Poet Tree

I have a terrible tendency for misspelling the words poetry (see above) or pome, which may or may not be inherited affectations from an English teacher. That being said, I am naturally drawn to creating humorous* misspellings surprisingly often.

What I am not so naturally drawn to creating is the aforementioned tree itself. I do not know why, particularly, considering that I have naturally created prose in sheathfulls. Maybe when most were going through that teenage phase of angsty pomes, I found myself writing gamebooks or variably complex systems for role playing games. Considering the numerical focus of my writings’ development at this time, it is perhaps unsurprising that I (may) have taken to poetry in the manner I seem to be at the moment.

I am currently reading Stephen Fry’s The Ode Less Travelled, which has stared at me for from a variety of bookshelves, if never my own. I am now borrowing milady’s copy, and am sixty or so pages in – on the fifth exercise.

What I am enjoying most about it is the whittling craft of it, at least under Stephen’s tutelage. It is the shaping of meter** and the warping of words, and less the act of creation. It’s not the preconsidered product but the process.

I can only remember writing one poem off my own back. It’s called Pearl Hoard and came to me whilst I rode beside the North Sea. I don’t know if my future pomes will be similarly horror or else another genre. I like the idea of staying to a genre though – and sci-fi quite appeals.

Hmmm… A cyberpunk poem..?

…

* In my opinion, if not others’.

** As an archaist, I am in agreement with Fry’s preference.

 

The Hand of the Baskervilles

My own thoughts on the new year’s transition vary, and I don’t know how much I ascribe to the renewing of future intentions; but perhaps the lack of capitalisation in the opening clause suggest my true thoughts!

Nevertheless, the new year brings with it the coming of a new string to the bow of archaism.co.uk in that I intend to add some more academic writing to its fold. The blog is currently a variable mish-mash of literary reviews, personal writing and musings on life, peppered by political thoughts. I have written before about my intention to become a folklorist in the future, and have decided that in the manner of Playing God with Monsters and The Flaming Sword (each written by university colleagues of mine) that my own site will feature such academic writing – mostly under the folklore category.

I think that

Folklore shows the fears of society – its folklore is a reflection of that which concerns it. A society can use the freedoms of fantastical logic to express its fears and desires.

Across this year (and beyond, most likely) I shall be examining various elements of folklore from around the United Kingdom and relating them to the societies in which they exist. The first entry will be on the topic of the Black Shuck, the aspect of folklore that most got me interested in the field.

Arthur Conan Doyle was inspired by the stories of the Shuck when he wrote The Hound of the Baskervilles, my favourite of the Holmes stories. I am particularly excited by the forthcoming episode of the BBC’s Sherlock, which will retell that very tale. If you’ve not seen the latest yet, you really should.

 

Beautiful People go to Book Shops

Last night, I learned that Amazon has a particularly underhanded sales drive at the moment from Michael Marshall / (Smith)’s blog. This morning, I read an interesting article on the New York Times by Richard Russo that went into more detail.

I would heartily recommend that you read each piece, but the bottom line is that Amazon is offering its customers a discount on its (non-book) products if they scan the barcode in a bricks-and-mortar shop and compare the price. I must stress that this is not the case with books (at the moment), but nonetheless it does shepherd a bad day for meatspace* shops. By driving people to see the prices in shops and then compare them with online retailers**, and then giving them a further discount on the already lower price, people will stop shopping in these stores. The process reinforces that the most important difference between items is their final price. As quoted in Russo’ article, Ann Patchett states “I do think it’s worthwhile explaining to customers that the lowest price point does not always represent the best deal. If you like going to a bookstore then it’s up to you to support it.”

I agree with her.

Whilst I’ve generally been a fan of Amazon, I have never been a major user. Mostly because it breaks Rule One of my budgeting system, but mostly because I don’t often browse it. I have used it to much success in the past in tracking down a fantastic film called Was Geschach Mit Harold Smith (at least, the German copy I was able to find through its affiliate sales) for milady.

I much prefer book shops, and always have done. I have always been a fan of browsing book shops, from the larger chains to the smaller independents. Each has their benefits, but both attract a certain calibre of staff that can recommend books to their customers – not because they think that it might be like a certain book that they’re currently looking at, but because they are readers. I would much rather a personal recommendation that brings me out of my normal thoughts than a recommended add-on based on statistics and analytics.

I worry that if Amazon continues to steamroll sales, a generation of readers will not know how a book shop smells.

…

* Yes, I slipped in some cyberpunk jargon. Note, this does not mean meat shops.

** Who do not have to pay for shop-front space, heating, public liability insurance, et cetera.

 

//downtime

Considering the sheer overwhelming variance in my pressures at the moment, the above title is somewhat ironic!

However, the title itself refers to the writing downtime I’ve accumulated since the completion of NaNoWriMo. Well, the termination at least. I reached half the target, handwritten, for which I’m happy enough. Rather than let it rot away and be forgotten, as it seemed that many people who I met at the Write-Ins* had chosen to do so, I have decided to let the novel lie fallow for a month, while Irgard hangs perilously from the World Tree, to pick up the story again in January. I hope to get the first draft finished by the end of Feb: two months for a further 25k words is perfectly acceptable.

As such, I’ve got a random urge to keep writing (which I suppose is a large point of the challenge), but I mean to (re)turn my hand to other things. Amongst the fold are these:

Sending off Not A Bedtime Story to some more publishers. I mean to try Black Static again with this one; it’s a little shy of one-thousand words, so not quite suitable for Nightjar.Tweak my latest short story, Phage, which is mostly set in St Pancras station and polish it beyond its current second draft.Return to my cyberpunk universe, Slick Thames. It’s set a little into the future in an imagined London, but the current early nightfalls and sleeting rain draw my mind back to the setting. I’ve a couple of pieces of flash grouped as my Short (Circuit) Stories that exist, and a few thousand words of a started novel somewhere.

Precisely what I try to do, I’ve yet to decide. However, I’ve opened a world of possibilities with writing on trains from my NaNoWriMo experiment, and there’s only so long I can control myself. I bought myself a new premium notebook today.

It’s already begun.

…

* Great sessions where many a writer on the NaNoWriMo would take over a large section of various London cafés and fill them with the sound of clicking keys and my own scribbling pen. There’s a great video here, which documents a session at Starbucks where I finally crested 10k words.

At a later Write-In, I wrote a ten page paragraph. Very pleased with that.

 

Fearful Houses (and Authorial Meetings {3})

Last night, I joined the “cool kids of the London horror scene” (to paraphrase Will of Spooky Reads) in rubbing shoulders and exchanging idle chit-chat with some notable names in British horror at the lauch of Solaris’ new horror anthology, House of Fear. The anthology is editied by Jonathan Oliver, “the hottest new horror editor [...] since Stephen Jones”*, who downplays the complexity of his role by saying that he “finds a lot of stories he likes and puts them together.”

He also chaired the release event, leading a panel of Christopher Priest (him that penned The Prestige), Sarah Pinborough and Paul Meloy. I hadn’t read any of these authors yet, despite all intentions, but I hadn’t heard of the last at all – however, I found myself most impressed by his thoughts and contributions.** Sarah was affable and only semi-coarse, relating her thoughts to a well received response from the audience – most notably to over-loud (and over-lustful?) laughter from the man seated beside me. Chris’ mike lay on the table, and his calm contributions*** had the audience leaning forward to catch his words, calm and rapt. He reminded me of when I saw Philip Pullman talk at a panel at the Oxford Literary Festival.

I’ve not read beyond one story in the collection yet, but the tales range across the wide realms of haunted house literature. It’s an interesting topic, and one that generated much interest, and much discussion, on the night.

I’ve a mind to recreate that here.
…

* So says Jonathan Strathan, who is quoted on the back of the book itself.

** Indeed, I read his story as soon as I got home, rather than waiting to reach it in the collection as otherwise I would.

*** Sorry I contribute that word too freely in this entry.

 

Unquiet Thoughts – Simon Kurt Unsworth’s “Quiet Houses”

I first came across Simon’s writing in a copy of Best New Horror 19 and being impressed at the eerieness he was able to create in an otherwise idyllic setting. In fact, the bathroom at my girlfriends’ parents’ house has a picture that really reminds me of that story, which is quite unsettling when I would otherwise be happy cleaning my teeth.

As such, when Simon announced on Twitter that he’d happily send out copies of his newest collection, Quiet Houses to those interested in reviewing them, I jumped at the chance. (And was then terribly delayed in my ability to download and read it, considering my holidaying in the depths of Cornwall and its lack of etherial contact with the elsewheres.)

I had read much of the book in the late hours of the evening, when all else had gone to bed, and found myself suitably displaced by the descriptions and stories within. I haven’t jumped at the sounds of my home settling for a good many years – this was not the case while I read Quiet Houses! As the blurb states, “The houses are quiet. It is their residents who are screaming.” The concept lends a nice counterpoint to the idea of ‘unquiet places,’ which is pleasingly mentioned in some of the narrative too.

Quiet Houses is less of a clear-cut collection than I had first thought, but more of a (well-executed) attempt at a verbal portmanteau format. The stories of the houses (a loose catch-all within the book, but a word that suits the idea of memoried locations well) are unlinked, but connected by the studies of parapsychologist Richard Nakata; they are told in a variety of different manners, from an interview in a greasy spoon to documentation and Nakata’s personal experiences. His scientist’s drive is apparent in his search for “proof” (evident in the first few pages as he whittles down responses to a newspaper advert into a series of leads) and in the clear and open nature of the narrative. Nakata’s insistence on denying none of the occurrences and similarly in maintaining as objective a stance as possible only serves to make the book more terrifying, because in reading through the stories it is impossible to do the same as reader.

The difference in the styles of telling the tales is good, and I have to say that my particular favourite was the letter detailing the evil that lurks in the Merry House. Personally I least enjoyed the section within the hotel; the strength of its story would perhaps stand better alone, for I feel it doesn’t link with Nakata’s narrative as well as the other tales. That being said, none of the stories within are wanting for quality of writing nor scares. Indeed, throughout I was very impressed by the descriptions of the happenings. If these are all ghost stories, I’ve never heard ghosts described in such different ways.

Quiet Houses is released on the first of October, at Brighton Fantasy Convention. If you are there, I endeavour that you seek out its release. If you are not, I implore you to read this.

I don’t want to be the only person with these fears in my head.

 

Richard Morgan’s “The Steel Remains”

Any sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic.

Arthur C. Clarke’s much cited Third Law* makes a good starting point for a consideration of Richard Morgan’s The Steel Remains, let alone my love of the mutability of remains between verb and noun states – referring to the museum references for the former, and several pieces of Kiriath technology for the latter. The Steel Remains is a gritty fantasy world, but unlike the relative realism of worlds like Joe Abercrombie’s it is rife with the fantastical elements of explicit monsters and of magic. It’s an interesting blend, and one that works very well.

The story follows the lives of three veterans of the war with the Scaled Folk and explores the part they play in facing a new threat to the stagnating Yheleth Empire and the unconverted** Leagues. While the characters at first glance may appear to cohere to fantasy stereotypes, you’ll soon realise just how different Morgan makes his heroes. The brilliance of the concept and their execution are fantastic, and I am loath to repeat them here, because a lot of what makes Morgan’s writing so strong is in the pulling away of veils.

This is Morgan’s debut fantasy novel and has justly received high praise from well-regarded authors upon its dust-cover. I was first introduced to Morgan through his first Takeshi Kovacs novel, and swore to read further since then. What Morgan did for cyberpunk and future-noir in that book (tearing apart expectations and saying a massive fuck-you to convention), he attempts to do here. Indeed, on his website he says:

“If you had to – really had to – kill someone, which way would you rather they made you do it? With a pistol, or with an axe?

Exactly. So welcome to the brutal world of Ringil Angeleyes, scarred hero of Gallows Gap and death-wish-furious, semi-retired warrior aristocrat. I’ve been talking a good fight about fantasy noir for a while – now I’m putting my money where my mouth is. The Steel Remains is a grubby, blood-spattered trawl through exactly how unpleasant it might be to actually have to live in the average fantasy universe. Can you do noir in a fantasy landscape? You can certainly try…”

I think he manages it.

Which brings up an interesting idea, at least to me, and especially within my frame of mind as a budding writer: if your audience are unaware of the conventions, does circumventing them in such a manner as Morgan does prevent the full impact of the writing? I wouldn’t necessarily like to judge, at least at this point.

Either way, The Steel Remains remains fantastically strong through its sheer power, its fantastic characters and its brutal writing.

…

* See rule three.

** And the religious overtones of that word are most definitely intentional.

 

“Dreamer’s Cat,” by Stephen Leather (Plus Secret Bonus Review!)

Since reading about ebooks in this month’s Writing Magazine, specifically Leather’s article, I’ve wanted to read Dreamer’s Cat. Partially because the publishing houses hadn’t touched it because it contradicted an establishing brand. Mostly because it sounded cool.

Leif Ableman, who writes and creates commercial Dreams and is one away from completing his contact and retiring, must solve some in-house deaths.

Leather’s one sentence pitch was better, but it isn’t here and I’m not fully awake yet.

I really enjoyed the story – it feels like a mix between Neal Stephenson’s Snow Crash and the early Michael Marshall Smith books (One of Us at its opening, Only Forward at its conclusion and some central parts). This is good company indeed, and the (e)book stands up well amongst it. I started reading it yesterday, had to sleep, and finished it in the laundrette where my clothes still dry.* The pacing is good and it builds well, and the Dream pieces are really interesting in their narration. I found myself reacting similarly to Leif’s response to the Dreams in my response to Leather’s writing.**

I found myself guessing the possible perpetrator part-way in (around 40% I believe) but that’s most likely because I have read so many similar books. Nonetheless, the denouement was exciting and enjoyable when it came.

The sci-fi elements were subtle and the only jarring exposition came from the lift’s prattling. If you could be persuaded to enjoy sci-fi, give this a go. It’s a simpler concept than Stephenson or Marshall Smith, and as such a great gateway.

…

SECRET BONUS REVIEW

This was the first book I’ve read on a Kindle. It’s not mine, but rather my mother’s. I found it odd to hold at first, but that was mostly because of my mother’s leather case, and so I sometimes page-turned by accident. Easily fixable though.

It’s too soon yet to fully judge, but my initial concerns were that the unfamiliar style would serve as a barrier to the story. Never mind that, for at one point I tried to turn the page as if it were a real book!

I like the fact that you can alter the typescript and size to suit. The progress bar is interesting (especially its session marker) but doesn’t quite equal the middle-point-cresting of a traditional book.

The jury is still out for me.

…

* By the time you read this they will have dried.

** If you’re reading, Steve, nipple?

 

~icide

I’ve had a look at the long list of words for killing things, but there doesn’t appear to be a word for the killing of childhood. Maybe it’s the killing of an ideal, or perhaps the burying of the past. Maybe there’s no word for it for an even darker reason.*

This post is prompted by this one, entitled “The Final Harry Potter – The Death of my Childhood”, which from my recent Facebook homepage and Twitter stream, seems to be a fairly common opinion.

I understand that people have been growing up with the stories of Harry Potter for a long while, the final publication of The Deathly Hallows bringing the first nail to the coffin housing childhood and the subsequent filming the final one. It’s the end of an era. I understand that.

My gripes with the Harry Potter franchise have existed since the earliest opportunities, and for a number of reason – firstly that Rowling gets her mythology wrong, secondly that the books aren’t particularly well written. I have been able to cope with them by seeing them as a gateway drug, of sorts.

Yes, they’re finished. You might choose to see that as the killing of your childhood. Accept it. People grow old, people grow up.

There’s plenty of good fantasy to suit your current adulthood – George RR Martin or Joe Abercrombie to name but two. And if you insist on reading adolescent fantasy, try something decent. I will always recommend Alan Garner.**

And for those still obsessed with the concept of childhoodicide, here is a song by Iron Maiden and here is a song by Marillion.

Cope.

…

* Readers of this entry should be able to ascertain the veiled reason.

** There’s a video through that link. You should watch it..

 

Michael Marshall’s ‘Killer Move’

Regular readers of mine will know just how much I read. Indeed, just like coffee, I’ve consumed so much that the active ingredients have a deadened effect on my constitution.

I haven’t cried at a book since I read the picturebook of Star Wars: Episode One to my brother when the film came out. I didn’t cry last night, when I read Michael Marshall’s Killer Move.

But I came close.

Like most Marshall / (Smith) novels, the ending is blinding. The last hundred pages of the book race on at a frantic pace, swerving with the twists and turns of the plot. Within the last ten pages, my stomach dropped right out. Marshall is a master of guiding his reader’s thoughts and feelings, and the ending is fantastic.

My focus on the ending is slightly telling, however.

The book is great, the plot strong. However, I did feel that it took a fair while to get into it. By around page sixty the action starts to kick off and a lot more strangeness arises. Looking back now, I feel those pages helped strengthen the ending, but for some reason I didn’t enjoy the opening scenes as much as I’d expected.

That being said, there is a sub-strand of the plot being simultaneously weaved which helps move things along. Marshall is an expert at multiple threading like this, and it builds an exciting premise. He is also great at getting the reader into the heads of his protagonists, either through first person or a sympathetic third.

The real gems though, as I always expected, was the descriptions and reflections on life, transience and identity. He pushes back that door into the private part of our self and our soul.

And I enjoyed the very subtle motif of pain(t).