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.

Eight Ghosts.

Published by English Heritage to celebrate the diversity and maintainence of a series of prperties looked after by them, Eight Ghosts is a treat of a book I came across recently browsing in an Oxfam Bookshop. Eight new stories set in eight not so new locations. From cold War bunkers to sturdily constructed English castles, where the ancient stones and dusty rooms contain so much more than are dreampt off in our pjilosophy, so to speak. The collection has an impressive list of contributers, set in equally impressive locations. Mood and tone vary, as do the entities caught in the spider webs of their designated haunts.i am not familiar with English Heritage but a brief perusal of their aims would incline me to learn more, presumably this also acted as a draw for those who did contribute a story. The book was published to help raise money for their cause and the quality of the tales between its cover should insure this happens. The book respects the old traditions of English ghost story telling but it also leans into modernity in a series of interesting ways, as does the epilogues of information which follows the stories. Whimsy, tragedy and the supernatural abound, open up the covers and let them out.

The Impossible Odyssey.

I may have written about this comic before but I came across a reprint of it recently and it reminded me of seeing it for the first time as a boy and being haunted by my inability to find a copy. How on Earth could I have sourced a copy. I never had any money for one thing and another factor was the entirely randomn way American comics were distributed in Northern Ireland. Although, I had no understanding of that at the time. There I was leafing through some eighty page giant when I saw an advertisment for this issue and my heart skipped a beat. " Oh no! Superboy gets Eaten!". I really thought I was seeing a comic in which Superboy gets devoured by some monstrous alien beast. It never occurred to me that this was very unlikely as Superboy grew up to become Superman. He could not have died behind that rock. Still, a kids mind can be a right old circus of horrors, so I just went with what the cover of Adventure Comics #380 was selling. The idea that a lost Legion was stranded on a savage world where one, or all, of them could be killed by some mysterious beast. It was to be a long time before I found out what was really going on behind that Curt Swan cover. I was an adult in fact. I wont tell you what that is, you will have to do a bit of detective work of your own. Have an adventure, so to speak.

Monkey Planet.

A long time ago, in a district not so far away, I sat fidgeting on a wooden pew, in Holy Cross Church, waiting for the mass to end so I could race across the road to the newsagent on the corner of the entrance to Old Ardoyne, where I could pick up a copy of the latest Planet Of The Apes Weekly. That is not the confession of a good Catholic boy but the heart wants what the heart wants.