If there is one thing that constantly strikes me about Oscar Wilde, it’s his sense of humour. There’s a sort of dry sarcasm within this dialogue that I couldn’t help but to chuckle at, despite his numerous digs at the English way of thought. That is, that it ‘isn’t catching’, and ‘everyone incapable of learning has taken to teaching’. Wilde almost reminds me of a mischievous schoolboy, saying such impertinent things before darting away onto another topic so that no-one can really concentrate and take proper offense to what he’s said. This dialogue is full of his natural humour, which makes it a pleasure to read.

Written as an article-within-a-dialogue, Wilde cleverly disguises his rant and uses a dialogue style in order to break up what would otherwise be a large block of text. Apart from being quick-witted, we don’t get to find out much about the two characters, but that doesn’t particularly matter. The flow of the piece is easy, and during the segments that may be considered ‘lengthy’, the character of Cyril breaks up the verbosity of Vivian with a few choice interjections and questions. Whilst this does work to an extent, it’s only a thinly veiled feature so it does seem a little contrived. Of course, with Oscar Wilde you can never be sure what he means to do, but for me, it would have worked just as well as an actual dialogue instead of taking a ‘cheats’ way out.

Despite the humour inherent throughout the piece, The Decay of Lying is nevertheless thought provoking on a number of levels. It serves to question widely held assumptions about the very nature of…well…nature, and the relationship of that to art and vice versa. I have to say, the piece makes a very good point for the banality and unoriginality of nature, even though I myself am rather fond of countryside walks and admiring the view.

It challenges, argues with, mocks and downright sneers at both nature and art, and mankind’s attitude towards them. With it being an ‘essay’ instead of anything of a longer nature, it’s easily read in one sitting…and then read again a few days later just to make sure that nothing was missed the first time. I wouldn’t recommend reading it in small bursts however. Once you move away from it – even for just one day – it takes a short while to get back into the swing of things, and the pace is so fluid that one generally has to go back a paragraph or two just to find one’s footing anyway. Although a general background reading from the time period would enhance the work, it’s able to stand alone if Victorian literature isn’t to your liking. (I can say this from experience).

If you have a spare hour or two (depending of course on your reading speed), then I’d certainly recommend this, if only for its humour value. Searching for it online will yield quite a few free copies of the essay, so there isn’t even any need to pay for it.

The story is told through a series of letters from Alex to Jonathan, which are written in a very odd kind of broken English. These letters can be very funny, particularly in the first half of the book, and provide an opportunity for Safran Foer to poke fun at himself. However, it does mean that the book takes longer to read than you expect and understanding them can get tiresome after a while. The letters are interspersed with extracts from (the character) Jonathan’s novel, which tells the story of the village his grandfather was from before the Nazis destroyed it. These are written in very descriptive and practically magical realist style. They contain some beautiful imagery, but again can be difficult to read at times.

As the journey continues, things are ‘illuminated’ which have implications for Alex and his Grandfather as well as Jonathan Safran Foer. The comedy of the first half of the book starkly contrasts with the tragedy uncovered in the second half, which makes the novel all the more affecting. As well as providing a personal story about the horrors of World War II, the book deals with issues like contemporary anti-semitism and how far people who are caught up in war can be blamed for their actions. Although I feel that someone who didn’t like the style it was written in couldn’t enjoy Everything is Illuminated, it is a truly original book, which creates hilarity as well as poignancy via experiments with language.

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The name ‘Magician’ elicits some of the best literary memories I have. It is the start of a series by Raymond E. Feist so good I even read them in the shower (holding them above the shower head to keep them dry). Reading a book this good can’t be rushed any more than you can rush a fine wine. You’ve got to let it breathe for awhile before savouring its nuances and subtleties; and this book is full of both.

One of the best features of Magician is Feist’s writing style. The descriptions are vivid, the characters are extremely believable and not everything has a happy ending. The characters are often faced with difficult choices, sometimes none of which have the possibility of a good outcome. Above all the plots are well thought out, intricate and contribute to the overall feeling of Magician being – in my opinion – one of the most realistic fantasy books ever written.

The story begins in the Kingdom of the Isles on a world called Midkemia and follows the lives of two best friends, Pug, an apprentice of the court magician, and Tomas, a member of the Duke’s guard. It begins by the discovery of a storm-ravaged ship of a design unlike any seen before in The Kingdom. The sole survivor is brought back to the keep of Castle Crydee, a frontier outpost of The Kingdom ruled by Duke Borric con Doin, his two sons, Arutha and Lyam and his daughter, the Princess Carline. The sailor speaks in an incomprehensible language and it is only with Father Tully’s divine intervention that the Duke’s court discovers the foreigner’s people pose a deadly threat against the Kingdom. With no time to lose, the Duke and his entourage set out for Rillanon, the Kingdom’s capital city, with Pug and Tomas in tow.

Whilst en route, the Duke’s party is attacked by enemy scouts, Pug is captured and Tomas nearly becomes the victim of a fearsome wraith when the Duke and the other survivors are forced to take shelter in a dwarven mine. From here, the reader is swept away on a roller coaster adventure of politics, intrigue, betrayal and gallantry that spans two worlds, as the brave heroes embark on journeys to stave off planet-wide disaster against an invading force of alien soldiers.

In short, this book is sure to be the beginning of a literary addiction of profound scope and proportion for anybody that has the good taste to start it. Hm! Maybe it’s time I started reading the series all over again!

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Review by: Christopher Ian Collins
Edited by: Sara Slack & Amelia Rockliff

The version of the plot you are getting is third-hand. A tenant at Thrushcross Grange, a property owned by Heathcliff, is telling a story told to him by his housekeeper. These extra layers of narration add an interesting murkiness to the story, and mean that you as a reader have to make up your mind about what to believe. The plot centres on Heathcliff’s vengeful nature, and what happens when he is wronged by another family, the Lintons. Heathcliff is an amazing character. He is jealous, possessive and controlling and full of lots of rage. He certainly isn’t very likable. Nor, in fact, is Cathy, who can be manipulative and snobby. The account of what happens to them, though, is absolutely gripping. The madness of the Yorkshire moors and how it gets inside your head is portrayed really well and so vividly that I felt like I was there most of the time. I would write more about the plot, but it’s hard to do so without ruining the book.

So, if you’ve avoided Wuthering Heights in the past because you’ve heard all the stuff about it being ‘the most powerful love story in the world’ etc, avoid it no more! It’s great, and well worth a read.

However, the book isn’t actually about the Triffids, who spend most of the plot just lurking menacingly in the background. It’s more about the precariousness of the human race’s domination of the world, and how wrong our perception of our own safety is. It is also thought-provoking on the subject of how we might survive the collapse of society as we know it. In this way, The Day of the Triffids captures the paranoid atmosphere of the Cold War. It also seems surprisingly contemporary. It turns out that the survivors’ biggest enemy is not, in fact, the Triffids, but human beings themselves.

This book is more of a post-apocalyptic novel about the rebuilding of society than a horror story about sentient plants. The plot can move quite slowly at times, and I had to try not to lose interest at some points. My personal favourite aspect of the book is the dialogue. It’s set in ‘50s London so people use words like ‘spizzard’ and say things like ‘I should probably by now be lying maudlin and sozzled in some bar’. I also quite liked the heroine, Josella, who wrote a book called Sex Is My Adventure (!), and spends most of the story coping perfectly well on her own.

Overall, I think that The Day of the Triffids is interesting and sometimes chilling. By far its strongest section is the claustrophobic first chapter where Bill is exploring London- clearly an influence for 28 Days Later (which I need to stop mentioning in my reviews). After this, the narrative becomes slightly less engaging and I nearly lost interest. I’m glad I didn’t though because the book overall has a lot to say, and will leave you thinking about it for days afterwards.

Editor’s Note: If you tried to watch the fairly recent BBC adaptation of this novel and didn’t like it, make sure you still give the book a chance. The TV adaptation was nothing like the novel. Apart from the title and the stinging plants.

The main character is Richard, a 20-something traveller who finds himself in Thailand. The opening scene is on the Koh San road in Bangkok, which Alex Garland paints a perfect picture of. Richard stays the night in a horrible hostel, in a room next to an annoying and very mad Scottish man who calls himself Daffy Duck. After being subjected to Daffy raving all night, Richard finds him dead and a map of how to find a secret paradise beach taped to his door. Needless to say, Richard and his two friends Francoise and Etienne find The Beach. And I wouldn’t be spoiling the plot too much if I told you that it all goes a bit Lord of the Flies. The plot is undoubtedly the strongest thing about the book- it moves very quickly, and leaves tantalising little clues about what might happen next to keep you turning the pages.

What I found most interesting about The Beach was the fact that I didn’t actually like Richard, or root for him in any way. His narration is annoying because he keeps boasting about how many cigarettes/how much dope he smokes, and complaining about tourists who ruin things. If you have ever met a backpacker who goes on about ‘I can’t believe how Westernised [insert name of country] has become’, you will understand what I mean. Worse, as the book goes on, Richard turns into a horrible and amoral person. I would say that I actually liked him less, by the end, than Alex from A Clockwork Orange. The weird thing was though, that this didn’t make me enjoy the book any less. In fact I think it made me like it more. It was fun to get inside the head of someone I have nothing in common with (besides a penchant for Sega Megadrive and Gameboy games).

Overall, I would recommend The Beach to anyone who’s looking for a page-turner. Steer clear if you’re prone to nightmares though- Alex Garland also wrote the screenplay for 28 Days Later. He doesn’t hold back on the gore.

England at the time of Henry VIII’s reign. King Henry is worried, since his wife, Queen Catherine, has not been able to give him a heir, a son; only a girl-child and dead-born sons. When he meets Anne, and Anne makes clear that she will not give herself to him unless he makes her his Queen and wife, he is ready to do everything to have her in his bed. He has to wait long before he succeeds, and when he does, his victory doesn’t seem as glorious as he had expected… Anne’s only hope is to get pregnant and carry a son for the King. Otherwise, her destiny will be the same as the previous Queen’s – or perhaps it would be worse, if jealous Lady Jane Parker can help it… The stage for betrayals of all sorts is set.

The story starts with a prologue, “The Madwoman in the Tower” (Gilbert and Gubar Critical Reference, anyone? – Ed), with a short prediction to what will happen later on. The narrator is Lady Jane Parker, in first person. This is kind of odd, since the narrator seems to know a lot more than a single person could actually know without being there, having supreme knowledge that most of the other characters do not have. Also, Lady Jane Parker is described as “shy and plain”, and her husband and friends seem to ignore her most of the time, as if she wasn’t there. She follows people from close-yet-afar, and she sneaks after her husband and her sister, and strangely, no one seems to notice her at all. It seems Jane is only with high and well-known people because of her father’s status, and even then she’s not high enough to be worth of anyone’s attention. It’s also very painful to read how Jane is treated by her husband, Anne’s brother. Though Jane doesn’t make it easy for herself: whenever she can, she taunts Anne and tries to make her look bad in others’ eyes.

The story however, is beautifully written, following forms of a more poetic narrative than most of the English literature I’ve read. In my opinion, it adds more drama to the story, and makes it captivating to read. However, the story seems to focus more on the people and their relationships than describing surroundings, landscapes and buildings. Most detail is revealed about people’s clothing and jewellery, as if the reader is supposed to know where the locations and buildings are and how they appear. If a place gets described, it’s usually via its atmosphere. I find this a bit disturbing, since I’m not so familiar with English landscape and its places. I’m also not used to reading romances: someone else may not feel the same and may just enjoy reading about the characters‘ relationships between each other and forget about the details of the surroundings. Still, the story is intriguing indeed.

Is there really incest between Anne and George? It would seem like so, for so greatly does George defend his sister, and caress her and hold her in his arms when she’s down, and they kiss each other like lovers do. And all of that Jane has to watch from a close distance. But the siblings are not the only ones “twisted”: surely there’s something wrong with Jane, since she spies not only on her husband and his sister, but the King of England himself as Henry makes love with Anne’s cousin, Madge Shelton. The siblings, as the reader can interpret from the prologue, are condemned to death, but from my opinion, the trial and their execution were made quite lightly: it all seemed to be written in great haste. The truth of the Boleyn siblings’ relationship is never told.

After their deaths, the book focuses more on Jane, and then it shifts so that Jane watches as Jane Seymour, Anne of Cleves and Katherine Howard become the successors of Anne, acting as the new Queens’ lady-in-wait till her own death. The story is divided into three parts, the first and longest focusing on Anne Boleyn, the second focusing on Jane Seymour and Anne of Cleves, and the last focusing on Katherine Howard.

There are fifteen questions in the end of the book, all suggesting the reader to take a more in-depth look at the story, and search for more information about the characters and their roles in the actual historical events. This book is very recommended to those who are interested in history, especially the Tudor era and English monarchs, and of course, to those who want to have a good romance read.

Written by: Laura Rantala
Edited by: Sara Slack

Although historically, horror has provided popular, imaginative stories from Frankenstein to Carrie, i’ts hard to deny that in recent times the critical opinion of the genre has slipped. I mean if the literary world was a classroom, horror would be the bullied kid in the corner who gets beaten up and dismissed. Why? Well just like a bullied kid you could say it’s because of the apparent lack of good looks, its differences and the notion that it’s slightly slow, because it provides no substance and no great meaning about life.

It’s a notion I hate with all genres. I do however, see why many critics pick up this opinion, since writers these days seem hell bent on making money from over-used and cliché ideas like vampires and werewolves in a stale and conventional sense (see Twilight), but there are also good writers out there…and one in particular who writes not just good solid horror, but modern refreshed horror is Joe Hill, whose anthology ’20th Century Ghosts’ proves against critical prejudice that horror can do more than scare.

The first story is the just over a page long; ‘Scheherazade’s Typewriter’ is about a writer whose typewriter continues his work after its owners death. It was a very neat story and a nice starting point. At first it did feel ill-placed in terms of being outside the anthology in a sense, but I later felt it was a good way to perhaps sum up the nature of the writing industry, that even after death words and stories never stop flowing. Officially, the book starts off with brilliant investigation of the genre, which focuses on an exhausted editor of a horror anthology trying to track down a reclusive writer. (We’ve all been there – Ed). It’s a story that epitomizes the genre while keeping you entertained with Hill’s realistic yet punky writing style. Not only does it offer an ironic parody of horror in an inoffensive and rejuvenating light but through its predictable conclusion you know you were treated to an award winner. Likewise, 20th Century Ghost, the story of a haunted movie theatre is truly heart warming as the theatre owner faces both bankruptcy and his own morality. It’s a simple, beautiful story, if not for the ghost I think a critic might call it ‘literature’.

Pop Art, however, is perhaps Hill’s finest achievement for me. It feels completely realistic and true to life, and has an ending that makes you upset, angry and yet slightly hopeful. However, You Will Hear the Locus Sing can’t live up to the strength previous holy trinitity, but thankfully it’s Hill’s only mediocre attempt. The story about a child who turns into a giant locus feels clumsy from the start and doesn’t seem to keep your full attention. The ending though does have a satisfying conclusion reminiscent of the classic B-movies. Post-disappointment we receive three good, solid stories, starting with Abraham’s Boys. This is based around the cold and distant sons of the famous vampire hunter, Van Helsing, and shows the nature process of when son surpasses father in a whole new way. Better Than Home, a novella about a boy with mental disabilities and his relationship with his dad is sweet and at the end shows some people’s inability and ignorance against those different from themselves. Black Phone is about a kidnapped boy who’s placed in a room that the dead can call, is enjoyable but really nothing special. The Cape recaptures the brilliance of Hill’s writing, as it follows the life of a man who as a child had a cape that let him fly. It’s a lovely story dealing with our choice whether to live in fantasy or reality and a relatable tale with an ending that’s unexpected and will make you smile.

Last Breath is my favourite idea; a story of a museum which holds the last breaths of famous people, was awe inspiring,  well written but was too short. I say that, as I really wanted to explore the museum just that tiny bit more. The short and simple Dead-Wood was a ghost story about trees, it doesn’t sound like much but when it’s done you won’t want to go down to the woods alone. The Widow’s Breakfast is about as plain as Hill gets, being the story of a homeless maid who receives a free breakfast from a kindly widow, but the stories’ final words make everything worth while. Bobby Conroy Comes Back From the Dead, however, is gripping from start to finish, a true modern horror in an unconventional sense. It deals with an actor who having failed in New York, returns home and while acting in a George A Romero zombie film, finds his former comedy partner and girl of his dreams, married…It’s emotionally gripping but pulls tightly on the true the ironies of life. My Father’s Mask is a trippy tale of a family who spend the weekend at a cabin in the woods…making me think if Stanley Kubrick was to write a short story, this would be it. Finally, Voluntary Committal, is another emotionally charged novella dealing with a boy with autism who builds box forts that lead to other worlds. The anthology started on a high, and with this it ends on one too.

As an anthology, there are repeated themes that appear; from the protagonists in one way or another all being social exiles, to the fact that some stories deal with horror in an unconventional way. Although it contains stories of giant insects, vampires, ghosts and film-set zombies, many stories rely on our fears of our social status, our past mistakes and our relationships with others, which frankly is more frightening than any member of the Munster family. However, I suspect they would scare the pants off critics who have dismissed horror for lacking substance and meaning. I apologise for this long winded review, but I suspect if you made it this far you are hopefully intrigued my Mr Hill’s ability to tap into new areas of fears, that quite rightly make him the king of ‘modern’ horror.

Maybe in the future,it’ll even be classed as ‘literature’.

The novel’s setting is expertly judged, taking place at the border of Northern and Southern Ireland creating a sense of tension from the start. Dowd expertly mixes the tense and mundane in the first few chapters as Fergus journeys across the border and a variety of cultural clashes and differences amongst the people of the two borders are provoked, particularly at the finding of the dead girl against the seemingly anti-hostility natural environment of the countryside. In fact, the novel is bathed in this kind of interesting irony, particularly when Dowd contrasts the seeming ordinariness of Fergus’s home life with his worries of being complicit with IRA terrorism with his deliveries. Part of the great skill of the novel is highlighting terrorisms’ easy infiltration into domestic life and how the people behind it are notably humanised and given relatable routines and relationships.

Dowd ultimately makes the story more interesting by unfolding a relevant yet alternate background story of the novel which operates in parallel to the storylines of the main characters. The body of the girl found near the beginning is discovered to be that of a dwarf from circa AD80(hopefully, this will not come as a spoiler as it is an early development within the novel.) The body has been so well preserved due to the cold and damp setting of the bog. The dreamlike flashbacks of the dead girl’s life in AD80 run in counterpart to Fergus’s life and though something of a contrived set up, it draws intriguing comparisons particularly a subtle parallel between the child’s discrimination of being a dwarf juxtaposed to the ignoring of Fergus’s brother Joe’s attempts to plea for IRA prisoners to wear their own clothes through his hunger strike. Dowd injects a humanising quality to all the characters’ lives through these flashbacks.

But the real character who engages is Fergus. Under pressure to achieve in exams as well as suffering from the political climate his brother also suffers in, he is the most sympathetic presence. Particularly as he is almost in every chapter and a character we feel we truly know by the novel’s end. His emotions provide an entry point into the world of the novel and further help the reader engage with what may seem a complicated political context.

It is also vital to note that Bog Child is aimed at the teenage reader, yet the novel also crucially manages to transcend these age constraints through to adults with its intense, relevant and emotional story.

Overall, Bog Child is a highly involving novel which provides a sympathetic and engaging central character. Whilst parts the novel are contrived, it eventually manages to coalesce into a powerful and layered whole as a novel about terrorism, family and its political context.

Hard science fiction can be a tough sell. I once heard an English professor mock the work of Isaac Asimov as being nothing but stories where scientists in the future sit around and talk about how some particular piece of technology works/worked. A story or novel that relies too heavily on explaining in cringing detail the inner workings of every ‘impulse drive manifold’ or ‘subspace transceiver’ runs the risk of running off its reader. So, when hard fiction is done well, it’s usually done really well.

Such is the case with ‘Industrial Revolution’ and ‘Duel on Syrtis,’ two short stories featured in ‘Two Worlds of Poul Anderson: Science Fiction from the Golden Age.’ Anderson’s two short stories do not disappoint, either. From revolutionary wars in space to an ‘Avatar-like’ bond between Martian and Mars, these stories are a ripping good yarn.

‘Industrial Revolution’ is told some years after the events in the story, in the best fashion of old school science fiction and mystery pieces, with fireside reminiscences of hard times/cases. It is almost a science fiction retelling of the events in Concord and Lexington in the American Revolutionary War, as Anderson chronicles the moments that unexpectedly lead to a revolutionary movement that changes our Solar System forever. Now, one proviso with this piece: this is ‘golden age’ science fiction at its best, so prepare yourself for a moment or two of old fashioned misogyny. I’m not advocating it or saying I appreciate it, but it is what it is; so female readers, be aware.

‘Duel on Syrtis’ is ‘The Most Dangerous Game’ on Mars. No points for originality in this regard, but the piece beat ‘Avatar’ to the punch in terms of alien-planet symbiosis, and is still a darn good thriller. The Martians are a species that have been brutalized by humanity. The days of enslaving and hunting them are past, and some argue on behalf of full emancipation for them, but, like the Jim Crow-south, some just aren’t having it. Enter Riordan, the story’s big game hunter who wants one last chance to hunt the sentient species while he can still get away with it. Though, again, not a shockingly new plotline, still a thrilling chase through the barren wastelands of a dying world, with a startling and frightening climax.

So, my rating? Let’s say four-and-a-half out of five stars. Absolutely worth the read, and not that much time out of your day, either. In this busy world, as it moves ever more rapidly toward the future, what’s better than some quick sci-fi reads? (Here here! – Ed.)