Peadar Ó Guilín's Blog, page 9
June 6, 2016
Brexit -- A Personal Plea to my British Friends
My dear British friends,
wherever you lie on the political spectrum, whatever way you plan to vote on June 23rd, I'm here now, representing nobody but myself, and pleading for you to stay with the rest of us in a messy, messed up, peaceful union.
We were your enemies once. Most of us other countries wanted you dead. Or to make you Catholic. Or to take away your trade. You were no better, to be fair. You wanted our land, or to make us protestant, or to rob our galleons of all the silver we had stolen from the poor sods in the New World. Bad times all round, and there isn't a field anywhere on the continent that we didn't soak in blood and hatred.
But how soon we forget! It was all so long ago, right? Most people I know have grown up entirely without the fear of war in their lives. They believe the biggest threat to them are neighbours who can't speak English. Others fret about Brussels, how it's planning to straighten all the bananas, or to ban Coronation Street or Cornish pasties or worse. Could *anything* be worse?
A history book will show you the answer is yes. You can see photos of London or Berlin at the end of WW2, but to be honest, our armies have far more destructive power at their disposal these days, so you'd have to use your imagination to make it all a LOT worse.
And yet, we haven't done that sort of thing in quite a while because after the last time we murdered each other in a big way, a few of the countries that suffered the most, got together and decided that enough was enough. And it worked! It really worked. Two generations -- count 'em! -- two generations of peace followed. And sometimes I can't help thinking, "Wow! Imagine if we'd had something like the EU in 1914?"
Oh, my British friends, your cenotaphs are lovely with their bowed headed soldiers and their floral wreaths. And when poppy day comes along, it's wonderful to see the tributes worn, to hear the bugles played and the incredible art works displayed all over. But I know you'd rather have the young men back. Hundreds of thousands of them! Their genius and love, their hard honest work, all denied to history. Never mind the children they never fathered. Never mind the survivors, torn in body or mind, and the lives that should have been theirs to lead.
It could all happen again, impossible as that might seem right now. It happens when people are pulling away from each other rather than pulling together. It happens when goals diverge and then, collide. When strong men appeal to nationalism to bolster themselves. And if it does happen, we'll all beg for the clock to turn back to those days when faceless bureaucrats tried to keep sewage off our beaches and save us money on roaming charges. Those monsters!
Oh, Britons -- do you mind if I call you, "Britons"? -- let's stay together. Please! We have so much in common. For example, here in Ireland we get to watch your TV. So I've seen the debates you're having. I've seen you fret over fisheries, and migrants and economics... And I can't help thinking how little any of it matters compared to the fact that we get to live in peace.
Let me put it this way: if you were to place all of Europe's flaws into a blender and multiply them by 1000, I'd drink the whole thing down rather than spend a single day at the Battle of the Bulge, or the Somme or Waterloo. I think most people would -- even most Brexiters would. Maybe all of them. I'm hoping that's the case. I'm hoping that the people voting to leave, wherever they lie on the political spectrum, are doing so because they think the alternative is Camelot, when in reality, every weakening of the bonds we share with our neighbours, is just another step closer to Mordor.
OK. I'll get up off my knees now. It's a lovely day for sitting in the sun. Why don't you join me?
wherever you lie on the political spectrum, whatever way you plan to vote on June 23rd, I'm here now, representing nobody but myself, and pleading for you to stay with the rest of us in a messy, messed up, peaceful union.
We were your enemies once. Most of us other countries wanted you dead. Or to make you Catholic. Or to take away your trade. You were no better, to be fair. You wanted our land, or to make us protestant, or to rob our galleons of all the silver we had stolen from the poor sods in the New World. Bad times all round, and there isn't a field anywhere on the continent that we didn't soak in blood and hatred.
But how soon we forget! It was all so long ago, right? Most people I know have grown up entirely without the fear of war in their lives. They believe the biggest threat to them are neighbours who can't speak English. Others fret about Brussels, how it's planning to straighten all the bananas, or to ban Coronation Street or Cornish pasties or worse. Could *anything* be worse?
A history book will show you the answer is yes. You can see photos of London or Berlin at the end of WW2, but to be honest, our armies have far more destructive power at their disposal these days, so you'd have to use your imagination to make it all a LOT worse.
And yet, we haven't done that sort of thing in quite a while because after the last time we murdered each other in a big way, a few of the countries that suffered the most, got together and decided that enough was enough. And it worked! It really worked. Two generations -- count 'em! -- two generations of peace followed. And sometimes I can't help thinking, "Wow! Imagine if we'd had something like the EU in 1914?"
Oh, my British friends, your cenotaphs are lovely with their bowed headed soldiers and their floral wreaths. And when poppy day comes along, it's wonderful to see the tributes worn, to hear the bugles played and the incredible art works displayed all over. But I know you'd rather have the young men back. Hundreds of thousands of them! Their genius and love, their hard honest work, all denied to history. Never mind the children they never fathered. Never mind the survivors, torn in body or mind, and the lives that should have been theirs to lead.
It could all happen again, impossible as that might seem right now. It happens when people are pulling away from each other rather than pulling together. It happens when goals diverge and then, collide. When strong men appeal to nationalism to bolster themselves. And if it does happen, we'll all beg for the clock to turn back to those days when faceless bureaucrats tried to keep sewage off our beaches and save us money on roaming charges. Those monsters!
Oh, Britons -- do you mind if I call you, "Britons"? -- let's stay together. Please! We have so much in common. For example, here in Ireland we get to watch your TV. So I've seen the debates you're having. I've seen you fret over fisheries, and migrants and economics... And I can't help thinking how little any of it matters compared to the fact that we get to live in peace.
Let me put it this way: if you were to place all of Europe's flaws into a blender and multiply them by 1000, I'd drink the whole thing down rather than spend a single day at the Battle of the Bulge, or the Somme or Waterloo. I think most people would -- even most Brexiters would. Maybe all of them. I'm hoping that's the case. I'm hoping that the people voting to leave, wherever they lie on the political spectrum, are doing so because they think the alternative is Camelot, when in reality, every weakening of the bonds we share with our neighbours, is just another step closer to Mordor.
OK. I'll get up off my knees now. It's a lovely day for sitting in the sun. Why don't you join me?
May 30, 2016
Reading, Watching, Waiting
I'll make this quick so I can get back to staring stupified at the ceiling. Outside, the whole world boils in its own juices -- at least 17C! -- and there I cannot go.
So what will I get up to as I await the return of saner temperatures? Thanks for asking!
READING
I finished up with a few good books over recent weeks. Devil's Blood, sequel to Prentice and Weil's excellent Black Arts kept the fun going, transferring the mayhem two hundred years into the story's future. There were devils, by the score, a sinister aristocrat, as well as a visit to Bedlam and other parts of 18th century London.
Right now, I'm reading the Preacher graphic novels by Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon. These stories are... extreme. Not just in terms of sex and violence, but along several other axes as well. Constant blasphemy, obscenity, racism and gore spatter the pages, but also humour, friendship, love and loyalty. If you're easily offended... No, strike that! If you *can* be offended, this might not be your cup of tea at all. Personally, I love it. The more I read of Garth Ennis's work, the more talent I think he has. I'm not really qualified to judge the quality of the art, though.
WATCHING
Netflix has a series of documentaries about famous chefs called, Chef's Table. Series 2 is now available and the first episode of it, is absolutely outstanding. I have never seen such a pure expression of creativity in any field as this. Seriously, just watch the first 5 minutes of it if you get the chance. Hugely rewarding, in my opinion.
As with most cookery programs, my vegan friends may be put off by some of the food on offer here, but not in the first few minutes...
WAITING
I have a draft of the next novel out with my beta readers right now, so I have a few days off to do absolutely nothing. However, I expect a LOT of work to come back my way in the next few weeks.
How're you all doing? Try not to get burnt out there!
So what will I get up to as I await the return of saner temperatures? Thanks for asking!
READING
I finished up with a few good books over recent weeks. Devil's Blood, sequel to Prentice and Weil's excellent Black Arts kept the fun going, transferring the mayhem two hundred years into the story's future. There were devils, by the score, a sinister aristocrat, as well as a visit to Bedlam and other parts of 18th century London.
Right now, I'm reading the Preacher graphic novels by Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon. These stories are... extreme. Not just in terms of sex and violence, but along several other axes as well. Constant blasphemy, obscenity, racism and gore spatter the pages, but also humour, friendship, love and loyalty. If you're easily offended... No, strike that! If you *can* be offended, this might not be your cup of tea at all. Personally, I love it. The more I read of Garth Ennis's work, the more talent I think he has. I'm not really qualified to judge the quality of the art, though.
WATCHING
Netflix has a series of documentaries about famous chefs called, Chef's Table. Series 2 is now available and the first episode of it, is absolutely outstanding. I have never seen such a pure expression of creativity in any field as this. Seriously, just watch the first 5 minutes of it if you get the chance. Hugely rewarding, in my opinion.
As with most cookery programs, my vegan friends may be put off by some of the food on offer here, but not in the first few minutes...
WAITING
I have a draft of the next novel out with my beta readers right now, so I have a few days off to do absolutely nothing. However, I expect a LOT of work to come back my way in the next few weeks.
How're you all doing? Try not to get burnt out there!
May 19, 2016
Watching: The Future
I don't care about the flying car I was promised. You can stuff your hoverboard where the sun don't shine. This week I've been watching the future, the real future, and it's incredible.
Google I/O is on right now and the keynote address yesterday left me goggle-eyed and drooling. Basically, we're on the cusp of a personal AI in every pocket. Of an honest-to-God holodeck in every home. Or field. Or wherever you want one.
The video below is nauseatingly slick, for all that it'll rob you of less than three minutes of your life. But look out for the bit where the little boy is interacting with Google Assistant -- at about 1:06. It's mind-blowing. Anybody who says this is "just Siri" or "just Amazon Echo" is badly missing the point...
Absolutely everything in this video is possible right now.
MORE REVIEW GOODNESS
I'm delighted to say that great reviews for The Call keep pouring in. Belfast's Culture Hub magazine compared my work to sources as diverse as Goya and The Manic Street Preachers. The verdict? "Highly Recommended".
Why, yes, since you ask. I am happy :)
Google I/O is on right now and the keynote address yesterday left me goggle-eyed and drooling. Basically, we're on the cusp of a personal AI in every pocket. Of an honest-to-God holodeck in every home. Or field. Or wherever you want one.
The video below is nauseatingly slick, for all that it'll rob you of less than three minutes of your life. But look out for the bit where the little boy is interacting with Google Assistant -- at about 1:06. It's mind-blowing. Anybody who says this is "just Siri" or "just Amazon Echo" is badly missing the point...
Absolutely everything in this video is possible right now.
MORE REVIEW GOODNESS
I'm delighted to say that great reviews for The Call keep pouring in. Belfast's Culture Hub magazine compared my work to sources as diverse as Goya and The Manic Street Preachers. The verdict? "Highly Recommended".
Why, yes, since you ask. I am happy :)
May 5, 2016
Reading, Watching, Listening
READINGLook at me reading. What a guy! I have books up to my eyeballs at the moment, and some of them seem set to fill my heart with delight. I'm particularly looking forward to Prentice and Weil's Devil's Blood. Yes, the cover. Yes, the title. But mainly because the first book was such a blast. That one's out only today, by the way! But I'd advise you read Black Arts first.
And of course, I'll have to read Joe Abercrombie's Sharp Ends. I haven't missed one of his yet. Cynical, snarky, brutal, selfish fantasy. There's a map this time. Who knew?
Finally, and a bit off the beaten track for me, is another YA from my publishers David Fickling Books. Liz Flanagan's Eden Summer has had reviewers foaming at the mouth, and I figured, why shouldn't I get to do a bit of drooling too?
WATCHING
I'm sorry Vinyl has come to an end. Devastated to see the back of Better Call Saul. Mildly discommoded by the end of The Knick. What has replaced them? Things. Or to be more precise: shows that may be defined as "Gentle Slacker Comedies", or what a friend of mine calls, "Loser Porn".
Netflix's Love brought enjoyment into my home, but I'm not quite sure how. I still can't explain why I liked it, so please don't ask. It's very explicit, by the way, if you were thinking of watching it in the company of your priest, pastor, immam or rabbi. Unless any of these also represent Aphrodite or better, Dionysus.
In a similar vein -- and excuse the pun -- is BBC's Scrotal Recall, also showing on Netflix. As with Love, it's a tale of gentle comedy, improbable couplings and mild heartbreak. No minds will be blown. No ribs will be broken due to explosive laughter, but, you know, fun. Ish.
LISTENING
As usual, I'm storming through the podcasts. New to my roster is the Revolutions history podcast with Mike Duncan. It's not as entertaining as HardCore History, but it follows a regular schedule. I learned a metric tonne of information about the English Civil War, and, in spite of being Irish, I even came away with respect for Oliver Cromwell.Now, I'm up to the Haitian slave revolt and this one is amazing; shocking; fascinating.
AOB
Other than that? How're you?
And of course, I'll have to read Joe Abercrombie's Sharp Ends. I haven't missed one of his yet. Cynical, snarky, brutal, selfish fantasy. There's a map this time. Who knew?
Finally, and a bit off the beaten track for me, is another YA from my publishers David Fickling Books. Liz Flanagan's Eden Summer has had reviewers foaming at the mouth, and I figured, why shouldn't I get to do a bit of drooling too?
WATCHING
I'm sorry Vinyl has come to an end. Devastated to see the back of Better Call Saul. Mildly discommoded by the end of The Knick. What has replaced them? Things. Or to be more precise: shows that may be defined as "Gentle Slacker Comedies", or what a friend of mine calls, "Loser Porn".
Netflix's Love brought enjoyment into my home, but I'm not quite sure how. I still can't explain why I liked it, so please don't ask. It's very explicit, by the way, if you were thinking of watching it in the company of your priest, pastor, immam or rabbi. Unless any of these also represent Aphrodite or better, Dionysus.
In a similar vein -- and excuse the pun -- is BBC's Scrotal Recall, also showing on Netflix. As with Love, it's a tale of gentle comedy, improbable couplings and mild heartbreak. No minds will be blown. No ribs will be broken due to explosive laughter, but, you know, fun. Ish.
LISTENING
As usual, I'm storming through the podcasts. New to my roster is the Revolutions history podcast with Mike Duncan. It's not as entertaining as HardCore History, but it follows a regular schedule. I learned a metric tonne of information about the English Civil War, and, in spite of being Irish, I even came away with respect for Oliver Cromwell.Now, I'm up to the Haitian slave revolt and this one is amazing; shocking; fascinating.
AOB
Other than that? How're you?
May 4, 2016
A New Article Up on BlackGate
Some time ago, I wrote a post about meeting Michael Swanwick at Boskone. I gushed a little about his novel, "The Iron Dragon's Daughter".
For some, like John O'Neill of blackgate.com, that wasn't bloated, long-winded or gassy enough. He persuaded me to write a full review.
Well, it's up right now -- on the actual INTERNET!!!
Don't be too astounded!
Hopefully tomorrow, I'll have another Reading/Watching post...
April 20, 2016
LuxCon and Reading
LUXCON
LuxCon? I really have nothing to say that I haven't said in previous years. A lovely Con run by lovely people. They always have the coolest guests of honour. This year's English language GOH was Belfast's own Ian McDonald of whom you have seen me rave on this page more than once. It was great to hang out with him and Wolfgang. It was even better to eat frites and to star on the winning team of the table quiz -- take that Mancunicon!
READING
I've just completed David Mitchell's Black Swan Green.
It's yet another one of those books about growing up in the '80s, with all the usual elements -- you know, the music, the video games; awkward discos; casual racism; dodgems. So, yeah, more of the same except that it is astonishingly well written with tremendous characterization. I loved it by the end and especially appreciated the slight aftertaste of magic realism that threw everything else into relief.
Whether you're a refugee from the '80s, or simply a wannabe, Black Swan Green carries Peadar's highest recommendation.
I also found time to reread Michael Swanwick's The Iron Dragon's Daughter. More of that another day...
LuxCon? I really have nothing to say that I haven't said in previous years. A lovely Con run by lovely people. They always have the coolest guests of honour. This year's English language GOH was Belfast's own Ian McDonald of whom you have seen me rave on this page more than once. It was great to hang out with him and Wolfgang. It was even better to eat frites and to star on the winning team of the table quiz -- take that Mancunicon!
READING
I've just completed David Mitchell's Black Swan Green.
It's yet another one of those books about growing up in the '80s, with all the usual elements -- you know, the music, the video games; awkward discos; casual racism; dodgems. So, yeah, more of the same except that it is astonishingly well written with tremendous characterization. I loved it by the end and especially appreciated the slight aftertaste of magic realism that threw everything else into relief.
Whether you're a refugee from the '80s, or simply a wannabe, Black Swan Green carries Peadar's highest recommendation.
I also found time to reread Michael Swanwick's The Iron Dragon's Daughter. More of that another day...
April 6, 2016
The Wertzone Reviews The Call
It's been a day of great news, and, believe it or not, I have yet to get sick of that kind of thing! Some of the information isn't for public consumption, and it may even fall flat on its grinning choppers.
But I can share this evening's review of The Call from the very influential blog, The Wertzone.
Yes, I know the owner of the blog, but basically, so does every other SF writer in the universe. Therefore, I'll be taking this one as a glorious victory over the forces of the vile anti-Peadar.
"It's a short novel at 320 pages, but it moves fast, is extremely bloody-minded and has a body count that might make even George R.R. Martin wince. It's also very smart, with its premise and "rules" interrogated by the characters as much as by the reader, and tremendously adult. It may be marketed as a "YA" book but it does not pander to presupposed juvenile tastes. It treats its audience with respect and credits them with intelligence."
Yeah, any paragraph that has both my name and GRRM's in it is one I'll be taking out of the scrapbook in years to come and fondling in a very creepy fashion...
But I can share this evening's review of The Call from the very influential blog, The Wertzone.
Yes, I know the owner of the blog, but basically, so does every other SF writer in the universe. Therefore, I'll be taking this one as a glorious victory over the forces of the vile anti-Peadar."It's a short novel at 320 pages, but it moves fast, is extremely bloody-minded and has a body count that might make even George R.R. Martin wince. It's also very smart, with its premise and "rules" interrogated by the characters as much as by the reader, and tremendously adult. It may be marketed as a "YA" book but it does not pander to presupposed juvenile tastes. It treats its audience with respect and credits them with intelligence."
Yeah, any paragraph that has both my name and GRRM's in it is one I'll be taking out of the scrapbook in years to come and fondling in a very creepy fashion...
April 1, 2016
Mancunicon Report
MANCUNICON REPORTIt's hard to believe that this time last week I was in Manchester, getting ready to interview one of our guests of honour, Ian Mcdonald. But there you go and there went I, to a fantastic convention that brimmed over with food and friends.
The interview seemed to go down well and Ian was still speaking to me afterwards, which is always a plus. And necessary too, because later that night we had to perform an hour of improv comedy together along with Jo Playford and Roz Kaveney.
Those two events left me entirely without energy for the next few days, but that's all good. I spent my time wisely, by dining in great company, by manning the Dublin 2019 desk, and, for the first time in more than a decade, by playing a game of D&D with Adrain Tchaikovsky and a hilarious, wise, insane, bizarre band of adventurers. You know who you are and may the Gods of Chaos have pity...
No sooner had the game given way to silence, than another group, the infamous "Czech M8s", tricked me into taking part in a table quiz. Did we win? No. Did we come last? A little. Define "last". In some cultures, losing by a huge margin is considered a sign of modesty and beauty. *cough*
On the final day, I found myself on a panel about "Reading My Enemy". Nick Larter kept the whole thing flowing smoothly. The audience challenged us with great questions, and before I knew it, I was pelting for my room in order to check out in time.
The hotel staff smiled in the appropriate manner. They set out a decent vegetarian breakfast too, which shocked me -- in a good way.
Nor did the heart of Manchester itself shy away from providing magnificent food of all kinds. I had an amazing desert in 1847, for example. Rich, delicious and even decadent. That last word in particular is not something a vegan gets to say very often, but there you have it.
Anyway, I haven't named many names here. I hope my friends know how I feel about them. If not, ask! Answers will be provided within 21 days.
The interview seemed to go down well and Ian was still speaking to me afterwards, which is always a plus. And necessary too, because later that night we had to perform an hour of improv comedy together along with Jo Playford and Roz Kaveney.
Those two events left me entirely without energy for the next few days, but that's all good. I spent my time wisely, by dining in great company, by manning the Dublin 2019 desk, and, for the first time in more than a decade, by playing a game of D&D with Adrain Tchaikovsky and a hilarious, wise, insane, bizarre band of adventurers. You know who you are and may the Gods of Chaos have pity...
No sooner had the game given way to silence, than another group, the infamous "Czech M8s", tricked me into taking part in a table quiz. Did we win? No. Did we come last? A little. Define "last". In some cultures, losing by a huge margin is considered a sign of modesty and beauty. *cough*
On the final day, I found myself on a panel about "Reading My Enemy". Nick Larter kept the whole thing flowing smoothly. The audience challenged us with great questions, and before I knew it, I was pelting for my room in order to check out in time.
The hotel staff smiled in the appropriate manner. They set out a decent vegetarian breakfast too, which shocked me -- in a good way.
Nor did the heart of Manchester itself shy away from providing magnificent food of all kinds. I had an amazing desert in 1847, for example. Rich, delicious and even decadent. That last word in particular is not something a vegan gets to say very often, but there you have it.
Anyway, I haven't named many names here. I hope my friends know how I feel about them. If not, ask! Answers will be provided within 21 days.
March 17, 2016
The Call has a Cover
Just in case you've not seen this elsewhere... August 30 is the on-sale date.
March 15, 2016
Favourite Books? Adventures with Michael Swanwick
I have no straight answer when you ask me what my favourite book is. Usually I blurt out, "I, Caludius"! Because it *is* brilliant and because nobody can get to the end of it without falling in love.
But the truth is that I swap favourites around in my head every single minute of the day.
One of those books that often flies to the very top, however, is Michael Swanwick's The Iron Dragon's Daughter. It's the story of a girl stolen off to a fantasy world that somewhat resembles Middle Earth. Or would do, if Middle Earth had developed modern technology.
It's a land where sentient, Iron Dragons rain fire down on the Kingdom's enemies. Where grinning elves, sporting machine guns, pose for photos on piles of dead orc civilians. Where a shy boy nervously asks a girl on a date -- to a public evisceration.
It's witty, humourous, beautiful, shocking and amazing. It's all the adjectives, and if we allowed adverbs in this part of the world, they'd be in there too, fighting for a place at the top table.
So, yeah. Much love.
Now, imagine my reaction when, by complete chance, I found myself sitting opposite the author at a table at Boskone. I didn't embarrass myself. I didn't! Calmly, without shaking, I got him to sign his latest book. I admitted a slight admiration for The Iron Dragon's Daughter, and for its equally brilliant semi-sequel, The Dragons of Babel.
He smiled. Gave no indication of impatience. Wore a dangly earring. He mentioned in passing that he might just be writng a third Dragon book.
"Yes, yes, very good," said I, a man of the world.
But already, I'm counting down the days...
But the truth is that I swap favourites around in my head every single minute of the day.
One of those books that often flies to the very top, however, is Michael Swanwick's The Iron Dragon's Daughter. It's the story of a girl stolen off to a fantasy world that somewhat resembles Middle Earth. Or would do, if Middle Earth had developed modern technology.
It's a land where sentient, Iron Dragons rain fire down on the Kingdom's enemies. Where grinning elves, sporting machine guns, pose for photos on piles of dead orc civilians. Where a shy boy nervously asks a girl on a date -- to a public evisceration.
It's witty, humourous, beautiful, shocking and amazing. It's all the adjectives, and if we allowed adverbs in this part of the world, they'd be in there too, fighting for a place at the top table.
So, yeah. Much love.
Now, imagine my reaction when, by complete chance, I found myself sitting opposite the author at a table at Boskone. I didn't embarrass myself. I didn't! Calmly, without shaking, I got him to sign his latest book. I admitted a slight admiration for The Iron Dragon's Daughter, and for its equally brilliant semi-sequel, The Dragons of Babel.
He smiled. Gave no indication of impatience. Wore a dangly earring. He mentioned in passing that he might just be writng a third Dragon book.
"Yes, yes, very good," said I, a man of the world.
But already, I'm counting down the days...
