The Witnesses Are Gone by Joel Lane is the story of a man possessed. The man is Martin Swann, our melancholy, introspective protagonist, who has always “felt I was living backwards—the future seemed more real than the past,” and has grown to feel “as if ordinary people no longer existed.” His obsession begins when he stumbles across a film he finds eerily compelling, by an obscure French director named Jean Rien. Martin senses that the movie touches the edge of some awful, crucial significance; he feels driven to seek out more of Rien’s work. He soon finds, though, that Rien’s films are more than merely obscure—they are maddeningly elusive, impossible to find, and the closer he seems to get to a lead on Rien, the more harshly it is snatched away from him.

The novella echoes strongly of H.P. Lovecraft. A forbidden, unknowable truth is sought after. Man’s inability to comprehend life’s chaos and insignificance serves as the story’s core. And decay and detachment pervade all.

Lane delivers solidly on all these counts. Nonetheless, I find myself unable to enjoy The Witnesses Are Gone, primarily due to its stark predictability. From the second chapter onwards, the arc of the story is entirely clear. Martin’s very first attempt to learn anything of Rien is pointedly a failure; it is obvious from that moment on that the rest of his attempts are equally futile. Martin has hope; the reader does not. Under these circumstances, Lane has committed the entire weight of the story not to something which is compelling in its own right, but rather to the portraying of the fictional compulsion of a fictional character. Fair enough, but I was not pleased with the result. Both Martin’s obsession and the inability to gratify it have a strong element of narrative fiat—though on one level I could accept that the supernatural way Rien’s tracks are covered is the story’s premise rather than a convenient plot device, I found that the sense of inevitability in Martin’s quest owes far more to familiar narrative convention than it does to any inherent quality that Rien’s work, as described, is actually shown to possess. Perhaps more damningly, I simply did not find any individual episode of Martin’s search to be particularly interesting, exciting, unique, or poignant—and if you know in advance where the plot is going, and the stops along the way fail to impress, then what do you have left?

The other major element of the story—the surreal atmosphere of desperation, obsession, and uncertainty—well, one can take it or leave it. To this reviewer, this seems familiar and relatively uninteresting, but readers who are not certain they share my aversion may be assured that this eerie atmosphere is handled solidly, and is brought out particularly well by the actions and events that take place throughout the novella.

Despite these negative impressions, I’m sure The Witnesses Are Gone will find its admirers. Fans of Lovecraftian horror will probably enjoy this story greatly, as will any reader who enjoys the suspense of anticipating where the next blow is about to fall. This is a novella which is exactly what it seems to be; if the general description appeals to you, I can safely venture that you won’t be disappointed. If it doesn’t, I can safely assure you that you aren’t missing much.

Publisher: PS Publishing (Early 2009)
Pages: 66
Hardcover price: £10.00 [$15.00]
Hardcover ISBN: 978-1906301255
Jacketed hardcover price: £25.00 [$37.50]
Jacketed hardcover ISBN: 978-1906301262