This is my second attempt today at posting this entry. My computer really dislikes me at present.
Today I had an appointment with the headshrinker. A new one to be precise. I suspect my last one was unable to continue coping with mental delinquents like me and ran screaming from the building.
A strangely conscientious Ross arrived early. Well, to be honest, I was five minutes late for the time I thought the appointment was for but was actually twenty-five minutes early for the actual appointment time of 1pm. Except the appointment was no longer for 1pm at all but had been rescheduled and could I please come back at 3pm. Although there was no 'could' or please. "You vill report back here at 3pm and you vill be on time for Doktor Mengeler."
Fortunately today's post had delivered a long-awaited copy of Marieke Hardy's biography, You'll Be Sorry When I'm Dead. Another reviewer got hold of our review copy before me and enjoyed it so much that they had difficulty in letting it out of their hands. But I have it now so all is forgiven. Now it was hardly worth my time to now traipse across town to uni only to be there for five minutes only for it to be time to start traipsing back again. So I settled down in the cafe on the building's ground floor for lunch and reading.
As I was soon chortling out loud, I elicited some strange looks from other people, particularly when I managed to snort Coke Zero out my nostrils (not regular Coke as I'm on a health kick or at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it). This is a lady who writes like how I would like to but Marieke does it so, so very much better than me.
Just then, all hell broke loose. Alarms began shrieking, hammering and pounding like an entire punk concert on speed. Something was up! Had terrorists struck? Or worse, had someone else pinched my idea of letter-bombing the Mental Health knobs?
Strangely, I seemed to be the only one paying any real attention to this alarm. The cafe staff just spoke a little louder as they continued dispensing coffee and sandwiches. The couple at the table next to me merely introduced plenty of 'Pardon?' and 'What?' to their discussion.
Well obviously it must be a drill, I decided. But the noise was becoming too much for me so, like Elvis, I left the building. Now that's something I would like to do for a laugh one day; pay someone to make an announcement over the PA in a busy public place that 'Ross has left the building - repeat - Ross has left the building.' I could then amuse myself watching people wonder who the hell Ross is and why should they give a toss if he's in or not.
As I utilised the egress (I suspect that is grammatically incorrect but I think it looks good, so there) I heard then saw a fire engine approaching, all sirens, lights and bravado, which then pulled up beside the building. Yet there was still a conspicous absence of anybody else leaving the building even though it was clearly more than just a drill. Odd, that.
I retired instead to Smith's Alternative Bookshop. Interestingly I am yet to determine exactly what the alternative is to books that they are selling. Particularly as there are in fact books for sale inside. But Smith's does a good coffee and as anybody who knows me is aware, that is a good way of getting my attention. Somehow the flamenco version of I Did It My Way in Spanish playing inside, lacked quite the same degree of excitement of fire alarms and engines.
I now had a soothing coffee and a comfortable place to continue reading Marieke. Now to see if she could make me snort coffee out my nostrils.
P.S. I didn't snort coffee as I was now forwarned but still kept chortling aloud.
P.P.S. Having just reached the chapter describing Marieke's heartbreak at the demise of the Fitzroy Football Club, I am now irretrievably in love. Go the 'Roy Boys!
P.P.P.S. The health clinic neither burned to the ground nor was letter-bombed.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
BOOK REVIEW: In the Best Interest of the Game
review first published at www.boomerangbooks.com.au
In the Best Interests of the Game
Darrell Hair
HarperSports
2011
978 0 7322 9288
Cricket umpires are a strange breed. And it’s hard work. Just umpiring informally for an hour or so at a time when official umpires are not available can be hard enough, concentrating every single ball just for that period of time. Yet umpires at the first class level have to be ‘on’ for six or more hours in a day’s play. Blowed if I know how they do it.
A good umpire is barely noticeable if they are doing their job well, but should be more-than noticeable when needed to be. As an observer, I have always seen Darrell Hair in that light. He was courageous enough to first raise concerns about the bowling action of Muttiah Muralitharan back in the 1990s, later calling him for illegal bowling deliveries. In the wake of later testing of Murali’s action, the law-makers changed the rules to permit up to 15 degrees of movement in the elbow during delivery, a single degree more than the amount of movement adjudged to occur in Murali’s delivery of his ‘doosra’. Not that I have ever seen an umpire issued with any measuring equipment to ensure every delivery does not exceed that degree of movement. The concerns of Hair (and others) were obviously justified but simply later by-passed in what I thought was a pretty pathetic piece of fence-sitting by the authorities.
Hair covered the Muttiah Muralitharan episode in a previous hard-hitting book although it again receives a little coverage towards the end of this latest title. This title however covers the other major incident in Hair’s career- the refusal of the Pakistan team to return to the field in 2006 leaving Hair and his fellow umpire in the match, Billy Doctrove, little option under the rules than to award the match to Pakistan’s opponents, England. This refusal to return to the field was in protest at the umpires jointly agreeing that the ball being used by the Pakistani team had been tampered with and under the rules, awarded a five-run penalty to England.
The subsequent treatment of Hair by his employer, the International Cricket Council, in the wake of the ball-tampering affair, was absolutely appalling. The ICC breached so many fundamentals of the employer-employee relationship, it simply isn’t funny. A subsequent tribunal appeal by Hair saw the ICC quite rightly being absolutely ridiculed for their behaviour and ridiculously contradictory evidence. I think it quite fortunate over their monumental cock-ups.
This book is every bit as courageous and uncompromising as Hair himself in his pursuit of what he believes to be right and ‘in the best interests of the game.’
In the Best Interests of the Game
Darrell Hair
HarperSports
2011
978 0 7322 9288
Cricket umpires are a strange breed. And it’s hard work. Just umpiring informally for an hour or so at a time when official umpires are not available can be hard enough, concentrating every single ball just for that period of time. Yet umpires at the first class level have to be ‘on’ for six or more hours in a day’s play. Blowed if I know how they do it.
A good umpire is barely noticeable if they are doing their job well, but should be more-than noticeable when needed to be. As an observer, I have always seen Darrell Hair in that light. He was courageous enough to first raise concerns about the bowling action of Muttiah Muralitharan back in the 1990s, later calling him for illegal bowling deliveries. In the wake of later testing of Murali’s action, the law-makers changed the rules to permit up to 15 degrees of movement in the elbow during delivery, a single degree more than the amount of movement adjudged to occur in Murali’s delivery of his ‘doosra’. Not that I have ever seen an umpire issued with any measuring equipment to ensure every delivery does not exceed that degree of movement. The concerns of Hair (and others) were obviously justified but simply later by-passed in what I thought was a pretty pathetic piece of fence-sitting by the authorities.Hair covered the Muttiah Muralitharan episode in a previous hard-hitting book although it again receives a little coverage towards the end of this latest title. This title however covers the other major incident in Hair’s career- the refusal of the Pakistan team to return to the field in 2006 leaving Hair and his fellow umpire in the match, Billy Doctrove, little option under the rules than to award the match to Pakistan’s opponents, England. This refusal to return to the field was in protest at the umpires jointly agreeing that the ball being used by the Pakistani team had been tampered with and under the rules, awarded a five-run penalty to England.
The subsequent treatment of Hair by his employer, the International Cricket Council, in the wake of the ball-tampering affair, was absolutely appalling. The ICC breached so many fundamentals of the employer-employee relationship, it simply isn’t funny. A subsequent tribunal appeal by Hair saw the ICC quite rightly being absolutely ridiculed for their behaviour and ridiculously contradictory evidence. I think it quite fortunate over their monumental cock-ups.
This book is every bit as courageous and uncompromising as Hair himself in his pursuit of what he believes to be right and ‘in the best interests of the game.’
Monday, September 19, 2011
a thought...
While I refuel on some coffee, I decided to do a little reflecting.
The Internet is a wonderful thing. No, I am not referring to the fact that I must be seriously challenged in the genital area, judging by the number of emails I receive offering to increase the size of my offering in that department. For that matter I must also obviously suffer badly with erectile dysfunction and am in need in several gross of watches.
I am talking about the way it can help us connect with people.
I have just had a conversation with someone via Twitter. She is in Canada (British Columbia) and I'm down at the other end of the world in Oz. We all just take that sort of thing for granted now, but she and I are thousands of miles apart, never met in person yet here we are, chatting like old mates. I remember as a kid, Dad giving me an old radio that had a shortwave band on it. I used to delight in hearing these strange languages coming through the ether to emerge from the crackling old speaker. Yet now I am just so blaise about being able to pretty much instantly talk to anyone, anywhere.
For the record, my friend is artfullyangie, a pretty kewl artist (http://www.artfullyangie.com/) not to mention being pretty darn cute as well.
And that is probably my deep thought for the day.
The Internet is a wonderful thing. No, I am not referring to the fact that I must be seriously challenged in the genital area, judging by the number of emails I receive offering to increase the size of my offering in that department. For that matter I must also obviously suffer badly with erectile dysfunction and am in need in several gross of watches.
I am talking about the way it can help us connect with people.
I have just had a conversation with someone via Twitter. She is in Canada (British Columbia) and I'm down at the other end of the world in Oz. We all just take that sort of thing for granted now, but she and I are thousands of miles apart, never met in person yet here we are, chatting like old mates. I remember as a kid, Dad giving me an old radio that had a shortwave band on it. I used to delight in hearing these strange languages coming through the ether to emerge from the crackling old speaker. Yet now I am just so blaise about being able to pretty much instantly talk to anyone, anywhere.
For the record, my friend is artfullyangie, a pretty kewl artist (http://www.artfullyangie.com/) not to mention being pretty darn cute as well.
And that is probably my deep thought for the day.
BOOK REVIEW: Germline
review first published at http://www.awritergoesonajourney.com/
Blurb
Book Name: Germline
Book Series: The Subterrene War
Number in Series: 1
Publication Year: 2011
Publisher: Orbit
ISBN: 978-0-356-50041-6
Blurb
War is Oscar Wendell’s ticket to greatness. A reporter for the ‘Stars and Stripes’, he has a pass to the front lines of a brutal conflict over natural resources, where genetics – the germline soldiers – battle heavily armed troops deep beneath the icy, mineral-rich mountains of Kazakhstan.
But the front is nothing like Oscar imagined. The genetic soldiers are more human than he’d bargained for too. Hooked on a dangerous cocktail of drugs and adrenaline, lives are beginning to blur. And if Oscar doesn’t find a way out of the chaos soon, he may never get back.
Review
I dislike trying to sum up a novel in a single word but on this occasion it is not hard to do so: brutal.
Initially I was expecting something along the lines of space opera or military sci fi but I was a long way from right.
This is a future where the USA is the aggressor in a war for mineral resources. In a short time, losses on both sides are horrific, despite the introduction of the genetically engineered super-soldiers. On the US-side, these are all identical teenage females, which if they survive to age 18, are killed due to increasing mental stability. Yet these female genetics were more successful and stable than attempts with males.
After Oscar has a brief relationship with one of the genetics, he finds himself being interviewed by two men from the Department of Defence who explain they are trying to increase the mental stability of the germline soldiers.
“To make it so they don’t get attached to men like you. If we can do that, we have a product that’s useful over a greater period of time and, consequently, worth more to the Defence Department. It’s all about lowering production and maintenance costs and making a larger profit. Commerce.”
That is about the coldest attitude towards human life and war as you are going to get.
Oscar goes through Hell – both on earth and his own mental torment. We see an already flawed individual fall even further.
In reading, I found myself thinking of two particular influences: the filth and horror of the World War I trenches and the drug-fuelled desperation of some of the US draftees in Vietnam.
Desperation is a repeating theme through the novel, desperation in the battle lines among the soldiers, leading to a variety of responses. I am left with the impression that McCarthy researched his subject well.
This is not a ‘nice’ read. But it is a compelling story all the same. In places I was reminded of Sebastian Junger’s powerful narrative about the current fighting in Afghanistan, ‘War’.
I definitely want to see where McCarthy takes this story in future instalments.
But the front is nothing like Oscar imagined. The genetic soldiers are more human than he’d bargained for too. Hooked on a dangerous cocktail of drugs and adrenaline, lives are beginning to blur. And if Oscar doesn’t find a way out of the chaos soon, he may never get back.
Review
I dislike trying to sum up a novel in a single word but on this occasion it is not hard to do so: brutal.
Initially I was expecting something along the lines of space opera or military sci fi but I was a long way from right.
This is a future where the USA is the aggressor in a war for mineral resources. In a short time, losses on both sides are horrific, despite the introduction of the genetically engineered super-soldiers. On the US-side, these are all identical teenage females, which if they survive to age 18, are killed due to increasing mental stability. Yet these female genetics were more successful and stable than attempts with males.
After Oscar has a brief relationship with one of the genetics, he finds himself being interviewed by two men from the Department of Defence who explain they are trying to increase the mental stability of the germline soldiers.
“To make it so they don’t get attached to men like you. If we can do that, we have a product that’s useful over a greater period of time and, consequently, worth more to the Defence Department. It’s all about lowering production and maintenance costs and making a larger profit. Commerce.”
That is about the coldest attitude towards human life and war as you are going to get.
Oscar goes through Hell – both on earth and his own mental torment. We see an already flawed individual fall even further.
In reading, I found myself thinking of two particular influences: the filth and horror of the World War I trenches and the drug-fuelled desperation of some of the US draftees in Vietnam.
Desperation is a repeating theme through the novel, desperation in the battle lines among the soldiers, leading to a variety of responses. I am left with the impression that McCarthy researched his subject well.
This is not a ‘nice’ read. But it is a compelling story all the same. In places I was reminded of Sebastian Junger’s powerful narrative about the current fighting in Afghanistan, ‘War’.
I definitely want to see where McCarthy takes this story in future instalments.
BOOK REVIEW: Allison Hewitt is Trapped
review first published at http://www.awritergoesonajourney.com/
Book Name: Allison Hewitt is Trapped
Publication Year: 2011
Publisher: Headline
ISBN: 978 07553 7912 5 (Trade paperback)
The story did draw me in, aside from confusion on my part arising from having just finished reading another zombie novel. To quote John Travolta from one of his very early roles, ‘I’m sooo confused!’ (and if you can pick up what reference that is, you’re an old fart like me!).
There is plenty of action with shambling zombies being cut down by axe, shot in the head, belted with baseball bats, teed off on with golf clubs and burned. While we don’t see quite the same level of social breakdown that is often typical of the apocalypse-zombie genre, we do see things like armed vigilantes. And those Black Earth Wives were just plain creepy.
Unlike many others in the genre, we learn little about where the original infection came from, or least not until a partial explanation in an epilogue of sorts. Or perhaps that is being saved up for the next book?
I have to be honest and admit that I did not find it quite as funny as some others apparently have. But yes, there were indeed sarcastic throwaways.
I did have a practical issue though. With all of these zombies being cut down everywhere and left to lie where they fell, there should have been one hell of a stench from all that rotting flesh. Or did the other zombies eat their own ‘dead’? It was never clear to me.
This won’t go down as my favourite zombie novel. But it was interesting and quirky enough to make me want to read Roux’s next book which is due out later this year.
Ross the Repellent
Sunday, September 18, 2011
BOOK REVIEW: Thanquol's Doom
Review first published on http://www.awritergoesonajourney.com/
Book Name: Thanquol's Doom
Book Series: Thanquol & Boneripper
Number in Series: 3
Publication Year: 2011
Publisher: The Black Library
ISBN: 9781849700849
Backstabbing. Duplicitous. Paranoid. Scheming. Treacherous. Self-serving. Cowardly. You name it, the term can probably be applied to the skaven, the giant ratmen of the Warhammer world. The Grey Seer Thanquol probably represents all that is nasty about the skaven, thus in his mind, is truly a fine specimen of skavenhood. He becomes one of those horrible villains that you just like to read about and see him come undone.
Having narrowly survived his unsought adventures on the tropical island of Lustria, Thanquol, in his never-ending quest for self-advancement, finds himself thrust unwillingly into war against the engineer dwarves of Karak Angkul. The dwarves are a particularly hated enemy of Thanquol's, courtesy of the dwarven Slayer, Gotrek, aided by his human rememberer, Felix, having previously thwarted Thanquol's plans in the past.
Thanquol was first created by William King in the early Gotrek & Felix novels, before being continued in that series by Nathan Long. But it was C. L. Werner who was given the task of creating the spin-off series, Thanquol & Boneripper. The Grey Seer has gone through several rat-ogre bodyguards, all called Boneripper, and now the skaven engineers of Clan Skryre have gifted him with the re-animated remains of the original Boneripper.
One of the things I enjoy about the skaven is the technology emerging out of Clan Skryre, which has a steampunk feel to it. That of the dwarves has a similar feel, although not powered by the corrupting warpstone as so much of the Skaven technology is. So it was interesting to see the two clashing once more.
Werner has taken that existing character of Thanquol and expanded it while remaining true to the original. In fairness, the constant changing of Thanquol's attitudes to suit the immediate situation was laid on a little thick at time. But nonetheless, in Thanquol's Doom the story of Thanquol continues and even deepens a little.
I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Ross the Repellent
Character development
At workshop with Fiona McIntosh a few weekends ago, Fiona stressed the importance of having a strong female character in the story somewhere, at least if you want something with commercial potential.
As I continue to steadily plod along with Blood Redemption, my urban fantasy, I realised that the female character with the strongest character potential was not nearly well enough developed.
When I am thinking about characters, I need to be able to clearly picture them in my mind. Once I have an idea of them in mind, I usually go looking for a physical model to help further build them on. With female characters in particular, flipping through celebrity picture sites can be very helpful. With the proliferation of paparazzi etc, we can see people pictured in formal poses, movement, even in positions they may well rather not have been captured in. It is a little more subtle than my other approach of sitting in a public place like a coffee bar and watching people.
I had reached a point in my story where I needed this particular female character to come more to the fore. That was when I realised that I was a long way short of having developed her in my mind. The name I had was bland. I had mislaid previous notes about her and could remember virtually nothing of them. Most importantly to me, I could not picture her in mind. Being quite visually orientated, I need that image to be able to start hearing them, understanding them.
So I shoved the work aside and started trying to have a mental conversation with this person who was pretty much a complete, hidden stranger. I thought about how I was using the character in the story, what role they were to play. It started coming together a little but still pretty much a fuzzy, indistinct person.
Sometimes I find just walking away from things and forgetting about it for a bit, can be a good way to allow the right thought to weasel its way into the frontal lobes. There was a pile of DVDs in a pile so I began sorting through them, making sure discs were all supposed to be where they should be. The cover of one caught my attention. I studied it. This seemed promising. I grabbed a disc and slipped it into the player. I skipped through portions of some episodes, looking at the actor in question. That was the one, the look that worked to give me a visual to keep working on.
Refill the fountain pen, grab a notebook and start scribbling. The character now swiftly began taking shape. Not quite the same as the character played by the actor in that particular series, but it wasn’t my intention to just simply copy.
Having discovered my character and had her story, I felt a sense of excitement, wanting to write about her.
Oh, and the actor and series that gave me the needed nudge? Anna Torv in Fringe.
As I continue to steadily plod along with Blood Redemption, my urban fantasy, I realised that the female character with the strongest character potential was not nearly well enough developed.
When I am thinking about characters, I need to be able to clearly picture them in my mind. Once I have an idea of them in mind, I usually go looking for a physical model to help further build them on. With female characters in particular, flipping through celebrity picture sites can be very helpful. With the proliferation of paparazzi etc, we can see people pictured in formal poses, movement, even in positions they may well rather not have been captured in. It is a little more subtle than my other approach of sitting in a public place like a coffee bar and watching people.
I had reached a point in my story where I needed this particular female character to come more to the fore. That was when I realised that I was a long way short of having developed her in my mind. The name I had was bland. I had mislaid previous notes about her and could remember virtually nothing of them. Most importantly to me, I could not picture her in mind. Being quite visually orientated, I need that image to be able to start hearing them, understanding them.
So I shoved the work aside and started trying to have a mental conversation with this person who was pretty much a complete, hidden stranger. I thought about how I was using the character in the story, what role they were to play. It started coming together a little but still pretty much a fuzzy, indistinct person.
Sometimes I find just walking away from things and forgetting about it for a bit, can be a good way to allow the right thought to weasel its way into the frontal lobes. There was a pile of DVDs in a pile so I began sorting through them, making sure discs were all supposed to be where they should be. The cover of one caught my attention. I studied it. This seemed promising. I grabbed a disc and slipped it into the player. I skipped through portions of some episodes, looking at the actor in question. That was the one, the look that worked to give me a visual to keep working on.
Refill the fountain pen, grab a notebook and start scribbling. The character now swiftly began taking shape. Not quite the same as the character played by the actor in that particular series, but it wasn’t my intention to just simply copy.
Having discovered my character and had her story, I felt a sense of excitement, wanting to write about her.
Oh, and the actor and series that gave me the needed nudge? Anna Torv in Fringe.
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