Judas Tree Book

Simon Clark has been steadily building a reputation as one of the most adroit of blood-chillers for some considerable time now with books such as The Fall, King Blood and Nailed by the Heart. His principal tactic has been the slow and inexorable accumulation of atmosphere, orchestrating his moments of terror with the skill of a master. Judas Tree is probably his richest achievement yet, with his troubled psychic heroine Amelia finding that the sun-drenched Greek island of Voros does not offer the sanctuary she seeks. Amelia breaks away from her unsympathetic family and attempts to leave behind the distress caused by her preternatural gifts by escaping to a Mediterranean destination. The island of Voros may initially appear to be idyllic, with its beautiful Judas tree growing in amazing profusion and producing dazzling pink blossoms. But the people on the island are not what they appear to be, and Amelia encounters forces which her reason fights against: there's something on Voros that has the power to change events, alter people's lives and create bizarre behaviour patterns. As Amelia struggles to forge a new family on the island, she finds herself taken over by a terrifying force that will bring an unwelcome self-discovery. Clark's skills are quite different to those of such writers as Stephen King--he is less interested in regular infusions of gross-out horror, preferring to weave a disturbing patchwork of incidents that disorient the reader, preparing them for the unexpected punch of terror when it finally arrives. In this, he is in the tradition of such subtle masters of the genre as Robert Aickman and Ramsey Campbell, and, like them, the delineation of character is crucial to the effects he wishes to achieve. Amelia is a particularly well-drawn heroine, and we are as concerned with her fate as with any of the genre thrills that Judas Tree offers. The set pieces, though, are as compelling as ever: Down she plunged. The speed of the fall towards the sea bed dizzied her. A dark shape moved like a torpedo to her right. Whether it lunged at her or away from her she could not tell. Hitherto the water had been clear. She'd seen fish; sea horses; there'd been a blood-crimson jellyfish suspended in the water like a polythene bag. But now visibility closed in. The deeper she plunged the darker it became. She might as well have been diving into outer space; only this was starless--darker than heart-blood. --Barry ForshawRead More