“I don’t know where I went wrong. He was such a nice boy until he started crawling around in caves and writing all those weird stories.” So sayeth Paul’s mum, according to the quotes that adorn the back cover of Tales of Dirt, Danger, and Darkness. Whether you agree with her depends largely on your point of view: this volume is a collection of stories—some tall, some short, some sneaky—but all with one thing in common: they carry a twist in the tale and reveal a sometimes black, twisted sense of humor. That is, a caver’s sense of humor . . .

Paul Steward professes that he’s a nice guy really, and that all the tales are fiction (but can you believe him after reading 26 stand-alone stories?) Well, okay, they really are (mostly) fiction, but you can clearly recognize the truths behind the themes. Cavers in a laundromat, misappropriating machines with muddy scum-producing clothing. The fervent desire to take your boss underground and show him what life is really like (complete with dirty tricks), rather than having to sit back and take it day after day at work. The seemingly nonsensical situation of taking combustible substances that ignite on the top of you head; whether Batman can get away with emptying the Bat Cave of formations to make way for his Batmobile; the fate of a lady, widowed by caving.

Many of the tales have previously appeared on the Cavers Digest (a moderated discussion group on the Internet) or in caving club newsletters in the US, this volume forming Paul’s first published collection under one cover. Topics that are no doubt prevalent in the US caving community form the major part of Paul’s fictitious fodder: landowner relationships, what is talked about at a grotto meeting, the lure of the unexplored cave. The last is one that British readers will certainly identify with, and some might understand Paul’s obvious discrimination against carbide lamps—at least the way he explains it. There again, as he states in the preface, “Telling the truth was much too boring . . .”

If you hanker after a volume to dip into and settle down with on one of those off-days when you aren’t underground, here in these pages you’ll find some fine entertainment. There seems just one problem: with tales such as these, which reveal the most terrible concepts of what Paul might do with (or, more likely to) you, who will ever cave with him again to allow a sequel to be written? Then again, that would certainly ensure that his next writings will have to be truly fictional in nature.