Ghost Devices by Simon Bucher-Jones

I might not have read this one, except that the author left a kind comment on here offering to send me a copy of the book. Instead, I got my own copy and read it.

Somehow, I missed that this was a Dr. Who tie-in novel!

It’s all about this space archaeologist named Bernice Summerfield. She’s pretty great, as characters go. I can see why they did a whole series of SF/Dr. Who tie-in books about her. I can really see the Douglas Adams/Terry Pratchett influence here. I dug it. It was a fun read.

Check it out, especially if you like your SF with a generous helping of wacky hijinks and a nice side of interesting ideas.

Some Comic Books I Read Recently

Monstress v.2: The Blood by Marjorie Liu: Incredibly rich world-building and the art is beautiful. Unfortunately, it’s very exposition heavy. I kept sort of dozing off while reading it–probably shouldn’t have tried to read it at the end of a long day…

X-Men: Grand Design by Ed Piskor: Summarizes about 30 years of X-Men comics. A love letter to the X-Men, basically. I was delighted by it, but then… I’ve been an X-Men fan for about 30 years. If you’re there too, this book’s for you. I’m very much looking forward to v.2.

All Star Batman: First Ally by Scott Snyder: Exploring the relationship between Bruce Wayne and Alfred. Some good stuff there, about fathers and sons.

Memory XXV

Memory XXV
times are, when the pissed and flushed out old hipster
crankster, danceinthehall man, snorts and snoozes
asleeping, tries not to recall about all those cliff-edges
precipices dancing intime to the tripping undercurrent
riptides of sad music that quiver his underbelly
stomach, filled with lead by the evil mortician
physician to “protect from those spying eyes
retinas jellied and candied over, prying
wrenching open his secrets with high-tech”
tock. tock. the clock is grinning and the sun is down
falling, inquiring about the lead-belly, the lead-girdle
belt to hold his trousers up,
“Lead-Belly, Lead-Belly: where have you gone?
I have your trousers, please put them on!”
off the rockets, awake he swirls gold vermouth and gin
crystal-poison clinking, making a hurrlycane
tornado, it’s rough as nails, sharp as clams, rusty
red-iron. he doesn’t feel alive unless he’s bleeding inside.
internal dilemmas, coughcough, he doesn’t feel vim
vigour unless he’s brooding about mrs.
ball-and-chain’s been choking new thoughts
neurochemickals raging inside. the dj puts on a record
vinyl spins and crackles: L-B taps his foot upon the floor
wood pounding meets his ‘loafers as he slides
slips to the heart of that empty pulsing
beating and musical core,
“Lead-Belly, Lead-Belly: why do you cry?
“It’s not the end; we’re all gonna die!”
life parks its fat-rump in the corner, gonna stay
linger just a moment more, wink at this goat-song
sad-faced waitress is the only one who sees
high-techs from the corner the dancer’s secrets
mysteries abound in the out-flung arms, the twisting
whirling feet and the glittering disco ball
orb’s been splintering light for all of all of time
***
Sometimes, there are conspiracies everywhere you look. Other times, it’s just people wanting to party. When I was young, I was pretty concerned about getting old, and what that meant, and who I was. Now that I’m a bit older, I don’t really fret about it. Kind of the least of my worries, these days.

Generations by Flavia Biondi

A graphic novel where this young gay man crashes with his three aunts and grandmother because he’s afraid to go home. Refreshingly, not because he’s worried about coming out–his dad already knows–but because he lied about being in college. Really, it’s about the ways older generations hide things from the younger, sometimes without even meaning to. One of those comics even non-comics readers would probably enjoy.

Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo

A very satisfying sequel/conclusion to Six Crows. There’s an interesting thing going on where commerce is literally the state religion. Would’ve liked to see a bit more of that. But, all in all, the protagonists are a delightful bunch of amoral monsters–to greater and lesser degrees–that are fun to read about, but you certainly wouldn’t want to know them personally. Extremely readable.

Memory XXIV

Memory XXIV

wheeeeee
cries that man
he cries
on the sidewalk
pigeons putting around and around
feather stench
these old buildings fly up and up and up
what’s that?
a glimmer of sun?
nah, that’s just a dirty old street lamp
it’s on by day
off by night
the wicked old man has rabies
or dysentery
or leprosy
whatever he has, people stay away
a little girl points
he tugs on his whiskers
blinks
she cries and grabs her mommy’s leg
the wicked old man speaks
he says “harumph tubbly tubbly”
no one understands
no one is close enough to hear
he has one dirty shoe
the sole is missing
he fills his shoe with newspaper clippings
sometimes he reads his sole
today his sole says this:
DOWNTOWN CONSUMED IN FIERY INFERNO
he is downtown, downtown is still here
he rips his sole to pieces
he puts the pieces in his mouth
he chews and chews and chews like a wasp
he swallows
he lies down on the curb
he goes to sleep
he has one dream
this is how his one dream goes:

the glitterbug doorway glashes into view and the know which is alternately a duck’s bill and a pink and yellow baseball bat hums as he draws near and his mother’s winking at him and he’s been a bad boy and she has that rolling pin in her hand and her gingham apron on her waist and the sea is blue gingham and he is astride the velveteen ship which plows through the glistening sand and with a siren shriek he tumbles down and down and down and bounces from the bed of nails and three is a clock with purple numbers and cherry-red-painted hands and the hands curl at him as though he’s been naughty and he is tied to a telephone booth that rings and rings and that dear woman sings in the distance and weeping tears wrap around him with their snaky curves and he shuffles his tap shoes on the ground tapping feebly with his hammer on the scattershot roof and a scrawny old cat yawns there arching her back and in a sudden burst of fury he hurls the hammer at the feline and tumbles head over head up up and up into…

***

I don’t even know. :)

Memory XXIII

Memory XXIII

there’s nothing so nice as a shattered glass of mustard on cornflower bread with a yellowing parchment sandwich

***

All that remains of a failed flirtation long ago. I don’t know. There was something about coming up with really interesting sounding sandwiches. I was young. Email seemed exciting. Boy, those were the days!

Memory XXII

Memory XXII

what are we doing on the steppes of Calzara?
what are we playing with our mouths full of daggers?
what are we singing with our hands full of candy?
what are we dancing with our feet all a’buttered?

rusted and cranky, the gears all tumble down
chaff blows all round there and everywhere
someone sneezes in the silo
the windmill’s been tilted

why have we crawled through the loom of the furies?
why have we diced with our teeth crossed with silver?
why have we caroled with our mixed up days?
why have we waltzed with our boots stained with wine?

pushing through the door with a fist for a handle
windless light seeps in the crack at the floor
someone lights a beeswax wick
the temple’s been desecrated

***

That “all a’buttered” kills me. I think I wanted to write something that implied some kind of epic adventure, but didn’t go so far as to say it. Apart from a couple lines, I think this one did that pretty well.

Memory XXI

Memory XXI

the mirror’s been sitting in my room for ages
“shatter it, shatter it!” I ignore the darker voice
we two struggle and strive and fight and kick
for this mirror, this symbol of failure
that I didn’t want to begin with
“It’s more mine than hers”
I didn’t beg for it, plead for it, grovel for it
yet, here it is, on our doorstep
looming woodenly in the sore place
that heartbaked musty memoir
yet we can’t rid ourselves of this memento
fucking postage is too high to send it back where it belongs…

***

I had this mirror I couldn’t get rid of for a long time, because how do you get rid of a mirror? I finally managed it though.