Christmas Blessings To You.

God Bless Us, Every One. X

Lord Halifax Ghost Book.

Some Ghost stories for Christmas.The distinction being these are real accounts. Aren't they all? Especially the made up ones. You can never have too many ghosts.

Capitol Of Hell; Pandemonium.

Pandemonium by John Martin.

Ghost Stories Of Edith Wharton.

Cannot believe I have lived so long and read so muc (a Although I am quite thinly read compared to others.) and not read Edith Wharton and realised what simply gorgeous writer she was. I loved these stories, i luxuriated in the pacing, feeling the stories unfold like a bloom opening to reveal a glorious interior. The kind that makes you believe things are supposed to reveal themselves to us in this sublime way. I think I may have been put off trying her work by exposure to Ephram Fromm which i tried when i was too callow and young to appreciate what was going on. Then I discovered a late night tale of the marcabre I once saw was adaptedfrom one of her tales. a story about an undead spirit having a relationship with a man who knew his lover to be dead, transposed to a wind swept english coast line. A place so draped in the dark melancholy of repressed lives you could imagine such a thing taking place. For although the story was presented as a ghost story there was nothing which hapened in it which could not take place in the real world. The stories were vby turns tragic and compelling and almost always haunting. The spectre of class and social mobility are competing demons throughout these stories. A studied complexity that may or may not still exist. Wealth and position act as barriers to change but its a false economy, change is inevitable, like Thanos or Homer Simpson.

Season Of Samhain.

Just about one off my favourite pictures for this year. Created by my pal Paul, to show his grandchildren that long before the notion of carving pumpkins for Halloween we grew up using the good old turnip. Spooky, and practical as you can eat what you carve away, the noble turnip could be carved in much the same way as the Dutch Pumpkin. It was the staple of Irish halloweens, a raggedy home made costume and a sparkler. Ah, the fun we had. X

Orson Welles Macbeth.

Just watched this version of William Shakespeare's Macbeth. I know I entitled this Orson Welles Macbeth but that was just to distinguish from other versions. A couple of which I have seen and found in each version something to savour. My mind goes to Roman Polanski's version with Jon Finch in the lead. That is a very impressive version, as you would expect. I know Joel Coen has done a version with Denzil Washington in the lead. I have seen a couple of goose bump inducing clips from this; The Tragedy Of Macbeth. Shall endeavour to see it. I once saw a version in The Opera House Belfast. With Pete Posthelwaite as the Scottish King. He was astonishing, as you might have expected, as were the rest of the cast. A performer like that in the central lead ups everyones game, in the best possible way. They were wearing Samurai and Shogun inspired outfits which were very visually striking. I think I would have preferred a more Celtic influenced theme as the clans were more than capable of impressing. Theres an earthy quality that suits the unearthy themes. Chinese magic transmits an altogether diiferent aesthetic. Still, thats not a grumble. With a cast like that I would have accepted them in boiler suits. A couple of nights later I saw mr Posthelwaite enjoying a Guiness at the bar in The Crown. I thought about approaching him but I thought he probably gets that all the time and might enjoy just chilling before an evening performance.

Guy De Maupassant.

How about this for an anthology, thirty one stories by the French writer Guy De Mauppassant, all rich in the dark hues that Gallic writers bring to the table. Period and historical stories lean into each other in the way an author confident with the sound of their own voices is capable of rendering for the reader. Despite the age between then and now a thick vein of modernity runs through them, a grounding in a harsh reality,even where the tale teller sways into regions of the macabre, venuring into morbid dark territories. We read about the most immoral and cruel of drabs who commit acts of brutality and sadism in order to achieve the outcomes they desire and mostly escape the consequences of those actions. One story in particular; Coco, almost made me push the book away as it detailed the slow cruel demise of an elderly horse, a story that felt nothing less than wicked. its attention to detail a mirror to the poor animals suffering. It was so painful to read I found myself questioning the sanity, and the morality, of the writer. And then I told myself that this was perhaps the point. That Guy De Maupassant was not letting the reader, as coconspirator, get off the hook so lightly. I am sure in his time he actually met some sadistic rural brutes who treated animals and people badly. Mind you, I know little to nothing about the life of the writer in order to make such an observation with any authority. But I did sense a troubled spirit, steering the pen, writing these stories while cloaked in a knowing melancholy.I could not help but suspect that he must have had some very dark moments in his life but then again, who has not. That said, the pain and suffering and the anguish squeezed between the lines felt authentic and lived. At times, almost like an actual record of lived unpleasant experiences. Once I read the introduction by Ramsey Cambell I discovered the was likely the case. Indeed, at some low point Guy De Maupassant had tried to end his suffering by cutting his own throat. Almost two years following that action, he met his true end, in much the same personal extremis that the American writer Edgar Allen Poe ended his days. Actually, the ghost of Poe's influence permeated this collection. Not every story is supernatural yet they nearly all open a window to the outre, the unlovely macabre of our days. I did enjoy his brevity, his ability to conjure much in a few paragraphs. From the aristocracy to peasant, poor Guy De Maupassant strove in print to prove his worst suspicions regarding human nature to be true. In the end we are all become Horla.