Narrelle M. Harris's Blog, page 32

Review: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson ��� The Day They Met by Wendy C Fries

Before I begin my review of this book, a few confessions.

I adore Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. I’ve confessed this before, so it’s probably not much to admit to here, but I’m naturally predisposed to look kindly on new Holmesian stories.

Wendy Fries is also a friend of mine, and I have loved her writing since I first read it. Her style is vivacious, funny and wickedly witty, and then she goes and stabs you right in the feels before kissing it better.�� I find her work exciting in a similar (though not identical) way to the work of Mary Borsellino, of whom I have also waxed lyrical.

Fifty short stories is a lot to write, so Wendy asked people to throw prompts at her. I threw, she caught, she turned the prompt into something hilarious and perfect. I’m a bit delighted with the acknowlelgement in the back pages.

Those confessions being made, I neither embellish nor lie when I tell you how very much I loved this book, The Day They Met.

Produced by well-known Holmesian publisher, MX Publishing, these 50 short stories all retell the meeting of Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson, in different ways, in different times. (Because surely, such a great friendship, which has endured and flourished in the 128 years since their adventures were first published, would always have been destined to begin, somewhere, somewhen.)

Each short story is a little delight: tightly written yet painting very clear, incisive pictures of the two men (and what���s more, the supporting characters) as they meet for the first time.

Some stories are filled with humour ��� I was caught giggling on the tram to work more than once ��� and others with a very human insight into loneliness, courage, need and pain. Holmes and Watson were, in Conan Doyle���s original stories, two lonely men in search of a companion and purpose, and Fries evokes those hidden, driving needs extremely well, in between the deliciously outr�� crimes and their discovered shared sense of humour.

Fries has a background in writing non-fiction ��� in health, high tech and personal finance ��� which means the hints of crime and strange cases carry a flourish of intelligence and knowledge that add weight to the airiness with which they are scattered into the tales. Adding to that anchor of plausible cases and causes for meeting, we have Fries’ undeniable love of language, which can result in something playful becoming surprisingly heartfelt, and of course the reverse.

The tales roll trippingly off the page – they are very spritely indeed – and are full of sly and clever references to canon, whether set in the 19th century or the 21st.

If I���m willing to admit to a fault to The Day They Met ��� and I���m reluctant to do so ��� it probably lies with the reader: the impulse to gobble down 50 short, sharp, rich treats at once is both glorious and a bit overwhelming. Anybody who has eaten an entire box of fancy chocolatier chocolates at a sitting will know the feeling. (Not that I have done any such thing. No. Not at all. Move along, there’s nothing to see here. Tra la laaaaaa).

Luckily, unlike wee chocolate treats, a book can be re-consumed. The Day They Met is beautifully built for this. If you have an inhuman constitution that can resist the read-at-a-sitting impulse, you���ll enjoy dipping in and out of the book as the mood fits. If you���ve bolted the boxful already, well, you���ll have the pleasure of revisiting this tome of treats at leisure, perhaps taking your time to choose the flavour of your adventure.

Shall it be this vintage piece set in 1883 where they meet arguing over who has the rights to a hansom cab; or that tale of a man with PTSD who needs a clever, understanding man to short-circuit the terrors invoked by an intrusive tannoy? This 1886 glimpse of Holmes and Watson as children, or that 2008 introduction to Watson’s propensity for terrible titles. This bittersweet morsel, or that tangy observation, or perhaps this faintly bizarre one that appears to contain a couple of nuts?

Whether a lover of original canon or someone new to the Holmesian fold through BBC Sherlock, Fries’ range of stories has something to offer you. There���ll be adventure, laughter, courage and even the solution of bizarre and cruel crimes, in 50 bite-sized pieces.

And always and forever, there will be the Great Detective and his Boswell by the hearth at 221b Baker Street.

Buy The Day They Met

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson: The Day They Met: 50 New Ways the World’s Most Legendary Partnership Might Have Begun (Amazon.com)
The Day They Met (Amazon.uk)
The Day They Met (Book Depository)
The Day They Met (MX Publishing)

Find out more about Wendy at:

Wendy C Fries’ website

Narrelle M Harris is a Melbourne-based writer. Find out more about her books, smartphone apps, public speaking and other activities at www.narrellemharris.com.

Storyteller: Flash Fiction

I’m not much into fashion, but I do like wearable art and the ways in which clothing and outerwear can express (or conceal) aspects of personality. The Jean Paul Gaultier exhibiton at the NGV in Melbourne is all about this, in fact, and was fascinating to see.

La Trobe University, which has an education partnership with NGV (and with whom I’ve been working on some related projects, ), had the 1dentities photo booth up on Friday nights. There, you had your photo taken while you said a single word you thought encapusalted your identity. The word I immediately chose was ‘Storyteller’.

A project to work with the university using these pictures and flash fiction didn’t quite come together, but I hated to abandon the sample stories I’d written. I can’t use the photos, except for my own, but here are some little stories inspired by the labels people chose for themselves as part of The Fashion World of Jean Paul Gaultier: from the Sidewalk to the Catwalk at NGV.

Storyteller

Some labels are windows and some are doors. Some are shields and some are prisons.�� Every label tells a story, though it���s not always a true story. Or maybe the label is just someone else���s truth.

I���m a storyteller. I invent truths all the time. Perhaps it���s more accurate to say that my writing attempts to wrap types of truth up inside fictions, inspired by the world I see. The 1dentity stories I tell aren���t true stories about real people. But maybe they will be true stories about being human.

Then again, maybe you���ll just learn true stories about me, wrapped up in the fiction of someone else���s label.

Resourceful

Everyone wants to be McGyver-resourceful: to cobble together a rubber band, three toothpicks and a wind-up toy into a terrific device to save the world.

Okay, so maybe some people want to be Jackie-Chan-resourceful: doing fast, clever things with chairs, pool cues, even a karaoke machine, to bamboozle the bad guys. Or Bear-Gryllis-resourceful. That���ll be how to survive the zombie apocalypse!

But there���s an everyday kind of resourceful, where you look at the world with wide-open eyes, and see each thing free of labels, not only as itself, but what it was, and what it could be.

Forget what it says on the tin. Crack open your notions. Reshape and revive a thing, an idea, maybe a whole life.

Go ahead. Be resourceful.

Enough

Katie wished that people would be more accurate with their words. ���It���s enough,��� they said, as though that meant that it was only just enough. Merely adequate.

But enough was more than enough. Enough was full and plump and replete with potential. Enough was ample and it was abundant. It was sufficient and also to the degree required for satisfaction.

So Katie knew that she was hopelessly human, that she was flawed and had so much still to learn about life; and she also knew that her flaws and the gaps in her knowledge didn���t make her less. She had strength enough, and heart enough, and brain enough to take on the world, if she had to.

Enough meant equal to what is needed, and Katie knew she was equal to any challenge.

Curious

Benjamin was curious, in all senses of the word. He wanted to know everything about the world. He wanted to open every lid, peer into every shadowed corner, lift every rock and know every secret. He wanted the universe to be known.

Mind you, he wasn���t bothered by the fact that the universe wasn���t known. Asking the question was the important part.

As a result, Benjamin���s friends sometimes thought he was other kinds of curious. As in singular. As in unconventional and offbeat. As in The Curious Incident of the Benjamin in the Nighttime, when he���d spent a night on a rooftop with a telescope and tracked a distant comet for hours and hours and hours instead of going to the post-match booze-up.

Benjamin just wanted to know what the comet looked like, burning across space and time (time, he explained to his brother later, because by the time the light reached his eye, the comet had long passed them; it was a kind of temporal trick, the speed of light).

Benjamin is curious about everything. Why do flavours have flavour? Why are smells nostalgic? Where is the love? But it���s okay that he doesn���t have the answers yet. The joy is half in the asking, and half in seeking the answer.

Unbelievable

���I don���t believe it.���

Rae���s mouth softened in what might have been a smile, though it was a curve made of irritation and challenge too. ���Believe it or don���t. No skin off my nose.���

���You���re really a mechanic?���

���I said I was a mechanic when I was a kid. I worked in my dad���s garage all through university. I suppose you could say I still am a mechanic; I still have the skills, but of course I design machines these days. Well, aircraft to be precise. I���m an engineer.���

���My god, really? I don���t believe it!���

Rae sighed. ���You really need to do something about your rigid belief systems.���

Visit The Fashion World of Jean Paul Gaultier: from the Sidewalk to the Catwalk at NGV.

Narrelle M Harris is a Melbourne-based writer. Find out more about her books, smartphone apps, public speaking and other activities at www.narrellemharris.com.

Aussie Culture, According to Film

Hello all, and welcome to 2015! The end of 2014 was full of non-internety things that made blogging impossible, but I’m back! (You may read that as Schwarzenegger-esque, The Shining-esque or simply as a cheery greeting. You be the judge.)

January is a month where many Australians consider their Australian-ness in some fashion. Australia Day is on 26 January, but that date is viewed as problematic as it also marks the date where Europeans landed in Sydney Cove and proceeded to disposses the existing inhabitants.

A lot of immigrants take up Australian citizenship on that date, too, swearing an oath and receiving a gum tree sapling (and some Vegemite I was wrong) as gifts to welcome them to their new home. The Australian of the Year is usually announced then too. Let’s not forget radio station JJJ announcing the JJJ Hottest 100 songs of the preceding year, which usually heralds a lesser but still vocal controversy about the diversity of acts (or lack thereof) represented in the voting.

Still, one way or another, many citizens of this wide, brown land spend at least a little time this month thinking about our history, our culture and what it means to be Australian.

Of course, it means many different things because ‘Australian’ is a broad label for a huge number of very different people who all happen to be citizens, by birth or by choice, of this giant island in the southern hemisphere. Nevertheless, certain ideas about ourselves as a nation tend to coalesce – though it has to be said that some of those ideas represent values that exist in many other cultures too.

Cultural labels that come to mind, though, are things like ‘laid back’ or ‘the fair go'; ‘mateship’ and ‘larrikinism’. Then we can have a whole other debate on what words like that even mean.

Taking another approach, though – I’ve had conversations from time to time about what films or TV shows I might give to someone who wanted to garner an idea of what it is to be Australian. (As an aside, the first feature film ever made was made in Australia – The Story of the Kelly Gang. Pretty Aussie, that.) My friend, Rod Sherwin, and I were discussing it once more over Christmas drinks and we decided to attempt to compile a list.

So, for what it’s worth, here is a suggested list of depictions of Australia which might give you a hint, whether you are from beyond these shores or if you are a born or naturalised citizen and still trying to work out what the hell it’s all about.

FILMS

The Castle immediately springs to mind. That feel-good film about the little guy versus bureaucracy; about people who love the lives they live, who celebrate suburbia and each other. A film about mateship and the fair go. It also features Eric Bana in a supporting role before he went off and got buff to play heroes and villains in Hollywood.

Picnic at Hanging Rock remains, after nearly 40 years, haunting and beautiful. It also echoes the European fear and distrust of the Australian outback which is evident from the earliest colonial paintings and epitomised by Frederick McCubbin’s painting Lost. It’s moody and disturbing, but much less terrifying than Wolf Creek, which does nothing to entice visitors to our shores.

The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert – drag queens, road trips across the outback, a bus called Priscilla, and a cock in a frock on a rock. Australia’s not all football jocks, surfers and Crocodile Dundee. Australia is also queer, funny, vulnerable and finds love in unexpected places.

Gallipoli told the story of the failed battle that helped Australia forge an image of itself less than twenty years after Federation and when white Australia still largely regarded itself as essentially British. For some, the blood of Australian and New Zealand troops shed on that Turkish beach “washed away the convict stain”. However you see it, or the war in which it was one failed invasion attempt, it formed the basis of a modern mythology of what it is to be Australian.

Ten Canoes, directed by Rolf de Heer, is funny, moving, enlightening and beautifully shot. It’s also entirely in an indigenous language, Yolgnu Matha, with an English narration supplied by David Gulpilil.

Undead is the zombie film for lovers of horror, Australian-style. Made on the cheap, it’s also drily hilarous and contains one of my favourite movie lines ever. “In my day, children respected their parents. They didn’t eat ‘em.” The mix of Australian humour with a trope more associated with American films is a treat.

Strictly Ballroom was Baz Luhrman’s first big film hit and bears his trademark hyper-realistic style. It also, against a backdrop of ballroom dancing, looks a little at migrant experience, the value of blazing your own trail and the cost of abandoning your dreams. The dancing is also fantastic.

Crackerjack is another celebration of suburbia set around a bowls club, with that quirky humour that we so love.

Of course, there are heaps of other Australian films that showcase not only talent but different views of being Australian. Paperback Hero has Hugh Jackman as the sensitive outback guy who writes romance novels under the name of his best friend, laconic tomboy Ruby (Claudia Karvan) and touches on ideas of masculinity, if only briefly. There’s Mad Max and The Cars that Ate Paris and the recent, brilliant The Babadook for Australian takes on SF and horror. Comedies like Malcolm, Cosi and Muriel’s Wedding and musicals like The Sapphires and Bran Nue Day all have something to say about Australian people and culture.

TELEVISION

The Code, made in 2014, made Canberra – long disparaged as an ugly, soulless place – well, not beautiful. But intriguing, dangerous, and paranoid. Superbly written, directed and performed, this thriller draws together rural and urban communities and concerns, security, politics and provides a more modern view of Australia than we normally get on our small screen.

Janet King was also a brilliant and gripping legal drama/thriller, with a queer protagonist, terrific writing and motivations for crime that are complex and textured.

Kath and Kim is of course the quintessential Australian suburban comedy. It’s often been said that everyone knows a Kath or a Kim, but no-one will admit to being a Kath or a Kim.

Frontline, a comedy about a 60-Minutes-style news program, is perennially relevant. When it first came out, it altered the way some magazine format ‘news’ shows presented stories, because it so accurately and brilliantly skewered their tricks and habits. It’s probably time for a repeat, to keep the bastards on their toes.

We Can Be Heroes saw Chris Lilley play a wide variety of characters of different genders, ages and even ethnicities. It’s a bit of a minefield, that, but Lilley walked that line well and brought sharp observation and at times heart wrenching poignancy to his portrayals of a group of people all nominated for Australian of the Year.

Outland gave us a break from the relentlessly ‘realist’ direction style of so many Australian shows (at least until Janet King and The Code showed up), its visual style inspired by British shows like Spaced and The Book Group. It’s ostensibly about a queer SF fan club, but they’re mostly out and proud about their sexuality. It’s their nerdiness that’s mainly in the closet. Modern, funny and clever. And yes, it was co-written by John Richards, who is family, but as I often say – just because I’m biased, it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.

Please Like Me was another comedy that was often more of a drama, written by and starring Josh Thomas. Another take on modern Australia and full of young, diverse characters and unexpected moments of heartbreak.

Mr Squiggle perhaps, like Vegemite, defies description. Maybe it’s something you just had to be born to. It’s a kid’s show where a little puppet man with a pencil for a nose comes to Earth in a talking rocket. He is given a series of random lines drawn on a white board that’s propped up on a talking blackboard, and he uses his nose to turn the lines into drawings (often the wrong way up). I don’t know what it says about being Australian, but for many generations it was an essential part of growing up (along with Dr Who, The Goodies and Monkey). Don’t knock it. That’s my childhood there, people!

Australian children’s television has also always been imaginative and clever, and much more likely to use fantasy or science fiction in its storytelling than films and shows made for adults. I used to watch The Girl from Tomorrow on Egyptian TV when I lived in Cairo in the 90s and Heartbreak High managed to get in characters from migrant backgrounds. The Silver Brumby was based on a series of books about wild horses (brumbies) that I ate up with a spoon when I was a child.

So there we go. A sort of ‘Australia 101 on Screen’ if you want to start to get an idea about what Australians are like, in all their diversity.

Naturally I’ll have missed stuff – so feel free to comment with your own recommendations!

Narrelle M Harris is a Melbourne-based writer. Find out more about her books, smartphone apps, public speaking and other activities at www.narrellemharris.com.

[Image via 123RF.com]

f2m: The Next Chapter

f2m The Boy Within

In 2010, Ford Street Publishing released f2M: The Boy Within, by Hazel Edwards and Ryan Kennedy, about Skye, born female but identifying as male, and his journey to transition to the male he knows himself to be.

The book met with some controversy but also huge support – including a short-listing for the internationally prestigious White Ravens best YA fiction award in 2011. The book was also praised by youth services as one that could help young people dealing with transition issues of their own – either by finding someone with a story similar to theirs, or by giving the book to others in their lives to help them to understand.

Now, the book’s life is extending into a documentary about Ryan Kennedy, whose experiences informed some of Finn’s story. A short version of the documentary by Kailash Studios is on YouTube – a discussion with Hazel and with Ryan, talking about the impact of the book and Ryan’s life.

 

If you’re interested in the full, 25 minute documentary, contact Kailash Studios for information.

Hazel has also written about what it was like to collaborate with Ryan on a book that has been the centre of so much praise as well as controversy.

Now available as an e-book – a move that makes it more accessible to some of the people to whom it is so relevant – f2m continues to generate conversation and, we hope, greater understanding.

Read Hazel Edwards’ Boomerang Books post on Collaboration and Controversy
Read my review of f2m: The Boy Within
Read my post on The Book the Scared Libraries

Buy f2m: The Boy Within:

F2M: the boy within – paperback from Melbourne’s Hares and Hyenas (recommended)
F2M: the boy within – paperback from Boomerang books
f2m: the boy within- Amazon paperback
f2m (the boy within)- Kindle

Ask your library to order it in for you or recommend it to your book group.

You can download a study guide here or from Hazel Edwards’ website.

Discussion Notes f2m (3MB)

Narrelle M Harris is a Melbourne-based writer. Find out more about her books, smartphone apps, public speaking and other activities at www.narrellemharris.com.

Melbourne Fringe Festival 2014: Three recommendations

Hot on the heels of my review of the Richard III production in London (starring a brilliantly evil Martin Freeman) I thought I might offer up some recommendations to Melburnians while the Fringe Festival is upon us.

Firstly, and belatedly, I vastly enjoyed Dan Willis’s The Walking Dead. While it’s full of spoilers for the TV show (mainly, a litany of the dead) it is very funny, and Dan knows his stuff. Plus I got to confess my own plans for surviving the Zombie Apocalypse… because what else do you do with an idle hour on the tram except work out what you’re going to do when the shambling undead come chewing at your door?

Unfortunately, the last show is Thursday 26 September – but the Fringe website indicates it’ll lurch to life again one more time on 5 October. The show’s on at the Court House Hotel in North Melbourne.

The next show on a spooky theme which I loved was Who’s Afraid of the Dark? presented by the comic talents of Watson – Tegan Higginbotham, Adam McKenzie and their crew. Rock up to the old Watchhouse next to the Old Melbourne Gaol for what starts as a night of spooky stories and turns into… something else. It’s very funny and very dramatic in turns, as well as very spooky, and I will confess that at one point I squealed like a frightened little babby. This one’s on for another week, so there’s plenty of time to go along and pretend you’re not scared.

Finally, there is the utterly delightful New Zealand show The Bookbinder, by Trick of the Light Theatre, on at the Lithuanian Club in North Melbourne. Ralph McCubbin Howell is the bookbinder-storyteller who sits behind a large desk and proceeds to use lampshades, lights, paper figures, shadow puppets and a pop-up book to spin a spooky yarn about the dangers of cutting corners. Howell’s performance, taking on all the characters, is wonderful, and the story he and director Hannah Smith is a very Neil Gaiman-esque tale involving young characters, whimsy and horror. The blend of storytelling techniques, the warmth of the performance and the charm-and-creepiness of the story make this my favourite of the three, though it’s a close run thing.

So if you haven’t ventured out yet this festival, and you like a touch of the macabre as I do, one of these three (or indeed all three) is a good place to start.

Book your tickets:

The Walking Dead – to 26 September and then on 5 October
Who’s Afraid of the Dark?- to 2 October
The Bookbinder – to 4 October

Narrelle M Harris is a Melbourne-based writer. Find out more about her books, smartphone apps, public speaking and other activities at www.narrellemharris.com.

Review: Richard III at Trafalgar Studios, London

During my recent travels, I was lucky enough to see Martin Freeman in the title role of Richard III at the Trafalgar Studios in London.

Of course, while Freeman was a major draw for me (I’m a sucker for a Watson), I’m always up for a spot of Shakespeare, particularly with plays I’m not as familiar with. I’m sure I’ve seen this staged before, but couldn’t for the life of me tell you where or when. I’m most familiar with the splendid film starring Ian McKellen and featuring folks like Robert Downey Junior, Jim Broadbent, Annette Bening, NIgel Hawthorn and Maggie Smith.

This London production has a splendid ensemble cast of its own, including the marvellous Maggie Steed as a (literally) haunting Queen Margaret and Gina McKee as Queen Elizabeth (mother of the hapless Princes in the Tower).

This production is set in the turbulent 1970s – the program notes refer to specific political turmoil in the UK that meant little to me, but the sense of revolution and political machinations doesn’t need a specific set of events to give the setting flavour. The set is both a blessing and a curse – the desks block out the stage into a series of barriers, which effectively convey the idea that everyone is at odds with and estranged from everyone else. Certainly, Richard’s plots and schemes wouldn’t have been half so effective if his targets had been at all unified, but their rivalries and old enmities make it easy for him to divide and conquer (and, of course, murder horribly on a regular basis).

While excellent at physically expressing this division, the choice to break up the scenery in this way can be a bit restrictive in how the space is used, with characters having to constantly allow for the obstacles. Still, even compartmentalised, the area is used well.

When I told people I was going to see Martin Freeman in Richard III, many expressed doubt. That nice Tim from The Office? The Hobbit? That lovely John Watson in Sherlock? A vicious, cold-blooded laughing, limping murderer? Really?

Oh yes, people. Really. Freeman has always had a great command of his physicality, and here he portrays Richard (slight hunch, slight limp, and a right arm he never uses for the duration) with all the wicked, gleeful viciousness that the role gives scope for. From that first speech, where Richard confesses his aims to commit the most terrible villainy to spite the world that has no place for him, Freeman’s portrayal of a calculating and intelligent Richard has an acidic, sharp edge to it, filled with energy and edginess There’s plenty of wicked humour too: it’s a miracle of writing, that such an utter bastard can speak to the audience through humour so that we laugh even as we deplore his cruelty.

And when Richard gains his crown and can afford to pull back on his destructive venom, what does he do? He plans the murders of his nephew and his wife and anyone else he thinks could threaten him. His brutality begins to look less like ambition and a lot more like pure spite, pure hatred and, let’s face it, a whole truckload of self-destructive self loathing as well.

For me, there have always been two key scenes in Richard III to make it work. There has to be some humanity in Richard. Not human kindness, no – but a sense that someone so vile is still very much a human being. That he is not some alien embodiment of hate, but a very human embodiment of that emotion. So, for me, there are two key scenes in which this is demonstrated.

The first is his confrontation with his mother, after he has despatched of his brothers yet still somehow hopes for some word of motherly love from her. From the script, I’ve always suspected that her dislike of him predates his sly and vicious plans as an adult – and that she has recoiled from him since he was a child; and that therefore, in terms of modern understanding of development, Richard is asa much as product of his treatment from birth as to his inate nature. Mackellen’s portrayal in the film captured this well, and Freeman manages that same unexpected sense of vulnerability here. Certainly, if she had offered Richard any kindness in this scene, I suspect it would have been spat on and thrown back in her face, but the glimpse of how he came to be this cruel king is, to me, an important insight to his motivations.

The second key scene in understanding Richard’s humanity is late in the second half, when he wakes from nightmares before the final battle and confesses to his own self that he does not love himself – “in fact I rather hate myself, for the evil that I have done” (to paraphrase). Again, Freeman conveys a human frailty and vulnerability here without letting us forget that Richard chose to be what he is. There is understanding here, without offering excuses.

In the scene where Richard has to be ‘persuaded’ to accept the crown, Freeman at last exaggerates the limp and the hunch, as though Richard is daring them all to make him their king, with all the physical deformities for which he has been mocked all his life. Once he accepts the kingship, he straightens his back and gets right into the business of demonstrating that he can be so much worse than anything he was ever accused of before in his life.

Interestingly, Richard’s death is the only one in the play that’s quick – perhaps because Richard has spent the entire play slowly dying, committing a horrible kind of suicide through spite. There’s a relief in it, when he drops like a stone, that all the suffering is finally done, his own as well as that he has inflicted on his lacerated and bloodied kingdom.

I’ve focused on Freeman’s performance here, but it is, as I said, a superb ensemble cast. Maggie Steed haunts the stage as the deposed Queen Margaret, laying curses and watching with genteel glee (at one stage sipping on a teacup full of, apparently, blood) as every curse comes to pass. In her way she’s as cruel as Richard, motivated by revenge.  Gerald Kyd’s Catesby and Jo Stone-Fewings’ Buckingham are excellent foils for Richard’s acid wit, and Paul Leonard brings dignity to the role of Stanley, caught in the middle of his duty and his better sense. Lauren O’Neill’s tragic Lady Ann and McKee’s defiant Elizabeth are strong enough presences to hold the stage against such an intense (and intensely vicious) Richard.

Jamie Lloyd’s direction is crisp, keeping the pace snappy – except for those brilliantly excruciating murders (some of which usually happen off stage) which are drawn out with perfect timing. Murder is messy, and people on the whole die slowly and horribly – and it’s brutal and uncomfortable and unflinching. (Well, maybe the audience is flinching. I know I flinched, anyway.)

I could write for a long time about my thoughts on the story and the script, and how those ideas are teased out here, but that’s perhaps a whole other essay. What I conclude is this: Lloyd’s production of Richard III is excellent; fast, funny, brutal and very, very human.

If you can’t make it to London for the productions last days (it closes on 27 september) here are some clips of the cast talking about it, including Martin Freeman in his Richard III beard. He doesn’t look nearly so terrifying here as he does in the play.

Visit the Trafalgar Studios Richard III site. (If you go, be warned, these are some of the most uncomfortable theatre seats I’ve ever had to sit in. And I’ve sat in a lot of bloody uncomfortable theatre seats.)

Narrelle M Harris is a Melbourne-based writer. Find out more about her books, smartphone apps, public speaking and other activities at www.narrellemharris.com.

These Vagabond Shoes (Are Longing to Stray)

Well, here I am in the Big Apple. New York (New Yoooork, it’s a wonderful tooooown!). The location of so many TV shows I’ve loved: Castle. Beauty and the Beast. Fame. Flight of the Conchords. Elementary.

Top Cat.

You’d think the celluloid connections would suggest plenty of things to do and see in New York, but that’s not the case. I’m not that interested in chasing down film locations for the sake of it (and in any case, many locations from NY-set shows aren’t necessarily in New York, or even real).

Ticking Off the List of Big Things is also not something I’m very keen on. Of course I took the ferry to see the Statue of Liberty, though I didn’t disembark at Liberty Island. She looks grand enough from the water.

I liked the immigration museum on Ellis Island too, because the social history of New York is fascinating. Tim and I saw some great pieces at the Museum of Modern Art, and tomorrow we’re taking in an off-Broadway show – but I’m happy enough to look at the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings from across the East River or from the street below, without having to climb them.

Into the boroughs

Instead, I find great pleasure in exploring neighbourhoods. I enjoyed poking around odd little parts of London at the start of this trip, and this week I’ve had the best fun away from the crowds, noise and bustle of Manhattan’s Midtown and Downtown. Instead, I’ve seen what places like Queens, Bushwick and Flushing have to offer. As a writer, a city’s commercial heart may be interesting, but it can lack the texture of the areas where locals live, work and play.

It was in the boroughs and quieter ‘hoods of Manhattan that I noticed things like the graffiti and the way the trapdoors to basements might be left open – perhaps for the unwary to fall into. It’s there I saw kids playing, and noticed the housing that was clad in weatherboard as well as brick; where we stopped at local cafes and had brief but entertaining conversations with staff and customers.

Long Island City, Queens

A lot of the boroughs are kind of quirky. The Z Hotel in Long Island City, Queens, gave us a terrific view across the East River to the Manhattan skyline, while being located amidst taxicab depots and a lot of light industry.

New Yorkers would have nothing to do with the odd passive-aggressive ‘Polite Notices’ (that weren’t especially polite) that I kept seeing in London, and instead tell it like it is with signs frankly warning you not to park in private parking areas.

This area also had a lot of these very old fashioned fire alarm systems – any passer-by could pull the lever to alert emergency services of a fire. We weren’t convinced that they were still active, though this one seemed to be attached to the telegraph wires. Tim had to exercise superhuman control to not pull the lever just to see what would happen.

In any case, Long Island City was a nice low-key district (and it was by chance I discovered that Silvertop Studios, which makes Elementary, is housed nearby). I had a pleasant time meeting the locals when I visited the local laundromat on our first night to clean up my travel wardrobe.

Lower West Side, Manhattan

But it’s not all sassy signage and soap bubbles. Sometimes it’s reclaimed parkland. The High Line is a former above-ground freight rail line that was abandoned and then, in recent years, reclaimed as a linear park. Threading among derelict factories, new housing complexes and rejuvenated neighbourhoods in the Lower West Side, it starts in Chelsea and ends in the Meatpacking District.

The paths are pleasant, the greenery encouraged to grow without too much manicuring. It’s a welcome respite from the madness of the rest of Manhattan. It’s full of locals as well as visitors, and the path cleaves through a building at one point where you can get food and even a really excellent espresso coffee. (That’s right – New York has discovered espresso and the Melburnian coffee-holic can survive quite handily here.)

Central Park, Manhattan

The High Line isn’t the only lovely green space in New York. There’s the famous Central Park, too. No sign of Vincent the cat-faced, poetry-reading, tortured-yet-cuddly hero of 1980s Beauty and the Beast, but there was a lawn. On which we stretched out for little while, loving the rich smell of grass and loam, soaking up the hot New York summer sun until I began to wonder if I could get sunburned through my jeans, and also wondering if I would be nested on by squirrels if I sat still long enough. I took a flat-on-my-belly-in-the-grass-eye-view picture to convey some of the loveliness of my Lazy New York Adventure.

Flushing, Queens

Another wonderful green space is in Flushing, the home of the World Fairs of 1939 and 1964. Very little remains of the old fairs beyond the layout and a few key structures (like the Unisphere, at the top of this post) but it’s a wonderfully quiet area in the borough of Queens.

When the sirens, the crowds, the smell of the subway and the sight of steam billowing out of grates (it really does do that) has your senses demanding downtime, a train to this huge park is just the ticket.

And when you have had enough of bloody parks as well, you can find some interesting urban neighbourhoods to explore.

Bushwick, Brooklyn

But wait! I think I lied about the sassy signage! Not all of it is official, and I loved this little doublet of graffiti stuck on the side of a posting box in Bushwick, Brooklyn.

I also got a little unexpected NYPD Street Theatre in Bushwick, when I popped into a post office to buy postcard stamps and two burly officers seemed to appear out of thin air to deal with a customer who was getting stroppy with the staff about some problem with a… thing.

God knows. But they dealt with it with the kind of calm sternness one associates with the gruffer kind of primary school teacher, and nobody got shot. (I suspect I watch waaaaaay too many crime shows…)

Bushwick also has some fabulous street art and we came across some great examples on a street that also boasted a coffee shop with a Twin Peaks theme.

Manhattan transfer

But if you love the bustling heart of a great big city, it’s there. The New York subway is every bit as grungy, sweaty, zippy and intriguing as I’ve always thought it would be; the New York delis as thriving and fascinating as expected, and with excellent food.

New Yorkers are forthright but mostly friendly, and they never seem to mind that Sinatra’s New York, New York is an earworm that I can’t help singing as I walk along.

Apart from anything else, Midtown gifted me with this gem – a Cupcake ATM. That’s right. An ATM. THAT DISPENSES CUPCAKES!!

No matter what you want from it – TV locations, green spaces, mad bustle, cupcakes from an ATM – New York, ladies and gentleman, does not disappoint.

Thank you to the Z Hotel and NYC and Co for discounted accommodation and other assistance.

Narrelle M Harris is a Melbourne-based writer. Find out more about her books, smartphone apps, public speaking and other activities at www.narrellemharris.com.

The Lady Novelist Fangirls Out in Cardiff

When Tim and I were walking down to Cardiff Bay, on our way to the Doctor Who Experience, I said to him: “I’m getting my fangirl geek on for this.”

Tim laughed and laughed at that one. As if my fangirl geek wasn’t already on; wasn’t constantly on. It was a fair cop. I therefore declared that I was flicking dust from my fangirl geek cuffs, setting it hat at a raking angle and walking jauntily towards my date with Adventure! Or at least with the Doctor Who Experience!

I’ve wanted to go to the exhibition and interactive adventure ever since Tim saw it in London a while back and spoke so highly of it. Since then, it had moved to its permanent and purpose-built home in Cardiff, so of course we made time for it on our current Tour of Blighty. (We got in just in time – the Experience closes very shortly for an overhaul, and will reopen in October with a brand new Doctor and a whole new Experience!)

The exhibits are great, but it really is the interactive experience that makes this whole thing worth a visit (and the price of entry). Lighting effects, physical effects, atmospheric sets and effective soundscapes make for a fun and immersive activity – but as always with theatre (which it undoubtedly is) the key element is the participants’ own willing suspension of disbelief. As an adult it would be too easy to decide it’s all just smoke and mirrors (or lighting effects and sensaround) and not be impressed, but you won’t have any fun that way.

Instead, I let a lifetime of being spooked by threatening creatures; feeling excited by the appearance of the TARDIS; and yearning to be a companion for just one adventure carry the moment.

I managed to in fact spook myself and duck once or twice and have a rip-roaring good time. If you missed the Matt Smith version, I’m sure the upcoming Peter Capaldi adventure will be just as good. And if you saw this version – now you have an excuse to come back!

The static exhibition will no doubt have more costumes and props to display as well.

But Cardiff has more for the fangirl and boy than the Doctor Who Experience. There’s also a semi-official memorial to a fictional character, and a castle that plays supporting roles in show.

The Ianto Jones Shrine sprang up after that character met his sad fate in the third season of Torchwood. I wasn’t a fan of the first two seasons of the show, but I thought the third was excellent SF (and it had Capaldi in it, huzzah!) but Ianto’s death was sad very effecting. It certainly seems to have made an impact on his fans, who started an impromptu shrine on the boardwalk by Cardiff Bay. It became such a big thing that the local authorities finally erected a permanent plaque about the shrine to a fictional character.

One theme that popped up in several of the letters and notes attached to the grating of the wall was the notion that he did not pass a ‘blip in time’. One item hung on the grate was in memory of a woman who wasn’t able to get to Cardiff in person due to ill health and passed away – her friends leaving a note to her that ‘you aren’t just a blip in time to us, either’.

I’m sure there are essays out there exploring more of why this character and his death affected so many, but I think that speech of his touched a nerve. Perhaps most of us will pass without having made any major impact on history or broader life, but perhaps we want to know that we mattered more than passingly to those we loved.

Memory does endure, though, especially if any of the exhbitions and articles about Great War I’ve been exploring are any indication. Loss leaves a hole, and though it may stop bleeding and may heal over with a scar, there will often be that mark, that absence of a person who should have been there, a hole in the fabric of broader lives… and I’m getting too philosophical maybe, after an afternoon spent at the Imperial War Museum, but anyway. A human response to the loss of a single fictional character is a sort of dress rehearsal for other losses, and none of those lost are blips. They always leave spaces in personal histories and individual hearts.

After reflecting on death and loss and people both real and invented, I spent part of the next day at Cardiff Castle. With BBC Wales based in Cardiff, it’s no wonder that the Castle is used as a location in many shows shot here – including two of my favourites, Dr Who and Sherlock.The Castle even offers a film location tour on this aspect of the site.

Having said that, though, I wasn’t all squeeful about spotting TV locations around the castle, because I am separately a fan of castles in their own right. Castles are neat! Castles are filled with layers of history, and layers of imagination. Castles weren’t always used for fortification, or at least not only for fortification. They have pasts full of luxury and leisure as well as warlike stances and defensive bristling.

Cardiff Castle, for example, has roots down to the Roman era; it has a Norman keep. The main living quarters are all faux-medieval having been done up in the 19th Century as Gothic Revival; and in the 20th Century it was opened to locals as a bomb shelter during WWII.

Elements of the Gothic Revival decorations entertained me the most, though. Oh, our Victorian era brethren, how you loved to make stuff up and then pass it off as tradition! You sure made a mess for the lovers of historical accuracy, but as a storyteller, I can’t help but to think you delightful for your crazy. (Speaking of which, I love the Attack Beavers depicted on the rooftop water fountain. They look like their fish are loaded and they are not afraid to use ‘em.)

Discussing this with Tim, we wondered whether that Victoria habit of making up ‘traditional’ legends and traditions was a reaction to industrialisation; and whether our modern habit of being all retro hip with 19th Century hipster beards and 1950s Betty Page hair-dos and cupcakes is a similar treasure-the-past reaction to contemporary anxiety about constant connectivity, climate change and fear of surveillance through the smart devices to which we are so addicted.

Or, you know, maybe we just think the hair is cool.

Finally, I leave you with a giant and rather cranky owl who squawked a lot and glared with his giant golden eyes because he wanted his dinner RIGHT NOW. He was like a giant feathered cat.

The castle falconer had a number of birds out for us to see. The white barn owl made me think of Hedwig (and that always makes me weepy) and there was a tiny wee owl called Pocket who of course made me think of the Weasley’s owl, Errol, only Pocket was more sprightly and even cuter.

So. Cardiff. A fangirl’s delight. I recommend it. 

Thank you to Visit Britain and Visit Wales for hosting us.

Narrelle M Harris is a Melbourne-based writer. Find out more about her books, smartphone apps, public speaking and other activities at www.narrellemharris.com.

Writers’ Insecurity? Stake that vampire in its cold, dead heart!

Copyright: Novic / 123RF Stock Photo

No doubt the topic of writerly insecurity has been covered before. And it will be again. And we will probably all quote Neil Gaiman’s story about calling his agent to say how awful his latest book was.

But the thing is, this writerly insecurity is a persistent infection. It’s a nasty little bastard that makes life hard. So we need to innoculate ourselves frequently. It’s not a waste of time to repeat the story. It’s a damned survival skill.

I read that story of Gaiman’s years ago, and it was a kind of lifeline to me. The news that Neil Gaiman experienced the same doubts that I did was a revelation. The fact that his writerly insecurities happened so often that he talked about hating every single word as simply a regular phase of writing made me feel so much better as a writer.

I mean, if Mr-Hugo-Nebula-Carnegie Winner feels that way too, then it’s obvious that I’m not alone, and that all writers must get attacked by the same collywobbles in much the same way.

Furthermore, that means that the voice in your head telling you that what you’re doing is rubbish is not necessarily telling you the truth, and that the little bastard is certainly not your friend.

Obviously, it never hurts to assess what you’re working on, and to work on it till your fingers bleed and your eyeballs dry out from staring, to ensure you are doing the best work you know how. But if you are working like a Trojan already, then chances are that the snide little voice in your head is what one playwright called a ‘Vampire of Doubt’.

In the musical [Title of Show] there is a whole song and dance sequence about the self-doubt that creeps in. With wit and nifty harmonies, the song Die, Vampire, Die identifies that voice of doubt and disparagement that whispers in your ear to “give up, you’re no good, blah blah blah” and gives some quite good advice about it.

(Here it is – with a language warning!)

 By the way, one of my favourite bits of the lyric, which is a spoken section, is:

“Why is it that if some dude walked up to me on the subway platform and said these things, I’d think he was a mentally ill asshole, but if the vampire inside my head says it, It’s the voice of reason.”

We are always all too ready to accept our vampire of doubt as the Voice of Truth. And it’s not.

Of course, writers need to develop a rational and balanced sense of our work, to know when it’s not coming together as planned, when to do better. But we need to learn to separate the rational practice of improving as writers from the simple fear that we’re not good enough.

If you want to improve as a writer, then write more. Write differently, experiment, play around with ideas, push yourself, ask for external feedback, collaborate.

Start, continue, finish – then start again.

But don’t let the vampire of doubt make you stop.

Stake that bloodsucking bastard right in the heart and keep on writing.

Narrelle M Harris is a Melbourne-based writer. Find out more about her books, smartphone apps, public speaking and other activities at www.narrellemharris.com.

Launceston, architecture and ghosts

Tim and I have been in Launceston for a few days, guests of Launceston City Council, and have been sampling copious amounts of cider and excellent food. For science!

Well, no, probably not for science, but we’ve been dedicated, I promise you that. This evening, we went on the Launceston City Ghost Tour, guided by Bill – he of the cape and atmospheric voice.

The night was bitterly cold but Bill set a brisk pace as he walked us around the centre of Launceston, visiting wonderful old buildings, sometimes leading us into darkened cellars and ill-lit garages, and keeping up an entertaining stream of storytelling and terrible jokes.

Launceston is Australia’s third oldest city, founded in 1806. It was from here that Batman and Fawkner set off to found Melbourne and then spend the rest of their lives arguing over who did it first.

Some lovely architecture remains intact from the city’s foundation through to the late 19th century, so naturally it’s a town ripe with folklore and spooky stories.

It’s also one of those places that was lucky enough to fall into economic decline at just the right time to avoid having these wonderful buildings knocked down – so instead of hideous mid-20th century blocks of concrete and pebblestone facades, we still have elegant churches, warehouses, former grand homes and current hotels, many beautifully restored.

For many, seeing the city’s architecture by night will be reason enough to go on the walk, but of course, it’s a ghost tour – so while I enjoyed the visual drama, I was really there for the tales of macabre deaths and gruesome deeds.

There are plenty of  both of course, along with mysterious occurrences whose origins are unknown. But Bill grins wickedly and tells the tale anyway.

There are the traditional theatre ghosts, the star-crossed lovers, the cruel murders and the terrible accidents. There are tales of hotel and pub staff disturbed by odd noises and ghostly fingers on skin, and visions of spirits running down halls.

Perhaps it’s true that my most terrifying moment in Launceston was the landing of our Jetstar flight in strong winds that made it feel like the plane was being shaken about like a maraca – but to be fair, the ghost walk was certainly a whole lot more fun than that, too. Vastly entertaining, in fact.

And if you don’t believe in ghosts – you still have the pretty buildings to look at.

When you’re in Launceston, book your ghost tour with Bill or one of the other guides at Launceston City Ghost Tours

Disclosure: Tim and I were hosted by Launceston City Council.

Narrelle M Harris is a Melbourne-based writer. Find out more about her books, smartphone apps, public speaking and other activities at www.narrellemharris.com.