Citizen-enhanced signery

The Courier's New Bicycle - Should go far

Just posted on the Amazon Kindle edition site, but this posting has added links.

This highly readable, important though not self-consciously Important, novel, deserves a footnote about the cultural context of zealotry, bigotry, and religion-mandated oppression that Kim Westwood paints so well. The story takes place in an eerily recognisable near future, in the lanes and post-Industrial lots of Australia's other big city, Melbourne; though "No one could have predicted what the flu pandemic ten years ago would bring."

Westwood's protagonist, Salisbury Forth, is self-defined as "Genderbent and happy, that's me."—'happy' being as bravura as singing "I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK" in the face of a monster. It's not easy living within the strictures of the new morality laws; and living outside them takes its toll on the body, on friendships and love. But no matter how secure people seem to be, how well-connected or comfortable, they are constantly being tested, and tempted. Loyalty, trust, 'community', personal ambition and biological needs and wants. The nature of societal and personal hypocrisy is beautifully explored, as violent bible-thumpers literally search the streets, looking for transgressors; and black markets thrive. Animals as factories are another theme here. And just when it seems as if PETA is rearing its head to take a chomp out of what is, after all, a page-turner of a mystery story, another great theme gaffs that beast. Zealotry itself is shown in full light, the breathing patient of it, opened up on the table of Westwood's not insensitive scrutiny.

This is a remarkable novel in many ways. It never panders, never sinks to stereotypes, and doesn't flinch. That this takes place in Australia is entirely believable, but for a different reason than if it were set in some city in the USA. Australia has a history of wowserism imposed by a few zealots on the many. The national psyche of Australians is embarrassment at anyone getting their knickers in a knot about anything, except for sport. And as for going to church on Sunday? Are you joking? This is why we get imposed religiosity, because we can't get off our bums enough to object, though we do object, as is shown by every poll. To American readers, the Christians won't seem odd; and this is largely because this type of zealot is an invasive species from the USA.

So with the different themes, including the zen of cycling, this novel is a symphony. The only notes that clanged were ones that often do in any story brave enough to inhabit the future. In a world where even the stock markets have collapsed, gourmet coffee and custom dérailleurs will be cherished memories. As will mobile phones and fashion, unless it's made of rags. But that's my opinion. In the past month I've read recent futures by leading writers that time-proof CNN (something that would have been seen as product placement if it were in film) and in some dump of an interstellar hotel, its owner worried about nuisance suits. So this quibble of mine about details of society that don't wash is a cheap shot that could be aimed at pretty much any speculative future, and not a complaint as much as an invitation to more of us to speculate.

I've given the novel 5 stars because the important themes it covers well are some of the most important issues that we are getting good at avoiding. Furthermore, I think that this novel should be awarded the Tiptree because it embodies everything the Tiptree Prize should stand for: an insistence against being shoved into any gender box. I also think that this novel should be awarded the inaugural Voiceless Writing Prize, not just because it speaks up for animals, but more importantly, because it shows how people who set out to stop others who not only break the law but are immoral (in ways that hurt the common good, not someone's hungry sense of outrage) can not only hurt their own cause by the strength of their passion, but be pounced on by the law for their actions, even as those who acted against the common good, continue in their well-connected ways.

Cover of a Psittacinoir Mystery

Cardoons! - the story behind the story

"Every Milkmaid you eat will bring you one step closer to a soft and smooth complexion."

Some say we won't have any secrets soon, and to that I say, Bahh Blabberbugs. But it would be churlish not to let on that my newest published story — Cardoons! — a horror tale of veg and WARNINGs (announced here the other day because I'm delighted that it's nestled in Issue #1 of Phantasmagorium, "A new quarterly collection of visceral adult fiction", edited by Laird Barron) — well, as I was roundaboutly saying, Cardoons! has some people without whom this tale wouldn't have been a sspht betwixt my synapses. This is one of my favourite stories, and that drooble above is an indulgence I couldn't help blurting out.

First, Cardoons! is dedicated to Vincent Michael Simbulan, for his brainchild A Time For Dragons, An Anthology of Philippine Draconic Fiction. Specifically, as I wrote in a previous post, "Included in the volume is a wonderfully informative (without pain) essay by Charles Tan, about the great variety of dragons and their relationships with us."

(Oh, there are also many others who inspired my horrors in this story, but their names shall live in unfamy.)

And then you should know about the art of Marc McBride.

Just some of the art of Marc McBride

I greatly admire his art (and although the public doesn't know it yet, his writing also has a unique charm that is completely captivating).

We've worked together before, on this, because we like collaborating. I asked him to lead with the illo, and I would follow with a story.

The Eye of Nostradamus Summit
Painting by Marc McBride
Story by Anna Tambour

We both see Cardoons! as a lavishly illustrated children's book. I wrote Cardoons! for Marc, thinking of his beautiful prismatic, sinuous paintings — and especially his palette, rife with colours butterflies would kidnap him to garb them with.

New story in Virtuous Medlar Circle, new Irresistibles, new Quotes

Keep your tongue firmly in your cheek, lest it be taken for an ingredient on the loose.

"Turcotte took his knife out and started to evaluate the ingredients' ferocity and tactics."

– from the newest story in the Virtuous Medlar Circle,
"Turcotte's Battle" by Laura E. Goodin

Savour it, puzzle over a new portrait of a Magnificent Insignificant in the Season column, dance bonelessly as one model of abandonment does to the brazen brass and elastic beat of Bombay Royale — the first item listed in this month's Irresistibles. See a baby elephant birthed by Erth. Mix danger with childhood. Visit a dinosaur petting zoo. See the wonders of frogs & toads, fact & fiction. Be outwhiskered by the world's greatest nuzzles. And in Quotes, snicker with Dennis Danvers at art infectiousness; and just below that beauty, snigger at what us poor mugs paid for, as art (including 'performance art') as opposed to music, beauty, spectacle, consummate performances, and having a right good rave of a time.

All at the circus of unexpectednesses, the Other in my officialish aufor site.

"I cannot tell a lie."

"One letter, one life" - and no one is asking you to give

The no-hassle to write, free-to-send cards that really do save lives
Billions of greetings are on the move already, the bulk of them resulting in a lukewarm feeling of 'that's nice' or 'they still want our business'.

Some cards, however, actually make such a difference that the piffling effort taken is astounding, compared to the result.

“I received your letter on Christmas Eve, just as I was having horrible thoughts of cutting this earth trip short. The correctional officer said ‘you got mail,’ and that snapped me back from the edge. As I read the paragraph, 'We received many messages from people who wanted to let you know that you are not forgotten,' my eyes got blurry, full of tears. So it was hard for me to see clearly. And now even as I write this letter there's a tear running down my cheek. I always thought nobody goes through what I go through...the holiday cards saved my life.”
- Alvin
Read his story and others at Just Detention International's
"The Holiday Cards Saved My Life"


I asked Lovisa Stannow, the Executive Director of JDI, for some quotes that I could post here. This is what she said:

Our card campaign presents a rare opportunity to do something that is completely free, takes only a minute, and has the potential to save the life of prisoners who have endured horrific sexual abuse while in the government’s custody. During last year’s holiday card campaign, I was in awe of the outpouring of kindness and compassion from hundreds of people who sent greetings. I was equally amazed by the responses from prisoner rape survivors who received the holiday cards. Some of them had never, ever received a card in the mail before. Most of them had no idea there were so many people out there who cared about them, who were fighting for their right to dignity.

As for the greetings folks submitted last year, here are some nice examples:

“I wish you hope, healing, and support. Please know there are people fighting for you, even if you have never seen us. Know there is love.”

“May you take comfort in knowing that countless people in the free world care deeply about you and will not stop fighting for justice.”

“From one survivor to another, I send you hope for peace of mind and heart. On both sides of the bars, we give one another strength to go on.”

And here’s one from today:

“Dear Friend, I guess this time of year may feel particularly hard. Please let me take a minute to say that I recognize that your humanity and your safety are worth fighting for regardless of your detention. I wish you hope and joy every day. Be well.”

So it's easy and free, and you can do it without worry about your privacy being completely respected. I asked Lovisa to elaborate.

"We never share anyone’s contact information with anyone, ever – prisoner or not. For this campaign, it’s absolutely enough to include a first name. Even if someone does include their full name and contact information, we’ll only include the first name in the holiday card (your message makes me think we should make that clearer on our website!). We are, of course, keen to get people’s full names and e-mail addresses so that we can stay in touch with those who participate in this effort and build JDI’s base of supporters."
— Lovisa Stannow

600 People
So wherever you are in the world, send a card or a few. In fact, it's kind of cool thinking of thousands of us—people from everywhere—sending these life-changing messages to folks in the USA. It's a small world, and we all benefit when someplace begins to clean up its act.

I have the highest respect for the reforms that JDI advocates, and for the people in this small efficient NGO. They are wholly committed to making the world a truly better place, where 'humane' has a meaning, not a cause for a wink and a joke.

In March 2011, JDI reported:

The [US] Department of Justice has released its first-ever estimate of how many people are sexually abused in U.S. detention in a one-year period. In 2008, the Department says, at least 216,600 people were abused in prisons and jails, and in 17,100 of these cases, in juvenile detention

Overall, that's almost 600 people a day.

Last year, the first year of JDI's Holiday Card campaign, 600 cards were sent. That's nothing compared to what we could do this year.

Send from their website, at:
Holiday Hope for Survivors

or
Just Detention International on Facebook

Two recommended collections

First, a warning: Foul words ahead.
Those shit-spurting dissimulators at Amazon!

Amazon gives new meaning to "It is better to give than to receive".
Now, whenever someone 'gifts' a Kindle book to some unsuspecting person, the Act is an Impertinence. Receiving now, in my case, was like living in a society entirely designed by theorists on Asteroid *. Amazon needs to make sure that when it sends an email directing someone to click and receive, there is a non-graphic link that actually appears in the email, regardless of whether the email is set to accept graphics. And Amazon needs to look at their own Q & A, seeing how circular their nonhelp is. And Amazon needs to also understand that a recipient might not use the same email for Amazon as the gift comes in on. And also, duh, one platform needs to be able to have multiple accounts. In my case, I had to open the mail in the cloud, and eventually learn from some discussion group that to accept the gift that's in a name other than what you use with Amazon, you just log in with Amazon as normal, and put in the code, and you'll receive. If you want to then take that book and read it on your other pc, from my experience, if this was ever discussed in Amazon, the answer was "if our customers (or do they call us 'guests'?) want to do that, they can go fuck themselves."

That said, eventually I was able to download this new collection by Adam Browne, entitled Phantasmagoriana, though, grrr, cutting and pasting some quotes from it is something the Masters don't wish us to be capable of, damn their corporate obtusities!


But what about Phantasmagoriana?
This collection has as many tones as a battle between gamelans and bombards.

At first glance, it can seem like an exercise in impressionism, just for the showiness, but that's a false impression. There's a lot of depth here, especially philosophical, quite beautifully (unshowily!) expressed. The collection deserves another title, an original sit-up-and-notice handle equal to the original quirkiness of the stories.

I do have some favourites, of which "Biology …" is first in terms of the message, and "Bladderwrack …" in sheer, pitching-perfect fun, with the added tot of poignancy. (disclaimer: I have a small addiction to 17th and 18th century journals and tales, especially those with sea-legs.)

"A Retrospective" (a long story new to this collection) is a story that should be anthologised, and would fit well in a Strange Attractor publication. Full of cultural richness, this doesn't read as if it's another story of literary mining in exotic lands, but as if the writer hasn't dug this from a pile of media-shit or even a clean screen and shining writing qualifications. It does read as if at least part of the making of this story could have been a tropical boil.

"Heart of Saturday Night", taking place in modern Thailand is citygritty. "The Sun King" is exceedingly playful. But then there's the mischievous "Space Operetta" with its marvelously cheeky opening and its delicious second to last para. But then dammit, "An Account of an Experiment …" is a perfect blend of spot-on period drollery without the pain but with all the irreverent fun that one could see written in the original.

Browne (and the Browne/John Dixon collaboration in "The Laughing Girl of Bora ...") has an incredible ability to squeeze the gist out of a period of time, and place—even one that he makes up. Out of gist, he makes a story that is so smoothly enticing, it is a thrill to be transported, even to places that have so much reeking atmosphere that if there was a lull in the story, a reader could start sniffing the room for mildew or ... and there is so much ("its forces a confoundment", "the beggars drowning in their own karma") that without something to say, this would be another collection of impressionistic cloudskins.

There's a lot of heart in these stories, but nothing prescriptive. These are the stories of someone who has a life and has observed others, an author who has the confidence to stand back and let the stories tell—an author who has the humility to write about somethings other than himself. An author who has the maturity to try different voices and to collaborate at times with others (I first met a story by Adam Browne when I was backrooming editorwise, and so thoroughly enjoyed that "Laughing Girl" Browne/Dixon collab that I asked for private emails so that I could tell them personally). And then later, I stuck up my three or so thumbs pointing to its worthiness here.

And so I heartily like this collection, so much that I will now stick the boot in. Although this Kindle edition is beautifully set, there is something missing—that acknowledgments page that tells where, if anyplace, the stories were previously published. So here is that information (all the stories except one most excellent long story were previously published, but aren't easy to find).

• Orlando’s Third Trance — HQ Magazine, December, 1999
• (with John Dixon) Honeymoon — cOck – adventures in masculinity, edited by John Stevenson and Andrew Macrae, Cour de Lion Publishing, 2010
  
• Biology of Paradise — Three-lobed Burning Eye, Issue 19, May 2010 (appearing there as "The Biologie of Paradise")
• Blood Drunk — Allnighter: Fiction That Burns at Both Ends, Cardigan Press, 2006
• Sun King — Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine, 2006, and Best of ASIM, Fantasy, Vol 2
• Heart of Saturday Night — Lenox Avenue ezine, 2005,
• Bladderwrack — Agog Ripping Reads, edited by Cat Sparks, Wildside Press, 2006
• Final Writings of Baron Sir Heinrich Proteus von Zuse — Aurealis #40 - April 2008
• A Retrospective — appearing for the first time in this collection
• Space Operetta — Aurealis #31, 2003
• "An account of an experiment conducted by Fra Salimbene..." — ORB 7, 2008
• (with John Dixon) "The Laughing Girl of Bora Fanong' a Tale of Colonial Venus" — Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine, Issue 46, 2010
• End of Roentgen Rays — Talebones Magazine, 2003

I never expect every story in a collection or anthology to work for me, and only rarely find a collection in which every story does (both of Laird Barron's collections are magnificent exceptions), so I'll state here that three stories in Adam Browne's Phantasmagoriana would mess up the starcount if I were forced to plaster a book with them, as if this were some child's assignment.

Firstly, "Honeymoon" was fatally wounded by the drafting of a Southern General. The authors, who otherwise make a team as powerful as Elizabeth Bear and Sarah Monette, should have fought about this hoary draftee. If they both agreed, then they should be sentenced to a pitcher each of warm syrupy mint julep, chugged on empty stomachs in infernal heat; and then a 20 click run through streets overflowing with more poverty-stricken cliches reaching out to them than Slumcur Zillionaire. Any story that has anyone, General or no, from the Deep South saying "Mah Nellie" should be treated with extreme prejudice, whether that General or- has, as he does in this case, tentacles, or not. It isn't that I am against anyone 'doing' the South, or that I don't think the way people express themselves is fascinating. There's been a sight too much presumptuousness about it, just as there is in, say, depicting any man who lives in Appalachian backwoods as a man itching to use his axe to skin you in your sleep. I object to trying to ride a dead horse. Let it rot! Actually, the American South is a fascinating place, with a plethora of styles of communication. And I speak with some knowledge, as someone who endured painful teasing in Alabama from fellow students and teachers alike, for saying theater with only two syllables. But anything that comes outa yur mouth is funny as hell to someone else. I've been the source of beer-spilling mirth for one word uttered in a bar in Maastricht, and words like water or phrases like dew on the grass can bring strong locals anywhere to tears. And that is just 'English'. Chinese people are too polite to laugh in your face when you ask for anything, but foreigners learn to act like children: show a note written by someone who knows.

Highly recommended
The best story I ever read not just about language, but the ways the subtleties place us and cause us to be more judgmental than God having one of his attacks of the vapours — is "Explanations Are Clear" by L. Timmel Duchamp, in Never at Home, her superbly vigorous collection (that hasn't garnered the following it should, possibly because of the timid cover).

Alice thought of how she called Corinne's parents Marian and Joe. Totally different worlds, yes. Not to mention her mother's dropping the esses on her plurals, and pronouncing her ths like ds or ts, which Alice, conscious of Corinne's foreign ear, noticed as she had almost never done in her life.

In fact, throughout this collection, the issues of language and expression run like blood in an artery. One short paragraph in the muscular but spare should-be-prize-winning "Sadness Ineffable, Desire Ineluctable":

Need to know? First religious nuances, and now the language of national security freaks?

Available in paperback and e-book

Never at Home is an outstanding collection of stories that explore the complexity of relationships in an unusual depth and iridescence. Often very beautiful, but never affected, I hope that this collection gets the prizes it deserves, and I hope that L. Timmel Duchamp is snapped up by another publisher of the highest quality fiction.

But were you itching to get back to the other two stories in Phantasmagoriana that didn't work for me?
The first one and the last—the first, because I think it was going along swimmingly till it briefly literary note-dropped, a wholly unnecessary celebrity appeal—to appeal to the college educated, who know the allusion from the notes (for the allusion is not to something loved, but studied, if ever) and then that dratted airship (not the only gratuitous dirigible in this collection, tut tut!).

And the last story, to me, was too influenced by Borges, who is a bad influence.

And that ends the ramble for today. Usually I proof and rewrite till my brain is reduced to a stub. Today, I'm too bushed. Abject insincere apologies for all my downright mistakes, and garblings.

P.S. Now a few days have passed, enough time that one of those unpleasant how did you miss these jolts just hit me. I wrote above: I never expect every story in a collection or anthology to work for me, and only rarely find a collection in which every story does (both of Laird Barron's collections are magnificent exceptions). But suddenly I want to add two others, both of which hold special places on my shelves. Across Paris, by Marcel Aymé, a collection that astounded me so much that I bought up every title I could by him (all at who-would-want-this-old-thing prices) only to be disappointed. The other consistently astounding and haunting collection, full of believably twisted relationships on all levels, and geographies that can't be GPS'd, is Dagger Key and Other Stories by Lucius Shepard (though the author of the Introduction reminds me of my allergy to plastic watches; every fresh exposure produces greater irritation).

The gourmet snail

It is never wise to disturb a gourmet who's digging in, though listening to a snail eat is one of life's great and greatly under-celebrated pleasures. As to who is being spied upon, I don't have a clue, nor would I presume to try to find out.

"In order to recognise and describe new snail species, it is not enough to study their shells or what they do look like from the outside. Species of each genus do look very similar, esp. for laymen. The most characteristic feature - a kind of "species fingerprint" - of Australian land snails is the anatomy of their penial wall."
— Martin Pueschel, Australian Museum (see his gorgeous drawings of these sinuosities here)

"I'm not a species. I'm an individual!"
— anon., though often attributed to a man who walked into a bar on Xlugna, 2098

This is the polyporus woody pore-fungus that the snail has been trawling on a long lunch.

Go have your own good time viewing the weird and wondrous offerings of the Fungilicious group's art challenge:
"Woody pore-fungi & Bracket-fungi (Polyporus and allies) Must show the pores clearly!!!!


And now we'll slink off.

"An occasional meal with himself is very good for Mr. Doe. It gives him time to look about him; quiet in which to savour his present mouthful."
– M.F.K. Fisher, "On Dining Alone", from Serve It Forth

Quotefest - from Steve Aylett's Novahead

First, read this new Aug Stone interview of Aylett in The Quietus. I never seem to have a Lint around to quote from because I keep getting them to give away, so I'll just say that Lint is canonic, and getting the accessories to Lint is part of the fun – see an excerpt from And Your Point is? in the Virtuous Medlar Circle.

Next, do you have your Novahead? Now in both paper and Kindle editions, Novahead should sear Aylett in the brains of those who give out comfits.

And there could be a prize given called the Aylett Award, for a work that can be savoured by random sentence. A sentence that means something, and some.



Random hits from Novahead

The air was criss-crossed with a density of laws that could strip the skin off a man's head for a moment's inattention.

Recoil is like hearing your own accent.

I'd known the town was finished when I put a phone to my ear and found it was a cockroach.

He had no goggles and I realised he detected the Mantarosa only by the hysterico-gravitational behaviour of the vehicles around us.

He shook himself and stood up in a big way. He certainly dominated a room. It would take a lot of work to kill him from beginning to end.

'A few days ago,' he said. 'I shot you point-blank with a Kingmaker.'
'I forgive you. But don't shoot anyone else. It makes them uncomfortable.'

By the time I realised with horror that life was no mere passing fancy, I'd grown attached to its compensatory malices.