Collage

n. A piece of art made by sticking various different materials, aka PHENOMENA Magazine
Department
java
How do you return a JSON object from a Java Servlet
Write the JSON object to the response object's output stream. You should also set the content type as follows, which will specify what you are returning: response.setContentType("application/json"); // Get the printwriter object from response to write the required json object to the output stream PrintWriter out = response.getWriter(); // Assuming your json object is **jsonObject**, perform the following, it will return your json object out.print(jsonObject); out.flush(); or First convert the JSON object to String. Then just write it out to the response writer along with content type of application/json and character encoding of UTF-8. Here's an example assuming you're using Google Gson to convert a Java object to a JSON string: protected void doXxx(HttpServletRequest request, HttpServletResponse response) { // ... String json = new Gson().toJson(someObject); response.setContentType("application/json"); response.setCharacterEncoding("UTF-8"); response.getWriter().write(json); } That's all. https://stackoverflow.com/questions/2010990/how-do-you-return-a-json-object-from-a-java-servlet
John Doe · Jan. 12, 2023, 1:30 a.m.
python
How do I check which version of Python is running my script?
This information is available in the sys.version string in the sys module: >>> import sys Human readable: >>> print(sys.version) # parentheses necessary in python 3. 2.5.2 (r252:60911, Jul 31 2008, 17:28:52) [GCC 4.2.3 (Ubuntu 4.2.3-2ubuntu7)] For further processing, use sys.version_info or sys.hexversion: >>> sys.version_info (2, 5, 2, 'final', 0) # or >>> sys.hexversion 34014192 To ensure a script runs with a minimal version requirement of the Python interpreter add this to your code: assert sys.version_info >= (2, 5) This compares major and minor version information. Add micro (=0, 1, etc) and even releaselevel (='alpha','final', etc) to the tuple as you like. Note however, that it is almost always better to "duck" check if a certain feature is there, and if not, workaround (or bail out). Sometimes features go away in newer releases, being replaced by others. or Use platform's python_version from the stdlib: from platform import python_version print(python_version()) # 3.9.2 https://stackoverflow.com/questions/1093322/how-do-i-check-which-version-of-python-is-running-my-script
John Doe · Jan. 12, 2023, 1:19 a.m.
books
The Overnight
xwidget_48_The Overnight What could be more innocuous than a bookstore? Modern chain stores are designed to exude a safe welcoming feeling for the customer. They are a safe haven for the reader--aren't they? How creepy can a modern shopping complex get anyway? The masterful Ramsey Campbell can make it quite creepy, thank you, and he also turns the cozy embrace of a clean, well-lighted book emporium into a place of terror. Perhaps, as a booklover who got her wish of receiving plenty of free books only to realize that such largesse becomes a problem in itself and thus occasionally feels threatened by stacks of tomes, I can identify more closely than most with The Overnight. And, too, like Campbell, I sojourned briefly at a Borders bookstore. But I'm sure that even if books have never been anything but your friends and bookstores only benign, you'll still be rewarded with this delightfully disturbing novel. Campbell combines wickedly insightful wit, a wise understanding of human nature, awesome prose, a rich evocation atmosphere of fear, and, well, retail experience to create yet another modern masterpiece. Right. The man seems to write masterpieces as easily and frequently as a politician lies. Adding to that achievement is his ability to write, at least lately, entirely different "sorts" of books each time. No one, with the exception of Peter Straub, evolves his horror so readily or so well. The Overnight is also an extremely accessible novel, a true "page-turner," and would serve as an excellent vehicle to attract the masses. In fact, of all Campbell's novels in the last ten years, this one could stock the mass market bins just as well as it pleases elitist horror snobs like me. Not only does The Overnight succeed as horror, it's a sublime satire of the modern workplace. The plot centers on Texts, a newly opened, Borders-like American chain store in the not-yet-completed Fenny Meadows Retail Park on a highway between Manchester and Liverpool. For Woody Blake, the store's American boss, it's a chance to prove himself in his first position as a branch manager. His staff is competent, but like any group of diverse personalities in an intense work environment, there are small irritations and minor disagreements. Woody's gung-ho, team spirit retail attitude --"Everything's good or we wouldn't sell it." -- would be annoying in a U.S. store, in England it is even more so. Campbell deftly shifts the point of view from one character to another with each chapter. As we get to know the employees we also become aware of small incidents that, in isolation, are meaningless. Together they are ominous and eerie. Only the reader, of course, gets all the data -- the odd draft, the disordered, damaged, and often grimy books, fogged videos, a constant feeling of being watched, clammy walls, an elevator (or, rather, lift) with a mind of its own, a blur here, a computer glitch there. Only the perpetual fog outside that never seems to dissipate is obvious to all. Nothing much is right, although nothing seems hugely wrong until Woody gets the first month's numbers: the Fenny Meadows Text is setting new records for nonperformance and the big guns are heading over from New York in less than two weeks. Woody decides the answer is to push even harder and to have everyone work all night before the inspection to make sure everything is in tip-top shape. One of the employees is run down in the parking lot but Woody's only real concern is the store. Wilf, a former dyslexic who is now a voracious reader, loses his beloved ability to read. A perfectly copyedited store flyer keeps turning up with an embarrassing a mistake in each batch printed. A reading group and author's signing go spectacularly awry. A local author hints that Fenny Meadows has a peculiar history. Each of the thirteen (hmmm...) employees -- Agnes, Angus, Connie, Gavin, Greg, Jake, Jill, Lorraine, Madeleine, Nigel, Ray, Ross, Wilf -- are distinct right down to their individual modes of transportation. At the same time, they realistically match the "type" of individuals who work in such stores whether it is located in Cheshire or Ohio. Campbell plays them both in ensemble and in isolation as what should be small problems grow large, relationships lose the veneer of politeness, normal conversations begin to drip venom, prejudices become more pronounced, the overnight looms like Doomsday, and everyone is expected to smile, smile, smile. Chapters overlap one another, layering viewpoints, impelling the action, and the reader becomes almost another character in The Overnight -- mute, unable to scream out a warning, brimming with dread, certain that nothing will turn out right in the end, but still hoping it will. What's behind all the nasty goings-on? Campbell makes it plain by the end, although he wastes no exposition on explanation. Whether The Overnight is an extremely well done variation on a standard supernatural trope or something else is a question I'm still debating with myself. Not that it matters. What does matter is that Ramsey Campbell, for all his previous accolades and acclaim as a master of horror, is a writer very much in his prime. The Overnight is not only another dark jewel in his uncanny crown, it is one of its most wondrous gems. (from Cemetery Dance #52) • • • Other novels by Ramsey Campbell reviewed : »» Darkest Part of the Woods by Ramsey Campbell »» Ghosts And Grisly Things by Ramsey Campbell »» Nazareth Hill by Ramsey Campbell »» Pact of the Fathers by Ramsey Campbell »» Silent Children by Ramsey Campbell
John Doe · March 29, 2022, 10:35 a.m.
books
The Darkest Part of the Woods By Ramsey Campbell
"We're the lucky ones," says an inhabitant of a madhouse. "We are, because we're what people call mad or whatever they say we are these days. They don't know that it means we'll be readier than they are. We're already on our way, so it won't be as much of a shock."   xwidget_47_The Darkest Part of the Woods   Allow me to introduce the main characters-- Dr Lennox Price: An American academic and authority on mass hallucination and popular delusion. Back in the "druggy sixties, he "proved" (with his book, The Mechanics of Delusion) that fringe beliefs interdepend with the more mainstream and skepticism is the result of the same psychological mechanism that produces the very beliefs it questioned. He came, originally, to the Brichester area to prove that the odd stories locals told of what they saw in the Goodmanswood were the result of a mutated lichen. Evidently Dr Price's contact with the hallucinogenic symbiotic organisms drove him to insanity some years back. He became obsessed with the woods and is now a resident of the Arbour, an institution for the mentally unstable. Dr Lennox is not the only "casualty of the sixties" with connections to the woods at the Arbour. These others as a leader of sorts recognize him. Margo Price: An artist popular enough to have her paintings collected in a glossy coffee table art book. Not long after coming to England with her husband, she produced an enigmatic Escher-esque painting that became ubiquitous adornment for many dorms and lofts of the 70s. Margo's art is all about making the viewer look again, presenting more than initially meets the eye. Heather Price: The elder Price daughter. Capable, stable, the one who handles things, and the single family member who "lacks imagination." She has a longtime job at the local university (which had also employed her father) as a librarian. The other members of the family create books, she catalogs and properly shelves them. Although now long estranged, she married, of all people, an accountant. Their union produced -- Sam: A 22-year old recent university graduate with a degree in English literature who works in an about-to-go-under sf/f/h bookstore. Sam is very much a modern young person, although many readers may not recognize just how iconic he is. Bright, well-educated, appreciative of family rather than rebellious, underemployed, and a bit lost. Except Sam is a bit more lost than he or anyone else realizes. Sylvia Price: The younger Price daughter. The one who could leave the nest because Heather stayed. She has collected folktales for at least one published book The Secret Woods: Sylvan Myths and she's been off, evidently pursuing her bliss and another book, to the Americas. Her welcomed return to her family is complicated by a joyously accepted, but somewhat mysterious pregnancy. She is also becoming as obsessive about the woods as her father and begins to gather the information that will explain the unexplainable. Book CoverHome turf for the Prices is Woodland Close, a suburban neighborhood of the small city of Brichester in England's West Country. (Yes, this is the same fictional Brichester Campbell visited before in his very early tales. Back then it was a depressing urban landscape. It seems much more pleasant now.) Woodland Close, a mixture of old English village and newer residences, is situated on the edge of Goodmanswood, a dense forest that dates back to the Roman era. The woods lie between Brichester and Woodland Close and have, for the first time, lost a part of itself - despite local protest - to a motorway bypass. Sam , one of the activists trying to protect the trees, suffered broken ankle from a nasty fall. He still limps. There you have it. What happens next is pure dark magic. Campbell takes these characters and, word by word, reveals them and the story. Although some of their dialogue seems, at first, enigmatic, you quickly realize each always tells the truth and that the supposedly illogical utterances of the "insane" and those descending into insanity are quite logical and just as true. While making each character an individual whole, the author exposes the geography of the pervasively supernatural nature surrounding them. Over and over Campbell describes the trees, the woods, the environment in creatural terms. They are insect-legged, have fingers full of panic, reptilian claws, and even greyish tentacles; they swarm, their leaves become messengers. Humans are described in sylvan terms: quiet as a tree stump; sleeping like a log, like a piece of wood with no ideas; stiff and frail as a bundle of sticks; unresponsive as a tree trunk. Every word, every space between becomes a part of a complex incantation. Names are full of meaning. Language is marvelously significant. Like Margo's art, we are compelled to look and look again at the pictures the pages present. Books are just one symbolic metaphor Campbell develops and embellishes. The main characters are all involved with books, they write them or plan to write them or work with them or sell them in a world that, as we all well know, places little importance on the written word. Books are of a more than dual nature. Books are rational and reasoned but are also magical and irrational. They are sources of enlightenment and at the core of the darkest doom. Hidden and unknown, common and well understood, they can be turned into series of zeros and ones; they are hand-crafted and singular. Books are clean and neat, they supply entertainment and knowledge; they are decaying stinking things that lead to horrors so abhorrent the human mind cannot conceive them... Revelations are made. Horror crawls forth and becomes inevitable. The world is turned upside down. The Prices and we must accept the impossible and enter a new reality. There is resistance, but no way of escape. The Prices become outcasts in a world where even the most ordinary becomes laden with portent and dread . (In one small but brilliant bit of business, Campbell transforms three mundane women in a small grocery into a trio of weird sisters of Shakespearian proportion.) We survive. Some of us do anyway. But the world is no longer the same. Literally. That's what happens when we are truly disturbed and more than discomforted by, well, it's just a book now isn't it? As for reassurance -- we're left with damned little. "We're the lucky ones," says an inhabitant of a madhouse near the end of Darkest Part. "We are, because we're what people call mad or whatever they say we are these days. They don't know that it means we'll be readier than they are. We're already on our way, so it won't be as much of a shock." Ramsey Cambell's been dabbling in the non-supernatural with his last three novels. He returns to it with an unparalleled potency and power. This one's a classic, boys and girls. Someday you'll be pretending you were perspicacious enough to recognize The Darkest Part of the Woods as such back in '03. Don't lie to posterity. Make it true. An Addendum: I'm amazed (considering TDPW came out over a year ago in limited hardcover in the UK and has, therefore, already gone through one round of review) that so few others have seen it as the Supreme Art that it is. Then I thought of a few reasons: This is Ramsey Campbell. Of course it's good and maybe even great. Fulfill our high expectations, sir! Thanks very much. What's next? Campbell makes the assumption that the reader is intelligent. This assumption means you may have to actually read and understand most every word of an incredibly unified whole. This assumption further means that you understand those words and have a respectable appreciation of the English language. This assumption also means that you can recognize and savor some splendid intricacy. Amongst the infinite variety on the menu of horror, this is haute cuisine and a lot of folks have a palate dulled by too many Quarter Pounders with Cheese. -- from Cemetery Dance #48
John Doe · March 29, 2022, 10:30 a.m.
books
GHOSTS AND GRISLY THINGS by Ramsey Campbell
xwidget_44_Ghosts and Grisly Things Originally released by small British press Pumpkin Books in 1998, Ramsey Campbell's short story collection GHOSTS AND GRISLY THINGS was largely overlooked. Now, published in hardcover from Tor, perhaps it will gain some well-deserved attention. The collection features stories written as early as 1974, as late as 1994, and one initially published in 1998 in the British edition. This newest story, "Ra*e," stands as an example of just how adroitly Campbell wrings effective twists of terror from modern life: A 14-year-old goes out dressed too suggestively for her father's tastes. She goes missing. The suspense builds, is tragically relieved and is then replaced with a growing rage and need for revenge. The culprit is discovered, but not without a final emotional turnaround. "Between Floors" turns an elevator and its lugubrious attendant into a haunting little tale. An aging couple deals with "progress" in "The Sneering." The monster in "The Dead Must Die" is a religious zealot out to destroy the Undead -- those who do not share his convictions. Campbell is, frankly, not for the unintelligent or those who want formulaic chills. But for those who appreciate fine prose and disturbing stories, Campbell can't be beat.   xwidget_45_Dystopia: Collected Stories Richard Christian Matheson's stories are haiku-like in their brevity. Economic, elegantly succinct, often darkly comic, they slice directly to your soul with surgical precision -- surgery performed with no anesthesia. In lesser hands, the drop-dead endings, the staccato sentences, the ironic twists would simply not succeed. But for Matheson, they become unique and effective style. Even when taken to the nth degree -- as in "Vampire" a short-short written entirely in one-word sentences, or the literal list of 25 "Things to Get" -- it works. Even when "cute" -- the intensely paranoid "Wyom...", "Graduation" is a series of gradually disconcerting letters from a son away at school, "Obituary" is just that, "Conversation Piece" is a "transcribed" Q&A; session -- it works. But Matheson can also be ambiguously poignant and insightful ("Who's You in America"), make modern cinema metaphoric ("City of Dreams"), re-create the history of a fictional rock'n'roll band with vivid snippets of pseudo-journalism ("Whatever"), and explore the aberrant ("Region of the Flesh," "Mutilator"). Matheson's short stories have been appearing in anthologies and magazines since 1977 and he's published a single novel, CREATED BY (1993). This new omnibus should serve to introduce him to new readers and as well as confirm his rightful place as one of the best writers of modern dark fiction.   xwidget_46_The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror 11 Now in its eleventh incarnation, I don't know how many volumes of this I've reviewed in the past few years. However many it is, I've consistently praised it. So, to sum up: 1) Although the exact number of pages and stories vary a bit from year to year (this year it's 21 stories in 572 pages), MBBNH is a steal at $11.95. Especially considering you also get a summation of the horror year (1999 in this case), "useful addresses," and a comprehensive "necrology." (On the other hand, I wish there were a matched set of the series nicely done in hardcover. These are anthologies to treasure and fat paperbacks do crumble after a bit.) 2) Editor Jones continues to select some of the finest examples of both established authors and those less well known as well as introducing relative newcomers. 3) Reviewers (including me) have accurately used the following adjectives to describe MBBNH: outstanding, indispensable, essential, comprehensive, terrific, stellar, definitive, excellent.... Longer paeans have included, "credited with having a hand in keeping horror itself alive..." "inspired mix..." "If you buy one horror anthology a year, make it this one. Every. year." "It's people like ... Jones who keep the genre alive and maintain a lofty level of quality in the field." As you can see, practically everything has been said. It's all true. But one so hates to be repetitious. 4) What more could you possibly want? Buy the damned thing and be grateful that Robinson (the UK publisher), Carroll & Graf, and Stephen Jones exist.
John Doe · March 29, 2022, 10:27 a.m.
books
Nazareth Hill
xwidget_43_Nazareth Hill   With Nazareth Hill, Ramsey Campbell constructs a flawlessly plotted, wonderfully written, superbly scary haunted house story that doesn't shy away from the supernatural, but intertwines it with the psychological to produce a richly rewarding read. Amy is a typical teenager -- imperfect and challenging -- whose mother died when she was a child. She lives with Oswald, her controlling father, in a newly renovated building, Nazareth Hill. Strange things begin to occur. Amy realizes she was frightened by something she saw at Nazareth Hill as a child. Spurred by the discovery of an old Bible used as a diary by a former inhabitant, Amy seeks to discover the truth as her father becomes increasingly irrational. Nazareth Hill is a nasty place and it seems to infect Oswald with its evil. Campbell melds familial conflict with heart-stopping shocks and wraps it all up in a milieu of madness -- essentially dealing with themes that he has always used well in his writing -- but managing, with Nazareth Hill, to unite those themes into a masterwork of the macabre. -- Paula Guran
John Doe · March 29, 2022, 10:22 a.m.
books
PACT OF THE FATHERS
xwidget_42_Pact of the Fathers   Ramsey Campbell has long been acknowledged among those who know modern horror as a true master. Despite his critical success, he remains largely and unfortunately unknown to the mass audience. If given the chance, his latest novel--PACT OF THE FATHERS -- would probably win those masses over. It's a delicious updating of that venerable crowd-pleaser, the gothic novel. Whether dealing with the psychological or the supernatural, Campbell has endeared himself to horror fans with a convincing and chilling grimness. His realistic portrayals of the horrors of urban and personal disintegration force the reader to consider that which is too disturbing to consider. But, let's face it, this is not the stuff (usually) on which best-sellerdom is launched. With PACT OF THE FATHERS Campbell loses none of his literary touch, but abandons much of his trademark grimness in this gothic romp. He takes what is far from his strongest plot and turns it into a compelling page-turner keyed on winning characterization, deft dialogue, and the occasional surprise. Daniella Logan is the university-student daughter of film mogul Teddy Logan. Logan, an American, started his movie empire in England with a series of Hammer-type horror flicks. He later turned to "uplifting," crowd-pleasing dramas often derived from Biblical tales. Teddy dies suddenly in an automobile accident while driving under the influence of alcohol -- even though this is one bad habit Logan was never known to indulge. The evening after the funeral, Daniella visits her father's grave and discovers a group of black robed men arrayed it and performing some weird ritual. coverDaniella is a contemporary gothic heroine, of course, not some defenseless heiress locked up in a castle. Although she is an heiress of sorts, she's independent, spunky, intelligent, lovely, and a modern incarnation of Nancy Drew determined to discover the meaning of the assembly at the grave. She soon discovers other mysterious clues and determines to discover more. Before it's all over, Daniella -- in pursuit of a missing box, a similarly missing book, and answers about the grave-group -- has life-threatening encounters in the family mansion, discovers her potential inheritance may have been squandered by some poor financial judgment on her father's part (of course, should she die before attaining the proper age, there are other inheritors), is either avoided or ignored by the police and her father's circle of successful friends (the single helpful soul meets with extremely foul play), discovers a strange dagger at her father's grave, is threatened by a bunch of punk girls who hang out at the cemetery, and (back in that family mansion) has the dagger disappear on her, winds up in jail for assaulting a police officer, and is incarcerated against her will in an insane asylum. She also meets up with Mark, an independent, spunky, intelligent, handsome modern incarnation of -- well, not Ned Nickerson. Think Bob Woodward as a cool movie journalist rather than with a political beat. Sparks fly but are quickly doused when she learns his true identity. After a thrilling escape from one of her tangles, she flees to a Greek Island and takes refuge as the guest of the aging but still glamorous Nana Babouris. Teddy made her a star and Nana made Teddy a successful producer. Campbell inserts chapters concerning the island-sojourn in the midst of those with linear progression, thus heightening a sense of suspense. On the off-chance that Tor/Forge changes the cover copy that gives the book's main secret (although the title itself is something of a giveaway), I will go no further. (Although I suspect you and I would have figured it all out fairly early anyway.) Suffice to say the robed assemblage are indeed a wicked bunch and their supposedly ancient beliefs involve murderous suppression of the present. Okay, the plot is far from Campbell's strongest and PACT has more in common with Barbara Micheals/Elizabeth Peters or Daphne DuMaurier (and that's merely a comparison, not meant as disparagement to any of the three) than anything the author has done before -- and it's all marvelous. Daniella is delightful and you can't help but care about her. Moreover, the melodrama has enough real drama to carry a terrifying message: that humans can convince themselves of anything when it comes to satisfying their greed, even that their innocent victims -- since they are sacrificed with love -- go straight to paradise and the most sacred of relationships can be profaned. A Campbell novel is always a treat -- they just come in a variety of flavors. The nail-biting taste of psychochildkiller Hector Woollie in SILENT CHILDREN the haunting supernatural tang -- spiced with a sprinkling of social and domestic trauma -- of NAZARETH HILL, etc. PACT OF THE FATHERS is a bit more over-the-top of the boiling gothic pot than you (oh devoted reader of dark fiction) might expect from the author, but you'll find it a deliciously savory stew. And, with any luck, a larger audience will slurp it up, too. -- Paula Guran, originally appeared in Cemetery Dance #37
John Doe · March 29, 2022, 10:19 a.m.
books
SILENT CHILDREN
xwidget_38_Silent Children Many good writers could have made a decent thriller out of this plot: After his murders are discovered, a crazy child killer fakes death. Successfully disguised, he returns even more demented than ever and soon two more children disappear. In the hands of Ramsey Campbell, however, these bare bones of plot are magnificently fleshed out into a masterpiece of psychological terror. There are moments of suspense that literally sent my pulse racing and caused my breath to catch. If Campbell can do that to a jaded old horror reviewer like me, well... Part of the genius lies in Campbell's ability to contrive and covey convincing characters. Leslie Ames, a divorced mum who works in a music shop, is practical, caring, sexy, maternal, and altogether believable. Her son, Ian, is an adolescent male with all the complexities, misfortunes, loneliness, and hope inherent in the age. They decide to move back into their home in the London suburb of Wembley, a domicile they deserted when the body of a little girl was discovered buried under the concrete of a remodeled kitchen floor. The murderer, a contractor named Hector Woollie, knowing this crime and other child-murders had been discovered, has supposedly drowned himself. Although the child's body is long gone, lurid press coverage -- written by wheelchair-bound reporter Verity Drew (a minor, but well-drawn character) -- has turned the house into a "house of horror" they can not sell. Jack Lamb, an American horror writer enters their lives as a boarder and supplies a romantic spark for Leslie as well as a strong male role model for Ian. Jack's novels inspire the boy to try his hand at horror writing. (An activity that just leads to more grief for Ian.) But we have a monster drawing nigh. Like all monsters, Woollie never sees himself in that role. He simply loves children and can't stand to see them abused by their parents. Woollie merely sings them to sleep, you see, to give them permanent peace. We never sympathize with Woollie, but we begin to see his point of view. That in itself is, of course, terrifying. Lamb is a horror writer who, for reasons we learn in the course of the book, questions whether he himself is innately evil. (At a climactic point, the villain murmurs, "Like horror do you? I'll show you horror.") In the case of Leslie and Ian, the world begins to condemn them as monsters, even though they are the victims. Is the world more horrific than the monsters it creates? Is fictional horror somehow as harmful as real horror? Can situations implicate us in evil? Is anyone truly innocent? As with most of his work, Campbell asks higher questions and delves into deeper levels: ultimately, that's what sets the master writer above the hack. SILENT CHILDREN is half gone by the time anyone is put in real physical jeopardy. When it happens, the victim is Charlotte, the daughter of Ian's father's new wife Hilene. (More multidimensional supporting characters.) She goes missing and Ian stumbles upon her and her captor. He must use all his wits and considerable imagination to try to keep them both alive. Another cliche? Not with Campbell. There are no comic-book heroics here. Just real kids in real danger and suspense so thick you can smell it. And in the end? As one character discovers: "Life wasn't a story unless you made it into one." Which is just what Campbell does, and does so magnificently.   xwidget_39_Indigo Any artist will tell you there are seven colors of the spectrum. A physicist, however, will explain there are only six colors in the spectrum. Indigo does not exist. Look for it. You'll find blues and violets. Where is the fugitive color? Maybe it DOES exist, but can only be seen if you know how to look for it. Graham Joyce takes this idea and turns it into a fascinatingly original dark surrealistic fantasy thriller. (Try putting that label on a spine.) Jack Chambers, an ex-bobby who now is a London process server, travels to Chicago to execute his father's will. Wealthy, manipulative, eccentric, and hated by his son, Tim Chambers has left a manuscript, INVISIBILITY, A MANUAL OF LIGHT, that Jack must publish. The paternal Chambers believed indigo exists -- as a color, a door of perception, and the pathway to invisibility; his book is a guide to finding it. Jack will be well-rewarded for his execution of this and other provisions of the will, but the most of the estate will go to his half-sister, Louise, and a mysterious artist, Natalie Shearer. Jack is immediately incestuously attracted to Louise and the sexual tension is intense. They eventually travel to Rome in order to find Natalie and sell a house there. When Louise returns to Chicago, Natalie -- an ex-lover of Tim's -- relieves Jack's pent-up libidinal frustration as they enter into an odd affair dominated by the search for indigo. Murder and further intrigue intrude as well. Joyce provides the entire self-training manual and it's convincing enough that readers will find themselves wondering if they, too, can discover the fugitive indigo. Will Jack find it? Are there invisible forces at work? Will forbidden love become acceptable for the sibling soul mates? INDIGO, propelled by its rich atmosphere rather than action, is as seductive and beguiling as its premise.   xwidget_41_DeadTimes The year is 1825 and 110-year-old Mae Johnson, the offspring of a Caucasian trapper and the only daughter of a Hopi snakepriest, makes a deal with the devil that gives her eight additional lives. Not that they are particularly happy or long lives. After all, we are dealing with the Dark One here. She first becomes Rachel, a young woman who died in childbirth in 1691 and winds up involved in the Salem witch trials. Myra, a murdered black woman in 1943 Louisiana is her next life and Mae/Myra and she's possessed by the need to find her own murderer Navarro bogs down a bit when she takes Mae into her next two lives/deaths involving vampires in the year 1585. As Nathan Carter, a black man in 1961, Mae must deal with racism then is reborn in the same year as a white racist. Next stop is in the body of Will, a twenty-something 1986 Chicago yuppie afflicted with AIDS. Her eighth life is that of a murdered L.A.street whore, Perdita. As long as you can accept deals with demons, Indian curses, and that a woman born in the wilderness in 1715 can instantly adapt to such varied situations, DEADTIMES is a entertaining read. Mae, in whatever personification, faces the dark cruelty humans inflict on one another time and again and Navarro effectively conveys that horror. Only when she leaves this motif and introduces melodramatic pseudo-medieval supernatural evil does she falter. Otherwise, it is a genuine page-turner.
John Doe · March 29, 2022, 10:16 a.m.
books
The Emperor of Gondwanaland and Other Stories
xwidget_37_The Emperor of Gondwanaland and Other Stories Paul Di Filippo is the type of author who is often termed a "cult writer." In other words, he's not well known by the reading world at large but he's well respected among those "in the know". Not that he receives too much respect - he's been nominated numerous times for various awards (Hugo, Nebula, Philip K. Dick, Wired Magazine, World Fantasy) but has never taken home the prize. (He did win a British Science Fiction Association short story award back in 1994.) His previous short story collections have each concentrated on a single facet of his wide range (steampunk, humor, "hard SF", and fantasy to name a few), but this collection of 18 stories is a sampler of his intelligent, accomplished, and whimsical writing. It's very much like a box of chocolates: you never know what you are going to get, but its all pretty tasty. Some may prefer the chewy caramel (in the title story, a lonely modern everyman finds intimacy and a new allegiance online), others like a creamy filling ("A Monument to After-Thought Unveiled" features a young poet Robert Frost who writes "grimly fantastical" pulp fiction and mentors an even younger H.P. Lovecraft, who, socially well-adjusted and happily married, edits Weird Tales) or a nutty crunch ("Ailoura" re-invents "Puss-in-Boots" as an homage to science fiction). Like any collection of treats, this one shouldn't be passed up.
John Doe · March 29, 2022, 6:25 a.m.
books
The Year's Best Science Fiction: Twenty-Second Annual Collection
xwidget_36_The Year's Best Science Fiction: Twenty-Second Ann In the growing list of "year's best" SF anthologies, Gardner Dozois's is still a "must read." This year's twenty-second edition covering the year 2004 proves why. It's massive (664 pages, 28 stories), excellent, and diverse. Along with veteran writers (including M. John Harrison, Nancy Kress, and Vernor Vinge), there are newcomers like Paolo Bacigalupi, Colin P. Davies, David Moles, Christopher Rowe, and Vandana Singh. Known-but-not-for-SF writers like fantasist Caitlin Kiernan and mystery/thriller-writer Brendan DuBois are also present. Some stories seem like fantasy (Kage Baker's "Mother Aegypt"), others blend genres (James Patrick Kelly crosses aliens with hard boiled private eyes in "Men Are Trouble" and, in "Intrigue," Walter Jon Williams mixes spaceships and intrigue). Standard SF tropes are given fresh twists by Michael F. Flynn in "The Clapping Hands of God" (first contact) and Stephen Baxter with "Mayflower II" (generation starship). Eleanor Arnason presents a unique perspective in "The Garden," a "science fictional romance" written by an alien. Dozois includes his summation of the field and honorable mentions list. The volume, like the genre, may now be venerable, but it's obviously still vibrant.
John Doe · March 29, 2022, 6:23 a.m.
books
The Wavering Knife
xwidget_34_The Wavering Knife In a review of his The Cat's Pajamas & Other Stories, I mentioned James Morrow as an accomplished satirist who combines the dark with the droll. Brian Evenson, although far more brutal than Morrow, also manages to combine horror with humor. Unlike Morrow, he is no moralist. Evenson's stories are mirrors in which humanity sees its hideous self reflected without apparent comment or judgment. He tells story after story in an immaculate, logical voice that convinces us that violence is not an aberration and that savagery is not momentary insanity. We come away believing such things are not only essential to the human race, but serve to define it. Evenson speaks the unspeakable in a matter-of-fact manner that makes the horror all the more disturbing. In "The Ex-Father" a girl comes home from school with her younger sister and, in the middle of an after school snack, discovers the cat is leaving bloody footprints. She ascertains the cat's paws are not, as she had feared, injured then follows the tracks "back to her mother's bedroom to find her mother inside, lying on the floor dead after trying to saw off her own head." The girls' father reenters their lives and moves back into the house to care for his daughters, but he remains a "ghost." The elder daughter feels she must "snap the ex-father back into being a father again." She devises and executes an appalling plan that may well "snap" her father into...some state. Many of the stories are grounded in modern-day religiosity. Some good Christian boys have a few beers in "Barcode Jesus" and decide it is time to bring the local Wal-Mart to the Lord. ("It's not just any Wal-Mart...It's a Supra-Wal-Mart. Open 24/7. They got a grocery store and a video rental and a hair salon and even a bank-not just a cash machine, but a whole fuck-all bank....They got a tire center and you can get hunting licenses from squirrels to deer and there's an electronics center and a shitload of toads and frilly hats and God knows what else.") That the conversion in "Barcode Jesus" eventually involves a human bomb is not shocking, but inevitable. One's acceptance of this inevitability is, of course, shocking. A sanctimonious Mormon concludes that "liberals have seized the reins of the Church, leading the horses to run full bore away from God" in "The Prophets." He feels a return to the earlier Prophets of the Latter-Day Saints is the cure and sets about to resurrect "the last true prophet," Ezra Taft Benson, from the dead. Another group of pious men attempt male bonding and confront cross-dressing in a hilarious "Promisekeepers" that turns dark only at the end. Similarly, "The Gravediggers" modernizes Rosencrantz and Guildenstern with gruesome wit that turns absolutely chilling at the conclusion. In "The Intricacies of Post-Shooting Etiquette," the narrator tries to kill his lover and afterwards "a measure of uncertainty slipped into their relationship." "White Square" is something of a mystery that will remind many readers of Kafka, but is deserving of its own recognition on the merits of its prose alone. "Moran's Mexico" toys with writers and academia, complete with footnotes. All eighteen stories in The Wavering Knife are worth reading. And, although Evenson has long garnered academic and literary acclaim, horror and fantasy readers or critics have never particularly noted him. He is far past due our recognition, praise, and reading as he is definitely "one of ours."
John Doe · March 29, 2022, 6:09 a.m.
books
The Cat's Pajamas & Other Stories
xwidget_35_The Cat's Pajamas and Other Stories Despite some noteworthy awards, James Morrow is one of the more underappreciated writers in the business. He's also one of the best and one of the funniest. Morrow is a true satirist, a moralist who identifies some of our many faults and offers a wholly new perspective (not solutions, mind you, that is not his job) through his droll distortions. I suspect mainstream readers, as well as some science fiction and fantasy lovers, may be somewhat put off by exactly what you horror-lovers will relish the ghoulish side of his darkly delightful satire. Although enlightenment may be provided, it's usually not offered until we've dealt with at least some despair. It's probably enough to tell you the title story retells H.G. Wells' The Island of Doctor Moreau by way of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but that's not all, folks! There's thirteen tales here that will have you laughing and weeping at the same time. "Come Back, Dr. Sarcophagus," a small play original to the volume, involves a creature feature host who needs a little outside help - outside of this world - to hold on to his job. In another original playette, "The Zombies of Montrose," a voodoo priestess provides raises the dead and puts them usefully to work in suburbia. Performance copulation has become high art in "The Wisdom of the Skin," but perhaps it is just a passing fancy. Catholicism's attention to the rights of the unborn evolves into a nightmarish future of dystopic fecundity in "Auspicious Eggs." "Apologue" is very short, very touching, and features a certain giant ape, a marauding mutant lizard, and a rollercoaster munching rheodasaur who come out of retirement in post-9/11 New York. James Morrow obviously loves his fellow human beings and has a sharp eye for their foibles. His wit and pen are sharper still. If you are unfamiliar with Morrow, this wonderful collection his first new title in about five years --from Tachyon (an equally wonderful small press based in San Francisco) is a superb starting point. If you already know him you won't want to miss it.
John Doe · March 29, 2022, 6:06 a.m.
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