Review – RED DUST by Paul J. McAuley

1993,  AvoNova/Morrow

     I know I’ve discussed the difference between reviewing an ebook and a paper book before. It seems I have a  penchant for reviewing paper books long after their “shelf life” and so from that aspect, it’s a pointless exercise. That’s assuming, of course, that you’re reviewing the book in order to raise its visibility or otherwise call attention to it. Since Red Dust was published in 1993 and, so far as I can tell, has no ebook edition, that really doesn’t apply. So why do it? Because I like to think about what I read, and I think best when I’m writing things down. So I do. 

   Red Dust was written at a time when readers and pundits in the genre were constantly announcing the death of Cyberpunk. Remember cyberpunk? A literary movement centered around “street” uses for technology, specifically computer power. Arguably launched by William Gibson’s Neuromancer and precursed (Love that word. Love the sound of it and its obvious double-meaning. And if it’s not a word, it damn well should be) by John Brunner’s The Shockwave Rider, among others. Once any literary movement is announced, there’s always a cadre that immediately starts gathering ’round the guillotine, waiting for its inevitable death. Continue reading

Excerpt – All the Gates of Hell

This is from a novel with the working title Kuan Yin in Hell. (Edited to note–the final title is All the Gates of Hell. Inviting, no?) The premise is that the Buddhist bodhisattva of Mercy, Kuan Shi Yin, is undergoing a mortal incarnation as Jin Hannigan for reasons she can’t remember, and those who know, refuse to say. While she’s trying to figure that bit out, she still has to fulfill her function as the “Goddess of Mercy,” which is to release suffering souls from hell. She’s just met the first of her divine helpers–who she also doesn’t remember–currently a mortal called “Frank” because his real name takes too long to say. She’s about to meet the second.

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Jin sighed. “I think before now I’ve really been more pointed and led than called,” she said, “but if I understand your meaning, then yes — I think I have definitely been called.”

The only questions remaining so far as Jin could tell were “where” and “who.” She already knew why. If she didn’t yet know “where,” she did know which direction to go, and for the moment that was enough, though she did wonder why she also felt an extreme sense of urgency.

“What’s the hurry?” she asked aloud.

“You’re setting the pace,” Frank said. “Or was that question rhetorical?”

“Not exactly. I feel we need to hurry.”

“Then I suggest we do so,” Frank said, maddeningly calm as usual.

Jin gave up her brisk walk and broke into a run. Continue reading

The Ferris Wheel and the Werewolf, or How to Annoy Pretty Much Everybody

 The pitfalls of self-promotion is–unfortunately–a subject I’ve been forced to think about lately, so when author Jim Hines wrote a parody song that explains the nature of this particular animal, it rather crystallized some notions that I’d been turning over myself. First, to set the mood, I think it would be a good idea to sing along with Jim on this, so go here first and then come on back. I’ll wait.

Right, then. Some of  you may remember an animated TV show from the 90’s called The Critic, starring Jon Lovitz as the voice of “Jay Sherman,” the movie critic of the title. In one episode a book tour goes horribly wrong because Jay’s publisher has an animatronic bookstore display of Jay holding his collection of movie columns and repeating “BUY MY BOOK!” on an endless loop. It not only kept the customers away, but at least one of the store managers was alleged to have committed suicide. Of course it was a exaggeration, a parody of the hard-sell, but not as far removed from reality as we’d like to think. Especially lately.

Now then. I’ll grant you, it’s possible to go too far the other way. In his introduction to Hereafter, and After, Andy Duncan quoted screenwriter Ben Hecht as describing a shameless publicity hound as “a cross between a Ferris Wheel and a werewolf,” to make the point that I wasn’t one. And it was true. I wasn’t. I pray I am still not, but what I was at the time was the other extreme—completely self-effacing (hard to believe, I know, but it’s true). I wrote the stories. I sent them out. They were published or not, but either way that was pretty much the end of it, so far as I was concerned. Then I published my first collection, then the fist novella chapbook, then the first novel, then my second and third collections, and somewhere along that line I finally copped to the obvious truth that hiding your light under a bushel is not a game plan.

Continue reading

New Story Time – “A Thing or Two About Love”

Looking back on this story now I can see that it’s just,oh, maybe a tad cynical about the subject. I acknowledge and own this, but I’m not going to apologize for it. You have to write from the place you are at the time, even if, apparently, in 1997 I was being a bit of a smart-ass.

“A Thing or Two About Love”