Category: Recommended Read

Reads I’ve enjoyed.

Update June/July Part 2

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Books read…

I discovered Adam Nevill this year, a horror writer not afraid of using more than a few words from the dictionary. I’ve read two of his books: The Ritual (back in March), and Banquet of the Damned (in June). The Ritual is a book of two halves. I so wanted to give it 5 stars, but I preferred the first half of the book to the second, and, although I’m unsure what might have been a better conclusion, the end felt a little abrupt. What I love about this book is the atmosphere the author creates, capturing my interest in a way many books of this type have failed and making him an author I want to read regularly. I imagine some readers may like to know the characters a tad more—that occurred to me on some level—but in a horror story it’s not always necessary to know these men are little more than regular guys doing their best to get by in their average lives and who don’t deserve the situation thrust upon them. A wonderfully atmospheric lost in the woods horror story.

For Banquet of the Damned, I easily understand why this book receives mixed reviews, and it’s purely owing to stylistic preference. I sank into a rich vocabulary and longer sentences so often lacking in modern fiction. I don’t want to use the term literary as it carries an unfortunate modern-day connotation of dusty libraries and mildewed books written by notaries of a by-gone age (a sad view of the classics that were part of my childhood reading and nowadays occasionally termed ‘too difficult’). This definitely isn’t that, but one can say this book is a more stylish horror. Another way to describe it: I can imagine a few editors returning the manuscript, circling the occasional sentence as purple prose. Thank goodness the publisher ignored them if they did. The carefully chosen style weaves a delightfully successful spell on any reader able to appreciate the opulent seductive description spiced with the ‘creep’ factor; the sense that something is coming and might be present on the next turn of a page. This seems to be where Adam Nevill excels.

The Night Clock, Paul Meloy. First, I have to say I like this book. I need to say so because it may not be obvious. Paul Meloy’s imagination packs a punch. Unfortunately, the story is vastly superior to its execution. On a purely grammatical basis, there are so many instances of ‘it, was, and were’ sentences to bog down the story and make it drag. I took way too long to finish this. The book suffers too much tell instead of show (too many instances of the type such as ‘he was standing’ required the simple improvement of ‘stood’), and I’m unsure whether the writer has any real understanding of tenses or tried to be artistic in their use. Again, I can see a few people complaining over the ‘purple prose’, though that doesn’t always bother me if used well. There’s a greater book here and fantastic ideas that sadly do not gel in this length of a novel. I wanted to know more of the characters and to care for them. The various threads read more than perplexing, even unnecessary tangents though mostly draw together, but left me feeling the narrative strove to be clever instead of engaging. Instead, the promised level of threat never manifests and I didn’t much care whether anyone survived by the conclusion. Which is a pity, as this visionary setting promised much and had me enthralled. I love the overlapping story threads and blending of genres.

The Bazaar of Bad Dreams, by Stephen King, proves what I’ve always said: that the industry labels King wrongly as a horror writer. He’s a storyteller. I can see where people may label this collection as self-indulgent, but then, as a storyteller, he no doubt wants to share these tales and has earned some forbearance. Not that there’s no other reason to read this collection. I liked it. I didn’t adore it, but several stories I liked more than others, a few I loved, and there were none I hated, so I’ve given the book 4 stars where I might prefer to give it 3.5. Short story collections are books I dip in and out of and often take me weeks, even months, to complete, while I fly through novels; but I found King’s writing so familiar and familiarly ‘comfortable’, I finished the book off without setting it aside. A portion of these stories are a tad silly, others fun, some questioning… I won’t say any are scary, but then I’m seldom scared by King’s work, by anyone’s, so I’m not singling him out in that regard. As a ‘constant reader’, adding this to my bookshelves was an easy decision and while it’s not the best of his work, the book didn’t disappoint.

Writing-wise…

I contracted the re-release of A Not So Hollow Heart with JMS Books, this version edited and lengthened. The only real complaint I had from critics was that they wished it were longer… so now it is where I felt it needed it, though I’m uncertain it’s a length to satisfy readers. Yes, there’s always more to fledge out, to explore characters deeper, but there’s a point where all the information needed to ‘tell the tale’ is on the page. I’ve tried to deepen characterisation.

Someone has also contacted me to work on another project… I can only say ‘sci-fi’ related, but there’s no way I can know if anything will come of that at this point. Had a bad feel moment when doing research for a disaster, natural or otherwise, where people died. Had a ‘not enough casualties for my purposes’ moment. I’m not a terrible person, just a writer, honest.

Speaking of writing… when a reviewer drops in words like ‘rips you up’ and ‘grab a box of tissues’ I know I’ve done something right. A jaw drop moment for Flowers for the Gardener. I put much thought into this book and the reviewer is spot on that I wanted to show life is short and what comes from poor communication and assumptions, which is what many arguments (particularly those between family and friends) are. The reader is crying and I’m left smiling. Such is the life of a writer.

Book Review: Flowers for the Gardener by Sharon Maria Bidwell

To Read or Not to Read

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When I mention my To-Be-Read-Mountain, few are surprised. Not only do I buy more books per year than I can usually read, I inherited a good 500 books from my father a few years ago. That’s 500 I kept, discounting those I gave away to friends and charity. He had many genres, including fantasies I’ve longed to read, and several series of which I’d never heard. A few trilogies had the first book only, or book one and two with the third missing, so I went searching to complete those that interested me. These amounted to many novels, adding to an existing extensive collection. My bookshelves ‘double up’.

I’m always amazed by people’s reactions, ‘Wow, books’. Makes me think of the little green men from Toy Story all going ‘Oooooooohhhhhhh.’ With me I can spend an hour in someone’s home wondering ‘what’s wrong with this picture?’ before I realise, there are no books. A house without books, to me, isn’t a home.

Still, I’m left asking can we have too much of a good thing? When having to move, yes, and I’ve carted this lot around twice in recent years. I’ve come to the time where I must be more selective of the books I keep, even purchase. Some writers are exempt from this rule — quite a list of them — will stay with me always. I should surprise no one when I say one of those authors is Terry Pratchett.

I’ve been listing him in my top five for more years than I can recall but it wasn’t until he died it hit me what a long love-affair I’ve had with Rincewind, Death, The Luggage, The Librarian, Sam Vimes, and… well, that names a mere few, though I shouldn’t forget Rob Anybody, my favourite Nac Mac Feegle. Say hello, Rob. Don’t worry; he always looks this grumpy.

This may sound like gobbledegook to many, but not to anyone who grasped the wonder of Terry’s satire. A friend once told me she’d read the first book (in her words: cute, about wizards) without getting that Terry Pratchett wrote satire, that the Discworld was our world, that the University was our government, the clacks system our postal service and so on. I’m not as surprised as I might be. Few know Gulliver’s Travels was also an exercise in parody.

When Terry died, I was already experiencing a rough day during lasting stress. The universe felled another hammer blow. Is it possible to experience genuine grief when someone you’ve never met dies? Absolutely. I won’t be the only one to say so. When you’ve admired someone, their work, kept track for many years, the loss is real. If nothing else, ‘no more Discworld’ is a hard kick.

I’ll soon be picking up another of his books with the bittersweet knowledge I have about four titles to go to and the fantasy books he wrote with Stephen Baxter. Yes, I’ve still a few of Terry’s books to read… and in there is a puzzle. Why haven’t I read them all?

Because I’ve so many writers I love and I like to spend time with Terry’s books.

I wanted the stress to pass and to be settled before I dipped into the last of his titles. I wanted to feel relaxed while reading them.

I wanted to treasure them and also delay because he’s gone from this world and once I read the last few titles, there will be no more.

This sounds ridiculous, but I know many who were reading the last book or two who said the same: once they finished those, there were no more to look forward to. It’s like closing a book, having found it so good, the desire is there to begin again. Given enough time, I’ll do that too. Meanwhile, to Terry, a man’s whose imagination the world was lucky to have, a heartfelt thank you!

A review: Adam Nevill

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I’ve just finished my second dip into Adam Nevill’s writing, Banquet for the Damned, prompting me to review his writing rather than the book. I couldn’t help wondering what drew me in so. Simply, a rich vocabulary — a style that elevates the horror genre with a more artistic approach.

One thing that has occasionally made me grit my teeth has been having to dumb down. Editors say this in different ways but if told, ‘I’m not telling you to dumb down’, they are. Another way of expressing this is commercial fiction: short simple words, sentences, and paragraphs make for faster reading; readers can speed through books and hence purchase more.

Nothing wrong with this. Some genres or stories take to the fast pace with alacrity, and even within a leisurely pace there is the need to play with the velocity, speeding up and slowing down to suit the suspense and relaxed segments of the plot.

Still, people surprised me by contacting me praising my use of language, words, prose, narrative, style, and expression for my book, A Very Private Haunting all amounting to the same thing and making me feel many don’t frown on the use of a richer vocabulary as some would have us believe. A vocabulary I’ve often had to simplify to meet market demand, so you can imagine my delight when I stumbled over a writer I hadn’t read before who’s not afraid of opting for a more demanding word choice. If I tell you three of my favourite writers are Mervyn Peake, China Melville, and Carlos Ruiz Zafon, it should be no surprise I’m delighted to read an imaginative approach in one of my favourite genres.

I can see why this book will receive mixed reviews, and it’s owing to stylistic preference. On the first page, I sank into a rich vocabulary and longer sentences so often lacking in modern fiction. I don’t want to use the term literary as it carries an unfortunate modern-day connotation of dusty libraries and mildewed books written by notaries of a by-gone age (a sad view of the classics that were part of my childhood reading and nowadays periodically termed ‘too difficult’) and Nevill’s work isn’t like that, but one would have to say this is a more literary ‘style’ of horror.

Another way to describe it is I can see several editors returning the manuscript, circling a few sentences and referencing them as purple prose. Thank goodness the publisher ignored them if they did. The carefully chosen style weaves a successful spell on any reader able to appreciate the opulent seductive description spiced with the ‘creep’ factor; the sense that something is coming and might be present on the next turn of a page. This seems to be where Adam Nevill excels. I’ve read two of his titles so far, but will check out more.

A Review: The Reapers are the Angels (updated repost)

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Below, I re-post a review for a book I read some years ago. Though my opinion of the story was mixed, it remains on my shelves and something about the tale must have resonated because I remember it well. Once, vampires were the beloved creatures to terrorise us and seduce us, whether in their seductive forms or by revealing their more parasitic natures as preferred by writers like Stephen King. For the last several years, zombies have become the new vampires in the popularity poles and it’s likely easy to see why. Most horror favourites associate with current events.

Hammer Horror and such notaries like Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing popularised vampires when the sixties liberation and cultural changes were rife. Woman, in particular, had more sexual freedom, which was one attributing factor which helped pave a way for their social independence, and vampires represent not only the stalking horror but, in much the same way many declare dancing to be a vertical expression of a more horizontal performance, vampires have for so long associated with seduction and the thought of living forever, possibly with the one we love.

Zombies have gained popularity during a time where terrorism is rife, and much of the world seems ever more out of control. The popular monsters of the hour are an analogy for the genuine ‘monstrum’ of reality.

In THE REAPERS ARE THE ANGELS by Alden Bell, we’re invited into the story of a fifteen-year-old teenager called Temple and her journey across America, where she encounters other survivors of a post-apocalyptic zombie outbreak. Temple has never known a world any different — the outbreak happened so long ago there are people born after the disaster. The slugs, as she calls them, still inhabit the earth, but the art of existing in a world of zombies is only one small step on the road to survival. Constantly running from responsibility, preferring to be alone, and accountable for and only to herself in a brutal world, Temple stumbles across others who affect her life in myriad ways. Some she struggles to leave and doesn’t always succeed.

I liked this book but didn’t love it even though I wanted to. The Young Adult tone categorised this book for teenagers, but raised even one of my eyebrows at a fifteen-year-old girl having sex. Fine, these things happen, and should zombies ever roam then perhaps we won’t concern ourselves with such things too much, but in a book whose tone seems to fit younger readers, the content seemed a little off-key. Either that or the author and published aimed it at an older or more diverse readership, though the content doesn’t come across that way. Don’t mistake me — if underage sex makes sense and is a necessary part of the story, then I don’t feel a writer should avoid it, and at least it’s well presented and used acceptably, not gratuitously; however, the fact the writer got this by the publishing censors surprised me. Another problem is that some confrontations are predictable, although there were a few unexpected turns.

My main issues with the book, though, involve grammar and style. The story uses an omniscient voice that led it to feel as if I was sitting down being told about Temple’s adventure by someone sitting around a campfire. Unfortunately, it left me somewhat cold, as if the fire wasn’t lit. I can also forgive the use of ‘of’ in place of ‘have’ in speech (as in “I could of left yesterday”) but not in narration. And last, there are no speech marks. Not a single one. The entire book is ‘told’, including all the conversations. I’ll be the first to say it’s nice to find a writer pushing barriers and breaking rules, but I could see no need to avoid the use of speech marks, particularly if this book is YA, which surely calls for the best use of punctuation and grammar. I can only give the book a three, maybe three and a half out of five. It’s not bad — it just rather perplexed me. I can see many will love this story, but for me the style never quite gels.

Despite these faults, as I’ve already stated, it’s a book I remember and haven’t yet given away. Alden Bell appears to have written only one other novel, Exit Kingdom, which I may check out.

Not so Warm Bodies

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The other week I read a post by Isaac Marion. He’s the author of the best-selling WARM BODIES, made into a film. He’s a success. A writer who has ‘made it’ in the book industry, right? With a film (somewhat based) on one of his books, how could he not? Alas, being a writer is rarely that simple.

As I had already discovered, Warm Bodies is now the first in a trilogy. I read the second title, THE BURNING WORLD, this year after discovering its existence. I include my thoughts on both books below, but what I didn’t know until more recently is that the third title, THE LIVING, is burning a hole in Isaac Marion’s hard drive, the author having finished it almost a year ago.

Although the first book was on the NYT bestseller list, book 2 hasn’t done so well, and, unless it does, there may be a no go on the third title. If it comes to that, I can only hope the author will find another publisher or go the route so many writers have to and self-publish (if contracts allow, mind). I won’t go into the pros and cons of that in this blog, but I’m using it to illustrate one of the many reasons ‘why’ authors turn to self-publishing and why the perception that indie is purely amateur hour is false.

Not everything is as elementary as writers or readers would like to believe. This is a perfect example of the struggle writers face, of how ‘every’ book is as good as starting from scratch. Akin to an actor reading for a role, writers audition every time they submit a manuscript, and, if the work doesn’t meet expectations (which does not have to mean it isn’t good), the writer may have to climb a proverbial ladder again even if they’ve notched up a bestseller on any of the rungs close to the top.

That’s the truth, a simple, not-so-pretty fact about publishing. Unless the writer is a huge, well-known, consistently best-selling name (brand) often seen in the top 10, their next title will not automatically get snapped up. Even if under contract ‘to be published’ it may get pushed back or off a publisher’s list and, depending on the contract clauses, end up in limbo with the writer in purgatory. And I’ve known more than one writer to be in this position.

One thing I have to add is that I hadn’t heard a thing about the release of the second book or that one existed. This leads into one of the biggest battles writers deal with every day — the need for marketing, something too often left to writers in the present climate. Most publishers do not have huge marketing budgets; many have none. Writers have even less, but the expectation falls on them to get the word out. I only came across the second title because the question, ‘I wonder whether Isaac has written anything else?’ popped into my head.

As for those books: I first read Warm Bodies about 4 years ago. With my hands on the novella prequel and the novel sequel, I dipped in again. First, a word on the film of the book. It’s not bad, but it uses the more humorous parts to convey the author’s much more visceral idea in a too-light way. When I first saw trailers, I imagined the book to be a Young Adult ‘popcorn’ story, a jokey hoot. Do yourself a favour; if you’ve seen the film, regardless of whether you liked it, DO read the book. It’s a decidedly original experience.

With the characters of ‘R’ and Julie, the setting is a modern twist on Romeo and Juliet set in a dystopian future where zombies outnumber the living. Even many of the survivors seem dead inside, imprisoned as they are behind their safety barriers. Like many zombie books, this is a story that questions and reflects society, but skillfully. An unexpected read the first time around, and the second read was no less pleasurable. The book contains threads of something dark and disturbing, yet enlightening, will speak to some people, though not all; I hope it speaks to many. This is not a gory horror novel, not a teen rom-com spoof. Hidden within its pages, the tale celebrates life in all its messiness. The story is a metaphor for so many things, the state of the world, the meaning of life, civilisation out of control. It imparts the essence of almost every zombie story and life itself. It’s a book about living.

Where Warm Bodies stopped, the Burning World continues, and the story seems to speak on a wider basis, reflecting society, the way we view authority and vice versa, the way countries are run. Maybe because Warm Bodies felt like a complete read, I didn’t enjoy this as much, not that I disliked it. It’s definitely a worthwhile read, earns maybe one star fewer than the full score of the first title. I’ll be interested to see where the author is going with this series. Warm Bodies is a book about living. The Burning World reflects more on ‘how we live’, on the quirks of society and how it’s governed.

If you read Warm Bodies and are interested in following further chapters in R’s world then it’ll be worthwhile to help Isaac out by buying The Burning World (and no, I do not know the author before anyone asks, but I loved the first book, enjoyed the second, and long for the third).

Reads of 2017 and Happy New 2018

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Welcome to 2018! I usually end the year with a list of a few titles so, although I lost much of the start of the year’s reading time with a move (more on that below), I’ll begin with a selection of the books I pored over mostly through a combination of my sheer stubborn will and desperation when viewing my to-be-read mountain.

I’m never certain how I feel about Patrick Gale’s work simply from preference. His works read, to me, as though I’ve dipped into someone’s life and forced to step out again. This is not a fault by any means — many such works have received critical acclaim, and the plotting of this has to be admired. In Notes from an Exhibition, I loved the non-linear sequence of the storytelling but found myself irritated with many of the characters. Again, this is not a negative — fully fledged characters can be as frustrating as people may be in reality. The story is ultimately one that’s a painful glance at mental illness. Another book that made it more apparent to me why I’m never sure whether I love or simply appreciate Gale’s work was A Perfectly Good Man. It is a matter of style vs content. There’s too much telling rather than showing, but I love the way the author can jump back and forth with the timeline without losing the reader, and I enjoyed the overall plot of this one.

I rarely speak of a book and a film in the same paragraph, but for The Girl with all the Gifts, by M.R.Carey I advise reading the book, forget the film. If you’ve seen the film, read the book. This is your zombie survival story with a backdrop of intelligent science and equally intelligent twists. The film lacks the depth of character development and interaction of the book, coming across as a made-for-TV movie, paring the story down to stripped bones. The writing, though aimed more at a young adult audience, is worth consideration for any zombie fan.

His Bloody Project, by Graeme Macrae Burnet, is the fictional ‘factual’ telling of the ‘bloody’ deals of one Roderick Macrae. There’s little plot to this book. There’s a crime, the perpetrator’s account, a court case, and a verdict. What makes this book stand out is the readability and even enjoyment of the story’s working. The research and tone make one feel as though the reader has taken a step back in time, paying witness to the events on which a young man’s life ‘hangs’ (forgive the pun). The book is persuasive and although leaves some uncertain it’s noteworthy to mention that the author made this reader at least feel more sorry for the criminal than the victims.

The Box, by Jack Ketchum, is a short story that appears to engender a love or loathe response. I would have made it more visceral, but I still liked it, being the type of thing I would write. Either you are someone for whom the story cannot be complete without the revelation of what is in the box, or you are someone whose imagination can take flights of fancy.

If you’re looking for an extraordinary suspenseful passionate adventure, consider Project Prometheus 1: In Her Name, by Esther Mitchell. It’s a shame some readers of suspense may shy from the romantic elements, and some readers of romance may hesitate to delve into a world so richly layered as this, but what action-packed blockbuster doesn’t contain components of both? The romance is far from saccharine and the action far from puerile. The reading experience was much like watching a feature film play out, and I equate the ‘experience’ of reading this in that format — like watching a television series. Though not the type of material I would routinely read, the writer’s command of world building, story-layering, knowledge, and use of myth and fact, means I’ll be reading the rest of this series, though the first can be read as a standalone book.

The Man Who Disappeared, by Clare Morrall, was a book I found difficult to rate. My feelings fluctuated so much. Oddly, it’s written in a tense seldom used, but I had no problem with that or the writing itself. I had some issues with the characters and their choices, but more than that, I had issues with what the characters took offence at and what they did not. The problem is we all have our own experiences and beliefs, and only through research can a writer put over an opinion that may not be theirs. And I was judging the character’s reactions by how I would react and how I would feel, so I don’t wish to mark the book down. I’m not a reader who believes a writer is wrong just because I think some points of the story should have gone a different way. I found this a decent read, but not a keeper.

Off Season, by Jack Ketchum, I rate as a middle of the road read because it’s an excellent read of its type, but I prefer my horror books a little deeper and not completely action-based. I found this more like watching a gory horror film than being immersed in a book. If it’s the type of action-based brutal horror story someone likes, it’ll be excellent for them, so it’s one for individual judgement. Most interesting were the author’s notes at the end of how this book was first received and severely cut by the publisher, even to where the author didn’t get to keep the end he wanted. On that note, I applaud the republication of the author’s original intention… and much prefer the author’s conclusion. Once upon a time, the graphic nature of the book would have been seen as too extreme, but to some will seem mild now. I can’t say it’s a book I enjoyed because of the content. Neither did I dislike it, nor was it instantly forgettable, but it’s not a book I’ll be keeping. This is the first time I’ve read Jack Ketchum, though I’m aware his work has a wonderful reputation. I can’t say from this one book whether he’s an author for me.

In contrast, Meat, by Joseph D’Lacey, is a questioning form of horror. I won’t linger on the minor fact that I felt the writing could have done with a slight tidy, or that the formatting on the copy I read was less than perfect. That and the plot reservations this ultimately left me with means I couldn’t give the book a perfect rating. However, I can’t see how the author could have written a different outcome. This is, without doubt, a dark dystopia, one that’s as gruesome as it is possible to imagine. No genuine surprises but richly developed into a solid conceptual future designed by accident or intent to make the reader question their ethics. I’d be happy to read more by this author.

The Wolves of London, Obsidian Heart 1, by Mark Morris, isn’t what I would strictly call a horror novel. It’s one of those instances where genres blend to mesmerising effect including touches of urban fantasy and even steampunk and, yes, horror, because, some of the strange world the protagonist, Alex Locke, stumbles into is as horrific as it is fantastical and magical. This book won’t please every reader, but it will entertain many who appreciate the use of a wild imagination, being slowly drawn into a stranger than average universe, who are prepared to suspend disbelief and give credence to all possibilities. I like the unhurried progress, the twists and turns, and quirks of the story. The peculiar surprises. Towards the end, the book feels a little disconnected and jerky, but that’s owing to plot points being established for the arc of the series. This book will leave the reader with more questions at the end than at the start. Who are the Wolves of London? What is the Obsidian Heart and what powers does it hold? Why has Alex been chosen, and why does it seem as if he’s part of some design constructed by unknown antagonists, possibly his growing list of enemies? Whether it’s a perfect set-up, I won’t be able to say until I read the whole trilogy. Neither can I say whether I will love the entire series once I finish, but I know, having read this, I have to discover how the story concludes.

I finished the year in November by reading 11.22.63, Stephen King. First, for a UK audience, the title likely made a few people blink if they are unaware that the US writes dates differently to the UK. Here, we write the date chronologically: day, month, year. This being a pivotal date in US history, I’m not criticising this, but I could understand if, to some readers, it didn’t automatically click that the numbered title is a date. Did I enjoy the book? Yes. Did it have as much to do with Kennedy’s death as I thought it would? No. This is one of King’s well-known ‘journeys’ (he has stated that some books are to be enjoyed for the journey rather than the destination), and those who are familiar with his congenial tone will understand that this is a book that doesn’t have as much to do with the basic idea as the circumstances that stem from one man’s decision-making. It makes for a readable story and pleasant experience. But if you’re looking for an in-depth story on conspiracy theories, don’t look here.

My book of my 2017 reads, is The Shadow of the Wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. I won’t rehash the plot, as that can be worked out from the blurb, so I will simply say I loved this book. Real sentences, proper words, first person which I rarely like and third, but the prose flowed too smoothly for me to notice, the writing entirely pleasant. Though I could predict some plot points, the greatest strength of this novel is it’s a mystery woven like a tapestry. Overall, the book has the feel of a classic that will stand the test of time. I was smitten. This one reminded me of why I love books.

On a personal note, 2017… the year that began with an ongoing upheaval which resulted in our moving, not to our favourite place, but to a suitable compromise, a move that happened far sooner than we ever expected. Not saying that move was without problems — what move ever is? — but we got through it. It’s the year in which my other half not only started a new job, he found a position he’s enjoying, is respected, and I’ve noticed he is a far happier person. We have gained a bigger house this year and will enjoy it until we downsize. It’s a year in which we settled in the countryside, after a traumatic 4 years that seemed to push us here. We decorated the interior and landscaped the garden.

It’s the year I intended to return to writing for one of my publishers only sadly to learn they were closing, but it’s also the year in which I wrote my first Lethbridge-Stewart novel, due out shortly. A year in which I met most of the few goals I set (being realistic with the move etc), and a year I’m finishing ready to face the list of things I hope to do in 2018. It’s the year we finished by going on a cruise and visiting some Christmas markets and then enjoying our new home and seeing our best friends. It’s a year we’re ending in peace and with a good deal of gratitude.

Happy New Year to all. Thanks to everyone who are loyal friends, and those who’ve supported me even if it’s from the sidelines. Wishing you happiness and peace… and Happy Reading!

Of Fairy Tales and Lost Things

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In keeping with the season, I thought I’d rehash (and tweak) an old review of The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly. No doubt better known for his crime novels, this may suggest a peculiar departure for the writer, but if so, one he more than adequately explains in the last quarter of the book. This he dedicates to a discussion of the underlying themes and stories that have influenced him during his life, including their origins and a delightful reintroduction to, and including, a few of these stories themselves. He incorporates these into the book expertly and chooses a style that is reminiscent of the rhyme and rhythm of those fairy tales that, for most of us, were the first introduction to story-telling.

In so doing, he initially confused me, not because I didn’t understand his intention, but because, as a writer, I couldn’t see the market from a publisher’s point of view. Clearly I enjoyed it and I could envision many adults doing likewise, yet initially, I could see this being a book many publishers often reject as seeing ‘no market for this type of thing’. This is not a book for children, although a book that children of a particular age could read and doubtless gain from the experience. I agree with the author that an adult will probably read this in a different light than that of a child. This makes The Book of Lost Things one of those novels that may need re-reading at a different stage in one’s life, possibly for the young adult and then as a mature one. It pleasantly surprised me to come across such a book for an audience of many ages, because of the writing ‘rule’ that dictates if the lead in a book is a child, then it’s a children’s book.

This is most definitely a book for adults to enjoy, not solely because of the bloodthirsty content. It’s amazing how many of us forget how dark, foreboding, and just plain violent those old fairy tales that we grew up with and loved so well indeed were. I didn’t need the book’s added sojourn through the world of fairy tales to know that in many versions of Sleeping Beauty she awakens while giving birth, or the wicked queen in Snow White is made to wear red-hot iron ‘slippers’ to dance in until she dies, just as I know that in Cinderella birds flew down to pluck out her stepsisters’ eyes. Fairy tales have always held great interest for me and have influenced my work. Indeed, my twisted semi-erotic story, Rose Light, is a retelling of Cinderella. Admittedly, I had to heighten sexual content to satisfy the publisher who released it under a romance banner, but it’s a story that I intend to one day restore to its original form for a darker market. So nothing in the content of Connolly’s book surprised me. Nevertheless, I was amazed to find a book published that kept to the traditions of these stories and celebrating their content, of change, of choice, of triumphant, if often in a gruesome way.

Ultimately, the strongest depth and substance to the book is grief, and loss, and how it changes us, becomes a part of who we are and, like stories, influences our lives. Overall, because these are a ‘fairy tales’, they resonate in the way good stories should.