November, month of thrown fireworks and burning effigies, will see issue 49 of Black Static magazine landing on doormats across the country. It’s certainly better than having a banger stuffed through your letterbox. This issue features a 13,000 word offering, Dirt Land, by Ralph Robert Moore, while Martin Hanford provides the cover art.
This issue includes a story of mine called The Toilet. It’s my fourth story to feature in Black Static, following on World of Trevor, The Bury Line and The Visitors. As a magazine, it’s a broad church. Readers who might think it restricted to blood and guts and rampaging fiends should take a closer look. There’s a real variety of writing to be found, detailing our many modes of terror, disquiet, pain, grief, loss, our human vulnerability.
World of Trevor, my first short story to be published anywhere, appeared in Black Static 42. So to have another story in the magazine feels rather like coming home, if that’s not too presumptuous a comment.
I’m looking forward to seeing the artwork. I hope you enjoy your visit to The Toilet.
This afternoon, after an uninspired but tolerably energetic stint in the gym, I wandered over to the bookseller on Oxford Road. I’d seen the tables being set up earlier, just outside All Saints Park, as I ate an overripe banana on my way to the gym. The thought of all those books, musty and foxed, sustained me as I cycled grimly in front of a television screen busy with growling rappers and sneering divas. Soon, I told myself, this bodily torment will end. Soon I will be checking the condition of bindings and dust-jackets, picking out obscure Pelicans and Penguins for closer inspection.
Freed from the bright purgatory of kettlebell and rowing-machine, I ambled over to the tables. There were two long rows today – a chance for some proper post-gym browsing. You never know what you might find on these tables. It’s a casino of the mind. There was a big selection of communist literature, as there often is, from Trotsky’s provocative analysis of Swedish volleyball to Lenin’s thoughts on contemporary millinery. None of it has sold for weeks, perhaps in protest at the capitalist system. There was another table piled with more insidious red propaganda – big, shiny hardbacks about or ‘by’ such luminaries as Ferguson, Beckham, Ferdinand, Butt. These profound tomes inspired such awe in passers-by that no one stopped to investigate. Alex and Eric received far less fondling than did Leon and Karl.
For me, it wasn’t a vintage browsing session. But an hour or two spent nosing through strange books among sometimes strange people is never wasted. I dabbled with a bit of Henry James – I’ll try anything on a Sunday – but halfway through the opening sentence I felt the first faint throbs of a migraine. There’s usually a good stock of luridly-dressed sci-fi – I was drawn to Harry Harrison’s No More Room. In the end I came away with an interesting and sharply-designed Pelican paperback on mental asylums, which has certainly added cheer to a chilly Sunday afternoon.
If you’d like to read more of my thoughts on secondhand bookshops, my essay Just Browsing: An Ode to the Second-Hand Bookshop can be found at Litro.
“Good choice. It’s a lovely edition and a very fine story.”
My copy of Popshot Magazine – The Curious Issue – has arrived. As ever, it’s a handsome devil, with stories by Georgia Oman, Danielle Carey, Dan Coxon, Rob Stuart, Jane Wright, Audra Kerr Brown and Alys Hobbs, Christine Burns and poetry from Claire Booker, Katherine Venn, Adam Battestilli, Nancy Carol Moody, Ben Norris, Sophie F Baker, Sharon Lusk Munson, J.S. Watts and Rosie Garland.
The artwork is remarkable. The magazine a thing of beauty. I’m particularly thrilled by Kate O’Hara’s interpretation of my story “Through the Flowers”, my first to be published in Popshot. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was pleasantly surprised: her design is lush and sombre, marked with sinister wit and invention. I love it. The picture works well with the story. The vivid green leaves, the pleated scarlet petals, the insects, the furred buds, those eyes. It reminds of an intricate Victorian wallpaper pattern – or perhaps the ornate and nauseous florals of the 1970s. A creepy William Morris design, watching your every move. Kate’s other work is well worth investigating. She’s very good indeed. Check her out at: kate-ohara.com
Popshot is available from tasteful and enlightened stores all over the spinning globe. Ten quid will get you a three issue subscription, a bargain. Issue 14 can be snapped up here: Popshotpopshot.com
I hope you enjoy your stroll through the flowers.
My essay on the joys of browsing in secondhand bookshops has been accepted by Litro. More news soon.