Scary



Actually the scariest thing this Halloween isn't witches dancing a grand sabbat, demons issuing forth from Hell or the Evil One walking amongst you (if Old Nick is out tonight he's probably heading for a good night club bash - rumour has it he prefers cowboy costumes for Halloween parties). Nope, the scariest thing is the people George Dubhya has put in place to make everyone safe - people like this (thanks to Charlie for the link). The US government, restricting your liberties to protect your freedoms.... It does make me wonder if I pop up on the illegal internet and email searches these bloody spooks carry out. I do hope I'm down as a subversive - I'd consider that a mark of honour.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!



cool spook image borrowed from











cool animated fangs courtesey of

Beauty in a box



Just a little idea which popped into my head the other week and since it is Halloween I thought I'd give it to you as a little gift.

Unpacking in the bookstore one day I received an delivery from a publisher I wasn’t familiar with – the Isis Ressurectionist Press. The paperwork stated seven parcels but didn’t detail the contents. I was a little surprised when I opened the first box and found not books but a head. A rather beautiful head of a gorgeous woman with pearlescent skin and long dark hair, packaged oh-so carefully. When I gently lifted her head from the box and held it in my hands her eyes opened; deep hazel brown, gazing intently at me. Her wine-red lips moved as if to speak but naturally no words came since she had no lungs to give breath to her voice.

Her shining eyes looked around for a moment, as if she were considering her predicament. She took in the remaining parcels then looked back at me, then again directing her gaze to the boxes. It was clear what she desired me to do and so mesmerising was her gaze, so cool her demeanour that I felt no fear or panic or revulsion but instead put her head softly down upon the table, arranging it so she could see me clearly, before picking up the next parcel and carefully unwrapping it. I was not terribly surprised to find inside an ivory-coloured arm and not at all alarmed when the delicate fingers of that hand curled around my own, gripping me briefly then releasing my hand. Carefully but rapidly I opened the remaining four packages and found another arm, a taught torso and a pair of very shapely, smooth legs.

Assembly was swift – as soon as I brought her arm near her torso it seemed to pull itself toward it, as if magnetized, sealing instantly, flesh to flesh, no scar, join or mark visible to show they had ever been separated. Another arm, her elegant legs one by one. All this time she watched me intently from the table, her gaze calm, approving. With as much care as I could I gently lifted her head, cradling her chin and placed it upon the neck of her torso. Her eyes seem to grow brighter, her cheeks flushed with life and the delicate ghost of a smile brushed her dark-red lips. Complete, she stood before me, naked and perfect.

Almost perfect. Her hand brushed my cheek, her other armed encircled my waist, drawing me close. Her lips moved once more but still there was no sound. Realising what she needed my lips met hers and I pushed my breath into her lungs. Our lips parted and she took her own first breath; I could feel her breasts rising and falling against my own chest. Still her manner was cool. I noticed a blemish upon her otherwise perfect chest. Slow realisation dawned upon me: seven boxes were marked upon the invoice but I had found only six. The seventh box was nowhere to be found; the box which contained her heart. I could not see her live a life with no heart, so picked up an unpacking knife and made her a gift of my own.

Who the Dickens?



Pictures from the eagerly awaited new series of Doctor Who on the Beeb's DW page. On a related note I'm working on a short interview of one of the writers of the new Who series, Mark Gattis, to go along with my review of his forthcoming novel, The Vesuvius Club (damned funny, as you'd expect from a member of the League of Gentlemen). Keep watching the Alien for both in November.

Elected

The newest artwork from the always-excellent team at the Saint John’s Church on Princes Street (had nipped into the One World café for lunch – in the summer you can have your coffee and cake in the graveyard, which is great!). If you can’t make out the text, it says “ten years on and South Africa sends UN observers to the US elections”! Heh. You’d think they’d be keen to show a proper election this time after the debacle that let Dubyah squirm into power unelected – but once more the US electoral system seems to be screwed up, with registered names vanishing from rolls once more, postal ballots going missing (hands up once more Florida – maybe they got caught in a hurricane?) and some Republican activists planning to be on the doorsteps of polling stations demanding to check potential voter’s credentials and right to vote. Let’s be frank here, if this sort of thing was happening in any other nation they’d be sending out Jimmy Carter (possibly the last decent bloke to sit in the White House) in with the UN to monitor the elections. So much for the World’s Greatest Democracy ™. On a related but lighter note, aforementioned former president has his first novel due out soon – a sweeping tale set in the South during the Civil War era. I kid yet not!

Renaissance man

Had an enjoyable afternoon at the refurbished Royal Scottish Academy’s Age of Titian exhibition with Melanie. It covers several decades of mostly Venetian art, from those who came before and inspired Titian, such a Bellini and those who he in turn influenced after him. The range of subjects was diverse, although obviously as you’d expect from the time and period there are a preponderance of religious themes, notable variation of the Madonna with Child. One large work struck me especially – it’s not that it is so vastly different from some of the others, except for the Virgin herself, who is, quite literally, radiant. The rest of the painting is far from colourless, but the Madonna glows. Not just the stunning blue of her gown, but her whole body and face. It’s as if she is sitting in her own beam of (divine) sunlight. The effect is one that just makes you want to sit there and marvel at it (and so I did).

Another had some of those trademark naughtiness moves that Venetian art became (in)famous for at this time, showing the Virgin with two female saints. The un-named saint has a very tight – sheer actually – bodice which contours her breast’s shape exactly and she has nipples. Big deal today, but at that time and place and in a religious work? It was rather timely to visit the exhibition (which is rather pricey, especially since our taxes paid for it and the RSA’s refurbishment, but worth it) as I’ve been watching the excellent series on Venice on BBC2 and this week’s covered the age of Titian, showing both the artist and his circle of poets, musicians, sculptors etc and their sometimes scandalous lifestyle – bohemians centuries before the term was coined, eschewing Catholic correctness for fun and for art. The church authorities who defamed them are gone and forgotten while the artists’ work lives on, immortal, adored, inspirational, which I suspect is a good moral.

Many of the works illustrate a growing realism (a sense of perspective; using real women’s bodies for modelling – a golden era for big-bottomed girls with pale skin!) which would influence all European art which would come in the following centuries. One factor which is common in described the portrait of the Madonna. You feel as if the artist has magically transposed the Mediterranean sunlight into the fabric of the work and that here we are, half a millennium later on a cool, grey, autumnal day on the far north of Europe bathing in the same sunlight, captured centuries before, thousands of miles away. It made me think on the music of Mozart, which, to my mind has always had the quality of sublime light.

There were also ceramics (including some fruit-decorated vases which look so contemporary you could easily find something similar in Pier today), fabrics, sculpture (stone, wood, gold and even a remarkable small piece in rock crystal and another amazingly detailed miniature in wax). There were also books, which as you can imagine, drew my attention. Drawn from the collection of the National Library of Scotland there were some remarkable books, including a gorgeous 16^th century illustrated folio edition of Ovid’s classic Metamorphoses. Another contained the very first depiction of the city of Venice in a book, with the Doge’s palace and the San Marco clearly recognisable – there’s even a gondola in the canal. This exquisite book dates from 1479.

Afterwards we headed down underneath the RSA to the newly opened Weston Link, an underground connection to the National Gallery of Scotland, which sits behind the RSA on the Mound (which leads up to the Castle and the Old Town from the New Town going north-south and bisects the marvellous Princes Street Gardens going east west). It’s rather more than a glorified underground corridor however. Expanded gallery shops, lecture rooms and very well presented multi-media terminals for the visitors. We checked out a few of the flat-panel touch screen terminals which gave access to information, images and audio on current exhibitions and on other museums and galleries both in the city and around Scotland – very well done to the NGS for good, easy-to-use IT. The connection also leads out into a lovely open area (underground still) with a café and a full-sized (and expensive I’m told) restaurant. As this is on the edge of the building one wall is mostly huge picture windows (some of which double as sliding doors for easy access for prams and wheelchairs) which look out over the eastern Princes Street Gardens towards the Gothic tower of the Scott Monument. I suspect I may nip in for coffee on my way home from work from time to time.

isn't that a fab view to have from a cafe? bear in mind you're actually below street level here and those lovely gardens were once stinking, stagnant lochs protecting the Castle's flanks until the creation of the New Town two and a half centuries ago.

Out of Kontrol

Had a very pleasant afternoon in the Edinburgh Filmhouse this afternoon, lazing in the café bar then in to catch a movie I wanted to see at the Film Festival but missed, the Hungarian flick Kontrol. It’s a shoestring budget independent which has done very well across Europe. Set entirely in the Budapest metro system, the film never takes us to the surface, dwelling completely in the underground system (yes, this is symbolic, pay attention now!).

Most folk would probably consider a film following a bunch of disparate low-life weirdoes who travel the metro acting as ticket inspectors (lower even than traffic wardens here) isn’t exactly going to be engrossing. They would be wrong. The film has a down-at-heels, grim, blue collar look reminiscent of 70s New York cop films (the daily briefing for all the teams reminds one of the start of Hill Street Blues), complete with a range of bizarre – often grotesque like Sergio Leone’s extras in his Spaghetti Westerns – characters, all of whom have psychological problems which have driven them to this reviled job deep under the city (the scene where all of the inspectors – Kontrollers – have to report for their psychiatric session is hilarious, disturbing and moves with a clever rhythm).

The central character – who bears a strong resemblance to the actor who plays Dwayne Benzie in Spaced – it emerges has once had some sort of important job which he has left. A string of supposed suicides may actually be murders, with the victims being pushed rather than jumping in front of underground trains. Then again they may not. The killer – if there is one – may be a real serial killer lurking in the subterranean world of dark tunnels and fluorescent-lit platforms, or they could be a preternatural being. Repeated meetings with a rather pretty-faced girl in a teddy bear suit (who bizarrely reminded me very much of one of my friends, Hester – her face, not the teddy bear suit) offer both even more surreal imagery and conversely also possible salvation. And wonderfully the audience is treated with intelligence – little or no explanation is given. Why is she in a teddy bear suit all the time? Why is she always in the metro? What was his job before and why is he always down there now, even after work? Is the killer real? Imaginary? Or is it just a rash of suicides?

Flavour this with an extremely cool look (more impressive since this is a debut feature), dark humour, irresistibly odd characters and a wonderfully subtle but strong undercurrent of Kafka (one of my favourite writers) and you have a fabulous little gem of a movie, which people who loved Dark City, Subway and the like will love.

AVP



Alien versus Predator that is. Okay, didn't expect much from this to be honest - if it wasn't for being off today and having my movie pass I'd probably have body-swerved it. It is utter cack - lazy writing, badly shot, no characterisation whatsoever and most unforgiveably it's not in the least tense or scary. Okay, I have a high tolerance for being scared by the Alien since I did the original Alien War when it debuted back in Glasgow's Arches many years ago - once you've had a full-size Alien jump out in you in a dark room lit only by a flickering strobe then the movie image is never going to be as terrifying. Still, take my word for it - this isn't even a couple of hours of mindless entertainment, it's just crap, rehashing old nonsense like Von Daniken and other tosh. One character states in serious actor mode that they suspect Antarctica (where the mysterious pyramid is found, amazingly uncrushed by thousands of tons of ice above it) once was able to support life. Well, fucking duh! We know it did several times over the millions of years... Lazy hack tosh - avoid.

Gazebo



On the way home from drinking at the weekend I thought I smelt the distinctive aroma of woodsmoke. So what, you may ask? Well, woodsmoke is a trifle unusual in the middle of the city, that's what. A few minutes later as the bus took me home I saw a fiery glow in West Prines Street Gardens and found the smoke I thought I smelt was actually the gazebo in the Gardens, right in front of the Castle. Some hooligans had flamed it - it wasn't just afire, it was a total inferno - you could actually see the pillars of the surrounding portico outlined in flame, as if the whole structure was composed of fire. Quite what these thugs get out of doing this sort of thing is beyond me. Alas, the bus didn't stop long enough for me to whip out the trust camera and besides, I was, as they say in the Fast Show, very, very drunk at the time...

Swing states



Everyone keeps going on about swing states in the US election. Is this why the democrats roled out Bill Clinton this week? Perhaps with him being a jazz saxophinist they think he can appeal to swing states. Swing, jazz, saxophone - geddit? Oh, knickers to you then!

"There are your guns, my lord"



Famously the sarcastic reply from a lazy adjutant to Lord Cardigan when he sought clarification as to which Russian battery he was to take his cavalry to attack, leading to a near-disastrous cavalry charge at full speed directly into the line of heavy fire, 150 years ago today. Total madness allied with astonishing horsemanship and courage; of such accidents of fate are legends born. It is reminiscent of simialr scenes of Polish cavalry desperately charginf Nazi panzers in 1939, although the Light Brigade were rather more successful at a terrible cost. Worth noting that the Crimean War was one of the first media wars in history - a new fangled device called the telegraph allowed the war correspondents to wire back accounts within hours. And not just tales of dashing heroism for the jingoistic masses - the horror stories of the suffering of injured soldiers and the conditions they lived in caused such outrage that parliament was forced to look into provision for the care of soldiers while Florence Nightingale was inspired to suit word to deed and went out herself to help, in the process becoming prbably the most famous nurse in history (second most famous being Major Hotlips Hoolihan in M*A*S*H*).

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!

"Charge for the guns!" he said:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"

Was there a man dismay'd?

Not tho' the soldier knew

Someone had blunder'd:

Their's not to make reply,

Their's not to reason why,

Their's but to do and die:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,

Flash'd as they turn'd in air,

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while

All the world wonder'd:

Plunged in the battery-smoke

Right thro' the line they broke;

Cossack and Russian

Reel'd from the sabre stroke

Shatter'd and sunder'd.

Then they rode back, but not

Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well

Came thro' the jaws of Death

Back from the mouth of Hell,

All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

All the world wondered.

Honor the charge they made,

Honor the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred.

The Charge of the Light Brigade, Alfred, Lord Tennyson

I wonder how many people around the globe quote - or misquote or paraphrase - some of these lines without every knowing the poem or the history behind them?

Song My chum Kate at work gave me some rather excellent music to listen to, which she came across when she heard it being played in HMV and asked who it was. It was the wonderful singer Katherine Jenkins - how unusual a wonderful singer from Wales (and how unusual an operatic singer with enormous assets!). She has an utterly remarkable voice and is rather gorgeous - that's not just right that someone should be so gorgeous and talented!!! Seriously, she has the most beautiful voice - you can hear it on her official website (and yes there are pictures of her too, Adrock, calm yourself or you'll get into one of your states!) and I highly recommend it. No wonder she became the faster selling female soprano since the great Maria Callas.

Lone Star



Those whacky Texans are at it again. The local newspaper in his 'home' town, the Lone Star Iconoclast, has come out pro-Kerry, giving up on their local man after backing him in 2000. In the spirit of open democracy, freedom of speech and all those other things Americans go on about but rarely either practise (or even have access to in many cases) the locals have ostracised the editor and the paper. Not surprisingly some cancelled subscriptions and the like, but then local stores and gas stations refused to even sell it while showing that Repulican Texans aren't a bunch of foolish children the local high school football team coach refuses to even supply the scores for games to the paper... Welcome to the land of the free, where you have the right to stay quiet... Godbless America and Keep Walking Tall, Texas! Enjoy your democratic rights as long as you choose to vote and make your opinion fit everyone else. What next, a two-minute hate??? Oh, wait....



Do these cattle-shaggin' areshole even realise neither he or his pappy are fucking Texans??!!!???!!! Then again, we're talking about a state that makes even other Americans shake their head in disbelief...

666, the number of the... er, Royal navy frigate...



Yep, after first of all revealing it to the magazine Rule Satanica, an Edinburgh man who serves on HMS Cumberland has become the first Satanist to come out in the Royal Navy! I knew the devil had the best tunes, but I didn't know he had the best warships too. Well, still better than having all those crazy -born-again' Christian nutters in the White House (do you want folk who believe in the literal truth of the Bible with their finger on the button???? These are folk who look forward to the Apocalypse because they think they'll all be spared - personally I prefer to sin my ass off and take my chances...).

Louis, Louis

I’ve just finished reading one of the most delightfully dream-like and enchanting graphic novels I’ve come across in a long time (and I read rather a lot of graphic novels!). Louis: Dreams Never Die is the latest Louis adventure by the excellent folks at Metaphrog (hi, Sandra and John – thanks for the book!). I’ve just submitted my review to Ariel for the mighty Alien and such is the dream-like quality of the tale it is a struggle to do it justice in a short review. Think Sam in Brazil crossed with Charlie Brown via the Yellow Submarine and you’ll start to get the idea. Louis seems very simplistic but it plants little ideas in you subconscious which will keep popping up.

Metaphrog have also created a CD-ROM with a Louis animation and music by hey and múm, which is fitting since their music has inspired them – a truly collaborative process and an added joy to the book. Isn’t it interesting that the large publishers don’t tend to innovate like this? But here we have a Glasgow-based independent using technology to connect to and entertain their readers in a charming way. I really can’t recommend this enough, it is simply wonderful and more people need to read Louis (go on, it will make you feel better). You can see the animation at www.louisandfc.com.

Enigma



More declassified information on the activities of Station X at Bletchley Park during WWII has shown that the current tensions between UK and US over military co-operation is not confined to the current distaste for sacrificing Scottish soldiers in Baghdad to help Bush's re-election prospects. It appears Washington threw a hissy fit over the sharing of the Enigma code-breaking and thought their guys could do better. Alan Turing took a look and told them they weren't anywhere as good as the more Heath-Robinson British approach. The US held back in revenge advances in electronics which could lead to a functional computer - not a great loss since previously declassified documents showed that Station X built their own computer instead - and actually it was the first digital programmable computer in the world. Naturally most of this didn't make it into Hollywood where brave Americans capture and Enigma machine form a U-Boat and crack codes, despite the fact they were captured in an act of extreme heroism by British naval officers and cracked by British geniuses such as Turing, but when did Hollywood ever let fact in the way of a story? Oddly enough U-571 sank (pun intended) at the UK box office with no survivors... And the moral of this tale? Well, if there is one it's that huge resources, enromous military and a petualnt attitude often fail to achive half as much as a quieter, softly-softly approach put together by clever folk. Something politicians and military strategists on both sides of the Atlantic should think about today.

Stephenson



One of my favourite authors (and one who I have sung many a praise of on this blog) Neal Stephenson has been talking to Slashdot (thanks to Cory Doctorow at the excellent Boing Boing for the link). Neal's site also has a link to a page on his latest work, the magnificent masterpiece that is the Baroque Cycle (how magnificent? well I was prepared to read three thousand pages of prose over three volumes in this last year of it, it's worth the effort).

For the blood is the life...



The WWF arranged blood samples of a group of European Union ministers at a recent meeting to highlight the growing problem of our own polluting of our environment. All of the ministers had a large number of chemicals in their blood samples, many of them dangerous to health (of a grown adult - the risk to a child or, heaven forbid, to an uborn child in the womb would be far greater). And most of these are people in a good job in an advanced nation, not a backwater, Third World nation with no environmental laws and heavy industry. As usual the multi-billion pound chemical companies are fighting more regulation on grounds of expense and making them less competetive, just as they always do (they even fought regulations to control access to dangerous chemicals in the wake of 9-11 to rpevent terrorist groups getting hold of dangerous materials - frankly they don't care as long as they make a profit).



Scary stuff - even those who live in a nice, clean city, eat organic food and exercise are still having their bodies poisoned on a daily basis. Quite what the blood sampels would reveal if repeated in a smog-bound traffic-ridden city like LA isn't worth thinking about. And in all of this, has no-one considered the impact this must be having on the world's vampire population?

New world, new link



Hurriedly checking my email before heading out for a meal tonight (still waiting for a much overdue purchase from Send It and getting very annoyed) and I spotted a message from Tim Spalding in Maine who has a rather interesting resource site on Hernando Cortes and the conquistadores. I'll need to have a better look when I have more time on my hands, but it looks like a good resource for anyone interested in this period of history.



Why am I getting an email on the subject when I'm probably better known for my jottings on Scottish history? I wondered for a minute - it's because of a blog I posted a good while back on one of my favourite TV historians, Michael Wood and his Conquistadors programme and book, which had almost slipped my mind. One of the things I like about cyberspace is illustrated here - the way in which opinions, scribblings, musings and the like ripple out across space to all sorts of people and, because once it's there it's pretty much there for a good while, these ideas move also in space. Much like the way in which the Gutenberg press freed ideas and advanced communication centuries back, but with a faster and more interactive nature.

New blogging



My old mate (how old - well we go back to the school days, which were so long ago we used slates and chalk instead of paper and pen and lessons were in Latin... Well, BBC Model A - the B was later - and BBC Basic, which are similar to chalk and slate these days...) has finally gotten into blogging. At last a vent for his paranoia and an easier way for the intelligence services to monitor his behaviour, so please welcome Nil Desperandum.

Comics aren't just for adults



We received some new (to the UK) graphic novels for kids today. Proper GNs, not toddler's picture books - these are real collections from genuine writers of the genre but aimed at younger readers. Interesting to see comics coming full circle after a fashion - originally often seen (sometimes correctly but not always) as something for kids (or dim adults) a few broke through to become recognised as genuine adult literature. In the last 20 years of course the adult GNs have become far more recognisable (indeed grown ups like to call them graphic novels instead of comics as it sounds more adult and mature). Dark Knight Returns, V for Vendetta and Watchmen really got things going and raised the profile in the mainstream media. Spiegelman won a Pulitzer for the astonishing Maus, confirming what many of us already knew, that comics could be a serious artform and one which can make a tremendous impact.



Recently the likes of Joe Sacco's Palestine and other works such as Persepolis, Blankets and others have all garnered mainstream attention from broadsheet papers, from the Guardian in the UK to the new York Times. A few months ago I wrote here how one of our account customer, a school librarian, came in to pick some new books for his school. He thought perhaps GNs may help with some of the students who were less keen on reading and I helped him select several hundred pounds of titles, which I have heard have actually worked very well and he is trying to enthuse other librarians to the medium now. Fantasy writer and fellow Alien contributor Juliet McKenna wrote of how she had to slap down a haughty teacher who was rubbishing her child's wish to write his book report on a Spider-Man graphic novel, until Juliet explained the complexity of the narrative etc and pointed out as the child of a writer he was exposed to a lot of reading.



And here we are, with people such as Neil Gaiman, Lemony Snicket, Dan Clowes and Maurice Sendak all writing and drawing comics but for the younger audience. Full circle. Think I'll put some in with the adult GNs and see which areas they sell more from. Check out Little Lit for details - and anyone with kids who like comics, these are rather tasty.

The naming of Joes is a difficult matter...



It isn't just one of your holiday games...each Joe has three names and the third he never will tell...



Actually I found a couple of mentions on Google of an old Swedish chum from college, Caroline, who I haven't seen in yonks. Then I stuck in some other names for the hell of it, finally putting in my own name. Lots of hits, some mine, most not. Some personal sites by folk who are in the International Brotherhood of Joe Gordons, links to the Woolamaloo and to a number of my book and film reviews. Links also to the folk singer, who I've heard about many times and been asked rather often if I am related (nope, except obviously he's a fellow clansman). I also found hits for another musician - this was one I didn't know, and old-time Jazz man called Joe Gordon. Never come across him before and now I'm going to have to look for an album sometime (love some good Jazz and Blues). Joe Gordon was the boss of Clark Gable's character in the classic It Happened One Night. And apparently there was a famous baseball player with the name. I wonder if any of them share a birthday with Bonnie Prince Charlie like me? (yes I know, I look good for my centuries - the secret is to moisturise people).

Battling stars

One of those rare events for Murdoch’s Sky cable/satellite channel – a quality programme that wasn’t the Simpsons (although there have been several Most Excellent new Simps this month – the one where Homer becomes a superhero in the guise of Simple Simon, your friendly local neighbourhood Pie Man is standout) - Battlestar Galactica. They had a major push with umpteen trailers plus talking head slots with the main characters for the series on Monday 18^th (apparently we’re getting it before the US) and also the telemovie/pilot over the last couple of days.

When I first heard they were reworking this old show I was one of those who was a little cynical. Not because I was a die-hard fan of the original – I remember it from the 70s and 80s and enjoyed it but it didn’t blow me away and even as a ten-year old I thought it was rather silly – but because I am generally wary of remakes. The fact that there were two competing remake versions made it sound even more unlikely that either would work (Richard ‘Apollo’ Hatch tried to get his own version running, picking up from the original version he starred in). I think it was only when they announced Lorne Greene’s old role of Commander Adama was being given to the heavyweight acting talent of Edward James Olmos that I started to think there may be something good about the new show.

Having watched a download version of the pilot movie I still sat and watched a ‘proper’ digital broadcast on Sky and enjoyed it just as much second time around. The new show, although sticking to the same basic premise of humanity’s world being overwhelmed and annihilated by the mechanical species of Cylons while survivors go on the run protected by the only surviving human warship, is a far grittier and more realistic show. Unlike the original the survivors’ response to genocide isn’t to stop off for a glittering disco and thank smeg there isn’t a bloody furry animal thrown in to the mix. Pretty much all of the characters have flaws – they’re not the almost perfect humans of the Star Trek universe and consequently are far more accessible to viewers and more believable and sympathetic. There is action but again given a gritty, realistic (for SF) quality to it – ships don’t commit swoops and loops in space, they use thrusters to alter direction and pitch, when explosions occur it’s not just a gee-whiz big-bang effect, there is debris and sometimes people visible – in other words they are showing the consequences of the action scenes. The Galactica itself has the distinct look and feel of a WWII aircraft carrier, along the lines of the old fleet carriers like Ark Royal or Yorktown – actually looking more lo-tech than contemporary aircraft carriers, but it works well. The net effect of all of this is to enhance the most important aspect of any series – the drama. Hopefully the series proper itself will build on this.

Bestsellers

Just checking up on what’s hot and moving in our bookstore’s various fantastic fiction sections and found that one of our runaway successes was the graphic novel collection of Neil Gaiman’s first ever outing for Marvel, 1602. Not only have we sold an absolute ton of them in only a few weeks, when I checked sales figures for the company I found our wee branch accounted for damned nearly a quarter of the sales for the entire UK for Waterstone’s. That’s a nice, healthy extra bit of sales for our branch for little effort – it’s not a title being discounted, stuck in a 3 for 2 or promoted at the front of store, the extra sales all come from having folk who know the section and how to run it (and the corresponding fact that we have by dint of this knowing how to run it attracted a good reputation as one of the places in Edinburgh to go for this sort of thing, which is better than any number of 3 for 2 promotions in my book). Anyway, since I was having a quick check on top movers I thought I’d post them all up:

Graphic Novels

1) 1602, Neil Gaiman (well, d’uh! Didn’t you read the above?!)

2) Superman: Red Son, Mark Millar

3) The Sandman: Endless Nights, Neil Gaiman

4) The Sandman: the Doll’s House, Neil Gaiman (September’s Book Club choice)

5) Blankets, Craig Thompson (one of Alex’s Staff Recommends)

6) The Hedge Knight, George R R Martin (thanks, Vegar!)

7) McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern, Chris Ware (one of my Recommends)

8) Battle Royal Vol. 3, Koushun Takami

8) = Classic Dan Dare: Mission to Venus Vol. 2, Frank Hampson

9) 30 Days of Night, Steve Niles (another of my Recommends)

10) Hellboy: Seed of Destruction, Mike Mignola (been Recommended for ages!)

Bubbling under: Grant Morrison’s The Filth, J M Strackzynski’s Spider-Man: Coming Home, Jill Thompson’s Death

Science Fiction

1) Going Postal, Terry Pratchett (what a surprise)

2) Monstrous Regiment, Terry Pratchett (even less of surprise)

3) The Algebraist, Iain M Banks

4) Dune: Battle of Corrin, Brian Herbert & Kevin J Anderson

5) Fool’s Fate, Robin Hobb

6) The Northern Lights, Philip Pullman

7) The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (omnibus), Douglas Adams

8) The Novice, Trudi Canavan

9) The Magician’s Guild, Trudi Canavan

10) The Snow, Robert Adams

Bubbling under: The Confusion, Neal Stephenson, White Wolf, David Gemmell.

The Horror section is, unremarkably, dominated by Stephen King (whose remaindered novels are so thick they are being used to deflect RPGs from British tanks in Iraq). However, it’s nice to see that Charlaine Harris’s Stookie Stackhouse Vampire Mysteries are all in the top ten as well (yes more I’ve had in Recommends). It's also scary how many titles (especially the GNs) that I've read and reviewed - they mount up pretty quickly, don't they?

More literature



Young master Alex is making an impression in the Glasgow-based Sunday Herald now he is away in London!

Lit Cit



UNESCO, the United Nations' (that august body that Bush and Blair normally ignore) cultural arm have given our lovely city of Edinburgh the first ever award as the first ever City of Literature. Coming on the Old and New Town's status several years ago of World Heritage Sites it is a huge coup and a remarkable honour. The city's literary history - how many other cities boast a monument to one of their most world renown writers that towers a couple of hundred feet? - combined with recent history with writers as diverse as Ian Rankin, Muriel Spark, Iain Banks and Irvine Welsh along with the Scottish Poetry Library, the National Library of Scotland, the Scottish Book Trust and, of course, the Edinburgh International Book Festival have fused together to garner this first ever issue of this honour. As a lifelong reader, professional bookseller, reviewer and someone who has used these to try and support writers and increase awareness of good writing I'm totally thrilled that Edinburgh has been chosen. Obviously I am totally biased, but in my opinion it is quite deserved and reflects well not only on the city but all of Scotland.



Just a shame the wankers in charge of London's bid for the 2012 Olympic Games are now blaming a lack of support from Scotland as one of the reasons their bid may falter. Er, what exactly have we got to do with it? Every time a world event like this is proposed it is always for London, which is hundreds of miles away from most folk in England let alone those of us fortunat enough to reside in Caledonia. If another Olympics is held in London its not going to mean much to folk in the North of England and even less to Scots, so why should we be enthused about it exactly? Huge amounts of the UK taxpayer's funds will be used for something that will not impact on most of the UK, so again why would we care about it coming here? And more to the point, since we are not involved in it, how can our lack of enthusiasm affect it? Or are the London mob just rehearsing excuses if they fail in their bid? So nice of them to share these sour grapes with us on the day the Scottish capital was honoured.

Power to the people?



Another great contribution from my Gulf Coast Gal Stephanie in sunny (well in between the hurricanes anyway) Florida. Check it out - I don't think the men repairing the gas main (and holding up the traffic hugely every day) near me have quite this problem!

Banking on it

Last night was our event with one of my favourite (and also local) authors, Iain M Banks in the rather nice environs of the Traverse Theatre. Actually I still think of it as the New Traverse as I remember the old, pokey but wonderful wee theatre squeezed into the back of a courtyard of tall tenements in the middle of Edinburgh’s Old Town (people used to drink in the cobbled courtyard after a play while watching the scenery and large props being manhandled out of an upstairs window on one of those fixed winches you used to see on barns and the like).

We had one of the two purpose-built new auditoriums for last nights gig. Being a very indie venue (it specialises in new Scottish writing) it is, of course, all black. I once attended a great evening there hosted by Harvill (when they were still a quality independent publisher) – lots of free wine, free books and a talk by the great Peter Mathiessen (one of the world’s great treasures). And being a book trade event there were a couple of hundred of us almost entirely in black. In a black auditorium. Pretty drunk by the end of it. Lots of very clever, well-read people in black in a black theatre, full of free wine (the booksellers not the theatre). Never seen so many well-educated people walking straight into doors and walls…

But back to the Banks event: it was a splendid evening for all. Iain was on great form for his hometown gig, starting with a reading from The Algebraist (my Alien review here), answering questions about his books, the Culture then digressing on all sorts of topics, from comparing his mainstream fiction writing to his SF writing (he had the analogy of playing a fine piano and playing an enormous, multi-keyboard cathedral organ) and a fair few political comments, including his own anti-war protest when he and his wife chopped up their British passports and sent them to Blair.



doesn't this look like Iain is addressing a political rally? Presidential debate perhaps?!?!

After signing books for the fans, stock for the shop and, even more importantly, for my colleague Jonathan and myself, we all retired to the post-modernist design of the Traverse bar, where we were joined by a brace of other authors, namely Iain’s fellow Orbit stablemates Ken MacLeod, Charlie Stross and writer, poet and all-round good egg Andrew Greig (all four normally come along and try and support each other’s gigs when in town, which is nice). Ken kindly gave me a little insight into his next novel due in the spring, which I’m looking forward to enormously (being another of my favourite writers) and hopefully we’ll have a reading session with him as we usually do for his new books. Charlie was also telling me of some of his new publishing deals in the US, where he has been going on to great success I am glad to say and he is going to email me a proof of Accelerando in the near future. In between swigs of Belgian fruit-flavoured beer he told me that the reviewers at Locus had been enjoying his fantasy series so much they are demanding a fourth part and have been reading it on their own time, i.e. not as a book they are being paid to review, so it’s pretty obvious that are enjoying it.

Charlie later started running his ideas for a terrorist techno-thriller past Ken and myself. Fuelled by the ever-flatulent Guinness I suggested one way of subverting the most advanced of security scanners would be to have mystical fundamentalists who had developed the ability to create spontaneous human combustion by the power of their minds; in other words you couldn’t detect explosives since the terrorist was the bomb. Takes suicide bombings to a whole new level I thought, inspired by old Looney Tunes cartoons where someone drink gelignite then swallows a match. Ken seemed to find it amusing but I’m unsure how it would fit into Charlie’s ‘plans-within-plans’ proposed techno-thriller. But lest you think we only talked drunken SF bollocks, I’ll have you know Andrew Greig and I managed a brief discussion on Joyce and Ulysses, Neal Stephenson then on to the usual drink-fuelled morass of conversation (the type which made great sense at the time but you can’t properly recall next morning).

So a fine result all round – Iain on top form, a very happy and content audience, some drinks with chums (Matthew put in an appearance but couldn’t stay long as his plans for world destruction using his tech project are creating great demands on his time). And as a bonus I finally got to meet the lovely Jessica from Orbit, who is a very nice lady who kindly supplies me with some of the best of their new titles each month (including a nice early version of the Algebraist proof). First event we’ve had since the hiatus caused by the (supposed) imminence of our refit, then the actual refit itself. In fact we’ve not had an event in our branch since the one with Peter F Hamilton and Ken MacLeod back in the very early spring. And after having been stuck unwillingly down in the stock room for a few months now it was like being a real bookseller again, just briefly. And it was fun.

If anyone from Guinness is reading this, please note the careful product placement and note I am open to sponsorhip. As for the second image, well as all professional booksellers know the way to ensure a mound of signed stock after an event is to dangle booze in front of your writer. Works every time.

Chris Reeves

I was deeply saddened this morning when I heard the news of Christopher Reeves’ passing. There are many people far better qualified to write a memorial to him than I, so instead I’ll just say a few words about what he meant to me, and, I suspect, an awful lot of other people. A couple of years ago I was given a special edition of the first Superman film on DVD. I first saw this as a young boy who devoured comics back in the late 70s. I had the comics, the Superman wallpaper, toys and T-shirt (I still wear one occassionally; I really had to put it on today). Chris Reeves brought him alive for the ten-year old me and was so wonderfully perfect in the role – he was Superman for a generation of kids.

Much as I love the more complex nature of the Dark Knight or the realistic problems of Peter Parker’s Spider-Man there has always been something great about Superman. He was, after all, the first of the great superheroes – he defined what a hero was for over sixty years and became a cultural icon the world over. Reeves captured that spirit wonderfully – the first film especially is so full of heart. I can’t watch that scene where he first changes into Superman without feeling a rush; John William’s perfect score starts to play as he runs across the street, the camera zooms in as he reaches up and tugs back his shirt to reveal the big S… It’s a fabulous movie moment and one so iconic that the first Spider-Man film paid homage to it. When faced with the horrendous accident which left him crippled Reeves showed that he could do more than play at being a hero, facing his adversity and by doing so becoming a whole new kind of heroic icon to many suffering similar problems and those who love and support them. Most of us, broken so in body would also be broken in spirit, but it’s amazing how someone who was now confined to a wheelchair could stand his ground.

He played many roles over his career – even acting and directing after his accident, including a role on the Smallville series. But it is as Superman I think many of us of a certain age will remember him most fondly; he made my childhood a better place and years later it still makes me happy to watch that film again. That’s not a bad thing to be remembered for, is it? Making people happy and giving them inspiration? He said once after the accident that come what may he hoped he would be remembered after he was gone as someone who never gave up and who tried his best. He played the legendary Man of Steel and if his body was sadly as vulnerable finally as the rest of we mortals I think we can say truthfully that his spirit was one that could convince even a cynic that a man can fly.

some of these images came from the excellent online resource site Superman Central

Beginnings

Today marked the royal opening of the new Scottish Parliament building at Holyrood; an unusual, modern piece of architecture cheek by jowl with other buildings which are many centuries older. In a way it is a reflection of the nation: a deeply ancient past intertwined with the leading edges of modernity; at either end of the Royal Mile where the Queen processed down this morning is the Palace of Holyrood while the great sentinel of the Castle sits atop the other end. And yet in-between these ancient symbols of the Scottish past are the areas where the Scottish Enlightenment took place. Hume arguing his case for a more humanist and moral philosophy and way of life, Hutton walking into Deep time as he became amongst the first scientists to look at the rocks of our land and use his mind to unlock their great ages and the processes which shaped the world, overturning religious superstitions and of course the thriving printing industry which communicated and inspired this revolution in thought and spread it across the continents with missionaries driven to fight the evils of slavery in Africa and Thomas Jefferson, taught by his Scottish tutor, reading ideas of personal liberty and freedom. Today within a few miles can be found in the same city headquarters of one of the largest banks in one direction and one of the leading genetic research laboratories in the other with publishing success story Canongate in-between.

The opening ceremony contained, as these occasions normally do, more than its fair share of pomp. Royal heralds and ceremony are all very well for the tourists and there are few countries that do it as well as we do. However, far more interesting and enjoyable than this royal nonsense were the reading of a beautiful poem by our National Makkar, the Scottish Poet Laureate, my dear Edwin Morgan. Full of beauty, humour, simple advice and above all, his trademark optimism, Edwin was too ill – he is in his mid 80s with cancer – too attend, so his friend and fellow poet and dramatist Liz Lochhead read it in his stead. The Royal Scottish National Orchestra played throughout but the standout moment came when they backed former Fairground Attraction singer Eddie Reader as she sang a beautiful version of Robert Burns’ Auld Langs Syne (thus linking our historical National Bard with our modern Makkar). She began with the older version but halfway through switched to the more traditionally sung version and had the entire parliament and guests on their feet singing, holding their hands as Scots (and many other folks) do when they sing this song. Some really got into the spirit of it and were fairly gie’in it laldy as we say, and the sporrans were bobbing up and down on the kilts. This isn’t something you see in the stuffy old halls of the parliament at Westminster in London or the Congress of America or indeed most other such places, but this is Scotland and if we all feel like linking hands and lustily singing Auld Langs Syne then we’ll just do it. And why the hell not?

It was a rather lovely moment and one of those times where you can only hope that the fine rhetoric will be put into action for the betterment of all. I suspect, however, that like most political arenas we will soon be back to the normal bickerings, back-stabbings, cover-ups, evasions and behind-the-scenes shenanigans that usually accompany the most dishonourable career of politics. But it would be nice to think otherwise, wouldn’t it? That said, as we look back now at the five years since an overwhelming Yes vote in Scotland returned a devolved parliament to Edinburgh I still think it was the correct thing to do and believe I was right to add my cross to the Yes vote on the ballot organised by the late Donald Dewar. Despite the many stumblings, scandals and cock-ups the existence of the parliament and it’s far fairer electoral system (mixing traditional first past the post with an element of proportional representation) have give the citizens of Scotland a much greater say in their democracy. Both private individuals and minority political parties have been elected by this system, giving a greater diversity of opinion – witness a nice brace of Green MSPs for instance. It has also allowed far easier access for individuals, groups, unions and charities to petition their representatives and influence their policy, which can only be a good thing. I am sure I will be lampooning the goings-on at the Parliament in the future, but for now let’s try and think good thoughts.

And to end on a good note, here is a nice fact for the opening day (and a subject close to my heart!): the largest chocolate cake ever baked in Scotland will be served up by the nearby Plaisir du Chocolat in the Royal Mile. If you've seen the film Chocolat, the French chef/baker here is along the same lines (he also does the peppers in chocolate as in the film and book). Expensive? Very, but my god it is the most gorgeous chocolate!!! I got a box from there for Melanie's birthday one year and I can tell you as an expert guzzler of good chocolate that their goodies were heavenly, multiple orgasms in every bite. The only way it could be made better is by dribbling the chocolate over Christina Ricci for me to lick off. Hmmmm, chocolate.......

Irate Vamp Queen



The Queen of New Orleans, Anne Rice was not amused by some reviews of Blood Canticle (I think I gave it a medium rating myself on the Alien last year). In the new issue of the mighty Dave Langford's Ansible email digest this was posted:



"ANNE RICE was irked by negative Amazon reviews of her final vampire novel _Blood Canticle_ -- some disappointed, some nastily personal. Pausing to award her book five stars, she posted a vast unparagraphed tirade which perhaps unwisely revealed that: `I have no intention of allowing any editor ever to distort, cut, or otherwise mutilate sentences that I have edited and re-edited, and organized and polished myself. I fought a great battle to achieve a status where I did not have to put up with editors making demands on me, and I will never relinquish that status. For me, novel writing is a virtuoso performance. It is not a collaborative art.'

Some of us lesser writers still need that editorial whisper in the ear, `Remember thou art but mortal.' "

Blake



One of my all-time favourite poets (and used to interesting effect with Johnny Depp in Jim Jarmusch's gorgeous Dead Man). While searching the web for good poetry sites I found this archive of William Blake poetry partially run by the Library of Congress. As well as the poems it has his illustrations, etchings and a searchable hypermedia engine for locating phrases, poems and imagery. Now you can read some without even going to your bookstore or library, so what's stopping you?

Once a dream did weave a shade

O'er my angel-guarded bed,

That an emmet lost its way

Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,

Dark, benighted, travel-worn,

Over many a tangled spray,

All heart-broke, I heard her say:

'O my children! do they cry,

Do they hear their father sigh?

Now they look abroad to see,

Now return and weep for me.'

Pitying, I dropped a tear:

But I saw a glow-worm near,

Who replied, 'What wailing wight

Calls the watchman of the night?'

'I am set to light the ground,

While the beetle goes his round:

Follow now the beetle's hum;

Little wanderer, hie thee home.

A Dream, William Blake

Tyger, tyger, burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And, when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,

And watered heaven with their tears,

Did He smile His work to see?

Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tyger, tyger, burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

The Tyger, William Blake

More poetry



And why not on this day?



Words, Wide Night

Somewhere on the other side of this wide night

and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.

The room is turning slowly away from the moon.

This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say

it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing

an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.

La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine

the dark hills I would have to cross

to reach you. For I am in love with you and this

is what it is like, or what it is like in words.

Carol Ann Duffy