Stranger Seas: Seven Things that Shaped a Childhood

or A Damp Youth Remembered

Today’s post is dedicated to those weird and exciting nautical fictions which started a lifelong interest in aquatic adventures (mostly from an armchair). A couple of weeks ago I talked about growing up on the North Sea coast, and the way in which its bleakness and legends creep up on you (whale-road, widow-maker).

This time I want to expose the soul of a little boy. The authorities wouldn’t let me do that, sadly, and then they took away all my knives, even the one for de-boning chickens. So instead, I’ll just tell you about the joys of encountering some key books, TV and comics when I was young, and the other reason why we have a Stranger Seas theme…

One: The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms

This wonderful film, originally from 1953, is probably the first real monster film that stuck with me, far more exciting at the time than vampire or werewolf films. The entire concept of a super-dinosaur, the fictional rhedosaurus, being revived seemed almost possible to my tiny mind. I didn’t actually believe that vampires existed, but gosh, there had been dinosaurs, and scientists did odd things, so maybe this could really happen!

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Typically, the rhedosaurus is released from hibernation by an atomic test in the Arctic. Feeling peeved, it swims and tramples its way south, heading for New York. Why? Well, it likes sailors and it wants to spawn. Something like that.

With stop-motion animation by Ray Harryhausen, how could it go wrong? I should also mention, given my lighthouse keeper father, that the film includes an exciting scene where the rhedosaurus destroys a lighthouse. Clever listeners will know that this part is based on Ray Bradbury’s short story, The Foghorn. Quite frankly, I wasn’t sure whether to root for the lighthouse or the dinosaur.

I have a slight problem nowadays in that I make 20,000 fathoms to be nearly 23 miles. As the Pacific Ocean’s Marianas Trench reaches a depth of 6.8 miles, wouldn’t that have put the poor dinosaur somewhere in earth’s crust, entombed in solid rock?

Two: Stingray

This hardly needs explaining, surely? The adventures of Troy, Phones and Marina were obligatory viewing. Made between 1964 and 1965 with Gerry Anderson’s Supermarionation technique, Stingray was a bit more realistic than Fireball XL5, and to me at the time, almost possible.

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Human submarines were fine and dandy, but what I truly loved was the whole undersea menace of the aquaphibians and their mechanical fish. Races from the deep, advanced and ready to do battle with mankind. Yes please.

It was only while checking out the release dates and cast for Stingray that I discovered one of those pieces of trivia that we love at greydogtales. A number of the voices on Stingray were provided by David Graham (his performance as Oink the seal was not, alas, one of the highspots of his work). And David Graham was also the voice of my favourite non-aquatic monsters, the mechonoids from Dr Who.

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a mechonoid tries to give a dalek a friendly hug

Shown gloriously in the series The Chase, I loved the mechonoids. Robots/constructs who could take on the daleks, with their cool geodesic look and their wonderful futuristic city. At times I wanted the mechonoids to win and become the new major enemy for the Doctor.

Graham went on to provide voices for many beloved shows, and is, rather astonishingly, the voice of Parker in the animated series Thunderbirds are Go, made in 2015. At the age of 90. That is impressive.

Three: Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea

Made between 1964 and 1968, this TV show was Stingray in (sort of) real life – bigger, tougher and fighting to save the planet from sea-borne or sea-focussed threats. Obviously knowing my tastes, despite the political and espionage issues the crew faced, every so often the writers would throw in aliens, sea monsters, dinosaurs and ghosts to threaten the wonderful submarine Seaview.

Sadly, the wiring on the Seaview had not been checked to EEC standards, and any slight turbulence resulted in sparks, smoke and major electrical breakdown. They got through an awful lot of fire extinguishers, I seem to remember.

Four: Hornblower

Not weird, perhaps, but maritime and an inescapable influence. My father had a lot of books, though it wasn’t exactly a literary collection, more a bit of everything, from Zane Grey to Dennis Wheatley (we’ll come back to him). He did, to my delight, have all the C S Forester Hornblower books in print, and I read the lot. Many, many times, as Betty Marsden used to say on Round the Horne.

forester-hornblower
not trying to cash in on the film at all

To add to the pleasure of disappearing up your own rigging for hours on end, in 1951 they had made the one Hornblower film at that time, and it came up on TV fairly often. With the insanely wild title of Captain Horatio Hornblower R.N., and starring Gregory Peck, it was thrills, laughs and harrumphs from start to finish.

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I still re-read the Hornblower books, although they don’t have many ghosts or aliens in them, which is perhaps their one shortcoming. As for the films, our editor-in-chief has a marked preference for the Ioan Gruffud versions. I’m not sure that she’s paying much attention to the plots, though.

Five: Sea Devils

A split entry here, because I came across both the Dr Who Sea Devils series on TV (1972) and the DC comic of the same name at about the same time.

Dr Who gets precedence. With Jon Pertwee in full ruffed-shirt dandy mode, and Roger Delgado as the Master, this was top stuff. The scene where the Sea Devils themselves rose from the sea reminded me of the Dr Who film where the daleks come out of the Thames. I loved the reptile-house-and-trawler look they had going, and the weapons which weren’t shaped like human guns, giving them a definitely different vibe. Two years before, the Doctor had encountered their equally ancient cousins, the Silurians, and now the Master was urging the fin-heads up from the deep to take on mankind. Pure pleasure.

seadevil

As I was fourteen or fifteen at the time, it would be wrong not to mention the gorgeous Katy Manning as Jo. The Jon Pertwee/Katy Manning period of Dr Who was one of my favourites, and still is. I’m sure that my excitement had absolutely nothing to do with Katy bending over a lot in tight denim jeans, or those adolescent surges of hormonal madness. I was an intellectual child, wasn’t I? The fact that she later posed naked with daleks also left me entirely unaffected, apart from the need for cold showers and urgent medication…

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Whilst digging up Silurian dirt, I also noticed that the nice people at Big Finish Productions (remember the new Carnacki?) have a nautical adventure available – Bloodtide. The Sixth Doctor and Evelyn meet Charles Darwin on the Galapagos, where newly-awakened Silurians have horrifying plans for mankind. Who Evelyn is I have no idea.

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I was a huge fan of US comics, and so the other nautical link here is to the DC Comic The Sea Devils. Unusually for my collection, this was a team of conventional adventurers, with no superpowers, in undersea exploits.

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They were created by writer Robert Kanigher and artist Russ Heath, and were fun. Short on invulnerability etc, they swam along facing some mundane problems and the occasional alien or monster. A bit like Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea but without knowing where their massive nuclear submarine had gone.

I like the fact that they were called things like Dane Dorrance and Biff Bailey. People in the UK did not have these type of names. Actually, I’ve never yet met anyone called Dane or Biff, so I might be missing out. And I seem to remember that they did have a green skinned amphibian in some episodes, so they fit the weird bill (better than Hornblower, anyway).

Six: They Found Atlantis

We’re still talking my childhood here. Dennis Wheatley’s book They Found Atlantis (1964) was a sort of icky, scary forbidden book nicked from my father’s shelf when I was young. It had hideous creatures in it, and sex!!! It made a big, if somewhat unpleasant impression on me. I found the uninhibited sex puzzling but arousing, and the monstrous bits very scary. Ever since then I have point-blank refused to date flesh-eating, stinking, grey-white fishmen.

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the copy we had at home

The crucial point is that, unlike many teasing titles of the time, they do find Atlantis. Which is a weird place. It’s not as good as his black magic books, being half political-type thriller and half mad science fiction. I have a feeling that if I read it again it would be a bit meh! I could be wrong.

Seven: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea

It seemed appropriate to start with 20,000 fathoms and end with 20,000 leagues. We’re talking the film here, not the book. I read Jules Verne’s story some time later, but my sponge-like young brain was greatly taken by James Mason’s magnificent Captain Nemo. Filmed in 1954, it has the coolest submarine, the Nautilus – better than Stingray, more steam-punk fun than Seaview.

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Once again the title measurements puzzled me, given that 20,000 leagues is about 69,000 miles. Thankfully someone pointed out that the leagues referred to distance travelled whilst underwater, not how far down they went. A relief, because otherwise they would have become a spaceship.

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eFX model nautilus

James Mason is of course superb, and you’re on his side all the way. Still a very enjoyable film, and you get Kirk Douglas and Peter Lorre thrown in. I’m fairly sure you’ll find that the aquaphibian’s spy in Stingray was modelled on Peter Lorre, as well. Sure sounds like him.

In conclusion, all I can say is that if you slam all those together by the time you are in your teens, you have the making of Stranger Seas. What you do with it then is anybody’s guess…

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Hurrah, It’s Scary Women Again

It’s Women in Horror Month, and as usual, we’re mildly conflicted. After all, extremely talented women are writing, painting  and sculpting the weird the whole year round. And at greydogtales, we believe in showcasing the work of creative people you may not know irrespective of their gender. Or even species, come to that. Chilli, our alpha female longdog, would have it no other way.

But we also sort of agree with the idea, so this is our compromise. Our Scary Women features have the virtue of being repeatable whatever the month, signposting cool writers, and leaving a bit more room for discussion about gender and writing at the same time. One day we’ll get round to asking men some gender-related questions, in a new series. Confused Men, perhaps. We wonder if anyone will volunteer for that one? Hmmm.

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We’re delighted to be joined today by two great UK authors, Victoria Leslie and Laura Mauro. You may have seen their short stories already – you’ll certainly see more of them in the future. Laura and Victoria were first  suggested to us by author Nina Allan, who wrote an excellent and detailed piece about women in horror – and about embracing new talent in general – not long ago. If we can find the link, we’ll add it at the end.

Here we go…

laura mauro
laura mauro
victoria leslie
victoria leslie

greydog: Welcome to both of you. Let’s start with the overall view as we did in the last Scary Women. The markets, and to some extent the fans, often like to label their favourite authors. Gothic, urban fantasy, dark fantasy, paranormal and so on. What do you call the genre(s) in which you write, regardless of other people’s labels?

laura: It’s simplest to say that I write horror, although I notice that when I speak to people who don’t really read within the genre that the ‘horror’ label comes with a lot of assumptions. I suppose what I write errs on the side of ‘dark fantasy’ rather than true horror, but if it creeps people out – and I hope it does – then I think I get to sit at the horror table, even if only at the very corner.

victoria: I think of the genre I work within as dark fiction or horror. I like how broad the term speculative fiction is as it encapsulates so many facets within the genres and personally I quite like it when these overlap. I particularly like the kind of dark fiction that is showcased by publications like Shadows and Tall Trees, which categorises itself as a purveyor of weird fiction. Also journals like the limited edition Curious Tales I think demonstrate that there is a need for subtle horror, or literary dark fiction.

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greydog: Why this genre? For example, if you seek to explore people’s psychology, why use dark or scary fiction to go there? If you write to thrill, why horror rather than, say, adventure stories?

victoria: I’ve always been interested in stories about the unexplained, about things on the edge of our perception. I especially liked hearing ghost stories when I was growing up and my mum sometimes used to let me watch the X Files or The Outer Limits – if she deemed it tame enough – which I think really fuelled this interest. I think the draw of writing dark fiction is that you can tap into this inherent fear we all share of what really exists out there, of what monsters and ghouls haunt us literally or figuratively. I think, compared to any other genre, dark fiction allows you to process and respond to the complexities of the human experience.

laura: I once joked that I always dreamed of writing cyberpunk but I know sod-all about technology. It’s really hard to explain why I write horror. I think it’s just more interesting to explore the human condition via the dark and the weird because those things are inherent in all of us – we just prefer to gloss over it and pretend we’re all perfectly normal. And also, with horror, there’s the freedom to colour outside the lines and bring in bizarre elements you could never get away with in, say, an adventure story. You really get to explore the strangest limits of the imagination.

reiko murakami
reiko murakami

greydog: Last time we featured writers from North America. Coming from the UK, do you see a difference between British and North American horror?

laura: There was a really interesting panel on this subject at last year’s Fantasycon and I remember someone mentioning that British horror seems to have a very defined sense of place. We’re fascinated by environments. We love a good ancient, crumbling house on the moors, or any place that carries with it a sense of history. The British psyche as a collective has a tendency to obsess over the past. And I think our folklore and legend is inextricable from our history – so many of the more famous ‘true’ ghost stories involve historical figures, whether it’s Henry VIII haunting Hampton Court or long-dead stage actors lurking on Underground platforms.

victoria: I don’t really see much of a difference between British and North American Horror. I enjoy the work of writers from both sides of the Atlantic. I confess that I read more work by English writers, though I don’t do this intentionally.

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greydog: Were you affected by the market presence of other women already writing in the genre?

victoria: When I began writing, I’m ashamed to say I hadn’t read a lot of what you would call current genre fiction. My background is in nineteenth century literature and I was, and still am, a big reader of writers from that period, both male and female. So the women writers I was reading included, Ann Radcliffe, Edith Wharton, Mary Shelley and Vernon Lee. Since then, I’m glad to say I’ve enjoyed catching up with the work of women writers working in the genre now (and male writers too) though, as there’s a female agenda here I’ll stick to the girls: Helen Marshall, Cate Gardner, Alison Moore, Priya Sharma, Carole Johnstone…to name but a few.

laura: Personally, no. When I first started submitting stories to magazines I really had no idea of who was writing what outside of a small, selected bunch of writers I was familiar with through Black Static and Shadows and Tall Trees. So for me it was more of a ‘I like what I’m reading and want to get on that train too’ sort of situation.

cover by santiago caruso
cover by santiago caruso

greydog: We’ve heard it said that there is an area of paranormal and horror fiction which is dominated by male writers and readers, perhaps a bleaker, nastier section of the field. Do you think that’s the case?

laura: It depends on how you define bleak and nasty. I feel like there’s a tendency to consider fiction which deals with physical brutality and violence as the bleakest, nastiest stuff out there but I think that greatly underestimates the impact a well-crafted psychological story can have. You can read a story which has little to no physicality, not a single drop of blood, and emerge feeling completely emotionally drained. But if we’re talking about traditionally nasty horror…I probably have read more of these types of stories written by men – although you could question whether it really is because men write ‘nastier’ horror, or whether it’s because they have a certain confidence in submitting more extreme content whereas female writers are more inclined to hold back and reign ourselves in. Having said that, one of the nastiest (and most brutally effective) stories I’ve ever read is ‘The Guinea-Pig Girl’ by Thana Niveau, which tempered its brutality with a searing insight into what that brutality actually meant.

victoria: I completely concur. ‘The Guinea Pig Girl‘ is a really potent story. I don’t think women are less drawn to write about the more brutal side of horror but perhaps these kinds of stories appear in different kinds of publications. In terms of being a women writer, I’ve never felt a pressure to write a certain type of horror, I’ve just tried to consolidate my own voice. Also, I’ve never encountered anything but inclusivity and welcome in my writing career, the British horror scene especially is very warm and encouraging. Though as Nina Allan’s recent blog post very cogently points out, there is still a massive gender disparity in some of the leading publications, whose job it is to showcase current talent. This is a shame as there are some amazing women writers out there, which is not the impression some of these anthologies give and readers new to the genre face the task of seeking them out independently.

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greydog: Nina’s piece was good – we’ve found the link and have it below. Let’s sneak down to character level. Do you feel more involved writing a female character, or does it make no difference what gender the character is?

victoria: I’ve written male and female characters. Perhaps there are some facets I can relate to more readily when writing a female character but the job of being a writer is to get inside your character’s head regardless of gender. Many of my characters are actually a bit obsessive about something, so I try to pivot character traits on these motivations, rather than to think about gender alone.

laura: I have a tendency to write female main characters, and this is partly because I want to tell stories about women – and when I say that, I mean stories in which women exist and behave and ‘do’ in exactly the same way men do, without their female-ness necessarily impacting on the plot. I don’t know how much sense that makes? I feel like there’s sometimes an onus on female writers to tell stories about the female experience, and I want to emphasise that I don’t have a problem with doing that, but I also want to normalise female protagonists in horror fiction to the point where their gender is just another feature of their character – not necessarily the driving force of their character.

Skein-and-Bone

greydog: The cheap way of writing so-called ‘strong’ female characters is to make them as axe-happy as the men and swear more. That may be fun, but it’s not exactly the answer. What makes a female character ‘strong’ for you?

laura: This is a great question. I have issues with the way we instinctively conflate ‘strength’ with ‘physicality’, and by extension, with ‘violence’. One thing I have a huge problem with is the way we create these ‘strong female characters’ who can fight and snark and power through life but are never, ever allowed to be flawed. They don’t get to be real people. I feel like it’s incredibly lazy – you’re not investing any time into making that person a person, with all the complexities that entails, and that means glaring imperfections, just like every other character. ‘Strong’ does not also mean ‘beyond critique’!

That’s not to say that a physically strong woman can’t also be a good character. There just has to be more to her than her ability in battle, or how unflinchingly she faces down danger. I guess what needs to be asked is, what makes a character strong? My all-time favourite example of this is Dana Scully from The X-Files. She’s determined, intelligent, physically capable, holds her own in a male-dominated environment, stands up for herself and for those she cares about. She probably saves Mulder as often as he saves her. But she’s also frustrating, bullheaded, sometimes easily led, makes bad relationship choices. She’s allowed to be vulnerable, which is important because it’s only through her vulnerability that you’re able to see how strong she can be. We don’t love her any less because she’s flawed – that’s what makes her relatable and realistic.

victoria: I think strength for both female and male characters comes from an inner strength, strength of integrity or through overcoming adversity in its many forms. I do enjoy depictions of female physical strength in popular culture, but I’m finicky about accuracy and realism. I’m turned off by women in tight outfits and silhouettes fighting bad guys but am drawn to forceful characters in literature, like Ruby in Charles Frazier’s Cold Mountain for instance, who possess resilience and fortitude and the practical skills to protect herself and others. The figure of the virago interests me very much but I think we have a long way to go to define and celebrate female physical strength that isn’t solely through a comparison to masculinity.

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greydog: Cool – we’d have to agree with both of you there. Do you feel that you write primarily for a particular audience – female, male, young, old – or do you not see it that way when you’re actually getting on with it?

victoria: I’ve never felt overly concerned with the need to write for a particular audience, except in the cases I’ve been asked to contribute to a certain anthology. But even then, I’ve been driven by the need to write my story more than anything else. I just hope the readers, whoever they may be, like it.

laura: I don’t think so, no. I just write whatever comes into my head and hope that someone will enjoy it.

reiko murakami
reiko murakami

greydog: Which other female writer(s) in the field, early or contemporary, do you admire?

laura: Horror readers are extremely fortunate at the moment as there’s an absolute goldmine of fantastic female writers out there. My favourite horror novel is ‘Dark Matter’ by Michelle Paver, which is one of the only stories I’ve read that genuinely scared the life out of me. I recently read ‘White Rabbit’ by Georgina Bruce in the latest Black Static, which blew me away. There’s a list of brilliant female horror writers as long as my arm and I will inevitably accidentally leave some of them out, for which I apologise – Cate Gardner, Alison Littlewood, Thana Niveau, Helen Oyeyemi, Priya Sharma, Carole Johnstone, Lynda Rucker, VH Leslie, Sara Saab, Sarah Pinborough, Helen Marshall, Alyssa Wong, Nina Allan, Kathe Koja, SP Miskowski, Rosanne Rabinowitz. This isn’t just a laundry list of female writers – all of them have written stories which have left me thinking ‘wow, we’ve got a good thing going here’. I’d love for things to reach a point where it’s just taken as read that women write horror fiction, and good horror fiction.

victoria: Besides the writers listed above I enjoy the fiction of Daphne Du Maurier, Shirley Jackson, A.S. Byatt, Angela Carter, Doris Lessing, Sarah Waters, Nina Allan, Thana Niveau, Laura Mauro, Alison Littlewood, Lynda Rucker, Karen Russell, Lucy Wood and many, many more!

reiko murakami
reiko murakami

greydog: And finally, as we’ve got you here, where next for your writing? Tell us what we might be seeing from you in 2016.

victoria: My debut novel Bodies of Water is due out from Salt Publishing in May. And while we’re talking about women in horror, I should add that it has a very feminist flavour. I’ve just had stories published in Black Static and The Hyde Hotel and have a few others intended for anthologies later in the year.

laura: I’ve got a couple of short stories coming out in anthologies in the coming months, which is nice, including the title story in NewCon Press’ 10-year anniversary collection ‘Obsidian’, which features a whole load of great horror stories by female writers. I’m also planning to write a novel, although I’ve been saying that for at least two years now…

reiko murakami
reiko murakami

greydog: Many thanks to both of you for taking part. We hope listeners will seek out some of the names you mentioned – as well as your own work, naturally.

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Some of the art today is by the fabulous Reiko Murakami, and you really should visit her site to see more – raqmo. The previous Scary Women, with Anita Stewart and Clarissa Johal, can be found here – scary women.

Victoria, writing as V H Leslie, has a blog you can check out,  v h leslie.  Laura can be found here, the crunchiest blanket .And as mentioned, Nina Allan‘s essay, which is a great read, is here – where are we going?

Next week on greydogtales, we have lurchers, lighthouses and more weird things than you can possibly imagine (please note: this is not a legally binding statement).

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David Senior: An Antiquary goes to Dunwich

We hope that all our listeners are crouched around their radio sets with the lights turned down low, for today we have a man who has walked in M R James’s footsteps (literally) and taken a touch of H P Lovecraft with him at the same time. Photographer and writer David Senior joins us, snatched from the Folk Horror Revival to talk about both his photography and his writing.

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earlham cemetery, david senior

With the almost lost town of Dunwich in the news again, we are surprisingly timely in our posting. We do have a vested interest. Our own period horror story My Lips Shall Speak No More, concerning one of the legends of Dunwich, should be anthologised later this year.

Coastal Doom
coastal doom, david senior

If that weren’t enough, M R James, who set a number of his stories in East Anglia, is still the hottest medieval scholar and provost to hit the weird bookstands. And we shouldn’t ignore the Lovecraftian connection with regards to his The Dunwich Horror. He didn’t make that name up, you know.

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dunwich, david senior

“How much of this once populous city with ”fifty-two churches’ is left at the moment I will not undertake to say.” M R James

To cap it all, we grew up on a North Sea coastline similarly being dragged into the sea year on year (see  whale-road, widow-maker ). If the Deep Ones wanted anywhere to hide, forget Innsmouth. There are plenty of drowned villages off the Yorkshire coast where they could share gutteral anecdotes and plan a day out in Hull. Ravenser Odd, now under the grey waves off Spurn Point, would seem a suitable host.

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courtesy yorkshirehistory.com

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David Senior has done extensive photographic work across East Anglia, and his pictorial path runs from moody, pastoral scenes, through ruined churches and all the way to modern dystopian decay, which means that his work has something for everybody. Not many kittens playing with balls of wool, though.

sparham, david senior
sparham, david senior

He’s a prolific photographer, so we’ve only been able to chose a few that caught our eye to illustrate his interview. His writing draws on today’s landscape and is edgy with menace, and we ask him about that as well. Do listen closely…

david senior

greydog: Welcome to greydogtales, David, and thanks for joining us. For those who don’t know you, we should really start with Eastscapes, which is the website you use to display the range of your photography. Your work on Eastscapes covers many aspects of East Anglia, from contemporary neglect to the broad landscape. Do you find the area has a particular vibe or feel to it, one which resonates with you?

david: Absolutely. I’m not a ‘native’ East Anglian – I’m originally from West Yorkshire, and moved to Norfolk when I went to university at 18. As soon as I began to explore the landscape of the city and the surrounding countryside, it began to have an increasing hold over me: there’s something about its location – jutting out by itself, on the road to nowhere, much of it rural, its coastlines eroding – that I find tremendously powerful. There’s a genuine sense of isolation in a lot of the landscape, yet with rich reams of history and meaning lurking beneath the surface.

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cawston woods, david senior

greydog: We’re going to pretend to know something about photography, although we clearly don’t. Are you a hi-tech, expensive SLR expert weighed down with extra lenses, filters and sensors, or a quick digital sort of guy?

david: Quick, digital. I actually know very little about the physicality of photography, and far less about Photoshop and high-end digital techniques. Usually when I shoot it’s either with an iPhone or digital bridge camera. I appreciate the low economic barrier to entry with photography at the moment: if you have a phone, you have a camera. It allows the potential for capturing spontaneous imagery wherever you are without needing to think too far ahead, plan in advance, or have to be able to afford the necessary equipment. I like that.

walberswick, david senior
walberswick, david senior

greydog: What we see in many of your shots is a very bold, even stark capturing of light and dark. Does this mean that you deliberately trek out under certain weather and lighting conditions, or are these opportunistic shots taken as you go along?

david: Usually opportunistic: I think I’m simply drawn to places and imagery in which darkness somehow threatens to overwhelm the image. Even on sunny days, the shadows are the strongest… I often prefer heading out very early in the morning to shoot, though – I want to find landscapes devoid of people, which, even in Norfolk, can sometimes be tricky! Plus it puts me in a more appropriate mindset to shoot: feeling as if I have this silent world to myself, free from distraction or crowding. I photographed Norwich city centre on Christmas morning. It was emptier than I’ve ever known it, and of course my thoughts turned to post-apocalyptic, ‘28 Days Later’ scenarios…

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station approach, david senior

greydog: Your site is sub-titled The Abandoned, the Forgotten and the Curious. This is immediately reminiscent of M R James, and of course you have photographed a number of sites mentioned by James in his guidebook ‘Suffolk and Norfolk’ (1930). Can we assume that you’re an enthusiast of his ghost stories as well?

david: I adore James’ stories, and if anything am perhaps even more fascinated by the 1970s BBC adaptations of his works for their ‘Ghost Story at Christmas’ series. Many of which were both set and filmed in this neck of the woods, so I’ve embarked upon the odd James pilgrimage from time to time! There is a variety in James’ work, and not everything is set in East Anglia, but recurring motifs do stick with me. Bleakness, loneliness, half-seen figures on an empty coastline. Even when not photographing anything explicitly ‘Jamesian’ – whatever that would even mean – his themes are almost always lurking there somewhere.

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aldeburgh church, david senior

“Aldeburgh…has a special charm for those who, like myself, have known it since childhood; but I do not find it easy to put that charm into words.” M R James

castle acre
castle acre, david senior

“…no finer ruin is to be found in Norfolk.” M R James

greydog: It might be worth mentioning that we came across you initially through a connection with folk-horror, an area of growing interest and examination. Perhaps we should put you on the spot by asking what the term means to you personally.

david: There doesn’t seem to be a strict definition of folk horror, which is fine with me. I find it handy to see it as a vague umbrella term which covers aspects of a horror aesthetic which refers back to our more rural, folk-culture roots. That difficult-to-define uneasiness that one can feel simply walking through an otherwise picturesque village out in the middle of nowhere. I don’t necessarily think folk horror as a term has to be limited to the British Isles, but there’s a great deal of the British collective imagery tied up in it. Pagan vibes nestling alongside derelict Christian churches, scarecrows and sinister villages and forgotten copses.

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david senior

greydog: Now, on to your writing. Do your photographs inspire your fiction, or are they two strands which you keep separate?

david: Intertwined. The locations I photograph make their ways into my writing, and I hunt out locations to photograph that resemble the locations in my head. The Sinners of Crowsmere is punctuated with black and white photography, and one chapter is little more than a series of descriptions of faded Polaroids found in an old box. I try and write how I think my photographs would sound, if that doesn’t come across as horrendously pretentious!

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house in the woods, david senior

greydog: Your first novella, The Sinners of Crowsmere, has been described as transgressive, art-house and Jamesian (“Highly recommended… Wonderful arthouse / video nasty vibe on the Norfolk coast” – M. R. James Podcast). As we’re not sure what those terms mean when bundled together, can you give listeners a brief idea of what themes they might find in the novella?

david: It’s a sparse book, slight, spindly, haunted by ghosts literal and figurative. Yet it’s also about people in a small town, and the flaws and weaknesses that make us who we are: depression, violence, obsession, boredom, regret.

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kings lynn, david senior

greydog: You then went on to write Agony Pages. We cover a lot of Lovecraftian influences on greydogtales, and Agony Pages certainly has some of that feel. Did this spring from an existing interest in Lovecraft and similar writers?

david: I’m a sucker for Lovecraft and I’m a sucker for video nasty and gore culture. That indescribable thrill you’d get as a kid when you got your hands on some unmarked VHS cassette that had been copied off some friend’s older brother, and that promised untold violence and nudity… Agony Pages is an unabashed delving into the appeal of the sleazier side of horror. Whereas Lovecraft had sinister grimoires unfit for human eyes, the equivalent here are underground porno mags of mythical reputation that allow glimpses into darker and grosser worlds. It’s not particularly gory or explicit in itself, but all that gloopier, nastier stuff is lingering round the edges.

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austerity dogs, david senior

greydog: And as we like to look forward, we usually ask this. What might we expect from you in the future – more photographic work, more fiction or both.

david: Both. And hopefully together! I photograph constantly, even if I update my blog less frequently than I should. I’m working on the follow-up to Crowsmere, amongst other things, and am still trying to piece together a horror novel told entirely through photographs… Which may take a while, admittedly, but I’ll get there. Until then, I’ll just continue to wander with my camera and my notebook, trying to capture that indefinable sense of weird.

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anglian gothic, david senior

greydog: Many thanks, David.

You can find more of his work on his website eastscapes, and a link for The Sinners of Crowsmere is up on the sidebar now, under Things of Interest.

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Given our concurrent nautical weird theme and our last post (see stranger seas three), we had to add one more of M R James’s comment, from his Anglian guidebook:

“A merman was caught at Orford in the thirteenth century, and kept for some time.”

So there.

creepwood, david senior
creepwood, david senior

At the end of this week: It’s Scary Women 2, a double interview with UK horror writers Laura Mauro and Victoria Leslie. We might still have a midweek medley though, so stay in touch.

 

 

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Santiago Caruso and The Songs of Maldoror

What’s this strangeness? Illustrated book covers from Spanish language editions? And of weird or obscure books? But look, the marvellous Santiago Caruso is involved. So we did it. We are fearless. Our weird art theme has returned.

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We’ve long been admirers of the exquisite covers on the books of Editorial Valdemar, an independent Spanish publisher based in Madrid. The company was set up by Rafael Diaz Santander and Juan Luis Gonzalez at the end of the eighties, and now has a fantastic range of Spanish language gothic fiction, horror, fantasy and science fiction literature. Thomas Ligotti, H P Lovecraft and Sherlock Holmes in Castilian, no less.

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Not only do Editorial Valdemar cover some of the greatest classics in weird literature through their Gothic collection, but they have also introduced translations of contemporary works via their Insomnia range. They now offer Caitlin R Kiernan, Graham Masterton and others as well.

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It’s those illustrated covers, though. Valdemar recently announced that they were issuing The Songs of Maldoror (about which more later), with a cover and illustrations by one of our favourite weird artists, Santiago Caruso. In his honour, we have chosen his and some of the other striking Valdemar covers, to display today.

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For those people interested in the particular book in question, here’s Valdemar’s release information in our (very) loose English translation, with the original Spanish below it.

Valdemar-cabra“Finally, three months late, we just sent to press the 100th of our Gothic publications. There have been some problems, yes, we have been on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but in the end it was worth it. It is a work that we wanted to edit almost from the beginning of the founding of Valdemar, and it would have been a perfect number 1 of the collection of “The Cursed” or “A Library of Hell” we never got to do. So we thought it was a good idea for it to be the 100th Gothic publication – The Songs of Maldoror. The edition is illustrated by the great Santiago Caruso, and is complemented by the poems and letters of Isidore Ducasse, and a profuse collection of notes by Mauro Ermine. I want to thank all the fans of the Gothic collection by making it possible that we have come this far.”

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“Por fin, con tres meses de retraso, acabamos de mandar a imprenta el número 100 de la Gótica. Ha habido algunos problemas, es cierto, hemos estado al borde del ataque de nervios, pero al final ha merecido la pena. Es una obra que nos apetecía editar casi desde el principio de la fundación de Valdemar, habría sido un número 1 perfecto de una colección de “malditos” o “una biblioteca del Infierno” que nunca llegamos a hacer. Así que nos pareció una buena idea que fuera el número 100 de la Gótica: LOS CANTOS DE MALDOROR. La edición va ilustrada por el grandísimo SANTIAGO CARUSO, y se complementa con los poemas y las cartas de Isidore Ducasse, además de un profuso aparato de notas a cargo de Mauro Armiño. Quiero agradeceros a todos los seguidores de la colección Gótica por haber hecho posible que hayamos llegado hasta aquí.”

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Despite the fact that we really want to look at the pictures, we feel that we should tell you a bit about The Songs of Maldoror. The work itself is somewhat mad, and has been compared to a romantic version of William Burroughs going off the rails. It’s not exactly a greydogtales recommendation because quite frankly some people say that it’s too difficult to follow. Others find it inspiring (it has some good imagery in it, certainly).

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It’s either a prose poem or a poetic novel, with six long cantos (or chunks). It’s not exactly linear, and it is rather surreal. Written around 1868-69 by Isidore-Lucien Ducasse when he was in his early twenties, it has no plot as such. It might be easiest to use the Penguin Classics blurb to try and describe it:

“…it follows the experiences of Maldoror, a master of disguises pursued by the police as the incarnation of evil, as he makes his way through a nightmarish realm of angels and gravediggers, hermaphrodites and prostitutes, lunatics and strange children. Delirious, erotic, blasphemous and grandiose by turns…”

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The world of Maldoror is violent and confusing, and is said to have been a major influence upon the surrealists, French symbolism and the Dadaist movement.

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Ducasse, a French writer born in Uruguay, wrote it under the pseudonym Comte de Lautremont. He died at the age of only 24, probably from fever during the 1870 siege of Paris.

Amazingly he thus managed to endure two sieges in his short life. When he was a boy he was caught up in the siege of Montevideo which was part of the war between Argentina and Uruguay. This makes his misfortune at being besieged in Paris by the Prussians rather weird in itself.

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Apparently Ducasse had meant to write a ‘good’ counterpoint to The Songs of Maldoror, but never finished it. Paris surrendered two months after his death, by the way.

Zothique

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Regular listeners, who will therefore have no need of laxatives, will know that we love trivia here, and so we cannot help but mention that Valdemar the Great won the battle of Grathe (Grey) Heath in 1157 and went on to ruled Denmark. Greyheath, greydog – we couldn’t miss that out.

In addition, Bodegas Valdemar in Spain produce a nice rioja, and Valdemar is the overall title for Mercedes Lackey‘s famous series of fantasy novels, starting chronologically with The Black Gryphon. Which brings us back to weird fiction rather nicely.

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You can drool over more Editorial Valdemar covers here (or even buy some of the books if you read Spanish)

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And there is a sadly Caruso-less translation of The Songs of Maldoror still available from Penguin. Nice cover, though.

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Next time on godknowswhatwe’redoingtales, David Senior shares his striking photography and talks about his writing as well.

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Literature, lurchers and life