Fantasy Author, Science Fictioneer, Writer of Worlds
My fantasy assassin caper The Last Trap has been reprinted in The Best of Abyss & Apex Volume 3.
This is my second appearance in Abyss & Apex Best Of collections – my story Museum Beetles was reprinted in Volume 1. Volume 3, meanwhile, is available on Amazon here.
It’s fair to say my novel Engn has had something of a troubled adolescence – to date, it’s been published twice, once by the now-defunct December House, and once by the all-but-dead Curiosity Quills Press. I’m almost completely sure Engn has not been responsible for the demise of either of these two publishers…
I thought about submitting the book – and its sequel Engn II – The Clockwork War – to a third publisher, but then I decided to put them out myself. Enough of the messing around. They’re both now going to be appearing under my Stormcrow imprint, certainly by the end of 2019.
What’s more, I now have covers for both. They’re still being tweaked, but at the moment they look like this…
Looking good, I think!
I need to decide what to do about my steampunk YA novel Engn. It’s been published twice, once by the now-defunct December House press…
And most recently by Curiosity Quills, a press that isn’t technically dead but which has stopped moving and which I’ve pulled the novel from because, well, they look as good as dead to me.
Lost in the great machine…
Finn’s childhood in the valley is idyllic, but across the plains lies a threat. Engn is an ever-growing steam-powered fortress that needs a never-ending supply of workers. Generation after generation have been taken away, escorted into its depths by the mysterious and terrifying Ironclads, never to return.
The Masters of Engn first take Finn’s sister, then his best friend, Connor. Finn thinks he, at least, is safe – until the day the Ironclads come to haul him away too.
Yet all is not lost, Finn has a plan. In the peace of the valley he and Connor made a pact. A promise to join the mythical Wreckers and end Engn’s tyranny.
But now on his own, lost and thwarted in the vastness of Engn, Finn begins to have doubts. Is Connor really working to destroy Engn?
Or have they become part of the machine?
So now I need to decide what to do with the novel. There’s also the fact that I’ve written a sequel to the book (The Clockwork War) which has never been published. Curiosity Quills were supposed to be putting that book out, but completely failed to.
Also, I think it’s fair to say that Engn has had a somewhat complicated reception – some people absolutely loved it, some were indifferent. Although on one level it’s a YA adventure, it’s also a story about how some ideas are too large to see properly, because you’re inside them. As a metaphor for this, the purpose of the great machine that Finn finds himself lost within is never explained – in Book 1 at least. The machine just is, in the same way that many of our ideas and attitudes to life are accepted as the way the universe is, even when that’s clearly not true. I think some readers found that lack of explanation troubling, although for me it was the whole point. Book 2, incidentally, does explain the actual purpose of the great machine…
So, what to do – see if a third publisher is interested, or publish the books independently?
Here’s the cover and blurb for Dead Star, book 1 of the Triple Stars Trilogy, out early next year…
The last survivor from a planet of eight billion
The galaxy is in flames under the harsh theocratic rule of Concordance, the culture that once thrived among the stars reduced to scattered fragments. Selene Ada, last survivor of an obliterated planet, joins forces with the mysterious renegade, Ondo Lagan.
Together they attempt to unravel the mystery of Concordance’s rapid rise to galactic domination. They follow a trail of shattered starship hulks and ancient alien ruins, with the ships of the enemy always one step behind.
But it’s only when they find the mythical planet of Coronade that they uncover the true scale of the destruction Concordance is capable of unleashing…
Find out more at the Triple Stars home page…
“A book for anyone who has heard the horns of Elfin in the distance at twilight, as much as it is for readers who crave fine literature and are certain that elves and their kingdoms are bosh.” – Neil Gaiman.
I fell in love with this collection of short stories. I confess I hadn’t heard of Sylvia Townsend Warner and hadn’t read any of her work, although she wrote numerous novels over a long life, and many of these stories were originally published in the New Yorker. I was introduced to the book at last year’s BristolCon, when a new edition was launched by Handheld Press (the book was originally published in 1977, the year before Warner died). I’m very glad I took the plunge and bought a copy as the book is a gem. It’s described as containing “sixteen sly and enchanting stories of Elfindom”, and that catches it perfectly: these are stories about the Elfin courts that are dotted around in our world, hidden away under hills and in woods: Brocéliande in Brittany, Elfhame in Scotland, the Kingdom of the Peris in Persia, Mynydd Preseli in Wales, Zuy in the Low Countries, Pomace near where I live in Herefordshire in England (haven’t found it yet), and so on.
They are aristocratic societies, with queens (never kings) and nobles – as well as those less lucky fairies who have to do all the work. The fairies can fly, but to do so is beneath the dignity of most higher-ranking Fay. The delight of the book is in the regional differences and quirks of the courts: each is a little world with its own oddities and eccentricities, so that the book reads a little like a travel guide written by an expert of Elfin cultures – although that makes them sound dry, when they breathe with wit and intrigue and conflict. No end of intriguing details of each distinct court are thrown in: the pack of hunting werewolves at Brocéliande, the rotating island of the Peris, the fairies’ various obsessions with birds, or singing four-part harmonies, or the use of larks for divination, or playing the flageolet, or whatever it may be.
The elves in Warner’s stories are capricious, self-obsessed and bordering on the sociopathic (from our perspective). Mortals – us – are their playthings, to be stolen at birth and then cast aside when they become boring or old. Fairies, too, are treated with utter cruelty when circumstance conspires: these are creatures capable of delicate gentleness and absolute brutality, like highly-cultured toddlers. In truth, apart from their longevity, and their wings, and their occasional magic use, there isn’t too much difference between the Elfin and us – not that they would see it that way. They call humans “mortals”, although, in fact, we have immortal souls, and the Fey do not. They are simply long-lived. They are equally fascinated and bemused by religion – although mostly indifferent, as they are to all aspects of humanity.
The stories are often slight in tone and literary in style. They perhaps have a tendency to peter out, to dazzle and delight and then stop. This is not the sort of fiction where you get a whizz-bang, twist ending. Several times I wanted to know more about certain characters, certain situations, but that gets left for the reader to think about on their own. You may like that, you may not. A common theme is the outcast: a fairy who leaves their Court for one reason or another (intrigued, bored, thrown out, left behind), or a mortal changeling within a Court (a baby stolen at birth or an adult who finds their way inside).
The writing is beautiful, full of subtle literary flourish. More than once I found myself rereading sentences simply in order to savour their perfectly-formed elegance, their economy. Towards the end of her long life of writing, Warner was clearly a fairy queen of sentence-weaving. Her style is sly, witty, beautifully-observed, luscious. As I say, a gem of a book.
Find out more at Handheld Press.
Although I now live in the English/Welsh borders, I’m originally from the Isle of Man – a small island nation in the Irish Sea, roughly midway between England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland, named after the sea god Manannan.
It was formed, if the myths are to be believed, when the Irish giant Finn McCool scooped up a mass of rock and hurled it at an escaping Scottish giant. The island has its own Celtic language, its own folklore and its own cast of mythical creatures – including the sprite-like Fenodyree, the ogre-like Buggane, the aquatic Glashtyn and the phantom black hound Moddey Dhoo.
Recently I went back to visit family and took a few photos while I was there. The little people play a large part in Manx mythology, and there’s a spot on one of the roads called the Fairy Bridge where locals will always say good morning or good evening when they drive by, for fear of incurring the wrath of themselves. On this visit, I also tracked down a less well-known spot that is, according to locals, the real Fairy Bridge, a hidden spot that has no signs or markings to help people find it, containing a bridge that doesn’t appear to actually go anywhere. I hope the fairies don’t mind me posting this picture of it.
