The joke’s on him…

Synopsis

Born and raised into the Sacred Order of Tragicomedy, Chester Brown’s path is written in stone. The bulbous nose and gigantic feet define him physically, while The Sacred Church of Razzmatazz ensnares him in its grip.
For Chester there can be no escape…or so he believes.
But Chester Brown has a secret passion―he longs to become a writer.
When a chance encounter leads him on an existential pilgrimage across Europe, a new world begins to surface.
Will Chester manage to erase the marks of the clown, or will the bonds of his past prove unbreakable?

Review

Welsh horror author Catherine McCarthy is always unpredictable. From cosmic folk horror to gothic horror to whatever puzzle box her last novel The Last House on Lacelean Street was, you never know what you’re going to get, but you can be sure it will throb with a vivid sense of atmosphere and a keen sense of humanity. But with Death of a Clown, out now from Sobelo Books, McCarthy has ventured from horror to literary dark fantasy. However, her horror fans need not fear: while the chills have gone, this is a gloriously imaginative triumph, maybe her crowning glory yet, and one that will only fail to move you if your heart has been replaced by a particularly obtuse brick.

The story concerns Chester Brown, a clown raised in a clown society and a clown quarter of an alternative London, destined to perform. Only problem is, he doesn’t want the life anymore—the performing, the humour, the culture—and seeks to start afresh. With the help of a mysterious journal he finds, he leaves his clown life behind on the journey of a lifetime to travel the cultural heart of Europe to try and see if he can really reshape his destiny or else be trapped by his origins.

As you can probably guess by my attempted plot summary there, this is a journey of self-discovery and freedom from an oppressive life that you no longer feel—or never really felt—truly a part of, and McCarthy is a perfect author for such a tale. Her language is clear yet wonderfully evocative and descriptive, and the constant dance between dark poignancy and warm hope that characterises much of her writing makes Chester a character you will root for and be fascinated by.

It’s the choice of this alternate world clown society that also sets this book apart. On the one hand, you might think the use of clown worldbuilding—the Sacred Church of Razzmatazz, the clown god Cholly, the Sacred Order of Tragicomedy, the Clown Quarter of London, next to the Magician’s Quarter—is at odds with a subtle, serious dark fantasy of self-discovery, and can only be played for laughs. But of course, as McCarthy explores in depth here, humour has always been allied with tragedy—as the term tragicomedy implies—and it’s McCarthy’s use of a humour-filled society rather than a dour one that aptly shows how it’s not the tone that’s important, it’s the sense of freedom from dogma or forced culture that matters. This clown society might be constantly laughing, but it’s a warped form of repressive humour, the opposite to true wit, and she smartly shows how even a society free from literally imprisoning you can feel like a prison of conformity.

 It reminded me of the joke about a clown—stop me if you’ve almost certainly heard this one before—who goes to the doctor about his depression. “The great clown Grimaldi is in town tonight,” the doctor says, “Go and see him! That should sort you out.” The man bursts into tears. “But doctor,” he says, “I am Grimaldi.” Chester’s condition is Grimaldi’s and all the jokes in the world can’t free him from a life he doesn’t belong in.

Another clever move is that we see firsthand Chester’s attempts at a new career—writing—in the form of a selection of his stories that break up the main narrative. From the sinister—a repressive society where questions are banned unless you want your mouth to be stitched—to the poetic—a character discovers their father was a tree (I might have described that too matter-of-factly)—these reflect the themes of conformity, self expression, and rebirth that the book is about and also, rather wonderfully, reflect the changing emotions of Chester himself. As he starts to hope he can change and even hope he might find love, the tenor of the stories change, a subtle and wonderful narrative device.

As the second half of the book moves away from his prison to his journey, we our immersed in the culture and romance of the renaissance heart of Europe. Paris and Florence, those bastions of the arts, are evocatively described, and I felt as though as I was in some dream version of them, a gentle paradise of cultural possibility. McCarthy skips between artists real and imagined to paint the canvass of Chester’s self discovery, all the while seeding the intriguing mystery of who wrote the journal that has directed Chester’s journey and what his aims are. These are breathless, beautiful, wonderful chapters, with a compelling romance at the core, concerned with the joy of immersing yourself in a new world and culture and suggesting that, ultimately, the only person who can change yourself is you.

Overall, it’s impossible not to be deeply moved and inimitably inspired by the journey of self-discovery of Chester Brown the conflicted clown. McCarthy’s foray into literary dark fantasy has only reinforced her label as a rising star of British speculative fiction.

Omen to this

Synopsis

In the world of the occult, new is never good.

As one of Copperton’s hardworking investigators, Lawrence Reed has seen it all: vampires, werewolves, warlocks and witches.

When a monstrous creature crawls from the corpse of a mutilated girl, Law is determined to find answers—with or without payment.

Ignoring advice to leave the mystery alone, he sets out to uncover the details of the girl’s death. But the deeper he digs, the more questions he unearths.

Can Law bring peace to the dead girl’s family? Or will his investigation open the door to far darker discoveries?

Only one certainty remains: monsters aren’t the only evil stalking the streets of Copperton.

Review

Quick note: I have now stopped giving number ratings to my reviews – I want my words to do the talking!

Parasitic Omens, a short novella introduction to the intriguing new gaslamp fantasy horror world of indie author Jessica McMinn (writer of the grimdark fantasy series Gardens of War and Wasteland) is one of those stories that, for a certain kind of nerd, tantalises with the comparisons. The author describes it as for fans of TV’s Supernatural and From Software’s cult classic video game, Bloodborne. As an uber fan of the first and someone who respects the vibe of the second while never having been good enough to master the gruelling game mechanics to actually play it, I was more excited than a rat who’s won a holiday in a cheese tower block. A read of the synopsis brought two more comps to mind: the Witcher (a game series I am good enough to play) and The Dresden Files, albeit a more eldritch version of the urban fantasy detective series. That’s a lot of great comparisons, and often with such things disappointment awaits. But boy has McMinn knocked this ball of body parts and viscera straight out of the haunted park.

The plot concerns the town of Copperton, an town of the occult and the monstrous in which the creature investigator and permanently broke Lawrence Reed plies his trade. When he’s faced with the mystery of a girl found dead in the forest with something previously undiscovered having crawled out of her, he decides, against the advice of his colleague, to proceed with the investigation, which threatens to take him to some pretty dark places and seriously violent ends.

The first thing to say is that this is a prime example of how to establish a vivid, grim, fleshed out world (the emphasis on flesh) in a short page length. From the grime of Lawrence’s and the population’s living conditions to the catalogue of creatures he’s investigated previously to the sense of doom-laden atmosphere that stalks this semi-forsaken land, this is wickedly efficient and impressive worldbuilding. I could really see myself riding around as Geralt of Riveria being told to investigate the presence at the local manor by a concerned peasant with just enough coin to hire a Witcher.

McMinn also leaves a mark with her protagonist. As any good noir/urban fantasy/mystery writer knows, there is something gold in the concept of a private eye character, on the edge of penniless, desperately needing that good-paying job while also wanting to do right by that moral instinct eating at him. It’s narrative heroin, but also easy to descend into cliché. McMinn steers it well into the path of complexity rather than caricature, and I was genuinely desperate for the long-suffering Lawrence to get his due. The subtle antagonistic-friendly push and pull of his relationship with the woman he procures jobs from is nicely done too, as is the appearance of a feisty, deftly written fae character who I can’t say much about with spoilers but I expect to become a firm fan favourite if we see this series blossom.

But many readers will be here for the horrors as well as the characters, and McMinn does not disappoint on these grounds either. Mutilated bodies are vividly described; hellish, eldritch creatures make haunting appearances, and the lingering sense of cosmic unease hangs over it all, with themes of the evils of humans as well as monsters ever-present. I desperately want to see what horrors McMinn has in her toolbox for future efforts—someone petition her for the next one to be a full-length novel (the use of “0.5” for the novella’s full description suggests my wish may be granted).

A manual for how to do a fantasy horror mystery right, Parasitic Omens is the eldritch-flavoured amalgamation of the Dresden Files and the Witcher you didn’t know you needed. I want a full length novel of this series more than I want the knees of a 25-year-old.

Author bio:

Mark A Ellis lives in Sheffield, England with his wife and two children. When not writing sci-fi he is usually reading it or climbing/cycling in the nearby Peak District.  He is also a University Lecturer and holds a PhD in Responsible Leadership, a field in which he also publishes. Beyond the Treeline is his debut novel.

See the end of the interview for links to buy

Hi Mark, thanks for chatting. Your debut sci-fi thriller, the intriguingly named Beyond The Treeline, came out in February… can you tell us briefly what it’s about, and what kind of readers it might appeal to?

Sure. It’s set in the late 21st century, in a world wracked by climate change. But scientist Sean Freeman thinks he has the answer to all our problems – longevity.  He knows, somehow, that long life breeds responsibility, for each other and the world. 

Working with genius quantum physicist Jess, Sean is convinced he’s going to secure the future of humanity – and maybe find his soulmate in the process.

But there’s more to this miracle science than he knows – and is being allowed to know. Not least, there are others in the shadows who would see him fail, at any cost. When the answers come, and he learns of Earth’s true purpose, it will take him on a journey through space and time where he will be faced with the ultimate ethical dilemma.

Who will it appeal to? Well, it’s essentially a sci-fi thriller come adventure tale, although to be honest it’s more thriller than anything and has lots of twists and turns that will keep people guessing, and a jaw-dropping finale they are going to love.

Now a stupid but very modern follow up question: tell us why someone should read your book in just ten words.

It’s exciting; will make you re-think about humanity and Earth.

As well as the very fun thriller/scientist-on-the-run-from-mysterious-forces aspect to this, there are some remarkably deep and mind-bending sci-fi concepts on display here, which are hard to talk about without spoiling them frankly, but they will make reader’s minds explode – hopefully in a good way not a David Cronenberg Scanners way (Google that, young reader). What kind of sci-fi themes did you want to explore in this book, and why?

Great question and yes, high potential for spoilers. I wanted people to explore their future and our future, so the philosophical and ethical questions the book digs into as part of the story go way beyond the plot and hopefully push the reader to reflect on the real Earthly challenges we are faced with. Although now I say that it sounds like a textbook on philosophy, it’s not! But with the advent of AI and the fast pace of technology advancement the book dives into lots of the possibilities this will no doubt bring to us all, so I have stretched my imagination to pull together new and exciting concepts that may, may… become a reality. Time will tell.

There’s a lot going in this book… it’s a conspiracy thriller, a wild hard-sci-fi big concept book, a romance, and there’s even a space heist. Why was it important to you to combine the thrills with the cerebral, and how difficult did this make the writing process?

I wanted to make the whole story, the science, the characters, everything as real or plausible as possible. This makes it all very believable as a story as it’s as close to real science as I could make it and then makes leaps forward all based on real potential. So the reader will buy into it simply because it ‘could’ all really happen. They will see that. And making it thrills and spills and thought provoking… well I love that stuff, and I think there are others out there that do to.

This book feels very original while also following in a proud tradition of sci-fi thrillers with strange and ultimately galactic mind-bending concepts. What have been your sci-fi influences, and why do you feel like you belong in this genre?

I’ve been reading sci-fi for over 45 years and love it. I read just about everything Asimov wrote when I was a kid and went on to devour tons of other similar stuff.  Iain M Banks was a favourite for a while, I think I have read everything he wrote, also Alistair Reynolds I think is great, along with people like Ursula K Le Guin. More recently I’ve read the Red Rising saga by Pierce Brown – this has had a big influence on Beyond the Treeline, not least as this is why it’s written in the first person, as it pulls the reader in close.

Tell me about your author journey… what spurred you to start writing?

I’ve started writing novels many times across my life, but never made it very far.  But when I completed a PhD in 2020 I realised actually if I can do that, then surely I can write a novel. Little did I know at the time, but writing the novel was probably harder! But nine drafts and four years later and et voila!

Why did you choose self-publishing, and how have you found your first foray into the world?

Speed and control I would say are the reasons behind Indie Publishing. I did briefly try a few agents to go the trad route but then talking to other authors who had gone that way just told me tales of woe. You know, needing to approach over 100 agents or publishers and then waiting 6 months for them to come back and even longer to get a deal. It seemed to me with modern self-publishing options I would just get on with it, so I did.

And doing it? Well, it’s a lot of work to be honest, more than I realised, especially the marketing. But I’m in it now, so I just parcel away a chunk of time each week and get on with it. I could probably run a course on Indie Publishing now, I’ve learnt so much.

What one piece of advice would you give to self-pub authors wanting to follow in your footsteps?

Keep going. You will have setback after setback and learning points aplenty, but if you keep going you will get there and then you will be an Author.

What’s your day job and has that influenced your writing at all? Your bio also says that you have a PhD in responsible leadership, and I have no idea what that means, but I’m very keen to find out and if that influenced some of the meaty themes in the book!

I’m a Senior Lecturer at Sheffield Hallam University, I teach and research in the Business School. Lots of this is around strategy, leadership and social enterprise, so my research is all about ethical business practice and responsible leadership.  This is running organisations with the focus on the three Ps – planet, people and profit. Not just making money and going to live on a yacht. And yes, this has an influence on the book, the mantra for humanity to survive in Beyond the Treeline is being responsible, to each other and the planet, although important to mention that it’s not a call to arms for the eco-warriors, that is not me, but it does explore the real challenges we all face.

What lies in the future for author Mark A Ellis… sequels? New stories?

Yes, I am on with a follow up. Although this will stand alone too. It’s set 150 years into the future and guess what – yes, its all gone tits up for humanity.

Thanks for chatting Mark!

Find links to buy Beyond the Treeline and to all Mark’s socials on his linktree here

Warning: third degree slow burn ahead

Synopsis

A SOUL TAKEN. A SOUL RESTORED. A WAR AT HER FINGERTIPS.

Suri’s deal with the Fae has left her a shadow of herself. Revelations about the prophecy sew confusion, new allegiances come to light, and Suri grapples with the darkness inside her.

Insidious plots toll countless deaths as Lera steps closer to her ultimate goal. Time is not on their side, and it will take all of Suri’s strength—and some unlikely allies—to succeed.

In the gripping third book in the Amefyre trilogy, the world will be forever changed. But who will remain when the sand has settled?

Review

This is my third review of a book in the Amefyre series, which, depending on your take, could be called a (grim)dark fantasy with a slow burn romance at its core or a dark romantasy that doesn’t forget the tricksy politics and mysteries amid the spice. And they’re always hard to write, frankly, because this series, as hinted at by my sub-genre mental breakdown above, is a lot of things. Yes, there is a deliciously patient, realistic romance at its core, just as much about self-esteem and true consent as it is about the insatiable desire to rip clothes off (although there’s a lot of that, in an increasing frequency towards the potential, uh, climax). But there’s also marvellously grim and devious politics, twists and tricks, whether it’s fae bargaining for souls or a found family working together to forge alliances. And there’s a strong mystery element of dark gods, prophecies, and time magic which has kept me guessing just as much as the romance has kept me invested. Or to put it a much more succinct way, this is everything I want in a dark fantasy, and the fact it’s wrapped in some of the best dialogue out there is the icing on the most likely inedible Amefyre cake.

Which leads us to the concluder. The second book A Promise of Blood was a lightning evolution of the already enjoyable first one and perhaps my favourite dark fantasy of last year. Cue disappointment in the trilogy closer right? No. The Amefyre trilogy concludes with a bang so big you can see it from space and now joins the ranks of my favourite dark fantasy romance-flecked trilogies of all time.

Plotwise, we begin with the Peregrinus pieces all arranged nicely on the board: Queen Lera, she of the harpy tendencies and inability to get over her dead sister being better than her, just needs three more massacres to create the required gates to bring back our favourite creepy-tendrilled death god to the land. Kol, full of life with his soul back, has to seek support from as many of the political factions as he can, with his new Court by his side, including Suri, who is noticeably soulless and more death than life, and who must try and learn her time-travelling seer powers so she can stand a chance in the final battle to come.

There’s a lot to balance there as you can tell, but I’m pleased as Fae punch to report that it doesn’t feel crammed or rushed, with Sandpiper’s notable knack of tying together scene-stealing scene after scene-stealing scene still on display. A particularly clever trick of working out a way to keep the slow burn sizzling for another book is provided by Suri’s loss of her soul. The rationale behind why this affects their relationship is clever, based on the nuanced relationship between them both. This is what I love about this slowest of slow burns; it’s somehow at times mind-meltingly spicy, yet always rooted in a complex interplay of consent, self-esteem, patience and understanding. Kol may be a bit of a possession freak at times—he’s said “you’re mine” so many times at this point I’m surprised Suri hasn’t written him out a receipt to save him the bother—but he may also be one of the least toxic of the “hot villain” stereotypes in the genre, someone who has proved that he understood his beau long before he gave into her. Their relationship continues to be about gently pulling themselves out from Suri’s cycle of self-loathing and his anger demons. How this cycle completes would be telling, but it doesn’t disappoint.

But as I said earlier, Amefyre has never just been about central pairing but the Machiavellian politics around it, and here we see Suri once again bouncing between political factions, from the Pail which we finally get an (admittedly brief) taste of to a return to the Fae Glen. The Glen was arguably host to some of the best scenes in the second volume, and, for very different reasons, it leads to another memorable scene. Also, the found family aspect of the series which blossomed in the second book is strong here: Nadrian, Fae heir, gets his own poignant subplot and the relationship between Suri and Scilla comes full circle in a brief exchange that fundamentally broke me. For such a small subplot to be the one point that brought me to tears? That’s the power of dialogue, baby. Even cruel ice-mage Rasel gets a subtler arc. Sandpiper’s strength is in the slow, meaningful steps from distrust to friendship, supported by on-point dialogue. Speaking of dialogue, this is the Amefyre series’ secret weapon; the same whiplash, clever sparring that underpins the scenes of emotion also make this one of the funniest fantasies you’ll read all year.

But what slightly surprised me in a good way was the mystery behind the death god/life god figures of Diophage and Sotoledi (the gods of vowels, evidently) and how this interacts with Suri’s powers of time. This could easily have been a confusing mess given the number of things this trilogy closer has to do and crumbled the foundations of this finale like an army of moles under a castle. But I found it an absolutely compelling mystery, underscored by the frankly superb use of epigraphs to tease the secrets of the past. Trying to guess the identity of the epigraph author and the tragic events they foretold was almost as fun as the book itself. If you’re swooning over epitaphs, that normally means you’ve found a trilogy that hits the spot. And without spoiling anything, the suggestion of one character that everything that’s happened is down to two annoying men was an entirely fitting observation for a series that in many ways is about deconstructing the myth of power and legend and replacing it with funny, complex people learning to like their own semi-monstrous selves.

Overall, this is a perfect demonstration of the power of dark fantasy and frankly astonishing for an author’s first series. It’s been a genuine pleasure to be in the company of this world and these characters, and I’m going to miss them a lot. Read this.

Buy A Claiming of Souls direct from the author here

Author bio (in his own words):

Seán O’Boyle is an Irish, London-based, fantasy writer. He’s always had a flair for the humourous, having dabbled in stand-up and creating sketches in university.

His love for fantasy grew during lockdown from reading huge epics, cozy tales and everything in between. From this the two loves married and his fantasy comedy adventure debut “The Ballad of Sprikit The Bard (And Company)” was born. His next book “Checks, Balances and Proper Procedure in Monster Hunting” is out June 20th 2025. 

See the end of the interview for links to buy!

Hi Seán, thanks for chatting. Last time I interviewed you, a year or so ago, your debut fantasy comedy novel The Ballad of Sprikit The Bard (And Company) had just come out. Before we get onto your new novella set in the same world which is about to drop, can you tell me what your debut year’s been like? Good? Bad? Or pleasantly mediocre, like a weekend away with friends you’ve not seen for a while and haven’t aged that well?

Hey Ed, good to be back! Yes, it’s been quite a whirlwind of a year to be honest. It’s equal parts surreal and satisfying to see something I’ve been working on for years now out in the wild and available for everyone to read. Sales have been within my expectations for a self-published debut, and the reception of Goodreads and Amazon has been overwhelmingly positive.

Every so often I get tagged in something that has praise for me and Sprikit and I am truly humbled that people are taking time out to read my book, which is just one of hundreds of indie releases in the last year. So, yes, mostly a good debut experience.

For the record, all my friends are aging immaculately…well except for…ah nevermind.

Okay, onto your new release. Your novella Checks, Balances and Proper Procedure in Monster Hunting – which pleasingly continues your obsession with long book titles – comes out on June 20 and is set in the same world as your debut. Can you tell us what it’s about and what readers it might appeal to?   

Checks is a side-novella set in the same world as my debut Sprikit. It’s a world I’ve now officially dubbed “The Wavering Plane”. For those who’ve read Sprikit, this novella is set in the great and extremely rule heavy nation of The Galzarian Empire where every facet of life has its own bureaucratic department (called Parliaments). The novella follows a Parliamentary Clerk called Rella who works for the Monstrosity Parliament. Her job is to write up full assessments of bestial encounters, ensuring the exceedingly long letter of Galzarian law has been followed. She’s your run-of-the-mill bored medieval office worker who has seen it all.

However, that changes when a case like no other lands on her desk. It soon transpires that it’s a total bureaucratic nightmare that only she can solve alone. Plus, she has these two co-complainants who are the worst part of the whole ordeal. One is the Slayer, a free-spirited mound of muscle who killed the beast in the first place. The other is Bek, the most rule conscious and law-abiding farmer in the whole Galzarian Empire. She has to navigate their insanity, while trying to do her job and keep it while she’s at it.

The story will certainly appeal to fans of Sprikit, who get to see a whole new part of the Plane which was merely hinted at in my debut. For new readers, it’s a perfectly entertaining standalone comedic fantasy tale that they’ll read in an afternoon or two.

The clear (and highly entertaining) dynamic in this novella is between a monster hunter who doesn’t really care about rules and an obsessive form-filling, bureaucratic empire who very much do. What made you want to write a novel about rules and forms, and how do you feel about bureaucracy yourself?

When I was writing Sprikit, I devised the idea of the three main nations of the Wavering Plane; the bureaucratic and overbearing Galzarian Empire, the mysterious Kingdom of Varrak and the ungoverned mess that is the Free Lands nestled between. The Galzarians are present in Sprikit as the antithesis of how the Free Lands operate. You spend a little time there for certain chapters, but they are very much character focused. You don’t get a true sense of how Galzar operates, only what other characters relay about it.

This novella was my chance to explore how the rule following and form-filling Empire truly operates. I find the setting to be highly relatable too as everyone has come into contact with some governmental department that was about as much fun as bobbing for apples in sand. We’ve all had to fill a form, then fill another until ultimately discovering that we filled the initial form incorrectly and then it’s to the back of the queue all over again.

Also, I work an office job where I deal with all kinds of clerical malarkey on a daily basis. Office lingo, the proper channels to follow, rules within rules and how to be equally polite but also cutting in an email. So, Checks is really an exploration of my experiences being on either side of the bureaucratical coin through the wonderful lens of a fantasy novel, where I take that concept to the extreme.

I watched Terry Gilliam’s masterpiece Brazil at the same time I was drafting the novella, as well. It’s an absolute riot of a film, and portrays this authoritarian bureaucratical society as a self-sustaining machine. There’s no real “big bad” in charge to point the finger at. Everyone is following the rules because they have to report to someone else, who reports to someone else. The state of that society is everyone’s fault, but also no-one’s. An element of that found its way into Checks.

I think an element of bureaucracy is required in life. Things have to operate, y’know. However, when bureaucracy becomes weaponised that becomes a problem. People can go mad with the tiniest bit of power. Then in other cases, people’s reputations or who they are related to can often help them skip certain steps in life too. That’s the ugly beauty of bureaucracy – the consistency of its inconsistency.

I might write that down…

Which of the characters in this novella do you associate with more? The laidback rule-breaking monster hunter, the uptight fastidious citizen or the well-meaning bureaucrat wearily trying to tame both of them? (or the mindless monster, I guess).

I am certainly more aligned with the well-meaning bureaucrat trying to tame both those crazy cats. That’s Rella, by the way, the main character. She’s sort of a self-insert in the sense she understands that what she does is mundane and needlessly complex, but it’s a job that has to get done. Forms are the currency of Galzar, and she is merely one quill in the inkpot.

And most jobs this easy don’t pay this well in the Empire of Galzar. If I lived in pseudo-medieval times, I’d like a clerical role rather than toiling in a field and either dying of toothrot, pillaging or a combination of both.

Also, like Rella, I’d find the two extremes of the Slayer and Bek incredibly irritating. Both make her job a hell of a lot harder for very different reasons. One shirks all the rules and does what he pleases, while the other thinks he knows better than the qualified clerk. That said, I wouldn’t mind having an axe like the Slayer’s.

I always think good fantasy comedy – as opposed to fantasy with a bit of wit in – is a tough genre, not just because you have to be funny but because the best of the genre also should (in my opinion) still make you care about the characters and surprise you with some heart, like a bad doctor doing surgery. Do you find it hard, and do you have any tips for those who want to write it to get the balance right?

There is no humour to writing comedy. You have to take it deadly serious. It’s as much a science as it is an art. You have to choose your words very carefully, almost like a mad scientist mixing chemicals in lab. Too much of the funny stuff, and you risk overwhelming the audience. Too little, and the readers begin to wonder if they bought the wrong book. Then of course, it has to actually be funny. How do I know what funny is? I have no clue! There is no objective definition of it. I just write what I think is funny, and hope to God that others do too.

It is a challenge, particularly when you want people to like your characters. The risk is that everyone comes across as a smarmy arsehole. Everyone can’t be Sprikit. If every character is Sprikit, I have failed as a writer. I’m really conscious of that so I create the characters first. I give them their core principles and traits. They always do x, they never do y. The humour stems from these core elements, and I never betray those principles. I want the humour to be true to the characters, which adds a layer of credibility to the whole story. For example, I’d never make Torg dumb for no reason for a cheap laugh. Torg is very intelligent and moral, but that also makes him naïve and a bit righteous in other ways which is where I find the humour.

If you don’t do that, then I think you risk creating a world where everything lack consequence, and it all feels a bit like watching an overly long Monty Python sketch where you feel the need to keep making things sillier to get a laugh. I love Python, for the record.

Who doesn’t?

This was a spin-off novella of your world; I presume there’s an outright sequel to Sprikit The Bard in the works? What can you tell us about it if so? We’ve seen two kingdoms now – are we venturing to other places?

Yes, Sprikit II is well underway. I’m making good progress on the first draft given that I have a day job and now two other books to plug and ensure are still in people’s minds day-to-day. I don’t want to divulge too much as its still early days and certain plot elements may change.

What I will say is with Sprikit I was proving to myself that I could write a novel. So, I kept things relatively simple as opposed to other fantasy debuts. Now with a couple of books under my belt, Sprikit II is where I really let loose and show you the bonkers things I have in my head. It’s going to be bigger, funnier but also somewhat darker in tone than Sprikit I. Sprikit and Company certainly ruffled some feathers that ought not to have been with their debut misadventure. Those consequences will become apparent from page 1 of Sprikit II.

You’ve been a published indie author for over a year now. Do you think this is the route you want to be on for good now? Where do you see yourself in ten years’ time? This isn’t a job interview, probably.

I am certainly very content with indie publishing. I like the flexibility and control that self-publishing offers me, and I want to stay on that path for as long as I can. In ten years’ time, the dream for me would be to have an agent and perhaps be dipping my toes in the trad world. For that, I feel like I need more books out there. If I can publish one new book, whether a mainline Sprikit or side-novella, each year, I’d be more than satisfied.

Have I got the job, Ed?

You’ll find out in two business days, don’t call us, we’ll call you.

You’re a member of an indie author collective called the Secret Scribes, who presumably take some time off every now and again from being secret to tell people about their books *faint percussion noise off stage*. Has this helped your debut process at all do you think?

When I released Sprikit, I was a fleet of one. If you weren’t sure what to do when you hit a roadblock, I was sort of stuck. Also, it was hard to stand out amongst the crowd, and to get any real momentum behind my writing. Having joined the Secret Scribes, who are all fantastic authors, I feel like there is more wind in my sail now. Plus, it’s great to have a community where you can bounce ideas off, troubleshoot problems and share your worries and woes (of which there are plenty in indie publishing)

The Scribes have done nothing but champion my work and are a genuine gang of wonderful individuals. We have become fast friends, and it does a lot to stem that isolating feeling of being a writer. And again, they are all fantastic authors. Read their books!

[No guns were held to Seán’s head in that last comment by the way]

This year by any measure has been a chaotic one for most people. How do you unwind from the stresses of life, other than alcohol or yelling?

Well, drunken screaming usually accounts for 60% of my de-stressing activities. So, the other 40% comes from reading other works (highlight this year has been the last First Law novel), watching prestige TV (loved Severance) and playing video games. That being said, I get a major sense of guilt when I boot up the console. “If I have time to game, well then, I have time to write”, I say to myself. That’s the Catholic part of me speaking.

I’ve also been getting back into my fitness and ran a 10k this year! Whatever I can do to stave off the inevitability of my 30s. It also helps with writing I suppose.

Your 30s aren’t that bad Seán, aside from everything about them.

Anything else in your imminent future you want to tell us about? Other books in the making besides the Sprikit series? A new superpower you gained in a car accident with a truck carrying nuclear radiation? Tax problems?

Well, the most notable part of my year will of course be—getting married! Yes, I am tying the knot with the love of life, Annie. She has been a total cheerleader of my work and always supports what I do. I am incredibly lucky to be marrying such a beautiful person.

Of course, what this means is I now have to add planning a wedding to my list of things to do while I am trying to market one book, write another, all the while plugging my original book, AND working full-time while trying to maintain both my physical and mental wellbeing. I hope I come out the other side alive.

Who knows, I may be inspired by the whole ordeal and write another novella set in the Wavering Plane called Pain, Suffering and Fleeting Joy in Nuptial Organisation.

And thus a great idea came out of a joke.

Thanks for chatting Seán!

Pre-order Checks, Balances and Proper Procedure in Monster Hunting, add Sean to your socials, check out his website and and order his previous book at his linktree here

Something to chew over

Synopsis

In a cyberpunk future, an alarming disease strikes, dissolving the bones of those with cybernetic enhancements. Petya, a refugee, sells himself to a company experimenting with a potential cure and instead finds himself with a strange new implant… and a vampiric hunger for teeth.

Petya only wanted a short trial with easy money, and now he’s at the mercy of a company hell-bent on market control, even if it means turning him into their personal pharmaceutical assassin.

They’re out for political power, and Petya is out for an escape and teeth.

Review

Kaden Love is no stranger to eye-catching SFF ideas; his debut epic fantasy series Paladins of the Harvest, now two books in, features an intriguing organ transplant magic system. But his latest, Toothsucker, a fast-paced cyberpunk tale set in a future dystopia, takes to this to the next level, more full of wild concepts than Elon Musk’s ketamine diary. But in a pleasing sign of Kaden’s evolution as a writer, all these ideas simply serve to amaze rather than confuse and blend into a convincing cyberpunk hellscape, and among all the utterly wild neon-soaked brainstorming he still finds time to create a strong character-driven story with some very topical themes.

The story takes place in the Republic of Capital, the name of which suggests Love’s first cool idea: that political parties have been replaced by corporate entities who vie for the presidency from different sectors: entertainment, pharma, tech, etc. This is a society transformed by the discovery of the physical form of light (cool idea number two) and its districts go from one end of the spectrum (red, orange, yellow, the dangerous areas) to the middle (blue, green) and to the violent and indigo sectors, where the rich and influential live. Our protagonists are a bunch of young, lost souls who’ve been given a new hope under the tutelage of a suspicious scientist/power-broker aiming to attain power for (maybe?) good in this dystopia, and given a set of cool super powers to use on missions. The only downside? (cool idea number three coming at you): To sustain these new powers they must constantly snack on a diet of teeth, ripped right out of their victims’ mouths. Vampires, but for calcium rather than iron.

What’s so impressive about this cyberpunk tale is that these wild ideas are so effective, not falling into the trap of being chaotic but rather uniting to build a vivid world. The corporate-sector-as-government idea is cleverly done, framing the central plot around a tech virus that eats away at the bones and Big Pharma’s cure for it that various parties are scrabbling to get to first. It makes for a cool mission structure as well as we see the entertainment sector, complete with cybernetic dolphins (which are as wildly fun as they sound) and the SocStans, which are blue collar workers who became powerful once AI took all the white collar jobs, a very cool thought experiment. The ordering of the country by the spectrum of light is also endlessly fascinating; Love using the color schemes that so define the cyberpunk genre as integral world building. This is a well-thought out idea, complete with one of the most disturbing and horrific red light districts you’ll ever see.

Then of course there’s the tooth-eating. Love doesn’t skimp on this; so many scenes are frankly taken from the horror genre as unwitting victims have their jaws ripped off as our characters greedily snack on the molars (the best teeth, of course). The writing here is vivid and wickedly gruesome—there are some scenes you’ll take to your dreams I fear. And there’s so many more ideas as well, my favorites including edible tabs that provoke feelings such as nostalgia and social media adoration (would save a lot of time, sign me up).

But Love also supports this creative feast with some excellent characterization of the central protagonist, Petya, an immigrant with a complex past who’s desperate to do good even as he’s been forced to follow a mysterious stranger’s agenda and the horrific tooth-eating requirements that come with it. Some readers may struggle to empathize with him I suspect given that the victims of his violent addiction are frequently innocent, but I actually quite enjoyed the wild discordance between his self-conscious narrative and the utter moral depravity of his acts. This is the nature of addiction after all; and Love makes his self-loathing clear, a loathing that only abates when he meets Naoma, a singer beloved of the elites who appears contemptuous at first but has more going on. Their burgeoning relationship adds a compelling character arc to the second half.

Love also uses Petya’s narrative to explore meaty themes of immigration and the treatment of immigrants, which is a welcome through-line here; as well as the examination of corporate influence which is so central to a good cyberpunk story and spins out into a thrilling, twisty conspiracy thriller by the end.

Overall, I was so impressed by Love’s evolution here; this is a strong calling card for an exciting talent and a must-read for cyberpunk fans or just fans of wildly original worldbuilding. Tooth-eating vampires, a corporatist society run along the spectrum of light, and augmented dolphins; it should be mad, but it’s cyberpunk gold. Love’s neon tooth fairy hasn’t let us down.

Impressively Dunn

Synopsis

WHAT WOULD YOU SACRIFICE FOR GLORY?

Taerlys Eileerean, the powerful Queen of Gaelyr, nurtures a dangerous dream and will sacrifice anything to turn it into reality, even those she loves.
Driven by greed and arrogance, her actions will seed the war between her two daughters, Daelyn and Haewyn.

Daelyn will inherit two Queendoms united by a lie and divided by mistrust. To keep her crown, she will fight enemies in the battlefield, but the most treacherous are those dwelling in the shadows of her own court.

Ambition, madness and greed, grief and love will give birth to an unfathomable darkness.

It is a dangerous thing to meddle with fate.

Review

Come for the intriguing fantasy world, stay for the addictive backstabbing… indie author Bella Dunn has begun an epic new fantasy series here, and it’s more devilishly ambitious than a tech billionaire with too many rockets, but given the way I tore through it and the number of scenes where my heart was in my mouth, I have to conclude that her ambition has not been misplaced. This is original, this is fun, this is thrilling, and I can’t wait for the next one.

The world we’re concerned with is Atheatis, a continent split into four kingdoms. It’s by and large, though not exclusively, a matriarchal world where women are boss, still quite an unusual concept in fantasy, and one explored here not as a gimmick but as a fully realized society spanning from the religion (“The Great Mother” is their God; the queen herself is the “Mother Priestess” and religious head) to the rules of monarchy and cultural traditions.

Once upon a time, as explained in a lot of (luckily interesting) build up, the Queen of Gaelyr, a Gaelic-inspired kingdom, ruled over all four kingdoms, but then some princes got a bit tired of the matriarchy and a bloody war followed. Generations later, Queen Taerlys, inspired by a prophecy that “the maiden queen” will unite the land, is obsessed with uniting the kingdoms using her daughters and various tactical marriages to do so, but thereby triggers a dangerous feud between her children and the kind of intra-royal Machiavellian shenanigans fueled by magic and blood and bad omens that may lead to all-out devastating war.

The first thing that struck me was how wrong this could have gone. Dunn has chosen to make this an inter-generational story; first the queen, then her two daughters, and ultimately (though not really in this book) her granddaughter; all fighting to unite or conquer the lands. It’s ambitious, but could have felt disjointed. But even though we move in this book from the queen’s point of view to her daughters; Dunn’s decision to make this a fast-paced, timeline-jumping story actually works in her favor, and I was so absorbed by the quick-moving addictive plotline of royal deceit and secrets coming to light that I never felt any sense of whiplash, though others might not agree.

I was also struck by just how much effort Dunn has put into fleshing out this world. The influences of Gaelic mythology and Irish history are strong, but Dunn has left her own mark on the various kingdoms. From fashion to traditions to war histories to geography, it’s a carefully crafted world, and the result is a nice mix of action and worldbuilding. We see some of the other kingdoms (mainly the sea-faring, mermaid-iconographied one) and the rest have their own histories of timelines as shown by the four family trees Dunn includes at the back of the book. Yes, this is one of those fantasies where you need a good family tree to keep track; but whereas these are traditionally slow paced, complex affairs, Dunn has combined genealogically vital plotlines with a cheetah-like sprinting style and it feels vivacious rather than cumbersome. There’s also a nicely realized concept pf the Queen literally modifying the Mother Goddess in a spiritual, fantasy version of various pagan beliefs that is explored in some detail.

But perhaps the real reason I loved this book and tore through like a squirrel in a nut factory is that it’s just a rollicking great story, full of betrayal, family members plotting various villainous schemes, insurrections, dark magic, royals trying to win over foreign kingdoms, assassins, battles and so much more. It takes a while for the story to get established, but once the background gives way to the voracious fast plot, we get some terrific set pieces that feel like a great episode of TV. The accused princess must prove her innocence of murder before the watching court! The queen waits by her ailing daughter’s bedside to trap the potential assassin in the act! The queen is lured into a battlefield trap! It’s a lot of fun. Dunn has this nice way of keeping scenes feeling tight and exciting by switching between perspectives in short scenes, so we immediately jump into a new character’s head to see their reaction to a sudden twist. It works.

Dunn ends it with a gigantic battle set piece and, despite the fast pace of the book and jumping between characters and timelines, you still feel desperately for these characters and will them to survive it – an impressive sign of Dunn’s ability to wreak emotion from just a few scenes with a character.

Overall, The Sorrow of the Wise Man is a fast moving, addictive plot of court politics, betrayal and looming war in an impressively detailed and original Gaelic-inspired matriarchal fantasy world… I’m more sold on this new series than toilet paper in a pandemic.

Eminently bingeable

Synopsis

Maggie Webb has lived the last decade caring for her elderly husband, Stanley, as memory loss gradually erases all the beautiful moments they created together. It’s the loneliest she’s ever felt in her life.

When a mysterious stranger named Hassan appears at her door, he reveals a shocking truth: Stanley isn’t losing his memories. Someone is actively removing them to hide a long-buried secret from coming to light. If Maggie does what she’s told, she can reverse it. She can get her husband back.

Led by Hassan and his technological marvels, Maggie breaks into her husband’s mind, probing the depths of his memories in an effort to save him. The deeper she dives, the more she unravels a mystery spanning continents and centuries, each layer more complex than the last.

But Hassan cannot be trusted. Not just memories are disappearing, but pieces of reality itself. If Maggie cannot find out what Stanley did all those years ago, and what Hassan is after, she risks far more than her husband’s life. The very course of human history hangs in the balance.

Review

Memory is a tricky blighter. As one of the character’s in Nicholas Binge’s techno-thriller plus (we’ll get to the plus later) notes early on, one of the tragedies of life is that often you never know when the last time you’ll do something you love is; we’re rarely forewarned that we’re doing something for the last time. So memory serves as the panacea for this injustice and many more things besides; it offers us another way to relive the things we wish we could experience again. But it comes with a catch, the rogue; our memories are unreliably, constantly failing. And although some come with unfailing clarity over the years, they never quite replace the real thing.

Enter Nicholas Binge, the master of mind-altering mayhem. In Dissolution, memory takes center stage in a way we’ve not really seen before but that shines a light on our own experiences with it while offering a revelatory new perspective on it.

The plot revolves around an elderly woman, Maggie, whose husband Stanley is in a care home, with suspected Alzheimer’s, often forgetting either her or their shared past. When a mysterious stranger arrives suggesting that someone might have taken Stanley’s memories away on purpose, she agrees to help him out with uncovering the secrets in her husband’s past and soon she’s using advanced tech to dive into his memories and experience them for real in the hopes of getting her husband back, but in the process revealing a massive conspiracy and secrets going back millennia.

That plot description is barely sufficient given the complex layers at work here in this multi-threaded narrative where nothing is what it seems, both in and out of people’s memories. But what is even more remarkable than Binge’s ability to craft a fast, compelling narrative sweater from thousands of twisty fibres (more remarkable than my ability at metaphors at any rate) is how he has spliced together multiple genres into one book… and it doesn’t just work, it works phenomenally.

First there’s there the techno thriller; this is a fast-paced, breathless tale spanning decades of a group of geniuses who developed tech that could change the world, for better and worse, and we are hurled back and forth between their combined histories, trying to work out who to trust and what they were doing. In this it has all the thrills and momentum of a Blake Crouch book or the film Inception, and certain scenes reminded me of Steven Moffat’s run of Doctor Who, when a recurring character kept meeting him out of sync with each other’s own chronologies (wait, come back non-nerds!). I have no idea how Binge drafted this, but I suspect some of the mind-enhancing tech found in the book itself must have been involved.

But it’s also a speculative book, and some of the ideas in here reminded me of those explored in hard sci-fi; deep philosophies of time itself, the role of perspective in the universe, entanglement, and concepts not dissimilar to those found in “uni-theory” sci-fis where the universe is one, man, if only you could see it right. Unlike hard sci-fi, though, Binge never slows down, so one minute you’re asking yourself whether time exists and the next you’re thrown back into the lair of a James Bond villain with a lethal syringe aimed at your neck. It’s like learning Wittgenstein on the down-curve of a rollercoaster.

It’s also, and maybe this is my bias as I am so rooted in the horror genre in my reading, a genuinely creepy horror tale. I can’t explain why without revealing too much, but there is a suggestion of a greater force at work, and there are some scenes I found truly horrific regarding memories and what happens when we meddle, and the creeping horror of memory loss. It would have only taken a few twinges to make this an outright horror, and the unsettling dread, especially when we don’t know the nature of this horror, made this a terrifying read at times – one climatic scene is all out horror depravity, more Stephen King than Blake Crouch.

But ultimately, the true power of this story lies in the final genre blend: the human drama of the love between Maggie and Stanley and how that is evoked by memory. The (very special) form of memory Binge utilizes in this book at times haunts and hurts Maggie (one scene in particular is harder to read than a concrete Kindle not just because you can see it coming but of how deeply traumatic it is for the character) but ultimately, Binge suggests, memory offers the ultimate demonstration of how love can be protected and immortalized. As I said earlier, memory lessens our inability to ever truly appreciate the experiences as much as we’d like in the moment, but by painting a poignant yet ultimately beautiful love story in the halls of recollection, Binge seems to be suggesting that memory, if we try, will always be more ally than it is the enemy – and the ultimate wingman to love. I won’t tell you if the ending is happy or sad but in one particular way it is beautiful, and I hope it leaves you as emotionally wrought out as I was.

Oh and a brief but vital addendum: this is a rare book that shows how you can still be an absolute badass in your final decades; Binge avoids the cop-out of giving us a POV from a younger Maggie at any point and asks us to imagine an aching eighty-year-old dashing about like a cunning spy hero at times, using people’s age prejudices to her advantage, and you know what? It completely works. If you believe nothing else I have written, believe that this tome is the antidote to ageism.

Overall, this is a devastatingly beautiful requiem to the power of memory and love masquerading effectively as a blunt force spec thriller to the head, and whether you want your mind melded or your heart filled, it will go down as one of the masterpieces of the year.

In space, no one can hear you hypothesize

Synopsis

They looked into the darkness and the darkness looked back . . .

New planets are fair game to asset strippers and interplanetary opportunists – and a commercial mission to a distant star system discovers a moon that is pitch black, but alive with radio activity. Its high-gravity, high-pressure, zero-oxygen environment is anathema to human life, but ripe for exploitation. They named it Shroud.

Under no circumstances should a human end up on Shroud’s inhospitable surface. Except a catastrophic accident sees Juna Ceelander and Mai Ste Etienne doing just that. Forced to stage an emergency landing, in a small, barely adequate vehicle, they are unable to contact their ship and are running out of time. What follows is a gruelling journey across land, sea and air. During this time, Juna and Mai begin to understand Shroud’s dominant species. It also begins to understand them . . .

If they escape Shroud, they’ll face a crew only interested in profiteering from this extraordinary world. They’ll somehow have to explain the impossible and translate the incredible. That is, if they make it back at all.

Review

Shroud, Adrian Tchaikovsky’s latest sci-fi wunderkind, covers themes familiar to his readers—aliens that have undergone branches of evolution we can barely understand, and the humans chaotically trying to understand them. But Shroud shows evidence that the author is not resting on his thematic laurels but continually honing and refining both his storytelling and his prose, a writer evolving to better depict evolution. Evolution Inception, if you will. Or to put it in a less convolutedly smug way, this is one of the most satisfying sci-reads you’ll get your naturally adapted limbs on this year, a sci-fi visionary at the peak of his powers.

The plot concerns first contact gone wrong as human corporate colonisers attempt to understand a new planet, with the result that two of them end up trapped in a pod on the planet’s surface in a battle for survival and understanding against the bizarre life forms down there. Unlike his recent effort into humans faced with impossible alien life, Alien Clay, these are not people under the thumb of an Orwellian science-fascist regime but rather humdrum subjects of an exploitative corporate behemoth looking for new systems to colonise, like a future Musk-scape but stripped of the ‘break things’ ketamine energy and replaced by officious corporate-speak. As usual it’s a depressing but compelling potential future from the author.

The planet they have found and that two of them are trapped on in short order is, even by Tchaikovsky’s standards, compellingly alien; a murky inhospitable landscape that sees no light and is fuelled by noxious substances such as methane and ammonia. No, not a teenager’s bedroom, but the scene for one of the great alien-building evolutionary triumphs of recent spec fiction. Obviously I’ll say nothing of their nature here, but it’s not just a compellingly brilliant idea of what kind of life could come from such seemingly inhospitable origins antithetical to the idea of life, but, when their true nature is revealed beyond what we initially learn, we are presented with a concept of consciousness so utterly creative—simplistic in its essential nature yet wildly complex too—that I had a Joker-style grin plastered on my face for most of the ensuing pages.

But this isn’t a TED talk on the wild boundaries of what we consider life, it’s a thrill-a-minute ride, and the way that Tchaikovsky blends the ruminations on these alien forms with the frantic survival action is genuinely impressive. The prose is clinical, vivid, lucid and jumps between Jurassic Park-style survival frolics and deep alien theorising with remarkable ease. I had whiplash of the best kind switching from a certain stream of consciousness narrative perspective that Tchaikovsky fans will be familiar with to the thrill-a-minute perils awaiting the plucky scientists in their sturdy yet oh so vulnerable exploration pod. It’s the most intellectually stimulating white knuckle adrenaline ride you’ll read for a while in sci-fi.

As for the characters themselves, I was drawn towards the simple dynamic of the two scientists trapped in the pod: the one who’s good with people and the one with the gifts who is not. It’s a well-worn but dynamic relationship that helps to power this journey of survival and alien discovery. This isn’t meant to be a deep character study though; the real treasure is comparing their reactions and supposed theories to the real nature of the aliens and realising how deeply limited, even in a hypothetical future of such advanced science, our perspective will always be to the wild potential of life in the universe.

Overall, it cannot be emphasised how hard it must be for a writer to marry such wild, evolutionary hypotheses with such a clean, lucidly described non-stop thrill-ride. Tchaikovsky is evolving his writing like one of the wild alien consciousnesses he writes about, and the result is a likely candidate for the most fun you’ll have in space this year.

Synopsis

In these eighteen stories, Emma E. Murray navigates uncharted waters of love, lust, and loss, descending into that most darkest of the human (and inhuman) heart.
Amidst the spiral and churn, you will hear frighteningly realistic tales of parental regret, the death of innocence, carnal yearning, and creeping evil, among other voices of the damned. Some are ferocious howls from out of the deep; others, tender lullabies or deranged arias of grief—and, beneath it all, the quiet, contented hum of something which has just fed… yet hungers for more.
With stories that have been previously published in such venues as Vastarien and Cosmic Horror Monthly, as well as critically acclaimed anthologies, Emma E. Murray’s virtuosic prose takes the reader to the very root of the vortex and will leave you gasping for breath.
Enter the maelstrom of THE DROWNING MACHINE and Other Obsessions, and let yourself sink—into a darkness that will devour you.

Review

In last year’s novel Crushing Snails, Emma E. Murray put us in the head of a sixteen year old girl who was also a burgeoning killer, and pulled off one of the great narrative tricks of recent horror: making us sympathize and more worryingly empathize with her. Were we right to, given the trauma she endured? Or we tricked by our narrator? Why did we empathize so strongly with her? The question haunted me, and it was meant to.

She also gave us utterly horrific and mind-numbingly traumatizing images that didn’t so much imprint themselves on my retinas as take out a lease and stay there for months.

Both of these Murray traits, wickedly effective empathy and chilling scenes of transgressive acts and violence return with a devil’s vengeance in The Drowning Machine and Other Obsessions, a collection mainly composed of Murray’s stories previously collected in anthologies, with a couple of original stories thrown in.

It’s a collection that has a remarkably consistent thematic through line – the theme, as J.A.W. McCarthy explains so vividly in the introduction to the collection, being love, in all its horrific and understandable, its obsessive and extreme manifestations. Through Murray’s gift of giving a real voice to even the most unimaginable of narrators, we are placed, across three separate parts, in the heads of those experiencing powerful emotions, some devastating, some chilling, some beautiful, all understandable, many horrific. We are forced to consider whether we can ever understand someone’s motivations – or whether we understand them too much.

Part 1 sees mothers doing understandable things in horrific situations, horrific things in horrific situations and several permutations in between. Murray makes us confront whether something can ever be truly bad if it comes wrapped in the burning, unstoppable bow of unquestioning devotion. I mean yes, probably, but if you’ve come here to judge, you’ve misunderstood the assignment.

Oh, and those chilling images return. In the opening story An Angel of God, we are put in the head of a mother grieving for her child who sees an opportunity to save them through the pain of another. The image we are confronted with here is truly, monstrously horrific – if there is a more shocking opening to a collection, let me know – and it’s not sugar coated but rather fed to us raw and seared on our brains. This is extreme love, and it asks of us extreme empathy.

Another standout is Lavender and Dandelions, where a mother must protect her daughter from the fall of nuclear bombs. The horrors are more subtle and unseen but inevitable and oncoming. Here the duality of the horror and the beauty of the mother’s devotion is stark and haunting.

In part 2, the strong emotions of children are examined as we enter their heads, and here Murray’s powerful voice echoes fierce, perhaps none more so than in Dyin Ain’t Nothin’ But Fallin’ Asleep, which presents a nightmarish society where children are executed for the tiniest crimes. The story begins discordantly as we experience the thoughts of a child with an almost adult voice. What Murray does then with this is nothing short of a remarkable exercise in narration, reminding us of the fragility of children and how foolish we are to transplant our adult voice onto them.

In another Part 2 standout, Take Control, the supposedly adult emotion of sacrifice is examined through one of the most horrific parent nightmares you can imagine – but no parents here, just children and their capacity for the purest form of love.

Finally, Part 3 sees some of the most extreme, and extremely imaginative, of Murray’s experiments in love and obsession. In Blessed Are the Meek, we see through the perspective of an android used and abused by her programmer, who journeys down unexpected pathways of pleasure and pain. Murray flips the switch here between agony and ecstasy and makes you completely feel the robot’s perspective even as you are repulsed. Then, In Exquisite Hunger, we are, with echoes of her novel Crushing Snails, forced to be in the head of a would-be killer again, and the extended horrors and gore and insanity that follows is a real example of Murray’s you-can’t look-away retina trauma. Murray loves to transgress with the act of making you watch unspeakable atrocities while forcing you to swallow the narrator’s cold mania as they explain it. It’s an unforgettable experience, much though you may try.

Then there’s the titular story The Drowning Machine, which is a quieter tale of grief and guilt, and serves as the current that pulls you and all the other stories under, showing that Murray’s subtleties can be as haunting as her grand guignol transgressions.

Overall, Murray’s collection submerges us in the worst horrors to force us to empathize with all the terrifying contours of love. An astonishing feat of narrative voice whose beautiful and terrible truths will haunt you.