cookie control

Sunday, 21 August 2016

Passing place short #3

The shaman walked around me
Circling slowly
Shaking medicine bag and rattle stick
Pushing my head over fire
I breathe deeply of the smoke
He circles again
The world shrinking
Becoming the smoke around me
Choking, cloying water to my eyes
His chants go on
His voice is as far from me as
Names to bring the spirits close
To guide the boy to manhood
Anguta,,,,,,
Sedna,,,,,,,,
Akna,,,,,,,
Agloolik,,,,,,
Pinga,,,,,,
Aningan,,,,,,,,
Qailertrtang,,,,,
Agnooka,,,,,,, Weaver of Tears
Her name fills my mind
I call out her name, and know not why
The voice is not mine
The words of the shaman lost to her calling
A new voice filled the air

Come to me,”

Wednesday, 3 August 2016

Kheris Burning, book review


Not done a review for a while but stumbled over this gem in Stockton SFI festival a year after I read the original 4 novels by C.G.Hatton, which are reviewed way back in this blog about a year ago
 link  
So having read the new one I thought I would revisit reviewing to review her latest novel . Which was once more a joy, as was chatting with the author last month at the festival 


Kheris Burning by C.G. Hatton
C.G creates the world of Kheris and the early life of one of her core characters as vividly as the universe she has created in the thief guild novels.

Its no easy task to write a book which is in effect YA fiction when you normally write novels aimed at an adult or mainstream audience. Not that I would not recommend the Thieves Guild series to YA readers, I would recommend them to anyone, but as a starting point for a YA reader, Kheris Burning is wonderful.
But more than that C.G. pulls off a trick which the best YA fiction, and indeed the best fiction, in general, aspires to achieve. Wrapped up in a story of adventure, of the coming of age and struggling against impossible odds is a vision of a life more complex. An ingrained truth and insight into the human condition. 
Yes this is SFI, but like all great SFI it tells us something of the real world and the experience of those who live within it.
This is a story of a street kid, in a war-torn land, trying to survive while been pulled by both the oppressors and the oppressed. The forces of the empire and the forces of the rebellion. The occupying army and the freedom fighters, and used by both. 
The street kids are seen as recruits in waiting for the rebels who's goals are never so much about the freedom of the people, but who wields power over them. 
Yes its SFI, but it could be Syria or Lebanon or Baghdad. 
What on one level is an adventure story, on another is a truth of the disenfranchised trying to survive in their bombed out cities. Knowing neither side is on their side and trying to get what little they can from each. A world that is, sadly, grounded in reality. Though with the lightest of touches so you only realise when you think on it.
And that is the trick. 
While you read C.G's novel you learn a little of the realities of dispossessed, because she realises it within the world she creates. 

In short, as I have failed to be, read it. enjoy it (and you will) and take from it what you will. It is both a joyously fun read, and a window into the darkest corners of the real world because it is so well written. 


available in paperback and kindle editions from amazon and other places 
link 

Sunday, 24 July 2016

I blame Rod Stewart

Occasionally, when half in a daze, a single line from someone, or a song on the radio,  sends me off on a bizarre train of thought that has no logic or reason to it. This happened a few nights ago...

I am now trying to write a script for a radio play about a former miner, who following the strike in the 1980's went through years of restart programs, job seekers training, and general discordance. The retraining courses never amounted to much, because doing a six-month course in electrical engineering or plumbing doesn't actually get you a job, so the department for education has been coming up with new, different courses for years, which are increasingly a little bizarre.
He is a tad resentful about this and like many former miners, he blames the tory's and one of their former leaders in particular.
Then one day, having been told to sign up for a course or lose his benefits , he stumbled upon a course in practical voodoo...

Six months later ...
he is standing over the grave of a former Prime Minster, face painted white, with a chicken in one hand and a shovel in the other, dancing to a strange drum beat and singing
"Wake up Maggie; I think I have something to say to you ........"

This is swiftly followed in part two by a Tory party leadership election where they elect the rotting reanimated corpse of 'dear Maggie' as leader....

Which leads to the inevitable question, what's worse, Teresa May or the rotting reanimated corpse of Mrs Thatcher...

I think I need coffee...