The Scotsman Abroad | We Need to Talk

I suppose it's fair to say that the summer's behind us. The summer holidays certainly are.

For most folks—most adults, I mean—that's got to be good news, because instead of treasuring them as we used to do, we tolerate them, if we're honest. The weather is an almost constant disappointment, except for the midges and the mozzies. The entertainment we all enjoy the rest of the year round goes away, and in its place? Big budget, lowest common denominator nonsense that leaves the likes of us with The Great British Bake-Off and little else to distract ourselves from the influx of children suddenly under our feet in the street.

But as a full-time teacher, a regular reviewer of books—books that take me ten times as long to read as they used to do—a columnist for Tor.com and, lest we forget, a boyfriend to my better half of damn near a decade, the summer holidays have, in recent years, come to mean something very real to me: a chance to make some changes. To finally follow through on a few long put off promises. Maybe even realise the dreams I've dreamed for decades.

The thing of it is, the summer holidays also represent an opportunity to rest, and most years, that's about all I end up doing.

This year, though, I figured fuck it, I'll catch my breath when I'm dead, and in the seven weeks of the summer holidays, I made some of those long-delayed changes. I kept a couple promises—to myself and my nearest and dearest. Readers: I even realised a dream!

Not to start the show with the show-stopper, but folks, I finally stopped smoking: a nasty-ass habit I picked up when I was 15 and swore to shake before it was too late.

I started running. First a mile every morning. Then two when I found one wasn't quite cutting it. These days, I don't feel right about my routine until I've finished a 5k.

Last but not least, like many readers, I've always nursed notions of writing stories of my own. Truth be told, I don't know if I have a novel in me, but as it happens, I do have a few short stories. One of those—the first work of fiction I ever submitted, in fact—a 2,000 word tale called 'Let's Play'—is widely available as of today.

We Need to Talk features original work from Daisy Buchanan, Robert Sharp, Kim Curran, Andreina Cordani, Amy McLellan and over a dozen more—all stories inspired by (very) difficult conversations! 

All proceeds are given to the women's cancer charity, The Eve Appeal. September is Gynaecological Cancer Awareness Month, and [Jurassic London, in collaboration with Kindred, is] proud to support their efforts. 

The lovely paperbacks are exclusively available through Foyles, who are currently selling the book at a chunky discount (seriously, it is under a fiver). For those of a more digital inclination, the ebooks can be found on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk.

Just to be published would have made my summer. To be published by a publisher I have such immense respect for, alongside an array of properly awesome authors, and in support of such a phenomenally positive cause?

I can hardly begin to express how very much being featured in We Need to Talk means to me, but it'd mean that much more if I could share it with a few of you.

If you like it, let me know!

Status Update | An Evil Easter

Over the Easter weekend, I was beside myself with surprise to find that I had a few hours free.

To be clear, this has not been the norm for me recently. Indeed, it's been brutal hereabouts this year: at home, 2014 to date has been a combination of sickness and sadness, and at work, with most of my students sitting their English exams soon, trying to keep on top of my various other obligations has been hard... hence the lack of late of what I want to call casual content here on The Speculative Scotsman.

With a little luck, though, that should be sorted shortly, and given the wonderful weather this weekend—oh what fun it was to sit in the sun!—suddenly it feels like summer is nearly here. I won't give anything away today, but I have big plans for the holidays, when they happen. Plans that I've been hatching for a period of years.

In any event, this weekend, I found myself with a few extra hours, and I deliberately did something different with them. Something I wasn't sure I ever would do. Readers... I started playing a certain game.

And I discovered, despite my doubts, that I am prepared to die. Again and again and again, in a cycle of violence I was sure would make me hateful. But it hasn't so far. How about that?

That's really all I wanted to say. Dark Souls II has dibs on the rest of my day. :)

But hey, if there are any old hands out there, a few words of advice for a Dark Souls amateur would be very welcome.

Giving the Game Away | Meet the Mouse Deer

I may have failed to mention that I spent the last ten days in Bremen, Germany. Long story short: I had a wonderful week in an incredibly pretty city, but Belgian beer still has the edge over the many and various German varieties I tried.

I'm home again in any event, and wishing I'd done a little more work while I was away... but hey, there's still time for a quick one today!

Yesterday I ran my review of The Mouse Deer Kingdom by Chiew-Siah Tei, "a beautiful little book [...] about outsiders in a land that seems set on smiting them," and this afternoon, thanks to the fine folks at Picador, I have three copies of the new novel to give away to entrants based in the UK.

All you need to do to stand a chance of winning one is email the answer to this quick question to thespeculativescotsman [at] googlemail [dot] com:

What was Cheiw-Siah Tei's multiple

award-nominated first novel called?

Mark your subject header 'Meet the Mouse Deer' and include your name and address in the text of the message. I'll announce the winners next week, when I'm well and truly on top of the blog again.

For the time being, toodles!

Status Update | On Belgium and Banks

Home again, home again... but I'm afraid I didn't bring my jiggedy-jig.

Don't get me wrong, I have a bloody lovely time on holiday — Antwerp was brilliant, the beer was as well, and sometimes I forget what a wonderful thing it is to read for pleasure — but the bad news about Iain Banks' passing broke the day after I got back, almost immediately after I'd finished The Player of Games, and it pretty much knocked me for six.

Kept me busy yesterday as well. In the afternoon, I wrote a long tribute to the dearly departed author for Tor.com — you can read it here right now, but I'm hoping to share it with you all on The Speculative Scotsman tomorrow — then in the evening I had a couple of classes to teach, during which I discussed a particularly fantastic chapter from The Wasp Factory with couple of the older kids I tutor.

For what it's worth, they seemed to enjoy it. And if just one of them went home and ordered a copy, my work here is done.

Or has it just begun?

In any event, I'm going to hold off on publishing the special something I mentioned before I went back to Belgium. Dragons are awesome, obviously, but I need to be happy to introduce this thing with the unbridled delight it deserves, and I'm just not now.

Completely missed E3 as well, which is complete unlike me. I'm still hoping to stay unspoiled, the better to watch a press conference or four later today or tomorrow, but let's face it: this is the internet.

Actually, now that I mention it, this is the internet — fancy that! — so you tell me: what should I watch? Any events I can afford to ignore? Or were they all a wash?

We Interrupt This Broadcast | Back to Belgium

I would say it's been ages since I had a holiday, but strangely, that's not the case. The thing of it is, when I went to Skye last, I took my work with me. I spent four of the five days I was there pecking away at a few reviews I was due. A bad move, however necessary it felt; it left me wondering whether I'd had any time off at all.

So what I thought I'd do was go somewhere that would preclude the possibility of me doing much in the way of work — excepting a little light reading.

And the answer? Belgium again. Because of the beer. And the resulting drunkenness. :)

The other half and I plan to stay in Antwerp this time, as opposed to Brussels, which was a bit too much of a tourist trap for my liking. Then again, the beer — I mean the biere — made everything better, and I expect it will again.

Long story short, I'll be back before you know it — sadly a week was all we had to work with — and things will be normal enough on the blog in my absence. I already have two reviews in the queue, and there's something special in the works as well. If it doesn't go live while I'm in Antwerp, expect to see said soon.

Anyway, here are a few of the books I've packed in my bag:

The Adjacent is for review, it's true, but Americanah and The Player of Games are for pleasure; if I write about either of them, it'll be because I choose to — an ever more important distinction in my eyes.

Anyway, cheers, m'dears!

We Interrupt This Broadcast | For a Short Sojourn in Skye

I appear to be going on holiday again!

Like last time, I'm just taking just a little trip up to the isle of Skye, which is within a day's drive from where I stay, but still far enough away that it feels like another world. The fact that the internet is almost impossible to access on the island plays into that in a fairly major way.

Now I won't be gone for long, but I expect to be incredibly busy when I get back, so expect normal service to resume ten days or thereabouts from today. To entertain you all in my absence, I'm going to schedule several of the capsule reviews I've written for the Short Fiction Spotlight to date. I do hope you enjoy them.

In addition, I'll be keeping all my usual commitments. Look out for a new Spotlight to go live on Tor.com on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, the British Genre Fiction Focus will be published as per usual. My editors over there are also sitting on two reviews—of two truly beautiful books, namely The Crane Wife by Patrick Ness and Life After Life by Kate Atkinson—that they might well unleash within the next week. 

Relatedly, here are a few of the books I'll be packing tomorrow morning:

One of these things is not like the other! Indeed, one of these things I'm bringing because you all told me to... though Stefan's recent post on Civilian Reader has rather dampened my enthusiasm regarding Assassin's Apprentice.

In any case, these days (it gives me great pleasure to say) short stories a regular part of my reading diet, so I'll be taking a few anthologies too:

Fine fodder, one might imagine, for subsequent Spotlights...

Wish me happy holidays, all! :)

The Scotsman Abroad | Dear Year in Review

How's it going, folks?

I'm still in Skye, so forgive the relatively short blog. Hard to believe, but internet access is a precious commodity here, even in the year 2013: I've had to camp out in a WiFi-friendly pub in Portree, complete with a pint of Dark Island and my massive laptop. Fair to say, then, that I look a little conspicuous - there isn't even a smartphone in sight - so I'll keep this quick.

Last week, Strange Horizons' published their round-up of the Year in Review, and I wanted to direct you all towards it. This is the third time I've contributed to the feature, I believe, and as ever, the invite was an absolute highlight.

So what did I do with my 250 words?

Well, given the genre of the books I reviewed for Strange Horizons in 2012, I decided to focus on horror and dark fantasy fiction. Firstly, I burbled about The Drowning Girl: A Memoir - I'll toot my horn about that text any chance I get - but I couldn't very well discuss the year in all things creepy and/or crawly without making mention of season one of The Walking Dead, the incredible episodic entity I named my favourite game of 2012.

Thanks to the alphabet, my contribution comes first, but I implore you to read on for a paragraph or two from a who's-who of the site's most insightful critics. To see my work next to theirs - especially without an asterisk denoting I don't belong amongst such upstanding company - is an astonishing honour.

A brief word of warning: if it's anything like mine, your wallet simply can't handle all this awesome. By all means read the article anyway — just be prepared to seriously consider a new credit card after.

I've been nursing this ale for altogether too long already, so I'd best be off, but we'll talk again on the other side of what's been a deeply geeky holiday!

Back to Dungeons & Dragons and The Grim Company I go. :D

We Interrupt This Broadcast | Happy New Year 2013

Hello again, everyone.

I'm back! If only briefly...

At the crack of dawn tomorrow, the other half and I will be making the drive up to the Isle of Skye, because we find ourselves in need of some time off from our time off. Also it's awesome. :)

To wit, tonight's celebrations will be scaled back a bit from those of previous years, but I can't think of a better place to take in the first day of the New Year than here, really:

Our bags are apt to be madly packed before we first foot a few folks after the bells ring in 2013, but of course I've already sorted the important things out.

Which is to say... the books I'm bringing:

I'm so keen to read each of these three that I couldn't tell you which I'll pick to begin with... and understand that I usually have my next five novels figured out months in advance!

Also coming with us, a handful of movie Blu-rays - the catch-up, it's safe to say, is well underway - and one particularly telling Christmas gift:

Finally, right? :P

Well, wish us luck with our first campaign. I can hardly wait to play!

Meanwhile, you all have an awesome New Year, you hear?

We Interrupt This Broadcast | Christmas Wishes

In my introduction to Top of the Scots 2012, I talked about what a year this has been for me. What a fantastic, phenomenal, unforgettable year!

It's also been an exhausting one, loathe as I am to admit it.

To wit, I'm doing the unthinkable: I'm taking some time off.

Beginning today, I'm off work for two weeks, the better to let the kiddies enjoy their Christmas... and it occurred to me that maybe I should, too. So! I'm going to be AFK for approximately a fortnight.

Which isn't to say there won't be awesome content on The Speculative Scotsman to entertain you all in my absence. I already have a good few reviews in the queue, and I may yet appear out of the ether to blog about what Santa brought me or some such thing.

I wouldn't count on it, is all. By and large, I plan to spend my holiday cosy in the company of friends and family, and if the powers that be judge me to have been very, very good this year, I may just take the New Year in on the windswept, snow-strewn Isle of Skye. Unappealing as that must sound to some, know that there's nothing I'd love to do more — so here's hoping!

Before I go, though, let me wish you all a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year. I wouldn't be doing this thing day and night if I didn't love it, and you folks are the reason I do. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for that.

But they say a picture is worth a thousand words, so...

What more is there to say than that?

Actually, hang on — there is one thing. Remember the giveaway I blogged about before Top of the Scots 2012 kicked off? Well, we have a winner!

Congratulations to David Finley from North Carolina. You, sir, shall be hearing from me shortly.

To everyone else who entered... there's always next time, I guess. Would that I had a hundred copies of The Vorrh to give away!

With which, I'm going to go squish the gifts under my Christmas tree. :D

We'll talk again in not too long, I don't doubt, but for the time being... you all have an awesome holiday, you hear?

Books Received | The BoSS: Beyond Boneshaker

Well, here I am. Home again, home again.

And it's actually not bad - other than the cold, that is - to be back. The week the other half and I just spent in Malta made for a more modest holiday than our month in North America earlier in the year, but I think there's something to be said for the self-contained. I mean, we saw everything we wanted to see, ate all the food we could, drank some truly awesome cocktails, and had plenty of time to relax in the between-times.

There was even some reading! :)

Of the books I brought along, I read The Ravenglass Eye, Osama and - on my Kindle - In the Tall Grass by Stephen King and Joe Hill, as well as the final volume (finally) of The Long Price Quartet by Daniel Abraham — which was without a doubt the most heart-breaking novel I've read in 2012. I admit to some bubbling.

Reviews of some, if not all of the above will be forthcoming here on The Speculative Scotsman.

Add to that lovely lot the proofs which were waiting for me at my local post office. Amongst others, these included the sequel to The Emperor's Knife, the three Anno Draculas released to date, London Falling by Vertigo author Paul Cornell, and - last but not least - a long dreamed-of look at the new Warren Ellis: Mulholland Books are publishing Gun Machine in early January, and I can't bloody well wait.

However, one package in particular exited me, specifically because of its tinkling. My first thought was that someone had sent me a Christmas bauble... but no!

From the local Tor team, the following:

That's Boneshaker by Cherie Priest on a festive bed of straw, complete with scissors, gin and some other some vaguely steampunky stuff.

Here's a closer look at all those lovely little trinkets:

But damn, I'll be drinking that!

Now those of you who've been with me since the blog's beginning might remember that I've already read and reviewed Boneshaker, as well as its successor, Dreadnought. I didn't much enjoy either, neither. Be that as it may, this box was so lovingly put together that I'm tempted to give the series another shot.

Who knows? Perhaps the third time's the charm.

One way or the other, we'll see soon enough, because here in the UK, Tor are planning to publish a Clockwork Century novel every month through the fourth volume in the series' release next February. I'll give The Inexplicables a good going-over around then.

Are any of you folks excited to read it?

We Interrupt This Broadcast | The Maltese Scotsman

Okay, so remember when I said I was hoping to head off for a holiday shortly? Well, my plans came together a little quicker than I was thinking initially. Everything fell into place so incredibly quickly, in fact, that I don't even have a moment to consult you all like I tend to do about what books to take away with me.

Long story less long: I'm going to Malta, guys. And I'm leaving... this evening!

But not to worry. I'll be back before you know it -  in time for Halloween week - and in my absence The Speculative Scotsman should be business as usual. There will be news, there will be reviews, and I should have access to the internet while I'm away, so if anything huge comes up, you can be sure I'll blog about it.

Well, as sure as you can ever be with me. :/

For obvious reasons my time today is awfully short, so I won't burble on much longer. But I did want to mention the books I mean to read over the next ten days.

I've packed two fantasy novels: Steven Erikson's Deadhouse Gates (again), and A Different Kingdom by Paul Kearney.

I'm also going to be bringing one spooky book - namely The Ravenglass Eye by Tom Fletcher - as well as Osama by Lavie Tidhar... because it's about bloody time, and what with all the awards it's won, I can't really go wrong, can I? 

Maybe you're wondering why no sci-fi. Well, I only finished reading Great North Road on Wednesday - stay tuned to Tor.com for my review in the not-too-distant - meanwhile Helix Wars was the week before, and I like to hop from genre to genre instead of spending too long immersed in any one.

Anyway, I really should pack some pants, so I'll sign off for now. Hard as it is for even me to believe, the next time we talk, I'll be in Malta.

Wish me warmth! :D

But I Digress | Reading Rituals

Well, that's it, isn't it? Summer's over.

And winter, of course, is coming. I've felt the frost already, and if you squint into the slate-grey skies, you can nearly see the snow. Hell, if the supermarkets are to be believed, it's a fine time to start thinking about Christmas.

But let's not get quite so far ahead of ourselves!

Let's lament the end of the summer before we start celebrating the beginning of winter.

'Twas a mean season for me, I suppose. I had hoped to take a few weeks away from work over the holidays, but other factors intruded: a death in the family, changing obligations, sudden monetary troubles and so on. All the while the kiddies kept coming in, so I kept showing up to the education centre I teach English at.

As it stands, the plan is to steal off somewhere warm as soon as humanly possible - more on that as the story develops - but I'm running on empty at the moment. Have been since I got back from America in March: coming back from a life-changing experience only to have life kick in immediately will do that, I know now.

It hasn't, however, been doom and gloom all day and night in my little corner of Scotland. The rare sunny days we've had hereabouts have been a huge highlight, because earlier in 2012, I got myself a hobby: I decided the time had come to turn the rampant wilderness I called my back yard into a proper goddamn garden.

Well, it isn't perfect yet - and I don't imagine I'll be able to do much more with it till next spring - but six months of back-breaking, at times bloody labour later, I've got a lawn, a rock garden, and a pretty paved path between the two. A pretty paved path that proved the perfect place to drop a pair of camping chairs and improvise a table.

I have many happy memories of afternoons in my brand new garden this summer. Yes, the weather could have been better, but often enough there was some sun, and whenever there was, I took out my book, and I read.

And I read and I read and I read!

This became rather a habit. A ritual, if you will — which brings me to my point.

Now that I can't go out there, under pain of mild frostbite or a simple soaking, I've had to say goodbye to the garden for the time being. That I can live with. What I've having more trouble overcoming is the loss of the spot I spoke of, where I spent, shall we say, some serious time reading.

I'm a creature of habit, I confess. Most of what I read, I read in bed, immediately before nodding off. I did this all through the summer, in addition to which I had a couple of hours every couple of days with my book in the back yard. Absent that, it's back to burning the midnight oil until some replacement pattern arises, so my reading, recently, has dropped off dramatically.

How I miss my afternoons in the garden! :(

On the bright side, this got me thinking. Am I just an oddity, or do we all have specific spots where we get the bulk of our bookworming done? Places where we can go, or things that we do, to get away from it all, you know?

With so many other things competing for our attention, reading for a protracted period - for me at least - isn't easy these days. Without my camping chair in the garden, I'm having trouble getting through more than a book a week.

So I want to know: what are your reading rituals?

Inspire me, people, please!

Letters From America | Week Four: Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Fin.

All good things come to an end, eventually.

So it was with my month in America. After seeing some but certainly not all of Texas and more than I might have liked of New Orleans, as well as a sweet spot in homely Alabama - and it wouldn't do to forget the beautiful beaches and bawdy bars of Panama City - my time in the United States drew to a close more crushing than any holiday doldrums I've experienced.

Before I said goodbye to America, however, I spent the better part of a week frolicking in Fort Lauderdale and its surrounding areas. In Boca Raton, South Beach and Central Miami -- not to mention all the other places whose names I can't recall, for obvious reasons.

But wait, there's more! See, the folks we were staying with in Fort Lauderdale just so happened to have a huge boat moored on the Intracoastal Waterway, so we spent a couple of days motoring across the ocean. Fun was had, especially because no-one got seasick. Proper lite beers were drank in proper American proportions on the deck, from dawn till dusk. After that, I even managed to sleep for a few minutes!

That aside, I don't know that I have a great deal to say about Florida. Having recharged my batteries during the last leg of my trip - both figuratively and literally - I was good and ready to spend all my stamina points (also my remaining Monopoly money) on one last hurrah... but beyond a few short jaunts, Fort Lauderdale didn't really feel like the place for the variety of antics I had in mind. Truth be told, it's not exactly entertainment central. More like a massive rich person's retirement community.

Now that I think on it, though, there was at least one awesome spot. Namely the nearby watering hole: a pirate-themed put called Muddy Waters, which had swinging seats, neon toilets, and a sign that promised FREE BEER TOMORROW. Thus intrigued, I came back the next night, and then the next, but both times the sign said the same thing. I never did get my free beer.

What we did get was a lovely bit of local colour. We met a few fine folks, of course, all of whom seemed to want nothing more than to listen to us talk in our broadest Scottish accents. And on those rare occasions where there weren't gangs of Americans blackmailing us with booze, my traveling companions and I reminisced over delicious tropical cocktails about all the incredible things we'd seen and done in the States so far, up to and including said delicious tropical cocktails; I'd recommend the Blue Hawaiian and the Alco Pop.

Anyway, a few drinks down, the conversation invariably turned to more miserable matters. We'd all loved our time in America, but the sad fact of the matter was ever-present on our final nights. Our holiday was almost over. Like it or not, we were going to have to go back to Scotland shortly.

And Scotland? For all that living here has its plus points - the stark beauty of the highlands comes to mind, and the clime, which I'll politely describe as milder - there aren't an awful lot of 'em. The people are mostly mean, where in America almost everyone was warm and welcoming. The food is assuredly not as good. Gas is twice the price. Our government is like a spiteful childminder.

I know I shouldn't bemoan my homeland - I don't suppose it's all so awful - but coming home was a heady hammer-blow to the heart, and I'll admit I'm still reeling from it somewhat. Given which, you guys might have to give me a little time to remember myself, but here, I've been through this before... haven't we all? I'm sure I'll be back up to scratch before you know it.

One last thing before I go, in part because it's become a bit of tradition in these diaries, but also to give you an idea of what's to come on The Speculative Scotsman now that all the awesome guest bloggers whose work I've had the honour of hosting have spoiled you for quality content: on the long flight back, which was very long - did I mention that? - I squeezed shall we say a fair bit of reading in.

In the first, I powered through A Confusion of Prices by Garth Nix, Steve Rasnic Tem's terrific Deadfall Hotel, and the very fine first third of Aidan's favourite urban fantasy, Of Blood and Honey by Stina Leicht. Expect reviews of each of these three, in addition to most everything else I read whilst in America - excepting A Game of Thrones, because I have other things planned for that - on The Speculative Scotsman in the not-too-distant.

I also read a whole load of Y - The Last Man whilst in Florida, on good sir Ryan's recommendation, and like the man said, it was stunning stuff. Which is to say, another one of those unbelievably awesome things that, sadly, has to end eventually... like this once-in-a-lifetime holiday.

I say that, but equally this: I'll be back!

Because dang it all, I only saw six states. That means I have another 44 still to visit. :D

Letters From America | Week Three: The Cabin In The Woods

I've had a hell of a time in America, this past month. There've been good bit and bad, but of course -- as ever, the great and the terrible come together. Given which, it might be a trifle disingenuous of me to say I wouldn't trade a second of my many and various experiences here - there are a few I'd be glad to get shot off, in all honesty - so I won't. But by and large, I've had the time of my life.

Hard to believe, then, that it's almost over. But it is. Come Monday I'll be back in my proper place, installed before the curious control panel of The Speculative Scotsman, reading and writing and teaching - and talking about reading and writing and teaching to anyone who'll listen - just as if I'd never been gone at all. But I was. Gone. And I was gone a long time.

You haven't even heard the half of it, either. In the last of my Letters From America, dated near enough a fortnight ago now, we talked about New Orleans, and touched on Panama City Beach. So what happened after that? Hell, only everything! But let me cast my mind back...

In brief, simply because there's so much I want to burble about: from Panama City Beach the other half and I saw the third member of our impromptu party off to the airport for a quick hop along the panhandle; to Fort Lauderdale, where we'd be catching up with her again shortly. But not before more than 1000 miles of driving on the wrong side of the road, the perfect storm, a legion of oversized insects, and at long last, rather a lot of reading.

The thinking was, smack bang in the middle of our hectic month in America, we might just need a holiday from our holiday... a little downtime, to catch our breath and consider what we could and should expel it on next. To wit, we booked a couple of nights in a cabin in the woods between Dogtown and Fort Payne in innermost Alabama.

Surprisingly, this worried everyone we made mention of it to - though it's worth noting that none of them had ever been to Alabama themselves - and I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that the names of the towns on either side of our quaint little cabin didn't help matters. We were told to make doubly sure we had appropriate plates on our rental car, and our Texan friends also insisted we stick to main roads wherever possible. Furthermore, we were advised to keep ourselves to ourselves. Basically to keep our mouths shut unless we couldn't possibly avoid it. Oh, and no taking the lord's name in vain!

As it happened, however, the most perilous thing about Alabama was the weather. Our cabin in the woods was far enough removed from it all that we only met a few folks, and those that we did meet were perfectly friendly. That said, several of the locals we encountered in the midst of our holiday-within-a-holiday essentially echoed the advice we'd been given earlier. So yes, we were careful. We hardly left the house, except to see a few incredible natural landmarks, and forage for foodstuffs. But then, that's all we'd planned on doing anyway, so our time in the cabin went off without a hitch, excepting the huge bugs that ate perhaps half of my body mass.

We weren't so lucky getting to the cabin in the first place, I'm afraid: the mildly strenuous six hour drive from Panama City Beach turned into an stressful eight hour affair when we hit massive traffic, and alas, almost immediately after that, we drove right into what I'm going to call a tropical storm... though I sincerely doubt it was anything out of the ordinary for Americans.

For wee British people like my pocket-sized traveling companion and I, it felt a lot like I imagine the end of the world would: in a matter of minutes, it went from late in the day but still quite light to night as thick as pitch. The sweltering warmth we'd almost gotten used to erupted into thunder the likes of which I'd never ever heard, and with it spikes of lightning that seemed to split the sky. To add insult to injury, seconds later huge hailstones started attacking us.

It was truly terrifying - certainly the scariest thing that I encountered in the six states I saw - but at the time, I thought the thing to do was push on through it. Me and my pride! I only pulled over when all the other drivers I'd been keeping pace with took to the hard shoulder themselves... then I happily hit my hazards and called a momentary halt to our adventure.

Nor was the drive up to Fort Lauderdale any laughing matter at the time, though I have had call to look back on it since, and laugh. On this occasion, ambition was my deadly sin. We were going to do two six to eight hour over a pair of days, but so close to the end of our time in America - or so it seemed to me - I didn't want to drag the thing out. I wanted to do it all in a day so we could get on with the last leg of our trip, and I did.

More's the pity.

But between one gargantuan drive and the other: happy days. Relaxing days. Also excruciating, exhilarating days. And why such a spread of emotions? Well, because I spend most of them reading, at long last, A Game of Thrones... which was magnificent. I did this ostensibly in readiness for the second season of the TV series, which I now plan to watch when it's concluded, and I've had the time to take in A Clash of Kings too.

Because once you pop, you can't very well stop, can you? :)

On which note, I'd better get packing, but I'll back on Monday with one last installment of Letters From America -- though truth be told it won't be a letter from America at all, because by then I'll be home again, home again.

Jiggety jig?

Sadly no... not so much.

Letters From America | Week Two: Lost Souls and Liquor in New Orleans and Florida

Last time we talked properly – that is excepting the intros and outros appended to each of the guest posts you’ll have seen on the site since – I had just arrived in New Orleans, having been knocked for six by the sheer size of everything here in the States. I should perhaps amend that observation now that I’ve seen a smidge more of this massive landmass; after all NOLA was dramatically different from Houston, and Panama City Beach – where I’ve been recovering since – is a whole other kettle of fish again.

But look at me and my seafood-based wordplay! If you didn’t know different, you’d be forgiven for thinking I was having a whale of a time here in America. :D

I am, at that... though New Orleans, as I intimated in the inaugural edition of Letters From America, was rather a shock to the system after the incredibly warm welcome we were treated to in Texas. Long story short: me and mine got off to a bad start on our first night in New Orleans, and though things were looking up by the time we left, I still hadn’t quite come around.

So I didn’t love NOLA, no. But by the end I didn’t despise it either, and after that first night – no gory details today, I’m afraid – to be able to say even that speaks to how much more pleasant the city was once we found our skinny Scottish feet in it.

Wait, I didn’t say the city, did I? You must excuse me – that’s not entirely true. I suppose we were in the city, which is to say surrounded on all sides by endless urban sprawl, but honestly, it hardly felt like it: we didn’t leave the French Quarter once during the entire time we propped up the Best Western on Rampart. Perhaps we should have, quite against all the advice we’d been given... not least because by the end of our stay, I for one was feeling a bit boxed-in.

In fairness to the place, I think the trips I’ve taken to beautiful little European cities like Krakov and Bruges and Bratislava somewhat spoiled me on New Orleans, without me even realising it. All quaint places, I guess, with beer and wine and good food and music in abundance, but none of the nastiness that kept cropping up here, nor the ripe aroma of piss and shit and sick in the air everywhere, and definitely lots less leering. Also: if you’re planning on spending more than a few days in the French Quarter of New Orleans, have your paperwork in order to declare bankruptcy in the midst of your trip.

My nostalgia for the New Orleans Poppy Z. Brite painted so perfectly in the books I swore by as a moderately freaky teenager probably didn’t help matters either. Lost Souls and such; especially the Liquor trilogy Brite ended up capping off her writing career with.

I did wonder how different the French Quarter would have been if I’d only experienced it before the horrors of Hurricane Katrina. I didn’t ask any such thing, obviously. It seemed impolite... not that decency seemed to be any sort of obstacle to the innumerable booths and shops and street-walkers looking to make a quick buck on glorious guided tours of the devastated areas.

But I should digress. At the end of my time in New Orleans, I was certainly keen to get on with the rest of this crazy-with-a-capital-crazy road trip, but we’ll be taking a few happy memories home with us, and it wouldn’t do to overlook them: one born hot and throbbing in Maison on Frenchmen Street – on open mic night and everything – and another, oddly, from a ghost tour with a guy from Haunted History who told some of the best spoken word stories I’ve ever heard. Ever.

So what happened next?

Truth be told, it’s a bit of a blur already. We drove for six hours in a rented Nissan, delighting in all the classic rock radio stations we kept picking up along the way, only to lose mere moments later. We stuck, cleverly, to the right side of the road, which felt wrong on so many levels. Eventually, we arrived at our beautiful apartment in Panama City Beach, and slowly settled in.

And then? Then: beer. On the balcony, and on the beach. A stone’s throw away from the sea and the sand, while the sun split the skies... oh my. I don’t mind saying it’s been kinda sorta stunning here. With Spring Break and March Madness mostly over, there was time and space to let everything we’ve seen and done here in the States to date sink in, and I’m glad of that. It was beginning to feel a bit surreal.

A few hours from the time of this writing, alas, we’ll be leaving Panama City Beach behind, and one of our party as well – though we’ll catch up with her on the back end of this trip. In the interim, the other half and I are heading to a lovely log cabin in the woods of upper Alabama, where by hook or by crook, there will be books!

Sadly there’s only been the one since last week’s Stephen King, but it was – how to describe it? – a bona fide beauty. A masterfully wrought political parable for the larger part, A Song For Arbonne by Guy Gavriel Kay also took in tragedy, romance, fate, friendship, and occasionally even farce. It couldn’t quite eclipse Tigana in my heart - I wonder sometimes if anything ever will - yet it’s certainly the best book I’ve read in a long time.

Do stay tuned for more thoughts of that sort shortly; I should have a review ready before I’m back in Britain. For the moment, my thanks to those of you who recommended it. And to everyone who plumped for The Lions of Al-Rassan instead, take heart in the fact that I abandoned several essential items of clothing in order to bring more books than I’d meant, among them that other Guy Gavriel Kay, which given the magnificence of A Song For Arbonne I’ve half a mind to read immediately.

On the other hand, A Game of Thrones is sat right there. Staring at me, even. The monster.

Speaking of which, how was the premiere of the second season? It kills me that I missed it, but maybe that’s for the best. Maybe this year I wait till I have all the episodes and watch them in one massive whack. Maybe that’ll give me time to read the bloody books I’ve brought all the way across the Atlantic...

Anyway! I’ll be back again next week with another of these sentimental Letters From America, but between times I’ve lined up another round of brilliant guest bloggers for you to look forward to. Remember to give them a warm welcome!

Letters From America | Week One: Love and Largeness In Houston, Texas

So, America.

Obviously not all of America. The place is bloody massive! I’m told, for instance, that there are more souls in Houston alone than in all of Scotland, and maybe I’m an idiot for believing as much – the source of said nugget of knowledge has told us several tall tales already (for entertainment’s sake rather than to trick the visiting idiots, you understand) and that may well be among them – but believe it I do. I feel like a speck of person in a land of immensity in every sense.

For instance, the many, many bottles and cans of Coke and root beer and beer beer I’ve orphaned like a wicked Dickens villain: they’re massive next to the tiddly little things we pay through the nose to drink in the UK, and the all-night drugstores from whence they’ve come (and gone) put our paltry convenience stores to stricken shame.

Meanwhile the highways are twice as wide and twice as long and damn near twice as fast as any of the motorways I’ve driven on over the pond. The cars are all huge too – almighty pickups that look like they could comfortably pick up typical British cars in their entirety, with room still to spare. Perhaps for a massive dog, or four. Or $400 worth of shopping from the local Kruger or K-Mart.

Anyway, America.

It’s big. That’s been my overriding impression of the States so far, but so far I’ve really only seen a single state. Texas, incidentally. We spent our first five days in Houston, with a friend and her family, and her family’s friends and family as well, as it happened. The rabble was a touch intimidating to start, but by the day our new bucket buddies corralled us to the Amtrak which brought us in to New Orleans – none other than The Sunset Limited! – I had a lump in my throat the size of Scotland.

I don’t know if we’ll ever meet these folks again, or see more of this state than the happy Heights of Houston. I certainly hope so – a little birdie informs me Austin is awesome also – but being realistic, it seems... sadly unlikely.

Of course they knew this as well as we. And yet they extended every courtesy. Made us feel at home when we were further away from home than we’d ever been before. They toured us around the sights. Showed us the lights, and indeed the lites. They bought near enough every damn beer; took us to the best bars and diners; advised us sagely on the best places to find good veggie food, and oh, what good veggie food it was! 

Long story short – and alas, my time is suddenly shorter than I’d thought – I miss it all already. Good people in a good place equals good times, I do declare. Houston was the leg of our time in America I was least sure of, but New Orleans and Panama and Georgia and Florida have a whole lot to live up to now. Speaking of which...

Actually, no, perhaps not – the night and the day we’ve spent in the famous French Quarter will have to wait till the next time we talk. For the moment I’ll just say it’s been a bit of a shock to the system. Certainly not a nasty shock... more like one of those one you get when you hold the rail on the escalator! But I digress.

Becaue these aren’t just travel diaries, are they? This is a blog about books, by and large. And there have been books... although they’ve been few and far between. I aim to get a great deal more reading done as soon as we leave New Orleans in the rearview; for the very moment, though, I have managed to finish one book of note.

As luck would have it, a surprise review copy of The Wind Through The Keyhole – which is to say the new Dark Tower novel by Sai Stephen King – arrived just in time to make it into my suitcase. As a matter of fact it was my companion while miles high in the big blue sky, and... well. I won’t talk too much about it today – I do hope to have a review of the thing ready to post upon my return to bonnie Scotland – but I’ll let slip this: bits of The Wind Through The Keyhole were brilliant. Specifically the long short story at the core of it, which Roland tells to his travelling companions.

But other bits of this sidequel of sorts, I’m sorry to say, were trying – especially given how long it’s been since I read The Dark Tower proper. Excepting the aforementioned story-within-a-story, I don’t agree that it stands alone at all. I wonder if it wouldn’t have been substantially more satisfying without the bumf of the first act and the last, in fact.

Alas, I’ve gotta git. I’ll get my thoughts on The Wind Through The Keyhole together at a later date, but right now, I understand there’s some world-class jazz to be had over on Frenchmen Street. I want to go to there!

All things being equal, there’ll be another Letter From America for y’all next Friday, but between now and then? SO MUCH AWESOME STUFF I NEED CAPS TO EXPRESS HOW AWESOME IT’S GOING TO BE! 

So do stay tuned. :D

The Scotsman Abroad | Up, Angelmaker, And Away!

Today, for the first time, and perhaps the last time, your Scotsman's abroad in both senses of the phrase: at this very second I'm in an airplane, jetting off to international pastures, if not arrived upon them already, and popping Reese's Pieces.

Not only, but also, tor.com have published a review I wrote a little in advance of my departure, and it just so happens to be of one of the best books I've read all year. The only other novel of 2012 to date that even comes close to rivaling my time spent with the new Nick Harkaway was The Drowning Girl by Caitlin R. Kiernan, which I'm afraid we'll have to wait till the other end of my long holiday to talk about at any length.

But back to Angelmaker. It's baffling. It's bold. It's brilliant:

It’s hard to put your finger on exactly why Angelmaker is one of the year’s best books, but then, it’s hard to put your finger on much of anything in Angelmaker, because it’s always in flux. One moment it’s an animated urban fantasy, the next nostalgic sci-fi with geriatric spies, and it’s no slouch in the between times either. Angelmaker takes in biting black comedy, heart-warming romance, some light crime monkeyshines, an incisive commentary on the state of play of people in power and power in people – in government around the world, if particularly in Britain – and so very much more that I’d have to be "mad as a shaved cat" to even attempt an account of it all.

So quantity, yes, and in every sense: in character as well as narrative, in wit and impact and ambition. But also quality. As one right-thinking English critic asserted, The Gone-Away World was "a bubbling cosmic stew of a book, written with such exuberant imagination that you are left breathless by its sheer ingenuity," but for all its wonders, Nick Harkaway’s extraordinary debut was not without its issues in addition – foremost amongst them its madcap, almost abstract construction, which too often left one wondering what in The Gone-Away World was going on, even as it was going, going, gone.

Angelmaker, however, is a book far better put than its predecessor. A markedly more crafted artifact. Though the author’s roving eye remains intact, and those subjects its alights upon feel as delightful and insightful as ever, Harkaway has honed this incomparable trick of his to a filigree so fine that it appears nearly invisible; a filament of woven gold – impossible, yet a fact for all that – which runs through Angelmaker from the fanciful first to the beloved last.

(continue reading)

Please do follow the link through to tor.com to read the rest of the piece.

And then, if you haven't already, buy this book! Because it's exactly that awesome.

Wish me a happy landing! :/

You Tell Me | What to Take to the States

This may come as a surprise to some of you - I know I've mentioned it once or twice on Twitter, and it may have come up here on the blog as well, if only in passing - but on Wednesday, I leave for America. I'll be gone quite a while, as well. Almost a month!

Predictably, this is all I can think of:

 

Except when this image has lodged in my stupidhead instead:

That's one bad-ass bird, isn't it?

Distractions aside, let me take this opportunity to assure you: I haven't forgotten you folks. Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact! You'll be very well taken of in my absence... more on which in a longer post at a slightly later date. But we've a good few things to get through first. Not least a pair of reviews that I need to post within the week, or it'll be ages and ages before you see them, if ever; after all, I can't imagine I'll be short of stuff to blog about upon my return in late April.

Meanwhile, I still have to do all my packing. All of it! Aaaaah! And then there's this dreadful fourteen-hour flight to contend with... not to mention the many days of backseat driving and train riding to follow.

Holidays, huh? Who'd have 'em? :P

Anyway, that eternal question has of course come up. With limited luggage, and an almost unlimited supply of awesome books I've been meaning to read for years, what should I take away with me?

In no particular order:

• Should I finally give A Game of Thrones a go? Or should I dig into Deadhouse Gates instead?

• Do I take one book of the Chaos Walking series by Patrick Ness, or all three? Or is there some superior YA series I'd be better off starting?

• Bearing in mind I've only read Tigana, Under Heaven and Ysabel, and of the three I adored Tigana the most, which of the books from Guy Gavriel Kay's back catalogue should I opt to take? 

• I want some good solid sf with me as well. Not the hardest of the hard, but not Neal Asher either. So what's fun but also awesome, like Leviathan Wakes was?

• Finally, I think some quality urban fantasy is in order. So: Sandman Slim, Of Blood and Honey by Stina Leicht, Storm Front from The Dresden Files, or something completely different?

You tell me!

Pretty please? :)

Incidentally, I'll be taking my tablet Stateside, so I'll have a host of e-books with me in addition to whatever else we decide on in the comments, but of late I've made a solemn vow to cease and desist re-buying superfluous electronic copies of physical books I already own. To wit, these things, all of which I have physical copies of, will be coming in my carry-on or not at all.

And there's one other decision I'd love you lot to help me make. The only potential gaming device I intend to take to America is a mid-range laptop, and I have no idea how to tell the good indie games available on Steam from the garbage. I've already downloaded Dear Esther, and it runs... well, it runs, and I suppose that's something. In short: I'd also welcome any and all gaming recommendations.

Thank you thank you thank you in advance!

...

You know I'm going to miss you guys, don't you?

We Interrupt This Broadcast | Back From Bratislava

Hello again, boys and girls!

Feels like a lifetime has passed since we last chatted, doesn't it? Maybe that's just me. I have to remind myself that in reality it's only been two weeks. Two weeks during which I went to the ends of the earth, via Ryanair, and had a hell of a time to boot.

Bratislava was lovely, of course. Quite, quite lovely.

That is, for a city. You can only holiday in so many cities before they all start to look alike, but my fun-sized traveling companion and I made the best of it. We explored till our feet ached. We ate in all the vegetarian restaurants, and drank everywhere that sold Belgian beer. We saw the sights. We took a lot of terrible pictures. We got lost. We got our bearings again, and decided that the thing to do was to go to another city, in another country, and start the whole thing over.

So it was that we found ourselves in beautiful Vienna, in Austria...

But I won't go on. Long story short, a fine time was had by all involved. What with all the things there were to see and do and eat and drink, I didn't have as many opportunities to pull out a book as I had hoped.

Still, I got though a few. Three to be precise.

We'll talk more about those, in markedly more depth, in a bit. That's pretty much what I'm here for, after all... that and snark.

Sadly, I can't stop for long enough to do either thing justice today. More's the pity, instead of sitting here at home, blogging about my happy holidays, I've got to get right back into the thick of it. Paid employment and all that; the classes I teach have been on hold since shortly before Christmas, so it's past time for me to catch up with the wee ones.

Speaking of which, I've got lesson plans to get together, and I really just wanted to stop for a moment to say hey.

Hey! :)

Bear with me for another day or two, folks, and I'll get my head into the game again. Meantime, I've got one last ready-made review to share with you all, and lots of comments to catch up on in the interim, so stay tuned.