MORTAL DANGER IN ENCHANTED WATERS

An image dredged from memory came to me the other day: a degenerate being, a creature monstrous and hungry, doll-like, like a beakless platypus with tendrilled hair. I dated the image from sometime in the early nineteen nineties, in Kent near the waters of the Hollow Shore.

Read More

ENFIELD TOWN, WHERE WE PAINTED FIRE ACROSS THE SKYLINE

Old trains clank as they ease in and out of the overground station. We listen to the tannoy admonish a man who rides his bicycle along the platform.

Our neighbour with carcinogenic lungs smokes below, hacks, fights for breath every single day.

There's a low ambient hum to the outer city that I adore, a meshed murmur of commuters' voices, slow moving traffic, station activity, the shrieks of schoolkids, the flap of a wood pigeon's wings.

Screen Shot 2018-05-23 at 10.54.47.png

Look one way and see the shimmering monuments to excess that form the London skyline. Look the other, over the roofs of the town, to the woods and unexpected green of Trent Park. 

As dusk comes, we paint fire across the skyline.

THE HALLOWING OF HEIRDOM

I've followed the music of English black metal band Winterfylleth for about four years now, ever since discovering their blistering album The Divination of Antiquity. I'm not a huge metal fan myself, but I have always responded to extreme or underground subcultures relating to issues like landscape, identity, history, myth, folklore etc, so Winterfylleth's clear interest in 'heathen' pre-Christian British culture, landscape and folk elements attracted me.

Read More

ENFIELD TOWN IN THE MIST AS THE ASPHODEL MEADOWS

A meadow of endless asphodel flowers, a plant ghostly and pale itself. And if that sounds harsh I don’t mean it to be because it’s more about atmosphere and the mood and the vibe that this weather creates than anything else, and anyway, I would be destined for the Asphodel Meadows myself. A strange nowhere land (never say liminal) between one thing and the other is a kind of heaven itself.

Read More

FICTIONAL NOVELS IN THE WORK OF D.A. NORTHWOOD

 The Dead Ink reissue of Northwood's  Judderman

The Dead Ink reissue of Northwood's Judderman

I have been working with the independent press Dead Ink (publisher of my own collection, Hollow Shores) recently, editing the work of 'lost' London writer D.A. Northwood – namely the novella Judderman produced for the 1972 run of the Eden Book Society. It has been a very rewarding experience, and I have found of immense interest the fictional novels Northwood makes reference to in his works. As a writer myself interested in the blurring of fictional realities and so-called true ones, I find Northwood's simple but powerfully effective tactic irresistible.

Interspersed with his references to 'real' (for what is real anyway?) writers such as Alexander Baron, Algernon Blackwood, C.L. Nolan, Mary Butts, Arthur Machen, and the poet Adrian Mitchell, we find a number of references to writers I can find no record of despite my exhaustive online searches.

We find a reference to a poet operating in either the weird or the decadent tradition (as always Northwood only makes the briefest of allusions) named Hecate Shrike. Whether contemporary to the nineteen seventies or not, it is never made clear.

There is much discussion of the clearly fictional Malachite Press (how I wish it existed!), with the following works cited to a writer named Michael Ashman, creator of a series of post-WW2 occult detective novels, following the exploits of a man named Vincent Harrier. A grim, anti-heroic figure perhaps familiar to the contemporary reader from American hard-boiled fiction, but operating in the Blitz rubble of a city rebuilding itself both physically and psychologically.

The Ashman books referenced in Northwood's work are:

  • The Salvage Song of the Larks, and Other Stories (one story in the collection is named: ‘A Life Constricted, or, These Serpentine Coils Will Crush Us Both’)
  • Saxifraga Urbium (a story of London Pride)
  • What I Found in the Drowned Land
  • The Epitaph To All Our Yesterdays
  • Your Architect is Degenerate

There is also reference to another London novel, chronicling the mudlarks who sift for the treasure of the Thames. It is a book that we must also assume to be fictional. The title of that novel is Through This Mud We Find Ourselves, and has no author attributed to it.

I live in the hope that one day, in an Oxfam or Mind charity bookshop in my new home of Enfield Town, I will stumble on one of these mythical novels of a hidden London. I know it is an impossibility, and therein lies the thrill.

 

 

 

WORDS TO THAT EFFECT

I recommend giving this episode of the Words To That Effect podcast a listen. It's an interesting look at H.P. Lovecraft and weird fiction, featuring some very insightful input on the weird as a genre from the writer Timothy J. Jarvis (whose novel The Wanderer I am currently reading and enjoying very much).

I was humbled to find Hollow Shores named as an example of contemporary weird fiction worth reading, so thanks Tim!

Listen to the podcast here: http://wttepodcast.com/2018/02/12/weird-fiction-hp-lovecraft/

Read More