Each year on 31 Days of Horror I pick a small press to spotlight. I work with the owner, ask them to organize the writers they would like to participate, and then I give that press about a week here on the blog.
I take this annual invitation very seriously. I choose the press to give them a chance to stand out, of course, but I also am very careful to make sure that they are a press I can recommend in all instances with full confidence. If a press gets to have a spotlight during 31 Days of Horror, you can rest assured that I not only think they are worthy of your attention, but that I also stand behind their product.
Lethe Press fits this bill unequivocally. I have reviewed titles by them in the past and worked with editor and owner, Steve Berman. But this year, as organized political groups are actively trying to erase the existence of LGBTQ people, their experiences, and their lives, especially with the banning of books that feature LGBTQ people, I knew I had to invite Berman.
Lethe Press's tagline is: We're queer and weird, and you better be okay with that! And below, Berman introduces the press, how it began, and his own work. It is a story of a gay writer looking for more representation and then making it happen himself. But it is also so much more.
So, today we have Berman. Then, 3 days of authors, all of who I have reviewed on the blog before. And we end with a giveaway. Enjoy the next 5 days of spotlight with Lethe Press, and please consider ordering some of their titles.
Why I Love Horror
by Steve Berman
I adore monsters. I grew up on a steady childhood diet of Universal monsters and Hammer films, Ultraman episodes, Dungeons & Dragons, and D'Aulaires drawings of mythological creatures. Even if I was born in October, I could not love that month more.
Not everyone feels the same. When I dated (in my thirties), I unknowingly created a litmus test for the men I brought back to my apartment: they would see the framed prints of werewolves or skeletons hanging on my walls. Many of those men anticipated glamour rather than gruesome, and these became one-night stands when they suddenly worried I might be a monster. One guy never even made it to the bedroom; the ouija board throw rug frightened him so much that he left (and probably hid under the covers for an entire week).
I did find a partner of sorts that fills many of my nights: Lethe Press. I was working for a specialty publisher at the time and had just learned about print-on-demand technology. I conceived an exciting hobby, reprinting books on the supernatural and folklore, public domain works that were long out of print, and stuff I wanted for my own bookshelves. Thus, the press's name is based on the mythological river of forgetfulness.
I had another motivation: I had finished another novel and thought self-publishing a short story collection first might improve my chances of selling Vintage. I had been writing short stories since high school--my first horror sale was in 1989 in a little magazine named Terror Time Again with an Allen Koszowski cover (I don't recommend anyone read this bit of juvenilia).
And so, in 2001, Lethe's first year, I released The Supernatural in Modern English Fiction by Dorothy Scarborough, Dudley Wright's Vampires and Vampirism, and my own Trysts: A Triskaidecollection of Queer and Weird Stories (not a bad accomplishment for a guy who only came out to friends and family a year or two earlier). During the next few years, I added books on Irish witchcraft and spooky Mexican ghost stories to the list. And began reprinting some gay non-fiction.
Through my own writing, I discovered the queer horror community. Trips up to New York City and readings at Giovanni's Room in Philadelphia helped me meet and befriend such talented writers as Jameson Currier (clever ghost stories!), Tom Cardamone (weird and bizzaro fiction!), Craig Laurance Gidney (lyrical and strange stories!), and Lee Thomas (brutal, gut-punching tales!). It seemed intuitive to offer Lethe's help in bringing their work to gay readers. At some point, I realized how shallow the books and movies I read as a kid were. No, not shallow ... more lacking the proper nutritional value needed for a growing gay boy because of heterosexism. My goal for Lethe during this time was to offer a remedy.
(I never thought that someone who identified as straight would want to read us; I remember in college trying to explain to a fraternity friend why "In the Hills, the Cities" was such a brilliant story and his disgusted reaction after reading it).
My writing efforts began to slow down. Time and devotion are precious commodities, and many nights the choice to type away on a story lost to the need to proofread a submission or decide on a table of contents for the next anthology. My young adult novel Vintage was printed by one of the prominent gay presses, which decided to shut down its fiction line the following year. That was a terrifying setback to go from a finalist for the Andre Norton Award to an orphaned author. The writers I met knew me not for my storytelling but as an editor and publisher.
People notice if you publish over a hundred books. And straight authors approached me because they appreciated my efforts to release books with quality covers, my fondness for short story collections, and my enthusiasm for the genre. Nowadays, half the horror Lethe publishes has no queer content. But my initial fears about the horror and weird fiction communities being intolerant have been proven wrong again and again. Though Lovecraft still won't return my childhood phone calls.
I'm romantic enough to want happy endings to my horror, and I'm cynical enough to find the bittersweet ones satisfying. I love the complexities of storytelling to appreciate literary horror, and I possess a goofy sense of humor that enjoys black comedy (my favorite genre of film).
I love horror because it is an alternative to the real world, which, while often unfair and unkind, is dull mainly rather than sinister. Through the pages of a book, I want to discover something grim enough to slap the traces of the mundane world from my face and thoughts. Perhaps even leaving me scared, much like those schmucks who once followed me back home looking for love... or a good fuck ... and found themselves eyeing the closet, worried about what might be inside. Didn't they know that one day I would kill them? In one of my stories, of course. Ignore all the moans.
I'm writing again. Drip by drip. Less a leaky faucet and more like the patter of blood hitting a porcelain sink. If you love a good horror story, why not come by and pay me a visit. Or at least open up a Lethe Press title if not my closet door.
Steve Berman
Greenfield, MA
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