate people-suits while the latter is more of a broad analogy for the cultural heritage of the homo sapiens species, would be an understatement. The greatest crime of Anton Kerzouav’s significantly greater career has been his obscurity. Not one, not twice, but fourteen times Kerzouav has been snubbed for nomination by the Aurealis Award, the Reaper Award, the Goldberg Award, the Scream Award, the Hugo Award, the Time’s Bestseller List, and the Shingleburg Catholic Diocese Book of the Month Club. All artists must suffer for their craft though. Such is the burden of brilliance. We the few, the devoted, shall keep alight the guttering flame of civilization’s last great poet, even if only in waiting for it to be snuffed by the crushing pall of oblivion in the final refrain of the worldsong.

Now, to do something productive with my Saturday…


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