Driving from London to Brighton with Genevieve

The 1953 movie "Genevieve" starts in the Temple area of London, where Alan, a young barrister, leaves work for that weekend's London To Brighton Veteran Car Run. He goes home to work on a 1904 Darrocq, which has been in his family for decades. While his friend Ambrose, an advertising salesman, has the money to have his 1905 Spyker professionally maintained, Ambrose does all the work on his beloved car.

Any car that arrives at the finish line in Brighton by 4:30 pm wins a medal. Unfortunately, Alan and his wife run into trouble. After performing several repairs en route, they don't arrive in their car Genevieve until much later. 

In 2013, we enjoyed seeing these old cars arriving in Brighton. After seeing how many mechanical problems these historic cars can suffer in the movie, I can understand why many cars that start from London each year don't arrive in Brighton.

Although the rules of the club that sponsors the rally forbid their members from racing, Alan and Ambrose have a falling out, and place a bet on who will return first to London. They wager one hundred pounds on the outcome. Alan and his wife already suffer marital friction because of the time, energy, and money he devotes to Genevieve. His impulsive bet makes this worse, as the young couple only have one hundred-and-twenty-five pounds in the bank.

Alan and Ambrose's bet stipulates that the first car across Westminster Bridge wins. I won't spoil the outcome of the movie for you. But it was interesting to learn that the 1904 Darrocq in "Genevieve" still runs the rally every year. Hopefully, it doesn't suffer as many breakdowns, and finishes the rally more often than not. Perhaps I saw it in 2013, crossing the finish line.

Alan's Darrocq and Ambrose's Spyker can be seen at the Louwman Museum in The Hague. The city is known for the world-famous International Court of Justice. If Alan ever had to travel to The Hague to pursue an important case, I wonder if he would have driven there in Genevieve?

Dragon Dave

Related Links
Genevieve at the Louwman Museum

John Wyndham and Triffids at Seven Sisters

In John Wyndham's novel The Day of the Triffids, Bill Mason attempts to make a new life in the Sussex Downs. These are a range of chalk hills that terminate along the south coast of England with the Seven Sisters.

During our 2013 stay in Brighton, we took a bus trip to Seven Sisters. From the visitor's center, we braved the wind and the rain as we hiked out to the coast. I can imagine retiring to one of these cottages, such as Sherlock Holmes did in the Arthur Conan Doyle story "His Last Bow." I can envision a pleasant life there filled with relaxing strolls along the shore, walking past fields with grazing cows, watching the farmers working, and sketching all the beautiful scenery. 

Unlike Sherlock Holmes, I probably would not raise bees.

If like Bill, I lacked basic necessities such as power, clean and running water, and a nearby source for groceries, my time there would prove less pleasant. If Triffids were  constantly trying to break through the barriers I've constructed around my home and farm, that would also make the situation less than idyllic. 

Another complication Bill faces, which I would not have envisioned, is that with few people occupying and working the land, the roads deteriorate, and the land reverts to marsh. He sees a future in which driving a car or truck will be impossible, and he will have to rely on a half-track (a vehicle with wheels in front and tank-like tracks in back) for transportation.

Seven Sisters, England

One thing I discovered, during our day there, was how isolated you are. My wife and I simply hadn't realized how long it would take us to walk out to the beach. The rain and wind slowed us down, and made each step precarious. Narrow, rural roads my wind their way through the area, but I suspect most who live along these coastal hills have four wheel drive vehicles.

We encountered few other people during our walk. If I had slipped in the mud and broken a bone during our walk, my wife would likely have had to phone for a helicopter. Assuming the people in these cottages were home, I'm sure they would have sheltered us until an ambulance or helicopter arrived. If they weren't home, and the stormy weather interfered with cell coverage, my wife could have tracked down a farmer like Bill, who could have given us a ride back to the main road on his tractor.

While we returned from our trek uninjured, we had not taken food with us, and only a small bottle of water each. We returned to the Visitor Center well past our normal lunch time, and boarded a bus back to Brighton. By the time we found a place to disembark and eat, fatigue and exposure had gotten to us. Both of us caught colds, and my sore throat persisted for weeks.

I imagine the farmers who live here get used to the cold and wet weather. Unlike Bill Mason, they have access to power, fresh water, and nearby grocery stores. So they can concentrate on growing enough food to feed their families, even if they have to take care of a few blind friends too. At least they don't have to worry about fending off the Triffids, or developing an effective pesticide to wipe out the Triffids, whether they have a home laboratory or not. That might not be the most fun, or stress-reducing hobby, they could pursue.

Dragon Dave

John Wyndham and Triffids in Brighton

Brighton, England

In Wyndham's novel The Day of the Triffids, some communities prove less open to strangers than others. Those living in the picturesque community of Brighton, for example, block all roads leading into the city. Anyone who attempts entry is shot on sight.

The principle reason for this is the disease, or plague, that sweeps through the population. The blind suffer worse than the sighted because they cannot see what they are eating. It's also likely that they pick up infection with their hands, since the blind must be more tactile than the sighted.

The disease is made worse because all essential services have broken down. With so many blind, there is no one to operate the water system, work at power plants, deliver goods and services. There are definitely no disposable wipes. The only way to protect against the plague is to isolate and quarantine. Even one infected person can wipe out an entire community.

A church mentioned in E. F. Benson's novel The Blotting Book

I'm glad I got to visit Brighton back in 2013. E. F. Benson set his 1908 novel The Blotting Book there. I enjoyed walking the streets, and visiting locations E. F. Benson used in his novel. One was a church that has since been turned into a homeless center. I gather the homeless situation has worsened since my visit, and Brighton hosts one of the highest homeless populations in the U.K. outside London.

I have no idea what the homeless situation in Brighton might have been like in the early 1950s, when John Wyndham wrote his novel. San Diego county certainly attracts the homeless, and seaside communities struggle to deal with and care for these poor people. I wonder if, while on a seaside holiday, John Wyndham noticed the homeless in Brighton, and that prompted him to include the city in his novel.

In The Day of the Triffids, Brighton is taken over by a militaristic regime. The leaders declare that each sighted person is responsible for ten blind people. It seems a hard life, and an untenable one to Bill Mason. He also worries about the leaders' talk of building an army to unify the country. But then, when John Wyndham wrote the novel, World War II would have been recent history.

 

The West Pier, Brighton, England

During our stay, one monument to the past my wife and I noticed was the West Pier, which had been closed for decades. The West Pier would have been standing in 1951, when The Day of the Triffids was published. It would be interesting to see Brighton with two active piers back then, along with the life, energy, and fun they would have brought. So if the Doctor's reading this, I'd gladly accompany you on a ride through time and space to Brighton 1951. Is that wheezing and groaning I hear coming from the TARDIS? I'd better sign off now, so I can look outside.

Dragon Dave

Rudyard Kipling and the Seven Sisters

My journey to the Seven Sisters along the south coast of England, back in 2013, keeps coming back to me. Maybe I'm watching James Herriot working in harsh Yorkshire conditions in an episode of the TV series All Creatures Great and Small, and remembering all that verdant Sussex farmland we walked through to reach the shore that day. Maybe I'm watching a movie like "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire," in which Harry and his friends travel there to see the Quiddich world cup. Maybe I'm watching the Agatha Christie's Poirot episode that was set there, or remembering how Sherlock Holmes retires to a cottage there in the movie "Mr. Holmes."  

Maybe I keep remembering it because the day was so memorable.

We didn't have a car that trip, so we took the bus out there from Brighton. We didn't pack a lunch, because we didn't have a fridge in our room. We didn't eat until late afternoon, because after our long walk through the wind and rain, there was nothing but a tea shop and a big carver restaurant nearby, and we wanted something easy but nourishing, like sandwiches of burgers. 

Still, we'd had a feast for the senses. We'd talked to farmers, fellow walkers, and locals giving their dog a good long walk. We'd walked along a muddy path beside blackberry bushes, and people building a fence. We'd stopped to photograph cows. We'd seen this place of wild beauty, collected seashells, and tried to repair an umbrella that broke in the strong winds. We'd experienced more in just those few short hours, than we do in some weeks.

So after boarding the bus for the return trip to Brighton, we remembered our ramble through the fields to the coast, and watched outside as the bus took us through small towns and villages. We were looking for something simple "cheap and cheerful," but saw nothing that appealed. Finally, when we reached the town of Rottingdean, we disembarked. The town was on our itinerary, as we wanted to visit the Rudyard Kipling gardens, which we had heard were beautiful. But first, food!

From the restaurant of a hotel, we watched the rain pelt the outside patio and beat against the windows. We heard the gusts of wind grumble and roar. But we were warm and dry inside, enjoying our plates of fish and chips. We took our time, ordering a second pot of tea, as we were having the second and final meal of the day, a late lunch or an early dinner, or "Linner" as Lionel would have called it, in the sitcom "As Time Goes By."

As we were leaving, we asked a worker for directions to the Rudyard Kipling gardens. It took him a little while to connect the author's name with a nearby park, but we told him the address, and he finally made the connection. Then he said, "Oh, they'd be closed now."

And then it hit us, as we walked outside, how late it was. The streetlights were on, and the drivers returning home after their workday had their headlights on. The bus had been an enjoyable, and social, means of transport, but all the little stops it made cost us in travel time. So we didn't get to see the Rudyard Kipling gardens.

Perhaps some day I'll return to Rottingdean, and see the gardens named after the famous author. I read The Jungle Book and The Second Jungle Book recently, so Rudyard Kipling, and that day trip to Seven Sisters has been on my mind. It's interesting that the town made such a lasting monument to him, even though he only lived there three years. But then, just as that was a highly memorable trip for us, Kipling's stories will never be forgotten. 

Dragon Dave

Nevil Shute on the Value of the English Pound

A quiet day in Cromer, England

Nevil Shute's 1928 novel So Disdained (published as The Mysterious Aviator in the United States) introduces us to a former World War I pilot named Lenden. In the novel, he tells the narrator, Moran, of a seaside flying venture he and his fellow pilots ran. They traveled around England, and spent weekends in seaside tourist towns. They offered people there short ten minute rides in their Avro seaplane. For 1919, such an opportunity would be a radical change of pace for your average tourist. Aviation was in its infancy then, and the idea of affordable long distance travel aboard airplanes little more than a fantasy.

For Lenden and his partners, getting close enough to the beach to load and unload passengers at a seaside town like Cromer would mean battling those strong winds and ocean currents with the Avro's engine running. If the wooden beach walls were there a hundred years ago, Lenden and his pilot friends would have had to factor those barriers into their approach. All those difficulties limited their efficiency, and Lenden tells Moran that he and his partners never managed more than three flights per hour. 

As if the normal difficulties of running the business weren't enough, consider what happened when an accident occurred. Battling the strong winds and ocean currents, and getting a lightweight airplane onto and off the shingle beach, meant regularly breaking one of the plane's floats, which shut down operations until they could buy and fit a new one. And it wasn't like airplane parts were readily available back then. While I'm sure Lenden and his associates would keep a certain amount of spares on hand, each time something broke, it took time to be fixed, which prevented customers from flying during that time. And then, another replacement part would need to be sent for.

After awhile, Lenden and his pals found that charging a guinea (one pound and one shilling) per person wasn't enough to recoup their costs, they upped the charge to thirty shillings (one-and-a-half pounds). Still, the work wasn't regular enough for them to make the business a going concern.

Nevil Shute worked as an engineer and a designer in the aviation industry. I'm assuming Shute knew the realities of such tourist airplane operations back then, and built those into Lenden's backstory. So I'm treating the fictional Lenden's description of the physical and financial plight of a seaside holiday plane operator as realistic. I'm assuming Lenden and his fellows charged a fair price, one that most holiday-makers could pay. Still, it wasn't enough to make their little airplane business a success.

I wonder what a guinea, or thirty shillings, was really worth back then. It certainly was worth more than a pound or one pound-fifty today. Then again, you can get a lot for a pound at a grocery store like Tesco's or Morrison's. For example, you could get a pack of chocolate digestive biscuits for a pound. Or you could get a roll of Jammie Dodgers for a pound. You could probably even get two Scotch Eggs for a pound--they make a great alternative to sandwiches! So even though I'm only an occasional visitor to England, I'd say the British pound still retains a good amount of purchasing power, in my opinion. 

And then of course, there are always even more affordable stores like Poundland, where everything they stock is for a pound. Don't even get me started on everything I could buy there!

Dragon Dave

Oh, the People I've Met: Peter F Hamilton

I've never met Robert B. Parker, but I have met Peter F. Hamilton. Hamilton's a hero of mine, as he wrote the mammoth Night's Dawn trilogy. (The first novel in the trilogy is one of my all-time favorite books, The Reality Dysfunction). The trilogy was published in the United States as six hefty paperbacks. 

The pages are filled with well-rounded characters, richly developed societies, spectacular space battles, and all of it backed up by incredibly speculative science. The saga easily holds its own against recent Marvel galactic events such as Infinity and The Black Vortex. It was a pleasure to meet the author of such an accomplished literary masterwork, and I was able to do so in Brighton, at the 2013 World Science Fiction Convention. 

It takes a strong, forceful author to envision, write, complete, and push through publication such a mammoth story. But Peter F Hamilton did it. For me, the Night's Dawn trilogy is right up there with Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, or Kim Stanley Robinson's Mars trilogy, or Frank Herbert's Dune saga. I'm so glad I met him.

Now, for the hard part. To emulate him.

Dragon Dave

Happy Birthday Mary Robinette Kowal

At the World Fantasy Convention held in Brighton, England in November 2013, I had the opportunity to attend a reading by Mary Robinette Kowal. She imbued her reading from her upcoming novel with personality and flair, giving each character his or her own unique voice. This novel was from a series written in the style of Jane Austen, and set in a Regency era England in which women can manipulate glamour to enhance their lives. 

As an unexpected bonus, she revealed that she was not only a fan of the TV show Doctor Who, but she inserted a cameo of the Doctor in each novel. While she didn't identify the character as such, she would typically have a scene involving a medical doctor in each book, and she would mold his speech and mannerisms around one of the incarnations of the famous Time Lord. She read us these sections of each novel, and awarded a copy of the book to the first listener to correctly identify the Doctor she was portraying. 

When she's not writing, she's making costumes, or hanging out with her friends who love dressing up in old English attire. Or she's using her old typewriters, of which she has a substantial collections. Or there's her day job, which is building puppets or holding performances. She gave us an example of her puppeteering skills with a short selection from a famous play, using a stage and figures she fashioned from the most inexpensive of materials. She held the audience in stitches, and left us wanting to read her books. (Or reread them, especially the sections that included a cameo of the Doctor).

Last Sunday was her birthday, so Happy Belated Birthday, Mary Robinette Kowal! May you continue writing, puppeteering, and entertaining us for a long time to come!

Dragon Dave

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Terry Pratchett On Defending The Defenseless

St. Stephen's Church in Brighton, England,
currently used as a homeless shelter.

Terry Pratchett loves to write. As he told fans at last year's World Fantasy Convention in Brighton, England, while other authors may take a break after completing a story, he sees his reward for finishing one book in that he gets to do another one. Then, like his beloved character, copper Sam Vimes, he "starts simple, and proceeds slowly." He may not bother himself to plan too far ahead, instead trusting his storytelling instincts. Should he get into his story, and realize he's followed a false trail, he may end up chucking that story, a portion of it, or the idea underlying it into "The Pit," as he calls it. But he doesn't mind. He can always pull something out of The Pit later, right? In the meantime, he starts off on the writing again, which for him, "goes a lot with impetus and ease."

In his recent novel Snuff, Sam Vimes tries to get out of his holiday in the country. He clearly doesn't want to leave his beloved city of Ankh-Morpork, the place where he feels he belongs. So once he's reached his grand estate, and endured stifled conversations over meals and tea parties with other members of the landed gentry, he seeks respite in the nearby village. For some reason, the locals seem suspicious of him. Why should a member of the aristocracy be visiting a poor man's public house? Why is Commander Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch sniffing around their village? Their suspicion makes Sam Vimes wonder what, if anything, the locals may have to hide.

Given his reluctance to leave Ankh-Morpork, the time needed to familiarize himself with the running of his estate, and the opportunities he takes to spend time with his son, it takes Vimes awhile to discover his first clue as to the locals' suspicion. Readers may wonder exactly where Pratchett is going with the novel, aside from enjoying the commander's discomfort over having to endure his holiday. But then, a hundred pages in, a note from the blacksmith's son leads Vimes to a hill in the dead of night, where he discovers a blood-soaked rag, and a Goblin's severed hand. Given the amount of blood, he realizes that this Goblin must have been killed.

Murdered.

The thing is, no one cares about Goblins. They exist outside the law, not partaking of life in towns or cities, but eking out their existence in caves. Even Feeney Upshot, the village policeman, who has taken an oath to obey the local magistrate's interpretation of the law, finds Vimes' interest in one Goblin's death a little extreme. As Vimes discovers when he visits the chief constable's office, located in a room inside his mother's house, the young man currently has a Goblin chained up outside for stealing pigswill. Feeney has been brought up to believe certain things about Goblins, such as that they are born thieves, they carry horrible diseases, they eat their own babies, and perhaps worst of all, they stink. Or, as Vimes muses: "It wasn't so much a stink as a sensation. the sensation in fact that your dental enamel was being evaporated and any armor you might have was rusting at some speed."

Vimes takes the young Chief Constable to task on a number of issues, chief among them that the purpose of the law is to protect everyone, including the most defenseless of its citizens. The problem is that, in the eyes of the law, Goblins don't officially exist, and therefore have no legal rights. Vimes refuses to accept this. He doesn't know much about Goblins, so he visits those holed up in nearby caves, who have learned to fear and distrust Humans. He takes on the local aristocracy, and defies the village magistrate, as he investigates how Goblins have been torn from their families, and shipped off down the river. He pursues a trail of greed and corruption, all the while arguing with young Feeney, who exhibits a thorough understanding of the letter of the law, but knows little of its soul. To save the Goblins from the injustice perpetrated upon them--from the way Humans have treated them so inhumanely--Vimes risks his social status, his career, and ultimately his life. But for Vimes, that's his duty, his calling in life: to defend the defenseless. He can no more shirk his duty, and turn a blind eye to injustice and cruelty, even if the law currently protects the perpetrators and sanctions their actions.

At four hundred pages in length, Snuff is a long novel by Terry Pratchett's standards. It takes Vimes a long time to uncover a crime, which can make it difficult for the reader to immerse himself in the story. It delves into more serious themes and issues than Pratchett's fans may have expected, such as slavery and the destructive aspects of illegal drugs. Yet it offers moments of action and excitement, including a climactic rescue-effort and river-battle in which Sam Vimes takes on not just the evildoers, but the very forces of nature. Along the way, he discovers some glorious aspects of Goblin-life to counter the rumors and folklore surrounding them. Once those are made public, they will forever change the way Goblins are viewed. As in our world, such sweeping social change on Discworld starts with one person's refusal to accept a perceived injustice. It's a character with whom Terry Pratchett identifies, who seems to hold his ear* at the moment, who talks to him and tantalizes him with ideas for humorous, exciting, and insightful stories. 

His name is Vimes: Commander Samuel Vimes.

Dragon Dave

*See the previous entry. (It's a doozy).

Terry Pratchett On A Copper's Instincts

A Police Station in Brighton, England

Author Terry Pratchett has been writing Science Fiction and Fantasy stories since the early 1970s. The bulk of them (forty novels and counting) take place on Discworld, a disk-shaped world that floats through space atop four giant elephants. (These elephants, in turn, ride on the back of an even larger turtle). His books have been translated into thirty-seven languages, and are beloved by readers all over the world. Yet he seems somewhat amused by his fame. As he told fans in Brighton at last year's World Fantasy Convention, "I just make things up." 

When he starts a new novel, he grasps those ideas foremost in his mind. He describes these as "low-hanging fruit," the ones easiest to pick. Once he's selected an idea, he just has to figure out what the story will be about. Anyone who has ever attempted to write a novel knows how challenging it can be to explore an idea in fiction. Terry Pratchett makes his job easier by following up on his inquisitiveness about our rapidly evolving world. He studies subjects that interest him, such as real-world technologies and systems. With time and study, his knowledge grows, and these subjects mature into the low-hanging fruit he mentioned. Then, with the hard work of research already done, he begins his story. 

Readers reap the benefits of Terry Pratchett's natural inquisitiveness. Over the years, we have seen Discworld's largely medieval society evolve with the introduction of the printing press and newspapers, a post office system, banking, and the rapid expansion of clacks towers, which transmit the equivalent of telegrams using a shutter-semaphore system. While these concepts are sketched out more simply in his stories, we nonetheless finish his novels with an enhanced appreciation for the inventions and processes that run contemporary society.

One of Terry Pratchett's most popular Discworld characters is Samuel Vimes, who has risen through police ranks to become the Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch. A copper's instincts flow through his veins, and he can sense when something in his city is going (or about to go) amiss. He's been such a successful police officer that he's impressed the rich and powerful, eventually even marrying into the aristocracy. He's become part of the landed gentry, and has more money than he could ever figure out how to spend. Still, he's happiest when he's solving problems in his fair city. So what does Sam Vimes do in Terry Pratchett's recent novel Snuff, when his wife insists they take a vacation at one of their country houses? Or perhaps I should ask: What does he do after the city's ruler, Lord Vetinari, assures Vimes that no urgent crisis in Ankh-Morport require his attention? Well, he can't help but poke his nose into what's going on in community life surrounding his country estate, can he?

If Samuel Vimes has won over readers, he seems even closer to his creator's heart. Perhaps it's the character's natural inquisitiveness, the way he knows every street in Ankh-Morpork, and every aspect of city life, that allows him to sense when something is amiss. Perhaps, when he was a boy, the author considered a career as a policeman. Whatever the reason, if he's ever in trouble with a story set on Discworld, Terry Pratchett knows who he can turn to for assistance. "If a story involves Sam Vimes, I know he'll provide me with a lot of dialogue," he told his readers last year in Brighton. 

As all characters relate in some way to their creator, Pratchett must identify with some aspect of Vimes' psyche. As Vimes is forever interested in the forces underlying life in Ankh-Morpork, perhaps the link is Pratchett's constant fascination with the systems and technologies that drive our modern societies. It's also nice to see an author of Terry Pratchett's stature giving himself the freedom to explore his own interests, and to pursue his own hobbies without worrying immediately when they'll pay off in his fiction. Or even if they will. Of course, it's also nice when he finds a way to share his interests with us. I imagine that's one of the reasons we find his Discworld novels such a joy to read, because the ideas behind them spring from his own joy of discovery. 

Given how Sam Vimes seems to hold Terry Pratchett's ear at the moment*, I imagine he'll continue to play a vital role in future Discworld novels. But then, I could be wrong. After all, I don't have a Copper's instincts. 

Dragon Dave

* Yes, I agree with you. Police officers should not grab people by the ear. Especially not nice people like Terry Pratchett.

Peter F Hamilton on Authors & Mutant Worms

A robot dog gazes across the Thames
at prestigious Chelsea

This blog entry continues from Monday's entry "Peter F Hamilton on Elves & Illegal Cloning."

Although his scheduled time had expired, and he had fulfilled his commitment to the World Fantasy Convention, author Peter F Hamilton returned to the table where he had sat before his reading. At first, he seemed confused as to how to proceed, and offered one of us a copy of the manuscript to pass around. Thankfully, after a little encouragement, he kindly finished the story he had begun toward the end of his scheduled reading.

In "The Return of the Mutant Worms," Peter F Hamilton introduces us to a writer who lives in a portion of London called Chelsea, in a plush flat along the Thames River. This author has labored hard over the years to build up a strong, popular mainstream following, and regards the novel he's just finished as the pinnacle of his career. So when he receives a package in the mail, he tears into it, eagerly anticipating the contract for his forthcoming book.  Instead, he finds a publication contract for a short story titled "Mutant Worms" that he wrote twenty-one years ago. The publication of this story can only detract from his upcoming publicity tour, as mainstream readers will wonder how the writer they associate with such sophisticated and polished literary fiction once wrote a crass genre story about mutant worms having sex with Human females.

The author phones his former publisher, and explains there must be some mistake. The publisher informs the writer that he's made no mistake. Although he thought the story terrible twenty-one years ago, he paid the author a nominal sum for it, then locked it away. Yes, he understands that the publication of "Mutant Worms" might offend and appall the cultured sensitivities of the author's present readership. Yes, he knows that even hearing about this story might discourage readers from buying his new book, or indeed, any novels he might write in the future. So what? He decided to purchase the story as an investment twenty-one years ago. Now it's time to collect the dividends. 

But hey, he's a big-time author now, right? Shouldn't he be willing to share some of his wealth with his former publisher, who helped him in the formative phase of his career? No, he has no interest in selling the story back, for any amount of money. Still, he could be persuaded, for the right price, to not publish it. At least, not right now... 

I smiled and laughed along with my fellow readers as Hamilton read "The Return of the Mutant Worms." I suspect most of them noticed how the fictional writer's story gently mocked Hamilton's extraordinary storytelling achievement of The Night's Dawn trilogy. If my summary of the story has piqued your interest, you can find it in Solaris Rising, an anthology edited by Ian Whates. Along with Hamilton's delightful story, you'll also discover stories by other big name Science Fiction authors. I'm glad that I got to hear Hamilton read his story, and thankful that he was willing (and circumstances allowed him) to finish it. 

Dragon Dave

Related Dragon Cache entries
An introduction to Peter F. Hamilton's The Night's Dawn trilogy

Peter F Hamilton on Elves & Illegal Cloning

Last year, I attended a reading with Peter F Hamilton at the World Fantasy Convention in Brighton, England. I arrived early, and found the author seated at a table outside the scheduled conference room. He seemed relaxed, and chatted easily with those around him. I joined the group, enjoyed seeing him interact with others, and spoke with him when the conversation allowed. Then it was time for his reading. 

Firstly, he read a scene from a new novel called The Abyss Beyond Dreams, due to be released in the United States on October 21, 2014. The story is set in his Commonwealth series, which includes novels such as Judas Unchained and the Void trilogy. Hamilton's soft-spoken voice flowed smoothly, soaking into us like warm honey on a slice of freshly baked bread, and his phrasing seemed more rhythmic and poetic than what I remembered from The Night's Dawn trilogy set in his Confederation universe. The scene introduced us to Darren and Alicia, two young sweethearts enjoying the simple pleasures of small town life. Yet, by the end of the scene, Alicia's life lay in tatters, as she has learned that Peter is three hundred years old, and only looks twenty due to his bionic enhancements. Through illegal cloning, he has brought her back to life again and again, each time romancing her beginning at age seventeen, until something inevitably goes wrong, and their romance falls apart. As with his Confederation novels, and the short stories in Manhattan In Reverse, Hamilton entranced us with the possibilities of the future. Yet it was his characters, with all their hopes, dreams, and frailties, that drew us in, and breathed life into his story.

The second story he read from was The Queen of Dreams, a children's novel he wrote to entertain his children. It involves Princesses, Skylords, and Elves. These Elves are not like the ones from Middle Earth in J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. They remind me of Punk Rock Elves, or the blue-skinned Na'vi in James Cameron's epic movie "Avatar." They stand seven-feet tall, have no hair on the sides of their heads, and plume-like mohawks that resemble avian plumage. Plus, they've got tails! The story stars Taggie and Jemima, two Human children who acquire magical powers after an encounter with a squirrel wearing glasses. The novel has yet to find a publisher in the United States, but is available in hardcover and digital formats from English booksellers. Hamilton's reading tantalized us with an Elf who surfed on rainbows rather than water, and rode a silver mirror shield instead of a Human surfboard. The story reminds me of Jane Johnson's novel The Secret Country (Volume One of her Eidolon Chronicles) or one of the seven novels in C. S. Lewis' series The Chronicles of Narnia. Given the inventiveness Hamilton builds into his Science Fiction novels, I'd say children of all ages should have fun with this story, as well as the illustrations in the book. After writing so many Science Fiction stories for adults, it's nice to see Hamilton stretching his wings, and trying his hand at a children's Fantasy. Let's hope his book sells well in England, and someone decides to publish it in the United States.

If not, I'll have to pick up a copy on my next visit to England. 

Although his allotted time had nearly expired, the next scheduled author had yet to arrive, so Hamilton pulled out one of his short stories. We all sat forward in our seats as Hamilton started off on a short story he had written for a few years previously. The story, set in London's Chelsea region, introduced us to an author looking forward to the publication of a book he views as his masterpiece. With its characterization, drama, and touches of humor, Peter F. Hamilton had us on the edges of our seats. But then the next scheduled author arrived, and we had to vacate the room.

To be continued...

Dragon Dave

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Jane Johnson's novel The Secret Country

Brighton's Ice Age Hunter

Kim Stanley Robinson's 2013 novel Shaman follows young Loon for several, crucial years. After his two week test of manhood, his community declares him a man, even though our modern world would still regard him as a boy. Those weeks on his own, fending for himself, make Loon wonder if he really needs a community. After all, his parents have died, and he doesn't really like Thorn, the shaman who decided to train him as his replacement. So, while he continues his lessons with Thorn, he also pursues other activities that interest him, including hunting.

Loon and his fellow hunters never fight a wooly mammoth, but they do hunt bison and other animals that would have inhabited Brighton during the Ice Age. 

Brighton's Ice Age Animals,
courtesy of the Brighton Museum

Loon hunted during his test of manhood, but found it far more difficult to bring down the animal alone. Once he killed the animal, he needed to carry the meat away for later. So, with no one to stand guard, he works hurriedly, constantly on the lookout for other predators, such as lions and tigers and bears (Oh my!) that will be drawn by the scent of fresh blood. After hurrying to cut free as much meat as he dares, he must clean the blood off himself, disguise the scent of the meat he will carry away, and hope that these measures mean that no predators will track him down. So, while Loon finds the idea of going his own way attractive, being part of a community, and participating in a hunting party, clearly offers advantages over obtaining provisions alone.

An Atlatl at Brighton Museum

When hunting, Loon uses an atlatl, or spear-thrower, which allows a spear to be thrown faster and farther than by arm alone. Loon often personalized his possessions by carving animals and other shapes into them. And what tool did he carve with? You're right: he used a piece of stone. Isn't it amazing what we can accomplish with the most basic resources, if we put our minds to it?

Hm… I think I'd like a burger for lunch today...provided I can pay someone in my community to make it.

Dragon Dave

Ice Age English Rocks

I'm sure the locals, and perhaps most of the English, are used to the idea of a rocky beach. But I'll never forget the crunching sound my feet made as they walked across Brighton's beaches, and I can't imagine spreading a towel, and laying down on those rocks to enjoy a sunny day. Yet they catch the eye, and they possess a certain beauty, in their own way.

I found the rocks at the bottom of nearby Black Rock raised beach quite interesting. I have no idea what Edward Taynton (in E. F. Benson's novel The Blotting Book) might have told his young men about these rocks, had he served as a guide on the expedition. Lacking any real knowledge of geology, the only thing I can liken them to is pebble candy. So many different colors, shapes, and sizes, and often the inside looked completely different from the outer coating.

Ice Age man might have found similar beauty in different colors and shapes of rocks, but his appreciation was necessarily more pragmatic. In last month's post, Growing Up During The Ice Age, I related to you how the young protagonist Loon (in Kim Stanley Robinson's novel Shaman) is sent off on his trial of manhood. Lacking anything from the community he grew up with, he is forced to draw on the resources he finds around him. 

Ice Age stone tools,
courtesy of the Brighton Museum

To make his first set of clothes, he finds a rock such as those in the photo above, and uses it to cut and weave a thin but intricate wooden suit. Today's power tools help us fashion wood into practically any shape we desire. Yet I imagine that not one modern woodworker in a thousand could match Loon's feat. Loon and his people were primitives, right?

Dragon Dave

Ice Age Brighton

In his 1908 novel The Blotting Book, E. F. Benson introduces us to Edward Taynton, a pillar of Brighton's community. He's a respected English lawyer who runs a club for young men to prevent them from falling into vice. One of the activities he plans, but never carries out, is an archeological expedition to a raised beach several miles away. But there's no reason for him to travel so far, as there's a raised beach right at the edge of Brighton that has yielded numerous archeological finds.

Two hundred and fifty million years ago, Black Rock was flat. Due to the way the tectonic plates move and rise and fall, and given how the vast and heavy sheets of ice changed the landscape, the former beach is now a cliff. Had Edward Taynton led his young men here, they could have followed the example of real life archeologists, who have found Neanderthal tools, shells from ancient sea creatures, and bones of land mammals such as the magnificent furry mammoths.

A storm blew through during our week in Brighton. As a result, we had to tread carefully along the paved walkway to avoid splashing white, chalky mud on our shoes and pants. Isn't it amazing that such soft earth, so susceptible to erosion by wind and rain, would still be present, and still yielding treasures from thousands, let alone millions, of years ago? 

I don't know if many of the locals really take time to appreciate Black Rock, or partake of archeological tours there. When I visited, my main reason for doing so was to follow Edward Taynton's journey, and see with my own eyes what E. F. Benson had described in his novel. Having followed Loon's adventures in Kim Stanley Robinson's 2013 Ice Age novel Shaman, it would be neat to return to Brighton, and see Black Rock once again.

I could rent one of these apartments in Brighton Marina, and sit by the window, and read novels set in Brighton. Or I could just gaze out at Black Rock all day, and contemplate the history of this raised beach. Ooh, Black Rock. Ooh, Black Rock. Ooh, Black Rock.

Say, did anyone notice that the raised beach is white, not black?

Dragon Dave

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The World's Longest-Running Car Event

In "A Reason to Time-Travel?" I introduced you to the Old Steine Gardens, and shared photographs of the Victoria Fountain.  On a return visit to the park, we noticed these strange contraptions roll past us.

We followed their progress, and along the beach, just past the Brighton Sea Life Aquarium, we saw the vehicles line up at the finish line.

According to the signs, we were witnessing the Royal Auto Club's 2013 London To Brighton Veteran Car Run.  

The event celebrates "The Emancipation Run," which took place in 1896 to celebrate the raising of speed limits on English roads from a brisk 4 miles per hour, to a staggering 14 mph.  Aside from a few breaks, the event has been run every year since, and qualifies as the world's longest-running car event.  

In keeping with the spirit of the event, no cars made after 1905 are allowed, and speeds are limited to a breathtaking 20 mph.  Given the cold temperatures, and the way they hurtled down the A23, it's no wonder drivers and passengers alike dressed up in their warmest finery.

We chatted with a man who made the the 54 mile journey in his 1902 Delahaye in 3.5 hours.  Some entrants took over 7 hours to complete the trip, he said, and if they took too long, they didn't receive a medal.

No wonder some of them got a little steamed up.

Dragon Dave

Related Dragon Cache entries
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Related Internet Links
RAC Entry List featuring Entrant 118: 1902 Delahaye (middle, 2nd row)
Larger photos of the 1902 Delahaye from the Amelia Island Concours d'Elegance