Anders Monsen

Lost worlds and ports of call

Page 12 of 82

Power Corruption and Lies

July 7, 2021 /

Some time in 1982 or 1983 I heard New Order’s Blue Monday for the first time. I can’t exactly remember where, but I remember taping the first few minutes of that song somehow, either from a friend or the radio. I doubt it was the radio, though who knows; that’s back in the mists of time. I was living in Lusaka, Zambia at the time. They did have radio then, which sometimes played current music, but would they have played New Order? Possibly, maybe not. At any rate, I only had the first few minutes on a cassette tape that recorded along with other songs. A short time thereafter I convinced someone to play that snippet at a party. I’m not sure it was well received. Maybe that type of music hadn’t really reached Zambia yet. Still, that song stuck with me for years to come.

In September of 1983 I left Zambia, heading back to my native Norway. I’m not sure where or when I secured a cassette of New Order’s album, Power, Corruption & Lies. This was either while in Norway, or after I moved to the US; I know I bought the LP of Low-Life in 1985 in Bergen, and I’m sure I played PCL many times on my Sony Walkman prior to getting the follow-up album. Even though the world has moved to CDs and digital music and streaming, I still have this cassette, 30+ years later (the Factus 12C edition, total running time 57 minutes and 16 seconds, including Blue Monday, a song apparently not included on the original vinyl). Regardless, New Order’s music became one of the mainstays in my late teenage years, so I’m sure I had a copy while in Norway. I did buy Blue Monday on 12inch vinyl at some point, a copy that I still own, and I played this multiple times as well, so maybe I’m confusing the album and the single.

In terms of albums, I preferred Low-Life to the PCL album, though I somehow lost my vinyl record along the way and years, but there are songs on PCL that I come back to again and again. I can’t say the same for Republic and later albums; I stopped buying or listening to anything from New Order once they went into their Ibiza mode. I preferred classic New Order, especially Peter Hook’s distinctive bass sound, which in my opinion defined New Order. Hooky, as he was known, played his bass as if it was an crucial part of the sound, not just a filler. Although I’d listened to both Joy Division albums in the early 80s, I wasn’t as keen on their sound compared to New Order, even though the bass was strongly present even then. Since then I’ve come to appreciate a few of their songs that I dismissed back then.

I read at some point in the 2000s that Peter Hook left New Order, and that the split was acrimonious. At first I thought that he was a bit of a loser, a prima donna, as the band continued on without him. Their singer and guitarist, Bernard Sumner, had teamed with other musicians for successful outings, such as Electronic, so maybe Sumner was the talent behind the band. However, to me, New Order had lost its distinctive sound long before Hook left, so it didn’t seem like an important split, anyway. Other bands had gone through the same thing. Or, worse, had stopped completely, such as the Smiths, the Cocteau Twins, and more. Depeche Mode had continued after Alan Wilder left, which seemed maybe a bit like the Peter Hook split, as Wilder was a major participant in the group. Hook, I’d come to learn later, had seen his part in the band fade over time, and didn’t care for the direction of the music, or the long delays between albums, or the lack of touring.

What spurred my re-interest in New Order was a strange event. Some time during the show Stranger Things in 2016, I heard a certain song played, and I almost leapt up from the couch. “That’s Joy Division!” I said to the family in the room, drawing blank stares. One of the characters listened to Atmosphere on his Sony Walkman (or similar device), and even though it had been years since I’d heard it, I recognized it at once. Later that evening I went to my music library, and started to revisit the songs that had meant so much to me back then. I read about the “new” New Order, and Hook’s departure. I listened to interviews, read some of the articles, and also discovered the acrimonious lawsuit between Hook and his former bandmates. I learned that Hook had been playing New Order and Joy Division songs and albums with his new band. Hook, in effect, kept the history of those two seminal bands alive. The current incarnation of New Order, or the new New Order, as I saw them, played mainly newer stuff, with one or two exceptions. And, their newer stuff, well it just wasn’t as interesting. In fact, Peter Hook’s live versions, despite his rough voice early in his career, seemed more alive than any new New Order songs. His band’s versions of classic New Order songs like Ceremony and The Perfect Kiss recorded during the recent lockdown are instant classics.

In 2020, new editions of Joy Division albums, 12″ singles, and some New Order albums were released, including the “definite” edition of their album, Power Corruption and Lies. This set includes vinyl, CDs, and DVDs and comes in a handsome box. It’s an expensive set, an indulgence, but what an experience. Along with the music is an oversize book with stories and ,lots of photos. Many of these are of the band in happier times, before the success, the drugs, the split.

I wonder these days how that quartet, some of then who used to be best friends, no longer get along. Then again, there are many such scenarios. That’s life. Morrissey and Marr will never re-unite. Liz Fraser and Robin Guthrie forever will remain apart socially and musically. Some bands are forever, some flame out quickly, and others turn inward into civil wars. Still, for one brief moment, New Order meant something, revolutionized music.

Power Corruption and Lies, as I listen to it again, contains a few slight clunkers, but several classics: “Age of Consent,” with it vibrant bass, jangling guitar, and persistent drumming opens the album. “We All Stand” brings it to a halt. “The Village” jump-starts it once more, an almost upbeat sound. Starting slow, to the point where I almost want to edit out the first few minutes, “5 8 6” pulses out powerful sounds around the two-minute mark. “Your Silent Face” and the closing track were my favorites; the former is hypnotic and synth-heavy, and as to the latter, I tended to skip “Ultraviolence” and “Ecstasy” so I could be enveloped in the the depressing but memorable “Leave Me Alone.”

The music of our teenage years remain a part of one’s soul. Not everything we heard and cared for back then retains the same meaning and importance later in life. Sometimes we get stuck in nostalgia, I guess. Sometimes we set aside those sounds and try to forget them. Listening to PCL again after all those years in this remastered version brings back all those memories. New Order may never be the same, may never re-capture their influence as back then, but like flies trapped in amber, their sound from 1983 will be re-discovered again and again.

Alice in Borderland

July 5, 2021 /

By chance I recently watched the first episode of Alice in Borderland, a strangely titled show on Netflix. The opening seemed somewhat boring; three loser friends run around Tokyo goofing off, hiding in a toilet when they think the police are after them for some silly act. When they emerge from the toilet, however, the resulting scene actually made me sit up and take notice. It was almost on par with the scene of Neo waking up in his pod in The Matrix. For, instead of a bustling downtown Tokyo, the friends emerge to an empty city. This made me think of the Twilight Zone episode, where a man wakes up and finds himself alone in a small city. Did they cross into another reality, I wondered. Is it a game, a dream, or simulation?

Walking around the empty city, the three friends, Arisu, Chota, and Karube, come across one other person, who cryptically says something about an expired visa before a red laser shoots from the sky and through the man’s brain. It’s a shocking moment, for neither the characters nor the audience expected this to happen. The next thing they see is a sign pointing to a “game.” They follow the sign, entering a building where they encounter two young women. A voice instructs them to each pick up a mobile phone, which shows a playing card, and begins a countdown. They must find their way out of the building, from room to room, before the room catches on fire. It’s a harrowing experience, and their introduction to life in this new world, where to keep living you earn visas by playing games. Each visa lets you live a few days. The games are deadly, but not playing them, just as deadly.

With Chota injured by the flames in the first game, Arisu and Karube enter another game to try to figure out more about this strange new world. They join a large group in a game of tag, pursued through an apartment building by a machine-gun wielding man wearing a horses’s head. Arisu, the show’s protagonist, learns the meaning of the cards: Spades correlate to games of strength, Clubs are team battles, Diamonds are a battle of wits, and Hearts correlate to games of betrayal. Their first game was clubs, and this is a game of spades. They’re joined by new characters: the agile climber Usagi; the brooding ex-soldier Aguni; and the aloof and mysterious Chishiya. Of all the characters, Arisu seems the one most capable of surviving in this strange gaming-based situation. He figured out how to beat the first game, and how to beat the second one. However, as they need to extend the visas for Chota and a young woman who survived the first game with them, not every game is winnable.

Their third game is a hearts game, which as Arisu learned means betrayal. The quartet don strange headsets in a botanical garden. To their horror they learn that they’ve strapped bombs to their heads, and the game is set up so that only one of the four will survive. It’s a tragic situation, and as Arisu emerges as the sole survivor, he is wracked by guilt. He lays down in the street to die, having given up, as by living he caused the death of his friends. He’s saved by Usagi, the climber from the game of tag. She has learned to survive, hunting for food in the deserted city, foraging for materials to build a small sanctuary. As Arisu slowly returns to life and finds the will to live, they team up, hoping to live through the games and find a way home.

Eventually, they find their way to “the Beach,” a community of survivors who live in a resort, teaming up to solve games and extend their visas. They meet Hatter, the enigmatic leader of the Beach, as well as his executive committee and a violent group of gun-toting maniacs. Arisu protects Usagi from the rapacious Aguni, the leader of the militants, and earns their enmity. He gains the trust of Hatter and the other leaders, but when Hatter is brought back dead from a game, the world turns upside down again. The militants take over. A new game takes place inside the Beach, and the militants go on a killing spree, intent on murdering every inhabitant in the Beach.

As the season ends, Arisu and Usagi find their way to the location of the gamemasters, the people who have been orchestrating all the games. As they wander around the room they see that all the gamemasters are dead. They run into two other survivors, and as they wonder what’s next, a person appears on the screens, announcing a new level of games to challenge them all, laughing with excitement.

It’s a breathtaking series, a nail-biter of a show. I didn’t know what to expect, and the writers threw in twists and turns in nearly every episode. Few people are safe. After I finished the show, some research informed me that Arisu is Alice, based on how this is pronounced in Japanese. Usagi is the White Rabbit. Hatter, of course, the Mad Hatter. There are other analogies to Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and its sequel Through the Looking-Glass. The always smiling Chishiya is the Cheshire Cat. The woman who appears at the end might be the Red Queen. Kuina, a trans person who partnered with Chishiya, is the blue caterpillar (she always wear blue and goes through a transformation like caterpillars). Not every character in the show has a matching source in Carroll’s books, and the plot, aside from falling down the rabbit hole into a strange and mad world, is vastly different.

A sequel is in the works. It will be interesting to see where it goes, and what this world means. How could Tokyo be turned into a deadly video game on such a grand scale? Are all the deaths real, or imagined? What’s Chishiya’s backstory? Will any characters survive and if they make it back to the real world, what happens to them? The easy way out would be for the loser Arisu suddenly to realize that he’s wasted his life, and now he has a chance to take control and make a difference.

Freedom of the Mask

June 29, 2021 /

Robert McCammon’s Freedom of the Mask, the sixth in his Matthew Corbett series, is a brutal novel.

I’ve read the books from the series in the following order: one, seven, four, three, two, six. There’s a gap, as I don’t have book four, the enigmatic and supposedly slim book with perhaps the best title, The River of Souls. I read the second book, The Queen of Bedlam, just last week, and read all but the first book during 2021, which compressed the events and kept them fresh in my mind. Still, reading them out of sequence makes for a strange perspective, where I have seen both the future and the past at the same time.

In terms of the plot, I knew some of what to expect after having read the seventh book, Cardinal Black. Still, I had no idea of the vast pain which Corbett experienced in this book, which is monumental and covers the spectrum from the physical and psychological. How the man lives and continues in the face of what he experiences in this book is astounding. I almost had to skip the torture scene near the end, for I could not believe McCammon put his main character through that event.

Freedom of the Mask is again a hefty book, clocking in at almost 600 pages. The copy that I acquired came relatively cheap, but at the same time at a price (for someone who appreciates books). Although not listed as such, my copy is an ex-library book, bearing the red stamp of “discard” within the back cover, and the spine slightly askew from lack of care. Still, for less than $35 it was mine. No doubt the person who sold it managed a significant profit, likely buying it for nothing or next to nothing, something I know savvy entrepreneurs are wont to do with their merchandise. Regardless, I looked upon it a reading copy, since I’m enthralled and captured by this tale. And, read it I did, over the span of less than four days.

The book opens with Matthew Corbett dead, or so it seems. He has vanished in the Carolina colonies, near Charles Town, a fetid alligator infested swamp; to get the details I’ll need to read The River of Souls. Corbett’s friend Hudson Greathouse cannot believe Corbett is dead, and so begins an investigation. We learn after a few pages that Corbett is not dead, but on a ship bound for England, his memory gone, and under the careful watch of the nasty Count Dahlgren, a brigand and minion of Professor Fell featured a long time ago in The Queen of Bedlam. In the midst of a storm Corbett regains his memory, kills Dahlgren, and is thrown in the brig by the crew for his deed. In England, he lands in one prison after another, even the infamous Newgate, before he’s sprung by a mysterious serial killer dubbed “Albion.”

Greathouse, along with Corbett’s love Berry Grigsby, sails for England, but is captured by Professor Fell and taken to his Welsh village (first mentioned in The Queen of Bedlam). After many adventures and terrible events, Corbett ends up in the same place. Will he be able to save himself and his friends? The book ends on a cliffhanger, continued in Cardinal Black, but throughout the novel the ills that befalls Corbett and his friends is a terrible read. McCammon continues to blend adventures, history, and horror, taking here almost to an extreme the adage about placing your character on a bough and then sawing it through as a means to engender tension.

As it’s a series, many of the events in prior novels come to bear in later books. Dahlgren and Mother Deare, who appeared in earlier books, are important characters here. The One-Eyed Broodies and Julian Devane, who appear here for the first time, play important roles in the sequel, Cardinal Black. As the sequel to that novel is not yet in print, it will be interesting to see which characters from it inform the later book. There are at least two people, both of whom appear in the last pages, who no doubt will play some roles. Will other events resurface, and from how far back? The next novel supposedly isn’t the last in the series, so what else will befall Corbett? How far down will Corbett be pulled? Will he rise again, and what will happen to Berry and Hudson Greathouse?

Although Corbett is only twenty-four years of age, he seems to have lived twice that span in his adventures. Will there be any sense of peace in his life? Tension informs and drives fiction, but at some point it seems that the needle is pushed too far in that direction. I’ve said this before, but Corbett doesn’t seem to solve all his problems himself, and it would be nice if he tried, instead of relying on chance and others. At some point, does he gain the skills we see in other characters, such as Greathouse or Minx Cutter, or does he rely on chance and luck? Still, the pace, setting, characters, and locales are superbly written, and I think McCammon has outdone himself this time. Freedom of the Mask is not a book for the faint of heart, and it pushes the tale of Matthew Corbett from the quiet colonies to the heart of London, and beyond.

The Swords of Lankhmar

June 28, 2021 /

The latest edition in Centipede Press’ series of Fritz Leiber’s classic sword and sorcery books arrived in the mail today. The cover is another gorgeous full-spread dust jacket, a painting of the two heroes facing a two-headed beast.

I haven’t yet had time to re-read the tales within this book, which also includes some bonus material. I do know that having read the seven books that collect the stories of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser out of order and multiple times, that they shimmer and blend into one vast tale. So, I remember little to nothing of the stories in this book, or at least I won’t until I start to re-read them.

Part of this problem is that the books usually are comprised of multiple short stories, and these appear out of order in terms of the two characters’ lives. It’s not a simple linear tale, each book a novel identifiable through a specific plot (or, in many cases, a main plot and a few sub-plots). When it comes to other books, other series, even those I have read just once, I can with a fair degree of certainty remember the plot just by looking at the cover and title. Not so with Leiber’s books. It doesn’t mean they’re not memorable, at least as a whole.

Maybe that’s a good thing, for they can be re-read almost with the same degree of pleasure as upon the first reading. If the stories don’t always stand out, the two main characters certainly are unique. They are contrasts in style and stature. They embody different skills, though it’s not a case of one being the muscle and the other the brain, despite one big in size and the other small. They complement each other well in almost every aspect. I think of certain other fantasy fiction characters memorable from my limited reading in the same genre as Leiber’s books. Jack Vance’s Cugel the Clever worked alone, allying himself only briefly with others and then as part of his own goals. Nifft the Lean, Michael Shea’s rogue who owes much to Cugel, had lengthy partnerships with others of his profession, yet none that lasted as such like Leiber’s two men. No doubt there have been prior instances of similar situations, and more than a few imitators.

Nonetheless, I find myself excited to finally have the fifth book in hand. There’s one more book in the series of which I only have the paperback. The seventh I have as a mass market hardcover, yet to complete the collection I’ll likely be compelled to either replace that one, or keep both with the former a memento, a treasured item from back when great books were being written by those who remain giants in the field.

The Queen of Bedlam

June 27, 2021 /

The paperback edition of Robert McCammon’s novel, The Queen of Bedlam, checks in at a hefty 645 pages. As the sequel to Speaks the Nightbird, it picks up the thread of Matthew Corbett’s life in the summer of 1702, three years after the event of the earlier novel, and in a different locale. Having returned to the metropolis of New York (population ca. five thousand), Matthew Corbett is employed as a clerk for a magistrate, not much different from his profession in his Carolina adventures.

Having read some of the later books before I acquired this novel, I knew outlines of some of his adventures therein. The nature of the title wasn’t clear from summaries in those other books, however, and not what I expected when it became clear. This is also the novel that introduces the fiendish Professor Fell, Corbett’s arch-enemy in later books, although only indirectly. Fell doesn’t make a direct appearance until The Providence Rider, the fourth book in the series. In the meantime, we encounter various associates, a slow build up to the puppeteer behind the lesser evils.

In 1702, New York City only was a city as far north as Wall Street. An actual wall existed along that street from 1685 to 1699, and slowly was dismantled in the early years of the 18th century. Beyond Wall Street lay the outer ward, primarily an area of farms, Indians (though by then much depleted due to illnesses brought over by the Europeans), and the long road to Boston. From McCammon’s book, the center of New York are the taverns and the docks. The populace is rude, in a hurry, and ready to form mobs at the drop of a pin. There are bordellos, churches, depraved people, sanctimonious people, and some good people. It’s not much different from today, the main difference being that New York today has a population of over 10 million, not 5,000.

It’s in New York that Corbett begins his new life. Two events thrust him into adventure. First is a killer, nicknamed “the Masker” who slays several prominent people. Corbett is hired by the widow of the second victim to find this killer. The other event is his recruitment into a detective agency, or problem solvers as they call themselves; Corbett calls himself a detective at some point, a name lost on those he’s addressing. Here he meets Hudson Greathouse and Katherine Herrald, two names that figure in the later novels, especially Greathouse. He also draws the attention of Professor Fell’s associates, and in a final climactic battle works to save his life that of a young woman, from a death that might have been concocted by any Bond villain.

The book’s length and scope means that multiple threads weave through its pages. They’re all connected, somehow, and the Queen of Bedlam is at the center. She’s not the villain of the novel, as I expected from the title. Corbett’s role here is to find her identity, and it leads him directly to the other connections, from the Masker to Fell’s associates.

I recently bought a paperback copy of the book and read it over the span of three days. My edition is the 6th printing, of a book originally published in 2007. The hardcover edition, from Subterranean Press, appeared in two formats. One, with 374 signed numbered copies, housed in a custom slipcase. The other, 26 signed lettered copies, housed in a custom traycase. Per the publisher, “[t]here is no trade edition of The Queen of Bedlam.” No wonder, then, that the hardcover edition rarely appears on the market, and no doubt fetches far more than its original price of $125 or $500, respectively. For the life of me, I cannot fathom paying $500 for a book, but then, I’m not that rabid collector. And so, the paperback edition will sit amid the other hardcovers I have in that series.

As to whether the book is worth reading, I’d say it’s one of the better ones I’ve read so far, maybe the best one. In a fair world, McCammon’s series would be a raging success in the publishing world, a Netflix series in the works, and mass market editions of his other books readily available. As it stands, I hope he keeps writing books in the series, and if I’m ever lucky enough to find copies of his other novels (at reasonable prices), I hope I get the opportunity to acquire and read them.

Authorized songs

June 21, 2021 /

Over the years I’ve built up a large iTunes library. I was there at the start. I converted songs from CDs, bought digital music from multiple sources, and still try to “rip” all my CDs the moment I buy them, or download digital versions. I’ve also gone through multiple computers since the debut of iTunes. Every now and then I run into the problem that plagued early iTunes adopters: the dreaded proprietary format Apple created to stave off piracy so that records companies would embrace digital tunes.

I ran across this tonight, when trying to listen to a song that I’d played countless times. All of a sudden I needed to “authorize” the song. This is an artifact of bygone times, but as the format cannot be converted, even though I now only have one computer where I play my music, I had to re-authorize this computer. I know that I have several hundred songs in this same format, and at some point, that format no longer will be recognized by the device that I choose to play my music. At that point I’ll need to selectively re-purchase the same songs that I supposedly “own” but don’t really own. A computer company owns that digital file, and I’m merely allowed to use it.

Hemingway House

June 21, 2021 /

There are quite a few cats at the Hemingway House in Key West. Some sleep on the bed, others on bookshelves in the small book/gift store. Others lounge around outside, seeking shelter from the heat in various shaded areas. Signs tell you that you can pet the cats at your own risk Many of them have six digits, but I didn’t quite feel brave enough to deal with six claws. Cats are notoriously fickle creatures, one minute friendly, the next a furry killing machine.

A couple of weeks ago I had two hours to kill in Key West. Seems like a strange thing to say, considering it’s a three and half hour drive from Miami along the coastal highway at reduced speeds. But, my son and I were on the road early Sunday morning, hoping to spend a few hours there sightseeing before heading to a Boy Scout camp on Islamorada. Apparently the first thing to do in Key West is to stand in line to get your photo taken next to a buoy proclaiming it the southernmost place in the continental US. Having spent 30 minutes on this venture we speed-walked along Whitehead Street over to the Hemingway House. Although they offered tours, as we were pressed for time as merely walked through all the rooms, then over to the gift shop. If I had more time and room in my luggage I probably would have spent more money, so I’ll have to save that for another time. Unfortunately I wasn’t familiar enough with the area to find a decent restaurant, so that’s another item on my list for a future trip.

It’s not hard to imagine Ernest Hemingway living there, across the street from the lighthouse, a short walk away from where he likely kept his boat, the Pilar. How he ended up in remote areas like Key West and Idaho are mysteries to me, considering his Chicago origins and many years in Paris. But the locale he picked and the house itself are remarkable, and probably were more remarkable almost a hundred years ago.

I consider myself a qualified fan of his writing. The Sun Also Rises and For Whom the Bell Tolls are classics in American literature, even though neither takes place in America. His later novels I find disinteresting. His personal life overshadowed his fiction after the Spanish Civil War, and his political leanings were jejune and ignorant. His rift with John Dos Passos and his snippy treatment of his former friend I find abhorrent. Still, Hemingway is unique, and unlike the prevailing trend to cancel anything or anyone who has a scintilla of bad history, I sift through writers like Hemingway to keep what I like and ignore the rest.

As I write this, I have in front of me am ink drawing of the facade of the Hemingway House, a solitary cat in the foreground. A notebook from the gift shop sits beside me on the desk, yet I wonder if I’ll ever write in it, as it’s a memento, a souvenir, and maybe has more of a sentimental value if kept blank. Or not.

Key West and the keys are unique, much like Hemingway. These days most of the houses there are likely overpriced vacation homes. They’re used only part of the year, owned by people who can afford to keep multi-million dollar homes and not live there most of the time. It’s a risky place to live, with hurricanes an annual threat. With water all around, the people who live in the Keys likely also own boats. In some cases they own large boats.

I spent a week on and off a dive boat. Inside the shallow bay you need to know the channels and shallow areas, and out on the ocean you need to travel for miles before the water deepens. As a land-locked Texan, it felt strange to spend so much time on the ocean, as well as under the surface. There’s plenty of fish, yet also coral graveyards. There’s so much to see in the Keys. And, the Everglades are just a short distance away, yet from what little I know about the Everglades, it seems like a different world, with alligators, snakes, swamps, and a river of grass. And yet, my first thought when I returned home, was that I really needed to re-read Hemingway’s stories set in the Keys and Cuba. Having finally been in that area, would they read any differently from when I first read them? Does visiting a place that created those stories impart any other meaning? Maybe, maybe not. After all, Hemingway’s characters play as much a role in his stories as the settings, if not more. The characters in Sloppy Joe’s could exist in any place in the world, but there’s only one Florida Keys.

Waiting for the new Leiber

June 16, 2021 /

Ever since I bought the fourth book in Fritz Leiber’s Fafhrd and Gray Mouser series in the new edition from Centipede Press, I’ve been eagerly awaiting the fifth one. Anticipation is a cruel mistress. I already had all the books in paperback, plus the final one in hardcover, but nothing beats the gorgeous editions produced by Centipede Press.

I learned just recently that the fifth book might be available to purchase in the next week or so, which only serves to heighten my expectations. Not only are the stories exciting to read again, but the bonus material is always a treat. This is one case where maybe I’m not a haphazard collector, although I stay with the unsigned versions, hoping to convince myself that this is a sane budgetary decision.

Mister Slaughter

June 3, 2021 /

By chance I recently bought a copy of Robert R. McCammon’s novel, Mister Slaughter. This is the third book in his Matthew Corbett series, each set between 1699 and 1705 in Colonial America and England (plus one island somewhere in the Caribbean), with additional settings promised at the end of the seventh book in the series.

Although I lack the 2nd, 5th, and 6th books in this series, much of each novel can be read as standalone books. Sure, there’s a common thread through all of them, save the first one, as Corbett gains a nemesis in the evil Professor Fell starting with The Queen of Bedlam. But, each one more or less has their own set of adventures, although they all lead onward to the next book, and bear traces from previous ones.

As Mister Slaughter commences, there’s a brief mention of events in the previous book, The Queen of Bedlam. Not having read that one, I took on faith that something happened, and that Corbett, young and naive at age 24, is still affected by those events, and is still learning about the world. He has a young woman who cares for him, but he’s too shy or cautious to reciprocate (this is what I call the the “Spider-Man thwarted love” trope, where the hero cannot have a real relationship, as his adversaries will use this against him). He has a friend and mentor, Hudson Greathouse, but he’s too stubborn to accept help and advice from the older, more seasoned man. Still, as the novel must have a plot, they both are hired to escort a dangerous criminal from an asylum to a ship, for transport to England to stand trial.

Tyranthus Slaughter, with a name straight out of George Lucas’s Star Wars, is a killer, and whether he’s sane or mad is questionable. Which one is worse, given his nature, is debatable. Almost immediately as he meets Corbett and Greathouse, he begins to whisper his siren call. He’s hidden treasure, he tells them, not far from the road where they’re traveling, and will share it with these two. Reluctant and first, they gradually fall into his trap, and take a detour to find this supposed treasure. Their goal, at least in part, is noble, as they need the money to free a slave. Corbett, unbeknownst to his friend, actually has enough money from a recent discovery, but seduced by it remains silent. His silence is their undoing, as Slaughter escapes, and within a few pages starts to live up to his name.

There’s one truly horrible scene in the book. It’s not Slaughter’s first murder, but his second one, that drives home the evil nature of this character. Or, rather, the third and fourth murders, for those are of young children, and the subsequent rape of an older sibling that follows. It enough to drive someone insane, which is what happens to the mother in that family. The killing of those people just seems unnecessary, but maybe it’s what Slaughter has become: a simple killing machine who cannot stop, who cannot see another way. At the end, like a desperate addict, he begs for a name of someone he can kill, for it seems that killing is what keeps him alive.

Corbett, on his own after his companion is incapacitated by Slaughter, elicits the help of an Indian, one who has been to England, and in his own way been driven mad by the future that is London. Together they track Slaughter, in a truly sad sequence of events. If Corbett doesn’t learn from these events, doesn’t gain skills along with knowledge of evil, then he’s a poor, lost soul. Eventually he does redeem himself, even if it’s not truly heroic. Maybe that’s the point, to continue my metaphor from above. Maybe Corbett as a character isn’t Superman. Like Peter Parker, he’s young, still finding his footing, and makes his share of mistakes. But he can’t quit, can’t give up on his role as someone fighting evil.

Given Slaughter’s nature, this was a tough book to read. As I’d read the novel that follows this one before this one, it gave me a strange perspective into Corbett’s motives and actions. After reading it, I re-read the first couple of chapters of The Providence Rider, and some of those moments made more sense after seeing what came before. I do begin to wonder when Corbett starts to take control of his own life, and doesn’t just rely on chance and the skills of others. At some point he should, hopefully, gain his own skills and handle himself better.

I am on the lookout for the three other novels in this series that I haven’t read, but as they’re published by a small press publisher and in limited editions, finding them seems to be a bit of a struggle. This situation (again) really makes me wish that major publishers would have picked up McCammon’s books, like they did in the past. They are a damn sight better than much of the repetitive, boring books being published these days.

Out of sequence series

May 26, 2021 /

My copy of Robert McCammon’s novel, Mister Slaughter, arrived today. I read his first book in the series, Speaks the Nightbird, in 2019 or 2020 – the pandemic and its lockdown messed with my sense of time. Next, and just this year, I read the latest novel, Cardinal Black, which I think is the seventh in his series of books set around 1700, from America to England and elsewhere. Between those two books there are five other novels, all long out of print, and also mostly from small press publishers in limited numbers. This means they now far exceed their original published price. Now, I have two of those five “in-between” novels and, naturally, as with many series I’ve stumbled across “late to the party,” I’ve read them out of order. I lack books two, five, and six. Number two is my main goal, I think, as I’d like to know how McCammon continued his series after the first book. The others, while intriguing, merely flesh out the story.

Of those three books that remain in the middle which I don’t have (and I’m not sure if I should add the word, “yet” to that sentence), I wonder where’s my threshold? Do I pay whatever price I find on the collector’s market? Do I try to wait and see, hoping for new editions? I do like the fact that I have them in their original editions (though not all are firsts, and at some point the publishers changed).

This isn’t the first time something like this has happened. I sometimes wonder when I pick up books in series, whether I should wait until I have the right sequence, and then start from the beginning. Or, should I just jump right in and read them, and the order be damned?

Then again, I’ve read many series in the right order, because I was able to buy the first book first, found it enthralling enough to continue, and that made the experience richer. Jack Vance’s Lyonesse books come to mind, as his Cadwal chronicles and Planet of Adventure novels. (Although, his five Demon Prince novels I likely ready out of order, but I found it didn’t matter as much.) There’s also F. Paul Wilson’s Repairman Jack series, which spans more that a dozen books, and probably a few trilogies here and there.

Usually the first scenario happens; I read what I have at that moment, in sequence or not. That was the case with Julian May’s Adversary cycle, years ago. It was the case with Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels, several mystery series (Billy Boyle, Inspector Montalbano, Wahloo and Sjovall’s Swedish mystery novels, Jørn Lier Horst’s novels, Gunar Staalensen’s books, and many more), plus a few SF series and other interconnected novels. It’s also happened with TV shows, so I guess I’m just an impatient person. Today I finally watched the first episode of the Murdoch Mysteries, a TV show where I’ve seen almost all episodes from seasons one through eight. Did it seem like the first episode? Not really. Not like Castle, another TV show I liked for a few years.

Books often give a brief summary of what happened in earlier stories, although a few paragraphs as a summary never feels like the real thing. Now that I have Mister Slaughter, which is referenced in a later book that I already read, The Providence Rider, there’s a heightened sense of awareness, I think, which probably clouds my enjoyment of the novel. I just can’t help it, I guess, as I want to read the books that I have, regardless of where they fit into a series. After all, it’s not like I can order the earlier once from online book sellers at retail prices, or hop down to the nearest bookstore. Books are limited, and should be taken advantage of the moment one has them, unless you either have patience, or get in on the ground floor.

Maybe, I should delay my gratification. I could, with certain books like the Montalbano series, or Billy Boyle, have done just that, but as I’m a haphazard collector, I’m also a haphazard reader. Life is short; read what you have.

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