Flayed men and felines

One of the things I thought I'd do on the blog was post book reviews when I uploaded them to other sites. About half of what I read I review for the great site Fantasy Book Reviews, the other half are just personal interest ones.

As ever, when you set out to do things, stuff gets in the way. For me that's been focusing my 'reading' time on tweaking the format of Infinity Bridge, proof reading the print version of Darkness Rising 4, and beginning the edit of DR5.

I did, however, manage to squeeze in a book which had been sat on the shelf for a while. The book was The Palace of Curiosities by Rosie Garland. I was given this book by a friend, Andrea, who had met the author and who loved the book. 

It's a curious book, with a great premise, and is well written but there's something about it that doesn't quite work for me.

The setting of Victorian London, with its grubby fascination of the macabre 'freak shows' is lavishly described, especially the communal cellar that Abel resides in at the start of the tale. The setting is perfect for the narrative of the two main characters Abel and Eve. 

Abel is an immortal, able to regenerate from any injury and devoid of blood much in the way a cadaver would be (this is nicely contrasted in his work as an anatomist in flashback). His curse, if the aforementioned wasn't enough, is that he is amnesiac- which gives a nice device for us to grow with him (even if it gets a little irritating). Our journey with Abel is quite sympathetic- I liked much about him, although his apathy eventually got frustrating. And as a character Abel makes a more convincing and interesting journey than Eve, one that held my curiosity.

Eve, the cat-faced lady, never felt as rounded or as thought out as Abel. She spends much of the book simpering after her obvious swine of a husband, the owner of the Palace of Curiosities. Ultimately she gains a backbone, but rather late in the book and with a slightly disappointing climax to the story. The hidden voice inside her, which could have really been developed more, only re-emerges in the latter stages, and I think that was a missed opportunity by the author.

The supporting characters are good: Arthur, Abel's initial companion; Lizzie, the morbidly obese dancer; George, the cunning tattooed man; and Professor Arroner, the villain of the piece.

Yet despite its macabre richness there's still a spark missing for me. The first person POV alternating chapters didn't really draw me in, the story lacked pace and drive, and there was almost a confusion behind the messages the book tried to convey.

All in all, a good first novel and like it says on the cover- a curiosity. Andrea tells me there's a sequel cooking, which is great news as I'm certain Rosie could develop the premise further.

So, next up? Got sent an Asimov book by an old friend, Jason, so between edits I'll dive into that one. Old Skool sci-fi here I come! 

Wardrobes and warriors

 One of the key themes in my YA book is the idea of alternate worlds, namely worlds that exist in parallel to our own. For a writer this is a perfect device, as it is remarkably versatile in the way it covers all magnitude of possibilities. For me, at least in the first book, it is alternate history and the hint of a world where mythical creatures and magic exist (as biological and physics variants).

The use of alternate worlds is so rife in literature, film and television that it has become overly familiar to us as readers. My son, who I am hot-housing into a comic-loving, fantasy-reading, wargame-playing geek (like his dad) glibly speaks of other dimensions and parallel universes, not least because of the innumerable reboots of superhero franchises.

I loved the idea of alternate worlds as a kid, and it was Dr Who and Star Trek that really introduced them to me. But the idea really grew in my brain through the fantasy books I loved as a child, and the idea of normal folk entering a magical world that existed ‘alongside our own.’

If I had to pick a few that have stayed with me the first would have to be Alan Garner’s book, Elidor. Garner grew up not far from where I live now, and set many of his tales in the Manchester and Cheshire areas. Elidor tells the tale of four teenagers from Manchester who pass through a portal in a ruined church and into the fantasy land of Elidor. There they acquire three magical items – a cauldron, a stone and a sword- for the besieged king. They then take these back to our world, where they become mundane items. The evil forces from Elidor pursue them across the portal and into our world.

It was a superb example of fantasy read by kids, but of the quality and maturity that you expect from adult fantasy fiction. The tension of the work was superb, built by the curious effect of the magical items on electrical technology in our world. I loved the concept of a magical world, accessible from our own, and so it was no surprise that I moved onto CS Lewis from there.

Lewis’s books never really grabbed me as a kid. It may be that I was changing and was after something that felt less dated, or more mature, but the fifties style just didn’t hold my interest. Nonetheless the iconic nature of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe is unquestionable, and I can’t have been the only kid rooting around amongst my parent’s cupboards looking for a psychotic dwarf and some Turkish delight.

The parallel fantasy world is replete in children’s literature—Peter Pan’s Neverland, Alice’s Wonderland are famous classic examples—and the idea continues to pop up all over the place. Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials series develops the idea in The Subtle Knife, as one of the main characters literally cuts his way between worlds; Neil Gaiman’s awesome Coraline has the heroine crawling through a rather creepy tunnel into a sinister ‘mirror’ world, full of button eyes.

As my tastes matured into more adult work, I found the theme still popular in ‘grown up’ fantasy. I finally got around to reading Donaldson’s Thomas Covenant last year (tried when younger and just got bored), which is the most notable example of modern man in fantasy world, and similarly Poul Anderson’s Three Hearts and Three Lions which again has a modern protagonist thrown into an Arthurian fantasy world. Even my last huge-read, Zelazney’s Amber decology, uses the idea at least in part, although the main characters are residents of Amber living within our world.

The popularity of the modern man/teen/child thrown into an imaginary world continues. It’s an appealing concept—how any of us would employ our modern knowledge and concepts in a land of magic and mysticism. In almost every example of the books the fantasy world acts to show the main characters that knowledge will only take them so far, and that the virtues of courage and bravery are the ones that are required to win the day.

And with the modern world the way it is at the moment, who wouldn’t want a parallel fantasy world to go and visit?

 

Sixty Shades of Sorcery

One of the coolest things about fantasy (and there’s a sentence that before HBO’s gore and shag-a-thon, Game of Thrones, would have never been written) is the wide variety of how magic is perceived in the genre. There’s a deluge of articles about designing magic systems and ensuring logic and coherency, but I won’t reiterate those here. Suffice it to say that magic is one of those things that if you write badly, and use as a continual ‘deux e machina’ (or, I suppose, pulling a rabbit out of the hat) then it’ll bugger your book in the manner of a horny troll with a tub of Vaseline +2.

I enjoy magic in fantasy books, I think it gives it a texture and a richness that no other genre can match, and I also enjoy the different styles of incorporating it, in the same way that I love Dark Fantasy as much as epic or heroic. Before you think this is an Aldi advert, let’s start delving around different ways of writing sorcery.....

 For me, as a kid, I began reading fantasy mainly due to my interest in DnD. The magic system in DnD is obviously designed around the wargaming origins of the game, having your magic users learning spells from their list, being allowed to cast so many before they become dagger wielding softies. The concept was that the magic had a verbal part, a material part, and a learned way of wiggling your hips as you did it. Gary Gygax, former master of my universe, drew much of his inspiration from Jack Vance, and the Dying World series. Certainly in the first book—The Dying Earth—which is a collection of short stories, that style of magic is apparent. In those works spells are learned, and then once cast are erased from the ‘working memory’ until relearned. There is a wonderful concept in ‘Turjan of Mir’ wherein the words themselves seem to carry the power:

‘He stared down at the characters and they burned with an urgent power, pressing off the page as if frantic to leave the dark solitude of the book. Turjan closed the book, forcing the spell back into oblivion.’

‘He then sat down and from a journal chose the spells he would take with him. What dangers he might meet he could no know, so he selected three spells of general application: The Excellent Prismatic Spray, Phandal’s Mantle of Stealth, and the Spell of the Slow Hour.’

 Many works (including mine) have drawn their influence from DnD and hence from the ‘Vancian’ system. The obvious ones are those like Dragonlance, which was originated in an awesome DnD campaign, and so has Raistlin (at least in the original trilogy) learning spells and being knackered every time he casts... Featherfall...(Ok, so he got a bit harder when he hit level 12 in the finale). Other authors, such as the excellent Gary Vanucci, emulates the fast paced combat style of DnD magic in the Ashenclaw series—where the magic compliments the sword-craft perfectly. Gary’s work has been compared to RA Salvatore, although I haven’t read what style of magic Salvatore uses.

The throwaway style of sorcery lends itself perfectly to gaming, and one book I read recently that was influenced by on-line/RPG gaming was Connie Jasperson’s two books, The Tower of Bones, and the Forbidden Road. Connie takes the concepts in a different direction. The magic in her world is fuelled by Chi, like a life-force, and the sorcerers/priests who wield it, use it for either healing or for manipulating elements. Their approach is utterly scientific, and they study it as a science rather than an art—rationalising how to improve it, and manipulate it in unique ways. The healing in the book reads like a medical manual (which naturally, I loved!!!). And why not? Why wouldn’t magic in a fantasy world become like a science, in a strange parody of how in history events now rationalised by science were probably regarded as witchcraft.

There’s so many cool systems! Moorcock’s books have a magic wherein its practitioners constantly bargain with demons and gods of chaos/order to manipulate reality. Le Guin’s Earthsea books have a tried and tested formula of objects in the world having ‘true names,’ which carry power when utilised. I suspect she was the first to utilise this in popular fantasy, although Paolini used a duplicate system in Eragon and those other dragon books.

Then there’s the idea of channelling other world’s energies, or using some other ‘place’ to fuel your sorcery. The Amber series by Zelazney is kind of like this: after walking the Pattern, those of appropriate birth can manipulate the reality of all things in the shadows of Amber. Another great example is Erikson’s Malazan Book of the Fallen series. Here we have a pocket universe, or Warrens, which are accessed and opened by the mage to desired effect. This is a great concept, and it works really well in the books. Oddly what it reminded me of was the rationalisation of superpowers in the Marvel Universe’s Guides—so, when Cyclops fires his optic blasts his eyes are tapping into another dimension and acting as a conduit.

Which neatly brings me to my own style—which is unashamedly super-heroic in origin. In Nurolia, there is elemental magic, which comes naturally to the elemental races’ mages, and via use of Gems of Power and lots of lessons in humans; and there is Wild-magic, which is psychic in origin (so telekinesis, telepathy, pyromancy, but used in quite creative ways). The ‘evil’ magic, although clearly the other magics may be used by selfish or unscrupulous individuals, is Dark-magic, which is portrayed in the books as the fifth element.

When I designed Wild-magic I had a concept in my head similar to mutants in the Marvel X-men series. I liked the idea that the ability could occur at random, and what impact that would have on normal folk in a fantasy world. In the same vein as mutants being feared and despised, Wild-mages are ostracised and persecuted by the Elemental Orders, and this alienation is compounded by the fact that Wild-magic produces problems with the mind, either psychological (Jem’s OCD, Emelia’s bipolar disorder, Lemonbite’s schizophrenia) or neurological (I don’t want to spoil who, for readers of the series). I also liked the fast-paced angle of superpowers in the comics, and wanted that recreated in my rather televisual style of writing. The finale to book three, in the temple in Ssinthor, where the heroes scrap with the zealot, has a very fast-paced use of magic which I hope works.

I still couldn’t get away from some magic tropes, though. Elemental magic still needs a source (the Gems), words and gestures. Hence mages are held captive with special masks and manacles, or via an elixir that suppresses their sorcery (Pure Water, from Goldoria). The idea of items acting as conduits, or power sources, is another well established magic system. Brooks’ Shannara series uses items and artefacts to great effect; games such as Final Fantasy and Skyrim use soul gems etc; the One Ring in LOTR; RA Salvatore’s Demon Apostle, and the gemstone magic; Joshua Bigger’s hard-hitting fantasy, Dark’s Daughter, Hope with its gems and extension of eastern chakra mysticism. Even good old Harry Potter has magical items galore—the Philosopher’s Stones, the Deadly Hallows, the thingies that He With No Nose sticks part of his soul in....

There are so many and so little space before the reader dozes off. Magic can be present in a fantasy world, but not be especially in your face like my lightning tossing, Wild-magic shielding characters use. The obvious examples are ‘realistic’ fantasy, such as George RR Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire (or is it Fire and Ice...?). In George’s world, the magic is more subtle—the shadow monster thingy that bumped Renly off after popping out of Melisandre’s foo; the worgs and their animal body skipping (skinchanging?); resurrection, with poor old Beric Dondarrion held together with masking tape; those dudes with the blue lipstick, who pop up in the market despite being toasted by dragons. For his realistic setting, it works very well, and this subtle use of magic fits dark fantasy perfectly (such as the awesome Scott Lynch’s Lies of Locke Lamora), as well as lighter fantasy such as the Farseer trilogy by Robin Hobb (the Wit and the Word—lots of mind influencing, animal possession, and so on).

The final quote on magic in fantasy—let’s stick with Georgie...

“Sorcery is a sword without a hilt. There is no safe way to grasp it.”

So what’s your favourite magic system in fantasy? I haven’t read WOT by Robert Jordan, or Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson, but by all accounts they rock big-style on the magic front. For me, I think the cleverest was Erikson’s—it had a maturity and originality that fitted perfectly with the intricate tone of his books.

But I still like the idea of two mages zapping the crap out of each other like medieval superheroes... I can’t help it!!!!

I am rather an expert on that....

Much in the way I never now watch any film rated more than 12 at the
cinema, and indeed actively seek out Pixar productions to watch (‘Up’
and ‘Finding Nemo’ are incredible films), my TV watching home has
regressed markedly over the last few years.

Now part of that is due to the fact that I enjoy reading, writing and
squinting at tiny Warhammer models whilst controlling my tremor with
gin. Another part is my wife’s predilection for soaps and housing
programmes (Property Porn as it is often referred to). And a
significant other part is that I got gloomed out by what was on offer.
After the Wire finished, Game of Thrones killed all the characters
off, and BSG re-runs disappeared I found that all me and the wife were
watching was gloom-vision. Specifically it was variants on forensic
murder programmes (CSI: Llandudno an so on) and now a range of
psychological thriller stuff (Hannibal, Criminal Minds, and now I hear
there’s a Psycho re-boot) that makes me want to go suck exhaust
through a hose-pipe. We escaped into fluff-cop shows like NCIS: LA and
Hawaii 5-0 with their pretty people and feel good banter, but now even
they’ve finished (both with a dollop of drama=torture=misery). So
what’s left to enjoy?

Well, kids TV as it turns out. As child #3 enjoys the new found
freedom of bed vs. cot (read open prison vs. maximum security) and our
new puppy Cockerpoo whimpers the house down from 0500h each morning, I
find myself OD-ing on Nick Jr’s Peppa Pig. Now I’ve been a PP fan for
a long while, in fact since it first aired on Terrestial TV on Ch5’s
Milkshake when Charlie was a toddler. But only in the last year can I
say that I’ve watched almost every episode to the degree that I have
my favourite scenes and can talk about character development.

 It’s so bloody good. Not only is the animation perfect—a combination
of simple childish line-style, with tiny intelligent touches—but the
characters and stories are a mirror of family life with kids. Rather,
family life with kids how it should be. Someone called it the
Simpson’s for under-5s, but I think that does it a disservice as the
acidic cynicism that pervades the Simpsons (and I do like that show)
is absent, and the patriarch of the Pig family, Daddy Pig, is no idle
selfish Homer. No, my friends, Daddy Pig is the model of fatherhood...
patient, yet not perfect, family-friendly, yet flawed.

He’s marvellous! They revolve entire episodes around mocking his big
round belly, which he takes almost graciously. He considers himself
‘rather an expert’ at many things, yet in practice his DIY is crap,
and he can’t speak fluent French. He strives at School sports day’s
Dad’s events, but his only great achievement is jumping in muddy
puddles which he approaches with a Taoist demeanour. He always loses
his glasses (as do I), enjoys a hearty meal, would give his last bit
of cake to the ducks, and runs very fast when chased by wasps... all
for charity. And he plays the drums and the accordion.

I could really go on about the other great characters in the show—the
workaholic Ms Rabbit; the guitar hero nursery teacher; Polly the
parrot; Mr Bull and his love of fine china; Grandpa Rabbit, voiced by
Brian Blessed; the useless Dr Hamster and her tortoise. But that’d be
a little tragic for a 41 year old to harp on about all the things he
genuinely enjoys in a show for toddlers. Yet, it’s so well observed!
Peppa can be really gobby, cheeky, mean to George Pig, but lovely and
curious and happy like all children. The toddlers in PP shower
fountains of tears at the drop of a hat—the episode where the ‘older’
kids run the toddler party is pure brilliance—it brings to mind taking
Charlie and Evelyn to some of the parties Henry has been invited to.
There’s Mr Potato and his strange Spanish accent, with his fruit
awareness day, and a theme park. And the trip to the museum to see the
space exhibit, with its tacky gift shop and £5 per ‘fun-photo’ is so
accurate it’s scary.

Ultimately that’s the essence of good kids TV and film these days.
Suitably fun stories with enough ‘in jokes’ to keep Mum and Dad
chuckling—hence why ‘Despicable Me’ rocks big-style, and I’d rather
watch ‘Up’ than another Tarrantino variant.

Embrace your inner immaturity! I am ‘rather an expert’ on that.

Darkness is Rising again

The latest installment in my six-part epic fantasy Darkness Rising hits the virtual bookshelves today, on the Mryddin Publishing Group label. It picks up the story with Emelia, Jem, Hunor and companions in the arid deserts of Pyrios. They're racing against the dwindling sanity of Emelia and the approaching terror that is Vildor, with a pair of demons and an insane Fire-mage thrown in for good measure.

Further north we have Aldred 'circling the drain' (as they say on ER) with the dark Ekris and the noble Unhert trying to work out how to save him. The key may reside with Inkas-Tarr and Torm who finally move to centre stage in this book.

All the plot-lines are coming together in time for book five, where it all goes totally bonkers.

if you fancy a sample read on...

if you fancy the book then click here for UK kindle and here for the US of A (and everwhere else in the world).

Excerpt from Darkness Rising 4 - Loss

[Lady Orla Farvous adresses the disprited Incandian tribes known as the kerindara]

Orla glanced at Jem’s despair-wracked face. Her insides knotted at the injustice of the comment.

“Save your breath, Master Ten,” she said, striding forward. “These Incandians can not call themselves warriors.”

A clamour of anger erupted from the cavern. It thundered off the dark walls. Orla clambered onto the raised area that the five leaders sat upon. Several warriors moved to restrain her, but Myrek waved them back.

“This is not a slur on your good names,” Orla said. Her voice sliced through the ruckus like a sword. “Who am I to come to your ancestral home and cast aspersions on your valour? A foreign knight, from a far off land, that up until this day had not a jot of interest in the workings of your world.

“Yet I stand before you today willing to lay down my life and the lives of my friends for your cause. I look at the power that you face, the insurmountable walls that you crash against like the distant sea, the evil that lies within the dark rock—and I understand your reticence. I understand, with my head, why this day you would choose to lick your wounds, to regroup, to plan, to debate…”

The cavern was silent and Orla looked at Kolm as she said this.

“Yes, my head understands why this day you would not choose to be warriors. But my heart? My heart cannot.

“My heart cannot comprehend how you can skulk in the bowels of this rock like frightened children. My heart cannot appreciate how you can rest whilst your sisters, your brothers and your children chip away at the seams of iron in the catacombs of the mountain. My heart cannot fathom how you can tolerate this Fire Lord taking another unholy breath whilst your kin are in servitude. My heart cannot call you warriors.”

Myrssta raised her sword and cheered. The cavern burst into noise as a hundred Incandians drew their weapons and chanted a war cry.

Kolm leapt to her feet and moved to seize Orla in fury. Curnk stepped in her way and the two women faced each other off. Myrek and the other two leaders called for calm, but the battle cry persisted.

Orla drew her sword and shouted for silence. The cries ebbed as she addressed the crowds.

“Who am I to ask you to come with my friends and me? I am Lady Orla Farvous of the Knights of the Air. I shall ride across that plain though it may be as fierce as the Pale and I shall bring justice and freedom to the dark halls of the Mountain of Ash. I would ask the Paswans to ride with me—we have an opportunity now that may never be repeated. If I ride alone then so be it—I will die for your sisters.”

Curnk shouldered past Kolm and stood by Orla.

“My tribe will ride at your rear and I at your side.”

Cheers rang out and Myrek came to Orla’s left. “And I at your other. The three other tribes must decide their own path. Warriors saddle the herdilla—we shall await the signal on the edge of the plain.”

“First I must take the brand,” Orla said.

“That is not necessary,” Myrek said.

“Not necessary, but nonetheless I shall be honoured to fight as an equal with ones so valiant.”

Myrek nodded and Myrssta seized the flaming brand, moving through the chanting masses towards Orla.

***

Hope it makes you curious!!!
See you next time...

Ice-cream and Internet-voids

Just returned from a week away in the wondrous climes of South Devon and, surprisingly for the UK the weather was actually acceptable (for us this means only half the days begin with rain/snow/Tsunamis).  What this meant was the opportunity for what is known as a 'traditional holiday.'

Now clearly traditions vary across the world and indeed country. For some traditional holiday means incinerating upper layer of dermis and drinking until they are incontinent whilst the kids steal their cigs. For others it may involve exclusive hotels with a fabulous view of the poor (preferably within rock range). And for others Scrabble and domestics in a two berth caravan.

For the Kitsons it means something akin to the holidays I had as a child. I had a great upbringing, and part of that evolution was our summer holidays. For me it was Norfolk- a hotel in a small village near Cromer, which several families used to go to every year. It was beaches, and sea, and ice cream, and windbreaks, and imaginary adventures with my brother in the woods around the hotel. The wife's was similar, agreeably between Northern Victorian resorts like Scarborough and southern tranquility of Dorset.

In this day and age of data, electronic gadgets and Internet it feels almost more important to get back to basics. Where we go in Devon has an advantage of Mobile phone dropouts galore and no 3G. It's like an Internet void. And in an effort to capitalise this we had a hefty restriction on all gadgets in the family- no tablets, phones, 3DS etc- for most daylight time. And that extended to me: I left the phone in the cottage most days, and only picked up urgent messages on my return. It trod the fine line between liberating and unnerving ("what if my house is blown away by a tornado to Oz and someone needs to let me know..?")

And the 'tradition' that act honoured was to create some space, some opportunity, wherein my kids and me could find some common-time. Goofy stuff with sand, seaweed, buckets, shells and sea so cold it eliminated the prospect of a fourth child once and for all. Because as I lumber into middle-age I have become acutely aware that time sifts through my bony digits at an accelerating rate. Big Son is hitting High School this autumn, and although his geekiness  ensures we will maintain common interests for a good few years yet, gradually his friends and girlfriends will supplement my place in his life. 

Seems like a moment ago he popped out a worrying shade of blue and wailed baby-tongue for "welcome to the rest of your life, dude."

So I suppose the tradition of spending time with the kids without them tutting about me interrupting Minecraft is what we aspired to achieve. And I think, as I trawl through 500 e-mails and face a Twitter-mountain, that we managed it well. With the added bonus of ice-cream, of course.  And a castle... always a castle...

Swords, sorcery and...sand

It seems like an age since I last released some work, but its only been seven months. Perhaps its the wealth of stuff I've squeezed in that time, or perhaps its because of other projects and distractions.
Anyhow, Darkness Rising: Loss is due for release at the end of the summer. I got the edits back from my friend, Nik, back in April, I think, but was focusing on some new material for DR6 at that time. I've completed the edited version, and now have the delight of showing off the brand new cover.

As with all my books, and many of the books on Myrddin Publishing, the cover is by the talented Ceri Clark. Ceri has managed to design this one whilst juggling the more than full time role of new mum. Something about exhaustion must work, because it's superb. Here is the front:

 

The star of the cover is Lady Orla, who will be familiar to those who read the series as the rather prim and ordered Knight of the Air who has ended up travelling with the companions. In this book, Orla really steps up a bit, dealing with a number of issues from her past and giving Hunor a great deal of support as he strives to lead them all.

The book is actually set in two locations. As with the prior two books (DR2 and 3) it follows two parallel plotlines, one with Emelia, Jem and Hunor; the other is with Aldred, Ekris and Unhert. Don't fret, they all link up in the end (well, in book five!!). The characters of Inkas-Tarr and Torm, minor characters in the last few books (to the point of readers commenting why are they here?), get a much bigger part in book 4 as they meet up with Aldred's group.

Aldred's journey takes him out of the Emerald Mountains and into South Artoria, where he travels to the famous city of Keresh and its fabled walls. It was a tough call to decide between an image of Aldred and a walled city, or an image of one of the seven in Emelia's group and a desert. In the end I thought the colours and feel of the desert were better suited for a cover.

In the desert of Pyrios, Emelia is struggling to hold onto her sanity after the events at the end of Book Three. The strains on both Kervin and Jem lead to frission in the group, compounded by the sense that Vildor is closing in on them fast. He has the black crystal, and also the aid of both the Ghasts and the demonic humours, who make a welcome reappearance in books four and five.

I'm hoping to get the book out at the end of summer, after our family jaunt to Devon. if you fancy an advance review copy let me know and I'll whizz one your way. And be sure to check out Ceri and her great website at http://cericlark.com/

Definitely some Warhammer next time. Definitely.