A Feast Of Stevens.

One Feast Of Steven long ago The Doctor broke the fourth wall and spoke out from the flickering black and white box in the corner of the room, to wish all his beloved viewers a seasonal best. I am in no way High Church enough to try breaking the fourth wall from a blog but I can wish anyone reading this a very happy Christmas and if its not your first time let me thank you personally for putting up with my boobie-babble.I do hope what you read might have tempted you to try reading a particular book yourself, without you I would just be the ghost of an algorithm.

The Beggar's Opera.

Had no idea what this was. Did not even know I had it. Came across it tucked into a sleeve behind another disc, among some other stuff a chum Mark had given me some time ago. Since there was no information notes I was not sure what it was all about. It being a l;ate night tidy up I decided to stick it in the player, see what came up. And I was spellbound, transfixed by the beautiful sounds coming from my speakers, Sweet voices, like spring lambs gambling fluttered about the room, transforming a late night in Belfast to an Opera house.The story and escpecially the staging had many similarities with Don Quixote. A man inn a desperate situation, in a dungeon facing a grim fate finds himself singing for his supper, which is to say his life. A highway man, a dashing rogue, is to be hung at Tyburn but a beggar who has written an opera about his life rewrites his destiny, possibly. It was the surprise of finding such a beautiful thing that kept me from my mattress. As an older man I find I spend alot of my spare thinking time hoping to stumble across resources in art, in music, in cinema, in books that feel as exciting as my discovery of the Sex Pistols felt way back in the day. Something, anything which embodies a type of cultural subversion, a punk spirit, and The Beggar's Opera had it. What a find. What a joy. It really was Like discovering a field of spring lambs dancing and leaping in the sun for the very joy off it.

Brideshead Revisited.

The Mighty Waugh (And The Story Of The Booze."(Thats agreat eighties song play on words,by the way.) Had not read any Evelyn Waugh up until now. Perhaps I have reached the right stage in my life that will allow me to appreciate the more subtle qualities of Brideshead. The prose is desperately beautiful, theres a magical sadness to what he desribes at times. Whether that be his descriptions of locations upon which his players strut, or the percieved inner workings of those characters. It is painfully simple at times but mostly acts like one of those thick brushes used by Chinese caligraphers. Watery washes that swing between oblique black and serated edging. I was drawn to the book by a memory of the early eighties television adaption, which I remember watching at the time, mostly entranced by the slow disintegration of poor Sabastianne. It is a rightly treasured piece of television and has acted as a template for so many attempts to adapt tiger tank novels. It was infinetly more successful than others, I now realise, to hold true to the source material. I know that Evelyn Waugh converted to Catholocism and that this act sent shock waves through the zeitgeist of his times. As one raised in that faith I feel the presence of a very Catholic iteration of the Christian Deity lurking round every decision in the book. Each of the characters, in their own way, live with their own very personal sins. Gods presence is felt throughout the book, unseen, a witness to all if not a participant. I am not sure when in Evelyn Waugh's personal timeline his writing of the book took place. Yet his understanding of many Catholics inner turmoil, our contradictory views on forgiveness and even its possibility, is all there. To begin with I saw Sabastianne's conflict with who he was born to be and who he actually was , was the most easily identifiable of all the characters but by far, for me, was Julia's and her story, the may twists and turns, the ups and downs and her beautiafic understanding of self imposed suffering. Its complex and easy to miss. She rambles so at times, but the truth is a painful journey into the lesser travelled roads of the human heart. As though her idea of a Christmas card would be an Hieronymous Bosch triptych, not sent ironically. For The Devil was at God's elbow when he made man. I have known a few Sabastiennes in my time. People write them off as dipsoes, but they are so much more than that and deserve more. People might look at a fig like Sabastianne and diagnose a weakness of character but thats too simple. He was far kinder, in his own ways, than others were to him. His was a heavy cross to bear, a great big piece of Catholic wood. I think, in the end, Cordelia understood her brother best. Her love for him made her description of the state she found him in truly awe inspiring. That she could look at this wreck of a fallen aristocrat and see an angel, albeit a very human one. They are every where if you could only see.

The Chaos Box.

This is the second , for me, in a series of Doctor Who novels in which The Doctor and friends meet up with real life historical figures, in these instances people who for one reason or another are considered Iconic. In this novella The Doctor deliberately travels back in time to meet his latest favourite writer; Shirley Jackson. In the past his favourite writer has been Charles Dickens, William Shakespeare and HG Wells, meetings during which "things kick off." He travels, with Ruby Sunday, Syracuse University 1937 to meet this much admired American writer, in the years befor she became the Shirley Jackson the wider world would think it knew. Way before she had accomplished anything which contribute to her being regarded an "Icon." Its a strange little novella, more remenescent of Jodie Whitaker's era than Ncutti Gatwa's, as when I read Kalynn Bayron's it fitted that iterations tone more closely. Also nowhere feels more alien a location for The Doctor's travels than America. Sublety goes out the window and stories are told in broad strokes, although The Chaos Box does feel more substantial than that. I could not help thinking that it might have been a more challenging notion to have this iteration of The Doctor team up with HP Lovecraft. Given Lovecrafts unsettling notions on race.To show that The Doctor was capable of a form of graciousness, a forgiving and understanding that most people seem incapable off.Imagine how Lovecraft would have reacted to this brilliant man from beyond the stars who turns all his daft notions on race on their heads. For all his brilliance Lovecraft was a very damaged man who might have responded positively to a mind and an open nature that he had never experienced in his life. But thats a novel in another reality... Its Shirley Jackson in this book and she has surely (No pun intended) earned her place on a list of icons.

Mr Teddy Dog And The Tapestry Of Destiny.

Look at the lovely montage one of Teddy Dog's fans made for him. Some of the fantastic cosplay efforts designed by his wardrobe master and chief Martin.A Lady named Sonja from Bangor (County Down not Maine-Stephen King Fans.) made it to celebrate the many times Teddy and Martin made complete strangers smile. I thought it was just fantastic.

The Chimes Of Midnight.

What a jolly Christmas feast.... Actually, despite some fantasic laugh out loud moents in Robert Shearman's novel adaption of his own script for this classic Big Finish production, it really is a pretty bleak affair. In fact, it remains the only Doctor Who adventure I can think off in which The Doctorwants to scarper in The Tardis, so dark is the situation him and Charley find themselves in.He really shocks charley when he suggests this possible course of action as she has never seen or heard him retreat from a desperate situation. This serves to highten the sense of jeopardy no end. Robert Shearman's novel is rife with dark humour but also has a few disturbing twist and turns, dipping in directions Doctor Who normally skirts by. He holds it all together though and it is not hard to see why this story is so higly regarded among the fans. There are familiar rifts which occur throughout but these have more to do with mannered nineteen twenties crime stories, Agatha Christie in particular.The Chimes Of Midnight is not so much a base-under siege trope as a spooky sel-contained snow globe of a mystery.It mostly takes place in one location, the servant quarters beneath a big house, its nearly all Downstairs and no Upstairs. There is the kitchen, pantry, butlers room and not much else. An Underworld of sorts, with no innocents and some troubled spirits. The Doctor does his best to help, off course. Its bleak, surreal and compelling. Christmas will feel even more Christmassey thanks to it, for this reader anyway.It did, off course, prompt a relisten to the original audio adventure and it does indeed still stand up well. The audio and sound production by the original team contributes to this in no small way. An adventure the listener experiences through the merits of some impressive sound engineering, its quite an achievement but Big Finish are masters at this sort of thing, having spent years refining their talents. This story was also released as a very impressive vinyl boxed set. The Chimes Of Midnightr is an outstanding Doctor Who production, in any medium.

1,001 Nights.

Sutekh's dust of death has swept across the universe, turning everything it touches to nothing. On a far distant planet, on a far distant plain, The Doctor and Ruby find themselves being told stories of days now passed, of things which may or may not have been.The sub title of this book is "Folk Tales Rescued From Around The Whoniverse", and that is exactly what you get when you find yourself between its covers. The stories are written by two Doctor Who writers who know their stuff and who can tell a hawk from a hand saw, on a good day, so to speak. thats Steve Cole and Paul Magrs, who also supplies some wistful and haunting illustrations for this lovely collection, which plays light with some very dark moments. Damn that Paul Magrs, with his words he has moved me and now i discover he can do similar with artwork as well. This is a superior effort, when it comes to what you can do with the book format in its efforts to extend what we saw on television. I fact, this continuation of last seasons cliff hanger is a very welcome addition to a story that enough people did not see( Ugh, my grammar is shocking at times, that Yoda-speak.). Hope it might inspire people to go back and give that season another go. The goes for the older stuff , which may well bewilder fans of the most recent eras. But you know what, dont shy away, jump right in, the water, and the tides of time and space, are just lovely. Paul Magrs once wrote an audio story about Bessie, the Doctor's beloved old roadster and it was one of the most bitter sweetest original Who spin-offs I have listened too. Imagine hearing Chittie-Chittie-Bang-Bang tell its own tale.There are moments in this book which lean into such sentiment and makes me suspect he is an old sweetie himself. If so, more power to him. The world needs more like him. Now more than ever.

England's Dreaming.

I have read this book before and there is every chance I might read it again at some point in whatever life I have left in me. The version I read before did not have the updated material, including a new foreward and some stuff related to the mid nineties Sex Pistols reunion. As always the Pistols remain the maypole around which this book giddily dances. Yet, in this particular reading it is the mirror held up to the crumbling culture of the nineteen seventies which really gripped me. Everything in history is by necessity of its time and the birth of punk rock is no different. Its womb was a disintegrating empire, its midwife societal ennui. What else was to be done at such a time? The punk sensibility, then and possibly remains, the notion of takingf a sledgehammer to everything which has gone before, sadly this includes the good with the bad. The tent was collapsing and everything had to go, be that the music scene, how people dressed and the social and political paths one choose to walk down. Anarchy in the UK indeed. Or was it.... Dear lord, I felt so old looking at the photographs in this book. The Pistols themselves look like little more than children to my ancient old eyes.A bunch of almost Dickensian waifs desperately trying to break out of a world that saw no worth in them.They were standing in the gutter laughing at the stars. These were days of strange alchemy, when weird aliances were formed, creative collisions and explosions that were to impact upon the shared cultural zeitgeist in the most alarming and entertaining ways. Jon Savage charts so much off it in what feels like authentic eye witness accounts, as one who was there. What a mad old time. What an interesting read.The first time, the second time and most probably before I shuffle off this mortal coil, a possible third.Its the only form of time travel that actually seems to work.

Kill-Devil And Water.

Well, Andrew Pepper has done it again. I read his first Captain Pyke book; The Last Days Of Newgate and was thoroughly rinsed dry by the time I had survived its gritty pre-Victorian Noir qualities and I enjoyed this one too. They are such compulsive page turners, filled with authentic feeling characters and horrors of another age. Although all the evils his characters flail against persist to plague us. His stories are a reminder that no matter how progressive we believe ourselves to be they are few new sins under the sun. Queen Victoria has only been on the throne for three years by the time the events of this book take place. It feels too early to be calling this The Victorian Age, but what do I know.Captain Pyke is well down on his luck, in debtor's prison to begin with but soon released in order to solve the murder of a young mullatto woman. He once more finds himself plunged into a brutal horror-scape full of the most despicable characters. But Pyke is more than a match for the fiends who cross his path. Sometimes exhibiting violent tendancies that would mark him as undesirable against the two legged monsters he often finds himself in the hands off or on the trail off. For all that he also possesses an overwhelming sense of morality, one that causes him to slide along a razor's edge in the dity underbelly of London. Others may feel that life is cheap but he does not. No matter who's life that may be. Sadly, for me that is, I missed the middle book in Andrew Pepper's series. I did not realise that until I started reading this book and found Captain Pyke in unfamiliar circumstances. By then it was too late to put the book aside as it was so bloody good.

Tom Baker MBE.

Was very touched to see these pictures from Tom Bakers visit to the Palace to revieve his MBE. A lovely gesture from a grateful nation. Considering how many times he saved the world its a bit ooverdue, but Tom has always been very philosophical about these things and time in particular. Everyday is always the right time.

Doctor Sleep.

Anytime of year is a good time of year for a Stephen King but this close to Halloween is a very heaven. In this book he revisits Wee Danny Torrence,who only narrowly survived a visit to The Overlook with his family.it all took place in The Shining, when much was revealed in what has proved to be a Tiger Tank of a novel over the decades since its publication. Danny continues to Shine nad in this book we learn of a wandering tribe, The True Knot, who feast on the energies generated by Shiners. Led by Rose The Hat, a depraved matriarch who feeds her followers with the agonies of the innocent. As if the burden of such a gift were not enough to bear. Danny's life has not been easy and it has been touch by many of the same treaumas that shaped the life of his father. the poor boys DNA was in all likelihood hardwired that way and he finds himself an alchoholic trying to mend his ways while also coming to terms with an ability that allows him to ease the passage of those leaving this world. An ability that earns him the nick name Doctor Sleep. in the years since I first read The Shining and the couple of times I have watched Stanley Kubrick's adaption of it I find the two variants of King's story have merged in my memory. In the book Doctor Sleep I found myself waiting for a return journey to the Overlook. Forgetting that in the book it is destroyed by the boiler exploding (As the janitor who was supposed to monitor it in order to prevent this happening had gone on a murderous rampage.). It remains standing in the movie version, for good or ill. There is a return journey, off sorts, when we once again mount The Roof O The World ( O The World, not Off The World.I did not mistype.) I am going to seek out the movie version of Doctor Sleep.I have to see how they handle Rose The Hat. Although you can have a preview of How I handled her. So to speak.

Out of The Darkness.

Came across these back issues of the comic The Darkness, all off which I wrote when I worked on for a year for the company Top Cow, way back in the day. Its a strange thing to come across a pile of your own work in a buy in. Trade ins are such randomn events, one never knows what one is going to be offered. Certainly not a chunk of one's past.

Skunk And Badger.

One of the best, funniest, moving and most beautiful looking books I have read in some time.Badger gets a roomate, after three years of comfortable seclusion in Aunt Lulu's Brownstone; enter Skunk. His settled existence is thrown into a whirlwind of dissaray and rapid change and poor Badger has a hard time keeping up. All at once there are chickens. Lots and lots of chickens. Which attracts the attention of natures primary chicken predator. This book has so much charm I want to move into it. It might look like a wee book but its got Tardis-like interior dimensions that only reveal themselves in reading. It was Jon Klasson's extraordinary art that initially drew me. I found his art irresistable and his use of colour an auntumnal magnet. Combine Jon Klasson's world building art with some sublime, and yet hysterical storytelling by Amy Timberlake, and you have a book that proves itself a keeper.Rife with strong characterisation and compelling interconnectiveness, it felt funny and enriching. Skunk emerges as a complex and complicated character who feels very real indeed. And Jon Klasson's beautifully rendering of the world in which Skunk and Badgerfind themselves feels very rea. with my heart and soul wishing it were so.

Doctor Who; Frankenstein.

Loving this series of Doctor Who books, the Monster-Mashups. Worth buying for the covers alone. Two of the High church Horrors here, all right. Dracula! and then Frankenstein. the gothic trappings of both characters lend themselves so well to the life, and lives, of The Doctor. It has visited both sources before yet not quite as directly as it does in this instance. Good choice of Tardis crew for this particular cross pollination of horrors. The gruesome qualities, lacking in the dark romance of vampirism, are a meatier choice for this literary pairing. From The Brain Of Morbius to The Haunting Of The Villa Diodata the television show has mined the mines Frankenstein with its vein of riches. And does so once more, with this book written by Jack Heath (Did he use to be an infamous Highwayman?) Frankenstein and The Patchwork Man to give it its full title. It wears its science fiction tropes on its sleeve, comfortably so and also does great service to the short, but influential, era its set in. It does not skirt the unpleasant notion of a body comprised of body parts of others and feels more timely than ever with an amazing looking adaption of Mary Shelley's classic about to be releashed by visionary storyteller Guillermo Del Toro. Another great choice for this time of year.

Tom,Tom Club.

Whats Not To Like?

A Christmas Carol.

Heading towards the time of year I like to dust off a copy of this Dicken's classic. In this case a lovely edition with art by the sublime Quentin Blake.Its never gets old. I do,though. Sigh.

Help The Witch.

"As night draws through country lanes, and darkness sweeps nacross hills and hedgerows,shadows appear where figures are not", so says the blurb on the back and boy does it sell this collection. How can one resist so signposted an anthology? certainly not me. And it did not mislead as this is a sweetly unsettling clever collection of wittily spooky vignnettes, country tales from the October territories, in landscapes that would have been familiar to writers such as EF Benson and MR James. Although these stories possess (in every sense of the word) a modernity that would have sounded anachronistic coming from either of those fine writers. There are genuinely unsettling momments throughout this collection, with hooks that snagthe imagination, tugging in ethereal rustic directions, down into the earthy soil of a countryside that conceals much that waits patiently for the wary and unwary alike. None of these stories outstay their welcome although some might struggle with its otherworldly humours. Sunsets over the darling buds of May as a witches moon rises.

Are You My Mummy?

A feast of Egyptian inspired frights this week on the run up to Halloween. Watched The Mummy just last week. Still one of my favourite movies. Poor old Imhotep. No man ever suffered so much for his love. And sometimes I feel I have turned into the Edward Sloan Van Helsing type character. Although he was fearless while I am fear Filled.

The Time Machine.

I now realise I only thought I had already read this book. It so much more of a cerebal read that I remember. Growing up reading comic book adaptions, movie versions, have distorted my impression of the original text. In so many ways this realisation has re-impressed me in a way that I did not expect. In so many ways that is what resonated with me, that HG Wells crafted an impressionistic tale. A painters version of a story, blurry when a memory would have been clearer. But it is its fuzziness on details that allows us to travel in the time travelers company. That is what we think of him as, The Time Traveller, his un-named stature also renders him featureless, which helps every reader to see him differently. Its a sad vision of a future that over the decades seems increasingly plausible. i just cant decide if we are becoming more like The Eloi than The Morlocks. Maybe a mix of both. And that is where the true horror hides in place sight. P.S. Just look at this cover. I think The Time Traveler's Chariot is one of the great science fiction movie props. It actually looks like it might work. div class="separator" style="clear: both;">

Jumpin' Jack Flash.

Every now and then I come across something to read when takesc a brick to the glass floor of certainty I tap-dance across as I live my life and this is one such read that affected me so. Down through the floor of linear reality I tumbled as I read this amazing book. I had heard David Litvinoff's name mentioned a few times over the years but I never really understood the associations, Who was he? What was he? What did he do to crop up again and again throughout and across the cultural references? Well, heres the answers to those questions and even a few I had not the wit to ask. Its crammed with details, historical and pop cultural as it is so difficult to navigate between the fixed moments in our shared cultural zeitgeist. David Litvinovff proved himself to be something of a living overton window as whatever gap or niche he found himself there he was. Almost impossible to pin down and no easy thing to explain away. I remembered him mentioned in The Cardinal and The Corpse, the Channel four documentary about The Bookish underbelly of London. A search for a book he wrote. a book which never existed. Chased down by people who had an ethereal quality of their own. It references his connection to the film Performance and a seque into those territories is not for the squeamish or the easily offended. There are traces of dark magicks, of gangsters and the love that polari does not name. Its a deep dive into some very dark waters filled with treacherous currents and unknowable predators. He sounded a terrifying figure to me. A very smart man with a savage wit that could take anyone apart. He was one of the few people who stood up to The Two, or The Krays as the rest of the world knew them. Not afraid to speak his mind and laugh at them, at their expense. Which they tolerated. Up to the point where they didn't and they instigated an attack on him when he was gifted a "Glasgow Smile" which may be more familiar to those who recognise The Joker's "You want to know how I got these scars?" before unleashing bedlam. He carried the facial scars for the rest of his life. One can only imagine what this does to a man. Although this book goes a long way to explaining just how that changes a being. There is much to gasp at in this book but also a lot to make one smile and tons to make one think. The little grey cells get a real bout of exercise as the mystery of this man's life are revealed. Its like stepping into a photograph, catching all the details just out of view. Its so obvious this was a man who wanted to leave no trail to follow yet by sheer force of his passing he could not help but leave a meandering trace of ghostly steps. His complexity caused a curious ache, "if only he..", but where does such thinking lead one? Inevitably to a gravestone in a jewish cemetery. a man put there by his own hand. Heart breaking. And yet "if only he..." The writer Kieron Pym does an amazing job of following in the footsteps of a man who seemed determined to leave no such trace. If a self-invented man chooses to vanish who can say for sure if he was there in the first place. There was a touch of Macavity The Mystery Cat about David Litvinoff "For when they reach the scene of crime-Macavity was not there." He was elusive, most willingly so, the ghosts of past pogroms birthed in him a restless spirit who exercised what the next generation of Anarchists would describe as "Punk Mobility", an ability to pack up and go leaving no trace as a situation changes. And given the nature of his friends; The Krays, Mad Frankie Frazer, Francis Bacon and Lucien Freud, who can blame him?

Haunting Of Hill House.

Way back in the day I read a copy of Shirley Jackson's Haunting Of Hill House. Back then I was too young and too thinly read to appreciate a lot of what was going on in that mecurial novel but I had been mesmerised by its introduction and the glimpses I had caught of the film. It was this very edition I read, with the demonic mad face staring out at the reader from the cover. This was a tatty old copy I rescued from a recycling bag and wanted to share what for me was a formative read. My da used to have an old shed and I used to climb up onto the flat roof and lay in the middle where no one could see me or knew I was there. Although there was a bit of a giveaway, cause my da used black tar to waterproof the covering and on a hot day it would melt and become sticky. I would get it in my hair, on my clothes and even embedded in my elbows as I would lay reading. But it was a great place to read ands I liked the idea of having a cool, sometimes, place to do just that.Mostly cause I thought it was a secret place and no one could see me. Or so I thought. Recently I was sent this picture. taken from the roof of the Old Flax Street Mill which was an army barracks during the troubles. This is a view down the gun sight of a soldier panning over the alley at the back of Etna Drive and right there is the roof of my da's shed. I wonder if he ever thought to himself: " We got ourselves a reader,here."

The Corner Where Punk Still Lives.

Well, it does, in a corner of my living room. Sigh.

Rascal; A Memoir Of A Better Era.

what a find this beautiful book turned out to be, for me at this particular time anyway. What an escape it proved to be. Into a better era, as promised on the cover of the book. A time and a place of wonders, all natural and all recorded by a clear vision of a better way to live ones life. At least for Sterling North, ably assisted in recreating a lost world by the artist John Schoenherr who's black and white illustrations are just stunning. Between the pair of them they conjure into being, for the length of the book, a world I previously only glimpsed in To Kill A Mockingbird and My Side Of The Mountain. If I should ever part with this lovely book it will be in the spirit of sharing that lost world with someone else.The best off all possible worlds for the best of reasons. This book was first published in 1963 and the Era Sterling was writing about was well passed by then, so its even further back in time by now. I leu of a TARDIS you will have to settle for this lovely book. You might be pleasantly surprised, opening at a randomn page to have a silvery salmon leap from a freezing mountain stream over into the next page...

Jamie Smart.

A few years ago I asked a friend who was meeting writer/artist Jamie Smart if he would sign a copy of his then latest work BEAR for me and he came back with this. Which pleased me no end as I thought he really knocked the ball out of the park. This gifted and imaginative creator has since gone on to do some equally entertaining bits and pieces, filling many a comic book and book shelf the world over.

Arthur Rackham's Legend Of Sleepy Hollow.

It is Washington Irvine's Legend Of Sleepy Hollow, off course but I found myself reading an edition beautifully illustrated by the master of such tales Arthur Rackham. It was a hot night and tired as I was I could not sleep. With the window open to let in some cool night air I reached for a book that would be comfortably familiar and not too challenging for the early hours of the morning, while the rest of the world slept. And I found myself on a return trip to Sleepy Hollow. The story of Ichabod Crane and The Headless Horseman is known the world over, Washington Irvine's most popular and famous piece, always in print and cleverly adapted in different mediums. I love the colour full page prints and the clever little fine line mood inhancing drawings which pepper the pages. Summer turns to Autumn in the text and these exotic little florishes add to the ambience. I have Arthur Rackham's Tales Of Mystery And Imagination and he does for Edgar Allen Poe what he did for Washington Irving. Seek these books out, do. They will enhance your book collection.

HP Lovecraft Against Life.

Well, this turned out to be an unexpectedly provocative read. Oddly, when I was picking this book up, a customer in the bookshop was shoulder surfing, peeking over to see what I was buying and he made some comment about the author being a contentious figure, not referring to Lovecraft but the French writer Michel Houellebecq. I deferred to his being so widely read and smiled wryly. Not having a clue what he was talking about. The thing I suppose that intrigued me was by just how much Michewl Houellebrecq seemed intune with some of HP Lovecrafts most contentious ideas. In tune is probably the wrong way to describe how he writes about issues HP Lovecraft struggled with, he explains fearlessly in a way a lot of writings, with the best intentions, stay well away from, unable to reconcile some uncomfortable belief systems by a writer whose work they reverre and respect. The book feels like a collection of essays, which in truth they actually are. Well written and very Gallic in their hard hitting and truthful precision, they afford an insight into Lovecraft's ouvre a reader most likely would not come across.

Nemesis.

Was sorting through some Agatha Christie books, picked up a nice copy of Nemesis, began rereading it and could not put it down. Although I have read it before I still found myself hooked by the mystery at its heart which clever old Ms Marple teases out. It is a well constructed reopening of a "closed case", for want of a better description, where the terrifying motive is...Love. An unreasoning, selfish and ultimately murderous love, but love all the same. It unfolds gradually as the layers of time are peeled back and the dead find a champion in the boney frame of this pink cardiganned detective. Agatha Christie was on top form when she wrote this book. Had to be. The delicate web of events she weaves are a marvel. A great injustice is perpretated, on a character who is not entirely sympathetic but no less deserving of fairness and justice. It is up to Ms Marple to provide that justice in a world which has already moved on. I kept seeing the actress Joan Hickson in the theatre of my imagination as the story unfolded. Joan Hickson was my favourite interpretation of the character. Those piercing eyes, the way she listened and watched proceedings. Like a bird of prey perched on the wrist of a hunter, a true nemesis of sorts. That way of watching her observe and listen to a witness relate their interpretation of an event only to have her point out "Yes, but is that what you really saw?" before suggesting a new way of recalling events, one that nails a murderous intent. I a seemingly harmless conversation, past sins are revealed by the choice of words, most chillingly love is suggested as a motive for a cruel act, one that brokes no repeal. She had a pretty dark understading of human nature. Actually, its not neccessary to use the word "dark", she understood us for what we are. And there in lies the rub-a-dub-dub.

Gnarly Gnasher.

Oh Blimey, Gnasher. We never knew you had it in you. Sigh.

Grace Jones.

(From the book itself.)) Was listening to a Grace Jones compilation, marveling at her ability to make a stuffy summer's day feel like a cool one.I dug out her memoir ( "I will never write a memoir.") and came across a drawing I did off her in the inside cover. I sometimes do this to books I own. What a good album. What a good book. What a great person. She puts the U in unique.