The strangeness of the suburbs. A few reviews for Langwell Sorrow

Langwell Sorrow Stephen Hargadon

Last year (how briskly the years fall away, yet each day takes an age) I was privileged to be published in the tenth anniversary issue of the excellent Black Static. I was in the company of three other writers who published their very first stories in that magazine: Carole Johnstone, Tim Lees, and Ray Cluley. (I still remember, and still cherish, the excitement of that first acceptance.)

My story, Langwell Sorrow, is set in Manchester. There are pubs, there are big screens. There are voices. There are football teams. There are memories and hopes. There are streets to which you should never return. I do not quite know how the story began, or why it needed to be written. These things happen. The words happen.

I’m pleased to say it gathered a few decent reviews. Here they are.

For me, the real jewel in the crown in issue #60 is Langwell Sorrow by Stephen Hargadon. Quite simply, this is one of the best short stories I’ve ever read. It centres around a mans encounter with a patron at a pub that leads him on the trail of a local football team that few have heard of. The team is/was called Langwell Sorrow. Why is there no history online of Langwell Sorrow? Where is the ground they played at? Why have only a few heard of them? Why are they spoken about in hushed voices? These are all questions that need answering as our narrator seeks to piece together the truth of their existence, and perhaps his own. This is a beautifully melancholic story. I simply adored it. Many of the places mentioned are close to where I grew up and I believe this is one of the reasons I became so drawn into this story. Hargadon perfectly captures the feel of being a football supporter with his wonderful writing along with honing in on the camaraderie that exists between followers of the sport. The narrator is full of hope and sorrow at the same time, a wonderfully realistic character. The ending to the story is simply perfect. I enjoyed it so much I read the story again, twice! it is just brilliant, brilliant, brilliant, nothing else to say. The Grim Reader

The best tale this issue is novelette “Langwell Sorrow” by Stephen Hargadon about a depressed single office worker who becomes obsessed with discovering an otherworldly amateur football (soccer) team that he learns about in a pub. It’s an engaging story full of insights … Michael J, Goodreads

“ … giving way to wrinkles and creases, the eyes ever more frightened, more alert, too sensitive for the world, and then becoming dim …” I have long lived with the truly remarkable Stephen Hargadon canon of stories in Black Static, and this one I tell you is that canon’s latest apotheosis, beyond which I cannot conceive of a greater apotheosis. Except I expect there may be one. I put nothing past this author, least of all a goal. Here, we have pub talk as a sort of religion, pubs as scatologically and eschatologically worse than even one’s memory of them, one’s living in them … and better, too. Football, too, as soccer puppets of the darkening soul. I imagined stigmatised bodies hanging from those chanting outstretched soccer-scarves to the Sorrow. I cannot do justice to this text packed with wise saws, homilies, unique locals, the strangeness of suburbs of a city that are ordinary to the people living there but an alien land to you, like life and death themselves. The good-hearted winks at sometime bad bonhomie, a rough cut mix of rarefied Quentin S Crisp and something overwhelmingly and completely off-the-bar but true … And the narrator himself is a real character and a half. Full of anxieties as well as hidden hopes. DF Lewis 

… the local color and characters make [this story] a rewarding experi­ence. The nameless narrator finds old Gary Gorse at a local pub and listens to him grouse about his football team. Despite his discon­tent, he exists for the Langwell Sorrow (“Named after a church. Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows on the Lower Langwell Road”) and remains true to the green-and-maroon. The narrator is fascinated and goes off to find Langwell, the church, and the team. Paula Guran, Locus Reviews

“Langwell Sorrow” by Stephen Hargadon. The narrator meets a man in a pub who tells him about an obscure football team from an unknown town. He tracks down the village, which is not listed on any map. His journey leads to an unexpected discovery. The point of the story seems to be the narrator’s search for a way to escape his lonely existence. Victoria Silverwolf, Tangent Online

Our narrator drinks a lot in a pub and doesn’t have much more in his life. One night, a man he sees all the time started talking about all the football clubs he hated, which seemed to be all of them. What club did he support? Langwell Sorrow. Team colors were maroon and green. Our narrator is intrigued but can’t find out much more from the man, only that it was associated with a church called Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows. He starts to look around and finally found where they play. Nicely chilling ending. Sam Tomaino, SFRevu

Black Static 60 can be bought from TTA Press here. (If dark fiction is your thing, it’s well worth getting yourself a subscription.) For Kindle, it is available here.

black static 60 Langwell Sorrow

Cover by Ben Baldwin

The Shadow Booth

Not long ago I was asked to contribute to a new anthology of weird or eerie fiction, Tales from the Shadow Booth, edited by Dan Coxon. I was intrigued. I sent Dan a story called ‘A Short History of Tedium’. He liked it. I was ushered into the Booth. And here I am, among the velvet shadows, beckoning you to join me.

Set largely in an office, ‘A Short History of Tedium’ features many things familiar to the humble and harassed office worker, including a voodoo spreadsheet, various thrusters and loafers and loquacious bores, interminable meetings, emails, daydreams, unmusical jargon. The whole rigmarole of office life. I’m not sure where the story came from, how it started. Perhaps with an overheard conversation.

Back in the mists of childhood, an office job seemed a rather grand and important thing, almost decadent. The office was a place of comic strife as opposed to grim drudgery. It offered, I suppose, a better class of tedium. Perhaps I’d watched too many old films starring Ian Carmichael and Terry-Thomas. In The Rebel, Tony Hancock, frustrated and bored, escapes the crushing routines of office life for the artistic thrills and spills of bohemian Paris with its cafes full of garrulous painters and sour existentialists. But to me there was still a certain glamour about the office. No one I knew worked in an office, apart from the head teacher at school, and his office wasn’t really an office, it was more a kind of mysterious nerve centre or punishment room.

Secretaries in nylons; silver fountain pens; padded leather chairs. There was no doubt that the office was better than the factory. As a boy I didn’t know what I wanted to do (or be) when I grew up. It was hard to disentangle noble ambition from fatuous reverie. The future was clouded by doubt and fear. Even the monotony of Tony Hancock’s office in The Rebel had a certain appeal.

Now almost everyone seems to work in an office, or in an office-like environment, and those who do not are compelled to spend great chunks of their working day dealing with irritating administrative tasks. But it does not stop there. Even on our sofas we are expected to be administrators. Arranging for gas and electricity to be supplied to your home is now a long-winded and tiresome affair – it is essentially another form of office work. Such is the beauty of consumer choice. The office, thanks in part to technology, increasingly infects our private lives. As you glide on that early evening train out of the city into the gentle suburbs, past jungly embankments and scruffy houses, under bridges, over roads, past that mysterious pub on the corner with the odd name, you hear fellow commuters talking into their phones, some anxious, some boastful, deploying a language – hub, silo, performance review – the rest of us are trying to escape. Emails spread the contagion into our homes. Work never stops. The office is everywhere. Your boss in your bedroom, in your pocket. Your boss in your head.

(If you’re interested in office life, and how it has evolved over time, try Cubed: A Secret History of the Workplace by Nikil Saval. It’s a good read. Sharp, funny, illuminating. Saval roams from Bartleby to Silicon Valley, linking office design and modes of working to wider political and cultural concerns.)

But that’s enough about mesmerising spreadsheets and tiresome jargon. Let’s return to the Booth … Taking ‘its inspiration from the likes of Thomas Ligotti and Robert Aickman, as well as H. P. Lovecraft and Arthur Machen, The Shadow Booth explores that dark, murky territory between mainstream horror and literary fiction. From folk horror to alien gods, the journal aims to give voice to the strange and the unsettling in all its forms’. It is being financed by a Kickstarter campaign. So far, over half the money has been raised. The aim behind the funding is to ensure us writers get paid. Here’s what the editor says: ‘Yes, there are other costs involved in producing and distributing any book or magazine, but it’s our belief that these should be outweighed by the authors’ right to get paid for their work. It’s one of the reasons we’re crowdfunding – to ensure that the authors of these wonderful stories receive reasonable payment. Paid markets are becoming increasingly rare and it’s a trend that we’d like to see reversed.’

You can support the project by preordering a copy on Kickstarter. There’s plenty of goodies still on offer, including postcards, T-shirts, signed books. Dan has assembled an exciting line-up for this first outing. Here’s the team: Paul Tremblay, Malcolm Devlin, Richard Thomas, Stephen Hargadon, Annie Neugebauer, Richard V. Hirst, Sarah Read, Timothy J. Jarvis, Gary Budden, David Hartley, Dan Carpenter, Joseph Sale.

Keep your eyes on the Ginger Nuts of Horror website, which is running interviews with some of the writers involved, including Sarah Read, Gary Budden, Annie Neugebauer. And check out Dan Coxon’s article on weird fiction here.

So, step this way. The Shadow Booth is waiting for you …

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