tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11100392682341016852024-03-01T17:07:40.573-08:00BooksquawkMelissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.comBlogger914125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-32197244375323600652020-12-06T09:13:00.003-08:002020-12-06T09:13:54.530-08:00THE TENTH PAN BOOK OF HORROR STORIES<p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Edited by Herbert van Thal<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">236 pages, Pan Books<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Review by Pat Black<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">(Crypt door creaks open)<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Like any movie nasty, we’re back when you least expect
it, with more <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Pan-Book-Horror-Stories-No/dp/0330023691/ref=sr_1_3?dchild=1&keywords=10th+pan+book+of+horror+stories&qid=1607274632&sr=8-3">Pan Horror</a>…<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Scary dots, I love these. The sinister ellipses… And then<i>
the italics</i>!<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Your yucky cover:</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> After the previous effort’s bizarre Halloween disco/
goofy mummy/ “Grandad’s had an accident!” number, we’re back to something
slightly more serious.<br /> <o:p></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It looks like a clay sculpture of a bald bloke,
perhaps a study of a Roman emperor, minus laurels. He has been decorated with a
variety of invertebrates – a few earthworms, a centipede, a wasp and what could
be a locust. The figure doesn’t look too bothered about his forest friends. As
far as it goes, this one isn’t very disturbing.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This book first appeared in 1969, the year future
historians will probably refer</span> to as <span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">the
high watermark of American scientific, cultural, economic and military power. The
year of the first moon landing, of Tricky Dicky being in the Oval Office with
no apparent signs of trouble, and the zenith of flower power. This latter phenomenon
might have been linked to the counterculture and a revolt against power that
crossed international boundaries, but it was </span>unmistakably<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> American. Soft power </span>crystallizes<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> into hard power, over time.</span></span><br /> <span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This was before Woodstock turned into Altamont. When
we still had Jim, Jimi, Janis and all the rest, and as far anyone knew, The
Beatles were still together and making records.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It couldn’t last, though. The peak came and went. The
counterculture was about to experience a comedown, and it would be brutal. This
was the point, according to Hunter S Thompson, when the surging wave broke and
rolled back. Welcome to the 1970s.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Free love might have been in the air in 1969, but
openness, permissiveness and tolerance isn’t much in evidence in this
collection. Most of the stories concern infidelity, jealousy, and bitter, nasty
revenges taken as a result. If sexual liberation is one side of the coin, then
this is the other: teeth clenched, eyes bulging, quivering with impotent,
psychotic rage.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It’s a step away from more outlandish and dated gothic
concerns, and there is something to be applauded in that. Grim and grubby as it
is, much of this book concerns earthly horrors, and on occasion, it strays into
the territory of Things That Might Really Happen. But I can get a belly full of
that. Sometimes I’m OK with good old ghosties and monsters.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The opener is “The Acid Test”, by Chris Murray. It
features a dastardly plot after a young woman makes a successful play for a
rival’s date on a night out. The spurned party, Paula - who we are told has
“Sicilian blood” - enlists the services of some goons to capture Marie and make
her suffer for her impertinence.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The punishment is a quick dip in a bath of acid. Paula
is stripped, dangled from the ceiling and leered over by the heavies who kidnap
her. The story has a sleazy atmosphere without explicitly detailing Marie’s body
– the kind of eroticism a teenager might dream up.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">How the story works out is a little cheesy, even down
to the unexpectedly positive ending. But it’s a pacy opener, and it sets the
tone for the rest of the book: some cheating, some flesh, and some torture.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">AGJ Rough, a series regular, returns with “Something
In The Cellar”. That something is a cheating wife, who is chained up down there
by her husband after he catches her in bed with another man. She is walled up
for good measure, left with an oxygen supply and just enough food and water to
survive his long business trip abroad. That’ll teach her, he thinks.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">However, the husband has a serious car accident, and
ends up in a coma. One year later, he returns to his house to see what’s
happening down in the cellar…<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">No cheating spouses in John Christopher’s “Ringing
Tone”, but there is a sleazy bloke. To the outside world, he’s a retired
military man, unmarried and referred to as a “bachelor” without any
connotations attached. Someone well-liked in his community, a familiar face often
to be seen with a half-pint at the pub near his house.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">However, he has a secret hobby - looking up the names
of women in phone books, and then making obscene calls.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Phone books? Huh?”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He gets all kinds of responses. Some of the women hang
up, some are stunned, some are furious, some are fascinated, and some are totally
into it. There’s one victim, however, who gives him pause – a
desperate-sounding young woman who implores him not to hang up.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This is a disturbing story, but it could have been
published anywhere – it’s a tragedy as much as an outright horror tale, and one
that leaves you wondering about the fate of the people on either end of the
line once the connection is cut. I will remember this one.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Dulcie Gray, now, a familiar name from the early Pans
alongside MS Waddell. “The Necklace” puts us in nasty, uncomfortable territory,
showing us a young man with learning difficulties who is sent away to a special
school, relieving a terrible, shameful pressure on his parents. When he comes
back from his residential term, he has a surprise for mummy and daddy. This one
was all wrong, and probably wouldn’t be written today. Turn the page at your
own risk…<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Walter Winward’s “Self-Employed” places us back in the
realm of cheats given their come-uppance. It sees another middle-of-the-road
bloke who marries poorly. He’s in denial about his wife’s infidelity, until he
catches her in the act. There is a <i>lot</i> of this in the Pans, but this
volume seems particularly riddled with it.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">She’s punished, but not in the way you imagine. You
won’t guess the twist, but it isn’t particularly clever, and the “revenge”
moment was less psychotic but somehow more distasteful than the guy who left his
wife in the cellar earlier on.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Rosemary Timperley is one of the Pans’ most respected
authors – a Rolls-Royce in a sea of Austin Princesses. But guess what? She
writes here about infidelity, and revenge.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Supper With Martha” concerns a married man happily cheating
on his wife. His mistress is fun, exciting and dangerous, while Martha is dull,
dowdy and conventional. But - unfortunately for him, and especially for his
mistress - Martha isn’t daft.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You’ll see the twist coming – if you didn’t clock on
with regards to the title immediately - once Martha offers to cook supper for
her husband, but it’s still a cracking read. Great writers can do that, no
matter what kind of tale they want to tell, no matter what kind of anthology.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">No infidelity in “Punishment By Proxy”, by James
Connelly, but there are some infidels, and lots of sexual propriety. This is a
kind of story which crops up in the genre now and again – Roald Dahl’s story
about the guy whose car breaks down on a desert road is one of them – in which
white men are invited into the house of a rich Arab, and are granted sexual
favours with women under his roof. Part of his harem, one supposes. Until relatively
recently, this wouldn’t have seemed that racist. But there is a streak of
unpleasantness in it, as the white adventurers find a sense of honour and
grandeur once the stakes are raised, with only an oblique reference to their
hypocrisy. This is dodgy territory.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Two oil executives are sent to tie up a deal with a sheikh
from a fictional country. On a tour of his opulent house, they are shown a
line-up of naked women, and asked to choose which one they would like to sleep
with. After they’ve made their choice, the sheikh asks them which part of the
woman’s body they liked best. After the reasons for this become clear, our two
trusty heroes become, eh, heroic. There’s a fight and a desperate flight for
freedom. But they have a big problem: the younger sister of one of the men, who
has come along for what she thinks is an exotic shopping trip, didn’t get the
flight home.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A perfectly readable story, but nasty in ways that it
probably didn’t intend. It trades on the fear of the other – painting him as a
savage, despite his riches; a man of barbarous customs, at odds with the de
facto decency of white western culture. Some regimes do qualify on this score
for barbarity, of course, but stereotypy helps no-one, and this sense of the
corrupt, decadent alien underpins just about every tuppence ha’penny piece of
anti-Arab racism you’ve ever heard. And if you think the western business
community are strangers to degeneracy, then I could tell you one or two horror
stories.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Frances Stephens’ “The End of the Line” was a welcome change
of gear. A troubled young woman is drawn towards a boarded-up old railway
tunnel. Something terrible happened there – something to do with a baby, maybe
hers, maybe someone else’s. It’s a disturbing look into a disordered mind and
toxic thought processes. The kind of story I would have thought was a throwaway
if I’d read it as a teenager, but I now know this is uncomfortably close to
true horror.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And now we’re at the obligatory MS Waddell, with his
or her usual foray into grubby, ironic territory. “The Fat Thing” sees a strange
creature feasting on people who are overweight. It’s slimy, leaving a viscous,
filmy trail wherever it goes. Despite this it can mimic humans, getting close
enough to gain their trust before snaffling them. There’s a nursery rhyme theme
which has barely been thought through, and isn’t worth examining. The narrator
– who is, gasps, revealed to be The Fat Thing – stalks prey based on verse such
as Little Jack Horner and Old Mother Hubbard. The author all but admits he is
winging it, at one point. What a scream it all is. Imagine, me sitting here
writing this story with no idea how to go on! I think I’ll write that down. It’s
ironic, you see? You see?<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Imagine getting <i>paid </i>for that.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I get that the editor might have wanted to shift the
tone and introduce some comic relief, but it seems forced. This story is tone
deaf, inexplicably pleased with itself, betrays a nasty sense of disgust about
overweight people, and is an acquired taste at best.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Two good ‘uns in a row, now. First, “The Flatmate”, by
B Lynn Barber. I did wonder if the B was redundant, and whether this was the
famous interviewer Lynn Barber. The story takes the form of a series of diary
entries by a young girl after she moves into a flat, a couple of weeks after
the previous occupant killed himself. It shows us the tragedy of a lonely,
fanciful person as she makes what she thinks is a spiritual connection with the
dead man – and then tries to right some wrongs on his behalf. It’s a nasty tale
with a bloody conclusion, but skilfully done. You never lose sympathy for the
dead man or the delusional girl.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">After that, snowbound frolics with “The Ski-Lift”, by
Diana Buttenshaw. A European skiing setting gives it the crisp, clear sense of
a fairy tale. All that’s missing is the wolves.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It’s about two lifelong friends on a skiing holiday who
find themselves at odds over a girl. When they find out that the object of
their desires is actually staying at the same Alpine resort, with a man who
might be her cousin, but probably isn’t, Werner and Klaus both decide they will
catch up with her to check if the story is true. But it’s getting late, and the
ski lift is about to close for the night.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">One of them decides to make a very large bet against
evolution by climbing a pylon and jumping on one of the last of the chairs before
they disappear over the mountain. The other follows, and they both make it. But
the ski-lift suddenly stops in mid-air for the night, the slopes are deserted, it’s
extremely cold, and, yes, you know where this one is going.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">What fascinates me is that it’s quite a short story, told
economically. You get all the backstory and details over with quite quickly,
and the author is not afraid to tell, rather than show. It never goes off-piste.
No detail is spared in the grim conclusion, though. A nasty treat.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A sign of the times, now – CA Cooper’s “Magical
Mystery Trip” has the Beatles on its mind – it even quotes I Am The Walrus. The
band stomp as they play inside your cortex, distorting it with sound waves
which roll and break in red and purple crystal shards on an amethyst sea while
tiny green spiders with ruby eyes surf towards shore, giggling –<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You get the idea. This sees a young man on an LSD
trip, plagued with waking dreams of nightmarish things. The acid hallucinations
are quite convincing. Toes become fire engines. People’s faces go on fire.
Giant crabs fill the sky. This would be bad enough if he’d chosen this
experience for himself, but he has no idea how it happened. It seems he has
been spiked by his friend.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The trip doesn’t end. Day after day after day, more
and more and more nightmares, while life goes on as usual outside his
perception bubble.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Much like the peculiar sexual morality we see
elsewhere in the book, this story sees the Pans saddling up a high horse. The
warning about psychedelic drugs – and this was 1969, remember – couldn’t be
clearer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever you might think about this
finger being wagged in your face, the main character’s predicament is an
absolute nightmare.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Frances Stephens’ second entry with “Pussy Cat Pussy
Cat” next, a depressing but well-constructed tale of baby-meets-cat domestic horror.
The main character is alone in the house with a newborn baby and her older son.
The latter wants to keep a stray cat that keeps showing up. The mother’s every
instinct tells her to chase this creature – correctly.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Like the same author’s “The End Of The Line” above,
this story was plausible, and much more affecting when read as an adult than it
would have been had I discovered it as a teenager. I found the closing lines
difficult to stomach. “That’s why they call it ‘Horror Stories’, Pat.”<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">David Lewis’ “Long Silence, Old Man” sees a grown man
visiting his elderly father. The story would seem to be set in Mexico, going by
the characters’ names, but I could be guilty of an appalling assumption. Manolo
is bringing his new wife to visit his dad at his remote desert shack. It is
crudely implied that Manolo has some psychological problems which affect him in
the bedroom with his bride. This has its roots in some awful behaviour from the
old man, cruel punishments meted out to Manolo when he was just a boy. Manolo
decides to pay his father back, plus interest. It’s not quite therapy, but it
is therapeutic.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This was a grim, but also very sad story. A reminder
that an unkind family home is a nursery for monsters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <br /> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <br /></span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Now a curious one, William Sinclair’s “The Terror of
Two Hundred Below”. The title suggests a monster mash, with some deadly creature
haunting an ice cavern or the depths of the ocean. Instead, it’s a
science-hates-you tale, with the title referring to temperature.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This is a bad story with a decent idea at its centre. It
starts with the main character fleeing down dark streets (this is in Glasgow –
it’s not the last story in the book to be set there). She meets a man, and begs
him for help. The baddies are chasing her. The good knight takes her home to
his flat, makes her a cup of tea, and then listens to her story.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">She is a scientist, part of a group that won a huge
research grant prize, snatching it from under the nose of the man who was
widely expected to win. It’s fair to say he is upset about this.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">After a series of totally implausible and deadly episodes,
she ends up working for the guy who took second prize. You’d think this lassie’s
every instinct would be telling her to keep this man as far away as possible,
but no. Perhaps she doesn’t realise she’s in a horror story.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">At the naughty scientist’s Highland research
laboratory, she discovers the Awful Truth about his Unethical Experiments. Her
grim fate is laid out for her. But she escapes. And then, oh dear…<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There’s a lot of things to pick at here. The dialogue
is terrible – the story is told by the main character as direct quoted speech,
but it doesn’t resemble anything that would come out of the mouth of a real
person, outside of an Ealing comedy. Some of the events are truly horrible –
she’s raped, and while there is no explicit detail, the way it’s described as
an afterthought is dreadful, whether this story is read in 1970 or 2020. The
central fate laid out for the main character is admittedly (yep, I went there) chilling.
It’s not a very good story, though.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Next up, an all-but-forgotten writer whose work
fascinates me. Dorothy K Haynes’ previous two stories for the Pans were <i>brilliant</i>
– historical tales set in Scotland, concerning witchcraft, the second sight, and
diabolical coincidence. “The Bean-nighe” and “Thou Shalt Not Suffer A Witch”
were so good they had me searching for other work by this forgotten writer. She’s
been out of print for a good while. “The Cure” reaffirms my belief that this is
a mistake.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We’re back in a Scottish village, not in the present
day, which sees a young man with unspecified issues and his mother being
offered up to the judgement of the town. The father was hanged, and his body is
still swaying in the wind, after a sentencing which many thought was harsh.
According to old superstitions, the touch of a hanged man can cure a person of
their ailments. The fact that the person requiring the cure is the dead man’s
son adds a bit more flavour to a pungent recipe.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Haynes is very, very good. She touches on many themes familiar
from Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery” – the corrosive quality of back stoop
gossip, and its close relationship with irrationality.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Alex Hamilton’s “Image of the Damned” sees a genius
waxwork artist creating his masterpiece, in the form of a notorious rake,
shagger and gambler who is about to be executed. The condemned man hatches an
outrageous plot to escape the gallows, which no-one in their right minds would
fall for. This story is silly but it is very well told indeed, with a tone
befitting its chief character.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Norman P Kaufman’s “A Sharp Loss of Weight” sees a man
imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit released from jail, and on the lookout
for the man who framed him. There’s a bit of a twist involving revenge already
being taken on someone else’s behalf, but this story is an odd ‘un. I want to
say that “it goes to show that events usually end up paying horrible people
back”, but I know that this is wishful thinking.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Desmond Stewart’s “An Experiment In Choice” sees a man
waking up at the top of a huge chimney. He is informed that he has a choice to
make, as part of a psychological experiment: jump to the ground on the outside
of the chimney, or make the leap into the darkness inside. So, it’s certain
death, or uncertain, but probable death. In case he thinks he can just stay
where he is and pray for rescue, a steel blade begins to rise beneath him.
Think fast. What would you do?<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Robert Duncan’s “The Evil One” takes us back to
Glasgow, and sees a woman at a party having sex with a man she is irresistibly
drawn to. She’s betrothed to someone else, but that hardly seems significant.
After the deed is done, she takes a look at the sleeping man under the sheets,
and complete and utter madness follows.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This story has the framing of horror, but it’s about something
else altogether. It’s got nothing to do with madness or diabolism, but is all
to do with a woman having good sex with someone she isn’t meant to. Freud noted
how closely horror stories are linked to sexuality – almost a continuum – and
with many of the stories here in mind, it’s difficult to disagree. It also fits
in with the distinctly Calvinist tone of this volume.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Joan Aiken’s “Marmalade Wine” sees a chap taking a walk
in the woods, and happening upon the arboreal bolthole of a famous surgeon.
They get talking, and the surgeon offers him a drop of the stuff in the title.
It’s awfully good, but wasn’t the surgeon in the news for something a little
while ago? Oh, mate.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Finally, it’s “Monkey Business” by John Arthur. A
British guide in Singapore takes an obnoxious American tourist out to see the
sights. There are two thick strands of racism here – we’re back to the type of
stuff we saw in the Arabian harem above, with strange, warped customs, set at
odds with the supposed decency of white people. Well… when I say “white people”,
I mean “English people”, because the second piece of racism is at the expense
of Americans - portrayed as brash, fat, greedy and uncultured. This is a lazy
stereotype alongside the mean Arab or the treacherous Oriental, and we
shouldn’t tolerate it either.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">That said, the story is an utter shocker, truly
horrifying. It would have been very easy to hint at the loud American’s fate,
and leave him to it – but John Arthur goes there, and then some.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It reminds me of something George A Romero said about
Night Of The Living Dead, which also appeared in 1969. He was used to horror
films that showed you the shadow of the knife rising and falling, then a cut,
and then a body on the floor, and maybe a drop or two of blood. But George
wanted to show you the knife going in, and the blood pouring out. That’s
similar to the stunning final paragraphs of this story.<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It was a fitting capper to one of the best of the
Pans. I have far too many books to read, and also one or two to write, so who
knows when the Pans will be back here? But never fear… <i>they’ll be back</i>!<br /> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">(crypt door slams shut)</span></div>
<br /><p></p>Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-71560745136137062882020-07-12T15:08:00.000-07:002020-07-31T07:29:14.062-07:00TALL TALES AND WEE STORIES<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">by
Billy Connolly</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">336
pages, Two Roads<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
was born a sort of fart…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Signed
by the author.</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> That’s what it said on the Waterstone’s email promo.
I don’t think I would have bothered actually buying a copy, had the autograph
been by any other author living or dead outside of Matthew, Mark, Luke or John.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
it is, on the flyleaf. Billy Connolly’s signature. An autograph by a guy with
Parkinson’s. Perhaps there’s a joke to be told there, but I’ll leave that stuff
to the experts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Tall-Tales-Wee-Stories-Connolly-ebook/dp/B07W3M4S6D/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3OZZ2XRYOJQHM&dchild=1&keywords=tall+tales+and+wee+stories&qid=1594591500&s=digital-text&sprefix=tall+tales+and%2Cdigital-text%2C248&sr=1-1">Tall Tales and Wee Stories</a> is a best-of, a transcript of his best comedy routines. We all know it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Jobbie
wheekers… I needed somewhere to park my bike... Tarantulas and their wily ways...
This awful longevity of sex... “I know you…” But in the North Sea, you don’t…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">You
can hear him saying it as you read. The thing you lose on the page is
Connolly’s sublime talent as a mime; to paint a picture in your mind by
gesture and movement. The only editorial intrusion on
these basic transcripts comes when the book fills in the gaps where it needs
to. The descriptive parts that he never actually said jar a little against the
recording that plays in your head. The routines are so good, though, that the
book made me laugh out loud at jokes I’ve heard many times before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">They
are bastards, and they do it on purpose… “It’s him, mammy… it’s him again”…
This thing arrives at your f*cking house in a taxi... And there it is, a wee
beige jobby... <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
are murals with Connolly’s face on them on the side of buildings in his home
city, Glasgow. It seems remarkable that this iconography should be bestowed
upon someone still alive, but it’s apt. Billy Connolly feels like a folk hero even
while he’s still alive. Which is hardly an inconvenience, for him or us. It
feels a wee bit like – yes - the songwriter who laments being far away from
Scotland, <i>while he’s still there</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Glaswegians,
or those of us privileged to live on the outskirts, feel as if he is one of us.
He has seeped into our consciousness at a national level. He is single-handedly
responsible for Glaswegians thinking themselves funny, as opposed to hard.
Mixed feelings for many people, on that last one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
first time I saw him was at Celtic Park, when he opened a rebuilt stand – I
think before Celtic played Sporting Lisbon in a friendly, in 1996. Ancient
history in itself. I remember thinking: I’ll always tell people that I saw
Billy Connolly in the flesh. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
remember he had a purple beard. He’d only just brought the beard out of
retirement. It suited him better, no doubt about it. He didn’t always advertise
his football allegiances, but everyone knows the talented guys support the
Celts. I grew up thinking he supported Partick Thistle. (“I thought they were
called Partick Thistle Nil.”) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Just
phuck off.” Peas and mince. It saves a lot of time…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then,
a few years later, I saw him up near Woodlands, in Glasgow, when I was a
passenger in a car. He was right behind us in a Range Rover, and you could not
mistake him for anyone else. I was 24 years old, and when I spotted him I did
something utterly ridiculous – I turned around and waved, as he took a turn on
a roundabout. I suspect he was going to see up-and-coming comedians at The
Stand, which was not too far away. “Hullo Billy,” I said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Our
eyes definitely locked. I can easily imagine his response. If “prick on a
roundabout” becomes a thing in his routines, it was probably me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Next
time I saw him, it was at a live show, at long last, in 2012. The Doncaster
Dome. Ominously, he repeated one or two old bits and pieces, but still got big
laughs for them. It’s fine for a band to play the hits, but that is less well
accepted in a comedian’s act. Connolly proves a rare exception to that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Also,
if we’re being critical, he has punched downwards once or twice in his career.
Overweight people and the disabled have been awkward components of some of his patter,
through the years. But we forgive him, as we do not forgive others. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Now
say Jesus!” “Jeeeesus!”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
next time I saw him was five or six years later - his last stand. The
Parkinson’s was becoming apparent. He slapped “flies” out of the air and
referred to them non-stop. And despite my initial scepticism, it turned out there
were one or two bugs flying around. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Finally,
he hit one, and I could see a black thing on the stage floor. “Got ye, ya
bastard.” But whether he was plagued by flies or not, I think it was either a
stalling tactic for him to remember his lines, or a means of distracting his
hands from doing what they wanted to do – which seemed to be to crawl up his
chest and strangle him. He was in a bad way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
grew confused once or twice, badly losing the place and filling it with dead
air. It was excruciating. He stopped what he was saying completely, and did not
return to that line of thought. This was at a gigantic arena in Sheffield. The
silence, and the sympathy, was near absolute. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">After
one extra-long gap, he said: “I just want to leave.” I’ll never forget it. As
one, about 10,000 people inhaled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But,
like a pro, he got on with it, and he finished the show. There was an air of
sadness outside the venue as everyone filed out into the car park. I thought,
like many others: that’s the last time I’ll see him. We’ll never know how much he
suffered to bring us those last shows, what he must have put himself through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
hero is a person who does the right thing, no matter what they have to suffer.
He was my hero that night. He was my hero anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
true Billy is the guy on all those home videos – and before that, the vinyl
records, including a load of scratched ones I was duped into buying when I’d
had a few pints, one time. He's the guy the whole family settled down to enjoy.
As a very young child I was well aware of the slightly scary, bearded man from
as far back as I can remember; but I also remember my dad’s reaction, howling with
laughter at the videos and vinyl records. Billy came from the same streets, the
same flats and tenements, the same back courts, the same uniquely Glaswegian
background. He was one of us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">As
a boy, I thrilled at the bad language before I got any of the jokes. I remember
a wonderful night with the buzzy old black and white turn-dial portable in the
bedroom I shared with my brother, both of us in bed watching a repeat of An
Audience With Billy Connolly. (“Spot the dead celebs” becomes more horrifying
with every fresh viewing of that one.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
couple of years later, my eldest brother brought home a VHS rental of Billy And
Albert. “What are you laughing at?” my dad barked at me, during the
masturbation gag. In truth, I didn’t know. The correct answer was: “I’m
laughing at the funny man.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
hero could also be described as someone who brings sunshine to people when it’s
been raining. Billy is my hero for that, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
reservation on the outskirts… The place with the vans… <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Billy’s
still with us, even though the family members who I watched the videos and TV
specials with are long gone. The bastard will outlive me, now that I’ve written
that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Regardless,
when he goes, this is how people will remember him – the warmth and laughter
among family and friends; the bits and pieces that ring true for us, whether
that’s as Glaswegians or simply as people; the parts we repeated among
ourselves in playgrounds, pubs and workplaces; and the universal laughs at
ourselves and our bodies and our embarrassments.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">He
is up there with the Beatles and the Stones, the Pythons and David Bowie. Someone
who defined an age. I can see him painted as a Renaissance figure, certainly
with a ruff collar. Someone, please do it.</span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-16410124047125824422020-02-07T07:54:00.000-08:002020-02-10T11:38:18.989-08:00FIELD NOTES<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Country matters on Booksquawk<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Potters’
and Planters’ Almanac, part three<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Underland-Deep-Journey-Robert-Macfarlane-ebook/dp/B07JRCS6J5/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=UNDERLAND&qid=1581090766&s=digital-text&sr=1-1">Underland: A Deep Time Journey </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">by Robert Macfarlane<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">496
pages, Hamish Hamilton<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s
a lot going on under there, beneath your feet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Underland</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> is Robert
Macfarlane’s most ambitious book. Instead of his usual trails across mountain
ranges, clifftops or other high roads, this work goes low, looking at the
relatively unexamined world of the underground. That can mean caves, caverns,
sink holes, mine shafts, bore holes in bright blue glaciers, labyrinths, hidden
rivers, hidden cities, ancient tombs, future tombs, and some teeny tiny wee
crawlspaces that you just wouldn’t get me in, for all the lube in Lubya.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
his introduction, the author quotes from a section of Alan Garner’s <i>The Weirdstone
Of Brisingamen</i>, a book I haven’t read. I have read descriptions of the
passage in question before, though – a nauseating journey the characters take through
an underground cave that’s too tight to turn your head in, with places that you
can barely scrape your ankles through, as you literally inch your way forward
in complete darkness, with no way back. And then it gets tighter, and tighter…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">If
you’re already white-knuckling it, then so was Macfarlane. He admits that this
part of the book terrified him as a child. So, in the early part, there’s an
element of confronting natural fear, or maybe it’s just masochism, as
Macfarlane tries to squeeze through some similar gaps accompanied by a
spelunker in the Mendips. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
book thankfully isn’t a series of palpitation-inducing compressions, but
broadens out into an erudite examination of what goes on beneath the crust of
the planet, and humans’ need to interact with it. That can be for simple
exploration or adventure; or for burial and concealment, sometimes for
nefarious purposes. On other occasions, the world simply collapses on us. There
are sinkholes and shafts, which can open up without warning. There are almost
certainly skeletons down there. And there is hidden treasure: most major cities
have hidden layers underneath, such as Edinburgh, Paris and of course London. I
can recommend one of those tours in the Scottish capital. If ghosts exist, then
they must surely stalk those gloomy, dripping spaces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
there are hidden worlds that we couldn’t even conceive of until recently, such
as the wonders of the wood-wide-web. This is a theory that trees can actually
communicate and interact with each other in the forest via an underground
network of fungi and spores. Regular readers will have run into this idea
before in our coverage of the work of Roger Deakin – a close friend of Robert
Macfarlane. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Along
the way, of course, there’s some derring-do involving trips to places that I’m
not sure I’d ever want to visit. Macfarlane does it, so you don’t have to – and
isn’t that the essence of every great piece of travel writing? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Throughout
<i>Underland</i>, there’s a sense of extra dimensions, a trippy element that I
thoroughly enjoyed. This starts with the author’s appraisal of a map. You can gain
an idea of the terrain and the topography, but there’s no sense of true depth,
with the world underneath us and all its riches occluded. Things get even
spacier, literally, in one early chapter sees MacFarlane joining physicists in a
former mine at Boulby in Yorkshire, underneath the sea bed, where they try to
unlock the secrets of dark matter free from the interference of surface
radiation. So, this texture and topography, this extradimensionality, can
stretch out into the cosmos, as well as growing roots into the earth beneath
us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
was tickled by the section where McFarlane joins a plant scientist called
Merlin Sheldrake to examine the wood wide web in Epping Forest. He rarely fails
to address the man by his first name, every other sentence - and who could
blame him when you can write stuff like: “I joined Merlin for a walk in the
forest one misty morning”? The wood wide web shows us that there are states of
existence on our own planet, never mind in outer space, which are almost beyond
human comprehension. The book is packed with uncanny landscapes. In one
chapter, Macfarlane describes beaches of black ash which have never seen the
sun during a kayak trip through underground rivers in Italy, home to whole
thriving ecosystems and animal populations which get by without human
interference perfectly well. There must be loads of this we’ve yet to discover.
It makes our blundering progress across the planet and the waste we choke it up
with all the more disgusting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
Anthropocene era casts a shadow over the whole book. Though he’s never preachy,
the end of existence on earth – a process which might be well under way thanks
to humans - is never far from Macfarlane’s thoughts. Everywhere he looks, there
are signs of our impermanence, and proof that in deep time, our greatest
achievements and mightiest edifices will be as significant as the gravel on
someone’s driveway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
are a couple of scrotum reducers, such as when Macfarlane visits the catacombs
in Paris, and has to follow an almost supernaturally bendy guide as she angles
herself through impossible turns in the pitch-black labyrinth ahead of him. On
top of that, there’s our opening section when the author crawls through some
tight spaces underneath the Mendips in Somerset, a prisoner of brutal darkness
underneath a perfect English summer’s day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
kind of thing is the height – and depth – of Nope, for me. This is a journey to
the bottom of the Mines of Nope. This is two thousand fathoms down, inside a
Nopeyscape. Verily this is the Nopey-ist of Nopes. This is Pope Nope the
Noughth of Noples. And so on. I’m not claustrophobic, as a brief examination of
the some of the places I’ve lived in would show you. But this doesn’t really
qualify as an irrational fear. It’s a bit like saying you’re not arachnophobic,
then having to style it out when a giant spider is dropped on your face. I
loved my time on the mountains and I’ve swum with sharks, so I get the appeal
of more hirsute pursuits. But that spelunking stuff doesn’t do anything for me.
I’ve no desire to die this most Freudian of deaths. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Macfarlane
tells us one horror story, about a caver who got stuck so fast in a twisty
pipey natural tunnel far beneath the English soil that<i> he died</i>. They
couldn’t even get the body out. The poor lad’s father decided to concrete the
tunnel up, with the body inside – ensuring no-one else takes the same path.
What a nightmare. For me, that’s up there with “eaten by an animal”, “burned
alive” and “plane disintegrates” for the absolute worst ways to go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Macfarlane
also looks at a pit in Slovenia where an atrocity took place during the war, a
place so redolent of evil it seems to want to reach up out of the darkness and throttle
you. It’s somewhere Macfarlane is quite sure he’ll never return to. It’s no
place for us, down there, really. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
isn’t all about close, creepy places, though. There’s high adventure as
Macfarlane gets his crampons on and checks out entombed places in the far
north, with polar bears to worry about as well as avalanches and other dicey
events in Norway and Greenland. In one episode, he abseils down a hole bored in
ancient ice by glaciologists who can glean as much from the layers of
permafrost as a geologist can divine from layers of rock. I’m guessing they
have never seen <i>The Thing</i>, but we’ll let that one slide. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
there’s a strange episode where Macfarlane checks out ancient cave paintings on
an ultra-remote Arctic island, and postulates that ancient people left their
artworks in one spectacularly inhospitable cavern of ice as a rite of passage,
or an offering to a god. Macfarlane makes one himself, an obeisance to the
spirit of adventure. This is fantastic <i>Boy’s Own</i> stuff, although I
imagine that Macfarlane’s hairy moments would have led to his family Having A
Word with him upon his return. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Macfarlane’s
grand finale sees him examine how humans prepare for a post-human future – by
trying to prevent an unknown population many years from now from disinterring
nuclear waste which is likely to remain hot and extremely dangerous for millennia.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
poses a delicious problem: how do you effectively warn the descendants of the
rats and cockroaches or the visiting alien societies that no matter how
interesting the burial chamber is, they really, really shouldn’t mess with it? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">You
could leave all sorts of scary warnings or traps, but we’ve all seen <i>Raiders
Of The Lost Ark</i>. That’s just going to spur them on. “<i>Danger? Keep out?</i>
I click my chitinous mandibles at your danger.” You’ve got to play it a bit
cooler than that… The techniques worked out by scientists are ingenious, but
we’ve no way of knowing if they’ll work. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Thankfully,
it’s somebody’s else’s problem. Or maybe nobody else’s problem. Nothing’s
permanent. Even the ground beneath our feet must shift and change, given the
passage of deep time; it could turn out to be desert, or a forest floor, or the
top of a mountain, or a cavern half a mile underground that will never see the
sun again, or more likely a seabed - and finally it might be nothing at all,
turned to stardust within the fatal boundaries of our engorged red sun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Everything
that ever existed on this earth might have come to absolutely nothing, and been
of no consequence, an interesting flash in the sky for whatever life might
exist out there as we all boil away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Imagine
that? In deep time, nothing we ever do matters. I can’t decide if this prospect
is terrifying, or awesome. All that remains might be what’s on the Voyager
probe’s information disc. Chuck Berry’s Johnny B Goode might be one of the few
things in all of human artistic endeavour to survive the passing of the planet
itself. Strewth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
is the smallest chance that Earth will survive the sun’s greed as it expands,
billions of years into the future. It might just, <i>just</i> sneak into the
“survival zone”, leaving a crispy outer shell and nothing still living, like
one last round at the pub swiped on your bank card in the hours before your pay
arrives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Whether
there will be anything left of the human race anywhere in the universe by then
is debatable. There’s something in Macfarlane’s tone which tells me which side he’s
on in that one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Speaking
of endings, I finished this audiobook when I went out for a walk quite late on
New Year’s Eve, at the very end of the decade. I loved the poetry and
synchronicity of this, and its entirely unrealistic sense of closure. The
definition of a book.</span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-58462327605823620602020-02-03T13:40:00.000-08:002020-02-03T13:40:24.778-08:00THE BURRYMEN WAR<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">by Brendan Gisby</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">90 pages,
Createspace<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Review by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I’ve met bridges people before. They’re like
aeroplanes people, or classic cars people, or (they fit together with bridges
people like bank holidays and wet weather) trains people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I am not one of those people – I am a guitars person -
but I am fascinated by one particular bridge. The one that links North and
South Queensferry; the one that used to be a punchline for a Sisyphean task,
before they invented some fancy paint. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Iain Banks wrote about this bridge. And it is awesome.
Were Godzilla to make his way across the Firth of Forth, he might stay his hand
a while before smashing it to pieces. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A bridge goes somewhere, but the places on either side
don’t. In <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Burrymen-War-Brendan-Gisby-ebook/dp/B00CG0ZAFW/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_product_top?ie=UTF8">The Burrymen War</a></i>, Danny Jaffrey finds himself back in one of
these places, in the shadow of the Forth Bridge, attending the funeral of his
friend Muldy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As Danny walks the familiar streets in South
Queensferry, he gets to reminiscing. Not just about good times spent with Muldy
and another mate of theirs, Lennie. There’s bad stuff in there, too – particularly
a murder that haunts Dan. One he was involved in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There are a lot of laughs in <i>The Burrymen War, </i>but
it is a serious examination of a serious subject - a perfectly-pitched look at
prejudice and violence in Scotland. Brendan Gisby focuses on South Queensferry,
but he could be looking at any number of Scottish towns affected by
sectarianism. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You might have a working knowledge of sectarianism in
Scotland owing to a well-known sporting rivalry – a topic the tourist bodies do
well to stay clear of. I still chuckle at a recent translation of Japanese
tourist advice – “<i>beware the green and blue men</i>”. But as Gisby points
out, the problem isn’t confined to the west of Scotland. Some might try to
convince you that it begins and ends with football. But this is a symptom of
the problem, not its cause. Sectarianism’s roots go very deep. But we don’t
have time to go into that, here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Back to the story. Danny, Muldy, Lennie and a few
others from the Irish side of the street hatch a plan to get one over on their “opposite
number” in the town. It’s greens versus blues, if we’re sticking to football
analogies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">South Queensferry has a bizarre tradition, still
popular to this day, whereby a “Burryman” is steered through the town during
the summer fair in August. The Burryman is a monstrous green figure covered in
burrs – the seeds of a sticky weed more commonly known as burdock – and paraded
through the town by attendants. A man in a suit, basically. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It seems to be a pagan rite which has survived to the
present day. No-one quite knows how the tradition started or what it actually
refers to. The first recorded mention of the ceremony comes in the 17<sup>th</sup>
century, but it pre-dates that by a long way. It could have something to do
with The Green Man, Celtic fertility symbols or any number of things. It could
even have its roots in blood sacrifice, but the truth is – no-one knows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It would certainly scare the weans. The Burryman looks
like a Scooby Doo villain, pre-unmasking. I’ve got a few monstrous ideas
cooking for this clodding creature. In these visions of mine, the Burryman may
be plant-based, but he ain’t no vegan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Gisby made a much smarter choice in presenting this
rite, carried out unthinkingly by its followers on a holiday of obligation, as
the basis of a deadly tribal feud.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In the story, the Burryman parade is controlled by the
boys in the loyalist pub down the street. So, Muldie hatches a plot to steal a
few yards on them by creating a Burryman of their own, and parading it through
the town before the other pub begins the actual, official Burryman march. In
the process, they seek to give themselves a generous helping of the charitable
collection which accompanies the parade. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As you might expect, Danny and co’s rivals don’t take
kindly to this. The stage is set for a bloody confrontation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">What I liked most about<i> The Burrymen War</i> was
Danny’s sense of regret, remorse and anger over the violence of the past. The
author makes it clear from the start that the prank of 30 years ago had tragic
consequences – the story shows you the who and how of it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Gisby also examines misplaced loyalty, something that
fascinates me the older I get. Young men form strong bonds with their friends, but
sometimes, once the business of jobs and families and children intrude, these
friendships can become toxic. They lead us down paths we shouldn’t follow. Once
unbreakable ties are severed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But on the other hand, there’s the purer ideal of
sticking by a mate, no matter what the circumstances. What price is loyalty? If
you can’t pay it, we are inclined to wonder: what sort of person are you? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The book also examines how bad blood can stain a
community for years. Some people only do 10 years for murder. There are some
whose actions have caused irreparable, generations-deep damage - but 10 years
isn’t forever, and all too soon, they’re back on the same streets, mingling
with the same people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Danny’s conclusion is that there’s really only one
firm step you can take to avoid these circumstances.</span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The Burrymen War </span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">is a short but devastating read. It’s the real
Scotland, in all its humour, all its contradictions, and all its bared teeth.</span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-1758742508870855732019-11-29T09:19:00.001-08:002019-11-29T09:19:27.832-08:00DEATH WISH<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">by Brian Garfield<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">192
pages, Mysterious Press<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Or,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> This Is Why We Can’t Have Nasty Things</i>.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Even
if you’ve never seen it, you’ll know about the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Death-Wish-Brian-Garfield-ebook/dp/B006ZE1JA0/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=DEATH+WISH&qid=1575047923&s=digital-text&sr=1-1">Death Wish</a></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> movie</span>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Charles
Bronson, droopy moustache, feet braced, Saturday Night Special… Michael Winner!
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blam!</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
tells the story of a middle-class architect living in 1970s New York who
decides to execute every street punk he encounters after his wife and daughter
are attacked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Brian
Garfield’s original novel tells the same story, in a different way. But only
slightly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
it, Paul Benjamin is an accountant, a liberal (in the sense we used to
understand it) in New York City in the same time period. He’s good at his job
in the world of finance and sees no apparent irony as he takes on lots of
crunchy causes in tandem with his role as a sharp cog in the pitiless
capitalist machine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Liberal
guilt, I think they call it; organising fundraisers for softball teams in
underprivileged areas, that kind of thing. If he was around today, Benjamin
would be the sort of person who might criticise you for drinking from a plastic
bottle of water – someone with firm convictions and a strong moral compass, but
also a bit of a twat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">His
house is raided by a teenage gang, with his wife and daughter inside. There are
tragic consequences. This event takes place off-the-page and does not feature
any sexual assault. This differs from Winner’s exploitative cinema vision,
which spared you few details. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">After
this terrible shock, Benjamin slowly transforms into a vigilante who stalks the
Big Apple’s seamier streets with a handgun, and in the process becomes
something of a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cause celebre</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is
that a gun in your pocket, or… ? Oh, it is a gun, and you’re not pleased to see
me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Justice isn’t exactly blind, but it is
indiscriminate in </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Death
Wish</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">.
Benjamin never levels the score with the criminals who destroyed his life – he
doesn’t really look for them. Anyone committing or attempting to commit a violent
crime is fair game for this unlikely avenger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Garfield
didn’t like the movie version of his story, which is a puzzler as it follows
the novel’s plot, and its politics, to the letter. It is more cerebral than the
movie series would have you believe, but that’s not difficult. At heart, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Death Wish</i> is a novel about grief –
internalised, corrosive, manifesting itself in other symptoms, and finally
exploding. But you’d be foolish to ignore the anger and the retribution, and
the catharsis that follows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
the same way, you could say <i>Jaws</i> is about an honourable man tackling
endemic corruption in the face of a public health crisis - and you’d be right.
But you’d be ignoring the shark. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">For
“shark”, read “guns”, here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Benjamin
grinds his teeth at the well-intended efforts of his work colleagues as they
pat him on the back in the wake of personal disaster. He occasionally loses his
temper with his granola-grating son-in-law, an idealist who accepts the
terrible hand he has been dealt with an unnerving equanimity. The man even
calls him “Pops”. For god’s sake – get mad, mate! Scream! Swear! You’re on
Benjamin’s side in these parts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
grief odyssey takes several strange paths, including one digression involving a
woman our lonely hero picks up in a bar. I liked this illustration of
Benjamin’s melancholic state, the devastation of a man with a home and a family
and a purpose in life, suddenly set adrift. This is a moment of calm, if not
peace, before he gets down to business. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
pivotal moment comes when Benjamin is sent to the South to look after a big
account. He sees a gun shop and realises he can just stroll in and buy a
firearm if he feels like it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
does. And he feels empowered. No other word for it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
is after Benjamin has experimented with taking down a teenage mugger, using a
sock loaded with coins for a cosh. I have always wondered at the effectiveness
of this DIY weaponry, given the state of some of the ancient socks I’ve got. If
I tried that, I’d most likely see my loose change roll away across the street
before a blow was struck. Then having to explain myself to the young man I’d
just interrupted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe
it’s a status symbol among gangsters – high-quality socks, for use in
punishment beatings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What
you packing?” <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">(solemn
intonation) <i>“Doubled-up Pringle.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yeah?
Look at what I got.”</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">(gasp)
<i>“Granpaw’s hiking socks!”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Benjamin’s
longed-for confrontations arrive quite close to the end of this novel. They are
not played for the sake of gore – I admit, this material would have been far
worse in my hands – but they are disturbing. He walks into unsafe areas after
dark, literally looking for trouble. If anyone tries to mug Benjamin or is
spotted committing any kind of serious crime anywhere near him, they’re going
to grow some holes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">How
easy it is. Point and shoot. Down they go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m
maybe not the best person to criticise here, as I’ve just published a book about
a person taking revenge. But <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Death Wish</i>’s
themes felt current. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Admittedly,
I wouldn’t trust anyone who says they didn’t in some way empathise with
Benjamin’s rage. If you play by the rules, then at some point you will be
crossed by someone who doesn’t, and that can be very disturbing. Most liberal
consciences would struggle to remain completely intact after any major trauma
as a result of crime. It takes incredible strength and virtue not to give in to
anger in the face of random, violent events carried out by unpleasant people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">They
say you should hate the game and not the player, but this is difficult if the
player is someone who has stripped your house of anything valuable before
crapping on your favourite rug. There are many time-worn arguments against
revenge and retribution. Some are as old as the written word, and most are valid.
But few of them address the joy of striking back. A dish best served cold? I
don’t know about that. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lots
of our novels, movies, TV shows and plays know this instinctively. It’s a
button they know how to press, even as they appear to tell you something
different. It’s a fundamental flaw. It’s deeper than storytelling. It seems
like a trace memory, folklore, something in the genome. <i>Get them back. An
eye for an eye.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Like
the Big Explanation scene which serves as a coda in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Psycho</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Death Wish</i> offers
a built-in analysis of its troubled hero. Benjamin picks up a magazine in the
toilet at a house party and reads a psychologist’s assessment of the vigilante
whose killings electrify the city. The shrink’s insight is spot-on, and
Benjamin begins to worry for the first time that he might get caught. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
book suggests that many people are on his side – including the police. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Death Wish</i> examines its hero’s
conscience and paints him as a man undergoing a mental breakdown. But there’s
no doubt that his behaviour is tweaking something primal in us. That revolver
is about taking back control. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We
hear that phrase a lot, these days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Revenge
as a driver of plot is as old as storytelling itself. But consider that
familiar figure, the lone man with a gun, the reluctant avenger, forced to act
for the sake of justice. This is often characterised as “individualism” and is
a staple in stories of tough guys doing tough things, particularly in the mythology
of the old West in the American tradition. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
zapping people arbitrarily and believing you’re doing the right thing is the
work of a demagogue, and worse. “It’s right, because I say it is.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s
a lot of that about, these days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">How
many damaged people around the world, but particularly in the United States,
have pictured themselves as the man with the gun who had a legitimate grievance
they’ve seen in the movies? The school shooters, the mosque invaders, the guys at
work with a grudge, the people who suddenly open fire in malls and nightclubs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Often,
their issues are phantoms of the mind. But whatever their problem, they thought
they could resolve things by ventilating people. They’ve seen it done quite a
lot in the movies, after all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m
not suggesting for a moment that fictional content causes crime – if that was
the case, I’d be a great big criminal. I’ve read about the studies examining
violent video games, and that troublesome statistic about other countries who
enjoy this kind of entertainment – with little or no gun crime. However, there’s
no denying that stories on the page or the screen do model destructive,
vindictive behaviour. Watch enough films where problems are resolved with a
shoot-out, or a fight, and – if you had certain mental health conditions or a serious
personality disorder - you might start to forget it’s abnormal in an ordered,
peaceful society; that we have mechanisms like manners and polity and laws so
that we can avoid these things happening, as far as possible. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Have
you ever met someone who wanted to be a gangster in real life? Have you ever
noticed that they really like gangster movies? There’s a reason for that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
make no mistake. The main ingredient isn’t movies, or gunfights in the movies, or
first-person perspective shooting games. It’s easy access to deadly weapons.
Add some laws which provide for that, and maybe a dash of entitlement, and you
have a disaster at all levels of society.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Making
yourself judge, jury and executioner isn’t a good thing. No one person should
have the right. It’s taken thousands of years for human society to arrive at
that conclusion, and for many even in the bosom of the so-called free world, it
isn’t quite clear yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am reminded of an old stand-up routine: if Bruce Wayne really wanted to stem
the tide of crime in Gotham, he could use his billions to fund community
projects or open a factory in a deprived area, instead of dressing up as a
furry and battering poor people, addicts, or the mentally ill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Death Wish</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> is
about a person who doesn’t follow the rules. As a piece of fiction, it’s a
great conversation starter, among people you should probably avoid at parties.
In real life though, that decision to transgress is a disaster for all of us,
as rules in the form of laws – deeply flawed as they can be – are sometimes the
only thing keeping us from total chaos. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">At
times we need rule-breakers, certainly. Some conventions and ordinances deserve
to go in the bin. To take one example, imagine if Rosa Parks had meekly
surrendered her seat and gone to the back of the bus. But “it’s bad to shoot
someone because you feel like it” is not one of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">When
it comes to being able to go about your life and livelihood peacefully, and
also – key point - being treated equally and fairly by authorities who have to
toe the line the same way as you, then these rules are essential. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Losing
a rules-based system would be like having your back door open out onto the
Stone Age. Crumbling rules and wobbling democratic systems can be seen all over
the world. Even in places where you didn’t think it would happen: specifically,
the United States and the United Kingdom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">If
you’re not worried yet, you’re not paying attention. At least on this side of
the pond, the guns are under control. But who knows where we’re going,
politically? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">If
there’s an analogy for the mythology of the Wild West in modern life, then
surely it lies in global finance and information technology. We shouldn’t be
surprised when the same cut-throat, merciless practices manifest themselves
elsewhere in life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Another
question that’s been bothering me: in a time when we can watch movies or TV
shows which feature violent incidents involving firearms as normalised, why haven’t
there been any dramas about mass shootings, whether fictional or adapted from
real events? It hasn’t been tackled in a big, serious, well-funded mainstream
movie yet, with the notable exception of Michael Moore’s <i>Bowling For
Columbine</i> documentary. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We
Need To Talk About Kevin</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> is the closest match I can think of, but
Lionel Shriver sidestepped the entire guns debate by having that book’s
psychopathic title character use a bow and arrow rather than a Smith &
Wesson. Also, both book and movie adaptation pulled away from directly showing
us what happened. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gus
Van Sant addressed Columbine in another thoughtful piece,<i> Elephant</i>, but without
showing us the actual massacre. That’s as close as you get from Hollywood. The
only other dramatisations I can see are well-meaning TV movies, or small-scale
dramas which weren’t given mass publicity or a widespread release. Not even in
the same galaxy as the latest <i>Avengers</i> or <i>Fast And Furious</i> movie,
at any rate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">You
could argue on taste and decency grounds here – but this doesn’t seem apply to
other types of murder. Just this year we had another series of <i>Mindhunter</i>,
and we also saw a former teen musical idol become Ted Bundy on the big screen. We’re
open to the idea of dissecting the behaviour of sex killers and military
dictators responsible for thousands of deaths, but not the horribly prosaic
world of the lone gunman. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Why
the shyness about the reality of gun crime? What’s the purpose of art, if not
to reflect reality in some way? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Surely
we should be shown the utter horror of these situations. We should have make-up
geniuses or digital artists show us, as realistically as possible, precisely
what happens when a round from an AR-15 assault rifle hits a child in the face.
A few filmmakers have had a go at 9/11, the ultimate millennial true-life
horror, so surely they can apply this industry to a gun massacre – something
which becomes horribly real, and horribly current, on a regular basis. We
should see the panic, hear the screaming, experience the tears and pleading,
people losing control of bladders and bowels. Give people their pornography, as
lexicographers understand the term. The grim, unbearable reality. Without a
shred of glamour. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Do
we need a movie tough guy to play the gunman? Someone comfortably masculine
enough for us? Why not? They so often play gunmen. Let’s have it. Let’s see it.
Make it real for people. Who has the nerve?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Back
on-topic. I’ll say this about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Death Wish</i>:
even allowing for its brevity, in an age when books can lie on my bedside table
for months before I reach the end, I read it in the space of a day or two. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
wrong on many levels, but I couldn’t wait to get to the shootings. Tension, and
release. Zap, zap, zap, down they go. I have to accept and admit to this
duality. You like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Space Invaders</i>? I
like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Space Invaders</i>. You just line up
the shot and squeeze the trigger. Easy as that. Disintegrate the dehumanised. Has
anyone ever completed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Space Invaders</i>?
Is it even possible?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Like
I say, this feeling doesn’t make me a criminal – it doesn’t even make me a bad
person. But there’s a line to be drawn, like it or not, between these confected
fantasies and true-life end points almost too horrific for words. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
will repeat: I’ve written a book about revenge. My heroine breaks the rules and
feels justified. Everyone does, in taking revenge. Right and wrong isn’t part
of that picture.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>She’s no better than
Paul Benjamin, really. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mea culpa.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
surely a sensitive, intelligent person would realise that Paul Benjamin’s way
is not the answer.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">NB:
This review was written before the recent tragedies in California, Texas and
Ohio. I’ve held it back for a while.</span></b></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-47713362671947718142019-11-24T07:41:00.002-08:002019-11-24T07:41:42.849-08:00FIELD NOTES:<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Country Matters on Booksquawk<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Potters’
and Planters’ Almanac, part two<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
Living Mountain, by Nan Shepherd (160 pages, Canongate. Audio version read by
Tilda Swinton)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">During
her lifetime, Nan Shepherd achieved a degree of success thanks to her modernist
novels. But her literary legacy has arguably been secured almost four decades
after her death by a non-fiction book about her beloved mountains which she
almost didn’t publish at all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Living-Mountain-Nan-Shepherd-ebook/dp/B005GK7LQK/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=the+living+mountain&qid=1574610042&s=digital-text&sr=1-1">The
Living Mountain</a></span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Living-Mountain-Nan-Shepherd-ebook/dp/B005GK7LQK/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=the+living+mountain&qid=1574610042&s=digital-text&sr=1-1"> </a>has become a classic of its kind, a touchstone of
modern nature writing. Since a modest first printing from Aberdeen University
Press in 1977, it has acquired a quiet power and permanence which she would
never have imagined when she wrote it, in the years after the second world war.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
Living Mountain</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> refers to the Cairngorms, the type of mountain range in
the Highlands of Scotland that demands to be placed on a postcard, or framed
above a grandmother’s mantelpiece. As the title suggests, Shepherd sees the
hills, peaks, lochs, wildlife and foliage as a constantly shifting, mutable
thing, formed by the movement of glaciers during the Ice Age, and prone to the
immense changes in geography and climate over time that render our lifetimes insignificant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She
speaks of the shifting colours with every season – the reds, browns and yellows
of autumn, the stark white and black of the snowbound winters. And then there’s
the sublime summers, when Scotland enjoys more light than many other places,
edging towards the short Arctic nights when the sun plays up, refusing to go to
bed, the skies dancing with the Northern Lights. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s
plenty of rain, of course. You won’t read much about that on the Scottish
tourism websites. Two good Scottish words for you learn, if you’re planning a
trip there: drookit and dreich. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Water
features prominently in this book; particularly how it forms the land and
continues to have an effect on its topography, especially when transmuted into
snow and ice. And she doesn’t half like swimming in it. When Nan Shepherd goes
for a dip in the bitter waters of a remote loch, she reveals the sudden thrill,
if that’s the right word, of seeing the rocky shelf at her feet drop away into
untold depths. She might be a forebear of today’s wild swimmers, though she would
have chuckled, as most of us do, at the sight of people in neoprene.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am glad Robert Macfarlane picked up on the sensual thread that runs through <i>The
Living Mountain</i>; I would have been a little bit embarrassed to talk about
it here, otherwise. I’d say it runs beyond the sensual and edges into the
erotic, at times. The thrill of cold water running over her body; the mention
of companions alongside her, without ever identifying them in any way; even the
bite of the wind, is all rendered in unmistakeably charged terms. <i>Ekstasis</i>
is a good old Greek word to learn if you’re planning a trip through this book. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s
death on the living mountain. Shepherd details scary incidents involving
mountain rescuers, who are sometimes sent out into appalling conditions with
little hope of finding the lost. Sometimes the bodies are found within hours;
sometimes you have to wait for the thaw. Shepherd highlights the case of two
young lads, and their excited jottings in a communal logbook just before they
set out to walk in snowy conditions. At time of writing, they had just hours to
live. Confused and hypothermic, they got into trouble on the hills. Their
bodies bore scrapes and abrasions which revealed they had been crawling on
their hands and knees at one point. You could see their excited chatter as a
ghastly joke from fate’s filthy mouth. I prefer to see it as a tribute to their
destroyed, and yet curiously preserved innocence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
is plenty of wreckage on the living mountain. During wartime, the Highlands
were a training ground for air crews and commando units, and one plane crashed
into the mountainside with no survivors. Shepherd details the work of the
mountain rescuers in locating the wreck and retrieving the bodies. The work,
the grim work, is often highlighted over the leisure by this author.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Shepherd
has a bit of a sharp tongue for young people who arrive ill-prepared for the
hills, or who subscribe to a more away-with-the-fairies view of this beautiful,
but deadly place. She’s a tad unkind – surely Nan Shepherd used to be one of
those young people, craving adventure and romance in remote, gorgeous places?
This harkens back to a distinctly Presbyterian attitude we see in Scotland and
Scottish writing which we struggle to throw off to this very day. In his
afterword, Robert Macfarlane notes Shepherd’s references to the hard work
involved in climbing the hills and the actual graft of people who earn a living
off it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
can be hard work at times, to be sure, but I would never relate the pleasure in
climbing hills and mountains to anything as degrading as work. It’s been a
while since I climbed any mountains, and I feel horror when I realise I might
not climb another one. By the time my kids are old enough to take into the
mountains, hillwalking might be the last thing I want to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Of
course, Shepherd takes note of the creatures who scurry across the bleak
hillsides - and the things that hunt them. There’s encounters with stags, with
mountain hares whose whitewashed coats are life during the frigid months, but death
should there be a mild winter or a sudden thaw. She has a keen eye for the
birds of prey, in particular the awesome golden eagles. Shepherd is amused to
note that some observers confuse these wheeling bringers of death up in the sky
with planes and gliders. What’s my favourite animal? It’s got to be up there,
Les. Top five answer for sure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Where
she is particularly strong is in describing the plants, trees and animals which
thrive in seemingly inhospitable places. She notes that some of these flowers
were proven to have actually survived the Ice Age. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Like
JA Baker’s <i>The Peregrine</i>, this is a short book, but shot through with a
profundity and a clarity that most books would kill for. Certainly it doesn’t
hurt matters to have Tilda Swinton narrating the audiobook, a case of the poet
and her figures being matched to lethal effect much as Odysseus might string
his bow. Whether piped into your ears or sweeping across a page in your lap, this
has become an essential book, and one you really have to experience if you’re a
fan of nature writing. Or maybe just writing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">What
of our author? She’s an enigma. I guess she liked it that way. Wikipedia tells
us she was “unmarried”, which tells us nothing. If you go to that page, you’ll
see an extraordinary photo of her, with a brooch fixed to what appears to be a
bandanna wrapped around her head (it’s actually a length of photographic film –
apparently she just took a notion). It’s an image the Royal Bank of Scotland
saw fit to put on its £5 notes, which you might struggle to spend south of the
border if you are faced with a particular kind of idiot behind a counter. She
wouldn’t have taken kindly to that, I feel sure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Considering
her today, she looks like something from fantasy artwork and literature – not a
figure of male lust from Frank Frazetta or Robert E Howard, but utterly
formidable, someone not to mess with. A queen, or a mighty warrior. She was
both of these things.</span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-2474744492212674082019-07-12T06:47:00.000-07:002019-07-12T06:47:11.669-07:00FIELD NOTES:<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Country
Matters on Booksquawk</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Planters’
and Potters’ Almanac, Part One<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">by
Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Here’s
a nice fresh bunch of the tulips I’ve been tip-toeing through this past while.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Still-Water-Deep-Life-Pond/dp/0857524577/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?keywords=still+water+the+deep+life+pond+stempel&qid=1562939029&s=digital-text&sr=8-1-fkmr0">Still Water: The Deep Life of the Pond</a></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">by John
Lewis-Stempel<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">304 pages,
Doubleday<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’d
happily read JLS’s diaries every year. Well, not his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">secret</i> diaries. That would be weird. I mean his nature diaries,
which he cunningly disguises as books.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Thankfully,
his publisher sees fit to release them on a yearly schedule. The books usually
have a distinctive underlying theme, but the format is pretty much the same
each year, and I’m happy with that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Still Water</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> is
framed as a look at the life of ponds, particularly in Britain. Beloved of those
Victorians who had a bit of garden space, these plashy holes in the ground are
a haven for creatures such as frogs, toads, ducks, dragonflies, water boatmen,
moorhens, coots, pond skaters and sticklebacks. And not forgetting a creature beloved
of conservationists but perhaps less so of town planners and construction companies
- the great crested newt, Britain’s funkiest animal. If anyone finds one of
these amphibians on a building site, then you ain’t building no buildings,
folks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">JLS’s
pleasant, meandering style skims over the history of ponds and references to
them in other literature (we learn that the word pescatorian was an insult in
days of yore). It perfectly sums up the tranquillity of sitting in his own
English garden, waiting for the sun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We
jump between a pond in Argenteuil, France, and the author’s own backyard in
Herefordshire, but there are also entirely pond-free digressions. One of these
takes in JLS’s interest in the First World War, and a walk he undertakes in the
Lakes in memory of the men killed at the front more than 100 years ago. You
won’t mind a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
First World War is one of the author’s common themes, and he returns to it and
several others in this book. Sometimes I read bits and pieces that I’m sure
I’ve heard about before, whether in<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
Meadowland,</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Running Hare</i> or<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> The Wood</i>. I’m sure JLS has previously
mentioned his first memory: being bitten in the face by a dog. New information
is the fight he gets into as a kid, and his father’s refusal to stop the scrap,
plus the bloody steak he is given as a reward for putting on a good show. Fathers
are such strange creatures. He also mentions his parents’ divorce, which I
don’t think he did before, either. Similarly, we learn that the author was
desperate to join the navy, like his hero, Sir Peter Scott, but this was ruled
out owing to a lack of facility with numbers. I feel his pain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
the present day, JLS channels Roger Deakin by trying some wild swimming in a
pond. He gets covered in muck and beasties, and is perfectly happy with it -
until he encounters a leech. Cue a digression about leeches, and the staggering
observation that the leech quacks of olden times might have been onto
something. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">These
personal reminiscences and digressions bring colour and comedy to an already
rich meal. And if the author leans a little too hard on John Clare and Edward
Thomas references… Well, most of us come back to our favourite things, whether
in life or in writing. Hence, this review.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Peregrine-York-Review-Books-Classics/dp/1590171330/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2BR5HL10CWRD5&keywords=the+peregrine+ja+baker&qid=1562939075&s=gateway&sprefix=the+peregrine%2Caps%2C238&sr=8-1">The Peregrine</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">by JA Baker<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">224 pages, Collins<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
one has been referenced in many of the modern era’s great nature books. It’s a
slow-burner in publishing terms, written by a fiercely private man who tracked
and recorded the movements of peregrine falcons through the flat countryside of
his native Essex in the 1950s and 60s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">JA
Baker’s slight volume is a condensed version of 10 years’ worth of journals.
Championed by Robert Macfarlane and others after being out of print for a long
time, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Peregrine</i> could be
described as a work of poetry rather than a conventional narrative. Taking a
diary format, Baker’s masterwork underlines his remarkable gift for describing
the exact same things in several different, but equally enthralling ways. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
can’t get enough of the peregrine’s stoop (or swoop, as muggles would call it),
as the world’s fastest bird descends, tyrannosaur claws agape, to snatch other
birds and mammals and then tear them to pieces. The language is sparkling, a visceral,
immediate delight best consumed quickly. Like the bird itself, it’s all lean
muscle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Baker’s
tone is curious. This book is as romantic as they come in terms of language,
but there is not a shred of sentiment involved - and anthropomorphism is out of
the question. The predator is brutal, and yet described as a thing of beauty.
While Baker deplores humanity’s revelry in killing, he cannot help but
luxuriate in it himself. The author asks us something like: ‘Blood red’ – was there
ever a more useless description? What else could red look like that could match
it better than the colour of blood? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
sees predation as a dirty business - all the more on humans’ behalf, because we
have the luxury of being able to consider whether or not to kill, before doing
it anyway. Even so, Baker has a kind of rapture when describing the falcon
turning its prey into gore, strewn guts and feathers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
author is not quite so keen on his own species. In light of his various
disabilities and painful health problems, not least his myopia, you wonder if
Baker gained a sense of freedom from watching the falcons on the wing. Perhaps
he discovered the true meaning of ecstasy, or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ekstasis</i>, as Robert Macfarlane points out: being taken outside of ourselves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
are signs of the environmental rage which has become close to the norm these
days. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Peregrine</i> was written in a
time when the birds were being poisoned through the use of pesticides, after
they had been shot as pests themselves during wartime. Baker deplores the use
of chemicals, wholesale culling and other industrial horrors. Were he still
alive, he would have been dismayed at our continued descent into the gargantuan
act of self-harm that is the Anthropocene era, although not greatly surprised.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Going
by Mark Cocker’s introduction, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Peregrine</i> still attracts controversy. Some descriptions of the creature in
the title do not tally with common observations by seasoned bird watchers. The
amount of kills the raptor makes by Baker’s reckoning are under dispute, as is his
observation of one of them eating worms. There is also a suggestion that Baker
might have gotten confused with a kestrel, in noting hovering behaviour –
something the peregrine apparently doesn’t do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Countering
this, Cocker asserts that it hardly seems likely that a person so deeply
ingrained in the appearance and habits of his quarry would make such fundamental
mistakes over details – or indeed fabricate them, as many have suggested.
Perhaps it was just as he described it, at one particular time, with one
particular bird? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Either
way, if you’re a lover of gorgeous descriptive prose, I’d say these small details
don’t matter too much. Baker is one of those writers with a great gift for
making any scene, thought or image sparkly with unique light. If the price of making
a true story gorgeous is Doubting Thomases getting sniffy about it, then it’s
one he would have paid, no question.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Notes-Walnut-Tree-Roger-Deakin/dp/0141039027/ref=sr_1_1?crid=YF1WTO05SVH8&keywords=notes+from+walnut+tree+farm&qid=1562939117&s=gateway&sprefix=notes+walnut%2Caps%2C244&sr=8-1">Notes from Walnut Tree Farm</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">by Roger Deakin <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">320 pages, Penguin<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We
were robbed of Roger. He might still have been merrily turning books out, as he
might fashion a table and chairs from driftwood in his workshop. Even better,
he would have been all over BBC4, any given weeknight. Fate had other ideas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
might have turned his ire over pollution and corporate slovenliness into a
fulminating masterpiece fit for 2019. I feel sure he’d have been involved in
the Extinction Rebellion protests. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
nice to wonder about this. But we can only make do with what we’ve got. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Notes From Walnut
Tree Farm</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
is Deakin’s third and final book, edited together posthumously by his partner
Alison Hastie and Terence Blacker from journals written in his last six years. It
follows a diary format from January to December, although it meanders back and
forth in time, with one date sometimes having more than one entry. So it’s kind
of a “greatest hits” of Roger’s diaries. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Apart
from some seasonal framing, the author has a free hand. I think this style
suited him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We
get reminiscences about his childhood, recollections of his adventures both
close to home and far away, and impressions of the farm in the title, a
semi-wild Suffolk retreat he called home for the closing decades of his life. That’s
the place with the moat, the one he swum around every morning in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Waterlog</i>. What a life! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We
get Roger’s thoughts on sleeping in his little shed in all weathers, fixing the
house up, and looking after any human or animal that passes through his front
door. He details all the little creatures he loves, and their readily accepted invasions
of his home, from the birds in the attic, to the cats prowling the yard, and
the spiders stringing silk across his furniture. He’s the type of guy who would
become anxious at the idea of crushing ants as he steps onto the path outside
his front door every morning – in fact there’s a moment involving a tiny
creature on the loose in his study that shows a childlike empathy with all
creatures great and small. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Countering
this, there’s his disdain for human agency and petty rules affecting his
beloved Common. Gentrification also annoys him. If you’d won the lottery and
bought a big country pile down the road from Roger, I suspect it might have
taken him a long time to like you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
might be my favourite of Roger’s books. And yet, I’m struggling to give you an
overview of what it’s like. The best example I can give is one entry on the joys
of what he calls jotting - writing freeform, and letting your observations,
memories, fears, ecstasies and personal mysteries tumble out onto the page any
way they choose. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Roger
was a wanderer, a freebooter with a bit of a gypsy heart - and yet also an
ardent conservationist, with a strong sense of home. More conservative, you
suspect, than he liked to admit, but no lover of fences or the inequalities
they contain, and certainly a detester of chauvinism and disrespect for nature.
He was every inch the English radical, with tones that remind me of Orwell at
his best. His influence is still strong among writers, readers and lovers of
British natural history, part of a pantheon that grows year on year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
particular, the 20 years since <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Waterlog</i>
came out have seen an explosion of interest in wild swimming. He definitely had
a hand in this. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Going
by the esteem he enjoys from his proteges and contemporaries, it’s safe to say
Roger Deakin’s legacy is secure. Many have reported an odd sense of familiarity
with the author through his work that they don’t quite get with other scribes. He
feels like someone we know and like; that rare friend you might feel compelled
to actually pick up a telephone and talk to.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In part two, we’ll
check out Nan Shepherd, Robert Macfarlane, Kate Humble and Kate Bradbury. Although
I suspect we might have to wait out the summer before I get there…</span></b></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-34752368337013052062019-06-10T09:38:00.002-07:002019-06-10T09:38:30.196-07:00LATE TO THE PARTY:<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">In
which we check out the books everyone else did years ago</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/The-Terror-A-Novel/dp/B06X16NFKQ/ref=sr_1_1?crid=312RRPU8TZ71D&keywords=the+terror+audiobook&qid=1560184652&s=digital-text&sprefix=the+terror+audio%2Cdigital-text%2C232&sr=1-1">The Terror by Dan Simmons</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">944
pages, Bantam<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Audiobook
narrated by Tom Sellwood<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
bit like with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wolf Hall</i>, you might to
avoid Wikipedia if you want to go through this book unspoiled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
still think of Dan Simmons as an up n’ comer, hailed in banner quotes by Clive
Barker and Stephen King as the next big name in horror. Then I realise that
this happened 30 years ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
fact, Simmons is probably better known for his SF output, particularly the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hyperion</i> series which has now attained
classic status. Unexpectedly, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Terror</i>
marked a horror comeback for him, a bestseller that was turned into a
well-received TV series. Its success, and that of its adaptation, must have
been a lovely surprise. It is rare for a horror book not written by Stephen
King to make such an impact; in fact I’d be tempted to call it a throwback to
the horror boom of the 1980s, which spawned Simmons in the first place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The Terror</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> of the
title is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">HMS Terror</i>, one of two
real-life British ships dispatched to find the north-west passage in the Arctic
in the 1840s. But this is a strictly fictionalised account of that genuine
story of hardship and tragedy in the tundra. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">That’s
because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Terror</i> also refers to a
monster - an immense predator, bigger and fiercer than a polar bear, which
picks off the men aboard the ship after it becomes stuck fast in the ice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
other ship in the expedition,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> HMS Erebus</i>,
is the lead vessel in the journey, commanded by Sir John Franklin. At the helm
of its sister ship the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Terror</i> is
Captain Francis Crozier, an experienced hand from a modest Irish background who
gained his commission the hard way. He has to help Sir John keep command of all
those men on board both icebound ships, with the big freeze showing no sign of
relenting, their precious stores of food and coal slowly diminishing, and a monster
stalking and demolishing them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Taken
purely as a historical novel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Terror</i>
is beautifully detailed. There’s not one nook or cranny of the ships and life
aboard them that goes unexplored. As a result this is a long, long book, the
longest I’ve read in ages - but I suppose it had to be. It did drag in places.
This is no fault of the author’s, just mine as a slovenly reader who is pressed
for time these days. There are a lot of men’s deaths to be described, and it
would do a disservice to hurry over their lives and temperaments before we get
to their flesh and bones. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Personal
conflicts and resentments build during the ship’s miserable years stuck fast.
About halfway through, when Captain Crozier finally gives the men the order to
abandon ship, these animosities turn deadly, as sour elements look to usurp his
command. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
ill health and squalor of the men as they succumb to scurvy and starve to death
is gone into in some detail. That alone is not for the squeamish; the bleeding
orifices, the fallen teeth, the lost hair, the discharge, the grim bodily
functions… man the sick buckets, lads! And of course, there are the awful effects
of sub-zero temperatures: frostbite, lost limbs, gangrene, and the
unforgettable detail of exposed teeth exploding in the ultra-frigid air. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">What
sets <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Terror</i> apart from any other
novel of survival in one of the planet’s harshest environments is, of course,
its creature. At first it is mistaken for an immense polar bear, but the men
come to realise that it’s much bigger, much smarter, and much more aggressive than
regular specimens of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ursus maritimus</i>.
Bullets do not seem to harm the monster, and any attempts to ambush it or entrap
it in a killing zone are easily thwarted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
doesn’t take long for the men to become superstitious about their predator –
and with good reason, because it is a supernatural being. This is a detail I
didn’t like. I’d have preferred it to have been a natural enemy for the men to
contend with, something that they might be able to kill. But this weird element
is consistent with the lore of the Inuit population the sailors encounter,
particularly that of the most problematic character in the book: the only woman
on board <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">HMS Terror</i>, Lady Silence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She
is given this name owing to the fact she has lost her tongue at some point in
life. A hunting party brings her on board after they mistakenly open fire on
her and an Inuit man - possibly her father, possibly her husband. She takes
refuge aboard the ship, and is given her own quarters by Crozier, for obvious
reasons. It soon becomes apparent she can steal away and come back on board as
she pleases, mystifying the captain and one or two interested suitors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Of
course, a big bunch of men crammed aboard an icelocked ship would take a very
close interest in Lady Silence. So does the author. This brings us to an
uncomfortable point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">For
a book chiefly concerning men trying to survive in the Arctic, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Terror</i>’s early section is
cram-packed with nudie women. Not just Lady Silence, who has the habit of wearing
nothing beneath her furs (which she often removes as cross-eyed sailors pass by
a crack in the door). There are also love affairs recalled in flashback by the
men, particular Captain Crozier, whose heart was broken before his mission to
the Arctic. There are one or two other recollections, too, which help keep the
boys warm at night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
level of detail here does have the potential to disturb. It’s not quite at the
level of “she boobed boobily down the stairs, boobs akimbo”, but I have to say it’s
uncomfortably close. Simmons describes the women’s bodies, particularly their
breasts, in almost microscopic detail. It’s closer to an anatomical textbook
than a page-turning chiller. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">If
these descriptions were visual art, then they’d be macro photography. Skin
would be shot at so great a magnification it would no longer be identifiable as
such, like the surface of a barren alien planet, stretched and pitted beyond
recognition. Individual strands of pubic hair would be rendered as the length,
girth and texture of a tree from the Cretaceous period. Outcroppings of areolae
would be indistinguishable from ancient battlements worn smooth by time and the
elements, or the crumbling peaks of a mountain on Mars. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Areolae”
is a key word, in fact. It’s a signal. Whenever it appears in fiction, it’s
probably more detail than you need - unless you’re reading an honest
one-hander.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe
I’m being disingenuous. This is, after all, the male gaze; this is what many men
want to look at, and this is their feelings when they do so. Perhaps to turn
away from that, or to pretend it doesn’t exist, is fundamentally dishonest,
whether in fiction or in life. There is a point where it causes harm, though. That
point can sometimes be charted in the troublesome waters between the law of the
land and personal tolerance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
all depends on the reader. Some might see this exhaustive, obsessive rendering
of male lust and objectification as an example of much that is wrong with the
world. Others might see it as no big deal, even perfectly normal. I would say
that after the third or fourth densely detailed description of a woman’s naked
body, I was cringing. “Here we go again.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Back
to less problematic content, now: violence. The creature’s rampages take me
right back to the books I read as a lad – honest-to-goodness monster mashing of
the first order. I even detected a bit of Guy N Smith in there, as the
white-furred behemoth flicks heads off shoulders the way you might launch a
loose pea off a dinner table. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
soon established that the creature isn’t merely ripping the men apart for food.
It seems to be doing so out of malice, taking particular pleasure in lopping
off heads and leaving them on display for the search parties to pick out with
their lanterns. One section, in which the men attempt to cheer themselves up on
New Year’s Eve by setting up a masked carnival in a special marquee on the ice,
is clearly set up for the creature to intervene - and it does. From this
section onwards, the hopes of the expedition crumble.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Simmons
grapples with one or two issues relevant to modern times. First of all, there’s
snobbery. Crozier is a competent, tough, canny man, but owing to his Irish
background he will never be accepted as a gentleman in British society. We
might wonder how much has changed in the 170-odd years since. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
there’s a very Melville-esque attitude to organised religion – questioning who
or what we worship, and why. An epigram at the start of the book draws a clear line
between Simmons’ monster and Melville’s white whale. Lady Silence and the
creature seem to have a kind of spiritual symbiosis, one the master and one the
servant. And the men, who readily take part in Christian observance on the
decks of both ships at first, develop an atavistic worship of polar bears,
believing it might offer protection from the creature. Even Captain Crozier,
who cracks down hard on this, can’t seem the resist deviating from the norm
himself, quoting from the “Book of Leviathan” in his sermons to the men, rather
than the bible. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Things
become more brutal once the men are out on the ice, dragging supplies, injured
shipmates and boats on sleds, looking for the leads that will take them to open
water and a chance of survival. All the while, something hunts them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Of
course, cannibalism isn’t far away. In one delicious section, the ship’s
surgeon Dr Goodsir attempts to put the men off any idea of carving up their
colleagues for supper by describing in great detail what must be done in order
to split a man’s bones down to the juicy marrow. Even as he speaks, he is
shocked to find that he is drooling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
disturbing to find that the two main human villains of the book are gay – “MORE
PROBLEMATIC MATERIAL TO STARBOARD, CAP’N” – but Simmons balances this later on,
clumsily, by having a “good” gay couple. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
fairness, Simmons is only telling it like it was - the 1840s were not enlightened
times when it came to sexuality, and any men caught having sex with each other
on board one of her majesty’s ships could face dire punishments, possibly even
death. Something else for the poor blokes to worry about, as they spend years
shut up in a ship in the Arctic with only other men to cuddle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
are several well-executed shock deaths, particularly near the end as the survivors
mutiny and seek to return to Terror camp, against their captain’s orders. But
for me, among the most dreadful things about the men’s plight were the missed
chances of salvation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hey, there’s some
of the indigenous population - let’s make friends, they might give us some food
and show us the way to go! Oh… <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hey, there’s some
open water, let’s get back to camp and tell the rest of the guys about it! Oh… <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
an irony too far - as if Captain Scott bid his men farewell, stepped out of his
tent, tripped over a sign reading “Rescue This Way” and fell through a hole in
the ice… just as a ship appeared on the horizon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
is a very strange ending to this book. I can’t spoil it of course, but it took
us into unusual territory, changing from a story of grim military survival into
one more akin to Robinson Crusoe, augmented by the myths, legends and
spirituality of the Inuit people. The ending was satisfying, but I wonder if
more brutal editors might have cut it by roughly 80 pages. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">By
the time <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Terror</i> reached its
conclusion, I felt a bit exhausted (though not quite so malnourished). I’d had
it on in the car since the start of last winter. The irony was particularly
grim as I drove through the howling wind and sleet of January while I listened
to a story about a bunch of blokes stuck in the freezing cold. We’re getting
into summer now, and it’s only just done. Thanks to my commute now being reduced,
it took me a lot longer to get through the 28 and a half hours’ listening than
I’d have liked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Great
credit must go to Tom Sellwood for his vocal performance on the audio version,
particularly his note-perfect take on the myriad British accents aboard ship.
Because of this, we never once lose the place where the many characters are
concerned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
special mention must be made of his game attempt at singing Inuit songs,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> in falsetto as a woman</i>. That’s dedication.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Time
spent on board </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Terror</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> was never
time wasted, and I always looked forward to returning to find out what
happened. It’s a good, big, meaty novel - like the defrosted thigh of a
caulker’s mate - and much like a good dinner, I missed it when it was gone.</span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-23397403164072946402019-05-13T07:25:00.001-07:002019-05-19T16:04:44.503-07:00THE FAMILY<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">by P.R. Black</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Aria, 474 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Review by Hereward L.M. Proops<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I suppose I’d better start with a disclaimer. I have
never met Pat Black. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We have, however, known each other for about ten
years. We first stumbled across one another’s writings on the Authonomy
webpage. I was flinging about rough drafts of the first two Forrester
adventures. He was pushing his giant monster novel “Snarl”. We hit it off over
a shared love of goofy horror movies, Spielberg’s masterpiece “Jaws”, and
not-so-subtle Star Wars references. When several refugees from Authonomy set up
Booksquawk, Pat and I were invited onboard and the bromance continued. He’s
always been encouraging of my scribblings, kindly reviewing them on this site
and promoting them on his own. I’ve always been impressed by the quality of his
short fiction and frustrated by his unwillingness to release “Snarl” into the
wild. Several years ago, we collaborated on a totally unauthorised adaptation
of Hammer horror movie “The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires”. It was a
ridiculously easy novel to write, not just because of our near-obsessive
familiarity with the source material, but because we genuinely ‘get’ one
another’s writing style and gave each other space within the pages to do our
own thing without stepping on the other’s toes. You’ll never get to see that
book, by the way. We trampled gleefully through the hallowed halls of Hammer
without permission and if we were to try and set that one free, I reckon their
lawyers would smell blood. Undeterred, Pat and I have spent a few years throwing
ideas back and forth for another collaboration. We’ve even raised the idea of
meeting up in person to ‘flesh out’ the storyline over a few single malts. It
hasn’t yet happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">No, I’ve never met Pat Black. But it’s safe to say
we’ve got history together. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Family-gripping-psychological-thriller-breathtaking-ebook/dp/B07N1V3WRK/">The Family</a>” was scooped up by digital publisher Aria
and marks Pat’s move into the big-leagues. Obviously, I was thrilled to hear he
had secured a publishing deal but my excitement was dampened somewhat when I
heard it was for a thriller and not one of his more esoteric pieces. I’ll
happily read anything, but I’ve always felt modern thrillers to be a little bit
on the generic side. They’re the kind of books you pick up at an airport or
train station newsagents along with a prepackaged sandwich and a can of Coke.
It’s a wonder that they don’t include them in the meal deals. Crisps, sandwich,
drink, paperback. These thrillers are a bit like the sandwich in that you know
exactly what you’re going to get. The central character will be a police
officer or a journalist. Possibly divorced, maybe alcoholic, almost certainly
physically or emotionally scarred in some way. There will be a killer. He or
she will be both completely psychotic and preternaturally clever. Crimes will
be committed, red herrings will be scattered throughout the story. Nobody will
believe the hero but their dogged pursuit of the truth leads to a shock
unveiling of the killer’s identity at the novel’s climax.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“The Family” does make use of some, if not all, of
these tropes. The central character is Becky Morgan, a journalist who is on the
trail of the murderer who butchered her family twenty years ago on a holiday in
France. She’s understandably scarred by the experience, both physically and
mentally. She’s seeing a therapist and is also a recovering alcoholic. The
killer is both batshit bonkers and manages to fool British police and interpol
by covering his tracks. The plot is twistier than a bowl of ramen noodles and
the big reveal is suitably ridiculous in its unpredictability. What makes “The
Family” stand out from all the other cookie-cutter thrillers is the way in
which the author has put his own indelible mark on these familiar tropes. This
is the point at which my admiration for Mr Black’s writing goes stratospheric, <i>he
makes this tired old genre feel fresh.</i> And how, you might ask, does he do
this? Well, I’ve mentioned before that Pat’s a horror nerd and this comes
through in his writing. The killer wears a creepy mask made of animal bone and
slaughters people in pseudo-ritual sacrifices. Violence in the novel (of which
there is quite a lot) is handled coldly and clinically. Black does not shy away
from the grisly details and there are a couple of moments in the novel that go
to very dark places. What is more powerful about these moments is the speed at
which the author takes us there. This is classic horror writing - we are lulled
into a false sense of security before the rug is pulled from beneath us and we
plunge into a moment of pure, unrelenting terror. There is one moment in particular
in the book that really blew me away with its sheer coldness. It came out of
nowhere and left me feeling sick to my stomach. I’ve seen a couple of negative
reviews of this book from some tender souls over at Goodreads. I can’t help but
feel they’ve missed the point. This is a thriller about a serial killer. It
isn’t meant to be nice and leave you feeling warm and fuzzy. It’s meant to take
you on a ride: a terrifying ride into a world of violent crimes, the dark web,
ritual slaughter, and acts of white-knuckle desperation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The plot is suitably convoluted and I challenge anyone
to make an accurate prediction of where this one is going. Red herrings abound
although the pace of the narrative never lets up. This is another aspect of the
book that I feel is linked to Black’s background in horror. Horror never lets
up - the best horror stories are relentless and leave the reader feeling like
they’ve been through an emotional meat-grinder. This is why the short story is
so well-suited to horror. Thrillers are less of a sprint and more of a
marathon. They work best when they have quiet moments to give the reader time
to relax and catch their breath before plunging into another set-piece. “The
Family” doesn’t really slow down. There is something about the pacing of this
book that is positively unnerving. We learn early on that even in the quiet
moments, things are capable of going bad very quickly and this means that the
reader is never allowed to get comfortable. Again, this translates as a
somewhat uncomfortable read, where the reader becomes (like the central
character) hypervigilant and twitchy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Although the character of Becky sounds like she’s in
the running for cliche-of-the-year, it’s a testament to Black’s skill as a
writer that she emerges from the pages as a fully-formed person. She’s not
exactly likeable and her single-minded determination to avenge her family
certainly has echoes of Lisbeth Salander’s lack of empathy. The sub-plot of her
struggle with alcohol is handled sensitively and, most importantly, it never
dominates her identity - it is there, as a facet of her character, but not the
be-all-and-end-all of her. This hint at her addictive personality does,
however, go some way to explaining her unrelenting drive to get to the bottom
of the mystery. It’s not that she doesn’t want to let go of the past… she’s
incapable of doing so.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Other characters are similarly well-rounded. Computer
hacker Rupert, whose attempts to remain anonymous when chatting online to Becky
provide some blessed, if brief, comic relief. Kindly friend of the family,
boss, and occasional father figure, Jack Tullington is an instantly likeable
(and hence incredibly suspicious) character. One character who I wanted to see
more of was gangly tech whizz-kid Bernard, whose appearance in the final half
of the book keeps the plot moving at a clip, but he is not really given enough
space to become fully fleshed-out. This is, of course, a minor quibble. It’s
rather like saying you don’t like “The Empire Strikes Back” because you never hear
Lobot speak (and there’s my obscure Star Wars reference). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“The Family” is a highly accomplished thriller that
ticks all the necessary genre boxes while also bringing a level of tension and
gore that one would expect from a horror novel. It’s a twisted, often brutal
thrill-ride that is never less than gripping. Aria have done well to snap up </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mr Black and his refreshingly horrific take on the
modern thriller. We folks at Booksquawk have known of his talents for years and
it’s great to see one of our own get an opportunity to reach a wider audience
(and then horrify them).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, if only someone could get around to publishing
“Snarl”...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Hereward L.M. Proops</span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-49301556774134181532019-05-10T18:12:00.000-07:002019-05-11T08:40:21.922-07:00LILY POOLE<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">by
Jack O’Donnell</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">336
pages, Unbound<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Charles
Dickens observed that ghosts have a tendency to remind us of our own past. The
ghost in Jack O’Donnell’s <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Lily-Poole-Jack-ODonnell-ebook/dp/B019CGXWJI/?fbclid=IwAR2eQNg-Rx9YejdEU6xlDnzMaoxnQAoswGZ37lsWsyQnE6VvxwTbWoMKx_A">Lily Poole</a> certainly does this with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lily
Poole is set in Clydebank in the 1970s – with time for the odd jaunt in and out
of Gartnavel hospital in Glasgow, just 15 minutes away by train, and the hotel
with the boating pond just behind it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
story focuses mainly on John, a troubled young man of about sixteen. He’s fresh
out of school, and prospects. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">On
one cold, snowy morning he stumbles across a little girl called Lily Poole, who
pleads with him to take her to school. Whatever else he might be suffering
from, John’s a decent kid, and agrees to walk the distressed wee puddin’ to her
classes. The only problem being, no-one can see Lily but him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
pair build a rapport. John shows up at the school gates every day – drawing the
attention of various authorities, who see this behaviour as the activity of a
pervert. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Is</i> John a pervert, in fact?
The story begs the question more than once. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">After
a good old retro doin’ from the polis, John is packed off to the mental health
unit at Gartnavel. There, he meets Janine, a fellow resident, who takes more
than a shine to him. Although she manipulates and exploits John, he readily
becomes her lover and gets involved in her various sub-plots involving the
staff. Who wouldn’t?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Meanwhile,
back home, John’s mother and father deal with what has happened to their son –
the father going through the motions, one of many men from that time and place
who were less bothered about family life in general, despite having lots of
children. John’s mother Mary is more attuned to the business of day-to-day life
with his younger sisters as they go through school. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hovering
in the background is Lily, whose influence seems to seep into other people in
the house, a phantasmagorical infection that John passes on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Soon,
uncanny and seemingly supernatural things happen, tapping into the Scottish
literary tradition of the second sight – ancient as unearthed bone, even older
than two-faced old antisygysy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
ultimate riddle of who Lily was, what happened to her and what lies behind John’s
obsession with her, plagues us as much as him. Anyone looking for easy answers
might be best advised to avoid this book. There’s no Taggart moment, no
“eureka” epiphany delivered to a breathless leadership by a policeman in a good
quality coat. The book makes us question how we process grief, the passing
time, guilt and shame, and what mental refuges we might seek when reality makes
little sense. Either that, or it’s a prank. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
an odd novel. John’s mania and his queasy obsession with Lily prompt questions from
the start. There’s a story of murdered girls in the background, a suggestion
that John’s motives might be less than pure, that his sleepwalking and fugue
states might point towards a dark trigger ready to be pulled. If John didn’t
kill those wee girls, then who did? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There’s
a killer on the road…</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">What
I liked best about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lily Poole</i> was the
detail – pungent bits and pieces I recognise from a past life. Kitchens with washing
hung from pulleys, marinated in the steam off that night’s potatoes. A massive
pot of soup in the depths of winter, underlit in blue flame like a Halloween
ghoul in torchlight. The chip pan, a discoloured totem that might have been
dredged from a wreck tucked in 200 metres of water, even down to the congealed
slime packed inside, to be reused over and over again. Battle-skidded Y-fronts
not changed in an age. Buses and trains, their numbers and liveries a folk
memory now, the only unchanged thing being the destinations. That odd time warp
effect in considering ticket inspectors, security guards, ward sisters and
receptionists who annoyed us - bureaucracies that have been changed by the
digital age, but not improved. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
was also struck by the realism of the brittle, chaotic love affair on the
hospital ward. No good can come of such a relationship, as even the most
deluded come to recognise. But John and Janine dive right into that toxic brew.
You could say they’re romantics, but you’d probably stop yourself before you
said it. A wee cuddle at night can mitigate all manner of hells.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
book doesn’t take you down familiar paths. It is hard to categorise. I guess
you could say it’s a crime novel – most Scottish novels are crime novels in
some way. In less confident hands, John might have been portrayed as a great
artist, his mental health problems sublimated as a creative superpower, madness
transubstantiated into something awesome. For O’Donnell to do so would have
been hackneyed, so he doesn’t. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Also,
John’s relationship with Janine could have gone down the route of quirky
romance. There’s nothing wrong with quirky romance, but… that wouldn’t have
been a good fit for this book. This would have turned John and Janine’s fling
as a proper love affair - and by that I mean, something that only really
happens in books. The author steers clear of that stuff. We’re all better off
for it. It feels lived-in, real. I can’t pay a higher compliment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
is a lot of humour here, but it reminds me of an observation a comedian friend
of mine once made. “Bleak: An ancient Scottish word, meaning ‘funny’.” The
biggest laugh in the book comes when one of the characters receives some
life-changing news. It’s the blackest irony, but it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> funny; or at least, I did laugh. How Scottish can you get?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Read
our author interview <a href="http://www.booksquawk.com/2019/05/author-interview.html">here</a>.</span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-47500136605287940862019-05-10T18:11:00.000-07:002019-05-11T08:40:56.755-07:00AUTHOR INTERVIEW<span style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">Pat Black speaks to Jack
O’Donnell, the author of </span><i style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Lily-Poole-Jack-ODonnell-ebook/dp/B019CGXWJI/?fbclid=IwAR2eQNg-Rx9YejdEU6xlDnzMaoxnQAoswGZ37lsWsyQnE6VvxwTbWoMKx_A">Lily Poole</a></i><span style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">.</span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Pat Black: What real-life events inspired <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lily Poole</i>?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Jack O’Donnell</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">: The start of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lily Poole </i>is pretty much how it
happened. I went down the shortcut to sign on the buroo one morning. It had
been slippy and had been snowing. I got to this bit of the road where a primary
school boy stood frozen, not sure whether to go forwards or backwards. I guess
if I was writing a novel I’d say he was greeting. He might well have been, I
can’t remember. I took his hand and took him down to St Stephen’s school. He
gave me a great line, ‘big people don’t understand’. There’s a book in there
somewhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">PB: You’re a prolific short story writer. Apart from “it took
longer”, how different was the experience in writing a novel? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">JOD</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">: I guess we all do the same things.
We write short stories and then novels. I don’t do anything different. I write
short stories and some of them turn into longer stories. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lily Poole</i> like most of my other stories is a collection of short
stories packaged as a novel. It’s a novel by deceit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">PB: This story plays with the ideas of second sight, tying in with
Scottish mythology. Is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lily Poole</i> a ghost
story?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">JOD</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lily
Poole</i> is a ghost story. But only if you believe in ghosts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">PB: Tell us how Unbound works. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">JOD</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">: Unbound works by crowdfunding. </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Unbound is a publisher and they were looking
for material. ABCtales were looking to make some money, so they offered them
some potential clients. Luke Neima, who is now with Granta, was reading my
first-draft stuff, and he put my name forward. I wrote about it here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://www.abctales.com/story/celticman/unbounders-away">https://www.abctales.com/story/celticman/unbounders-away</a><u>
</u></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><a href="https://www.abctales.com/story/celticman/unbounders-away-2"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">https://www.abctales.com/story/celticman/unbounders-away-2</span></a></span><u><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><a href="https://www.abctales.com/blog/celticman/jacks-big-day-out-dalmuir-library"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">https://www.abctales.com/blog/celticman/jacks-big-day-out-dalmuir-library</span></a></span><u><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">What that means is until they get the
money up front they won’t publish your book. It’s like when you used to get a
Provie loan and went to pick up your new jacket and Doc Martens from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dees</i>. But you need to have paid for them
in advance. It’s an old/new idea. I fucking hated it. What you end up doing is
shaking down everybody you’ve ever known for money. I must admit to cheating
and giving the book to customers that pledged and in return I’d cut their
grass. Sssshhh, don’t tell those that pledged and I never cut their grass, but
got a signed copy instead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">PB: What’s next for you?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">JOD</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">: I’ve not really got any writing
projects lined up. I just write stuff. I’ve been trying to sell the last novel
I wrote to publishers. Trying to get an agent. But that’s not really writing.
That’s the business of writing, which is something completely different. I’m
currently writing the follow-up novel to the unpublished novel I can’t get
published, which is pretty stupid in anyone’s language. And I was thinking
about looking again at one of my first drafts of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bill and the UFO</i>, which is more a kid’s book, about angels that
disguise themselves as aliens to fit in. Well, it’s not really about that. I
can’t really remember what it’s about, but I got kinda fond of not remembering
it as it was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I surprise
myself and realise some of the stories I’m reading I wrote. That’s worrying,
too. Some of the first drafts are terrible. Well, most if not all. I can’t
remember all of<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Lily Poole</i>, but there
were multiple drafts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Most of my first-draft stories or
poems go up on ABCtales. I also blog on ABCtales and Wordpress: <a href="https://wordpress.com/post/odonnellgrunting.wordpress.com/3622">https://wordpress.com/post/odonnellgrunting.wordpress.com/3622</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB">But I’m word blind in the sense that I
can’t spot the difference between what I’ve written and what I think I’ve
written. It’s a bit like laughing at your own jokes. Only other people can tell
you, ‘honestly, they’re not funny’. Fellow writers at ABCtales are too polite
to say it’s crap. I’ve got to tell myself it’s crap, but just get on with it.
That’s what writers do. Well, I think they do. The next time I meet a writer
I’ll ask him or her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Read our review <a href="http://www.booksquawk.com/2019/05/lily-poole.html">here</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-72916926232864892992019-02-23T07:38:00.002-08:002019-02-23T07:38:49.031-08:00AUTHOR INTERVIEW<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Pat
Black inteviews DA Watson, the author of Cuttin’ Heads.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Booksquawk: </span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It goes
without saying that music is the lifeblood of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cuttin’ Heads</i>. What music scenes fed into the idea behind the
story?<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">DA Watson:</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Well
the whole idea for the book has its roots in blues mythology, specifically the
legend of Robert Johnson, but a lot of the scenes in the story are directly
lifted from my own experiences playing in bands. Rather than a specific genre,
I tried to make the story more about the live music scene in general, the scene
populated by all those unknown bands you’ve never heard of, what that life is
like, and what the musicians who live in that world want to get from it. In
terms of genre, other than country. Really I just tried to squeeze in a nod to every
kind of music that I have a liking for. In that way, I like to think it has a
bit of a punk rock ethos to it! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">B: </span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s a
very west of Scotland book, particularly strong when it comes to Glasgow. How
did you find rendering the place in fiction? Did you find yourself having to
stay away from cliché?<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">DW:</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Not
really. Again, it was really a case of write what you know, and the setting of
Inverclyde where the band are based is where I grew up and still live, so
hopefully what people read is what the place is actually like. I guess the ned
character in Ross’s first chapter is something of a cliché, but aren’t they
all? Glasgow was just written “as is” with references to venues I’ve attended
and played gigs at like the Barrowlands and The 13<sup>th</sup> Note, so it was
really just drawing on memory. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">B: </span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s
one crucial element in books about music which is missing – sound. How did you
approach the difficult task of describing the noise Public Alibi makes for
readers while still making the story accessible?<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">DW:</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> That
was probably the hardest thing about telling the story. It was tricky to stay
away from overusing “muso” terms and jargon, so I had to come up with a bunch
of similes that would be relatable to readers that don’t have that background;
things like Aldo hitting the second overdrive switch on his footpedal, and the
tone of his guitar changing like a sports car going up a gear. I liked how that
one sounded. There’s a line later on comparing his gently weeping guitar to
Gappa Bale’s violin “shrieking like a gang rape victim.” Probably not so
elegant, but I thought it got the message across…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">B: </span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">No more
heroes?<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">DW:</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Put it
this way, Dudley Do-Right characters do my head in, with their unflinching
moral compasses! I much prefer the basically good guy who has a dark side and
the potential to be a bit of a dick. I just think flawed characters are so much
more interesting, and more importantly, real. I think with that type of
character, it might be a little harder to really warm to them, but because
they’re not perfect, they’re more relatable, and you end up rooting for them all
the more. I do anyway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">B: </span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
devil has all the best tunes, but only in music is there the divine. Discuss.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">DW:</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Oooo,
good one. I guess if you believe in heaven and hell, which I personally don’t,
then yeah, you’d likely imagine notorious nutbags like Jim Morrison and Bon
Scott rocking out in The Pit, but then again, were they really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">evil</i>? They were no angels but I wouldn’t
put them in the same bracket as rapists, murderers and people who don’t
indicate on roundabouts. That said, I can’t really see them floating about on
fluffy white clouds, gently plucking at harps either. Also, there’s been no
love lost between the church and music though history. The tritone, or the
Devil’s Interval, two notes which combined are the root of blues and heavy
metal, being banned by the church a few centuries back, Madonna being
excommunicated for her saucy shenanigans in the video for Like a Prayer, Ray
Charles being lambasted for daring to mix gospel and blues, creating what we
now call soul music, and the outrage metal bands like Iron Maiden and Black
Sabbath caused amongst<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the cloth. In a
non-religious sense though, I would agree that music in its purest instrumental
form <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> divine, as it’s just a
combination of tones and rhythms, that can transport you, make you laugh, cry,
rage, make your skin prickle and your heart race. Yeah, music can be divine.
Apart from manufactured pop bands of course. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">B: </span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">What’s
next for you?<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">DW:</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I’ve
currently got my fourth novel, a semi-supernatural western, out on submission,
and have just started the fifth, which is based on the 17<sup>th</sup> century
witch hunts which took place in my home village of Inverkip. I’m also appearing
at Scotland’s first horror, sci-fi and fantasy book festival, the Cymera
Festival in Edinburgh in June, and have a couple of poetry night gigs lined up,
one at the aforementioned 13<sup>th</sup> Note in Glasgow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Many
thanks to Dave for his time. Read our review of </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Cuttin’ Heads</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> <a href="http://www.booksquawk.com/2019/02/cuttin-heads.html">here</a>.</span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-53549738566168157272019-02-22T08:58:00.003-08:002019-02-23T07:40:03.578-08:00CUTTIN' HEADS<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">by DA Watson</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">352
pages, Creativia<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Everyone
knows the devil has all the best tunes, but it seems he’s got all the best
deals, too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Cuttin-Heads-D-Watson-ebook/dp/B07CG8DN4V/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1550854593&sr=1-1&keywords=CUTTIN+HEADS">Cuttin’ Heads</a></span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> is the
story of Public Alibi, a three-piece rock band based in the west of Scotland.
They play pubs and small venues all over the country, as well as some of
Glasgow’s bigger venues. They sustain themselves on belief and a bit of
ability, but not a whole lot else. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Aldo
is the singer, guitarist and chief songwriter. He admits that music is his
passion and joy, and everything else suffers as a result. He has one great big
failed relationship behind him, and among the wreckage of this he finds time to
spend with his little boy, Dylan. He acknowledges that he could be a better
father. When we meet Aldo, he’s lost yet another pointless data/telesales job,
which he needs to fund his ambitions (having no lifestyle to speak of). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">On
the bass is Ross, a hospital porter from a troubled background. He is a
friendly bloke, but also as hard as they come. Any bams attempting to kick off
in casualty soon find their pressure points tweaked and possibly their
backsides kicked for good measure. But Ross is a fundamentally decent person
who happens to have been brutalised when he was a child.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
there’s Luce, the drummer. She’s from a strong Italian-Scots Catholic background,
and her mother doesn’t like her daughter being in thrall to the devil’s music.
Talented and bright, Luce lectures at a music college during the day and holds
tutorial sessions at the weekend. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Public
Alibi have their fall-outs, but they are a tight unit, and loyal to the core. If
they’ve got a show to play, they’ll pack themselves and all their gear into
Luce’s car - “the Tardis” - and drive to wherever they need to go. That might
be Dundee on a Tuesday night; so be it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">If
you are the type of person who looks at the bottom line of any endeavour and
very little else, then what Public Alibi do with their spare time will look like
madness. But every creative person will instinctively understand the band’s
frustrating struggle to balance paying the bills with following a muse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">They
are all 27 years old, and that’s significant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
question many of us following a creative dream might ask ourselves: what would
you sacrifice for the sake of success? Or, never mind success: away from any
idea of bright lights, festival headline slots, awards shows, endless clickbait
articles and covers on whatever magazines still exist, what would you give up
just for a chance at being able to create art that provides you with a living? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
dark question, which might prompt some dark answers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
is the predicament Public Alibi find themselves in when they are approached by
Gappa Bale, a devilishly handsome man who has a deal for the band which is too
good to be true. On the strength of a show at Glasgow’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">13<sup>th</sup> Note</i>, Bale offers them a plum gig supporting one of
the country’s biggest bands at the Barras, on top of a wodge of cash, and a
glimpse of the unholy grail: a record deal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
is the dream, offered up on a plate. Ross and Luce are sceptical about how
quickly and smoothly this has all happened, but for Aldo, this is all of his
prayers answered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Although
it looks like his prayers might have taken a wrong turn. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
doesn’t take a genius to work out that Gappa Bale isn’t what he seems. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cuttin’ Heads</i> is a supernatural horror
novel with music as its theme. Bale’s deal takes the band away from Glasgow to
a strange place in the Highlands, where they’ll record their debut album. Weird
things happen almost immediately to the band, but the big bad stuff really crystallises
after their Barras support slot when Public Alibi gain an instant, fanatical
following which grows to legendary proportions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">However,
Bale’s record deal is looking for something a bit more fundamental than
downloads, streaming, record sales and concert revenue. Public Alibi are soon
fighting for more than just their lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Cuttin’ Heads</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> refers
to the practice of humiliating a fellow musician with your superior ability.
Think Ralph Macchio vs Steve Vai at the end of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Crossroads</i>. But in this book, it takes on a more literal meaning.
There is some brutal violence in DA Watson’s novel, as well as some nasty,
uncanny scenes as diabolism moves front and centre in the lives of Aldo, Ross
and Luce. Watson doesn’t soft soap the nastier elements of his tale. There’s
one very tense scene involving a child and a moment’s distraction which every
parent will recognise and dread. This might be one of the most horrifying
things I’ve read in a long time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
book grips on a visceral level, whether that’s Ross using his krav maga skills
to put the manners on some idiots, or Gappa Bale’s dread power manifested in
blood. There’s also a cleverly-rendered moment of terror where Luce is at the
mercy of a crazed crowd – a nod towards the brutality and raw sexism some women
face to this very day for simply being artists and performers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Music
flows through the story, and this presents DA Watson with a problem. How do you
represent music in a novel – the one format where the key medium, sound, is
absolutely void? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Very
skilfully, is the answer. Watson peppers his story with plenty of musical
references and clues, but he focuses more on the feelings engendered by Public
Alibi’s tunes, rather than minutely detailing what they might actually sound
like. This is a difficult trick to pull off, but he manages it. We all like
music… don’t we? Actually, I’ve met one or two people who don’t. I cannot 100%
trust those people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
a very Glasgow-centred novel, although there are nods to Inverclyde, where the
author hails from. I’m from Glasgow but haven’t lived there for a long time,
and it’s starting to fade. How do you describe this city? It’s a place that,
when it sees you, might run at you full-pelt, perhaps to kiss you, or perhaps
to give you a tanking. A place just as likely to render you into a burst bag of
mince as it is to make love to you; as likely to bray laughter at you, as clap
you on the back, welcome you home, and ask what you’re drinking. Like any other
city on earth, I suppose. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
Watson’s prose conjures the place by harkening towards the rhythms of speech –
of patter – in Glasgow. He does this without resorting to representations of the
vernacular, as we see in other Scots authors such as Irvine Welsh, James Kelman
or Tom Leonard. So Watson talks about square gos, pure bams, and other idiomatic
and four-lettered things, but the prose is still welcoming to people with no
link whatever to the west of Scotland. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
references to the music venues – the 13<sup>th</sup> Note, King Tut’s, and the
Barras – made me nostalgic. One thing I miss terribly about Glasgow: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everyone</i> plays there. This is something
I took for granted. I don’t get that where I am now. If I want to go to a show
it usually means a hundred quid dropped at a hotel and a half day off my work. How
spoiled I was! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Watson
conjures a sense of the uncanny and the diabolical, which relates so easily to
music. All the touchstones are there, from Robert Johnson’s hellhounds and his
reputed deal at the crossroads, through to references to Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix,
Kurt Cobain and all the other members of the 27 Club. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s
even a direct nod to Jimmy Page’s Loch Ness residence, Boleskine House –
previously owned by Aleister Crowley, of course. “Don’t go up there,” I
remember being told by a taxi driver, when I visited Loch Ness. “Weird things
go on up there, mate. It’s not a joke.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Rock
n’ roll is the devil’s music, and everyone knows the maleficent folklore of pop
music, from Altamont to plane crashes, accidental suicides, a plague of drug
deaths and many other unpleasant outcomes besides. But perhaps Watson’s abiding
gift in this book is the sense that music is a great bonus for human beings. A
good song, like a good novel, has the touch of the divine, not the diabolical,
no matter what its subject matter. </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Cuttin’
Heads</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> is a smart, enjoyable fantasy. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Read our author interview <a href="http://www.booksquawk.com/2019/02/author-interview.html">here. </a></span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-13776394545858374242018-10-19T15:21:00.000-07:002018-10-20T08:04:34.117-07:00AUTHOR INTERVIEW<br />
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
Pat Black speaks to David Olner about his
novel, <i>The Baggage Carousel</i>. It’s
about travel… it’s about romance… it’s about every interconnected positive and
negative…</div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="normaltextrun"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Pat
Black</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Baggage Carousel</i> has a lot to do with global travel – how much did you draw
on your own experiences for the novel? </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background: #1da1f2; color: white; font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="normaltextrun"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">David
Olner</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
used to go backpacking a lot, back before I sacrificed my personal freedom at
the altar of capitalism. So, all the locations featured in the book are
ones that I’ve visited. Some of the incidents are based on real life but
heightened for dramatic effect. Others are made up, because that’s how
fiction works. How much is true and how much fabricated? You, the
jury, must decide.</span></span><span class="eop"><span lang="EN-GB"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTPBCzc_ViLRelexy0N5hMKIjRV8Jt5axfiLw2AMt7gIxrRE8Lvr8xTthimpR_XlTJ2ipEO2c0ctVcwUYhksr_ZnNNmBkyuVgnvil1NjoaX4msteeXHJkcmtJDeFgcNO___7oEwA3Y4VE/s1600/DaveOlner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="497" data-original-width="280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTPBCzc_ViLRelexy0N5hMKIjRV8Jt5axfiLw2AMt7gIxrRE8Lvr8xTthimpR_XlTJ2ipEO2c0ctVcwUYhksr_ZnNNmBkyuVgnvil1NjoaX4msteeXHJkcmtJDeFgcNO___7oEwA3Y4VE/s320/DaveOlner.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David Olner</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="normaltextrun"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">PB</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">: How do you think the book portrays modern Britain, and where it’s
going as a society? Or to put it another way – is the book Club Tropicana or
Sleaford Mods? </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background: #1da1f2; color: white; font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="normaltextrun"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">DO</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">: I never really thought of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Baggage Carousel</i> as a social document until you highlighted it in your
review, and that’s one of the reasons why it’s always interesting to see how
your writing is perceived by others. If anything, given the
main character Dan’s demeanour, I saw it as more of an
anti-social document. I just wrote about what I know – life in a
small town and the lure of the big world beyond it. I didn’t have
any particular political agenda in mind when I wrote it, but if
that’s what people take from the text then it’s fine. I’m just happy it’s
being read at all.</span></span><span class="eop"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="normaltextrun"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">PB</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">: Tell us a bit about yourself and your writing background.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="normaltextrun"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">DO</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">: I reside in…well, in a small town. It’s in
East Yorkshire. I lead a pretty monastic
existence there – devoid of sexual intimacy but with plenty of
wine. I work the nightshift in a kitchen warehouse and cower
from the sun during the day. I started writing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Baggage Carousel</i> years ago, used to chip away at it when I had
time, honed it with the help of other writers on an online forum (I’m sure you
know the one I mean, Pat) and subbed it out when I couldn’t do any more to
it. I had some sparks of interest from agents, but nothing that </span></span><span class="contextualspellingandgrammarerror"><span lang="EN-GB">ever caught</span></span><span class="normaltextrun"><span lang="EN-GB"> fire. When I’d exhausted all
possible lines of enquiry, I shelved the MS and started writing another
book. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="normaltextrun"><span lang="EN-GB">Somewhere down the line, I was contacted
by Nathan O’Hagan, a writer I knew from the online forum. He’d gone on to
become a published writer and told me he was setting up his own indie press
with another author, a hirsute fellow named Wayne Leeming. Nathan and I
had admired each other’s work on the website and, when he found out I
hadn’t got my book placed, the two of them offered to consider it for the
new roster they were building. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="normaltextrun"><span lang="EN-GB">And…wallop…now it’s a book, a tangible
thing you can hold in your hand, or wedge under a
wonky table leg. So, the message here is this: never
delete any of your work and never consider it done with – you never know when
its time might come.</span></span><span class="eop"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="normaltextrun"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">PB</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">: Tell us what’s next for you. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="normaltextrun"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">DO</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">: My next book will be a period romance entitled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Minnie the Cigarette Girl Has Been Deemed
Obstreperous</i>. Nah, just messing, it’s called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Munger</i> – another dark comedy, this one
centring around a sex-tourist coming undone in Thailand. It’s already written
and awaiting rejection. Beyond that, I’ve recently started a new project,
which will be more in the dystopian/YA vein. I wanted to try something
different, something less murky that my mum wouldn’t be embarrassed to pass on
to her Book Club. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="normaltextrun"><span lang="EN-GB">At this early stage I don’t really know
how it’ll work out. It might well be terrible, but it’s
always good to try new things.</span></span><span class="eop"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="normaltextrun"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">PB</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">: Obliterati Press are quite new – tell us a bit about them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="normaltextrun"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">DO</span></b><span lang="EN-GB">: They eat cat food.</span></span><span class="eop"><span lang="EN-GB"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="paragraph" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="eop"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Baggage-Carousel-David-Olner-ebook/dp/B07BLYSG19/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1539194775&sr=1-1&keywords=the+baggage+carousel">The Baggage Carousel</a> is available now. Read our review <a href="http://www.booksquawk.com/2018/10/the-baggage-carousel.html">here</a>.</span></i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "segoe ui" , sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-61762353716375655242018-10-10T11:07:00.001-07:002018-10-19T15:22:11.644-07:00THE BAGGAGE CAROUSEL<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">by
David Olner</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Obliterati
Press, 260 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">They
say travel broadens the mind; so does an industrial crusher. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
David Olner’s debut novel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Baggage-Carousel-David-Olner-ebook/dp/B07BLYSG19/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1539194775&sr=1-1&keywords=the+baggage+carousel">The Baggage Carousel</a></i>, Dan Roberts is a person who travels the world, but doesn’t like
to go on about it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Neither
does he over-share things on Instagram, Facebook or wherever else feels like
turning your personality into sellable data this month. Dan doesn’t travel to
show off, or even to gain experience, or, god forbid, to Find Himself.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
isn’t quite running away, but he has a powerful need to be Somewhere Else.
Along the way, quite by accident, meaning not by design, he Makes A Connection <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- with Amber, an Australian nurse with her own
powerful need to be absent from the place she calls home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Something
nice happens. And maybe that’s the problem.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Like
luggage which inexplicably bursts in a plane hold, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Baggage Carousel</i> comes wrapped in tape which triggers a
near-autonomic response in us as readers. This tape is marked “Romantic
Comedy”, slashed through with strawberry red and vanilla. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">You
might think you’re about to read a crazy romance set in lush places. The book
parenthesises Frank Zappa’s venomous line, “many well-dressed people in several
locations are kissing quite a bit”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">At
various points, the book fools you into thinking that a romantic comedy is what
you’re going to get. Point one – it’s very funny, with some brilliant gags and
set-ups throughout as Dan and Amber meet, become attracted to one another, and
act on those impulses. Point two - you are rooting for this couple to connect,
and have a future. That their story will continue past the final full stop. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
book plays with our expectations of these stories. It throws in a love rival in
the form of a German hanger-on in the group, who is also interested in Amber.
Who wouldn’t be interested in Amber? Despite her cynicism, you suspect she
doesn’t quite realise how attractive she is. Until Dan shows up – someone a bit
more worldly-wise, a bit less loud, but a bit more self-confident than the rest
of the backpacking team as they jaunt across the continents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
this sweet connection doesn’t quite arrive. There are no meet-cutes. You get
something that’s a bit closer to reality, and bitter truth. This is what
elevates <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Baggage Carousel</i> beyond
the merry journey it first appears to be, and into the realm of something important.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We
follow Dan and Amber’s thoughts - Dan looking back on the events where they
meet, Amber following them as they happen. Then we get strange inserts, emails
that Dan sends to Amber, starting off gentle, and then importunate, and then pathetic,
and finally downright worrying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dan
and Amber have clearly Gone Wrong, but we don’t know how or why. Dan mentions
something about money he’s owed, but much like the locations Dan and Amber take
us to, it’s kind of irrelevant. There’s something more combustible lurking in
the baggage hold – a broken heart. Is “broken heart” a fair description after
such a short courtship? Maybe it’s something worse than that. A sense of hope
removed. An idea that life could be different. Being robbed of a sense of
purpose. A better future being thwarted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dan’s
sections set back home in Britain illustrate this latter point very well
indeed, without referring to Amber. Dan reminisces upon his childhood
experiences in the north of England, which range from “a bit difficult” to
“absolutely nightmarish, as if Clive Barker had a dirty dream about David
Cronenberg then felt compelled to tell a priest about it”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dan
has suffered the trauma of losing a parent at a very young, absolutely crucial
age. Like the Big Bang, that is a bombshell that never stops detonating. We see
the immediate wreckage that his father’s death leaves, and also the peripheral
damage it causes in a wide radius, particularly to his mother, who loses the
plot and dives into the bottle, and his grandmother, who desperately tries to
help even as her own health fails. Whatever parts of the young Dan’s life were
unf*cked, are very quickly uber-f*cked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dan
wrestles constantly with the past, and his alienation, throttled grief and despair
manifests itself in violent outbursts that put more than one person in plaster.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Allied
to this is a sense that everything might in fact be crap these days. This idea
is more economic than political, but it’s sketched out unflinchingly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
book’s snapshots of modern Britain were chilling. Dan wanders the streets in
search of a job, or maybe just occupation. He goes into the charity shops that
have come to dominate town centres the length of the country. Charity shops, stocked
with things people have donated for nothing, staffed by people who are not paid
to be there, for the benefit of those who should never have to resort to
desperate measures. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Between
these places, the bookies, the slot machine emporiums and bingo halls, these
seem to be the only places that still thrive in large chunks of our high streets.
It doesn’t seem like a good thing. It’s not reassuring to think back to 1989 or
1990, and realise that many city centres have gotten worse across the board –
and 1989 and 1990 or thereabouts was not exactly a boom period if you worked
outside the City of London. It doesn’t feel like progress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
did not expect these sort of scenes when I started reading <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Baggage Carousel</i>. This book is more Ken Loach than Richard
Curtis, and it isn’t scored by Coldplay – that is a job for The Sleaford Mods.
There’s a lot of anger in the narrator, some suppressed, some right in your
face. This book is angry about where we are now, inside and out. And through
Dan and Amber, it is angry that one miserable little chance to turn things
around has been dashed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
is dashed very quickly, and – most painfully for Dan – it is dashed with good
reason. “Baggage” is the key term; Dan has plenty of it. But there’s scope for
improvement. Escape routes can take various forms, not just fire escapes and
emergency chutes. It can only take a side-step to change a bad situation, and
you end this book hoping that Dan can make it. You might sleep in the same old
bed, in the same old town, but you can live in a different world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Despite
its sense of wrath and injustice, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Baggage Carousel</i> is a tightly controlled, beautifully composed novel with
far more laughs than I’ve given it credit for here. It upends our entrenched
ideas of where romantic comedies can go, and what our expectations of love and
fulfilment actually are. And there’s a strong, authentic working class voice at
work, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">No-one
wants to be that poor bugger who ends up standing alone at the empty carousel
when everyone else has f*cked off, waiting for the bag that will never arrive
through those plastic curtains, as if a cremation vomited. But you see it; this
happens all the time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Olner
reminds us that you don’t have to be happy about it, but sometimes you’ve got
to shrug, give some things up as lost, and get on with your day. And,
obviously, buy yourself some socks and pants.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Read the author interview <a href="http://www.booksquawk.com/2018/10/author-interview.html">here</a>.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br /></div>
Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-78018306760781818052018-08-27T10:08:00.000-07:002018-08-27T10:08:14.960-07:00WATCHING THE DETECTIVES:<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">John Rebus<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Rather
be the Devil, by Ian Rankin<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">384
pages, Orion<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Rebus
is off the force, but still on the case, in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Rather-Be-Devil-Rebus-Novel-ebook/dp/B01F1UD4F6/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1535389641&sr=1-1&keywords=rather+be+the+devil+ian+rankin">Rather be the Devil</a></i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
were fears that when the inspector finally turned in his warrant card, we’d
seen the last of him. But as he nudges his golden years, Rebus still likes to
carry out inquiries in his own way – it’s just that while in retirement, he
isn’t exactly following the letter of the law. He never did anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
will admit that I found Rebus hard to get into at first. The first three novels
in Ian Rankin’s long-running series were okay, but nothing special – it was
only when I got an omnibus edition featuring <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Let It Bleed, Black And Blue</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Hanging Garden</i> that I recognised how good they had become. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Black And Blue</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> –
which sees Rebus going after Glasgow’s true-life serial killer Bible John,
while a copycat murderer stalks Edinburgh – is one of the finest modern
Scottish novels, period. Twenty years after that Tartan Noir landmark, Rankin’s
books are enviably smooth, fine-tuned machines. The lesson for muggles is: You
do something for long enough, and you enjoy what you do, then you will get good
at it. You might even become the best.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
is the 21<sup>st</sup> Rebus novel. I felt Rankin painted himself into a corner
by having his inspector age in real-time, but he’s sticking to it, and even
using time’s relentless work as a means of opening up new and interesting
territory. Now retired, in his sixties and not in the best of health, Rebus
spends his time looking into old, unsolved cases. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">One
of these dates from the late 1970s, and concerns Maria Turquand, the wife of a wealthy
businessman who was strangled in Edinburgh’s Caledonian Hotel on the same night
a big touring rock band was in town. There were lots of suspects, but little
evidence, and the killer was never caught. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
case gnaws at Rebus. So does something else – an intrusion on his lung, subject
to tests. Rebus calls this Shadowy internal foe Hank Marvin, and refers to it
almost affectionately, but he’s worried about it. After a lifetime of cigarettes,
bacon rolls, real ales and neat Scotch, a series of health kicks are under way for
this classic central belt male. He attempts a diet, he’s canned the booze and
the ciggies, and he’s even flirting with exercise in step with a new pet dog –
but you get the feeling that horse has all but disappeared over the hill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Rebus
speaks to a fellow former cop who worked on the Turquand case, who is now
earning pin money as a bouncer. The day after their chat, the retired policeman
bobs up in the Water of Leith, quite dead, totally murdered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Next
up, Darryl Christie, a young pretender to “Big Ger” Cafferty’s gangland throne
in Edinburgh, has been given a solid beating. This raises fears among Police
Scotland’s finest that the two men’s armies might be gearing up for a turf war.
Like Rebus, Cafferty is more or less retired, but suspicion comes the ageing Mr
Big’s way - despite the fact that known flake and troublemaker Craw Shand has confessed
to carrying out the doin’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We’re
not finished yet. There’s another plotline, concerning a businessman connected
to Christie who has disappeared, along with a big chunk of cash which the
police suspect was being laundered for some shady people from former Soviet
territory. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Closing
in on thirty years after the Berlin Wall fell, we seem to have gone back to using
eastern Europeans as a trope for “indescribably bad people” in fiction. Is this
racist? It’s certainly a cliché. I’ve done it myself, I have to confess. “Aw
naw – it’s McGlutsky! The baddest comrade in town! You’ll know him by his hard
consonants!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
not on the same level as the “yellow peril” racism of Fu Manchu and Ming the
Merciless (is the latter the green peril, in fact?), but it rests in the same
wall-mounted unit. Next thing you know, we’ll be worrying about hard Glaswegians.
We have to be wary of cliché, and that’s true of big or small writers, whether
they’re producing candy floss or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">filet
mignon</i>. I guess Sax Rohmer and others had no idea how terrible their work
would appear to readers 100 years later (though they caused a fair stink at the
time). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Before
the Wall came down, a very wise teacher of mine said in response to a gag
someone made at the expense of the Soviet Union: “It’s all propaganda. Focus on
the people.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
Rankin’s defence – and my own – Russian and Ukrainian gangsters<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>exist, all right, and dirty money and power
linked to property owned by people from these places are an issue in British
society; no doubt about that either. We might blame capitalism at this point, assume
a sage expression, and withdraw. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Looking
after the Darryl Christie and dirty cash inquiries are Malcolm Fox, last seen
haunting Police Scotland’s internal affairs department, and series stalwart Siobhan
Clarke, a detective working at the recently unified force’s Gartcosh nerve centre
with a team who don’t take kindly to newcomers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
have to admit, at one point I was struggling to remember what the Gartcosh team
were supposed to be investigating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ian
Rankin has stated that he doesn’t write these stories to a detailed plan –
reasoning that if he can fool himself, he can fool the reader. In some of the
older books, this haphazard method really shows. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hide & Seek</i>, his second novel, was a 200-page search for a
plot, rather than a series of clues for Rebus to follow in order to solve a
mystery. In this, an old observation about the series comes into play: that
they’re not really crime novels, more of an anatomy lesson dissecting
Scotland’s dark, divided heart. I wondered at the time if Rankin knew himself
where he was going with it when he started writing; it seems not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Now,
though, the books are tightly and convincingly plotted. If Rankin truly does
just wind himself up and go, carrying all this stuff in his head, or
discovering it as he travels, then it’s a remarkable skill. Any one of the plot
strands in this book would have made a decent case alone. Rankin untangles this
spaghetti junction of storylines and protagonists with a deft hand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Deliciously,
Rebus and Fox don’t really get on. The internal affairs guy is a straight
shooter, while Rebus rarely colours inside the lines. Fox is also easy to wind
up, which Rebus mercilessly exploits. However, Fox is an excellent copper, and
the two men recognise each other’s strengths, and help each other out. Clarke,
while certainly no mother hen, keeps the pair of them in line. Fox and Clarke
are also fond of each other, and there’s surely a situation brewing there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
principals are all compromised in some way. Rebus is almost pally with Ger
Cafferty, his crime lord nemesis. This put me in mind of Smiley versus Karla in
John Le Carre’s work – there’s a bit too much respect on the part of the good
guy, whereas the baddie will simply do the dirty without any hesitation. In
order to bring down Cafferty for good, Rebus will surely have to sink to his
level. Elsewhere, Fox is badly exposed by a family member with a problem, while
Clarke has been caught on camera after getting out of control on a night out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Rebus
has a few things to worry about as his clock begins to run down – chiefly “Hank
Marvin”, lurking somewhere in his chest cavity – but he’s still the same snarky,
natural-born Scottish cynic we’ve all grown up with. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
former inspector is a curious character. I sometimes forget that he is meant to
be a tough guy, having joined the police after leaving the SAS. But I never
think of him as the type to bust heads or get into scraps, even when he does. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Rebus
is actually a flyman – crafty, full of tricks, outsmarting people first and
foremost because he enjoys it. Someone you can’t really trust. Rebus seems more
of a natural thief or mountebank than a policeman or a guardian. He’s closer to
Craw Shand than Ger Cafferty, on the masculinity spectrum.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Everything
ties off nicely, and (a curious effect you get with e-readers that don’t give
you a percentage count) the book seems to finish all too soon despite being a
good length.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s
an excellent read. Fans will be well pleased. There’s a new one of these every
year – with another due out in a matter of weeks, in fact. What more can you
ask for?</span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-54525869885789383662018-08-18T10:18:00.001-07:002018-08-18T10:18:37.425-07:00MEG: GENERATIONS<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">by
Steve Alten</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Kindle/Kobo
edition, A&M Publishing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">You
know what a Meg is now, don’t you? No, not Pete’s daughter off Family Guy… no,
not the actress who went a bit funny that time on Parky… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Yep,
you’ve got it now. Giant feck-off shark from prehistory, eating people. That
was the working title for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Meg</i>, I
think.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">God
bless Jason Statham – the movie is doing well. I think we might have a series
on our hands. Or at any rate, a sequel. The ultimate goal for Megheads has to
be seeing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Trench</i> up on the big
screen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">On
the page, we’re up to the fifth sequel now in Steve Alten’s Meg series, with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Meg: Generations</i>. I am old enough to
have been in on it from the start – yeah, sprinkle that on top of your avocado
on toast, millennials – having taken a bite of the original <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Meg</i> 20 years ago this very month. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m
delighted that the Philadephia author has finally seen his creation hit the big
screen. It seemed like we’d never get there. Development hell is the phrase,
alright; Steve Alten had to put up with two full decades of it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Quick
recap: megalodons are giant prehistoric sharks which died out tens of thousands
of years ago. The only remnants of these animals are their fossilised teeth,
which are longer than Michael Myers’ top-performing filleter, and twice as
lethal. They’re ancestors of today’s great white shark, judging by the shape of
the teeth, only in XXXXL, super-Jacamo size. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
Alten’s world, these sharks still live in the sunless depths of the Mariana
Trench, which sounds a little bit like a sandwich that makes you feel dirty but
also satisfied. The trench is in fact the deepest point of the known ocean.
Megalodons aren’t the only nasty prehistoric surprise slinking about down there.
We also meet a variety of dinosaurs, such as kronosaurs, mosasaurs and, star
prize, the Liopleurodon, the largest predator known to science. In Alten’s
books, these animals reach the upper surface of the seas and merrily munch on
people. They’re also chased by people with lots of money – Arab oil tycoons,
Russian oligarchs and Chinese tech barons – as coveted exhibits in giant theme
park lagoons. Except they have a habit of escaping and eating spectators,
running wild, uh-oh, full speed ahead on the boat captain, etc etc. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ace
submersible pilot Jonas Taylor is our link between all six books. He’s getting
a bit older now, but he’s still handy at the joystick of special Manta submarines,
specially designed, it seems, to be chased by giant prehistoric sea beasts. The
latest model of the Mantas come equipped with<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> lasers</i> (makes Dr Evil air speech marks). Yep, he went there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Like
most dads, Jonas is called upon when his family needs a hand or gets in
trouble, or needs a shelf putting up. Trouble comes most often. His son David
is a chip off the old block, getting into the same sort of scrapes with aquatic
predators as his dad. Jonas’s wife Terry is also on board for the ride, as is
the uncouth helicopter pilot James “Mac” Mackriedes, a useful friend who, you
suspect, could be doing with another wipe or two of a morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We
catch up with the action right where <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nightstalkers</i>
finished off, as David Taylor helps his former squeeze Jacqueline Buchwald
capture a junior Liopleurodon for UAE-based, super-rich backers. However, they
also captured a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">livvyatan melvillei</i>,
a Miocene whale with similar bad manners to his prehistoric bros. This ‘roided
up Moby Dick manages to burst out of its holding pen inside a cargo ship, inadvertently
releasing the Liopleurodon. Carnage ensues once again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">David
is tasked with recapturing the Lio; meanwhile, Jonas Taylor has more grounded
problems to solve, when it turns out his wife Terry has terminal cancer. It’s
just as well that one of the prehistoric fish to be found in the Panthalassa
Sea – a giant underground sea haven for all the monsters to be found in these
books – harbours the cure for cancer in its liver, then… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">On
top of this, there’s another Megalodon problem – or two, to be precise. The
offspring of Bela and Lizzy, the Meg twins, are also out and about, hunting in
pairs off the coast of northern Canada and causing havoc among the human and
orca population alike. These two killers must also be rounded up and brought
back to the Tanaka Institute to keep the books balanced for the Taylor family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Meg-Generations-Steve-Alten-ebook/dp/B07DR3YKYR/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1534612655&sr=1-1&keywords=meg+generations+steve+alten">Meg: Generations</a> </span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">soon
finds a groove and provides plentiful meg-dinosaur carnage for us to get our
teeth into. Again, Alten relishes scenes of peril where hapless humans come
into contact with the monsters – this “guess the redshirt” game is one of the
key pleasures in this great big dirty pleasure of a book. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s
a cage diving trip involving great white sharks which has an unexpected
visitor. There’s a laugh-out-loud moment where a woman seeks revenge on one
monster shark with a shotgun for having eaten her friend, with predictable
consequences. In the creepiest scene, two characters we’ve come to know, but
not like, are removed from the plot, and existence, by a creature with
unexpected land-lubbing skills on the Farallon Islands. And best of all, one of
the Megalodons discovers it doesn’t like the taste of human flesh… meaning it
only chews people up and spits them out, rather than ingesting them completely.
That’s polite for a Megalodon. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s
some more delicious monster-mashing as two of the oceanic titans go
head-to-head, a rematch I’ve been waiting for since book four. But there are
even more incredible prehistoric creatures to be found in the deep, after Jonas
Taylor and friends are forced to go back into the Trench one last time… and
then beyond, down into the Panthalassa Sea. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We
finish on a cliffhanger, which would be annoying if Alten didn’t have book
seven, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Meg: Purgatory,</i> ready to go
shortly. As ever, I’ll be there…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
book has a preoccupation with real estate, legal entanglements and other
contractual headaches which made me think that Alten had to contend with similar
issues in real life while he was writing. There’s a comic moment near the end
where we’re meant to be on a knife-edge, wondering whether a lawyer is going to
be able to send signed paperwork off on a fax machine before a giant underwater
bastard breaks free from its pen. I wasn’t interested in this at all, although
I suppose Alten wanted to inject a sense of realism into proceedings. If
someone was eaten at a theme park, you can bet that there’d be some litigation
to follow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Other
than that, it’s terrific fun, a book I cut through in no time at all. I didn’t
use the word “guilty” as an adjective for “pleasure” above, in a space where it
might have fitted well. That’s deliberate, because I don’t feel guilty about
liking this series. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Meg </i>is my “thing”
– a wee step back into cosy, warm bath water, like when I splashed around with
my dinosaur toys as a wee laddie. I’m chuffed to bits to see Steve Alten’s big
fish tale is making a splash with cinema audiences around the world. Who knows,
I might even get to see it myself any day now, family life permitting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">In
the meantime, there is a job lot of monsters to play around with here. Onwards
to book seven, and all-new critters.</span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-56786986650386176282018-08-11T19:56:00.000-07:002018-08-11T19:56:16.440-07:00FALCON BLUE<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">by
Rebecca Lochlann</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">438
pages, Erinyes Press<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Melissa Conway<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Falcon-Blue-Ancient-Greece-Erinyes-ebook/dp/B07F89W8VX/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1534042539&sr=1-1&keywords=FALCON+BLUE">Falcon Blue</a></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Falcon-Blue-Ancient-Greece-Erinyes-ebook/dp/B07F89W8VX/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1534042539&sr=1-1&keywords=FALCON+BLUE"> </a>is book six in
author Rebecca Lochlann’s eight-book mythic historical fantasy series <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Child of the Erinyes</i>. This is the epic story
of Athene’s Wanderers reborn into the Early Middle Ages following their first incarnation
in the Bronze Age.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Eamhair
is the only daughter of Bericus, brutal chieftain of the fortress of Dunaedan,
perched high on the wind-swept northwestern cliffs of Gaelic Scotland. Promised
to the king when she was an infant, her reputation among men has been
deliberately cultured by her father as that of a “goddess among women.” Despite
this deception, her true status is that of a lowly servant, with no more value
to her father than that of a bartering tool. To countermand her bleak existence
and even bleaker future, Eamhair clings to the fanciful tales of magic her
mother regaled her with as a child – that the Seolh-king would someday come to
take her away to his kingdom in the sea. She attributes her mother’s influence
to her occasional glimpses behind the veil of an incorporeal place, completely
unaware that she was once Aridela, Queen of Crete.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">When Cailean, a mysterious blue-eyed warrior
from a foreign land arrives at the fortress atop his imposing stallion Bharosa
and accompanied by his wolf Vita, Eamhair is immediately struck by an
intangible sensation of familiarity. Cailean himself is inexplicably enchanted
by the untouchable daughter of his new lord. Like her, he has no recollection
of his prior life as Menoetius.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">At the same time, unbeknownst to either of them,
a monk named Taranis has also found his way to Dunaedan. He’s been skulking in
the hidden passages of the fortress, stalking Eamhair. Of the three, he’s the
only one whose memories of his life as Chrysaleon of Mycenae are intact, but
this impossible knowledge drives him to the brink of insanity. He cannot resist
his undying obsession with Aridela – born in this time as Eamhair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">As each of them struggle to reconcile these
otherworldly notions, Harpalycus is drawn to Dunaedan and Eamhair as surely as
Cailean and Taranis were. After centuries jumping from body to body in an orgy
of malevolent indulgence, he is now masquerading as Fathna, powerful brother to
the king, and is determined to seize the opportunity to even the score with the
hapless trio.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">In true Rebecca Lochlann feminist fashion, </span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Falcon Blue</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> immerses the reader in an entangled
saga of magic, eternal life, and divine prophecy, while shining harsh light on male
dominance throughout history. As always, her novels are highly recommended by
this reviewer.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-81763178906619698282018-08-05T17:18:00.000-07:002018-08-05T17:18:20.112-07:00NATURESQUAWK:<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Ring-Bright-Water-Gavin-Maxwell-ebook/dp/B00JLLVSBE/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1533514556&sr=1-1&keywords=RING+OF+BRIGHT+WATER">Ring of Bright Water</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">by
Gavin Maxwell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">224
pages, Little Toller Books<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Stuck
on a picture postcard Scottish island with the birds and the beasties for
company? Sounds great. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">(Waits
for the “but…”)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gavin
Maxwell’s<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Ring Of Bright Water</i> was a
huge bestseller when it came out in 1960. Fifty-eight years later, Maxwell
seems like the kind of man who simply wouldn’t exist nowadays. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
son of old-money landed gentry from Galloway in the south-west of Scotland,
Maxwell describes himself as a massive snob in his youth, bumbling through
higher education, affecting a kilt in a time when people didn’t even wear them
at weddings, and generally being many things I dislike. Naturally, he excelled
at field sports and was handy with a gun. Something happened to this ace
hunter, though, between his teenage years and his thirties, when he took up
residence on a remote Scottish island. His experiences there gave birth to this
fondly-remembered natural history classic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Like
many nature writers of his social status, Maxwell renounced his propensity for
blowing holes in animals, his metamorphosis taking him from a Sir Victorly
Blunderbuss type to a modern day equivalent of St Francis of Assisi. This is
surprisingly common among today’s crop of nature writers – only John
Lewis-Stempel remains unrepentant, shooting for the pot as need dictates on his
land. A fair few of them have taken that road to Damascus, going from tweeds,
wellies, springer spaniels and outright ecological vandalism to having nothing
to do with killing animals. Perhaps this tells us something about the social
class of the type of people who write successful natural history books.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
book starts with Maxwell’s travels with the friendly Marsh Arabs in Iraq – this
was only sixty years ago, folks – in which he becomes enamoured of the
smooth-coated otters he encounters there. He brings one home, which doesn’t
live long, but this leads him to import Mijbil, the star of the show. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maxwell
takes a run-down cottage in Sandaig, an island off the Isle of Skye, close to
where the author had set up a base for slaughtering basking sharks years before.
More on this later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
is here that Maxwell and Mijbil have their time in the sun, frolicking in wild,
beautiful surroundings. We all have our times and places in life where we found
little bits of heaven, and this was Maxwell’s. I feel almost as compelled to
visit Sandaig as I once was with Loch Ness. It’s one of many gorgeous islands
in the Hebrides which are served by the Gulf Stream, producing white sandy
beaches and blue water poured straight out of a Cezanne painting, in a place
you might not expect it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
truth, only about a third of this book takes place on Sandaig – which Maxwell calls
“Camusfearna”, Scots Gaelic for “The Bay of the Alders”, so as to preserve the
island’s purity. Sandaig itself means “The Butt of Squawk” in the ancient
tongue. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There,
Maxwell lives in a ramshackle cottage, collecting driftwood and tea chests
washed ashore for his furniture. He takes a long time to fix the holes and do
the place up. It seems he’s been granted use of the house as a favour, having
lost all his money in the disastrous shark fisheries venture. He seems to pursue
an itinerant, somewhat monastic life out there. He’s a pretend bum, though, splitting
his time between Scotland during the good seasons and knocking around London in
a vintage sports car. He also has some crazy adventures on the capital’s
streets with Mij on a leash, prompting Norman Wisdom-style double-takes from
the ragamuffins he encounters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">British
eccentric? With frigging bells on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“British
eccentric” is ancient Anglo-Saxon for “person with money”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">All
three of the otters in this book are comic figures, who put their love of fun
and chaos, not to mention their well-developed forepaws, to good use - ripping,
dismantling, disintegrating, and destroying. Maxwell is the Tommy Cannon to Mij’s
Bobby Ball. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
are great comic set-pieces, such as one episode where Maxwell has to take Mij
on board a plane, on his lap. Try that one nowadays, if you would. Again, you’re
reminded that this was nearly sixty years ago. 1960 shouldn’t feel like ancient
history, but it’s getting that way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maxwell’s
name lives on in zoological as well as literary history, as it turned out his
otters were unknown to science. He agonises over giving them his own name once
the discovery is confirmed, but he does. He recognises the childish drive to
stamp his Latinised moniker on one of god’s creatures, outlining the desire
beautifully in his own voice from when he was seven: “But can’t I just have it?
This one thing? Just once?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Thus,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lutrogale perspicillate maxwelli</i> has
its place in the textbooks to this day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
comedy involved in these playful animals brings up a key tension for the modern
reader, though. An otter from the Iraqi marshes doesn’t really belong in a
house, even if it was one on the banks of the Tigris, never mind one off the
north-west coast of Scotland. Maxwell resists overly anthropomorphising his
animals, but never quite grasps the idea that Mij is out of his element, even though
the animal takes to his new home and thrives there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maxwell
does address the fact that otters are in fact quite dangerous. One of Maxwell’s
proteges, the late Terry Nutkins, could have told you this, having lost part of
his fingers to one of the otters described in such scampish detail here. Cute
they may be. Domestic pets, they are not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maxwell’s
natural history writing is on a par with his comedic flair, and he outlines the
flora and fauna of the bay with some skill – torpedoing porpoises, the menacing
six-foot sails of the orcas, the rutting red deer on his very doorstep, and flights
of geese come to charm him for a whole season from thousands of miles away. For
all I might get sniffy about how and why Maxwell managed to get into
publishing, the quality of the prose is beyond reproach. One description of a
lemur he adopts before he finds his otters – “his habits were unfortunate, and
solitary” – afforded me the increasingly rare joy of having to stifle laughter
on a busy train. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Finding
out a bit more about Maxwell raised a lot of questions about the book after I’d
finished it. His father died in one of the very first engagements of the First
World War, when Maxwell was a mere infant. Maxwell slept in his mother’s bed
until he was eight, when he was taken away to boarding school. Far from
becoming a bed-wetter or a mummy’s boy, Maxwell got into sporty, outdoorsy
activities. When the Second World War came a-calling, Maxwell was a trainer for
the Special Operations Executive, which is now known as the SAS. Apparently his
party trick was to shoot moving ping pong balls out of the air during table
tennis matches. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maxwell
reveals nothing of this in his most famous book; nor does he hint at being gay,
although to be fair you could expect to be chemically castrated or sent to
prison if you did come out of the closet in 1960. Again, sixty years ago, etc. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
book’s title comes from a poem written by Maxwell’s close female friend, Maxine
Raine. This is where a dark cloud dapples the sugar beaches at Sandaig. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Raine
was hopelessly in love with Maxwell, but Maxwell preferred men – and she cursed
him for it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">`<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
mean, literally cursed him. Proper witchy woo stuff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Misfortune
duly befell Maxwell, including one or two things which would count as spoilers
for this book. But then, misfortune befalls us all – it’s one of only two absolute
guarantees left in life (as some people avoid taxes with little fuss). I was
struck by the poet’s rage, and also her oft-expressed guilt when Maxwell
started to encounter major problems in his life. Happily, the curse didn’t
extend to book sales. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
author’s legacy as an environmentalist has come in for a bit of a kicking in
recent years. Maxwell’s a bit class-conscious when it comes to his favourite
animals, with fish being well down the pecking order (nibbling order?). He has
a lot to answer for in his shark hunting days, when he blithely persecuted immense
basking sharks off the west coast of Scotland in order to harvest their livers.
The ocean becomes quite literally red with the creatures’ blood, as he spears
them with harpoons and drags their 30-40ft bodies onto the beach, where they
are hacked to pieces. Some of them might have been still alive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
was only reflecting the feeling at the time that basking sharks were simply a
nuisance, often getting snagged up in fishermen’s nets or providing a potentially
life-threatening collision risk on the surface. So, sure, why not slaughter
‘em? And there was money in them thar livers, in those days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">God
knows what effect his bloody work – outlined in another book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Harpoon At A Venture</i> - had on the population
of these immense, but peaceable plankton-feeders. Like the whales, their
numbers have never quite recovered from the days when they could expect a jab
with a harpoon from any humans they met. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maxwell
reasoned, as he does again in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ring Of
Bright Water</i>, that because these creatures don’t have the same sized brains
as whales or dolphins, they simply don’t matter. Basking sharks are now beloved
of nature-watchers, and people flock to the Scottish islands off the west coast
for the chance to see them in early summer months. The idea of killing one for
any reason is abhorrent to most of western civilised society. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bankruptcy
followed this endeavour - this was well before Maxwell was cursed, we should
note - but perhaps sweetness came with it, once Maxwell had renounced his
man-of-action leanings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maxwell
was a complex man. Prone to great eruptions and fissures in his mood, he’d
almost certainly be diagnosed as bipolar were he alive today. He didn’t seem to
lack for company, despite squirrelling himself away on his wild island. Several
strapping young lads, having read and adored <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ring Of Bright Water</i>, volunteered to take up residency on Sandaig
and help out the author with life on the island. Nutkins was one such boy; John
Lister-Kaye, who recently appeared on the Wainwright Prize shortlist with his
latest book, was another.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Thus
the ripple effect continues to this very day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Drawing
a line from Nutkins (how sad to think he’s dead; it’s jarring, in its way, like
when you remember Donna Summer, Prince, Rick Parfitt and David Bowie are dead),
Maxwell has had a strong influence on many British people’s love and affection
for the natural world through the small screen, either with Johnny Morris’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Animal Magic</i> or its successor, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Really Wild Show</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ring Of Bright
Water </span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">was
a phenomenon in its time, and was all the more remarkable as it viewed nature
as sublime, rather than something to be tamed, or murdered for trophies. It certainly
struck a chord with people all over the world, and sold millions of copies, spawning
a fictionalised movie starring Bill Travers and Ginny McKenna. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
harbour dreams of living somewhere remote. I wonder if it’s truly possible,
though. Once I get set up in my remote cottage by the mountains or the sea or
the forest, I’d start inquiring about wi-fi passwords and 4G coverage. Then of
course I’d have to think about shops and the pub – aside from the basic need to
eat, it wouldn’t be good to get totally remote. There’s a law about closed
systems. Then I’d need some to get some craftspeople in to fix the place up, because
I have no building skills. I’m no farmer either, and while I am of course a
total and utter killer, hunting isn’t my thing. I wouldn’t even consider being
self-sustaining. It’s too much like hard work. And perhaps there, we gain some
understanding over why we are compelled to destroy this planet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
turns out lemmings don’t jump off clifftops, after all; but humans do. That’s
the great big “but” I was talking about, at the top. How to have a modern life,
and yet freed from the pitfalls of human civilisation; how to sustain yourself,
and yet live sustainably.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Maxwell’s
beyond all this, thankfully, his ashes long spread across the bay of the
alders. But for all his faults while he was on earth, his spiritual legacy is a
good one. Parts of his masterpiece have dated in a bad way, but I try to be
kind when it comes to this sort of hindsight regarding art. In case it’s not
clear, I adored this book.</span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-12759102445645133462018-07-23T16:49:00.000-07:002018-07-23T16:49:11.728-07:00WALKING ON GLASS<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">by
Iain Banks</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">352
pages, Abacus<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bit
of blasphemy, now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Walking-Glass-Iain-M-Banks/dp/0349139202/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1532389695&sr=8-3&keywords=WALKING+ON+GLASS">Walking On Glass</a></span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Walking-Glass-Iain-M-Banks/dp/0349139202/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1532389695&sr=8-3&keywords=WALKING+ON+GLASS"> </a>is
Iain Banks’ second novel, published a year after the neo-gothic shock of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Wasp Factory</i>. It must have come as a
disappointment to many people intrigued by what the young Scots author would do
next. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
tells three different stories. First, there’s art student Graham Park, who is
in love with the exciting, enigmatic Sarah ffitch (not a typo) after meeting
her at a party. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
there’s Steven Grout, a labourer suffering from paranoid delusions that he is
an admiral in an intergalactic, interdimensional war, marooned on earth. He
needs to escape from his earthly confines, and must somehow endure the tedium
of life on this planet until then – but how? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Finally,
we follow Quist and Ajayi, who actually are two admirals from an intergalactic
war, imprisoned in a strange, fantasy-land castle where they are set an old
philosophical problem: what happens when an unstoppable force meets an
immovable object? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">As
you might suppose, the three stories interlink in subtle and not-so-subtle ways.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m
a big fan of Iain Banks, but I’ll say this early on: this isn’t a very good
novel. I’m glad I didn’t read this one first; I might never have gone back. I
wonder what his publishers thought? Banks himself seemed apologetic in later
interviews.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
big problem is that the three individual stories just aren’t very interesting. No
faulting the prose, just the lack of events. Graham Park is young and naïve,
dawdling through what he thinks is a love affair with Sarah, his head in the
stratosphere. There is a rival on the scene – divorced Sarah’s sometime lover,
the hulking biker Bob Stock. But he’s a presence in the background, something
to occupy Graham’s mind as interest becomes obsession. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">More
interesting to me was Richard Slater, Graham’s gay friend. Slater’s “great
ideas for stories” were the first thing to get me fully engaged in the book. In
the bizarre plots and pay-offs Slater outlines to a bored and sometimes
exasperated Graham – including an overt nod to Douglas Adams – this, finally,
was the Iain Banks I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
by and large this segment of the story is that very strange thing: a love
affair without any sex. I was frustrated. Perhaps I am a dirtier devil than I
thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Steven
Grout was even more difficult to listen to, and in fact almost drove me into
the arms of Muriel Spark. Grout’s imaginings are perhaps clinically insane –
his intergalactic enemies are everywhere and nowhere; he is blasted by
microwave weapons, and the hubcaps from cars seek to destroy him with death
rays. It was difficult to listen to after a while. This was a hat-tip to
realism, as it replicated the sensation of paranoia which we’re all familiar
with, but it was a curious ordeal for me. Perhaps Banks essayed paranoia <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">too</i> successfully.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Worse
than his invisible foes, Grout runs up against the world of bureaucracy, as he
is sacked from his job and then seeks to draw unemployment benefit. There are
forms to fill in, details to be attended to, nosey landladies to be lied to and
smirking ingrates with clipboards to be endured. Grout is fuming, all the time,
a ticking bomb, and also makes some absolutely hopeless mistakes in his
day-to-day life which had me slapping my forehead. When he started being
careless with his pay-off from his job, it was as unbearable as his psychic
warfare with his intergalactic jailers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Topping
off this awkward triptych is the story of Quist, imprisoned in his castle with
Ajayi. The castle is very well described by Banks, and that’s probably the
biggest problem with this section. The outline of the Heath Robinson-esque
architecture and its strange mechanics and engineering in the bowels of the
castle were probably significant to the story and the overall themes of the
book, but by god I found it dull. If you’re excited by the idea of bridges and
thought Meccano was a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">great toy for a kid</i>,
then read on, and be glad. Anyone else – beware.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Quist
and Ajayi are tormented by the custodians and guards of the castle, led by the
sarcastic red crow, a talking bird. The pair are imprisoned for deadly mistakes
they made in the past, and although they are sci-fi characters, the castle has
a fantasy/fairytale style. The dwarfish servants are abused and tortured by
Quist, a sour old boor who can’t get the central problem they must solve right
– but to no avail. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
stories do interlink, and I guess there are extra marks on show for anyone
looking for the more subtle parallels and callbacks. Stacks of books is one;
the sheer tedium of bureaucracy is another. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s
no faulting Banks’ prose, and he illustrates Graham’s infatuation with Sarah
ffitch as beautifully as he ever did. The small details and tiny torments of a
young man in love were exquisite – the feeling, gone all too soon, that the
birds sing just for him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Slater,
always in the background, is a mischievous presence rooted in 1980s student
politics but quite endearing with it (like Banks forever was). He enhances the
plot as best he can. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">One
thing I will say about this part is that Banks captures sexual naivety very
well. You know that Graham is heading for trouble from the first moment he
meets Sarah – and that in his first rush of adult love, he may be as delusional
as Steven Grout. Again, the longer this went on, the more painful it was to
read. We have probably all been there. Everybody’s gotta learn sometime. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">By
the time the glass shatters and all secrets are revealed, the book does shift
gears, but all too late. I remember thinking: well, this is a strange book for
one big reason - there’s none of Banks’ usual pervy preoccupations with incest,
for a start.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Erp.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
are other Banks tells, such as a fascination with games of every kind, whether
played on boards, computers or battlefields. And then there’s the idea of
infidelity as a weapon – the realisation that the object of one character’s
affection has been f*cking someone else, and then the humiliation and mockery
that follows the shock of realisation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
a nasty thing to do and to take pleasure in. If it happened once or twice in
Banks’ work, I could shrug it off. But it happens quite a lot. I wonder what
Banks got out of it. Same with the incest – Banks, an only child, we should
note, has put this in quite a few of his books. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Crow Road</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Use of Weapons</i>
and even right at the end, with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Quarry</i>. That’s just off the top of my head, and giving the benefit of the
doubt to the air of sexual obsession that haunts<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> The Wasp Factory </i>as Frank’s terrible secret is revealed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe
Banks was just trying to shock us – he enjoyed doing that, all of his days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
summary, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Walking On Glass</i> is possibly
the author’s worst out of the ones I’ve read so far, and definitely one to
avoid if you’re thinking of giving Banks a try.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
can’t decide if it’s too clever for its own good, or nowhere near as clever as
it thinks it is. In sum, that’s nowhere near a recommendation.</span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-60926921533234541502018-06-26T10:04:00.002-07:002018-06-26T10:04:39.033-07:00THE DEVIL'S TEETH<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">by
Susan Casey</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">304
pages, Owl Books<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Susan
Casey watched a documentary made by the BBC in the mid-1990s about great white
sharks, and became obsessed with the giant predators. A few years later, she wrote
a book about it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
saw the same film. April 1995. Sir David Attenborough narrating. It was
amazing. I’m gutted that you can’t get it on DVD or Blu-Ray – god knows I’ve
looked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Back
in those merry analogue days, I taped it on VHS, and watched it again and again
(re-record, not fade away…). Great white sharks had been filmed many times before
from within cages, but this hour-long special went that bit further – following
the phenomenal fish into the depths with state-of-the-art remote cameras. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Some
of the shots captured are gold-standard natural history film-making. One, taken
from a float in the shape of a seal, shows a 16-foot fish rushing to the
surface like a torpedo, in full attack mode. I still see this footage popping
up here and there – most recently in an online prank where people walk into a
room facing a giant screen… and then<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> oh
my god, giant shark attacks!</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Other
images revealed the fish breaching, leaping clean out of the water with
luckless seals clamped between their jaws. I’m not sure if this was the first
time the “Air Jaws” phenomenon had been filmed, but it was certainly the first
time I’d seen it. It made the idea of Bruce the shark stage-diving the deck of
the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Orca</i> seem less fantastic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
documentary featured the work of scientists Peter Pyle and Scot Anderson, who
had spent years studying these animals near a chain of jagged rocks around
thirty miles off the coast of California called the Farallones. These serrated
peaks are inhospitable to the point of murder. You can just about see the toothy
outcrops from the Golden Gate Bridge, but the proximity is deceptive; although
surfers take to the waves not too far away, these are dangerous waters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
incredibly tough to land a ship on the Farallones, for a start – far easier to
turn your vessel into matchsticks against the cliffs. From there, if you do decide
to take a dip, you face the added danger of the sharks, who congregate in the
area every autumn. We know that these creatures don’t want to hunt humans, and
rarely do – but they have done in the past, and the rarity of such events would
come as no comfort should you have your legs bitten off, accidentally or not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
want them protected, and I love them, but they are very dangerous animals. This
is their brute allure. Would you take your child swimming knowing one was nearby?
If not, why not? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">These
are the big buggers – straight-up, no-messing Jaws-a-likes. Some of the
Sisterhood, as the giant females are known, are thought to reach as much as 22ft
in length. We only know this because the wounds found on the body of a surfer
who had his entire chest cavity excised in one bite corresponded to a fish
approximately that size – going by the old “bite radius crap” Hooper was
talking about in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jaws</i>. Although it’s
fair to say the 16-18 footers would still give you a nasty wee nip. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Casey,
a senior editor at Time Magazine, attaches herself to Pyle and Anderson’s
research community on the Pacific rock, and is soon heading out in 8ft boats in
heavy seas to record the activity of 16ft sharks. Go figure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She
starts off with a shark encounter straight out of Hollywood, as she watches one
of the fish surge towards her boat. But this book isn’t so much about sharks as
it is the Farallones themselves. There’s plenty of sharkage, but it’s not the
main component. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
author looks at the curious history of these unlovely islands, from their
discovery through to their unlikely status during the “Egg Wars” of the mid-19<sup>th</sup>
century, when prospectors fought among themselves for control of the then-lucrative
guillemot eggs trade. (To begin with, there were no chickens or egg industry in
California. But which came first?) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
author also looks at the history of the research group’s dwelling-place, a
musty, wind-blasted old house of dubious plumbing. Naturally, there are ghost
stories attached to the property, and Casey is given an extreme case of the
willies one night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
Farallones don’t seem to like Casey very much – she’s dive-bombed by gulls and
other birds, and clattered by the sea as she makes her way up ancient
staircases carved into the rock. Later, she hires out a huge sailing boat so
that she can remain at anchor during Shark Season in the autumn, supposedly helping
Peter and Scot out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Problem
being, Casey isn’t much of a sailor, and the weather is awful. Hiring the
vessel is a means to an end, allowing her to sidestep some strict environmental
protection laws governing visitors to the islands. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’ve
never been a big fan of rules,” she states. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Neither
are weather systems. Several times, Peter and Scot come to the rescue, berthing
up alongside the moored boat, as the heavy seas threaten to snap the anchor and
carry Casey off to the middle of the ocean, or hurl her against the rocks like
a toddler in a tantrum. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">You
get the impression that the two veteran researchers - solitary men who spent much
of their lives cloistered on a wild scrub of land haunted by giant predators<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> because they enjoy it</i> - tolerate the
author, but only just. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
was reminded of wee boys running around at a wedding, joined at their play by a
little girl maybe a year or two younger. This becomes less of a wry observation
when the final twist of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Devils-Teeth-Obsession-Survival-Americas/dp/0805080112/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1530032532&sr=1-1&keywords=the+devil%27s+teeth">The Devil’s Teeth</a> is revealed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Casey
briefly sketches other researchers stationed on the island over the seasons,
but the most interesting tertiary character was Ron Elliott, an abalone diver. This
guy gets into a wetsuit and dives down into the Red Triangle every other day to
bring up the seabed-dwelling delicacy – a sea snail that commands a hefty price
on the Japanese market. Ron has the whole of the Red Triangle to himself. Reason
being, giant killer sharks regularly come around to carry out spot-checks on
his business, and literally no-one else is crazy enough to do it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Imagine
that, every working day: seagoing titans with butcher knives for teeth, broad
as a minibus, grinning at you in the gloom. And that’s just the ones you can
see. No-one can stop them; and no-one can help you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">At
time of writing, Ron is still unchomped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
is something of a death wish in people who wish to get so close to these animals.
As soon as the scientists spot seals and sea lions being transformed into
gushing red chunks, it’s action stations – they drop everything, and head out
to sea to tag and identify the sharks, and record their behaviour. There’s inherent
danger in simply going to sea off the Farallones – you have to be winched off a
cliff in an 8ft boat before you interrupt a creature twice as big and twice as
broad as your conveyance at its repast. You could spend all day worrying about
causing indigestion in a ludicrously big fish, only to get tipped off the boat
and head-first into some rocks, while an audience of gulls shriek with glee. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Peter
Pyle expresses a desire to go surfing there, noting a sweet eight-foot wave.
Bear in mind that a big part of this man’s job is to entice the sharks by
dragging a surfboard across the surface of the water, in order to trigger an
attack. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Death
is all around in the Farallones – even in humans’ early interaction with the
place, there was conflict and homicide, tragedies, disease outbreaks, famine. Even
today, tensions can arise. There’s something in the very geology of the place,
snarling at you among dark, rough waters, that warns humans to keep away. When
they’re there, the researchers can feel as trapped as scientists stuck in the
Antarctic for the sunless winter. Lots of complications can arise, even among
people who feel they might be well-prepared for isolation. There are instances
of people who have arrived on the island as a couple, only for one of them to
leave the other for a fellow researcher across the hall. That’d be a fun old
breakfast table. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
place would be a first-rate setting for a horror story (makes entry in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Someday I’ll Write These</i> notebook).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Casey captures the feel of the Farallones
beautifully.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Fun
facts provided by this book: when a whale exhales, the spectacular geyser it
emits absolutely stinks, the foulest fishy breath imaginable. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Also,
the sea just off the coast of San Francisco is stuffed with red hot nuclear
waste. The US navy took a ship which was so close to the first mushroom clouds
that its plating caught fire, crammed it with barrels of nasty material, and
sunk it a few hundred feet under the ocean. No-one knows exactly what’s down
there, how toxic it is, and how much it has already affected the food chain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
thirdly, when they attack, great white sharks attempt to decapitate seals.
They’ve expended so much energy in the initial surge from below that they need
to be as sure of a kill as they can, and a precision strike is the best way to
achieve that. In many of these “mistaken identity” attacks on humans – single
bite; realise mistake; let go - that is one big reason for fatalities. As if
the idea wasn’t horrific enough. I don’t think even Bruce the Shark was that
cold. Just one extra thing for you to think about, if you go surfing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
book has a shocking ending. But it has nothing to do with jump-scares or nasty
bites, or indeed fish of any size, and no-one is killed or injured. It does
have something to do with misfortune at sea and no small amount of human folly.
The entire book seems like a fool’s errand given the consequences of human
interference in Peter and Scot’s research nirvana.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The
author comes across as contrite, but only just. Her book leaves certain big questions
hanging. I hope justice and common sense prevailed. In any case, I want Peter
and Scot to know that their research made a huge impression on people, and they
were part of one of the best natural history documentaries ever made. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-12775780177375164922018-06-16T06:38:00.002-07:002018-06-16T06:40:35.442-07:00DEAD MEN'S TROUSERS<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">by Irvine Welsh</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">432 pages, Melville House</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">audio version read
by Tam Dean Burn<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">FOUR WIDOS AND A
FUNERAL<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Choose
getting middle aged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dead-Mens-Trousers/dp/B079DZCKFV/ref=sr_1_1_twi_audd_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1529156378&sr=1-1&keywords=dead+men%27s+trousers">Dead Men’s
Trousers</a> </span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dead-Mens-Trousers/dp/B079DZCKFV/ref=sr_1_1_twi_audd_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1529156378&sr=1-1&keywords=dead+men%27s+trousers"></a>catches up with Renton, Sick Boy, Spud and Begbie as their train prepares to
stops at a destination few expected them to reach: their fifties. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Director
Danny Boyle managed expectations about as well as he could with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">T2</i>, the movie sequel to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Trainspotting</i> which caught up with the
boys two decades after Mark Renton’s betrayal. The film sidestepped much of its
source novel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Porno</i>, and did a
smashing job. Now, with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dead Men’s
Trousers</i>, Irvine Welsh presents an alternate-reality<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> T2</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
four principals are well into middle age now, and three of them have,
improbably, found success. Renton manages DJs, and earns enough money to be
able to get a monkey off his back by refunding Sick Boy and Begbie after he
ripped them off in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Trainspotting, </i>and
again in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Porno</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sick
Boy is running an escort agency in London, and doing well with it, though he
doesn’t always succeed in his efforts to instil a sense of class in his operation.
I’ve always wondered what a Masters was for… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Most
intriguing of all is the missing piece of the puzzle. I’ve never read <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Blade Artist</i>, but know that it
concerns Begbie following his rehabilitation and reinvention as a sculptor. He
has an international profile, a gorgeous wife and kids, lives in a big house in
Santa Barbara with millions of pounds in the bank. Celebrities want to make
friends. This is what is known as an outside bet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Most
people who know Franco would think this idea was ludicrous – unless you’re
Scottish, in which case it’s almost a true story. Begbie’s turnaround was
surely inspired by Jimmy Boyle, a Glasgow gangland enforcer jailed for murder
who found redemption through a controversial artwork programme in prison. Boyle
published the best-selling book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Sense
of Freedom</i>, and upon release from Glasgow’s Bar-L in 1982, he married a
psychiatrist and became an internationally renowned sculptor. Last I heard, he
was living in a humongous house in the south of France, and is presumably still
laughing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Next
to this once-notorious character’s astonishing reinvention, Begbie’s story
doesn’t seem so far-fetched.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
only one who hasn’t done anything with his life is of course Spud, who is
begging on the streets of Leith when we meet him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Following
a chance encounter on a transatlantic jet, the four are drawn together as
Begbie decides to make a cast of each of the boys’ heads, to mark the passing
years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">JUST DESERTS<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Although
the four have very distinct stories, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dead
Men’s Trousers</i> does have a few plot lines interlinking them. As in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Porno</i>, the fragmented structure of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Trainspotting</i> is gone in favour of
something more linear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Renton
wants to pay his mates back. Sick Boy is tasked with finding his
brother-in-law, who has gone missing, because of… Sick Boy. Meanwhile, Begbie
has to contend with a rogue cop in LA, an ex of his wife’s, who knows about
some unpleasant things dear Franco has done in the previous novel. Spud gets
mixed up in a black market organ donation racket, with predictably disastrous
results. After he leaves some meat unattended in the presence of his dog
(didn’t something similar happen in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Skagboys</i>?),
Spud is brought into conflict with the sinister Edinburgh gangster, Victor Syme.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
weakest storyline of the four is Renton’s. In between managing the petulant
demands of his motley crew of clients, he picks up a venereal disease,
seemingly after one night of weakness back in Edinburgh. He fears he has passed
it on to a promising partner back home in LA. “First world problems” indeed, as
Sick Boy sneers at him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
shouldn’t be a spoiler to tell you that one of the four dies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
marketing placed this bombshell front and centre, and it is a great big hook
for casual readers as well as fans. From page one, Welsh plays with the idea
that we’re well aware one of the four is heading for the crow road. It’s not so
much a whodunit as a whosgettinit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">All
four characters face mortal peril in their own individual stories. You sense
Renton’s knob, and his irresponsible use of it, is going to land him in trouble.
Plus he has a strange zeal when it comes to paying back Begbie, who insists he
isn’t bothered about the rip-off from all those years ago. Plus interest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Meanwhile,
Sick Boy also draws the attention of Edinburgh brothel keeper Syme, a violent
man who hatches a wicked plot of his own after he is inconvenienced by the
hapless Spud. And Begbie has the rogue cop to contend with in the States, a man
with a gun and a grudge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Don’t
worry, I won’t spoil anything. I will say that I had a bet with myself on who I
thought was going to bite the big one. Was I right? I’ll tell you at the end. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">DEAR FRANCO<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
big joke in Begbie’s case is that while the older iteration may be calm and
considered, he is still psychotic, and only too happy to use violence wherever
he sees fit. “You don’t mess with what’s mine,” he growls at one character. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Perhaps
his art is the work of a Leith chancer, too – we’ve all entertained a suspicion
that some of the most famous people in contemporary arts are quite simply at it.
Dots? Squiggles? Abstract? What? When Renton sees some of the end product –
clay moulds of famous faces, disfigured with a knife - he reckons Begbie (or
Jim Francis, as he’s known in the art world) is still at heart a con man. “That
isnae art!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s
a sense that the three successful ones are all frauds, in fact. Sick Boy is
still a manipulative, devious man – the sh*t mate who would feel no compunction
over dipping your pockets when you’re drunk, or trying to cop off with your
girlfriend. He is still just about good-looking enough to get away with it,
even as he heads into his fifties, but he’s still the last man in the room to
realise that he’s just a Leith radge, and that’s all he’ll ever be. No amount
of Sean Connery impressions, embossed business cards, verbose drug-fuelled
rants about the modern world or, indeed, money, can change that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Similarly,
Renton’s chosen line of work, while lucrative, hints that he isn’t a hugely
talented person. He gets by through flannelling his clients, skivvying after
their every whim and massaging promoters’ egos. As one of his DJs notes, he
seems to have forgotten that he first got into the business because he loved
music. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Poor,
guileless Spud is, again, the most honest, open-hearted of the four. As usual,
he suffers for it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Leaving
aside their formative years, the one piece of connecting tissue left between
the four of them is that they all f*ck up. Not just little mistakes, but huge,
pavement-cracking ones. It is this propensity - more than debauchery, more than
drug addiction, more than cynicism - that defines these four men.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">FREAK OUT THE
SQUARES<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Classic
Welsh preoccupations aren’t slow in coming out. His continual excoriation of
family life and straight-shooters is apparent in his treatment of Sick Boy’s
brother-in-law, the douce, Calvinist foot surgeon Ewan. Sick Boy spikes him
with MDMA while they’re out for drinks on Christmas Eve back in Edinburgh, and
the repercussions from this affect the rest of the novel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sick
Boy indulges his selfishness and sadism with barely an afterthought. The subsequent
unravelling of his sister Carlotta’s marriage is viewed with a sense of
exasperation at the inconvenience of Ewan going missing. There is no question of
guilt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">That
said, Ewan’s subsequent behaviour, whether out of his mind on eccies or not, was
the least plausible part of the book. Again, it shows Welsh’s contempt for
squares. People who abide by the rules always get f*cked in his books. People
with jobs, degrees, vocations, relationships, children, responsibilities. People
who choose life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Irvine
Welsh’s readership, in other words. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Welsh’s
female characters are sometimes viewed as a weak part of his game, and it’s
true. But something in this criticism bothers me. There are a lot of
prostitutes in this book, granted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
are a few victims as well. And one or two angels. Many of the women encountered
here are simply used and dumped. You won’t get anything like the same character
beats that you get from the four principals. At best, women (such as Spud’s ex
Ally) are seen through the prism of a drunken uncle at a wedding, passing on
his approval to the rest of the tribe when wee Jenny decides to do something
radical, like completing her education. “Aye! (slams down pint glass) That
lassie hus done well!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
Welsh doesn’t have to break out of his four main men’s heads if he doesn’t want
to. He isn’t writing books by committee in order to satisfy the social
constructs of the day. It’s his ba’, and he decides who plays. No-one has a go
at Lesley Pearce or Sheila O’Flanagan for sticking with mainly female
characters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
a man’s world in these books, though. That’s becoming something of an acquired
taste these days. I see the difficulty. But for what it’s worth, this central
belt schemie found the quartet’s first-person thoughts and reactions to be
absolutely authentic, completely genuine. Likeable? That’s something else
entirely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">4/4<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Similar
to the Musketeers, Irvine Welsh’s not-so-fantastic four could be seen as
discrete sections of one psyche. There’s Renton, the lad o’ pairts, a clever
boy from the wrong side of the tracks whom you could easily see becoming famous
for writing, say, gritty novels. Maybe this is why “Svengali to international superstar
DJs” doesn’t seem like a good fit for him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
might have suited Renton better if he’d been a philosophy lecturer in a former
polytechnic. Lucky Mark? That would help Welsh explore one of his fundamental
tensions as a writer, and, I suspect, as a person – the predicament of the
well-read, articulate schemie. He never quite fits in with the intelligentsia
who would dismiss him in a heartbeat over his background, but he never quite
fits in with the underclass he came from, either; people whose first impulse
when faced with a book would be to deface it. The perpetual outsider. Ironically,
there’s even more scope for chaos in that scenario, and he would inevitably get
himself into trouble with young women. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
Sick Boy we have the manipulator, the schemer, the weasel – no less clever than
Renton, easily more charismatic and coercive, but his lack of conscience edges into
sociopathy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
dreadful tough guy chat your dad gave you probably went something like this: if
you can’t fight, you better be able to run. There are two other directions you
can take, though – you can be the “funny guy”, or you can be the flyman. Sick
Boy is the latter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dead Men’s
Trousers</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
is easily Sick Boy’s book, though, as much as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Trainspotting</i> was Renton’s. Tam Dean Burn has the most fun with
this character in his audiobook narration. Sick Boy is so wide he could be
Glaswegian. He is not a nice man, but there is an awful lot to cackle at. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Begbie’s
type is all too familiar – the hard man, living up to a hard heritage, an
illustration of how toughness can be a lifelong ambition for some. Welsh has
spoken of some spine-chilling moments when he’s been back in Leith, and people
have accosted him in the pub with words to the effect of: “Haw. That Begbie yin…
that’s me, isn’t it? Ye based him on me.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">That
character’s turnaround is the most intriguing element of this book, but as we
discover, although Begbie’s calm, he’s still mental. At one point, he carries
out a breathing exercise in order to hold his temper, even as he is strangling
someone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Does
he still hold a grudge against Renton? For most of the book, we are inclined to
wonder – even as the rest of the boys unquestioningly accept the “reformed
character” narrative. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Once
he’s back in Edinburgh, though, Franco falls back on bad habits. There’s
something toxic in the very air that changes his accent, his outlook, returning
his default settings to factory mode, prompting recidivist tendencies. Part of
us has been waiting for this. There are strange, violent interludes, before the
man goes full psycho. When he kicks off, you’re reading a horror novel – or a
bovver boy NEL nasty from the 1970s. Possibly Guy N Smith wrote it, under a
pseudonym. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Violence
is Begbie’s true art, and he revels in it. You might not…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
then there’s Spud, the peaceable, fun-loving dope, the unlucky one everyone
likes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Speculating
how much any character is like their creator is a mug’s game, but most people
tend to see Renton as the Irvine Welsh proxy. Interestingly, the author mentioned
in a recent interview that when he was at primary school, he was more like Sick
Boy – manipulating, putting other kids up to things without actually doing them
himself. Maybe you have to be a little bit like that to be a writer? It’s what
we do to people on the page. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
wonder how Welsh felt when Danny Boyle took things in a different direction –
showing Spud as the creative one, having turned out a manuscript called
“Trainspotting”, and by implication, identifying the author most closely with
his goofiest character.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mixed
feelings, I suspect. Though there is a nod to this in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dead Men’s Trousers</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">HAMPDEN ROAR<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">When
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">T2</i> came out early in 2017, I remember
thinking that Danny Boyle must have been kicking himself. Round about the time
principal photography wrapped, in spring 2016, an epochal event took place in
the life of Hibernian FC supporters like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Trainspotting</i>’s
main characters, and Irvine Welsh. The Edinburgh football club won the Scottish
Cup for the first time in 114 years, beating the artists formerly known as Rangers
thanks to a last-minute goal in one of the best finals for years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
coincidence was so strong that I felt sure Boyle would try to make some capital
out of it in a reshoot, inserting Renton and Sick Boy into the events that day
at Hampden Park. Either he resisted, or it all came just too late. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Welsh,
though, has carte blanche, and much like David Gray rising to meet that corner
kick in stoppage time, he plants his big baldy napper right on the opportunity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m
not a Hibs fan, but I have fond memories of that day. First of all, there’s the
pure romance of it. Even Hearts supporters grudgingly admitted on
under-the-line chat in internet articles that they had a wee smile to
themselves when Sunshine on Leith rang out at Hampden. Secondly, it was another
well-deserved slap in the face for Scottish football’s robber barons,
“Rangers”. And, last but not least, my turf accountant offered me quite
ludicrous odds against a Hibernian victory during normal time. 15/2? For a cup
final? After Hibs had already skelped them a couple of times in recent months?
So, as you can imagine I was a wee bit emotional when Hibs won it in the last
minute. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Bad
boooooyyyy!!!!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
section sees Welsh going sentimental on us, but it would take the hardest heart,
or hardest Hearts fan, to begrudge him this. It’s a celebration of friendship,
with all four of the main men present at the match and basking in the glory of
the day. They also take a tremendous amount of drugs. Improbably, Renton and
Sick Boy drop eccies at just the right time, peaking just as David Gray gets
his head on Liam Henderson’s corner kick. Arguably, only Juice Terry Lawson’s
own “David Gray” moment could possibly rank above this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">DOORS AE
PERCEPTION<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Drugs
are a permanent fixture in this book, but don’t dominate it. They’re so
casually taken that you forget that people used to find the idea quite
shocking. It’s like a set of curtains which have somehow clung to your wall for
about a decade, so long in the tooth that they’re almost fashionable again; or
your neighbour’s lairy tree, which you’re working up the gumption to complain
about. It’s mostly ching on the menu these days for Renton and Sick Boy, reflecting
their incomes, I guess. Someone else has a wee accident with ketamine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Heroin
is conspicuous by its absence. But a new player has entered the game. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">All
four of the main men take a DMT trip. Their consciousness is expanded
accordingly. It is theorised (I should stress, I don’t think there’s clear
evidence for it, and doctors have rubbished the idea) that DMT naturally floods
our perception as our bodies prepare for death. This is thought by some to be the
catalyst for visions of long-dead loved ones beckoning us away, or tunnels of
light. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Whatever the truth of this, the boys are very impressed, and draw their
own conclusions from what they hallucinate. Whether the DMT link is intentional
or not, it signposts which direction the story’s going. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">(Sees
title… sees letters D, M and T… penny drops)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
not long after this that they all start stitching each other up again. Renton’s
fervent wish to pay back his friends ends up backfiring in a grimly ironic way.
It stirs dormant animosities and grievances. Along the way, as the plot lines
resolve, there is a death.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">TERMINUS<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dead Men’s
Trousers</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
attracted some bad reviews, but for me it’s the second-best book in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Trainspotting</i> series (bearing in mind
I’ve yet to read <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Blade Artist</i>).
Many of the episodes are simply bawdy jokes, complete with punchlines, but then
that’s always been Welsh’s way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
audio version is an absolute slam dunk – surely no author’s work was better
suited to the form? I’d argue these stories work best when they are performed,
rather than read to oneself. I would go as far as to say, I’ll never hold a
physical copy of an Irvine Welsh book again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
was fun, despite some black cynicism. Renton’s self-loathing in particular is
so bleak it’s almost poetry. Apart from one grand-standing speech at a funeral,
the book flirts with its political themes instead of delivering the kind of heavy-handed
lecture we endured in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Skagboys</i>, and
it takes its head out of the filth long enough for a quick breath of clean air here
and there, unlike <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Porno</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
isn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Trainspotting</i>. It can’t be.
Welsh didn’t try to write in the same style as that book, nor should he have.
People feel an affinity with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Trainspotting</i>
because, for some, it represents their youth. Even though it was filthy, we
cherish it, and we want to tend the memory. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
that’s nostalgia – a very Scottish disease. Irvine Welsh is wise to steer clear
of it. He is astute in allowing his voice to age as much as his characters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">However,
there is a glimpse of light. While Welsh mocks the straights, he does, in the
end, tip his hat to the idea of family. But not as we know it. Some ties aren’t
defined by blood, but by the sh*t you’ve gone through together. Blood is
thicker than water; sh*t is thicker than blood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
surprised myself by responding so well to the boys’ mid-life depravities. I
suspected I might hate them – that the constipated schoolteacher who lives
somewhere in my genes would be piqued, as he was in a university tutorial many years
ago. But I was entertained, and laughed a lot. Like Sick Boy, I cheerfully
tossed aside all moral considerations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
was like a long-dreaded reunion with school friends which actually turned out
alright. As Renton says of Begbie, once he understands that dear Franco doesn’t
want to kill him: “I realised that life had got boring without him, without
that chaos. On some level, I’d actually missed the c*nt.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
among the hilarity, there’s an acceptance that we’re all getting older, much
like Renton, Sick Boy, Spud and Begbie. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
is no longer true for one of them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">As
for my wager… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">My
reasoning was that the character we were most likely to lose would be the one
with no interesting stories left to tell, rather than the dead cert.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
lost my money. I was wrong. But that’s not to say the dead cert crossed the
line first.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">You’ll
have to read the book to find out who goes to the big banana flats in the sky. Or,
you could cheat on the internet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-60155284906571195272018-06-04T07:32:00.001-07:002018-06-04T07:32:13.553-07:00POSTCAPITALISM:<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A Guide To Our Future</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">by Paul Mason</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">293 pages, Allen Lane<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Out
of my comfort zone with this one, but that’s a good thing. I might have to do
some studying and make coherent notes. Maybe even learn new things. Never my
strong point, as anyone who ever taught me will tell you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Postcapitalism-Guide-Future-Paul-Mason/dp/0374536732/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1528122635&sr=1-1&keywords=postcapitalism+a+guide+to+our+future+-+paul+mason">Postcapitalism: A
Guide To Our Future</a></span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Postcapitalism-Guide-Future-Paul-Mason/dp/0374536732/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1528122635&sr=1-1&keywords=postcapitalism+a+guide+to+our+future+-+paul+mason"> </a>looks at our changing economic world with
its rapid advances in technology, and the places it could lead us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
book’s central theory: capitalism as we know it - scarcity of resources
controlling prices, the financial markets dominating all, “competition” in
business, private ownership of means of production and chasing profits for
shareholders… ah god, and all the rest of it - is kaput. We have to look at
different ways of living, different ways of producing, and different ways of
working. If at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Paul
Mason is the former economics editor of Channel 4 News. The son of a Lancashire
miner, he is one of the very few working class people to attain such a senior,
high-profile position on a national network – indeed I’m struggling to think of
another. Possibly Andrew Neil. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mason
has the added rarity of being unashamedly left-wing, and again, I can’t think
of many others of that political stripe in such a position in the broadcasting
world. I’m happy to be corrected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mason’s
premise is based on Nikolai Kondratieff’s wave theory of economics. This tells
us that since the late 18<sup>th</sup> century, industrial economies have
experienced cycles of growth and decline, roughly every 50 years – 25 up, 25
down. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
order to prevent the system collapsing completely during the troughs,
capitalist economies have invested in rapid technological advances which have
kick-started another upsurge in growth. New technology spearheads progress and
prosperity, but also leads to labour crises as jobs are outmoded and replaced
by machinery. On top of this, you get inevitable external shocks such as war or
natural disaster, some of which may be directly or indirectly attributable to
the effects of capitalism. One great example in the modern era is 9/11. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">All
of these factors contribute to the downward curve on the wave, necessitating
new technologies and new ways of working, and thusly another 25 years of good
times; and so it goes on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
worth bearing in mind that poor old Kondratieff was executed by firing squad by
Uncle Joe in 1938, right around another downer period for the world economy
which brought us war. So he didn’t even have the satisfaction of seeing himself
proven correct on that one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Following
this long wave pattern, right now, we’re heading for the bottom of the curve. The
latest Kondratieffian down-turn began in the early 1990s – tying in with the absolute
zenith of neoliberalism, you could argue. So, according to the theory, we’re
not too far away from a surge. Great! Happy days, Rodders. This time next year…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Except
this time, Mason argues, certain key elements of the current economic climate
have produced anomalies in the wave which have never been seen before. As
predicted, we have a new, rapidly expanding technology in the form of
information and data networks, passed at high speed along wires and across
space, straight onto our phones, tablets and laptops. But there is a mutative
effect in place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Information
technology is changing our ideas of supply and demand, one of capitalism’s
fundamentals. For the first time in history, goods and services in the form of
knowledge, data and intellectual product can be reproduced at zero cost. The
crudest manifestation and best example of this phenomenon is copy and paste. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">If
I send you a copy of my off-beat kaiju novel for a review on a free-to-read
book reviews site (cough), then there’s nothing stopping you copying and
pasting the entire text, sending it to everyone in your address book, and then
those people sending it to everyone they know, in turn. Leaving aside your
utility bill and the price of your device, no money whatsoever has changed
hands. Nobody got rich, and yet under this model, something has been created
which explodes the capitalist system: abundance without cost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Knowledge,
Mason states, wants to be free. If your economy is based on knowledge, in the
form of data travelling along wires or through the airwaves or being bounced off
a satellite, there’s a problem.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
has led to stagnation in the classic Kondratieff wave. We’ve got our
technological innovation. But the concomitant growth isn’t happening. It should
have done by now. Mason says we should be worried about this. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">As
more and more elements of our lives are subsumed into the digital world - even
sex and dating, for crying out loud - with the employment-issue Godzilla of
automation lumbering over the brow of the hill, then capitalism is going to
have to look lively in order to live in the manner in which it has become
accustomed. A tipping point will be reached in terms of the haves and have-nots
of the world. I’d argue we’re on the brink as it stands. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">To
take one example: the inevitability of safe, reliable driverless vehicles and
delivery services will completely destroy the livelihoods of millions of people
on low-to-middle incomes. In the past week, how many things have you had
delivered by parcel services? How many car, taxi, bus, plane and train journeys
have you taken? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">With
the rise of the robots, Mason thinks that work, and the world of work, is going
to have to shift aside to allow humanity to live its life for the living,
rather than being enslaved to profiteers. But there are other pressing crises
which have weighed in on the stagnation of the Kondratieff wave. Climate change
is a big ‘un, of course. We might be chronically overdrawn on that score. I
hope Mother Nature is amenable to an individual voluntary arrangement. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">On
top of that, there’s a rising, ageing population, and an impending financial
crisis related to pension provision big enough to completely crash most major
economies. Mason argues that there’s no avoiding this. The cynic in me says
there’ll be some avoiding it, alright, if our masters decide to cull us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
there’s Mason’s contention that neoliberal policies have strangulated progress
among 99% of the working population. By constraining the working population
through austerity policies, our governments and captains of industry have
ensured this current crisis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">However
bad things could get, Paul Mason is an optimist. He lays out the groundworks
for how a world without the capitalist system could work. Sort out the
environment; have robots do most of the work, reducing the need for work; pay
everyone a basic income; with an abundance of supply of food and water, people
should basically be free to work at whatever they like, whether that’s writing
blogs, building houses, taking your clothes off for the boys, volunteering for
environmental research projects, or whatever you like. The global financial
system, of course, should be tightly regulated and socially responsible, with a
view towards humanity rather than the need for profits. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">All
of this, he says, should be underpinned by the use of the single most
disruptive element in the world, which cuts through finance, art, politics,
military engagements, consumption and production – information networks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">With
all this freely available, easily collectible data in the world, Mason says it should
be used to model and predict human behaviour and socio-economic trends as never
before, the better to target human need with abundant resources. Effectively,
this is the kind of network Marx fantasised about, but which is now a reality. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
is an extension of the modelling miracle Mason speaks about earlier in the
book. To take his example, if you have a new component for a jet aircraft, in
days gone by a lot of labour would have gone into testing that part and
perfecting it, and that’s before the business of practical tests in the real
world. But now, Mason says, everything can be modelled and even rigorously tested
in a virtual environment, with every potential outcome mapped and
mathematically watertight in a virtual landscape. Everything can be ship-shape
by the time the component actually appears in the physical world. You don’t
even have to use up basic resources like pen and pencil. This idea can be
extended to any concept, any product, any population, any trend, or any economic
system. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
think… ah bollocks to what I think. I’ve just deleted 2,000 words of polemic,
and it felt good to do so. Trump, Brexit, big data, blah blah, off it goes, you
don’t need to hear it. I’ve nothing to add. Paul Mason wants to find workable
solutions to the world’s problems, based on the idea of the public good. I
guess that’s as much as we can hope for. He seems like a decent man.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">God
knows what’s coming down the line. This was an interesting book. I’ve learned
something. Best recommendation I can give.</span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-88742150741306373432018-04-25T07:25:00.002-07:002018-04-25T07:25:46.863-07:00LOVEJOY:<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The Judas Pair<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">by
Jonathan Gash<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">256
pages, C&R Crime<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lovejoy.
That name puts me right back in the zone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sunday
night, early 1990s, Ian McShane, mullet, boil-washed white T, leather jacket
and jeans, catchy harpsichord theme tune. I can hardly remember anything about
the plots, but I do remember the furniture. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
a relic of a time when we had far less choice on television in the UK, but had
more of a sense of shared cultural experiences through programmes that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everyone</i> watched. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">For
me,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Lovejoy</i>’s in the same slot as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">One Foot In The Grave</i> – a well-liked pre-internet
era show which still resonates with the public, nearly 30 years on, separate
from fanaticism or genre geekery. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lovejoy</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> was set
in the world of antiques, but really it was all about the main man, the arch
wheeler-dealer. There’s probably a picture of McShane’s face, with a smile like
a prison searchlight, next to the entry for “loveable rogue” on Wikipedia. The
role made him a star, and he’s a familiar face on TV and the movies to this day,
from Deadwood and beyond. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Grinning,
breaking the fourth wall, knocking around the flat East Anglian countryside in
his battered vintage car… It seems as comical, even naff, as bell-bottomed
trousers and kipper ties now. Did people fancy Ian McShane? Of course they did.
It was acceptable in the eighties. And nineties. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lovejoy
is an antiques dealer, a rascally figure with a keen antenna for things of
great value – known as a “divvie” in the trade. He’s the guy who’ll pick out the
Van Gogh in the transit van, or the Canaletto in the car boot sale. Although
the TV incarnation first appeared in 1986 – only coming to prominence after its
second series ran, five years later – Lovejoy was already well established in a
series of novels by Jonathan Gash (John Grant). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
first of these, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Judas-Pair-Lovejoy-Mystery/dp/0140126880/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1524666183&sr=1-1&keywords=lovejoy+jonathan+gash">The Judas Pair</a></i>, was
published in 1977.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Now,
while you’ve still got McShane in mind – you might even be humming that theme
tune to yourself – here’s how we were introduced to Lovejoy back then: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">“What
the hell do you mean” she was starting to say when I belted her. Down she went
on the loo amid the steam. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">That’s
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chapter one</i>. This is his girlfriend,
being belted. He goes on to call her “the stupid bird”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">That
flinch reaction you’ve just experienced could be called The Lovejoy Problem. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gash’s
debut novel is very entertaining. The plot concerns the flintlock duelling
pistols in the title, a legendary “missing” 13<sup>th</sup> pair made by a
famous craftsman. Hot on the trail of these items, Lovejoy discovers that
someone was killed for them. When someone close to him dies later on in
suspicious circumstances, Lovejoy is less loveable rogue than just plain rogue,
and seeks vengeance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Along
the way there’s some sleuthing as Lovejoy tracks down both the guns and the
killer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what I liked best about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Judas Pair</i> was the insight into the
world of antiques, and the shadowy industry connected with sourcing, buying and
selling them, with its strange terms and practices. Lovejoy’s pithy “come
hither, there’s more” delivery really draws you in – a fine example of how a
unique voice can put oil in your storytelling engine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Still,
for people used to mild Sunday night comic capers with British eccentrics in
leafy villages, this Lovejoy is a bit of a shock. Lovejoy’s still got a cosy
relationship with his audience, addressing his readers in the first person as if
they were friends and confidants, and you’re pulled in by his grubby charm. But
the man himself is a far harder character than you might remember from the
telly. He’s not averse to cheating people, and goes on to outline some
scandalous behaviour in his trade, such as intruding upon the recently bereaved
in order to pick up bargains while people are in a confused, distressed state. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
he is violent. Lovejoy absolutely <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">batters</i>
two people in this book, which should by rights have seen him haggling over antique
pebbles in the prison exercise yard. That’s separate to his casual approach to
domestic violence, the only consequence of which seems to be a mild feeling of
guilt because he’s left a bruise on his girlfriend’s face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">What
makes this even more nauseating for the reader is that she goes back to him,
and dismisses his behaviour. Just Lovejoy being Lovejoy, eh? Shrug. What a
loveable rascal! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Unacceptable
in any era, you’d hope, but perhaps slightly less so in the seventies compared
with today. You can expect a night in the cells if there’s even a hint that
you’ve lifted a hand to a partner nowadays, but back then, short of serious
assault, police would hope to clear up “domestics” with a talking-to, and
leaving the house in as peaceable a state as possible. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
don’t think Lovejoy’s behaviour would have been any less shocking to decent
people in the seventies, but it was obviously, that word again, more
acceptable. Hence the reason Lovejoy’s so <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">blasé</i>
about it. What you don’t expect to see is the hero of your page-turner novel
admitting to it so casually. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
shift between Lovejoy from the book to the TV is mainly a class distinction.
The character as portrayed by McShane might have had a leather jacket and a
mullet, but his manners and diction were impeccable. He would pronounce
everything on the menu without eliciting even a hint of condescension from the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">maitre d’</i>, and has enough charm to make
any galloping major or country house squire a bit insecure when their old lady gets
to giggling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
printed Lovejoy is more of a Del Boy Trotter character – no fool, but no
aristocrat, either, and he cuts corners in the same way. Sausage butties with
lashings of margarine finished off with custard rounds are his idea of a
slap-up meal for his girlfriends. He’s aware of the absurdity of this, but
again, that jack-the-lad pound shop pirate type would cut little ice in a big commercial
novel these days. He’d be more polished, like his TV depiction. It is unlikely
he would be working class.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lovejoy
does have a soft centre – he looks after some people, and seems fond of the
downtrodden, whether that’s the perky robin he feeds in his garden, or people
on the verge of making a mistake in the antiques trade. Tough guy, shrewd operator,
but with a heart of gold, etc. We get the picture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
we still have that pesky Lovejoy Problem to solve.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s
a danger of sliding into a kind of puritanism when it comes to interpreting art
from other times. Art, no matter what the era, should make us suspicious if it
solely exists to cater directly to narrow beliefs and prejudices, or what is perceived
to be good at the current rate of exchange. If it does, there is a good chance
you’re consuming propaganda, or spreading it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lovejoy
is no Mary Sue, and was never intended to be. We might dislike his behaviour,
even hate him if we must, but we should credit Jonathan Gash for trying to
portray a complex character. We were no doubt <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">meant</i> to be shocked by Lovejoy bashing his girlfriend; perhaps this
granted the character a sense of edge and danger in a hyper-macho era only just
learning to wash its armpits every day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
true fault lies in assuming that we would still be<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> on his side</i> after this behaviour, whereas today, no-one would dare
to portray their hero as a wife-beater. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lovejoy
does suffer, mentally as well as physically. He’s almost burned to death, and
has to use his wits to get out of a seemingly hopeless situation, but this was
less interesting than his emotional journey. After one big twist, Lovejoy
undergoes a breakdown which puts him in bed for days; not eating, not washing, and
not engaging with the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed
realistic to me. It’s quite rare to see this in a commercial novel, even today,
when we’re far less ignorant about mental illness and the horrors trauma can
inflict on seemingly strong mentalities. I’d like to see this happen to Jack
Reacher. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">With
regards to The Lovejoy Problem, there’s a TV show which got on my wick lately: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It Was Acceptable In The</i> (insert decade).
It’s a talking-heads schedule filler, where comedians, TV presenters,
journalists, actors and DJs of varying degrees of smugness review clips from
previous decades. The show makes heavy use of crash-zooms on the guests’
gurning faces, as sexism, racism and class prejudice are highlighted, provoking
well-intentioned, if tedious, responses. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
they’re right to respond that way, because, like Lovejoy punching his missus,
some of the stuff which passed without much comment in past times is awful, and
we should be upset by it, and things have hopefully improved. But we shouldn’t
think this generation will be any different – that its entertainment won’t be
mocked or ridiculed or even completely denounced in the future, by people
living in a different political climate, with different norms, or realigned
social strata. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
the future, reality TV shows will look particularly awful – as bad as racist
sitcoms or sexist cop series from the 1970s. Perhaps they’ll seem even worse,
because they deal with real people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
recall one show from the mid-noughties where a bunch of young models who
thought they were answering an open casting call were invited to strip to their
underwear on camera and take their places in a drained swimming pool. They did
so without hesitation. Even at a very late stage, it didn’t dawn on any of them
what was about to happen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">They
were then blasted with water from a hose. Once the jet was shut off and the screaming
stopped, we were treated to close-ups of ruined make-up, turning them all into
shivering, sobbing grotesques. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
point of this stunt was – we were told – that the girls shouldn’t feel they had
to put on their best clothes to be beautiful, or their best make-up. I don’t
know who came up with this programme, but cruelty and humiliation lay at the
heart of it. You wouldn’t tolerate this being done in a prison, but there it
was on TV, served up for entertainment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
reality TV’s an obvious villain. One fascinating recent phenomenon is how time
can catch up with seemingly unimpeachable content. Look at the recent row over <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Breakfast Club</i>. Good old John
Hughes, eh? The stalwart of “almost realistic” teen dramas. Except it seems
like they were a wee bit sexist, too. And nobody noticed, or cared, until now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’ve
also heard of people having a go at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Friends</i>
for its mockery of overweight people, among a host of other perceived sins
which flew over everyone’s heads 20-odd years ago. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Friends</i>! The definition of sliced white bread television. Who’d
have thought it? Nothing is sacred, true enough. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Quick
questions for you to consider: Did you like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Trainspotting</i>
when you were younger? Did you have Sick Boy and Begbie up on your bedroom
wall? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So,
yes, Lovejoy’s got his problems. The character’s behaviour is repellent, but I
don’t think we were meant to like it. Let’s not burn the book for one
admittedly awful part. As time goes on, you’d hope he learns how bad his
behaviour was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Besides,
it’s fiction. In telling lies, writers have to be as truthful as they can.
Characters don’t ring true if they’re flawless. Nothing is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Lovejoy’s
just a character, warts and all. He’s a product of his time – just like real
people are, for good or ill.</span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1110039268234101685.post-50784212130294912562018-04-04T07:32:00.003-07:002018-04-12T09:12:58.065-07:00WATCHING THE DETECTIVES:<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">DCI Tom Barnaby <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Killings-Badgers-Drift-Inspector-Barnaby/dp/1933397047/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1522852269&sr=1-1&keywords=the+killings+at+badger%27s+drift">The Killings At Badger’s Drift: A Midsomer Murders Mystery</a> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">by Caroline Graham </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">288
pages, Headline<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review
by Pat Black<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">True
story: A few years ago, my then-girlfriend moved into a nice block of flats in
a pretty market town. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She
hadn’t yet got her parking permit for the site, but left her car in an unmarked
open bay the night before moving in. She wanted to quickly double-check
everything was in order on the itinerary – you know, no bodies sprawled in the
lounge, no gold bullion packed into the cupboards, no ancient burial chambers lingering
under the bed. This task took her about 10 minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">When
she got back to her car, she found that someone had placed nails underneath the
front tyres.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">No
parking permit, you see. Not the done thing, dear. If you should get a double
puncture, crash and hurt yourself, why, that’d be your own bally fault,
wouldn’t it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Malice
in pleasant, even twee settings is a staple of the English murder mystery, and
Caroline Graham’s first Midsomer Murder is absolutely packed with it. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Killings At Badger’s Drift</i> introduces
us to DCI Barnaby and his sidekick, Troy, as they investigate the suspicious
death of an elderly lady who was out looking for a rare bloom in the woods
around the titular village. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
lonely eccentric, Miss Simpson, stumbles upon something naughty in the great
outdoors that the two participants would rather she hadn’t. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Barnaby’s
initial suspicions are proven correct when the post-mortem shows that Miss
Simpson was poisoned with hemlock.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We
are introduced to a full cast of suspects, all with deep and sometimes deadly
secrets. There’s a local rich bloke in a big house, preparing to marry a
beautiful young woman far too hot for him; there’s a louche, snobby artist who
lives in an unlocked cottage out in the woods; and there’s a bizarre
mother-and-son duo who creep everyone out. Could the late Miss Simpson’s
friend, Miss Bellringer, a competitor over botanical curiosities, have anything
to do with it? And what about the death of the disabled aristocrat’s previous
wife, shot dead in a hunting accident?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
all connected of course, in an engaging puzzle beautifully designed to catch
out people who don’t pay close attention, like me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
story wasn’t quite as cosy as the initial murder leads you to believe. While
death by hemlock is very Golden Age, there’s a subsequent murder that’s much more
Video Nasty. If I was Barnaby I’d have checked Jason Voorhees’ movements on the
day of the killing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
fact, Jason would happily live in Midsomer (or Badger’s Drift, in this first
story in the series; “Midsomer” was invented by Anthony Horowitz, who first scripted
the TV adaptation). A peaceful, bosky setting would suit Jason to the hem of
his hillbilly killer dungarees, and his distrust of strangers and barely
concealed psychosis would also fit like a glove. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
leather glove, unscrewing a lightbulb, in the middle of the night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Like
the first Morse mystery, this story is grubbier than expected. It seethes with
lust, infidelities and sleaze. Even the sober, no-nonsense DCI Barnaby finds
himself in a local brothel as part of his inquiries – complete with a classic “he
made his excuses and left” gag. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Barnaby
is from the Adam Dalgleish stable of sturdy, reliable and somewhat priggish
English policemen. You can trust him; he commands great authority and lets his
temper escape now and again, and you can bet the hapless uniformed coppers
around him jump to the beat, on the double. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
seemed more like a former military man, a good Tom who attended Sandhurst or
similar and blusters through life, expecting everyone he encounters to snap to
attention at his every utterance. I can’t be sure I liked him, or at least, I
can’t be sure I’d have a pint with him. I’d have a pint with Morse any day of
the week, and I can see myself sharing a mint julep with Poirot somewhere smart
and shiny, my collars clean and my hair slicked into a brutal centre parting.
But Barnaby’s a perfect fit for the series; the type of guy you would want
guarding you as you sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Not
literally, like. You know, standing over your bed, and that. That’d be odd. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
most interesting element in the book was how Barnaby and Troy interact. The
sidekick role is a thankless one in detective stories, probably starting with
Dr Watson. They get their time in the spotlight, and the odd chance to save the
hero or shoot the bad guy, but they are doomed to live in the shadow of their intellectual
superiors. This can be done in a subtle fashion, with give and take between the
principals and even a sense that the underling might be the better man (like
Morse and Lewis), but it’s overt in this story. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This
was refreshing – similar to how Barnaby appraises a frank, opinionated woman he
interviews in this story. He likes a bit of that. It can be energising to meet
someone who doesn’t mince words or motivations, every now and again, Barnaby
muses. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
not all the time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Troy
is young, naïve and actually quite thick. He’s not bad in a tough situation and
he’s an excellent driver, but Barnaby can barely conceal his contempt and basic
dislike for the detective sergeant. Troy tries to impress his more senior
colleague, but quite often makes the wrong call or leaps to the wrong
conclusion – giving Barnaby a chance to play a stronger hand and show him up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
pitied Troy. He was every greenhorn who ever tried to flex their muscles, only
to be swatted aside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of us have
been there… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Here’s
hoping he gets a better crack of it in later books.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Like
many fictional detectives who made a successful transition from the page to our
tellies, it’s difficult to dissociate Graham’s Barnaby from the one who became
familiar to millions, played by John Nettles. The actor – who first found fame
as another TV detective, Jim Bergerac – even provides a foreword to this story.
You can probably find Nettles’ performance as Barnaby somewhere on the
schedules to this very day. Although he’s long left the role, the show goes on
(Tom Barnaby retires, and is replaced by his cousin – John Barnaby… how Parish
Council can you get?). It’s been running for 20 years, there’s a new series on
its way, its popularity is undimmed, and it will most likely overtake Taggart
as the longest-running detective drama on British TV. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
is much cosiness in the setting – perhaps that intriguing blend of sweet and
sour is Midsomer’s secret recipe? We’ve all wished we lived in a chocolate box
village at some point in our lives, usually after we hit 30. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">During
a tough time in the past, I once surprised myself by blurting out: “Ye know, just
one night, I wouldn’t mind sitting in my jammies with a takeaway and watching <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Midsomer</i>!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Despite
the bodies hitting the ground every 200 yards or so, you’d settle for life in
the village. There’s something comforting in Barnaby’s return home to his
beautiful house after a tough day interrogating suspects. He has some comfort
food, and rests his head on the bosom of his super-nice/bad-cook/perfect-homemaker/amateur-dramatics-every-Tuesday
wife. I can relate to that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Er,
I’m not saying I want to nuzzle his wife, I don’t want anyone to get the wrong
idea… I guess some couples are cool with it, though, strange things can and do
go on in nice quiet villages, you better believe it… but you see what I mean. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Midsomer</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">’s also
a big hit around the world. It’s shown in 200 countries. Do they watch it in
China? Iran? Borneo? Lapland? What is it they like about it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
reckon people dig that clipped, precise, calculated English malice. It’s so
proper. Evil, but perfectly-presented.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
self-diagnosed cultural expert with lots of unsolicited opinions on writing
once said to me: “Don’t waste your time writing detective stories. Everyone
writes them.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Correct.
But everyone reads them, too.</span></div>
<br />Melissa Conwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12368962908843137225noreply@blogger.com0