For many years I’ve owned pair of a paperback copies of the John Holbrook Vance mystery novels, The Fox Valley Murders and The Pleasant Grove Murders. These Ace paperbacks were published in 1967. The latter bears a stamp on the inside cover from “The Exchange,” a now defunct used bookstore in Georgetown, Texas. The cover bears a large letter “F” next to the word “The” and a sharp crease along the spine mars both covers. In other words, they are far from pristine copies, but what can you expect when the books first appeared over 50 years ago, having passed through many hands and many readings.
John Holbrook Vance is the real name of my favorite writer, who published most of his books under the name, “Jack Vance.” Although Vance is known more for his science fiction and fantasy work, he wrote several mystery novels. Both of these books feature a sheriff in an imaginary county south of San Francisco by the name of Joe Bain. A final book in the series was apparently outlined, but never written (such a shame; it would have been nice to have see The Genesee Slough Murders in print).
In 1966, Bobb-Merrill published The Fox Valley Murders in hardcover. They released The Pleasant Grove Murders the following year. My beat-up copies of the two paperbacks are books that I’ve each read several times, while always wishing for more stories featuring that setting and the characters; it’s a time and place long gone, replaced by tech companies and vast wealth changing the landscape and populace.
A few years ago I bought the hardcover edition of The Fox Valley Murders. The stark cover illustrates the many murders in that book. Recently, I acquired the hardcover edition of The Pleasant Grove Murders. Finding a book originally published in the 1960s—published a half century ago as I write this post, and in decent condition mind you—is nearly impossible. Copies of this book that I’ve seen advertised for sale online have usually been ex-library books, or bear water stains, spine leans, and other flaws. Both my paperback copies of the two Sheriff Joe Bain murder mysteries have heavy spine leans, cover creases, strange smells, and many other flaws, but getting a hardcover edition has always been a goal. Sadly, neither copy is pristine; there are slight tears in the cover, a bit of speckling on the edges, and an musty smell.
In a sense, I don’t need either book, as Subterranean Press published them in an omnibus edition in 2012, along with The Dark Ocean, another favorite novel of mine. I already own the Underwood-Miller edition of that book, which was published without a cover. The Sub Press edition, under the title, Desperate Days (Selected Mysteries, Volume Two), remedies that with a brilliant scene taken from Dark Ocean. Still, the Sub Press book doesn’t include the maps from the originals, which is a strange omission. The first volume from Sub Press, Dangerous Ways, contains three other mystery novels (The Man in the Cage, Bad Ronald, and The Deadly Isles), but good luck finding a copy of that book at a reasonable price. However, the thrill of owning the first hardcover edition is too much to ignore, especially for books published in the mid-1960s, a time that now seems like a million years distant.
In 2000, Subterranean Press published Triskell Tales– 22 Years of Chapbooks, by noted fantasy author Charles de Lint. This book collected together for the first time a series of chapbooks that de Lint had self-published, many as Christmas letters, from 1974 to 1999. It was a hefty book—over 500 pages— published as a signed, limited edition of 2,000 copies, at a cover price of $40.
In 2006, Subterranean Press published the “sequel,” Triskell Tales 2, containing six more years of chapbooks. The trade hardcover edition was listed at $40, and a deluxe limited edition at $125, all for a much slimmer book. In retrospect this seems like a money-grab, but I’ve never been too fond of the multiple state business plan for small press books. Either publish them without signatures in a moderate number of copies, like Arkham House or Golden Gryphon (usually around 2,000 copies), or a smaller set that’s signed by the author. The idea of “numbered, lettered, limited” variations just comes across as annoying. Do they need the more expensive books to subsidize the lower priced ones? Is it just a way to bump up profits? Don’t know, but I still find it annoying.
For many years I owned a copy of the first volume of Triskell Tales. When copies of the second book appeared for sale, they were usually well above my price point. A few weeks ago I came across a copy of the trade edition of Triskell Tales 2 at a reasonable price. There are seven tales in the book, along with an introduction. Two of the stories have brief “author’s notes” at the end.
Looking back, 2006 seems a long time ago now. Much has changed in the world since then, in real life as well as in publishing. Are there other “triskell tales?” Perhaps. Will they appear in collected form like these two books? Perhaps not. The past few years de Lint has experienced some personal issues, with his wife falling ill in 2021, then passing away in 2024 after many years battling the Powassan virus.
There’s been a vast gap of almost two decades since I last read any of my many de Lint books, and while I believe I possess more than half of his books, there’s still a vast number of them yet to find. Maybe his stories belong to a different time, a happier age, both in terms of fiction and reality. They are hopeful stories, serious stories, a type of fantasy unique to the late twentieth century.
After picking up a pair of Centipede Press books that were bundled together (see my comments on those books here), I saw that the publisher had dropped the price on another book that long had looked interesting. This was John McPartland’s Tokyo Doll (2023). Listed for $19 in their “Specials and Nearly Sold Out” section, well off the original cover price ($55, I think), it was hard to resist.
Tokyo Doll first appeared in 1953, early in McPartland’s career. McPartland is firmly entrenched in the American noir detective genre, the titles almost as shocking as the covers (at the time). In fact, all of his books appeared during the 1950s. Sadly, his life and career ended prematurely in 1958 at the early age of 47, shortly after he got into screenwriting in Hollywood. Unlike a handful of other authors from that decade, most of his books remain out of print.
The cover of the hardcover edition of Tokyo Doll is considerably less lurid than the original paperback edition. In fact, the Centipede Press cover is nothing short of amazing, and the image below hardly does it credit.
Perusing the first few pages, the prose is tight, hard as a steel blade, almost breathless in pace and atmosphere–all typical of that genre. This is a book I look forward to reading. It’s not Centipede Press’s first foray in McPartland’s books; they published See You in Hell in a limited edition in 2020. The cover on that book doesn’t look nearly as nice, though prices for it now are well above what I paid for Tokyo Doll, which was, I guess, “priced to move.” I think See You in Hell was published in a limited edition only; the publisher mentions 500 numbered copies for Tokyo Doll, but the one I picked up was the unsigned, unnumbered version, which is fine by me.
At the same time as I bought the McPartland book, I also bought from Centipede Press a book in their long running series, The Library of Weird Fiction. These books usually go out of print quickly, given that they are massive retrospectives of well-known writers of early twentieth century fantasy/horror fiction (see Algernon Blackwood, Ambrose Bierce, Bram Stoker, Edgar Allan Poe, H. P. Lovecraft, etc,). I’ve never been able to snag one until now (with one exception: a gift I bought for my wife, as she’s a huge Bram Stoker fan). This book in the Library of Weird Fiction contained stories by Frank Belknap Long. As his book was listed as one of the books nearly sold out, I picked it up at the (non-discounted) cover price of $60—unlike the Dune books, $60 is a cover price that’s at a manageable budget. Long’s name was familiar to me, but I don’t think I’d read any of his fiction, unless they appeared in some obscure collection. At over 800 pages, there’s a lot to absorb in terms of his short fiction.
The Library of Weird Fiction covers are uniform, with black and white photographs of the author. Owning a complete collection of these books likely is the mark of a true aficionado of that kind of fiction. On the secondary market the prior volumes fetch an absurd amount (well over $100-$200), so if I continue to collect the books in this series, I suspect I’ll need to make that happen when the books appear from the publisher, and not wait until they show up on the “almost out of print” section. There’s a brief introduction from noted scholar S. T. Joshi, and some photos of Long.
I’m more familiar with Richard Chizmar as an editor and the publisher of Cemetery Dance. Recently in a used book store I came across two copies of his 2019 novel, Gwendy’s Magic Feather. This is a sequel to a book he co-wrote with Stephen King. I stopped reading King’s books after the last Gunslinger novel, so I’d never heard of the first Gwendy book. But, as I’m a sucker for small press books, I picked this one up on the spot. King wrote the introduction, handing off the baton fully to Chizmar, rather than continuing to collaborate on the story. When I think of King’s writing, I’m reminded of the SNL skit where King (actor Jon Lovitz) is interviewed while he pounds out stories on typewriter (yes, this was before the computer…). King obviously has not stopped banging out stories, so any King collector needs a lot of shelf space.
Gwendy’s Magic Feather appears aimed at the juvenile market, with insanely short chapters and quite a few illustrations. It makes me wonder how many copies they produced and hoped to sell, especially with King’s name on the cover. If a pair of them ended up in the same used bookstore, did they really succeeded in that effort? Still, it’s available as a paperback, the story lives on. The short chapters, however, make me hesitate slightly to get into the book. That and the fact that it’s a sequel…
Even though there are nine Borderlands Press little books that I don’t have, all of which are either insanely hard to find, or far beyond prices that I’m willing to pay, I continue to buy new books in their series. The latest book in their “Past Masters of Horror & Fantasy Series,” of which this is their first in “Series V,” is a collection of stories by Arthur Conan Doyle. Entitled A Little Orange Book of Odd Orchestrations and limited to 500 copies, their choice of authors continue to surprise me.
I bought this copy from the publisher, who charges a premium for shipping the book in what’s basically a padded envelope mailer. C’est la vie. Still, I’d rather support the publisher, whenever possible, since that will help them to keep publishing books in this series.
My copy is numbered #17 of 500, and signed by the editor. With four more books in Series V before they either switch to a different theme, or decide to continue with “Past Masters” one wonders who is next on the list. Kipling, maybe? I expected Clark Ashton Smith (CAS), since they’ve published H. P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard, but so far that hasn’t happened. Hello, BP, I’m willing to edit any Jack Vance or CAS collection…
Between 2003 and 2008, Subterranean Press published three books by the noted fantasy writer, Charles de Lint, collecting many of his early stories. These books, A Handful of Coppers, Quicksilver & Shadow, and Woods & Waters Wild, were a few of the many de Lint books published by Sub Press around that time. Until recently, I’d remained ignorant of these books (strange, given the fact that I was a huge de Lint fan since the early 1990s). Over the years, I’d picked up only a couple of de Lint’s Sub Press books: Triskell Tales (2000) and The Road to Lisdoonvarna (2001), probably because the price at the time was “right,” of I found them in person at a convention (at that time I didn’t really buy books online). More than two decades passed before I bought any other of de Lint’s Sub Press books.
All of de Lint’s Sub Press books went out of print fairly quickly. Checking their web-site after the fact resulted only in regret and envy. Recently, as I’ve started looking more at the secondary market to find some out of print books, I’ve become aware of the other Sub Press de Lint books, copies of which now are available to purchase from online resellers. In some cases, the prices are beyond the original cover price, and a choice must be made. In other cases, I “go for it” and hold my breath as I await the shipment to see if the books matches the online description.
I bought the first two “early stories” books last year (2023), inspired as I was while in the midst of re-reading some de Lint novels. For many years I bought any paperback or hardcover de Lint book I could find in local stores (when that was an option, before the internet and bad business decisions killed several physical stores), then I took a break from SF and fantasy books. In the past couple of years I’ve looked back at favorite authors and tried to find books that I missed. Hence, the search for some de Lint books. Then, a few days ago, tempted by a huge discount, I bought Woods & Waters Wild, the last of the three collections of early tales.
All three books in this series that I now own are signed by de Lint. They’re not “limited” in the sense that they are numbered or granted some special format. The “signed, lettered editions” were listed at $175, $200, and $200, respectively, as stated inside the covers of my books.
Who pays such a price, I thought? Is a number in a book worth far more than $20, or the then original cover price of $40? To someone, sure. To me? Not so much. I have no idea how many copies were published in these states. They do say “signed, limited edition” in the jacket flap, but there’s no indication as to the limitation number. It would have been nice to see something, maybe on the last page of the book, stating that it was limited to X number of copies, whether that was 1,000 or 2,000 or other.
There are still quite a few of de Lint’s Sub Press books that I don’t own. Some are less tempting than others. I’ve already acquired Eyes Like Leaves and Promises to Keep. Some of these books appear to be aimed at the juvenile market. If the right opportunity arises, maybe I’ll try to get more of his books. There’s a measure of regret in any current purchase actions, as I’m not benefitting either the author or publisher. Either you jump right away and buy what the publisher offers, or you look for a dealer who bought books at a discount who now sells them at a premium, or a prior buy offloading their copies. Sometimes you get lucky and the seller offers the book at a discount. Buy it then, reader, buy it then.
My only quibble is that the publisher wasn’t consistent in their font and format used for these three books. This is a pet peeve of mine: if a publisher knows they are planning a series of books by the same author, don’t freakin’ change the format, especially on the spines, of the books in that series! Even the font inside the books is different. You’d think that different artists, editors, typesetters were hired with each book, and every one of them said, “let’s do something different!”
One of my major literary influences is Ray Bradbury. As far as I know, I’ve been reading Bradbury’s stories since my early teens. I recall stories from English textbooks in pre-high school in Zambia, tales in Reader’s Digest editions when visiting grandparents in Norway, to my first actual books by Bradbury when I’d moved to the US in the late 1980s. At first: paperbacks picked up in used book stores, either new ones issued by Bantam Spectra, or older, tattered editions. I don’t recall when I first read Fahrenheit 451, or when I watched the movie version from my birth year. Or when I read The Martian Chronicles, or The Illustrated Man, or Dandelion Wine, or the countless other books and stories he wrote. I known that I’ve rad some of them multiple times, and that I own 29 of his books—collections or novels.
I finally met Bradbury in person in 1996, at a book signing in Austin, Texas. He signed a recently reprinted hardcover edition of Fahrenheit 451 and a first edition of Quicker Than the Eye. I could not believe my luck.
To this day, a dozen years after his death, I still look for Bradbury books that I don’t own, and try to read these books right away. This includes the mysteries, such as A Graveyard for Lunatics and Lets all Kill Constance, as well as SF stories in various collections. He’s one of my top three authors in any genre, in terms of influence and importance.
This past weekend, Half Price Books was having a 20% off sale. Who needs an additional reason to visit a book store? Anyway, I visited a pair of stores in San Antonio. In one, I found a first edition of Kazuo Ishiguro’s fourth novel, The Unconsoled. In the other, I came away with a quartet of books. Prime among these was Bradbury’s Green Shadows, White Whale. To be honest, my jaw dropped when I saw that book. Back in 1992, when it first was published, I almost bought a copy. However, at that time I still hesitated to spend more than $20 for a book, even if it was by someone like Bradbury, and when I looked again in stores a few years later, it was gone. Not even a remaindered copy remained, if ever those existed. This time, I found a copy for $8, a bargain beyond measure.
Green Shadows, White Whale is a fictionalized account of Bradbury’s journey to Ireland in the early 1950s to write a screen adaptation of Herman Melville’s novel, Moby Dick, with director John Huston. Having recently visited Dublin, it struck a chord with me to find this novel. Dublin in 2024 isn’t really Ireland; it’s Disneyland with pubs. My apologies to the Irish, but I found Dublin over-crowed and full of tourists; yes, I was one of those tourists, so maybe part of the problem. Still, I looked back to a visit to Cork a couple of decades previously and found that city more genuinely Irish. Maybe I need to spend time in the countryside. Maybe no real place no longer genuinely exists: they’re all are aimed at tourists, all full of tourists.
I look forward to reading this Bradbury novel, to laugh and cry with him as he relates his experiences and fictionalized accounts of events. There will never be his like again.
Recently I ordered a pair of Centipede Press books. They were listed together, and as I’d considered buying one or the other at some point, I thought it was a good opportunity to get both. Synchronicity, I guess. In terms of pricing, one book was priced extremely low, so it might be an issue of the publisher clearing inventory. In some cases Centipede Press books fetch astronomical sums (mostly on the secondary market, but sometimes from the publisher, viz. the Dune books. Yowza!). In other cases (far fewer, I suspect), books don’t sell quickly enough, and so the price drops until inventory clears. In any case, peruse the Centipede Press web site and you’ll find almost all books published six months or more ago are out of print.
Rough Justice is a collection of stories by Steve Rasnic Tem. Tem is a noted horror writer, with ten novels and mote than twenty collections to his credit. I checked my collection and found only one book with his stories, the first Night Visions collection from Dark Harvest, published in 1984. Then again, my horror collection is somewhat slim, at least compared to SF, fantasy, and mystery books. Still, I was somewhat surprised that his book was currently priced as low as it was.
The other book is The Horrible and Others, by the French writer, Guy de Maupassant. As far as Maupassant goes, who lived from 1850 to 1893, I’m familiar only with the name, not the person or the fiction. Both books come in a signed and unsigned version (although the signatures in the Maupassant book are by the editor and illustrator, as Maupassant hasn’t yet risen from the dead to put pen to paper). I ended up getting the unsigned copies of both books; I own only a handful of Centipede Press books, mostly Fritz Leiber’s Fafhrd and Gray Mouser series, one book by Robert Silverberg, and finally Michael Shea’s monumental collection, The Autopsy and Others. (I did buy a couple of Bram Stoker books for my wife, who is a huge Stoker fan.) Aside from the Shea book, all others are unsigned. I’m content with that choice.
According to an online resource, “[Maupassant] wrote 300 short stories, six novels, three travel books, and one volume of verse.” Supposedly he’s considered a father of the modern short story. I would think that honor falls to Edgar Allan Poe, who died one year before Maupassant was born. Perhaps Maupassant perfected the short story, but he’s by no means the father of the short story. It seems every critic who focuses on a particular writer forgets anyone prior to that writer. If anyone is the father of the short story, it’s Poe.
Both books have quite nice wrap-around dust jackets, as is par for the typical stunning production quality from Centipede Press. The Rasnic Tem book collects over 40 short stories (and some are quite short), spanning the years 1983 to 2020.
The Maupassant book contains an illuminating introduction by editor S.T. Joshi, over 30 stories, and a bibliography. Until I saw this book I wasn’t aware that Maupassant had written any “weird” tales, but there are supposedly some classics in that genre within this collection.
Anyone interested in weird fiction or classic fantasy fiction should check out Centipede Press. Some of the books are pricy, and some cater to different tastes, but these are books that are both a pleasure to read and a pleasure to own.
Recently I happened to be in England, and while in England, if one cares about books one must visit Waterstones. This is a chain of bookstores, present in most medium to large towns, and a delight to book nerds. Alas, not all Waterstones are alike. Some stores have separate sections for crime, or horror. Other store seem to absorb some crime and mystery book into their fiction section, and ignore horror altogether. In my foray into various Waterstones (Reading, Bath, London—-Islington and Hampstead), I came away not so much with books in my current focus of the crime/mystery genre, but a handful of books by Eric Ambler.
A few years ago my father sent me an Ambler novel, The Mask of Dimitrios. This was a spy novel (or thriller, depending on your genre definition), set in Europe in the 1930s. The 1930s is a favorite decade of mine, being between the two world wars. Since my father lives in England, the book was a Penguin Classics edition, with a striking cover of a blood-red harbor and river.
After reading it I immediately sought out other books by Ambler. However, in my local bookstores here in the middle-of-nowhere-USA I found only one book, Epitaph for a Spy. Online, there are a few other books. The US cover, to put it mildly, was horrible, but who cares about the cover? (Yes, for some reason, I do care about book covers…)
In England, in Reading’s Waterstones, I found three books, all by Penguin Classics and with striking covers. Also, in the shelf, were the two books that I already owned. At the time I didn’t remember that my Mask of Dimitrios copy was the same as the one in the store. Still, as I tend to resist buying books that I already own, I left them on the shelf. Then, a few days later in another Waterstones in Bath, three other titles. In other words, I returned home with six new Ambler books, and when I looked at the two that i already owned, I found that I had a nice little collection of seven Penguin Classic editions of Ambler’s novels, with just one outlier.
The covers by Penguin are brilliant, striking! Perusing Waterstones‘ shelves I found several other Penguin Classics editions by other authors, and the book nerd in me wanted to buy them all. I wanted to start a collection based on all their books. Crazy, I know, but just like their older orange editions, these newer editions with pale green spines beckon to collectors, to book nerds. “Buy me,” they said. “Read me, and care for me.” Alas, I had limited space in my suitcase, and only picked up a couple of other Penguin Classic books. This time, at least.
Some of the Ambler books include introductions, while some dive right into the story. What’s the better option? I’m not sure. The Mask of Dimitrios is supposedly a classic. The others? I don’t yet know if they fit that bill, but I know I look forward to reading them all, regardless of thrills or disappointments. I only wish the US publishers had the same panache in terms of design as Penguin.
So, if you happen to find yourself in England in a Waterstones, check out any of the Penguin Classic books. You’ll want to buy them, and you might just discover some great fiction, when fiction was great.
For a while, I thought this was a lost/cursed book that I would never add to my library. Earlier this year I was in Atlanta, where I hiked part of the Appalachian Trail and attended a work conference. On the way to the trail, I stopped by a used bookstore. The sole reason for the side trip to this bookstore? On their web site they had listed this book, published by Dark Harvest Press in 1989, for sale for $50. When I arrived there, and asked for the book, they were unable to find the copy. Someone apparently had already bought it, and they never removed the listing. I looked around the store, and although they had a few other interesting books, I walked away without purchasing anything, as my mind was on that book, and that book alone.
Since that failed opportunity I occasionally checked online sites, such as Abebooks and eBay, but prices for decent copies exceeded what I cared to pay, or the books looked in debatable shape. Then, in August, I found a copy listed at the starting bid of $24.99. I placed a bid for the book for $25, expecting someone to swoop in shortly before the end of the auction and outbid me, as has happened in the past. This time it didn’t happen. The auction ended with my bid as the highest one. However, for several days there was no announcement, just a “sold” notice on the listing page. I figured that the seller had been disappointed that there only was a single bid, and that one bid was just one cent above the initial listing. On the third day, a notice that I was the winning bid. I paid the amount listed, plus shipping, and sat back to wait to see what would happen.
After I paid the bid amount, plus the shipping charge, I heard nothing. Usually there’s an email that the item is about to ship, and then it had shipped. In this case: silence. Then, a week later, a notice that the book shipped. Another week passed, and the book arrived. It’s not perfect, not by a long shot. There’s a strange smell to it, the edges of the papers are dirty, and there’s a slight wobble to the book. But, the worst part is that the protective cover had been glued to the book. I only noticed this when I tried to remove the dust jacket, and heard the tear as the glue pulled off part of the book. This sound made me cringe, as it felt like the book was being destroyed. I do not understand people who ruin books like this: gluing the cover to the book, stamping or writing in books, gluing anything inside the book. For a brief moment I placed this book next to my other oversized Dark Harvest books. Then, worried the smell would infect those books, I moved it elsewhere. I guess for $25 in this day and age, you can’t expect perfection. So, a reading copy this will remain.
I already owned 31 other Dark Harvest books, though this is not a complete collection. Dark Harvest was a small press active from the mid-1980s to the late 1990s. Initially they published mostly horror and SF books, a mix of novels, collections, and anthologies (including nine books in the series of anthologies under the name, “Night Visions”). The Night Visions books usually included two well-known writers, plus one new writer. Authors featured in this series include Stephen King, Clive Barker, George R. R. Martin, F. Paul Wilson, Dan Simmons, and others. Most of the books are in a regular size format, but they also published a novel and two major collections in an oversized format. The novel: Dan Simmons’ Carrion Comfort; the two collections: 50-year retrospectives on the works of Fritz Leiber and Isaac Asimov. Call it fantasy vs. science fiction. Many years ago I acquired the Fritz Leiber collection, shortly after it was published. A year ago I picked up Carrion Comfort, and only the Asimov collection remained from these oversized editions. Why the long gaps? Leiber is a favorite author of mine, and I’m fairly certain I bought this book at cover price. I already owned the Simmons book in paperback, and for years debated whether or not I really needed to spend the money for the Dark Harvest book, until I finally caved. And the Asimov? Well, perhaps I’m slowly becoming a completist, and feel the need or desire to have all the Dark Harvest books…
There are still still a few Dark Harvest books that I haven’t yet added to my collection: a Dean Koontz novel, collections of stories by David Brin, George R. R. Martin, John Varley, the third (and rarest) Night Visions anthology, and a handful others. It’s been a while since I read anything by Asimov, but now I have the opportunity to go discover (again) an overview of his work. Given the issues with this book—the glued cover—I likely will need to look for a better copy at some point.
Although I’ve completed many running events/races in the past decade, I’d never heard of Parkruns until earlier this year (2024). Parkruns are running events (not really races) put on by volunteers in a variety of locations. These are usually held on Saturdays, and in parks (hence the name), and open to anyone (although they prefer that you register so that you can get official results). Started around twenty years ago in England, they proliferated in that country quickly.
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Meanwhile, in Texas, there are three Parkruns. The closest one to where I live is a three hour drive.
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The first time I heard of Parkruns was while watching some running videos on YouTube. One of these videos was about a professional runner’s first Parkrun, in Reading, UK. I’d been to Reading a couple of times, so that immediately piqued my interest. After watching the video, all of a sudden a series of Parkrun videos popped up as video selections (that’s YouTube for you: watch a few seconds of any video, and the next thing you know is that every third video listed is a variation of that theme). When an opportunity arose this summer where I’d be in England, and by coincidence, in Reading during a Saturday, I immediately thought, “What if I ran in that Parkrun?” Before my trip I registered online, which is a requirement, listing my home Parkrun as the one that was a three-hour drive away.
Friday, the day before the Parkrun. I walked the nearly two-mile path from my hotel to the start of the Reading Parkrun. The start takes place on a vast floodplain next to the River Thames. In the river kids swam and cavorted on paddle boards. People walked on the trail, and a vast number of geese occupied the greenspace that made up the starting area. Now that I knew the route to the start, I planned to jog there early the next day. The event begins at 9am. Unsure of what to expect, I started out from the hotel at 7:30. When I arrived at the starting area twenty minutes later, the vast field was empty. After a moment’s indecision, I decided to jog along what I thought would be the course.
At first, it was open grass, littered with goose crap. Then I found a narrow path trail, which after a while turned into a gravel trail. This trail ran next to the River Thames, with a side path or two branching off to the right. After a while I reached the Sonning locks. More than twenty years ago I had stayed at the Bull Inn, in Sonning (briefly famous for a one-time nearby resident actor now rich beyond belief), and on a morning run had approached the locks from the opposite direction. At the locks I turned around and jogged slowly back to the start. Once there, I saw some volunteers starting to assemble. The time was 8:30am, and a few other people started to show up. I remained at a distance, not sure of protocol. Another runner showed up, and we started chatting.
This other runner was originally from South Africa, and now resided in Reading. He told me that he was primarily a triathlete, and was planning to make this a training run. He talked me through the Parkrun process, and as the start time approached we walked over to the starting area. For first-timers there’s a brief orientation. Apparently there’s also a tradition to ask about “visitors” and where they’re from. I was hesitant to list my Texas origin, and when the assembled runners clapped as another person listed Glasgow as his home city, I decided to remain silent. He seemed excited to be the most distant visitor, and, as it was my first Parkrun, I didn’t want to stand out.
Everyone lined up for the start. My new friend had mentioned a goal of 28 minutes. I had no plan, and no idea of how I would run, as it was my first 5K in almost a year. Everyone lined up for the start. The wide line quickly funneled into the narrow trail. The course continued along the trail, then branched off to the right. It then looped twice, and returned to the start.
I hung back at the start, then slowly moved past some runners. After the first loop, I settled into a steady pace. I caught up with the former South African, then stayed slightly behind him as we started the second loop. With 1K to go, he realized I was there. I moved up next to him, and we chatted briefly as we covered the remaining distance. Unlike me, he had started fast and then slowed down. As we re-entered the grassy section toward the finish area, another runner drew alongside us. I encouraged him to keep going, and we finished one-two-three. Of the 239 runners I ended up in 75th place, with a time of 25 minutes and 46 seconds. This was several minutes off my 5K average, but I didn’t care. I was happy to finish my first Parkrun, and first real 5K in 10 years. I jogged the two miles back to the hotel feeling quite happy.
One week later, I found myself in Dublin, Ireland. I looked up Parkruns nearby, and found one almost the same distance away from the hotel as when I was in Reading. This was the Fairview Parkrun. Saturday morning I put on my (now stinky) running clothes and headed northeast through the streets of Dublin. A steady rain fell as I ran, and I wondered whether anyone would show up in the rain. I need not have worried, for as I reached the park the rain stopped. A trio of women in running clothes entered the park in front of me. I asked them if they knew the starting location. They asked the same of me, so I assumed we all were first timers—-visitors. In England the Parkruns start at 9am. In Dublin they all start at 9:30am. The trio of women decided this was too late for them, and turned around. Meanwhile, I found a volunteer putting out orange cones for the race course, and learned from her the location of the start. As I was early, I walked slowly to that area.
While waiting for the start, I chatted with another Norwegian. He was far younger, so I didn’t think I’d see him again (as expected, he finished nearly five minutes faster than me). There were fewer runners at the Fairview Parkrun than at Reading; many veteran runners apparently show up less than ten minutes before the starting time. The starting area was between two trees on a narrow path, so having fewer runners was a good thing. I wasn’t the most distant visitor; there was someone from Australia, and a couple from South Africa. The course entailed three loops though part of the park, with one slight incline, as well as a section on grass. Again, I had no plan, as was I just there for the experience.
We started off quickly, as the first section was slightly downhill. The rain hadn’t turned the grassy section into too slick of a surface, but I tried to keep to a slow and steady pace. To my shock, as we reached the first mile, I found my pace nearly 30 seconds faster than expected. The second mile proved slower, as I paid the price of the fast start. Each mile was slower than the last, which isn’t ideal if you want to try to have a negative split. On the last loop, my mind kept telling me stop, to walk, to quit, but I kept on running, gasping for air. In the end, I finished almost a minute faster than my Reading Parkrun, which I did not anticipate. I think the fact that most of it was on a paved path vs. grass and gravel made a difference. Also, I started faster in Fairview, perhaps due to the initial downhill portion. Although the end result was three minutes slower than my best 5K time, I didn’t consider this as a race. It was an event, an experience. After the race ended, I had slightly less than an hour to make it to an appointment that morning, so I immediately started to jog back to the hotel so that I could shower and change and get to that appointment.
Parkruns are great. I so wish there was one in my city, instead of the closest one being in Houston, almost a three hour drive away. I have no idea if I’ll ever make it back to another Parkrun. Instead, I guess that I need to enter some more 5K races, and pay the $40 or more for that privilege. To have the opportunity to show up on a Saturday and run a 5K with other runners is invaluable for any runner. It’s amazing that Parkuns are free, put on by volunteers, and actually provide results. Thanks again to all the volunteers in Reading and Fairview (and everywhere else). I so wish I could run those courses again, and wonder when I’ll ever be able to run Parkrun #3.
The 27th book in Pulphouse Publishing’s Author’s Choice Monthly series, with stories by Roger Zelazny, took a while to find at an acceptable price. But now, I finally have all 29 books in the series. Of those 29, the vast majority that I own are in the trade paperback edition; only three in hardcover. The hardcovers were limited to 300 signed copies; some are numbered, some are not. In addition, there was a deluxe leather-bound edition, limited to 50 numbered and signed copies. The latter are for hardy souls with deep pockets.
For many years I owned just two of the books in this series. Then, in 2023 I started trying to find the other books in the series. Originally, I thought that I might acquire them all in time to review them, one book at a time, during the month of February, 2024. Since 2024 is a leap year there are 29 days in February, so I would have been able to match one day per book.
However, some books proved hard to locate at acceptable prices, especially the ones by Charles de Lint, William F. Wu, and Roger Zelazny. I thought that they’d all be relatively easy to find, but that wasn’t always the case. When I knew that I wouldn’t be able to get them all in time to read and write a review by February 1st, I halted that plan. Now that I have them all, it’s a question whether I continue my plan to read them in order (more or less, as I already ready the two that I previously owned), or just read them at random. It’s strange to think that since the last book in the series was published in 1992, so many of the authors have shuffled off their mortal coil. There is nothing crueler than time.
