The Great War on a cold autumn night.  Captain Henry Baltimore is charged with a suicidal mission: to somehow lead his battalion across the notoriously impassable No man’s land. Indeed, they barely make any headway before being ambushed by the hidden Hessians. Later, Baltimore awakes atop a mountain of his massacred companions, with carrion-scavengers already circling overhead. Baltimore quickly realizes these are no ordinary birds of prey, but monstrous bat-like beings. He manages to wound one of them while trying to escape, but not before the creature mangles one of his legs, breathing into it a pestilent substance that soon renders it useless.

The brief encounter between man and monster ends up changing the course of not only Baltimore’s life, but the world’s. As the war comes to a close, a mysterious plague begins to spread all across Europe, leaving ghost towns in its wake.

It is to one of these ghost towns that Lord Henry Baltimore summons three of his acquaintances. They meet inside a ramshackle inn. The men do not know one another, the absent Baltimore seemingly being the only thread connecting them. While waiting for their associate, and lacking anything better to do in the drab, run-down place, they begin to tell stories, specifically about how they each came to be acquainted with the now nomadic nobleman. Stories that tell of Baltimore’s many losses. Of the man’s belief that he had awakened something sinister and supernatural during the war. Of his slow, painstaking transformation into a cold, ruthless warrior, fighting shadows in plague-ridden places.

And they tell their own stories in turn. Of the odd, ghastly events witnessed over the course of their lives. Of the experiences that led each of them to believe, unequivocally, in Lord Baltimore.

🎃

Well, I enjoyed the hell out of this.

Baltimore, or, The Steadfast Tin Soldier and the Vampire by Mike Mignola and Christopher Golden is one of those stories I tend to think of as “damn good yarns” upon finishing. Written in the same style and spirit of the Victorian era literature that has shaped and influenced much of Mignola’s work, Baltimore is a baroque, thoroughly Gothic tale that revels in its ornate, ostentatious nature. Like many of its purple predecessors, it exudes atmosphere in abundance, and, as a reader for whom this quality often reigns supreme, this book managed to hit all the right spots for me.

As the lengthy alternate title suggests, Baltimore is a re-imagining of “The Steadfast Tin Soldier” fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen. Mignola and co-author Christopher Golden wisely preserve that story’s melancholic poignancy, making it the beating heart of their own tin soldier, while at the same time decking the rest of the story out in somber, funereal vestments. Instead of paper ballerinas, there is a dead spouse. And instead of a goblin jack-in-the-box, there are vampires.

Ironically, it’s those two elements that end up slightly hindering the book. Baltimore is very much a boy’s tale, with women featured in only the most peripheral of ways. It would have benefitted the story to give at least Elowen, Baltimore’s wife, an expanded role, considering she is his primary motivation. Instead, much like the ballerina in the original tale, her characterization is mostly paper-thin.

As for the vampires, I just found the lore around them muddled and lacking. You get the sense that Golden and Mignola wanted to go the Our Vampires are Different route, which is commendable, but given that most of this book — from the themes to the style in which it is written — adheres fairly strictly to traditional approach, makes this a somewhat odd choice.

But the appeal for me ultimately lies in the storytelling, at which this book spectacularly succeeds. Most of Baltimore is told as a nested narrative, courtesy of our three protagonists, who pass the time by telling stories, with each tale showcasing just how memorable and varied weird fiction can be. The story within a story is a device I particularly love, so of course this was the aspect of the book I enjoyed the most.

Nearly all of the pages boast woodcut-like illustrations, drawn by Mignola in his distinctive, striking style. They’re a little plain, but Mignola’s art has had a huge influence on me over the years, so it’s always a joy to see.

A damn good yarn, indeed.