::Acquired Taste

2012-01-10T13:18:00.000Z

Attention! Are you a really cheap person?

Do you begrudge paying £12.27 for The Last Free City but find £9.20 an altogether more attractive proposition?

If so, this special offer from Lulu is just for you.

Simply follow this link before 31 January, buy the book and enter the promotional code LULUBOOK305 at the checkout for a 25% discount. It also works for all my other books except The Dog of the North - that's The Zael Inheritance, Dragonchaser or any of the omnibus editions.

What's keepin' ya?

2012-01-09T06:50:00.000Z

Pop over to Macmillan New Writers...

...where a number of us are displaying extracts from our recent works - including an excerpt from The Last Free City which you will only have seen if you've bought the book.

Why not nip over and have a look?

2011-12-14T07:36:00.000Z

Strange Books of Our Times

If ever a book qualified for the description "niche market", it's one which I got hold of last week: Les Compagnons de Villehardouin, by Jean Longnon. Longnon has trawled, I suspect over many decades, through the primary sources of the Fourth Crusade. His goal: to identify and provide capsule descriptions of all the Frankish crusaders who accompanied Geoffrey de Villehardouin on the crusade to Constantinople. The historical record is scanty, and most can be summed in a paragraph, invariably ending in their death at the battle of Adrianople in 1205. Longnon also throws in a few non-Frankish crusaders, including our old friend Boniface of Montferrat; he avoids death at the battle of Adrianople by the sensible expedient of being elsewhere at the time, but the reaper catches up with him two years later when he's killed in an ambush.

Les Compagnons de Villehardouin is described somewhere on the internet (the book is almost impossible to source) as "for serious students of the Fourth Crusade only". That must mean me, then. It has no narrative as such, but as a source of minor characters for a novel it's invaluable (and also a good way of summarising what happened to the major ones). It's also in French, which is less than ideal for someone's who's only had a glancing acquaintance with the language since my O-Levels. But with a bit of perseverance, it's surprisingly easy to extract the main information.

My researches, then, continue. Next time, we'll look at women in the Middle Ages, where information is not always easy to mine.

2011-11-29T07:00:00.000Z

The Historical Novelist's Choices

My research into the Fourth Crusade has been going very well (and so it should be - I've been reading nothing else since mid-September). Knowing a lot of facts about the Crusade doesn't get you very far as a writer, though. It's like buying a pet sheep and expecting to get a jumper out of it. You have the raw material but you need a lot of skill and labour to turn it into the end-product.

After the critical "when and where?" question has been addressed, the writer of historical fiction has at least two other critical decisions to make. These are the proportion of genuine historical characters in your story (the peerless HBO series Rome adroitly mixed the giants of the late Roman republic with fictional characters), and the balance between character and action (which we can also think of as the extent to which the drama is internal or external). I've plotted a few historical novelists on the graph below to suggest where their work falls against both of those criteria:

A writer at the top left, like Bernard Cornwell, writes mainly action-centred stories built around fictional characters. Depth of characterisation will be sacrificed for pace and excitement, and appearances from characters from history will be rare. At the other extreme, Marguerite Yourcenar's Memoirs of Hadrian is a largely interior drama imaginatively recreating the psyche of a genuine historical character. Closer to the middle we have writers like Dorothy Dunnett or CJ Sansom, who in their different ways interweave historical and fictional characters while balancing character and action.

There isn't one right way to do this, and the reader's enjoyment will be conditioned by the author's execution and personal taste. I myself found Memoirs of Hadrian one of the most boring novels I've ever read, but I love the work of Allan Massie, which sits very close to it on my quadrant.

These are choices I still need to make for Sons of the Devil. My thinking at the moment is somewhere round about Robert Graves or Sharon Penman on the graph. Once that's sorted, I'll need to consider some more plot-specific questions: the identity of my protagonist(s), starting point of the story, narrative tone. But for now, those things can wait. Instead, I must continue my journey through Charles M. Brand's compelling Byzantium Confronts the West, which explains in convincing detail just why Constantinople was ready to fall to a group of quarelling opportunists in 1204...

2011-11-23T07:07:00.000Z

What's In A Name?

Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it.

John 8:44

Last time we looked at some of the material available on the Fourth Crusade (there is plenty more - this is a subject historians made whole careers from). Today I'm starting to explore how that might express itself in fiction.

The Crusades, however their original intentions became perverted, sprung from a religious impulse. Any attempt to write about them in our largely secular age is doomed to failure unless it recognises that people had a fundamentally different world-view at the time of the Crusades; sober and reliable chroniclers can mix accurate eyewitness accounts with tales of miracles and spiritual apparitions.

With this in mind, I thought a title drawn, directly or indirectly, from the Bible would be a good place to start. I ended up with the passage quoted at the head of the piece (taken from the never-bettered King James version - the progressive enfeeblement of subsequent contemporary versions can only be deplored). The quotation above readily fits the Fourth Crusade, whose participants may have felt they were inspired by God, but whose achievements were rather less elevated. The working title for the first instalment paraphrases the verse to become: Sons of the Devil.

Future volumes--if this is not looking too far ahead--have titles that similarly take their inspiration from the same source. The second volume, covering the sack of Constantinople, is The Land Desolate. Again the King James version gives us the crispest prose.

Behold, the day of the LORD cometh, cruel both with wrath and fierce anger, to lay the land desolate: and he shall destroy the sinners thereof out of it.

Isaiah 13:9

The final volume treats the early days of the Latin Empire of Constantinople, and resolves the stories of those characters who survived the first two volumes. In this case I set aside my fidelity to the King James version; the New American Standard version has greater force.

For the fate of the sons of men and the fate of beasts is the same. As one dies so dies the other; indeed, they all have the same breath and there is no advantage for man over beast, for all is vanity.

Ecclesiastes 3:19

This gives us the title for the last part of the story as The Fate of Beasts.

All that remains now is the little matter of finishing research and writing the book(s). Next time, we'll look at some of the narrative choices I'll have to make before I can start.

2011-11-14T07:00:00.000Z

The Fourth Crusade - a Selective Bibliography

My recent research into the Fourth Crusade has been making good progress. I have learned--and unlearned-- a lot more than I did a month ago, although inevitably there is always more...

The Siege of Constantinople

The mutual incomprehension and different motives between the Pope, the Franks, the Venetians and the Byzantines led to a tragedy of accelerating inevitability. There were no Christian winners of the Fourth Crusade: Constantinople, immeasurably the greatest city in the world, was all but gutted and its empire emasculated; few of the Crusade's leaders survived to return home. Those Crusaders who pressed on to the Holy Lands achieved next to nothing, and Jerusalem remained in Muslim hands. The Crusade mounted three successful assaults on cities: Constantinople twice, and Zara once; all were Christian.

Those who are interested in the topic may find my reading list helpful. There is no shortage of well-written and researched material on the subject, although it has surprisingly rarely featured in fiction.

Primary Sources

The Conquest of Constantinople, Robert of Clari

This account of the conquest, by a humble knight, neatly counterbalances Villehardouin's "official" version. Not to be relied on facts, but his awe on arriving at Constantinople is palpable.

The Conquest of Constantinople, Geoffrey of Villehardouin

One of the Crusade leaders, Villehardouin is not always to be taken at face value. His negotiations with the Venetians at the outset set in train many of the horrific consequences of the Crusade, and he understandably keen to push responsibility elsewhere.

Histories of the Crusade

The Fourth Crusade, David Nicolle

This Osprey illustrated history, only 100 or so pages, is an excellent primer. The battlefield diagrams, as one would expect from Osprey, are invaluable.

The Fourth Crusade - the Conquest of Constantinope, Donald Queller and Thomas Madden

Perhaps the definitive history of the Crusade. Queller and Madden judiciously assess the sources, clearly outline the sequence of events and delineate the key players. Indispensable for students of the period.

The Fourth Crusade and the Sack of Constantinople, Jonathan Phillips

Covers much the same ground as Queller and Madden, in equally engaging fashion. In line with most modern scholarship, Phillips acquits the Venetians of the charge of wilfully aiming the Crusade at Constantinople.

Enrico Dandolo and the Rise of Venice, Thomas Madden

Working on his own this time, Madden gives a fascinating insight of Venetian society throughout the 12th century and shows how the Venetian doge Dandolo was shaped and constrained by his environment. Impressive scholarship and a stimulating tale.

The Fourth Crusade, Michael Angold

Angold approaches the Crusade thematically rather than chronologically, so this is not the place to start your crusade researches; but once you understand the events and the sources, this study offers some telling insights.

Histories of the Middle Ages

The Middle Ages, Morris Bishop

A high-level study of a lengthy period by its nature offers little detail, but this is a good overview for the beginner. Bishop, an American career historian, bizarrely dismisses the Emperor Frederick 'Stupor Mundi' (perhaps the first 'Renaissance prince') as "not really a very nice man", which is perhaps not entirely to the point.

Daily Life in the Middle Ages, Paul B Newman

This one does exactly what it says on the tin. Food, drink, underwear, armour, medicine: all human life is here. Well worth a read for anyone interested in any aspect of the Middle Ages.

Although the Fourth Crusade is fascinating, the book titles display a dismal lack of variety. The logic of calling your book "The Fourth Crusade" is undeniable, but in fiction we can allow ourselves a little more latitude. Tune in next time to see my working title...

2011-09-29T13:56:00.004+01:00

"Where Do You Get Your Ideas?"

This is notoriously the question that irritates writers the most. I'm never sure why (Personally I'd rather hear that than some clown on my doorstep asking "Can you spare £2 a month?" or "When did you last speak to God?"). I think perhaps it's because the question so fundamentally misunderstands the nature of the creative process. A novel is a synthesis of influences and stimuli and there's very rarely a "ping" when the essence of the thing springs into existence. For various reasons, I doubt that Melville was slumped in front of the Discovery Channel eating pretzels one evening watching a documentary about whales and was thus inspired to write Moby Dick.

That said, sometimes there is an identifiable moment when a notion pregnant with possibilities leaps forth. This is rarely in a very usable format but, with suitable polishing, the rough diamond may eventually turn into a jewel for all to admire.

Such a moment occurred for me a month or so ago. At last year's Chichester Writing Festival, one of the panellists was Jonathan Phillips, Professor of the History of the Crusades at Royal Holloway University of London. He was there to plug his latest book, Holy Warriors: A Modern History of the Crusades.

Professor Phillips was an engaging speaker and his book also seemed interesting, and made its way onto my Christmas list, from where it languished unread for many months. The Crusades are of interest to all students of the Middle Ages, and in the past I've read Runciman's three-volume account more than once, and Norwich's popular histories of Byzantium and Venice have also treated the topic. But it was not until I read Phillips' brief examination of the Fourth Crusade that I realised how magnificently it would lend itself to fiction.

The Fourth Crusade, preached by the choleric and dynamic Pope Innocent III, set out to recover Jerusalem from the Saracens, who had taken possession under Saladin some years previously. Things did not go according to plan. The predominantly French crusaders contracted with the Republic of Venice to transport them by sea to the Holy Lands; unfortunately they had somewhat overestimated the number of crusaders, and the wily Venetians (led by the scarcely credible blind nonagerian Enrico Dandolo) had negotiated a fixed price contract. With no way to pay, they instead agreed to stop off and besiege Zara, a city coveted by the Venetians, but inconveniently a Christian one. Having circumvented the further obstacle of excommunication by a furious Pope, they then found themselves inveigled into another side-project, this time the restoration of the claimant to the (once again Christian) Imperial throne of Byzantium. This involved another siege and assault, this time of the impregnable walls of Constantinople. The Crusaders' valour was unquestioned, but their political skills were more dubious, and they had failed adequately to assess the credentials of their candidate, the worthless Alexius Angelos. And that takes us merely to the end of the first volume of our tale...

Professor Phillips clearly shares my fascination for the Fourth Crusade, since I found he had written a volume devoted solely to that topic.

This book only cemented my enthusiasm. The crusade contained all kinds of heroism,bizarre reversals of fortune, tragedy and triumph. There are also some surprisingly readable primary sources, including Geoffrey of Villehardouin, essentially the crusade's chief of staff. Even after eight centuries, his character shines through: brave, pious, but also dogmatic and humourless - and no match for the subtle Venetians.

The Fourth Crusade readily lends itself to a trilogy, for the story naturally falls into three self-contained blocks, and many of the central characters are already drawn from history with vivid strokes. All I need is once more to tackle my ambivalent relationship as a writer with historical fiction. Watch this space...

2011-09-12T12:27:00.000+01:00

News on The Last Free City

Readers who previously cavilled at paying £5.99 for the ebook of The Last Free City need bridle no longer. You can now buy it on the Kindle for £0.86, $0.75 or €0.99, depending on your country of residence. This is surely a bargain no-one can resist!

If you need any further incentive, this encomium from Chris Turner's thoughtful blog ::Fantastic Realms should clinch the deal:

In Tim Stretton’s entertaining The Last Free City we have hierarchical and intricate organization. A tightly-knit society where etiquette and tradition rule, and tradition seal the acts of most of the characters—most, except the rebel protagonist Todarko who goes up against the grain; his emotional convictions won’t let him sit back and stay complaisant, nor the disgruntled second-in-line descendant, Malvazan, who is constantly seeking recognition. Stretton is attempting to bring life to a world which defies change. Its petty politics and machinations of the ruling class clamp individuals down, heroes and villains alike. I admire Stretton for the purity of his attack. He is not relying on magical tropes or talismans to ‘jazz up’ his world, or serve as convenient means to get his characters out of jams. No, they must fend for themselves and use their own wits. This is somewhat artful and to be admired in today’s world of ever-growing adventure and pseudo-magical tales. The strength of The Last Free City lies in its vivid depiction of reality of its participants. They are linked together in complex ways, and are intelligently-wrought humorous characters who meld perfectly with their renaissance world.

2011-08-31T23:32:00.000+01:00

Things We Like

Although I haven't made the progress I would have liked on any of my projects over the summer, I have enjoyed several books and TV experiences which I can recommend to my readership.

First among these was Dorothy Dunnett's Niccolo Rising, the first in a series of eight novels of Renaissance intrigue. Why did no-one tell me about these before? The series kicks off with Claes as a humble dyer's apprentice in Bruges, but through determination, cunning and good fortune he rapidly shakes off his humble origins. The machinations are at once complex and understated; Dunnett's calm prose and unshowy research top off a historical novel from the upper echelons of the genre. My only dissatisfaction was the occasionally implausible character of the eponymous Claes/Niccolo, to whose magnificent cunning was added a scarcely credible degree of sexual magnetism. At one point he seduces a bourgeois virgin, largely out of pity, and later reproaches himself for giving her such a magnificent sexual initiation that she can only be disappointed with her future husband. Nonetheless, I anticipate much future enjoyment from Dunnett's novels.

High praise also for the latest instalment of L.C. Tyler's latest Ethelred and Elsie novel, Herring on the Nile. Fans will be pleased to hear that the transfer to an exotic locale (the clue's in the title) will be reassured to learn that the trademark wry humour and clever parody are never far away.

On a less exalted level, the Channel 4 TV take on the Arthurian myth, Camelot, never failed to entertain, despite some questionable casting choices, including a lightweight Jamie Campbell Bower as the legendary monarch. On the plus side, Joseph Fiennes found the interpretation of an utterly bonkers Merlin well within his range, and Eva Green relished the opportunity to raise overacting to an art-form as Morgan Le Fay. Sadly the series was not recommissioned and, while it was no Game of Thrones, I'll miss it.

Next on my guilty pleasures list will be The Borgias, which appears to have all the ingredients we came to know and love in The Tudors.

2011-07-30T09:14:00.002+01:00

Don't You Know That It's Different for Girls?

There are only two aspects of my novels which routinely attract favourable comment: world-building and my handling of female characters. In real life, I find, I am regularly surprised by female psychology and the fact that, while they look broadly similar to us chaps, fundamental misunderstandings occur almost daily. I don't claim this as a profound insight, but it puzzles me that I can have so little real understanding while being able to write female characters that readers respond to.

The obvious solution is that I don't in fact write female characters well, and readers are simply "blowing smoke up my ass", in the vivid transatlantic idiom. Readers of this view should probably stop reading at this point. The most negative review The Dog of the North received, from Helen McCarthy (a female woman, no less) in Deathray, paused to commend the "rounded, convincing, engaging" women, so I must be doing something right.

Another explanation is perhaps the generally cardboard of female characters in the fantasy genre. There are exceptions, of course, but the source text of much subsequent fantasy fiction, The Lord of the Rings, does not draw us in on the basis of Eowyn and Arwen. Too many women in fantasy are either enfeebled victims awaiting rescue, or implausibly rugged warrior types. Women are plenty interesting enough in real life that the writer can adopt other models without alienating the reader.

The main reason I've been relatively successful with female characters is not, I think, because I understand the feminine psyche: it's because I don't. My favourite female creations, Laura Glyde, Catzendralle and Larien, Isola and Eilla, are bewitching and mercurial. The male protagonists of those novels don't understand them: Lamarck, Mirko, Beauceron and Todarko are all at home when they can move in a straight line, but confronted with subtle indirection and an absence of testosterone, they are rather less accomplished. My own occasional bemusement at feminine behaviour is reflected in my protagonists'.

The interesting and engaging character, male or female, for the reader, does not act predictably or within narrow boundaries. The only living creature whose motivations and actions I feel I fully understand is my cat (and even here I may be deluding myself); and I would not argue that Britney would make a gripping fictional protagonist. A character who surprises and baffles me will, I hope, interest the reader.

Britney... demanding but predictable

If there is an insight to be gained here, it's that to be able to write convincing characters, it's more important to be able to observe behaviour than understand it. Creating a credible series of character interactions (often misleadingly oversimplified as "conflict" in how-to-write guides) is more about processing all the thousands of real-life interactions you've watched than understanding their motivations. Do you understand why Iago felt impelled to destroy Othello? Neither do I. Do you think Shakespeare did? Probably not. But did it make for utterly compelling drama? You bet.

2011-07-11T08:01:00.001+01:00

Gimme Some of that Good Stuff

After finishing my re-read of A Game of Thrones, I thought a change of pace was in order. My short, sharp chaser was Ryan David Jahn's latest, The Dispatcher. Fans of Jahn's earlier novels will recognise the terse, muscular prose, the unsentimental depiction of both violence and everyday life, and the lack of moral certainty pervading his world. The ending of Jahn's debut Acts of Violence was deliberately telegraphed in its beginning, while Low Life's accurate blurb description "gripping existential thriller" necessarily limited its core audience; The Dispatcher, by contrast, follows a much more commercial thriller structure.

The protagonist, Ian Hunt, is a washed-up cop whose daughter Maggie was abducted and presumed murdered seven years before. It's not too much of a spoiler to note that this turns out not to have been the case. The plot unfolds with a grim chase across an unforgiving Texan landscape, and Hunt will stop literally at nothing in his attempts to be reunited with Maggie. Maggie's abductor has almost no redeeming features, but there is grotesquely warped nobility in his original motivations.

The Dispatcher is a grim, bleak novel shot through with moments of pathos and echoes of normal life. It's certainly Jahn's most commercial novel and I think it's also his best. I look forward to the next one.

2011-06-29T07:12:00.000+01:00

Ascending the Throne

There is a theory that, the better the book, the harder it is to adapt for film or TV. The HBO producers of Game of Thrones, which has just finished its first season, must therefore have approached their task with some trepidation; their source material,GRR Martin's Song of Ice and Fire series, is one of high watermarks of fantasy literature. With its sprawling narrative arcs, multiple viewpoints and uncompromising bleakness, Martin's epic is not natural television.

Sean Bean leads a highly accomplished cast

Lovers of the books--among whom I count myself--need not have been worried. Game of Thrones was as close to flawless as any fantasy drama brought to the screen can be. The first season (which covered the first book in the series) was faithful to the source without being over-reverent; new scenes were added judiciously; and the series worked on its own merits while not alienating those familiar with the story. The casting was impeccable--not just the big ticket actors like Sean Bean and Charles Dance, but also the considerable array of child actors. Peter Dinklage, given the most promising material as the cynical dwarf Tyrion Lannister, delivered the most eye-catching of performances.

The series over, I have returned to reading the books with renewed pleasure (happy to be able cart such monstrously thick volumes around on my Kindle). I had forgotten until I watched the series how strong an influence on The Dog of the North the series had been, with its political intrigues and moral ambiguities. Now if anyone out there fancies making a big-budget ten-part adaption of The Dog, please do let me know...

Game of Thrones returns for a second season next year. I can't wait!

2011-06-20T07:25:00.001+01:00

At Long Last!

After many frustrations and delays, The Last Free City is available to buy

Although I am a lover of my Kindle, I don't view a book as having been published for real until you can hold a physical copy in your hands. By that definition, The Last Free City is published today--more than two years after I finished it.

The book is only available through online retailers - £12.32 from amazon.co.uk (where Amazon tempts the wavering buyer with a 3p discount off RRP) or $19.99 from amazon.com (US readers are less fickle and need no discount to persude them to buy).

The Kindle edition is still available for those who have no more space in their house (or who balk at paying the prices quoted for a paperback) although these readers miss out on the splendid Bellotto artwork cannibalised for my cover.

2011-05-11T06:42:00.000+01:00

Taking a Stand

At long last I steeled myself to tackle the 1,400 page doorstop that is Stephen King's The Stand. Almost all books this length are too long, and this was no exception, but that aside, The Stand is a powerful and impressive novel. It wears its desire to be the American The Lord of the Rings on its sleeve (Tolkien is referenced explicitly several times, and the final quest across the mountains to destroy a dark lord with his all-seeing eye will be familiar to most); but all 20th century fantasy writers owe a debt to Tolkien, and The Stand succeeds on its own terms.

Indeed, so adeptly does it build its apocalyptic narrative on the late Cold War American zeitgeist, that a case could be made that it is The Great American Novel, defined by Wikipedia as "presumed to be written by an American author who is knowledgeable about the state, culture, and perspective of the common American citizen". Actual real live Americans may send me screaming for the hills for a) forming a judgement on this most American of questions and b) suggesting that fantasy/horror novel should be admitted to the company of The Catcher in the Rye & co. I merely offer it as a suggestion...

King's virtues as a writer are unarguable: he sharply and economically delineates character; he understands pace and structure (to pull off a 1,400 page novel, you have to); and he can terrible significance in the most everyday details. His core gifts of character and plotting are seen as almost too humdrum to be worth celebrating, except perhaps by anyone who has settled to the business of writing their own novel.

The Stand is not without its imperfections, but whole is immersive and accomplished. I highly recommend it - but make sure you have a lot of spare time once you pick it up...

2011-05-09T06:25:00.001+01:00

TV Review

More Cops 'n' Robbers

The Saturday night slot on BBC4 once filled by the Danish noir The Killing has in recent weeks been given over to another foreign language cop show - this time the French Spiral. In its stark exploration of the French judicial system, and its cops who'll do anything to get a confession, it's certainly as dark as The Killing. It was less immediately compelling than the Danish show, but more consistent in its footing (it didn't leave a slew of loose endings or mar the conclusion). The acting was impeccable, especially Catherine Proust as unwashed obsessive Inspector Berthaud and Thierry Godard as the incorruptible prosecutor Roban. There was very little in the way of happy endings, but this was powerful and compelling drama that, once again, made me wish British TV could offer something similar.

The opening episode of the much-touted The Shadow Line, starring Chiwitel Ejiofor and Christopher Eccleston, did not immediately camp out in the same territory. The cast is top-notch, but the brooding and portentous tone of the first hour, underpinned by stilted dialogue and almost palpable desire for noir cool, was not a sure-footed debut. It was like Luther, but without the overacting which, perversely, saved the Idris Elba vehicle. I'll stick with it, but with expectations suitably muted.

2011-04-24T10:01:00.067+01:00

Story and Genre

Last week I reviewed Patrick Bishop's Bomber Boys, part of the research I've been doing for my fantasy novel Shadow Puppet. One strand of the protagonists in Shadow Puppet is a bomber pilot and so I've been doing a lot of reading around World War II--to the level, in fact, where I could begin a novel, exploring the same themes using much the same story, about bomber pilots set in that period if I wanted. So why don't I? It would almost certainly have more commercial potential than the "mechanised fantasy" I have in mind.

Why can't fantasy fiction have bombers?

There are several reasons. First, the novel I would want to write about bomber pilots and WWII has already been written: Len Deighton's Bomber. This novel is so perfect in concept and execution that any attempt to tread the same ground could only be callow in comparison.

Second, there are a couple of plot dynamics which would seem either anachronistic or ludicrous in a QWWII novel. Curtailing these elements would weaken the structure I have in mind.

Third, in a WWII novel you already know the ending. Your protagonist might or might not survive the war, but you know from their nationality whether they're on the winning side. This allows a fine dramatic irony but inevitably leaches much of the tension from the narrative.

The final, and most important, reason is the moral ambiguity I can introduce in a created world. An English language novel about WWII almost forces you into a "white hats versus black hats" scenario, good against evil - a setup that doesn't interest me as a reader or a writer. There aren't going to be many readers rooting for the Nazis against the Allies - but Lauchenland against Beruzil? Who are the good guys in that one? Not knowing whose side you're supposed to be on--or inverting your sympathies during the course of the novel--are much more interesting for everyone.

Now, all I need to do is get on with the minor details of writing the damned book...

2011-04-20T06:26:00.000+01:00

Why Should I Read...?

Bomber Boys

Patrick Bishop, 1997

I recently read this remarkable book--a history of Bomber Command's activities in World War II--as research for my latest fantasy novel. Bomber Boys is far more than a research source, though: it's a meticulously researched and morally balanced survey which also packs considerable emotional power.

The story of Bomber Command is more complex than any other branch of the British military. The astonishing bravery of the aircrew, and the appalling risks they encountered, is beyond dispute. Figures vary, but most sources agree that around 75,000 airmen flew active missions during the war; 50,000--two-thirds--were killed. A tour of duty was 30 operations, and at the height of the casualties, 1943, only one crew in six survived to complete a tour; only one in forty made it through a second. The crews knew the odds, and still they carried on volunteering.

But the bomber crews are not remembered today in the same way that other branches of the armed services are. There is no national memorial, and no campaign medal. The reason is easy to find: the nature of the missions they flew. The technology of the age was not adequate to bomb small targets precisely, and the strategy, under Sir Arther 'Bomber' Harris, was to bomb German cities into oblivion. Over 40,000 civilians were killed in one raid on Hamburg, nearly as many in the more notorious Dresden attack when the war was nearly over. After the war, the Allied leadership felt it necessary to distance itself from these tactics.

Bishop is to be commended for even-handed treatment of the issues. His account has eyewitness testimony from German survivors of the raids, and he never seeks to minimise their impact. He does not allow his undoubted admiration for the aircrew to blur the difficult moral question of whether the strategy was justified. He presents the evidence, and lets the reader decide.

Bomber Boys is a moving, troubling account of a grotesque period of human history. Recommended for anyone with an interest in the period or the morality of warfare.

2011-04-13T07:46:00.000+01:00

Reading and Viewing

One reason--beyond natural indolence--for some downtime on the blog is that I'm doing what might loosely be called research for Shadow Puppet, and generally catching up on some reading and the Sky+ box.

Having finished Stalingrad, which was most definitely research, I continued with two contrasting Spitfire pilot memoirs: First Light, by Geoffrey Wellum, and The Last Enemy, by Richard Hillary. Both were vivid and moving accounts of pilots' experiences, and humbling to read how these seemingly ordinary young men were able to endure the most horrific conditions--taking their planes into combat two or three times a day, with their colleagues killed around them. Both understandably take on a certain detachment under a devil-may-care exterior. Wellum survived the war, understanding even at the time that nothing in his life would match the intensity or significance of these early experiences; Hillary, terribly burned after being shot down, was then killed in a training crash. Sobering stuff.

Less emotionally engaging was the final series of The Tudors. This, by almost any standards, was a stinker: historical accuracy, competence of script, acting merit--all were wholly cast aside. Henry VIII (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) lapsed deeper and deeper into Irish as the series progressed, and the dream sequence in which he was visited by Death on a horse defined risibility. And yet--The Tudors was great fun. Taken on its own terms, it had pace, dynamism and an unpretentious--if wholly unwarranted--self-confidence. A guilty pleasure, but a pleasure nonetheless.

It certainly compared favourably with Ridley Scott's bloated ragbag of cliche and stereotype, Robin Hood. This, from the man who directed Alien, Bladerunner and Gladiator, was a sad and sorry comedown. Scott apparently rejected more interesting earlier versions of the script (including Russell Crowe playing both Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham, and the Sheriff as "a CSI-style forensic investigator) to make a stolid retelling of an old tale. No worse, perhaps, than The Tudors, but with the unforgivable sin of being just plain boring.

2011-04-05T13:09:00.000+01:00

Cover via Amazon

Holiday Reading

I'm back, refreshed from a week in Tenerife. It's the first time I've ever been on holiday and not taken a book. Instead, luggage pared down, it was my Kindle, loaded up with my intended reading.

The experience only reinforced my existing Kindle mania. Light, easy on the eye and infinitely practical.

First on my reading list was Justin Cronin's weighty modern-day vampire novel, The Passage. This didn't justify the hype, and would have benefited from being 200 pages shorter, but it was still an absorbing read. More rewarding was Joe Abercrombie's long-awaited The Heroes. In publishing terms, Abercrombie is a well-established brand: ultra-violent, blackly comic deconstructions of the fantasy genre, told through mulitple viewpoints and clearly differentiated viewpoints. Nobody does this niche better but, after five novels, I'm interested to see where he goes next.

My final reading, which I'm still working through, is Antony Beevor's immense history of Hitler's Russian campaign, Stalingrad. It's a grim and chilling account of an almost unimaginably hellish time.

2011-03-21T07:46:00.001Z

Revenge of the Killer Nerds

How baseball was revolutionised by mucking about with spreadsheets

My interest in Americana does not extend to its sports. Of the Big Three, football (sic), basketball and baseball, it is baseball which comes nearest to capturing my interest. In Britain, we have a girls' game called rounders which it in many ways resembles [ducks from outraged US readers]. Last week I came across an extraordinary book on baseball, Moneyball, by Michael Lewis.

Moneyball explains the process by which the impoverished Oakland Athletics outperformed teams with much more money over an extended period. Baseball, like cricket, is a game which generates an inordinate raft of statistics. The A's general manager, Billy Beane, recruited Harvard-educated statisticians to work out which statistics were the best predictors of performance (these tended not to be the headline ones), and which were undervalued.

At the risk of falling into crass error about a sport I don't pretend to understand, the blue riband statistic is batting average--essentially the proportion of times the batter manages to hit the ball. Beane came to believe that a more important stat was on-base percentage--the frequency with which the batter made it to first base (which a canny player can achieve without the inconvenience of trying to hit the ball). Batters with a high batting average were overvalued by the market, those with a high on-base percentage undervalued--so given limited resources, it made sense to invest in players who scored highly on the latter.

If this sounds dry, Lewis writes with a lively tone, and draws the characters behind the stats with engaging economy. To enjoy the book, you probably need an interest in statistics or baseball, but not necessarily both. Given my day-job, I did respond to the idea that sensible use of objective data was able to trump the prejudices of the gum-chewing ex-players. It didn't do any harm either than Oakland is the home of Jack Vance, the hero of this blog.

2011-03-19T13:44:00.008Z

Long Live the King

In thirty-plus years as a reader of books for adults, including a strong interest in science-fiction and fantasy, by some quirk I've managed never to read a novel by Stephen King. I'm not sure quite why that is. I don't particularly care for horror, and I've always seen King as at the horror end of the spectrum.

The magic of the Kindle is that I can download sample chapters of books I'm not really sure about, and wouldn't spend actual cash on. (There used to be an artefact known as a "library" which performed a similar function, but these seem to have fallen into disuse). Thus buttressed, I downloaded the openings of The Stand, seemingly King's most popular novel, and The Green Mile, which I knew from the excellent Tom Hanks film.

It is a possible to have a long career as a bestseller without being much cop as a writer, but there's no doubt King can write. I devoured the opening of The Stand--a killer plague is on the loose: disaster beckons--in about an hour. This was cracking stuff! King does all the basics with unobtrusive excellence: inject pace, differentiate interesting characters, nail place and period. The Stand is unputdownable, so imagine my dismay when I logged on to Amazon only to find the Kindle edition has been withdrawn! I really don't want another 1,400 page paperback in my house, but the opening is so compelling there's no other option. £4.99: click here for One-Click Ordering. Job done.

To keep me going until the postman arrives, I downloaded the whole of The Green Mile, which is similarly impressive. I know the story from the film--which appears to follow the source closely--but it's still compelling. King has an uncanny command of voice, and critics who dismiss his work as populist pap have probably never realised how difficult it is to write something engaging and accessible.

I've got a holiday coming up and a long book in the post. What could be better?

2011-03-16T12:02:00.001Z

Cast Out

The BBC's latest foray into science-fiction is predictably dismaying nonsense

I must be in a particularly irritable mood. Having administered a sly elbow to the kidneys of Midsomer Murders (apparently David Cameron's favourite TV prog), today I can't rest until I've vented my spleen about the BBC's execrable sci-fi drama Outcasts.

Grim faces greet the delivery of the latest script

The premise is promising, if unoriginal. Human settlers struggle to survive on an alien planet, battling not only malevolent--if shadowy--indigenes, but their own rivalries and prejudices. The vision is realised triumphantly, marred only by failure in the peripheral areas of plot, dialogue, characterisation and acting. Cliches which were barely tolerable in the 1960s incarnation of Star Trek spew forth with a straight face. In one cringeworthy moment of the final episode, President Tate (Liam Cunningham, playing the role like a geography teacher striving for street cred with his students) rebuts the arguments of a hostile alien with "at least we know how to love!". Come on!

Cunningham's task is not helped by an inconsistent and underwritten character, a problem which also afflicts Hermione Norris, phoning in a reprise of her role in Spooks. Langley Kirkwood, as the leader of the persecuted ACs (if you don't already know what the ACs are, you don't need to now), spends eight episodes looking moody in a parka with the sun behind him. These performances are Bafta-worthy when set against the plywood majesty of Ashley Walters as the one-dimensional soldier Jack, and Daniel Mays as Cass, who delivers a masterclass in bellowing and lumbering.

Luckily the show has a machiavellian villain, Julius Berger (played with actual competence by Eric Mabius). Sadly for the viewer--and Mabius--the writers don't realise that your genuine machiavellian type doesn't go around announcing his plans as they unfold, so Berger rarely rises above the risible.

Fear not: there is good news. Dire ratings saw the show shunted to the arse end of beyond in the schedules and, unlike The Killing, it was unable to recover. The day after the final episode was broadcast, the BBC announced that the show was cancelled. This was not, however, accompanied by an apology for wasting my licence fee on such trash.

Next time, happy pills at the ready, we'll look at something I like!

2011-03-15T07:40:00.003Z

English Idyll

Normally over here at ::Acquired Taste we steer clear of contemporary politics (political discourse got pretty dull once poisoning your rivals went out of fashion) but when my bete noir Midsomer Murders hits the headlines, it's time to take stock.

Today the producer of Midsomer Murders, Brian True-May, has been suspended for the observation:

"We just don't have ethnic minorities involved. Because it wouldn't be the English village with them. It just wouldn't work. Suddenly we might be in Slough ... We're the last bastion of Englishness and I want to keep it that way."

As a Guardianista I can only find such sentiments distasteful--although the trend for suspending or sacking people for expressing unpopular views is equally unfortunate--but True-May's views encapsulate all the reasons why Midsomer Murders is such piss-poor drama.

In for a penny, in for a pound, and the beleaguered True-May continues to blaze away with both barrels from his Middle England fortress:

If it's incest, blackmail, lesbianism, homosexuality ... terrific, put it in.

Two out of those four are not criminal offences in this country. Can you guess which?

Best, perhaps, to leave True-May to his thoughts, bellowing in a dark and soundproofed room. If you listen very hard, maybe you can hear him. Or maybe not.

2011-03-06T13:47:00.004Z

Planes and Trains and Automobiles

Transport in Speculative Fiction

Last week I looked at questions of "styling"--the literal and metaphorical furniture--in my work in progress Shadow Puppet. One of the areas which makes the most difference is transport, both for the logistics and feel of the story.

My Mondia novels, for instance, make extensive use of "gallumphers", which are quadrupedal beasts of burden, as similar to horses as the reader wants to make them. In Shadow Puppet, we are in the early years of heavier-than-air transport, with a level of technology broadly equivalent to the 1930s/40s. One strand of the story is about aerial warfare--the sometimes contradictory influences here being The Dam Busters, Catch-22, Apocalypse Now and Generation Kill--so getting the aircraft right is particularly important.

"Right" in this context is not primarily historical accuracy (after all, this is an imaginary world and other aspects of it are at variance with what the reader will expect), but more about plausibility and dramatic coherence. I'm not writing a story like Memphis Belle, with a sizeable aircrew and their varied interactions; neither am I following Catch-22, where you never see any missions. I only really want two characters on the planes, and what I envisage is something like the British Mosquito light bomber, a primarily wooden aircraft at home in a variety of contexts.

I also want to include that staple of steampunk styling, the dirigible. Airships lumbering through the sky alongside propeller-driven warplanes make a satisfying tableau, as well as reinforcing for the reader that although many of the elements are familiar, the story and the environment will not be.

My researches into the Mosquito have been fascinating. I'm interested, but in an abstract way, in how far and fast the planes can travel and what materials were used for construction. I'm more interested--because I will need it to be convincing--in how the planes behaved in the air.

1942 poster for the Mosquito bomber

Most interesting of all, though, are the memoirs of the men who flew them--how easy it was to fall asleep when flying in a warm cockpit, what happened when one of your two engines packed up, how little time you actually spent in the air (and so how much time you had to worry about the next time you went up). These reminiscences help to create characters, and they provide wonderful incidental detail.

You never got all this stimulation with gallumphers...

2011-03-03T07:14:00.003Z

Released today! The Last Free City for the Kindle

I'm delighted to announce that, after a series of delays and setbacks which would make a novel in themselves, The Last Free City is published today. At the moment we have only the Kindle edition; the paperback will be along in a few weeks' time; its production is subject to considerably more bureaucracy.

Click here to buy from Amazon.co.uk -- and don't forget that both The Dog of the North and Dragonchaser are also available for the Kindle. One of the impressive features of the Kindle is the facility to download the first chapter as a free sample, and in a like spirit of generosity here is another sample - our introduction to the contentious teenager Malvazan, who will accompany the reader through much of the novel:

Malvazan had selected his outfit with care the previous night; scurrying around in the dawn gloom to find appropriate attire might suit Dravadan but such haphazardness was not the way to success. He performed a brisk ablution in the ewer by his bed—fortunately he needed to shave only a couple of times a week—and ten minutes later made his way down the stairs into the dining room where the table was laid for an early breakfast.
To his surprise and contempt, his parents and brother were already at the table.
“Ah, the sluggard!” cried Dravadan, his dark fringe hanging into his eyes. “The boy who lies abed till noon!” He spread some honey on a slice of bread and conveyed it to his mouth with more enthusiasm than delicacy. “You would think—”
“Dravadan!” said his mother Flinteska sharply. “If you must bait your brother, at least do not speak with your mouth full.”
Dravadan rammed the rest of the slice into his mouth and, for the moment at least, devoted his full attention to subduing it.
Malvazan’s father Crostadan, head of House Umbinzia, raised his hands in a mollificatory gesture. “Can we not have peace at the breakfast table on a day like today?” he asked. “Malvazan, there is some minor amusement in such a habitually early riser being last among us. It would do you no harm to display a little levity.”
Malvazan sat heavily as far from the rest of the family as the table allowed and reached for a slice of bread. “I am glad to be such a source of amusement,” he said. “It is good to know that a second son has some purpose.”
Dravadan let out a belch which escaped explicit reproof, accompanied by a smirk towards Malvazan.
Flinteska slapped her napkin down on the table. “Enough, both of you. Dravadan, as the eldest son you should show greater decorum; Malvazan, your invincible surliness oppresses us all. Today we meet the King and Queen of Gammerling: a pleasant demeanour is required.”

2011-02-27T12:12:00.000Z

Imaginative Research and Styling in Fantasy

My work in progress, Shadow Puppet, represents a new challenge for me. My previous novels have all been set in worlds recognisably drawn from the European Renaissance (Dragonchaser, The Dog of the North, The Last Free City) or the far future (The Zael Inheritance). Shadow Puppet creates a world much closer to our own, with trams, aircraft, high explosives--and kedgeree. This throws up a different, if enjoyable, set of problems in styling the novel.

Not on Beauceron's breakfast plate

It's relatively easy for me to kick off a traditional fantasy story, with swords, chain-mail and castles. The reader knows what to expect, and that's largely conditioned by what they've read or seen on TV. Few, if any, of my readers will have direct personal recollections of the Renaissance.

Shadow Puppet, on the other hand, draws much of its styling from 1930/40s Europe, where readers will have much firmer ideas. They are likely to have more detailed expectations about the technologies and fashions such a story will have, and while I might want to confound those expectations, I'd rather do so deliberately than by incompetence. It doesn't mean, for example, that I can't give a character a mobile phone--but I would need to find some way of making it convincing.

What I'm trying to achieve is for the reader to flesh out the narrative from their own imaginative experience of the period, without it looking like I'm writing a novel set in the 1940s.

Let's look at a concrete example. The backdrop to the novel is a war between two enemy powers, Lauchenland and Beruzil, and our protagonist is a bomber pilot. The opening scene is a bombing raid. Already the reader will have filled in some of the gaps - you'll have a mental picture of the aircraft, the cockpit, the tracer bullets maybe. So far, so good, but I need to write it up in a way that implies all of these things without suggesting that this is just World War II retold (which isn't the point of the book at all).

Language is key here: I'll need to describe anti-aircraft fire, but I can't call it "ack ack", which is far too culturally specific, and even "flak" is probably too precise. I'll need instead to devise a term of my own, which is at once intelligible and evocative.

Aiming for the right word

And that's before we even get on to writing about the aircraft. In Dragonchaser I had extensive descriptions of galley-racing, which was much easier than it sounds.

Aerial warfare is much more difficult, because the technology involved is more complicated. There are things you can make an aircraft do, and things you can't, and the relatively realistic style of fantasy I'm writing here requires me to understand that.

What does "feathering" a propeller mean? When would you do it? Is that term too specific to use in what I'm writing? (I now know the answer to all three questions, but I didn't a week ago).

This is setting me a series of problems I've never had to tackle before. If it's daunting--and it is--it's energising at the same time.

2011-02-25T13:59:00.001Z

'Five in Five' Blueberries

The ever-accommodating Bluepootle is kind enough to devote space on her blog to my recipe for 'Five in Five' Blueberries, despite disliking the two main ingredients, blueberries (how did you guess?) and ice-cream.

Nip over there, if only to see how quickly the conversation turns to Midsomer Murders.

2011-02-24T12:15:00.003Z

Midsomer Murdered

TV crime drama covers a range of styles

A few weeks ago, a Midsomer Murders landmark occurred when John Nettles' final episode as DCI Tom Barnaby was broadcast, after 81 episodes spread over 14 years. In that time, Barnaby has solved several hundred murders in a lavish and popular series which has featured just about every character actor in Equity.

Fans of the show need not fear that Barnaby's departure signals the end of their pleasures, though: a relative, DCI John Barnaby (Neil Dudgeon) has arrived to take his place. Good news for everyone!

Err, not quite. Thirty years of formal and informal study of the narrative art-forms have equipped me with a formidable critical vocabulary and so I am able to arrive at the mot juste for Midsomer Murders: shite.

For those of a more elevated sensibility, I can expand: Midsomer Murders is simply egregious--smug, unengaging, patronising. The murders have all the emotional impact of a visit to Waitrose (the natural habitat of the MM-watcher). Lazy, vapid and repetitious, the show could with dignity have ended with Nettles' retirement. Instead, a new cash-cow is sent to the farm.

Self-Satisfied Buffoonery

Midsomer Murders works within a "cosy crime" tradition which, to declare a prejudice, I don't find very interesting. But it can be done much better than this; I'd love to see a TV adaptation of LC Tyler's Ethelred and Elsie novels, and David Suchet plays the preposterous Poirot with such brio that the viewer is charmed.

Midsomer Murders has little of Suchet's straight-faced conviction and none of Tyler's sardonic wit. It smacks of Thursday afternoon amateur dramatics at the village hall, an environment which no doubt has provided at least one interminable plot for the great detective.

It's bad karma to thunder ex cathedra from my blog pulpit (to mangle my religions a touch) without doling out some more approbatory sentiments, and with this in mind I can recommend, in the strongest terms, BBC Four's outstanding crime drama The Killing. Stuck away in the middle of the night on a channel nobody watches, this Danish exploration of a young woman's murder has everything Midsomer Murders lacks.

Subtle, nuanced and understated...as good as The Wire?

The emotional impact of the crime is truly harrowing, and the performances of Bjarne Henriksen and Ann Eleonora Jorgensen as the bereaved parents are heartbreaking. The programme's one cliche is the mismatched detective duo (Sofie Grabol and and Soren Malling) and even this is done with some charm. Grabol, in particular, is extraordinary. The way the show weaves in contemporary political themes draws comparison with The Wire--a comparison which does not embarrass the Danish show.

Embarrassment should more properly be directed at the thought that Midsomer Murders is broadcast in 38 countries--including, humiliatingly, Denmark. If you've overlooked The Killing (which, unless you're an insomniac, is very likely), it's out on DVD in April. Don't miss it!

2011-02-19T19:20:00.000Z

As One Door Closes, Another Opens...

I have to announce that, with regret, work on The Fall of the Fireduke is halted indefinitely. I hate canning a novel 20,000 words in, but more than one agent has advised me that, given the disappointing sales performance of The Dog of the North, no publisher in their right mind will take on further works in the series. In the current risk-averse climate, that is clearly a realistic understanding of how commissioning editors are thinking. While I don't write primarily for publication, and have had a lot of satisfaction--and good feedback--on novels which have been self-published, I don't have the fortitude to write a novel which I know from the outset has no chance of attracting a commercial publisher. So to those of you who were looking forward to more Mondia books, I can only apologise. Unless there is commercial interest in these books, the series is at an end. (All the more reason to buy The Last Free City when it comes out).

That's the bad news out of the way. The good news is that I am actively working on a new project, with a grand total of 122 words of first draft written. That, admittedly, is some way short of a complete novel, but a lot of the thinking and outlining (if that's not overdignifying the process) is already done. What can I share about this new work? At such an early stage, much will change. Nonetheless, I can give certain hints. First we have a title: Shadow Puppet. Then--of course--we have a map:

Shadow Puppet is closer to science-fiction than anything I've written since The Zael Inheritance, although it has elements of urban and dieselpunk fantasy too. Overt influences are Jack Vance--of course--Len Deighton's Bomber, Battlestar Galactica (although the main points of similarity were already fleshed out before I started watching it, so this is parellel evolution rather than influence), Budapest, Phillip Kerr, Fatherland, Bladerunner, 1984 and Raymond Chandler. As this list suggests, it's not a romantic comedy...

I think progress may be slow on this one--I'd got very used to reaching for the tropes of Renaissance fantasy--but I've been carrying the idea around since September, so there's every chance it's got legs. Keep dropping by for progress reports.

2011-02-19T11:54:00.024Z

Cover Design, Part 4

The cover for the forthcoming edition of The Last Free City was in some ways the easiest I've ever made, and in others the most difficult. To my eyes it's certainly the best. Here is the cover, slightly altered from the earlier version:

I had been fairly clear that I wanted a cityscape as the cover image, and I had a number of pictures of Dubrovnik that I'd been working from for topography and atmosphere when writing the book. I liked this one because it had an expanse of flat colour which would have been perfect for the lettering.

Again, though, too photorealistic and too static. I tried superimposing another image--crossed swords--but it soon became apparent that this was the domain of trained graphic designers; the scheme was soon abandoned.

Then I had the idea of using an actual painting of a historical picture. The constraint here was to find a copyright-free image in high enough resolution to print out clearly. This representation of Venice from Bellini soon presented itself:

In some ways it's excellent - it captures the feel of a Renaissance city and there's plenty going on. Too much, in fact. It's hard to see how it would work as a cover without being impossibly cramped and busy. But Venice put me in mind of my old friend Canaletto. And there were several fine Canelettos out there, but the research reminded me that in many ways I preferred the work of his nephew Bellotto. And so, after some more Googling, I came across this: not Venice at all, but Dresden, where Bellotto spent much of his career.

On finding this, naturally I wanted to use it immediately. It has enough life to avoid being a static picture of buildings, a magnificent austere chill light, and the v-shaped patch of sky on the left of the picture is ideal for text. No need to faff about with recolouring and artistic effects here - Bellotto's choices are already the optimum. Is that cheating? Maybe, but if so, just about all Penguin Classics are cheats too.

So there we have the cover of The Last Free City, with a little help from Bernado Bellotto...

2011-02-18T11:53:00.001Z

Cover Design, Part 3

The Dog of the North was conceived and executed as a fantasy more epic in scope than Dragonchaser. I could easily have come up with a cover design which followed on from the earlier model (indeed, I used a Braun and Hogenberg map of Venice to work out the topography of Mettingloom, and one of Blois for Croad).

I felt for the new novel, though, that I should try for something closer to mainstream fantasy. This time I ransacked iStockphoto for pictures of swords and castles that I could cannibalise. A few images presented themselves:

None of these was quite satisfactory. The first two didn't work in the practical sense of getting text on the page, however I cropped them; the third was a beautiful image, but not for this book; and the final one had the right elements but the woman did not correspond to my image of any of the characters.

I also found this one in my files--and with hindsight, prefer it to the one I finally chose:

The image that I finally chose probably won out because it was easier to manipulate away from photo-realism:

Although it is a photograph, it doesn't really look like one. With some relatively straightforward image manipulation and overlaying wash of colour, I ended up with something which didn't seem too far away from the feel of the book:

Which looks just fine until you see the job the professionals made of it when Macmillan New Writing picked it up...

Next: the Bellotto cover for The Last Free City.

2011-02-16T23:59:00.002Z

Cover Design, Part 2

Dragonchaser was my first fantasy novel, and it was clear that a different style of cover would be needed from that employed for The Zael Inheritance. For fantasy, the emphasis is on low-tech, so the kind of glossy image I had used before was clearly inappropriate. Nonetheless, I wanted to avoid the traditional kind of fantasy cover, partly because square-jawed heroes and winsome damsels aren't really my thing; but also because the chances of finding a high-resolution, copyright-free image of human figures were not high. Subsequently I've discovered a number of professional fantasy artists who do work in a way that I admire, although even then I suspect that their services would be out of my reach. Check out Andreas Rocha, for example:

For Dragonchaser, then, I was led towards images from antiquity. I'd long had an interest in historic maps, and particularly the pioneering 16th century work of Braun and Hogenberg. Fortunately much of this is available in hi-res, and soon I found this image of Marseille, which topographically was all but identical to Paladria, the city at the heart of the novel (as shown in my original map).

Again some cropping was necessary, the image being both the wrong shape and adorned with the legend 'MARSEILLE', which was not entirely helpful.

As well as cropping the image, I flipped it over to correspond more closely to the map in my head, and ended up with this:

This is close but clearly not satisfactory. The text is far too indistinct. A change of colour is called for, so I darken the text and lighten the background:

And that's what I would have gone with, but my daughter was adamant that the colours were muddy and indistinct, a view that wider canvassing confirmed. You have to know when to listen to advice, and so a final version with altered colour values sprang forth:

Voila!

And here are the ones that didn't make it:

None of these need be regretted, although they do all reflect elements of the novel. The real problem is that they're all photographs, and they simply don't work as covers for fantasy novels. The photo-cover smacks--with no disrespect to the authors--of self-help "How God Changed My Life" books; a respectable and popular genre, but not one a fantasy novelist is pitching at.

Next - the self-published edition of The Dog of the North, including another bout with the curse of photo-realism.

2011-02-16T14:14:00.001Z

On Cover Design

My last post, displaying a draft cover for The Last Free City, occasioned the nearest thing to see hysteria we see over on ::Acquired Taste. I fondly imagine that this is at least in part the result of fevered anticipation for the book, but it's an undeniable fact that pictures are always popular too. With that in mind, I thought I'd set out some worked examples on cover design. The fact that they are the work of a rank amateur, a dilettante with no concept of how to use Photoshop or Illustrator, may perhaps make them more interesting: all the examples discussed are attainable with basic IT skills and a willingness to hunt around.

The first book I ever published was The Zael Inheritance. It was also, therefore, my first attempt at cover design. Unlike my more recent work, Zael is science-fiction rather than fantasy, which in hindsight made the cover rather easier to design. My cover designs can have a wearying literalism, and since the plot turns on DNA, what could be more appropriate for the cover than a double-helix? I was lucky enough to find this image on the excellent IStockphoto.com, and instantly I knew this would fit the bill. This is virtually ready-made as a cover.

Some basic cropping ensued to make the correct proportions for a book cover:

And from there it was simply a question of finding a suitable typeface.

Looking back through my files, I can see that I modelled several other variations on the same theme. These were rejected for being too cluttered:

This one, on the other hand, very nearly made the cut:

Probably not quite zappy enough for an SF cover, although pleasantly retro. The DNA image was again hoovered up from Istockphoto.

The key learning from this first attempt:

don't try anything too complicated. It's much easier to adapt something which already exists than it is to create from scratch
use very large graphics files. Anything below about 3000x2000 pixels will not have the resolution you need for a cover
use images with plenty of space. You need room for the title and your name
simple software will do. I did all my graphics manipulation in Powerpoint and Irfanview.

Next - a first fantasy cover for Dragonchaser.

2011-02-14T21:36:00.001Z

A Tantalising Glimpse...

One way or another, coming soon...

2011-02-10T17:30:00.001Z

The Joy of Sets

How do you like your stories? Settling down to engage with a novel, maybe. Your regular fix of Eastenders? Or--I know you're reading this, Alis and Frances--a daily hit of The Archers on the radio? Perhaps you relish the structural perfection of a 90-minute movie.

In recent years there are more ways than ever to tell stories. You can read them written as apps for your iPhone, or take in Shakespeare on Twitter. But few, if any developments can have been as welcome as the box-set. A series which might have evolved over months or even years on TV can be in your living room, one episode the push of a button away from the last. Some stories only reveal their full glory when watched this way - stripped of commercials, characters growing and developing before your eyes. Rome, 22 50-minute episodes, needs time to unfold, and it's hard to imagine a conventional movie delivering anything like the same punch. The Wire shows a depth of ambition and accomplishment that's revealed only across the arc of the five series. (Not all box sets are as felicitous: 24 watched back-to-back is exposed as meretricious buffoonery).

Now I've found my way to Battlestar Galactica, perhaps the first grown-up space opera. (In the halcyon days of Star Trek, it probably never occurred to anyone that space opera might want to be). I haven't finished all the seasons yet, so I'll reserve final judgement--but this is shaping up as hugely impressive drama. And from such tawdry inspiration--an unutterably feeble late-70s Star Wars rip-off. The four TV series, on the other hand, really do with hindsight seem amazingly ambitious. Airing from 2003-2008, an old-fashioned story of the last remnants of humanity fleeing killer robots manages to address issues of authoritarianism for the perceived greater good, racism, xenophobia, suicide bombing and torture in a way almost wholly absent from mainstream US drama. If you wanted a nuanced exploration of America in the Iraq years, you had to watch a science-fiction show--at least until Generation Kill came along, and even that lacked Battlestar Galactica's thematic range. Even the cliches are given a bit of life: the standard insubordinate pilot, Starbuck, is a woman (the mesmeric Katee Sackhoff). Grizzled Admiral Adama, played with grim weariness by Edward James Olmos, has flaws so significant we frequently lose sympathy with him. His counterpart, the reluctant President Roslin (Mary McDonnell and her shampoo-ad hair) is half noble war-leader, half tyrant. And those killer robots? They end up commandeering our sympathies.

The episodes are fleeting by so quickly I doubt I can make them last until Game of Thrones launches. I may have to find another classic series. I hear The Sopranos is pretty good...

2011-01-31T07:00:00.001Z

Book Review

His Last Duchess, by Gabrielle Kimm

For tales of passion, cruelty and intrigue, saturated in vibrant colour with malice concealed under a formal politeness, it's hard to find a better setting than Renaissance Italy. So much has been apparent since Shakespeare's day, and I am not the only fantasy writer to have drawn inspiration from the Italy of Machiavelli. Gabrielle Kimm's debut novel, the historical romance His Last Duchess, is fired by a similar fascination. Inspired by an enigmatic Robert Browning poem of the same name, Kimm explores the tainted marriage of Alfonso, Duke of Ferrarra, and Lucrezia de Medici. Lucrezia is the teenage protagonist, married off for political advantage into the noble house of d'Este to the handsome and superficially charming Alfonso. Alfonso, however, turns out to be some way short of the ideal husband; when the marriage starts to go awry (on its first night), his plans soon turn to rape and murder his new wife. He is not a man to court compromise or reconciliation. Lucrezia understandably objects to Alfonso's various abuses, and when a poor but talented painter arrives at the court, it is clear where her affections will tend.

The plot is neatly executed, even if the elements are familiar, with Kimm's skill lifting the novel well above the ruck. Lucrezia is a lively and engaging presence, Alfonso a meticulously observed and frightening psychotic. The prose is beautiful, reflecting the sensuous Tuscan warmth of the setting; the details are rich and vivid without ever overwhelming the movement of the story.

Lovers of Shakespeare will recognise many of the motifs of Renaissance Italy: forbidden and impossible loves, apothecaries, poisons real and imagined, friars and recondite inheritance disputes. The Renaissance drama His Last Duchess most resembles, though, is Webster's The Duchess of Malfi, with its claustrophobic intensity, warped lusts and a villain pushing the boundaries of sanity.

His Last Duchess is an accomplished and absorbing historical novel. I look forward to more from Gabrielle Kimm.

2011-01-18T06:56:00.004Z

The Wicked Witch of the West End

I have never really got on with musicals. Either sing a song or tell a story; don't try to do both. Nonetheless, to earn some man-points I whisked my other half up to London to see Wicked, the musical history of Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz. I enjoyed it rather more than I expected to, although given the same starting point I might have done something rather darker with it.

Elphaba is the classic outsider (the green skin is something of a giveaway here) as, like Harry Potter, she is packed off to sorcery school where she is not immediately popular. Particularly antagonistic is Glinda, who grows up to be the Good Witch of the South. Here, though, she starts out spoiled and self-obsessed. Eventually they become friends, but Elphaba, who is not really wicked at all, uses her powers to correct injustice, before concluding "no good deed goes unpunished". Eventually she runs off with...we'll, you'll have to see the show to find out. The plot amusingly reinterprets some of the much-loved tropes of the film, and the songs (once you accept they aren't meant to advance the story) are enjoyable interludes.

If you can stomach paying £3 for a minuscule tub of ice-cream, Wicked is an undemanding but very entertaining thrre hours.

2011-01-17T07:23:00.001Z

Changing reading habits with the Kindle

I've had a Kindle for three or four months now and, as I've mentioned previously, my experience has been highly rewarding. I've never been one of those "love the smell of fresh paper" types, and I've found reading a small, light device more satisfying than trying to fight the spine to hold a paperback open or prop up a hardback. There's no question that I prefer reading on a Kindle to a traditional book - philistine though this may make me.

What I didn't expect is that Kindle would change not only how I read, but what I read. Kindle books allow the first chapter or two to be downloaded as a sample for free. This is normally enough to decide whether a book is worth reading, and there's no barrier to downloading a slew of samples. Some are discarded on that basis, but others make it on to my reading list where otherwise they would not have done.

This year already I've read and enjoyed three sports biographies which I would otherwise not have picked up. In ascending order of brilliance:

In Search of Robert Millar - Richard Moore

Moore documents the life and career of the famously prickly Scottish cyclist, who became a recluse after his retirement from the sport. Moore's "search" is not only for Millar's whereabouts (in which he is unsuccessful) but for understanding of the most idiosyncratic of men: in this latter quest he gets much closer.

Coming Back to Me - Marcus Trescothick

Trescothick's autobiography charts in agonising detail his battle with mental illness which brought a premature end to his international cricket career. It won a string of awards for its unsparing honesty, and the courage with which Trescothick tackles the subject earns the reader's admiration and sympathy, but never pity.

Fallen Angel - William Fotheringham

The story of Fausto Coppi, the legendary Italian cyclist of the 1940s and 50s, has just about everything. Coppi rose from poverty to become a multiple winner of cycling's greatest races, as well as conducting a very public affair with a voluptuous (and highly manipulative) brunette at a time when adultery was still illegal. Continuing to race well beyond his prime, he died aged only 40 after contracting malaria during an exhibition trip to Africa. The complexities and contradictions of Coppi's character make him a Shakespearean tragic hero, and Fotheringham's biography captures all the subtleties of his life. Bravissimo!

I have been fighting a battle for many years with the space constraints of my bookshelves. With out of copyright titles free on the Kindle, I may yet box up and ship out my paperback Dickens, Austen, Hardy, Bronte, Zola...

2011-01-14T07:40:00.003Z

News from the Twitterverse

Last night was of course my first-ever Twitterview, with Emlyn Chand. It's a lively, dynamic way of working which unites the flexibility of the internet with the intimacy of real conversation, and I was pleasantly surprised by how much fun the whole thing was--and how much information we could exchange within the 140-character limit of Twitter.

If you missed it, then, you missed out - but fear not, because Emlyn transcribed the Q&A session. Here's a taster:

If you want to see the rest, check out Emlyn's blog or search Twitter itself on #emlyn (for completists who want to see all the IT glitches which Emlyn has sensibly removed from the transcript!).

2011-01-11T07:04:00.001Z

Best Christmas Reading

The seasonal break is always a good chance to catch up on some reading. The book I most enjoyed was Alastair Reynolds' Zima Blue, a collection of some of his short fiction. All fourteen stories were worth reading, with several being excellent. The best were:

Understanding Time and Space

Does what it says on the tin, but enlightenment is possible only with the help of Elton John. Sure to appeal to fans of Aliya Whiteley.

Signal to Noise

A widower enters a parallel universe to say goodbye to his wife. Low-key but surprisingly poignant.

Minla's Flowers

Old-style space opera which is also a merciless exploration of the corruption of power.

Beyond the Aquila Rift

A deep-space epic where nothing is quite what it seems. This is one of the best SF shorts I've ever read, packed twists and ideas enough to fill a novel. There's an amazing film waiting to made here.

Better known for his novels, this collection shows that Reynolds is also vastly talented in the shorter format.

2011-01-10T14:59:00.003Z

Twitterview update

Thursday's twitterview will start at 22:00 UK time (that's 17:00 US Eastern Standard Time). Just search on #emlyn.

2011-01-10T07:00:00.001Z

What do you call an interview on Twitter?

A "Twitterview", of course, and I will be a twitterviewee on Thursday 13 January (time to be announced, but probably mid-evening GMT). Prolific writer and web maven Emlyn Chand will be asking the questions, and I'll be responding in 140 characters or fewer (tough for a fantasy writer!). Search #emlyn on Twitter to find the twitterview and ask questions of your own.

I've no idea quite how this work in practice but it promises to be a lively, if necessarily terse, occasion!

2011-01-07T00:01:00.017Z

How to Write a Synopsis

Advice that really works

Like most writers, I loathe writing synopses. I'd much rather tell my story in 100,000 words than 1,000. While I can eventually set myself to do it, it's a long, painful process. Last week, though, I wrote a synopsis for The Last Free City in an hour and a half. It's not brilliant, but then I don't think a synopsis can be.

I wish I could claim all the credit, but I can't. Instead, I synthesised two pieces of online advice which worked for me. In case they work for you too, I like to share. The first was from the consistently excellent Help! I Need a Publisher! blog written by Nicola Morgan. In this post, she tackles how to prepare a synopsis for a non-linear plot structure. Nicola observes that most of the difficulty here arises from a flawed assumption: that a synopsis must relate the story in the same way it is told in your book. Once you realise that you can summarise the story without following the structure, the problem becomes much more manageable.

Without that realisation, I don't think the second, more comprehensive, set of advice would have been much help. That advice is contained on Glen Strathy's blog, How to Write a Book Now. Glen tackles the specifics of the synopsis here. The post is too long to reproduce in full, but essentially his method boils down to:

instead of trying to summarise the whole plot at once, break it down into component parts

~ plot basics (what are the high-level main events?)
~summarise the main character's arc (how and why does he change?)
~interweave the "impact character's" role (how does the antagonist/romantic interest affect the main character's story?)
~the major relationship (describe the development of the novel's main relationship)
~draw out the main themes of the novel (optional)

Strathy's method is slightly more complicated than this suggests, but that's the heart of it. The beauty is that, for each category, you write a few sentences, without at this stage trying to put them in order. Strathy suggests putting them on index cards to facilitate moving them around; I used a spreadsheet to much the same effect, ending up with a 4x4 grid. I then cut and pasted each box into a Word document in an order that made sense as a narrative. With the words already there, that was fairly easy. The resulting text was inevitably somewhat staccato, and repetitive in places, but that was straightforward to clean up. At the end, I had a coherent summary of the plot and the main character's development. Job done!

The synopsis process does force the writer to make choices. The Last Free City has, in my mind, always been a story of political intrigue explored and reinforced by a love story; but structurally it's the other way around - a developing relationship set against a backdrop of political turmoil. Once I've made the choice that womanising poet Todarko is the main character (although there are two other viewpoints in the book), and that Linnalitha, the unhappy wife of a scheming policitician, is the impact character, the synopsis can't play out any other way. I could have chosen other characters with different results, but there's no question on reflection that this relationship is the structural (and emotional) core of the novel.

This synopsis is being prepared for submission to a publisher who demands no more than two sides; using Strathy's economical method I've done the job in a side and a half, leaving me a couple of paragraphs to talk about my publishing history and dredge up some favourable reviews for The Dog of the North (that didn't take long...). Strathy's approach would work for a longer synopsis too, but it's very helpful to have a method to hand which allows me to condense (however crudely) a long and complex novel into 900 words.

If you hate writing synopses, give these links a go.

2011-01-04T07:00:00.014Z

Last Chance to See...

Last week I took a trip to the National Gallery to see its exhibition Venice: Canaletto and His Rivals. If you want to do the same, be quick! It closes on 16 January. It's well worth a visit. Art exhibitions are not always exciting, but this one is a must-see.

Venice has always held a fascination for me, despite (perhaps because) never having been there. It's no secret that Mettingloom in The Dog of the North was conceived as a frozen Venice, with its mesh of canals and polished intrigues. Canaletto's paintings were a major inspiration, even though they date from a period some 200 years later than the 'high Venetian' period which so delighted me.

From that perspective alone, a Canaletto exhibition would have been worth a couple of hours of my time, but the National Gallery show offered a great deal more. His paintings were juxtaposed with those of his contemporaries to demonstrate how different artists had dealt with the same landscapes. 18th century Venice was popular as a 'Grand Tour' destination, and in an age before cameras, paintings of the city were much in demand as souvenirs.

At the start of his career, Canaletto's work is contrasted with that of Luca Carlevarijs. Canaletto's pictures are clearly more precise and vibrant. Later on we see contrasts with other artists working out of his own studio (and issuing canvasses in Canaletto's name). The most prominent of these was Canaletto's nephew, Bernardo Bellotto. Many of Bellotto's works are all but indistinguishable from his uncle's until they are displayed side-by-side, where Bellotto's more saturated colours and emphasised buildings become apparent. I found myself preferring the pupil's work to the master's.

Bellotto, The Piazetta, c.1743

Later in his career, Canaletto's work is set alongside Francesco Guardi's. Guardi is deliberately less precise than Canaletto, looking ahead towards the 19th century rather than working in the Canaletto tradition.

I can't recommend the exhibition too highly: a cluster of beautiful paintings, liberal historical context and a real sense of 18th century Venice.

2011-01-01T00:01:00.004Z

Top Science-Fiction and Fantasy Films, 2001-10

Number 1

For those of you who have borne with me so far, the revelation is at hand: the film I think better than The Lord of the Rings, Inception and Batman. The winner, of course, (there can be no debate) is Roland Emmerich's blockbusting drama, sweeping in scope yet poignant in characterisation; a great movie in this or any decade: yes, it's 2012.

Hah hah! Regular visitors to ::Acquired Taste will know that's bollocks. Let's move, instead, to a film worthy of our time and attention.

1. The Prestige, dir. Christopher Nolan, 2007

Yes, I know it's Christopher Nolan again, but you'll have to bear with me on this one. Adapted--fairly loosely--from a fine Christopher Priest novel--The Prestige tells the story of two rival fin-de-siecle stage magicians. You get Christian Bale, of course, as a chippy working-class lad, set against a polished Hugh Jackman; Scarlett Johannsen as their love interest; Michael Caine for once used properly; a bravura turn from David Bowie as Nikola Tesla; and a genuinely stunning climax. It has some of the same preoccupations as Inception--the nature of memory and identity, secrecy and obsession--but for me, executed in a more structurally satisying way. Nolan artfully manipulates the audience's sympathy, so that the viewer is never quite sure to root for. It's clever, pacy, always surprising and just about note-perfect. Received on release with general critical appreciation if little rapture, in time The Prestige deserves to be recognised as a masterpiece.

2010-12-30T07:41:00.001Z

Top Science-Fiction & Fantasy Films, 2001-2010

Numbers 2-4

Our survey of the decade is drawing to a close, with my favourite ready to be announced on New Year's Day. For today, though, three remarkable forays onto the big screen worth the attention of all SF/F fans.

4. Batman Begins, dir. Christopher Nolan, 2005

I might have done better to treat Nolan's Batman franchise as a single entity, but both films are so remarkable that they deserve their own space. Batman, of course, had a long (and to my mind, not particularly interesting) history before Nolan's involvement; Batman Begins is a thrilling journey into how Bruce Wayne/Batman came to be. There is always a fascination with origin myths. The material could easily be flaccid and cliched: boy experiences trauma, but returns stronger to exact his revenge*. Christian Bale is such an effective Bruce Wayne that the audience never feels they are watching something they have seen before, and the film is particularly impressive in the way it demonstrates the darkness at Wayne's core--and shows that as essential to the 'Batman' persona. I prefered it, by a whisker, to The Dark Knight, because the emphasis was so squarely on Wayne/Batman; the later film's focus on The Joker and Harvey Dent for me dilutes that a fraction. But they are two magnificent films.

3. Inception, dir. Christopher Nolan, 2010
You may by now get the idea that I'm a fan of Nolan's work, and you'd be right. Always willing to challenge the boundaries of commercial cinema, Nolan has a deep understanding of how to construct a story to keep the audience's attention. Inception has all the trappings of a Philip K Dick story - games about the nature of consciousness and identity, weird but consistent inner worlds - but with an adamantine control of structure. It works as a film not because of all the Dickery, but because the underlying model is the old-fashioned heist movie. Nolan works with a number of his favoured actors--Michael Caine, Cillian Murphy--and Leonardo di Caprio is no Christian Bale, he is strong enough to lead this film. The film explores three dreamscapes, and had the third been as strong as the first two, Inception would have been top of my list. As it stands, the comparative weakness of that last section just tarnishes the lustre of what remains an extraordinarily accomplished and ambitious film.

2. The Lord of the Rings trilogy, dir. Peter Jackson, 2001-03
If The Lord of the Rings was conceived as a single novel, then the film sequence should also be regarded as one--very long!--piece. It is not flawless--some of the minor characters are stock buffoons, and the triple ending of the final film is deeply wearisome--but it has such epic scope and brio that almost everything can be forgiven. Fidelity to the source material is not always necessary in film, and Jackson tweaks where he needs to, and in some respects he improves on Tolkien. The monumental scale of the battle scenes astounds even today, and the quality of the ensemble cast (especially in the first film) is compelling. The sense that the fate of the world is at stake is much more present in Jackson than Tolkien. The Lord of the Rings, on the big screen as on the page, remains the touchstone against which future fantasy will be measured.

* a description which fits The Dog of the North and Vance's Emphyrio equally well. It ain't the plot which does it.

2010-12-27T08:00:00.009Z

Top Science-Fiction & Fantasy Films, 2001-2010

Numbers 5-7

Did you agree with the inclusion of No.8-10 on the list? Today we'll be looking at an altogether more impressive set of films.

7. Minority Report, dir. Steven Spielberg, 2002

Philip K. Dick's fiction has been fruitful ground for film-makers, dating right back to Bladerunner. Dick was much better as a writer at throwing out brilliant ideas than he was at translating them into formally satisfying fiction, but those brilliant ideas make fantastic elevator pitches. Minority Report is certainly not especially faithful to its source, but it builds on the idea of a police force which maintains order by being able to see crimes about to be committed. This future, and the tensions and contradictions it embodies, are neatly realised in Spielberg's vision, and the presence of Tom Cruise at the height of his stardom does not unbalance the whole. A pacy thriller and subtle exploration of a deterministic future, Minority Report remains an underrated piece.

6. The Dark Knight, dir. Christopher Nolan, 2008

Nolan has an extraordinary body of work, and although The Dark Knight is remembered primarily for Heath Ledger's bravura turn as The Joker, the film is much more impressive than that would suggest. Most comic book adaptations rarely impress on the big screen, but Nolan's vision of a dark and corrupt Gotham City never fails to grip. Christian Bale's Bruce Wayne is a dark, unhappy soul and he's entirely at home here. Anyone who remembers the earlier film representations of the Caped Crusader will be astonished at the power and resonance Nolan has extracted from the source material. The special effects are stunning, but the viewer is so caught up in the narrative that they are hardly noticed.

5. Serenity, dir. Joss Whedon, 2005

Whedon is in some ways Nolan's antithesis. Every bit as talented, he has the sad knack of creating excellent work which fails to score the commercial success necessary to continue. Firefly and Dollhouse were both remarkable TV series and both were canned prematurely (especially Firefly). Serenity is the film we got to round off the Firefly series instead. It's a fine film, pleasantly low-tech, with nuanced characters and a script well above the norm for the genre. An ensemble cast create a believable and likeable crew, enhanced by a crackingly menacing turn from Chiwetel Ejiofor. Whedon's vision here is the nearest cinema gets to Jack Vance. It's a fine end to the Firefly experiment, but it leaves the reader melancholy for all the TV series we might have had.

Next: films 2, 3 and 4.

2010-12-24T07:03:00.001Z

Top Science-Fiction & Fantasy Films, 2001-2010

With the first decade of the new millennium coming to a close, I thought it would be fun to look back at some of the best movies of the period; this being an SF/F blog, though, I'll focus on that genre. I don't claim to have seen every film released, so my list is necessarily partial. If your favourite is omitted, it may simply because I never caught it (although if your favourite is 2012, it's not on the list because it's sh*te).

Today we look at films No.8 to 10 on the list.

10. The Butterfly Effect, dir. Eric Bress & J.Mackye Gruber (2004)

This was pretty much uniformly panned on release; time and two worthless sequels haven't helped its reputation either. Starring Ashton Kutcher (bear with me here) as a time-traveller who can go back an alter the past, The Butterfly Effect is not particularly original in concept, but it scores points for the bleakness of its vision. Evan Treborn (Kutcher) repeatedly goes back in time to right past wrongs, only to find that his efforts make matters progressively worse. This plays out--in the directors' cut at least--to an inevitable but grim conclusion. The logic of the time-travelling works more logically than in many such films, and while it is not a classic, The Butterfly Effect deserves more credit than it gets.

9. Avatar, dir. James Cameron (2009)

I described this at the time as great cinema, but not a great film, and that still feels about right. The 3D pyrotechnics overshadow a plot which never rises above the serviceable, but the overall effect is certainly dramatic. 3D does not in itself make an exciting film (step forward Alice in Wonderland), so Cameron deserves credit for making a picture which fairly skips along. A science-fiction film which gets so many people through the doors can't be all bad.

8. Harry Potter sequence, dir. various (2001-11)

Harry Potter, whether on the page or on screen, tends to polarise opinion. I'm a fan of the books, and the films have been enjoyable, if undemanding, entertainment. They deserve credit for fidelity to the books, and the quality of the child actors is much better than generally recognised. The films are likely to remain staples for years to come, and to bring a new generation to the books. The special effects are consistently excellent, but--unlike Avatar--never outshine the plot or the characters.

Come back soon to see the films I've rated No.5, 6 and 7!

2010-12-22T06:53:00.001Z

2010 - Best and Worst

The year has come and all but gone with extraordinary rapidity. Before it fleets away, I thought I'd encapsulate the artistic highlights of the year (which, to be fully appreciated, must be counterpointed by the lowlights).

Best Writing Achievement

The publication by Editions Andreas Irle of the German edition of Dragonchaser. Serendip may not be setting the publishing world alight, but it's always good to have a new book out.

Worst Writing Achievement

The stalling of current WIP The Fall of the Fireduke at the 20,000 word-mark. Re-reading bits of it last night, it's not quite as bad as I thought, but there's still plenty of work to do. Big decisions need to be made on whether to continue with this project.

Best Film Seen

The Town, Ben Affleck's slick heist movie. It does nothing original, but does it all brilliantly. An honourable mention for Christopher Nolan's Inception, a far more ambitious picture which with a more ruthless editor might have touched greatness.

Worst Film Seen

2012. A film to make me despair at the state of the movie industry. Everybody involved should feel an abiding shame. Awful on every conceivable level, a monstrous misuse of time, money and creativity. Makes The Poseidon Adventure look like Citizen Kane. At least I didn't pay to see it at the cinema.

Best Book Read

Now this one's difficult. David Remnick's biography of Muhammad Ali, King of the World, was spectacular, RJ Ellory's A Quiet Vendetta maintained his exemplary standards and Ian Mortimer's The Time-Traveller's Guide to Medieval England was a wonderfully fresh and accessible take on a well-worn subject. I was delighted too that Sharon Penman proved with Here Be Dragons that The Sunne in Splendour was not a one-off. To avoid chosing among them, I'll note that I re-read Jack Vance's Lyonesse trilogy, and that trumped the lot.

Worst Book Read

These days I'm much more ruthless at abandoning early books I don't enjoy. Of those I finished, I ended up weary of Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall, although I admired the craftsmanship (and Beyond Black was a contender for Best Book); the wooden spoon must therefore go to Ken Follett's truly appalling World Without End, which managed to be boring, leaden and offensive.

Best Blog

I've greatly enjoyed Nevets.QST, and not just because Nevets gave The Dog of the North a glowing review. Nevets charts his progress as a writer with clarity and sometimes lacerating honesty--as well as a lot of generosity

Worst Blog

::Acquired Taste. Hands up here; we've been bloody feeble this year...

But let's finish on a positive note with a look ahead to 2011. Three standout titles are on the horizon: award-winning Ryan David Jahn's The Dispatcher; L.C. Tyler latest Ethelred and Elsie mystery, The Herring on the Nile, and Joe Abercrombie's The Heroes, which looks set to be another gritty deconstruction of the sanitised fantasy tropes.

Best wishes to all visitors for Christmas and the New Year!

2010-12-09T07:10:00.000Z

The Season of Economy

No doubt many of you will be wanting to buy copies of The Dog of the North for friends and family; and Amazon.co.uk has taken unscrupulous advantage of this by increasing the price of the paperback from £5.99 to £7.19. As a service to prospective readers, therefore, I have researched those online retailers who now undercut Amazon. In the UK the book can be acquired most cheaply at the always competitive Book Depository for £5.98 with free postage. I suspect that German retailer Hitmeister, charging £26.73 plus postage, will probably not be selling out. German readers will also find the UK Book Depository site the cheapest, retailing at EUR7.15. For US readers, postage is again free from Book Depository, with the book selling for $9.43. (Amazon.com, by contrast, charges $11.66 plus postage).

For those of you with Kindles, this edition is usually the cheapest. Now you can all get back to your Christmas shopping!

2010-12-07T06:49:00.000Z

The Dog of the North - now on the Kindle

Tempted by the idea of reading some fantasy fiction but too lazy to prop up a 474-page book? Or no more room on your groaning bookshelves? Perhaps you baulk at paying £5.99 for a reading experience but regard £5.69 as entirely reasonable?

If so, the new Kindle edition of The Dog of the North is just the thing for you. I've had my Kindle for a couple of months and I'm very taken with it. My only gripe has been the relatively limited range of books available, a concern I now feel has been entirely addressed by this latest development...

2010-11-23T07:31:00.001Z

Why Should I Read...?

The King of the World

David Remnick,1998

When people under 40 think of Muhammad Ali, the image that comes to mind is probably the national--or world--treasure, bearing his illness with dignity and commanding universal respect and affection. Those slightly older may remember his epic boxing matches with Joe Frazier and George Foreman in the 1970s.

Remnick's biography goes back still further, concentrating on his early career, particularly his first world title fight against the seemingly invincible Sonny Liston in 1963. Sometimes I'm asked whether sports books are important enough, or serious enough, to deserve critical attention. The King of the World is one example of why they are.

I'm not really a boxing fan--there's something highly disturbing about watching two invariably black men inflicting brain damage on each other for the entertainment of a predominantly white audience--but this is a compelling book, because it's about much more than boxing. In the early 1960s, Ali--or Cassius Clay, as he was then--was a hugely reviled figure. Conservatives despised him for getting above his station (with his ready wit and showman's personality, he just did not know his place), while liberals felt his association with Elijah Muhammad's Nation of Islam undermined the civil rights movement. (Ali's commitment to black separatism caused great ill-feeling with the more integrationist Floyd Patterson, culminating in a merciless beating for Patterson in a 1965 world title fight. Patterson consistently referred to Ali as Clay long after his conversion to Islam).

If all this were not enough to seal Ali's unpopularity, he then had the temerity to refuse to be drafted to Vietnam, a move which seems more courageous and principled now than it must have looked at the time. "I ain't got no quarrel with them Vietkong", he memorably said.

Remnick's book, in focusing on the point at which Muhammad Ali invented himself, illuminates not only a fascinating character--more deserving of our admiration than our pity, despite the illness that overtook him as he fought on too long--but a pivotal period in US history. The final word should go to Ali himself:

I’ll tell you how I’d like to be remembered: as a black man who won the heavyweight title and who was humorous and treated everyone right. As a man who never looked down on those who looked up to him and who helped as many of his people as he could—financial and also in their fight for freedom, justice and equality. As a man who wouldn’t embarrass them. As man who tried to unite his people through the faith of Islam. And if all that’s too much , then I guess I’d settle for being remembered only as a great boxing champion who became a preacher and a champion of his people. And I wouldn’t even mind if folks forgot how pretty I was.

2010-11-15T13:43:00.003Z

Kindle Debut

First it was self-published. Then it came out in German. Now Dragonchaser is available on the Kindle. At £1.71 (the US version retails for $2.71), what do you have to lose?

This is my first foray into the ebook market and it will be interesting to see how it goes.

2010-11-10T13:42:00.002Z

Trapped in the Present

The decline of history teaching in our schools

There was a fascinating article by Simon Schama in the Guardian about the teaching--or lack thereof--of history in English schools.

My own anecdotal evidence suggests that right across the secondary school system our children are being short-changed of the patrimony of their story, which is to say the lineaments of the whole story, for there can be no true history that refuses to span the arc, no coherence without chronology. A pedagogy that denies that completeness to children fatally misunderstands the psychology of their receptiveness, patronises their capacity for wanting the epic of long time; the hunger for plenitude. Everything we know about their reading habits – from Harry Potter to The Amber Spyglass and Lord of the Rings suggests exactly the opposite. But they are fiction, you howl? Well, make history – so often more astounding than fiction – just as gripping; reinvent the art and science of storytelling in the classroom and you will hook your students just as tightly.

I enjoyed history at school in the early 1980s, to the extent of nearly reading it at university, but even then I came away with the sense that I didn't understand the chronology. I left school having studied history to A level, very well informed about 19th century British and European history and not a whole lot else - a smattering of the Romans and Tudors, perhaps. It wasn't until I left university that I decided to read myself into history, starting with the ancient Greeks and finishing with the Napoleonic wars. Twenty years later that project is still not complete to my satisfaction (the more I learn, the more avenues for further exploration open up), but I do have a sense of the continuity of the historical record--even if not gathered at school.

These days, I understand, things are even worse. Most children study the Tudors and the Nazis, and very little else. One need not be a knee-jerk little Englander to find this profoundly depressing--future generations growing up with no concept of our past, which gives context to their tomorrows.

It also has interesting implications for genre writers. Authors of historical fiction in the past might have been able to assume some background knowledge in their readers (Shakespeare probably didn't have to tell his audience who Henry V was), but today that's no longer true. Everything has to be built from the ground up. Yet the role of the historical novelist is more important than ever, for if schools are no longer allowed to teach history, writers become the teachers as well as the entertainers. But children leave school without realising just how thrilling history can be, is there even a long-term market for historical fiction?

Even for fantasy writers, the subject is relevant. My Mondia novels, in particular The Dog of the North, draw heavily on Renaissance Italy. Yet for the reader unschooled in history, that connection is never made. As readers become less and less acquainted with our past, there becomes increasingly little distinction between historically-flavoured fantasy and the freer-wheeling interpretations like Jack Vance's Cugel books. Does it matter? After all, any fantasy novel must stand on its own merits, not its inspirations? Maybe not, but as writers we need to understand our audience--and it's an audience that, year by year, becomes less well versed in its own history, or as Schama puts it:

The generations who will either pass on the memory of our disputatious liberty or be not much bovvered about the doings of obscure ancestors, and go back to Facebook for an hour or four. Unless they can be won to history, their imagination will be held hostage in the cage of eternal Now: the flickering instant that's gone as soon as it has arrived. They will thus remain, as Cicero warned, permanent children, for ever innocent of whence they have come and correspondingly unconcerned or, worse, fatalistic about where they might end up.

2010-10-25T07:37:00.001+01:00

Recent Reading

Things have been quiet on the blog lately, not for artistic reasons but because real life is intruding more than the ideal. (Without burdening the casual reader with excessive detail, it is not the best time to be working in the UK public sector at the moment).

I have also been immersed in Adrian Goldsworthy's monumental biography Caesar, essential reading for anyone interested in the late Roman Republic. Goldsworthy reviews the sources for the period to synthesise a fascinating account of Caesar's military and political career. With a supporting cast as vivid as Pompey, Cicero, Crassus and Cato, it's hard to make this dull, and Goldsworthy seizes his opportunity. I'd have regarded myself as a relatively well-informed general reader on the period, but I learned a huge amount from the book.

I found the political machinations more interesting than Caesar's military campaigns. The difficulty in writing about the latter is that the only real source is Caesar's own Commentaries, which are simply propaganda written for the Roman Senate. The various Gaulish tribes are never fully realised, being only legion-fodder for Caesar's conquests.

Caesar is a balanced assessment of Rome's most famous figure, and illuminates by showing him firmly in the context of his times and society. I highly recommend the book, but make sure you have some time on your hands!

2010-10-11T13:19:00.001+01:00

On the Big Screen

The Town

dir. Ben Affleck (2010)

Yesterday I caught the latest Affleck vehicle (he stars as well as directing and co-writing, so if you don't like the film you know who to write to). In many ways it's wholly formulaic - a heist movie in which Affleck is a bank robber trying to go straight after one last job, which he takes on against his better judgement. He falls in love with the manager of one the banks he's robbed (played with luminous appeal by Rebecca Hall) and of course this proves to be redemptive*. The robbery does not, of course, go according to plan, and Affleck is forced to scramble for his life. The ending, if not exactly happy, is appropriate and gives overtones of a brighter future.

You've seen this a hundred times before and yet--somehow--The Town is a scorching film. Affleck manages at once to be level-headed, capable and yet vulnerable. The blue collar Boston environment is vivid and believable. This being Affleck's film, the audience's sympathy is with him, but unusually for the "villain as hero" genre, the police chasing him are not portrayed as bungling or corrupt: they're professionals with a job to do, and Jon Hamm as the FBI man always has our respect even as we want him to fail. The action sequences are directed with brio, and the central relationship between Affleck and Hall, while not exactly convincing, is always compelling.

"Formulaic" is often thrown up as a criticism of films--and indeed books. But what some see as a formula might more accurately be described as blending together elements which have been proven to work in the past. What matters is the skill and vigour with which the ingredients are combined. The Town might be formulaic--but so is Pride and Prejudice, so is The Big Sleep, so are Patrick O'Brian and Richard Stark. If you don't like your dinner, blame the chef, not the ingredients.

I expected popcorn entertainment from The Town. I found something rather better. Highly recommended!

* I am no relationship expert, but this is not a dating strategy I would recommend

2010-10-02T12:07:00.001+01:00

Why Should I Read...?

Bomber
Len Deighton, 1970

In my teens I read a lot about the Second World War, a phase I'm sure most bookish boys go through. Until re-reading it this week, I haven't read Bomber for at least 25 years, but it always remained in my mind as a remarkable book, even once I had long forgotten the details. Reading it again now I can see why I remembered, and why judges as good as Kingsley Amis and Anthony Burgess rated it among the great novels of the 2oth century.

Bomber is set in one single day ("31 June" 1943) and tells the story, in clinical "docudrama" style, of a bombing raid against a German industrial city. The novel uses multiple viewpoints and perspectives, both from the British and German sides. The raid is a disaster on every level: the light Mosquito bomber, in a precisely choreographed scene, drops its marker bombs by accident on a sleepy market town, with the result that the 700 heavy bombers following carpet-bomb the town instead of the target. Most of the inhabitants we see are killed, as are many of the German fighter pilots and the British bomber crews. Deighton doesn't take sides; instead, with chilling detachment he chronicles the varying fates of the characters, who die heroically, farcically, gruesomely (one plane is downed by a bird strike, another from friendly fire). Of those who survive, one German pilot is arrested on landing and subsequently executed for protesting against concentration camps; the star British pilot is taken off flying duties for refusing to play in a regimental cricket match. For all the crisp precision of the prose, this is an angry book, showing up the horror of mechanised warfare.

Technically the book is also a tremendous achievement. Deighton makes us care about the characters despite the pared-back prose (and also allows us to differentiate a large cast in our mind), and to admire the bravery of both the bombed and the bombers. I suspect that 40 years ago the book was even more revolutionary, both stylistically and in the way in which all the characters are portrayed as victims. (I suspect that Alastair McLean's action stories like The Guns of Navarone or Where Eagles Dare are more typical of the period).

Bomber is not an easy read, but it is a bleak masterpiece.

How has it influenced me?

Bomber was probably one of the first novels I read that dispensed with any pretence of happy endings. The novel is a gruelling read but the reader recognises the rightness of the downbeat conclusions. If the bomber crews had all come back safe, if the German pilots had all survived to collect their Knight's Cross, we might have been pleased for men we had come to care about, but it would have been the wrong ending for the novel. It also shows that the writer can create sympathy for the characters without purple prose. Deighton's ability to create memorable characters in a couple of paragraphs--one or two telling details can do it--is also something we can all learn from.

2010-09-29T13:57:00.001+01:00

On World-building - Less is More

Tim Stretton may be one of the best fantasy world builders ever. It's all done through the story, not lengthy explication.

So says fellow writer CN Nevets. Is he right? Probably not, in truth, although I appreciate the sentiment, and it does give me the chance to outline my theories on the business of world-building, probably at tedious length.

What do we mean by world-building? According to Wikipedia,

Worldbuilding is the process of constructing an imaginary world, sometimes associated with a fictional universe. The result may sometimes be called a constructed world, conworld or sub-creation. The term world-building was popularized at science fiction writer's workshops during the 1970s. It describes a key role in the task of a fantasy writer: that of developing an imaginary setting that is coherent and possesses a history, geography, ecology, and so forth. The process usually involves the creation of maps, listing the back-story of the world and the people of the world, amongst other features.

Swallow that undigested and you've already fallen into a hole so deep you can't climb back out. You may, as a writer, want to flesh out your world to give it a "history, geography, ecology, and so forth" (the "so forth" gives me the shivers); you can't, though, expect your readers to have the same level of interest. The more of this kind of work you do, the harder it is to resist bringing it into the story--almost always to the detriment of the text. Few readers will be engaged by a travelogue--reader engagement is created by character and plot.

Many readers have praised the world-building of the Mondia series (no, really, they have), but if I reference back to the Wikipedia definition, I could tell you nothing about its ecology; less about its history than the reader might imagine; and the geography arises entirely from the maps I created before I started. I need to know more than the reader in all of these areas, but to be convincing and engaging I need to emphasise elements other than world-building.

It's important to realise why we are world-building. If you are writing a novel, the setting is not an end in itself; it's one component of a multi-faceted work of art. Here, as in so much else, Tolkien clones often miss the point: The Lord of the Rings does not succeed because of the author's obsessive documenting of Middle Earth, but because of the epic scope of the narrative.

However much world-building you do as preparatory work, you only need to show the reader enough to give the story texture and credibility.

Glount had been the seat of the Dukes of Lynnoc for a thousand years. One of the oldest cities of Mondia, squeezed between the Penitent Hills and the sea, it had long been a centre of commerce. If Croad was a poor cousin to Emmen, Glount was an older uncle, steeped in every vice and abomination concealed under a veneer of urbanity. The Dukes of Lynnoc embodied the essence of their city, and could trace their lineage back to its foundation with only a minimum of creative genealogy. A powerful independent city for six centuries until its fall to the first King Jehan, it had taken its absorption into the Emmenrule with scarcely a blink. Things went on as they had always done, and while the King away in Emmen might wield a nominal authority, to the folk and rulers of Glount, matters went on as they had always done.

--The Dog of the North

In the passage above, I am trying as economically as possible to give the reader a flavour of one of the story's minor locations. I resist the temptation, therefore, to list the lineage of the Dukes of Lynnoc for the thousand years in question (and indeed, never felt the need to compile one in my preparations). In mentioning "the first King Jehan", my aim is to create a texture of history (there must be at least two Jehans) without overcooking it.

The paragraph above is simple exposition, and this is important too. It's all too easy to convey information to readers solely through dialogue, which is frequently takes place for no identifiable dramatic reason. If you want the reader to know something, the best way is often just to tell them in simple declarative prose.

I also try to make my exposition short. "Little and often" is the best policy here. In The Dog of the North, the idea of separate Winter and Summer Kings is critical to one of the plot strands, but the reader would be poorly served if I set out all the details up front. Piece by piece, the reader learns (much of it alongside Lady Isola and Lady Cosetta, who as outsiders are well-placed to be fed the information I need the reader to have).

Lady Cosetta let out a gasp. “I had heard Mettingloom was remarkable,” she said. “But I never imagined this.”
“‘The City in the Sea’,” said Beauceron. Allow me to point out the main features. You see the little cluster of islets ahead, through the neck of the bay? That is where the customs men, or Pellagiers, conduct themselves. Then, rising from the sea itself, you see the ‘Metropoli’: a cluster of closely-packed islets. They are linked by bridges, and instead of roads, there are waterways – the famous ‘aquavias’. That is where we find the King’s palace, the Occonero. Over to the left you see Hiverno, the Winter King’s residence. The Summer King’s retreat Printempi is behind the Occonero and not visible.”

That is the first we hear of the Winter and Summer Kings. For now, it's enough: it's time to get on with the story again. The reader will not understand everything at once. That's not a bad thing, because it helps foster the curiosity which will draw them into the story. A few pages on, I'll feed them a bit more.

Those are my general principles for world-building. I can summarise them in two precepts. First, respect your reader, who has come to you for a compelling story, not a display of your cleverness; and trust your reader, who doesn't need to be told everything on page one to remain interested in your story.

I'm interested in other writers' views too. How do you go about it? (And, since all writer must establish their credible fictional worlds, I'm addressing a wider audience than the fantasy community here).

2010-09-21T13:08:00.004+01:00

Back on the scene

I've been away in Turkey for a late summer holiday--hot and sunny, since you ask--but sadly that's all now in the past. Summer holidays are great reading opportunities for me, and the best book I read was RJ Ellory's A Quiet Vendetta. Ellory has become a crime writer of the finest class: challenging plots, beautiful prose and a superb control of voice. Highly commended too was Sharon Penman's Here Be Dragons, which after a slow start grew into a powerful and moving political and personal drama. I'll be reading the others in the series. On a less exalted level, Robert Harris's Lustrum marked a welcome return to form. The late Roman republic is well-tilled soil, but Harris finds something new in giving us Cicero's unmasking of the Catiline conspiracy.

I had hoped too to think through some questions on The Fall of the Fireduke, and although I made some progress here it was less than I had hoped. Instead, my mind found itself perversely exploring a different novel idea entirely, the result being that I now have an almost complete novel outline in my head. If the idea's good enough, it will keep, so this one's filed away for future use.

I probably won't get much writing done for the next couple of weeks: it's the Chichester Writing Festival this weekend, and I am presenting training courses at work--something I enjoy, but which leaves me too enervated to write.

At the weekend I will also be taking delivery of the long-awaited Kindle. Next year's summer holiday, I hope, will not be accompanied by a bag filled entirely with books...

2010-08-27T07:51:00.001+01:00

Work in Progress

I have made the occasional tantalising (perhaps...) remark about The Fall of the Fireduke, my current work in progress. This is not the book that a writer concerned with career advancement would write; it's set in Mondia, which has so far proved commercially unfortunate. It takes place at a different time, using different characters, to the previous Mondia novels, so it could be seen as a standalone. However we view it, it's the novel I need to write at the moment, before perhaps trying something different.

I'm now about 20,000 words in: generally about the point I start to think this is not going according to plan (even where I don't have a plan). I'm writing this one to a slightly different method. I envisage at least two, perhaps three, narrative strands, but I'm writing one from start to finish, rather than interweaving as I go.

In some ways this approach is easier because I'm not confused by switches in voice and point of view. On the other hand, it leaves the story feeling very unbalanced. This main story is about Floreyn, a young man who falls into the clutches of his family's enemy Duke Varrel. Floreyn finds his captivity less irksome than he had imagined, largely through the charms of Varrel's neice Tanneke (OK, I know you've heard this one before). There is a clear narrative structure here, but in writing up, there are an awful lot of Floreyn-and-Tanneke scenes in close proximity. If this was the whole story, I think the reader would be bored.

I know as I write, though, that if I have two Floreyn-and-Tanneke scenes together, I can break that up with one of the other POV's. Elsewhere, Tanneke's sister Adelisa is trying to ensure that her drunken husband Sir Eglamour does not endanger their son with his inept scheming; and Duke Varrel's household has been infiltrated by a would-be assassin. There's enough there for variety, and no need for like scenes to sit too close together.

I've never written a novel this way before. The two narratives in The Dog of the North were written together for most of the novel before I cracked on and finished off Beauceron's about three-quarters of the way through. In The Last Free City, I wrote Todarko and Oricien's narratives together throughout, before interleaving Malvazan's last. But for The Fall of the Fireduke, I have to take a leap of faith that two narratives I've only sketchily conceived will complement and strengthen the one in progress. And if they don't the novel fails. That's scary.

At this stage, I am not sure if the third narrative strand, Varrel's assassin, has enough legs to work. Gaspar, our would-be assassin, is fun to write and has the most fully-realised voice in the book. On the other hand, unless I want to write fantasy's The Day of the Jackal*, there is limited fictional mileage in having Gaspar follow Varrel all over the place, trying and narrowly failing to kill him at every turn.

Nonetheless, The Fall of the Fireduke is moving forward. Stretton's Law--you see it formulated here first--is that all first drafts are crap at 20,000 words. I'm intrigued enough to write on, the only way to answer the questions:

~ will Floreyn overcome familial rivalry to get the girl?
~ will Gaspar manage to kill the Fireduke?
~ and will he find out who is paying him to do so?
~ will Varrel succeed in his treasonous scheme to usurp the crown ?
~ will Adelisa rise above her unhappy marriage to secure her son's inheritance?

Actually I know the answers but I think it's going to be fun getting there... (feel free to guess the answers - there are no "maybes", they are all Yes/No. A prize to the first person to get all five right!).

* now there's an idea...

2010-08-27T07:21:00.001+01:00

At the cinema

When I wasn't writing or cooking over the past few weeks, I took a couple of trips to the cinema. Over the latest Twilight film we will draw a veil of discretion, pausing only to observe that it almost certainly delivered what its target audience wanted; Inception, however, was rather more interesting.

Christopher Nolan has the happy knack of being able to make intelligent pictures which unite critical and commercial success. His two Batman films are both superior examples of their type, and The Prestige is an undervalued gem. The first two hours of Inception, meanwhile, are so compelling that they mitigate the flabbiness of the final half-hour. Nolan also gives us a nicely ambiguous final scene; in a film about the interface between dreams and reality, anything else would have been crass.

The plot is not meant to be summarised in a sentence. Leonardo di Caprio leads an assorted team who can enter their target's mind to extract information--or, in the case of the "one last job" of the film--implant an idea. Most of the film, therefore, takes place with the cast running around inside another character's head. If, like my film companion, you can't buy that idea, you won't like the film, but if you go with the flow, it'll carry you along. And for all its intellectual trickery, Inception is at heart a very old-fashioned kind of film--a heist movie: the ill-assorted comrades, the meticulous planning, the botched execution. The heist struture is what orders the narrative and makes the film, for all its hi-tech gizmo chic, surprisingly easy to follow. (The deft skill of Nolan's infodumps also has plenty to do with it).

Once we see Inception as a heist movie rather than a Borgesian deconstruction of reality, it all makes rather more sense. Its closest cousins are not The Matrix or Avatar, but Reservoir Dogs, The Italian Job and The Sting. As with The Dark Knight, Nolan has made a first-rate genre picture, and none the worse for that. See it if you get the chance.

2010-08-23T13:50:00.001+01:00

'Serendip' is coming!

Publication of Editions Andreas Irle's Serendip, the German edition of Dragonchaser is nearly upon us. The proprietor of Editions Andreas Irle--Andreas Irle, as coincidence would have it--has created a page on the EAI website, showcasing some excerpts and a downloadable first chapter. Those of you of the German persuasion should proceed there immediately, without pausing to mention the World Cup. The book is now available for pre-order from Amazon.de.

Serendip is the first book of mine to be translated, and it's a strange experience to have book with my name on it, which I can't read. How do I know the quality of the translation if I don't speak German? There is no cast-iron assurance: it may be my story, but they're no longer my words. In this case, I can be confident. Andreas is a friend of many years's standing from the Vance Integral Edition, but more importantly, he is a well-respected translator of many of Vance's works. Since I acknowledge my debt to Vance on my own work, it's reassuring to know that my translator has a similar understanding and enthusiasm.

Even if the worst has happened, and Andreas has chosen for his own purposes to interpolate observations along the lines of "Die einzige Sache, die schlechteres als Tim Stretton' stinkt; s-Arbeit ist der Autor selbst"*, at least I won't understand it. And such a maverick edition would rapidly become an internet phenomenon, and swell both of our bank balances. Andreas, you didn't...did you?

*"The only thing that stinks worse than Tim Stretton's work is the author himself"

2010-08-23T13:17:00.001+01:00

Chichester Book Club

I'm delighted to be part of a new be part of a new site, the Chichester Book Club, which showcases the work of published writers working in my local area. I know some of these writers already, but seeing everyone's work together shows what a diverse writing community Chichester has. The site is the brainchild of Isabel Ashdown, whose debut novel Glasshopper is garnering rave reviews.

Whatever your reading tastes, there's likely to be something for you (disclaimer: if you like fantasy, you're pretty well stuck with me), so why not pop over for a browse?

2010-08-21T11:58:00.000+01:00

What I've been up to

Things have been a bit quiet over here for the last two weeks (although followers of @timstretton on Twitter will have been vexed by periodic tweets). I have not been wholly idle, and over the next couple of weeks I'll be blogging about:

~ my current work in progress, The Fall of the Fireduke

~ the imminent German publication of Serendip (Editions Andreas Irle's translation of Dragonhaser)

~ summer reading - the latest by LC Tyler and KJ Parker's fantasy Colours in the Steel

~ Inception

I have also spent a lot of the summer cooking, so if you want my observations on chicken cacciatore or greek salad omelette, I'm your man.

2010-08-02T07:20:00.002+01:00

On My Travels: Budapest

I'm just back from five days in the Hungarian capital. I can rarely visit a new city without wanting to reinterpret it in some fictional context, and Budapest was no exception. It's a fascinating place, and what excited me most about was the sense of historical layering. In the past couple of years I've visited New York, which seems to exist entirely in the present, and Bruges, which deliberately sets out to reflect nothing but its past. Budapest, by contrast, seems at once to embody the countless waves of invaders and occupiers who have laid down the strata which make up the city.

I didn't expect the Turkish influence to be as strong as it was, but from the Cafe Kara near our hotel to the thermal baths dotted all over the city, the sense of the old Ottoman Empire was pervasive. At the same time, though, a traditional European sensibility was in evidence:

Buda, overlooking the Hungarian Parliament

Budapest embraces and reinterprets its own history. The impressive Vajdahunyad Castle, although looking antique, dates from the end of thre 19th century and incorporates Roman, Gothic, Renaissance and Baroque architecture. It's a deliberate contribution to Hungary's millennium celebrations in 1896:

Vajdahunyad Castle

If in Bruges it's easy to imagine you are walking through streets in the 15th century, in Budapest one gets a feeling of the early 20th century, as the tram and buildings in this street illustrate:

A journey from the past

We stayed in Andrassy Avenue, a long wide boulevard reminiscent of Hausmann's 19th century Paris boulevards. Wikipedia has a picture of the street in 1896, and it's scarcely different today:

Andrassy Street - 1896 or 2010?

But while the look of the street may hardly have changed (even today there is still a second inner road where horse and carriage once trotted), since 1896 Hungary has experienced Fascist and Communist regimes (both grimly comemorated at the Museum of Terror on Andrassy Avenue itself). Andrassy Avenue itself was renamed Stalin Avenue in the early 1950s and then, on Stalin's death, Avenue of the People's Republic. Only on the fall of Communism was Andrassy restored to his inheritance.

The layering of history in every aspect of the city makes a visit seem like a live archaeological dig, with elements of the past six hundred years present simultaneously. It's the kind of feeling we might get when immersed in Jack Vance's Dying Earth: Therlatch perhaps, Old Romarth, or Ampridatvir:

I have known the Ampridatvir of old; I have seen the towers glowing with marvellous light, thrusting beams through the night to challenge the sun itself. Then Ampridatvir was beautiful—ah! My heart pains when I think of the olden city. Semir vines cascaded from a thousand hanging gardens, water ran blue as vaul-stone in the three canals. Metal cars rolled the streets, metal hulls swarmed the air as thick as bees around a hive—for marvel of marvels, we had devised wefts of spitting fire to spurn the weighty power of Earth... But even in my life I saw the leaching of spirit. A surfeit of honey cloys the tongue; a surfeit of wine addles the brain; so a surfeit of ease guts a man of strength. Light, warmth, food, water, were free to all men, and gained by a minimum of effort. So the people of Ampridatvir, released from toil, gave increasing attention to faddishness, perversity, and the occult.

For a writer of fantasy, Budapest gives almost too much to work with, and shows us that fantasy can draw inspiration from periods other than the Middle Ages. And for the tourist--well, you just have to visit the thermal baths.

2010-07-20T07:42:00.000+01:00

"Are the days of the full-time novelist numbered?"

... asks Canadian sf writer Robert J. Sawyer. Unsurprisingly, if gloomily, he concludes the answer is "yes".

In this, at least, I am ahead of the game, never having been a full-time novelist to begin with. Sawyer concludes:

Maybe we will all indeed still be smiling as writing sf shifts from a career to a hobby. Still, lengthy, ambitious, complex works — works that take years of full-time effort to produce — aren’t things that could have been produced in any kind of reasonable time by squeezing in an hour’s writing each day over one’s lunch break while working a nine-to-five job.

I'm not sure that I'd go so far, but such a model suggests that publishers' appetites for the "one book each year" series may be on the wane. Maybe it's not all bad news.

2010-07-19T07:42:00.001+01:00

It's Love

We all, perhaps, have an ideal: a yearning for something which we never quite achieve. We spend our live looking, and then, when our attention is elsewhere, we may find it.

I am no different; I have spent the past thirty years looking for perfection. And at last, I think, I have found it:

Even though I don't write my novels longhand, I have never given up looking for the perfect pen. You see it in the image above--the Pilot V Pen (known in the US as the Varsity Pen). It's a disposable fountain pen which unites ideal inkflow (neither too fulsome nor too miserly) with a nib at once smooth and firm. It is not particularly attractive to look at, but pens are about utility, not aesthetics. It is also--a factor which should never be overlooked--cheap. Call me parsimonious if you will, but I prefer to have a pen I'm not afraid to take out of the house in case I lose it.

The Pilot V Pen is the perfect pen. Anyone who enjoys the tactility of quill on paper should have one, or several.

2010-07-13T07:23:00.001+01:00

Macmillan New Writing Watch

Low Life, by Ryan David Jahn

One of the unexpected pleasures of being part of Macmillan New Writing is seeing other writers on the imprint go on to achieve critical and commercial success. Recently Ann Weisgarber, LC Tyler and Brian McGilloway have all been nominated for major prizes.

Ryan David Jahn has now, with his second novel, Low Life, been assimilated into the mainstream Macmillan imprint. I always look forward to MNWers' crime novels (my former editor Will Atkins is now head honcho for Macmillan crime acquisitions, such is his ability to pick winners), and Low Life does not disappoint.

When Simon Johnson is attacked in his crummy LA apartment, he knows he must defend himself or die. Turning on the lights after the scuffle, Simon realises two things: one, he has killed his attacker; two, the resemblance of the man to himself is uncanny.
Over the coming days, Simon’s lonely life will spiral out of control. With his pet goldfish Francine in tow, he embarks on a gripping existential investigation, into his own murky past, and that of Jeremy Shackleford, the (apparently) happily married math teacher whose body is now lying in Simon’s bathtub under forty gallons of ice.
But Simon has a plan. Gradually, he begins to assume the dead man’s identity, fooling Shackleford’s colleagues, and even his beautiful wife. However, when mysterious messages appear on the walls around Simon’s apartment, he realises that losing his old self will be more difficult than he’d imagined. Everything points to a long forgotten date the previous spring, when his life and Shackleford’s first collided. As the contradictions mount, and the ice begins to melt, the events of the past year will resolve themselves in the most catastrophic way.
Combining gritty noir, psychological drama and dazzling plotting, Low Life is a shocking novel that announces Jahn as a brilliant new voice of modern America.

So goes the blurb, of which I am automatically wary. The phrase "gripping existential investigation" invites immediate scepticism, and yet this is exactly what the novel proves to be. Jahn builds on his exceptional ability--showcased in his debut Acts of Violence--to nail urban American life in the accretion of telling detail by adding a plot of clockwork precision: few writers would have the audacity to combine hidden quantum physics with a seamy naturalism, and fewer still would be able to pull it off. The crime field is a crowded one, but with Low Life, Ryan David Jahn proves he is working in its upper reaches.

2010-07-12T07:24:00.002+01:00

The Dog of the North - Book Club Questions

The Dog of the North is sometimes discussed at at book clubs (don't you have anything better to read?) and on occasion I'm asked to suggest some questions. Since I hate to disappoint an audience, I've suggested a few questions you might want to ask when thinking about the book. If you haven't read the book yet, they do contain some spoilers. In the unlikely event that your book club disdains fantasy literature as adolescent claptrap, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments section.

By any normal standards Beauceron is not a "good" character. Did you sympathise with him despite that, and if so, how did the author persuade you?

The story is driven by Beauceron's desire for revenge, but achieving his goal brings him little satisfaction. Why do you think that is?

The story unfolds over two different time periods which only come together at the end. Did you like that approach or was it confusing?

The Dog of the North is stocked on the fantasy shelves of bookshops. Did it meet your expectations of fantasy fiction, or do you think the genre label limits its potential readership? What purpose do you think genre labels serve?

Given that most of the trappings of conventional fantasy are absent, the book could very easily have been written as a historical novel set in the Renaissance. Why do you think the author chose to write it as fantasy?

The book has a lot of strong female characters. Which did you like most and why?

Lord Thaume is a strong and decisive leader throughout the book, but his actions become increasingly arbitrary. Is the author telling us something about the nature of power?

The author has said that he imagined Mettingloom as a "frozen Venice"? What did you think of this way of reimagining real-world locations?

Mettingloom is ruled for half a year each by the Winter and Summer Kings. Did you believe that such a system could have worked in practice and if not, did you mind?

The author gives us a very detailed description of the Battle of Jehan's Steppe. Did you find it convincing?

The male characters are consistently outwitted by the female ones. Is the author suggesting that women are more manipulative by nature, or that in a male-dominated society they can only succeed by their wits?

Political intrigues are at the heart of the novel, but all of the characters seem to be motivated by self-interest rather than principle. Do you find that a convincing depiction of the political process?

The characters in the story tend to use a very formal style of dialogue. Did that help to create a particular atmosphere for you, or did it grate on you?

At the end of the book Beauceron has the chance to avenge himself on Siedra, but lets her escape so that he can rescue Isola. Why do you think he does this?

The novel's ending implies that Arren and Eilla will never be together. Do you think that's true, and was it an appropriate conclusion?

2010-07-06T07:35:00.009+01:00

The Vancean Influence

David Isaak over on Tomorrowville, in the comments thread to his stimulating post on ephemerality, made the mistake of asking me to trace Jack Vance's influence on my fiction. (This a bit like asking me to tweet about biscuits...). The two aspects of Vance's art David doesn't notice in mine are (deliberately) overripe prose and extensive use of magic. I'd agree in both cases: any overripeness in my prose is unintentional, and my fascination with the Middle Ages leads me to play down the role of magic in my own stories.

So what have I tried to keep from Vance? I've always--flying against the critical consensus--enjoyed Vance's female characters, and especially the way in which they nimbly outwit the more pedestrian male ones. (Vance himself, I suspect, picked this up from PG Wodehouse). In The Zael Inheritance, Laura Glyde persistently befuddles Lamarck with a mixture of superior intelligence and restrained sex-appeal; while in Dragonchaser poor Mirko has to contend with both Larien and Lady Catzendralle. The relationships are perhaps more nuanced in The Dog of the North, but Arren rarely comes off better in sparring with either Eilla or Siedra, while Beauceron's kidnap of Lady Isola hardly goes according to plan. In an otherwise damning review of The Dog of the North, Deathray magazine described the women as "haunting", so I must have got something right.

Vance also enjoys identity games, where one character is someone other than reader thinks. This features strongly in the Demon Princes series, where Attel Malagate, Kokor Hekkus and Viole Falushe all masquerade as other characters, but we see it too with Sir Pellinore in Madouc and, in a curious fashion, Kul the Killer in The Green Pearl. My own fascination with identity games runs even deeper: the true identities of Laura Glyde, 'N', Beauceron and Malvazan are central to the novels in which they feature.

I've long admired the cool detachment of the mature Vance's prose (while I take David's point about the overripeness, it's mainly seen in the Dying Earth novels. His extraordinary evocativeness is usually the result of surprising economy of method). It's particularly noteworthy when he's describing atrocities.

The single remaining warrior rode pellmell down into the swale, where the Kaber warriors cut off first his legs, then his arms, then rolled him into the ditch to ponder the sad estate to which his life had come.

---Suldrun's Garden

The use of this tone of crisp precision, regardless of circumstance, is one of the distinguishing features of Vance's work, and which alienates many readers. But those who appreciate it find it part of his continuing appeal. I'm conscious that, in Dragonchaser, the early hanging scene owes much to Vance:

The crowd set up a hooting as the poisoner was led towards the platform, where the gibbets were erected at a good elevation to facilitate viewing. The prisoner cowered low as the noose was set around his neck.

“Larkas Laman,” said the Sergeant of the Constables sonorously, “you have been adjudged guilty of the heinous crime of extinguishing your wife – ”

“As we all would if we could!” called one wag from the crowd, to general hilarity.

“ – using toadstools garnered for that purpose. Your guilt is unquestioned. Do you have a final message of repentance or edification, that others might not share your fate?”

Larkas Laman seemed unwilling to draw general conclusions from his circumstances. “I am innocent!” he called. “There were no toadstools! Her mother laid an information against me, but poor Melsifar was always of a sickly disposition.”

The Sergeant was attuned through long practice to the tenor of condemned folks’ final speeches. Protestations of innocence were common, if futile, and provided neither entertainment nor enlightenment. He nodded at the hangman, who pulled on a theatrically large lever. A trap-door opened, Larkas Laman dropped three feet with his conclusions unfinished, to kick and jerk on the end of the rope. The crowd cheered this satisfactory outcome.

Next was brought forward the schismatic Clovildas Cloon. Unlike Larkas Laman, he spoke long and fervently, ignoring questions of guilt and innocence, instead justifying his acts. Mirko was no clearer as to the nature of his offence at the end of the peroration, but he recognised a fanatic. Clovildas Cloon appeared to welcome martyrdom, and at the end of the speech commanded the hangman to pull the lever “that I might the sooner begin my eternal blessings.”

The crowd had enjoyed this spirited defiance of mortality – even if, to Mirko’s eyes, religious feeling was not in great evidence – and the opening of the trap door was greeted with applause. There appeared to be little difference between the twitching bodies of Larkas Laman and Clovildas Cloon: might the latter’s eternal blessings be deferred, or even apocryphal?

Vance's related ability to extract humour from grim situations, usually through understatement, is a close cousin to this narrative detachment.

Without wishing to devalue readers' experiences with spoilers, I'd also suggest that a fondness for the melancholy, half-resolved ending is something I've taken from Vance. Some have suggested that his endings are perfunctory, but the best of them--The Book of Dreams, perhaps, or Maske: Thaery--have certainly influenced the endings of both The Zael Inheritance and The Dog of the North.

There are no doubt many other Vancean influences on my writing, but those are the conscious ones for me - a particular take on male-female relationships, an interest in concealed identities, a cool narrative tone and a certain attitude to endings.

Sadly what I don't seem to have absorbed from Vance is his work ethic--4.4 million words over a 50-year career. There's always something to strive for...

2010-06-24T13:30:00.002+01:00

Also Tweets

I am now on Twitter, despite having only the haziest idea of how it works. Follow me @timstretton if you yearn to eavesdrop my ephemeral musings on biscuits.

2010-06-15T07:42:00.001+01:00

Closed for the World Cup...

::Acquired Taste is enjoying some downtime. For various reasons my creative energies are somewhat depleted, and rather than flogging a comatose horse, I'm allowing myself the indulgence of following football's ("soccer", for US readers*) World Cup.

A football tournament a month long has something in common with the great baggy novels of the 19th century: epic duration, dozens of individual stories woven into a wider narrative, unlikely heroes and predictable villains, triumph but also hubris and despair. Like all extended narratives, it also has its longeurs (as anyone who watched Slovenia vs Algeria on Sunday will attest).

A novel cannot fully be understood until it's read: in Bleak House the reader will be following with interest the stories of Esther Summerson and Lady Dedlock, but not realising how their destinies are linked until the end. The World Cup is similarly opaque until it's over, and we look back and reinterpret the preceding events in hindsight: in 2006, the ageing Zidane drags a woeful French team all the way to the final; with ten minutes of his stellar career remaining, he erupts into rage and charges into the gadfly Materazzi with his head, and France crumble to defeat. For an extended period the best footballer on the planet, Zidane is remembered instead for his inexplicable transgression. A complex man, he'd make a great character in fiction.

Where the World Cup differs from, say, Bleak House, is that whatever pattern we subsequently impose is not the result of conscious design: a football tournament does not have an "author". That's part of its appeal: in a novel, we expect major events to have been foreshadowed, and to be able to admire the pattern once we perceive it; in sport, we never know whether there will a pattern. In the 1994 World Cup, the veteran Baresi recovered from a knee operation to be fit for final, but the spectator doesn't know whether he will be the hero or the villain. There is to be no happy ending: in the penalty shoot-out with Brazil he is the first to miss; and Baggio, Italy's star player, misses the last one. We don't know until the end whether we have been watching a tragedy or a comedy.

The 2010 World Cup has failed to ignite yet, but we can be sure that, because of the structure of the tournament, drama will follow. While a World Cup scripted by Dickens would undoubtedly be entertaining (if only for Mick McCarthy trying to get his lips around "Pumblechook"), the spontaneity is what keeps us watching.

*Those following the competition will know that I'm in no position to patronise American fans after England's unutterably feeble draw with the US on Saturday.

2010-06-04T13:03:00.002+01:00

The Curse of Realism

Why TV cop shows aren't meant to tell it like it is

UK viewers may in recent weeks have caught the new BBC police drama Luther, starring Idris Elba (the magnetic Stringer Bell in The Wire). It's fair to say Luther has garnered mixed reviews. Its critics say it's formulaic, overacted, overheated, cliche-ridden, with dialogue verging on the self-parodic. Its fans, by contrast, say it's formulaic, overacted, overheated, cliche-ridden, with dialogue verging on the self-parodic. That's the odd thing about Luther: everyone sees the same qualities in the programme, but what enrages some viewers enraptures others.

I confess to liking Luther a lot: it's one of the few programmes that I make a point of watching. I thought the first episode was dire, and it wasn't until the second that I understood what it was trying to achieve. The overripeness is at the core of the delight. Elba may not actually chew the scenery, but on more than one occasion he demolishes it; he rants his lines, swaggers across the sets as he plays the stereotypical cop with issues for all it's worth. Elba's performance isn't because he can't act: if you've seen The Wire, you'll remember how extraordinarily understated his Baltimore drug-lord is. The glory of Luther is that it doesn't pretend for a minute to be realistic; instead, it's half opera, half graphic novel, but with high production values and a classy cast.

Criticism seems to come largely from those who view 'realism' as a merit in itself, rather than artistic choice. All cop shows--all TV shows--are by their nature artificial. They are a representation of life, not life itself. On TV, cases are solved, justice (whether actual or poetic) is dispensed, and no-one ever has any paperwork. The criminal justice system does not deliver such unequivocal outcomes.

Luther has recognised and embraced this. It manages at once to parody the formula cop show and itself. And while you're enjoying it being hip and self-referential, it sneakily makes you care about the characters: the wholly unexpected death of one of the major players in this week's penultimate episode was as shocking a TV moment as I can remember.

Luther reminds us of two things: true realism is neither achievable nor desirable in art; and you should only judge an artistic endeavour in terms of what the artist is trying to achieve, not what the recipient thinks it should be.

If anyone else has been watching Luther, tell me what you think - particularly if you hated it...

2010-05-27T07:38:00.002+01:00

The Name of the R'Ose
What to call your fantasy characters

David Isaak had a predictably stimulating post over on Tomorrowville about how difficult it is to find just the right name for your characters. If you haven't read it, you might want to now, as I'm going to explore the question in the specific, and potentially treacherous, field of fantasy fiction. Val Kovalin treats a similar topic over at Obsidian Bookshelf so thoroughly that I'm not going to retread that ground. Instead I want to look at how I go about choosing names for my characters, and what I hope to achieve in my choices.

My first aim when choosing names is to create a sense in the reader's mind of a coherent underlying culture. I'm looking for names which are 'the same, but different'. In The Dog of the North, for instance, I'd conceived Mettingloom as a frozen Venice, and I wanted the names to reinforce that. It wasn't a great leap from there to employ Italianate names (which also, for some readers, gave these episodes a Shakespearean feel, which can't be bad). So I ended up with names of my own devising, like Fanrolio, Tardolio and Goccio. I also researched Italian names in use in the Renaissance but which aren't popular today (Davanzato, for instance). Then I played with Shakespeare by Italianising some of his names (Laertio, for example). The result, I hope, is a set of names which not only looks consistent to the reader, but also carries some of the connotations of the source culture. It's a short-cut to helping the reader understand from the start that Mettingloom is going to play out like Renaissance Italy.

I also want my names to look good on the page, and to be pronounceable. Using real, or minimally adapted, names helps here (Jehan and Enguerran, for instance); if real people had the name, someone must have been able to pronounce it. In Dragonchaser, I gave a lot of characters Lithuanian names like Giedrus and Skaidrys - these names have a latinate feel (it's only a slight oversimplification to describe Lithuanian nomenclature as latinised Polish) without the overfamiliarity of actual Latin names. I love the look of Polish names but I would never use them because they are just so difficult--and often counter-intuitive--for Anglophone readers to pronounce.

Sometimes there are difficult choices to make. For The Last Free City, where the inspiration was Renaissance Dubrovnik, I wanted to use names with a Serbo-Croat cast. Some of these names are unproblematic (Todarko, for instance, provides no difficulty of pronunciation) but others are trickier. Many Slavic names end "ic" but are pronounced "itch": I chose to avoid names structured in this way. On the other hand, I did retain the "ij" spelling where the "j" is essentially silent: there is a danger here that the reader will pronounce the "j" in the character I've called "Zanijel". I think it's worth it for the look of the word.

I tried to add an additional layer of subtlety in The Last Free City by giving the houses (essentially the family names) an Italian feel, so that they felt different to the personal names: my intention here was to imply a cultural richness and evolution over many centuries. If it works, great: if not, the reader is no worse off.

Sometimes--I freely admit it--I just like to have a little bit of fun. I spent a long time alighting on a suitable name for the eponymous "Dog of the North". I wanted to have something with a French feel (because he comes from the Emmenrule, where I'd used largely French nomenclature) and eventually settled on Beauceron--which, pleasingly, is a breed of dog...

Everyone has their own method for naming their fantasy characters; some are more successful than others. My last advice on the topic is that if you want to use an apostrophe in the name, think very very carefully. The odds are your name will look better, and be easier to pronounce, without it.

2010-05-24T13:11:00.001+01:00

The Treacherous Tool: Coincidence in Fiction

Novice writers are invariably advised to steer away from building coincidence into their stories, for good reason. Unless it's handled deftly, coincidence can break the reader's belief in the sequence of events, or even in the writer's competence.

Conventional wisdom would have us believe that coincidence is permissible in only two circumstances: as the event which initiates the story, or to make the protagonist's situation worse. So in The Prisoner of Zenda, the reader is not alarmed by the resemblance between Rudolf Rassendyll and Prince Rudolf because it is a given at the start of the story; but if Rassendyll were to appear halfway through the novel and, oh, look! he's a dead ringer for the Prince, the reader might understandably strain at that. (In this case, the coincidence is explicable because the two Rudolfs are related, which also helps). Thomas Hardy built a career out of the kind of coincidence that makes the protagonist's task harder: in one of the many examples in Tess of the Durbervilles, Tess has split from the monstrous Alec, only to encounter him again in his new guise as hellfire preacher while she goes about her business. Their encounter drags her down to her ruin.

Yesterday I finished Iain Pears' recent novel Stone's Fall, a mystery of betrayal and identity mixed in with banking and espionage unfolding between the 1867 and 1909. Until the last 20 pages I would have recommended it unhesitatingly: it's immaculately plotted, beautifully written and highly atmospheric. The central character, John Stone, is a rapacious capitalist; the novel begins with his death and then spends the next 600 pages explaining it. Pears is an experienced writer of detective fiction, but in this case, the solution to the mystery is a coincidence of such crass implausibility as to wholly devalue what went before. It's a coincidence which makes things worse for the protagonist (it leads directly to Stone's death), so it fits the received wisdom of acceptable coincidence: but it is so overblown, so utterly improbable that the reader can do nothing but recoil. Clare Clark, reviewing Stone's Fall in The Guardian, was similarly dismayed:

It is regrettable, then, that the urge to contrive a final twist to the tale proves too great for Pears to resist. This sprawling, unconventional, occasionally dazzling novel ends with an unconvincing and unnecessary denouement which serves only to undermine the foundations of the elaborate edifice he has worked so painstakingly to create.

Pears is a talented writer; I greatly enjoyed An Instance of the Fingerpost and would read more of his fiction. If so accomplished a writer can be betrayed to his doom by the treacherous allure of coincidence, the rest of us should beware of the risk.