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Recent visitors to the Orbit website may have read a blog by ace editor DongWon Song extolling the virtues of this site's SFF Song of the Week slot. There have been, I will have to concede, some wonderful song choices over the last few months from assorted eminent writers plus one film/TV producer. To check the back catalogue, just drift your eyes across to the left, under Debatable Archives.
Today's choice is from a writer who is a hero of mine - master of noir nastiness - creator of hitman hero Avery Cates. Yes it's the wonderful Jeff Somers. Jeff and I have become e-buddies over the last few months; I admire him and his work hugely. And, thanks to those great guys at Orbit, Jeff and I are currently cooking up a joint venture together, which looks set fair to be a marriage made in heaven. More of that anon...
Over to you Jeff...
Jeff Somers writes:
Queen “'39”
One of my fave songs overall, and a rare folky-rock song that tells a
story. A sad, shattering story ("For my life's still ahead, pity me.)
OMFG, it makes me weep every. time. I. hear. it.) of time dilation and
dying earth, which is my favorite type. I was actually unaware of it for
an embarrassingly long time despite being quite devoted to much of
Queen's catalog; I came across it in a random Googling of something or
other and my life has been different ever since. I hear it's quite a
fave for buskers to play on the streets of London, though that's hearsay.
What I love about the song, too, is that it has a short-story
sensibility, telling the story and then hitting you with the crushing
final line - no epilogue, no repeat of the chorus, just that chilling
thud and you're left sitting there, tears streaming down your face,
bottle of courage clutched in one hand. Er, I assume. It's never
happened to me, of course, as I laugh in the face of danger and
soul-chilling emotionally charged songs of dark SF.
The fact that Brian May is an honest-to-god Astrophysicist just makes
this all the better.
In the year of thirty-nine
Assembled here the volunteers
In the days when lands were few
Here the ship sailed out into the blue and sunny morn
The sweetest sight ever seen
And the night followed day
And the story tellers say
That the score brave souls inside
For many a lonely day
Sailed across the milky seas
Ne'er looked back never feared never cried
Don't you hear my call
Though you're many years away
Don't you hear me calling you
Write your letters in the sand
For the day I'll take your hand
In the land that our grand-children knew
In the year of thirty-nine
Came a ship in from the blue
The volunteers came home that day
And they bring good news
Of a world so newly born
Though their hearts so heavily weigh
For the earth is old and grey
little darlin' well away
But my love this cannot be
Oh so many years have gone
Though i'm older but a year
Your mother's eyes from your eyes cry to me
Don't you hear my call
Though you're many years away
Don't you hear me calling you
Write your letters in the sand
For the day I'll take your hand
In the land that our grand-children knew
Don't you hear my call
Though you're many years away
Don't you hear me calling you
All your letters in the sand
Cannot heal me like your hand
For my life's still ahead, pity me.
Just back from hols - a week in West Wales, mainly spent reading Gene Wolfe's splendid Book of the New Sun series. (Okay, I did ONCE go in the sea, before rushing back to Severian's story...) And now I'm back at the old computer, I find myself juggling two projects - the next novel for Orbit and a radio commission for those lovely people at BBC Radio 4, which is due for delivery, er, round about now.
The radio play is a sequel to my art fraud drama The Art of Deception. And (as you may have spotted) I've been running a regular series of Paintings of the Week on this blog over the last year, as part of my ongoing research on art-related stuff, including some rather racy material.
Just now, I'm reading a wonderful book about Pablo Picasso by artist Francoise Gilot, who was his lover. The book is evocative, moving, and brilliantly written - Gilot claims to have near perfect recall. And her book conjures up the spirit of the iconoclastic, manipulative, brilliant, egotistical Picasso with astonishing vividness.
Francoise was clearly a remarkable woman - and a major talent in her own right. For more on her, here's a link to her website. And, to give a flavour of her talent, are images of some of her great paintings (which I reproduce here on a non-profit basis under the rules of fair use):
Like the Sound of Oars
Red and Gold
Self Portrait: Figure in the Wind
I'm on holiday this week but I've cunningly programmed this machine to publish this lovely song choice in my absence.
Here's a Queen song chosen by Brian Ruckley, which is by way of an intro to NEXT week's choice by my buddy Jeff Somers, which you will also love.
Take it away, for a second time, Brian:
Brian Ruckley writes:
Here’s some musical fantasy from a creator who was himself a unique, larger than life, vaguely numinous presence in the last quarter of the 20th century: Freddie Mercury. Lots of Queen’s songs have a slightly science fictional or fantastical vibe – elaborate concoctions fuelled by a shifting, vivid, sometimes surreal imagination – but The Seven Seas of Rhye is a rather different beast.
This is explicitly epic, secondary world fantasy fiction done as a brief, grandiose rock song. Rhye and its seas existed, but only in the minds of Freddie Mercury and his sister, who dreamed it up together when they were children. Others might settle for imaginary friends; they invented a whole world, and stories to inhabit it. Rhye is the setting for several early Queen songs (including the brilliantly titled Ogre Battle, which sounds like it ought to be a D&D soundtrack), but The Seven Seas of Rhye is the (modest) hit that immortalized it. And with lyrics like these:
Be gone with you, you shod and shady senators
Give out the good, leave out the bad evil cries
I challenge the mighty titan and his troubadours
And with a smile I'll take you to the seven seas of Rhye
Doesn’t it sound as though there’s a hell of a book in there somewhere?
Fear me you lords and lady preachers
I descend upon your Earth from the skies
I command your very souls you unbelievers
Bring before me what is mine, the seven seas of Rhye
Can you hear me you peers and privy counsellors
I stand before you naked to the eyes
I will destroy any man who dares abuse my trust
I swear that you'll be mine, the seven seas of Rhye
Sister, I live and lie for you
Mister, do and I'll die
You are mine, I possess you, I belong to you forever
Storm the master-marathon, I'll fly through
By flash and thunder-fire I'll survive, I'll survive, I'll survive I'll survive, I'll survive
Then I'll defy the laws of nature and come out alive
Then I’ll get you
Be gone with you, you shod and shady senators
Give out the good, leave out the bad evil cries
I challenge the mighty titan and his troubadours
And with a smile I'll take you to the seven seas of Rhye
I'm off to West Wales next week for a brief holiday - and I've packed the bag with books of course. I've got the 3rd Stieg Larsson, a Gene Wolfe omnibus, and a batch of Edgar Rice Burroughs' Barsoom novels. Don't WANNA go to the beach, wanna read my books!
I'll be back online in a week's time; but I've slyly programmed an SFF Song of the Week to pop up midweek. Just to satisfy your craving....
Jennifer Rardin is the author of some of my favour kick-ass supernatural thrillers with attitude - featuring the inimitable Jaz Parks. Here's her great choice of SFF Song of the Week with perhaps the wildest, most wonderful critical commentary I've ever read.
Jennifer Rardin writes:
Warning: If you are a fan of The Killers, or somebody who’s really into grammatical correctness, or even interpreting stuff the way artists say it should be done—you will be pissed off by the following. So don’t read it. At all. Go pick up a comic book. Preferably something by Bill Watterson because he’s hilarious and will make you feel better pretty much instantly. As for the rest of you? Strap in, baby. We are about to go alien hunting.
The Killers - Human
I did my best to notice
when the call came down the line
up to the platform of surrender
I was brought but I was kind
and sometimes I get nervous
when I see an open door
close your eyes, clear your heart
cut the cord
are we human or are we dancer
my sign is vital, my hands are cold
and I’m on my knees looking for the answer
are we human or are we dancer
pay my respects to grace and virtue
send my condolences to good
give my regards to soul and romance
they always did the best they could
and so long to devotion, you taught me everything I know
wave good bye, wish me well
you gotta let me go
are we human or are we dancer
my sign is vital, my hands are cold
and I’m on my knees looking for the answer
are we human or are we dancer
will your system be alright
when you dream of home tonight
there is no message we're receiving
let me know is your heart still beating
are we human or are we dancer
my sign is vital, my hands are cold
and I’m on my knees looking for the answer
Are we human or are we dancer
my sign is vital, my hands are cold
and I’m on my knees looking for the answer
are we human
or are we dancer
are we human or are we dancer
are we human or are we dancer
As an English major I was brainwashed, uh, trained in the ways of interpretation. I could, by golly, read a buncha words and tell you exactly why the author mentioned shadows forty-seven times among all those other words. Which is why I’ve taken the liberty of becoming your expert in song interpretation for the next five minutes. After which you can burn me in effigy if you want. Just remember, because detail is always important (even in effigy-related projects) that my hair is red.
Here’s the thing. I don’t think Human is about how Americans have raised their kids to be manipulative shits, i.e. “dancers” at all. I don’t even buy the theory that the song is inspired by the work of Nietzsche, despite the fact that it would give us something fun to debate over coffee and scones (mmmm, scones) for the afternoon. I’m here to suggest that Human is actually about aliens.
First clue: One time I read this cool sci-fi short about an alien who came to earth and danced with a perfectly average woman, who then shot out of her shell and became a fabulous painter. He came back to dance with her the day she died. It wasn’t even sad, because you knew without his dance she never would’ve led such a momentous life. My point? The Killers get it. We are dancer—but only after we’ve been activated by the touch of our alien kin.
Second clue: Remember that old, awesome TV series, V? Holy crap I loved that show. Anyway, most of the lyrics reminded me of those moments when the aliens would peel off their human skin to reveal their true nature, riding just beneath the beautiful outer layer. I always knew, deep down, that people were a lot more like those lizards than they were the rebel heroes who fought them. Which is why neighbors of serial killers are always so surprised that awful smell wasn’t a gas leak but rotting corpse instead. “Because Bob was such a quiet, respectful man”—who kept his mask on nice and tight dontcha know. I bet his hands were cold all the damn time. Are we human? Do we even really know what that means anymore?
Third clue: Ghosts. Come on, my friends. You know they’re really shadows of people from parallel universes who’ve stepped into the thin air between our worlds. And who have already figured out that we’re actually the aliens. We are, as usual, the last to know.
And my final bit of proof? Here ya go:
Even stripped down to our essentials we can’t help but decorate ourselves. Because it’s too scary, too real, to look at what we are. But being human’s not scary. It’s freaking wonderful. So then, really, what are we?
My theory? It’s not complete yet. I’m not an old, wise woman. But no, I don’t think we’re human. We simply aspire to that calling. A rare few have made it. But generally we manage to assassinate them before they can force the rest of us peel off our skins and face the steady drumbeat of our own alien music. Maybe it’s best that way. I think The Killers, at least, have figured that out.
I spoke to my mother earlier tonight; she really enjoyed GIFT, and since she is a doctor, she appreciated the medical details.
That's an interesting coincidence ; my mother worked as a doctor for forty years, and her brother was also a doctor (working in Canada.) My elder brother Alan is also a doctor, though not of medicine (he has a PhD in neurochemistry.) And I'm a doctor too!
Okay, you could argue I'm not a REAL doctor. If someone has a heart attack on a Tube train, don't look to me to know what to do. (I worked on MCCALLUM, an ITV series about a pathologist, so I'm up to speed on post mortems of already dead people; when they're merely ill, I'm a bit shaky.)
But no, my expertise is is of a different kind entirely. I am a SCRIPT doctor. Dr Palmer; script healer.
Script doctoring is an odd concept. It's not the same as script editing, even though as a script editor you can get very very closely involved in solving story problems, and even suggesting scenes and dialogue. But a script editor always work WITH a writer; the script doctor only comes into play when the writer is off the scene. Imagine a doctor who kills his patient, steals his identity, moves into his house, and spends the money in his bank account; that's a script doctor for you!
I once script doctored an Oscar winning screenwriter - I can't name him, but he's extremely well known - though sadly my version didn't get produced. (Maybe one day.) A friend of mine script doctored a screenplay by David Mamet; then had HIS draft rewritten by some other schmuck.
(Allthough I should be careful about definitions here; there's a world of difference between REWRITING and SCRIPT DOCTORING. Or is there...?)
In theory, the difference is that rewriters get a screen credit, but script doctors don't. When Mario Puzo and Francis Ford Coppola wrote the screenplay for THE GODFATHER, there was one scene which eluded them - when Michael Corleone spoke to his father about the family business. This was the second draft version of the scene:
DON CORLEONE (MARLON BRANDO) AND MICHAEL CORLEONE (AL PACINO) IN DISCUSSION AFTER MICHAEL'S RETURN FROM SICILY):
DON CORLEONE
Have you thought about a wife? A
family?
MICHAEL
(pained)
No.
DON CORLEONE
I understand, Michael. But you
must make a family, you know.
MICHAEL
I want children, I want a family.
But I don't know when.
DON CORLEONE
Accept what's happened, Michael.
MICHAEL
I could accept everything that's
happened; I could accept it, but
that I never had a choice. From
the time I was born, you had laid
this all out for me.
DON CORLEONE
No, I wanted other things for you.
MICHAEL
You wanted me to be your son.
DON CORLEONE
Yes, but sons who would be
professors, scientists,
musicians...and grandchildren who
could be, who knows, a Governor, a
President even, nothing's impossible
here in America.
MICHAEL
Then why have I become a man like
you?
DON CORLEONE
You are like me, we refuse to be
fools, to be puppets dancing on a
string pulled by other men. I
hoped the time for guns and killing
and massacres was over. That was
my misfortune. That was your
misfortune. I was hunted on the
streets of Corleone when I was
twelve years old because of who my
father was. I had no choice.
MICHAEL
A man has to choose what he will be.
I believe that.
DON CORLEONE
What else do you believe in?
MICHAEL doesn't answer.
DON CORLEONE
Believe in a family. Can you
believe in your country? Those
Pezzonovante of the State who
decide what we shall do with our
lives? Who declare wars they wish
us to fight in to protect what they
own. Do you put your fate in the
hands of men whose only talent is
that they tricked a bloc of people
to vote for them? Michael, in five
years the Corleone family can be
completely legitimate. Very
difficult things have to happen to
make that possible. I can't do
them anymore, but you can, if you
choose to.
MICHAEL listens.
DON CORLEONE
Believe in a family; believe in a
Code of Honor, older and higher,
believe in Roots that go back
thousands of years into your Race.
Make a family, Michael, and protect
it. These are our affairs, sono cosa
nostra, Governments only protect
men who have their own individual
power. Be one of those men...you
have the choice.
Here's the same scene as it appears in the movie; tweaked, rewritten and generally 'doctored' by Robert Towne, screenwriter of Chinatown:
DISSOLVE TO: The Don's garden. The Don, older looking now, sits with Michael -day
VITO CORLEONE
So -- Barzini will move against you first. He'll set up a meeting with someone that you
absolutely trust -- guaranteeing your safety. And at that meeting, you'll be assassinated.
(then, as the Don drinks from a glass of wine as Michael watches him)
I like to drink wine more than I used to -- anyway, I'm drinking more...
MICHAEL
It's good for you, Pop.
VITO CORLEONE (after a long pause)
I don't know -- your wife and children -- are you happy with them?
MICHAEL
Very happy...
VITO CORLEONE
That's good.
(then)
I hope you don't mind the way I -- I keep going over this Barzini business...
MICHAEL
No, not at all...
VITO CORLEONE
It's an old habit. I spent my life trying not to be careless -- women and children can be
careless, but not men.
(then)
How's your boy?
MICHAEL
He's good --
VITO CORLEONE
You know he looks more like you every day.
MICHAEL (smiling)
He's smarter than I am. Three years old, he can read the funny papers
VITO CORLEONE (laughs)
Read the funny papers --
(then)
Oh -- well -- eh, I want you to arrange to have a telephone man check all the calls that go in
and out of here -- because...
MICHAEL
I did it already, Pop.
VITO CORLEONE
-- ya'know, cuz it could be anyone...
MICHAEL
Pop, I took care of that.
VITO CORLEONE
Oh, that's right -- I forgot.
MICHAEL (reaching over, touching his father)
What's the matter? What's bothering you?
(then, after the Don doesn't answer)
I'll handle it. I told you I can handle it, I'll handle it.
VITO CORLEONE (as he stands)
I knew that Santino was going to have to go through all this. And Fredo -- well --
(then, after he sits besides Michael)
-- Fredo was -- well -- But I never -- I never wanted this for you. I work my whole life, I
don't apologize, to take care of my family. And I refused -- to be a fool -- dancing on the
string, held by all those -- bigshots. I don't apologize -- that's my life -- but I thought that --
that when it was your time -- that -- that you would be the one to hold the strings. Senator -
Corleone. Governor - Corleone, or something...
MICHAEL
Another pezzonovante...
VITO CORLEONE
Well -- this wasn't enough time, Michael. Wasn't enough time...
MICHAEL
We'll get there, Pop -- we'll get there...
VITO CORLEONE
Uh...
(then, after kissing Michael on the cheek)
Now listen -- whoever comes to you with this Barzini meeting -- he's the traitor. Don't forget
that.
Yeah, it's better isn't it?
The point here being that Coppola always generously gave Towne all the credit he deserved for the rewriting; but it was never Towne's movie. He just did a job of work, on a single scene; script carpentry, more than script doctoring.
And this is something I've always enjoyed doing. Coming in on an existing project; fixing problems, adding stuff that wasn't there, improving stuff that was there, and then walking away again. Vision is great, passion is fun; but life's too short for EVERY project to be a passion project. Sometimes it's cool to be a writer for hire.
The two major script doctoring jobs I've done which resulted in movies that got made are very different. One is an extraordinary and surreal movie set in Cuba called GUANTANAMERO (aka ARRITMIA), produced by Michiyo Yoshizaki, producer of THE CRYING GAME, and MERRY CHRISTMAS MR LAWRENCE. My brief initially was to script edit a Hispanic writer/director on an audacious screenplay (for reasons I can't even explain, I can't name said person!) The script editing job involved a trip to Paris, first class on Eurostar (you know it's First Class when they bring unnecessary free champagne) and evolved into a full rewrite. The movie is remarkable - flawed ,but very beautiful. (For details, see here.) But though I get an IMDb credit for the film, I still regard it as 'doctoring' not proper writing; it wasn't my story, my vision, my characters. But I did help, I think, to make it work.
The other project is a Greek film called URANYA. Here the deal was very simple; I was given sixty pages of script and asked to turn them into 100 pages of script (60 pages is only half a film!) The writer/director Costas Kapakas had written a quite wonderful coming of age story set in a Greek village, oozing with character and vision and wit; but like many passionate artists he had only written the 'best bits', not the joining bits which make the best bits work. Story logic; causality; setups & payoffs; all tha technical stuff.
I did my job - and loved it - and I get I think a simple script editing credit, which I'm very happy with. Because this was Costas's movie! And, I'm told by a former screenwriting student of mine from Cyprus, URANYA has gone on to develop a cult reputation as one of the best Greek movies of recent years. (Details here.)
All these memories are fresh in my mind because I'm currently working on a new script doctoring job, for a British producer who has written a delightful British comedy based on his own experiences, and has hired me to shape and finesse it. I won't reveal the story, but I will say that this project has introduced me to a style of music I'd never experienced before - modern Klezmer music, which is Jewish folk music with a modern tang. This music is the motif and undercurrent of the story; and it lends great magic to an already magical project.
More news on this if the movie gets made....
Gift, my current radio drama, has been getting some delightful responses from friends & acquaintances, and also from the powers than be at the BBC. It's still available on iPlayer for another day or so, so this is the last chance to hear it.
Radio is a strange old fashioned medium that seems to have leaped into the digital age with one bound; because you can now listen to plays on your computer, or your mobile phone or whatever iGadget you happen to own. And there's something very comforting about drama that depends just on voices; if it hadn't been invented, someone would invent it round about now.
It's still the Cinderella medium however. TV honchos turn up their noses at radio dramatists; and it's rare for the front page of the Radio Times to be devoted to a radio programme, rather than a TV show. The good news is that radio is still a place where the dramatist's voice is still treated with respect. On TV, there are fewer and fewer outlooks for quirky maverick voices creating original stuff - the Pennies From Heaven/Edge of Darkness/Morgan: A Suitable Case for Treatment kind of weirdness. But radio drama thrives on originality, and vision, and passion.
I'm about to start work on a new radio drama (er, already missed one deadline so I really HAVE to start) which is a sequel to my art fraud drama THE ART OF DECEPTION starring David Schofield and Indira Varma. This 'further adventures of' piece is a five part serial about a devious art forger and his various nemeses; it's the kind of piece I've been wanting to write ever since I saw Stanley Donen's CHARADE.
After that, it looks as if (provided the budget is approved) I'll be writing a 3-part radio drama about war games, for transmission in 2012/13 (yes, that's years away, but radio execs like to schedule ahead!) This is no less than a mega state of the nation project about the decisions that go into the fighting of wars; it's inspired by seeing how THE WEST WING handles major setpiece action sequence ie entirely through dialogue.
I love TV and am keen to do more week in that medium at some point; and my film projects are simmering away nicely. But it's my radio plays that give me a chance to do things that are different, and contemporary, and politically challenging.
And I'm looking forward to the day when the BBC finally (finally!) gets its act together and puts the radio archive on line as a permanent resource. In fact, they could start to do it now, if they were smart enough to embrace an open source strategy - let writers put their own plays on their own websites! But that's never going to happen, so unless you embrace the illegal download approach (hardly illegal if you pay your licence fee!) then there'll be a long wait before radio dramas start to emerge from dusty closets and take on a new life again.
Even out of print books can be bought second hand; but most radio plays, once transmitted, just vanish; which is a real shame. And I'd truly love to see my previous plays get a further life - such as GIN AND RUM, my first play, a ghost story set on a roof; my wild adaptation of Spenser's fantasy epic poem THE FAERIE QUEENE; or my 'cleverer than Sherlock Holmes' detective drama about Isaac Newton, THE KING'S COINER.
One day...
Here's a song choice from the king of noir action SF, one of my favourite writers on today's scene, the fabulous Richard Morgan.
Over to you Richard...
Richard Morgan writes:
Song of the Week: Beat the Devil's Tattoo.
I'm far enough into my forties now that I can't pretend I'm a young man anymore, and I've been waiting for this album like a sixteen year old. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club are - no hype - the finest rock band in the world. They define exactly the edgy mix of soul and power that rock music delivers whenever it gets loose of market defined trends and complacent power chord pomp. For every blasting, feedback howling track in BRMC's armoury, there's a plaintive, lyrically defined acoustic ballad to match - and as often as not you'll find those two contrasts co-existing in the same song. References to the Jesus and Mary Chain are inevitable, but for me the best point of comparison is the Rolling Stones circa Beggars' Banquet and Let it Bleed - it's the same dark energy, the same virtuoso guitar work, the same re-working of blues heritage, and the same subtle political and cultural echo chamber. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club provided me with the soundtrack to both Black Man/Thirteen and The Steel Remains, and this title track from their upcoming release showcases every reason why. Listen here:
I recently wrote a radio drama about medical ethics. It's called GIFT, and I'm pleased to say it's being broadcast this week on BBC Radio 4, 2.15pm, Tuesday 20th July. Catch it in reality, or listen on the BBC iPlayer site.
It's the story of a son who agrees to donate a kidney to his sick father...and how that affects the family relationship. The wonderful cast includes Philip Jackson, Ashley Kumar and Daniela Nardini...director was my favourite Russian, Sasha Yevtushenko.
It's not science fiction...but it IS the kind of story I most love; a tale about characters in crisis.
I'm still reeling from the Knob Head jokes (see post below) but now to raise our game.
Here's a song I LOVE, chosen by the gifted Emma Adams, screenwriter and stage dramatist. Over to you Em:
Emma Adams writes:
Carpenters – Calling Occupants Of Interplanetary Craft
Thought One – Karen Carpenter, you’re really weird but I think I love you.
So while I’m happy to admit to my big love for Suzie Quattro in her rock and roller jump suits, I have never been able to bring myself to admit my secret-weird-soft-spot crush for Karen Carpenter. Until now that is. Because, there is something very very wrong with Karen isn’t there? Her terrifying blank, too cute all American grin. Her skinny, get a meal boneyness and of course her really really strange hair and terrible frocks… But still, I find I can forgive her all of this because of two things. Her total cool ass drumming and her absolutely amazing beautiful voice. A voice that is instantly recognisable in a way that only a handful of voices are. And no matter how bubblegum light the lyrics are, she conveys great warmth and tenderness when she sings. There I’ve said it. I’m out of my Carpenter Closet. Karen Carpenter may not exactly rock but she gently sways my world.
Thought Two – I’m so glad that the Carpenter’s believed recording this strange song was a good idea. It probably wasn’t, but nevertheless it gives me hope.
It’s not so much a song as a series of pompous musical postures that get more and more ridiculous as it goes along. It is to my mind a fantastic example of pop genius gone mad and for this reason alone I take great delight in it. For me the descending Beatlesy orchestration at the end is just fantastic. It’s the bit I wait for. And it always makes me smile.
Thought Three – The CIA refer to unintended misfortunes coming out of ‘well meant’ foreign policy moves as ‘Blowback’. I wish Karen had known this before she went into the recording studio.
You will have noticed by now that the lyrics of this song are very bad. But when I listen to it, I can’t help worrying that they could create a consequence far worse than mere aesthetic unpleasantness, promoting as they do a dangerous untruth. To be specific, Karen on several occasions directly addresses Aliens, reassuring them in no uncertain terms that:
“We are your friends”.
Now let's be clear. I don’t think for a minute that lovely, skinny, mixed up Karen was actively lying when she sang these words. She had a lot of issues in her life. But we also know that sometimes those who have the best intentions can create the most harm.
I can’t help worrying what could happen if Aliens actually heard this song.
Will they know that humans when encountering new civilisations always announce “We are your friends” just before embarking on a big stealing, killing frenzy?
I can only hope that they are more clued up about human history than Karen was.
In your mind you have capacities you know
To telepath messages through the vast unknown
Please close your eyes and concentrate
With every thought you think
Upon the recitation we're about to sing
Calling occupants of interplanetary craft
Calling occupants of interplanetary most extraordinary craft
Calling occupants of interplanetary craft
Calling occupants of interplanetary craft
Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft
You've been observing our earth
And we'd like to make a contact with you
We are your friends
Calling occupants of interplanetary craft
Calling occupants of interplanetary ultra-emissaries
We've been observing your earth
And one night we'll make a contact with you
We are your friends
Calling occupants of interplanetary quite extraordinary craft
And please come in peace, we beseech you
Only a landing will teach them
Our earth may never survive
So do come, we beg you
Please interstellar policeman
Oh won't you give us a sign
Give us a sign that we've reached you
With your mind you have ability to form
And transmit thought energy far beyond the norm
You close your eyes, you concentrate
Together that's the way
To send the message
We declare world contact day
Repeat (*)
Calling occupants
Calling occupants
Calling occupants of interplanetary, anti-adversary craft
We are your friends
I recently went to see Michael Winterbottom's new movie The Killer Inside Me, which has been the subject of much controversy because of its graphic scenes of violence towards women. It's based on the noir novel by Jim Thompson; and many have attacked it as being misogynistic and excessively violent. Others have defended it on artistic grounds, while conceding its violence makes it 'troubling'. And there are some who have defended the film, on the grounds that it shows the brutal reality of domestic violence. Which means it's a healthy corrective to all those Hollywood movies which routinely glorify violence.
I admire Winterbottom as a film-maker - his Twenty Four Hour Party People is a masterpiece - and I love noir in general, and the books of Jim Thompson in particular. To be honest though I found the film a bit of a yawn; BECAUSE IT WASN'T NEARLY VIOLENT ENOUGH.
I am in fact staggered at some of the reviewers who felt it was the most shocking thing they'd ever seen in the cinema. There's a scene where Casey Affleck bashes up Jennifer Alba; and there's a second assault scene; and that's about it really. Compared to what you get in many thrillers and action movies and horror flicks, it's very mild stuff.
What IS weird however about both 'beating up women' scenes is that the women don't fight back - which makes the violence feel oddly detached, and not-credible; and hence makes it hard to care about the story and its characters.
I think there's real merit in the argument that Winterbottom has created cliched female characters who don't respond in the way that real people would. There's a hint that Alba's character in a masochist; but if so, that should be dramatised. She should BEG to be beaten, which would truly shock us; and I would strongly argue that there's nothing inherently misogynistic about showing masochism in a woman. Because masochists DO exist. I was once the fly on a wall in a Metropolitan Police investigation into a group of masochists who did the most appalling things - one chap hammered a nail through his own penis - and no one can deny it's a real psychological phenomenon. (What would be unacceptable, however, is to hint at the lie that ALL women like to be hurt - that gets you into the immoral/indefensible territory).
I think the real issue for me here is that Winterbottom is a cerebral arthouse director who hasn't mastered the basic concept that violence in cinema is there to be ENJOYED. We love to be scared, appalled, terrified; we enjoy getting inside the head of evil serial killers; we relish being pursued by a psycho who has killed all our friends. That's how violence works in genre cinema, and even in 'serious' cinema. The violence in Oliver Hirschbiegel's Downfall gives energy and adrenalin to this brilliant study of the last days of Hitler. The violence in The Godfather - not your common or garden gangster flick but a true masterpiece about organised crime - is deliciously awful. Luca Brasi having a knife in the hand before being garrotted! James Caan being plugged full of holes!
The horrible cop getting his head shot apart by Michael Corleone!
These acts of violence function as essential elements of the overall pleasure that cinema offers. And it's not just Hollywood movies which allow us to "enjoy' violence. One of my favourite films of last year was the verite arthouse movie A Prophet by Jacques Audiard, an unflinching study of life in a French prison. Except it's not really a 'study' or an 'analysis'; it's a movie, and a gripping one, with savourable sequences of ghastly violence that keep you glued to the seat. In particular, the murder committed in the first third of the film is one of the most compellingly enjoyable pieces of cinema I've ever seen; it doesn't 'glorify' violence, but boy, it's fun to watch.
What I'm saying is; let's stop pretending. Of course violence, when it's in fiction rather than in life, is fun. It's part of the imaginative experience; imagination is our way of living other lives, and since we can do so without incurring actual injury, the more violent the better. It's cathartic, it's exhilarating, it can be beautiful; but the key point is; IF YOU'RE A SANE AND MORAL PERSON, WATCHING VIOLENT MOVIES DOESN'T MAKE YOU VIOLENT. Reality, fiction; fiction, reality: two different things.
And, as a writer of action SF, I have to concede that violence is my business. I write violence, I read violent books by other authors; I spend large parts of my day wondering whether a character should die by having his head blown up, or whether it would be more fun to have him eat a live snake and be consumed from the inside out.
Adam Roberts, in his masterly and very funny novel Yellow Blue Tibia, explains how the science fiction writer approaches the art of violence, as a group of Russian SF authors (including the first person narrator) plot a story of alien invasion:
'Let's have the aliens blow up some portion of the Ukraine, ' [said Frenkel], 'That would be the best option.
How could we plan such monstrosity so very casually? This is not an easy question to answer, although in the light of what came later it is, of course, an important one....Writers, you see, daily inflict the most dreadful suffering upon the characters they create, and science fiction writers are worse than any other sort in that respect. A realist writer might break his character's leg, or kill his fiancee; but a science fiction writer will immolate whole planets, and whilst doing so he will be more concerned with the placement of commas than with the screams of the dying. He will do this every working day through his life. How can this not produce calluses on the those tenderest portions of the mind that ordinary human beings use to focus their empathy?
Adam is bang on here; science fiction writers, and their close allies, fantasy writers, are truly evil creatures. We are the people who cannot bear to write crime novels about serial killers because the body count is so darned low. We celebrate the intellectual and extrapolative essence of our genre whilst shamelessly wallowing in atrocity and horrific acts of barbarity, evisceration, beheading, and worse.
Here's a sample of some of the stuff I've been reading recently:
Four men in combat armor had dropped from an upper level using personal lift packs. The polymerized chameleon armor labored to keep up with the shifting background but only succeeded in turning each man into a brilliant kaleidoscope of reflections. One moved inside the sweep arch of my mini-gun to neutralize me while the other three went for Johnny.
He came in with a pulse-blade, ghettho style. I let it chew at my armor, knowing it would get through to forearm flesh but using it to buy the second I needed. I got it. I killed the man with the rigid end of my gauntlet and swept the mini-gun fire into the other three worrying Johnny.
(from Fall of Hyperion by Dan Simmons)
There were heads and arms and legs and halves of bodies writhing and squirming and cursing under foot, and headless bodies dashing about the room colliding with friend and foe indiscriminately. If ever there was a shambles it was there in the great council chamber of the seven jeds of Morbus.
(from Synthetic Men of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs)
I launched myself into the one I'd decided was Lyosha, tossing my cigarette into his face with my left hand as I pulled my gun with my right. He cursed in Russian, all consonants and fucking phlegm, waving his hands in front of his face and dancing back. As I crashed into him I brought my gun up and fired twice into his belly, falling down on top of him and rolling off to the side.
(from The Eternal Prison by Jeff Somers)
Hell, I read this stuff all the time, and what I write is often WORSE in terms of gruesome barbarity. (Red Claw got a great review from a site called Emotionally Fourteen, which then graded it 10 out of 10 for Number of Eviscerations- and I'm actually proud of this.) So does that mean I have calluses on the tenderest parts of my mind, the bits that are used to focus empathy, as Adam so beautifully if cruelly phrases it?
Well perhaps so. But on balance I feel that constantly wallowing in imaginative violence has made me not one whit more aggressive, or capable of violence. I remain as timid, fearful, and cowardly as I have always been. I would happily slay a Barsoomian plant man with my long sword; but I am not in the habit of mugging elderly ladies, or randomly shooting people in pubs.
This is why I get very wary when kind-minded commentators praise a film like The Killer Within Me because it shows the 'reality' of violence. It does nothing of the sort! It's just a movie. Real violence is what happens in the real world, and I abhor it; and I don't need films to tell me it's undesirable. (That doesn't mean fictional stories should be immoral; the art of writing violent fiction is being able to shock the audience with gory stuff without losing track of the real moral values we, the authors, believe in.)
But why, I am forced to ask, does violence in fiction appeal so strongly, to me and to so many of you? Why do we not daydream about peaceful characters, who broker peace and leave a trail of concord and amity behind them? Why do we prefer the Man with No Name, or Conan, who are more inclined to leave a trail of corpses behind them?
I guess the answer is obvious; we're never more alive than when we are in fear of dying. And to experience that intensity of life while reading a book, or watching a film, and without any ACTUAL possibility of dying, is vicarious ecstasy.
So I will continue to read books and watch films that glorify and revel in violence; I will splash in blood and gore as my protagonist hews a path through his or her enemies with a broadsword, or a plasma gun; and I'll continue to treat senseless murder as a staple element of my daily entertainment.
And let's not forget, violence can be wonderfully beautiful - WHEN IT'S NOT REAL. Tarantino shows this in his magnificent Kill Bill, a glorification of violence in all its forms and traditions. So I'll end with some images from that, one of my favourite violent movies ever.
Here's an awesome choice from Orbit author Jesse Bullington, a polymath (ie he's very brainy) and a delightful guy. His first novel The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart is a stunner, and utterly original.
Jesse Bullington writes:
Metal and fantasy have long been confederates but few bands have fused the two as successfully as Bal-Sagoth. They take their name from a story by Conan creator Robert E. Howard and their creative cues from him, as well as H.P. Lovecraft, Clark Ashton Smith, and other pulp favorites, but rather than simply regurgitating the works and words of their heroes Bal-Sagoth has gone on to create their own complex SFF mythology that allows them to explore the farthest reaches of the cosmos as well as the forgotten empires of the earth. Further differentiating themselves from other bands, each album by Bal-Sagoth is an epic collection of tales, not a random assortment of songs...and when I say epic, I mean it: how else do you describe a record titled Starfire Burning Upon the Ice-Veiled Throne of Ultima Thule? What's more, a single album is often not sufficient to contain the glorious legends in their entierty and so a single tale will span several albums--the heroic archaeologist Caleb Blackthorne III appears on two albums, and those dread Guardians of the Astral Gate feature prominently on five. In selecting a single song from their body of work I decided on "Arcana Antediluvia" because in many ways it captures the essence of the band while still standing alone, so that the novice may appreciate the tale without foreknowledge of the mythology at hand--though a sequel track on an upcoming album is rumored...
[Act I: The Argosy on the Eldritch Sea]
[The Antediluvian Oracle:]
And so it was written, that rage would carry him like a howling wind, leaving only frozen corpses,
Their bones rattling in hollow armour, to tell their tale in his wake.
[The Black Mariner:]
Behold, my blackened, grim and gory axe, the searing glow of trenchant steel.
I'll notch another widow to my haft, and wreak red vengeance 'cross the waves.
Tales of black-sailed argosies, bedeviled by base treachery!
[The Antediluvian Oracle:]
His gaze is as fire, his words are as spear-points, his voice is as thunder, his touch as the plague!
[The Black Mariner:]
Storm-prow cleaving, dragon rending, nighted deeps far, far below,
Hail-scur scouring, sea devouring, sunken realm's ethereal glow.
[The Antediluvian Oracle:]
And one night, there came a storm, a storm with searing red winds.
Fire and steel rode within it, and vengeance writ in thunder and blood!
[The Black Mariner:]
Down sixty fathoms, from stygian coral-clad tombs, the pitiless abyssal sea disgorges its shambling mold-mottled dead,
Dank innards blackly acoil with nests of slithering things!
Ghosts aglide upon the eldritch seas, unfathomed voyage to ascendancy,
Traitorous blood, the surf roils red, churning crimson, thrice-cursed dead.
[The Antediluvian Oracle:]
'Tis enough that men might dream of being kings without aspiring to the power of gods.
After a brief hiatus of a few weeks, yes, it's SFF Song of the Week once more. Stung by guilt, riven with remorse, bored of not having anything to listen to every Wednesday, I will be featuring some stunning tracks from talented writers and bloggers including
Richard Morgan
Jennifer Rardin
Jesse Bullington
Aidan Moher
Some other people - look there's a list somewhere, I'll find it eventually.
Look out for this Wednesday's choice...
Apologies for the lack of blogging recently - too many deadlines! I'll start posting regularly again soon, and I've got an amazing batch of SFF Songs of the Week to unleash - including choices from Richard Morgan and Jennifer Rardin.
In the meantime, I wanted to add a few small comments to the debate about Orbit's digital short story publishing initiative. I met Tim Holman, Orbit's publisher, last night, and we talked about it a good while. And this is a sceptical if not downright hostile post about it from John Scalzi, with many comments, including some from Tim.
The daftest comment/question is: have Orbit thought about [X,Y, Z]? Well of course they have; whatever your views on this venture, this particular publisher does not rush headlong into things.
I regard the initiative as a wholly good thing. It's a clever innovation that creatively liberates published Orbit authors - allows us to stretch our wings by giving us guaranteed publication of our short stories. If I had more time, I might self-publish on Kindle; but hey, producing a movie is enough of a headache!
But the key principle is: I do actually make a large chunk of my yearly income from Orbit's advances for my novels, as do all their authors. So a bit of gratis work is no big deal - in the expectation of getting paid IF the story is popular. If no one reads it, well, fair enough; I had the fun of writing it and that's enough.
For me it's a creative challenge - an opportunity to really get to engage with the modern possibilities of the short story format without the irksome horror of having to send stories off and not knowing if they'll be rejected. Some stories might go viral; has that ever happened yet? Or only to stories published free on websites?
It's fair to ask questions of Orbit; but trust me, I've worked for crooked evil corporations in the past, and will do again; Orbit just ain't that. Theirs is a genuine attempt to try something new; to create a market that wasn't there before.
Anyway, let's see how it develops; and I'm aiming to test it out myself by drafting a few short stories over the coming months, once I've delivered the various things I'm writing. (More info soon - once I've done the darned work!)
PS I once hid a short story on this website; no one ever found it. Ha! What a pathetic bit of self-publishing, eh?
SF Signal have just done a Mind Meld on the fascinating subject of Space Opera...with contributions from Paul McCauley, Mike Cobley, Allen Steele, Peter F. Hamilton, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, authors at the Book View Cafe, and myself.
Check it out here.
The legendary fantasy artist Frank Frazetta, who created such memorable images of Conan, Tarzan, Vampirella and more, has died aged 82...and, to honour his memory, I've been taking a look at some of his great paintings and covers. Here's a selection from the Frank Frazetta Unofficial Art Gallery.
At the SFX Summer of Reading event at Waterstone's Piccaddilly on Monday I was able to catch up with the utterly delightful and multi-talented Stephen Hunt. Stephen's series of steampunk novels set in and around the Kingdom of the Jackals are going from strength to strength - for more on those, see here. He's also of course founder and presiding genius of the splendid SF Crowsnest.
Stephen Hunt writes:
As a child of the 1970s (and the 80s), the quote ‘The past is a
foreign country: they do things differently there’ was, I venture,
never so appropriate. It was pre-internet, pre-video recorder, pre-PC,
pre-mobile phone, heck, it was just about pre-everything. Teens and
tweens didn’t spend seven hours solid with their eyes locked on the
screen of a DS or playing MMOGs, or texting, or happy slapping, or,
for that matter, scoring free music tracks using P2P software.
We did have hoodies, but they were called parkas and made you look
like Kenny from South Park, never a good look at the best of times,
even then.
But we had other consolations.
Hot summers and jumpers for goal posts, perhaps? No. Dungeons and
Dragons had just crept into the UK’s model shops alongside all the
Airfix kits and Hornby railway sets, disco was sweeping the country,
and the Vietnam war was just winding down, as, regularly, was the
electricity, when rolling strikes turned the country’s lights out.
Ah, indeed, the bookshops had maybe half a shelf of fantasy & science
fiction books (Poul Anderson, Robert Silverberg, James Blish, E. Doc
Smith, Philip Jose Farmer, Isaac Asimov, Brian Aldiss, Gordon Dickson,
Tolkien, Clifford D. Simak, Arthur C. Clarke and a few other
stalwarts), and for a decent selection of comic-books you could only
go to ‘Dark They Were, and Golden-Eyed’ in London’s Soho. Yes, slap
bang alongside all the sex shops – scoring SFF was a lot like scoring
porn in those halcyon days, and equally sniffed at.
Them were the days. And alongside Thunderbirds, Space 1999 and Doctor
Who (some things never change), we also had the consolations of a
bunch of lycra-wearing leotard-clad lovelies prancing about our newly
colour TV set with its three solitary channels. Yes, Hot Gossip. A
dance group that appeared on The Kenny Everett Television Show and Top
of the Pops, along with some strange new concept called the music
video.
As a burgeoning fan of the female form (we lived in the world of Gene
Hunt, so being politically correct was de rigueur), Sarah Brightman –
before Andrew Lloyd Webber sunk his supine claws into her soul –
cleverly managed to combine two of my favourite interests: girls
poured into their skin suits and science fiction. A feat not repeated
until Erin Gray slinked into the TV series Buck Rogers in the 25th
Century.
Beautiful raven-locked Sarah Brightman, who thumped out a 1978 single
written by Jeff Calvert and Max West of ‘Typically Tropical’ fame (who
also wrote Barbados, covered by the Vengaboys in 1999 as We're Going
to Ibiza.).
So, pop fans, tone up, prepare for a blast of static electricity as
you slip into your cat suit, because you are now clear to go
hyperspace on the disco dance floor with…
Sarah Brightman and Hot Gossip: I Lost My Heart to a Starship Trooper.
(Editor's note: The best version of this is on YouTube and can't be embedded, so copy this link into your browser....Lyrics are below. Phil.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vE6YR9QbrqI
Or try this Star Trek version which is hilarious:
Speaker 1:
Arcaida
X-ray X-ray delta niner niner zero
This is Starfleet Control
You are clear to go hyperspace
Acknowledge
Speaker 2:
Affirmative, Star Comm
We have situation gold
Speaker 1:
Niner niner zero, roger
You're looking good for trans-light
Sarah singing:
I lost my heart to a starship trooper
I lost my heart to a starship trooper
Oh...
Hey, Captain Strange, won't you be my lover
You're the best thing that I've ever discovered
Flash Gordon's left me, he's gone to the stars
An evil Darth Vader has me banished to Mars
Tell me, Captain Strange, do you feel my devotion
Or are you like a droid, devoid of emotion
Encounters one and two are not enough for me
What my body needs is close encounter three
I lost my heart to a starship trooper
Flashing lights in hyperspace
Fighting for the Federation
Hand in hand we'll conquer space
Listen, Captain Strange, what's our destination
The scanners seem to indicate a small deviation
Static on the comm - it's Starfleet Command
Requesting your position, it's their final demand
You're intentions are known, they've found out at last
So if you're gonna take me, please make it fast
Touch me, feel me, do what you will
I want to feel that galactic thrill
I lost my heart to a starship trooper
Flashing lights in hyperspace
Fighting for the Federation
Hand in hand we'll conquer space
Speaker 1:
Niner niner zero
This is Star Comm
We got a problem
On your vector
Request status check
Over
Sarah singing:
Oh, baby...
Speaker 3:
Arcadia
This is Strategy Control
You have course deviation
At five mark six
Acknowledge
Sarah singing:
I love you...
Speaker 1:
Arcadia
We show condition red
Confirm
Sarah singing:
Love me...
Speaker 3:
What's going on out there
Sarah singing:
Oh...
I lost my heart to a starship trooper
Flashing lights in hyperspace
Fighting for the Federation
Hand in hand we'll conquer space
I lost my heart to a starship trooper
Oh...
Space suit is lying on control room floor
Pulse rate increasing as the heat factor soars
Take me, make me feel the force
Ignore the computers, we're locked on course
I lost my heart to a starship trooper
Flashing lights in hyperspace
Fighting for the Federation
Hand in hand we'll conquer space
I lost my heart to a starship trooper
Flashing lights in hyperspace
Fighting for the Federation
Hand in hand we'll conquer space
Speaker 1, while Sarah sings the previous lines repeatedly:
Niner niner zero
This is Star Comm
Be advised
You have serious vector deviation
I repeat: serious vector deviation
Arcadia
Niner niner zero
Do you copy
This is Starfleet Control
To all ships in sector five
Be advised
Arcadia
Niner niner zero
Is off course
All ships squawk ident
Starship Arcadia
This is Starfleet Control
Squawk ident
I repeat: squawk ident.
Sadly the Sci-Fi London Festival is over, for now; but there are a number of great events scheduled by the guys in the future, including screenings at the NFT and another Oktoberfest.
I attended the Festival last Saturday as part of a workshop on film treatment writing, together with SF author Tony Ballantyne and scientists Simon Park and Jon Cowie. It was a brainstorming event - Jon and Simon and Tony provided the brains, and I chipped in with a few observations about writing and thinking for film.
It was an extraordinary event really; the air burned with amazing extrapolations. Jon talked about a concept known as the Perfect Storm, which is a well founded prediction that sometime this century the world will go to shit, thanks to the confluence of all the bad things happening together (climate change, overpopulation, global poverty, etc etc.) And we brainstormed how movie scenarios could be generated from this basic extrapolation. (Which is more of a firm prediction to be honest - beware the future, guys.)
And Simon Park spoke with passion about his favourite creatures on God's own earth - bioluminscent bacteria and slime moulds. Again, these ideas can be the basis for original stories; or they can be the backdrop for a future world scenario in which our ideas about mankind's role as the dominant species are challenged (bacteria kick our ass as 'dominant species on Earth', easily.)
There was a lively group of attendees, many of whom had already written screenplays; and the intention is that some or all of them will come back to us with 10 page movie scenarios. Of course, each of those stories will be different - but the future extrapolations on which they are based will be similar, and based on our workshop debates.
Tony Ballantyne spoke rather brilliantly about what a story actually is; and how some concepts can yield great stories, in the hands of the right storyteller. Ask Tony about the Jar of Tang; it's his speciality subject.
The whole day was enhanced by the fact we were holding the workshop in the middle of the Hunter Museum of surgery, located within the Royal College of Surgeons. This Museum is an astonishing collection of body parts and skeletons which comprise one of the earliest successful attempts to turn medicine into a genuine science. (We had a wonderful guided tour.) And, trust me, this place is spooky as hell.
In the evening I sat in on a panel about media in 2050, with my old pal TV producer Archie Tait, media guru Nico Macdonald, and our charming chair Paul Raven. Aside from the fact that we panellists had searchlights in our eyes, making it impossible to see the audience, it all went well I felt. Archie and Nico focused on innovation in the arts; I (rather predictably) homed in on the issue of how artists (ie writers! people like me!) will be earning their living (HOW DO WE GET PAID!) by the mid 21st century.
It's often argued that the internet is a huge threat to the livelihood of creative types; I argued that it's crappy capitalist bureacracies (film distributors/ITV/take your pick) that are screwing up the media already. And so for me, the internet is a source of hope; not a thing to be feared.
There's a bigger debate to be had about this (The Internet: Black Hat or White Hat?) But I do think the future of the media will be an exciting one; and our very own Orbit Books looks set to be at the vanguard of that revolution. I couldn't say anything about this at the panel debate, nor can I do so in this blog, because it awaits an official announcement from Orbit. But there is Bold Stuff Being Planned as Orbit seek to find a way to use digital media to help creative artists, rather than being scared of it as a mere forum for 'illegal downloads'. (Discussion point: illegal downloading is like immigration. It IS a problem, but it's also hyped up by bullshitty media types as being more of a crisis than it actually is. Yes, no, or maybe?)
Anyway - more on this anon. I found the day hugely stimulating; and I'm hoping to hear more from the film treatment attendees once they have creatively simmered.
If you're based in London, do come along to this event which is being held at Waterstone's in Piccadilly. SFX are championing the cause of reading SF novels - hurrah! - and I'll be attending with fellow Orbit authors Mike Carey, Kate Griffin and Mike Cobley.
For more details of what SFX will be doing in their mags and online shop as part of their excellent campaign, click here.