Milo James Fowler is the cross-genre author of more than thirty books: space adventures, post-apocalyptic survival stories, mysteries, and westerns. A native San Diegan, he now makes his home in West Michigan with his wife and all four seasons. Some readers seem to enjoy the unique brand of science fiction, fantasy, horror, and humor found in his ever-growing body of work. Soli Deo gloria.

Madame Antic's Hotel Grotesque by Milo James Fowler

In an alternate Victorian era replete with aero-vehicles, automatons, and other electrik wonders, factory worker Anthony Reynolds seeks to improve his station in life for the sake of his young bride-to-be. Against his better judgment, he joins Richard, a gregarious coworker with social connections, for a night on the town after their late shift. Richard leads them deep into the city's underworld to a brothel of sorts specializing in the illegal art of mutilation where willing victims are skinned, broken, and mangled without lasting damage due to a special drug that returns them to their original state. Horrified, Anthony wants to leave at once—but that's when Constables raid the establishment.

While attempting to flee the scene, Anthony encounters a giant monstrosity of a man who infects him with an unknown substance. Anthony is instantly disfigured, and when the authorities capture him, he is unable to identify himself, let alone speak. What follows is a mind-bending adventure of mistaken identity, multiple realities, and paranoia as he fights to reclaim a simple life he never truly appreciated but now wants more than anything. When he discovers the shocking truth of his world and Madame Antic's disturbing role in it, nothing will ever be the same again.

CURATOR'S NOTE

Madame Antic's Hotel Grotesque is a deliciously dark and macabre morsel of gaslamp, steampunky thriller. Or is it? Right from the start, a few things don't add up. Why, for example, does everyone insist on calling our hero "Peter Gideon" - even though his name is Anthony Reynolds? And how can people possibly survive some of the - frankly - gruesome physical tortures we catch glimpses of? These questions gnaw away at you as you're swept along by the high-horsepower plot. Some things make sense, many do not, and Fowler does a great job of dripping in hints and suggestions that leave us slightly wiser - but mostly intrigued. No spoilers, but suffice it to say that everything does ultimately add up, in a very unexpected way. There is some excellent worldbuilding going on here; the setting is a thoroughly believable alternate-history late-Victorian London - or, at the risk of repeating myself, is it?

The book is certainly noir in tone: our hero pursues his investigation to find out what the hell is going on and suffers greatly in the process. The city he explores is dark and oppressive, populated by a variety of striking characters, their motives not always clear, their nature sometimes baffling. It is hard not to feel sorry for Anthony as he attempts to get to the bottom of things. Is the book "magic noir" though? Yes. Possibly. Maybe it depends on what you think is going on. Certainly, much takes place that appears to defy scientific logic. Is "alternate history gaslamp science fantasy noir" a genre? If so, this delicious book sits right in the middle of it. Whatever shelf it's on, this is a highly-readable adventure thriller that I thoroughly enjoyed. – Simon Kewin

 

REVIEWS

  • "A twisting labyrinth of shifting realities, a fast-moving adventure merging the ideas of Philip K. Dick and David Cronenberg. Highly Recommended."

    – Deborah Walker, author of Future Tales 2100

  • "This brilliant genre mashup brings the gore and mystery in equal measure. Just when you've figured it out, Fowler dashes your reality with a new twist."

    – Anthony J. Rapino, author of Soundtrack to the End of the World

  • "Insane in all the right ways. I will be looking forward to new titles arriving in the Interdimensionals series."

    – Kris Diebold, book reviewer
 

BOOK PREVIEW

Excerpt

Each alleyway led to another darker, dirtier, more slovenly backstreet, narrow enough for foot traffic alone. Richard and I were the only ones weaving our way through this maze that he had apparently memorized. We were delving deep into the city, digging our way into the folds of its ugly underbelly, passing lopsided tenements I had never seen before. In all honesty, I didn't think much of the little flat Lenora and I shared; it was all we could afford. But to see these towering monstrosities, I couldn't help but observe that we lived quite well in comparison.

"Do you come here often?" I struggled to keep pace with Richard's longer legs. My sore feet made it no easy task.

"The pits, isn't it? They call it HellTown, you know. Their term of endearment."

I didn't know, but I nodded anyway. "Fitting."

"The Blue Men don't tread this far out of the city proper, and most here are fine living by one rule." He glanced at me to see if he had my attention. Of course he did. "Survival, chum."

"You mean there's no law?"

"A little slow on the uptake, but that's just one of your charms." He clapped me on the back again, and I tried to hide my wince. "Rape, murder, theft, battery—we're likely to see more than our share tonight. Survival of the fittest and all that. Isn't it thrilling?"

Not the word I had in mind.

"Ah, and here we are." Richard came to a dead stop at the end of the alley. Feet spread apart and hands on his hips, he stood like an explorer surveying a magnificent vista.

All I saw was a run-down hotel with jittery, scarlet-colored lights that would have spelled MADAME ANTIC'S if they'd all been working properly. Whatever colored gas had been pumped into the curvaceous glass tubes appeared to have lost its potency. Wedged between drab tenements on either side, the hotel's upper levels sported rickety iron fire escapes. They did nothing to alleviate my fear of the place; the whole block looked like a line of firetraps waiting to erupt.

"Looks closed." There were no lights in any of the windows, and no signs or sounds of life emanated from the dilapidated building. In contrast, screaming contests and crashing noises came from nearly every floor of the tenements on either side, bursting with irascibility.

"All part of the fun, Tony. You don't mind if I call you Tony?"

"My friends do," I faltered.

"Friends we are, then." With another wink, Richard struck off across the street without bothering to look both ways.

There was no traffic, wheeled or otherwise, to impede us, but it was force of habit that induced me glance up and down the uneven cobblestones before rushing to join him. Together we stepped up onto the curb of the cracked sidewalk.

"The windows, you see, have been designed to give the illusion that no one resides in those rooms." Richard craned his neck back as he gestured toward the floors above us, each of them dark, devoid of any spark. Even the great double doors before us appeared to have gone long without use—carved ironwood by the looks of them, perhaps imported from the jungles of Africa or somewhere equally exotic. "One-way glass, I believe, is the name for it. Just a sample of the wonders you're about to witness, chum."

With a wink, Richard strode forward and raised his fist to pound twice upon the right-hand door.

"How did you first hear of this place?" I glanced up at the jittery sign above us. The scarlet gases inside the glass seemed to slither like one long, non-corporeal serpent cut into several pieces, each alive and able to move autonomously. "Seems a bit out of the way."

Richard's chuckle drew my attention back to him.

"My dear Tony, you really need to get out more. Madame Antic's is the only place that matters. There's nowhere else like it—not in this city, at any rate. The French, of course, have their own version of it, as do many other European city-states. But we can't afford to take a steamship over there anytime we like, now can we?"

I knew full-well I couldn't—not that I ever thought about such things. The factory consumed my life, providing income that covered only necessities. I had never seen a steamship, much less considered affording an excursion aboard one.

Which brought a single thought crashing into my mind: Who was going to pay for our night of adventure? My next paycheck wouldn't be cut until the following week, and my billfold was sadly lacking.

"Uh-Richard, I probably should have told you before, but I'll have to owe you..."

"Ah," Richard sighed with a satisfied smile that stretched his narrow features.

The ironwood doors had creaked inside, just when it was beginning to appear that no one was there. Now they pivoted on their hinges, opening of their own accord. I looked for a doorman but couldn't see anyone of the sort—nothing at all beyond the threshold. Instead, the most impenetrable black met my eyes.

"Wonders, chap." Richard clapped me on the back yet again, but I grit my teeth and didn't utter a sound.

My complete attention had been stolen by the automaton wheeling out of the darkness to greet us.