Book Review: A Procession of Ashes by A.M. Blackmere
Theology, virology, and medieval history combine in this bone-chilling, impossible-to-put-down novella
“If I am marked to die, let it be in labor that bears meaning.”
Review Notice
While I absolutely plan on buying a copy for myself and (hopefully, eventually) stocking several more in my bookstore, the edition I will be reviewing is the Advance Reader Copy provided to me by the author. I am honored to have been part of the journey and look forward to reading more from Blackmere.
Which is a hint. Cough. Cough. {Get to writing!}
Affiliate Marketing Notice
The links contained in this review are placed with the intention to help you, the reader, locate copies and editions easily. All proceeds from book purchases go directly to the author, A.M. Blackmere; subscribing to his Substack supports the continuation of his craft and career in storytelling. I will not receive any financial compensation for writing this review or via affiliate marketing with the links contained herein.
Synopsis
Plague is nothing new to the once-bustling city of Piacenza in 14th-Century Italy. Laughter and song has been replaced by the wet coughs and tear-stained prayers of the people and families who push to survive through this darkened time in Europe’s history.
But with the arrival of a radical group proclaiming piety is a cure, something else starts spreading through the population. New prayers, new hymns, new accusations—and a new disease. Without warning, people start dropping dead.
It almost goes unnoticed in the face of everything else the people of Piacenza have become numb to. A local doctor, however, immediately notices these newly deceased do not bear the same symptoms as the plague. Or the same cause.
What starts as lowkey virology quickly becomes a race against the clock to ensure the contagion doesn’t spread…and a battle of faith against those who insist that salvation can only be earned through boils and blood.
Period Setting
While this novella takes place in the mid-1300s of Italy, readers who remember living through 2020 will find this setting a little too uncomfortably familiar. I lived, worked, and quarantined in downtown Chicago for the whole of that fateful year—so the depictions of rioting in the streets, of fervent faith transforming into feverish mania, of questions and accusations hissing through clenched whispers between those who are simultaneously infected and unaffected…it all took me back to That Year. That Place. And in such a poignant way, it was easy to relate to the deepening sadness of a character who remembers when the sun shined a bit brighter and marketplaces bustled in the open air without worry about “six foot distance” or “can I get it from holding something you just touched”.
I do want to give a “tip of the hat” to Blackmere for keeping everything accurate and relevant to the time period while also keeping it easy to follow. Too often do we get wrapped up in the details of things we expect from artwork—like those creepy bird masks popular among physicians of the time—but whether these are utilized during Tommaso’s investigation is not touted as being as important or relevant as the symptoms and stigmata found and collected through still-historically-accurate means. In truth, it’s far more realistic for someone in any given situation to work with what they have, and that’s not always “the best in the industry”.
A doctor is still a doctor whether they carry a stethoscope or not, right?
Genre
A notice to those who may be squeamish about the horror genre: this is one of those gems that relies on your mind to fill in the blanks, to paint the picture, rather than describing everything in visceral and gory detail.
Now, don’t get me wrong: it’s still horrifying. The story still contains moments that made me scrunch my face and say, “Ew.”
But again, too often we expect Horror to “make it scary for us” via the gore and jump-scares and everything Hollywood has to offer. Blackmere wields Historical/Medieval Horror much like how Stephen King does: emotional, psychological, and just enough for your brain to self-write the unwritten and make contextual guesses that are probably going to be correct, no matter how terrifying or dark it might be.
Theme
This is where A Procession of Ashes truly shines!
“The pestilence is no scourge to flee from. It is the scripture written upon our flesh.”
It’s layered. Thought-provoking in ways I did not expect. Thematically intricate in a woven tapestry I can easily pull apart to analyze from both a literary and theological perspective—which makes this novella a work of brilliance.
There are two ways a reader can approach and absorb Ashes:
From a general, secular perspective that takes everything at face value
From a spiritual, religiously analytical perspective that peels back the layers of meaning to view the double entendres throughout
I can’t help myself. I was born and raised Christian (Lutheran for most of my childhood, Catholic school for a few years, Biblical Archaeology for a solid chunk of college), and a deeply academic one at that. I’m always analyzing everything through the lens of spiritual meaning.
If you can, I recommend going this route. It’s deep and dark and insightful, pointing out the flaws of blind faith and dangerous radicalism that I truly feel several contemporary church leaders could learn from. My own contentions with religion (not spirituality; there is a difference) are expressed in A Procession of Ashes: self-appointed leaders preaching harmful self-punishment as penance to a God who doesn’t ever actually demand it; lies touted as Scripture and believed because it’s so dang convincing to those who really only can go by face value; openly expressed suspicions that “this is happening because you did something wrong”.
Yes, I have been told that before. To my face. While standing in the bookstore of a Christian college, after I shared the struggles of getting back into classes after devastating floods destroyed half my hometown, job losses nearly made me homeless, and a mysterious illness that I now know was an undiagnosed food allergy and suspected brain tumor…all of it, but mostly the fact that I hadn’t bounced back immediately, were (according to this woman) because I “made God angry” and “will eventually figure out what I did”.
If I’d been the kind of person vulnerable enough to believe her? That would have been devastating not just to my mental and emotional health, but physical as well. And that’s something Blackmere nails (no pun intended) in this novella: a growing tension simmering low and slow but steadily between those who know better and those who are simply desperate for restoration and salvation from both eternal damnation and immediate affliction.
Desperation is something the darker entities of this world prey on. We see it all the time; we fall prey to it every day. It is a hungry beast laying in wait for each of us to show signs of weakness, the slowness that starts to break us away from the protection of our communities.
Don’t believe me? Just ask yourself this:
How often do you make decisions—to your own mental, emotional, and physical detriment—based on the need for money?
How often have you shoved someone aside, or even outright hurt them, out of the fear of becoming a victim?
How quick are you to say something catty, witty, even bitch-y online just so you can feel like for once, this time, you won’t be pushed around?
“These aren’t acts of desperation, Nikki.”
…Aren’t they?
“You’re taking it too far.”
…Am I?
Symbolism
There is a lot of religious and spiritual symbolism in this book, but for good reason: that was the culture of the day. Which is super important for me to note, because some readers like to bemoan “mentions of God” in their reviews without considering the setting of the story or the cultural upbringing of the characters.
Don’t forget, Dear Reader, that A Procession of Ashes takes place during medieval Italy. Abso-freaking-lutely it’s going to be filled to the brim with Catholic and Christian symbolism. And I separate the two because again, there is a difference between religion and spirituality:
Religion is the politicization of a spirituality. During this time period, Catholicism was 100% a politically-governed and politically-manipulated religion used as a force of control and oppression almost more (I personally want to say “definitely more”) than it was a force of missionary work to spread the Gospels throughout the world.
Spirituality is the personal, private relationship between a person and God. Some say “Spirit”, some say “Allah”, others have more names and more definitions, but it all comes down to that personal and private (emphasis on this for good reason) relationship. Christianity was started as, and always meant to be, spiritual.
“What does this have to do with the book?” Everything.
“Was this the Lord’s will—to wear wounds like grain sown for the scythe?”
Spirituality drives a person to go to God in prayer.
Religion dictates that if you don’t pray—and often the requirement is dramatic penance—the punishment for such neglect will be great.
Spirituality talks to God in the quiet, in the secluded spaces, in the privacy of one’s own heart.
Religion makes a massive show of “prayer”, crying out to the heavens and moving their bodies in a performative way so everyone else can see just how “holy” they are.
Spirituality inspires a person to take a leap of faith into the unknown.
Religion consumes that faith and mutates it into a drugging poison, something that’s given in small doses until the addiction is too great to let go and then when you finally realize what it is, it’s too late.
A Procession of Ashes quietly but consistently depicts the war between religion and spirituality; between blind faith hungry for immediate validation & gratification, and independent wisdom that recognizes things for what they are and accepts that everything happens for a reason we’re not always able to see in the moment.
There’s a particularly powerful moment that would be a spoiler if I described it to you, so I will skip the specifics and keep it general: it’s not so much that someone decides to suddenly depart from everything they’ve ever known and been.
It’s that they recognize, with sudden clarity, how much weight and therefore power their misunderstanding of everything they’ve ever known and been gave to the entity they now find themselves staring down in what, I must say, is quite the chilling standoff.
Comparisons
I’ll be honest: I don’t read much Horror fiction. I usually get the plot points from other reviews, Wikipedia summaries of the movie adaptation (put away those torches and pitchforks; I knoooowwww!), or stick to the classics because we already know how it ends and we can also rest easy in knowing publishing distribution had a limit as to how explicit materials could be (I don’t like gore).
So with that being said, I’m going to wholeheartedly say, “If you like Edgar Allen Poe’s stylings, you’ll definitely enjoy A.M. Blackmere.”
And I’m not just saying that! There’s a particular…how shall I describe it other than “flavor”? To different narratives and one in particular is the kind that I’d find printed and replicated throughout the textbooks used in nearly every grade of public school.
I don’t know how else to put my finger on something that has a particular rhythm, a special sound, a very specific likeness to literature that was always loudly praised by my Literature & Reading class teachers as being “an American/insert-nationality-here classic” and worthy of making multiple generations read over and over again.
That. This novella reads like that. Fall of the House of Usher immediately comes to mind even though the two subjects could not be more uniquely separate from each other—but I think it has more to do with how conversation and situational awareness heightens the horror of the story overall.
There’s another short story, one by Stephen King, that comes to mind but for the life of me I cannot remember what it’s called. All I remember is being permanently scarred by the quiet terror of a racing pulse in what was literally nothing but a whiteout blizzard. No blood, no violence, no dialogue. Just the narrator in a car, staring at nothing but a wall of whiplash white, wondering what’s stalking him in the midst of it.
Personal Opinion
It’s so very hard for me to take off my Editor Hat (even though I’m not really doing that much anymore other than for the one-off client but mostly my own work). So I will admit, with much hesitation, that there were a few times I found myself making mental notes as if I were going to send feedback to “reword this” or “restructure that”.
But not because it actually needed any of that. I’m just confessing to a habit I will forever be unable to break—born of being an author in a different genre. Yeah, I include horror-genre elements in my fantasy romance/romantasy fiction, but it’s not my bread-and-butter expertise like it is for Blackmere. So while I might have the thought of, “I’d re-word that”, I also remind myself that yes, I totally would…for fantasy.
So, y’know, I can shut up now.
The best indicator of a fantastic book—for me and therefore anyone watching me read, which happens more than you might think because I literally live in my bookstore—is my inability to put it down.
That’s exactly what happened with A Procession of Ashes. I checked my schedule {cue the maniacal laugh-crying}, checked the length and chapter count, and set a schedule for myself to read five chapters per day so I’d finish it by the end of the week.
Several Hours Later…
I genuinely could not put it down. I joke a lot about the “Just One More Chapter” phrase and make merch with it for my bookstore, but I literally felt myself muttering it repeatedly even though one day had officially become the next and I needed to sleep. It’s the phrase that echoed whenever my family checked on me because I hadn’t moved since my last announcement a few hours prior.
Which is always the sign to the avid readers in my life that this needs to go into their own TBR pile. If it grips Super Critical Nikki, it’s gonna grip them, too!
And I have to be brutally honest: it’s so very very very hard to find literature like this in independent publishing.
In no way whatsoever am I belittling anyone else’s hard work. What I am pointing out, however painful it feels to even write these words, is that with the freedom to be ones own publisher comes the freedom to…I don’t know if “ignore” is the right word?…basic principles in prose and storytelling that differentiates momentary hype from literary immortality. And far too often I feel this sense that the—yes, I will call it desperation—for success in the form of social validation and favorable data points sacrifices the craftwork that creates such immortality.
Blackmere’s work, both in this particular novella and everything else published whether short stories, anthologies, or full novels, carries the prose craftsmanship that carries into longevity.
Will this become an immortal piece? Difficult to say; I won’t be around long enough to find out.
Is the genuine potential for that to happen in place? Absolutely.
About the Author
For the sake of keeping everything accurate and on-brand with each author, I tend to prefer sharing their bios in their own words. This one comes from Blackmere’s Amazon Author profile:
“A.M. Blackmere writes medieval and gothic horror inspired by real history, vanished rites, and the strange places where faith breaks open into fear. His work is known for its meticulous research, atmospheric world-building, and lingering psychological unease. He publishes new stories, serialized fiction, and deep-dive lore essays for a rapidly growing community of readers on Substack, where he explores the dark beauty of the past one chapter at a time.”
But I would be remiss in excluding the far more powerful, goosebump-summoning “bio” contained within the prologue of A Procession of Ashes:
“My name is A.M. Blackmere, and I write medieval horror.
Not the kind with convenient monsters or tidy allegories, but the sort that grows in the cracks between what people believed and what they endured. I’m drawn to plague-haunted cities, to faith under unbearable pressure, to the collision of the sacred and the profane in spaces where both feel equally dangerous. I love the slow burn of dread, the way terror can sit quietly in a cloister or a confession for pages before it finally shows its teeth.”
The very first work I read from Blackmere’s collection—and what introduced me to him overall—was a harrowing depiction of an ink-stained quarantine. Suffice it to say, I became an instant mega-fan.
I can also second his self-description of everything above as being both accurate and understated. But perhaps this is simply because we are witnessing the emergence of A Great in his very beginning; I can’t help it if my own perception skips ahead in the timeline just a bit.
Conclusion
I’m giving this a solid 5 Star rating because the only reason why I even fathomed 4 Stars was as a stubborn complaint that it wasn’t longer. But even so, this stands as a testament to how easy (through Blackmere’s narrative skill) is was to form bonds with the characters even in such a brief time.
Don’t let the size of the book fool you—A Procession of Ashes carries the weight of expert literary prose and the kind of thought-provocation that goes deeper than expected from something typically expected in the Historical/Medieval Horror genre. The horror itself is not about gore or sudden scares or even monsters of the traditional type, but rather the questions that we ask ourselves when we really don’t want to…and the monsters we allow fear and desperation to turn us into.