The Vorrh

B. Catling

Sometimes, it is the setting more than the characters of a story that make their mark. Even more so when the setting is a character. When I was reading this, I was turning pages quickly to get back to those sections in the primeval forest. Its haunting power was such that I could not get enough; I wanted to be transported to a place of myth, especially when such places feel distant in our current, modern world.

The Vorrh

B. Catling

it was the mother of forests; ancient beyond language, older than every known species, and, some said, propagator of them all, locked in its own system of evolution and climate

this arrow is in advance of my foreseen journey into the depth of the forest, but it will never be my guide

what lies ahead is only destiny

The Vorrh beckons strangely to Williams, to Tsungali, to Ishmael, to Raymond. Each character has their reasons; each leaves and enters the sacred and abyssal forest at their own time; each returns with changes that will stay with them forever. At the periphery of the Vorrh lies Essenwald: the timber city making profit off the ancient land. Gertrude and Cyrena and Matter and Hoffman and Maclish all have their ties to the forest and each other. Everyone is threaded together, even Muybridge far off in America and London. Arrows fly and photographs flash and the Vorrh will have its say over those who seek its treasures.

he slept knowing that everything in his life was a mystery and that his only purpose seemed to be to travel through the Vorrh

memory normally weighed more, but not here, where the forest washed it away, smoothing out every contour of its vital meaning

Catling’s ensemble piece is one of intervals: like many stories with a constellation of POV characters, certain chapters will seem to the reader a nuisance, a necessity to get through until the next tellings of import. That said, there are some truly exquisite impressions and myths of this dark arboreal womb, home to god and angels and vicious monsters and ghosts. The Vorrh beckons, warping time and memory and sight and knowledge. This is the tale of some who chose to enter all the same.

together, they walked the path of the arrow, following the rippling turbulence that it left, a humming song that vibrated the air

humans will always walk in circles