M.J. Johnson's Blog, page 18

Here Comes the Sun!

Not a pretty sight! So a big welcome back to our old friend, Monsieur Sun! Yes, a rare visitor to the UK so far this Summer. Who can ever forget the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh, octo and nono-genarians respectively, standing stoically by for over two hours whilst barge after barge sailed past them in the freezing rain, peopled by hundreds of their loyal, bedraggled subjects, cheering, waving Union-Jacks and singing anthems of national pride? The occasion became quite surreal at times, almost a satyrical look at us British! On Diamond Jubilee Day, we wandered up the road to our local street party with a plate of cakes to offer round. Typically for us, we were a little late arriving and most of the children had by then consumed their jelly and ice-cream, undoubtedly fuelling-up on enough sugar to launch themselves into the stratosphere and had mostly disappeared indoors to play computer games - leaving the adults to stand around in the icy wind and rain! Actually, the occasion was very nice, well organised and it was great to meet people who live on our road. And being someone who actually quite likes their own species, I'm delighted to say I now have a few more people to say hello to whenever I nip down the road for a pint of milk.

The sun has a funny effect on us Brits, who immediately want to strip-off, exposing our lily-white bodies to its rays, and soak it up with a quite comical zeal. I recall being at a hotel in Dubrovnik (Croatia being a country that gets some serious sun!) a few years back during the month of August, where a couple from Newcastle (a place not widely know for sun) arrived mid-week and proceeded to spend every daylight hour of the next five days lying flat-out by the pool sun-bathing. Despite turning as red as the proverbial beetroot they remained 'happy as Larry', and I sincerely hope they didn't see my wife and I (who thought they should've been hospitalised in a severe burns unit) wince every time we dared venture out from the protection of our sun shade.

Being of Welsh origin, I am of course a special case when it comes to the sun. Coming from a land where it tends to rain about 300 days out of the annual allotted span of 365 (301 in leap years!) I don't think my epidermis ever really got acclimatised to sun. In bygone days, although my head appeared to boast chestnut coloured locks my hair actually had quite a lot of red in it - an unfortunate combo, pale white skin, reddish colouring and an upbringing in aforementioned rainy Wales. Brown is not a colour my skin has ever known. After exposure to the sun I tend to look like someone with extremely high blood pressure - this generally lasts about a week before I turn white again. I once worked in North Africa for several months and after arriving home was in danger of seeming invisible if I happened to be found standing in front of  a pillar-box!

However, I do love it. I got out of bed this morning, saw the glorious light streaming in through the bedroom window and thought, "Carpe diem!" I dug out a pair of shorts (first time this year!), carefully avoiding the glare from the whiteness of my legs for fear of being temporarily blinded, and happily set to work. As I type this blog my legs are dangling out from the hems of my shorts like a couple of uncooked pork sausages, but I remain unashamed! I am British, it's the summer, and I'll even wear socks with sandals if I want to!

Scary?

Very Strange Creature I have always had a bit of a penchant for a good horror movie. This week I went along with my son, another horror fan, to see Ridley Scott's new film Prometheus. I don't normally opt to see films in 3D, I find the glasses a bit annoying, and when I've been to see a 3D movie I find myself just waiting for the next hair-raising stunt to come along, which can get repetitive and a little boring. We had no option with Prometheus as this was the only format it was being shown in at our local cinema.

My verdict? It was okay. There's always plenty on the screen to watch. The spaceships look like they're actually present, not just CGI creations and I can honestly say I wasn't bored for an instant - but then neither was I enthralled!  I felt a degree of deja-vu: lots of gooey slimey stuff and phallic-like appendages that are intent on violently impregnating the human crew of the spaceship with nasty squiggly things that burst out of them with lots of blood and gore. At the very start of the film we're introduced to a race of ultra-smart beings who lent us their DNA and brought life to our little blue planet; which naturally blows apart the theory of evolution and makes Darwin look like the class dunce. Even our primitive ancestors it seems knew far more about our origins than he did, they even left us clues on cave walls all over the world, including (clever old troglodytes!) a star map to a far-away constellation in another galaxy. However, this premise is really just the outer wrapping - once we get inside, the main story we soon discover is something far more familiar.

Yep, I'd seen it all before and I came away from the cinema wondering whether the girl behind me was talking about the same film when she told her boyfriend, "I enjoyed it ... but it was just so scary!" Perhaps she hasn't seen Alien I surmised?

I have absolutely no objection to remakes, some have been very worthy creations in their own right, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Blob, The Thing all found new ways of chilling us. However this film just seemed keen to re-package a tried and tested hugely successful franchise by pretending we were watching something else. We were tossed a few intriguing new morsels of background information whilst the movie appeared to raise the endlessly fascinating issue (at least Hollywood appears to think so!)of,  what is our place in the universe and what relationship do we have to whatever Deity may be out there?

What is most interesting I think is the question of scariness. For my money the original Alien was a far far more frightening film than Prometheus, and it achieves this by being considerably less graphic than its prequel/offspring. The story in Alien builds quite slowly and Ripley, who becomes the film's heroine, is a bit of a scaredy-cat initially as I recall. It is the strangeness of their barren environment and their isolation on a planet million of miles from home that makes it so squirmingly appealing. Perhaps it's just me, but I find the way the water changes colour in the shower  scene in Psycho (made in black and white), the nerve-jangling music like finger-nails clawing on glass, the indistinguishable figure behind the curtain and the sight of that blade thrusting again and again, together with the shots of Janet Leigh's surprised, then shocked, then blank and staring eyes, does it for me far better than the gallons of corn syrup and intestinal anatomy you're likely to see in a modern horror flick.

To my way of thinking, the horror in a situation is the idea that the writer/director wishes to communicate with the audience. The Japanese film Ringu (Ring - US version and not so good IMHO) understood the concept fully; after building nothing but tension for 120 minutes, when the final moment of appalling realisation arrived I was almost climbing up the back of the sofa. People who have read Niedermayer & Hart tell me that they found a few moments in the book very scary indeed (my wife, poor thing, who edited it, says she still has flashbacks to a scene in the story whenever she enters certain public buildings!) - I am of course delighted to hear this! However, despite N & H having an enormous body count the violence is almost invariably reported and therefore left to the reader's imagination to put flesh onto the bones as it were.

Horror stories are dark fairy-tales for grown-ups basically. Someone once told me that cat digestion is improved if they are a little nervous whilst eating because certain enzymes which aid their digestive processes are released through tension. Thank God we're not cats is all I can say, imagine going to a nice restaurant and having to ask the waiter to stand by brandishing an axe while you eat. However, like the cat, something in our nature requires us to be frightened from time to time. I fully expect  that our ancestors sat around camp fires telling each other scary stories. Perhaps one day Hollywood will find a cave painting in the remotest part of the Himalayas that shows our ancestors doing just this! Wow!

Huge Caravaggio Stash

The Flagellation of Christ by Caravaggio I don't know if you saw it reported in the media this week but Art historians in Italy have for the past two years been secretly working on a collection of paintings and sketches that were found in the workshop of Simone Peterzano that may be attributable to Caravaggio. The young Caravaggio is known to have worked as an apprentice to Peterzano between 1584 and 1588. The collection has apparently been housed in a castle in Milan, Castello Sforzesco, since 1924. If the find can be authenticated then the paintings could be worth an estimated 700 million euros (£560 million).

I met my artist son yesterday for a coffee and knowing him to be a huge Caravaggio fan, excitedly told him what I'd read. He immediately checked out the report on his iphone and commented, "That would be brilliant - if it's for real!"

Slightly crestfallen, I asked him what he meant.

He reminded me of the Van Meegren forgeries of the paintings of Jan Vermeer and how the art world, desperately wanting to believe, had hoodwinked itself. It made me think of other situations like the notorious 'Hitler Diaries' where serious historians, and the media themselves that time, were fooled into parting with lots of dosh.

Whatever the outcome, it's interesting stuff and I'll definitely be keeping an eye on how things unfold. Caravaggio the man was, from what we know about him, quite a difficult individual, perhaps not someone you'd want at your summer barbecue with granny present. He had a fierce temper and was a renowned brawler. He had to get out of Rome pretty fast after killing someone and he is believed later to have wounded a Knight of Malta in a fight. His death in 1610 at the age of 38 has been put down to a variety of natural causes as well as there being a possibility he was murdered. When you look at his life there were, it seems, a number of people who may have been keen to 'do away with him'. If he hadn't been such a damn fine painter it's unlikely I reckon he'd have survived as long as he did! Blind Leading the Blind by Pieter Bruegel the Elder A few years ago my wife Judy and I had the privilege of seeing his painting 'The Flagellation of Christ' (oil on canvas, 1607) at its home in the Museo di Capodimonte, Naples. We had caught an occasional glimpse of the great work as we slowly made our way along the long narrow gallery towards the enclosed room at the far end which is maintained at a constant temperature where the Caravaggio is housed. Our sense of excitement increased as we got closer and closer to the work and to be honest we didn't arrive too fast as our progress was constantly hampered by numerous other great works of art, like The Blind Leading the Blind by Pieter Bruegel the Elder (tempura on canvas, 1568). However, eventually we got there and despite being constantly hassled by a guard to move on from the moment we arrived, the experience can only be described as sublime. If the man's handiwork could move us so powerfully from the point where we stand in time, having grown up and lived in a world where we have been constantly bombarded by powerful images, great movie special effects, CGI et al, to be so deeply affected by what one difficult man achieved with a bit of paint on some canvas four hundred years ago is truly amazing, don't you think? Just imagine the effect such realistic painting would have had on a 16th century peasant filled with superstitious belief. It must have seemed like you were there - actually a witness at Christ's passion!

I have always been an art lover, but on this occasion, I was struck dumb by the painting's power. Believe me, the photograph just doesn't do it justice. Perhaps for the first time I was truly able to comprehend why the accolade of 'masterpiece' can only be attributed to a handful of great works.

Just Purr-fect!

I had already done some research on social networking/online promotion tools before I published Niedermayer & Hart, which is absolutely essential in my view - I am a very great believer in the old adage, "Fail to prepare, prepare to fail!". However, I don't think anything can really get you totally ready for the shock (or joy!) of self-publishing. I started building a website and doing some background research last November but my advice to any aspiring author would be to start as soon as possible - before you've even started writing the novel preferably! Without a doubt get a blog going as soon as you possibly can, it provides a shop window for your efforts as a writer and encourages you to be disciplined about working to deadlines. I write a weekly blog, with an occasional update if I think it's relevant between posts.  Be sure to proof-read everything thoroughly - get a wife/husband/friend to help if possible - smelling mistakes (joke) look bad and are so easily made. After many hours of staring at text on a screen or page, a sort of word-blindness overtakes the mind. Independent authors are by no means the only people responsible for typos and errors but I think we become an easy target for the opprobrium of the big publishers when they are too numerous to be chalked-up to natural error. Anyway, I really wanted to write this blog about all the excellent help I've received. I've already mentioned in earlier posts about the many kind people I've come across through my efforts, via the marvel of the World Wide Web, to launch N & H onto the unsuspecting world. The help and continuing support of some people not only warms my heart but goes on surprising me. However, I am also enormously lucky to enjoy the backing and support of a wonderful family. If it hadn't been for my wife, Judith, my aspirations as a writer would probably have remained sunk like my self-esteem was when a major international publishing house who had shown a lot of positive interest in the book decided against doing it after five months of dangling and hopeful anticipation. Luckily for me too, she is also more accurate when it comes to spelling and punctuation than I am and has made a fantastic editor for my work. In fact, we are mutually beneficial to each other in this area - she edits me and I edit her. I have also recently helped her (using my newly learned skills courtesy of the many Indie authors who generously passed them on to me) to convert her local history book Southborough War Memorial (originally published and printed in 2009) into an e-book. It is a wonderful piece of research which she undertook in her spare moments over seven years. She writes great poetry too and is currently working on a book for children - she has an eclectic, very interesting blog and website  http://www.judithjohnson.co.uk and deserves a viewing. My son Tom has been marvellous too and always willing to help in any way possible. He did the camerawork on Niedermayer & Hart - The Prologue, designed the book's great cover and single handedly made the set, clay figures and did all the animation for the promo A Gripping Tail. He is currently busy on its sequel, delayed at one point by software problems and always under a great deal of pressure from his busy job. He has been fortunate on The Purr-fect Crime (the title of the sequel) to be assisted by his girlfriend Lou. I have seen the rushes without any sound, and all I can say is that the sets and characterisations are fantastic. And I hope to bring news very soon of its publication on You Tube. In the meantime, I'll post up the odd production-still on my Facebook author page. If you enjoyed A Gripping Tail - and I can't honestly think of anyone who didn't, then you will definitely enjoy watching A Purr-fect Crime.

Could The Aliens Who Abducted My Wife Please Return Her!

Balloon or arrival of the Mother-Ship? After some quiet reflection, I realise now that I should've guessed something was very very wrong when I suggested going to our local cinema to see the Coen brothers' version of True Grit and she agreed to come along without any complaint. At the time I deluded myself that it was the lure of Jeff Bridges (who is worth seeing in whatever he does) and that she was momentarily declaring a truce, and for just this once putting aside her jaundiced view of Westerns. True Grit does after all come from a highly acclaimed novel by Charles Portis and over the years there have been other literary exceptions, Charles Frasier's Cold Mountain and Cormac McCarthy's All the Pretty Horses spring immediately to mind. However, getting her to the cinema for a 'western' has invariably been in my thirty odd years of experience very difficult indeed.

When I picked up and casually dropped into the shopping basket a triple DVD starring John Wayne without even the slightest hint of opprobrium from my life's partner - I really should have known! Instead, I just went along with it, buried my head in the sand and told myself that peoples' tastes can change. We watched the elegiac The Man Who Shot Liberty Vallance, followed by The Sons of Katie Elder (not so good I think, but the wife seemed to enjoy it), then True Grit (The John Wayne version and though not faithful to the book still the best I think) again. I only really started to become suspicious when she let it be known that she wouldn't be at all disappointed to receive a darn good western in her Christmas stocking.

Huh!!!!

I tested it out, took her at her word and gave her a copy of John Ford's The Searchers - she loved it! What was perhaps even more disturbing than this was that in my Christmas stocking she had given me a copy of High Noon and expressed genuine enthusiasm about sitting down with me to watch it. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable! But there was more to come, and this previously unheard of appreciation for the western genre hasn't let-up yet. A week ago we watched The Magnificent Seven and when I recently arrived back from Wales with a copy of the appropriately named The Outlaw Josie Wales, I was instructed not to watch it without her.

Would anyone know how I could get in touch with Mulder and Scully, or their counterparts in real life? However, in their defence, I must say the aliens who replicated her did a damn nearly perfect job. For instance, I still get told off for being untidy and for cluttering up the dining table with my writing stuff. But after thirty years of living with someone the western thing was the aliens' big mistake. In real life such a change just doesn't, couldn't possibly happen! So once again I reiterate, could the aliens who abducted my wife please return her ... but ... then again, it has been nice watching all those cowboy films on Saturday evenings ... and in every other way she is exactly the same ...

Cartref

The naked author at home The sun is streaming through the window in the room in our house in Kent where I write. Note that I didn't use the word 'Study' - the room where I write is actually our Dining Room; however, the surface of its large table disappeared many months ago under manuscripts and various bits of writing-related paraphernalia. Both my wife and I write; we have always shared a passion for books, and although Jude sometimes raises her eyes to the heavens and throws her hands up in despair at the clutter and mess in this room, we both know that when push comes to shove she'd have no difficulty agreeing that writing always comes first in our house! As long as the hoovering gets done and the kitchen floor gets a swish with a mop and it doesn't look exactly like a student squat, then it's okay by us!
 
I've only recently returned from a trip to Wales, one of my regular visits to see my mother. I always find it difficult these days. The little bungalow where I lived from age twelve until I had an address of my own that I could refer to as 'home' is empty now - up for sale but not selling, caught in the housing slump. My mother lives less than half a mile away in sheltered housing and I just can't bring myself to tell her that everything that was left behind has been cleared now, because she like to think that if she ever changes her mind she could always pack up her things and go home. It's wishful thinking of course, she needs a lot of support these days - but hey! If I reach eighty-eight and want to believe in a few cheerful fantasies, don't disabuse me of these notions, please, just nod and let me get on with it.
 
When in Wales I finished reading October Sky by Homer H Hickam, which seemed to have a certain synchronicity for me at that moment in time. The book is set in Coalwood, West Virginia, a long way from Aberdare in the valleys of South Wales where I spent my earliest years and  where its unmissable cemetery is the final resting place for generations of my ancestors. Mining was the lifeblood of both Coalwood and Aberdare, and my grandfather died from the same miners' lung disease that took Homer Hickam's father. However, October Sky is also about the young Homer's fascination with rockets and his boyish indignation at the Russians who are at that time (Sputnik, 1957) winning the Space Race. He and a bunch of friends decide to set the record straight and gradually their endeavours are taken up and proudly supported by the folk of Coalwood. It is everything its reviewers claim with all the clichéd words you'd expect to find on any cover for any rites of passage tale, "Absorbing ... wonderful ... funny ... painful ...
inspirational," however, for this book every one of these words is applicable and accurate.
 
It is a joy to read and it's not difficult to understand why it's been compared to To Kill a Mockingbird. This book has a similar sense of mood and wonderment about it as that fine American twentieth-century classic does (and yes, I still feel bitter that anyone could give T K a M one star on Amazon! Grrr!). The book October Sky was originally published in 1998 as Rocket Boys and I believe it was also made into a movie, however, not one that I've ever seen or recall hearing about. My wife came home with the paperback a few years back - she'd picked it up for 50p out of the charity book box in the village-store/post office she passes every day on her way to work. She sees discovering great reads as a kind of vocation. Occasionally I'll exclaim when I've reached the end of my current book, "I don't know what to read next!"  She generally asks a few pertinent questions about my mood at that particular moment in time, and then, almost unerringly, she'll produce something worth reading. I won't deny it, I am a
lucky man!
 
Cartref by the way is the Welsh word for Home.

Frankenstein Update

I don't generally update my weekly blog posts, however I thought the NT Live production of Frankenstein warranted some further comment. The combination we watched was Benedict Cumberbatch as the monster and Jonny Lee Miller as Victor Frankenstein. If possible, we may return next week to see the roles reversed.

First let me pay tribute to the writing and directing. Nick Dear's adaptation of the Mary Shelley classic was unquestionably approached with great sensitivity and appreciation for the original work. The script skilfully conveys the themes of the novel, yet manages to make it both intriguing and relevant to people watching (as we were) via a relatively new medium two hundred years on from when it was written.  Danny Boyle's assured direction had the confidence to give the story and its characters room to develop against a powerfully minimal set.
 
From the opening moments we are on the side of the monster - I was at all times deeply moved by Benedict Cumberbatch's portrayal. We see the poor creature's initial struggle for life and its cruel abandonment by the brilliant doctor who has created it. In fact the only people who do not despise and reject the monster for its ugliness are a blind man who teaches it to read, think and converse philosophically, and Elizabeth, Victor Frankenstein's betrothed, who is filled with compassion for the poor creature.
 
I enjoyed this show immensely, although I have to admit that it was probably the only show I've seen in the NT Live programme where I regretted not having been a member of the original theatre audience. But don't misunderstand me, I was still glad to be there, and nothing was wrong with the performance at all - the fact the N T audience were standing at the curtain call proves it. However, the show had a certain kind of theatricality that can only be fully appreciated when you are physically present and able to take in and absorb the whole. For the first twenty minutes there is virtually no dialogue as the monster is born and literally finds its feet. It is a distressing process to observe - as Frankenstein's creation meets pain and rejection time and time again. There were moments when the poor creature's suffering was almost unbearable to witness. There is no doubt in my mind that the story and the profound philosophical questions it raises, is as relevant today as when Mary Shelley wrote it. 
 
During the unfolding of this play I was aware of only one monster - the devastatingly destructive force that is man's ego.

NT Live

(Not NT Live) Me with friend c. 1985 I am really looking forward to seeing the NT Live showing of Frankenstein at my local cinema this week. This is the encore version of the recent National Theatre production of Mary Shelley's classic Gothic novel, adapted for the stage by Nick Dear, directed by Danny Boyle and starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller alternating in the roles of Frankenstein and monster (we are watching BC as monster). The production was hugely successful and the show is being screened in this encore version because of its enormous popularity and by public demand. For this opportunity I am delighted, because I missed the production the first time round!
 
My wife and I, often accompanied by our son and his girlfriend, have seen a number of these
NT Live productions - in fact, since going to watch Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard over a year ago now, I think we may have seen everything on offer. It's an incredibly straightforward way of getting to see some of the best theatre around - and all for the cost of a cinema seat! However, it is not only a matter of expense but one of convenience too. We live thirty odd miles from central London and West-end theatre visits mean for us a car and train journey, a rushed supper (usually from a sandwich carton) and the often fairly grim late night journey home again which never bodes well for work next morning.
 
Here's the list of plays seen and enjoyed so far:
 
The Cherry Orchard by Anton Chekhov

One Man, Two Guvnors by Richard Bean (Hugely successful on Broadway, also showing in an encore version this Autumn)

The Kitchen by Arnold Wesker

Collaborators by John Hodge

Travelling Light by Nicholas Wright

The Comedy of Errors by William Shakespeare

She Stoops to Conquer by Oliver Goldsmith
 
I've heard a few critics complain that theatre should only be viewed 'live' and others voice the concern that this concentrated focus on a few of the most celebrated Theatre, Opera and Ballet companies from around the world must inevitably lead to the damage and detriment of humbler venues who are unable to present on such a lavish scale. I personally think this is nonsense; as far as I am concerned being exposed to quality can only lead to an increased appetite for good stuff. In fact, a great deal of the money spent on these NT Live productions in terms of set design is probably less apparent to the cinema viewer than they are to someone sitting in the actual venue watching the production at the same moment, because we are watching a scene often in a two shot or a close up which they cannot. It is the actual theatre goer who is probably at greater risk of being distracted than those who are watching in a cinema seat. And surely, anything that encourages people to see plays new and old must only be a good thing?
 
I would be the first to agree that it should never become a substitute for live theatre visits - but this bi-product of digital technology is, I have to say, a wonderfully enjoyable theatrical hybrid! Within minutes you completely forget you are watching on a screen. However I have to say that at curtain call time, being unable to join in and show your appreciation for the performance does feel slightly odd.
 
Here are some of the plays being offered in the new season starting in the Autumn:
 
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time from the book by Mark Haddon adapted by
Simon Stephens

The Last of the Haussmans by Stephen Beresford

Timon of Athens by William Shakespeare
 
NT Live productions are screened right around the world. Check out what's happening here: 

NT Live

Good Cop, Dead Cop by Jennifer Petkus

Peer review was something I'd heard of but always viewed with some ambivalence. It is of course a very good idea for us independent authors, because it creates an opportunity to discuss our work and opens up another avenue of exposure for it. However, it's not difficult to imagine how it might easily prove to be a path fraught with many pitfalls - to put it plainly: what happens if the book you're reviewing totally stinks? And there is of course always that somewhat intangible little matter of 'taste'. Just take a look at the book reviews on Amazon - choose a book you personally adore and in no time at all you may find yourself incandescent with rage! Be honest, what moron could ever give To Kill a Mockingbird one star!
 
Before exchanging books with Jennifer Petkus we agreed upon certain parameters. If either of us didn't feel we could give the other person's book at least the equivalent of a strong 'Like' then we wouldn't post a review. I am not a critic, never intend to become one and certainly don't plan to use this blog to write defamatory remarks about anyone or anything (certainly not a fellow indie author!). Anything that appears on this blogsite is stuff I feel positive about. I want people to trust the site, to value what I say and hopefully return to it many times, so it would be extremely injudicious to use this platform in praise of what in 'my opinion' isn't worthy - shooting oneself in the foot is the expression that springs to mind! Personally, when it comes to books, I have an unwritten fifty page rule - if I've reached this (approximate) point and I am losing the will to live - then the book's put down, because life's too short for this kind of noble sacrifice (several names in the literary pantheon have bitten the dust at fifty pages).
 
So the fact that I am actually writing about Good Cop, Dead Cop by Jennifer Petkus should immediately be conveying to you that I made it all the way to the book's end and liked it. The story is set in Denver, Colorado, not somewhere I am personally acquainted with, however the author depicts it as a location very clearly. In fact, everything Jennifer Petkus writes about is done in a way that assures the reader she knows exactly what she's talking about. On the surface the book reads like a straightforward police procedural with a couple of cops, Alex Munroe and Linda Yamaguchi, who are working together on a series of cases. There's the usual cheeky banter between the two main protagonists and a range of characters, likeable and otherwise, that you'd expect to find in most stories set around a police precinct. Nothing unexpected so far, except for the fact that Alex Munroe died at the age of sixty-two which was already some years ago by the time the story starts. His partner, rookie cop Linda, wears a  terminal on her arm which picks up Alex's 'field' and allows her to communicate with him. There's a bit of geeky science stuff to explain how the technology works, but Petkus manages to get this across to the reader without sounding like she has been busy swotting up on those computer manuals they don't even bother to print any more.
 
We are in a parallel universe (of sorts), where in the late twentieth century it was discovered that an afterlife actually existed and due to the development of 'the afternet' it is suddenly possible to communicate with the dead - or rather 'disembodied' (the word 'dead' is now considered to be a rather prejudicial term) who are only just beginning, for want of a better expression, to find their feet. The book suggests that in the future there may be a growing struggle for 'disembodied rights'. In fact the plot concerns itself with the disappearance of several disembodied people - a rather neat idea I thought - someone appears to have been abducting the dead! The disembodied, who were also invisible to other disembodied people  too until the discovery of 'the afternet', often hang around newly installed terminals in Starbucks' coffee shops. Even so, 'afternet' technology is still in its infancy and Yamaguchi has undergone special training to enable her to work with a disembodied partner. I'm not going to get bogged down in the detail concerning communications between the living and those who are de*d, because the author has given these matters a great deal of thought and explains everything a
reader needs to know in a skilful and often humorous way, which didn't find me skipping pages or leave me bored even once.
 
The author writes with an assured confidence, and the book's main protagonists have a life that continues off the page. They are both extremely likeable, interact well together and swiftly established themselves in my imagination. I particularly enjoyed the short witty pieces which were presented as coming from a variety of different sources and preceded most of the chapters. These generally related to matters concerning the afterlife and the 'afternet' and the
reaction of the living to it. This is imaginative stuff and Jennifer Petkus employs a sly sense of humour which is very well suited to her smart scenario.
 
I am not someone who often reads Sci-Fi and if like me you habitually turn away at mention of any science stuff - take my word for it, you have nothing to worry about with Good Cop, Dead Cop. Once I had reached the book's end, I was certainly more than ready for another instalment. In this debut novel, Petkus has laid the foundation for what could easily become a very enjoyable series. I understand there is a sequel on the way and I will happily read it - there is a lot of potential here! In fact, although the main characters believe that the case has largely been wound-up, we are privy to facts that strongly suggest they are not - there are more dastardly deeds afoot!
 
This is well written, a very enjoyable read and I have no hesitation in recommending it.

Find out more about Good Cop, Dead Cop and Jennifer Petkus

Lone Star

If I had a top hundred list of favourite films (which incidentally I don't and what's more don't ever plan to have), Lone Star (1996), directed by John Sayles would most certainly be on it. It is the first film in which I ever recall seeing the superb Chris Cooper. My wife and I watched it first on British TV after it got a five star review in that week's Radio Times Film Guide, and which I suppose must've been some ten years ago now.  The film made quite an impact on both of us and over the subsequent years I tried and failed repeatedly to obtain a copy of it on DVD. For years it only appeared to be available in Region 1 format and was therefore unsuitable for our DVD players in the UK. 
But wait a minute! It suddenly became available! Hurrah! Hurrah! Although only at a fairly high price for a relatively old movie on DVD.
 
Being very careful not to write a plot-spoiler: the film starts when two off-duty soldiers uncover a human skull in the desert near their army base. Sam Deeds (Chris Cooper), the relatively new sheriff, is called in to investigate.  After some forensic tests it is soon established that the skeleton is that of Charlie Wade (terrifyingly played by Kris Kristofferson) who was himself sheriff of Rio County many years earlier. (As you may possibly have guessed after my last sentence, part of the story is told in flashback!) Wade, a widely-despised, violent and corrupt bully, had disappeared after a public quarrel with his deputy, and Sam's father, Buddy Deeds (Matthew McConaughey). Buddy Deeds is something of a local hero and as Sam investigates Charlie's murder it becomes more and more likely that his own father was the man's killer. 
However, the memory of Buddy Deeds is held in very high esteem in the community, who are about to name their new Court House after him. Sam, who we are led to believe probably only achieved his current office as a result of his late father's  good standing, is constantly warned off from digging too deeply - nobody has ever missed Charlie Wade or regretted his passing!
 
During his investigation, Sam meets up again with Pilar Cruz (the always excellent Elizabeth Peňa). Pilar was his high school sweetheart and is the lost love of his life. This relationship had been forbidden by his father, Buddy, which Sam puts down to racist prejudice, and we sense that he still carries a bitter resentment against his father for this interference in his life. Lone Star is a powerful film about the unstated tensions often present in relationships between mothers/fathers and their offspring.
 
This film is, in my book, outstanding. It has an intelligent, engaging story and an interesting mixture of central and peripheral characters, who you feel each live a life beyond whatever scene you meet them in. What's more, this story is never what you expect it to be and touches the heart without ever becoming sentimental. The film manages to be romantic too but
in an extremely off-beat kind of way. Most definitely not a mainstream movie, although I believe it was described by one critic as "almost commercial". The acting, direction and
writing for my money is top-notch. I would have no hesitation in ranking this
movie as one of my favourite films - if ever such a thing existed! Heavens
forfend!

(Update: the competition I ran last week to win five copies of Niedermayer & Hart has resulted in the book being about to be sent to Spain, Portugal, Sweden, UK and the US - frankly, I was quite amazed!)