Jargoneer's Perlustration

For the first time I thought I would set myself some minimal goals for this year -

12 Non-fiction Books
12 Scottish Books
12 Books in Translation
12 Poetry Collections

This can be combined, i.e., a Scottish Poetry Collection would count in both threads.

I may also read a selection from Science Fiction: The 101 Best Novels 1985-2010. I used to read lots of SF but now read little so I thought I would dip my toes back into the swamp.

I will also attempt to read a weekly story.

And stealing the idea from Baswood a disc of the week. (I will also anything else including films, TV, etc that take my fancy).

Currently Reading

READING 2012

4. Salt - Adam Roberts (SF 1)
3. Findings - Kathleen Jamie (Scottish 1, Non-fiction 1)
2. The Accidental Tourist - Ann Tyler
1. Swamp Thing, Vol. 1: Saga of the Swamp Thing - Alan Moore (graphic novel)

HOLDING PEN

The Hobbit (Cameo, 05/01/2013, 1330)

There I was, a couple of days into 2013 and with a free cinema that needed to be used ASAP. The choice was simple - either Life of Pi or The Hobbit. Checking the timetable I decided to re-visit Middle-Earth.

I should now make a confession. Despite being a big consumer of fantasy (and SF) when younger I never really warmed to Lord of the Rings, nor do I believe the films deserve the epithet 'great' unless it is followed by 'technical achievement'.

The film follows the book quite closely but writ large, hence it being the first of a trilogy. It takes Jackson forty minutes to get onto the quest but once the protagnists are on the move so is the director, with a cascade of action. The problem with this is that it can get a little wearying and it isn't helped by, surprisingly, some of the CGI looking like CGI, more computer game than feature film. There were moments when the party are escaping trolls that I was reminded of the Star Wars quip asking how there was an empire in the first place as the stormtroopers couldn't hit a barn door. Despite being out-numbered hundreds to one all the adventurers escape unharmed. You wonder why evil even bothers in Middle-Earth, good vanquishes it with such ease that it hardly seems worth the effort.
However, Jackson does appear to be more comfortable with this than he does with the acting scenes which often spill over into mawkishness (although fortunately nothing quite as cringe-worthy as the last hour in The Return of the King). A strong British cast do their best with the material and it is good to see that a new pension plan opened so soon after the Harry Potter one closed.

And yet, despite these criticisms, I was occasionally transported back in time, to when I loved the thrills and spills of classic fantasy. This is Jackson's true achievement across all the films, these small precious moments when he is able to make you feel the wonder of being a child again.

It's pointless making a recommendation or not regarding a film like this - it is a classic case of those who like this sort of thing will like it and those who don't won't.
Will I go and see the next one? If I have another free ticket I may but I can't see myself rushing out to part two. (That's not to say I won't watch at some point later in some form).

Ah, now I saw the movie sitting next to a nine-year-old boy who had read the book. It was a magical experience for him, like Star Wars a generation ago.

Moominland Tales: The Live of Tove Jansson (BBC, 26/12/2012, 2100)

I didn't know much about Tove Jansson apart from the Moomins and that her adult books are constantly being recommended. (My partner has even left a copy of The Summer Book on my beside table in the hope I will read it). What made me watch this was that I had found Moominland a faintly disturbing place and was intrigued to know more about why.

Tove Jansson was born into an artistic family, her mother drew and her father was a sculptor, and as a little girl she used to sit beside her mother drawing, later dreaming of becoming a famous artist. (She was a published illustrator by her early teens, although later found formal study confining). Money was a little tight but the family still managed to summer in the country. Her father who seems to have suffered from mental illness later left the family.

When war came Finland first sided with the Germans against the Russians then changed to support the Russians against the Germans. It was during the war that Jansson finally found her own voice, and came to terms with her sexuality, producing satirical covers for the the magazine GARM and the first Moomin book in 1945. Jansson stated that in the depression of was she wanted to create something innocent and good.

Jansson had been drawing these funny creatures for years before they officially became Moomins, the characters of which she appears to have based on her family. While the first book was largely ignored the next two started to gather attention. The second book, Comet in Moominland deals with the potential destruction of the Moomins, a threat that occurs more than once in the sequence. Allied to potential threats there is a melancholia that runs through the series, often in response to something in Jansson's own life. Nothing signifies this more than the last book, November in Moominland. written in the same year as her mother's death. In this work there are no Moomins, only characters awaiting their, hoping they will, return.

What I didn't know was that Jansson had written a comic strip between 1954 and 1960 for The Daily Express that became a massive success, eventually appearing all round the world. Feeling the pressure of producing the strip Jansson eventually handed it over to her brother who kept in going for another 15 years.

Aged 58 and with the Moomins behind Jansson successfully made a transition to adult fiction, publishing a dozen or so novels and short story collections over the next 20 years.

During this time Jansson had finally found her life partner (it should be noted that homosexuality was crime in Finland until 1971) and gained a reputation as a recluse because the two of them lived part of the year on an isolated island. When this became impracticable due to age the pair decided to travel the world, disproving the hermitic image.

This was an affectionate and informative portrait of a very talented woman. Maybe it is time I pick that book up.



Note - this documentary is being repeated very early on Wednesday 9/1/13. That should mean it is available on iPlayer for the next week for those you can access it.

>5 RidgewayGirl: - I know what you mean, at the viewing I was at there was a young boy a couple of seats who spent the last two hours of the film sitting forward enraptured. (And because I was one of those who sat gob-smacked at Star Wars all those years ago).

ah the Moomins. I am so glad you eventually said in your review that they were a comic strip in the Daily Express as I kept wracking my brain trying to think why the name was so familiar.

>6 Jargoneer:, such a great programme. I came away from it wishing that Tove and her partner were my friends - I think everything in life would be fine with them around. I also now want to live on a small Finnish island.

Nice overview of Tove Jansson. I enjoyed it.

I'll be interested to see what you choose to read in SF. I have gotten almost completely away from comtemporary SF, except for some Paul McAuley, Adam Roberts (Salt was my first!) and China Miéville. I have read quite a few dystopias written by authors not known to be genre writers (Atwood, Gee, Crace, McCarthy...etc).

>10 avaland: - I've had a look at the 101 Best SF Novels and I am slightly dubious about the selection. It looks like they have tried to be completely inclusive so no-one gets more than one book and it has everyone's favourite writers included. (Salt is included which I am reading at present). Some of the selections are a little bizarre for that reason - much as I like J. G. Ballard I'm not convinced that Super-Cannes should be there; quite a few mainstream writers are on it - Atwood, Roth, Chabon, McCarthy, etc. I should be able to eek out 10 though.

>11 Jargoneer: Interesting. It always depends on the editors and the era they choose their picks, doesn't it?. Between dukedom & I, we've probably read all of Adam Roberts, but I think we have divided his work up between us, never reading the same book. I suspect after he reads Salt, he will still deem Yellow Blue Tibia as his favorite and probably Roberts' best).

Perlustration?

Happy to catch your first 2013 entries. Entertaining response to The Hobit. I don't need a free ticket, I need a free babysitter. And very interesting about Tove Jansson.

>13 dchaikin: - perlustration: the act of viewing all over. (I have one of these Forgotten English calendars at work and it comes from there, as does my username from a earlier one).

Thanks! wiktionary tells me it's from per- + lustro (“wander through”). A terrific word for this kind of thread.

For various reasons this thread has died the death but following instructions gleaned from books like Frankenstein I have the formula to resurrect it.

The Accidental Tourist - Anne Tyler (novel, 1985)
Winner of the National Book Critics Circle Award & Pulitzer Prize nominee.

When driving home from the beach Sarah Leary tells her husband, Macon, that she wants to separate, that she finds it impossible to understand his reaction to their son's, Ethan, murder.

“...You’re not holding steady; you’re ossified. You’re encased. You’re like something in a capsule. You’re a dried-up kernel of a man that nothing real penetrates. Oh, Macon, it’s not by chance you write those silly books telling people how to take trips without a jolt. That traveling armchair isn’t just your logo; it’s you.He began to think that who you are when you’re with somebody may matter more than whether you love her.

Macon is a completely self-contained man, unwilling or unable to share his feelings, living his life through systems. He believes,

There’s a trick to everything; that’s how you get through life.

Alone, Macon's life spirals out of control as he becomes more and more obsessed by creating systems to make his life easier. The end result of all this is an accident that leaves him with a broken leg and back at the family home with his unmarried sister, Rose, and divorced brothers, Charles and Porter. With his equally dysfunctional siblings Macon finds his ideal environment, one that keeps the outside world at a distance. There is only problem - Edward, Ethan's dog, whose behaviour is getting more and more out of hand, aggressive to the point of biting.
It is through Edward that Macon meets Muriel Pritchett, a gawky off-beat young woman. Initially he leaves Edward for boarding at the place she works, following which she contacts him a number of times but he is more irritated than charmed, Following suggestions that Edward has to go, or worse, Macon hires Muriel to train Edward. As the training progresses so does their friendship until they start a relationship. Of course, the course of the relationship doesn't run smooth - there is the class issue (why would you go out with a girl like that, Macon?); the age issue (20 years and counting); Muriel's over-protected son, Alexander; and Sarah still to consider. When Macon finds himself in Paris with both Sarah and Muriel it is time for him to make a real decision.

There is a lot to like about this novel. Tyler's prose is clear and precise, the characters are well-drawn - they are not warm and loveable, they are often frustrating and difficult - and there is a lot of humour in the book. The second chapter wherein Macon adjusts to the single life is a classic example with Macon dealing with his situation, and not dealing with his emotions, by becoming more and more manic in implementing systems to make his life 'easier'. While the reader feels sympathy for Macon they are also frustrated by him and can't help laughing at his 'solutions'.
The Leary family could have stepped out of a Capra or Sturges film, characters who are convinced by their own normalcy but who from the outside are decidedly odd. But this oddity can be appealing, Macon's relationship with Muriel is mirrored by his publisher Julian's relationship with Rose - as Macon is breaking away Julian is being dragged into the orbit of the family.
The Capra/Sturges reference is also appropriate in other ways for at it's heart this novel is a romantic comedy. As in the general model for genre, one stuffy character is drawn out by a quirky character, often against their will initially, and usually at expense to their current beliefs. The fact that Macon only moves slightly and that Muriel is partly a gold-digger drags the romantic comedy back to ground, there is no happy ever after here, only real relationships that need to be worked at. At one point Macon comes to the conclusion -

He began to think that who you are when you’re with somebody may matter more than whether you love her.

This is romance replaced by the real.

I'm not sure this is a great novel, part of me agrees with Lynne Truss when she said about Tyler's work -

'When I put down each book, I say aloud, "That's magnificent. That ought to win the Pulitzer Prize." But inside I scream, "Damn you whoever you are. How dare you make me feel so shallow?"'

The other part asks if I only think that way because it is 'merely domestic fiction' (I'm not convinced that is the case, I'm of the opinion that Marilynne Robinson is one of the, if not the, best living American writer). It is interesting though how Tyler can be dismissed as 'good Joanna Trollope' but no-one would dismiss Cormac McCarthy as 'good Louis L'amour'.

In the end it probably doesn't matter, even if this isn't a great novel it's still better than most novels out there. Recommended.

The Shadow Over Innsmouth by H.P. Lovecraft
(BBC - read by Richard Coyle)

Occasionally you just need a break from the real-life horror of Today at Westminster: there is only so much austerity, half-baked policies and public school boys trying hard to be 'street' that you can take. So instead of letting the BBC take me to the heart of British politics I let them take me on a trip to darkness of New England.

The Shadow Over Innsmouth was originally written in 1931 but didn't appear in print until 1936. Unusually it didn't appear in a magazine but in a short-run book (the only one published in his lifetime). Lovecraft wasn't a fan of his own story, claiming it was full of defects, but August Derleth submitted it to Weird Tales, where it was rejected for being too difficult to place - too long for one issue and not easy to split in two. The version produced by the BBC is slightly abridged but follows the original structure, with a separate 30 minute episode for each of the five chapters. Richard Coyle is a excellent reader(although his old-timer sounds like suspiciously like he has escaped from a Hanna-Barbera cartoon) and the effects, music, etc are first-rate.

The story itself is the first person narrative of a unnamed young man (Lovecraft's notes name him as Robert Olmstead) who is on a tour of New England seeking genealogical information. It starts however with the narrator reminding the reader of the government investigation into, and raids on, the ancient Massachusetts seaport of Innsmouth in the winter of 1927-28, and the subsequent cover-up. Now some time has passed the narrator feels he can reveal what the truth about Innsmouth.

Initially the narrator wants to travel directly between Newburyport and Arkham but as he always seeking the cheapest route he is informed that he can travel for less via Innsmouth. Fascinated by the dislike of the place by the Newburyport locals and the strange tales that he is told about he decides to take the bus and see for himself.

It is then he first comes face-to-face with someone with the Innsmouth-look:

When the driver came out of the store I looked at him more carefully and tried to determine the source of my evil impression. He was a thin, stoop-shouldered man not much under six feet tall, dressed in shabby blue civilian clothes and wearing a frayed golf cap. His age was perhaps thirty-five, but the odd, deep creases in the sides of his neck made him seem older when one did not study his dull, expressionless face. He had a narrow head, bulging, watery-blue eyes that seemed never to wink, a flat nose, a receding forehead and chin, and singularly undeveloped ears. His long thick lip and coarse-pored, greyish cheeks seemed almost beardless except for some sparse yellow hairs that straggled and curled in irregular patches; and in places the surface seemed queerly irregular, as if peeling from some cutaneous disease. His hands were large and heavily veined, and had a very unusual greyish-blue tinge. The fingers were strikingly short in proportion to the rest of the structure, and seemed to have a tendency to curl closely into the huge palm. As he walked toward the bus I observed his peculiarly shambling gait and saw that his feet were inordinately immense. The more I studied them the more I wondered how he could buy any shoes to fit them.

By this time the reader has figured out exactly what is going on in his strange metropolis but the narrator is slightly slower on the uptake so he continues on his journey.

Once in Innsmouth the narrator is informed that the man to talk to is the town drunk, Zadok Allen; whom he soon tracks down and plies with whiskey to loosen his tongue. The story he is told mirrors the one he heard in Newburyport, of a prosperous port brought down by bad luck and economic disasters but Allen adds the story of Obed Marsh who trading in the Indies found a deserted island where the natives worshipped "frog-fish" people. This has brought them wealth but at a cost - they must breed with these sea creatures. Eventually this tribe is completely exterminated by enemies, at which point Marsh has an idea.

Seen while talking to Allen the narrator soon finds that he is trapped in this God forsaken town and the locals have plans for him. The rest of story details his escape from Innsmouth and in the obligatory twist ending the hideous truth about his own lineage.

Lovecraft's plot is as rickety as the town of Innsmouth itself and the prose is 'atmospheric' to a Spinal Tap level of 11. When he finds the 'right' word Lovecraft really goes for it - his use of the word 'furtive' is truly impressive, if I never hear it used again I will still have heard enough for a lifetime. With a liberal use of adjectives, often clunky unusual word choices and repetition Lovecraft attempts to bludgeon his readers into submission. Sometimes the outcome is laughable, sometimes long-winded (by the fourth chapter my partner was cheering on the fish people to kill the narrator asap), but just occasionally it works.

This can be best seen in the town of Innsmouth itself:

It was a town of wide extent and dense construction, yet one with a portentous dearth of visible life. From the tangle of chimney-pots scarcely a wisp of smoke came, and the three tall steeples loomed stark and unpainted against the seaward horizon. One of them was crumbling down at the top, and in that and another there were only black gaping holes where clock-dials should have been. The vast huddle of sagging gambrel roofs and peaked gables conveyed with offensive clearness the idea of wormy decay, and as we approached along the now descending road I could see that many roofs had wholly caved in. There were some large square Georgian houses, too, with hipped roofs, cupolas, and railed "widow's walks." These were mostly well back from the water, and one or two seemed to be in moderately sound condition. Stretching inland from among them I saw the rusted, grass-grown line of the abandoned railway, with leaning telegraph-poles now devoid of wires, and the half-obscured lines of the old carriage roads to Rowley and Ipswich.

Recommending Lovecraft is like recommending Marmite - most people won't talk to again while a small majority will thank you profusely. This well-produced reading is a good introduction to him but should you want to try the undiluted prose, don't say I sent you, you do so at your own peril.

Love's Bonfire by Tom Paulin

I like Tom Paulin, I have ever since I first saw on BBC being the crabby argumentive one on The Late Show sofa. I like his writing on writing, less keen on some of his political stuff, and think The Invasion Handbook is excellent. All this is a preamble to saying that I just couldn't get on with this slim volume. I know the reviews have all praised it highly. I understand that this is Paulin being more open, in some poems looking back on the relationship with his wife, asking if the cultural and political compromised the personal, etc.

I'm not going to not recommend this but personally I found it a little too cold to enjoy my visit.

Putting the Pan On

Daithe was a headbanger
and a sort of poet
– an Ulster protestant a Unionist
so a rare kind of bird.

He lived in a soggy cottage
with Concepta in Wiltshire
(she wasn't his wife
– he'd left her years back).

We spent a night with them
drinking talking and laughing
'Here I am' said Daithe
'banging about like a bee in a tin

trying to get the pan on.'
about 10 that night
Daithe finally got the pan on
– he dropped a lump of cod

into the lardy frying pan
but didn't know that he should've
dusted it with flour
or coated it in egg and breadcrumbs.

We ate the sad pallid cod
and drank more red wine
then left in the morning
laughing all the way

through the deep green Wye Valley
at Daithe and Concepta
a happy couple
who would quarrel and make up

ten times a day.
Then last thing in our hotel
I remember you smiling as you peeled
silver foil from a bar of black chocolate

then pressing a square on my tongue
before we made love still laughing
at Daithe the bee in the tin
always about to put the pan on.

Electric Eden: Unearthing Britain's Visionary Music by Rob Young

Sprawling (almost 550 pages with another 100 of album lists, etc) look at British (mainly English) folk-music in the 20th century.

>17 Jargoneer: It was nice to revisit The Accidental Tourist through your review, which I liked very much. I had a Tyler jag in the late 80s, early 90s - read them all up through Breathing Lessons, then haven't been able to read one since.

Interesting about Lovecraft. I recently toyed with purchasing a collection of his or M R James's stories. While I ended up with neither, they both keep hovering around in the back of my mind....

Nice resurrection

It's ALIVE! XD

Nice review of the Tyler book. I've read quite a few of her books and have never felt let down.

I liked The Accidental Tourist too. I saw the movie in the 80's with William Hurt, Kathleen Turner, and Geena Davis and recall enjoying it as well.

Nice review of The Accidental Tourist, Jargoneer.

Recommending Lovecraft is like recommending Marmite What a pairing! The two will be forever linked in my mind. Marmite was always in the cupboard at home and I never once asked for it. Perhaps I'd have better luck with Lovecraft!

It's been a long time since I read The Accidental Tourist, but I remember the idea of a person like Macon absolutely terrified me. You've picked just the right excerpt for all that was so alarming about him. Every time I plan a trip, I think about him. Probably a somewhat over the top reaction, but there it is/was.

So nice to read your posts again, welcome back from wherever. I haven't read The Accidental Tourist, or seen the movie, but really enjoyed your review that makes me want to read this book and others by Anne Taylor. Lovecraft works with Marmite for me...haven't touched either. With both I'm curious but very hestitant.

>38 mkboylan: Be careful what you wish for...

Year's Best SF 1 – David Hartwell

The first instalment of the long-running anthology. Hartwell makes the case for his anthology clearly -

Here is the problem. Other books have so blurred the boundaries between science fiction and everything else that it is possible for an observer to conclude that SF is dead or dying out. This book declares that science fiction is still alive; is fertile and varied in its excellences. Most important, SF has a separate and distinct identity within fairly clear boundaries exemplified by the contents of this book.

Opening the collection is Think Like A Dinosaur by James Patrick Kelly. Hartwell reasons -

This story, from Asimov's SF, is in the classic hard SF mode and is in fact in dialogue with the touchstone of hard SF reading, Tom Godwin's controversial “The Cold Equations.” I have chosen to place it first to set the tone for this volume. For some readers this will be the best story of the year.

A number of people did agreed with that statement, as it was won the 1995 Hugo for Best Novelette.
The narrator, Michael, has gone to Tuulen Station to study the dinosuars, not the ones from Earth but intelligent advanced beings. One of his duties on the station is to assist in the transfer of humans to the planet Gend, which is done through matter replication. A person is placed in a tube on the station and then they are rebuilt on Gend. As well as reassuring the explorer that everything is going to be OK Michael has to press the button that destroys the original host, which should be a mere husk. Howeer, with Kamala Shastri something goes wrong, she is transferred successfully but also remains on the space station. The Dinos who are of the opinion that humans are too soft and sentimental to be allowed in space want the original destroyed,, and they want Michael to do it.
I can see why this story won the Hugo, it has a classic dilemma and it has dinosuars. My problem with it is that the dilemma is less classic than cliché and the dinosaurs make no sense. It's less a good story than a slick professional one.(3/5)

Patricia A.McKillip - Wonders of the Invisible World
Hartwell -

This story is a hip, dark vision of the future and the past, tightly plotted, ironic, rich, and deep.

This story is in trouble from its first line - I am the angel sent to Cotton Mather. The narrator isn't an angel, of course, but a time traveller hired to research the imagination. (The title of the story is taken from a Mather book in which he discusses spiritual beings and also possibilities for the world to come). The frustration for the narrator is that she cannot break out of character and tell Mather he was/is wrong. The epiphany she experiences back in her own time is the standard time travel paradox regardiing change leaving the reader less than amazed. (2/5)

Robert Silverberg - Hot Times in Magma City

Robert Silverberg has been a commanding figure in the SF field for four decades. He is one of the masters of science fiction in all its varieties and is more popular now than ever. And even today, after many awards and hundreds of books, he is still evolving as a writer. From this year's stories, I chose one which represents Silverberg at the height of his talent: this is essentially a compressed novel, conforming to the limitations of classical drama.

Cal Mattison is a supervisor at Silver Lake Citizens Service House, a place where junkies and alcoholics (Mattison having been one of the former) are set to dry out, while also performing community service. The difference being that this community service is not cleaning trash from the side of highways but fighting lava outbreaks in the Los Angeles Basin, the whole area now suffering from volcanic activity. This may seem far-fetched but lava control has been practiced in Iceland for decades now, a fact acknowledged by Silverberg. The basic technique is to use water to cool the advancing the lava effectively creating a barrier which stops the molten stream, then using more water to cool to seal the lava in. (Note – this only works with small and/or slow moving outbreaks. Do not try at home with a hose).
While fighting the magma creates dramatic tension the real meat of the story is how a mismatched bunch of damaged individuals have to work together while all trying to get through one day at a time. There is nothing remarkable here but Silverberg has always possessed the basic skills to deliver a superior product. (3.5/5)

Stephen Baxter - Gossamer

Stephen Baxter writes in the hard science mode of Hal Clement and Robert L. Forward. This kind of SF is particularly valued by hard SF readers because it is comparatively scarce and requires intense effort by the writer to be accurate to known science. It produces innovative imagery that is peculiar to hard SF; that sparks that good old wow of wonderment.

Lvov and Cobh are returning to Earth from a deep-space mission when the wormhole they are in starts buckling, spewing them out into a collision with Pluto. That is a not the problem – although it would take over twenty days to get there the two shipwreck victims have plenty of supplies. The problem arises when Lvov starts exploring Pluto and finds flakes of glass, which she soon realises are an arachnid life form (drawing on resources on both Pluto and Charon, the only two places in the solar system you could build a web between) .As it has been decided that humans will not get involved in places where it would mean the destruction of an ecology the rescue ship would not come for them. Now they have to get off the planet under their own steam.
In a piece like this Baxter puts the science back into SF, it does require the reader to follow the science and yet at it's heart this is also a tale about the wonders of the universe. The idea of a spider's web between two planetary bodies is mad but feasible; it is also an idea that is beautiful and mysterious, as close as we will get to the divine in the absence of God. Naturally a lot of readers will be put off by the science; it is, after all, easier to accept vampires and elves. This is a good classic SF story. (3.5/5)

Gregory Benford - A Worm in the Well

He is the finest writer of hard SF from the generation after Larry Niven, and writes, primarily in the tradition of Arthur C. Clarke, of immense, fertile, awesome astronomical vistas and technological marvels, but with a depth and richness of characterization not achieved by many other SF writers.

Clare is in debt and the only way she can make enough money to save he ship the Silver Metal Lugger is to fly to the edge of the Sun's halo and drag a capture a wormhole. Naturally, Clare's ship isn't the most up-to-date for this job but she's got guts and nouse.
In some ways this isn't too far away from Baxter's tale – create a problem, solve a problem. The difference is that this tale isn't that engaging, we have seen the premise so often - the under-spec spaceship with the brilliant but flawed pilot undertaking a mission that will almost certainly end in failure or death. Except that we know it won't, against all the odds they will triumph. What is less likely is that the writer will stop the reader being bored. He didn't. (2/5)

Years Best SF 1 - David Hartwell (part 2)

William Browning Spencer - Downloading Midnight

Spencer is a recent emigrant into the SF community after years spent
successfully scaling the walls of literary fiction....“Downloading Midnight” is, to the best of my knowledge, one of his first SF stories and bodes well for his future in the field. It is cyberpunk in the tradition of George Alec Effinger's When Gravity Fails as much as of William
Gibson's Neuromancer.

This is one of those stories, once so popular, where the hero has to go into a virtual world to solve a crime. In this case, Captain Armageddon, the star of the online sex show, American Midnight has 'fragmented and...causing disturbances up and down the Highway'. Nothing happens here that we haven't seen before – when the hero needs help there's a geek at hand; the root of the problem exists in the real world for as we are constantly told you can't escape reality by going virtual or vice versa, for that matter; and, the virtual world is a lot less controllable than it should be. Perhaps when this was written it seemed fresher although I doubt it, this was still a decade after Neuromancer - cheesy., clichéd, and dated – in this virtual world everybody is still using CDs. (2/5)

Joe Haldeman - For White Hill

Joe Haldeman is one of the great living science fiction writers, known worldwide for his hard SF adventure stories particularly. ...His short fiction ranges from humor to horror, but most often has a darkness deep within it. Such is “For White Hill”: a romance set against the staggering background of the approaching doom of Earth.

The narrator is one of a group of artists invited to Earth to participate in competition celebrating the end of the four hundred year Last War or Extermination. Earth was contaminated by nanophages that ran amok destroying almost everything before they were stopped. The result is that Earth is a desert with the remaining population living in protective environments. The story is a romance between the narrator and White Hill, another of the artists, which encompasses a travelogue of the blasted planet; the possibilities of future art, i.e., the narrator works in a massive scale using rock; and an exploration of the cultural difference of the 'new' off-world humans. Inevitably it is revealed that the war isn't truly over and the Earth is doomed.
I enjoyed this tale much more than I thought I would as it clunks and creaks a little before hitting its stride. (I'm still not keen on the title though). Haldeman is able to pull off the difficult trick of making everything seem (just about) feasible while making the central relationship interesting enough not to be dwarfed by the furniture. My favourite in the collection. (4/5)

William Barton - In Saturn Time

William Barton has been, mostly without fanfare, developing into a considerable writer in the SF field over the past decade....“In Saturn Time” is an alternate history story about science and space travel, set in part in the future, a harder trick than it might seem. It uses the old “looking backward” technique to good effect and yields a memorable science fiction story.

Starting from Apollo 21's 1974 moon mission we are raced through an alternative space program to the launch of the 2001 Discovery mission to Jupiter. This is the space program we all wanted to it be so there is a sense of nostalgia but while enjoyable this doesn't really hang together as a story, reading more like the outline of a longer more satisfying work. (3/5)

Ursula K. Le Guin – Coming of Age in Karhide

In this story, a pleasant and powerful tale about sex, Le Guin returns to the setting of
The Left Hand of Darkness, the planet Winter..

Looking back from old age Sov Thade Tage em Ereb remembers her childhood and coming into kemmer for the first time. The inhabitants of Winter are neuter most of the time but they have a monthly cycle when they can become either male or female. During this period they go to the kemmer-house where they have sex.
In much the same way that Tehanu revisited Earthsea to re-align gender bias in this story Le Guin revisits Winter to change the perception of kemmer. In The Left Hand of Darkness our view of kemmer is one of confusion and difficulty but here it is seen as liberating and joyful. Le Guin shows us the anxieties of a child facing this change and how it affects her relationships with those around her while also showing the reader the positive aspects of such a society, i.e., how it creates a more equitable society. This may be Le Guin coasting but Le Guin coasting is better than most other writers trying and who cares if there is a whiff on hippy-dom about it. (4/5)

Roger Zelazny - The Three Descents of Jeremy Baker

Roger Zelazny wasone of the startling new talents from the New Wave of the 1960s....Throughout his career, he would occasionally produce major SF stories, winning many awards and proving, once again, that although he often chose to write slick commercial entertainments, he was always capable of meeting a difficult aesthetic challenge. This story is clever in the cat's cradle way that characterizes the best of Zelazny.

Jeremy Baker is the only survivor when the spaceship he is on is ripped apart by the tidal forces of a wormhole. Floating in space he is all alone apart from a flickering light which turns out to be a fleep, a representative of a highly advanced race who have left materiality beyond. The fleep are doing experiments with wormholes, black holes, gravity, time and anything else that sounds big and important. They decide to help Jeremy by creating a time loop but stability is an issue.
For some reason this story reminded me of Star Trek and the way they would regularly meet god-like beings in story lines that seemed designed to prove Arthur C. Clarke's old adage regarding science and magic. True, this is much less po-faced than Star Trek, light-hearted rather than portentous, and the beings don't just want to recreate early human history in a bid to save money on set and costume design. The story itself is decent but feather-light, a far far cry from Zelazny's fantastic early stories like A Rose for Ecclesiates and The Doors of His Face, the Lamps of His Mouth. (2.5/5)

Years best SF 1 comes to us from 1996 and I see that there are plenty of famous names amongst the authors. Enjoyed your romp through the stories.

I am the angel sent to Cotton Mather perhaps she was referring to the rock group, but probably not.

>32 baswood: - it is possible, the classic Kon-Tiki was released the following year (1997) and it does sound like they had divine intervention.

Year's Best SF 1 - David Hartwell (Part 3: The Finale)

Nancy Kress - Evolution

Nancy Kress is one of the leading SF writers to become prominent in the last decade...In her hard SF mode she is most often interested in the biological sciences and their moral and social impact on individual human lives. A number of her stories are about medicine and medical practice, for instance, “Evolution,”

Set in a future where bacteria has become resistant to most anti-biotics, with society living in a state of terror that the few remaining ones will soon also be useless, leaving mankind at the mercy of disease again. (Arguably this scenario seems even more likely now than it did in 1994/5). Terrorists bomb clinics and murder medical staff that treat patients with the remaining vaccines, in hope that they remain active longer and will be available to save their family members. In this world, Elizabeth has a son who may be mixed up with terrorists (who could be the next door neighbours), and in order to save him she will have to confront his father, who left her pregnant and bare-foot. When she finds him she learns the truth about the situation (he is a leading medical research doctor) and possible hope about the future.
This is a decent premise brought down by poor structure – the story is just over-reliant on dialogue to convey information. It also suffers from that that occasional failing of American SF, of undercutting a frightening future with an overdose of hope. (It should be noted that this optimism can also be a strength – it depends where and when it is deployed). I couldn't help thinking what a tougher, more intellectual writer like Tiptree would have made of this scenario. (2.5/5)

Robert Sheckley - The Day the Aliens Came

Robert Sheckley's reputation is based primarily on the quality of his quirky, subversive, satirical short fiction, a body of work admired by everyone from Kingsley Amis and J.
G. Ballard to Roger Zelazny, with whom he has collaborated. He is on par with Philip K. Dick and Kurt Vonnegut as an ironic investigator of questions of identity and of the nature of reality.

The narrator is a writer who one day gets a visit from a man with a face that '
looked as though it had been melted in an oven and then hastily frozen.' Naturally he isn't a man but an alien story-buyer. He returns home to find other aliens have started squatting, in the nicest possible way, in his flat. (While not a nuisance they are useless as house-sitters, allowing burglars to help themselves while they just sit watching). The narrator and his alien wife, Rimb, decide to get involved with more alien races through melding, etc.
This story doesn't add up to a hill of beans, possibly not even a tin of beans, but Sheckley's surreal humour is very deft. Humour in SF is a strange beast; lots of writers attempt it but it so often predictable and lumpen. That's why Sheckley is so appreciated, albeit by a small audience; in a fairer world he would have Douglas Adams' audience. (3.5/5)

Joan Slonczewski - Microbe

This is a rare short story by one of the finest younger SF writers....Like the Baxter story, it harks back to the fiction of Hal Clement and, in this case, James Blish of “Surface Tension,” inventing and solving a clever SF problem posed by a precisely imagined world of
wonders.

Andra has been sent to a new planet to investigate. To help her she has Skyhook, a senient shuttle craft, and Pelt, 'a suit of nanoplast, containing billions of microscopic computers, designed to filter out all the local toxins'. After testing the environment Andra ventures and observes a strange new life form that look like giant wheels – when she tries to help a small one she is squirted with a substance that starts to breakdown Pelt. Can Andra, Skyhook, and Pelt figure out the basis of life on this planet quickly enough to save the latter?
This is another story you have work at, especially when it becomes a discussion on the possibilities about the construction of a helix and DNA codes. Fundamentally though is a fairly standard SF premise of humans meeting a planet that isn't so keen on meeting them. Decent but pioneering. (3/5)

Gene Wolfe - The Ziggurat

Gene Wolfe
is in our time producing the finest continuing body of short fiction in the SF field since Theodore Sturgeon. Like Sturgeon, Wolfe is an aesthetic maverick, whose stories are sometimes fantasy, sometimes horror, sometimes hard SF, sometimes fine contemporary realism (neat, or with magic).

Emery Bainbridge is in his isolated cabin in the woods, the snow falling heavily threatening to cut him, waiting for his estranged wife to bring the children (one son, his; two daughters; hers) and the divorce papers. He thinks he sees a boy in the woods, later when he investigates he sees a few boys robbing his cabin, taking his rifle. His family arrive, tragedy ensues, the boys are revealed not to be boys but look like small women although they may be something else completely different, while Bainbridge decides to take matters into his own hands.
If there's one thing that I've learned from B-movies it is 'never to the woods in America' – forget teddy bears having a picnic they are full of demons, cannibals, homicidal rednecks, mutants (humans and animals), aliens who want to probe you, and possibly killer fridges. Wolfe is too good a writer to just go for the jugular so what we instead is essentially a tale of tragic consequences for both human and alien built on lack of communication and misunderstanding. However, despite Wolfe's talent I just couldn't warm to this tale, finding it a little sour. (3/5)

hmmm the kind of reviews that enlist new SF fans!

Years Best SF 1 - David Hartwell (summary)

This was a completely random read based on my inability to concentrate on longer works. It would havc made more sense to read a more recent anthology but if watching The Wizard of Oz has taught me something other than watch the skies for flying monkeys it is to start at the beginning. So I travelled back to the future and found that 1995 wasn't a bad year for SF, not a great year as Hartwell states but then he choose so he probably would say that. (To truly get an overview I probably should read the equivalent Gardner Dozois volume). There was a decent mixture of big names and newcomers (in 2013 a few of the latter would now be listed among the former), and of form (short story to novella). Anthologies are always are mixed bag, with only the editor probably a supporter of all the stories, and so it is here. There is nothing completely terrible although the McKillip and Benford are poor while the Browning is poor and dated. The majority of the pieces are solid middle-ground works, worth reading without having that special spark, while a very few are able to reach parts that the others can't. (I noticed the two pieces I gave 4/5 to are also in Dozois' anthology for the year, the only other crossover being the award-winning Kelly).
An anthology like this is a good way to explore different aspects of the genre quickly and easily, especially since the modern SF novel seems to suffer from gigantism; and, on many levels, short fiction is the soul and lifeblood of SF.

Electric Eden: Unearthing Britain's Visionary Music by Rob Young (part 1)

The concept of British music was a primordial soup waiting for an electrical spark. Its twentieth-century reanimation flows directly from this concentration of radical politics, speculative utopianism and rural conservationism, all supported by a coterie of powerful national figures who shared, in Alfred Tennyson’s words, ‘the passion of the past’

Rob Young's sprawling tome begins with detailing Vashti Bunyan then and now; how she and her decided to travel through the UK, with the eventual destination of a new commune created by Donovan, only to find on arrival that the circus had moved on. It did however lead to Bunyon recording an album, Just Another Diamond Day, which was ignored on release but subsequently became a much sought after record that inspired many later twee folk artists. It also is emblematic of one of the Young's key points -

But the land mass of the British Isles is not large enough to have generated a culture of the open road.Leaving aside such one-off terrace chants as Tom Robinson’s ‘2–4–6–8 Motorway’, the culture of British travel is more commonly linked to the sense of a quest, a journey undertaken for purposes of knowledge or self-restoration. In that sense, the British road is a road to the interior, of the imagination rather than a physical coverage of distance.

Again and again throughout the book musicians return to the country looking, not for the open road and sense of freedom that is so often found in American music, but for a small place in the country where they can recapture the sense of belonging to the land and musical traditions.

SECTION 1: MUSIC FROM NEVERLAND
The term 'folk music' did not appear in the dictionary until 1889, until the Victorians started to take an interest it was just wasn't seen as being as any consequence. It was only with the Victorian obsession with the past and the associated mania of collecting and cataloguing that anyone paid any attention. Young doesn't spend much time on how the folk music revival fits into the wider cultural conversation but it should be seen in context with the increasing concept of a unique national identity (something that occurred throughout European with tragic consequences).

Unlike art music, rooted in individual consciousness, folk is a product of the group mind over an immeasurable time span. Songs have come to express the taste and consensus of a community: any personal traits or quirks have long since been washed smooth.

Folk music was English music and that was important to young composers looking for something fresh and feeding on local tradition. Composers such as Vaughan Williams, Arnold Bax and Gustav Holst were in the process of creating a new British music from forgotten indigenous forms (as well as folk music they also looked back to Tudor music). (Holst latterly through his intensive study of Indian culture be seen as a pioneer of world fusion music). At the heart of this movement was Cecil Sharp. Sharp wasn't alone, there were other pioneers like Francis Child, an American scholar whose 10 volume song collection is the bible of British folk song, but he was everywhere – collecting songs, writing articles and books, and perhaps most importantly meeting other musicians and passing his evangelical fervour onto them (Williams, Holst and Bax all seem to have influenced by him). Sharp is just one of those great Victorians who were a mess of contradictions – he wasn't interested in folk songs are part of the national character, for him 'folk songs existed in constant transformation, a living example of an art form in a perpetual state of renewal.'; it was a music of the 'common people', those who toil everyday to make their way; yet, he could be patronising to these 'common people' and regularly 'cleaned-up' songs to make them more fitting for today's society.
It is the lesser known characters that give this section its real interest, people like Rutland Boughton -'communist, vegetarian and suffragette sympathiser', a follower of Wagner who composed a monumental opera on the subject of King Arthur, and then started the Glastonbury Festival in 1914 in order to stage it. Another one of this operas, The Immortal Hour, still holds the record for the longest first run of any opera in history but by the late 1920s his career was effectively over after he outed himself as a communist.
Glastonbury wasn't the only link to the late 1960s flower power generation – the music critic Philip Heseltine who signed his own music as Peter Warlock would ride his motorbike naked though the streets of a peaceful Kent called Eynsford. He would also encourage his guests to go nude and he and his girlfriend would engage in threesomes with the local girls. Warlock's personality was such that he appears as a character in Lawrence's Women in Love, Huxley's Antic Hay and a Jean Rhys. He eventually burnt himself out and was reduced to selling Christmas Carols, at which point he gassed himself.
Musically the one I have tempted to find out more about is John Ireland, a man whose musical career was altered by Arthur Machen's The House of Souls - 'No one who had not read Machen’s fiction could properly understand his music, Ireland once declared.'. Young describes Ireland's music - 'Ireland’s bittersweet reflectiveness was ideally suited to smaller-scale chamber and solo piano music, much of it steeped in antiquarian melancholy, with watercolour tranquillity giving way to nocturnes where revelling spirits come out to create black magic.' I'm not convinced that this really means anything but it sounds interesting enough to investigate.

And then suddenly we are in the period after WWII and with legendary names in British folk such as Ewan MacColl, Alan Lomax and Peggy Seeger, MacColl is almost the epitome of a certain type of folk singer, with hand cupped over one ear, singing unaccompanied 'traditional' songs. For MacCall, like Sharp, folk music was the common man's music but his idea of the common man was different than before – this wasn't the music song in country taverns but music from the industrial heartlands. This was music of hardship and protest, and his own work reflected this, often being strongly political – the now standard Dirty Old Song was written about Salford, whose council was less than happy at the description. Now it plays as a pub knees-up.
MacColl joined with Seeger and producer Charles Parker to produce the rightly famous and highly influential Radio Ballads, starting with The Ballard of John Axton, which told the story of Axton, a railway driver, who, when his brakes failed, stayed in his cab to try to wrestle back control of the train, at the cost of his own life. The programme itself was a sound collage of music, recorded voices and sounds. This ground-breaking ballad was followed by another eight programmes and having heard some of them recently I can attest that these are not just historical curiosities but still retain much of their original power.
MacColl's greatest impact on British folk-music though was through his club the Ballads and Blues, later the Singer's Club, which gave a platform to singers from all parts of the UK as well as visiting American musicians. MacColl may have one said that 'all folk-songs are forgeries' but he had strict ideas on the forgeries he accepted – i.e., singers should sing local songs, he didn't want hear British singers adapt American songs and vice versa. However no matter how hard he tried it was too late, the genie was out of the bottle and guitars, electricity and rock'n'roll were already massing on the horizon.

This first part is effectively a primer for Young to launch into his chosen subject, the folk/folk-rock boom of the 1960s. It is clear relatively soon that Young doesn't really have any substance behind his idea of 'visionary music' – it starts off as music influenced by folk-music and then becomes folk-music itself. (Once Young has dashed a few pages off on Britten he never returns to classical music – is that because they stopped being 'visionary'). It could be argued quite easily that folk-music is not 'visionary' but rather 'visceral', often dealing with the unpleasant aspects of life. It also becomes clear that Young won't a topic in a few paragraphs when he so many pages at his disposal (and this section is the least flabby). That aside this is an interesting blast through some aspects of British music, especially the first three decades.

That is fascinating!

Electric Interlude 1

Anais Mitchell with Jefferson Hamer
(Pleasance Theatre, 8 March 2013)

It would not be overstatement to say that on basis of the impressive folk-opera Hadestown and the very different, sparse Young Man in America Anais Mitchell is the brightst star in American folk music. (For those who haven't heard these albums, they are worth searching out, especially the former). This concert was in support of her new album, Child Ballads, which is not a collection of songs for children but rather a selection from the folk ballads collected by Francis J. Child. In this endeavour she is accompanied by the singer-guitarist Jefferson Hamer.

The first question is why? The songs that Mitchell has chosen are relatively well-known, such as Tam Lin and Sir Patrick Spens, and the sparse versions don't bring anything new to the table. Hamer has a decent voice while Mitchell has a great one but they struggled to combine effectively on the first few tracks; it did get better as the night went on. Hamer was also a decent guitarist but there was never the feeling that he is capable of anything new and/or interesting. It was all so tasteful and strangely old-fashioned. It was not surprise that the highlights of the set were when they played American songs, not just Mitchell's but one by Hamer and a couple of Emmylou Harris & Gram Parson's Hearts on Fire, all of a sudden the music and the atmosphere seemed more alive.

I 'll still be watching out for what Mitchell does next and quite probably pay to see her again but not if she keeps going down this path.

ps...you can actually hear most of the concert HERE but the sound quality is pretty poor.

>30 Jargoneer:+ Interesting notes on Years Best SF1. Slonczewski, not so young any more. We see her at Readercon occasionally. I usually attend her kaffeklatche as I've read most of her books (and, well, sitting and chatting with a microbiologist is kind of interesting). Sometimes she does a science presentation at the convention which is always given to an overflow crowd. Admittedly, not all of her books are great, but the ideas in them are excellent (my favorite is still A Door into Ocean.

Dukedom just pulled his entire set of this series for the deaccessioned books box (er, boxes, that is) in favor of keeping the Dozois series.

Following your reading of Electric Eden The first part seems to have some interesting stuff.

Electric Eden: Unearthing Britain's Visionary Music by Rob Young (part 2)

SECTION 2: ELECTRIC EDEN
This section should be subtitled 'British Folk-Rock 1964-1978: The Book I Wanted to Write'. From the mid-1950s through to roughly 1964 there was no evidence that Rock and Pop would become the dominate force in music. If anything, through this period it was folk that was seen as the 'real music', music for adults – edgy, political and with a liberated lifestyle that threatened the establishment. By 1966 the folk dream had been swallowed up in the wake of Dylan going electric, and The Beatles and The Rolling Stones developing. A year earlier “....the essential record to spin on the Dansette was Folk Roots, New Routes.”
Thie LP was the product of Shirley Collins' remarkable voice and Davy Graham's innovative approach to the guitar. Graham fell under the influence of factors – modal jazz with its emphasis on musical modes than chord progressions and the oud, an eleven-string Arabian lute that is used for its drone-like quality. When Graham played with Arabic musicians he found that re-tuning his guitar to DADGAD, rather than the conventional EADGBE, made it easier for him to jam with them. This single development changed everything and before long acoustic guitarists everywhere adopted the same tuning. (Not that Graham helped his fellow musicians, he used to play gigs with his back to audience to protect his technique).
On a simplistic level Graham and Collins represent the two strands of English folk-music in the following years. Shirley Collins looked backward to earlier music, often only accompanied by her sister Dolly on the portative organ (a small pipe organ consisting of one row of flutes popular in the medieval period) – this music is simple, almost amateurish at times, but warm and beautiful. Equally rough and ready, and beautiful, is the music produced by the Watersons at the same time.

The Watersons’ particular talent was the innate ability of each member to jump around, improvising the harmonies, one singer handing the harmony to the next and dropping down or springing up to catch the next roll of the song. The voices might converge on a unison line, then suddenly split apart into a myriad of colours as if refracted through some sonic lens. Lal Waterson once claimed that the secret of their sonic friction consisted in having two voices singing and two making ‘noises’ – herself and brother Mike creating a screech element. Sometimes no single Waterson would follow the central melody all the way through; instead, it was tossed from voice to voice, touched on by each of the quartet at some point on their own respective melodic paths through the song.

I recommend searching out the 4CD set Mighty River of Sound which not only introduces this period but also becomes a potted history of some aspects of folk-music over 40 years. (As a family they include Martin and Eliza Carthy as well).
Graham's direct influence was over the guitarists that followed so quickly behind him – Bert Jansch and John Renbourn, who as well as producing fine solo work, created the template for future folk-rock bands when they formed Pentangle. Jansch had left Scotland to pursue his career but his old musical partner, Robin Williamson, was not to left in the shade, forming the equally successful Incredible String Band.
(Williamson is quoted as saying he had discovered 'an existing local tradition going on that was neglected enough for it to be quite wild, you know, like a wildflower? Because the tradition hadn’t been tampered with at all in Scotland … So the folk scene in Scotland wasn’t a revival, exactly. It was all still there. ' This is interesting because it raises an issue Young doesn't really touch on much – the existence of thriving folk scenes that don't fit into his model – specifically in Scotland and Ireland and, I speculate, in parts of Northern England. These are seams of folk music that didn't need re-discovering as they were already out in the open. Ironically the 'new' folk-music probably did more damage to them than neglect).
The Jansch-Williamson axis highlights a vital part of this folk revival, the interconnectedness of it all – there was a real fluidity about who played with whom which means that the same names keep cropping up time and time again. If there was (and is) a central hub to all this musician acitivity it must be Fairport Convention; so many people have been members or have played with former members that it feels like the maximum degree of separation is one. Young discusses the classic Fairport Convention years, Sandy Denny and Richard Thompson solo (his first solo album Henry the Human Fly was the lowest selling release in Warners catalogue – fortunately in those days that didn't mean instant dropping), and Ashley Hutchings. Hutchings is one of the unsung stars of British folk, being a founder member of not just Fairport (leaving because he wanted to go down a more traditional route) but also Steeleye Span, and the Albion Band, as well, as well as initiating numerous other recordings. (One of the most notable, our fool-hardy being Morris On, where the cream of British folk musicians performed an album of Morris music).
None of Hutchings or Thompson or Carthy are the reigning superstar of 1970s folk though; as of 2013 it is Nick Drake. (Previously it was Sandy Denny which just goes to show what a good career move dying is). Drake is characteristically portrayed as the archetypal misunderstood bard producing beautiful music that was ignored by everyone, driven to death by the modern world. Young has a slightly difficult take – his version of Drake, initially at least, is quite astute in playing the modern recording game and not above recrimination, blaming producer Joe Boyd for his records failing to sell. Young also questions the fact that Drake committed suicide, believing that his have actually been accidental. (He also raises questions about Sandy Denny's death, suggesting that the fall that killed her may not have been fatal if she had been checked following a previous fall, something her parents refused to get done). I was glad to see Drake's string-arranger Robert Kirby get a mention – he fantastic arrangements make a major contribution to the first two albums.
Just as Drake's recording career was coming to an end John Martyn's was finally hitting its stride with the release of Bless the Weather and Solid Air. While Martyn was a notoriously difficult performer (something played down by Young), his belligerence often fuelled by drink, there is a certain delicacy at the heart of his best work that mirrors Drake. Martyn embraced technology though, often to the detriment of his music (especially through the 1980s and into the 1990s) and guitar is as likely to be channelled through an echoplex creating a warm all-encompassing sound. (This sound may have had minimal influence on fellow folk artists but it did heavily influence certain 1980s bands like Durutti Column and Felt). On page 314 Young declares Martyn's 1977 album One World, 'the final bright bloom in the garden of British folk-rock.'.
With 150 pages of text (the remaining 70 or so pages are listening lists, references, etc) the reader is left wondering what Young plans to do next. What he does is circle back on himself and look at some of the lesser known acts of the era such as Trees, Comus,, Forest and Mr. Fox. Young also takes this chance to digress a little, talking about the construction of modern witchcraft and The Wicker Man, as he briefly looks at the influence of the supernatural in the folk movement. This leads onto a larger discussion about what is folk music, considerably helped by Bob Pegg, who was half of Mr Fox, and who has written quite extensively on the both this subject and folk magic. I never felt that Young was that engaged with this material although the chapter on the song 'Reynardine' and how it has altered through the years is interesting. It does seem strange though that Young starts thinking about this more that two-thirds of the way through the book. Where does folk begin and end? If John Martyn starts as an acoustic folk-singer but then starts incorporating guitar effects and synthesisers is he still a folk-singer? Is it attitude or content that makes something 'folk' and something else 'rock'? And what is folk-rock? Is it commercialised folk or rock in search of authenticity? These are the questions that Young could have asked throughout his text but doesn't.
Having said that I did enjoy his romp through 1960s and 1970s folk-music but then I like much of this music. I'm not sure it would appeal to someone without an interest in it.

Really enjoying this summary!

Electric Interlude 2



Nick Harper
(Soundhouse (formerly Royal Park Terrace), 07/02/2013)

Nick Harper may not have a Led Zeppelin song named after him (“Hat's Off To Harper” is a tribute to his father Roy) but would Jimmy Page be able to do him justice? Yes, folks, he is that good. Which is a mixed blessing. The first half of his show consisted of a lot of guitar pyrotechnics (he still only plays an acoustic guitar but it is enhanced by electronics) and it was hard not to come to the conclusion that this was technique in search of some decent tunes.

Fortunately the decent tunes appeared in a more focused second half. The guitar playing was still as good but it now felt like it was at service to the songs. (Harper's vocal and song-writing abilities are solid enough but nowhere near the level of his guitar playing, which could explain why he has never broken through to a larger audience). The highlight of the night was when he stripped away the electronics and just played acoustically – even when a string snapped he was able to keep the song going and the audience singing while changing it.

At the break I was wondering whether I would able to last another sixty minutes of guitar trickery but Harper came good and by the time we rolled out into the street everyone had a smile on their face.

Electric Eden sounds like a wonderful walk down memory lane, and I really enjoyed your commentary. The icon that is Nick Drake is very curious indeed. I saw one of his rare live performances at the South bank in London when he was supporting Sandy Denny's group Fotheringay. He shuffled onto the stage, his tall frame bent as if to hide from the audience and played three songs and it was just like listening to a live recording of Five Leaves Left and then he was gone.

My friend who is teaching me to play the saxophone was around the scene at the time playing in Georgie Fame's group and he sometimes lets slip some memories of those years in London when Nick Drake was around, telling me that Drake would sometimes appear at his flat and commandeer my friends guitar.

I saw Nick Harper with his Dad in Derby about ten years ago. Nick Harper was on stage first and he managed to break not only a guitar string but also the peg as well. While he set about some lengthy repair job someone shouted from the audience that he should use the other guitar that was on a stand at the back of the stage. Nick said I dare not do that, it's my Dads and there is a ten foot exclusion zone around it. When Roy came on stage later Nick told him about breaking a peg "You could have used my guitar" replied Roy, Nick gave him a very "old fashioned look".

I spent many an uncomfortable hour at the London Folk Club "Cousins" in Soho where many of the luminaries of the folk scene would appear circa 1969-72. Roy Harper gigs back in those halcyon days were legendary, he would sometimes interrupt his monologue and play a song.

>45 baswood: - I was going to post a review of this but since I don't know when I'll post the link now - Five Leaves Left: A Tribute to Nick Drake. I didn't think that Drake's songs would lend themselves to jazz but it works surprisingly well, my only problem being some of the vocals - they lack the fragility of Drake's own. (The other good thing is that it is free - although you can leave some payment if you wish).

Electric Eden: Unearthing Britain's Visionary Music by Rob Young (part 3)

SECTION 3: POLY-ALBION
At the end of section 2 Young had essentially lost the plot – the segment based on the cover of Steeleye Span's Rocketship Cottage and narrated by Puck was just embarrassing; the rant that punk was to blame for folk's decline, throwing the bath out with the baby and water was wrong-headed. Punk was a brief explosion that shook the British music scene up to the extent that for the next few years anything was possible - The Pogues and Billy Bragg mixed folk with the energy and ethos of punk producing music that still linked to the traditional.
In this post-punk coda Young chooses four acts that become have pursued their own muse since then – Kate Bush, Julian Cope, David Sylvian and Talk Talk. That the latter three came out of the post-punk explosion is something that Young glosses over, that all of them have been seen as 'pop' acts confuses his folk-based argument.
The most 'folk' of the four is Kate Bush – her song 'Delis (Song of Summer)' on Never For Ever effectively takes us back to the beginning of Young's journey (although Delius is barely mentioned he was a major influence on Williams, Holst, etc). Oddly, the more personal Bush's vision became – on the great Hounds of Love the second half consists of a song suite called The Ninth Wave about a girl drowning, it moves from beautiful minimalist electronica to out-and-out folk like 'Jig of Life'. For me it doesn't matter if Bush fits into Young's argument, she is a visionary in her own right, pursing her own unique musical muse. If you don't own Hounds of Love stop reading this right now and go and buy a copy (if you are in the US try to get the UK copy of the CD, for some reason the US version is not mastered properly – and while you are there you might as well get The Sensual World, Aerial and 50 Words for Snow).
The least folky is Julian Cope, if Bush is classified as an eccentric then Cope is as mad a bag of monkeys. Cope began as the front-man of The Teardrop Explodes who burst onto the scene with singles like 'Reward' and 'Treason' (both from the pop-tastic Kilimanjaro) before embarking on a long solo career, starting with World Shut Your Mouth before hitting his stride in the early 1990s with albums like Peggy Suicide, Jehovahkill and 20 Mothers. Cope was one of the first artists to embrace the new paradigm of the internet, having released and sold his albums online since 1997. Cope is not really included here because of his music (which varies between long guitar-based wig-outs and long electonic based chill-outs - he is a fan of, and expert on, 'Krautrock') but because he is now one of the UK's leading experts on Neolithic sites – his monumental tome The Modern Antiquarian is the definitive guide. Typically Cope has a slightly off-beam approach to them:

Cope’s own theory about the historic importance of the Neolithic age iS that the setting up of standing stones is equivalent to the Fall – the moment when humanity, living in Edenic harmony and symbiosis with the rhythms of the earth, took its first steps towards living outside and apart from those rhythms. Raising a stone to commemorate a successful harvest, for instance, represents a kind of self-awareness. ‘It was at this moment that humans first peeled themselves away from Mother Earth just long enough to feel a true Separation,’ he writes. ‘And it was here that the first feelings of “I” and “we” exploded in human consciousness.'

In 1981 David Sylvian was voted 'the most beautiful man in the world' and Japan, following the success of Tin Drum, appeared to be on the edge of super stardom. That it never happened was down partly down to tensions in the group which couldn't be resolved and Sylvian's desire to pursue a more individual vision. With the support of Virgin Records (imagine a record company supporting an artist now) Sylvian embarked on a career that has seen him collaborate with a number of different artists from different fields, i.e., a list of guitarists is a good indication of Sylvian's diversity: Bill Nelson, Robert Fripp, Bill Frisell, Marc Ribot and Keith Rowe. At it's best Sylvian's music can be beautifully intricate, at it's worst mere ambient background noise – due to the complexity of the layering it is always it is music that needs to be listened to.
Even more startling than Sylvian's transformation was that of Mark Hollis, front-man and songwriter for Talk Talk. In the space of six years he moved from synthpop to long compositions that embraced classical and free-form jazz influences – for listeners who know the band from the hit singles 'Talk Talk' and 'Life's What You Make It' the albums Spirit of Eden and Laughing Stock must come as a shock. While this new style divided opinions, with some calling it wilfully obscure and pretentious, both albums usually appear in 'best-of-the-decade' lists and they are regularly mentioned as an influence on various post-rock bands. Hollis released a solo album in the same style in 1998 and then left the music scene completely. Apart from a couple of brief appearances since he has not returned.
What I find interesting about the four acts Young chooses from out-with his main era is that they are predominately not folk-based but are artists who have followed a singular vision and found an audience large enough to travel with them. This seems at odds with many of the artists in Young's main section who seemed to very much part of scene, whose very existence was due to a scene already existing, less visionary than followers.

At the end Young argues that another fok revival is unlikely, the past has been repackaged to the extent it's difficult to distinguish what is real and not (when making this point he uses Christopher Priest's A Dream of Wessex extensively) so that what we get is not a product that influenced by the past but a product influenced by a product influenced by the past. (I have a certain sympathy for this point of view, I recently saw a Scottish band called Snowgoose, who while enjoyable were essentially Pentangle revisited). The only music that truly deals with this problem is 'Hauntology', which is assembled from artefacts from the past, not just music but various other types of sound clips. This is the same conclusion that Simon Reynolds came to it in his book Retromania, which puts forward the premise that rock music has reached a dead end creatively. The fact that 'Hauntology' is the ideal critic genre – esoteric, arcane, underground – is purely coincidental.

For those who would like to here some 'Hauntology' try this - The Ghosts of Bush.

The Ghosts Of Bush’ was created entirely using the natural acoustic sounds of Bush House, the iconic home for the past seven decades of the BBC World Service which closed its doors for the last time on July 12th 2012. All of the sounds were captured in the small hours of the morning in empty offices, corridors, stairwells and other hidden corners by a Studio Manager working overnight. These recordings were then dubbed onto quarter-inch tape in the basement studio deep in the bowels of the South-East wing using two of the surviving reel-to-reel machines.

Loved your review of Electric Eden. It sounds like the details really make the book, like Boughton and the Glastonbury Festival. Certainly a valid point about existing versus revival folk music, one that played out in other regions as well. Nice touch with this section should be subtitled 'British Folk-Rock 1964-1978: The Book I Wanted to Write'. That says it all. Now off to discover what old albums may still lurk around the house.

Oh I was hoping to hear something when I clicked on The Bush of Ghosts. Never mind I dug out my copy of "My Life in the Bush of Ghosts and played that instead. Brian Eno and David Byrne are two more artists from the punk/post punk era that could of been subjects for Rob Youngs Visionary music, well that is if David Byrne had been British.

>50 baswood: - that was my fault - bad typing. Have fixed it now.

David Byrne is British. He was born in Dumbarton.

ELECTRIC EDEN Postscript 1



Maeve Gilchrist with Nic Gareiss

Macmaster / Hay

(Soundhouse, 29/01/2013)

I'm not sure why I decided to go this gig – it must have been on a night when there was no football. The harp is not an instrument I usually pay any attention to; I always associate it with middle-aged ladies in a ball gown photographed in soft focus, the sleeves to records released by Music For Pleasure.
This was certainly different.

Macmaster/Hay are a duo comprising Mary Macmaster who is a middle-aged woman and does play the harp (she also sings in English, French and Gaelic) but who doesn't wear a ball gown, and Donald Hay who plays percussion and harmonises occasionally. Despite being a duo they do sound larger thanks some electronics to Macmaster's electro-harp which means she can lay down a bass-line while also playing a solo. The music they produce varies from quite traditional folk to a stew that contains folk, funk and ambient sounds. It sounds a mess on paper but live it often sounds wonderful, especially when the bass is turned up. (I liked it so much I bought both their CDs). If I was to pick a flaw, it would be that every so often though I wished the drum sound was bigger, that some of the control over the beat was loosened. (That could be something to do with the venue though, it is a house concert after all and there are neighbours).
If you get a chance to see them do.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2YsRKCCDXWE

And then it got odd. For what I understand Maeve Gilchrist was a Scottish wonder-kid who went to the US to study and who became the 'first lever harpist to be employed as an instructor by the Berklee College of Music’s string department'. Judging the number of harpists who came to see her play her reputation still seems to be growing (for this part of the night Mary Macmaster was sitting next to me and she was very appreciative of Gilchrist's playing). In the US Gilchrist moved away from folk, to study and play jazz. For this gig she brought a guest who has been in jazz bands with her but Nic Gareiss isn't a musician, he's a dancer of the soft shoe shuffle variety. This meant taping a microphone to the floor which was then dusted with sand – Gareiss then danced while Gilchrist improvised on the harp. It took a little while to get used to this, mainly because Gareiss had one of those permanently grinning faces you just want to punch. Overcoming this and the fact that a man was jumping up and down and shuffling around a few feet away it ended up being quite enjoyable. I could have done with Geriess' solo spotlight but the highlight was Gilchrist's solo spot where she did an absolutely beautiful version of Richard Thompson's 'Beeswing'. (It would be nice to see her in a wider context).

http://vimeo.com/59226943

http://maevegilchristmusic.bandcamp.com/ (this is a free – pay-if-you-wish – solo harp album by Gilchrist. I can recommend it but realise that the market for it is probably limited).

>51 Jargoneer: That would make him a Scot, but I know you know that.

Aaaah pretty girls in black dresses, well worth a listen. I enjoyed the dancing and the rhythms the two managed to generate.

Foreign Parts – Janice Galloway

How do you sell a novel which is basically two middle-aged Scottish women going a budget holiday to France in the early 1990s and not a lot else? Even the blurb writers struggled. On the copy I read (the original hardback) the blurb states that Rona is there to find her grandfather's grace, armed with letters sent from WWI trenches, while Cassie is coming to terms with her unenviable sexual past. The former is true but that 'plot-line' only takes up a few pages but the latter is completely off the mark. It is true that Cassie remembers holidays with former lovers but you could hardly describe these events as 'unenviable'. I read this for a book group and everyone had the same feeling of waiting for the plot to kick-in, only it never did. This is a low-key modern version of a 'picaresque'.

The humour is very subdued though, too subdued for me, I barely raised a smile. One of the group missed the humour completely and thought the book was a powerful exploration of two individuals caught in a hellish relationship.(Even when the humourous aspect of the text was pointed out she refused to re-assess her assessment, stating that that was her reading and she was sticking to it). The relationship between Cassie and Rona is partially borne out of circumstances but there is genuine affectation between the frustration and petty disagreements. Arguably this is a remarkably true portray of a friendship but the (real) banality of it can make some of the book banal as well. It is difficult for the reader not to approach the story wondering if Cassie and Rona are lovers and then on discovering they are wonder if they will, or when they will, become lovers. The potential for their relationship to become something more is explored in a scene when, after a few glasses of wine, Cassie suggests that they could give it a go only to discover than Rona is fast asleep. (That did raise a smile, I think we have all been there).

With so little incident the effectiveness of this novel comes down to the writing and that's where I have an issue with it. Not that Galloway can't write, she most certainly can and some of the prose is first class. The puzzle is why Galloway felt the need to drown what could have been simple and touching story in post-modern paraphernalia. Was it that she needed to supply a novel but only had the basis of a story? Whatever it was we get the whole she-bang here – first, second and third voice; shifts in tense, playing with typography, a plethora of lists, repetition repetition repetition, and so on and so forth. In the era of patronage painters used to create works to illustrate their technical skills so that potential patrons could see what they capable of and this novel feels like a literary version of that. Rather than form dictating technique this is technique at the expense of form.

I can't really recommend this novel but at the same time don't want to put people off reading Galloway, just look elsewhere.

This was a holding place for Andrew Greig but I've decided to post a poem of his and do the review etc later -

In Sillar Dyke

for John Burnside

The fishermen’s stores were founded on tide-wrack and the ancient harbour wall,

the wave-breaker,

dull and undulating, is little other
than the sand it will be.

Only raw Fife thrawnness holds it there.

A retired fisherman wakes early in Cellardyke, gropes downstairs, feeling himself kept company by his habit, the specific ache

in his knees, and an isolation
so faithful one is never alone. God knows he never liked the sea.

It was a job, no more.

In the ordered half-light of the kitchen he watches fog inside the windows

peel away; in this unforeseen hour
the presences that have breathed here all night are taking their leave,

old crew-mates who will receive him soon, hoist high in the dripping
purse net of their arms.

Book groups are wonderful!

So whats Martin Carthy doing on your thread (apart from playing guitar and looking a bit grumpy)

baswood - so glad you asked!

>58 baswood: - it was a placeholder for this -

Martin Carthy
(Soundhouse, 22/5/2013)

Martin Carthy seems to have been around forever but watching the 71 year old do a solo gig that lasted almost two hours makes the old cliché “they don't make them like they used to” more apt with every passing year. It's true that the voice is fading but the guitar playing and mind are still razor sharp. When Carthy introduces a song you don't get an introduction along the lines of 'this is one from the new album' it's a short history lesson on where the song comes from and whose arrangement (if not his own) he is using. When he finally hangs up his guitar it will be a massive loss to the British folk scene.

It was a very relaxed atmosphere as is the norm at Royal Terrace Park, it's probably difficult to be otherwise in someone's living room (before you ask it's a large living room!). Carthy apologised for being a little rusty, he hasn't played much recently due to Norma's illness, but no-one cared if there was a bum note or two (except for Carthy himself who would look a little disgusted). Ironically the one time a song broke down completely was one of his own compositions – on a rare night he played all his compositions, all two of them. He started 'A Question of Sport' at too fast a pace and had to slow it down. (When people say Margaret Thatcher did nothing for this country, it's not true, she inspired Martin Carthy to write his only songs).

Higlights included a great version of 'Sir Patrick Spens' (tune courtesy of Nic Jones) that put to shame the recent version by Anais Mitchell – while her version is polite and reserved, Carthy makes it sound fresh and vibrant; a guitar version of the pipe retreat march of the 51st Highlanders; 'The Tailor's Britches', the 'improved' Robin Hood's Bay version; and an instrumental of 'The Downfall of Paris' (which recent research has suggested may actually derive from an English song 'The Downfall of Pears' – see what I mean about the history lesson).

A great artist and a great night.

Martin Carthy is not an artist I had heard of. I'm going to try to find some of his work.

The Fringe Festival brochure is launched today and it's a big read (400 pages) so initially tend to skip through and it reminds of other things you should be keeping up with. Checking a website for a local theatre company I discovered a section on Affectable Acting - this is why I can't take actors seriously (and to think they run classes on this):

Affectable grew out of the techniques used by Aileen Gonsalves’ company Butterfly, a London-based group specialising in highly acclaimed site-responsive Shakespeare productions. Butterfly, in turn, developed its techniques by following on from the work of Sanford Meisner but branching out in a direction which would pay greater attention to text.

Affectable works by creating conditions under which a scene can come alive and be different every time. The process starts and ends with connection between the actors. It’s the first thing we visit, before we even touch on text, and it’s the last thing we come back to in the moments before a performance begins. Every performance is a voyage of discovery, a unique adventure shared by actors and audience – savour the moment as you experience it, because it will never happen again.

All of this is made possible by training together regularly so we are used to seeing clearly and responding immediately, and by combining a rigorous intellectual approach to text with constant connection to our own deeply personal physical and emotional responses. High levels of discipline and preparation in rehearsal mean that on stage we can trust ourselves and each other to allow complex, nuanced performances to happen. It’s a rush for actors and audience alike.

Superb Greig poem, looking forward to the review.

Your review of Foreign Parts drove me to dig out my old paperback copy, where they seem to have worked on the blurbs a bit more: In this clever and compassionate novel about love, morality and travel kettles, two women drive each other round the bend and into Normandy on a holiday that tests the limits of human affection and the territory of a woman's life

Can't say that would make me buy it, nor would this: Foreign Parts is a road movie for feminists.. It's a funny, sharp and gutsy portrayal of female friendship (Kate Chisholm, Sunday Telegraph)

This from the TLS would: In Foreign Parts, Janice Galloway has ventured further into her established territory of language, gender, power and dependency. That this enjoyable novel wears it complexity and depth so lightly is an indication of her ambition, control and remarkable craft. Interesting that this was the only male quoted.

I did find it really quite funny in places, and would have to agree with your conclusion that Galloway can indeed write, but can see that this is definitely not for everyone.

<img src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/P/1597801607.01._SX450_SY635_SCLZZZZZZZ_.jpg"

The Improbable Adventures of Sherlock Holmes – edited by John Joseph Adams

Anthology of Sherlock Holmes by genre writers (not just SF&F but crime), all but one of which have appeared elsewhere.

There is no doubt that Holmes is one of the great fictional characters but why? My theory is that like most of the characters who have become embedded in modern culture there was little real characterisation in the first place. Conan Doyle created a character who has personality quirks, habits and methods but we never see below that. This, for me, is why he still fascinates and why he can be re-invented regularly – this blankness allows reader and writer to project their own ides onto him. Naturally this is subjective but it is also worth remembering that much of knowledge of Sherlock Holmes comes from film and television. (Have a look at the cover – is that Sherlock Holmes or Robert Downey?)

The majority of the tales follow the Conan Doyle template of Watson recounting the tale, a few change the viewpoint to a character involved in the mystery, with mixed results (Interestingly, these are all by women, probably as a way of introducing a feminine aspect into the old boy's club). The Holmes shorthand is all correct and present – the violin, the pipe (while Conan Doyle mentions using a slipper by the fire for tobacco once the writers in these anthology love this slipper), even the deerstalker makes a couple of appearances – with the exception of cocaine. Is this done a new prudishness or editorial decisions? Moriarty makes a few appearance, as does Lestrade but Mycroft makes fewer than I thought he would, and Irene Adler seems a big draw/ (She appears a few but gets many more mentions. For the record she is the one woman in the Holmes that the Master Detective is drawn to).
As well as canonical figures we have appearances by real-life figures like Conan Doyle, H. G. Wells and Bram Stoker; and other fictional detectives like Flaxman Low.

In the short introduction Adams states -

That's the idea behind this volume—to showcase the best Holmes pastiches of the last thirty years, mixing the best straight-up mystery stories with the best of those tales tinged with the fantastic5. Meaning that some of the cases you'll read about have prosaic solutions, while others will have a decidedly more fantastic resolution.

The volume also contains a short Sherlockian primer by Christopher Roden which quickly runs through some of the noteworthy characters we meet in the original stores and then the game's afoot.

Stephen King - The Doctor's Case

In a very real sense Watson is us, the reader. He is both the narrator, our window into the world of Sherlock Holmes, and also the character who echoes our own unremarkable observations and ruminations. So in this story, when Watson actually beats Holmes to the punch, it's not just a victory for Watson, but for all of us, the ordinary, who must muddle through with what we were given.

An anthologist must have the same dilemma as a Ryder Cup captain – where do I put my big guns? At the beginning and hopefully get off to a flier, capturing the reader's attention; the middle and hopefully shore up the reader's attention; and, at the end and hopefully go out with bang, leaving the reader with a positive view of the book. Of course, the reader can just say 'stuff that' and read it in any order they want.
Adams starts with his biggest name and it is a good choice, not necessarily because of the strength of King's story but that it defies expectations, there is no horror or fantasy here just a straight-forward detective story. King is aiming for a classic locked-room mystery: Lord Albert Hume is found stabbed in the back at his desk in his locked study and no sign of entry anywhere. The respectable Hume is a tyrannical father to his three sons and abusive to his wife so the suspects are easily lined up. The focus is on the how the crime was committed as much as who committed it and King provides a twist, allowing Watson to solve the 'how', Holmes being a little discombobulated due to an allergic reaction to cats. The solution, like most of the locked-room variety, is a little ludicrous, and I couldn't buy the fact that Watson solved it, even a half-dead Holmes would have noticed the set-up. After Watson has pointed out the solution, and he is almost overcome by the fact, Holmes pieces together the dynamics of the crime and debates the idea of justice with Lestrade. (The idea of Holmes of being judge and jury is not especially new, Conan Doyle incorporates it in his a handful of the originals).
This isn't a bad story but highlights just how much King needs an editor. A good short story, of which King has written a few, should be tight and concise but this is just too loose and baggy to be truly satisfying.

Tim Lebbon - The Horror of the Many Faces

Holmes says, "When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." Lovecraft felt that the truth would drive us to insanity. Where these two worldviews collide, our next story begins,

To be more premise this tale begins when Watson witnesses Holmes 'slaughtering a man in the gutter' and extracting the heart. Naturally Watson is shocked and confused by what he has seen but he doesn't report the crime, hoping that Holmes has an explanation. Following more murders Watson eventually gets a chance to confront Holmes, who reveals the members of the public are witnessing close friends/family commit murder because they are being mentally manipulated – this isn't ordinary murder, this is 'invasion'.
One of the oddities of anthologies is that individual stories can unconsciously echo each other, bees are involved in this alien plot, in another it is wasps. Neither tale suggests that the invaders can be defeated using baited jam jars. Other than that this is a decent enough story, shoot through with the Lovecraftian belief that out there the darkness is stirring.

Anne Perry - The Case of the Bloodless Sock

Everyone knows Professor Moriarty as the arch-nemesis of Sherlock Holmes, but most people would probably be surprised to learn that Moriarty appeared in person in only one of Conan Doyle's Holmes stories....Of course, the audience wanted more Holmes, and more Moriarty too, and so Moriarty has subsequently enjoyed a long and notorious career in books, film, and TV. Moriarty returns again in this next tale, with a characteristically diabolical scheme.

Robert Hunt, an old friend, has invited Watson to visit him in County Durham but when the good doctor arrives everything is uproar as his young daughter is missing. Eventually she turns up unharmed but unable to explain where she has been. Then a letter is delivered saying the girl is at his mercy, that he can take her any time he wants and it is signed M. With the realisation that Moriarty is involved the battle is resumed between old foes.
Before this I knew nothing of Anne Perry other than the name and the fact she was popular. Considering she writes Victorian era based detective novels this is a poor mystery, mainly due to the fact that Moriarty's actions don't exactly match up to those of a criminal mastermind – he signs his letters with an M, for heaven's sake. And all this in order to get the father to sell shares in a mine, I'm almost certain that a criminal mastermind could come up with something better.

Bradley H. Sinor – The Adventure of the Other Detective

cience fiction has a long tradition of exploring the notion of alternate worlds, especially since the many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics suggested that any universe that can exist does exist, somewhere....We would see good men turned vile, and wicked men become heroes. There but for the grace of God go I.

Watson is alone at 221B Baker Street one evening when a boy bursts in asking for medical help; upon returning through some thick mist Watson finds Moriarty and his old orderly from Afghanistan ensconced in his and Holmes' apartments. Yes, Watson has encountered that mysterious mists that plagues stories by writers who couln't be bothered to come up with something more acceptable. In this new exciting world Moriarty is a master detective, Sherlock Holmes 'the Napoleon of crime, Watson is dead and his sidekick status has been taken by his orderly. Oh, and Watson's dearly departed wife, Mary, is alive and kicking and a doctor to boot. Fortunately nothing else has changed so Watson overcomes his shock and is back to being the number one side-kick in about 15 minutes. Holmes, in the classic over-convoluted criminal method way, is plotting to gain the release of Jack the Ripper, who is none other than the Duke of Clarence, in order to discredit the royal family. By the time our Holmes delivers Watson's belongings, reaching this alternate world through mastering rail travel my eyes rolling every which way.
In some ways this is a great fun – Sinor moving Holmes from classic to pulp. In other ways it's complete and utter tosh.

Edward D. Hoch - A Scandal in Montreal

Once readers fall in love with a character, they can't help wanting to know what happens to that character next....And what about Irene Adler, the woman who outwitted Holmes, the only woman he regards as his equal, the woman, as he calls her. Surely their paths must cross again.

Holmes is retired tending his bees when Watson comes to visit brandishing a letter. It is from Irene Adler, she's in Montreal, her son is wanted for murder and she needs help. Without even taking the time to collect a jar of honey as a gift Holmes, with Watson in tow, is in Canada. Adler's son has been accused of stabbing to death a fellow student and going on the run with his girlfriend. Fortunately as the victim gasped his last he was able to leave one of those cryptic clues that are so helpful to great detectives. Holmes and Watson meet Stephen Leacock, a Canadian humourist who produced a few Holmes spoofs, for no other reason other the author believes it would be a jolly jape. Holmes realises what the cryptic clue means and solves the case.
Hoch apparently wrote 1000 short stories, including more Sherlock Holmes pastiches, but on the basis of this he is the kind of writer who filled out the pages of the pulps rather than graced them.

Vonda N. McIntyre - The Adventure of the Field Theorems

Readers have a tendency to identify authors with their characters, and this was certainly the case for Arthur Conan Doyle....Not only did Conan Doyle lack the rigorous, logical, machine-like Holmes-ian ability to penetrate subterfuge, but the author was also famously gullible....This next tale shows us this side of Conan Doyle. Of course, in the wilds of an author's imagination, you can never be too sure what's real and what isn't.

Following a dismissive conversation between Holmes and Watson about Conan Doyle's belief in Houdini's mystical poweres (which even Houdini dismisses) the author turns up at 221B Baker Street requesting Holmes' help to investigate the strange field theorems that have started appearing in the crop fields on his estate in Surrey. Doyle believes they may be communications from the other world but Holmes, taking up the challenge, is a little more sceptical.
This is an excellent story, McIntrye manages to get the right balance between humour and mystery, and it never feels like Conan Doyle's character is just a gimmick. I remember reading McIntyre's novel Dreamsnake along with a few short stories and was impressed, in the late 1970s, early 1980s she looked like one of the major SF writers of the next few years but it never really happened. This just confirms what a good writer she can be.

Darrell Schweitzer - The Adventure of the Death-Fetch

There's something instantly intriguing about a person who refuses to come out, and also about the idea that evil could be kept at bay by something simple, such as music or duct tape. Our next tale brings us a chilling new variation on this theme.

This has a slightly different format than the standard Watson recording the case; in this story Watson, an ailing old man visiting friends, recounts a case too horrible to write down to a young American college student. A young woman asks Holmes to help her father, the famous explorer Sir Humphrey Thurston, who has taken to locking himself a single room and keeping a shot-gun close at hand. When travelling to Thurston Hall Holmes and Wstson see Thusrton on the street but he runs away, however at his residence he claims he has never left the room. Thurston then embarks on a long tale of how he used to be a rogue and had been involved in an expedition to a little known part of Tibet (where the locals are known as 'corpse-eaters' and/or 'vomiters of souls') in search of riches only to find death. Now he believes the only other survivor, if indeed he has survived and is not dead, has come back for him and possesses the ability to travel via reflective surfaces.
As a 'dark fantasy' story this is a solid tale; as a Sherlock Holmes story it is less satisfactory, simply because Holmes can't do anything except be horrified that there are things beyond his ken. You could take Holmes out of this tale and replace him with another sceptical listener and it wouldn't make any difference.

Holmes & Watson confront the unknown -

As a big Sherlock Holmes fan since childhood (and as someone who has been rereading the stories over the past several years), I don't think I would enjoy seeing other writers' interpretations of the master. (I couldn't stand the recent TV series.) But I enjoyed your review.

>67 rebeccanyc: - which TV series: Elementary with Johnny Lee Miller, or Sherlock with Bendybus Cumbernauld, or both?

Sherlock. I only watched two episodes, so maybe I didn't give it enough of a chance.

Neither tale suggests that the invaders can be defeated using baited jam jars - made me snort with laughter.

A Shame there is only one decent story in the collection.

>71 baswood: - in the collection! I've only covered the first quarter - there are another 21 stories.

>69 rebeccanyc: - I quite enjoyed the new BBC version - Bendybus makes a good Holmes. The problem with any producer of classic Holmes would be how could you replace Jeremy Brett.

The second batch of stories from the The Improbable Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

Mary Robinette Kowal - The Shocking Affair of the Dutch Steamship Friesland

In Conan Doyle's story "The Adventure of the Norwood Builder," Watson mentions in passing the "shocking affair of the Dutch steamship Friesland, which so nearly cost us both our lives." Our next story imagines what this evocatively titled case might have entailed—it involves a naive young woman, a royal couple, a glassblower, and the darker side of Italian politics.

Rosa Carlotta Silvana Grisanti is on her way to meet her betrothed in Africa when the premier of Italy is poisoned. He and his wife had drunk a toast to the assembled guests using glass blown by Rosa's father and champagne supplied by another glass-blower. Also on-board are Holmes and Watson and the former soon deduces how the crime was committed and the conspiracy behind it.
This is the first tale not told by Watson, instead taking the form of a letter from an older Rosa remembering the events. It is a slight tale that breezes past and leaves little lasting impression.

H. Paul Jeffers - The Adventure of the Mummy's Curse

"Death will slay with his wings whoever disturbs the peace of the pharaoh." This inscription was supposedly found carved on a stone tablet by British explorers Howard Carter and George Herbert when they opened the tomb of the Egyptian king Tutankhamun....The "curse" was a media myth, albeit one that's inspired a lot of great entertainment, including our next tale>

Holmes and Watson are out enjoying a meal when their repast is interrupted by an old comrade of the latter. Major James McAndrew, or 'Rusty', has a bandaged head which leads to him revealing that on his way home from Afghanistan he had joined an archeological expedition in Egypt where they found the tomb of a minor official which was full of 'breathtaking riches'. Since then a number of fatal incidents have befallen other members of the expedition and he was clattered on the head by falling masonry, all the result of the curse they found at the tomb. Holmes is of the opinion that this is hogwash and proceeds to investigate the case, calling on Flanders Petrie (who can be, with much justification, the father of modern archeology). Is there a real curse or just nefarious going-ons?
While the appearance of Flinders Petrie does help in solving the case it was a little far-fetched that he would have such an expert on the Mummy in fiction, to the point of referencing a relatively obscure Louisa May Alcott story. However anything that raises the profile of Petrie can't be all bad, he really was a remarkable man. That aside this is quite an enjoyable case; there is something satisfying about Holmes making the remarkable commonplace while being quite remarkable himself.

Barbara Roden - The Things That Shall Come Upon Them

Many would take issue with Holmes's unflappable rationalism, chief among them Flaxman Low, the first true psychic detective character, whose co-creator Hesketh Vernon Hesketh-Prichard was a good friend of Conan Doyle's. These two contemporaneous fictional characters go head-to-head in our next adventure, in a clash of both personality and worldview.

This story begins with a nice joke, with Holmes observing how many more detectives there now are following the success of Watson's writings.

"Your records of my doings have, I am afraid, given the public an appetite for tales of this sort, so much so that every detective worthy of the name must, it seems, have his Boswell—or Watson—to record his adventures. The doings of Mr. Martin Hewitt appear with almost monotonous regularity, and I can scarcely glance at a magazine without being informed that I will find therein breathless accounts of the cases of Paul Beck or Eugene Valmont or a certain Miss Myrl, who appears to be trying to advance the cause of women's suffrage through somewhat novel means. I understand there is a gentleman who sits in an A.B.C. teashop and solves crimes without benefit of sight, or the need of abandoning his afternoon's refreshment, while Mr. Flaxman Low purports to help those whose cases appear to be beyond the understanding of mere mortals; truly the refuge of the desperate, although from what I gather the man is not quite the charlatan he might seem." Holmes chuckled, and threw down his paper. "If this continues apace, I may find myself contemplating retirement, or at least a change of profession.

Holmes has received a letter from a Mrs John Fitzgerald asking for his help, a series of minor annoyances having become quite sinister. On the train Holmes and Watson find themselves sharing a compartment with Low who has been asked to investigate the same events by Mr John Fitzgerald. Low is able to enlighten the pair about Lufford Abbey, until recently the residence of Julian Karswell, which is the house at the centre of M. R. James' Casting the Runes (filmed as Night of the Demon). The two detectives, with Watson always on hand , work together to solve the source of the mysterious happenings at the Abbey.
I have to be honest and admit that I had never heard of Flaxman Low before, being of the mistaken opinion that Carnacki was the first in that field but this story was so good that I'm tempted to search out the originals just to see what they like. (The author, Hesketh Vernon Hesketh-Prichard (great name) was a friend of Doyle's). This has all the classic haunting paraphernalia of scratching and markings and unexplained presences, and it works, it is not cheesy, nor does it feel clichéd. Perhaps the most skilful aspect of this tale is that it manages to have its cake and eat it, satisfying both Holmes and Low. As well as checking out the original Flaxman Low stories I will be looking out for more material by Roden.

Anthony Burgess - Murder to Music

In a world of poseurs and dilettantes, of people who chatter constantly about the art they intend to create "someday" or "when I have time," it can be inspiring to see people who are so dedicated to their work that the terms art and life become inseparable, and who keep on working right up until the end....If you're one of those people who's moved by the idea of an artist practicing his art right up until the moment of death, you may find this next tale highly inspirational. Or maybe not, given the circumstances.

A talented Spanish pianist is shot dead while performing, among the audience Holmes and a sleeping Watson. Holmes soon discovers that this no critic taking revenge but the consequence of a republican plot to kill the visiting Spanish king. The actual culprit however will only be revealed through breaking the musical clue left behind.
This is the most tongue-in-cheek story in the collection, with Holmes contacting Watson by making appointments at his surgery and then after fooling the good doctor completely revealing himself (when you consider that he is able to convince Watson he only has one leg you get a sense of how serious Burgess was taking this). The main problem with the story however is that this Holmes seems to possess a lot more of Burgess than he does of Conan Doyle – I can't imagine Holmes saying that a great artist is above common morality even when it involves murder; on the other hand I can believe Burgess saying it. Burgess, talented writer as he was, had quite an ego and he just can't put that aside for Holmes. (Interestingly, after reading this, I found out that he had been a script consultant for a 1980 TV series which was well received but now can't be seen, having fallen into copyright limbo).

Stephen Baxter - The Adventure of the Inertial Adjustor

H. G. Wells is a towering figure in the history of science fiction. His work was pivotal in defining many of the themes—time travel, space exploration, alien invasion, invisibility, genetic engineering—that would be mined by later writers. He was also a famous political activist, and his work demonstrates the power of science fiction to grapple with contemporary issues....Wells appears as a principal character in our next Sherlock Holmes case, an adventure like something right out of a scientific romance.

H. G. Wells requests Holmes and Watson's help in investigating the 'accidental' death of his friend, and brilliant engineer, Ralph Brimicombe. To entice them he shows them two photographs, one is a fake but the other shows a giant leech that looks real. Brimicombe, Wells informs them, has been working on the manipulation of gravity, which for Wells readers will ring a bell, this Holmes pastiche also being a homage to The First Men on the Moon.
Baxter has form with Wells before (he wrote a highly regarded authorised sequel to The Time Machine) and it's not difficult to see why, he does nail the era of the scientific romance quite accurately. Arguably more enjoyable for the Wells reader than the those of Conan Doyle but worth checking out for both of them. This tale is also noteworthy for being the only case in which Holmes uses his knowledge of eggs to catch the culprit.

Laurie R. King - Mrs Hudson's Case

They say it's a man's world, and that's largely true of the world of Sherlock Holmes as well. Holmes and Watson are perhaps the best known "buddy" pair in literature, and most of the characters they interact with are men....This story changes all that—as you might guess from the title—placing Mrs. Hudson squarely in the center of events.

Mrs Hudson wants Holmes to investigate the small disappearances of food and other sundry items from the kitchen but he has bigger fish to fry, finding two runaway children, so he asks Mary Russell to help her. Russell fixes up a camera to capture the culprits in the act but when she returns, she at university, Mrs Hudson is very reluctant to get see her. Russell, who is effectively a younger female Holmes, soon finds out what Mrs Hudson is up to and vows to help her protect the thieves.
King's Russell & Holmes series now stands at a dozen volumes, the couple having moved from master and apprentice to husband and wife, and I have been tempted to try one them due to some recommendations. This story makes me less likely to try one, not because it is especially bad nor because Holmes is off camera for most of it, but because when Holmes is on-screen his famously sharp intellect has dulled significantly, being completely unaware of the events that have happened so close at hand.

Holmes wonders why on earth he bought a novelty pipe.

One of the reasons that I found myself with less time to read recently was due to catching up with the first series of the The Killing.

Sara Lund is on the verge of moving to Sweden to be with her Swedish partner when the body of a young woman is discovered. Over the next twenty hours (twenty days in 'real time') her life will change dramatically and not for the better as the murder investigation twists and turns as suspects are identified and new evidence comes to light. As the investigation continues it threatens to derail the local mayoral elections as one of the candidates finds a prime suspect. And during this time there is a family trying to put their lives back together.

On one level this is a standard police procedural, albeit a particularly knotty one, but the added focus on politics and on the victims' family makes it so much more. When watching it you do want to see the next episode as soon as possible. The writing and direction keeps you hooked, the acting is excellent and after five minutes of the episode one you don't notice the subtitles.

When summer is over I recommend that you get this series and the next two – they will see you through to spring and you won't be thinking that you wasted your time watching television, you'll be celebrating television as a great invention. (You also may find yourself asking for a nice wooly jumper for Xmas).

Enjoyed another romp through the Holmes stories and of course the Stephen Baxter story interested me

I am a signed up member of the woolly jumper brigade while watching the latest series of Arne Dahl.

Allan Massie
(Edinburgh Central Library, 30/05/2013)

Rather than a book launch this was a book re-launch as Massie was there to talk about his novel Surviving, which was originally published in 2009. Having seen the first edition, a poorly produced paperback with a terrible typeface, it is no surprise that the publisher didn't to re-issue a new version. (To be fair to them the publisher was just starting up with it produced the original).

Massie read the first few pages of the novel which is about a group of recovering alcoholics, ex-pats living in Rome. Despite being set in the early 1990's the novel sounded like it could have been written at any time since the 1930's, which is not necessarily a surprise – Massie himself seems like a throwback, the last living Conservative in Scotland. That it is set abroad is also no surprise, much of Massie's fiction takes place in Europe, often historical as in his Roman Emperor series or detective series in Vichy France.

Despite publishing novels for over 30 years he admitted that no publisher would take Surviving, that it was languishing in a drawer before Vagabond Voices asked if he had anything that could be suitable for publication. It's just the nature of the game now, he explained, the literary houses used to let novels sink or swim, now they are so worried about books sinking they don't let them near the water. (His next books were published by an established house but also only in paperback).

Are you a Scottish novelist he was asked. This is an interesting question because it only gets asked to writers who are Scottish but don't write in a specifically Scottish milieu – no-one would ask James Kelman or Ian Rankin or Irvine Welsh and his posse but they ask Alexander McColl Smith and Ronald Frame and William Boyd. Massie pointed out that he written a number of novels set in Scotland and that you can't really escape your upbringing, it may not be there explicitly but it will be implicitly. The question in some ways has to do with ideas of Scottishness; it now sometimes seems that you have to be Scottish Scottish rather than anglofied Scottish (which many leading Scots over the centuries have been).

What does it take to be a novelist? According to Massie novelists require three things: experience, observation and imagination. (What flashed into my head when Massie said this was the Billy Bragg lyric, "The wife has three great attributes Intelligence, a Swiss army knife and charm"). Personally I would have thought pen and paper or a computer would be useful as well.

Massie also talked about the influences on this book – living in Rome, being partial to a drink at one (not that he was an alcoholic) – and other books which often spun off from his other interests. He even admitted that one of his novels owed its existence to a suggestion from an editor who had a good idea but didn't want to write it. There was more on Scottishness and the place of Scotland in or out of the Union.

All in all a decent enough talk. Will I read Surviving? Possibly, I do have a ebook version but then there are so many other books to read.

The Poor Mouth
Blue Raincoat Theatre Company
Traverse Theatre, 31/05/2013

Four years the Traverse listed an adaptation of Flann O'Brien's The Third Policeman as one of the spring shows. Being of the opinion that the novel was a masterpiece but probably impossible to stage I decided to go along. The production by Blue Raincoat Theatre Company from Sligo was minimal, four actors and a small number of props, but the mixture of narration and dramatic (I use that term loosely) scenes was excellently put together and very entertaining. When the same company returned a year later to stage At Swim-Two-Birds I bought my tickets early; the show was even better than the one before. This year the Traverse brochure listed them returning again, to complete their O'Brien trilogy with The Poor Mouth. So there I was again and this time the show was....well, okay.

The problem lies not with the acting or the presentation which were first class but with the source material itself. The Poor Mouth is O'Brien's satiric take at Gaelic literature and culture – the novel itself being a sort of Gaelic Cold Comfort Farm take on the existing literature but with much of the fun being about the Gaelic language itself. The story tells the story of Bonaparte O'Coonass and his life in Corkadoragha, a small county in the west of Ireland where the true Gaels live in abject poverty and misery and where it rains non-stop.

The production was full of O'Brien's darts about Gaeldom – when the English decide to pay £5 for each child who can speak English the grandfather expands the number of his grandchildren from 1 to 10 by dressing piglets; or when a Gaelic festival is announced and people keep dying from too much dancing or recitation and when it is decided that the only true subject for Gaelic talkers to converse about is Gaelic and speaking Gaelic which is not about Gaelic is a waste of Gaelic; or when the narrator sees the sun and colour for the first time; or when the linguist from the city records a pig and then takes the recording to a conference, whereupon everyone announces that it is the most beautiful thing they have heard even though they can't understand a word of it.

Despite the laughs the whole thing felt a little laboured, the adaptation struggled to create any dynamism between narration and scenes. Perhaps they should have finished their trilogy with The Dalkey Archive which may be a poor man's The Third Policeman but has much more dramatic scope.

Still O'Brien's catchphrase in the novel, 'we will never see their likes again', sums up the overblown simplified nostalgia that still pervades society, Irish or otherwise, today.

Regardless of the disappointment of this piece, hopefully Blue Raincoat will be back next at the Traverse next year. I know I will go back to see what they are offering.

Todd Rundgren's Official State Visit
PictureHouse, 07/06/2013

Despite all his talents Todd Rundgren has never become a major star but much of that is down to Rundgren himself. You can't help feeling that Rundgren could have knocked off pop hits one after another for fun but it wasn't fun for him so he didn't. Instead he released album after album, some pop-orientated, others rock-orientated, some like Todd contained some pop, some rock, some noise and the occasional Gilbert & Sullivan pastiche. When on-song Rundgren's albums are wilful and wonderful but sometimes they are just wilful. Unfortunately over the last few years there has been as much of the latter than the former – 2011 alone saw a laboured blues album, Todd Rundgren's Johnson (Rundgren has never shown much affinity with blues, his main influences coming from the British pop invasion of the 1960's) and (Re)Production which sounds like a man getting revenge for all the acts he's had to produce over the years.

Knowing this makes going to a Rundgren gig interesting before it starts as you just don't know what he's going to do. Some would argue that he the build-up is more interesting than some of the music he has played – and there were more than a few saying that on Friday. Rundgren bounded on stage (throughout the set he showed an incredible amount of energy for a 65 yo) with a tablet computer and plugged in it to electronic desk. From then on it was electronic dance music here we come – his band also comprised a guitarist and ad drummer, who looked frightening like Beaker from The Muppets, but in all honesty he could have done it all himself, and in the encore did, singing to completely programmed music which is essentially up-market karaoke.

This could have been disaster and musically it may have fallen short at times but it was incredibly enjoyable for much of the time. Rundgren seemed to be enjoying himself and that helped but what really made it for me was his dancing, I just couldn't stop laughing for the first thirty minutes. Then there was classic moment when Rundgren's Windows 8 tablet froze and everything had to stop for five minutes until it rebooted, during which Rundgren ranted against Microsoft's latest OS. It was only toward the end of the night and the encore that I began to feel that the music had over-stayed its welcome – an encore with songs played on a guitar or piano and I might have convinced myself that it was a great night.

the last living Conservative in Scotland made me laugh.

Enjoyed your review of the Todd Rundgren gig. Not totally surprised that his gig was dominated by electronic dance music.

Well thanks for that reminder - I had been trying to think of who it was that I had seen in concert that I thought looked good in a skirt and it was Todd Rundgren! It was in a gender discussion.

>81 baswood: - I think what frustrates his fans is that he is such a good guitar player but only an OK programmer. (I remember watching a Classic Albums documentary on Bat Out Of Hell, which Rundgren produced but had no time for, when Steinman wanted to record a motorbike for the title and Rundgren said stuff that and just duplicated the sound on his guitar - I always thought it was a guitar). The same goes for Bill Nelson who wouldn't play guitar for years.

>82 mkboylan: - no skirt this year just badly streaked hair.

>80 Jargoneer: who looked frightening like Beaker from The Muppets,
Oh my! That would be scary! LOL!

The third batch of stories from the The Improbable Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

Amy Myers - The Affair of the 46th Birthday

You may be dreading your next birthday, but probably not like this.

. Now the king of Italy has been assassinated Watson can reveal how close a previous assassination attempt came, only foiled at the last minute by Holmes.
If I taught creative writing I would tempted to use this story as a template on what not to do. When it is not being overly melodramatic it is just weak while much of the dialogue is simply made up of info-dumps. What is really frightening about this is that Amy Myers (or Harriet Hudson) has published over two dozen novels and used to be a professional editor.

Peter Tremayne - The Specter of Tullyfane Abbey

Many readers have wondered, how does a little boy grow up to be Sherlock Holmes? What was he like as a teenager, or at university?...Our next tale also deals with a younger version of Sherlock Holmes, and here we see a character who's very different from the Holmes we know...

In this tale Holmes relates to Watson a story from his student days about when he was in love and battled Moriarty for the girl's affectations. When all the parties are visiting the girl's home her father is mysteriously killed.
One of the weakest tales in the anthology, in Tremayne's version of Holmes everyone is Irish, with Holmes going to university with Oscar Wilde and Bram Stoker (unfortunately the former doesn't make an appearance). I didn't buy this Irish ancestry for Holmes and Moriarty nor could I accept that even a young Holmes could miss such straight-forward evidence. At the heart of the matter though is that Holmes works best with no back-story, knowing the young Holmes can only make the older Holmes less mysterious, more run-of-the-mill. Do we really want to find out that Holmes became a detective, and Moriarty his nemesis, due to a student romance?

Sharyn McCrum - The Vale of the White Horse
This story is one of those rare ones in which we get to see the great detective Sherlock Holmes from the point of view of someone other than Watson....he adds that the story is inspired in part by "my resentment of the urban know-it-alls who think that country people are less intelligent or sophisticated than city dwellers. I enjoyed making Grisel Rountree every bit as astute and eccentric as Holmes."The local wise-woman finds a dying man in the eye of a giant white horse, his last words 'Not a maiden...' Holmes is brought in to investigate leading to the unveiling a family secret.
By now the anthology was in a real mid-table slump. McCrum may resent urban-dwellers but I resent the portrayal of counrty-folk of having so much 'natural' knowledge that you wonder why humans ever bothered with setting up educational establishments. I mean why do we waste all this time and money providing healthcare when it obvious that back in the olden golden days the local wise-woman, and occasional man, were able to heal everything for the price of a piglet. Having said all that the actual mystery at the heart of the tale wasn't that bad but it's still not a real Holmes story.

Michael Moorcock - The Adventure of the Dorset Street Lodger

Say you've just learned that a wealthy relative you didn't even know existed recently passed away and has left to you, his or her only living descendant, a stately property. In fact, this doesn't happen very often, but you wouldn't know it judging from literature, particularly Victorian literature, where it sometimes seems as if eighty percent of the population is blessed with wealthy, generous, childless, and heretofore unknown relatives.

Due to refurbishment Holmes and Watson are temporarily evicted from Baker Street, finding accommodation at Mrs Hudson's sister-in-law's establishment at 2 Dorset Street. Wherein a fellow lodger, James Mackelsworth from Texas, seeks their help, having come into possession of a priceless Fellini sculpture courtesy of the estate of Gregory Mackelsworth, once England's richest man but who died penniless. Cue a tale of deception, murder and theft.
Despite a terrible last line this tale got the anthology back on track. Moorcock is an old hand at pastiche, spending much of his early career ghost-writing various pulp adventures, and Holmes enables him to tackle his favourite subject, London, although he is oddly subdued on it. I half expected Moorcock would send Holmes this way and that across London so he could write another paean to the 'lost' city. In actuality he just delivered a better than average mystery with the right lmix of humour and menace.

Dominic Green - The Adventure of the Lost World

This next tale takes us back to a simpler, happier time, when one could more easily imagine gigantic, blood-crazed lizards haunting the forests of the night.

In the summer of 1918 a number of trombonists have been murdered, their bodies crushed and broken and sometimes headless. Witnesses have stated they were playing Gustav Holst's Thaxted at the time. Thus Holmes beings one of his most incredible cases involving Professor Challenger's legacy and a heinous Fenian plot.
This may not be one for the purists but this was great fun. There is something inherently funny about trombonists being attacked, probably imagining that long sliding note, and amazingly there is a rational premise behind it. The tone is immediately set by Holmes meeting Watson at his surgery and completely fooling the good doctor into believing that he is a major with one leg. One of the most enjoyable stories – even the solution of how to take care of the culprit is a good one.

Barbara Hambly - The Adventure of the Antiquarian's Niece

...Many of these creations are now ubiquitous in popular culture and are familiar even if you've never heard of Lovecraft. Our next story continues the tradition of using these familiar elements to connect the tale to a larger body of fantastic literature.

Burnwell Colby, a young American, has been employed by the Delapores of Depewatch Priory, a decaying Gothic mansion, to help with antiquarian manuscripts. Once there he falls in love with the Viscount's neice only to sent away. A few days later he re-appears, his character completely changed, and states that everything is OK now. Holmes believes something amiss and decides to investigate anyway, calling on the help of Thomas Carnacki to help battle dark forces.
This is a far less successful team-up than Low and Holmes in Roden's story, where the latter expertly blended mystery and supernatural this reminded me of the 1960's Poe film adaptations where the Gothic was writ large. Despite the sinister goings-on there is something almost pantomime like about this story, every cliché you expect is here and not played down either.. If one of the characters had shouted “Look out! He's behind you.” and we descended into a “No, he isn't”, “Yes, he is” scenario I wouldn't have been surprised.

The Many Faces of Holmes

Looks a quiz - how many Holmes can you name?

I don't think I see Jonny Lee Miller in that collage. I wasn't sure, at first, if I was going to like that TV version, but was pleasantly surprised.

I am liking your reviews, and trying to decide if I should add this book to my wish list. Will you have more to report?

>87 NanaCC: - I think that montage was created a couple of years ago as Benedict Cumberbatch is missing as well. The JLM series isn't that well-known in the UK as it relegated to a cable channel, the BBC update though is very popular.
The good news is that there is only one more batch to go. For a fun read I would recommend it, even the disappointing stories seemed to flow by.

This is LAW.

Late Leith After Party
Pilrig Church Hall, 13/06/2013

After having had a wonder round the very busy establishments with events on and having heard but not seen Blueflint, a Scottish bluegrass group, I headed off the after party headlined by three local acts.

First up was LAW, an act I hadn't heard of never mind heard. LAW turned out to be a young female singer with a very striking stage presence and a clutch of good songs. The music was primarily provided by a laptop although LAW did also play the guitar and auto-harp, as well as gracing us with a stylophone solo at one point. This was actually very good and LAW with a little luck could have a big career in front of her. I would like to see her play with other musicians though as that would free her songs a little but it's difficult to criticise solo musicians for using new technology to have a bigger, more variable sound.

Teen Canteen are all-girl band, some of whom barely look like teens although I'm guessing they are students, who have been given the thumbs up by members of Teenage Fanclub and BMX Bandits. In the event this set was like a flashback to the mid-80's and the C86 movement, where quirky pop songs were bashed out with aplomb and in glorious lo-fi. If I was student now I would be name-dropping this band stating it's lovely back-to-basics pop; being a little older it was more a case of been-there, done-it. (I did seek out why copy of the Shop Assistants CD a couple of days later so it did make some positive impact).

The headline were Sparrow & The Workshop whom my other half was keen to see. In the end I found them rather disappointing, much of the interesting aspects of their recorded work was lost in a more bombastic live sound. It wasn't bad and the kids at the front were bopping away but having seen a lot of rock trios over the years it now takes a lot to get me interested.

Overall I can't complain, £6 for three bands and pints of very nice William Brothers ale for £2.50 isn't something to sneeze at nowadays.

Hillfolk Noir
(42 Royal Park Terrace, 17/06/2013)

Back to Royal Park Terrace for another house concert. I'm starting to get worried that I go any more often they will take an injunction (interdict, for Scottish readers) out against me. This was a very intimate gig with less than twenty people in the audience but the band still gave it their all.

Hillfolk Noir are, in their live incarnation at least are according to their website -
Travis Ward: resonator guitar, vocals, suitcase, harmonica, kazoo, words
Mike Waite: stand-up bass
Alison Ward: singing saw, washboard, banjo, harmonies
- although it would be fairer to say that they are a delivery mechanism for Travis Ward's songs.

The sound they produce belongs to another era, depression-era USA to be precise. It's hard to know what to call it, it is folk music but there is something peculiar in this recreation of an aural past that removes some the vibrancy of it. Don't get me wrong, Hillfolk Noir are very entertaining (any band where someone plays a saw can't be all bad) but there is something completely inessential about them. About halfway through their second set the bass was slap-happy, the washboard wracking and the First National guitar singing I couldn't help wondering what the point of all this effort was. The dilemma at the heart of Hillfolk Noir is that they want to sound like the past but haven't found a way of making something new out of the past so even with new songs they sound just like a tribute band.

The irony is that despite everything I have said I would recommend Hillfolk Noir to anyone who wants a good night out, assuming you don't hate jug-band folk music.

Just caught up from way back, back to the sci-fi anthology. There is so much here, it took me a while. Enjoyed your reviews - books, music and other shows - even if I'm the wrong market for most of this.

ETA that I'm entertained that I managed to type sic-if instead of sci-fi. Fixed, well above anyway.

I'm also just catching up and really enjoying the recent reviews. I did a double-take reading #78 - the Billy Bragg line is the inscription in my wedding ring (though the jeweller was a. non-native English speaking and b. probably couldn't fit the whole thing, and one word got dropped - only adding to the charm).

Massie's Vichy France books sound good - I'll have to keep an eye out for those.

I've had a quick listen to a couple of the acts, and Blueflint seem interesting - good for homesick-for-Glasgow/Scotland moments... Teen Canteen strikes familiar chords.

The final Sherlock Holmes instalment.

Tony Pi - Dynamics of a Hanging

One thing that's beyond any doubt though is that Dodgson demonstrated brilliance in many different fields. Notably, he held a lectureship in mathematics, and wrote books on logic. It's those abilities that he puts to good use in our next adventure.

This has a similar set-up to Peter Tremayne's story except this time everyone is at Oxford. It is also a Sherlock Holmes story without the man himself, instead we have Lewis Carroll tell Watson of his dealings with Moriarty and the murder of Arthur Conan Doyle.
When is a Sherlock Holmes story not a Sherlock Holmes story? In this case it doesn't matter, a good one would have sufficed.

Chris Roberson - Merridew of Abominable Memory

Sherlock Holmes, upon his return from the dead in "The Adventure of the Empty House," remarks on various criminals of his acquaintance whose names begin with M. "Moriarty himself is enough to make any letter illustrious," says Holmes, "and here is Morgan the poisoner, and Merridew of abominable memory." What follows is the story of this Merridew—a tale you won't soon forget.

Watson is an old man sequestered in a sanatorium, prone to forgetfulness. His doctor suggests that he is so forgetful about the present because he is so good at remembering, which results in Watson telling the tale of Merridew the man with the amazing memory and a killer called the dismemberer and how it tied into missing servants from rich households.
A decent enough story but probably the first time I felt that the culprit belonged to another time, more a reflection of the modern serial killer than the traditional Victorian villain.

Naomi Novik – Commonplaces

. Of course, when it comes to faking your own death with panache, nobody beats Sherlock Holmes,...But many readers have wondered, why couldn't Holmes have found some secret way to set the good doctor's mind at ease? Our next tale, in which we get an old acquaintance's view of Holmes during the Great Hiatus, suggests an answer to this mystery.

Irene Adler (again) is living a quiet married life when the newspaper announces the death of Sherlock Holmes. Adler is of the opinion that Holmes isn't dead but gone underground and she starts out to find him. Once she does they discuss the homosexual undercurrents in Holmes relationship with Watson (Adler is of the opinion that Watson would do anything Holmes asked) and then they jump into bed.
Apparently Novik won the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer in 2006 which leads me to deduce, on the basis of this story, that 2006 was a particularly bad year for SF. Novik shows as much affinity with the character of Holmes as Adam Sandler does with comedy. I'm against the burning of books but, if they are as bad as this, in Novik's case I'm willing to make an exception.

Rob Rogers - The Adventure of the Pirates of Devil's Cape

But what's been missing in all the hoopla over pirates is, of course, Sherlock Holmes. We aim to rectify that with our next story, a tale of adventure that takes our heroes far from their usual haunts in Baker Street and off into the strange, pirate-haunted bayous of Louisiana. So grab a talking parrot and pour yourself some grog. This one's a treasure.

Following the discovery of the bodies of 'Danish sailors' Holmes follows the trail all the way to Devil's Cape, Louisiana, - the kind of wild lawless city packed full of colourful characters so beloved of writers. Add in a touch of voodoo and we have the kind of gumbo stew that's a little hard to swallow.
This reads less like a Holmes tale than a tale Holmes has been shoe-horned into. The ending where Holmes fights the pirate leader, Jacare, while trying not to fall into the swamp wherein lies the giant white alligator the pirates feed their victims to is a classic pulp ending echoed in a thousand adventure yarns but feels like Holmes has wandered onto the wrong set.
(Trivia - Basil Rathbone, who vies with Jeremy Brett, as the definitive Holmes, was an excellent fencer but due to his usual casting as the villain found himself on the losing side of most duels).

Mark Valentine - The Adventure of the Green Skull

A revenant is a visible ghost or animated corpse that returns to terrorize the living, often in retribution for some wrong visited on that person in life....{He also testified that in all his years in the factory, not an hour had passed that you couldn't hear one of the child workers wailing. Many people don't realize that the thick, impenetrable London fogs that we associate with Sherlock Holmes were a result of terrible air pollution. The Victorian Age was romantic, but it was also a dark time, when business interests were totally unrestrained.

Holmes is intrigued by a newspaper article which states that a foreman in a match factory had fallen to his death when eye-witnesses mentioned he was pursued by a spirit. However it is only when the factory owner is found dead of heart failure that Holmes is able to solve the mystery, a solution that reveals the misery and suffering of the ordinary worker.
After a couple of duds this brought the anthology back on track with a story, that although a little slight, perfectly nailed the spirit of the original tales. It also reminds us much more subtly than the King story that Holmes was often not just the detective who solved the case but also consulted his own feelings to move beyond the law, being the sole judge and jury.

Tanith Lee - The Human Mystery

A character who always knows everything would be a bit dull and predictable. Holmes is such a genius that it sometimes seems that he knows everything, but we often forget that Holmes is able to recall so much information relating to detective work because he has purposely remained ignorant about so much else.... Our next adventure, which involves a lady, a house, and a curse, takes Holmes deep into one of those territories about which he still has much to learn.

Eleanor Caston, a beautiful young heiress, informs Holmes that she believes a curse is responsible for the death of female members of the family and now that she has inherited she will be next to die. Fascinated, Holmes takes up the case, which takes the detectives to the young woman's home and series of strange events that end up pointing not to murder but something much more unlikely.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that an anthologist in possession of a contract must be in want of a Tanith Lee story. This one is Lee in controlled mode which is a relief to begin with (I find OTT Lee rather too much of everything) and on the whole it is worthwhile until it falls apart a little at the end – perhaps feminism and Holmes is a combination too far.

Neil Gaiman - A Study in Emerald

Conan Doyle's first Sherlock Holmes adventure was called A Study in Scarlet, in reference to a bloody murder. The title "A Study in Emerald" also refers to a bloody murder, albeit one involving an entirely different sort of victim and an entirely different sort of blood. This is a world darker and stranger than our own, and this is a case that will pose quite a challenge to a certain detective and his loyal sidekick.

In Gaiman's world the Lovecraftian Old Ones are in control, holding all the crowns of Europe, and treating the humans as their chattel. One of the Queen's nephews has been murdered and she wants justice so Lestrade calls for the Great Detective to help him. This uncovers a Restorationist plot to free humanity from their overlords and that things may not be what they seem for the reader as well.
I know that many readers are of the opinion that Gaiman is a great writer but I just can't buy that, to me he's a writer who wants to be seen as clever but whose cleverness is aimed at such a middle-brow level so as not to alienate any readers. For example, the advertisements that introduce each chapter is this tale perform no function at all other than for writer and fans to agree how clever they are. The actual story is OK but the 'clever' switch at the end regarding the Great Detective is so predictable that it shows a lack of nerve going through with it.

Robert J. Sawyer - You See But You Do Not Observe

"Where is everybody?" These words, exclaimed by Los Alamos physicist Enrico Fermi in 1950, led to his formulation of what's known as the Fermi paradox: Why haven't we found any evidence of extraterrestrial life, given the seemingly high probability that such life exists? Even if intelligent life evolves only rarely, the sheer scale of the universe would mean that advanced civilizations should be commonplace.

In order to solve the Fermi Paradox scientists decide they need the most rational thinker available and consequently grab Holmes and Watson and bring them into the future. However having read no SF involving time travel they fail to realise that removing the two investigators will have serious repercussions for the past.
Years ago I used to buy Analog and this reminded me of the kind of story that I used to read there – an idea worked to its logical conclusion, usually with some kind of optimistic twist. A nice way to finish the book.

I think I am going to add The Improbable Adventures of Sherlock Holmes to my wish list. It sounds like it would be an enjoyable read. Something to pick up and put down whenever I have free time.

Danger! Danger! High Voltage! And Spoilers

Adam Roberts – Salt

And salt combines the good and the evil, yin and yang, God and the Devil. Take sodium, which is the savour of life. Without corporeal sodium the body could not hold water in its tissues. Lack of sodium will lead to death. Our blood is a soup of sodium. And here is the metal, so soft you can deform it between your fingers like wax; it is white and pearl, like the moon on a pure night. Throw it in water, and it feeds greedily upon the waves; it gobbles the oxygen, and liberates the hydrogen with such force that it will flame up and burn. Sodium is what stars are made of. Sodium is the metal, curved into rococo forms, that caps the headpiece and arms of God’s own throne. But here is chlorine, green and gaseous and noxious as Hell’s own fumes. It bleaches, burns, chokes, kills. It is heavier than air and sinks, bulging downwards towards the Hell it came from. And here are we, you and me, poised between Heaven and Hell. We are salty.

Roberts first novel, shortlisted for the Arthur C. Clarke Award, is a political fable set on a world comprised primarily of salt. Roberts however earns his hard SF spurs right from the start, describing how the colonists travel to the planet by tethering themselves to a comet and how the ships form the basis of cities on Nebel 2. (The original designation of the planet as a destination believed to be favourable to human life). One of the pleasures of the novel is that Roberts never loses sight of the world he has created, it remains an integral aspect of the story, never descending to the mere status of window dressing.

The political conflict at the heart of the novel comes from the clash between two of the new societies created by the colonists: the Alsists, who are anarchists, and the Senaarians, a hierarchical dictatorship. (Given Roberts knowledge of the genre the echoes of Le Guin's The Dispossessed and Pohl's Jem are probably not incidental). The disagreement between the two parties (superficially) erupts over the children born to Alsists, fathered by Senaarians. The latter demand access while the former claim that cannot be granted by the state. Eventually the Senaarians snatch the children but with such military force that war is effectively declared.

The novel is dialetical in structure, with chapters alternating between Petja, an Alsist scientist, and Barlei, the leader of the Senaarians.
The Barlei sections are essentially satiric as he muses about the glory of the state, of which he is a mere reflection, and how most of his choices were forced on him (i.e., how can you negotiate with people that are almost animals?). As Barlei indulges in his personal myth-making the reader is invited to see how his grandiose statements are a rewriting of history, how he is not the representation of the people but a vicious power-hungry dictator. While effective in conveying the Senaarian system there is a certain flatness to these chapters, primarily because Roberts' dictator is straight out of central casting, more a caricature than a character,
While Barlei pontificates Petja guides us through Alsist society on a personal level – it is the nationalist we contrasted with the anarchist I. We see how such society almost permanently teeters on the brink of inertia as the citizens are caught between following their own desires and performing the tasks the community requires to function. The problem with depicting an anarchist society is that although the ideals of anarchism can be stated clearly how an anarchist society of any size would function is still not clear. (At the last count there are more than half a dozen different anarchist schools). Roberts portrays a society that veers between Mutualism and Individualism with the slightly odd effect that one moment we are watching people working together for the common good and then following the teachings of Brad Goodman, the self-help guru who told the residents of Springfield to be more like Bart.
Perhaps this is the issue with Robert's novel of ideas, that in order to create the necessary conflict the author has had to use larger brushstrokes. While we might lose some subtlety it be wrong to accuse the author of heavy-handedness, he doesn't take sides and we see how in war they both suffer and start to develop characteristics of the enemy.

Earlier I mentioned Le Guin's The Dispossessed but at the heart of the novel is a journey undertaken by Petja and Rhoda Titus that is more reminiscent of The Left Hand of Darkness. Titus is an ambassador sent by Barlei to Alsist to discuss the situation of the children but is really just a blind to cover for the military action. Trapped, she pleads for Petja to take her with him, as he has decided to go on a trip to find himself. Once on their way across the barren landscape they discover their belief systems have very little in common but they seem to making some progress to a sort of personal understanding when Petja rapes her. (His justification is that he wants to have sex with her). I understand why Roberts has this scene, it shows that the anarchists are equally capable of acts of unprovoked violence, but it doesn't really ring true. Petja may not be the most likeable character, being too self-obsessed for that but this didn't really seem in character as he didn't strike me as the most extreme form of anarchist, i.e., the complete individualist. It also seems to suggest that someone who believes in anarchy on an individual level is a potential criminal since they follow their own desires without reference to others; a theory expounded by Max Stirner, whose egoism suggested, “What I have in my power, that is my own. So long as I assert myself as holder, I am the proprietor of the thing." (Albert Camus wrote an essay on how Stirner was “drunk on destruction”). From this standpoint is there any difference between anarchist and dictator? This also highlights why the Petja chapters are more interesting than the Barlei ones, they force the reader to engage more with the underlining political philosophy.

Perhaps the weakest point of Roberts' novel is the last chapter where it switches viewpoint completely and is told by Rhoda Titus, the only character to have dealt with both Petja and Barlei. It does give some perspective on events but personally I think the last section narrated by Petja would have been a more satisfying end.
Overall though this is a good novel – for the SF reader the world building is first class, and both genre and non-genre readers will find it engaging and thought provoking.

The Other Dickens
(BBC Radio 3, Saturday 23/07/2013 2030)

That I was listening to R3 on a Saturday night reveals two facts - one, I am past the age of going out and getting smashed; and two, even with cable TV there is nothing to watch.

This was a portrait of George W. M. Reynolds, a Victorian writer who was unknown to me. In his heyday Reynolds was one of the most popular of all writers (his Mysteries of London sold over 1 million copies) and a successful publisher -his left-wing newspaper Reynolds's Weekly Newspaper survived until the 1960s. When it was launched in 1850 Reynolds declared:

The Reynolds's Weekly News will be devoted to the cause of freedom and in the interests of the enslaved masses. In its political sentiment it will be thoroughly democratic; while as an organ of general intelligence it will yield to none in the copiousness of its news, the interests of miscellaneous matter, and the variety of its information. It will, therefore, prove not only a staunch, fearless, and uncompromising friend of popular principles, but likewise a complete and faithful chronicle of all domestic, foreign, and colonial events of interest or value.

And in that statement we see the difference between Reynolds and Dickens; while the latter undoubtedly sympathetic to the working classes he was also an establishment figure, Reynolds on the other hand was a fire-brand preaching revolution and equality. Reynolds also challenged prevalent views, while Dickens was producing Jewish stereotypes in Wagner the Werewolf he creates a Jewish character who is a moneylender and a good man. Reynolds also supported rights for women, a more honest approach to sex and the abolition of the monarchy. But he wasn't all good, he also edited a temperance magazine.

Reynolds novels are best described soap-operas with melodramatic plots and large casts of characters but whose main aim is proselytising for the working class rights. As one participant in the show stated "Dickens wrote novels for all time while Reynolds wrote them for his times" which is why we remember one and not the other. In an ironic twist of events the Victorians saw the hypocritical Dickens as a 'good man' and the honest Reynolds as a 'dangerous man' based on their fictions.

After listening to this show I had a lot of respect for Reynolds, much of what he believed in and fought for we now see as basic human rights. Will I read one of his books? I feel I should but fear that they may be over-long and hokey. YCurrently Reynolds has one book in print, the Werewolf novel published in Wordsworth Tales of Mystery and Suspense series. It's not even that easy to pick up them as free etexts. ou never know though.

What I came away from this thinking was Dickens may have been the greater writer but Reynolds was the greater man.

Adam Roberts seems to have hit paydirt with his first novel, I shall look out for his stuff in the second hand bins.

Fascinating stuff about George W M Reynolds, particularly that his books are unobtainable. I felt sure there would be something on project Gutenberg but there is only the one novel listed.

Nothing on TV on a Saturday night, because everyone is out getting smashed?

97 - at the prices of alcohol in pubs people can't afford to go and get smashed. I would say the standard pint in Edinburgh is now £4 but go to the wrong bar and £5 is not unusual. (It's not just the pubs, my partner ordered a small red wine at the Lyceum Theatre and they not only charged her £4.50 but served it in a plastic cup).

Re Reynolds - I also checked Gutenberg and was surprised to see just one book. Considering how popular he was it does seem unusual that his work hasn't been revisited - I would have thought that given his status in Victorian literature that his two Mysteries of London novels would have existed in some (probably prohibitive) expensive academic edition. I did find a copy of the first volume at www.victorianlondon.org, here are the first few lines -

OUR narrative opens at the commencement of July, 1831.
The night was dark and stormy. The sun had set behind huge piles of dingy purple clouds, which, after losing the golden hue with which -3- they were for awhile tinged, became sombre and menacing. The blue portions of the sky that here and there had appeared before the sunset, were now rapidly covered over with those murky clouds which are the hiding-places of the storm, and which seemed to roll themselves together in dense and compact masses, ere they commenced the elemental war.
In the same manner do the earthly squadrons of cavalry and mighty columns of infantry form themselves into one collected armament, that the power of their onslaught may be the more terrific and irresistible.
That canopy of dark and threatening clouds was formed over London; and a stifling heat, which there was not a breath of wind to allay or mitigate, pervaded the streets of the great metropolis.
Everything portended an awful storm.

Reads like he was a real contender to Bulmer-Lytton.

Really interesting about George Reynolds.

Concerning Bulwer-Lytton, have you seen the four books from the Bulwer-Lytton contest? There are some real howlers.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night
Bride of Dark and Stormy
Son of "It was a Dark and Stormy Night"
It Was a Dark and Stormy Night: The Final Conflict

You've got to feel sorry for Bulwer-Lytton, he produces great quotes like "the pen is mightier than the sword" and "the pursuit of almighty dollar" but gets remembered for "It was a dark and stormy night".

>99 SassyLassy: - I didn't realise they have been collected. I have been reading this year's winners on the website. (2013 Winners)

Spoilers, as usual

H. G. Wells – Love and Mr. Lewisham

After reading Baswood's thread when it came to choosing the next book to read H. G. Wells came into my head. My first thought was to go back and re-read one of the SF classics but when browsing the library's ebook collection I saw two non-genre works by Wells - The New Machiavelli and this one. I choose this one on the (slightly embarrassing) basis that it seemed a lighter book.

When the novel begins Mr Lewisham is a young master at middlebrow English public school who has his sights set on greatness, with a timetable detailing every day as the route map to this goal. Realising that his timetable has a flaw, allowing for no outdoor time, Lewisham decides to study his Horace in the local park, the result of which is a meeting with Ethel Henderson, a beautiful young girl. Before you can say 'Amo Amas Amat' Lewisham's timetable is out the window and so is he trying to accidentally bump into her again. At this task Lewisham is successful and soon realises he is in love with girl and the feelings seem mutual. Too soon however the lovers have to part as Ethel has to return to London.

Two and half years later we rejoin Lewisham back on track for greatness, Ethel having faded from memory. A student at the Normal School of Science (which to my ear always sounds like a spoof establishment but was a highly regarded institution), Lewisham is favourite for the Forbes medal and a leading light in the student socialist movement. He even has a groupie, a fellow student, Miss Heydinger, who believes that she could help him achieve all his goals.

Overhearing a conversation one of the casual students, Lagune, interrupts Lewisham and his circle stating that psychic events are real, that the dead can be contacted and he knows someone who can do it. Lewisham and Smithers, with Miss Heydinger in tow, agree to participate in a séance arranged by Lagune although unbeknowst to him they plan to unmask the charlatan. Once at the event the scientists are able to unmask Chaffery but Lewisham is thrown into a turmoil of emotions as the young woman assisting the clairvoyant is none other than Ethel, his step-daughter.

From this less than successful reunion Lewisham and Ethel are able to rekindle their romance but at the expense of Lewisham's work again. The more time they spend together the worse Lewisham's work becomes until he has essentially sacrificed the latter for the former. Marriage follows as our hero decides that Ethel needs to be rescued from the bad influence of Lagune and Chaffery but this creates more problems as realities of employment and money start to affect the young couple.

There is no disguising the fact that this is a slight novel, if Wells name was not attached it is unlikely it would still be in print. That does not mean it is without it's charms, the first section is light and breezy, capturing the irrationality of first love. Wells also manages to keep amusing the reader even as the story of the lovers takes on a bleaker tone, who would have guessed that Victorian employment agencies have so much in common with their modern counterparts, and then there is Chaffery with his pontificating on all aspects of life. Even Lewisham finds himself drawn to the man despite his reservations.

One of the facets of Wells' writing that has always intrigued me is that for an author known for his soaring imagination he is very good at portraying the drabness of much of ordinary life. We really do get a sense of the dinginess that Lewisham and Ethel are reduced to and how the future appears to be closing in around them. This creates some tension in the latter half of the novel as the humour is undercut by the desperation – it's easy to smile at Lewisham's pomposity when life is sailing along but harder when it is helping to the sense of failure.

What makes this novel interesting is that it obviously autobiographical to a large extent but Wells rewrites the ending. In 1891 Wells married his cousin but three years later they divorced, he having fallen in love with one of his students whom he married in 1895, the same year the first of his SF masterpieces, The Time Machine, appeared. Side-stepping the debate about how much a work is fiction is a straight from life, it is not difficult to see Lewisham as an avatar of Wells but one who brought down by his own flaws and a pretty face. (Wells makes his perfectly clear that there is a strong sexual attraction between hero and heroine). Lewisham knows that Ethel lacks the knowledge or personal attributes to help him achieve his goals, that Miss Heydinger is more suitable as a partner but he is not strong enough (self-centred enough?) to choose substance over beauty. It is strange that Wells, who left his wife for a partner of substance, is less than flattering in his portrayal of Miss Heydinger, almost to the point of crippling her as a viable alternative. Perhaps he was worried that if Miss Heydinger was portrayed fairly then it would be difficult to see why Lewisham chooses Ethel.

What makes these comparisons even more apt is that Wells offers Lewisham the options he choose. At one point during an argument Ethel asks her husband if he is so clever why can't he write one of the penny novels that she adores and he despises. (Naturally, Lewisham couldn't do something so populist). There is also a scene at the end when Lewisham has to involve Miss Heydinger that they cannot communicate any more, Ethel having found her letters and demanded so, and as she moves away Lewisham can't help but realise he has lost something important.

What Wells gives Lewisham in place of a satisfactory life is a sense of doing the right thing (something Wells was rarely accused of when he came to women) but does Lewisham really do the right thing? As far as Ethel is concerned he does but it comes at the expense of his own personal happiness. Is it not likely that this sacrifice is likely to lead to bitterness, recrimination and the decline of the marriage? When we leave Lewisham he is already a broken man, realising his life is finished and putting his hope in the next generation. In contrast Wells may have done the wrong thing but the result was much more positive.

In many ways this novel is a template for British comedy in the 20th century, as the story progresses the laughter and smiles fade to reveal the desperation and sadness underneath.

Marie came back home this evening with a Scottish recipe book from 1946. I thought I would share this delicacy with you.

POWSOWDIE
(Sheep's Head Broth)

1 Sheep's Head (Singed)
1.5 lbs. Mixed Vegetable: Turnip, Carrot, Potato, Leek, Onion
1 Tablespoon Parsley
2 Tbs Fine Oatmeal
4 oz. Pot Barley
6 Peppercorns
Salt and Pepper
3 Quarts Water

Choose a fat, round head. The head and feet are not skinned, as in England, but the wool is singed off. (This used to be done by the blacksmith, but may be done at home with a red-hot poker; but it must be done thoroughly.) On this depends the delectable flavour of the broth.

Soak the head overnight in lukewarm water. Take out the glassy part of the eye, scrape the head and brush till perfectly clean and white; then split it with a cleaver, and lay aside the brains, etc, and clean the nostrils and gristly parts. Wash the head once more, and let blanch for the pot. Then put it on in water along with the barley. Bring to the boil, remove the scum and add salt. After it has boiled for an hour add the vegetables and peppercorns, and simmer very gently for two-three hours longer, according to the size and age of the head. Half an hour before serving, add the oatmeal. Season, and add the parsley last thing; and, of course, remove the peppercorns.

The head can be served separately with brain sauce, the brains, washed and dried, being tied in muslin and boiled with the head for twenty minutes. Or it can made in brawn or a ragout.

Oh my. Blood pudding is about as far as I will go. :)

Enjoyed your review of Love and Mr Lewisham which I will be getting to soon and it is interesting to work through the autobiographical bits. According to Michael Sherborne's H G Wells another kind of life Love and Mr Lewisham was considered a breakthrough novel by readers and critics. Wells himself was pleased with it and saw it as a new direction away from the intuitive science fiction books; in a letter to Arnold Bennet about the book he said:

I want to write novels and before God I will write novels. They are the proper stuff for my everyday work, a methodical careful distillation of ones thoughts and sentiments and experiences and expressions

No doubt Powsowdie will be on all the restaurant menus for the Festival

Well, at least they singed the hair off!

Will you post your review of Love and Mr Lewisham to the book's page? Wonderful review, by the way.

No sheep's head for me, thanks. Glad I'm not the one in the kitchen cleaving away and making brain sauce.

Looking forward to finding out what you think of Canada. I keep circling around that one.

Terrific review of Love and Mr Lewisham. I had to reread it to be sure I had read it correctly the first time. It sounds so unlike any H. G. Wells with which I am familiar.

Richard Ford – Canada

I would issue a spoiler warning but a novel whose first two lines are -

First, I’ll tell about the robbery our parents committed. Then about the murders, which happened later.

- it's rather pointless. These two sentences also reveal the structure of the novel; with the first section concerning the bank robbery, the second the exile in Canada and the murders. (There is a short third section which I will mention later).

Our narrator is Dell Parsons, now a retired English Literature lecturer, but in the summer of 1960 an introverted 15 year old looking forward to high school, learning chess and with a desire to keep bees (on the basis that both will improve his intellectual standing). He has a twin sister, Berner, who is taller and stronger and on the cusp of out-and-out rebellion. His parents are Bev Parsons, a USAF bombardier who saw service in WWII and has never quite found his true calling since. In 1960 he is newly discharged airman with no discernible skills but with plenty of charm and with a self-proclaimed eye for a 'good deal', which unfortunately have a way of going bad. His mother is Neeva (short for Geneva) Kamper, a tiny Jewish woman, who had ambitions to go to college but was waylaid by pregnancy; reading French and having artistic leanings she feels, and looks, out-of-place in Great Falls, Montana. As the narrator states -

Our parents were the least likely two people in the world to rob a bank.

As we know that his parents commit the robbery this section is almost like a piece of music in the way that the narrative weaves around its theme before crystallising and then the aftermath slowly fading away. Despite the melodramatic aspects of the plot - Bev Parsons getting involved with the reservation Indians in a meat scam, the result of which going wrong leads to the robbery, and the crime itself – the tone is defiantly low-key. Ford's focus at all time remains on the characters, not on events. But while we get a first class portrayal of a slowly disintegrating family in small town USA I struggled to believe that these two people would turn to bank robbery and at times it felt like the author had the same struggle. Likewise I wasn't completely convinced that the authorities would have left the two children when they are arrested the parents but I could see how it suited the author's purposes.

As the second section of the novel begins Dell, his sister having run-off, is taken to Canada by Mildred Remlingler, a friend (the only friend) of his mother's, to be placed under the care of her brother. He ends up in a place called Partreau, so small that is barely there at all – a few scattered buildings and trailers peopled by outcasts. Mildred's brother, Arthur, runs, and resides in, a hotel in the neighbouring town of Fort Royal which caters for hunters. Dell helps Charley Quarters, Remlingler's hunting guide, a rough hard man whom Dell notices often has traces of make-up on his face, and latterly gets to work in the hotel.
Initially Dell believes Arthur will take him under his protection but Remlingler remains aloof and it is only his partner, Florence, who pays the boy any attention. Dell is warned against Arthur but can't help being fascinated him and eventually it seems that Arthur has started to take an interest in him. This coincides with the revelation that Remlingler is a haunted, and hunted, man due to events when he was an active member of an American fascist organisation, and that Arthur may be using Dell as a means to an end.

The third section leaps forward almost forty years to when Dell is retired and visits his terminally ill sister. Their lives have travelled radically different paths - one successful and fulfilling, the other messy and dissipated. This meeting between brother and sister gives Ford a way to pull his two disparate strands (with a little reworking it is not difficult to imagine them as separate novels) together producing a surprisingly satisfying ending.

Arguably this last section is the most successful of the novel simply because it exhibits Ford's strength as a short story writer. That is not to say the rest of the novel is bad, it just feels very loose and baggy. Ford has stated that it took him twenty years to write this novel, that and the fact it feels like Ford's attempt at 'the Great American Novel', may explain why this work seems so expansive in contrast to the author's usual concision. That's not to say it is poorly written, Ford is not a flashy writer but his prose has such a lovely cadence and flow to it that the reader is can't help but be beguiled.

I'm still not convinced that this is a great novel although it is at least a good one. The problems are both structural and thematic which I'm convinced Ford recognised hence the coda that attempts to bring everything together.
Even with that I'm still not certain what we are to make of Dell's story. He is given two contrasting father-figures, his real father is likeable and warm but lacking knowledge where Arthur Remlingler has knowledge but is closed and cold. Both end up betraying Dell's trust. Likewise the two mother-figures encourage Dell but lack the strength to protect him, indeed are conspirators in the male betrayal. Dell grows up to have a long and loving marriage but no children, although not by choice, and in his work teaches students. Neither of which would seem likely given his role-models.
Which takes us back to the past. Dell seems to be able to overcome the past, it neither limits nor defines him, whereas both father-figures and his sister let it poison their lives. (Although in Arthur's case that's not surprising). While many novels are about the disruptive nature of the past on the present and the future Ford's novel shows a character who experiences a traumatic past only to create the life he wants. Is Ford saying that if you let the past go and focus more on the present we will lead more contented lives? I'm not sure.

Actually I'm not sure that the book adds up to anything but sometimes, as the old cliché states, it is not the destination but the journey that is important and this is one worth taking.

Thanks. You've tipped me over to the "should really get a copy when I next see one available" side of things. Good review.

Here's a picture of Pharoah Sanders. This is in place of a review as he due to illness he didn't make it to Edinburgh.

Oh sad about Pharoah Sanders. Enjoyed your review of Canada. Should it be required reading for all Canadians.

David Broughton Thomas, Rachel Dadd & Ichi.
Song by Toad Bad Fun, Henry's Cellar Bar, 30 May 2013.

I go to quite a lot of gigs and while I'm always happy to support live music some of them are virtually forgotten the next day This was not one of those nights. I'll remember this for a long time.

First up was Rachel Dadd, a young woman with a guitar, and an ukulele, and threads of shells round her ankles to provide percussion. Every about this performance was nice and pleasant but nothing more. (She did tell a story that highlights the absurdity of Scottish licensing laws. Normally she performs with her her baby strapped to her back but the bar staff stopped her due to the baby being under 18. What exactly the staff were worrying about is a good question? I'm of the opinion that if a 9 month child can order a pint then he/she deserves to be served because they are obviously very special indeed).

A bunch of songs by Rachel Dadd

After a short break Ichi came on stage – on stilts. Which wasn't the easiest thing to do in a cellar bar. Later these one of these stilts turned out to be a bass and both formed a track for a ping pong ball. Before you ask it is part of the encore when he putted a ping pong ball along this track and into a spinning steel drum. That steel drum is Ichi's main instrument, in so much it is utilised the most, but he plays everything – from trumpet (also used as percussion) to kazoo to balloons. All this was used to produced quirky pop songs sung in Japanese, each one introduced with “This song is about...”; subjects included mosquitoes, noodles and toasters. It was all great fun and anyone who wouldn't raise a smile at a performance like this is either dead or trying to be too cool.

Three songs by Ichi from 2005

If at this point someone said to me you have only seen the second most unusual performance of the night I would have laughed but they would have been right.

When David Thomas Broughton appeared on stage with a guitar and starting singing I thought here's another by-the-book folk-rock singer albeit one who is a good guitarist and has a very powerful voice. Then DTB started deploying a relay allowing him to multi-track his guitar and use his voice to create sounds. (This was all done live – he would play a sequence which was recorded and then replayed). Things were starting to get very interesting and then he ordered two glasses of water from the bar – he drank one and put the empty glass in his shirt pocket. At this point I think most of the audience were asking themselves what's going on here then. This was just the beginning of a something that was as much a piece of performance art as a gig – over a constantly evolving loop of music which he added and subtracted to using not just voice and guitar but rudimentary beat-box and siren DTB delivered a performance that was often surreal, occasionally cringe-worthy and completely mesmerising. I'm not remotely sure what was going on, I think it was one long narrative musical piece but by the time he poured the second glass of water down his front I couldn't give a damn, I'd just witnessed something very special indeed. When it all ended the audience were so stunned that there was a long silence before we started showing our appreciation. Leaving the bar I turned to the friend I went with and asked him what he thought of that and he just looked at me and said I'm not sure but it was incredible.

You can hear some DBT here

Re: Richard Ford - Canada

I forgot to mention that this was a book group read and managed to produce the lowest turn-out ever. I have no idea whether this was some commentary on the way people felt about the book or that it was during the holidays or the sun was shining. I am beginning to realise that more I like a book the less everyone else seems to like that and vice versa. However, we're still along way away from the meeting about The Time Traveler's Wife. When I suggested that was one of the worst novels I had read in the last ten years I thought I was going to get lynched.

A memorable spectacle indeed. Everything is a spectacle rather than a concert here in France, but your visit to Henry's Cellar Bar sounds like a spectacle.

I had a similar experience on the first visit to my local book club when I dared to suggest that Room was exploitative and I fared little better with criticisms in a similar vein of The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

Oh and we just had our meeting today to discuss Shantaram and I showed everybody the excerpt from Gregory David Roberts website you copied to my thread. I think people are still laughing about it.

Don't you wonder sometimes if the other person even read the same dang book you did?!

>114 baswood:/115 - usually someone will say something along the lines of 'you don't like the book because you don't understand it'. My favourite was during the Time Traveler's Wife discussion when someone accused me of being emotionally dead inside.

>113 Jargoneer: Do you suppose it had anything to do with the title? I find that often if you mention Canada when you're elsewhere, the reaction is snoooooze. Maybe they just didn't read it.

the sun was shining ... I now have Sunshine on Leith as an earworm for the rest of the day.

oh Sassy you must be hanging out with the wrong people. Everyone I know in the U.S. wants to move to Canada. You guys really got slammed with Americans wanting in when Bush was pres.

>118 mkboylan: mk There seem to be different attitudes towards Canada depending upon which side of the ocean you're on. In the UK, many think of Canadians as boring country cousins, concerned only with moose and hockey. In the US, it's more complex. There is the widespread belief that Canadians are just like Americans, then you get into the "except for..."

During the Vietnam war, after 1965, Canada did not ask immigrants from the US for their draft status and over 50,000 Americans emigrated to Canada. The Canadian government itself said in 2000 Although some of these transplanted Americans returned home after the Vietnam War, most of them put down roots in Canada, making up the largest, best-educated group this country had ever received. Since that time, much has changed and the present government is taking a hard line on people wanting to come here to avoid war and is trying to erase that legacy from the official record. Of course there are other reasons to move to Canada, so come on up!

I'll stop now, jargoneer.

119 It is an interesting relationship isn't it Sassy? I just do love Canada. I've been in most of the provinces and everyone has been so welcoming and friendly. Well except for that period when Bush refused to sign Kyoto. But that's understandable. :)

>119 SassyLassy: - when I heard that Ford had written a novel called Canada I assumed that it would be about the 1960's and Canada as refuge. To be honest, even after having read the book I'm not sure why it is called Canada.

>117 SassyLassy: - when you mention Canada to me I think of people like Neil Young and Joni Mitchell and Leonard Cohen.

Gene Wolfe – Home Fires

When Skip Grison, a hugely successful lawyer in a world where the gap between the haves and have-nots is greater than ever before, is informed that his contracted partner, Chelle Sea Blue, is returning from a four year stint fighting in an interstellar war, he is faced with the reality of having a partner twenty years younger than him. In order to ease his doubts and Chelle back into the real world he decides to get her a truly memorable present which turns out to her mother. This doesn't seem unusual until you realise that her mother is dead and the person you who is portraying Chelle's mother is a volunteered body who looks similar enough with a backup of Vanessa Hennessey's mind imprinted.
So far so good, Gene Wolfe entering Philip K. Dick territory is a very promising premise. Wolfe's dense allusive prose would seem to be ideal for a story involving the nature of identity and truth, with things looking even more hopeful when Vanessa is the subject of an attempted murder.

Before we know it all three characters are on aboard a giant liner; Grison and Blue as passengers, Hennessey having tricked her way into the crew. And then everything blows up, in some cases literally. When the three protagonists are on-shore trying to obtain a gun (Blue feels she needs one) the boat sails. Catching up with they are brought on board by pirates but fortunately Blue now has a gun and she shots some of them. Grison, despite never having fired a gun before, picks one up and leaps into action. From then on it's a rollercoaster ride of action, betrayal and a plot that twist and shakes. Grison turns out to very handy in a pinch, not only does he take to the action well (not wanting to look a cissy in front of Blue) being a very successful lawyer means he has all the right contacts, and money, to do just about anything. (His only weakness is that he may be too old for Chelle).

At this point I began to feel the novel had been hi-jacked, unfortunately not by colourful pirates but by the likes of Tom Clancy or Lee Child. The image of Tom Cruise and an unsuitably young actress on-board a huge CGI ship – I could almost see the tagline – 'Home Fires: 'Die Hard' on the 'Titanic'. This may be a little harsh on Wolfe who is still a competent enough writer although it seems that he may have had his doubts, interspersing an 'action' character with a more reflective one by Grison. The problem is that they don't really add much depth to the story, being little more than vapid digressions. The initial premise, and promise, of the novel is just thrown away – there is little interest shown in any of the science fiction elements, to the extent that with a little tinkering this could have been a run-of-the-mill mainstream thriller. For example, when Wolfe comes to describe the reason behind the attempted murder of Hennessey he comes up with the idea of a 'suicide ring' but it just feels like a device to explain a narrative event rather than something of genuine interest. (Dick would have given us conspiracies, drugs and God).

This book was a bitter disappointment. Over the years Wolfe has produced some great work, work that can stand outside the SF genre, but at over 80 and following major illnesses perhaps his time has gone, and like Roth, each subsequent novel is only a pale reflection of what has gone before.

Shame about Home Fires, Gene Wolfe

The Kid (1921)
Music composed by Graeme Stephen
Played by Stephen (guitar), Martin Kershaw (saxophones) & an female accordionist whose name I failed to note.
42 Royal Bank Terrace, 31/07/2013

I have to admit that I'm not the biggest Chaplin fan & wasn't completely sold on Stephen's soundtrack to Sunrise earlier this year so I was going to give this miss but Marie wanted to see it so I dragged myself along.

That the film began with the title, "A picture with a smile - and perhaps, a tear", did not fill me with hope but over the next 78 minutes I was pleasantly surprised and by the end had to admit anjoying it. And that's despite symbolism and sentimentality which is heavy-handed, and a plot that was cliched even in 1921. I had thought the humour would have faded but there was a nice surrealism to it that played well to a modern audience. The level of violence in it was surprising - people were always getting threatened or hit in some way - but makes sense when you analyse it. Chaplin's Little Tramp was the downtrodden everyman who manages to outwit the street bullies and the authorities, when they try to crush him they end up with sore heads. In a society where so many were at the bottom and with a system that seemed designed to keep them there watching someone like themselves winning must have given some solace and reflects Bakhin's idea of carnivalesque in the element of challenging authority.

What about the music? I'm not sure. Except for one instance when it jarred I can't say I noticed the music. Does that make it bad or good? I suppose if the music is too good or bad it becomes the focus more than the film. Therefore on one level I have to say that the music worked completely, it complemented the film without drawing attention away from it.

I doubt that Stephen's score will appear anywhere soon but I do recommend that you give The Kid a chance.

P.S. - while waiting for the film to start Marie and I started talking to this young women. I happened to mention that I had seen Stephen's Sunrise gig and wasn't convinced. I them said I knew that he had done a soundtrack of Nosferatu but then so had everyone including my cat. This woman, as you may have guessed, turned out to be the composer's girlfriend.

P.S. LOL

Ouch! LOL

Oh No!

Jack Vance – The Dragon Masters and Other Stories

When the death of Jack Vance was announced earlier this year I realised that it had been years since I had read anything by him so as way of a tribute I decided to make the effort to become reacquainted with his work. This collection looked the best option, comprising of three novellas from the early 1960's, two of which won Hugo Awards. (It also helped that that many of the overviews of his career stated that he was at his best at this length).

The Miracle Workers
The first story is the oldest, dating from 1961, and is saddled with a terrible title that suggests Christian missionaries working in China or Africa.
On another world far in the future humans have taken to living in a semi-feudal manner with clans and castles. Lord Faide, of Faide Keep, has determined to become the dominant force and so lays siege to Ballant Keep. This a battle fought by knights and Jinxmen, who appear to be magicians but as the story unwinds are revealed to have psychic powers. Of all the Jinxmen, Lord Faide's head one, Hein Huss, is the greatest although he is under pressure from Isak Commodore who desires his post.
Following their successful siege the army of Faide Keep, having secured their prize, are ambushed on the way home by the First Folk, the indigenous life-form who originally lived in the mossy ground but have been forced by the humans into forests. There they have been biding their time, breeding new weapons. Following a skirmish which leaves the humans rattled it is Faide Keep that is soon besieged.
With Jinxmen of little use, the First Folk possessing a completely different neural setup, and the First Folk much more numerous the outlook seems hopeless unless Sam Salazar, an apprentice Jinxman, can utilise the skills of the ancients and provide technical solutions to the problems faced by the besieged inhabitants.

The Dragon Masters (Hugo Best Short Story 1963)
On another world far in the future humans have taken to living in a semi-feudal manner with clans and settlements. They also have 'dragons', the origin of which involves a nice twist, to fight their wars with.
Joaz Banbeck, lord of Banbeck Vale, is a man with a vision who has begun to embrace some of the old teachings. Using his knowledge he has calculated that the Basics, an alien race who raid the planet for human slaves, are due back shortly. He not only wants to fight them, despite their superior firepower, but has dreams of capturing their spaceship and travelling in search of other planets inhabited by humans. He is also perspicious enough to realise that the 'sacerdotes', a race of mystics who eschew clothes and live as a separate community, and who answer only carefully worded questions properly, may have an important role to play in the future.
Unfortunately for Banbeck his neighboutr, Ervis Carcolo, lord of Happy Valley, is as short-sighted as a bat and only wants to restore his fiefdom to former glories, which, in his eyes, means defeating Banbeck once and for all. Despite the advice of his military adviser Carcolo attacks Banbeck Vale drawing Joaz into battle. Meanwhile the aliens have landed in the same place and these simultaneous battles threaten Banbeck's plans unless he can get help from elsewhere.

The Last Castle (Hugo Best Novelette 1967)
On Earth in the far future humans have taken to living in a semi-feudal manner with important families and castles. They have returned from deep space and have brought with them alien races to do all the work while they live decadent lives.
Castle Janiel has fallen to the Meks and now only Castle Hagedorn, the largest of all of Earth's castles, remains. As the families bicker and discuss the situation they still continue to live the same lives as before, confident that the Meks are incapable of storming the castle. They still find it difficult to believe that the Meks had the capacity to revolt in the first place, failing understand why they would even want to.
However there are a few among the inhabitants of the castle who believe that humans must change their ways to defeat the Meks. Among them is Xanten who undertakes a reconnaissance of the area and captures a Mek who appears to show no signs of human interference in his genetics. On his return journey he encounters a group of Nomads, humans who never left Earth and have as much love for the castle-dwellers as the Meks, and another of Expiationists, people who have left the castle for various reasons. Neither are willing to help Castle Hagedorn. Are the humans doomed or will they find a way to work together?

The first thing that should be noted about Vance is that he was not the meat-and-potatoes (in a number of cases I'm being very kind with this description) writer that many of the other SF 'grandmasters' were. As Christopher Priest says in an obituary in the Guardian -

His prose – detailed, exotic, resonant of feelings, sounds and fragrances – soared well above the requirements of the genre; he described alien landscapes with bizarre and inventive energy in language that was ambitious, wordy, sometimes lurid, always bold.

It is not by accident that so many of Vance's tales appear to set in a far future when the trappings of traditional SF can be underplayed resulting in something more akin to the High Fantasy of Lord Dunsany. Vance never made any secret of his love of pulp fiction and these stories could be misconstrued as mere adventure stories, especially when packaged with all the standard man and dragon cover. He also deserves credit for being one of the few genre writers who utilises arcane vocabulary well, being a good writer means that he knows when a word works rather than just scanning the bumper book of unusual words and chucking them onto the page.

On the other hand Vance, on the basis of these stories, doesn't measure up quite as well in the area of plotting. The story arc is fine but this trio effectively share the share plot – humans live a post-technological existence, are threatened by aliens and in order to survive have to recapture lost skills or behaviours. In Vance's defence when these stories were published in magazines a few years apart any similarity wouldn't have been so obvious and you could argue that something like 12 bar blues always contains 12 bars, unless you are John Lee Hooker, but there are plenty of variations within that structure. I never felt bored by the plot similarities (I did read them separately rather than one adter the other though) and like the best blues players Vance made sure enough was happening in the details to keep readers happy.

Of the three novellas, The Miracle Workers, is the weakest but is still worth reading. The other are small masterpieces, classic science fiction you can still read and not be embarrassed by the writing. (I should point however that women barely feature at all so some old habits don't die so easily).

I'll leave the last word with Michael Chabon -

"Jack Vance is the most painful case of all the writers I love who I feel don't get the credit they deserve", said the writer Michael Chabon. "If The Last Castle or The Dragon Masters had the name Italo Calvino on it, or just a foreign name, it would be received as a profound meditation, but because he's Jack Vance and published in Amazing whatever, there's this insurmountable barrier."

PS1 – the Hugos were awarded before there was a category for Novellas.
PS2 – if you are interested in reading some Vance make sure of the edition, his original texts were quite roughly edited in the good old-fashioned way so the ones to get are those that use the Vance Integral Editions.

Excellent tip about reading the Vance Integral Editions.

Withered Hand & Friends
Queen's Hall, 10/08/2013

This turned out to an eventful night in more ways than one.

First up was The Second Hand Marching Band who I thought were no more. They are a collective comprising of up to 20+ members playing guitars, drums, ukuleles, and a full brass section with some wind instruments for good luck. The man who holds this all together is Pete(r) Liddle who plays accordion, tenor horn and also sings.
The music they produce is a ramshackle folk-pop hybrid that can't but bring a smile to your face. Unfortunately the sound in the QH was a little harsh as multiple instruments had to share one mic resulting in less differentiation and more noise than normal. Still enjoyed them though.

You can listen and download their earlier material here - Second Hand Marching Band Compendium!

The second act was Eugene Kelly, once frontman of the less than famous but well loved The Vaselines. Armed with only an acoustic guitar he started his first song and this is where the night got a little strange. I am normally a polite easy-going individual but this couple sitting next to us wouldn't be quite, they talked through the first and when they started again I lost it and told them to shut up in no uncertain terms. The woman then burst out crying and kept crying for the next 15 minutes. So despite the fact they were ruining my night I ended up feeling guilty. (After EK finished we fortunately managed to straighten things out a little).
Kelly's set was OK and was enlivened at the end by the appearance of Teen Canteen, with whom he had written a show – these songs about dogs and fluffy cats were just fun.

The mystery guest for the evening was King Creosote, which wasn't much of surprise since I said to Marie a few weeks before that he would be. This was another acoustic guitar and voice set but KC has such a great back catalogue and is a consumate performer that he had everyone listening carefully.

The headline act was Withered Hand who came complete with his new expanded band. For those who don't know who Withered Hand is he is Dan Wilson and whomever, a singer-songwriter in the Folk-Rock tradition. His first album Good News was excellent and contains Religious Songs, a single that should have sold in the millions but probably sold in the hundreds. (You can hear all this music here).
The set he played contained a few old favourites and a number of songs from the forthcoming album which were, if anything, better than the old ones. Unfortunately it won't be released until 2014 but it means that there is something to look forward to through the long winter.

Overall a great night despite everything.

Iain Banks – The Bridge

Following Iain Banks untimely death the book group decided we should read one of his books. We soon released that works like The Wasp Factory and The Crow Road were out of the running as so many had read them before (as a rule we tend to choose books that no-one has read). In the end we settled on The Bridge, the deciding factor being Banks' stating that this was his personal favourite, to be exact -

Definitely the intellectual of the family, it's the one that went away to University and got a first. I think The Bridge is the best of my books.

The book opens with a prologue named Coma which to my mind was unnecessary. It's almost as if the author or the publisher had a crisis of faith and wrote this to stop the reader being just dropped into a state of confusion. However this prologue actually makes it too obvious what is really happening.

The novel proper starts with a scene that could come straight out of a classic gothic novel with a coach speeding through a wild countryside at night only to meet another coach coming the other way. On a single road with no passing places they are stuck and gradually the narrator realises that the other coach exactly mirrors his. It then transpires that an amnesiac given the name John Orr is telling his dream to a psychologist, although as the reader finds out he doesn't dream, he makes up stories to keep the doctor happy.

John Orr was found floating next to The Bridge, a massive construction (based on the real Forth Rail Bridge) on which whole communities live. No-one seems to ever have left the bridge although trains run regularly so there must be something out there but no-one seems interested in what or when the bridge was built, etc, except Orr. The problem is that his request for information is lost in bureaucracy and the 'The Third City Records and Historical Materials Library' where details are held is missing.
Despite this Orr has a good life on the bridge, subsided by the authorities due to his mental condition. However in Orr's apartment his television stops working, rather than the regular channels it shows images of a man lying in a hospital bed, while his telephone only emits regular beeps. Aircraft start flying by which causes uneasiness and the authorities start to take action to stop it happening again.
Without warning Orr loses his privileged position and is moved to the lower recesses of the bridge. Only through his friendship with the beautiful female engineer, Abberlaine Arrol, is he able to escape from everything closing in around.
The Bridge is a wonderful construct, a classic SF BDO* that also points forward to the steampunk sub-genre, that also echoes elements of Kafka and Borges. It is Banks at his imaginative inventive best. When the novel stays on the Bridge it is at its strongest.

The second strand of the novel is a spoof science fantasy which incorporates a number of classic myths. Narrated in a strong Scottish dialect it is difficult it is obvious that Banks is having a laugh here but arguably it is this comic element that undermines this thread, with it passing beyond the satiric to the silly.

Strand three is a strangely straightforward romance story between Alex and Andrea who are beautiful people who live beautiful lives. True there the problems of real life – death of parents, getting a little older, the Conservatives constantly winning elections, worries about what class am I now, etc – and the course of true love doesn't run smooth but that's OK because they have such an open and deep understanding that they can deal with anything together, even when they are off dealing with things with other people. This section zips along so quickly in a “I did this and then that and Andrea was doing this and that” way that it sometimes barely registers although at a certain point I began to wonder about the time scale, they seemed to be a lot of stuff and only a few years had gone. On the other hand, Banks exhibits impeccable musical taste in these sections, although I have to put one thing right – The Rezillos best single was “My Baby Does Good Sculpture”.

I can understand why this was Banks favourite, he obviously had great fun writing it, utiltising a number of different voices in a complex interlacing structure, packing it full of references to favourite writers and artists, but I also understand why so few readers would state this was their favourite. About halfway through the novel I began to wonder if Banks had created this from more than one manuscript, the text reveals an almost chaotic split personality. It doesn't help that the sections are so uneven, on the Bridge the novel is mysterious and powerful but on dry land it ironically begins to sink. By the Orr time escapes the Bridge and ends up travelling through a landscape of war and destruction (allowing Banks to bring out his 'shocking' side) I too felt trapped, turning each page in an effort to reach the inevitable conclusion. The Bridge felt a long way away and so did my enjoyment and interest.

If this novel got a first, as Banks claimed, I would have to question the legitimacy of the institution. For me it's a solid second class on the borderline between a 2i and 2ii.


*Big Dumb Object

Feral
Fringe, Pleasance Dome, 05/08/2013.

A suitcase-trailing family rolls into new beginnings. Foreign, distorted and bright, the world resembles a haven of comfort. A miniature Utopia. But as their walls and lives are peeled back, the community’s murky environment is revealed. Feral is an innovative piece of visual, mixed-media theatre which combines puppetry, film and live sound to create and destroy a world in front of its audience’s eyes.

I quote the above to give a rough idea of why I wasn't really sure what I was about to see. In the event it is rather like watching an animated short being created in front of your eyes. The five members of Tortoise in a Nutshell comprised a sound engineer who also provided music, a film editor, and three puppeteers/cameramen. There was also a gently sloping table with slots cut into it for the pre-prepared buildings to connect to, with the small paper puppets moving via the longer slots. While one or two of the puppeteers were manipulating the scenery the other(s) would be filming using small camcorders, which was them projected onto a screen above the table.

The storyline was fairly simple. In an idyllic seaside town complete with an old-style pier is ruined when the council agrees to a huge amusement arcade on the seafront. Before you know the town is sliding into anarchy with gangs roaming the streets, etc. (Afterwards I found out this piece had been created for teenagers probably to show the consequences of bad behaviour although I do wonder how much those that steal cars and sniff glue would pay to this).

This was a fascinating experience, like a silent masterclass on how to make your own animated film, but at times I wondered if I wouldn't have preferred to have seen the film and then shown how they did it, with some interaction with the audience but then it wouldn't have been a piece of Fringe theatre.

Miles & Coltrane Blue
Fringe, C C+1, 2215, 05-08-2013.

This piece captures the galvanising energy of the 1950s, when American society was rapidly changing. During this era, jazz was the soundtrack to a new social revolution. And at the forefront of jazz music was trumpet blaring Miles Davis and skillful saxophonist John Coltrane, who partnered to make a wondrous residual slide in soundscapes that would unleash their names to be forever known as jazz legends. For this production, Concrete Generation rallies The Stephen Gordon Quintet to articulate the noteworthy shift in music history.

While waiting to get into this show we started talking to a woman who sat down beside us. It turned out that she was one of the writers and performers so I do feel a little bad about what I'm going to say now.

The idea behind the show was fine and the two actors playing Davis and Coltrane were good (although Marie was concerned about Coltrane being a little fat) but I wasn't convinced by the presentation. The show didn't need any actors other than this pair, especially the token white man playing heroin and the above mentioned writer playing Alice Coltrane – they added nothing meaningful. Neither did if need the MC who acted as introduced, (short of) interviewed and commented on the jazz duo. He appeared to be a way to modernise the feel of the piece and spoon-feed the audience information but he created a barrier rather than a way in plus some of the statements were ludicrous – all modern music comes from Davis and Coltrane. Really?

When the focus was on Davis and Coltrane I was interested although I think they were possibly weren't harsh enough on the former. (Davis was a legendary spiky individual but was portrayed here as cool slightly abrasive character. Coltrane was all nervous ticks and desperate spirtuality). Usually only one of them was on stage at any time and they would recount some piece of autobiography, sometimes about their family upbringing but equally about addiction and the process behind the music. (The latter was easier for Coltrane since he was always clear that his playing was rooted in spirituality. I didn't realise that in the mid-60's when asked by a Japanese reporter where he wanted to be in ten years he replied, “I want to be a saint.”)

What was great about this production was the Stephen R. Gordon Quartet featuring Gordon on Drums, Marcus Jones on Keyboards, Eleazar Shafer on Trumpet, and Amari Ansari on Tenor/Soprano Saxophone. You are never going to replicate two greats like Davis and Coltrane but these interpretations were good enough to stand on their own. ( I wanted to go and see them do a whole set but unfortunately they were scheduled to play between 2 and 5 in the morning during the next).

I did enjoy this show, within the parameters listed above, but I couldn't help thinking that there is a great show lurking inside quite a good show but will require a director who will dismantle in order to rebuild.

You find out more about the show her - MC Blue on tour.

Nightmare Magazine
Issue 11, August 2013
Edited by John Joseph Adams

At a loose end I thought would try some of the magazines out there and I decided to start with this one for no obvious reason other than whim. This edition contains four short stories (two new and two 'classic' reprints), interviews with the authors regarding their story plus the second part of a larger one with Joe Hill, an essay and a spotlight on the artist Lena Yuk.

Opening the issue, after the obligatory editorial naturally, is one of the new ones - How Far to Englishman's Bay by Matthew Cheney.
Max, owner of a used bookstore, has just turned fifty and feels the need to change his life, primarily to get to the coast, and so one day he just decides to leave everything behind. On his journey it is suggested that he goes to Englishman's Bay where, this being a horror story, something bad is lurking.
As a whole I'm not completely convinced by the structure of the story, Max's friendship with Jeffrey the faded college star and gun fanatic doesn't add much although interestingly in his interview Cheney mentions that he writes about what he knows -

Statistically, gun owners are more of a threat to themselves than to other people. If you live in this country and don’t know anybody who ever shot themselves to death, you’re lucky. Because my father sold guns, occasionally someone would buy one of those guns from him, go home, and shoot themselves. One of my childhood memories is of my father cleaning a gun for a woman whose husband had used it to kill himself.

The plot revolves Max's fear and disgust at getting older which made it slightly strange he was only fifty – in today's society fifty still doesn't seem that old. The end with its cult of youth and echoes of The Wicker Man is inevitable, and for those who don't like violence should be avoided.

Second up is the first 'classic' - Nightcrawlers by Robert McCammon. This tale dates from 1984 which didn't surprise me; for some reason while reading it I kept visualising the action in that slightly grainy video that cheap TV shows of the era used to shot in. (In the interview McCammon notes that it was adapted as an episode of The New Twilight Zone so I do wonder if I have actually seen it but only possess a residual memory of it. In terms of complete disclosure I should mention that I also keep getting snippets of the great Stan Ridgway's Camouflage running through my head).
In a remote diner, twenty-seven miles from Mobile, Bob, the owner, and Cheryl, the waitress, are thinking of closing up early due to the storm starting to blow when a young family appear, followed closely by the sheriff and then a dishevelled gaunt man, Price. The last arrival just wants coffee as he is frightened to fall asleep and dream and then get on his way but the sheriff has other ideas, he doesn't like the look of this guy and the fact he appears too zoned out to drive. Under pressure from the sheriff Price reveals that he is the only survivor of an elite squad in Vietnam who were accidentally exposed to a chemical spray known as Howdy Dowdy. He also mentions that he was at a hotel in Florida where six people were killed recently so when Price tries to leave the sheriff he is violently restrained resulting in him losing consciousness and then all hell breaks loose.
I enjoyed this despite the cliched aspects of the plot and the fact that early on McCammon tries too hard to create an atmosphere.
I was also interested to read in his interview that he left publishing for a decade because he was tired with all the 'fighting and wrangling' that went on with each book, that without the leverage of a movie or TV deal he had so little power to negotiate with.

The third story is the second new one, All My Princes Are Gone by Jennifer Giesbrecht. This is a menage of Lilith myth with ones from Mesopotamia. The authors first published piece at times it is closer to a prose poem than a fully fledged story. It is better than it sounds, solidly written and intriguing enough to hold the readers interest for the few pages it takes.
In her interview she said that -

. I wanted to tell a story about female monsters who are still monstrous, the way that Siegfried gets to exist as a creature of pure animalistic violence, the way that Zeus commits massive atrocities and abuses, the way male gods are allowed a monstrous appearance like Hephaestus and yet they are still meant to exist as paragons.

Is Zeus supposed to be a paragon? From what I've read the Greek Gods more often than not exhibited all the flaws of humanity, quite often characters who are virtuous in Greek myths still suffer fates they don't deserve.

The final story, and second 'classic' is Clive Barker's Lost Souls from 1985, when was publishing his Books of Blood and Stephen King was quoted as saying he was the future of horror.
Barker was praised for placing his horror in modern decaying cities, usually in the UK but this is set in New York. Harry D'Amour (that is definitely an eighties name) is a detective on the trail of the demon Cha'Chat, who managed to get free of hell due to a mistake by him. His search coincides with the possibility of a new Messiah being born but does anyone want that.
This reads like part of a serial, so much so that it is surprise that it doesn't have a read more about D'Amour in next month's exciting issue at the end. It's an OK story, not one of Barker's best but solid enough. D'Amour has appeared in a few of Barker's stories but it seems odd, given the plethora of heroes fighting supernatural beings on page and screen that the author hasn't made use of him. He should however be seen confronting Pinhead (from Hellraiser whenever Barker finds enough time to finish The Scarlet Gospels.

The artist focus is on Lena Yuk, whose work can be viewed here. I'm not sure what I thought about these images mixing prepubescent girls and violence. They are well-painted although I found them rather flat, preferring the rougher pencil sketches.

Finally there was an essay on “Nightmare Horror” by Richard Gavin which was just crap, the author incapable of making any kind of point at all.

(I didn't read the Joe Hill interview, not that interested).

As a short sharp read this fine, I could certainly see myself reading another issue when at another loose end.

I enjoyed hearing about this.

The Festival has started then

I could not bring myself to go to a performance of Miles and Coltrane Blue as I am sure I would be squirming in my seat watching a performance about the recording of one of my all time favourite records. Coltrane is close to getting his wish (Although a little late) because in San Francisco there is the St. John Coltrane African Orthodox Church.

I have a copy of Ian bank's The Bridge. Sometime ago I read the first few pages, but decided I did not want to continue reading, but I will get back to it one day.

Pinocchio
Pants on Fire
Pleasance Dome, 06-08-2013, 1300

Award-winning actor / musician company Pants on Fire follow their international five-star hit Ovid's Metamorphoses, with a unique take on Carlo Collodi's original tale about a wooden fibber. Setting the adventures in a 1950's sci-fi horror B-movie, with a barbershop dubstep mash-up soundtrack, man-size puppets, original live songs and flamboyantly lo-tech extravagant storytelling, all traces of Disney are obliterated in this gloriously dark account of the marionette with behavioural problems. Ovid's Metamorphoses : 'Glorious ... jaw dropping' (Guardian), 'Constantly surprising and endlessly inventive' (Whatsonstage.com), 'Magical' (Evening Standard).

I'm not going to insult anyone by repeating the plot, only say that since this is based on the book it is similar to and darker than the Disney version. For example, the glee with which Pinocchio kills the talking cricket in this version is verging on demonic. Arguably the most surprising thing about this version is just how obnoxious Pinocchio is in the beginning, only showing any remorse when things go wrong for him. For that reason the story didn't seem overly familiar, more akin to reading the original fairy tales after being used to the versions for children.

This version begins in 1950's American suburbia where Geppetto is grieving over the death of his wife and child. Possessed one night he hacks Pinocchio out of a tree. From then the story sticks closely to the original with Pinocchio misbehaving and taking the easy route until he leaves that duty and hard work are often the road to happiness and realisation.
There are also some elements of 1950's SF which a portentous voiceover at the beginning and end while images of space are projected onto the stage plus the cricket is portrayed as a monster scaring couples out dating. The blue fairy also appears to be an extraterrestrial although I can't be certain about it but then she also could have been Pinocchio's mother in the afterlife. The actual details were a little murky though.
To enhance the 1950's feel at certain points the show would stop and the cast would do fake adverts, singing about the benefits of detergent and shampoo. This probably felt like a good idea in rehearsals as it does give the actors a chance to show off more of their skills. In themselves these are quite amusing but add little to the show as a whole.

The production is excellent; utilising the limited space well, the acting engaging and the puppetry (both the two person cricket and the more traditional Pinocchio) used well.

This was one of those shows which there is nothing particularly wrong with while at the same time somehow lacking. It is enjoyable, it's only that the sum of the parts fail to add up to satisfying whole leaving you with a slight feeling of disappointment.

ps...the image above makes it look much more exciting than it was.

>136 baswood: - festival is full swing now so you careful which streets you walk along or you get mugged by leafleters.

I thought the show was about their time together but that was more a link to show how great music can be produced from opposite directions (at least that's what I think they were trying to illustrate).

They could have just dramatised this interview with Davis - Coltrane was a greedy pig.

Miles Smiles

In honour of John Bellany: -

In honour of Seamus Heaney:

Clearances

In Memoriam M.K.H., 1911-1984

She taught me what her uncle once taught her:
How easily the biggest coal block split
If you got the grain and the hammer angled right.

The sound of that relaxed alluring blow
Its co-opted and obliterated echo,
Taught me to hit, taught me to loosen,

Taught me between the hammer and the block
To face the music. Teach me now to listen,
To strike it rich behind the linear black.

A cobble thrown a hundred years ago
Keeps coming at me, the first stone
Aimed at a great-grandmother's turncoat brow.
The pony jerks and the riot's on.
She's couched low in the trap
Running the gauntlet that first Sunday
Down the brae to Mass at a panicked gallop.
He whips on through the town to cries of 'Lundy!'

Call her 'The Convert.' 'The Exogamous Bride.'
Anyhow, it is a genre piece
Inherited on my mother's side
And mine to dispose with now she's gone.
Instead of silver and Victorian lace
the exonerating, exonerated stone.

Polished linoleum shone there. Brass taps shone.
The china cups were very white and big --
An unchipped set with sugar bowl and jug.
The kettle whistled. Sandwich and tea scone
Were present and correct. In case it run,
The butter must be kept out of the sun.
And don't be dropping crumbs. Don't tilt your chair.
Don't reach. Don't point. Don't make noise when you stir.

It is Number 5, New Row, Land of the Dead,
Where grandfather is rising from his place
With spectacles pushed back on a clean bald head
To welcome a bewildered homing daughter
Before she even knocks. 'What's this? What's this?'
And they sit down in the shining room together.

When all the others were away at Mass
I was all hers as we peeled potatoes.
They broke the silence, let fall one by one
Like solder weeping off the soldering iron:
Cold comforts set between us, things to share
Gleaming in a bucket of clean water.
And again let fall. Little pleasant splashes
From each other's work would bring us to our senses.

So while the parish priest at her bedside
Went hammer and tongs at prayers for the dying
And some were responding and some crying
I remembered her head bent towards my head,
Her breath in mine, our fluent dipping knives --
Never closer the whole rest of our lives.

Fear of affectation made her affect
Inadequacy whenever it came to
Pronouncing words 'beyond her'. Bertold Brek.
She'd manage something hampered and askew
Every time, as if she might betray
The hampered and inadequate by too
Well-adjusted a vocabulary.
With more challenge than pride, she'd tell me, 'You
Know all them things.' So I governed my tongue
In front of her, a genuinely well-
Adjusted adequate betrayal
Of what I knew better. I'd naw and aye
And decently relapse into the wrong
Grammar which kept us allied and at bay.

The cool that came off sheets just off the line
Made me think the damp must still be in them
But when I took my corners of the linen
And pulled against her, first straight down the hem
And then diagonally, then flapped and shook
The fabric like a sail in a cross-wind,
They'd make a dried-out undulating thwack.
So we'd stretch and fold and end up hand to hand
For a split second as if nothing had happened
For nothing had that had not always happened
Beforehand, day by day, just touch and go,
Coming close again by holding back
In moves where I was x and she was o
Inscribed in sheets she'd sewn from ripped-out flour sacks.

In the first flush of the Easter holidays
The ceremonies during Holy Week
Were highpoints of our Sons and Lovers phase.
The midnight fire. The paschal candlestick.
Elbow to elbow, glad to be kneeling next
To each other up there near the front
Of the packed church, we would follow the text
And rubrics for the blessing of the font.
As the hind longs for the streams, so my soul . . .
Dippings. Towellings. The water breathed on.
The water mixed with chrism and oil.
Cruet tinkle. Formal incensation
And the psalmist's outcry taken up with pride:
Day and night my tears have been my bread.

In the last minutes he said more to her
Almost than in their whole life together.
'You'll be in New Row on Monday night
And I'll come up for you and you'll be glad
When I walk in the door . . . Isn't that right?'
His head was bent down to her propped-up head.
She could not hear but we were overjoyed.
He called her good and girl. Then she was dead,
The searching for a pulsebeat was abandoned
And we all knew one thing by being there.
The space we stood around had been emptied
Into us to keep, it penetrated
Clearances that suddenly stood open.
High cries were felled and a pure change happened.

I thought of walking round and round a space
Utterly empty, utterly a source
Where the decked chestnut tree had lost its place
In our front hedge above the wallflowers.
The white chips jumped and jumped and skited high.
I heard the hatchet's differentiated
Accurate cut, the crack, the sigh
And collapse of what luxuriated
Through the shocked tips and wreckage of it all.
Deep-planted and long gone, my coeval
Chestnut from a jam jar in a hole,
Its heft and hush became a bright nowhere,
A soul ramifying and forever
Silent, beyond silence listened for.

Seamus Heaney

Beautiful...

Well I'm not surprised to hear that Pinnocchio turned out that way considering the choices he was given as a child: Do what I say or you will die (remain a wooden boy forever). I never did like that story.

Voices Made Night
Magnet Theatre Company
Assembly Rooms, 1615, 06/08/2013

South Africa’s top physical theatre company, Magnet Theatre, presents an award-winning contemporary African experience. Sophisticated haunting adaptation of acclaimed Mozambican writer Mia Couto's wonderful short stories. Couto writes about Mozambique, about the difficulties facing post-colonial societies in transition, about love, loss, memory, forgiveness and hunger for things beyond explanation. African theatre at its best combining excellent ensemble storytelling, expressive music, evocative staging and powerful poetic text.

I don't know the work of Mia Couto, a white writer from Mozambique, who has had some work translated into English but not recently, so I can't comment on the actual adaptations. (There is a collection called Voices Made Night but the blurb talks about the civil war that engulfed Mozambique for years).
When you walk into the theatre there are bodies strewn over stairs and stage who come to life when a young actor playing the writer sits down at his desk. On awakening they demand a story from him and he duly obliges with the first of the stories, this being a continuous portmanteau piece, rather than one narrative.
One day a man chokes up a raven, which he later claims can speak to the spirits, naturally with a small cost involved. A rich woman wants to consult the raven because she believes her dead husband's spirit is causing problems for her and her new husband. The raven's s owner asks for clothes, tricking her that is is for her husband's spirit who is so cold in the afterlife. However this backfires when the woman's new husband recognises the clothes and attacks man and bird.
This is a good introduction to the company's physical style of theatre, often close to mime or dance. This dynamism of the actors clashes to an extent with the literiness of the story, which throughout are told by a (rotating) narrator , the degree of narration varying from story to story. As an opening piece this grabbed the audience's attention but may have set false expectations to what follows. (Personally when the man gave birth to a bird my heart sank a little, I don't mind magical realism on the page but it has never really grabbed me in a live environment).

The second tale told of a female hunchback and search for love, after being jilted at the altar she begins to love a statute but that only gets her into trouble with the authorities who want to remove the colonial leftover. The narrator is the daughter of a man who eventually runs away with the lovelorn woman While there is humour in these stories, the narrator's father makes a living by renting out his shoes, there is also a subtle critique of the effects of colonialism.

In the third tale a pious man is forced to marry a beautiful woman on the grounds of a phantom pregnancy. The woman who desires her husband greatly soon finds that her husband's piety is more important to him than the pleasures of the bedchamber. Sent to a wise woman to be cured it initially seems nothing has changed when he still can't be enticed by his wife's charms and he slides into a coma-like sleep. However when his wife lies beside him she gets a very pleasant surprise. But what should she do when a potential cure for her husband's condition is found?
This was the lightest of the stories, with much chasing and suggestion. (And the most far-fetched given how attractive the actress was!)

The fourth story tells of a man who kills his wife believing that the is actually a bird in the form of a human. As the tale goes on the man slowly realises that his wife wasn't a bird. He also questions whether he should he stand trial in a court that doesn't understand his culture or be judged in the old way by his peers. This is the least theatrical of the tales, often just the man telling us directly what happened., but for me was the best, there was real poignancy as the narrator begins to understand the consequences of his mistake.

The final story was the shortest. An old man, poor and ill, wants to leave his wife with something so decides to dig her grave. Once the grave is dug though he reasons that it shouldn't go waste so tells his wife he will have to kill her but it can wait until morning. Upon waking the wife finds her husband dead. It sounds bleak but this was probably garnered more laughs than any other section.

I largely enjoyed this although it would have benefited from a break in the middle (a luxury that doesn't happen at the Fringe) especially given Church of Scotland seats not designed to give sinners much comfort. My partner on the other hand was not taken by it, finding it overlong, occasionally confusing, and somewhat tedious. (An opinion quite a few of the reviews shared). My enjoyment stemmed from the tales themselves – leaving the performance I wasn't thinking I should keep an eye on the theatre company but rather I should look for a book by Mia Couto.

Tanino Duo
(Soundhouse, 13/09/2013)

Last year I swithered about going to see an Argentinian folk duo and ended up missing them. This year I made sure I was there near the front to see this instrumental pairing of guitar and harmonica. The harmonica is a substitute for the more traditional bandeneon (similar to a concertina) or accordion – something that can be heard clearly in the drone-like tones of the mouthpiece.

Tanino Duo certainly appeared to be enjoying themselves, smiling and laughing between songs, even joking about their faltering English. The introductions to the songs informed the listener where about it came from in Argentina and usually involved the word 'tango'. If I learned anything about Argentinian folk music it was that 90% of it is a tango of some sort. At this point I should point out that these tangos did not resemble the tradition sound-image most of us have about a tango. TD did say these songs had been written to dance to but with guitar and harmonica bouncing up each other (I have never seen musicians watch each other with such regularity) it was sometimes difficult to pin down the rhythm (to the extent that I was occasionally trying to keep time to anchor the song).

TD are excellent musicians and there were parts where they really did hold the audience in their palm of their hands but there were as many where I felt myself starting drift and wonder about what I needed to get from Tesco the following day. It would be easy to say that this occurred into the second set after tango fatigue set in but that was actually the stronger set. Perhaps by then I had managed to get my ear in. The turning point was the climax to the first set, when they played (for the first time) their arrangement of 'Libertango'. (Most people will have heard this song, it has been in numerous films and televison shows, and formed the basis of Grace Jones' 'I've Seen That Face Before'). It helped that this piece has such a strong melody..

On the whole I did enjoy the show but I'm not sure if I would go back to see them, primarily because I can't imagine them changing that much. However in 12 months time I may find that I need to inject some a little more tango into my soul.

A tango from the previous house concert - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YRhhpY42Img

And not another tango, a Milonga - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMVNjvovHMg

Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre
(Assembly Teviot, 2240, 09/08/2013)

Not going to say much about this other than to say if they (he) come to a town near you go and see them.

And to post these links (they were doing a SF based show) -

Peter Capaldi as Dr Who (not for the easily offended) - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vfayr0Me8fU

Stars Wars for Sock Puppets - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJsNxoSZFZA

Story Shakespeare – Pericles
Year Out Drama
C Too, 1000, 17/08/2013.

uperstition, storms and shipwrecks force a tale of pirates, prostitutes and princesses. Will this stormy adventure end in calm for Pericles and the family he believed lost at sea? The incorporation of modern language, live music and simple bold images make Shakespeare's complex narrative accessible to all ages. Experienced Edinburgh Fringe director Matthew Warburton returns again with a strong ensemble of exuberant young actors from Stratford-upon-Avon to present this highly successful and imaginative interpretation of Shakespeare’s salty tale. 'Pacey, slick and professional... This company excel en masse

For the last few years a friend has been strongly advising Marie and I to go and see Story Shakespeare. This year we couldn't turn the invite down and so we met up with him and his partner for early morning drama and brunch. Waiting outside we met the artistic director of the company who started talking about someone online saying good things about the company, this of course was my friend.

Fortunately he didn't suggest that this year there should be a question mark after Shakespeare. There is a reason that Pericles doesn't get revived often or is missing from some Shakespeare folios. There has always been a debate about who actually wrote the play although it now seems likely that Shakespeare wrote around half of it.

The play begins with Pericles at the court of Antiochus, king of Antioch, who has offered the hand of his daughter to anyone who can solve a riddle. Pericles understands the answer is 'incest' which doesn't go down well with the king nor possibly with the parents of all the children in the audience. Realising he is in danger Pericles flees but is caught is a shipwreck, eventually landing on the Pentapolis. It just so happens that land has another beautiful daughter whom the king is offering, this time to the winner of a tournament. Fortunately, a fisherman nets Pericles suit of armour and he dashes off, wins the tournament and the hand of princess.
Pausing for breath Pericles and Thaisa get to know each other but soon he called back home as his father is ill. On the voyage home the pregnant Thaisa falls unwell and during a great storm gives birth before apparently dying, whereupon her body is thrown overboard. Pericles has to put in port at Tarsus where he reluctantly leaves his daughter before returning to Tyre. Meanwhile Thaisa is not dead but has washed up at Ephesus where she recovers and becomes a priestess.
A few years pass and Pericles daughter, Marina, grows up so beautiful that she invokes the wrath of Cleon, queen of Tarsus, who arranges for her to be murdered, only for pirates to capture her and sell her to a brothel. Meanwhile back in Tyre Pericles has remembered he has a daughter and sets out to find her. Marina is so pure and virginal that any man who tries to buy her favours ends up renouncing his wicked ways which doesn't endear her to the brothel owners. Eventually everyone finds each other and all ends happily except for the audience who are a little shell-shocked by the bonkers nature of it all.

And to make this more impressive, Year Old Drama managed to do this in 50 minutes and had time to sing a few songs, dance a little and generally be excellent at everything. They even managed to make the whole thing understandable despite changing the actors who were playing the main characters every few minutes. They also may be the least ethnically diverse, most middle-class theatre company in the UK at present – Tarquin's and Lucia's do apply. If I met them in the pub I would probably be plotting revolution by tea-time but I can't deny this was really well-done, sharp and funny; the acting was uniformly good, the production moved seamlessly, and the choral singing was excellent. Shakespeare purists may have been disgusted but I managed to see an enjoybale production, have a spot of brunch, and get back in time to man the community BBQ so it all worked out for me.

I largely enjoyed this although it would have benefited from a break in the middle (a luxury that doesn't happen at the Fringe) especially given Church of Scotland seats not designed to give sinners much comfort Sounds like this performance would have benefited from allowing those who wished to grab a couple of snorts at the nearest bar.

Peter Capaldi as Doctor Who - very funny.

Something about this story just touched a chord with me - we are so used to certain places being lands of strife but once a future of promise seemed just around the corner.
When Duke Ellington Played Kabul.

I will never be able to hear "Obi wan Kenobi" again. That's just not what I'll hear.

>146 Jargoneer: - great fun.

oh man I love youtube. Everything from falsetto sock puppets to Chris Hitchens. What,s not to love?

And now for something completely different - a book review.

Christopher Burns – The Condition of Ice

A LONG WAY FROM HERE, IN ANOTHER COUNTRY, A PART OF MY LIFE has been put on display. For just a few francs anyone can look at all there is left of our friendship, and strangers can gaze at the faces that we had more than fifty years ago.

I may own a Kobo E-reader but Kindle sales are a great thing. Naturally most of which is on offer is just publisher pap but tucked in the (virtual) corners are some interesting books, often those unfairly overlooked or forgotten. This is one such book.

We begin, a little falteringly, with an old man describing the exhibits in a museum which the author uses as a quick way to introduce the characters but soon we are back before the war in Switzerland. Ernst Tinnion, an Austrian school teacher living in England, is on holiday with his new 'wife', Jean, who in reality is running away from her marriage to a wealthy industrialist with fascist tendencies. No-one is fooled by the charade but the couple feel they should keep up appearances. For Ernst this trip just isn't about a 'honeymoon', he has plans to meet up with his childhood friend, Hansi, and make an assault on the unclimbed Versücherin, a sheer wall of rock and ice. At the hotel there is a German sports photographer, Max, accompanied by his taciturn butterfly collecting nephew, Bruno, who becomes involved with the trio.

In what initially appears an idyll various shadows begin to appear. Jean has sacrificed everything to be with Ernst and doesn't want him to attempt the climb, what will become of her if he dies? Is his loyalty to Hansi greater than his love for her? The inescapable shadow of politics begins to raise its head – Ernst and Hansi are romantics but there is talk of the German Hansi being award a special Olympic medal and a good job in Berlin. The romantic aspect of mountaineering is being lost regardless of the beliefs of the participants.

Bissolati made a dismissive, snorting noise. ‘When I was a young man, I believed that climbing was an adventure of the spirit as well as the body.’
‘You’re right,’ Max said.
‘But I thought it was personal, to do with yourself alone. Now I find that it is part of a political movement. Climbers are examples, heroes; they justify training, education, beliefs. I would rather live in the days of innocence.’ He paused. ‘That is another reason, friends. Within a year or so, I do not know if I will be able to stomach the new breed of climber.’

Max is a Leni Riefenstahl figure (Riefenstahl herself was an inspiration to Ernst and Hansi as young boys, as star of many mountains in the 1920s), an artist who is sympathetic to the new regime in Germany but still claims a form of artistic neutrality. When probed about his photographs and the similarity to Riefenstahl he replies

‘See the film, study my photographs, and perhaps you will be able to understand better than you do now. You could tell me that some of our leaders are small, petty men; I can tell you that, even in them, there is something at work which is greater than us and which will last longer than we can comprehend. That is the way of evolution. The clever, the fit, the decisive will inherit the earth.’

Ernst is disgusted by Max's attitude but for Jean the difference is paper thin,

‘Max isn’t political. Not really. In many ways you and he are the same.’
‘That’s a lie. I could never think that.’
‘Why not? You each have dreamy, unreal notions of how people should live. Grand schemes, master-plans, absurd theories. You both believe in a kind of perfection. And you both think that something has been proved by the simple act of climbing a high, dangerous mountain. It hasn’t. You haven’t added a grain to the sum total of human happiness, and you haven’t subtracted from it either. It’s a pointless sport, performed for its own sake. You make no difference at all to the state of the world.’

However in some ways it is Jean and Max who are similar, both are pragmatic, willing to make major compromises to keep their lives on even keel.

The most serious threat to success though are the doubts and fears, especially in the face of two of their friends dying in a recent climb, the second of whom Hansi, as part of the rescue mission, watched die. Hansi views this as a message that time may be running out, that not doing the climb is not an option, whereas Ernst is unsure that 'victory' matters so much. What Ernst doesn't know that is that Hansi has injured the fingers on one of his hands while on the rescue mission. What neither can know is that the accident that befell the two deceased climbers foreshadows their own critical moments on the climb.
I can only assume that Burns is a climber as the incidents that befall the two would-be heroes have such a feeling of verisimilitude -

Fragments of rock came cartwheeling all around me. I gazed at them and wondered why they were falling. Then, more by instinct that anything else, I dug in with the ice axe and hoped desperately that Hansi was secure at the head of the rope. The air began to fill with a rushing, grating, slithering noise, and snow started to pour thickly across me. It cut out light and air. I buried my face next to the ice and tried to draw a last deep breath, but the cascade had drawn the air with it. I gasped like a drowning man, my lungs full of freezing splinters. The avalanche rocked and mauled me, and I could feel my hands begin to slip on the axe haft. Even if I could hold on, I was convinced that a force such as this would spring the blade away from its hold, sweeping me with it down the wall. The snow began to pack underneath me, forcing me out from the ice layer by layer. I began to think that I was part of some absurd mathematical demonstration, and that more and more pressure would be applied until breaking point was reached and I was plucked helplessly from the web.

Even in success the mountain will demand a toll.

Burns cuts expertly between mountain and plain, the challenges of everyday life posing different but equally difficult questions to those encountered on rock and ice. That both lead to shattered dreams seems inevitable. And in the end all we are left with is old men trying to come to terms with the past and each other.

There is something especially rewarding about picking up a book that is largely unknown but turns out to so good, not unlike a prospector finally finding some gold and wanting to tell others about their good fortune. This is not a big novel but in the expert way that Burns explores his themes and writes about mountaineering it seems much bigger, quietly conquering much higher peaks than better known tomes.

ps...it seems incredible that there are no copies of this book in LT but are of his other novels. If anyone is interested in acquiring a copy of it - it is only 98p in the Kindle Store. That has to worth a chance.

Outstanding review - you hit the jackpot, didn't you!

The book isn't even listed on LT. Excellent review.

A rare find and a great review. The novel sounds a little old fashioned, almost as though it was set in Victorian times. Is this a false impression I wonder.

Wow! What a great find, and what an interesting review.

Oh, the joy! Almost two weeks without broadband following window fitters removing my BT line. It feels like I've just been released from detention.

To celebrate old episodes of Doctor Who being found here's a picture of the British PM at the latest Tory party conference -

>95 Jargoneer: Glad you liked Salt. I was lucky enough to read that when it first came out and I've enjoyed many an Adam Roberts novel since (recently read his latest, Jack Glass).

>131 Jargoneer: Appreciated the comments on The Bridge (now I don't have to read it). I've read three Banks novels, and might be tempted to read Complicity, which Michael (dukedom) read recently. He also read Quarry and gave it three or three and a half stars. Not his best, he said.

Pia Juul – The Murder of Halland
Translated from the Danish by Martin Aitken

>blockquote>The night before, we sat in the living room. I had a coffee; he drank a beer. We watched a police drama. ‘I wouldn’t mind looking like her,’ I said, referring to the detective, Danish TV’s only mature heroine. ‘You don’t, though, do you?’ I looked over at him. Women’s faces shrivel; men acquire substance. ‘You’ve acquired substance,’ I said. ‘Where?’ he asked, worried. ‘Ha ha ha,’ I laughed mockingly. There is so much crime coming from Scandanavia at present that tourists must visit now expecting dismembered torsos washed onto every shore, mummified bodies in every wardrobe and decaying corpses in overgrown copses. While the title delivers, Halland is murdered is within a couple of pages, this is not a traditional crime novel despite having most of the trappings; obviously to warn potential readers that fact the publisher announces:

If you like crime you won't be disappointed. A murder, a gun, an inspector, suspense. But the story strays far beyond the whodunit norm. Pia Jull charts the phases of bereavement in beautifully stark language.

It does begin like a full-blown crime novel though with Halland murdered, shot in the dead outside his house, and the police arriving to arrest his partner, Bess, for the act, on the basis that a witness said she did it. Neither the policeman who attempts to arrest Bess nor the accuser are mentioned again, setting a pattern when throughout where events happen that appear to important just slip away.
Juul's playing with genre, producing potential suspects and clues and then doing nothing with them, creating a continual sense of anti-climax as the reader's expectations are constantly thwarted. Even Bess doesn't want to accept the normal strictures, for example when she finds out that Halland has been renting a room from his 'adopted daughter', a room that contains his laptop among other vital evidence, she doesn't initially inform the police. At one point she confides to the reader -

I wouldn’t reveal what I thought about the police investigation. I would certainly not tell him that I preferred not to know anything at all.

.(Juul's genre-bending doesn't apply to all aspects of the novel with many of the major characters being writers). Over the course of the novella becomes an affectation – oh, look, another clue or suspect that nothing will come of. I imagine Juul would argue that this is closer to reality than the neatness of a traditional crime novel, and that anyway he's not particularly interested in who committed the murder or why, that's why we never follow the police investigation, he's interested in the reaction of the characters.

What Halland's death does trigger for Bess is an outbreak of grief, her behaviour becomes erratic, often confusing her friends and sometimes herself. (This did remind me of Joyce Carol Oates' A Widow's Story but without the rawness). However, not all for her grief is for Halland -
‘Mourning…’ Should I tell her that I didn’t mourn for Halland? For ten years I mourned for Abby – someone I had killed and who was not even dead.' Bess had to give up her daughter years previously when she left her husband for Halland. With no Halland that loss is also amplified. I have to say parts of this storyline irritated me, there is something not quite right when the reader starts thinking that nothing brings together a mother and daughter like the murder of a partner.

The mother and daughter illustrates another oddity about the novel, although it focuses on character, the characters often act in unusual ways. With off-beat characters and a plot defying the conventions of the crime novel what we are left with is something that is curiously dream-like. When Bess is first informed of Halland's death she has just woken and it is not difficult to see the narrative in terms of the half-sleep of the newly awake.

If the reader picks this slim volume up expecting to find another slice of 'Nordic Noir' they may well themselves throwing the book across the room in frustration. If, however, the reader is willing to go with Juul's off-beat, slightly surreal tale then they find much to admire in the strangeness, not least the writing, expertly translated by Martin Aitken. Or put another way, more for devotees of Twin Peaks than Law and Order.

ps....if this reviews rambles and stumbles it is has been written over weeks due to inertia and DIY.

Shouldn't the warning come up front, instead of in the ps. Anyway, it's a false warning. The review reads well and inspires curiosity, although it plays with a genre outside my reading spectrum.

Enjoyed your review of The Conditions of Ice and love post #160.

"There is so much crime coming from Scandanavia at present that tourists must visit now expecting dismembered torsos washed onto every shore, mummified bodies in every wardrobe and decaying corpses in overgrown copses."

This made me laugh. I have quite a few favorite series in the Nordic noir genre (Karin Fossum, Henning Mankell, Stieg Larsson), and I have often wondered if it is as dark and depressing as they all make it sound. :)

I may have to try this one.

>162 Jargoneer: Depressaholic (Andy) reviewed this book for Belletrista in the last issue of 2012. He said pretty much the same thing you did, and it seems he liked it.

>165 avaland: - one thing that crossed my mind when thinking about the book in relation to the traditional crime novel is that it also loses some of the latter's strength, especially using crime as a method to interrogate modern society. In terms of language and structure it is more interesting than the standard crime novel but in focusing so narrowly it could be accused of being another typical navel-gazing literary novel. Mind you, taking that stance would be a little like punching myself in the face.

>164 NanaCC: - I've been to Scandanavia (Sweden and Norway) and it's both frightening civilised and expensive. (Don't ever offer to buy a round of drinks, you may need to re-mortgage your house to pay for it).

>165 avaland:, 166 I like out-of-the-box crime novels like that.

>166 Jargoneer: Good advice re the drinks, thanks. We'd like to visit Scandanavia sometime (though where to start!)

Sorry about the DIY, hope you get over it soon.

b>Lightspeed 39
Edited by John Joseph Adams

The Gorgon in the Cupboard - Patricia McKillip
Harry Waterman is a painter who believes he needs a special model to paint the masterpiece that will make his name. Who desires is Aurora, muse of a much more successful painter but realises that she will never pose for him. Without thinking he paints a likeness of Aurora's mouth over an existing portrait and is even more shocked when the mouth starts speaking. It is Medusa who claims he will paint his masterpiece of her. Frightened he hides the painting away but still converses with the spirit.
Waterman then embarks on a search to find a muse, only to be frustrated although there was one girl who left suddenly a few years ago on the account of pregnancy. As you would expect this girl, Jo, has returned to the city, virtually penniless, her baby dead. Through a series of events that may be controlled by the gorgon she ends up at Waterman's. Cleaned up Harry still fails to recognise her but sees the face of his Medusa. As time progresses though Jo gets healthier and Harry sees less of the Medusa but perhaps this loss will be offset by a greater gain.
One of the best things about Lightspeed (and it's sister magazine, Nightmare) is that the writers are interviewed about their story. This is McKillip's take on the Pre-Raphaelites, a 19th century group of English painters who produced luxurious romantic images, often with a mythic basis, usually with a women at the centre of them.
McKillip cleans this group up somewhat as they were a fairly scandalous bunch as infamous for their lifestyles as famous for their art. It could be argued that this 'cleaning up' mirrors the artists work itself, beautiful images that harken back to an imagined Arcadian past, ignoring the harsh industrial realities of Victorian Britain. McKillip does acknowledge these realities however, as well Jo breaks a window in order to get arrested to have somewhere to stay and something to eat, only to find herself ignored as numerous others also confess to the crime.
At its heart this is a simple romantic story about boy meeting girl again and releasing what he had missed all along with a very light dusting of fantasy. This is one of these stories that arguably could have been better without the fantasy element but probably got published because of it. Anyway, a decent enough story although I always find McKillip a rather thin writer.

The Knight of Chains, the Deuce of Stars - Yoon Ha Le

In the game of Go, groups of stones are said to be alive or dead depending on whether or not the opponent can kill them. But sometimes the opponents have two groups that live together: Neither can attack the other without killing itself. This situation is called seki,or mutual life.

On a planet stands a black tower, chained to which is the warden Daechong, who kills for pleasure, destroying cities, empires, planets on a whim. To get into the tower you have to get past Daechong and he never misses. Niristez was a brilliant military strategist but now she is in exile and she has come to challenge the warden. Victory will not just redeem her name but bring an end to all wars.
Any story inspired by The Big Bang Theory can't be all bad and this isn't all bad. It is a completely over-the-top space fantasy with lots of ideas and no very little logic. The idea of a mortal playing a god (which this effectively is) to achieve some kind of reward isn't particularly and while this isn't as good as The Seventh Seal or Bill & Ted's Bogus Adventure if you are willing to go along with it it's surprisingly enjoyable. Just don't look for logic.

At Budokan - Alastair Reynolds
What heavy metal really needs is bigger more in-your-face acts but after reanimated corpses and giant robots is there anywhere else to go? The answer is yes, if you have the DNA and the expertise you could create a singing guitar-playing T-Rex. And it doesn't want any creative control or....
This short piece doesn't amount to much, simply a piece of silliness that doesn't overstay its welcome.

End Game - Nancy Kress
Allen Dodson is a brilliant student, socially dysfunctional but brilliant, who only wants to unclutter his mind, to really focus on a problem. Jeff Gallagher, who later becomes his chess companion, keeps tab on Dodson as he researches further into his ongoing problem. Using a young chess prodigy as a guinea pig he is able to increase her rating beyond any previous high but at the price of her interest in anything else.
Sometimes it feels to me as if every Kress is a variation on a theme, an individual or group want to solve a problem but the solution becomes the problem when it is released into the general public. This is no different, at the end coming across as a cut-price Flowers for Algernon. It's not that Kress is a bad writer and the ideas are decent enough but there is something missing, her writing being so middlebrow it should wear a jacket with elbow patches.

Face Value - Sean Williams
In a future where everything is available to all due to technology like fabricators and matter transmitters a scientists claims to have re-invented money, or at least value in the form of an unreplicable element. Something like this could destroy society. Is he mad? If there is such an element what should the peacekeepers do with it?
n his interview he states that -

“You need a certain number of neologisms or retooled familiar terms to give each story a desired SF flavour, but at the same time you want the language to draw the reader into the world rather than completely alienate them from it.“

Unfortunately I just couldn't get on with Williams' style, when it wasn't trying to be cool it was clunky, it read like someone trying too hard to be SF.

Catamounts - Marc Laidlaw
It's difficult not to feel a little downhearted when a story begins with a bard called Gorlen Vizenfirthe sitting in a tavern. Cursed? Check, stone hand. A little short of money? Check. Willing to do anything? Check. Take a little package up a mountain to a wizard? No problem. On his way up he encounters five cats, each one missing another limb. At the top he finds a wizard called Dog who may be using cat parts in his magic and who also exhibits a propensity not to pay.
This may sound the plot of a Monty Python sketch but this is done straight which is even odder. Mind you if it wasn't for the cats this would be so run-of-the-mill that even Conan would, in despair, trade in his loincloth and sword for a suit and laptop.

The Litigation Master and the Monkey King - Ken Liu
When I was younger BBC2 used to show two Oriental shows - Monkey, about the disgraced Monkey King sent on a pilgrimage to obtain the original scrolls about the Buddha, and The Water Margin, which seemed to be about some kind of Chinese Robin Hood fighting against an oppressive regime. I mention these shows because this tale brought them back to my mind. The litigator, Tian Haoli, is a devotee of the Monkey King and believes he talks to him, while he takes a stance against a corrupt regime that wants to bury the past.
This, like The Gorgon in the Cupboard. is another story that it is not necessarily a fantasy story. Haoli's onversations with the Monkey King could easily be a figment of his imagination. At the same time it is difficult to see where this would be published as a 'straight' story. The Chinese element obviously gives the tale an exotic favour but in the end it is a simple retread of man who surprises himself by taking a moral stance which has severe consequences.

Breathless in the Deep - Cory Skerry
Jantz was a diver, bought from an orphanage and trained to be a diver by Sakre, the owner of a small ship. Now only two pearls away from freedom Sakre has taken the ship to a new diving site. Jantz is able to dive due a mystic tattoo that protects her from the elements and the perils lurking below. Soon it becomes obvious she isn't supposed to return from this expedition as she encounters both kraken and spirits.
An OK adventure fantasy story with some nice touches in the details but a standard off-the-shelf plot and resolution.

Brisneyland by Night - Cory Skerry
Buffy the Vampire Slayer was a great show; smart, funny and often surprisingly touching. Unfortunately it was also the gateway for all the lazy urban fantasy that now fills up most of the SF&F shelf space in your average bookshop. This has vampires and other supernatural beings, they ride about Brisbane, they solve the case of a missing children, the heroine confronts the personal darkness in her childhood. It tries so hard to be cool that it almost proves Huey Lewis right, that it is 'Hip to be Square'.
I'm probably being too hard on this but this type of genre writing annoys me so much I don't care.

Also in the issue are-
A couple of novel excerpts which I didn't read. I just don't care about novel excerpts, I'd rather read a good story and decide to get a novel on that basis.
Two interviews with authors, both of whom are primarily YA writers (is that the future of genre fiction?). The first one is with Alaya Dawn Johnson, an African-American writer, who is interesting and engaging although not to the extent I want read her work at present. The second is with Rick Yancey, who already has a decent readership according to the introduction. Bearing that in mind you have to wonder why Penguin are spending $750k on promoting his new novel, which predictably has been optioned by a studio, and equally predictably, on the basis of the interview, has barely one iota of originality in it. It's enough to make you despair.
The artist spotlight is on Edvige Faini, an Italian concept artist who works in the entertainment industry, including films such as 300: Rise of an Empire, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, Hansel & Gretel, Maleficent, G.I. Joe, and Kull The Conqueror . Her work is grandiose and slick but can feel a little redundant as if created by a computer in the style of other earlier artists. (You can view her work here).

Not much blew you away in Lightspeed 39

ABERFELDY FESTIVAL
(Day One - 1st November 2013)

Arrived in a damp, but fortunately not wet, Aberfeldy at 1700, in just enough time to check-in and get to the Town Hall for the music to start at 1800. (To be honest we didn't manage it and arrived at 1815 to find the first act on stage).


The Book Group
Music Here
TBG are a relatively new band created when other bands split. Despite the rave reviews* TBG are a fairly run-of-the-mill rock band and this gig reflected that reality. Some decent songs played decently but nothing that jumped out and grabbed you. ( do acknowledge that playing to a cold audience in a cold hall at 1800 on Friday is probably not the ideal gig to judge anyone completely fairly so I'll keep my opinion of them open for the time being.


The Last Battle
Music Here
This is actually Mark II of the band, the previous version having released a decent folk-rock record a couple of years ago but now despite having the same frontman (and songwriter) much of the folk element has been left behind leaving a more straightforward rock band. They also left their old songs behind which may not have been the best move but is admirable in a way – if you are gonna change you might as well go the whole hog.
I didn't mind this, especially when the band stretched out a bit and a nice nod to Lou Reed with their cover of “Walk on the Wide Side”.


Conquering Animal Sound
Music Here
CAS is an electronic duo comprising Anneke Kampman and James Scott. Not selling quite so many records as the Pet Shop Boys means that they can't employ visual designers and dancers to make their show more interesting. Fortunately Kampman has a strong presence during the songs although there were times that both were standing keyboards pressing buttons. They are unlike the Pet Shop Boys in another way, they are not dance-pop duo but use the electronics to create a backdrop of beeps and noises. (Bjork has obviously been a big influence as heard clearly on Kampman's vocals). The downside of this approach is that the songs don't always work that well in a live environment although the more recent songs are melodically stronger making them stand-outs, especially 'Puskas', a new one inspired by the great Hungarian footballer.
I have a soft-spot for CAS. I don't agree that they have already made great albums but I do think they have the potential to do so.


Randolph's Leap
Music Here
If the pop world still operated as it used to people all over the land would be bopping away to RL's “I Can't Dance to That Music Anymore”. Instead a few hundred people in Aberfeldy were. Music can express a lot of emotions but sometimes it is just fun and RL's are a great fun with some cracking songs. (You can't argue with a band that includes trumpet, trombone and violin). Adam Ross, singer and main songwriter, may look about fifteen but his lyrics which often be misconstrued as twee are actually sharp and funny.
If I was younger I'd would have been jumping about to this but as is my feet were tapping away. What pop music is really all about.


Star Wheel Press
Music Here
The frontman of SWP, Ryan Hannigan, is the man who started the Aberfeldy Festival off four years ago and for that alone he deserves credit. Now the event is effectively run by Dewar's so it was a surprise to see SWP headline the Friday night much to some of the audience's disgruntlement. Whether this was preferential treatment or not SWP fully justified their spot delivering an excellent set which also contained live printing (Hannigan has a shop in the town where he sells prints and designer tweed, both of which I ended up buying as early Christmas presents for my partner). With fairly sparse instrumentation (guitar and/or banjo, bass and drums) and some nice vocal harmonies SWP produce a laid back form of Americana that benefits greatly from Hannigan's voice and quirky lyrics (listening to them again it was noticeable how many were about technology, from a man who hand-prints). If I was to make a criticism that all the songs tend to be a similar pace and it would be nice occasionally to extend them to let the groove settle but it would churlish to pick holes on such an enjoyable set.

Food Review: you can't go wrong with Pulled Pork and they didn't.
Drink Review: Never mind being close to the top of the Scotch whisky tree Dewar's White Label isn't even in the same forest. (Dewar's is perceived as a brand for tourists in Scotland). Mixing it with ginger however worked well, mixing it with pineapple less so.

* Everyone in Scotland gets rave reviews due to the small size of the scene, everyone knows everyone. It's same with literature. With friends reviewing friends or colleagues reviewing colleagues too often there is not enough distance to create anything that even resembles credible criticism.

Loved the comments and reviews and PHOTOS!

ABERFELDY FESTIVAL
(Day Two- 2nd November 2013) (Part One)

Ian Rankin was at Dewar's Distillery discussing his 114th Rebus book in which his detective comes back as a ghost to investigate even colder cases. Aidan Moffat was at his most self-indulgent in the same venue while local poets were in the bar at the cinema.

From 1230 there were acoustic gigs in the Town Square (Aberfeldy only has 2000 people, it is a small square). Just before 1200 it started raining, hard torrential rain, and kept raining and then rained some more and then just for good measure there was more rain. The acoustic gigs that did take place before the inevitable cancellation were less about music and more like a perverse reality show in which artist and audience were made to suffer.

At 1500 it was time for a documentary in the lovely re-opened Birks Cinema.


Muscle Shoals (2013)
Directed by Greg Camalier
In the 1960s so much of the great soul records came from a few studios, one of which was FAME (Florence Alabama Music Enterprises). In this studio Wilson Pickett, Etta James, Arthur Conley, and others created some of the iconic singles of the period. At the heart of this sound was the Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section, nicknamed 'The Swampers' by Leon Russell, who sound as if they should be black but were actually a bunch of young white country-boys.
This documentary tells the story of the Muscle Shoals sound from the beginning of the studio, staring with a hit for Arthur Alexander with “You Better Move On”. (Why Arthur Alexander isn't better known now is a mystery) through the soul years with Atlantic and Chess before stumbling into the 1970s with pop and rock.
At the heart of it is Rick Hall, who by the time he founded the studio already had had an eventful. This is actually an understatement, Hall's life would not be believable as fiction. There is a point about three-quarters of the way through when he starts telling a story about buying his father a tractor that it is hard not laugh at the absurdity of it despite the heartache. Hall admits to being a bitter driven man who made as many mistakes as he had successes. He comes across as a difficult man to like, or work with, but it is difficult not to admire him and when you think he have him pegged he surprises you. (He and Wilson Pickett, an equally difficult man, were great friends). In the days before civil rights Hall didn't care about colour, if you were good enough it didn't matter what the colour of your skin was, you were part of the team. (At one point one of the Swampers is discussing working with Duane Allman and mentions that if you got some interesting looks and comments when going to eat with black musicians it was nothing compared to those when going to eat with someone who looked like a hippy).
Backing up Hall, as in the glory years, are the famed rhythm section, who have stuck together for 50 years, and the great singers who made their name with Muscle Shoals recordings – i.e., Percy Sledge, Wilon Pickett (archive footage obviously) and Aretha Franklin. Franklin is an interesting case. Signed to Columbia for five years her career was stalling due the record company having no idea what to do with her. Jerry Wexler at Atlantic however wanted her and he did have a plan. When Columbia dropped her he signed her immediately and sent her to the FAME studios. What should have been a match made in heaven was initially a complete mismatch with both band and singer unsure of what to do with the song I Never Loved A Man until Spooner Oldham came up with an electric piano motif and one of the great run of records was started.
Even at this point of triumph there was a problem as Hall and Franklin's husband started fighting creating an issue between Wexler and Hall that eventually resulted in Waxler stealing the Swampers and backing them in creating a new studio on the other side of town. Both parties did have success following the split, Hall being produced of the year in 1971 after moving in a more pop direction, the Swampers recording with everyone it seems but more rock based. This is where the documentary comes apart a little, we don't get much on how Hall rebuilt his studio without the core musicians or about what the Swampers brought to later recordings. What we get are stories about “Patches”, the Clarence Carter hit which Hall saw as a tribute to his father, and how the Swampers recorded the original Lynyrd Skynyrd but couldn't give the band away because they refused to cut “Free Bird” to under four minutes.
There is too much Bono and arguably too much for one documentary but overall this was a very enjoyable film. However the amount enjoyment you will get from this is dependent upon your love of the music, to a casual viewer it may just end up being a little tedious.

Great review of Muscle Shoals. Imagine, rain in Aberfeldy in November. Is there a reason this is held in November... nothing else is happening, they want to keep tourists away...?

ABERFELDY FESTIVAL
(Day Two- 2nd November 2013) (Part Two)

I would say after drying out we made our way to the Town Hall for the second night of music but I would be lying, we were still drying out two days later.


Rick Redbeard
Music Here
First up was the erstwhile singer of The Phantom Band who had headlined the Friday last year. Since then Rick Anthony has grown a beard, renamed himself after it, bought an acoustic guitar and released the solo No Selfish Heart to rare reviews (see previous post).
For some this is beautiful unadorned music but while I enjoyed it I don't see that RB has produced anything remarkable. He has a decent voice, veering towards Johnny Cash land, and a some nice songs but this is very one-paced music that means you can find yourself drifting off after a few minutes. (I do wonder if some of the reviewers who have proclaimed it a masterpiece ever listen to folk music)). It also sounds a better on record than in a cold fairly empty hall. Nevertheless, I did enjoy this but was grateful that it was the only act of this type on the bill.


Withered Hand
Music Here
Dan Wilson, aka Withered Hand, started his musical career at 30 when his then girlfriend, now wife, bought his an acoustic guitar. After mucking about in bands for a few years Wilson finally got round to launching his solo career in his forties, giving hope to all later starters. With much of inspiration seemingly drawn from his Jehovah's Witness upbringing WH produced the excellent Good News, containing the single “Religious Songs”, which, as they say, should have sold a million. It really is that good.
Now four years later Wilson has put together a new band and is recording the follow-up, which formed the basis of this gigs. Normally when bands start playing new songs the audience heads for the bar but anyone headed to the bar during this set they are fools. Songs like “Horseshoe” (written for his wife), “Black Tambourine”, “California” and “Fall Apart” suggest that, done right, WH may well have album of the year in 2014 all sewn up. I can't remember the last time I saw an act where I wanted to shout “Play another new one”.
Simply excellent.


Meursault
Music Here
After WH it would easy for the night to become a disappointment but Meursault have been one of the best live acts in Scotland for years. While their recorded output is good it doesn't capture the visceral energy of them live, most of which is derived from band leader Neil Pennycook. (Meursault are effectively Pennycook and whoever is with at the time). Pennycook has a fantastic voice and once in the zone really sings and plays like it means it.
When I first saw them they were an electro-folk act with harmonium and laptop, now they are an out-and-out rock band (albeit one that incorporates some nice piano and cello) that creates a sound that really jumps out at the audience. Blending new songs and favourites like “Flittin'” and “Settling” this was invigorating stuff. Now if they could put that on record they could be unstoppable.


King Creosote with FOUND
Music Here & Here
This was scheduled as KC and Lomond Campbell but somewhere along the line Ziggy (LC) brought his musical partner, River of Slime, into the fold. FOUND, who started life as art idea that eventually grew into a real band, produce a hard electronic, sometimes danceable sound. As a solo artist LC has done something to Rick Redbeard and produced a low-key largely acoustic EP. Kenny Anderson, who records as KC, is simply a legend of the Scottish alt-folk scene with over numerous releases over the last 15 years and founder of the now defunct Fence Records. (There are rumours that Fence will live again but that is yet to be seen following the disagreements between the co-owners).
What we got was another first-class set comprising of KC and FOUND, a couple of FOUND only tracks in the middle and everyone back on the last third. I find I like FOUND's music the more I hear so didn't the KC break although it did feel a little like this was a sandwich where the bread was in the middle. Highlights included a great cover of Bob Dylan's “Not Dark Yet”, a rousing introduce the band version of “No One Had It Better”, a lovely rendition of “John Taylor's Month Away”, and ending it all with “The Happy Song” from his brother's band, The Aliens. (It is so much fun you really will be happy after hearing it).

All in all a really great night of music.

Food Review: a slightly disappointing venison stew.
Drink Review: tokens for free Innis & Gunn, original or lager. Great stuff.

>174 SassyLassy: - two main reasons why it is November (so I was told) - it is out of the tourist season so it helps bringing in some money after the summer and secondly, November tends to be a quiet month for bands so it is easier to get hold of them.

The Sunday was really nice, cold but bright and dry, so they were a little unlucky on the Saturday. To be fair I would say that you are taking a risk holding anything outdoors in Scotland between 1st January and 31st December.

ABERFEDY FESTIVAL
(Day Three- 3rd November 2013) (Part One)

It wasn't raining. Yeah! So we needed inside to the Birks Cinema again. This time for -

Neu Reekie
NR is a monthly spoken word, music and animation showcase that runs every month in Edinburgh (hence the play on 'Old Reekie'). Dewar's had lured them to Aberfeldy with promises of whisky, although they to supply the women and song.
It started with an animation, Granny Grimm, which can be seen in full here. A very enjoyable little tale about how the 'bad' fairy in 'Sleeping Beauty' was unfairly discriminated against.
Founder of Neu Reekie and Rebel Inc, enfant terrible and big mucker of Irvine Welsh, Kevin Williamson was up next with his rendition of 'Tam o'Shanter', accompanied by acoustic guitar, violin, and a female dancer. It's a great poem and while this was enjoyable the weak part of the presentation was Williamson who delivered it in a too much of a monotone. Great dancing though.

After a short break we had a couple more animations, one of which I have completely fogotten but the other, 'The Owl Who Married A Goose', is available here. This is a dark tale painted in a limited palette that highlights the problems of marriage between two incompatible individuals.
Michael Pedersen, the other half of the 'Neu Reekie' management, performed some poetry. I'm not a big fan of performance poetry, it is usually contains a lot more performance than it does poetry. This was a cut above the norm but I still won't be adding it to my Christmas list.

Next up was Rachel Sermanni, a young Scottish folk singer who is easy on both eye and ear. Usually she is supported by an equally attractive band but only the pianist was here for this short set. I have seen Sermanni a few times and each time I come to the same conclusion – that she has talent but hasn't really found her voice yet. What was different on this occasion was that I also thought she should ditch the acoustic guitar, or let it slide into the background a little, and sing with only the piano to accompany to her as the music only really came alive when the piano kicked. (The pianist had a lovely easy-going jazzy take on the music).

There was a part three but I left during the interval, having seen enough and craving some fresh air.