Petrina Binney's Blog, page 3
June 28, 2023
Wisdom at 41
I’m aware that I haven’t blogged in a good long while. Sorry about that. The first half of this year has got away from me.
But never fear because it’s my birthday, so I’m bringing you Wisdom at 41. Buckle up, kids.
In your twenties, with a bit of luck, all you really need to worry about is your hair. In your thirties, people will assume that you’re an adult and, as such, you’ll know all about mortgages and APR and how to bleed a radiator. If you don’t know these things, you might well feel like a shoddy adult. Just hold out. There are plenty of YouTube videos and the fact is, once you’re into your forties, people not only assume you know these and many other things, they also suspect that, due to your advanced years and probable arthritis, you’ll have people to do these things for you. It’s worth remembering that most people are just winging it. We learn things as and when we need them. There’s no shame in that. Give yourself a break, damnit.
The condition of your teeth now reflects what you were doing ten years ago. I’m talking about staining and cavities here. I don’t pretend to be a dentist, but ten years ago, I thought very little about my teeth and have made my peace with the fact that I’ll be paying for my dentist’s holidays until one or both of us is dead. Unless I win the lottery and have them all replaced with the screw-in jobs.
29 comes up a lot sooner than you’d think. When I was in my early twenties, I considered doing an Open University degree. Life and such had prevented my going to university at the traditional time, but I didn’t really want to specialise and so fancied doing a humanities degree with various bits of things: literature, archaeology, art history, philosophy, all kinds of subjects. The thing that put me off was the idea that I’d be twenty-nine by the time I graduated. When you’re twenty-two, that seems a long way off. What I hadn’t considered, and didn’t for a good clutch of years, was that, with a bit of luck, I’d turn twenty-nine regardless. It was up to me if I did so with or without a degree.
Some people still have to brag about an achievement from dozens and dozens of years ago because nothing of relevence has happened to them since then. There are grown-ass people in their seventies who enjoy showing off their grammar school education. There’s no question, it’s one of the finest forms of schooling available in this country, and regardless of how I feel about the 11+ (Seriously, why would you tell a ten-year-old they’re a failure?), surely something has happened to you since then? Always have something to talk about from the last five years, otherwise it just seems like you’ve been living under a rock.
Some folks will never be happy. These are not for you. If there are twelve people, and we say six of them like you, three are undecided, and three don’t care for you at all─don’t waste your time trying to convince the three haters, they probably decided based on something inherent in your personality or looks that you can never fix for them, or it’s because of something they heard from persons unknown, or hell, maybe they mixed you up with someone else. The real question is: why waste your time? Spend your energies on people who like you because they, clearly, have taste.
Give someone a compliment every day. There is the risk of this one coming off creepy. I don’t mean – stagger up to strangers and tell them they’re sexy. I doubt that ever works and there’s always the possibility of a meeting with the police. No, what I mean is give compliments, freely and regularly, to as many people as possible. You never know what kind of day another person is having. You might just be the dot of light in an otherwise miserable week.
Be yourself. People will always have an opinion on how you should be living but it’s not as if they’re going to do it for you. Try not to hurt anyone, plant something nice for a bee, consider your words. I am not a mindful, affirmation person, but be gentle with yourself. In the course of your life, you’ll spend more time with you than with anyone else. Use kind words. Stop calling yourself an idiot. You are glorious, and no one else is managing your life like you are.
Tell the people who matter that you love them. Always.
Flirting, like banter, has to have reciprocity. If you’re flirting at someone who is not participating, chances are, you’re making them uncomfortable. If you’re flirting at someone who works in a shop, cafe, bar (or similar), please know that they have to be polite and pleasant─that’s a major part of the job. Just because they smile doesn’t mean you’re dating now. Also, if you’re throwing banter at someone who fails to engage, it’s closer to bullying than anything else.
If you’re looking to hurl a complaint to/at a shop worker, waitress, barmaid, and other things I haven’t done, know this: whatever marital perk you think you’re getting because you’ve made another human being feel small, that ship has sailed, you’re not impressing your wife. There seems to be a bizarre correlation between the size of the complaint (dinky) and the fuss made over it (gargantuan). If it’s a petty complaint spoken deep from the diaphragm, the staff will only wonder if it’s been ten or fifteen years since you got laid.
If you have been genuinely aggrieved, and you’re worried you’re going to lose the thread and indeed the argument by crumbling under a torrent of tears, know this: we have been conditioned to be civil and friendly. This is what society deems appropriate. As such, any large and dark emotion─sadness, anger, frustration─can cause a state of overwhelm. It may well be that which threatens tears. If you do cry, perhaps you’ll feel like you’ve let yourself down, or you’ll cry because you’re crying, or the hugeness of the situation will just become unbearable. But tears can be fierce. Perhaps they don’t show weakness. Perhaps they show depth and fervour. Perhaps you think I’m full of it. In which case, I’m a big fan of a list. If you’d rather keep your emotions in check, make yourself a list. Written down in ink, or on your phone, make a note of the points you’re going to get across, and give yourself a pat on the back for every one you get through. You’ve got this.
This one is vital: Shouting doesn’t work nearly as well as silence. If you can stay calm, people will never be quite sure what you’re planning.
If your job doesn’t feel like your passion, remind yourself that you are not your job. Your job is what you do so you can have a life. Practicality is a cruel mistress who demands we pay our bills. No one can cover the mortgage based on who they will be in ten years’ time, but even if your work is a disspiriting step on the path to a dream, remind yourself it’s not everything you are, nor is it everything you will be. It’s just a step.
For the love of God, tip your waiter/waitress directly.
Someone who talks a lot about honesty is probably lying. I should stress, this isn’t always the case, but it’s something to be on the look-out for.
A lot of us can maintain a friendship even when we don’t speak or see each other for months or years at a time. As such, when a friendship you thought was solid falls apart, it’s devastating. But like a romantic relationship that ends when you’re not ready, you just have to accept how the other person feels. Keep yourself safe, but keep your heart open. If they want to come back, they will.
Filters make everyone feel worse about themselves. I want to be quite clear on this one. I don’t just mean the cute, cat ear filters. I mean all of them. A friend was experimenting with filters that were supposed to make her look like her best self and she wound up looking like a corpse.
Stop ignoring your health. If you have an ache, or a pain, or a muscle twitch, a leg going out from under you, a headache that never seems to go away, stop telling yourself it’s nothing and have a doctor check that it’s nothing.
If you’re having sexy dreams about co-workers, chances are, you’re doing too many hours.
Pretty is temporary. Work on your other qualities because when the pretty starts to droop, fade, pucker, you’ll want to be clever, funny and talented because the cure for ageing is the wind-tunnel look.
Everyone deserves happiness and dignity and if you need to put people in boxes based on the fact that they are not you, or if you want to take a good long look at other people’s genitalia in order to determine how you’re going to treat them, you’re going to waste a lot of your life making boxes and people will think you’re a pervert.
You will find idiots wherever you go. Luckily, most people carry who they are pretty prominantly. If you miss the signs, don’t blame yourself. It’s an exceptional quality to see the good in people.
For the rainbow people, it’s okay if you’re not ready. No one should pressure you to come out. Everything has its own pace and if it’s not safe for you to come out yet, that’s alright. If you’re worried about the reactions of others, see the first line of the previous point.
For the writers, never pay to be published. Write for yourself. Write what makes you happy. Work on your craft. If you want to be traditionally published, it’s a long slog and can often feel like you’re shouting into the void, but if it’s what you want, you can make it happen. If you’re happier to be independently published, go ahead and do that thing. There’ll be detractors on either side, so do what works for you.
AI art and writing are the spawn of the devil.
Incidentally, if you have a friend who’s a writer and you plan to use them for their connections to the publishing industry, try to be more subtle than sliding into their DMs to beg for a meeting with their agent. If they have no agent, and you go ahead and block them from every platform, know this: Joanne, I’ve named a character after you and I plan to push her off a boat.
April 5, 2023
Book Review – Island Race by John McCarthy and Sandi Toksvig
Book Review – Island Race by John McCarthy and Sandi Toksvig
First published, 1995
John: Sandi and I made breakfast together. Cooking on board is a contact sport and we’re now in the premier league. With our extra layers of clothing we bounce against each other constantly while a wide strap keeps us within the confines of the galley.
‘Tomatoes?’
‘Lovely. Sorry.’
‘No, my fault. Bacon’s nearly ready. Sorry.’
‘Ow!’
‘Sorry.’
‘No problem. Oops! Sorry.’
Generally, we can now make the boat’s motion work for us. There’s a trick to it. If you want to collect something from the other side of the saloon, you just wait for the right wave and then launch yourself with its motion. This way, you can arrive in one pace instead of six.
Sandi: I’ve taken to keeping packets of Stugeron concealed about the boat and have become a bit of a secret pill-popper. I want to test myself on this journey but not enough to give up the tablets. I’ve never been into drugs. I was always afraid if I tried something I might actually like it. I wonder if there are meetings for Stugeron addicts?
Now, I’m pretty sure I remember watching the TV series when it came out in the mid-nineties, but I just can’t find it online anywhere. Nor can I find a DVD. In a lovely nod to the time, there’s mention of the BBC Video in the back of the dust jacket of this hardback and that in itself makes me a little bit wistful, which is always a good thing on a rainy midweek afternoon.
So, the TV series, and this subsequent book, follows the seventy-five day adventure around the coast of Britain of two enthusiastic, but occasionally injured, amateur sailors on an eighty-year-old wooden sailing boat. Luckily, they’re not alone, and the skipper and mate seem mostly patient, occasionally moody, which adds to the tension no end. Our would-be seadogs are journalist, John McCarthy, at that time only four years free from being held captive in Beirut, and comedienne and national treasure, Sandi Toksvig, whose brother was at university with McCarthy. The book takes the form of journal entries by both parties, Sandi popping enough motion-sickness tablets to support a small branch of Boots, and John realising he’s wearing five or six layers of clothing and his cigarettes are in his innermost pocket. Aside from learning the various knots, ropes and lines of a sailing vessel, the two intrepid explorers get to know the sea, themselves, and the people of the UK as they speed along, and stop off from time to time to take shelter from the weather.
It seems like a mad and potentially dangerous voyage, but it is lightened by humour and grace throughout the narrative. As far as this reader is concerned, what one comes away with is the joy of possibility and the opportunities that would never come along without an occasional, dreamlike yes.
It’s worth noting, this voyage took place around the time of the opening of the Channel Tunnel linking England to France and, though we’d had a long-term relationship with Europe, it still seemed a rather distant place. I couldn’t help noting the concerns of the fishermen who were interviewed, and their fears about a growing bond with the mainland, which made me wonder what those communities would think of our current situation which, at least from my perspective, seems immeasurably worse. So perhaps it wasn’t surprising that the thought crossed my mind: Is it time for a sequel? It’s nearly thirty years later and probably neither party would particularly relish the idea of being stuck on a boat and risking decapitation by mainsail again, but there’s no denying it’s a thought.
If it happens, could I have a tiny credit, apportioning blame if necessary, at the end please?
March 1, 2023
Book Review – According To Yes by Dawn French
Book Review – According to Yes by Dawn French
First published, 2015
“Glenn calmly annnounces, ‘Miss Kitto will take the boys. She needs to learn where to go, and Iva can show her, you get off to work, Kemble.’
‘Awww,’ the twins mumble.
Rosie is politely and carefully inspecting the father of the twins, whom she is seeing for the first time. What a nervous, chaotic bundle of a chap he is. Heftier than he wants to be. Darkish, reddish hair. Puffy-faced and waxy looking. A hangover in human form.
Rosie gets up, ‘Hello, I’m Rosie Kitto, I’ll be taking care of the twins.’
‘Right. Yes. OK, I’d better shoot…’ he can’t wait to be out of the door.
Rosie quickly jumps up to stop him before he rushes out, ‘Um, perhaps we could grab five minutes to discuss the plans for the boys…?’
Glenn interrupts sharpish, ‘There’s no need for thay, Miss Kitto, I will outline the schedule with you. Kemble needs to be at work on time, please…’
‘OK,’ concedes Rosie, and then a parting marker across the bows, ‘later then,’ and with that Rosie tells mother and son that she intends to communicate with both. Again it seems, Rosie has, in a small but thoroughly decent way, countered Glenn’s authority.’
p39, Fed, According To Yes by Dawn French
The story follows Rosie, a primary school teacher, running away from her life in Cornwall to start again in New York’s Upper East Side, working as nanny to the rather stuffy, entirely buttoned up Wilder-Bingham family. While middle-aged father, Kemble, is going through a divorce, he is obliged to go back home and live with his parents – kind-hearted father but sub-thumb, Thomas, and withering ice-mother, Glenn. Nothing Kemble does is enough for his mother and, while dealing with his own fractious feelings and barely acknowledging the needs of his twin boys, Red and Three, or awkward teen son, Teddy, he feels like a failure.
Enter Rosie with a determination to make this new life work and a brave, if somewhat reckless decision to say ‘yes’ to everything that life throws at her. In mere moments, the darkened apartment with its closed doors and shuttered windows, is bathed in light, and as the doors open, so do the feelings and desires of the Wilder-Bingham family. The twins have a fine old time with Rosie, as do the other male members of the clan and it’s not long before Rosie is one of the family. But who is responsible?
Brace yourselves, there are spoilers. I know. I don’t do that, but I sort of have to in this instance. Feel free to stop reading this, and go and find the book.
Because the thing is this: I’ve seen other reviewers become quite scathing about the main character’s indiscriminate bedding of three generations and yes, when put like that it does sound rather aggressive. I’d point out, from this reader’s perspective anyway, only one of the relationships is intentional. One occurs because of sympathy, booze and Marvin Gaye, which, as a combination, would present something of a challenge to the best of us, and the final one – she was barely awake. Frankly, I’d have him locked up. So, in the mind of this reader, at least, the question has to be asked: is it because she’s in her late-thirties that this behaviour is frowned upon? Or is it because she’s a larger woman that perhaps we don’t expect her to quite so thoroughly own her sexuality? Perhaps it’s because she’s British, and therefore should be focussed on self-deprecating job satisfaction and little else? I’d like to think it’s because of the double-standard. I think we all know that a man doing what/who Rosie did would be torn to pieces in the media and at the bus stop, both. But I think all of that is getting rather too heavy for such a fun story and such a delightful, delighted main character.
Of course, it’s not all smiles, sunshine and bed linen. On page 195, I burst into tears so completely, I startled myself. I rarely cry at books, but this one got me in exactly the same way as the handful of others that have done it before – I had to look away from the page. Which is to say, I had to turn my head to look out of the window to examine next-door’s trellis and work up the nerve to turn my eyes, not my head, back to the page. As if it would hurt less to not look directly at it. For this alone, brava.
The writing is assured and dynamic. It felt rather filmic to me. Not only the use of strong imagery, but also the pacing, which was tight and well executed. Do I know why Nicole Kidman made a cameo? No, but in a book that says ‘yes’ to everything, the analysis of a moment of joy feels like a rather Glenn thing to do.
Go, read, be entertained.
February 23, 2023
Book Review – The Lion Lies Waiting (The Moth and Moon Series, book two) by Glenn Quigley
Book Review – The Lion Lies Waiting (The Moth and Moon Series, book two) by Glenn Quigley
First published, 2018
“They entered into a dark antechamber between two sets of stairs. In front of them was a countertop and behind it an imperious woman stood. She wore a frilly bodice of musty lavender and her face was powdered bone-white, in what Duncan understood to be the fashion on the mainland. However, the powder, ill-applied as it was, dusted her hairline and a good stretch beyond, as if she had prepared for her day by simply planting herself face-first into a bag of flour. She held in her arms a tiny pug who yipped excitedly at the men.
‘You must be Mrs. Reed. Sorry, I mean Mrs. Firebrace. We’re from Blashy Cove, we know your brother?’ Edwin said.
‘Oh, yes. How is George?’ she asked.
‘He’s well, he sends his love.’
‘Does he?’ she said, raising an eyebrow. ‘How nice.’
8% in, Chapter Three, The Lion Lies Waiting by Glenn Quigley
Who else read that last line of dialogue in Tim Curry’s voice?
This is part two of the Moth and Moon series, I have been itching to get to this one. Some of you may remember my review of the first book in the series (https://petrinabinney.com/2019/12/17/book-review-the-moth-and-moon-by-glenn-quigley/) although, my word, that was in 2019. My plan, should you be interested in my plan – no reason why you wouldn’t be so I’ll go ahead and tell you – is to read the series bit by bit and then, once I’ve got the lot, read, reviewed, etc. I plan to take a few days to myself and read them back to back. This is something I plan to do with all my favourite authors, and my word, Glenn Quigley is one of the best.
So, where we left off: Robin Shipp, burly fisherman and erstwhile misunderstood figure within his small community in 1780s fictionalised Cornwall, had managed to prove his late father’s innocence and thus, lifted a massive weight from his own heart. The people of the village, having shunned the large and clumsy fisherman for most of his life, felt terrible, as well they should, and his relationship with baker, Edwin, was just starting to blossom. And I feel appalling for condensing the story that much; it’s a delight, really – go and read it.
In The Lion Lies Waiting, also pleasingly named after a pub, Robin, Edwin and Robin’s ex Duncan, have gone to the nearby, much more cut-throat Blackrabbit Island to help Edwin’s sister-in-law with his mother. As the story unfolds, we discover the terrible circumstances in which Edwin’s brother was lost and Robin has a few familial discoveries of his own to make. While the Ladies Wolf-Chase make a massive, life-altering decision which will, of course, have an impact on our heroes, Robin and Edwin, the political climate on the island, interfered with in no small part by Edwin’s mother and Eva’s father, as well as the man he’d planned for her to marry, is fit to explode. And it’s all due to kick off during a night of revelry and organised mayhem. It is a rollercoaster of a story; I enjoyed every minute.
Not all my readers are known to me, but those of you who used to be my neighbours and are intrigued by the night of revelry and organised mayhem – there’s a tar barrel parade. For those who weren’t my neighbours – hi there, how’s it going? There’s a very famous tar barrel celebration, where locals carry flaming (yes, indeed, on fire) tar barrels on their backs and run through the streets of Ottery St Mary in Devon; this has been going on since around the 17th Century and is a yearly tradition that continues to this day. I know this because, until I moved eighteen months ago, it took place approximately three miles from my front door.
It can be quite stunning to read something you thought so particular to your own background and then, there are the words, printed, staring at you. My heart near stopped when I read the words ‘tar barrel parade’. The action sequences were deftly told and beautifully captured, and that in a book with so much heart, was a pretty darn magical to this reader. Also, lovely little nods to local verbiage – backalong, bleddy, these are the sounds of the Westcountry and planted the story firmly in place for me.
The novel is driven by character, and there are some super ones in this series. I adore Robin, he’s just the kindest man, and a real hero. As with my reading of the first in the series, I love that there are quite a few same-sex relationships to which no other character bats an eyelid. If there are going to be arguments within the narrative, they’ll be to do with everything else. That just makes me happy.
A good dose of humour, pathos and a further exploration of the characters, make for a delightful read. If you take my advice, you’ll start from the beginning and then read them all. You’ll not be disappointed.
February 2, 2023
Book Review – When I First Held You by Anstey Harris
Book Review – When I First Held You by Anstey Harris
First published, 2023
And this is a really hard book to review without giving out a whole bunch of spoilers, so I’m going to watch myself a bit here, folks.
The story follows the history of Jude. A young woman in the 1960s, Jude has left her parents’ house with their emergency money and made her way to a political collective in Scotland, in the footsteps of the dashing young priest who her mother idolises. The group lives in a squat, it’s rundown and pretty icky, but being young people, they don’t really notice and even if they do, they don’t much care. As the group sets out their ideals and their plan for action, Jude rapidly falls in love with Jimmy, and the couple is very happy together for a few blissful months before everything goes horribly, horribly wrong.
Alone, but not completely, and writing frantic letters to Jimmy’s family home, Jude is in a bad way. Such were the times, an unmarried mother could only hope to keep her baby if she got married immediately or could convince her parents to raise the child as their own. This sounds like fiction, but is all too real. It is heartbreaking and unsettling to realise how poorly our society treated people with feelings – we’re not even talking about a crime, here – not all that long ago.
Years later, Jude, now Judith, who has spent fifty-some years mourning her loss but having had the comfort of partner, Catherine, for most of that time, runs into Jimmy, now James, and her world is upended again. They are both widowed, but perhaps what once was broken can be mended.
The writing is stunning. One of my absolute favourite authors, there’s no question Anstey Harris has one of the strongest and most powerful voices in literature today. Her ability to convey complex emotions and tumultuous times is, for me, without peer, and she has an astonishing ability to pull the reader in to even the most painful atmosphere without choking them on it.
I don’t want to give a whole bunch of spoilers, but I’ll say this: you can read the story flatly, as is, without reading too much beyond the words. But, for those of us who read it more than once, and back to back, I think the story goes much deeper than that. This is my third attempt at writing this review because I’ve had to keep going back and deleting certain thoughts that might distract other readers.
But as you insist: for what it’s worth, I think this is the story of a woman who has been stomped on by societal expectations. Of course there’s the great tragedy of her life, which comes, as many tragedies do, in waves of terrible sadness, and I do not wish to minimise that. But there’s also the new pressure of modern culture that insists that our labels and the identities we cling to don’t have to define us for ever. Is it for the sake of a new relationship, without too much mess and disappointment, that the ending turns the way it does, or is this really what Judith wants?
I’m not sure. But when you’re looking from separate perspectives on a major event from fifty-some years ago, there’s a better than average chance that no two recollections will completely mesh, and when your character witnesses are mostly dead… I feel a Maya Angelou quote coming on.
Turns out, I’m a deeply suspicious person. So, I’ve learnt something about myself and you only get that from great literature. I’m going to be thinking about this novel for a long time.
February 1, 2023
Book Review – Dalton Highway by Freddie Åhlin
Book Review – Dalton Highway by Freddie Åhlin
First published, 2020
The story follows Tom, a financially unstable truck driver, who, if he has any hope of paying his mountains of bills, needs to make a dangerous delivery across the wild and frigid landscape of Alaska.
Leaving wife Margaret at home, Tom wanders into the wild with his dog, Presley, and encounters all kinds of crazy, including the quintissential guy at the truck stop who warns him to turn back while he still can, a questionable reindeer burger, a whole heaping helping of paranoia, and the devil himself.
It was my first time reading this author. I had a feeling that English was not his first language, purely because his use of it was so sophisticated, so precise, with tiny little flecks of grammatical anomaly which actually made for a more intriguing read. I really enjoyed it. The story is emotional and intense. I had to stop reading it at night. Although my usual time of day to read, I had to save it for the daytime because the commanding imagery and the emotional precariousness of a man on the edge of ruin was tinkering with my sleep. Filled with action and shocks, I thought it was an amazing story. I’d like to not wake up in a blind panic again, but I’ll be sure to read more of Mr Åhlin – during the day.
January 24, 2023
Book Review – The Radio Voice by Sass Everett
Book Review – The Radio Voice by Sass Everett
First published, 2022
A powerful short story from Canadian author, Sass Everett. The story follows a young female musician and her journeys home at all hours of the evening. People in her local area have often spoken about picking up snatches of radio shows on their pipework and from large appliances in their houses, but as our heroine returns home one evening, she hears a voice speaking directly to her from the radio; a smooth, seductive woman’s voice, and she isn’t sure what to make of it.
It’s not part of a programme, it’s very clear the voice is speaking only to her, but the more she turns it over in her mind, the more she is intrigued by the disembodied woman, the more she wants to get to know her, to have an actual conversation, more, with her. She finds herself wondering what the voice would think of the way she lives – she’s not the tidiest person when it comes to items of hosiery. What starts as a bit of a cat and mouse mystery, swiftly develops into a quasi-romance, resulting in a meditation on the reality of love in the absence of the physical, or even the face. She can’t know this woman, but she loves her, and feels loved by her. And maybe that’s enough.
The writing is crisp and clear, and comes from a distinctly individual voice, I really enjoyed it, and it’s given me thoughts that are going to plague my dreams for the foreseeable. I like anyone who can make me think. A remarkable debut. Brava.
January 23, 2023
Book Review – A-Z of Horror by Iain Rob Wright
Book Review – A-Z of Horror by Iain Rob Wright
First published, 2016
As near a complete collection of horror stories as you’ll find, the stories and their subjects range from the Antichrist to Zion, with all manner of beasties and open sores in between. The writing is strong, and the voice individual. I didn’t lose interest for a moment, each story was fascinating and unique. It must be hard in a collection of this sort not to veer between close subjects and just sort of tell the same story from a different angle. None of that here.
I was a little perplexed by the self-insert of the author into a stalking story. Though, I imagine the intention was to discombobulate the reader in order to better identify with the author-character and his sudden introduction to a stalker. In which case, he succeeded with aplomb. A couple of spelling errors which I’m sure are only noticeable to me, because sadly, that’s who I am. Heck of a lot of eye-rolling (twenty-five instances by my count) but I think that was nicely balanced out by all the mutilations. Three excellent bonus stories by guest authors, as well as a urinary tract infection. What else do you need?
January 22, 2023
Book Review – The Shining by Stephen King
Book Review – The Shining by Stephen King
First published, 1977
And so continues my besotted awe of Stephen King… You know when there’s an author who you know will deliver every single time, but you don’t want to ruin yourself by reading everything they’ve ever written in one sitting because you know you’re going to wonder what else you have to look forward to? No? Just me?
Okay, then.
Ahem, onwards.
I think most people know the basics of the story from the film, but just so we know where we are: The story follows Jack, an author, trying to complete work on his new play while juggling his failing marriage, his complex relationship with small son, Danny, his alcoholism, his temper, and his recent sacking from an important teaching job at a prestigious school. In need of funds and with his reputation in tatters, Jack will take whatever job he can find. So, when the post of winter caretaker at a weather-scuppered Colorado hotel comes up, he’ll take his medicine and play nice with the haughty, self-important manager, even though he could run intellectual rings round him, even though it belittles him even to sit across the desk from such a prissy little man.
The hotel will be closed for several months due to the severity of the weather, and there will be repairs that require attention, as well as a finicky boiler with pressure problems. The family will be on their own. But all too soon, the isolation, and the bizarre and bloody history of the hotel collide with Jack’s loose grip on reality and the psychical abilities of his little boy.
Because Danny knows things. Things no child should know. He sees and hears all manner of events that he’s not witnessed, some of which have yet to happen, because of his gift – something he attributes to Tony, who calls to him in his mind, and who Danny’s parents believe to be an imaginary friend. Only Mr Hallorann, the resort’s cook, knows what Danny has, and it’s no mere invisible friend. Danny has the Shining. Luckily, Mr Hallorann has it too, so if there’s trouble – and there’s bound to be, come on, it’s a classic of the genre – then Danny can just call out to his swiftly-departing new pal and help will be on the way.
But will Danny’s shine stretch from Colorado all the way to Florida? And will Dick Hallorann get to the family in time to save them from the hotel and its mouldering corpses, swarms of vicious wasps, and fractured minds?
I know – everybody knows that Stephen King is an incredible horror writer. Actually, the best. I think that’s doing him a disservice, though. Stephen King is one of the finest writers, of any genre, alive. Damn right, I said it. And I’m sure I’m not alone in thinking it.
This novel is remarkable. Amazingly fine detail on the characters – Jack wiping his mouth when anxious, Wendy’s fear of turning into her mother, and Danny… See, precocious children, especially fictional ones, are quite infuriating to a certain degree. Often, when reading a gifted child character, you’ll find they speak either like a university professor, making the reader feel like a dunce, or like a toddler, mashing up words and communicating in their own language, which also feels limiting. Danny just sounds like a normal little boy with an extraordinary gift, one that he struggles to articulate – as well he should. Aside from the characters, the story pulls the reader in from page one. I got to the point, not of ‘Just one more page,’ or ‘Just one more chapter,’ but ‘I must finish this now because I need to know what happens.
Because although I’ve seen the film countless times, the book is different. There are various acts of topiary that I imagine would have been difficult to capture on film, and the ending is – not going to ruin it for you – brilliant. There is a decent chunk of violence as well as horror, but it’s the psychological element that leaves the reader worrying for their own mental well-being.
“Danny was sitting up. ‘Daddy? Daddy?’ His voice was sleepy and scared.
‘Right here, doc,’ Jack said. ‘Come on over and jump in. Your mom’s awake, too.’
The bedclothes rustled as Danny got on the bed between them. ‘It’s the elevator,’ he whispered.
‘That’s right,’ Jack said. ‘Just the elevator.’
‘What do you mean just?’ Wendy demanded. There was an ice-skim of hysteria on her voice. ‘It’s the middle of the night. Who’s running it?’
Hummmmmmm. Click/clank. Above them now. The rattle of the gate accordioning back, the bump of the doors opening and closing. Then the hum of the motor and the cables again.
Danny began to whimper.
Jack swung his feet out of bed and onto the floor. ‘It’s probably a short. I’ll check.’
‘Don’t you dare go out of this room!’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said, pulling on his robe. ‘It’s my job.’
She was out of bed herself a moment later, pulling Danny with her.
‘We’ll go, too.’
‘Wendy–‘
‘What’s wrong?’ Danny asked somberly. ‘What’s wrong, Daddy?’
Instead of answering he turned away, his face angry and set. He belted his robe around him at the door, opened it, and stepped out into the dark hall.
Wendy hesitated for a moment, and it was actually Danny who began to move first. She caught up quickly, and they went out together.
Jack hadn’t bothered with the lights. She fumbled for the switch that lit the four spaced overheads in the hallway that led to the main corridor. Up ahead, Jack was already turning the corner. This time Danny found the switchplate and flicked all three switches up. The hallway leading down to the stairs and the elevator shaft came alight.
Jack was standing at the elevator station, which was flanked by benches and cigarette urns. He was standing motionless in front of the closed elevator door. In his faded tartan bathrobe and brown leather slippers with the rundown heels, his hair all in sleep corkscrews and Alfalfa cowlicks, he looked to her like an absurd twentieth century Hamlet, an indecisive figure so mesmerized by onrushing tragedy that he was helpless to divert its course or alter it in any way.”
p326-327, Chapter Thirty-Six, The Elevator, The Shining by Stephen King
And, holy hell, but that hit me like a train.
Just a masterpiece. Go, read, love.
January 18, 2023
Book Review – The Briggs Boys Mixtape by Sylvester Barzey
The Briggs Boys Mixtape by Sylvester Barzey
First published, 2018
The story follows brothers, Robert and Peter, during the zombie apocalypse. While bereaved super soldier Robert has to hold everything together for the sake of his son, Jordan, Peter, who has never committed to anything for more than a few months, would like nothing better than to just escape and pretend none of this is happening. But it is. And Robert needs his brother to step up and help otherwise they, and everyone in their neighbourhood will be eaten by a devastating horde, or used as bargaining chips by unscrupulous liars and worse.
The dynamic between the brothers was really well-captured, the storyline was well fleshed out, and I enjoyed the action. Best of all was the dialogue which was clever and incisive and had me smiling for minutes at a time. I really enjoyed this book and I love the author’s ethos of creating a universe with the classic concept of the final girl (she who survives despite absolutely everything being after her, think Laurie Strode), and she’s a woman of colour. I reflected with some – I was going to say amazement, but if I’m honest it was horror – I reflected with some horror that I can’t remember reading an action/horror/peril piece where the survivor is a person of colour. Fact is, even if I have read more than this one, I should surely be able to name a good handful. I read a good amount. Why am I struggling to come up with a list?
I appreciate anyone who can make me think and I will be following this author from hereon out.
Other reviewers have mentioned typos and editing; I can only assume these issues have been straightened out because the copy I read was pretty clean. There was a decent amount of eye-rolling, okay, but in the zombie apocalypse, you’re going to get more than your fair share of silly questions.
Not me. I’ll be one of the first to be turned. It’s important to know yourself.
Anyway, read.
