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Dispatch dated 10th June 2003

 

The sequel to 'Amy-Faith & The Stronghold' is now more than half complete - some 35,000 words.  'Amy-Faith & The Enemy of Calm' follows on from soon after the first book's Universe-changing conclusion, during the deceptively peaceful 'phoney-war' days which ensue.

The Null are concentrating on mere survival in the island-like 'desiccated worlds'  that remain to them, although thoughts of revenge against their young human nemesis are never far away.

In the meanwhile, a new threat emerges.  A former creature and pet of the Null rouses from ancient sleep to discover that Amy-Faith's actions have cleared the way for it to rise and conquer.

Blissfully ignorant of that for the moment, Amy-Faith plans a Stronghold rescue mission for her lost friend, Merlin, who surrendered himself to an awful and eternal fate in order to save her.  Yet, in so doing, she will be advancing into the jaws of terrifying danger.  Worst still, she is eagerly awaited ...

 ******

I've also been busy with writing short stories and three tales have emerged from the keyboard in 2003.  They comprise:

  • 'I CAME TO COMPTON NOT FOR GLORY BUT TO SAVE MY SOUL'

 A medieval tale of crusading and the supernatural set in the most numinous Surrey wood I have the privilege of knowing.

The title is stolen ( or 'liberated' ) from an inscribed bracelet found on the body of a Turk after the 'great siege' of Malta in 1565.  Actually, I recall he ( or his jewellery ) said he was there not for booty but salvation - but the admirable sentiments are the same ...

  • ' THE SUNKEN GARDEN'

 A ghost story wherein an elderly Methodist minister celebrating his Golden wedding anniversary gets more than he bargained for during a hotel 'leisure break'.

             &

  • 'IN THE NAME OF ALLAH, THE COMPASSIONATE ?'

A companion to 'In the Name of Allah, the Omnipotent ?' ( published in  'Interzone' no 135 September 1998 ) and second in a projected trio of Islamic tales.

Set in modern Bosnia, the story concerns a former cheerful-chappie deejay who saw and did things in the Yugoslavian Civil War that he'd now rather forget.  In rediscovering religious faith and striving to do good as a Sarajevan policeman he encounters the apparent reality of the world that Allah ( and His creation, Man ) has made.

My long-standing and trusted first-reader ( who thus selflessly serves as food-taster to the public ) said he ended this tale clutching his face in horror.  Therefore, I may have stumbled on something here.  Not one for under 18s or to be read when alone or feeling down ...

****** 

It is estimated that there have been over a thousand biographies of  Horatio Nelson written.  There's even a book devoted to his five, frustrated, 'years ashore' in Norfolk when peace and official disapproval meant he couldn't get a ship.

Therefore, even if I read, say, one a month, twelve a year ( as I sometimes do ), I still couldn't exhaust that reading list even in the course of a long and leisured life.  A decent enough way of getting through life though ...

Likewise, the devotion of a decade-minimum necessary research and required maritime background knowledge, not to mention other commitments, preclude me adding to that list celebrating 'The Immortal Memory'.  Better qualified authors than I are about that task this very minute I'm sure, and I can  anticipate their fresh takes on an inexhaustible subject with pleasure.

And yet even so the mad idea of a new book occurred to me:  'NELSON & THE MEANING OF LIFE', subtitled 'THE REIGN OF REASON BREEDS MONSTERS' ( nicked and twisted from Goya's famous painting. )

Without giving the game away too much ( my argument needs proper exposition and explanation ) the gist is the potential ... fineness of a life lived free of Reason's straitjacket.  Naturally, I exclude that quality of 'Reason' discussed by the ancient stoics but refer instead to the dreary dogma bequeathed us ( cheers ! ) by the ideologues of the 18th century so-called 'Age of Reason, such as Voltaire, and descending in grey line to Polly Toynbee and Salman Rushdie today.

Plus !  Perceived continuities between Nelson's personality and his Old English ancestors, the concept of 'Southern English Stoicism' ( most of the Royal Navy's captains were south country men ) and the intertwining of three 'nesses': fearlessness, kindness and ruthlessness, that can on rare occasions combine to make a loveable human predator ...

In fact, I really ought to prioritise this project because the 'anti-book' to 'NELSON & THE MEANING OF LIFE' has already been written - 'Nelson' by Terry Coleman ( a Guardian journalist, surprise, surprise ), Bloomsbury (suspiciously apt ), 2001.  A 427 page long ungenerous and low-minded whinge, siphoning the Immortal Memory of style or interest.  I understand it's favoured reading material amongst the Null.

******

Prompted by my crippling sense of responsibility, I wrote  'A Hymn to Merrily' which was published in 'All Hallows', Journal of the Ghost Story Society.  No. 32.  Feb 2003.  It seeks to alert everyone to the writings of Phil Rickman and in particular his now five book series concerning Merrily Watkins, Anglican priestess and 'deliverance consultant' for the Diocese of Hereford in England.

Since, in such a worthy cause, I tried to phrase it as best I can, I can ... do not better than supply the text below:

A HYMN TO MERRILY

‘Oft when on my couch I lie, in vacant or pensive mood,’ ( being a good GSS member ) my thoughts turn not, like Wordsworth’s, to daffodils, but to ghost stories ( or Israel women soldiers – but that’s another story … ).  Specifically, I ponder just what would comprise my personally tailored template for the perfect ghost story ?

Years of contemplation have honed it to the following:

  • An English setting, preferably countryside, preferably very English.

  • A contemporary setting – but with deep links to a still living ( and breathing and throbbing and eager for revenge ) past.

  • Profound characterisation.  Cardboard cut-outs, walking placards and thinly disguised authorial wet-dreams, need not apply.

  • The full continuum from unease to terror.  Expressed with economy in words that thrill even on re-reading - but never through gore.  Plus, the glamour of evil ‘and all its empty promises’ – but never through cheap thrills.

  • Deep issues like religion and ethics – via the medium of the story itself rather than as a bolt-on or pause in the action.  In other words, realisation that all these ghosties and supernatural business surely implies something …

Imagine then my joy when I recently discovered that there is such a writer ticking off my wish-list.  Imagine also my horror at realising I almost missed him.  For not only is he woefully under-promoted but his books are stacked on the ‘horror’ shelf, you see - when you can locate them at all.  But for a chance recommendation and the promiscuous reading ( amongst other ) habits of a friend, I could so easily have missed out on meeting the Reverend Merrily Watkins ( and her creator, Mr Phil Rickman )

Therefore the purpose of this ‘hymn’ is to share and spread that ‘joy’ - as all joy should be.  I also write inspired by that chilling thought of joy almost aborted.

 To business:      

Merrily is an Anglican priestess,.  A widow blessed and burdened with a stroppy teenage daughter, she humbly tries her best in the bumbling, milk-and-water-kindness context of the contemporary C of E.  That soon entails taking on the mantle of diocesan exorcist - or ‘deliverance minister’ in modern mealy-mouthed parlance.  Cue manifestations around Herefordshire’s Anglo-Welsh border, where Saxonry meets Cymry and history festers just below the bright secular surface.

And that’s about it really.

Except that it isn’t, not by a monstrous chalk.  It so happens Rickman is a wizard of characterisation, a better than Baron Frankenstein creator of flesh and blood.  Merrily is made a living breathing person and conviction develops, via mere marks upon paper, that she, and daughter Jane, and Lol the damaged ex-rocker and Gomer the wiseacre et al. are only a drive to Hereford and lucky encounter away.

Also, Merrily is on a spiritual journey, whilst simultaneously wading through the mundane.  In the course of her days, she encounters good and evil, often from unlikely sources.  The good is believably human and the evil ditto – except when it’s from a superbly hinted beyond.  There’s real theological depth here and passages to ponder long after the book has been set down.  Not to mention untelegraphed lines that crackle like electricity and raise the neck hairs: genuine ‘I’ll just check I’ve locked the back door ‘ quality writing.  Rickman can convey malignity like no other writer I’ve encountered.  Ditto unease.  Ditto supernatural events forming round you, sudden and clammy as a sea-mist.  And he’s chosen to do so in our own beloved ‘ghost story’ genre.  We should be honoured.

I fondly believed myself familiar with every technique for depicting the uncanny, right from Victorian pioneers to contemporary, lazy, splatter-fests. Yet, time and again, in book after book, Rickman astounds with pages that quicken the pulse and chill the room.  This is modern supernatural fiction come of age; proper adult writing – and the closest thing you’ll get to experiencing the supernatural on demand in the safety of your own home.

There are currently four books out – four phenomenal books comprising a series which is more than the sum of its parts.  Collectively, they call out for a big-budget Saturday Inspector Morse style TV series.

In order they are:

  1. 'Wine of Angels'

  2. 'Midwinter of the Spirit' ( my favourite )

  3. 'A Crown of Lights

  4. 'The ‘Cure of Souls'

To whiz through them without spoiling, ‘Wine’ deals with apple-lore and  ancient injustices.  Midwinter’ introduces a chilling hierarchy of evil.  In 'Lights', a 'new-age' 'Wiccan' ( tree-hugging, not cat-strangling, variety ) couple buy a deconsecrated church, but the idea of 'reverting' it to pagan use proves less than wise.  Meanwhile, about her hospital-visiting duties, Merrily encounters a man who refuses to accept the fact that his wife has died.

Finally ( only it’s not – see below ), in ‘Cure’ Merrily collides with possession, unhealthy communication across the ‘Great Divide’ and Rickmanian trademark resurrection of rural memories better left buried.  In this case, the hop industry and Romany lore feature, leavened with spirituality and rock n’ roll references.

From such disparate elements spring stories as engaging and credible as life itself.  High praise or what ?

And there's even humour.  Crown’s Mr Wiccan, an artist, covets the cover-art commission for a best-selling Fantasy series starring 'Lord Madoc the intergalactic Celt'.   Rickman reviews it as '700 pages of total bollocks'.  This particular fantasy book reviewer punched the air and said ‘Yowsa !’ when he read that.

A fifth Merrily novel is apparently in the pipeline.  If there's any justice ( which Merrily sometimes doubts ) Rickman and Merrily deserve to be huge.

Which is where you and I come into it.  The Merrily series represents a major talent unfolding before us. To miss out on it would be to deny yourself a rare and exquisite pleasure in this short life.  It would also be a crying shame to let this author and character pass by without their due reward.

Thus kindly consider this ‘hymn’ as my humble exhortation to buy.

******

Since writing, that mooted fifth Merrily has been published - 'The Lamp of the Wicked' ( Macmillan, 2003 - a mere £10 for a bumper hardback ! ) and I had the honour to review it ( maximum 5 stars ) for SFX Magazine.

Mr Rickman has a website ( http://www.philrickman.co.uk ), he has books for sale - what are you waiting for ?

 ******

 And finally, Fate deals a possible disaster.

In an earlier 'dispatch' I referred to my desire to write The Definitive - and only - History of St. Francis' Church, Littleton, Surrey.  Because ... it is a lovely bargate building, formerly the village school, and tucked away in rural obscurity such that even many car-bound so-called locals, Surreyites don't know of its existence.  If you time your pass just right, the morning sun daily illuminates the stained glass of the eastern window like revelation and you can imagine its old wall clock inside ticking away the moments to no one - an image to store and savour for when in down-casting surrounds like Babylon or Heathrow.  There's a war-memorial to the Littleton men who the British state somehow found the resources to whisk away from their tiny hamlet to die in foreign climes, there's a carved 15th century pietas that Pevsner admired, there's  .... numinousness you could slice.

Two days ago whilst walking past the chapel on the way to Guildford I saw a typed notice on the board outside.

'After July the monthly services are to be discontinued'.

Change and decay about in all I see ...

 

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