For those of you who drop in from time to time (or every day, for that matter) in order to be entertained by the mixture of factual, and not-so-factual, tall tales that I spill forth, this particular entry is actual a book review. So be forewarned. I have always enjoyed stories from the darkside (pardon the pun; if you don't get the pun, you're not missing anything you should regret), or horror stories if you prefer. The horror genre covers a rather large range of literature (Yes, I said literature. If you have a problem with that, I'm glad I don't know you. So, imagine me sticking my tongue out at you right now). Some stories move swiftly along, and depend more on action, and some shock value. Others build slowly, and create atmosphere, as well as of course, tension and emotion. I enjoy all kinds as long they are original, and well written. And I highly enjoyed the combination of stories put forth by the authors that Brian James Freeman collected for Cemetery Dance's 10th volume in their Signature Series, Dueling Minds.
The concept behind the anthology was getting a group of writers to each produce a story based on the same piece of artwork, which in this case was a painting by Alan M. Clark, as seen on the cover of the advance reading copy above. The authors themselves are Brian Keene, Gary A. Braunbeck, Tom Piccirilli, Tim Lebbon, Jenny Orosel, and Gerard Houarner. And all the stories are as unique as their authors. I am not going to go into a breakdown of each story, as I would be afraid of giving away too much. But Brian Keene's "Purple Reign" is fast paced, and while not a direct part of his "rising dead universe", could be considered as being not very distant. I would love to see some form of follow-up or expansion, but then, like many others, I do enjoy his work. Gary Braunbeck, with "Bargain", adds another wonderfully dark and atmospheric story to his already considerable collection of exceptional tales connected to Cedar Hills, a place he has made famous, as well as infamous. Tom Piccirilli's "Between the Dark and the Daylight" incorporates a dark horror tale with the type of noir writing that he is known so well for, and with a nice little knife twist. And what can I say about Tim Lebbon...dark, and very strange. "Falling Off The World" lives up to what I would expect from him. And that, is saying something, to quote Dumbledore. Amongst all these male writers, Jenny Orofel adds just the right touch. Although you wouldn't know she was a woman just by the writing alone, her story, I think, really helps round out this anthology. A Love triangle? or is it? And finally, there's "The Breath of Bygone Spirits" by Gerard Houarner. A wonderful ghost story that is oh, so much more. This was the perfect story to end on, as far as I'm concerned. Don't argue with me. You'll lose.
I loved this book. Unfortunately, it is sold out by the publisher, so if you want a copy, you have to go to the secondary market.
Brian Freeman has done a wonderful job in putting this anthology together, and deserves a lot of credit for gathering these talented writers between these covers. He is an exceedingly talented author himself, and I highly recommend his novels, The Painted Darkness, and Blue November Storms. Although I haven't read it, yet, I also look forward to reading his other novel, Black Fire.
So, from time to time, whether requested or not, I will drop in a book review. I hope some of you find these of some small value, or at least, slightly interesting.
Anyroad, whatever you get to doing, enjoy yourselves. And try to stay out of trouble.
Suppose there are gaps in reality, as we know it. Kind of like blank spots, or holes, if you will. Now, suppose that these blank spots have millions of tiny little particles moving around at incredible speeds. Similar to the idea put forward by the author who wrote the book "The Universe From Nothing" (I think that's the correct title). So let's (abbreviation for: let us) take it to the next step, and let's theorize that all these crazy little particles that we can't see, moving at incredible speeds in these gaps in our everyday reality, which we occasionally might barely notice, if at all, in our peripheral vision, have the ability to create additional matter that then becomes added to our reality as if it's been there all along. A bit mind-boggling, don't you think?
I never really thought too much about it until recently. Oh, hell, I never thought about it until recently. I mean, I have had those moments of feeling like I'm not quite picking up on something that's happening around me. Or that feeling that someone, or something, wasn't there a minute ago. But I always put it down to momentary inattentiveness, or a little touch of paranoia.
Well, to understate the case, I had quite shock a couple of days ago. It was the kind of hot, humid day that suggests you're really in the middle of a tropical jungle, instead of southern New England. It was late afternoon, and I was trying to get to the Post Office before it closed. I was stuck at a red light. The sun was shining strongly, not a cloud in the sky. I happened to look over at the car next to me, and noticed it appeared to be a new Subaru, similar to my sister's, even down to the same dark color. As I watched, the tinted passenger side window glided slowly down, and I found myself staring at what appeared to be, me. Even the round reflective sunglasses looked exactly like mine. He looked exactly like me, but he gave off a really bad vibe. It's very difficult to describe how I felt. The best I can do is to say, a hole opened in the world around me, and I could feel a strongly evil presence. I felt threatened just by his looking at me. As he stared back at me, he removed the sunglasses in a slow deliberate manner. Having looked into my eyes in the mirror every day, I could see that his eyes were my eyes. But then again, they weren't. There was something wrong with them, but on the inside. Looking into them, I could see he was amused, but not in what I would say was a nice way. Not in way that meant well towards me. I felt like all the blood in my body had turned to ice. Then, as I still stared, this apparition casually put the sunglasses back on, and continued to watch me, as the passenger window went back up blocking my view. The light had changed, and the other car pulled away. I sat there for at least a good minute while the vehicles behind me were beeping their horns, but I really wasn't paying attention. I was completely stunned. My brain had ceased operating. And I still felt so cold, I had to turn the air conditioning in the car off.
Of course, now that it's over, my mind is working overtime in an attempt to deny that the entire incident could have happened at all. And I can't blame it. My world seems to have come to an end. I just wish I had an inkling as to what world I'm actually in, now...
Now, in the usual roles between siblings, the big brother (the title refers to age, of course, not size, but size usually coincides as well) looks out for, and takes care of, the younger sister. It is the proper order of things, so to speak. However, in my particular situation, it seems my little (younger would be a better description since neither of us are of a large size) sister is actually my big brother. Not in the sense of always watching everything I do (spying on me), as in George Orwell's novel, 1984. No. More in the sense of being always ready to lend aid, in any way that it may be needed, whenever it's needed.
Yep, I would have to say that my little sister is, and has been, a better big brother to me than I ever was to her. There are times I feel guilty about this apparent role reversal. But our circumstances, mostly mine, have shaped this aspect of our relationship. I am a lucky son-of-a-gun, as my Uncle Louie used to say. I probably wouldn't be here at all if it wasn't for the support I receive from family and friends. As well as the companionship of my feathered friends, one now dead, and one alive and currently yelling (or, kicking and screaming, if you prefer). And of course, Albert. My untamed, but mostly friendly (at least to me), black bear. Don't tell anyone though. I believe it's most likely illegal to have a bear sleeping under your bed in the state of Connecticut.
There is more to any life beyond what it appears to be. And if you don't believe me, better make a habit of keeping a firm grip on your hat.
There are author's I love, and have been reading (their stories & novels) for what seems to me to be a very long time. In my mind, they had become gods of the written word. I had done what all, well at least most, children do with their parents, set them on a much higher plane than myself. So, when I first met some of my favorite writers, I was quite disappointed, to say the least. They turned out to be only human, with warts and everything. It took me awhile, but I finally was able to disassociate the writer I would meet, talk to, touch, and could like, or dislike, from the work they actually did. I learned that making a connection with a writer's stories, no matter how great a connection it might be, did not mean I would also have a great appreciation for the person doing the writing. But the important lesson, that no matter how I felt about the writer I would meet in person, it did not, and should not, lessen my appreciation for what they had written. I believe that a good story, be it short or a novel, is more than the person who created it.
Anyway (I still prefer anyroad), today I broke down & had my favorite online bookstore, Camelot Books, set aside a collection of stories by an author I haven't read in a long time. I will not mention his name. He is quite popular among certain circles, gets great reviews, and is highly unusual. My problem was, that while he was doing a book tour quite a few years ago in the US, I heard him do a reading in Boston. I have heard a number of authors read their own work, and some are better than others. Some are truly wonderful. This particular author was not one of those. In fact, I don't really know how to describe the effect his voice had on me. Imagine sitting down to listen to a magnificent piece of music, which is about to be performed live for you. And then someone runs their finger nails down a blackboard in front of a microphone. All I can say, is I haven't been able to read anything by him since. Mainly because I would kept hearing his voice, and would not be able to continue reading. Well, I think I'm ready to give him another try. But I'm not rushing it.
It's amazing how quickly it seems we can forget some of our most pleasant experiences, and yet, the truly awful ones take forever to fade away. But I will not stop going to author readings. And I want to stress that, that particular author, who should not read out loud where people can hear him, is truly a wonderful writer. Go figure. Anyroad, I have never heard anyone else reading their work, or anyone else's, who had the ability to make me flee the room while screaming loudly. Thank God.
One man's/woman's reality is another man's/woman's La La Land. What reality is to anyone depends on how he/she perceives the world around them. And so, one human's horrifying world view, could look like an afternoon at an amusement park to someone else. Or, put another way, one person's idea of heaven, could be another person's idea of hell. And vice versa.
The play, No Exit, by the French author whose name is escaping me at the moment, Sartre, maybe? Something like that. Anyhow, the play put forth the premise that people are hell. And sometimes, I believe they are. Certain people, anyway. But for me, more often than not, they are the part of my reality that makes life bearable.
When I was a boy, my father would take me with him to exciting places, like a garage while his car would be worked on, shopping for tools at sears, and other (for me) cold, empty, and lonely corners of the world that I found soul-numbing. So, at an early age I got a good look at how ugly and lonely the world could be if there was no strong, or any at all for that matter, emotional connection to the "real" around us. I don't blame my father for my feeling of insignificance, emptiness, and, yes, horror at seeing what I thought was the world of men that I would have to live in. He couldn't help who he was. If there was anyone who was not cut-out to be a father, it was he. But to his benefit, he did introduce me to fishing. And although I don't fish anymore, it was something I truly enjoyed all the way into college.
But long before then (college that is), I discovered the liberation of the imagination through reading science fiction, fantasy, horror, noir, etc., etc. Speculative fiction. I began reading everthing I could get my hands on at a young age. Even today, I can never have enough time to read. I dream of living in a house on the edge of a forest, by a lake, with my books (I do have quite a few), and all the time in the world to read. And that is my idea of heaven.
Anyroad, I just finshed a collection of stories by an Author I recently met, and heard do a reading, Paul G. Tremblay. The collection is titled, Compositions For The Young And Old. I cannot praise it enough. I believe that art, be it literature, paintings, movies, etc., should expand and/or change one's view of the world. Or, if you like, change one's perception of the world. And there is nothing wrong with just being thoroughly entertained. For me, all the stories in this collection do all of that. There wasn't one I didn't like.This would not be a book for the English learner, I don't think. It isn't that easy a read. And, some of the stories require a strong stomach, or at least not a queasy one. I saw it classified as science fiction, but I would not do so. These stories have elements of more than a a few genres, and are mostly dark, even when I find them warm, and human, they still show the dark side of human nature, and of life. But then, I've been told I do have an affinity for the unusual.
I won't go into all the stories, as wonderful as I think they all are. I will mention just one, The Jar. It has to do with the addictive, scary of course, and exciting "benefits" of fear. And, it is at it's core, about how the characters' (a grandmother and grand daughter) perception, and enjoyment of being scared, changes as they age. It's a beautiful story. As many in the collection are.
Anyway (anyhow, anyroad), Eddie's understanding of reality is about to intrude on mine. He's going to need some attention. Eddie's idea of heaven is having fresh food and water on a regular basis, getting head-rubs whenever he wants them, having me on the couch so he can sleep on my running shoe for at least an hour or so a day, and having lots of commercials on television with someone whistling in the background (you would be amazed at how many there are now), so he can yell his little lungs out.
If this is your first experience with this blog, Eddie is a 16 1/2 year old cockatiel (small parrot).
And so. Adieu for now.
I am not always sure what world I have woken up in, until some bureaucrat makes life easier for him/herself by making my life more difficult. Now granted, here in the US, usually if you are denied something because of improper documentation, you don't normally get sent to prison, or get shot. At least if you're a citizen. Even if you're not, normally the worst that might happen is you're deported. In some countries, the consequences of not providing, or being able to provide, all the paperwork requested, can be, well, severe.
But luckily I'm in the good ol' US of A. So the worst that happens, is some damn clerk can make someone else's life a temporary hell, forcing them to run around trying to get all the right paperwork, so they can continue to drive a car, get food stamps to feed their kids, get a prescription medication, start a new job, move into a house/apartment, or to get the proper medical care. As they say on South Park every time Kenny gets killed, "Bastards!"
All these little clerks and demigods better be careful. When Cthulhu returns to this world, things are really going to change. Just ask Lovecraft (H. P. Lovecraft: famous horror writer, now dead).
Sorry. I have nothing to say. Well...not nothing. But nothing earth shattering. Water is still wet. The sky is still blue (when not cloudy). It is still better to love than to hate. (Although a lot of people don't really seem to be able to appreciate that last one.) Republican politicians still seem believe that lying to, and cheating the American people is the way to win elections, smear those they consider enemies, and gain the power they crave. And the bears (according to Albert), still want humans to get the hell off the planet. Or at least, move out into the countryside so they can live in our houses.
Most of us seem to be stumbling through our days, only seeing what is right in front of us. Too many people don't want to know what's going on. And I can understand that, somewhat. Most of us do feel a bit powerless to change things, and it is easier to go along with what is, than to fight for what isn't. But for all those who prefer safety and ignorance, I would point out that their lives are boring, and in many cases, ultimately pointless. I think raising a ruckus can, at least sometimes, be a damn fine thing. I don't advocate violence, you understand. But when something's wrong, I think one should make some noise.
And I do have to admit that there are times I wish I were a someone like a Batman, a dark super hero, who not only went after the usual criminals, but those evil-doers who use the system to their advantage to attempt (and sometimes succeed) grabbing power for their own greedy and selfish purposes.
For not having anything to say, I guess that's enough for the moment. Remember, if you just look at what's right in front of you, you're missing all the realities(yep, plural; life exists on many levels) of life that are happening all around you, all the time. Later, Dudes and Dudettes...stay out of trouble. Unless, of course, trouble is called for...
