A quick interview with Russell Kirkpatrick: Epic Fantasy Author

A quick interview with Russell Kirkpatrick: Epic Fantasy Author

You’ll be seeing a lot more author interviews on this site in the next few months, mainly as part of IFWG’s Uncaching the Treasure’s campaign. IFWG Publishing moved most of its intended 2020 new release titles into 2021, to offset the impact of COVID-19, in…

Autumn in New Orleans: A Flash Fic

Autumn in New Orleans: A Flash Fic

How did I come to live in a forest looking like a freak with Betty McLean, leaving school, friends, and family behind?

Well for starters, the red-gold leaf was as big as my face. Which is why it was kind of bad it stuck to my forehead, nose, mouth, chin like glue. I wrestled with it, and you’d think I’d have won easy-peasy on account of it being a tender sugar maple versus a boy, but it wouldn’t budge. I think I had a panic attack – certainly, it was hard to breathe, and I soon hated the taste of crisp bitterness and dirt mixing with saliva. I bashed into other trees in the national park (I’d gone for a picnic and wandered off), seeing blue stars behind my lids, none of which helped either. Falling in a heap, crying and a-shivering seemed the only thing to do.

That’s when the coven found me.

I should have expected something of that nature, living in New Orleans and all, but usually they’re fake new agey types rather than, you know, actual witches. These ones prodded, the wood bristles of their broom poking into my arm and chest as they whispered.

That’s when one drew my hand in hers, kissed the inside of my palm (I later learnt that meant ownership, that she’d sealed me as personal property). “What’s your name, kid?”

“Troy,” I said, “and I’m thirteen, which is old enough to fight if I have to and young enough my parents will come find me if I’m not home by dark.”

“Why is there a leaf on your face, Troy,” she snickered. “I bet you’re no crash-hot fighter with that obstructing your vision and your parents won’t want a leaf-boy for a son neither.”

She had a point. “It won’t come off,” I said, looking at my feet.

“No,” she said, way too calmly. “We’re trying a new enchantment. Good to see it worked. It’s more interesting than rats, rabbits, or a pumpkin, don’t you think?”

“If it’s all the same to you, miss, I preferred being a boy, and I’m getting mighty dizzy and sick in this darkness. I’d be much obliged if you’d help a kid out.”

She placed a cool finger to my leaf, muttered an incantation, carefully ripped the waxy cells so I had eye and mouth holes. “Will that suffice?” The other witches cackled around her.

“As I said, miss, I was really hoping to get back to straight homo sapien.”

“But you see, I need a new familiar, and you crashed right into our circle.”

That’s how I came to live in a forest looking like a freak with Betty McLean, leaving school, friends and family behind.

A quick interview with C. E. Page: Epic Fantasy Novelist

A quick interview with C. E. Page: Epic Fantasy Novelist

So this is a bit exciting … I decided a while back to interview authors to showcase their latest work and so I could learn more about what’s happening in speculative fiction, celebrating with some amazing writers. So, every month I’ll be (hopefully) putting out…

The Lamplighter: A flash fic

The Lamplighter: A flash fic

The ghost stares me down from behind the glass. I’d been balancing on my wooden ladder, arm stretched out to light up the gas, minding my own business, when there were its black lips grinning, its veil rippling back even though there’s no wind inside the lamp. My heart leaps but I tap my hat – Ma’s always telling me its best to be painfully polite to a fault and I can tell this ghost is quality – and say, “how d’yer do,” as the lamp’s flame burns through its chest.

Its mouth stretches and I can smell decay, and something vinegar sharp. “Aren’t you afraid, good Sir? It’s October after all, and though I hate to point it out, you’ve got a long drop if you lose your grip.” Its voice is low and deep, a matron’s voice.

My heart’s hammering fit to wake the dead now – too bad that someone already has – and I dig nails tighter into my precarious perch. Just in time. With a sudden whoosh of cold air, the ghost’s floating, its nose to mine. An ache spreads through my chest, like the winter chill. Suddenly, I’m glad I have my knife in my pocket.

She’s a woman. I can tell ‘coz she’s all in dusty white, her crinoline showing off full skirted splendour and lace at the bust. Her starched cotton gown is dry against my knuckles, dry as animal carcass salted within an inch of its life, and I kind of like it. Reminds me of that time Lucy let me stroke the triangle of stiff linen at her lap. Poor Luce married off to that drunkard, Willie. Free Willie, we call him, on account of his easy way with the young girls at his inn. She might be respectable now, all chignon buns and silks and furs and in a good strip of London where the posh toffs go but—Well, I was glad to leave her sitting at my kitchen this morning. I’d promised her I’d not make her go back, that she could stay with me as long as she needed, until she found her feet.

“Don’t you want to know why I’ve appeared?” The ghost lady asks politely. “I’m told most people do.”

I run through my worst transgressions as fast as I can. Until this job, I stole watches on the corner, pickpocketed coin while I boot-blacked, guarded a brothel.

“None of that,” she says, amused. “Petty, small things, and you needed to do them to survive. I’m no sanctimonious rich philanthropist in the House of Lords to lecture you.”

“Can’t say I do know then,” I say. “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d much rather you left.”

“I can’t do that,” she says. “You see, you’re a good man with a good heart.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“You see those men scurrying away in the shadows?” She says.

I look down towards the dark park lined by brass fencing and see four of ‘em, top hats pulled over their heads, toiling away with a coffin on their shoulders.

“They’re grave-robbers and know full well you’re a watchman as much as a lamp lighter. They’d have stabbed you easy as winking afore your knife could flash.”

Cor, I could see she were right. If I’d have shimmied down a minute or so earlier, I’d have happened upon ‘em … “Here,” I say suspiciously. “Why d’ya care so much ‘bout my mortal coil?”

She’s crying now, clear tears sizzling as they hit the air and vanish. “I was William’s first wife. Ran away from a respectable home to be with him and he beat me until I died, a bloody pile of rags. Your Luce was smarter than me. She got away.”

I’m gaping. The ghost is already breaking up, wisping at the edges like a thread pulled loose. She won’t be with me much longer and still I can’t think of anything to say.

“You could try thank you,” she laughs, sounding faint as her mouth smudges out like chalk wiped from a blackboard.

“Thanks,” I whisper, thinking of what woulda happened to Lucy had I not come home.

But the ghost’s already gone.

Ben: A Poem

Ben: A Poem

Sadly, one of my closest friends passed away 2nd September. Ben was a wonderful friend; warm, kind, loving, gentle, passionate and caring. I hope this month’s freebie (a poem dedicated to him) captures some of what he meant to me. Ben We ballroom dancedthrough your…

Is C S Lewis any good today? Revisiting The Chronicles of Narnia

Is C S Lewis any good today? Revisiting The Chronicles of Narnia

This July to August I did an epic re-read of The Chronicles of Narnia. It’s been years since I’ve read the series, though they were a mainstay of my childhood (to the point I even owned an activity and recipe book inspired by Narnia and spent my school holidays working through them). I’m now more aware of the accusations of Lewis’ sexism, racism and sledgehammering Christianity over children’s heads and wondered how I’d fare. From this white straight woman’s perspective (which is not the be all and end all by any stretch), it was in some ways better and in some ways worse than I remembered. I think I agree with Polly Toynbee of The Guardian, who wrote;

Narnia is a strange blend of magic, myth and Christianity, some of it brilliantly fantastical and richly imaginative, some (the clunking allegory) toe-curlingly, cringingly awful.

I’ve split my thoughts into categories for ease of blogging.

The oddly modern nature and humour of Lewis writing

Look, it’s not all the time, and there’s a lot of points in these novels where I wanted to fling my book across the room, but I had genuinely forgotten how readable Narnia is given its age. Aside from the occasional reference to things like the war or antiquated language around clothing or exclamations of feeling, the books read easily. There are also many moments which are laugh out loud funny (many of which I missed the humour in when I was younger). For example:

On our protagonists being stuck underground with no way out to safety: And you must always remember there’s one good thing about being trapped down here: it’ll save funeral expenses. The Silver Chair

(Pretty much everything Puddleglum says is A plus gold).

On Jill and Eustace’s school getting a makeover: When the police arrived and found no lion, no broken wall, and no convicts and the Head behaving like a lunatic, there was an inquiry into the whole thing. And in the inquiry all sorts of things about Experiment House came out, and about ten people got expelled. After that, the Head’s friends saw that the Head was no use as a Head, so they got her made an Inspector to interfere with other Heads. And when they found she wasn’t much good even at that, they got her into Parliament where she lived happily ever after. The Silver Chair

On the folly of mice vs dragon:

Caspian: “A dragon has just flown over the tree-tops and lighted on the beach. Yes, I am afraid it is between us and the ship. And arrows are no use against dragons. And they’re not at all afraid of fire.”

Reepicheep: “With your Majesty’s leave-” began Reepicheep.

Caspian: “No, Reepicheep,” said the King very firmly, “you are not to attempt a single combat with it.” The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

On girls vs boys:

Edmund: “Girls aren’t very good at keeping maps in their brains”, said Edmund.

Lucy: “That’s because we’ve got something in them”, replied Lucy. Prince Caspian

On education in Calormen (putting aside the slightly uncomfortable Orientalism): For in Calormen, story-telling (whether the stories are true or made up) is a thing you’re taught, just as English boys and girls are taught essay-writing. The difference is that people want to hear the stories, whereas I never heard of anyone who wanted to read the essays. The Horse and his Boy

These are just examples and there are many more besides.

Hodge podge mythology and talking animals

When I was a kid this was a good deal of Narnia’s charm and damn the world-building and I have to admit I’m still the same today. Who could forget the time Susan and Lucy attended a bacchanalia (minus the sex), all those dryads and naiads, centaurs (and the quote about breakfasting with one being a serious business), Father Christmas showing up randomly in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, dwarfs, witches, giants and all manner of talking animals. This post on explores this more thoroughly than I ever could. But I still love the riot of clashing cultures, myths and allegories today. Plus the food porn!

Pauline Bayne’s wonderful illustrations

When I was a kid, these illustrations were the bomb and now on a re-read, I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic at the wonderful images throughout the Chronicles, with many of them so memorable, I recognized them instantly or in some cases even knew when they were coming. I used to try and copy the illustrations and paint them, and spent one school holiday drawing and painting Pauline’s White Witch. They are definitely lovely and add to the charm and imagination of the series for me.

Issues with plot structure and well-drawn characters

Even as a kid, I recognized Narnia was no Pulitzer prize winner on this front. It used to bother me (without me being able to articulate why) how Aslan always swooped in and solved all the plot problems with a deux ex machina (and I get it fitted with Lewis’ Christian worldview but it does not a good story make). This time around, I really noticed how this device undermined the grand finales of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, The Horse and his Boy and Prince Caspian by taking any conflict out of the protagonist’s journeys. In addition, The Magician’s Nephew and The Last Battle seriously suffer in my opinion from too much allegory at the expense of good story-telling. Both of these books have some seriously cool moments that get overshadowed by evangelizing.

Interestingly as an adult, I found the Pevensie children seriously annoying. Where once Lucy was my ideal role model, this time it was Eustace and Jill who really shone, and I suspect that’s because they have proper character flaws that impact on the story as well as more of a character arc alongside Puddleglum (incidentally, The Silver Chair is by far my favourite Narnia book as an adult). The Pevensies (aside from Edmund that time he sold out his family for Turkish Delight) are that bit too good and proper and squeaky clean for my liking.

Gender Politics

So much has been written about this topic, I probably can’t say much that hasn’t already been said, but there’s no two ways about it; Lewis has a particular way of presenting women. They are all virginal and innocent children, scary house matrons, talking animal 1950s house wives, absent, or evil. Jadis and The Lady of the Green Kirtle as the devil stand-ins is more than a little problematic for obvious reasons, but then there is also The Problem of Susan (this link takes you to Neil Gaiman’s most excellent short story on this issue) to contend with. Susan does not follow her siblings and parents into Narnia because she has come to love the superficial and forget Narnia. This is the full conversation about Susan in The Last Battle often discussed:

“My sister Susan,” answered Peter shortly and gravely, “is no longer a friend of Narnia.”

“Yes,” said Eustace, “and whenever you’ve tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says ‘What wonderful memories you have! Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.’”

“Oh Susan!” said Jill, “she’s interested in nothing now-a-days except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up.”

“Grown-up, indeed,” said the Lady Polly. “I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she’ll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one’s life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can.”

Though I don’t *think* I am a Narnia apologist, I tend to disagree with J K Rowling and Phillip Pullman who see this as Lewis being squicked out by women becoming sexual creatures and agree with those who see this more as Susan has become too superficial and placed her belief and love in the material which precludes her from Narnia. Lewis himself intended to write a sequel where Susan made it back to Narnia. He wrote in a letter dated January 22 1957:

The books don’t tell us what happened to Susan. She is left alive in this world at the end, having by then turned into a rather silly, conceited young woman. But there is plenty of time for her to mend, and perhaps she will get to Aslan’s country in the end—in her own way.

Having said that, the lipstick and nylon bit is super uncomfortable in terms of having a particular sexist connotation and I do think others make valid points about Lewis being pretty mean spirited about Susan. For example, I think this Reddit commentator makes a pretty valid point:

In LWW they grow up. Into adults with adult worries (running a kingdom), adult desires, adult bodies, adult logic. They live full lives. Have friends, maybe lovers. Then suddenly they’re kids again. That’s got to be confusing at best, traumatizing at worst. They live two years in the real world. Get back to normal life, then bam, back to Narnia. They help Caspian, discover that thousands of years have passed, and all they knew and loved is dead. They start to hope they get to stick around, make a new life in Narnia, and then they get sent home and Peter and Susan are told they can never go back. How could you not try to forget? To pretend it was all a game, to focus on the real world, and lipstick and maybe boys and relationships and normal human things. Remembering would be painful.

This particular issue is why I think Gaiman’s story is particularly powerful and why excellent fan fiction pieces abound on the internet about poor Susan. This one from Tumblr is particularly great.

Race Politics

I am not a person of colour, but there’s no two ways around this, Narnia can get pretty racist, particularly with the Calormenes in The Horse and his Boy, with Lewis coming across as Orientalist in a lot of his world-building and descriptions (lest I forget the part about the city smelling of refuse, onions and garlic). All of the Narnians are described as ‘fair’ and ‘beautiful’ compared to their dark skinned treacherous allies and Aravis’ arranged marriage situation isn’t super nuanced. Plus, you could also argue that Shasta is the white saviour who gets Aravis safely out of this terrible situation (though Aravis does do quite a lot in the novel, which was written later when Lewis’ views about women were beginning to change). In The Last Battle, a Calormen does make it to Heaven, but no one else gets a speaking role and it is still clear that his way of speaking is ‘other.’

Then there’s also the uncomfortable colour coding of good and bad characters. The black haired dwarfs are coded as bad (or at least seriously flawed) in Prince Caspian and The Last Battle with Susan (who had dark hair) banned from Narnia and Lucy seen as the perfect child (with her blonde hair and blue eyes). Pauline’s illustrations also depict Jadis/The White Witch as having black hair (though this is never specified in the books themselves). Whether intentional or not, as a kid I definitely picked up on dark hair/darker skinned people as being flawed and/or the other while the fair skinned, blonde types were bound to be good. There is some pretty interesting defence of the books on the sexism and racism score that you can read here and an account of a Muslim man reading Narnia here.

That weird ending in The Last Battle

It’s quite strange. I oscillate on how I feel about the ending of The Last Battle. Some years I like it and other years I hate it as many others have done before me. These days I tend towards the latter. Mainly because as a kid, it was pretty damn traumatizing to read about a whole world being brutally destroyed after a bunch of misery and death and finding out everyone was dead for real and in heaven.

How you stomach that ending I suspect depends on your worldview. Personally, I find Pullman’s ending in His Dark Materials about the republic of heaven far more inspiring than that given to us in the Chronicles. It just seems pretty damn mean to end a seven book series with, Hooray kids, all of Narnia is brutally destroyed and you are DEAD but don’t worry, forget about your sister and friends and head on over to heaven. These days, I’d probably tell those who aren’t ardent fans to stop at The Silver Chair.

In conclusion …

Are these books worth a read? Definitely. Should that read be taken with a grain of salt? Absolutely. And if your kids are reading, prepare for some awkward conversations about Calormenes, the problem of Susan and when Christian allegory can interfere with good story-telling. But will I be watching the Netflix adaptations? You can bet the entire contents of my wallet.

The Hestia

The Hestia

The August free short fiction piece sees Maureen reshare a crime/horror piece.