Lorina Stephens's Blog, page 23

Review: The House of Medici, by Christopher Hibbert

The House of Medici: Its Rise and Fall by Christopher Hibbert

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Christopher Hibbert has written a comprehensive history of the Medici dynasty, painstakingly researched. It is a fascinating read for anyone interested in this illustrious and often infamous family who influenced princes and kings, religious leaders, artists, scientists and political theorists. They were the patrons of the Illuminati of centuries, and left a legacy which remains to this day.

My only complaint is Hibbert’s often ponderous prose, and the lack of a proofreader of his prodigious work.

Otherwise, certainly the gold standard of histories on the Medici. A must-read for any love of Renaissance history.

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Caliban releasing December 1, 2017

That’s right. I have a new novella coming out. Only took me over 30 years to write and polish this story. I’d let it languish in the bottom drawer, as it were, and then finally three years ago took a look at it again, decided it was worth revisiting, so set to an overhaul, sent it off to my compatriot in literary crime, Robert Runté, and awaited his verdict. Which turned out to be quite good. Sure, I had to revise again, but that ended up being a fairly straightforward task. When I was done, however, Robert was inundated with work and life, so I then prevailed upon the good graces of Susan MacGregor. She had at it, sent me back to the desk. Fascinating what another perspective turns up.

So, revised again. I believe I’ve addressed all their concerns, and now, at long last, Caliban is off for layout, and cover, and set to release December 1, 2017. I know! How exciting is that? I can hardly wait to see what Éric Desmarais does by way of typefaces and such. He always has such a sensitive eye for these things. And Jeff Minkevics, well, that’s like waiting to open up that present that’s been rattling and snuffling. You know very well there’s going to be something living and wonderful fly out of that box.

What’s Caliban about? Here’s the official blurb:

Tine desires beauty, and freedom from his home. When called to find a missing ambassador to a society of artists, he risks everything for the pursuit of that desire, only to find illusion can be reality, and reality illusion. Sanity is subjective. And it is possible life, even beauty, can be found in unexpected places and forms.

It’s a novella, as I’ve mentioned, what will likely be a quick read. I’m hoping a fascinating read. I have to admit it was difficult writing something with no familiar landmarks, about completely alien societies and species. But I think I did okay with that. Of course you, dear reader, will be the ultimate judge of that.

If you’re interested in writing and posting a review, advance digital review copies will be available.

Cleopatra, Caliban and musings

Original theatrical release poster

Have been watching the long (three hours and 12 minutes) 1963 film version of Cleopatra, staring the scintillating and dynamic Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. According to the Wikipedia entry, the film was the only film to be the highest-grossing film of the year, yet still ran at a loss and nearly bankrupted 20th Century Fox. It won four Academy Awards, and was nominated for five more. Despite production and cast problems, it still holds up today. Sure, the acting is over-blown by today’s standards, but there is no gainsaying the quality of these powerful, Shakespearean-style actors. The costumes are questionable, but certainly eye-candy, and the sets are magnificent. Taylor and Burton are, well, Taylor and Burton: brilliant, incendiary, captivating.

I liken Cleopatra to Gone with the Wind—both films which will remain in the legendary, classical cannon of cinematic history. Very much look forward to finishing my next installment of the film.

Caliban: yes, well. Have been steadily revising the novel in preparation of publication this year. Finally, after some 30 years I understand the alien character Tine, can get inside his head, understand his species and culture, and his difficulty operating in another completely alien society, and through his isolation come to understand another alien. Despite the story’s darkness, it is, in fact, a story of hope, one of discovery and understanding. My thanks, of course, to both Robert Runté and Susan MacGregor for their insights. Has been most helpful and informative.

I’m very much looking forward to Caliban’s publication, to seeing what kind of genius Jeff Minkevics will drip from his oh-so-talented fingers by way of cover, and what the talented and sensitive Éric Desmarais will design in the layout.

The Rose Guardian is on hold for the moment. There has been much in the way of thinking going on with that novel, and then sudden bursts as a result of all that thinking. Still remains the most difficult thing I’ve ever written, and my instinct still says the best. But that’s up to my readers to ascertain in the end. I am but the conduit.

There has been a sudden flurry of short stories streaming off the computer of late, all targeted for specific anthologies. We’ll see how well I do with that. Always such a struggle, but apparently one to which I return again and again. One wonders if being a writer isn’t some sort of mild death wish, some sort of extreme activity that has us plunge into places we’d really rather not go, and then with trembling hands hold out our innards for others to see and assess.

Apparently this current path I’m walking also has me rediscovering my love of painting. It’s such a technically demanding medium, and I do so enjoy that process, of working and waiting, of assessing temperature and humidity, choosing pigments for their transparency and staining qualities. I’ve only done a few sketches at this point to stretch my artistic muscles again. Will return to that again in a few weeks after I finish this next stripping and refinishing of a cherry Duncan Phyfe chair.

The other rather curious occurrence is my exploration of musical instruments. Seems that as a senior citizen all the inhibitors come off. I’m playing the bodhran and piano like a great fool, loving every moment of my raucous, stumbling, stuttering utterances. Very good for the grey matter, let alone the blood pressure and endorphin production.

But I must away for now. These things won’t happen by themselves.

 

Reviews: Badge of Glory and The Pagan Lord

A few reviews which are overdue, taking us from mid-19th century back to 9th century.

Badge of Glory by Douglas Reeman

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

A disappointing read from the author of an excellent British naval Napoleonic War series.

Writing under his own name for The Blackwood Family series, Reeman’s first novel explores the life of Royal Marine Captain Philip Blackwood in the mid 19th century.

The historical detail is done with an exact and impeccable hand. The writing, however, is a bit dated, and the story itself slides into saccharine romance.

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The Pagan Lord by Bernard Cornwell

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

While Bernard Cornwell writes with great authority, impeccable historical knowledge and research, his usually snappy narratives and tight dialogue stuttered to a halt in this continuation of The Saxon Stories.

The story opens with the protagonist’s holding burned and destroyed, his wife and children taken captive, and then, instead of doing the logical thing, the thing someone of Utrecht’s age would do to protect the land and wealth he has remaining, he goes off on an ill-considered and adolescent charge across country to reclaim the impenetrable fortress which is his heritage, with a dozen faithful and under-equipped. Against an impenetrable fortress. With a dozen men. And no equipment. I had to keep telling myself that as the story descended into the ridiculous and incredible.

When of course that mission fails, and he is now well and truly broke and broken, he again instead of rebuilding his holdings, he charges off on another wild and hopeless rampage to take a fortified town. And guess what? That mission also fails, so that he’s in even more dire straits and barking about it to anyone who will listen.

The whole novel is like this. For a while I thought perhaps I’d missed the point, and Cornwell was in fact writing satire. But no.

And so no to the remainder of the series, given how badly this novel devolved into nonsensical rambling.

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Works in progress

Yes works in progress. That’s plural. Which is perhaps more a reflection of a scattered mind than an organized one, but there you have it.

I sent Caliban to a colleague for editing. She came back with a ream of suggestions. So I am now in the process of yet another revision, with better focus on the problems in the novel and how to address those. Part of that process is letting go, of opening another door so a new perspective can be obtained. For the first time since I wrote the original draft, back some 30-odd years ago, I know exactly where this novel needs to go, and that’s definitely not in the bottom drawer.

So it is with some semblance of confidence I feel I can have this revision complete this year, final developmental edit and then copy-edited. Then the decision is whether to shop Caliban to an agent or publisher, or whether to publish it through Five Rivers as I have done with all my work. Likely I’ll opt for the latter, because I am so weary of that entire complicated choreography of submission, rejection and attempting to shove this peg into that preconceived hole.

The irony of that statement is not lost on me.

What happened to The Rose Guardian, you ask? It’s still there, still haunting me, driving me insane. I am so close to having the first draft finished. But alas the ability to actually do that eludes me. I suspect I know why. Sometimes art really does reflect life, often unconsciously until finally the subconscious bubbles up to the conscious. Will I have the first draft finished this year, when I have previously said with such confidence I will have it done by this date, and then this date, and then…. Indeed. No guarantees. I will try to have this first draft finished this year. I will try. (I can hear Yoda now: there is no try, there is only do.) But for this padawan, the mantra is try. I will try to have The Rose Guardian finished this year.

There has been, however, an interesting development in my creative process. My dear son and daughter-in-law gave me a beautiful leather bound journal (I’ve never kept a journal), and a cartridge pen for Christmas. Such an act of support and faith. And so I have been writing in the journal. There is something very essential about putting the nib to paper, having to slow down so you don’t smudge the ink, so you form letters clearly enough you can later understand what you’ve written, about not pausing to correct grammar or spelling. You just keep writing. The mind unclenches. The words flow with the ink. It’s quite extraordinary, given I turned to a computer with glee because I would never again have to face a blank page, and here I am decades later returning to that most essential of writing mediums.

As a result, in between personal entries, I started yet another novel, one I researched some time ago. No, you’re not going to get a hint about subject, or characters, or anything like that, because the novel is very much in utero, and to reveal much about it at this point might be to destroy it. Let me say, however, I am pleased.

And that, my dear readers, is where I’m at at the beginning of another year.

Review: Children of Earth and Sky, by Guy Gavriel Kay

Children of Earth and Sky by Guy Gavriel Kay

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Much-beloved fantasy author, Guy Gavriel Kay’s newest offering builds on the world he’s crafted based upon Medieval Europe at the height of Venice’s dominance over trade throughout the Mediterranean. All of the novels are ambitious in their scope.

This reader, however, found Kay’s prodigious talent creeping toward bloated and pretentious writing in Children of Earth and Sky. The writing aspires to wit and culture, but instead stutters along through pages of exposition, and passages bracketed by endless commas and phrases. The characters are the same models used throughout all his novels, different in name, but familiar in the beautiful, graceful femme fatals (I would be charmed if Kay were to consider a heroine who was not sexy, young, or beautiful), the handsome, scintillating rogues who are always susceptible to sexual play, and the spider-like machinations of politically motivated nemesis.

Once again we deal with people who are dispossessed or used by governments without conscience, and with religion which blinds and yokes the populace.

There is nothing new here. It’s Kay’s same old story about beautiful underdogs making good, or trying to. If that’s your thing, you will love this latest offering from Kay.

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Review: Wenjack, by Joseph Boyden

Wenjack by Joseph Boyden

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is a courageous, beautifully-written tragedy written by one of the most important literary voices of the 21st century.

Alternating between the voices of the real-life character of Chanie Wenjack, the young boy who escaped from the horrors of a residential school, and the manitous of his natural world, Boyden creates an epic paean for not only Chanie, but all those who suffered, and still do, from this most shameful of Canadian practices.

Again Boyden has penned the quintessential Canadian story, stories, we’re coming to understand, which are not always in celebration of what we’ve built, but of what we have endured and must yet create.

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Review, The Heart Goes Last, by Margaret Atwood

The Heart Goes Last by Margaret Atwood

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is Margaret Atwood in free flight, gleefully sticking her fingers into the eyes of right-wing corporate America. Irreverent, wickedly humourous, Atwood explores the social depravity of a society which places more importance upon profit than upon citizens.

All sounds very political and cerebral, and frankly a bit boring for those who are looking for escapist literature. Yet with a very readable, conversational voice, Atwood yanks you into the lives of characters utterly believable in their ridiculousness. It’s all misinformation and misunderstanding, Shakespearean in its relationship convolutions and plots, even dipping into the tragic. Stereotypes are used with a uniquely brilliant twist.

There are steamy liasons, a sugary angel of death, a randy husband seeking relief, voyeurism, body-part snatching, a dominatrix, and a proliferation of Elvises and Marilyns.

I doubt very much you’ll break out into great guffaws of laughter, but you will snigger. Often. And I think you will enjoy this irreverent romp.

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Review: The Three Sisters Bar and Hotel, by Katherine Govier

The Three Sisters Bar and Hotel by Katherine Govier

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

I delved into Katherine Govier’s The Three Sisters Bar and Hotel because of a recommendation algorithm through one of the ebook reader apps I use. It seemed a likely recommendation, a Canadian historical whodunit, by an accomplished author publishing with a large house.

It would seem, however, in this evolving era of communication, the accepted recommendation isn’t necessarily a good recommendation.

Set near the turn of the 20th century in Canada’s Rocky Mountain Bow Valley, the story revolves around a fossil-hunting expedition gone horribly wrong, a snowstorm that swallows the entire crew, and the subsequent lingering stain of suspicion.

All the makings of an engrossing tale, which at first Govier’s tale proves. That engagement wanes after the first third of the novel, and then mires itself in political machinations which do little to explore the real story of this tragic expedition. And for this reader, after that descent into seemingly shallow and irrelevant political meanderings, all interest evaporated, leaving the ending like a firecracker that failed to fizz and pop.

All together a somewhat beige but adequate tale. Your mileage may vary.

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Behind the stories

The Intersection, short story by Lorina Stephens

During the recent promotional tour Laksamedia undertook for the critically acclaimed anthology, Strangers Among Us, authors shared the genesis of their stories. The exercise and the experience was one which apparently touched so many of the people who attended, both writers and readers alike, and very much addressed the mandate of the anthology: to boost awareness of mental health issues.

Unfortunately, I was unable to attend any of the events in Ontario, given my mobility issues and isolation from major urban centres. So, I thought I would share through my blog and social media, my own experience of how my short story in the anthology, The Intersection, came to life.

When first Susan Forest and Lukas Law invited me to submit, I demurred, stating my own experience of mental health was one of heartache and loss, having been estranged from our daughter for some years now, who is both bipolar and dealing with personality disorders. How could I possibly come up with a story which would be uplifting, which would celebrate those who struggle so hard with mental health?

It was Susan who ended up being the one who truly encouraged me to dig deeply, and left the door open for a submission.

So I did. Dig deeply. Thus The Intersection came to life, a story based on an actual event which took place between my daughter and my son. She was paralyzed in a panic attack one day in downtown Toronto, unable to navigate a street crossing. She reached out through her cell phone to her brother in Calgary, who then metaphorically took her hand from some 2700 kilometres away, and talked her across the busy intersection, safely, securely, and thereby overcame another difficult moment.

The event transformed for the anthology to transcend time and place. It occurred to me that despite technology and advancements in medical science, people will always need that fundamental physical link to each other, that touch which expresses reassurance and guidance without words. It is possible to give a lending hand even from a distance. It is possible to navigate through life, and more easily sometimes with the care and compassion of those we choose to keep in our lives.

After that event, however, our daughter disappeared into a conflated world of delusion, and in the end, because we would not support that delusion, she severed all communication.

That day remains despite the hurt, when a woman was able to cross the street because someone metaphorically held her hand.

Strangers Among Us is available in both print and eBook from Laksa Media and online booksellers worldwide.