Warning: I become somewhat SHOUTY in this review.  Because my English-related outrage is VITRIOLIC.

"Too Hideous to be Played" by J. N. Williamson, 1989

From Phantoms, edited by Martin H. Greenberg & Rosalind M. Greenberg, 1989

Grade: D+

I'm really of two minds about this.  The first mind says that it contains some beautifully poetic imagery and some evocative ideas, and that there are aspects of it that I love, love, love to death.  The second mind is shrieking that it doesn't make any goddamn sense, doesn't bother with proper story construction, and also, wtf?  Seriously?  Wtf?  So you can see my dilemma, and the reasoning behind the low grade.  

I started the story out irked, which is probably not the best frame of mind for a reviewer to be in, but the second sentence came out of the gate strong with decent chances of winning the Grand Annoying Anne Prix: "Although sturdy, the table had been donated years ago by a surviving grandson who hadn't known what to do with it."  As is probably obvious, my problem with this involves the complete randomness of the tacked on pre-phrase "Although sturdy..."  Because it doesn't make any SENSE in the rest of the sentence.  Are we saying that the guy donated it EVEN THOUGH it was sturdy, because he's the kind of lout who prefers only to donate furniture that is falling apart?  But that doesn't make any more sense, because the implication that he "didn't know what to do with it" already takes care of his motivation.  It looks like Williamson wrote a motivation, didn't like it, changed it, and forgot to take the old one out before things went to press.  It seems as though the author is trying to suggest that the young only palm off their trash on the old, rather than useful items, but the whole thing is handled so poorly as to be almost unrecognizable.  Add to that the fact that the word "sturdy" was used to describe the table in the first sentence as well (English professor in my head says, "NEVER EVER USE THE SAME ADJECTIVE TWO SENTENCES IN A ROW, OR EVEN ON THE SAME PAGE, AND ESPECIALLY NOT IN THE FIRST PARAGRAPH."), and the honeymoon was over, two sentences in.  I was filing for annulment on grounds of poor writing skills.

In fact, I'm having such a good time venting here, that I'll just go ahead and follow up with the rest of the things that annoyed me (some may or may not be reasonable; you have been warned).  The story abounds with weird modifiers, such as "male old people".  They confused and distressed me.  Is there some reason the phrase "old men" wouldn't have worked out there?  The clumsiness of the phrase boggles my mind.  It feels like Williamson is trying to be politically correct by not using the phrases "old men" or "old women", but I just don't understand WHY.  I mean, it's a perfectly apt description: they are men and they are old.  Furthermore, if the author wanted to use a more PC phrase, why the hell use the exact same adjective?  It's not like Williamson replaced "old hags" with "ladies of a certain age".  They are almost the EXACT SAME WORDS, but rearranged in a befuddling manner.

These are quibbles about the writing competency (or lack thereof), but we haven't talked about the plot yet, have we?  Brace yourselves: Mr. or Ms. Williamson has managed to somehow write a Phantom story that is both period AND contemporary.  Without the benefit of time travel.  Let me explain: the premise is that there is a new male old person in a nursing home, who wears a gauze mask and speaks with an accent.  Familiar, yes?  And a band of youngsters comes in to play for the variously gendered old people for charity, and he is moved by the female singer.  Right, cool, we get that.  However, here's the confusing part: the Phantom appears to be intended to be the original Phantom from Leroux's novel, yet the rest of the setting is obviously modern.  The band is clearly related to the punk movement of the eighties, right down to screaming vocals and mohawks; there are microphones and amps involved for the band; the names are all modern; one of the old men is a former businessman with a very twentieth-century approach to business; etc.  Yet the masked man is clearly intended to be Erik, from the skull-like death's-head to his references to opera to his painful monologue to the singer, whom he consistently calls "Christine" and implores to remember the events of Leroux's novel.  It's completely baffling.

Before anyone decides to get smart, we'll work it out: the novel's events take place in 1884, at which point (according to Leroux) the Phantom is at the youngest in his late forties.  We'll be generous and say 45.  This story, on the contrary, takes place in modern times; in order to be totally fair (maybe these kids ARE the Sex Pistols, who knows?), we'll place it at the earliest the punk movement began, around 1975.  Even with that very generous leeway, that would make Erik 136 years old, at a minimum.  Probably closer to 150 or more.  Now, if you're playing the Phantom as a supernatural being that doesn't age, sure, that's fine; but since, in this story, he's an old, bald, ill man who can barely stand... yeah, that doesn't wash.  So, okay.  Where does that leave us?  With a Phantom who is waaaay too old to still be alive, but is very obviously intended to be Erik?  The only possibility I could come up with was that maybe the guy had a peculiar form of dementia and actually believed himself to be Erik, from overexposure to the novel or what have you, but as there is absolutely no shred of evidence anywhere to back that up, it's nothing but speculation.  I read the entire story with a permanent furrow of bewilderment in my brow.  It took physical therapy to remove it.

And just for flavor, there are also all the nitpicks that can be had with the improbability of the girl's speech and reaction--dude, I don't care how nice she is, nobody is going to go running off down the hall to find the crazy shouting old guy who just tried to accost her onstage--that made her little more than a foil cut-out representation of the Christine character.  Then there's the fact that it is repeatedly remarked upon that the Phantom character used to be morbidly obese; I'm all for interesting touches like that in new characters--and hey, it's a great twist on "ugliness" and society's perception and rejections, perfect for a Phantom story, right?--but combined with all the clues pointing to the guy being the original Erik, it was just confusing as hell for the reader.  There needed to be explication one way or the other, and there never was.  And we're not going to talk about the buff, handsome, moustachioed orderly named Raul.  It was a trial not to toss the book across the room at his highly be-biceped (and thoroughly unnecessary) entrance.

But, you say, you didn't fail the crap out of this story, right?  So where were the good parts?  The answer is, curiously enough, that they were in the detail of the writing itself, just like most of the bad things were.  Williamson has a gift for creating a compelling scene, an intensely emotional moment that pulls the reader in--quite a feat when your reader is me, as a matter of fact, and is already confused and cranky because of your literary shenanigans.  The Phantom (who, while he is clearly Leroux based, is never named, like Webber's Phantom--a valid artistic choice, but frustrating to the reader trying to figure out what the hell is going on here) is utterly believable in his misery and sublime devotion to Christine, while the singer's youth and innocence are poignantly palpable and even the side characters, like the ex-businessman, project extremely recognizable and empathic feelings of horror and embarrassment.

The names were silly.  It's actually somewhat significant to note that the only persons who get to have names are the singer, Chris Day (har de har har... sigh) and the Orderly Not Appearing in This Review.  None of the male and/or female old people get to have names; they're characterized only as the woman who never stands up, the tall man with the rooster neck, the once-obese man, etc.  In light of what looks like author attempts to keep the old people in the story from being marginalized, it's a strange choice, rendering them down into nothing more than caricatures of the aged rather than actual people.  Even the band doesn't get a name, mentioned only as a "meaningless or vaguely pornographic name" typical of punk bands.

My other big whine (I know, you thought we were done with whines for now... psych!) involves the plot.  Namely, that there isn't one.  Your average plot is four-part: there's a spark or initiating event or action, a buildup of tension via conflict, a climax or tragedy that is the culmination of all that confict, and then a brief "wrapping things up" period of falling action.  This formula is even more important for short stories, wherein the reader will feel cheated or confused if they can't figure out where the (ahem) money shot was.  Unfortunately, this little "story" doesn't have it: notably, it's missing the buildup phase, instead going straight from "band plays at nursing home" to "nursing home inmate sedated and hauled off; pity ensues".  There's very little in the way of falling off action, either, but I'm giving it the benefit of the doubt there.  Honestly, this is merely a scene rather than a story; it could be a very poignant climax scene to a longer tale, but on its own doesn't quite have the strength to stand despite its emotional depth.

I could write a little bit more, but that's really covered all the important parts.  The writing is kind of crap, but there are a few bright spots that keep the entire thing from entirely descending into crapdom.  There is no discernable plot.  Seek elsewhere for story, my friends.

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