It’s astonishing to think that this year Ramsey Campbell is celebrating 60 years in publishing. His first book, the wonderfully titled The Inhabitant of the Lake and Less Welcome Tenants, was published by Arkham House in 1964. His body of work in the field amounts to an incredible legacy – one that, I think, will outlive him, and still be read in a hundred years’ time. With age, some writers lose some of their power and potency, but this is not the case with Campbell. He has always evolved and adapted; his work is an examination of the world he lives in, as he sees it. Like any great artist, he uses his art to elucidate his world view and to attempt to codify the reality he experiences as he moves through the different stages of his life.

The Incubations begins with a section that deftly mixes the comic with the terrifying in a way that has become a Campbell trademark. Leo, a driving instructor is taking his client to her driving test when he suddenly loses control of his sense of language. His utterances are rendered nonsensical with word substitutions and non-sequiturs that subvert and mangle the meaning of everything he is trying to say. The very foundation of communication is broken apart.

It’s a disorientating start to the novel – one which colours the rest of the text with a similar feeling of miscommunication and ambiguity, a sense that nothing that is seen, heard, or spoken of can be fully trusted. We learn that Leo’s problems began when he visited an old school pen-friend in the small mountain town of Aphafen in Germany – which is twinned with his home town. Upon his return, the world slowly begins to take on a different appearance, his perception of reality changing, while strange things break through to taunt him.

Something, it seems, is incubating like a virus within him and causing all these nightmarish experiences. Is it something he’s brought back from his trip, or a demonic force that has followed him all the way from Germany? The answer to this is not as simple as you might think. Campbell’s manipulation of language and imagery makes even a commonplace event an exercise in anxiety and/or dread – a family meal, a visit to the cinema or the supermarket, a drive in the car. That’s not to say that Campbell shies away from more explicit moments of horror. For example, during a childhood recollection we are treated to a classic Campbell line that conjures a horrific image with wry ease:

The end of the metal beam had rammed deep into his head, leaving no room for a face.

Over the course of the novel, Campbell’s instantly recognisable technique of misleading / misunderstood dialogue is once again utilised to perfect effect, adding to the anxiety of the characters and their situations. People get lost in their own efforts to communicate; multiple meanings pile up and confuse them to the point of exasperation.

We gradually discover what is haunting Leo, as he himself realises what’s going on. We experience the story unfolding completely through the experiences of the characters, which are unsettling and often bewildering: we stumble through the ever-darkening plot in as much doubt and anxiety as Leo himself. Old memories and new encounters assault him from all sides, making strangers and enemies of even those closest to him – his family, his friends, his partner.

Nothing is what it at first seems, and as the layers are stripped away, we begin to see glimpses of the truth: a horror from an old German folklore and historic Nazi atrocities are found at the heart of a thoroughly modern nightmare, one which reverberates deeply within the social landscape of our modern world.

The ending, when it comes, is both heartbreaking and terrifying in its implications.

The Incubations is top-flight Campbell, displaying the depth of his vision and the seemingly limitless nature of his reach. The author is fond of saying that after all these years he still hasn’t found the limits of the horror genre. May his search long continue.

Gary McMahon is the award-winning author of several novels and numerous short stories.