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Wednesday July 4th! Supernatural was quite entertaining the other night, and got me thinking.   Thinking about vocations and life - the person I am. The episode, in particular, was about the brothers taking up yuppie jobs in an Office Space atmosphere. The 9-5 hum drum. And they weren’t aware of their true identities. A bit like Adam Lavas in Dark Meridian, really. J     In real life, when I see successful yuppies walking down the street, I’m sometimes jealous, sometimes repulsed. It’s not who I am … (and yet everybody thought I was a yuppie at school). And I’m also studying to be an IT consultant. But there is a certainly an element of me that finds it attractive: I mean, they obviously get laid more often …   And yet when I heard Dean call individuals like this ‘ass clowns in monkey suits’ I laughed hysterically. I sometimes feel guilty about spending most of my free time immersed in the Cimmerian world of midnight; a landscape of horrors and fantastical wonders. But would I really prefer spending it in some 9-5 nowhereland of fake smiles and pretentious banality? No-siree. I wouldn’t. It’s not who those characters are. And it’s not who I am.   I’ll take the darkness any-day, thankyou.   Saturday 27th June 2009! I’m one happy camper today, folks. The first reviews of Ghosts in a Desert World have started to come in, and Jeff Ritchie over at Scary Minds (www.scaryminds.com) has a nice picture to paint of it. Here it is in its entirety:   Matthew Tait presents thirteen tales of the macabre with slight detours into fantasy for a change in pace. Ranging from tales of madness, though planet psycho, to the demons that haunt the dark places the Author presents his own view on what a horror collection should contain. Be prepared to be shocked, dial into some metaphysics, and to question religion as Tait delivers a diverse range of stories. In case anyone is wondering no this isn't a collection of ghosts stories, the title refers to a theme that unites a number of independent tales. There are ghosts on desert worlds they just aren't what you think they are and don't take centre stage in an overt fashion. Ready to open the covers and see what might be lurking there in the dark? Review "He suddenly felt covered with fleas, ants, and a tsunami of maggots." - Car Crash Weather. Ghosts in A Desert World arrived on my desk courtesy of an unpublished manuscript presented as a blog on the internet. See below for a link. Author Matthew Tait has self published via the web in order to get his tales out there. In all honesty I would get in and read them sooner rather than later, at some stage a Publisher is going to option the collection and force the web site off air. You read the collection like a normal blog, each story is a published article, though I must admit I copied and pasted everything into a single word document in order to write this review. Please note at the completion of this review the document will be deleted from my computer to avoid potential breaches of copyright. So let's get down to it. The first point I jotted down in my review notes was that the collection needed a good editing. What you are reading I believe is a preliminary version of the finished work with at least one more Author edit required to get things ship shape and Bristol fashion. Whatever in the hell that means. Naturally since the collection hasn't at yet been published it also hasn't been at the tender mercy of an actual Editor, who would no doubt have red pen in hand marking up a few things. So what you end up reading is a pretty raw manuscript, which all adds to the fascination in my opinion. How often do you get the chance to read an Author's original take on a story before it's polished for final publication? The downside is of course the odd stumbling block in a few stories, no one gets it right the first time, and some typos heralding the normal grammatically foibles that a word processor's spell checker is going to miss. There's nothing that will drive an English teacher into fits of hysteria however, and lets face facts here a few published works make you wonder if the Editor of the work in question didn't knock the book off in an afternoon after a particular long lunch down the local pub. See some of Gabrielle Lord's early published novels for example. Matthew Tait's style and composition should be readily accessible to most readers. Some of the more philosophical stories take a bit of nailing down, but overall you wont be re-reading paragraphs trying to decipher what the author has just stated. The stories flow naturally and nothing is left up in the air. Like any good horror writer Tait is laying the groundwork early in each story to lead naturally to that dark attic room where the screaming is coming from at the completion of the story. As stated previously there is the odd jarring moment in a few stories, but nothing a quick re-phrase isn't going to sort out toot sweet. In particular I liked the Author's handling of the blood work, I keep saying it and no one is listening, good horror writers have an inborn ability to limit their own prose without rubbing a readers nose in the visceral. Matthew Tait on the evidence in this collection is a good horror writer. Tait's characters are pretty much your ordinary people, the folks that live next door, I'm excluding the serial killers and people influenced by the elder gods here. There's a slight hint however that the Author may have spent his formative years reading publications like Tales From The Crypt et al as a sizeable proportion of female characters are slightly over ripe and one step away from that inheritance by dubious means. And here we're not talking the sort of chick who would run a "Dark Crib" horror museum! Oh the bright side of the knife Tait can write a believable character, and here I am including the serial killers and people influence by the elder gods. Strangely many of the tales included in Ghosts In A Desert World are set in the United States, though the characters in those tales are apt to use Down Under terminology and speech patterns. One of those quirks I guess of a manuscript still to be given a final spit shine before publication. Highlights from the collection are Car Crash Weather that amongst other things raises the theme of a horror writer being made by childhood trauma, Terrica with not only a decent pun in the title but a pretty Laymonesque view of serial killing in rural U.S.A, Future's Kingdom: The King's Dome which presents hell on earth courtesy of a fallen angel, and The Chronicals of Trent Randell that promises to be an ongoing story arc that might very well rival the Dexter books. Ghosts In A Desert World is certainly value for money, you can pop over to Ghosts In a Desert World and read it for free. Once again I would urge you to do that sooner rather than later, though for sure I'll be picking up the collection once it finds a publishing home. Matthew Tait has also put his novella Dark Meridian online so I'm looking forward to getting down and dirty with that in the near future, review to follow folks. Thankyou so much, Jeff. If you haven't already, take a tour of www.ccaryminds.com, Jeff is doing a great job promoting the local stuff - you can tell he really cares about the local scene ... and wants to see it flourish.  A Horror/Fantasy novella by Matthew Tait  Dark Meridian: http://darkmeridiantait.blogspot.com   13 Short Stories by Matthew Tait Ghosts In a Desert World: http://ozhorrormtthew-tait.blogspot.com  Saturday 27th June 2009! Sunday 21st June 2009. Somebody describing Car Crash Weather thus: Childhood trauma that apparently turns someone into a horror writer. A rain of blood from the apartment above causes Michael Richard's to revisit a life changing incident in his seventh year. Michael finds out it’s car crash weather time again, and the nightmare is back. Surreal story that revolves around a dark genre writer’s thoughts and fears and the true horror that is only thinly contained from all our lifes. One incident can prove that the path in the wood you didn’t take has made all the difference ... Saturday 20th June 2009!     Review: The Grand Conjunction by Sean Williams.   Adelaide author Sean Williams delivers, via The Grand Conjunction, the final piece of the Astropolios puzzle … a vast, many chambered volume that actually manages to surpass its predecessors Saturn Returns, Cenotaxis and Earth Ascendant.   With such a statement, I do not wish to inflict any spoilers here, for The Grand Conjunction falls into a category that is in and of itself. A continuation of those novels? Yes. The same philosophical and cordial prose we have come to love? Yes. But what lies at this novel heart is more layered in its transparency. Like a Russian Doll, the revelations slide away in a manner that the author himself probably found unexpected and even humorous.   Imre Bergamasc - now, I’m guessing, a somewhat classic protagonist in science fiction’s pantheon – has come full circle. After taking up the mantle of ruler of the galaxy in Earth Ascendant, the end of that novel saw him shackle off the responsibility and head out into the abyss in search of his other murderous self … a being who may have converted into the galaxies most notorious intelligence: a Fort. The scene was set for an epic face-off, an accumulation of everything that’s gone before – and Sean could have very well stuck to a tried and tested formula … had he not been utterly original.   The prologue in The Grand Conjunction is a gentle reminder of those previous advents you may have forgotten, things that ping on the edge of consciousness and make you smile. But it’s the first part of the novel that will really blow you away; a dark, pulpy private-eye wonderland that will be keep you guessing and reading just to see where it all fits in.    It’s disconcerting how lost our main guy (or girl) can be here: the cysts of memory; the amnesiac, schizophrenic quality of advents. And finally the gargantuan amount of years that transpire between them. It all adds up to mind-dislocating factors – which, I guess, is what science fiction is all about. Like previously, the poetic language is apparent. You read, sometimes with veiled comprehension, but reading nevertheless, knowing that understanding will dawn after careful deliberation.   The second half of the book is like a family reunion, and all the major players come back to play: Render, Emlee Copas and Al Freer. These guys have been busy continuing the merry fight … a campaign that sees the now- ruler and Imre’s offspring Ra MacPhedron doing battle with them. The parasite known as the Veil has not gone away. Quite the contrary: most of humanity now lies swindled in its embrace. And there are other eye-openers this scrounger from Dussehra will teach them before all is said and done. But, most important of all, The Luminous have finally dealt their hand and revealed themselves to be creators of a sort … in a realm where humanity itself is like the artificial intelligence. They are the Gods of the future vying for who sits on top of the food chain, past and present …   But the basic premise for Imre never really changed: Avenge the Forts. Find Himself.   And, in the final twenty pages: The War has begun …   Sean Williams, over the years, has proven himself to be quite the master fabulist. A reputation that started off subtle but, with a series like Astropolis, has now demonstrated he is in a league of his own …   Tuesday 16th June 2009 My 2006 novella Dark Meridian now has a home online. The blurb can be found in the first post. Be sure to tell me what you think. :) http://darkmeridiantait.blogspot.com Sunday 14th June 2009! The Long Walk by Stephen King (or Bachman, if you prefer), is probably my favorite novella/novel of all time. I say this for a variety of reasons: first of all, it is one of the first ‘adult’ novels that I ever tackled – and it came at the tender age of twelve. Therein lays an uncanny, portentous flavor within the pages that will never be equaled. It was read with a pure heart, a pure mind. No critical analysis or comparisons can be made, for the standing wave front that is the human mind has yet to develop a coherent narrative juxtaposition. I saw the world through different eyes … better eyes, if I can be truthful. Almost candy-flavored senses that an adult brain would need drugs to enhance. In truth, I yearn for that transparency: but have to live with the verity that those halcyon moments will never come again …   Secondly, I am tackling the book again for over the tenth time, and find it every bit as delightful, sickening, insightful, gruesome and funny as I did the first time around. It’s obvious there is a reason Stephen King became who he became. Although written just after high-school, we find within the pages smooth and structured intent: someone who was born to take up the pastime. The story of Ray Garraty walking for his life in a post-neo fascist gameshow America is a metaphor for life. Only the persistent keep walking, while others conk out and die. Some of them are friends; others enemies. But we’re all on the Long Walk together, and I am enviable of Stephen King for grappling this finite concept at such an impressionable age.   It was drawn to my attention last night there is actually a website for devotees of the book. I couldn’t believe it, and yet … I could. I’m not alone in my journey to keep walking and claim the ultimate prize … or Dark Tower, or whatever you want to call it. There are others all around me … trying to find the strength to run …     One more thing: I think one the best things about revisiting our most beloved books is the smell of them. A scent can certainly transport you back – and if you have that same edition you read as a youngling, hold on to it. It’s a fantastic tether to a purer past …   Shoot me an email if you feel the same. :)     Monday 1st June 2009 In addition to spending the long weekend at Conjecture, I'll also be attending Dymocks Rundle mall on Thursday 4th at 6:30 pm to listen to author and Natcon special guest Julie Czerneda give a reading and answer some questions. There'll be lots of wine and nibbles (just like the time KJA appeared) I'm told so I hope to see you there! In writing news: I'm in the process of converting Dark Meridian into blog format not unlike Ghosts In a Desert World, so pretty soon the whole world can read that twisted little novella for free, too. :) Monday 25th May 2009 I’ll be attending the 48th Australian Science Fiction Convention (Natcon) held in Adelaide and beginning June 5th and running the entire long weekend. What can I say? It’s shaping up to be a blast. A lot of cool book launches seem to be happening, a lot of great panels and a lot of great people … and all held right here on my home turf.      It comes at a pivotal time. Remember a few posts ago I ruminated I needed a Sean Williams fix and The Grand Conjunction was being released? Well, said book arrived in my mail last week and I was flabbergasted to see the review I did for HorrorScope on the inside sleeve. Also there was a smidgen of it on the back. Natcon will be special because Sean himself will be there (of course), and I’ll also get to see him do a spot of DJ at the ball thingy on Saturday night. My review of The Grand Conjunction will be up on HorrorScope by then so hopefully we can chat about that.   And is it good? Well, it’s mind-bending to say the least.   In other related writing news, Shane Jiraya Cummings referred to some of my work as ‘raw and powerful’. But unfortunately it didn’t get reviewed …   Anyways, hope to see some of my fellow HorrorScoper’s and everyone else at the Natcon. J       Sunday 17th May 2009   I love the idea that people once thought that the world was flat, or that there was an edge to the world. It was limitless, eternal. A kind of supernatural dominion … not a restricted sphere full of boundaries, territories, and unimaginative laws.   Modern existence can be kind of monotonous and lackluster.   My imagination can sometimes be feverish, longing for hidden realities and revelations …       Monday 11th May 2009   It hit me today how much I miss Sean Williams work. I desperately need a Sean Williams fix, so it couldn’t be more appropriate timing that the last book in his Astropolis series is coming out. Tentatively titled The Grand Conjunction. Expect a very detailed review of that on HorrorScope.   A friend of mine bought me a crime novel by Stuart Macbride called Blind Eye. Now, this is where things get interesting because, well … I usually can’t stand such a hard-boiled genre. But I’ve given it a go, and …well, I think I’m just becoming more mature in the head; more adult, so to speak, because I’m really enjoying it.   So much more to say; so much stuff happening in the world of fiction. Will certainly be back soon … J     Monday 4th May 2009.   My muse showed up on Friday night, and it seems the tale of Davey Ribbon wants to be told properly. Needs to be told. I think I’ve just never felt mature enough to handle it’s characters … it as, after all, my personal attempt at small town mythos; a homage to Stephen King and – although I don’t know much about this from my own upbringing, it’s something that I have to get out of my system.   All the major players have been introduced and established; the boogeyman that is the dead boy Davey Ribbon has implanted his subtle evil in the collective consciousness of an entire municipal population. The unnecessary chapters have been scrapped … which basically includes the last third of the entire tome. Lightning stutters and flickers in the distance with the coming darkness, and some kind malign face-off ensues …   Copious coffee has been prepared, and I’ve blown up the television. I just heard a bell ringing in the small town of Cyclone Cove. Seems schools out for another day and twin sisters Miriam and Charlotte are on their way home. But I’m sure they’re going to wish they stayed at school. Because when they finally get home they’ll find that their Mommy just isn't Mommy anymore. Because Mommy has changed. Mommy has become scary. Now, for the fun part. J Tuesday 21st April 2009. Life has many hidden layers - so many unspoken, secrative realms. When writers or anyone creates, there’s hidden meaning everywhere. Look at DUNE? Look at DONNIE DARKO? I spoke to Richard Kelly (the director) briefly and he informed me that he wasn’t quiet aware that his vision would have so much impact; I doubt, when he was composing, that he had any idea that God was working through him. That’s what I adore about writing and creating: we have no inkling that we’re just vessels for the infinite … 13 Short Stories by Matthew Tait Ghosts In a Desert World: http://ozhorrormatthew-tait.blogspot.com Tuesday 14th April 2009 Hello World,   It astounds me how a medical show like HOUSE really captures the imaginations of people in creative realms … those ensconced mainly in horror and Sc/Fi, it seems. Actually, it could just be it appeals to those with fantastic intellects, and I’d like to think the people involved in working and writing in said genre’s have that in abundance.    Well, I wish …   A person would think the quality would dwindle over the years, but somehow the writers (in my opinion) have managed to keep it savvy and fresh, with some of the best episodes just aired. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for LOST, although there are many out there that would disagree with me. Believe me, I tried to hang onto this wondrous show with the same vehemence as SK, but it ultimately drifted away …   Regarding the great god Stephen, it will never, ever cease to amaze me how much work this one man industry can put out. I deliberate on this issue for hours during the dark watches of the night. What is the secret? Many moons ago I thought it was pure passion; I had that in abundance but still couldn’t muster his work ethic. Then I figured it was drinking alcohol (because it’s no secret now that it was certainly his secret in the eighties), or so he claimed. But although that helped temporarily and produced some marvelous short-story visions, it ultimately gets ugly and in the way of life. Financial success? The time this gives you? Perhaps no success and the motivational spur? Smoking? Having a wife for support (which I don’t), kids? Blah, blah, blah …   Whatever the case, none of it matters. What does is that I’m still chugging out words every day. Whether it be seven words or three thousand, at least they’re there. And on some of those days, the magic works so well that it’s this reality that seems like the lie …   A blurb recently emerged of his new up and coming Under the Dome, and it sounds like the premise for the Simpsons movie. Still, can't wait.   Another I can't for is Kevin Anderson's TERRA INCOGNITA: The Edge of the World. Here's you're plug, Kevin. A writer who works as hard as you deserves it. And deserves to be read widely, too, of course.       Wednesday April 8th 2009 I finally got around reading Issue one of the Australian Horror Writers magazine: Midnight Echo. My mistake when submitting myself was handing in pieces that were positively ancient (in time elapsed since composing them but also my immature syntax) and only really doing it because they adhered to word Content. Instead of handing in paltry half-efforts because that’s all I had in the trunk I should’ve just let it fly and submitted nothing … or sat down and wrote something else ball breaking and original.   Anyways, that’s what I’ve learnt reading the stories: that the authors here would not have come to the table lightly. And I know that writers like Felicity Dowker actually compose with a specific anthology or market in mind.   So, just like Steve King does in Nightmares and Dreamscapes, the bottomfeeders will be carefully swept under the rug …and everything to appear from now on in any format will be relatively new in regards to writing style and date composed.   I printed out Midnight Echo in its entirety and carry it around with me in an old-fashioned satchel thingy. All I can say is thank Christ for this realm called the internet; I scorn the bloody thing at times but without it … I wouldn’t know there were hundreds of other people out there just like me. People that don’t think you’re eccentric for carrying around – and dipping into – a collection of macabre stories by a bunch of Aussie writers. My mistake was once leaving it around as perhaps a conversation starter. Let’s just say I won’t be doing that again because it was almost thrown out with no more aplomb than if it were a dirty and shed snake skin … :) Friday April 3rd 2009 I know it’s a little boring to crap on about Clive Barker all the time, but last night I finished reading SACRAMENT for the third time. It’s obvious there is a reason others stick out of the crowd on such an epic scale … because we go back to these books when others just aren’t cutting it. I wept a little at the end, when the message blossoms out of the madness: a character is ruminating that she must remember the glories she’s witnessing (the way the world really is) when unhappy times show up in the future. Because it’s not that those glories aren’t there … they’re just hidden from sight.   It’s a thought that’s entered my cranium countless times over the years: and I love that optimistic side of me. It’s just a pity I sometimes forget those glories ever existed, and have a very hard time recalling even snippets of them.   But its books like SACRAMENT that make us remember. Everything looks a little brighter afterward, the world a more magical place. Staring at the moon afterward, drinking coffee, I saw the clouds passing over it’s globular face and felt a rush of wonder that my senses were perceiving it exactly as it wanted to be seen.   Wonder that wouldn’t have existed had Clive Barker not taught me to see it …         Monday 23 March 2009 When you surround yourself with Darkness on such a scale, it’s sometimes entirely healthy to balance out the equation with laughter. (Although that’s not entirely correct – it’s true that horror has been prevalent in my celluloid entertainment, but I’ve become too much of a Sci-Fi nut over the past year to accurately call myself a horror/dark fantasy aficionado.) But the comedy must still come, and as a human being I don’t know what I’d do without at least two doses of The Simpson’s a day … Over the weekend I watched the entire Summer Heights High DVD – that’s the Australian mockumentary with Chris Lilley. Like Kath and Kim, it’s utterly scary because that's how school used to be for me; there were fuckwits like the characters he plays everywhere. Suffice to say I watched it laughing my ass off but feeling utterly embarrassed at the same time. The Chasers War on Everything should be back soon, I hope. That’s just so my sense of humor … enough so I wrote a few of my own sketches for dumb fun that could probably find a niche with the gang. Headcases is pretty cool also. Actually, there’s just too damn many to mention here ... Reading: Chimaera by Ian Irvine. Wednesday 18th March 2009 I’ve been working quite hard this week but the words have managed to come nonetheless. 5,000 so far, and this is good for me. I think I’m finally becoming a breed of composer that can write in the more public dominion: whilst cars hustle and bustle, and the human herd chatters, a halo of darkness can surrounded me … and sometimes the distractions can work to your benefit.   Even though I can’t afford it, I’m going to buy books tomorrow. Because words are my everything … including food itself. What shall take my fancy I do not know at this point, and that is part of the impending anticipation. Revelation awaits me …   Reading: The Cellar by Richard Laymon and The Golden Torc by Julian May.       Sunday March 15 2009   There was a marathon of Desperate Housewives on today … and I was just about to change the channel. A few episodes have amused me over the years, but there’s been no overt pleasure in watching it. However, today I was enraptured. Whilst writing, of course. Can’t just sit there watching the box without fidgeting with something else. Uh-mnn. Cough.   It reminded me of the Buffy marathons they used to have on a couple of years ago on Fox 8. Man, they were something … whole lazy Sundays spent with Buffy, Xander, Spike and the crew. An imaginative individual could be utterly immersed as if the show was produced specifically for he or she personally. Anyways, I don’t feel that guilty about Desperate Housewives anymore. After all, I’m doing nothing but spending the afternoon staring at gorgeous chicks …   Re-Reading: The Tommyknockers by Stephen King. And yep, I have that cool edition. :)       Monday March 09 2009 I love Clive Barker's art; like a lot of people I didn't at the start. But there's something about it that speaks to you. It works on you, demanding attention. Years ago ... back in the day, as they say, I was a little miffed to find out he was gay. Here was a guy who was my mentor: almost a father figure. (Don't get me wrong, I'm not homophobic). :) His words are beyond beautiful. Intelligence reigns in his work. No wonder Stephen King felt the way he did when he uttered the words: I have seen the future of Horror. But you get used to it ... just like his drawings. And eventually you wouldn't have it any other way: because it suits him. He is the King of alternative ... and represents everything that goes against the grain.  And he's still like a father figure to me.       Sunday March 08 2009 I miss Kurt Cobain. I really do. Not personally, of course. But I sometimes weep for those albums that could’ve been produced had the dude not put a bullet in his head. And a solo album that would’ve taken place about now in his career …   Sorry. I don’t mean to sound negative, but I’m in a maudlin mood. You’re probably thinking: Well, listening to Nirvana will do that too you. Well, I beg to differ. If it wasn’t for Nirvana’s music I’d probably be in the grave with him by now …   Currently reading: War in Heaven by David Zindell. (Well, re-reading)     Would someone tell this dude to get a website? He had one for a while, I think, but it’s long since vanished. There’s a couple of fan one’s, I think– but that’s all.   Back to music: I worry about the state of rock n roll when women are in charge: All they ever do is sing about their relationships; men are everything to them, and they rarely think about anything else. Hooning along in my automobile today, I heard the latest lyrics from Kelly Clarkson: My Life, would suck … without you. They’re probably the worst lyrics I’ve ever heard for a chorus … and I’ve been a muso and gutair player since ... well, forever. I kind of know what I’m talking about.   Evanescence seemed to change this; here was a chick that could rock. She sang about philosophy, being depressed, and all kinds of shit. And then their second album came about, and, shock of all horrors, it was about her boyfriend. Lead singer of Seether. (Which is a fucking great band). Ahhgg … sorry dudes, I’m just venting.   Thursday March 05 2009   I re-read about three quarters of Steve King’s Cell today … although it’s a great book, it just doesn’t shout out like some of the others. I forget scenes almost as fast as I read them; this doesn’t happen with most of his work: Needful Things, for example, showcased lingering memories that I’m going to have until the day I die. Still, who can really fault a grandmaster? The book is brilliant for the average constant reader … let’s leave it at that.   I went out to a counter meal at a pub yesterday with my good mate Johnny. (Do American’s use the word ‘Pub’)? They’re great things … almost better than a 4 star meal. Lot’s of cute girls hanging around. If I go out for anything I go out for them. J As a man, you try to pretend you’re not staring. But you are; you can’t help yourself. A woman’s beauty is everything …   Back to writing, I guess. I’m still working on The Reborning story about life-like babies ...   Tuesday March 03 2009   I managed to put up a couple more stories from Ghosts In a Desert World to the Blog, and there’s another three to go. I’ve been ruminating about giving the stories a facebook page or some such – a way to garner reactions and experiment with technology for future projects and marketing stuff. We’ll see …   I also started a Shaun Hutson book last night: Relics. The bad boy of horror they call him, and I’d have to agree; he’s certainly no Clive Barker. Some of the bloodshed makes Laymon’s stuff look tame. I’ve kind of gone off of that stuff as I’ve matured but sometimes … just sometimes a person just needs that schlock horror to appease the slasher in him. J They’re attractive because they’re so short and brutal. I’ll probably finish it tomorrow – that’s 269 pages in two days!!   I got a Facebook invite from Sean Williams to attend the Fringe Wordfire do on the ninth where he’ll be doing a reading. Fingers crossed I can afford to go. Man, if I didn’t live alone and could share my rent I could be going to these things every week!   I suppose I must go now because Two and a Half Men is on … the perfect balm that soothes a weekday. Almost – but not quite – as good as The Simpson’s …   Monday March 02 2009   Things change so quickly in the world of publishing fantastic fiction. Not two days passed before Kevin Anderson informs me of a title change to Jessica of Dune. Now called THE WINDS OF DUNE – it took a while to sink in but now that it has I think it’s wholly appropriate … and moves away from Frank’s work just a little bit more. Why do I think this is a good thing? At the beginning I would not have dared write such blasphemy. But as the years progressed I’ve changed my tune. Just knowing more about the industry has broadened my horizons. You also have to consider the fact that Kevin Anderson and Brian Herbert have contributed more words to the mythology. They have their own mythology now. I know - its sacrilege to a lot of people out there. But I couldn’t care less anymore. There’s a part of my temporal lobe that actually enjoys their stories more. I guess that makes me stupid. J The video game generation or something. J (Even though I don’t play them).   Great news: The upcoming Natcon Conjecture convention being held here in Adelaide looks like it’s going ahead. This is awesome, and I’m sure as shit going to be there. Not many guests as yet, but that’s not the reason I’m looking forward to this. Hanging out with talented Aussie authors and illustrators (including Sean Williams) and just being a geek on my own turf is reason enough. That, the drinking and networking. J   Turns out Terry Brooks is releasing a new Landover novel. Here’s the cover:     Oh, and remember I have Ghosts In a Desert World up on Blogger. Still can't get links in colour, so I'll try to make it easy and put the link right here: http://ozhorrormatthew-tait.blogspot.com   By golly, I think it worked!   Saturday February 28th 2009   Hello people of the world. I’ve created a Blog where I’m going to display the stories in Ghosts in a Desert World. Some are quite early attempts and were written as far back as 2001. It’s still in an infancy stage and I look forward to prepping it up and making it easier on the eye. Unfortunately, the Blog format doesn’t seem to permit indentations in paragraphs. Feel free to leave comments.  Remember, there's a lot of tinkering to do. You should find it here:   http://ozhorrormatthew-tait.blogspot.com   It actually just there, on top of this sentance, but it's in black :) Can't figure out how to get links in colour. Just click when your mouse appears over it ...     Wednesday 25th February 2009 Different Masks - The Blog of Matthew Tait I watched 911 Mysteries today in a proper DVD format, and it never ceases to astonish me what really happened that day and the majority of people – or sheep, I prefer to call them – that still believe the official story of what happened on September 11. Besides 911 in Plane Site, it’s probably the most intelligent and sophisticated documentary produced … I’m actually thinking about purchasing an ‘Investigate 911' hoddie. This probably means I’ll be shot in the street … but what the hey? J I've said enough inflammatory remarks in my life and writing to warrant that already. J What really irks me about the whole scenario is that during the years, I’ve actually had friends that wouldn’t speak to me anymore because I’ve stated there are too many unanswered questions – and a litany of improbable coincidences and physical implausibility’s. Remember though, I was voicing these as early as 2003 when it wasn’t very cool to do so. I’m just glad most of us have finally woken up … and what crimes (mostly at top levels) that as a species we’re capable of. But enough of that.   On to books …   I don’t think it’s any secret I’ve kind of become infatuated with the DUNE novels over the last few years. Hell, it goes back a lot further than that but as I grow older and more consciousness of the structure of civilization, I’m eerily reminded of how much a mirror it is to our own earthen dominion; how through philosophical prose (Frank Herbert) and latter on a more simplistic one but (to me) equally entertaining format with his son and Kevin Anderson narrating, it forms a juxtaposition that reports on the human condition as if seeing through the eyes of God itself. (Notice I didn’t use He. It’s an utterly absurd notion that God would be a man, I think). What I’ve taken to doing – because I’ve already read through all of them – is reading snippets from whatever page that I open to at any given time. I know a myriad of scenes and situations, so nothing is a surprise to me, and I’ve found that by just skimming certain text nuggets of wisdom can be imprinted on my psyche like studying text from a Bible or Koran. Enlightenment eschews … and I feel as if I’ve just had a snort of clarity. Either that, or fine cocaine. J Am I weird for doing this? Perhaps. But I found through the advent of the internet many equally weird people and geeks out there with similar habits. I’m very much looking forward to JESSICA OF DUNE. Here’s the covers below:       Tuesday 24th February 2009 Different Masks - The Blog of Matthew Tait Oh, how I wish I could’ve kept up a normal blog these past couple of years! So much time I’ve wasted, so much life that I could’ve been living that has forever been forfeited. At such a young age (31) it utterly flabbergasts me that I gave up so young. Well, that’s not quite true: I’m still alive and kicking; still treading the path of mortality in my own bid to survive and reach a personal Dark Tower …   But I did surrender existence to a certain extent. And I know, that sounds weak and defeatists: in a nut-shell: a species of loser talk. Not wanting to get out of bed on any day of the week; not taking pleasure in mundane or intricate pleasures that human life offers us. Christ, what a God forsaken negative creep! But sometimes knowing these things doesn’t suddenly make you wake up and change. It should. It definitely should. Knowing of a trap is the first step to foiling it. (I think the late Frank Herbert said that … or Paul MauDib, if you prefer). However, I sometimes found, in the dark circus of the night at 3am, that the knowledge of the trap made me want to curl up in its embrace.   But, I’ve decided, things are going to be different around here, damn it! I must admit, if I hadn’t thrown the towel part way in my writing accomplishments – and much more aside - would be far more accomplished by now. Writing did get gone: in 2007 I completed a novel called Davey Ribbon … something I’ve spoken of briefly before. However, the problem with being such a novice lies within: After sloughing through the first 100 pages (and an epilogue) of a story, one finds all sorts of ways to improve things and fashion the tale from a much better perspective. This more often that not requires much more than a draft … or even a complete re-write. It entails throwing away your darling words (murdering them brutally), and starting all over again. Painstaking. Horrid. But somehow liberating. The most ghastly bit of this business is that you know it might happen again at page 200. No strike that. You do know.  And the knowing is like giving birth and pulling teeth.   There was joy, as most writers can attest – but the moments were few and far between. During this time I lost a partner that had stood by my side for my entire adult life. Subsequently I lost my mother. Bankruptcy followed … and even things that cannot be repeated here. Boo hoo! I hear you say. If you’ve got an issue, ‘ave a tissue! For fuck-suck, grow up and get over it! Hell, I was screaming it myself. It was a formulaic mantra that coursed through my skull’s canvas …and played a freakish pageant in that tent I spoke of earlier. The words … the words weren’t coming in the way I hoped. They were tentative and flat. I was watching others emerge in the dark fiction scene and steal thunder that was supposed to be mine! Two short story sales and a commendation from the AHWA for Car Crash Weather was supposed to be the catalyst for a massive rise in profile …   The thing is, I’m quite sure – after long contemplation – that this wasn’t because I was discovering what most writers do: that it’s a lot harder than it appears. No, I was just scared. The lack of joy frightened the shit out of me. If there were no endorphins flowing through my grey matter when composing – something that has been a genus in my veins for as long as I’ve been breathing – then what on earth was I going to do to replace it? Thankfully, I took up a pastime that has become a savior through all the dire times: Reading.   During 2008 I probably waded though over eighty novels, short-story collections and anthologies. It was mind numbing. Brilliant. Emotional and intellectual anesthesia. I think I leant more about the craft in that time than I ever could from writing. I discovered the awe of audiobooks … dense with wonder. Also an admiration for the audio book geniuses that pull off such coherent narrative structure over the extended length of a blockbuster. I found a talent for it myself, and read the entire Dune saga on dicta-phone for a friend. Soon, I hope to have a Demo CD to give to publishers. All this was a better drug than any beer … and certainly less taxing on the bladder. I lost myself in a fog of tomorrow and revelation, in order to avoid thinking the unthinkable. I discovered people across the globe that shared my passion: that mere words could shape reality and you’re relationship to it. They were tools for change, and although I was changing at a snails pace, I was changing - each day, I’m going to bury those unhappy, dark times – of which there are certainly more to follow – under ever-growing layers of optimism. Other writers have shown me the tools; my own writing will bridge the spectrum.   And I will keep writing. And soon start submitting again. I look back on my writing of Dark Meridian with unalloyed fondness: there is heart in those words. In itself it’s un-publishable, but there is heart there, and lots of it. Some of Davey Ribbon is probably salvageable, but if not I will start again. And again. Until I get it right … and finally bring another world into being …   Hopefully I will make this blog another permanent thing, with exploits that revolve around day to day activities. The good, the bad and the ugly. With as much honesty as possible. That said, there are many writing projects to work on. There are two novellas to pull from the trunk: Olearia and Deadworld. Short stories by the name of The Reborning, Lizards and Lights, Teddy Bear Prongs, and Cannibal Communion.   Frank Herbert once taught me something else:   I must not Fear. Fear is the mind Killer.   I am going to try and fear no longer.   Personally, I want to thank Sean C Speakman for helping me come back to the joy of writing, although he doesn’t know it. One day, I hope to shake his hand.   Matthew Tait December 7th 2008 Review: The Lobby by Christopher A. Durish   Walls Closing in … Crowded blood soaked recollection …   This is just a small hint of the opening stanza of Christopher Durish’s first novel The Lobby. It’s a book that, after a brief skimming, was supposed to put be put down in favor of more pressing titles. But what started out as a quick perusal ended up being the catalyst for reading the entire novel. A sure sign I was dealing with a horror writer with literary merit.   Zachary Bell is an up and coming yuppie in the world of advertising. He’s a married father of two daughters with an ideal future living in New York. But his existence resembles nothing that constitutes the American dream or adhering to values. For his nights are spent attending the sordid parties of the wealthy elite and succumbing to infidelity. More distressing is his apathy and utter lack of conscience. So when Zach’s car plunges of a cliff in the aftermath of one of his infamous parties with his mistress at his side, it is little surprise he feels almost no remorse for her resulting death …   From here, we’re treated to a kind of surrealistic Hell as Zachary awakens from a brief coma. He tries to return to the life he lived but has fleeting visions of the afterlife and the creatures of that realm. This is where things crank up, as Christopher paints a mesmerizing picture of the underworld’s environs and those souls whom skate along the peripheral abyss. That said, The Lobby tackles the mythology of Hell. The Bible’s mythology … and those who have found the implausibility of this folklore to be tiresome when trying to get their chills may be a little disappointed. However, an author like Christopher can certainly take the un-believable and make it believable. His prose is like an intricate webbing of the grotesque, maturely handled – and not bogged down with dialogue. This is a story that just begs to be translated into celluloid, and I was eerily reminded – pleasantly so – of novels like Dean Koontz’s Hideaway or perhaps one of the latter (but better) Hellraiser flicks.   A times the horror can be a little clichéd in the details, and certain paragraphs will have the same word repeated numerous times - a pet hate of mine – but overall The Lobby is an excursion worth taking. The strengths of the book are the deft way the domesticity of family are handled and the oddly comforting chaos as Zachary is propelled toward his destiny. The novel is a slowly building crescendo and contains an ending which certainly isn’t tacked on but played out with just the right editorial skill.   Without using any eloquence here, I just say I really enjoyed this book. It is one of those novels that feel pulpy but have a sophisticated style at the same time. The Lobby can be ordered from Sense of Wonder Press. Review: Little Brother By Cory Doctorow It is impossible to covey to the potential reader in such a short space the endless merits this novel contains: at once a gritty techno thriller but on the same par a morality play soaked in historic truths. Set just a few short years from now it tackles the ever prudent issue on how far governments are willing to go to sacrifice our freedoms in the name of security. Young Marcus is a hacker who discovers this all to well when terrorists blow up the Oakland Bay Bridge. This is a read-in-one-sitting extravaganza that is littered with moments of revelation. December 6th 2008 Review: The Dust Devils by Sean Williams     Following on from the author’s previous foray into YA fiction with The Changeling, Sean Williams picks up the tale with our young hero Ros seeking redemption for misdeeds committed in the fictional world of The Broken Lands. Previously we were left in the lurch with Ros seeking Adi’s clan so that he could return her ghost – a constant companion - before she is presumed dead and disappears forever. Ravaged by the desert winds and harassed by sand bandits, Ros at last comes to the cradle of Dunetown, where a hapless youth named Yury and his feeble sidekick Scarlo offer a way out for them all.   A short novel that will appeal to a broad spectrum of readership, The Dust Devils is Sean Williams tapping into the naive youngling in all of us. The villains presented here are the stuff of nightmares, and hold up to the strangest dangers being presented in fiction today. But more appealing is the landscape itself, a scarred wasteland where not only Dust Devils lay in wait for the hapless traveler. The book bristles with a faint gothic undertone reminiscent of his grandest Space Opera, yet holds down the narrative of action and magic to supersede its predecessor. October 14th 2008 Review: Odd Hours by Dean Koontz     Writer guarantor Dean Koontz returns with the forth thriller in his fabled Odd Thomas novels – a saga that has proved to be charged with an unrivalled mystique buoyed by the strength of the title character. This time, the fog shrouded streets of Magic Beach serve as centre-stage for Odd and his unusual brand of heroics.   A different task has beset Odd this time: to help the living and not the dead. For his apocalyptic dreams have led him to enigmatic Annamaria; a pregnant lady who’s mystery almost outweighs Odd’s own exploits. Hunted by a cabal of thugs who work for the Harbor Department and use the city’s streets as their playground, Odd is tested to the limits as supernatural revelations take on new meaning and depth.   In this volume Koontz’s prose is as succinct as ever; and although the action is somewhat sluggish compared to previous adventures, the author makes up for it with brutish violence and tasty irony. Joining him on his journey is the peeved ghost of Frank Sinatra and a spirit dog named Boo. At times the reader can get lost in the guessing game and metaphor, but ultimately Koontz’s knight is one who delivers sufficient entertainment. September 17th 2008 Okay – so this news item section isn’t actually a blog, is it? No, my profile has de-evolved into a quiet, almost semi-transparent reviewer haunting the airwaves. But this is fine. Life is full of peaks and troughs, bridges and by-ways. I figure the world has enough bloggers prattling and rattling off their thoughts into the ether to cope with already. Besides, most of the individuals in my particular dominion are already saying what I actually think, so there’s no reason to go repeating it.  Let them have the glory. I guess if writing was like playing in a band I would want to be a guitarist … but with the stage presence of a drummer. Well, at least for now, anyway.   People reading this should do a couple of things. Firstly, they should go out and buy a copy of Black Box. (www.brimstonepress.com.au)   It’s a multi media advent filled with disturbing, ultra short stories from Australia’s finest Horror Writers. Included in it is my story Soft Tissue. There’s also dozens of songs and music from Australia’s best Indie bands and Dark Fantasy art galleries and a short graphic novel.   Secondly, BLACK magazine (also from Brimstone Press) was released earlier this year and contains everything I’ve wanted from a magazine. Best of all, it’s Australian, and has HorrorScope as a central-themed lift out encompassing the best reviews. The first issue was a blast. The second was mind-bending. In them, you can find reviews I did for the novels Fivefold by Nathan Burrage and Odd Hours by Dean Koontz.   I sincerely hope the future brings some financial rewards and security as I am dying to attend regular conventions, signings, and readings. Travel would be fantastic; meeting and greeting all individuals in the Horror and Dark Fantasy community would be bliss …   Bye for now,   Matthew Tait June 18th 2008 Earth Ascendant opens to selective sabotage, phantasms, and explosive assassination attempts. Here, Sean wastes no time introducing the reader back into the fray of his Astropolis universe that was begun with such skill in Saturn Returns.   Imre Bergamasc, ‘First Prime’ and leader of a bourgeoning empire, is seeing through his plan to forge the bonds between The Returned Continuum and the outlying systems that have yet to return to the fold. His whistle-stop tours have taken him on a journey of self-discovery and revelation. With his latest destination, Dussehra, seemingly no different from the other hundreds of worlds that have been subsumed by his motley crew with their agenda of avenging the Forts and restoring the galaxy to its previous incarnation. But Dussehra's inhabitants are not so willing to be annexed, and before Imre can return to Earth, dark mysteries will manifest in the form of its leaders …   Although Earth Ascendant begins with one of Imre’s whistle-stop tours, the book is primarily about Earth. Upon arrival into the flourishing beacon where the Returned Continuum has set up shop as capital, many changes become apparent. With centuries and sometimes millennia transpiring during hardcaster and space travel, the dynamics and structure of civilization can alter dramatically. With such a facet, Sean reminds us just how vast the stage of the universe is … and not just in the realm of fiction. Unexpected and surprising developments greet Imre, not least of which the revelation that he (or his previous self) might have sired a child. During his absence, Imre's old ally Helwise Macphedron has ruled as Regent in his place – something that could have devastating effects.   With answers to unanswered questions coming thick and fast, Earth Ascendant is a remarkably good ride. The prose is how first-rate space opera should be: lyrical, philosophical and poetic. It does the job of putting things into perspective regarding our own earthen empire, and how religions can manifest and evolve. Truly unexpected villains greet us toward the conclusion as the story runs riot with Doppelgangers, parasites, and a broken higher intelligence. The third in the series, The Grand Conjunction, promises to be an epic thrill ride tapering off a remarkable journey that might well be the author’s greatest achievement. May 5th 2008 A novella that fits nice and snug in between the first two books of Astropolis, Cenotaxis bridges Saturn Returns and Earth Ascendant to a form a short yet complicated piece that focuses on a variety of elements. From the first, it felt good to be back in familiar territory. Just hearing the proverbial terms used in the Astropolis universe was like a homecoming. There are the Frags – Fort components that resemble Primes or Singletons but possessing little true individuality. There’s the ‘Slow Wave’ itself … a cataclysmic advent that destroyed the Continuum and Forts and sent humanity reeling backwards throughout the galaxy. It had been awhile since Saturn Returns permeated my senses, but stepping back into the setting was like stepping into old shoes. The painting on the cover is highly imaginative and seems to sum up the intricate webbing that is the Continuum and the characters whom inhabit it. But Cenotaxis is also a stand alone novella in itself – and, although it does take place during the same time-line, the action occurs far off on the long abandoned and scarred planet of Earth. It is here that a divine human has arisen, in the form of Jasper, the leader of the resistance and the only thing stopping Imre Bergamasc from taking the Earth into the cradle of his bourgeoning empire and false religion. As the clash for Earth erupts into all out war around them, Imre and Jasper face off against each other. There are many concepts to like in Cenotaxis. Firstly, Williams has made a similar creation to the Forts with ‘the Apparatus’ – a seemingly artificial intelligence that is Jaspers advisor. It eventually intrigues Imre enough that he changes tactics to find it. The fact that Jasper believes himself an incarnation of God is utterly fascinating in itself; it gives Williams the opportunity to postulate how religions and creed play such an important role in shaping humanity’s future. Probably the most interesting facet of Cenotaxis is Jaspers uncanny, superhuman abilities. He has an ‘achronistic’ way of experiencing time, jumping through it in ways that suggest he is the product of something that is at least omniscient in nature. Through this prescience, Jasper escapes many traps laid out by Imre … which leads our false prophet to question the origins of his prisoner in more ways than one. As always, Sean Williams gives us a tasty afterward detailing the origin of the title, and the many influences that brought the novella into being. Fans of Saturn Returns have much to applaud here – as Sean Williams has given us another riveting chapter that celebrates his imaginative genius. April 9th 2008 Few Stephen King novels in recent history have reviewed quite as well as Duma Key. Not only were the preliminary appraisals heaped with honor, but the naysayers and flame throwers seemed to have battened on to this novel as though it were a life raft amid a sea of literary chaos. There is some merit to all of this, of course. By and large, the reading public is not stupid. Quite the contrary, in fact. If the majority lean toward it favorably … then there is every chance the novel is favorable. I’m pleased to say this is certainly the case with Duma Key … although I do have some minor quibbles of my own.   Let’s set the scene, shall we? Edgar Freemantle, big American boy in the construction business, is involved in a freak accident which tears off his right arm, and subsequently severs his marriage. After the suicidal thoughts and rage subsides, Edgar heads to the Florida Coast of Duma Key to heal himself of the physical and cerebral demons. In particular, he rents a sea-side dwelling named Salmon Pink (which he later nick-names Big Pink). It is here where he takes up the childhood passion of sketching and painting … talents that seem harmless to begin with but start to take root into something dangerous and malign.   A basic premise, but one which will suffice. Told in first person, King’s prose in this novel simple and elegant; in a nutshell, its pure King, pure storytelling. I had the distinct feeling the first draft was composed in longhand. The syntax can be at times cumbersome … but I’ve yet to read a King novel yet that doesn’t bloat to some extent. In a way, it’s what makes his tomes worth the wait and money. One could almost say it’s what makes them endearing.   Upon moving to Florida, Edgar strikes up a relationship with his neighbors: Jerome Wireman, an ageing Hispanic. And Elizabeth Westlake, Wireman’s elderly charge who has developed Alzheimer’s in her twilight years and has lived in Duma Key her entire life. Inheriting her house (El Palacio) from a tycoon father, Elizabeth also owns Big Pink and a huge chunk of Duma estate. It’s not long before Edgar starts painting, and with such a location, his inspirational tools never run dry.   Now onto the supernatural happenings: As in the Dead Zone, King’s protagonist develops extra-sensory powers. In this instance they’re related to Art and seemingly caused by the phantom limb that keeps making an appearance. Without giving too much away regarding this, I’ll say that some of his Art – aside from paintings of Duma itself – feature characters from his past and present life. His powers enable him to … change things. What irks me about this whole scenario is the same thing that occurs in The Dead Zone. For no apparent reason cataclysmic advents seem to surround the ordinary Jill’s and Joes from his life. Something bad – exceptionally bad – besieges these individuals when no evidence at all gave us clues that this was apparent. Sure, advents occur to people all the time. But it all seems a little too convoluted; a little too convenient for my tastes. When Edgar charges himself with remedying the situation, you can probably guess what the results will be.   Journeying with Edgar as he finds his muse, the reader will be completely taken in. The sounds and sights of Duma Key – as well as Edgar’s use of Art as medication – create a tapestry of emotion and feeling that is vintage King. I will never tire of his personal beliefs of the conundrum that is Art in all its incarnations. Whether it is writing, painting, or even music – King has his finger pressed firmly on the button articulating these acts of the mind. There are, however, perhaps too many mundane scenes in the novel before the action cranks up: the trails and trivialities of family; the slow process that sees Edgar find an audience for his work. In the build up to the ending, plot lines can become a little mystifying but my instinct told me this was nothing that a second reading couldn’t cure.   During his career, Stephen King has made the nostalgia of certain times and places resonate with an almost aching clarity, and Duma Key is no exception. March 28th 2008 Review: Hunters of Dune by Kevin J Anderson and Brian Herbert   Arrakis. Dune. Desert Planet.   From such humble beginnings this planet has haunted me like no other in fiction. A tale that was given only a cursory glance upon publication has steered itself into a literary jungle without equal. The annals of science fiction are soaked with this story; imitators have tried … and they’ve ultimately failed. Frank Herbert delivered an epic masterpiece for the masses, his scope and genius only apparent after careful consideration; after the words had stopped flowing …   I was fourteen when I learned there was going to be a movie called DUNE on television. I’d been reading sci-fi in and out over the past two years, but Horror was my main thing – as some of you might know. And here was a movie based on one of the all time sci-fi greats. I could not miss this; I made food preparations and curled up with my Siamese. It was going to be a long night … but a good one. Sitting through the entire duration, I came away humbly awed and proceeded to purchase all six original Dune novels. For those not in the know, Hunters of Dune is the seventh novel in the sequence, and a direct sequel to Chapterhouse Dune following on directly from those advents recorded in that novel. Kevin J Anderson and the late author’s son Brian have sculpted the six prequels and rounded off the saga with Sandworms on Dune … thus tying up all loose ends and serving symmetry to the epic tale.   Chapterhouse Dune concluded with an aching cliff-hanger of an ending, and Hunters picks up the action directly after: Duncan Idaho and Sheeana have escaped the Honored Matres in the no-ship Ithaca. Mother Commander Murbella is now head of a new faction combining Bene Generists and the brutal, murderous Honored Matres. The opponent that humanity believed to be long extinct has reappeared from the edge of the Universe … mankind now fears nothing can stop its wonton destruction of worlds. For this is the Hunter, a machine entity the slaughters carbon based life wherever it dwells and is intent on finding the Ithaca.   Even with only a cursory knowledge of the Dune mythology, I believe readers can be suitably entertained with Hunters of Dune. All the elements are there … every player, so to speak. There is the Guild – strange, morphed beings that navigate the universe and fold space. There is the Bene Telielax, masters of genetics who have found a way to grow clones – named gholas - and bring back legends from the past. Including the ultimate Kwisach Haderach, Paul Atreides … a male who could see into a place no else dared look and prophesy the future. The Bene Gesserit. And, of course, there are the giant Sandworms themselves, creatures now regulated to a small scattering around the planet Chapterhouse, mining the sands to produce Spice … a drug that is the bartering commerce of this far flung future with Rakis now destroyed. Without it the Navigators cannot fold space; the Bene Gesserit cannot see into the future and alter their metabolism. The Spice is instrumental for all of mankind; it is the exchange in which wars can be won.   The one thing that often surprises me about the new Dune novels is the sheer horror and dark brutality these enemy factions inflict on each other. Indeed, I would go so far to say some elements are more on par with Horror fiction. In Heretics of Dune, the female splinter group Honored Matre are ruthless and all conquering, often eliminating their adversaries in gruesome moments of bloodshed and torture. Picturing beautiful females ruling the universe with an iron fist is certainly something to behold.   If you haven’t cottoned on to a Dune novel, do so immediately. Hunters of Dune is probably not the best place to start, but if you’re familiar with the mythology, it can be a novel read on its own. This reviewer was lucky enough to meet Kevin J Anderson some months ago, and I can say with all honesty this man is the right person for continuing Frank Herbert’s imagination and forethought. Dune goes into another movie incarnation very shortly and Brian Herbert and Kevin will be acting as executive producers. Also, Paul of Dune should be released some time later this year. Any sci-fi buffs out there would do well explore this utterly beautiful universe …     March 16th 2008 Review Apex #11 Blackboard Sky by Gary Braunbeck This issue’s opener is by the prodigious Gary Braunbeck, a story that fits nice and snug into what Jason Sizemore probably had in mind when terming the phrase ‘Science-Horror’ to describe what he envisioned for Apex. A delicious little tale, it serves as perhaps surveillance on Art as medicine - a motif King has used to great effect. Although I’ve been unlucky enough not to read any of Braunbeck’s novels, I have the distinct feeling isolation and loneliness is theme he might use often. (Pessimistic, I heard from one reader). A central character, Vincent, has become symbiotic with a device from another system that was originally charged with the task finding God itself. Vincent, tortured and vulnerable, uses the power to great effect, but cries out for help to another soul in the format of storytelling. There are surprises, here, as the mundane and the miraculous intertwine to become one. Spinnetje by Stefani Nellen Any story that features scuttling metal spiders that have a relationship with the human brain has to be disconcerting for anyone. Spinnetje is described by the author as: an autonomous creature composed of a horde of nanites that could crawl through brains like a crowd of tourists crawling through ruins. Charming. Our main guy, Milo, uses it to experience and taste the emotions of someone else … in this case his partner. Everything seems to be going swimmingly for a while; but one of the great things about these tales – or indeed, Apex tales in particular – is that we know the horror to come . . . and wait for it apprehensively. Primarily, this is a short piece of obsession turning into possession, but it’s the nuances, the subtle things that work for me . . . like kitchen-ware that cleans itself up by folding into balls and bouncing away. Also, there are tangible scenes here that spring to mind grotesque images from quite a few films. In this case, it’s Cronenberg’s Naked Lunch. Ray Gun by Daniel G Keohane This is a small piece that’s like a second course in between a first and third, with a bit of light comic relief. Ray Gun has a kind of sixties nostalgic feel as an old man wakes up early one morning to find a spaceship has crash-landed in his back yard. A friend comes over to help with its perusal, and havoc ensues. This is a sort of ‘every day Jill’s and Joe’s getting caught up in a nasty situation’ kind of story, and they never fail to entertain. One of the aliens is described thus: An octopus with too few heads one moment, too many the next. Uncanny by Sammuel Tinianow Told in first person narration, Uncanny by Samuel Tinianow is extremely short and … uncanny. Too many question marks abound, but you’ll want to read it anyway to have a crack at deciphering it. Lying in a Hospital bed, our narrator recounts the story of a female cyborg who has been adopted by his family whilst they wait for her resurrection. The Moldy Dead by Sara King Another classy sci-fi story with a ‘pulp fiction’ type feel The Moldy Dead is the epicenter of this issue. Esteei is a receiver who joins a motley band of inter-species aliens to discover a ‘mold’ planet orbiting the fringes of space. S King gave us a sand planet with Beachworld. Also, there was a ‘Grassworld’ story a couple of Apex issue’s back. Now ‘molds’ on the agenda – and although it starts off somewhat sluggishly – The Moldy Dead becomes a tearful tale of endurance and grief. Sara King is a new writer, and in this issue she shares space with Gary Braunbeck to take away top honors for best story. Also included in this issue is a fascinating interview with Gary Braunbeck (whose Mr. Hands in now in the post and flying my way), and writer Bryan Smith. The highly entertaining Althea Kontis gives us her thoughts on Curses and there’s a quaint epilogue of a story entitled What to Expect when your Expectorating by regular Jennifer Pelland. Part three of a serial is also included CainXp11: What to do about all the Blood. Unfortunately, this reviewer lost the previous issue which included part two in a bar, and does not feel confident to elucidate on this one. With prolific authors now regular contributors to Apex, I suspect this little magazine will only ever evolve from here. Feburary 6th 2008 The Mystery Builds ...   January 5th 2008 Already an innovative and respected story-teller in the shorter format, Nathan Burrage has now crossed the often-unattainable threshold of publishing his first novel FIVEFOLD. A work of Art that the author (from what of I’ve garnered), has been tinkering away on for some time. Upon arrival at my doorstep and a quick perusal through, you get the feeling the toying with this tome has been well worth the wait: holding its weight, you feel the books editorial prowess: nicely condensed in mass and word-count. Nathan’s prologue appears on his site, and some of you might be familiar with it. A common approach used in many novels, we begin our adventure with a bygone-era setting in the Yorkshire Dales. Rudiments that dominated this period are, of course, priests and secular societies – and Nathan springs the foundation of the book with secrets being consumed by the eternal thing that is such a pertinent component in any mystery: fire. This sacrifice guarantees that the classified secret will remain dormant for generations to come … until the curtain is raised again and another cast of actors take to the stage. One such character is James Steepleton – a British twenty-something almost any young man can relate to: James is in trouble after running afoul of the law in a drunk-driving accident and it suddenly falls to his friends to provide the necessary support – financial and emotional – so James doesn’t have to do a stint behind bars and ruin his burgeoning acting career. I don’t think I’m giving away any secret when stating his friends (from the heady days of University) are the FIVEFOLD. A cabal of individuals blessed with untapped secrets resembling powerful manifestations of the Mysteries: psychic, extrasensory and mystic abilities that are the benchmarks of a supernatural genre. And FIVEFOLD lies within a genre that isn’t easily defined; although anybody who has taken the journey The Crooked Letter by Sean Williams will be familiar with the territory. Elements of religious and mythic structures with names rooted in folk-lore: Kether, Binah, Chokmah – and states of being or deities of the underworld or higher realms. With chapters heralded by a characters name of the FIVEFOLD, Nathan shifts gear slowly depicting each individuals quirks and faults. Certainly, each character is a character, with clearly defined traits. A small fault is keeping up with the names – you might find yourself backtracking to keep up with whom is pertinent to whom. That said, the sentences are clean-cut and refreshing - rarely does he begin a paragraph with the old tropes. Also, it’s pleasing and often downright funny to hear the English language communicated without the American panache. Here, Cell phones are Mobiles. You’ll feel as though treading familiar ground with the English locale. And, like a homecoming itself when ‘Bollocks’ or ‘Mate’ enter the equation on a regular basis. It takes a re-awakening in an ancient clearing to give the five just a snippet of what they can accomplish together. And, with any cabal, opposing forces are hot on their tail, trying to usurp them with their own particular brawn and capacity for evil. Some of novel resonates with an early Clive Barker feel; feints and charms are used; possession is a factor. Also, there are philosophical undertones on the nature of pain and pleasure … and whether eternal ecstasy and agony are fundamentally one and the same. James is tempted by the seduction of the opposing forces, but Nathan doesn’t do anything run-of –the-mill here. You’ll be surprised, on numerous occasions, on the direction and severe turns the novel takes. Above all, FIVEFOLD is just plain entertaining. With synaptic sparring, mental warring, and clandestine cabals – FIVEFOLD displays an absolute impressive debut and a novel that could perhaps teach even veterans a thing or two about the game. There are many layers to the plot (an older generational cabal called The Brightening Dawn take James’s league, the new torch-bearers of the mysteries into their counsel, are just one), but to reveal more be like displaying used storyboards before sitting down to a celluloid epic. Technically published in 2008, the majority of this story was read in 2007. Without any question, FIVEFOLD went straight to the top of the list as one of the better novels I read during the year. Published by Random House, FIVEFOLD is now on the shelves of all the major Australian book chains and many of the independent bookstores. It can even be found in the news-agencies of some Australian airports. Also, the book will be launched by Margo Lanagan, World Fantasy Award winner and author of a number of acclaimed short story collections, at Galaxy Bookshop on Thursday 17 January. Full details appear on Nathan’s website. MATTHEW TAIT'S LETTERS CONTINUED Apex Digest is a quarterly print magazine specializing in what could be termed Science-Horror. Jason Sizemore, the editor, found this niche in the small press market and Apex has evolved to publish authors such as Ben Bova, J A Konrath, James P Hogan and Tom Piccirilli. A story of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, opens this issue of Apex entitled Madness Blows the Winds of History. Tom Piccirilli’s story is a very cerebral and cryptic piece of cyberpunk – in only a couple of pages he dislocates your mind with rapid, brain-bending sentences … its as though your grey matter has been marinated, dolloped and massaged with scientific-techno fluid. (You’ll see what I mean when reading it). Tobalt Tre is the bounty hunter of a renegade human named Thompson. Tobalt is a Mollunk: an entity with invasive modifications of a humanoid body. And Thompson is apparently a butcher of worlds … many worlds. Using a manifold of space-travel called The Ledge, the two converge on a Terran world that has been utterly devoid of humanity. As in all speculative fiction, however, nothing is what it seems and surprises abound. It’s a great piece, and surprisingly I found myself more entertained by Tom’s use of language than the story itself. As you may have guessed, the illustration on the front gives birth to the story Blood Baby by prolific Jennifer Pelland. As it suggests, Blood Baby is a mischievous, gore-soaked parable. Beginning with the obligatory ‘Once upon a time’ (something which I’ve come to dislike but fits this short-story nicely), we are introduced to a mythical township that could possibly exist in any time period or place. In Cloister Valley, young Kaia wants nothing more than to be a mother … but this town has an inhabitant that demands a ‘blood mother’; a spirit that craves a relinquishing of menstrual blood to appease its underground dormancy. And when Kaia runs away to keep her dreams intact, the baby she spawns will mean chaos for the world. To reveal more will be to give away too much, but suffice to say, scenes and imagery toward the end are genuinely gruesome. In Jennifer’s world, ‘Once upon a time’ does not guarantee any happy endings. ‘Apocalypse’ seems to be the motif of this issue and we enter that realm again with A Place of Snow Angels by Matt Wallace. In this piece, it's Ice that has reduced the world to a scattering of survivors. Another common angle in a ‘day of reckoning’ setting is the rise of a child prodigy who will perhaps reverse or halt the cataclysm set in motion. Young child Joshua has been chosen for this task, raised by a small phalanx that through science have engineered the boy to realize his impeding destiny – although the final results are far cry from what was initially envisioned. This story won the first annual Red Light District/Apex Publications contest of dark science fiction. Although I cannot see how this would be so, it’s still a nifty little read. Ahh … and so we come to a contribution entitled Genesis Six from HorrorScope’s own Shane Jiraiya Cummings; a story that initially I was hoping to find flaws with in an attempt to display that I’m not biased. However, I haven’t come across a story in Apex yet that is utterly disdainful, so its inclusion here is certainly one of merit. Beginning with a domestic setting with mother Libby and daughter Jessica, it moves fast as they are driving to escape the void; that endless nothingness that annihilates all in the ‘Apocalypse.’ With honed and precise sentences, Shane gives us a good ride and an ending with religious overtones. The Death Singer by John B Rosenman tickled me; here we encounter one of those alien species that are silent and enigmatic, benign and secretive. After Captain Musen and his team crash-land on an alien world inhabited by these Jax: spider thin creatures capable of inexhaustible energy and patience - the captain is hospitalized without much chance of future survival. Enter the Jax Death Singers, whose task taking vigil beside the dying is just as strange as their physical appearance. This story is lent one of the more imaginative illustrations in the issue. William F Nolan, the literary giant behind such novels as Logan’s Run is next on the menu with Mommy, Daddy, and Mollie – a short and delicious horror tale with young Bruce narrating on the unfortunate demise of his Mommy and Daddy. Billy recounts the epilogue to their death and is surprised to find out the dead don’t really die … The next tale felt familiar … if only because at one time or another I have envisioned such a thing. In Last Chance Morning by Timothy Waldron Semple, the future holds a unique and brilliant execution device: Massive steel beam blocks that are slammed together with enough force to reduce a human being to red servile. A human pancake, in other words. Amid this setting are a couple of cons tying to waylay their inevitable destiny, and while you’d think the execution component would be enough to drive this story, Timothy unleashes a yet grander scheme toward the end. Following on is Babble by MM Buckner. Although at its heart this is a simple horror story involving a haunted Hill (a cell phone tower is its evil heart, of all things), MM Buckner manages to imbue it with everyman characters who give the tale a real sit-around-the campfire feel. This is another one with a very clever ending. And lastly, we finally come to the concluding serial that was first begun in issue 5: Temple by Steven Savile. This story has all the ingredients of a classic, and I felt glad I had waited until now to enter his dominion. Many influences spring to mind as we journey with Temple: Mad Max, Escape from New York, and even King’s The Gunslinger. With a species of romance Temple is a lone ranger after the Fall; a seemingly ordinary man but unique in that he is truly lost. Having awakened one day in a motel room with no memories of who he is - and no recollection of the reflection that stares back at him in mirrors, Temple’s mission is clear … although not at first. In the beginning it took a starving little girl looking for her brother to give him this insight, and from there he seeks the answers through a fallen and insane priest. Not unlike an errant knight, he is tempted by demons and Gods in his journey to be whole. The slow pinnacle to achieve this state is handled deftly and somehow marks the zenith of this issue. Also included is an interview with Tom Piccirilli and essays by Dr Amy H Sturgis and Alethea Kontis. All in all, a solid edition. The featured writers making regular appearances are certainly carving a niche in the community. And, with Aegri Somnia (Apex’s evil twin George Stark), nominated for a Stoker, the future can only get better. Issue’s can be ordered directly from the Apex website. REVIEW OF THE TAKING BY DEAN KOONTZ I began tinkering with the idea of giving my thoughts regarding Dean Koontz's The Taking, then thought better of it because everybody knows this guys career and legacy. But, I countered, The Taking is such a derivative mish-mash of utter shite; this guy deserves to be punished because other reviewers certainly are not doing it. He's prolific; he's churned out about a trillion words and that gives him credence in the community and definitely warrants success. However, The Taking is this author's futile attempt at watching waayyy too many movies, trying to replicate them, and being utterly influenced to an extent it's laughable. He has no miniature in this story; his sentences are cliched and just awful. Definitely, he's produced wonders: Life Expectancy reads like Ian Irving and I adored Cold Fire. But The Taking reeks of the unfortunate pitfalls prolific writers eventually succumb too ... I could not believe my eyes when I read sentences such as: The spider was as hairy as a member of The Taliban. Just what does this mean? Can we forgive him this racist remark just because he's Dean Koontz? Certainly not. The purple, flowery prose is without precedent in this doozie. Everything's got a quality only in superlative dreams; and there's always a mystical meaning: even watching something as mundane as your pooch taking a crap is fodder for cerebral lines. The constant persistent theme of canines is utterly boring and we always have the feeling of been there done that. He loves dogs. We get it. Try not to hammer it home and maybe we'll visit one of your next attempts. Basically, it's the same story over and over: just like Lightning we have a female protagonist with her adoring husband. She's had a rotten childhood and is looking for a kind of sweet succor that will liberate her. Bad things happen. This time involving the same kind of aliens that perpetuated M Night's Shyamalan's Signs. She ultimately confronts them and it reaffirms her notion of life, the universe, and everything that is inherently good. A scathing, controversial review? Perhaps. I'll probably be lynched for just being jealous. But sometimes critics need to criticize. AN ALLAGORY AND REVIEW OF: BENTLEY LITTLE'S THE HOUSE It is well known that Stephen King – like many of us – will carry a book of fiction wherever his travels will lead to appease the boredom that arises from life’s mundane activities. And for those of us who have read On Writing and followed his accident with a certain Dodge Van will know, he has a penchant for taking long walks during the afternoons. What isn’t a well-known detail and many might be curious about is that the grandmaster was reading The House by Bentley Little when the unfortunate piece of fate named Bryan Smith chose to intervene, nearly depriving us all from reaching Roland of Gilead’s Dark Tower. The paperback was discovered lying meters away from King’s broken body and apparently scuffed with blood . . . It’s an interesting side-note – one that I was not aware of when I picked up my own copy of Bentley Little’s The House. Published in 1999 (around the time of King’s accident), The House suffers from the kind of ‘big, dumb, plodding and obvious’ disease a lot of writers seem to become infected with after they have had a few critically acclaimed and well-received novels. When Bentley is at the top of his game, he is well and truly master of all that he surveys; but when he misses: al la The Summoning and Dominion, he suddenly falls short not just a little (no pun intended), but a very long way indeed. The book is formulaic, the plot seemingly purveyed in the horror medium by everyone who’s ever had a crack at the genre. For me, there always seems to be the tale of ‘strangers who have something horrific from their childhoods or past in common and come together as adults to battle it again.’ In this scenario, it involves a House; or, rather Houses – each one identical to the next but in different States across America: dark, brooding and ominous – the quintessential haunted house. Six separate characters (an old academic scholar, a guy in the movie business, a young girl who just remembers that she’s been adopted, among others), have all had an identical up-bringing involving a scary Butler named Billings and his young daughter who elicits within them feelings of lust tempered with loathing. Yep, that’s right: a child. The whole thing nearly falls apart at the beginning with this tasteless development. From here, it stagnates as all six individuals go through the tedious (and annoyingly identical), process of recalling ‘The House’ – and although the have no idea why – must return there. Things pick up a little in the second part of the novel as the strangers converge on the House and meet up through different mediums. But try as he might, Little’s Haunted House just isn’t scary. With little dolls walking around the place trying to encourage mayhem and the little blonde girl turning up on occasion to lift up her dirty slip and tempt them with sex, one gets the feeling Little has no idea where to go with it and literally tacks on an ending as if his editor was just on the phone and screaming for him to get the damn thing finished. Ultimately, the conclusion is as unnecessary as the confusing prologue. The most frightening part reading this story came not in the form of its paragraphs and prose but rather a real life advent that mirrors the one above. During a long walk through woods that wind through my area I decided to heed King’s advice and take a book with me. Of course, it was The House I picked up as I left, and about halfway through the journey tripped over a log and scraped my ankle which sent a spray of blood all over the binding of the book. It led me to think that somehow the book might be cursed . . . a plot-line that might make a better story than the one I was reading. REVIEW: APEX DIGEST  Science fiction and Horror Digest is a quarterly print magazine specializing in what could be termed Science-Horror. Jason Sizemore, the editor, found this niche in the small press market and Apex has evolved to publish authors such as Ben Bova, J A Konrath, James P Hogan and Tom Piccirilli. Among the most paramount in this collection, Starfish by Steve Parker exudes the kind of science fiction feel that slides easily into the initiated mind. Immediately, we know we’re in a future Japan made famous by films such as Bladerunner: teeming masses of humanity lurch and bustle through neon hazes and rain-swept high-rises. A young couple, Petr and Katya, have just one last chance in which to escape the brimming city: an opportunity that is just as illegal as it is perilous. In this future, earth has become galactic, with a sophisticated form of underwater creature making first contact. Such a species is abhorrent to the idea of human’s pillaging their oceans of fish – it becomes a viable commodity; almost a drug, and an underground war ensues that will see Petr and Katya gamble with their lives. The story works well with its decadent Japanese setting; and there are certainly a couple of squeamish moments. A good, gritty read. Next follows Inspiration by literary giant Ben Bova. Bova takes on the theme of time travel with a twist: his protagonists are nearly all legends from the past. (HG Wells and Albert Einstein, to name a few). It can be jolting at times, but by the conclusion all strings are neatly tied up. Away by Robert Dunbar is a puzzling mix indeed. On one hand it has the great ingredients of shifty, clandestine human operations. You’ll keep turning the pages just to find out what the hell is going on. On the other there is little illumination. A man has awoken in a room with little or no idea on whom he is or why he’s there at all. Little clues are offered, and by the finale you’ll either be smiling or gritting your teeth with frustration ... EV 2000 by Amy Greech is one of those tales that’s prescribed but never fails to entertain: Artificial intelligence and technology developed with malign results; the day these stop being produced is the day I stop reading S/F. Harold has just patented a new technology enabling blood donors the option of donating quickly and efficiently with no more aplomb than an exchange at the bank teller. With shades of stories like Demon Seed and Electric Dreams, EV 2000 is decidedly creepy. With a demonic blend of revenge and time-travel, J J Davis gives us Wall of Delusion: here, the time travel aspect is original and fresh with our main guy Scott - after committing a double homicide when he finds his wife in bed with another – undergoing radical new therapy involving nano brain machines and memory. Although we assume this takes place in the future, Davis doesn’t let us know until the end. This was my only gripe with an otherwise rewarding tale. Lastly, we have Scotch on the rocks by William F Nolan. With a subject matter that’s close to my heart (UFO’s), this is a funny little treasure that rounds off the issue nicely; unfortunately, nothing can be said without giving anything away … a short essay by Gill Ainsworth also accompanies it. Overall this issue surpasses the one before it: the front illustration promised something with a more sinister edge and it did not fail in that regard. Just as entertaining are the essay’s at the end that are like glossy, tongue-in cheek epilogues. Apex Digest can only evolve from here. REVIEW: INTERZONE MAGAZINE A magazine that needs almost no introduction, Interzone has been at the forefront of literary science-fiction and fantasy since 1982. From issue 194 the magazine has a new design, making it one of the most exciting fiction magazines in the world to look at as well as read. Sundown Sheila by Gwyplaine Macintyre is this issue’s opener – and boy, what an opener; if the title doesn’t grab you, the opening lines will: The red sand was as dry as a Nun’s nasty … So begins this strange and bizarre tale narrated in glib, Australian slang. Sundown Sheila is an amalgam of future science with backward characters set in a far-flung locale. The main players here are two ‘compozzies’; DNA scripted cyborgs working in the perpetual noon of an Australian-like planet. Their world soon changes, however, when an unexpected female visitor drops by … Although the prose is hard to decipher at times with Macintyre’s lyrical waxing, Sundown Sheila should be applauded for sheer originality. The planet of Terry Novar, and the ‘boofs’ who inhabit its everlasting sun, will be sure to stay with you long after reading the final sentence. The Macrobe Conservation Project by Carlos Hernandez: This is a traditional science fiction tale involving Robot companionship with a soupçon of the Frankenstein theme thrown in for good measure. Young boy Randy resides on an orbiting Space Station around the planet called New Hope. His father is lead scientist there and in charge of The Macrobe Conservation Project. Keeping him company are two ‘asi’ robots that personify a younger brother and a mother – these are temporary replacements, nothing more as his biological brother and mother were chosen not to make the trip into space. What makes this one worth the read is the sarcastic voice of Randy’s first person narration and the often funny use of invented language. One of the illustrations is a stand out in the collection and harkens back to the nostalgia of pulp fiction. A bleak, pessimistic view of the future follows next with The Unsolvable Deathtrap by Jack Morgan. The story opens at a frenetic pace and stays in overdrive until the end. The narrator is a cabbie with an understandably paranoid view of the world he inhabits: The streets of his city have been transformed over the centuries to resemble ‘Hives’; intestine like tubes with motorists infiltrating them like tiny microbe organisms. He has a hunch that today will be like no other and is hardly surprised when carjacked by a would-be assailant who has a grandiose plan for destruction. As stated, the prose moves swiftly like the Cab our protagonist inhabits – it stays at just the right length but is slightly let down by an unsatisfactory conclusion. Author Gareth Lyn Powell gives us The Last Reef, and manages, via a powerful torrent of invention, to imbue a myriad of ideas more in tune with a novel than a short story. In such a short space, we are treated to a potential future where simple communication nodes in an interplanetary radio network develop into sentience with awesome results. Humans, in their desire to transform, enter this matrix and are utterly altered from the creatures they once were. Some experience physical or mental deformities; others are elevated to a higher level of consciousness. People transformed by the Reef are highly sought after prizes as the Reefs themselves slowly morph into different realms or are terminated by the powers that be. Against this backdrop are three characters trying to reverse the reef’s destructive forces. Powell uses love as a motivation, with clever flashbacks throughout that dovetail inexorably toward the ending. Accompanied by a brilliant illustration, The Last Reef is a fabulous read indeed. As always, Interzone has its finger firmly on the pleasure button for S/F fans and I anticipate a wider readership under the auspices of the new publishers. Also in this issue is an illuminating interview with legendary author Terry Pratchett. Subscriptions and back-issues can be ordered directly from their website. Coming soon: A review of After the Party by Richard Calder which was begun in Issue 201. REVIEW: SHADOW BOX ANTHOLOGY Upon first hearing about the contribution process and then the October release of SHADOW BOX (edited by Shane Jiraiya Cummings and Angela Challis), I was excited, but did not pursue the details involving this project to any great extent. The only hints I had were a glowering, Chucky-esque logo figure that was a palate warmer for its forthcoming release. This turned out to be overtly prudent and, in the end – satisfactory. Not learning the magician’s tricks gave the overall SHADOW BOX experience more taste and substance. And make no mistake: substance abounds here, ladies and gentlemen. What we have received is a totally original, well-crafted masterpiece for the masses. The sheer volume of seventy slices of dark flash fiction and artwork does not hinder but only enhances it as a fusion of these elements into a digital advent. The journey is unique, filled with bridges and by-ways, turnpikes and intersections that ultimately lead to a kind of nirvana in Hell. ‘Come play with me’ a sinister-looking doll asks the reader while a malign child caterwauls in the background. It’s as fitting a start as any – and even prompted a panicked response from another person who was in the room with me. Effects with sound are short, but – if turned up loud enough – are very effective at grabbing your attention. Some of my favorites in the first half include: Coming Home by Rick Kennett; this is very short, but a doozy. Entwined by Chris Barnes – a piece with a gothic flavor. Changing by Susan Wardle is charged with an erotic, almost incestuous feel. And Clown Face by Daniel Slaten is accompanied by one of the best pieces of art entitled ‘Smile’. The editor, Shane, leaves us feeling very uneasy with the summer sun with a trinity of flash (in the first half) where blood reigns on the beach. By this stage we’ve been given the gift one ultimately wants when reading the genre: a cold comfort entwined with the otherness of the otherworldly; a convergence of emotions that see feelings of escape latticed with viewing the world differently. For this reviewer, flash has often held ambiguous thoughts, with some other publications showcasing feeble efforts that have me feeling utterly perplexed. This is not the case with SHADOW BOX; each story, effectively, was easy to comprehend. And I have a new-found respect for this kind of author. Within only a few short lines of stanza their talent is apparent. In the second half, a small list of the stories to grab my attention were: The Capture Diamonds by Karron Warren – within such a limited space, words such as meat-eater, amputate, and human ash are not wasted at all. Light by Christian Girard encompasses a species of prose I haven’t quite encountered before. For gross-out factor, consult Smooth Trajectory by Esteban Silvani. And for ghost factor, the dead have a voice in Listen by Horrorscope’s own Stephanie Gunn. By and large, SHADOW BOX has everything on show. From award winning authors to the up and coming published, this e-anthology is a must-have for all fans of dark literature. And if this isn’t enough, all profits will benefit charity and The Australian Horror Writers Association. In 2006, we are privileged enough to have a sequel. Entitled, BLACK BOX, the horror community awaits with baited breath . . . REVIEW: SAW 2 The original SAW (2004) has become a distinguished psychological film that opened the floodgates for young Australian director James Wan and writer Leigh Whannell. Both gory and psychosomatic, there were few horror fans on both sides of the Atlantic to voice their scorn. Peppered with the same shocks and scenarios, SAW 2 has already had an impact on the genre that catapults it to lofty heights . . . This time around, the director’s chair was swapped to almost unknown director Darren Lynn Bousman, but the effect is no less charismatic. Leigh Whannell (born in Melbourne 1977) has served as both collaborative script writer and consultant which see the two films blend seamlessly together with no justification lost. The premise: Jaded cop Eric (Donnie Walberg, in a somewhat hackneyed character), is facing a family crises while the exploits of Jigsaw continue to assault the sinners of the community. Eric has been singled out by Jigsaw in a way that none can foresee: although not playing the game as such, his son is kidnapped and Eric becomes an unwilling participant in Jigsaw’s next masterpiece. Captured, imprisoned by Eric’s law-enforcement contingent and his true identity known, Jigsaw has one last gift and game to play: he has rigged up countless monitors showcasing a house where seven strangers (including Eric’s son) are put through the tests and tribulations we remember from the first film. The house is derelict, gloomy, and riddled with a hundred different traps. Among the contestants is the junkie character from the first film; supposedly she’s fallen off the wagon . . . This sequel, of course, is riddled with gaping question marks and perhaps uses the first one’s nuances a little too much. All things are easily forgivable. What isn't forgivable is the total stupidity of most of the characters locked away; we don’t love them; hell, we don’t even like them, and when they start getting picked off, you’ll probably be breathing a sigh of relief. One of the performances I was looking forward to was the character of Laura (played by Seventh Heaven’s Beverley Mitchell). But nary a word escaped those pouty lips. It was only a script, but the reactions to some of the exploits perpetrated around them were totally unrealistic. All that said - SAW 2 still manages to deliver. The shocks and surprises are still there with a belter of a finale that’s guaranteed to shred some nerve endings. REVIEW: HOUSE OF WAX Filmed entirely within Australia, House of Wax seemed to garner more attention from the screen presence of Paris Hilton than anything that might constitute a decent resurrection of the 1953 original starring Vincent Price. Billed as a ‘remake’ (although it certainly isn’t), House of Wax opens to the usual fare that current slasher pictures are renowned for: Six College students – all one dimensional characters – are on a two car road trip to see a football game. We have the cutesy couple and a sibling who’s just been released from jail; there’s the blonde bimbo with her man and only one thing on their minds. And lastly, a geek who pines after the girls and give us that much needed comic relief. After becoming stranded in the wilds and in dire need of a fan belt, the characters converge two at a time to the small, curio town where the legendary House of Wax plays host. House of Wax was never going to be rocket-science applied to a horror film. Aside from that, there are some genuinely unnerving and grizzly scenes (one of my favorites includes being ‘waxed’ alive), and no individual gets off lightly. Also, there is something fundamentally frightening about life-sized waxed caricatures mimicking the postures of the living . . . The bottom line: Definitely worth a look for screen horror aficionados. THE AMYTIVILLE APOCRYPHA Long Island, New York – the scene of a real life nightmare that is quite possibly without precedent in capturing the dark curiosity of millions. Here lies the small town of Amityville . . . a name that has been secreted into legend from a simple suburb and transformed into a word that conjures up something much more outlandish . . . There is much myth here, and much fact. All of you might have an inkling of knowledge regarding the horrors that befell the Lutz family in 1975: tracing the arc of history we find their experiences only an epilogue to the brutal day of infamy when Ronald Defeo murdered his parents, brothers, and sisters while they slept. He was quoted later by the police saying: ‘I couldn’t stop if I wanted to – Hell; I thought somebody was moving me.’ Is he implying, even then, that other forces were conspiring against him? Through all the rubble that defines this case, through all negative criticism of the investigators and movies that befell it, there is an underlying core of truth that cannot be silenced: something happened within those walls which classify it as a modern day horror story. It was December 1975, only thirteen months after that tragedy that the Lutz’s decided to purchase the home on Ocean Avenue. Knowing full well what had transpired, the idyllic scenery and price was something that couldn’t be countered against. Twenty Eight days later(another good movie- ha, ha) they would flee in abject terror with no belongings and never return . . . to this day their testimony stands rigid and unflinching in front of the hardest skeptics. Upon first viewing the original film when I was eight years old, something struck a nerve in me: the attic windows perched atop the side of the house like inverted malign eyes were something to do with it, but overall that innocence created a tapestry of belief that one finds lacking in the adult. Not only was the jury still out regarding all things supernatural, I was heavily leaning toward it being a common reality due to some personal experiences in my house that weren’t exactly . . . run of the mill. There was fear, delicious fear, and I credit the original for giving me a life-long obsession with the genre. If you are reading this, the chances are very high that you’ve seen it; if not, go out and grab it now. The picture was conceived in a naive time that makes it somehow classier than some of the fodder offered today. Like The Omen, there is an intelligence that lends it certain panache. The old adage of ‘they don’t make them like they used to’ applies here more than anything else, and if you can suspend your skepticism – even just for a few hours – join me again in the second part as we examine the remake, the legacy, and beyond … Before tackling the second piece I went back to the vault and re-read Jay Anson’s THE AMYTIVILLE HORROR. (Hence the delay). I wanted to immerse myself in what started it all ... and not be tainted by the plethora of celluloid. Jay Anson tells a good tale (regardless of its authenticity); and you’ll find yourself enraptured whether the belief is there or not. Throughout the ages, many families have claimed to experience what the Lutz’s have: persistent knocking, footsteps, and overall negative karma that made each individual want to war with one another. Should we discredit them so easily when so many have come forward to attest these occurrences? During 2001 I resided in Glenelg, South Australia. An ancient area, considering this is where our State was proclaimed. Around the time of March, I considered it the height of hilarity to fool around with an Ouija board. Do not get me wrong: I love horror, always have; but stories involving the supernatural have only ever belonged within the page – I was neither a believer nor a disbeliever. I just wanted to have a bit of fun. If it worked, cool. If it didn’t, cool. It worked. I won’t go into the details of who contacted me or why. Suffice it to say things after that became . . . weird. And it affected all areas of my life: work, home: everything. There was a constant and prevalent sensation of being watched. I would wake up at exactly the same time every night with a scream on my lips – as if I’d just had the absolute ballbreaker of a nightmare but couldn’t remember what it was . . . My cat (who had never exhibited this before) would stare into corners transfixed by something that wasn’t there. My partner at the time was not oblivious to any of this and noticed a dramatic change in both our personalities. One night – entirely sober - I saw something from the corner of my eye that resembled a green mask . . . All of this is a way of saying I believe the Lutz’s story. There are things we will never understand: to think we’re just mortal creatures that do not share this space with others is entirely arrogant and foolish. What the original film did, essentially, is bring those primitive fears out: we forget what it’s like to be really scared. The child within whispers these things, but we hardly ever give it attention. Perhaps because we don’t want to listen . . . The remake (starring Ryan Reynolds and Australia’s Melissa George) ignored these elements and went straight for visceral horror. Overall - for horror fans - it’s a damn good film. Believer’s, however, are let down. What we see is just a revisionist’s take that brings it into the next century. That’s not to say it’s not worth viewing: at least it brings attention to the horror genre and enhances the regular ‘Joe’s’ perception of it. The actors are all great – the direction spot on. The real tale, however, is never addressed. Over the years, rumors have abounded which claim to prove the Amityville case a fraud. How these rumors started and how they became so ubiquitous is unclear; what is clear is that numerous investigators have seen the house for themselves, and experienced some of the phenomena which occurred. They have photographs and reports which show remarkable proof of the existence of very remarkable phenomena in that house. REVIEW: CHiZINE: TREATMENTS OF LIGHT AND SHADE IN WORDS Winner of a 2000 Bram Stoker award for editing ChiZine is an original, no frills quarterly webzine dedicated to unearthing stories and poetry that are left of the centre with a variety of subject matter. The stories featured in this selection were the winners of the contest The 11th CHIAROSCURO short story contest. Author Cat Rambo gives credence to her name with a tale (involving a cat), entitled Grandmother’s Road Trip. The predominant theme here is one of metaphor: A family of mother, daughter and grandmother are on an escort mission cross-country which will eventually see Grandma placed in a nursing home against her will. The road is long, and mirrors life’s journey to reach old age. What works well here is not so much the supernatural undertones as sharing space with three generations of women and how they interact with each other. The prose is literate and at times funny – Grandmother’s Road Trip is certainly one of the stand out’s. Sins of the Father by S.E Ward was the winner in the competition which saw 241 entries; this story left me with not only a looming question mark but also a furrowed brow. Delving into the often ambiguous lives of a small village of Muslims and Jews in France, Sins of the Father is a confusing mix; try as I might, I just couldn’t get into it. Some would probably argue that it’s intelligent and somehow thought provoking to mirror the world's current climate - but, in all truth, a short fiction piece hasn’t bored me this much in a long time. The protagonist, Rashid, goes through a humbling metamorphosis (that of a vampire Ghulin), in which we see him rotting away – although this part has merit the rest of the story is unmitigated tripe. Lastly, there’s a highly unique story by Stephen M Wilson entitled Dream Caused By the Flight of a Bee Around a Pomegranate. This one grows on you the more you read – a flight of fantasy that is at once entertaining and strangely educational. It’s hard to coherently describe this story without giving certain elements away: suffice it to say bees are a big component and the prose is unlike anything you’ll have come across before. After going back into the vault and reading some of the earlier issues, my initial assumption that ChiZine sought out quirky, idiosyncratic tales and poetry was warranted. All issues contain a small amount of dark poetry as well as fiction – with book and film reviews thrown into the mix as well. Although this issue felt awkward and slow, Chizine is still a viable force in the dark fiction community. For those interested in how such a webzine evolves into a powerhouse preformer on the world stage, here is a short stanza from managing editor Brett Savory: A fella named Vanace Fiddler and I had an online conversation about the dearth of dark fiction 'zines online back in mid-'97, and decided we'd start our own. Since I was the only one who knew HTML, I did the coding, and we hashed out the vague direction of the content together. Vanace and I kept in touch about it for the first couple of years, but then we lost touch and, since I was doing all the actual work of coding, etc., I just carried on without him. I started paying 1 cent for fiction around mid-'99, based on banner ads I created for small presses and various authors. Then I landed sponsorship from Leisure Books (Dorchester Publishing) in 2001 in exchange for exclusive banner ads, enabling me to pay 3 cents per word for fiction and $5 per poem. It was around the same time that ChiZine received the Bram Stoker Award for editing from the Horror Writers Association. A couple of years later, I presented Leisure with our increased traffic status, and requested an increase in word rates; they obliged, and I was paying 5 cents per word for fiction and $7 per poem. A couple of years on and I was presented them with more increased traffic stats and asked for cents per word and $8 perpoem. Again, they obliged. It's been a great partnership, and ChiZine would have folded ages ago if they hadn't stepped in to sponsor us, because I hated the hand-to-mouth status of trying to scrape by with whatever I could get from skint small presses and similarly broke authors. REVIEW: SHADOWED REALMS 8 It’s November, and Shadowed Realms once more catches the attention of our collective consciousness. Labeled the ‘graphic horror issue’, the stories broadcast here fit the criteria of what I think this enterprise should be about . . . A story relating to love at its most primal level, Mark Barnes’s SERENADE delves into the subject of infidelity and whether or not such a sin can ever really be tossed aside. ‘We're all wolves in sheep’s clothing,’ the protagonist at one stage utters to his beloved while reclining after sex – and it is this declaration which makes it a great story. Through the serenade of bygone disciples, revenge is a dish best served cold. It’s rare for a short story to be perfectly well-rounded, but CONGA JENGA by Shane Jiraiya Cummings felt like a faultless, brutal sphere. It’s short, sweet – and no holds barred as our protagonist does battle with a parasite for transgressions committed in the wilds of Congo. Shane’s sentences come off nicely timed, with just the proper intervals. What wonders lie in store as he develops his themes? So many horror tales (perhaps too many), fit the premise of revenge; of justice being served. Matthew Chrulew’s gives us a bleak take on the formula called IN MEMORIAM. Molly, perpetually in a disconnected state of remembrance (I loved the opening line; it was a killer), makes us grieve with her as we visit the scene of her lovers death. She finds solace, however, in a gruesome but ultimately fitting way. Constantly evolving, Shadowed Realms does indeed feel like a cut above the rest. Personally, I enjoy the stories as though participating purely for entertainment value that has nothing to do with critique. Stories are, after all, not substitutes for reality but tools for change . . . In the next installment I will be reviewing the concluding serials NOTHING OF HIM THAT DOTH FADE by Poppy Z Brite; AUTOPSY by Robert Hood. Also, DECIMATED by Lee Battersby and JACK O LANTERN by Eric Christ. PART 2: DECIMATED, by Lee Battersby, is a serial look at torture. These types of stories are always uncomfortable and Lee does a fine job of it. Like previous stories in Shadowed Realms, it has a kind of futuristic fatalism. Our main guy has been ‘chosen’ to undertake a ritual involving scalpels and insects. The sentences - especially toward the conclusion – are disturbing, so it fits nice and snug in a horror anthology. Be sure to read his biography; it’s impressive. A fine line for me was: My tongue flaps about my cavernous maw . . . Having an American author named Eric Christ certainly puts a spin on things. Here, he offers THE JACK O LATERN. It’s simplistic, and funny in a childlike way. Billy’s carving up the old pumpkin for Halloween – and what it has to show him, regarding his sister and father’s relationship, makes Halloween a day of atonement. The only gripe is perhaps Eric’s overuse of sentences following one after the other with the obvious HE. Flanagan - our wako from the previous three AUTOPSY installment’s - is back and it seems he still hasn’t found what he is looking for. This one’s a little shorter than the rest and I must admit to being a little confused with the conclusion as it takes on supernatural elements. Obviously, there is a species of formula in what Rob’s trying to do here: numerous stories before fit into this equation; the looming question mark can either be a scourge or a blessing. Regardless, it’s a fine tale all-round for fans of schlock splatter . . . Poppy Z Brite’s jilted lovers return one last time in NOTHING OF HIM DOTH FADE. It was never going to be a sweet finale for our couple Leo and Jack, but there is a romantic liberation which unites them both. Over the spectrum of the whole story we find a great character study of two discordant homosexual lovers and how calamity can often be a special kind of release. Note: Poppy is a native of New Orleans’s heart - in which she has set some of her more literal novels. Unlike her encumbering lovers, I sincerely hope she weathered the storm . . . This issue is just as explosive and dark as ever; Angela Challis obviously has her finger on the pulse of what readers want to hear. I anticipate the next volume of Shadowed Realms as the system board lights up with nothing but all fresh material. REVIEW: THE DEVIL'S REJECTS Writer/director (and rocker) Rob Zombie’s sequel to 2003’s House of 1000 Corpses finds us in familiar yet unique territory. House was a structured, homage ridden gore fest that was commercially successful enough to warrant the follow-up (Rob actually started penning it the weekend House went to no 1 at the US box office), while The Devil’s Reject’s is attacked from an almost completely different angle with the 70’s horror/action genre evident in every reel. The start is a mishmash of what-went-before interlaced with news snippets regarding the current status of the sicko Firefly family. As stated before, Zombie’s direction is full of reverence for the techniques of others, yet he does it to great effect, mining a by-gone era with sallied stills-in-action of bloodshed and gore. You feel strapped in for a jolly ride, and want to know who to root for when the action cranks up a notch … And crank up it does. Picking up almost immediately after the first film, the exploits of Baby (Sheri Moon Zombie), Captain Spaulding (Sid Haig), and Otis (Bill Moseley), come to a head as we see the police find wind of their debauchery and lay siege to their property. Both Sherri and Otis escape while the mother is captured by the Sheriff with a score to settle. The family inevitably become small celebrities as the media picks up on their case and labels them ‘The Devil’s Rejects’. An off the map motel is the scene for most of the films macabre moments. After a brief introduction to the current inhabitants – a traveling old-timers country band is among them – we’re treated to their subsequent kidnapping by the Firefly’s while they wait for their father (Captain Spaulding) to arrive. And this is where Zombie makes things more than a little … uncomfortable. Our captors have no mercy as they subject the couple’s to torture and humiliation at its most primitive. Sid Haig as ‘the clown’ is genuinely repulsive, and he uses his comical caricature sparingly but well. During it all, we’re fleetingly reminded of Natural Born Killers as we follow Sheriff (William Forsythe) exorcizing personal demons on his jaunt to catch the psychopaths. Later we encounter a black desert pimp who helps out the Firefly’s when they escape again. The pimp offers us some much needed lighter moments as the film builds towards its climax. House was regarded by fans of the genre twofold: it seemed to be loved or hated. One of the strong things about the sequel is a viewer can tell Zombie just doesn’t seem to give a damn. This is his world, his characters, and his rules. I felt totally ensconced in the realm he creates: the dust, dirt and grit of life in Texas during the 70’s; the songs intertwined during action sequences that make them poetic and disturbing. Although not as tell-tale as House, The Devil’s Rejects nonetheless acts as a worthy successor to the original. REVIEW: URBAND LEGENDS 3: BLOODY MARY The third installment in the Urban Legends series makes the other two appear almost regal. The first one offered us an Aussie director who emulated the Scream franchise and did a pretty good job; part two saw the quality dwindle a bit, but the magic was still there … Welcome to part three: Bloody Mary. Just how the studios provide the money for these atrocities is beyond me - I could tell, just from listening to the dialogue, that the script was beyond awful. There’s a cheap quality to it that makes itself apparent immediately: camera angles look contrived and like something that your family might have filmed. Worse still are the vain attempts at trying to reconcile it with references to films such as Clive Barker’s Candyman. By the half-hour mark, my partner was milling around the phone and trying not to look bored. It’s a pity … because the premise offers a plethora of plot-strands potential moments … There will be no detailing of the story, here. Even if you were a fan of the first two, please avoid this disaster … it will only taint your perception of the original … MICK GARRIS RELEASES DEBUT NOVEL Mick Garris, the spearhead behind many of Stephen King’s television projects, will be releasing his own tale of fiction in late 2005 entitled Development Hell. The novel - an insider’s view into Hollywood movie-making mechanisms – has already received a slew of reviews from noteworthy colleagues such as Frank Darabont and even Stephen himself. Clive Barker, author of dark tinsel-city tale Coldheart Canyon, has this to say about it: "You want to see Hollywood’s dark side? Read Mick Garris’ Development Hell. Garris has earned the right to tell this story from years of working in the creative salt mines of Tinsel Town. He finally gets to show us the way it looks from the inside, and it isn’t pretty. This is a sharp, funny and chilling book; an unflinching report from the ego-haunted wasteland behind the face lifts and million-dollar smiles." For those not familiar with Garris, he has been instrumental in bringing the true scope of King’s fiction to the screen. Not content with a mere two hours to subject an audience to the myriad of characters and situations one usually encounters in a King epic, Garris has instead fashioned The Stand, The Shining, and the forthcoming Desperation into large scale television mini-series. Although some of these have not met with the best reviews, most fans agree it’s refreshing to see the works stretched to mirror the original novel format. REVIEW: ANTIPODEAN SF While lacking a little in the creative design area, AntipodeanSF nonetheless manages to fit the bill as a viable source for flash-fiction speculative writers to promote their wares. Showcasing ten tales each issue, the Australian aspect of the site is apparent and refreshing: it displays a reversed continent as a logo and is imbued with a green and gold color scheme. That said, it was a surprise to find the first tale to be from American author Matthew Mapes, whose story The Commute ruffled my feathers a little concerning its hidden implications: the future is going to be nothing but a constricting work-world with a massive amount of time devoted to – you guessed it: commuting. There is an element of truth here . . . more and more of the worlds current climate mirrors this theme. Next, we have a comical doozy entitled Mommy Come Quick by full time Adelaide author Jason Fincher. It’s a reverse coin attempt where we have human beings as tiny little pests and everybody’s favorite aliens as lobster-like beings with huge pincers. You’ll certainly want to give this one a go. Despite the promise of the title, Douglas Belle’s Aliens Don’t Poop is less jovial but still fun. Almost entirely dialogue, there’s a nifty little conclusion with a nice reference to our homeland. John M Floyd gives us The Stopover – where we see an intergalactic federation existing on the other side of the spectrum. 79.9 by Shaun A Saunders examines the horrifying world of retail giants and corporations with a revolutionary setting. Similar is The Language of Tomorrow by Niall Keegan; a story with the feel of big brother consumerism and is quite an original effort from the twenty year old from Perth. However, the flash-fiction here doesn’t get any better than Karen Miac and her tale Through the Window – a gem of a story that probably owns its conception to an old housewive tale but one which I found a wicked slice of female thaumaturgy and revenge. Even in such a short space, we can see that her writing skills are strong and engaging. Rounding up the ten are Re-evolution by Rob Williams: again it tackles a theme of a future gone awry – on this occasion its thanks to global warming and humanity’s futile attempts to breed new organisms to combat it, resulting in an unexpected epitaph for future generations. Dust in the Wind by Wesley Parish is perhaps far too elaborate for flash-fiction; a reader will need a couple of sittings to garner it. It’s intelligent, but the scope is limited. Finally, Mark Elias Keller supplies At the Top of the City. Although it was probably never intentioned by the author, this one reminds me a little of Stephen King’s The Last Rung on the Ladder, whereby the solace of suicide is more fitting than the comfort of life. AntipodeanSF aims to ‘flip’ the mind of the reader into another realm.' And, with a few exceptions, it manages to do this. For this reviewer ‘Flash’ fiction has never held great appeal, but I found myself warming to it. Also, some of the stories hint on the darker aspects, and I would like to see this continued. A featured section in this issue is the third part of a fascinating article by Dr Toni Johnston Woods of Queensland University as he investigates the state of Antipodean science fiction in the ‘Pulp Years’ from 1948 to 1952. This being my first read of AntipodeanSF, I went back to the archives and read through the first two parts. A critique of this will be presented in the next review. REVIEW: SHADOWED REALMS 7 Shadowed Realms sets a high standard for writers and readers of the dark persuasion. Right off the bat in the introduction, the scene is set with some eerie, brooding music: we know where we are, here – and we know which genre we’re going to be privy to. Featuring a seedy suburban back-water on the front, this no-shame approach works. Nothing of him Doth Fade, by Poppy Z Brite is included here as a multi-part serial, and for a good reason: it’s the best tales that are given this treatment. Immediately, we are placed into a thirty-something male relationship, a participant as they bicker endlessly on their Australian holiday sojourn from the States. One could argue that it’s formulaic – we’ve seen countless stories across the spectrum presented in such a fashion – by for my money these tales never lose their allure. King himself has rendered it into an art-form (Children of the Corn, Rainy Season) and Clive Barker (In the Hills, The Cities) but Poppy puts a spin on things with this gay couple’s vain attempt to rekindle their once healthy rapport. I won’t prattle on about this story: for me it’s a work in progress. Suffice to say elements of recent blockbuster Open Water here surface, and a reader will look forward to what’s in store. Another serial, Autopsy, by local Rob Hood, follows. It’s a well known sub-genre, and after reading the title thought I was in for another belt of King’s Autopsy Room Four . . . but this tale is a little stranger, a little darker, and we’re thrust into it with no introduction – and certainly no apology. Flannagan, a disgruntled figure who feels he needs to ‘find’ something in people – literally – has developed a concrete way to make this possible. Dissecting his subjects with no more aplomb than fixing up a culinary dish, that ‘something’ keeps eluding him. Only through finding the right victim will his curiosity come to fruition. Rob’s deft handling of the evisceration scene’s are penetrating, so too the tension that builds. Only readers with a strong stomach may apply here. An interesting title in the collection is Triad in the Key of Lies by Joseph Paul Haines. The story is poetic, but somewhat bloviated with such lines as ‘The sky blue as innocence’ and ‘the sun warm as forgiveness’ Aside from these tiny triad’s in themselves, it’s elegiac as we see a police-officer make a fatal road mistake with a special woman – and, punctuated with italics, will ultimately get his just desserts. Brisbane writer Trent Jamieson gives us Downpour – a strange, very short beast. With such a short stanza it’s difficult to coherently describe it. It may well be that it holds different meanings for different readers. After a massive drought, a community band together and summon dark forces to their aid. What it bids, however, is not what was originally bargained for: the old adage of everything the Devil offers turns sour. Malik Rising by Paul Haines is a concise, futuristic blend of a group of religious zealots offering themselves as guinea pigs to purge a civilization. The viral strain is cursed and enigmatic; I had the feeling this could be expanded into novella length to resemble something not so unlike 12 Monkey’s. The next tale here has a similar theme of faith. Flight, by Josh Roundtree is expedient in its attempt for the protagonist to showcase loyalty through strange and arbitrary ways. For instance, Ray (our protagonist), has made for himself a set of crude metal wings ‘ribbed with bones and assembled with care.’ Through the ministrations of a street-witch, he is forced to carry out a deed which will ultimately decide if she is a prophet of truth or damnation. Although not stated, you get the feeling these stories are set in some far-future destitute landscape. With only a couple of lines Tom Wiloch gives us Paper Cut. The title gave me a shudder, but the story a lingering question mark . . . Next on the agenda is Professional Responsibility, by Nathanial James Parker. Through dialogue, Parker wants us to explore the doctor/patient relationship in a hostage situation. Here, we sympathize more or less with the psychotic kidnapper. All doctors (especially psychiatrics); seem to have an irritating arrogance that belies their chosen occupation. In an unsettling finale, patient becomes the teacher. It’s simple, but very entertaining. Without publications like this one – albeit on the net – and the individuals working hard behind the scenes to make them happen, Australian dark fantasy and horror could be waylaid into a quagmire without hope of redemption. Shadowed Realms is bold, innovative, and presently has just half a dozen editions (they are all available on the site) so it is only in an infancy stage. Each issue contains five to eight stories – and, with a new one every two months, the future of Shadowed Realms seems to be in good hands. The editor and publisher Angela Challis has an impressive background with all things alternative, and with Shane Jiraiya Cummings clicking away to give it a Cimmerian underbelly, this is one writer and reader who will be coming back for more. Thursday December 13th 2007 I thought I'd put up some of my reviews from over the years. Introducing: MATTHEW TAIT'S LETTERS: REVIEW: THE STORE BY BENTLEY LITTLE Small American tows as the epicenter for strange goings on … the hallmarks for many writers of horror fiction. And yet we keep coming back to these tales where sleepy, conservative municipalities are transformed into cauldrons on the cusp of Hell. Midnight by Dean Koontz showcased what would happen to a modern town if HG Well’s Dr Moreau happened to drop by … Peter Straub has transformed a fictional town called Millhaven into a realm where the serial killer has a permanent home. And Needful Things by Stephen King is perhaps the penultimate tome whereby destruction takes a town by the throat. Now Bentley Little has his chance to cut a swath on the map with the hot, baking towns of Arizona as the centrepiece for mayhem. Do not be fooled by the blurb on the back, or the title of this story. Perhaps parts of it are a homage to Needful Things, but Bentley stamps his mark with his own unique brand of fiction. Welcome to Juniper, Arizona, the off-the-map dessert town where retail giant The Store has chosen for its new location. Now everything you could want is under one roof, at unbelievable prices. But you’d better be careful what you wish for; this place demands something of its customers that goes beyond brand loyalty … Our protagonist, Bill Davies, is the driving force behind this novel that sees the town he loves becoming swallowed by the giant commercialism of The Store: local businesses are forced to shut their doors; agents of The Store have infiltrated the echelons of local government, making it all but impossible to operate independently. The entire town is slowly but surely pinned under the thumb of corporate supremacy and unless Bill can usurp them by some means, Juniper will fall under the spell of its charismatic owners and converted employees … The Store itself is creepy. Although inside it resembles nothing so much as a K-Mart on steroids, the objects its sells become perverted and are converted into The Store home brands. The employees are issued with Store-worker handbooks that are like malign bibles glorifying the Hugh-Heffner-ish major owner Newman King. That said, Bentley’s heroes are likeable and engaging. He seems to have an overt grasp of local small town milieu and their inner workings. The chapters are structured cleanly and effectively to resemble what they should be: maps of intent. Not only is the writing mature, but the dialogue is established and at times hilarious. We know some of these people: they are our neighbors, friends, and are easily recognizable. Now we come to the pitfalls: although not directly part of the this novel per say, I’ve had a little difficulty fathoming why such talented authors should succumb to titles without imagination and try to make it their benchmark. Little gives us headings such as: The University, The Mailman, The Resort, The ignored, and The Revelation. Appalachian writer Scott Nicholson tries the same thing: in my opinion the world does not revolve around ‘The’ – and it can give the reader a sterile, almost clinical feeling that flees away from the story. After delving through four hundred pages, we wait for the spooky things to be resolved: just what, exactly, are those puppet things called the Night Managers that crawl around the store at night? Who is the big-wig Newman King? What does he want from this community besides control? Unfortunately, Little loses himself in these areas, and closure is not one of his strong points. Horror fiction, so flexible when it comes to these elements, should not be shied away from. There are literally millions of explanations that one can employ, yet Little tries his best to avoid them. It’s a small weakness in an otherwise engaging novel. Note: Although originally published in 1998, I felt compelled to write a review as Bentley Little (to the best of my knowledge) has not made much of a commercial impact on Australian shores. REVIEW: THE GLORY BUS BY RICHARD LAYMON This latest offering from Richard Laymon is filled with mindless gore, vile characters, and a plethora of devious acts committed by them that gives one pause on the nature of modern man. It is, in short, a terrific horror story. After passing away in 2001, Laymon left us with a legacy of over thirty novels and a myriad of short, brutal stories that saw publication in magazines like Ellery Queen and Cavalier. There have been four books published since his death that are, in my humble opinion, not under the usual scope presented in such classics as The Stake, Savage, and Blood Games. They are, in fact, better - and The Gory Bus is no exception. In the opening sequence we are treated to the usual Laymon fare: a sadistic psychopath named Rodney has finally kidnapped the girl of his dreams (Pamela) after recognizing her picture in the paper as the school girl he once lusted after. This adolescent obsession has ripened during the years and he’s just aching to whisk her away to begin to enact out his fantasies. And that’s where things get interesting. After a colossal standoff in the heart of the Mojave Desert, Pamala finds salvation from a highly unlikely source: an old converted school bus captained by an eccentric who has the appearance of an ex-Marine and a disposition to carry around fully dressed mannequins as passengers on his desert prowling bus. Utterly relieved to be saved from the clutches of Rodney, Pamala decides she’ll not prod the reason for his unconventional vocation and decides instead to follow him into the dark heart of a town called Pits . . . a place that has a very small population but is always on the look-out to increase it. The second plot strand in this story revolves around young student Norman on his way back home from College. Shy, not normally one to pick up passengers, Norman has no choice when rebel James Dean look-alike Duke hops along for the ride. He’s even more powerless to intervene when nymphomaniac hitchhiker ‘Boots’ tags along with them to lead both boys down a path of murder and sex. From here, the plot-strands intertwine and the two groups will meet in Pits to experience the local’s unusual hospitality and even more peculiar eating habits. The Glory Bus, like most of the author’s creations, grabs you from the get-go and shackles you in a pious grip that never lets go until the conclusion. I admit to having some problems with latter novels such as Island, often putting the book down for great periods before finishing it. But I found none of that here, and was gratified to enjoy such voracious horror from someone who was a legend in his time. REVIEW: RIDING THE BULLET Directed by Stephen King’s old partner in crime Mick Garris (The Stand, Sleepwalkers), Riding the Bullet is an exercise in horror morality. Based on King’s 30 odd-pager of the same name, it details the plight of college student Alan Parker . . . a disturbed adolescent who chooses the long walk in order to see his dying mother and takes a short cut instead. Riding the Bullet was a phenomenon in e-book publishing history, earning its maker an embarrassing amount of money with a lot of hype attached. If you come to this movie expecting the same kind of buildup, you’ll be sorely disappointed. However, it is a faithful adaptation, and writer/director Mick Garris has emulated on an already interesting story and stretched it into a tangible tale with merit. A viewer can tell the production probably had a shoe-string budget and it almost has a ‘cable feel to it – but such discrepancies are easily forgiven when we see Garris has a true understanding of King’s visions. Set in Maine, 1969 (where else) Bullet opens up to Alan Parker going through the motions of a break up whilst trying to deal with his teenage angst. Depressed, suicidal, his thoughts are substituted cleverly with the aid of an Alan ‘double’ who sits by his side like a conscience caricature espousing advice. After a futile attempt at suicide – which mostly comes off as hilarious – he receives a phone call from a family friend about his mother’s recent stroke that waylays his plans to catch a John Lennon concert with friends. From here, the viewer is treated to Alan’s hitch-hiking journey to get to the hospital . . . and the malign characters he meets along the way. One of the pit-falls with this the protagonist: Alan can come across slightly annoying; certainly, it’s hard to sympathize with a dude like this one. So it’s fitting when at last a very special kind of ride comes his way (played by David Arquette) to give him an ultimatum and perhaps teach him a few lessons regarding life, death – and which state is preferable. For King fans, this movie is worth your time. It moves at a swift pace and is punctured by delicious tid-bits and comical moments (readers of Christine and From a Buick 8 will be cheering). Overall, you come away with the feeling one ultimately gets from a King story: there’s an everyman quality to it filled with aching nostalgia. Monday October 29th 2007 BOTTOMFEEDER    Milwauke Press, 2006       That’s not a very poetic title, I know. But neither is the tone of Bottomfeeder … a novel that lingers refreshingly with me right now writing these words. Having just completed it, the positive effect of the book is instantaneous: with this paragraph I sound like Phil Merman, our narrator. Sarcastic. Cynical. But above all, utterly hilarious.   Phil Merman is a vampire. Converted by an unknown assailant years before, he’s a fifty-four year old immortal living in the flesh of a young man. He’s lost his marriage, his friends, and most other things mere mortals hold dear. Phil spends most nights working a regular job. A semi-regular job. If digitally cleaning up photos of dead people is considered regular. Murders, suicides, drive-by shootings … everything New York’s finest has to offer. A vampire still has to pay the bills, and the only down-sides are the hunger pangs that creep in staring at all that spilled sustenance. After knocking off it’s time for the hunt to begin. But Phil’s still a nice guy; it isn’t easy to murder to stay alive. So Phil becomes a bottomfeeder . . . sucking the life out of the lowest common denominator: bums and hobos – addicts and degenerates. At least no one will miss them. And making his dinner appear to be victims of nothing than mere muggings guarantees he’ll never get caught . .   Personally, the novel resonated with me. B.H. Fingerman’s take on modern life is pessimistic but many of you will nod at his keen observations regarding the boring hum-drum of life: rushing through activities just to look busy in front of others; counting down the hours to fill our voids with food, sex, sleep – or, in the vampire’s case – hunting. The truth hurts, but B.H. Fingerman has also made the truth laugh-out-loud funny. And being cynical is just an unpleasant way of telling the truth.  Phil’s not a God, but he looks down on humanity like one. His nature is supercilious … and a tad too much like this narrators as to be scary.   Bottomfinger is an original take on the vampire novel, with few drawbacks. Like the speech impediment of one our main characters, it stutters a little at the start but slowly builds in crescendo. We journey with Phil as he comes out of his isolated shell, hooking up with others of his tribe and learning valuable lessons on the way. The dialogue is quite realistic – at least, as far as English slang and regular talk is concerned.   The book has already received some high praise from some legends in the genre. Fifty pages in I knew I was dealing with an instant cult-classic.   Bottomfeeder has a MySpace page and can be ordered here. Wednesday October 24 2007 Review: Children of Men. It's a pity that films of a caliber like Children of Men receive such a limited theatrical release before sharing space with utter tripe on the DVD shelves. Savvy science fiction rarely gets this palatial. Upon my first viewing, I was reminded of Gattica - another highly developed movie that displayed a lot of substance driven by core ideas reflecting the basic sci-fi principals. Both films showcase elite ideas within the genre. If a film like Battlefield Earth is the celluloid equivalent of a t-shirt and thongs – then Children of Men is a designer suit . . . Children of Men (like the Wachowski Brothers V for Vendetta), is set in the not-so-distant future where fascism has taken hold of a democratic England. Years ago such a scenario might have been laughable - but with Western countries obliterating civil liberties in our own three dimensional world at a frightening pace, the paranoia inherent in the writer's message is obvious: This could be a reality, and creative people will never stand for it. It's London, 2027. November 16th to be precise. Fresh from his role in the film Inside Man, Clive Owen is Theo Faran . . . a man immersed in a gritty world where factions are carrying out bombings in residential areas on a daily basis. The future is as one would expect: giant screens are plastered to the sides of skyscrapers like gargantuan LCD monitors broadcasting government propaganda. Every street corner is New York's Times Square. This approach representing the future may cause some disbelief. After all, we're living in the future - and it didn't quite pan out the way the previous generations envisioned. Such a backdrop is not the crux of the story, however. The root of the narrative lies with the haunting reality that in this future, having children is a long-lost dream. During the opening sequence we are informed through news feed and flashbacks that our DNA is at an end. Mother Nature has decided to pull the plug, so to speak, and the youngest person to exist is only nineteen years of age. Because of this the world burns, and England (survivalist nation that it is) has somehow come out of the carnage relatively unscathed. Keeping illegal immigrants out has become the government's top priority . . . and harboring them is a major crime. Theo is reeled in by an old American flame (Julianne Moore) to help with some logistics regarding an immigrant . . . a very special immigrant. Thankfully, Julianne does not play an A-list role, and her character is used sparingly and to great effect. Halfway through we're treated to scenes that will make your jaw drop. I say this because of the original techniques used: there is a lengthy car sequence that appears as if it is shot in only one take using astonishing camera rigs that defy conventional film-making. This continues right throughout the film's duration, setting itself up with some real hackle-raising moments. Michael Caine plays the supporting role of Jasper to perfection as one of Theo's scapegoats when Theo runs afoul of the authorities and terrorist factions. A hippie-intellectual enclosed by despotism, he surround's himself with Beatle-esque tunes that give the film a certain English verisimilitude and add some light panache to what is otherwise a very bleak film ensconced in the dark futility of the future. Monday October 22nd Review: Flesh and Blood by Graham Masterson (1994) A father of three and small-time farmer, Terrance Pearson, slaughters his young children by decapitating them in what appears to be systematic  executions. One of them escapes and Terrance is caught. He has no regrets, and only wishes he could get out and finish what he started. To finish his line and ‘Bad Blood.’ Meanwhile pudgy Sheriff of Cedar Rapids, Luke Friend, investigates the homicides and finds himself drawn inexorably into ancient mythological secrets involving an entity known as The Green Traveller … a creature who is more plant than man and seems to regard his offspring through the generations as nothing more than a food source …   So begins the foundation of this startlingly gruesome and bizarre novel. Other elements that string the book together involve genetic research facility the Spellman Institute and their latest trophy to further the cause of science: Captain Black – America’s biggest pig who is the size and weight of a small car. Dr Garth Matthews wants to implant the genetic code of a human child into Captain Black’s brain . . . and what he doesn’t know is that the donor is one of Terrance Pearson’s murdered brood, a descendent of the immortal Green Traveller. Rallying to stop this unethical practice is animal rights activist Lily Monarch – a girl with secrets from her past and someone who will do anything in order to further her cause to make America a Vegetarian society.    Recently, there was discussion with a group I’m involved in regarding giant authors who can sometimes fly under the radar.  Although well versed with most writers of horror fiction who have made an impact on us in the last twenty years, I’m ashamed to say Flesh and Blood is my first foray into the realm of Graham Masterson. But it certainly won’t be the last. The mythology of Janek the Green seems to be totally original in its construction; Graham has evolved an entire folklore from scratch. Janek’s minions include ghostly beings who reminded me of Clive Barker’s Cenobites . . . with each of them having an individual function to perform in relation to butchering Janek’s victims. The entire novel works like something sweet on the stomach; it’s tastes rich and dark but is bad for you. Lights stutter and flicker throughout the many scenes, and Graham unleashes the plausibility factor very well: we believe in Janek the Green – and we sympathize with the monstrous Captain Black.   But Graham Masterson is certainly no James Patterson. Fifty pages can stream by without a single break in the narrative. And if you’re a reader who stops at a chapters split-ends to have that elusive toilet stop instead of page numbers, be prepared for a long wait. Coming into the climax of the novel I found an editors zeal kick in, muttering under my breath at obvious mistakes. Commas became common place and out of sync, displaying the rhythms of an over confident writer who needed to be reeled in a little by his editor. That said, I believe these long-winded parts to be responsibility of the editor. It was he or she that was supposed to be on clean up duty, not sleeping on the job.   As all plot-lines converge, we are treated to a massive final showdown. Like King’s Needful Things the stage is lit up in a small but apocalyptic face-off. Unfortunately, it does try a little too hard – and with too many pages. I had the distinct impression many of them could have been clipped in half.   All is forgiven, however –as with any long novel there is going to be pitfalls and positives. Overall, as a writer, Graham Masterson is definately no hack. The book has intelligent philosophical undertones regarding meat consumption in our modern society, the ethical treatment of animals, and our own brainwashed ability to turn a blind eye to the activities of those who lead us. Thankfully, Graham has been very prolific over the decades, and I know this is just the beginning of what will be a very long love affair with his impressive resume.   Wednesday October 11th 2007 Review: The number 23 A story of detailed obsession, Joel Schumacher’s The Number 23 is a periodical odyssey of one man’s escalation into the dark corridors of insanity. There are many things to applaud here, and I think avid readers of dark fiction will be smart enough to embrace what I think is a stylish and sophisticated movie. The Number 23 was always going to receive some negative attention. Just mentioning the Director’s name is enough to illicit a groan from some quarters. And with Jim Carrey playing the lead role I’d bet scalpels were being sharpened at the ready, leading some viewers to perform an artistic vivisection while the scenes played out before them. That said, I think Jim Carrey has played enough dramatic roles that anybody worth their salt will know he’s capable of practically anything . . . including the part of Walter Sparrow, an animal control employee who stumbles onto a manuscript that will change his life forever.   Happily married to Agatha (Virginia Madsen from Candyman) and father to teenage son Robin (Logan Leerman) Walter’s dimension is radically altered when he hesitatntly starts to read the novel ‘The Number 23’ by Top Secrets. The premise of the book that almost every malign occurrence or mundane event in one’s history can be traced to a number (in this case 23) is something that carries a lot of weight (both in the film and in our everyday lives). One can find evidence of this uncanny strange order to chaos almost everywhere: the hidden cracks of superstition still rears unrelenting today after the advents of 9/11. The number of so-called ‘coincidences’ linked to that day and numbers almost defy logic . . . and yet the un-rational mind, like a tongue returning to cavity, will always come back to the hidden significance and what it all means. Upon venturing further into the book this all becomes frighteningly real for Walter as the red manuscript delivers what it promised: A heart wrenching novel into paranoia.   The movie seems to be a fictional nod to the ‘pulp fiction’ style detective magazines of the sixties. Everything is daubed in ethereal tones like a faded issue of Stephen King’s The Colorado Kid. Close-ups are smeary as though the camera lens is salved with Vaseline. I really enjoyed this aspect of it, and you can tell the producers and would have had a lot of fun in the editing room. Another interesting facet is the way the story is told, with the characters playing characters, often with a much darker edge; a nuance used in what must literally be thousands of films. Then we have Jim Carrey or Walter ‘narrating’ these gritty chapters and I sometimes thought this might be a film for us ‘readers’ out there. You know - the types who will always hold the written word above the moving picture? Writers, perhaps? When Virginia Madison’s character says to her husband: Almost every time a read book it’s like the author stole a piece of me only I knew, I smiled knowingly. And this one:   ‘What are you doing, honey?’  ‘Reading …’ ‘Are you insane?’   As a reviewer I cannot recommend this film to everybody; some will go out of their way to point out factual errors and the often tedious way we are ushered through it. There is a wearisome treasure-hunt involving all members of the family and the guesswork involved can ultimately be ugly.  But if, like me, you're an individual who feels upset that we live in a day and age knowing how a magician provides the illusions . . . then sit back and enjoy a very dark ride.    Sunday September 16th 2007 Remember HorrorScope won a Ditmar Award? Well, here are some pics as my faithful associates accepted the trophy in Melbourne. I can't wait to meet everyone on the team one day. It's great to see such a young bunch of us embracing what I think would usually contain an older generation. Considering our main focus and passion is literature. I wonder if Miranda is single ... no, I did not just say that. Scrub that utterly into the void. :) And if anybody would like to know how I celebrated there's a picture of me playing guitar at the bottom. That's supposed to be a joke. :) Saturday September 1st 2007 REVIEW   A thriller writer who needs no introduction whatsoever, whose scalpel clean prose has given an entire generation reason to read, Dean Koontz delivers us the third book in his popular Odd Thomas series. Although at times his tomes have given us numerous grounds to skip them altogether – or perhaps throw them across the room – one cannot help but feel admiration for such a prolific, industrial and unbelievably swift composer whose work ethic makes most writers looked positively blocked.   For those not familiar with our protagonist, Odd Thomas is basically the boy from The Sixth Sense all grown up. Readers of supernatural fiction might find this foundation unbearably insipid, knowing it’s certainly been tapped in the genre numerous times throughout history. But Dean charged the original novel in the series with an almost magical sentimentality; the sequel, Forever Odd, was somewhat blighted in comparison – and fell very short capturing the charisma of the original. Whereas the best books are written from the heart, Dean seemed to use his head with the sequel: a strategy that more often than not ensures failure. With this in mind - I hesitantly approached Brother Odd, hoping that Dean had received critical feedback regarding the second book … and attended to what was said.   In this volume, Odd Thomas has retreated into the snowy Sierra mountains and joined a phalanx of monks as a ‘guest’ resident of St Bartholomew’s abbey. He also shares his space with nuns (of which some are privy to his secret), psychically and mentally challenged children – a dog named Boo and the ghost of Elvis Presley. But his peace in isolation doesn’t last long as one of the monks goes missing and then is subsequently murdered in a hellish manner as an affront to his beliefs. It’s not long before the shadowy Bodach’s make their return, sniffing and salivating along the corridors of St. Bartholomew’s as harbingers for future carnage to follow. Unless, of course, Odd can outwit this destiny with all the talents at his disposal.   The cast in Brother Odd is eccentric and hilarious, with Dean using his continued tradition of humor to the full extent. However, one of the main players, the Russian born Rodian Romanovich, could have been handled more deftly; his character is clumsy and oppressive, his lines out of sync with the real. The salvation to Dean’s errors comes in the form of his philosophical questings on the nature of reality. Those of us who have taken the journeys One Door Away From Heaven and From the Corner of his Eye will know his blend of science and the supernatural is often enlightening. Weather it be ‘spooky effects at a distance’ or ‘the strange order that underlies all chaos’ – the optimistic and life-affirming messages are there for people to decode. And for pessimists like yours-truly, this can often be beneficial and gratifying.   Dean Koontz is a writer guarantor, an author whom (like a four-star restaurant that rarely disappoints), promises a story that will sufficiently entertain even when he is batting at the bottom of his game. Rarely, when such huge input is put out into the masses can we criticize. I must admit, the green eyed jealously bug has surfaced within me regarding him: This guy is an enigma; the amount of words spewed out reflects someone who is born to the pastime.     Brilliant, sometimes terrible, but nevertheless a treasure … the religion of reading and its disciples are ultimately lucky to have him.   Note: Although originally published in November 2006, I felt a personal review was warranted given the popularity of the trilogy.   Saturday 4th August 2007 Saturn Returns, the first book of Astropolis, marks a pivotal time in the career of Sean Williams. Like the title metaphor, it seems the author himself is going through a personal homecoming of sorts. After the debacle of the Books of the Cataclysm, Sean has revisited the path where he started – and, dare I say it, where he belongs.   Apart from the humbling cover, I was immediately struck by the title: Saturn Returns. It just gels. From the start, the story rolls off the mind-tongue in much the same way. The term ‘layers are stripped away’ is probably used all too frequently in reviews, but it certainly applies here. Perhaps more than anywhere else. For our protagonist, Imre Bergamasc, is truly lost after awakening in the body of a female hundreds of years after his own murder. His resurrection is overseen by the Jinc – a gestalt hive mind intelligence that seeks God itself on the fringes of space.   One could say this is the premise about the book: After awakening two-hundred years after death, a former mercenary commander tries to recover his own memory and discovers the possibility that he caused the fall of civilization. This, however, cannot quite measure the sum of its parts. In science fiction, ideas have long held sway, often eclipsing characters and their motivations. But Saturn Returns is about people. Real people. Setting itself up as an original and grandiose masterpiece of Space Opera.   During his day, defined by the Continuum (be it the Federation or the Hegemony, one has to name a future galactic empire), Imre Bregamasc led a motley crew of elite super soldiers on campaigns spanning centuries. With great responsibility comes great conscience, and Imre is not immune to the pitfalls of leadership, with bourgeoning memories that indicate he, at times, certainly wasn’t ‘decent man.’   With honesty and aplomb Sean shows us that, unfortunately, wars will never be won: it’s the human condition and mirrors the current global situation. No matter how hard we travel and how hard we evolve, human beings, at their very basic, will always be warring machines … During the reading of this tome, knowing that he was only a couple of suburbs away when composing, it electrified me. You too will be electrified.   Sunday June 17th 2007 As I stand here on the podium to review Eli Roth’s third experiment into celluloid and fear, I feel as though my head is on a chopping block: With different mediums giving almost up-to-date information pertaining to a certain film (in this case Hostel II), it can sometimes wither the observer: is there anything new to add to an already assuming crowd? This comment, however, is naive – for certainly there are many whose affiliation with a new release is haphazard at best … and it is this audience for whom reviews should be scribed. Considering the immediate ejection of making the sequel following the first, I think many assumed a rushed, forceful (and perhaps even bland) follow up would ensue. But Hostel II is anything but; the casual way that Eli let’s us in is a smooth trajectory and relaxed. Although I don’t know for sure, I’d bet my dog and lot a sequel wasn’t even cogitated before writing the first, so Eli is to be commended for this blending of the two as if he knew all along subconsciously where it was going. Surprisingly, elements of the first film are given treatment and an epilogue … ushering the viewer into a movie that is as harrowing and repugnant as any to come to life. With the back-drop of Rome to inspire them two female artists and one tag-along geek (Heather Matharazzo from Welcome to the Dollhouse), become slowly seduced by a gorgeous fellow female student and the culture to eventually become residents of the Hostel. How each of them are charmed is unique to their individuality – slowly they are separated from one another by mysterious (but at the same time obvious) minions for the Hostel and their owner - a kind of hackneyed European personality that is surprisingly transparent throughout the film. As an accompanying plot-strand, two successful American businessmen have traveled en-route to secure their illustrious prize; one is bull-headed and ready to go; the other is squeamish and unnerved by what lies ahead … but not all is as it seems and Eli pulls out some plot-twists and turns that even the most cognitive might find hard to pick. For lovers of psychological horror, this film is not for you: the scenes of debauchery border on the obscene … and I suspect that if the first movie wasn’t successful, Hostel II would have had a hard time finding a distributor. An avid horror fan would think sequences like this would be cheesy on paper considering what they entail; however, they are not. Eli has made what might normally be laughable tid-bits into a womb of thought that is the real deal. As an aficionado for over half my life-span, there were definitely moments I ruminated on the legitimacy of a genre we all know and love when it is taken to such macabre extremes. However, this genus of film runs in my veins – so to speak - and I personally walked away pleased and happy with the results For those interested in the mythology of the Hostel, the background is delved into a little further. The editing and direction are superb - as is the lavishness of the outlandish sets – and the unfamiliarity of Europe for those of us in Australia gives this film some credence. Things can happen in such an exotic and far-flung environment … and that’s what scares me the most. Wednesday June 13th 2007 HORRORSCOPE WINS ANOTHER DITMAR AWARD! INTERZONE REVIEW: Britain's leading science fiction and fantasy magazine, founded in 1982, celebrates its silver anniversary. Shortlisted for the Hugo award (science fiction's equivalent of the Oscar) many years running, winning it in 1995. Interzone appears bimonthly and contains short stories plus reviews, interviews and news. 2007 is a year worth celebrating for Interzone with issue #209 marking 25 years of great stories. M. John Harrison, who featured in Interzone's very first issue is back with 'The Good Detective.' Other returnees this issue are Alistair Reynolds and Gwyneth Jones. The other half is made up of Rising British stars like Hal Duncun, Daniel Kaysen and Jamie Barras. The editors say: 'We're trying to make Interzone the fresh breeze it once was, the wind of change SF used to be.' Such a kaleidoscope of images entails Hal Duncan's The Wherever at the City's Heart - I've never read a story quite like it. On one hand it is so vast in scope as to be unassailable; my already fevered imagination could hardly keep up with the sensory perceptions evoked by this stunning author. On the other this almost burdens it down. But not quite. Because of it's sheer originality and fecundity of invention you'll probably have dreams (or nightmares) about it for weeks. And that makes it worthy of inclusion. Taking off my professional language shoes for a moment, I'll say that its kind of like a David Lynch film; you might be asking yourself: What the Hell? But in the same breath mouthing the word Brilliant! I realise I'm giving away almost no plot except to say there's a Sandminer, a Dreamwhore, and a watchtower that is like gathering point and axis of existence itself. A ponderous story, Winter by Jamie Barris is somewhat alternate history. In 1953, technologies were acquired that enabled a certain group 'The Wintermen' to expand memories with a virus. After releasing it to an unwary population they flee to the stars, only to return a half a century later to see the consequences of this viral strain: a futuristic society much like the one we envisaged for 2000 in the sixties but didn't quite pan out. The reader is flip-flopped between these two eras as our main character (Dr Christian) is brought in to garner information from the returning 'Wintermen'. Although very Interzone-ish, I personally feel a little frustrated with the common approach to these stories. If you like a tale where starting in the middle is the norm (kind of like walking into a movie halfway through and trying to follow the plot), by all means latch onto Winter. The structure is chipped away layer upon layer - in this case ponderously - to a climax with a rather predictable twist. Although set in a modern day city, The Good Detective by M John Harrison is lent a speculative edge with the musings of our scribe. Allocated the task of finding missing persons, the detective gives us the dark language of London as he goes about this. Like many stories throughout Interzone's history, it's the poetic vocabulary that ultimately wins out. In a snippet regarding a person's personal effects and belongings left behind, such as a laptop, the author gives us: It's all much as you'd expect - that naive, eviscerating attempt they always make to express their inner life as a record of the outer... Good Stuff. In our world, the environment is preforming a gradual backlash against Homo Sapiens. In Big Cat by Gwyneth Jones this has already occurred and we the reader join a few people from diverse backgrounds in a rural setting as they cope with an unsettling situation involving a deceased wolf. Alas, the same formula ensues as the previous tales. Unwittingly pushing myself, I had trouble finishing this one. Not wanting to sound harsh, I must here: Big Cat is unbearably bland for a science fiction story. Although it almost - but not quite - saves itself with well-rounded characters. In another foray into post-apocalyptic London, Alistair Reynolds gives us The Sledge-Maker's Daughter. It's a welcome piece, a breath of fresh air without the murkiness of its predecessors. Young Kathrin (the sledge-maker's daughter), embarks upon a small journey though a world that has only a fragmentary notion of what it was. Told through metaphor and reverential whispers (Alistair describes a helicopter as a windmill made of tin) Kathrin seeks out the guru-witch Widow Grayling who teaches her of an unseen war and technologies bequeathed. Kathrin learns that sometimes Gods can fall from the sky, and bring hope to mortals before dying themselves. Lastly, Daniel Kaysing delivers a knockout with Tears For Godzilla. If a movie like Memento could be condensed into a quick-witted and savvy story that was also funny, Tears for Godzilla would be it. Here, a coffee shop queue becomes the stage of a horror novelists bizarre imaginings whilst catching up with an old flame from school. If anything, this story re-affirmes my belief that all novelists are crazy. And this is a good thing. Ah, the imagination ... can't live with it; can't live without it. My favorite story in the collection. Perhaps not as entertaining to me personally as some previous issue's, this anniversary edition is still a worthy purchase. One thing about Interzone that continually astonishes me is the haunting quality of the illustrations ... leafing through Interzone can bring almost as much pleasure as reading the stories. Order directly through their website. Monday May the 14th 2007 Not many personal entries here of late. I’m pleased to announce that my story Soft Tissue will be appearing in next year’s fusion of dark art and flash fiction ‘Black Box’. That’s the sequel to ‘Shadow Box’. I’m really looking forward to it; should be published January 2008 – because I know the stories this time around are going to be a lot darker. Also, the digital side of things will definitely be amped up notch, I reckon.     The Ditmar nominations came through and I was stoked that this year I’ve been nominated for best fan writer … I’m in the company of some very cool people. Although my input into HorrorScope hasn’t been as prolific, I think the quality of the one’s I have put up surpass those earlier reviews.     For this years AHWA competition I’ve entered a very stripped down and raw version of TERRICA. Hope it’s not too gratuitous for the judges. I sometimes hate pouring over my own work but TERRICA is a story I can just read over again and again. It’s just so … Matthew Tait – if such a thing exists …   Finally, I’ll be interviewing author Steven Savile soon for HorrorScope. It was supposed to take place in April but things just got on top of me. I’m glad, actually – because I can now refine the questions and talk about everything and anything. Also gives me a chance to re-read TEMPLE (of which my name appears on the back cover). The review was quite lengthy but a small smidgen got taken out by Apex maestro Jason Sizemore for publication. Tuesday May 8th Judging for the 2007 Aurealis Awards has commenced. The Aurealis Awards were established 12 years ago by Chimaera Publications to honour the best novels and short stories in the speculative genres (horror, fantasy, science fiction, speculative young adult fiction, and speculative childrens fiction). Nominations may now be made online through the new Aurealis Awards website. The awards director for this year is Ron Serdiuk, long-time supporter of the awards and owner of Brisbane's genre bookstore Pulp Fiction. Diane Waters is the assistant director. Fantastic Queensland will once again be supporting the awards. A full list of judge's bios is available here. An extensive FAQ on the awards process, past winners and nominees, and changes to the awards' administration are also available on the new look website. MIRRORED AT HORRORSCOPE Wednesday: 2nd May 2007! Lots of problems getting this up on HorrorScope ... but I'm proud of it: is a quarterly print magazine in what could be termed science-horror. Jason Sizemore, the editor, found this niche in the small press market and Apex has evolved to publish authors such as Kevin J Anderson, Bev Vincent, and William F Nolan. Old theme’s are revisited in Kevin J Anderson’s The Sum of all His Parts: that of the prodigy child Frankenstein. Readers might be aware of Kevin's collaboration with Dean Koontz regarding this creature. In a brief afterward, Kevin reveals that this story was a personal attempt to bring some history to the myth and really flesh out the milieu of this famous monster. As stated, an old theme, but Kevin really breathes some life into it with carpeted, stitched together frames revolving around Castle Frankenstein and the town that sits below it like a macabre human farm. For the inhabitants have secrets - sins past and sins present that reminded me of the motif King used to a much broader extent in his novel Needful Things. There's a love tryst that becomes homicidal, a drifter that is reeled in as though the town has an infectious mental disorder - and even an arsonist without much of a conscience, who will pay for his crimes in a most arbitrary way. Like a dish coming to full boil, all are shoved together in more ways than one and with enough force to make this a memorable story. Next, we have The End of Crazy by Katherine Sparrow. Although this tale isn't exactly original - to me it felt original. Like something obvious and hidden in plain sight, you'll wonder why you hadn't conjured it yourself. In this police-state future, schizophrenics and their like are given the ultimate weapon for mental illness: Sanify. A drug that induces the cunning illusion of a logistical mind and actually suppresses something far greater and stranger than any mere psychosis. What I loved here is that we have thriller that anybody can relate to: who hasn't thought about going crazy at one time or another? It's a tad depressing, but we're in horror territory here, and bad feelings are a stock in trade. Imagine this one as a short-dizzying two minute film and you'll be rewarded. Every story that pops up these days (outside of the hard-core western genre) and features the word 'Gunslinger' might elicit a sigh. It certainly does for me, anyway. King's story of Roland and his ka-tet soaked the annals of horror and science fiction (Western and Arthurian too - if you wanted to be picky about it) so much that it seems almost blasphemous to embolden that word in type. However, even now writing this, I'm strongly reminded of the influences he used to springboard his characters into action, so by all means give The Gunslinger of Chelem by Lavie Tidhar a go. Here, we have a pair of cops in the future where working is dreaming. Sound cool? It is. It's how they go about catching the killers ... and a man named Stephen Cohn is one nasty killer in the extreme. Although short, I think this particular story would've fitted into Aegri Somnia nicely. A piece of flash follows next with Locked In by Mary Robinette Kowl. It wouldn't be included here if it wasn't engaging. It concerns euthanasia in a domestic setting involving a mute participant. Of course, with any cool piece of flash, the ball doesn't get rolling until the final sentence ... and this one literally. A drug addict is lined up as an unwitting hit-man in Projector by Daniel LeMoal. Latticed with surreal horror elements, Projector is a rip-roaring read that's easy on the eyes. A small cabal of druggie-misfits hopped up on goofballs are given a task when their lives are bought hook, line, and sinker by a crime overlord. The added extras concerning the psychic 'projectors' ensue a appreciatively vile and funny ending. Following on is another amusing story entitled At the 24-Hour by regular William F Nolan. We feel like we're in a kind of sixties 'pulp fiction' mystery at the start, where trench coat's ruled, cigarettes were endorsed by doctors, and waitresses spouted dialogue that could only come from a hacks pen. This all takes place in a 24-Hour coffee shop, where one hungry man named Allen pulls up a chair and steps up to order black coffee. Only black coffee. Then we find out why . . . Welcome to Eursupia, the gargantuan city of Jeremy Adam Smith's Pyramus and Thisbe. Reminiscent perhaps of a globular Star Wars necropolis, it even has an identical city built beneath it to house the inhabitants once they have died. At it's most basic, this is a simple speculative tale of a cyborg (Pryamus) who falls in love - something that is forbidden in Eursupia. Jeremy's use of language, however, makes it so much more. It's told as though encoded in myth, foreseeing future generations looking upon the mythology as though Biblical in nature. I found this story hugely entertaining, and wouldn't be surprised if it saw it's way toward a commendation in some competition or other. Winner of the 2006 Apex Halloween short fiction content, Sufficiently Advanced by Bev Vincent is a riotous and simple story with prose as blunt and to the point as the big guy we all know Bev has written books about. After crash landing on an unknown planet - the only one to escape his ship The Odyssey - Henry comes into contact with what appears to be a primitive race. Appears. The flip-flopping that comes next is nasty and hilarious. A short, sharp piece. Teeth. The subject of which trillions of writers for the horror genre can scrutinize, dissect and ultimately use to scare. The possibilities are endless and Rob D Smith's Don't Show Your Teeth is a fine example. On an off-planet construction consortium, Nik has a friend who has somehow acquired the very stage teeth used in the Nosferatu movie. Rob uses futuristic slang and just the right amount of dialogue robed with prose to make this entertaining. This particular issue of Apex is as dark, funny, and entertaining as ever (the cover definitely conveys this - and the illustrations inside are more compact). Perhaps I'm just easy please but the stories here genuinely resonate with quality. Of course, minor editorial adjustments could have been made in some of them but (in my opinion) these aren't worth mentioning here. Also begun is the first part of a four part serial entitled CainXPII: The Voice of Thy Brother's Blood by Geoffrey Girard (the illustration to that one looks like something from American Psycho, so it should be good). Then there's a funny and original interview with the writing machine Kevin J Anderson by Alethea Kontis - and another with Liz Williams by Lavie Tidhar. Order directly from their Website Friday April 27th 2007 News: Noctem Aeternus is a free quarterly PDF horror magazine set to launch on January 1 next year. The first issue will include a short story (and interview) from Ramsey Campbell, winner of four World Fantasy Awards, ten British Fantasy Awards, three Bram Stoker Awards, and the Horror Writer's Association's Lifetime Achievement Award. The magazine will also include science fiction, fantasy, western, or even mystery stories, but all tales will have an element of horror. "The horror genre sometimes gets a bad reputation for being the shock jocks of the literary field," editor Michael Knost said. "You can find plenty of blood and guts, but sometimes there is no story among the gore. Noctem Aeternus will be a quality fiction magazine, focusing on the story and its characters." Subscription is free and available by entering an e-mail address at the Noctem Aeternus website. The magazine will open to fiction submissions in June. Mirrored at HorrorScope and posted by Miranda Siemienowicz Thursday April 19th 2007 The Australian Shadows Award for 2007 is now open for submissions! The Australian Shadows is an annual award presented by the Australian Horror Writers Association (AHWA) and judged on the overall effect - the skill, delivery, and lasting resonance - of a work of horror fiction written or edited by an Australian and published either in Australia or overseas. The people involved in running the award for 2007 are: Guest Judge: Richard Harland Judging Panel: Mark Smith, Gary Kemble and Shane Jiraiya Cummings Director: Kirstyn McDermott Eligibility is simple. All entries must be works of fiction first published either in print or electronically within the calendar year and the author/editor must be an Australian citizen or Australian resident . Please note that, while a collection or anthology which contains reprints may be submitted as a work in its own right, none of the reprinted stories within will be eligible for individual consideration. The recipient of the 2007 Award will be chosen from works originally published between 1st January and 31st December 2007. Submissions for the 2007 Award will only be accepted from 15th April - 31st December 2007. The story/novel/collection/anthology must have horror content either as a focal point or an integral element of the work. Dark Fiction will also be accepted. There are no submission or nomination forms to fill in. Anyone - including judges - may nominate a flash, short story, collection, novel, poem, anthology, etc, by passing on the details of the work to the Director, who will then contact the author or publisher and ensure review copies reach the judges. Entries of less than 10,000 words may be emailed as attachments in electronic format (PDF preferred) to the Director who will then forward them to the Judging Panel. All electronically submitted entries must include the place and year of publication. Please contact the Director via email at kirstyn[@]sinpatiko[.]com (remove the square brackets) to obtain instructions for submitting hard copies of longer entries. So if you write, publish or read an eligible work of fiction this year that you feel is worthy of consideration for the Australian Shadows Award, please let us know about it. For more information, visit the weblink, or send an email to kirstyn[@]sinpatiko[.]com (remember to remove the brackets.) We're all looking forward to seeing what the Australian horror & dark fiction community can come up with for 2007! The Australian Shadows Award is sponsored by Altair Australia and presented by the Australian Horror Writers Association. Wednesday April 18th 2007 The annual Katharine Susannah Prichard Writers' Centre Science Fiction/Fantasy Awards are now open to entries until May 25. Short stories between 1500 to 3500 words are eligible, from all the speculative fiction genres (science fiction, fantasy, and horror). Entry is open to all Australian residents. There are two sections: 1. OPEN 2. Shire of Mundaring National Young Writers Awards (20 years and under). PRIZES: 1. OPEN: First $200 Second $50 2. Shire of Mundaring National Young Writers Awards: First $75 Second $25 Highly Commended and Commended Certificates will also be awarded. Award winners will be announced and presented at the Sunday Afternoon Readings (SF mini-con), KSP Writers’ Centre in Greenmount (Perth), WA on August 19, 2007. Previous award winners and finalists include Lee Battersby, Martin Livings, Tansy Rayner Roberts, and many more. Monday April 16th 2007 Review: DISTURBIA After the unfortunate road-death of his father, bitter and rebellious Kale (Shia Lebeuolf) ‘pops’ his Spanish teacher in the face and is sequestered to home imprisonment for three months. With an electronic device secured around one of his ankles to make sure he does not leave his home (police are notified immediately if he breaches its sensory perimeters), Kale then resigns himself to outwit the cerebral sufferings confinement can impose on the human psyche. This is the premise at its most basic, and - of course - sudden influences spring to mind. We have Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window (1954) – but even that, in essence, was just a retelling of a film made five years previous entitled The Window. One could argue that Disturbia is just a slavish and dumbed-down imitation featuring teenagers … and to some extent it is. Although this does not take away any of the viewing gratification. The teenagers who come to the forefront are Ronnie (Aaron Yoo) and Ashley (Sarah Roemer) - Kale’s new and much coveted beautiful next door neighbor. Both Ronnie and Kale then proceed to spy on their neighbors using all the numerous technologies one can harness in today’s modern home. Things crank up a notch and the audience is slowly introduced to those that surround Kale: there’s the young brats also next door, responsible for menacing poor Kale whilst being at his most vulnerable; also the mysterious lawn-mowing obsessive Mr. Turner (David Morse) whose suspicious behavior leads the kids on an internet goose-hunt when the similarities between Mr. Turner’s description and car match those of a recent spate of disappearances in another state. Ashley soon joins the boys in a stake-out and it isn’t long before humor plays a key role in getting us to like them before the thrill ride begins. And begin it does, blended so smoothly and efficiently through I had almost forgotten it was coming. Hackles were raised in the audience – this was obvious. Director D.J Curuso (Taking Lives, The Salton Sea), shows he obviously has a knack for film of the darker persuasion. Yes, another crowd might bemoan the end of an era and like to see it made a little more stylishly – but (in my opinion), that nostalgia period might well be over. A yearning for the ‘olden days’ does not put some critics on a pedestal and give them any leverage of ‘higher thought.’ Of course with any film like this there are corny trappings and the modern thriller aficionado might find themselves grimacing at tid-bits that could obviously have been executed differently and to greater effect. However, push all these small things aside; Disturbia is indeed a creepy and compelling film. April 12th 2007. AntipodeanSF Issue 107 is available for you to read and enjoy on the web. This months issue features ten science fiction, fantasy and horror short flash stories. "The Hungry" by Mark Healy "Welcome" by Kathryn Flaherty "Dread Seasons Quartet: Naked Azure Sky (Summer)" by Shane Jiraiya Cummings "Dreams Are Free (Until Further Notice)" by Chris Bell "Of Mice And - " by Shaun A. Saunders "Avenue D: The Tankboy's Ride" by Peter M. Ball "Rope Burns" by Kristine Ong Muslim "Dedication" by David Such "By The Numbers" by Mark Tremble "Old Lady Stew" by Matt Doyle You'll also find a monthly dose of review in “E-Scapes” by Sue Clennell, opinionated reviews of newly released SF and F in “Vide”, and great cover art by Martin Blanco. March 21st 2007 The Australian Horror Writers Association Mentor Program will open to submissions from April 1st. The program aims to further develop the depth and quality of Australian horror and dark fantasy by matching selected emergerging writers with experienced Mentors, who will provide valuable advice, assistance and analysis of the Mentoree's work and writing goals over a three month period. Application to the program is free (although successful applicants will pay a fee) and is open to AHWA Members only. Full details on the program and how to apply can be found in the Members Only section of the AHWA website. The AHWA's 2007 line-up of mentors is: Lee Battersby (award winning author of Through Soft Air), David Carroll (co-author of Prismatic), Shane Jiraiya Cummings (author of Shards/anthologist), Stephen Dedman (award-winning author of The Art of Arrow Cutting and Shadows Bite), Paul Haines (author of Doorways for the Dispossessed), Robert Hood (author of Backstreets and the Shades series), Martin Livings (author of Carnies), Cat Sparks (short story writer/editor of Agog! anthologies), and Kaaron Warren (author of The Grinding House). March 20th 2007 In a bid to consolidate and streamline dark fiction news in Australia, Brimstone Press and the Australian Horror Writers Association have formed a collaborative partnership. As a result, HorrorScope will now be the official news source for the AHWA. The AHWA's hard-working News Editor Talie Helene retains her role in the merger, and will bring her enthusiasm for genre reportage to HorrorScope as resident news editor. Talie will continue to post AHWA news items on HorrorScope, as well as occasional reviews and other items. The AHWA news page will soon be phased out, but the AHWA site will still continue to feature information valuable to Australian dark fiction writers, such as the article archive, member forums, and entry rules for the AHWA short story and flash fiction competition and the Australian Shadows Award. With Talie at the helm of the AHWA News, dark fiction authors, editors, and publishers can be assured that their media releases and news items will be aired on HorrorScope without bias. Instead of posting news items directly on the AHWA website, interested parties are encouraged to email their news directly to Talie. Other dark fiction sites and newsfeeds such as Horror On the Vine will remain unaffected by the change, although it is hoped the HorrorScope/AHWA merger will streamline the syndication of Australian dark fiction news elsewhere. For the latest dark fiction news and reviews, LiveJournal users can subscribe to the HorrorScope syndication feed by clicking here. March 14th 2007.           Stories For Sale:              1. Car Crash Weather     2. Broken Highway     3. The King's Dome     4. The Long Dark Shadow of Night     5. Blood Of the Kith     6. Face Off     7. Magic Mystery Hour     8. The Silent Twilight     9. Mary Stall's Monday      10. Eternal Sea Ruler     11. The Fragile Thread      12. Terrica     13. The Devil's Plaything     14. The Chronicals Of Trent Randell     15. Dark Crib     16. Warlock Wood     17. Transmutation        HorrorScope Reviews:   They Hunger by Scott Nicholson.       I was lucky enough to obtain an advance readers copy of Scott Nicholson’s sixth book They Hunger, due for release from Pinnacle books in April of this year. ‘Write what you know’ the old codgers advise bourgeoning writers when they start along the literary path. Scott Nicholson certainly ‘knows’ the Southern Appalachian Mountains and soon his name (if it already isn’t) will be part and parcel with them as King is to Maine. In They Hunger, the Unegama River and its serpentine rapids are the centre-piece for a group of characters that meet under sinister duress … the kind that hides in darkness and feeds off blood.   I know Scott has a lot of professional admiration for Dean Koontz and this is reflective (not in stylistic imitation), but in the way he brings incongruent characters together and shoves them into a god-awful situation. In They Hunger, we have religious zealot abortion-clinic bomber Ace Goodall who flees to the Unegama wilderness in an effort to escape his pursuers. (Think Ed Deepneau from King’s Insomnia with a Charles Manson twist). Riding shotgun with him is Clara Bannister – a self-destructive, semi-believer in Ace Goodall gospel. The seekers on his trail to bring him to justice are two FBI agents: Jim Castle and Derek Samford – hardboiled types from a thousand Cop movies. Not too far away are an odd assortment banded together for a collective agenda: to test flight a kind of prototype white water raft for outdoor adventure conglomerate ProVentures. Regrettably, it was these particular characters on the raft that made me a little uncomfortable with the whole thing: Bowie Whitlock, who leads the expedition, is making his ‘final jaunt’ so he can retire because he blames himself for his wife’s death. Such a back story felt modestly clichéd, and reminded me of a corny Sylvester Stallone in Cliffhanger. Then there’s the solitary female of the group, Dove Krueger, contracted to photograph the voyage and create coitus longings among the males. Rounding up the gang are a wrestling Indian Cherokee on a spiritual path; a ProVentures representative; bicycling champion C.A McKay and slippery, vulgar-mouthed reality show winner Vincent Farrengalli. Their bad timing and lack of coalition will inevitably see them run afoul of ancient creatures, released from their prehistoric underground hideaway after the FBI agents accidentally set off a trip wire bomb engineered by Ace Goodall. One could argue about the cardboard characters or not, but I found They Hunger to be a expedition certainly worth taking. Like his previous book The Farm, Nicholson gives you a kind of comforting horror tale; you’ll feel that the terrain is well-mapped and the gore, when it comes, brings an almost malign grin to your face. His flying vampires are old-school and at times They Hunger can be like taking a trip down memory-lane … one where horror movies were in their infancy stage but at the same time at their peak. Humor is also a large component, as the battle of wills and ego merge with that of survival. Like the river he takes you down, Scott Nicholson's They Hunger is a fun roller-coaster ride and the journey is at times hair-raising. Here, Vampires come back to the forefront of the horror-novel, and Scott Nicholson ultimately does it in style. Pre-order from Amazon.   ChiZine:   The Chiaroscuro (Chizine) WebZine is an electronic 'Zine featuring original work from today's best dark fiction authors and edited by Bram Stoker winning editor Brett Alexander Savory. Opening up the fiction is Camp by Jeremy C Ship. Like the title suggests, this story could be classified in the same realm as Camp/Horror pictures. It’s a Russian Doll piece of fiction, as layers are slowly stripped away to reveal a school of slaughterers that bequeath to their children the time honored traditions of the ‘Camp.’ Told in first person, Jeremy pulls no punches with quick, savvy lines delivered to shock and repulse. We have only a vague notion what, exactly, the Camp is for as girls and boys go through slaying initiations involving victims that are certainly not animals. Not for the squeamish, Camp fits into ChiZine nicely. The second story felt a little bewildering; unfortunately, The Burial of the Dead by Lavie Tidhar just didn't resonate with my personal taste. There is nothing overtly wrong with the prose or sentence structure, but I dislike puzzling plots that (too me) have no meaning whatsoever. A gambling drifter in Asia is our main guy, a young man who has bought into ‘The Game.’ Said game seems to be played with communion wafers procreated from the corpses of the dead, which in turn hold the elements for physical transformation. It’s a short-story that seems to have ingredients like that of Clive Barker’s The Damnation Game, but I suspect it will hold a different structure for others. The last of the short-fiction is The Teacher by Paul G Tremblay. Now, this story is unquestionably more entertaining. Told in an honest and eccentric first person narration, The Teacher will keep you reading until the end with its morbid, slowly-building connotations. Our female narrator is often funny and metaphorical, juggling two plot-strands related with her home life and her perverse school Teacher and his unconventional lessons. I’d be lying if I said I completely understood it – but that’s just the way some stories are … and become better for it. ChiZine also features poetry (of which I am certainly no critic). Plus the added extras of book and movie reviews. Best of all, its free of charge!   REVIEW OF HANNIBAL RISING:     Right off the bat I wish to inform HorrorScope readers that I have not yet read the novelization by Thomas Harris. This point of view will be purely seen through the lens of the celluloid version … an adaptation that went well beyond my pre-conceived notions. Of course, by now, many of you have either seen it or read other evaluations – or have imbibed an inkling of the plot through the advertising campaign. But let’s re-hash that particular skillet of information, anyhow: Hannibal Rising tells of the formative years of Hannibal Lectar’s life before we first meet him in Red Dragon. With the Nazi’s retreating from the Russians at the end of World War Two, Hannibal and his sister Mischa (Lithuanians) are quickly orphaned after their parents are caught in the cross-fire at a hunting lodge. Thereafter they are alone with nothing but the elements and wolves; soon a company of Lithuanian collaborators seek shelter in the same hostel; they, too, have nothing to eat … and soon turn their starving eyes upon the innocents who share their space …   Journeying with Hannibal Lecter as he finds a sliver of long-lost oriental family – exploring his character as she teachers him the ways of her warrior ancestors, I was completely taken in. Unknown French actor Gaspard Ulliel playing Hannibal was totally convincing, attractive and dark in his pursuit for retribution. I was wary that my allegiance would lie with Hannibal; (the audience would root for him, in other words), and this happened to a certain extent. But it was still all too easy to see the monster inside; the fiend that replaced the boy who died out in the snow an adolescent. There are several supporting roles that string the film together, most notably Dominic West who plays an almost sympathetic inspector on the trail of Hannibal’s blood-letting. Also Li Gong as Lady Murasaki Shikibu, another who has lost everything and protects Hannibal like a dangerous but elegant snake. Condensed and layered like a jigsaw puzzle, mystical and ambitious, by and large television Director Peter Webber has pulled off a stylish prologue that obviously had an insurmountable amount of pressure attached. Many pundits out there will probably disagree, as it seems fashionable to smear such polarizing popularity and one has to ask the motives behind these pessimists. For this truly is a film that has some bite …     January 10th 2007!   I have to up-grade this part of the site to a blog format (not unlike HorrorScope) and everybody else’s friggin journals. This site might be off-line for a while after the 19th while I string some dollars together to keep it up. It’s been such a positive year so far; I’ve already made a story sale to Afterburn Sf, and I received a cool little cheque for $10.00 US which is roughly just over $11.00 Australian. It honestly doesn’t get any better than receiving money for the sweat you pour into this crazy thang called writing dark fiction. Life is good, ladies and gentleman – I’ve grown so much spiritually over the past couple of months. Hopefully the new blog format will be up soon …   2007  ... sounds cool, futuristic and fat with potential - don't you think?   Matt. A fine review for HorrorScope if I do say so myself ....   Aegri Somnia is a Latin phrase, one that means, literally, ‘A Sick Man’s Dream.’ Aegri Somnia (for me, at least), was always going to be a winner. The news spread; little banners and bookmarks circulated with an illustration that was enough whet my fantastique taste-buds. For dark fiction lovers like us – for I assume you wouldn’t be reading this if you weren’t – the appeal that can often come with holding a little package like Aegri Somnia goes beyond mere words. Whereas some people see nothing more than a little book to perhaps use as a drink coaster on a coffee table (god, I do hate that); we aficionado’s perceive a treasure trove; something that is perhaps priceless in value. And certainly more than the retail price: Tiny imagined worlds that a lot of sacrifice, sweat and time went into.   Jennifer Pelland is our first executioner of tales with YY, and it’s a very worthy opener. Reminiscent of the design on the cover, we know we're in a kind of monster territory. Little monsters. Monsters that scurry. After an abortive attempt to fashion a human baby goes horribly wrong, the man for whom the experiment was designed has to repair the damage. Although concerning fiends, the story’s heart is ultimately a cordial domestic one between a small boy and a grieving adult ready to make the ultimate sacrifice to put things right.   Christopher Rowe’s The League of Girls is a little more subdued. The plot seems to fit well into the Aegri Somnia theme, but I was a little baffled; maybe this was the point. After coming home from hospital following debilitating injuries from a plane crash (or was it)? Sammi is allocated a place in a girl’s boarding house that may well be some kind of afterlife.   One of my favourite’s follows: All Praise to the Dreamer by Nancy Fulda. It’s another story that’s strongly tied with parenthood, and the lengths we go to preserve our brood. What makes this one tick, however, is the strange, sentient creatures that prey on humanity’s infants. They are even given a delicious name (one I won’t reveal here), and you can tell the author has fun with her creations. A clever ending ensues.   Mythology comes to the forefront with Nothing of Me by Eugie Foster. Deity’s everybody will be familiar with – those from Homer’s Odyssey, rear up in a tropical setting set in present day. It’s a cool little story, and a lot of people will enjoy it; however, I’d just finished reading Dan Simmon’s epic Ilium and Olympos the night before. Hence, this particular reviewer was a little put off coming back to Zeus and his immortal family of gods, goddesses and demigods. They seem to be everywhere in current fiction, marauding around our writers heads begging them for more tales. But I’m just being morose here, ladies and gentleman. Eugie’s tale is infused with curses, betrayal and romance with immortals Scylla and Glaucus at the centre of things. Natural storyteller Scott Nicholson gives us Heal Thyself, probably the ultimate standout in this collection. Jeffery Jackson has problems – big problems. And when he sees a past-life hypnotherapist to heal his cerebral sufferings, his psyche dovetails into area’s better left unexplored. I’ve made it no secret in the past (no pun intended) that I predict Scott’s only a couple of books away from breaking through big-time, and you’ll see why with Heal Thyself. There is a miniature here, and (in my opinion) he seems to grasp topics he might know little about with a fiery, almost effortless imagination. Perhaps the only story that doesn’t quite fit in here is On the Shoulders of Giants by Bryn Sparks. This is probably due to the hard science fiction factor that seems no body else really ventured into. Apex readers will know that Bryn is very talented, however – and he fuses human emotion with robotic sentience quite well. Dream Takers by Rhonda Eudaly tackles sleep disorders. Those familiar with insomnia or nightmares that invade us when we close are eyes will be chilled by this. In this future, technology has enabled one Timothy Lindsey to snatch nightmares from the subconscious and give them to somebody else. In this case, its inmates on death row . . . monsters already filled by the void. And of course, there is always a price … The next piece, Letters from the Weirdside by Lavie Tidhar, seems dedicated to all the struggling dark fiction writers out there. We begin with a typical day in a horror magazine editor’s work-place. There follows his decent into story realms that fracture known reality and question the often blurry line between fiction and our own four-dimensional world: a motif Stephen King has explored at great lengths. Every story here seems to feed off the one before it, and the next one, Wishbones by Cherie Priest comes off just as good as the rest. The plot concerns ancient mythical secrets during the civil war and is branched into the present involving teenagers working in pizza store. Cherie’s use of language (especially between the teenagers) is right on the money; their banter flies from the page like you’re watching it on the screen. Also, it’s the images evoked during the war camps and not the supernatural elements that ultimately win out. All becomes as Wormwood will certainly make a lot of techno-phobes and environmentalists out there squirm in their respective reading chairs. It’s authored by Angeline Hawkes, who purveys the wasteland that is Chernobyl years after the meltdown and reports what she sees. Alex has permission to travel to the abandoned city to add some verisimilitude for a school report and perhaps take a few photographs. Alex discovers (after his motorcycle breaks down, of course), that Chernobyl isn’t as deserted as the world thinks and it seems the city has one last, horrifying gift for the world. Sounds great, and it is … except there is an element of disbelief for the reader as Alex comes to terms with the new environment astonishingly quickly. We’re thrust forward into B grade territory as though we’ve been there all along – and you might find yourself frowning. However, it is a short story, and Angeline is to be forgiven. Well of the Waters by Mari Adkins falls into the same category as Nothing of Me. Although I’m probably wrong, stories such as these seem to be aimed at a female readership . . . and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with this. My personal taste, however, won’t easily be held sway here. Like Dream Takers, it revolves around a kind of sleep incubator. Another realm with powerful female thaumaturgy also comes into play. It seems just when you think the best story has shown itself, along comes Mens Rea by Steven Savile. What started out as seamy cop London story – perhaps a very gruesome take on TV’s The Bill – suddenly goes ape into dark regions involving experimental brain surgery, hoodlum thugs with telekinetic gifts – and an ending that just begs for some kind of universe to be explored. Steven takes to the theme beautifully, imbuing Mens Rea with a vigorous, complex and ultimately uplifting tale. Well, it was a good ride. And I was happy to make the journey. All authors are to be commended, as they have been given a task and responded resoundfully. Bravo Jason Sizemore and Gill Ainsworth for editing. You can purchase Aegri Somnia from Apex Publications. November 4 2006 A link was put up to the Aurealis awards for this year and I was just casually scouring it. Unbelievably, my story Skating on Thin Ice had been nominated in the short story section for Horror. Sure, there were about thirty others there but Man! Somebody else put that in cause I sure as shit didn't. You do get a buzz from these sort of things, however minute. Imagine how happy I'll be if I ever sell a million copies of Davey Ribbon ...? November 1 2006 Happy Halloween for yesterday Folks. I didn't do anything too grandoise; just watched Silent Hill with a friend. My review of that one should be up on HorrorScope tomorrow. Words Today: 762 on Davey Ribbon Other Work: Cleaned my House for three friggin hours. Reading: Stephen King's IT (Re-reading); Sean Williams The Crooked Letter; Richard Laymon Beware; Mark Morris Mr Bad Face and The Cartoonist by Sean Costello.     Also just finished an issue of Interzone and here is the review I did for HorrorScope: British science fiction publication Interzone is a magazine founded in 1982 and continues to maintain its position as one of the leading professional science fiction and fantasy publications. Recently, the magazine has gone through a renovation making it a fresh and exciting periodical to look at in Glossy A4 format as well as read. Science fiction blended with inter-species romance; this is the harbinger for Mercurio D Rivera’s 'Looking for Langalana'. It’s a tale told as though the protagonist is put on a witness stand. Shimera, a Wergen, tells her story to an emissary … the son of the human named Phinny she once loved. Although a little too quixotic, I really enjoyed this one. With strange mating rituals on the Wergen’s part, descriptive language of their beguiling anatomy’s – and a pesky native of Langalana that cannot be tamed, this opener to the issue will be sure to stay with you long after the last sentence. Haunting and lyrical, Tim Akers The Song is like a short poem for the soul. For me it speaks of metamorphosis, of transcendence. A gifted musician in a futuristic society where music is on the fringe, Jack has been struggling to capture the espial of a life’s dream through his music; the ultimate melody that plays like a discordant baritone in his subconscious, but is impossible to capture with his current instrument and audience. He enlists the help of a complicated creature – one that could finally give birth to The Song … A tale that inspires research … that’s pretty much the most positive thing I can say about Martin J Gidron’s 'Palestina'. If one is not familiar with the politics surrounding Middle East occurrences in the years after Hitler’s death, then I doubt this tale will hold much allure. Earning a place here solely on the merit of being somewhat ‘alternate history’, Girdon’s message (if there is supposed to be significance) is obscure and not easy to comprehend. Protagonist Palestina – a Jewish concentration camp inmate – is swept up in the intrigue revolving around a Russian infiltrator and a Rabbi who is more than he appears. With the world’s current climate, it might inspire a few of us to dig through archive trenches and lather our brains with history. Otherwise, the message here is a non sequitar. Whilst boasting the most imaginative illustration in this story collection, 'The Rising Tide' by Australia’s C.A.L is a piece probably better suited to a novella or even something more grandiose. The beginning is a treat; tied with the art, it evokes a true ultramodern landscape: Beneath the night-clad sky of a golden colonized globe, Raleigh Marsonnet walked the light-swept roads as any Free-born citizen might do … After this (for me, at least) it kind of falls apart. That’s not to say it’s a bad story or un-readable in anyway. C.A.L has constructed a vast mythology, and it’s hard to digest in such a small stanza without repeat readings. In this future, The United Starion Republic will activate a weapon which will see a rebellious world cut off from its infrastructure. The code has gone missing which will enable this and Raleigh Marsonnet must return to the world and woman he betrayed. Another story that would shine in novel length is 'Summers End' by Jamie Barras. Jamie imagines a world where the whole population of earth wakes up simultaneously five months after a comatose period. Said period was caused by ‘hijackers’ – unknown entity’s that decided to take up residence in humanity’s collective skulls. It’s a scary scenario; absolutely terrifying, if truth be told, as possession in the genre of science fiction has always given me the heebie-jeebies. The story is not global, however, and basically centers on a domestic issue. I get the feeling Jamie Barras is not done with this universe. Lastly, we have the winner of the James White award: 'A short History of the Dream Library' by Elizabeth Hopkinson. No doubt about it, this one’s a gem. Its fiction packaged as neatly as the title suggests, interspersed with laugh-out-load moments. Set in England, the tale of Milton Bissit and his addictive dream that involves a ‘Hindi speaking goblin’ is a genuine classic. If Elizabeth continues to work, I think her name could eventually be used in the same sentence as Douglas Adams.              October 27 2006 I’m not sure if I posted this before or not but on Horrorday an anthology was put together by authors Martin Livings and Stephanie Gunn. It featured some of the cream of the crop of Australian authors and my story written for Dad on father’s day Skating on Thin Ice was included in there. Apparently it was quite popular, and even garnered US and UK interest. Here is a break-down of the anthology. Hopefully, it should be availble in some format or another soon … In celebration of World Horror Day, an anthology of horror fiction by fifteen Australian writers is being made available online. The website will only be accessible for the duration of Friday the 13th, 2006, though for rather longer than twenty four hours, given world timezones. Contributing authors include   Brendan Carson, Stephen Dedman, Stephanie Gunn, Robert Hood, Martin Livings, Robbie Matthews, Brett McBean, Chuck McKenzie, Nigel Read, Rhidian Rhead, David Schembri, Mark Smith, Cat Sparks, Matthew Tait and Marty Young. October 25 2006 A Few kind words from Shane Cummings concerning HorrorScope. He was interviwed in the Asif! Forum: The same applies for projects like HorrorScope. In those dark days before HorrorScope and ASif existed, reviews of Australian short fiction were as rare as hen's teeth. After promoting Shadowed Realms in the US via the web and gaining some reviews over there, I realised how few reviews venues like Shadowed Realms were getting in Australia. A fortnight later, HorrorScope was born and continues to flourish. As a project, I consider HorrorScope an unequivocal success. It far exceeded my expectations both in terms of committed reviews (Miranda, Matt, Mark, Andrew, Stephanie, and AD are just brilliant) and review quality, and also scope. Because of the work done by Miranda and others, we're now reviewing most of the world's pro spec fic publications and bringing an international audience to an Australian website. That to me is changing the culture.                        I have a new review up on HorrorScope for Apex issue #6: Apex is a quarterly print magazine specializing in what could be termed Science-Horror. Jason Sizemore, the editor, found this niche in the small press market and Apex has evolved to publish authors such as Ben Bova, J A Konrath, James P Hogan and Tom Piccirilli. Preferring not to simply read magazines such as Apex from front to back, I will scour through the text and illustrations as though dipping in and out of a carnival rollercoaster ride: whichever narrative appeals most to my sense of the fantastique I will go with first – and so on until the end. In the case of issue six it was ‘Cut and Paste’ by Peter Gutierrez. The illustration features a typewriter with malign sentience … the sort of graphic display that tickles any writer’s heart, no doubt. ‘Cut and Paste’ is short and perplexing. We are given only basic clues from a narrator that certain ‘masters in the future’ have gone about the process of eradicating the written word and our ability to even give birth to them in thought form. I would be lying if I claimed to understand its hidden ramifications; aside from this, it is somehow entertaining with bristling intellectualism. Perhaps an individual with more erudition in the S/F sector could shed light on it. Long time contributor and prolific author Ben Bova has supplied ‘Duel in the Somme.’ Here, Bova’s characters are young adolescents in the future. Although simple, it seemed strangely familiar and after a while it came to me: Starship Troopers. In a kind of love-triangle, young space cadet Tom tries to win the girl of his dreams in a duel. In true S/F style, both boys go at it in a V/R environment … a virtual simulation dominion of World War Two dog-fighting. Now that’s a way to win the fair ladies hand! A former nominee for the Nebula, Sturgeon and Hugo awards, Christopher Rowe gives us previously published ‘Whether to Go Through.’ Reminding me of another journey into celluloid – this time with the movie Cube, we find ourselves accompanying a rag-tag motley crew of space explorers finding each other in an unexpected environment. Although highly trained, their skills will not help for what lies in wait. Very short … and very satisfying. No complaints here. For an author’s first published piece of fiction, Robby Sparks has made ‘Indigestion’ the absolute stand out of this collection. Funny, serious – and with surprising plot-twists and pre-planned overtures, I found myself wanting more even though its length exceeds the rest. Here, earth is ruled by callous alien superiors and one fragile human named Hardin has had enough. With alien delegates having names like ‘Girobian’ (one gets the feeling of delicious caricatures resembling Star-Trek aliens of the sixties), and toilet happenings that take on a scientific edge – Indigestion will leave you frazzled but pumped. It’s an electrifying tale and I hope to see more of Robby’s work soon. Another surprising thing happened when I came to 'Cerbo en Vitra ujo' by Mary Robinette Kowal. What started out as an almost light-hearted piece that could’ve been ‘romance in space’ suddenly dovetailed into dark regions I know of all to well of from my personal writing endeavors. Grete’s boyfriend has recently left Banwith Station to attend school on a planet-based school. Then he goes missing. Suffice to say the conclusion is unprecedented and I cannot say more than this. Only readers with a strong stomach may apply. Two gay queens in space. Yep; you heard that right. If this isn’t enough to lure you into 'Queen of the Stars' by Bryn Sparks, nothing will. In this tale, both Aaron and Moesha have been charged to herald one of humanity’s first attempts to be ambassadors to the stars. Things take a turn for the worst when they are highjacked by bestial Australian pirates. With me? Good. It gets even better … In another intellectual foray, we have 'The Deep Misanthropic Principle' by Brandon Alspaugh. Alspaugh manages to convey what is perhaps his own philosophical questions riding on the plot of a Noah’s Ark in Space. The Pistis is filled with survivors from whatever cataclysm befell the earth to bring them to their singularity. It is filled with ‘Fugues’ – survivors from this information holocaust. And ‘Teachers’ to guide the benefactors with scripture before they reach they’re allotted ‘destination.’ This is certainly one of those tales that will hold different meanings for different people. With this issue, the science fiction facet is strong; however, ripples of horror abound and coming out of it I got much the same feeling as though I’d read a piece by Orson Scott Card … where maturity and immaturity intertwine to create a unique tapestry. One of the things that irks me about this sort of format is the solicitous way we are pushed almost rudely into a story. I can’t help but think a slight blurb or introductory are necessary to goad a reader in so he or she doesn’t get cold feet. Of course, this is one man’s opinion. But some of these stories are brilliant – exceptional even; and without a sufficient gateway of a line to usher me in, I feel like turning away. All that aside, I wish Apex well in its impeding endeavors and will continue the journey with them. As some of you might know the future of its continued existence has come into jeopardy, so rally behind this faithful little magazine and grab a subscription.                                                                        October 18th 2006 Brimstones Press titles available for pre-order WA independent publisher Brimstone Press has announced its first two book titles, Australian Dark Fantasy & Horror 2006 edition and Book of Shadows volume one, are now available for pre-order. Both titles will have national distribution to all major chains and independent book stores. The books will be available in stores in December but orders placed through the Brimstone Press website will be delivered in late November.                                                                                                                      October 11th 2006                                                           Okay, so I haven’t been here for approximately millennia. This is – after all – a kind of journal that discusses my private life; and this year, believe me: nobody would want to read about much of it. Anybody’s who’s been through the motions of separation and divorce will attest to that. Feelings of abandonment, betrayal and an overall shake up of one’s existence are all hallmarks that just take time to work through … The fiction writing, however, has been quite strong. And all things horror are quite vocal around the country at the moment. Conflux, the convention I attended in June, was an absolute blast. It was a bit of a weekend of debauchery, smiles, and chatting to a few famous individuals I’ve been fans of for quite some time. If it was having lunch with Rob Hood, shooting the shit with Sean Williams and Shane Cummings, or just my own plain philosophic thoughts regarding the city I live in … it was certainly a hoot. I say that about Adelaide because this was the first time I’d traveled to Canberra; nothing but a strange metropolis full of embassies and no ocean; and I gained a new perspective upon Adelaide after returning.   I finally got Davey Ribbon off the launch pad, and am pleased with the results so far. What can be so irritating about the writing process – for me, at least – is the creative spurt will only last intensely for three days or so; then … nothing. Where the fuck does the muse go? And why doesn’t he let me know he’ll be taking a few days off. Well, I’m pleased I have one at all – so beggars can’t be choosers.     One of the main reasons for this entry is a need to inform everyone about Internationl Horror Day. The links page on this site will probably never be working. If you google these advents they’ll definitely come up. IHD is unprecedented in that it’s world wide. Basically Horror Day is a call to arms for all fans of dark fiction to buy a horror book, give away a horror book, buy or rent a horror movie, or read ghost stories to the kids. In short, it is a day to raise awareness of the genre. The Australian Horror Writers Association (AHWA) has sent a media release to many Australian newspapers, magazines, radio stations, and TV stations, to encourage awareness of horror literature. AHWA committee members and some prominent Australian horror authors will also be participating in media interviews to further promote Horror Day. So please support Australian dark fiction by spreading the word - and remember to pick up a book or DVD next Friday. If you're in Perth, Brimstone Press is sponsoring a Horror Day reading at Fantastic Planet bookstore (Shafto Lane, Perth) at 6pm, Friday the 13th. The reading will feature many prominent WA dark fiction writers, including Stephen Dedman, Lee Battersby, Lyn Battersby, Carol Ryles, Shane Jiraiya Cummings, and others. The event will be MCed by Shadowed Realms and Brimstone Press editor Angela Challis. West Aussies - please support the dark side of speculative fiction by coming along to Fantastic Planet on Friday, listening to some scary stories, and perhaps buying an Australian horror book or two. Free alcohol will be in plentiful supply. Recently released Australian horror titles include the Lothian 'Dark Suspense' line: Carnies by Martin Livings, Prismatic by Edwina Grey, The Mother by Brett McBean, and The Darkness Within by Jason Nahrung (the latter available Jan 07); the Prime Books collections: Never Seen By Waking Eyes by Stephen Dedman, Through Soft Air by Lee Battersby, and Doorways for the Dispossessed by Paul Haines; Ek Chuah by James R Cain (Active Bladder Press); Cemetery Dance Publications' Basic Black: Tales of Appropriate Fear by Terry Dowling; and the Shadow Box e-anthology (Brimstone Press). Australian dark fiction magazines include Shadowed Realms, Dark Animus, and Borderlands.   This is great news for everyone. A stepping stone to be taken seriously in all aspects of the media and business side of things.   Lastly, I’d like to say a big Hello to everybody working in the genre here in Australia. Although you don’t know it, you’re input, work and networking support has provided me with invaluable encouragment and inspiration. We’re not alone! Yippie! June 18th 2006 Well, Conflux is over – it’s been a few days since I arrived back from this advent... Many things have occurred; not the least of which a few days before leaving I received an e-mail from Marty Young (president of the Horror Writers association) that my short story Car Crash Weather had been nominated for an award. That award in question was none is none another than the AHWA short of the year in the category of …well …shorts. As you may have guessed, such news made my day, week, and all round year!!!! Next installment: Conflux the Convention   Matt April 25th 2006                                                                       Sorry about the delay again, folks – I’ve spent the last couple of weeks just trying to get healthy after writing off my car in the wee hours of the morning; funny thing was – I wasn’t even drunk, but suffered something similar to what can only be described as an epileptic seizure . . . but that’s a story for another day . . .    The time off has given me an excellent opportunity to immerse myself completely in other worlds. I’m currently sloughing through John Saul’s The God Project. Dean Koontz’s Life Expectancy; The Crooked Letter by local Adelaide science-fiction genius Sean Williams; The House by Bentley Little (stay tuned for some interesting insights into that one at HorrorScope  – www.ozhorrorscope.blogspot.com). Ghost Beyond Earth by WA author G.M Hague – I’ve been perusing this guys books on bookstore shelves for years and had no idea he was Australian; hope I get to meet him at a convention one day . . . Jarka Ruus by Terry Brooks and The Communion Letters – a compilation of abduction experiences from people the world over put together by none other than Whitley Strieber and his wife Anne.    Speaking of conventions, I’ll be attending Conflux in our nation’s capital from June 9th to the 11th (I think). This is where net-working plays such an important role; I’ll finally be able to meet some of my fellow editors at HorrorScope and perhaps flog Meridian around while I’m at it. HorrorScope has just won a Ditmar award in the category of fanzine, with my boss Shane Jiraya Cummings taking out best fan writer. Congratulations, dude! And thanks for mentioning us all in your acceptance speech. It is inspiring to watch HorrorScope grow locally and internationally. For those interested the award ceremonies took place at Conjure in Sydney. From what I’ve read and the photo’s I’ve seen the advent went off without a hitch . . .    For my reviewing duties, I’ve been heavily ensconced in both Interzone and Apex Science Fiction and Horror digest; please check out the review I did for Apex – although it was delayed, I’m quite proud of that one.    On the home front regarding work, I’m just putting the final touches on my novella Terrica – that’s the one about a gang of serial killers who use cars to slaughter people (I got the idea from a dream, believe it or not). The Devil’s Playing clocked in at about 8,000 words and I just have to print that out properly before I start submitting it. After I’m happy with the final editorial touches on those I’ll properly push myself to get Davey Ribbon off the launch pad. Then, in between drafts, the world of Olearia and the character of Meridian will be explored in full. Ahh, the life of a struggling writer, always fucking in-between something. J    So . . . drop me a line if you have the time. Or better yet, send me a cheque cause I sure as shit haven’t made it yet . . .   Matthew Tait. March 3rd 2006!!                                                                       Hello world – long time no see!!! Life – what a precarious business! It can offer you all kinds of joys and substance, but it can also offer you a Cimmerian darkness of the soul where nothing exists but your own tortured reflection staring back at you; an eternal mirror where depression is the master and sole arbiter of all your emotions.    And I’ve been there, ladies and gentlemen. As I suspect we all have. Yet, being a creative individual, I’ve also suffered the nuances of depression at an everyday level . . . so, when the big one comes: that seismic earthquake of a spell that only happens once every millennia but which must happen, when that big one comes we almost fall off of life’s shelf. It was certainly touch and go there for a while. Touch and go. And of course I won’t tell the tale (well, perhaps in some memoir in the future when I’m famous)! Let's hope that part forever stays in the abyss where it belongs.    So . . . I’m back from the netherworld and will be posting here regularly from now on.   December 16th I’ve given Shane Jiriaya Cummings (managing editor of HorrorScope; Shadow Box  messiah, talented writer and all round nice guy), Meridian in its entirety in PDF format. Initially, I was going to treat it as a trail run submission with just the first 5k and a two page synopsis. However, considering I’ll see him in Canberra next year at Conflux, I thought it prudent to send the whole thing as the first volume is only two-hundred pages and we’ll be able to discuss it face to face. Is it publishable?   I'm not sure – but I think its one hell of an accomplishment for only my third effort. (Not including aborted attempts)  Olearia and The Hope of Kinfold really flesh the story out and bring it up nearly nine hundred pages; I hope he can reserve the harshest criticism until after he’s read the conclusion.   I feel excited about a project I’ll be working on with my younger brother Tom. He’s a gifted artist with a creative mind just waiting to be sculpted. After drawing some initial pictures of Meridian following a brainstorming session at his house, I was impressed enough with his illustrations to put up the notion of a total collaboration involving not only illustrations but ideas. The Result? Davey Ribbon – a haunting, surreal tale borrowing elements of small town milieu and myth in the tradition of King and movies like The Blair Witch Project. It was conceived by Tom from one of his illustrations (a really cool one), that just begged to be converted into a story. If I can pull this off and it’s publishable, I’ll have to share half the goddamn royalties with him – that, and call it Davey Ribbon by Matthew Tait and Tom Tait. Or – and this is funny: Matthew and Tom Tait.     I saw King Kong today (with Tom, incidentally); and am slightly, just slightly disappointment because there were so many reviews that built it up. All in all an awesome film, however – the dinosaurs were the monumental achievement and highlight, not Kong. Go figure.   Merry Christmas.   Again, I’m sorry about not having any links – but you can just type these in can’t you folks?     November 22, 2005   I guess a few things have occurred since my last entry: I’ve obtained the dreaded 9-5 job at a place in the city . . . the writing suffers terribly, and with little time left for HorrorScope . . .   TERRICA is going though phase draft two, while the new scenes in MERIDIAN are done and just waited to be corrected. Once that’s a reality – and it’s transformed into PDF format - the light of the world can shine on the novel all it wants. Started writing flash pieces to get into the groove of reviewing Shane and Angela’s SHADOW BOX multi-media extravaganza. It promises to be one hell of an escape party; already I’m in thrall with the amount of work Shane contributes, and this adds to his overall résumé impressively.   On the HorrorScope front: you can find some thoughts I’ve put up regarding The Amityville films entitled THE AMYITIVLLE APOCRAPHYA – it’s more like a take on the whole book, legend, and everything in between. Also a review for SAW 2 (it promised to be good, and Christ it didn’t let down)! And I finally completed the second part of SHADOWED REALMS take; I felt pretty supercilious with my observations, so that’s probably a good sign . . . (sorry about links not being up, its this fucking American web-site server).     I have to update all the little blurbs in the GHOSTS IN A DESERT WORLD SECTION; there’s a lot more stories to harp on about there – but it seems such a trivial thing, and that’s why it’s taking so long. In fact, this whole fucking site needs one goddamn makeover, but unless I get more letters that people are coming here, there doesn’t seem to be any point.   Currently, I’m reading OLYMPOS by Dan Simmons; it’s the sequel to ILIUM. Nothing but good stuff there. Hell, it might be a revisionist take on Rodger Zelany’s LORD OF LIGHT but its still rocks anyway. Also, THE HOUSE by grand master Bentley Little . . . just happy horror fun there, kids. Musically, there’s still INSTITUTE (of course) and the new JIMMY EAT WORLD ep to get through. Wish I could’ve fucking seen them in Melbourne.   Matt.   October 17, 2005 I have now decided to take the stories from Ghosts in a Desert World off the site. Originally, I had intended these to be for free as tasters of what one can expect from my fiction; however, I do not have any money and need to eat so I should never have resorted to such terms. After transferring them to a PDF format, I will sell Ghosts in a Desert World as an e-book with over seven tales more and one novella not detailed on the fiction page of this site. It will eventually be a chunky tome … value for anybody’s money in anybody’s language. Stories over four years old will be omitted … On a personal note: the writings going well. I’m managing the god-like figure of 1,500 words a day. Little bits here, little bits there – it all counts.     I will be appearing on the website:   The Writing Show [http://www.thewritingshow.com/] for ‘The fourteen days of Halloween’ reading from Ghosts in a Desert World as a download. The readings will have added sound effects, much like the radio shows of old and feature members of ‘The Australian Horror Writers Association’ (please just google these sites, as my links page isn’t working)   Be sure to check it out, guys. Luv you all, Matthew Tait   September 24, 2005 Matthew Tait is now one of the new associate editors of the New Horror web-zine HorrorScope The Blog aims to be a source of news, reviews, and everything you want to know about horror, dark fantasy and speculative fiction. Reviews by Matthew are now up and running, including: Stephen King's Riding the Bullett, The Glory Bus by Richard Laymon, and reviews of the e-zine's  Shadow Realms and AntipodeanSF. From the Jacket of DARK MERIDIAN BY MATTHEW TAIT Peru, 1635, and the Order of Sant'Antonia have just witnessed something that goes against all secular creeds and belief: a molten ball of light has penetrated their sanctuary using the sky as its domain. Nobody has seen anything like it before and Brother Chabuca Cristal knows that one of his own flock is responsible for its presence. For many days the others had noticed the growing insanity of their beloved Brother Meridian; could smell his mounting disturbance like sulpher from the Devil himself. When Brother Meridian is abducted by the flying object and taken away, all except Brother Cristal breathe a sigh of relief that the ordeal is over . . . Almost two century's later and half a world away Adam Lavas has come back home to the place where his dreams and success defined him; but more than that: he has come home to die . . . The last years of the millenium have seen him gain momentum onto the stage of rock n' roll in a way that not even he could  have predicted. His band Murder of Crows became an almost overnight sensation known globally throughout every country and continent. But there is a price - a price not even critical and commercial success can balm. For in the corridors of the creative heart, dark things have always lurked, taking the form of depression, addiction, and some things even worse. So when he finds a certain mansion named Meridian in the hills of Adelaide that nobody seems to know about, it seems like the perfect escape where he can deal with terminating his celebrity status and perhaps  himself. As darkness and time take its place, however, it seems the house has other plans for him altogether: seemingly random advents bring together three strangers into his house that will change everything, perhaps even existence itself  . . . In a story filled with people and realms unique to fiction, Matthew Tait delivers us a testament to the darkest yearnings of the human heart: for knowledge, for power, for the answers to the questions that have plagued us since the beginning of time. Step into Meridian's halls, and discover doorways into another world...