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The Benthic Bookshelf

19c Kindle19th Century Kindle

Dear Readers

A few new and interesting literary efforts have come to my attention of late. I thought I might share them with you, lest you have missed them, along with my own thoughts on the topic.

Last Days of New Paris

When one is writing a novel set in Paris (as you do), one naturally feels drawn to reading books on this most wondrous city. This book though… this is the Paris of the imagination. I’ve always enjoyed Mr Mieville’s ouevre-hopping efforts, but this is something special. Surrealist dream creatures fight Nazi nightmares while an American magician-scientist heads for the city. It mixes real and fictional events and people seamlessly and could almost be Magic Surrealism.

Borne

I have to confess to being only a handful of pages into Mr Vandermeer’s latest wonderbook, but already I am entranced, intrigued and a tiny bit scared. I devoured the Southern Reach Trilogy, enamoured with its spooky, dislocated feel and so was pleased as punch to see this book arrive on the virtual shelves. All being well, I shall sit on the terrace this very evening and read this with relish.

Jerusalem

From Skizz, and Halo Jones, through V for Vendetta and Watchmen, The Extraordinary Gentlemen and Unearthing, I feel like Mr Moore has always been part of my literary life. I believe, in the parlance of the young people, that Alan Moore does, indeed, know the score. So when he unleashed on the world a million-word behemoth I knew I should purchase it. I’m approaching this book in the same way a runner may approach a marathon. Little by little we shall get to the end. I am accordingly ten percent through (an amount of words that I would be perfectly pleased to call a novel) and relishing in the deep, rich stew of language that is being served.

Other Minds: The Octopus, the Sea, and the Deep Origins of Consciousness

As yet unread, this sits and stares at me and demands I attend to it soon. I have long been an avid reader of tomes on human consciousness and, as this blog attests, have an interested in cephalopods. This book then is almost too perfect. In fact, I would pay good money for the cover alone.

—

Well that is all I wished to share with you. Hopefully I may have brought you some new bibliographic delights. And whilst it shames me to do this, I would feel remiss if I didn’t remind you that our own literary effort is loose in the world. I hope you have a marvellous weekend with some excellent reading material.

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Only Howarth Kids Remember This

%22You Serpent!%22“Like if you remember one of these, share if you used one”

So over on the nightmare of horrors that is Farcebook, we are enjoying having retro pictures from Benthic Times past. You weren’t aware we had a Facebook page? Oh yes, we are here:

https://www.facebook.com/thebenthictimes/

Come join us where you can say “greetings my good man” and enjoy some retro fun.

And on the topic of retro fun, if you wish to catch up quickly and easily with the first four stories, you may do so here.

UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B071V9PP6F

US https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071V9PP6F

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The Sunnyport Shadow: Chapter 1

The rain lashed down on the window of the Friendship Tea Rooms as Sir John and Marie stared out.

“Perhaps it will brighten up this afternoon,” he said morosely. “How long until we can return to the bed and breakfast?”

Marie looked at the clock on the wall, with the numbers 4 and 6 missing.

“About seven hours I think,” she said.

Sir John took the last sip of lukewarm tea in the cup in front of him, and put the cup down on its chipped saucer. Almost immediately the waitress appeared.

“Can I get you anything else,” she asked blankly.

“I think we’re alright for a moment,” said Sir John.

The waitress immediately glanced at a sign saying “no loitering”. Marie looked around the room, empty save for a dishevelled looking man in a gaudy outfit nursing a cup of tea. The waitress peered out at the rain.

“You’ve been unlucky with the weather,” she said. Sir John sighed.

“Two more teas, please,” he said and the waitress went away.

bandstand storm 2.jpg“Two Teas”

“We can’t stay here seven hours,” said Sir John. “We’ll be bankrupt by teatime.”

The other man in the cafe turned his tea cup upside down and spun it round. Sir John looked on curiously.

“Is he alright do you think?” he said. The man turned his cup back up and peered at his saucer. He look surprised then glanced toward Marie and Sir John. Sir John looked down quickly as the man walked over.

“Please excuse me,” said the man, “but I do believe we have a common interest. My name is Lord Hollingbury, and, if my Aunt Mabel’s parlour trick isn’t mistaken, at least one of you is, shall we say, in possession of special talents.”

Sir John looked confused at the apparent gap between the man’s appearance and manner.

“I beg your pardon,” he said.

“Well, if you need me to pardon you, you must have done something very wicked,” said Lord Hollingbury sitting down.

“Two teas,” announced the waitress as she returned. She looked distastefully at the development of social intercourse in the tea rooms and beat a hurried retreat in case it was catching.

“Let me get down to brass tacks,” said Lord Hollingbury. “I am, shall we say, gifted myself in certain areas. One might call me a magician, if you like, but I prefer the term Nouveaumancer. You are … well one of you … and I think I know who, is most certainly gifted.”

“The tea leaves tell you this?” said Marie.

“Indeed, I was carrying out a little old-fashioned divination” said the Nouveaumancer. “I think even magic has a certain … terroir, ne c’est pas?”

“Now look here,” said Sir John, “I don’t know who you are…”

“Yes, you do,” said the Nouveaumancer, “I told you. The reverse is true, I don’t know who you are.”

Sir John’s mouth opened and closed.

“I am Marie Jennings, and this is my ‘usband Sir John Jennings,” said Marie. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Enchanted,” said the Nouveaumancer, “and enlightened. You’re the investigators of the paranormal, aren’t you? I read about you in the papers. I had no idea that you were … poachers turned gamekeepers.”

“Now look here!” said Sir John.

“We’ve done that part and moved on a little,” said the Nouveaumancer. “Do try and keep up. So I presume you’re here to investigate the disappearances.”

Sir John looked confused and aghast.

“You can’t say things like that to a chap’s face,” said Sir John.

“Well which part of a chap should I address these remarks to?” said the Nouveaumancer.

“Please, both of you,” said Marie, “Lord Hollingbury … what disappearances?”

“Oh, I see,” said the Nouveaumancer, “so you ‘don’t know about the disappearances’ and I’m guessing you’re ‘just here on holiday’.”

“Yes, exactly,” said Sir John.

“Oh, well that’s a shame,” said the Nouveaumancer, “I was rather hoping to pool resources. Oh well, if you change your mind, you can probably find me at the Cock and Bull. It really is the only place in town to get half decent scotch.”

The Nouveaumancer stood up and left the tea rooms. As he walked through the rain it seemed to somehow fall around him.

“Has he gone?” said the waitress who had appeared mysteriously.

“I believe so,” said Sir John.

“Well you can have his bill then,” she said, passing the couple a small piece of paper.

The Sunnyport Shadow: Chapter 2

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Welcome to Sunnyport!

Tatty Seaside Town“Tatty Seaside Town”

So readers have been asking in their droves: where is Sunnyport? Those photographs seem familiar…

A cursory glance at a map of Southern England will reveal no such place. It is of course a fictional location, but as all such places, one rooted in some real experiences. We thought it might be informative and enlightening to list some of the ideas that run behind the town.

Inaptronymic placenames: it is the author’s general experience that the pleasantness of English seaside town-names is indirectly proportional to how agreeable the towns really are. Thus “Claphole-by-Sea” would be perfectly nice, but “Haven Bay” would be a crime-ridden rat-infested nightmare. Incidentally, the same applies to hotels and public houses. Any public house called The Friendship will have an undercurrent of violence, and any hotel called the Bella Vista will face a gasworks.

Sunnydale: which holds a special place in our hearts even twenty years on.

Innsmouth: “you’ll never leave” – a local town for local people.

Seaside holidays in the nineteen seventies: for many reasons the author does not wish to relate his experience of holidaying in B&Bs of various kinds, nor expand on the manner of hospitality extended in such places. To our readers who visited the English seaside in decades past, I am sure the reasons are clear.  To those who missed such an experience, the first chapter of Bill Bryson’s “Notes from a Small island” should serve as an introduction.

And one thing that is not an influence on the fictional town of Sunnyport…

London-by-Sea: The self confessed “tatty seaside town” of Brighton (and Hove) will quite often be the “location shots” for Sunnyport. As a previous resident of this wonderful and unique town I can wholeheartedly state that Sunnyport is not Brighton. Brighton is much, much weirder.

Don’t forget – the first four Jennings and Jennings stories can now be purchased from Amazon…

UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B071V9PP6F

US https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071V9PP6F

 

 

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The Sunnyport Shadow: Prologue

bandstand sun 2“Diverse Diversions”

Dear Mr Sir Jenkins

We are delighted to accept your booking at the Shalimar Bed and Breakfast in Sunnyport. We are looking forward to seeing you in May at our most salubrious establishment, which we feel certain will be ideally suited to a gentleman of your refined tastes.

You neglect to mention in your booking request if you have visited Sunnyport before. I have taken the liberty of assuming that this is your first visit to our seaside paradise. Forgive me, then, for any redundancy and permit me the time to avail you of some of the town’s attractions. For in truth, I delight in such a task.

Sunnyport is one of the premier resorts on the south coast of England. It benefits from an unusually sheltered aspect leading to a microclimate which, I truly believe, can be described as mediterranean. The town itself expanded around one hundred years ago when the healing powers of the unique sea air were discovered to have been responsible for the extended lifespan of its inhabitants, then mostly fisherfolk. As you can imagine, people flocked from far and wide to breath the healing air. That gifted the town its first wave of tourists and such seekers of the healthy airs still regularly make the pilgrimage to our town.

But there is more to Sunnyport than fine air! Indeed, the town and its surrounds are of such an unnatural beauty that many a soul has been moved to tears on first arrival. You may recall that the poet Samuel Porlock wrote his famous “Ode to a Roman Ruin” here and the composer Edward Engerland wrote “Oh Stormy, Stormy Sea” in the Cock and Bull public house.

Sunnyport truly has it all. Indeed, any coastal resort would swell with civic pride if only it had our advantages. But the town fathers of Sunnyport are not the kind of men to rest on their laurels. No sir, for they have of late fashioned a most wondrous promenade replete with bandstands, teahouses, and diverse diversions to entertain our guests.

So whether you are exploring Sunnyport’s heritage in the old harbour, marvelling at its lighthouse, promenading with your good lady on the front, taking the sea air, or simply basking in the sunshine I guarantee you will find your stay in Sunnyport an experience you will remember all your life.

In order to secure the reservation we require settlement of the account plus a deposit equal to one half the value of the account, a local tourist tax fee equal to one quarter and finally a linen and cleaning charge equal to one quarter. You may check in to the establishment any time between the hours of two and four in the afternoon and checkout is by nine am strictly. Guests are requested to vacate the premises between the hours of nine thirty and five in the afternoon to permit cleaning. Guests must wear formal dress in the communal areas at all time and noise is strictly prohibited between the hours of ten at night and eight in the morning. Failure to comply with any of these rules may lead to ejection from the premises and loss of fees.

Yours most cordially

Mr Francis Pimplenick

Proprietor and owner Shalimar Deluxe Bed and Breakfast

The Sunnyport Shadow: Chapter 1

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Stop the Press!

No, wait, start the press – or the virtual one at least. For the wondrous behemoth, Amazon has spoken, and our book is available! For 3 British Pounds, or your local currency equivalent, you can read the first four Jennings and Jennings stories on your electronic reading device! Delight to these four comedy paranormal steampunk novelettes! Relive the thrill of Sir John and Marie’s adventures, even when you’re travelling by locomotive or on an airship! Rejoice, my friends, rejoice! If you find these adventures a joy, please do us the honour of reviewing them in Amazon, too.

UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B071V9PP6F

US https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071V9PP6F

casebook one cover SMALL

For those souls expecting to be reading the start of the Sunnyport Shadow, I beg some patience. Todays news was too exciting to contain and you only have one day to wait in the Benthic Week!

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The Cornish Curse: Epilogue

Sir John and Marie sat in the front room of their home in London with Phlebotomous Bosch. Marie was crocheting, Phlebotomous was tinkering with some mechanical device and Sir John was reading The Times when Miss Henderson came in. The room was quiet apart from the rhythmic snoring of Morag, lying by the fire.

“The afternoon post has arrived,” Miss Henderson announced and handed Sir John a letter. He took it and opened it.

“Ah, it’s from the Mallums!” he said. “They send their greetings to everyone, including you Miss Henderson, and thank us again for our help.”

“That’s generous of them,” said Miss Henderson.

“Well, we only uncovered their, er, problem,” said Sir John. “They go on to especially thank Morag for giving them the details of the tincture which reduces the symptoms of their daughters’ condition. Apparently they are now able to function normally during a full moon without, well, transforming.”

Morag lifter her head up from where she had been dozing by the fire.

“Ach, it’s nothing,” she said, “just a case of balancing the silver out with some extra gold.”

“Yes,” said Sir John, ”they mention how pleased they are that their farm labourers have returned to work for them as the gold is quite expensive. Apparently, the girls all asked to be remembered to Phlebotomous and reiterated their sorrow and embarrassment at the final night.”

Phlebotomous looked a little awkward.

“It was quite a scare,” said the vampire. “It’s made me think about possible future romantic attachments. I think it wise if I keep to the bachelor life. However attractive I may be to these girls, I think it’s for the best all round.”

Miss Henderson unfortunately had a small coughing fit at that point, which she covered with a handkerchief. Marie stared quite determinedly at her crochet as her shoulders gave a small shake.

“Sounds very sensible Mr Bosch,” said Sir John. “They also say that they fear news of the incident may have spread. Apparently Marsh left their employment shortly afterwards and started working for Lord du Bois. Now, Lord du Bois is rarely seen in their house. Mr Mallum is somewhat distressed by this and fears the worst.”

“I imagine Mr Marsh is more comfortable under Lord du Bois,” said Miss Henderson. Sir John looked at her quizzically.

“He seemed more like a man’s man,” she said, by way of explanation.

“Yes,” said Sir John,” I believe you are right. Anyway, they conclude by saying all is well and we are welcome to visit any time.”

Sir John folded the letter and put it down.

“Another satisfied customer,” he said. “Miss Henderson, perhaps we could have some tea and biscuits.”

“Yes, Sir Jennings,” she said and left.

“Oh. They have informed us that the payment will take a little time to arrange,” said Sir John sounding glum.

“Well, we have plenty of money after the alchemist, ne c’est pas?” said Marie.

“Indeed,” said Sir John, still looking at the letter and sounding glum.

“What is it?” said Marie.

“In lieu of the first payment they have sent us this drawing by Prudence,” said Sir John. “It’s of Mr Bosch.”

Marie and Phlebotomous looked at the drawing. They both frowned in unison

“I think it’s what you call the … modern style,” said Sir John.

CC Epilogue“Modern Style”

*With apologies to Pablo Picasso…

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The Cornish Curse: Chapter 14

Marie and the adult Mallums were sitting in the parlour when Sir John came in. Marie looked up at him, concerned.

“How was Lord du Bois, mon cher?” she asked.

“I think I rather startled him at first, but after a brief conversation he recovered his composure,” said Sir John. Mr Mallum looked a little concerned.

“I trust you didn’t put him in an ill humour,” he said.

“Not at all,” said Sir John, “when I left he was distinctly gay.”

“So,” said Marie, ”there was nothing of concern?”

“Nothing at all,” said Sir John. “Where are Mr Bosch and the girls on this moonlit evening?”

“Mr Bosch is taking his walk and the girls have retired to bed early. I think they are tired from the ball,” said Mr Mallum.

“What’s that noise?” said Mrs Mallum. “It’s sounds like a kettle.”

They all listened as a high pitched sound got louder and louder. Finally there was the crash of the front door opening, and then the parlour door as Phlebotomous came in screeching.

CC Ch 14“Your Girls!”

“Wolves! They’re wolves!” he said, and presently four giant wolves came in after him. Instantly, everyone jumped on the furniture. The four wolves started circling around the chair Phlebotomous was standing on.

“Oh, my girls! We must warn them!” said Mr Mallum. “The beasts are in the house!”

“Mr Mallum, these are your girls,” said Phlebotomous.

“What!” he said.

“They’re werewolves,” said Phlebotomous. One of the quartet nudged the chair and it wobbled, provoking a strangulated noise from Phlebotomous.

“I really hate heights,” he said. Suddenly, Mrs Mallum burst into tears.

“This is all my fault!” she said.

“What?” said Mr Mallum.

“It skips a generation or two, my mother was … I hoped our daughters would be spared,” she said.

“You knew?” said Mr Mallum.

“I didn’t dare admit it, even to myself,” said Mrs Mallum.

“What are we going to do,” wailed Mr Mallum.

“Look, a coach has drawn up,” said Marie.

“Who is it?” said Mr Mallum, “I can’t see from this chaise-longue.”

“Someone tall, I think, with a dog,” said Marie.

“Lord du Bois!” said Mr Mallum. “He has come to save us!”

The figures approached the house and could be heard coming in the front door. A large dog came into the room. Instantly the dog barked and growled at the four werewolves. The four turned to face her and the largest wolf started to growl back, before the dog barked ferociously. At this, all four wolves lay down and made whimpering noises. The Jennings and the Mallums got down from the furniture. Phlebotomous stayed on the chair.

“Honestly!” said the dog. “What kind of a numpty halfwit goes looking for a magical dog and leaves the one they have sitting at home?”

Instead of Lord du Bois, a young lady came into the room.

“Have you managed to successfully intoxicate them?” she said to the dog.

“Morag! Miss Henderson!” said Sir John. “We are most delighted to receive your presence here this evening.”

“Aye, I imagine ye are!” said Morag.

The Cornish Curse: Epilogue

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Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

One of the joys of writing a novel about historical Paris is having to do research into historical Paris. I’m discovering that fin-de-siecle Paris is even more interesting and bizarre than I’d imagined. The air seemed to be filled with esoteric ideas, nouveau musique and the aroma of exotic beverages. I had no idea, for example, that Debussy was a Rosicrucian.

The pictures today are from a hotel we stayed in last year in Paris. Lovingly rendered by Ms Pichette, they show the small bar in the lobby with the painting behind it and an absinthe dispensing device on the counter. One could almost hear the chatter of insurrection and decadence, of art and aesthetics, coming from the corner…