My Blog - Alan Camrose

27 April 202029 April 2020

A magician’s flesh in the light of a blue moon

Welcome to my Blog at The Lair Of The Camrose

It’s my bespoke stomping ground in the Intermatrix . You are very welcome, and thanks for stopping by…

This time, come with me on a journey around a few of my books to see what I read and how I read it, which in turn informs my own creative process.

I have taken a closer look at a few books that I have finished recently:

Blue moon the way of all flesh the magician lee child maugham — Spotlight on thrillers old and new

Blue Moon by Lee Child

The Way Of All Flesh by Ambrose Parry

The Magician by Somerset Maugham

I chose these more or less at random to reflect some of the genres that I favour and my thoughts on these books. And any influences they have had on my fiction writing.

Blue Moon is a knock down drag out action thriller, the 24th in the hard-nosed series by Lee Child.

The Way Of All Flesh is a thriller set in Victorian Edinburgh.

The Magician was written in the early part of the 20th Century, a Gothic supernatural thriller where there is more to it than meets the eye.

They satisfy the reader part of me that wants some escapism, delivering to varying degrees and covering a range of time periods, from contemporary to the early 19s to Victorian, written from different starting points, Blue Moon and the Magician contemporaneous to their authors, the Way Of All Flesh looking back.

An interesting cocktail, hence the mash-up blog post title…

BLUE MOON

The Grim Reacher (with automatic weapons)

I love the Reacher books. Hats off to Lee Child.

Blue Moon has been my first wobble after what I regard as 23 previous triumphs…I’ve read all of them, and most of the short stories (as fixes until the next novel).

Killer main character, clever plots, but in this one not so much.

Why?

Setting the novel somewhere un-named immediately distanced me from the action (which is ruthless and efficient as usual); it made it seem more artificial. In a bubble.

The plot is considerably more linear than its predecessors, easing us into the action with crowbar intensity but then becoming more by-the-numbers for me. Some parts reminded me of a shoot ’em up video game, with dim villains dutifully stepping up to be dispatched by Reacher. The underpinning subject matter of the operation is satisfyingly topical (in a non-COVID world) but in many ways could probably have been any other subject matter without having disturbed the flow of the book.

Having said all that, despite being a little disappointed by Blue Moon (and, mind you, all things are relative), I STILL enjoyed it. Roll on #25, even if under a different pair of hands…

THE MAGICIAN

Gothic. Horror. Fantasy. The intrigue of a new century (in this case, the 20th). – what’s not to like?

Set in a mostly dour Britain, it’s spiced up with Bohemian Paris and a roam across Europe, made as exotic as the mysterious East. The novel plays with archetypes and stereotypes and creates genuine menace from its diabolical villain, Haddo, who entices his victim to his towering lair in the dark depths of the British countryside. Why does he do that? Revenge. And because he can. Because he is a Magician.

It’s a quest, it has a hero called Arthur (the baggage of that name was probably not an accident!), and a satisfyingly villainous villain.

So far so formulaic.

But once the reader starts to peel back the various roles and behaviour of the characters,, it becomes a fascinating look at how the world was changing around the time Maugham wrote the novel. And to add a further dimension, all fueled by a scandalous public “duel” of words between the author and the notorious Aleister Crowley, who was allegedly the “wickedest man in the world” around that time, a label that the alleged Satanist seemed to relish. Crowley was the clear “inspiration” for Haddo.

The timelines in the book are odd to modern eyes, some of the decision-making bizarre, but the darkness feels very real in these pages.

Allow some rope for some of the archaic mores and style and your suspension (hanging) of belief will be rewarded with an iconic ending bringing in a new day.

THE WAY OF ALL FLESH

An odd mixture of Scottish episodes of Call The Midwife and Ripper Street

All in all, I enjoyed The Way of All Flesh, but I wasn’t captivated.

3.5 stars.

The feeling of place and time is very good, and the burgeoning relationship between the two main characters. The other thing that I liked was the inclusion of evidently local words and phrases to increase the grounding and credibility. The use of medical terminology has the same effect – and plenty of that given some of the disturbing detail… The periodic commentary on women’s evolving rights and place in society in those times was I thought well handled. The final resolution, in the circumstances/time period, was effective. Overall, very atmospheric.

So far so good.

My main difficulties with the book amount to the big reveals not feeling particularly big; I found them somewhat telegraphed. There is also a tendency at times for the inclusion of long explanations of what we have just seen, which I feel drew me out of the action. In addition, I found parts, particularly toward the end, somewhat melodramatic.

Overall, perfectly readable and enjoyable; good escapism in the context of our current travails.

ALL TOGETHER NOW…

Thinking about them as an unlikely package, they all tick the thriller box, the action driving forward to allow a return to some form of equilibrium.

Villains are thwarted, resolve is tested, there is a satisfying “normality” and even solidity to the structure of the novels despite their wide-ranging subject matter and their place in the literary continuum. Precious little humour in any of them, but a sound and relentless approach to finding resolution.

That is what I find pleasing in thrillers, re-setting the world albeit with changes that spill over into the next offering, more relevant to the Reacher series as a means of retaining control over what develops around characters imbued with their own wishes and needs after, in Reacher’s case, such a long time on the road…

shows author / writer dressed as the Joker — Alan Camrose

Alan Camrose writes books, this Blog and quizzes . His clones help him to find time to do all these things simultaneously. His coffee machine is set to intravenous. His golden retriever, Jasper, is set to Hungry Cute at all times. His cat – Pagoda – is like all cats, she doesn’t help him at all. Even though he is a certified cat-whisperer (more a cat-yeller). Pagoda rules the house with an iron claw. Alan lives with the rest of his family in Surrey. Please do visit him at his website: www.alancamrose.com

You will find his fantasy-thriller, Lost In Plain Sight, on Amazon directly, or through his website.

16 April 202023 May 2020

The ties that bind a writer

Welcome to my Blog at The Lair Of The Camrose

It’s my bespoke stomping ground in the Intermatrix . You are very welcome, and thanks for stopping by…

This time, come with me to Myanmar (Burma, as was) and see the origins of one of the characters in one of my books

We holidayed in Myanmar (formerly Burma) in 2012, travelling from Yangon to Bagan, to Lake Inle in central Myanmar, via a couple of bracing air and road trips. The great thing is now we’re able to say that – like Nellie the Elephant – we met one night in the silver light / On the road to Mandalay. No traveling circus to run away from, although we did have our eleven year old twins with us.

In an earlier post, I mentioned the religious dimension of the exquisite reclining Buddhas. Now I’m going to talk about the exquisite Burmese cats there, which delighted and charmed us in equal measure.

Burmese cats in Burma? Who knew? Read on.

We found them at Lake Inle. It’s an almost supernaturally peaceful place of calm water and effortless fishing with nets by wiry boatmen. They work on long skiffs, their practices unchanged over thousands of years, balanced, more like perched, on one leg. Precarious but elegant. Their non-standing leg wraps around a long oar which they use to propel their boats, freeing their hands to manipulate long, thin bamboo poles and silky fishing nets. They look like eerie stick figures in the early morning mist, or complicated semaphore signallers. Magical.

We saw hand-weavers and metalworkers plying their trades in raised bamboo buildings on sturdy poles above the lake. Then we landed at an island jetty revealing the entrance to:

to cafe for Burmese felines in Burma — Afternoon tea for cats. Burmese cats. In Burma.

Do not enter here if you are not a cat-lover, or if you do then be warned (and wear a hat). There are lots of cats. Burmese cats. A silken wave. In fact a heat map of Myanmar would surprise you in terms of hits for Burmese cats, since they died out in Burma in the 1930s. No more Burmese cats in Burma, like no chocolate in a chocolate cake.

They were re-introduced to their native and spiritual home in 2008/9 from Australia and Britain to re-kindle the flame. Make the world right. Put that smooth, delicious chocolate back where it belongs.

Cat storage platform cat sitting on head — Just passin’ through…

The cats at the Cat Café won our hearts – as well as high ground in the picture opposite. Their now familiar to us complete lack of fear (common sense) of strangers had them cavorting around all of us in no time.

It was an easy step to acquiring one when we got back to Britain.

Pagoda.

She even now walks on my shoulders – not so much on my head, maybe – in the same no-nonsense way as her predecessors at, a link to the feisty cat familiar in my new book, Lost In Plain Sight.

What felt like an inevitable starting point for my writing journey: that cat as one of the protagonists, allowing mere humans a periodic glimpse of what it means to be a cat.

I was acting on the most consistent advice that I’ve seen, apart from the raucous screaming of the words “SHOW, DON’T TELL!” :

“Write what you know”.

Maybe something about law at some stage. I was a lawyer for a long time. However, for my first project I chose to write about a magical cat who naturally believes that her “owner” is in fact her familiar while they hunt down a murderous demon. With the greatest possible respect, that was a lot more fun than writing legal opinions.

I hope you read it and agree.

Cheers,

Alan

Alan Camrose

16 April 20202 May 2020

Brighton Beach Memories

Welcome to my Blog at The Lair Of The Camrose

It’s my bespoke stomping ground in the Intermatrix . You are very welcome, and thanks for stopping by…This time, come with me in the company of a psychopath to the seaside for a look around the place that inspired one of my books…

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Brighton hasn’t featured prominently in literature or movies with a few outstanding exceptions that I’ve looked at in this post. (Brighton Beach Memoirs doesn’t count since it’s in a foreign country) I have embedded info about various of the treats in store. Keep it to hand for the better times that are coming.

Pinkie Brown is a psychotic and ruthless underworld figure in Graham Greene’s classic 1938 novel, Brighton Rock (and the classic movie in 1948 (Richard Attenborough), and the re-make in 2010 with among others Helen Mirren – Official Trailer. Pinkie would be an unlikely poster-boy for the Brighton tourist trade. The brawling tribes portrayed in Sixties Brighton in the movie Quadrophenia wouldn’t be on their shortlist either. (Official trailer)

To give you an idea of the menace that is in this book and the movies, imagine you’re the teddy bear:

Pagoda Cat menacing an innocent teddy bear — Bear in the cross-hairs

On a brighter note, Brighton prides itself on its eclectic cultural scene: a challenging marathon (which I have witnessed, I confess, as a supporter rather than a participant), and the legendary annual Brighton Naked Bike Ride (2019 details) where riders struggle to stow their gear. With the Palace Pier, the towering Needle city observation deck (the British Airways i360) and the barking mad architecture of the Brighton Pavilion, there’s a lot to see.

I have been going to Brighton throughout my life, first with my parents, often to the pitch & putt on the front when I was a kid. I achieved a keen grasp of ’99’ tasting. Then I went with friends, and now family and friends. The city has changed from a more traditional seaside town of ice cream, sticky rock and fish & chips to the newer, more wide-ranging, place to be. I found it was a natural choice for me to use Brighton and its local area as the main backdrop to my new fantasy-thriller, Lost In Plain Sight. I was drawn to it by my familiarity with the place, the excitement that it still gives me to go down there and crunch over the beach and visit the Regency fish restaurant on the seafront for some hake and chips. And an edge to the place, created by the ebb and flow of visitors to the city. Never the same twice.

The West Pier is my favourite landmark in Brighton. Visit the webpage and you’ll see its Goth allure. It used to be an elegant slice of seaside glamour, then fires and the elements conspired to bring it down before its redevelopment, leaving what now looks like a black rib-cage hovering in and above the sea, no longer a counterpoint to the Palace Pier, more a dwindling marker of past glory.

The sea and the sky danced on the horizon, impossible to tell apart, the view broken only by the brooding, spidery remains of the burnt-out West Pier, soaking up sparkles from the water with grim determination.
Lost In Plain Sight

Pinkie would’ve attacked it with sledgehammers to finish it off, but it sits there now, reluctantly crumbling into the sea. It’s a symbol of keeping going against all the odds. Like the investigation team in my book.

Brighton has evolved over the years, its history a backdrop for greasy doughnuts, beer and cults of human sacrifice. Keep it in mind for a future escape during these difficult times. I’ll keep it in mind for future books.

16 April 202029 April 2020

The magic of make-up: Lights…Camera…Joker!

Welcome to my Blog at The Lair Of The Camrose

It’s my bespoke stomping ground in the Intermatrix . You are very welcome, and thanks for stopping by…

This time, come and see me in my make-up studio, also known as my office…

Dressed as Joker in the office, the magic of make-up - nothing to do with my magic cats novel

I absolutely love the Joaquin Phoenix Joker movie. He made me feel sorry for the Joker. Crazy!

Worth his Oscar every day of the week.

It’s been an epic journey for the Joker leading up to this point:

Cesar Romero was fantastic cavorting opposite without question the best Batman ever – Adam West. Cesar was the chortling Clown-Prince of Crime…Among others, the reckless and deranged Jack Nicholson, guilty of chewing up the furniture in Batman. And the sadly missed nightmare of Heath Ledger’s take. Genuinely unsettling, and brings nightmares even now of his magic trick with a disappearing pencil…

But I think the Phoenix version had the extra dimensions of his aching need for acceptance and terrible mental health issues. All of that seeped into the character so much that even with the horrific crimes that he commits during the course of the movie and his thirst for chaos and destruction, we are still invited not so much to side with him as to at least understand him as a complete character rather than a caricature – an amazing feat when you think about him strutting around in lurid clothes and troubling make-up, the scent of coulrophobia burning your nostrils as you watch.

My stint as a villain (apart from the heinous crime of being a lawyer, that is) amounted to several hours at an office party a while back, heisting beer. You can see the office below…

I recall having taken a conference call that day in my get-up, asking the – very understanding, and amused – client to allow me to conduct the call on speaker, explaining that I didn’t want to smudge my make-up.

Becoming someone else for a brief time is amazingly liberating, as you can perhaps see below – a visit to the Mandarin Hotel in Hong Kong for tea illustrates that…

Make-up and costume of Joker in Hong Kong

I asked for a table for four in the Clipper Lounge for my wife and the kids. The staff are magnificent there, not even raising an eyebrow – they could have borrowed one of mine – as they showed us directly to our table. I suppose it made it OK because I was wearing a tie?

This feeds through into my writing – the liberation not the need to dress up in odd costumes. Each character unleashed in a book contains – worryingly sometimes – a little bit of me, my family, friends, acquaintances, history. Inevitably. Everything comes from somewhere. All part of my way of understanding the world and me, and me in the world, as part of my writing.

Take a look at my other blog posts: see if they drive you crazy…

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Cheers,

Alan

Alan Camrose

16 April 202020 July 2020

Appearances are deceiving…

roast chicken hixters restauarant london

Welcome to my Blog at The Lair Of The Camrose

It’s my bespoke stomping ground in the Intermatrix . You are very welcome, and thanks for stopping by…

This time, come with me on a trip to Cuba and see the coming together of Santeria and roast chicken…

We wandered round the streets of Havana, Cuba drinking in the sights and some local beer. Our journey led us into a surreal world of crumbling beautiful buildings topped with optimistic modern extensions, watchful street cats, and the mysterious religion of Santeria (the Cuban version of voodoo).

That was a departure from the usual boat-like classic automobiles and challenging-coloured cocktails).

We discovered a voodoo shop around Calle O’Reilly (O’Reilly Street) in Old Havana. There must be a magic spell over it; I would never find it again, tucked away off the main thoroughfare. The street was named after the unlikely sounding Alejandro O’Reilly, 1st Count of O’Reilly of the Spanish Empire, rewarded by Spain for among other things during the course of the 18th century re-building Havana’s defences after they’d proved to have been set in the wrong place. So, who did your building work last time…?

The exotic emporium was festooned with bowls (for offerings), trinkets, candles and candlesticks, figurines of Catholic saints, necklaces, and coloured beads called elekes. The authentic, sacred versions of elekes are carefully prepared by santeros (think, priests) to reflect and guide initiates in suitable ways; other beads are…just beads.

Elekes Santeria jewellery, magic, voodoo — Elekes

The religion of Santeria developed undercover as a shadow of Catholicism, when slaves from Africa arrived at their new enforced homes in places like Cuba, and were discouraged from openly practising their beliefs. They used Catholic saints as avatars or proxies to cloak their own style of worship, an intriguing sleight of hand to allow them to continue to follow their old ways.

Orishas – the Santeria equivalent of selected saints – have specific colours, behaviours and powers associated with them, practitioners emerging from behind the disguise of Catholicism to make offerings of food and sometimes blood (animal sacrifices). The latter adds something of a sinister element to the religion, often over-shadowing its predominantly uncontroversial ways and discouraging open practice.

I made more of Santeria in my novel, Lost In Plain Sight, which portrays a menacing arm of the religion allowing – demanding – human sacrifice, not merely chickens.

Is this a horrific memento that I stole away out of the back of the Santeria shop allowing me to make an evil Hand Of Glory to strike fear into my enemies and lay waste to their souls?

No, It’s a roast chicken served at Hixter restaurant, Bankside, in London. It’s presented at your table done up like a, er, chicken, including a very fine looking pair of feet. Took me back to our days in Hong Kong, where chickens’ feet are alarmingly popular, espacially when employed to bait foreigners at dinner.

They’re not for the squeamish, but neither are they a monstrous display of dark magic. The chicken is moist and succulent, run through from the base with an uncomfortable nod to Edward II.

I picked out this image to illustrate the power of connection and association.

I used the concept of Santeria in my book, albeit distorted and made more alarming by the introduction of higher levels of sacrifice rather closer to home.

Here’s a passage from my book that talks about it, a taster perhaps, using authentic names but for more diabolical purposes:

EXTRACT from Lost In Plain Sight

The leader intoned in a voice that melted into the African drums and the chant as the chorus writhed in anticipation, all in time with the ancient rhythms:

‘Babalu-Aye, Oh Lord of Healing, Lord Ọbalúayé, Wise and conquering One,Your Worshipfulness Erinle, Your medical wisdom we need and implore, Lord Esu, Your Tricks and Wit are our Guide, Lord Kokou teach us your Warrior ways, Obatala, help us to create human bodies in your divine image, Lord Shango put your trust and lightning in us, Lady Aje share your bounteous wisdom and wealth, and Mistress Oya, let us know the secrets of your Maagic, we beseech you.’

The leader motioned to his entranced entourage, like a king cobra conducting at the Royal Albert Hall. They responded immediately. I am horrified to say that we responded immediately, just far enough away to escape the strangling power of the combination of beat and words and song. The circle of acolytes and spheres tightened; the intensity and volume increased. I could smell its dark ululations, feel the texture of its cloying taste, hear the jangling of harsh colours, even from where we were.

Religion covered over with religion in the real world, a chicken that tastes wonderful/ looks demonic, and the modification and distortion of reality to provide grounding for some pretty anti-social behaviour in my book. All things that were unexpected for me related to my experiences, woven into fiction because they fitted in with what I wanted to show..

Nothing’s wasted.

Like the chicken (well, maybe those claws this time around)…

Cheers,

Alan

Alan Camrose