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Neuromancer, Henry and Madigan

neuromancer by william gibsonHenry Hoey Hobsonmadigan mine by kirstyn mcdermott

Something old, something new, something cool …

Neuromancer, by William Gibson, blew my socks off when I first read it. It came out in 1984, helped forge the cyberpunk movement and threw a few words into our technical lexicon. It still rocks. A sweet moment: reading this masterpiece of cyber intrigue and corporate shenanigans with Billy Idol’s Cyberpunk album drowning out the worst of the commuting interference. I love Gibson’s style, his flawed characters, his requirement that the reader keep up, his depictions of cyberspace and razorgirls, the plot twists and stinging conclusion — all of it, really.

Today I rolled another yarn, putting that commute to good use: a brand new story from Chris Bongers, a Brisbane writer who’s in the zone with her first book getting attention from the Children’s Book Council, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Henry Hoey Hobson does too. Chris sent it down as a nod, one I was proud to receive — it seems my penchant for using a coffin as an ice box at our Halloween parties has made an impression! In the Twilight age, it might be easy to think the Fright Night-style cover indicates yet another slipstreaming YA love-in-the-dark affair, but thankfully, it ain’t so. Chris grew up in the central west of Queensland and that dry, larrikin humour is tickling under the surface of this book, an affecting tale of a young fellah and his mum trying to cut it in the big smoke. It’s a yarn about family and fitting in and acceptance, the voice is spot-on, and the Addams Family elements made my day. The details of the Brisbane launch are here.

Which leads me to the other big news: Lucy Sussex (who has her own book launch coming up soon as part of the Melbourne Writers Festival — details TBC) is to launch Kirstyn McDermott’s Madigan Mine at the Carlton Library on August 2 at 7pm. The book is now officially out. Do come along if you can and help make a night of it. More details here.

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Gaiman on story, Aussie fantasy on the hit list

A quick post from the wonderful Guardian, still one of my favourite book sites, in which Neil Gaiman weighs in anew on the Lit/Genre divide, and a commentator finds much to recommend in eastern fantasy, Aussie style, thanks to Lian Hearn and Alison Goodman. Great stuff on a cool day.

In other bookish news, a crime novel has won the Miles Franklin, and the Ditmar awards are now open for submissions.

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Sunday the 13th

It’s a hard thing, this internet thing. Part publicity, part friends and professional network, part (public) diary: sometimes the privacy line is hard to judge. For instance, my fiancee and I made no announcements online about our engagement, feeling it wasn’t the kind of thing to be broadbanded about. Especially before our families knew (we got engaged overseas, and wanted to tell immediate family face-to-face where we could).

But some things are too big to keep to yourself.

So, here’s my news, or at least an overview: a week ago, Kirstyn and I got married. And it was a great day. A marvellous day. The staff at Bar Soma, a Brisbane nightclub I’d had occasion to frequent during my time in the city, were superb, and the club gave us just the atmosphere we were looking for. Celtic band Sunas played The Cure’s Love Song, instrumental and with vocals, in their own so-special way during the ceremony, and played two sets of very fine tunes, before handing over to Tycho Brahe to up the beats per minute with two amazing sets, including a splendid arrangement of Love Song and a cover of Atmosphere that I suspect had more depth to it than first appeared (will have to ask Ken about that!).

The wedding was most definitely *us* — there were spiderwebs of icing on the cupcakes/cake and a raven on the wishing well and a gargoyle overlooking the guest book — and we had a grand time. We did our best to chat with everyone, but as is always the way, it seems, a few slipped through the cracks. And we felt keenly the absence of loved ones and dear friends, taken too soon, and lamented that we hadn’t been able to invite all we might have liked, and that some some we had weren’t able to join us. (If ever there was a curse, it must be the wedding guest list – at least there wasn’t a seating plan to worry about!)

Our honeymoon was in Cairns and it was just the right mix of getting out and lazing about, with superb food within walking distance of the hotel. We drove to some sights, snorkelled on others, and for the most part simply coasted.

The words ‘wife’ and ‘husband’ are still a novelty, and I hope that doesn’t wear off too quickly. I’m glad we’ve embraced them in an official capacity. They have, quite literally, got a ring to them that carries a great deal of weight — a ritual importance, if you will.

We got home yesterday to find the real world waiting: emails and bills and the usual stuff (including two babies, two birthdays and a new home for a friend), and a very nice review of Kirstyn’s Madigan Mine that isn’t online but I’m sure she’ll share if she gets clearance to, and a job vacancy that I really must throw my hat into the ring for. But I like to think the ring on my finger will keep Sunday’s magic alive; it’s been blessed with the love of family and friends and is a sign of my link to a singularly remarkable woman.

Onwards, then. Together.

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In my absence

singing the dogstar blues

I’ve been away from the keyboard for the past 10 days — more on that later, once I’ve caught up — and in my splendid offline absence, folks have been busy doing stuff:

  • Trent Jamieson’s upcoming debut novel, Death Most Definite, scored a lovely review
  • Cat Sparks has launched a drive to fund writer Peter Watts’ presence at Aussiecon
  • Melbourne’s Rjurik Davidson has announced a tidy little collection, The Library of Forgotten Books.

    • While on the road, I managed to catch up with:

  • Singing the Dogstar Blues, by Alison Goodman: a thoroughly enjoyable YA read in which a misfit muso befriends a misfit alien at a school for time travellers, and family secrets are revealed. The book was so much fun, with such superbly sketched glimpses of future earth and alien culture.
  • Target 5, by Colin Forbes: this was one of my favourite novels when I was 13, the copy rather bent, and I enjoyed revisiting, but found the story about extracting a Russian defector over Arctic ice a little over-the-top, the writing not as shiny as I remembered, but the pace still as strapping.
  • The Ghost Writer, by John Harwood: what a superb Gothic tale this turned out to be, with short stories in the text providing mirrors for the current day action as a young fellow from Australia strikes up a written friendship with a girl in England that proves a catalyst for some stunning familial revelations.
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    On seasons

    autumn leaves

    The trees put up a good fight, basking as long as they could, but finally, winter has pried their leaves from their branches.

    Likewise, I’ve been doing some shedding of my own. It’s not so much a winter of discontent as a spring clean come early. Winter is a good time for taking stock, working out the way ahead, the path travelled. The memorabilia has been reduced to a few tubs, the books and CDs pared back. If only regrets were so easily discarded, and joys enshrined.

    Autumn has always been my favourite season, and now that I’m down in the south, I’ve been able to truly appreciate it: a low sun, the dropping temperature, and of course the glorious colours of the turning leaves.

    As I said, the leaves aren’t the only things that are changing down here — even though it’s winter, there’s that touch of spring, an air of renewal. As Bowie might say, Ch-ch-ch-changes … there’s no future without a past, but the past isn’t something to be dwelled on. Learnt from, certainly, but let’s try to dodge it’s little Gothic claws and enjoy the sunshine ahead.

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    The Girl With No Hands

    the girl with no hands by angela slatter

    Heads up! Here’s a collection of stories to keep an eye out for, most likely at Aussiecon, which will be a cornucopia of Aussie titles. Angela Slatter is a tale-teller of note, and this book contains a bunch of her best. With a divine cover, to boot. Ticonderoga is releasing this trade version and also a limited edition hard cover, alas not till September. Put it in your diary and grab a copy.

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    Trent Reznor rides again

    How to Destroy Angels is a new project featuring NIN mainman Trent Reznor – it’s mostly quiet, moody, elegant, with touches of Reznor’s industrial synths and arrangements pleasing to the ear. The band (comprised of Reznor, his wife Mariqueen Maandig on dreamy vocals, and NIN producer Atticus Ross) is offering a free six-track self-titled EP, or an upgraded version for US$2, at its website.

    This clip for The Space In Between illustrates the style beautifully.

    Parasite shakes things up a bit, with a Slip-like feel thanks to fuzz guitar and Reznor’s threatening vocals in the mix; Fur Lined is likewise upbeat but sans sharp edges.

    The EP’s diversity and overall charm bodes well for the album – on its way!

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    Changing notes

    iPod speakers

    I admit it — I’ve been dragging the technology chain. While many in my community are discussing which ebook reader to acquire (and oh, the temptation there!), I’ve only just entered the mp3 age. My first acquisition: an iPod Classic, black, 160Gb. That should hold the silence at bay! (But let us not forget, sometimes, silence is indeed golden.)

    Why now? It was time, I figured. Time to stop carting CDs around the country, or relying on the paltry 100-song capacity of my voice recorder for emergency relief on aircraft. Time to overcome the jamming, jumping, slowly fritzing stacker in the boot of the car, and the bland if not annoying, repetitive, often facile radio. Time for something that offers the right music for the right moment, at the touch of a button.

    But what to put on it? Everything! But no, let’s prioritise. Favourites, clearly; and now, alphabetically: Android Lust, yes; Bryan Adams, maybe not. Choices, choices… My, how our tastes have changed, and how, yet, we can’t quite let go of the old stuff, the formative stuff, the aural milestones on the musical journey to now.

    It comes with a moment of mourning for artwork: from LP gatefolds to CDs and now to postage-stamp sized jpegs. Still pretty as the flick across the iPod screen, but not so much art as guidepost, now. The fanboy in me wants a cover to be signed; it wants liner notes. I know it’s all about the tunes, not the packaging, and my ear can’t really pick up the quality loss from file compression (though they say this AAC stuff is almost as good…), but still: can you sign my iPod mister?

    And then there’s the accessories. A protective sleeve for the so-slim iPod, speakers for overnight on the road (aren’t these cute? small, light, bass boost, iPod recharging while you play: tick, tick, tick and tick).

    You’d think this is the kind of stuff shop assistants would try to sell you when you were buying the original unit, but no: much more important to chat to your mate on the phone, reluctantly cradling him away on one shoulder for the time it takes to ring up the transaction, let alone show the customer some options. I don’t much need the value-adding at food counters, but when you’re buying tech, yeah, a little bit of effort would go a long way to helping the customer complete the set. But the dude saved me money because I found the gear I needed elsewhere and cheaper, so hey, cheers for that.

    So now it’s back to the A-Z, that cycle of choose-burn-add-eject-artwork-choose, with one avaricious eye on the ebook readers: Kobo, BeBook, dare I say iPad…?

    Benatar? Hell yes; but which? Or all? Choices, choices…

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    Vampirefest, or, how I spent World Goth Day

    kirstyn mcdermott reading at vampirefest

    Yesterday was World Goth Day (appointed by goths, for goths), so it was appropriate that I donned my Nosferatu t-shirt and headed out to the Melbourne Science Fiction Club’s annual mini-con, this year branded Vampirefest!

    The mini-con wasn’t all about the Undead: there was a Tardis and a light-sabre and a tricky standee of Dr Who who kept staring at you, no matter where you were standing in the church hall, and a Stormtrooper made an appearance. There were booksellers and fan groups and interest groups and it was all good, especially once the sun started to come through the windows and warm the winter chill – hooray for the coffee pot! No Twilight shirts in the audience that I saw, but there were a few “And then Buffy killed Edward: the end” ones — clearly, this was a gathering of true believers.

    I was chuffed at the attention paid to my talk about the evolving nature of the vampire, and how cool was it to see the young readers in the front row showing discernment in their vampire literature. There is hope for the monster yet!

    Unfortunately, that message didn’t quite make it through the debate, where my team failed in our bid to overturn the premise that ‘vampires should just lay down and die’. But again, I took heart from the youth vote!

    The Dr Who club had the invidious task of opening proceedings with a presentation of vampires depicted in the TV series; they didn’t quite get the attention they deserved due to stalls still being set up and general greeting chit-chat, but I enjoyed the snippets they showed, and found it interesting that the Time Lords had an edict to kill or be killed should they encounter any bloodsuckers. The vampire mythos, it seems, is truly universal!

    I utterly failed at the trivia contest, managed to keep my hands in my pockets during the auction, and got to revel (even if she did go on to kick our butt in the debate) in Kirstyn’s first public reading (from behind the vampire balloons!) from her forthcoming Madigan Mine (not a vampire story, but a Gothic one, with blood and obsession and maybe-ghosts).

    All in all, a fine day, further enhanced by lunch with a pal from Brissie and after-con drinks with another Queenslander and her gal pals.