Tag Archives: spectral press

Real-Time Regained

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“Click on this image for my Real-Time Reviews: supporting the known and unknown authors of good imaginative literature in a ground-breaking leitmotif / gestalt fashion from Nov 2008 to Oct 2012.”

That’s something I wrote on my site last October, having decided to retire, around the age of 65, from what was becoming an onerous, if enjoyable and hopefully altruistic, task.

Having conducted, in recent days, this experiment in real-time reviewing of Nicholas Royle’s FIRST NOVEL and QUILT, I am having a ‘second wind’. I must have passed through this  marathon ‘wall’!

For this purpose, I have pre-ordered WHITSTABLE (Spectral Press) by Stephen Volk, TALLEST TALES (Eibonvale Press) by Rhys Hughes, JANE (Chômu Press) by PF Jeffery, DEHISCENCE (Ex Occidente Press) by DP Watt and THE LAST GOLD OF DECAYED STARS (Ex Occidente Press) by Colin Insole – and I intend to resume my regular RTRs of future editions of BLACK STATIC (TTA Press) and THEAKER’S QUARTERLY FICTION and anything else that catches my eye, but please remember I continue not to accept free review copies of books.

Eventually these new RTRS will be listed and linked here.

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abolisher of roses

the abolisher of roses

by Gary Fry

Spectral Press 2011

Reviewed by DF Lewis (14 May 11 – a few minutes after reading it)

Struck by the title and the cover of this neat slim volume – I decided to buy its last copy, as documented elsewhere. It had to be the last copy available, for reasons that will one day become clear, if not before.  I’ve also reviewed much of Gary Fry’s short fiction, during the intially brave and personally exciting days of my real-time reviewing experiment

And I was not to be disappointed. A didactic fable of an ill-seasoned marriage that has grown into cross-purposes of emotional/intellectual/artistic (dis)loyalty and mutual condescension. What a great idea to have a country trail of art installations. Brave in itself, knowing the British weather, but opportune in its being published during the current drought.  Damien Hirst has nothing on the haunting horror that these displays play, re-play, un-play, dis-play….  Hmmm, obliquely, I’m glad this is symbolic of the final exhibit in the current spate of erecting gothic-gantries or word-pictures for a contiguously serialised dream-trail each night….  A sort of exorcism or excoriation.  Bringing perspective and understanding back into all our relationships.  An understanding-indeed-out-of-horror into new alchemies of souls.  An efficacy of terror.  A polisher of roses.  Both.

“Oh, for God’s sake, I was just trying to make the point that we go to art to be challenged, to have our . . . our sedimented habits shaken up.”

I wrote this here yesterday before reading this story.  (It only arrived this morning in the post). END

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