Richard Matheson (1926–2013)

A fun but disposable time-travel adventure from an author whose pen has been better deployed elsewhere. Richard Matheson has delivered thought-provoking modern fables in I Am Legend and in episodes of The Twilight Zone, but Somewhere in Time is rather frivolous.

Originally published as Bid Time Return, the novel tells the story of a modern man (or 1971 – around the time Matheson wrote the book) who becomes infatuated with a photograph of a beautiful actress from the 1890s, to such an extent show more that he decides to travel back in time to be with her. The book is more romantic fantasy than science-fiction: the method of time-travel is not a machine or a rift in spacetime but the rather flimsy concept of self-hypnosis. When the protagonist, Richard Collier, actually achieves this, there begins a sickly sentimental romance between him and the actress, Elise McKenna. It's romantic in a Mills-and-Boon-ish sort of way, with all the obvious limitations that implies.

It's a decent concept (star-crossed lovers; even time can't keep them apart) but the execution is cloying and overblown. The characters begin to test our patience and the prose style is like wading through mush: every thought, act and setting is explained in detail, forcing the reader to scan and self-edit to avoid becoming drained. It is in these flaws that the film adaptation from 1980 proves itself superior. Christopher Reeve gives a clean and innocent charm to Richard where the book version is needy and borderline-creepy, and Jane Seymour gives a vivacity to Elise, who in the book is a perfect doll, the female wish-fulfilment of Richard (Collier or Matheson?) The film also recognises it's a piece of light entertainment, and can be considered a hidden gem, whereas the book is overburdened by the needless prose weight and romantic syrup that Matheson ladles on top. The story is one to enjoy, but – on this occasion – not in book but film. show less

Matheson's first short story collection, which hasn't been reprinted since the 50s, is back in a new fine press edition. Having read Penguin's The Best of Richard Matheson last year, he quickly became one of my favorite mid-century horror writers (a period I consider both my favorite period of horror literature, and one of the most underrated) alongside Charles Beaumont. This collection contains his most "hard" science fiction stories (and I say "hard" in quotes, because the techno stuff is show more really kept to an absolute minimum). You can tell he was still finding his bearings here, because there are some excellent stories, including the Kafkaesque F---, but there's also some that are dated and goofy. The title story still retains its power to creep and shock after all these decades. Suntup Editions set the book in ragged-right as opposed to justified text, which gives it the feel of picking up a journal of grotesqueries. The most powerful story for me was the final one, The Traveller, which tells of an atheist time traveler who goes to witness the crcufixition and comes back with a newfound faith, not in miracles, but in human resilience. As much as I love these fine press illustrated editions, they are rather pricey, and if you're squeezed, Tor has published all of Matheson's collected short stories over four volumes, and Valancourt has published all his finished Uncollected Stories in Offbeat. But it's always interesting to see how authors originally presented their work. show less

I get tired of the special-effects driven horror movies, all motion and no plot. Whatever happened to the stories where I felt a genuine sense of dread, and anticipation? Did they all disappear after Richard Matheson wrote his novella?

If you are wondering where all the zombie/vampire motifs originated from, you're looking at it. It's unsettling thinking about being surrounded by people - perhaps dead but still very much active - who are looking to you for their next meal. It's about being show more very lonely, after locking all the toxic people out of your life. Is it worth the fight to stay alive, if you are doomed to be alone?

The plot moves quickly and it's a page-turner. No slow spots. Try not to read it on a lonely winter night at your cottage, like I did. show less

I just happened to finish rereading this as I got the news of Richard Matheson's death. Sad news, indeed. His body of work hasn't been consistent, but it has been entertaining, and I suspect I have not read enough of it.

*There are spoilers in the last paragraph of this review.*

The Shrinking Man offers a somewhat contrived what-if scenario: what if a man started shrinking 1/7 of an inch every day? This could have been a gimmicky conceit, but Matheson turns it into a meditation on what it show more means to be a man. The hero's masculinity is chipped away each day by fractions of an inch, and the story chronicles his growing helplessness and frustration as he loses all of the authority he had been so accustomed to -- at first, over his wife; then, his daughter and other children; then, over household pets; and finally, over all animals such as birds and spiders. He is banished from work and his marital bed, then made to live in a dollhouse, and finally condemned to the cellar. The only way he can reassert his masculinity is to devise ways to survive, even though he feels like he has a clear end date.

In a lot of ways, The Shrinking Man reminds me of the much better Matheson novella, I Am Legend. Each stays in the head of a solitary hero, isolated by unnatural events beyond his control, struggling to hold onto his sanity and his sense of self.

The Shrinking Man is clearly a product of its time, an anguished and often cynical view of the emasculation of men in a changing era. Matheson does hold out hope in the end, that the Shrinking Man may not be completely extinguished by the forces around him, but may instead discover new worlds where he can reinvent and reassert himself. Depending on how the reader feels about masculinity, this may or may not be a happy ending. For me, it was an unexpected ending, and one that elevated this short novel well above a mere gimmick. show less