What is this “gothic horror” of which you speak? That was the first question I had when I came across A.M. Blackmere’s substack. I was basically hooked when I read “medieval” and so on, and knew I had to get The Necessary Mercy read. This is a small book, weighing in at just eighty-five pages, but in that space, the book packs a psychological wallop well above its weight class.
The tale is set in the medieval town of Virelais in 1348, just in the midst of the dreaded Black Plague, which would wipe out a vast chunk of Europe’s population. Sir Alard Veyne, a knight, arrives just in time for the town’s Council to take some drastic measures to protect the people from the plague ravaging whole countries beyond its walls.
The first thing to be said about this book is to the modern reader. Do not rush this. Like J.R.R. Tolkien and Frank Herbert, Blackmere writes with a careful deliberateness which deserves and requires a careful reading from the reader. Each word is careful chosen to maximise the interaction between the reader and the characters’ psychological states. The descriptions are almost brakes on the urges to rush through and miss essential pieces that really are the building blocks of the horrific dread saturating every page.
Nowhere is this care more apparent than in Blackmere’s use of metaphor and simile, which are both immersed in the time period and help bring the reader into the streets of Virelais through the eyes of Sir Veyne. There was only moment where a simile felt a little anachronistic to me, but I no longer recall what it was or where it was. It is of no import, and The Necessary Mercy loses none of its impact.
From the point of view of a devout Christian, I found the priest an interesting character. He came off as a reluctant pawn of the state, through fear of his own for his own well-being. Even when the Council makes some terrible decisions, it is not the priest who intervenes, but the local medicine woman, Elia. The coercing of religion to legitimise a rule or governing body is something which goes on this day, and this interplay gives The Necessary Mercy a certain critical lens through which it speaks to these very modern concerns. And Blackmere does this with gentle force, without sinking into the all-too-common crassness of other authors who employ grossly exaggerated tropes to make their points. Blackmere is gentle in this respect, but this very factor gives all the more strength to the point being made.
The Necessary Mercy is masterfully written and it is a wonderful introduction to darkly gothic horror in a medieval setting for those who wish to dip their toes into the genre. I read this book in two sittings, and relished every last word.
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