The British Fantasy Society

PRISM UK (The BFS Newsletter)

Editor: Debbie Bennett
Commissioning Editor: David J Howe

This selection published for the World Fantasy Convention 1997: Editor: David J Howe

All material is © the respective authors. Contributors: Matt Williams, Ramsey Campbell, Nick Royle, Nancy Sparling, Tad Williams, Terry Brooks, Tom Holt, David J Howe

Contents

• The Encyclopedia of Fantasy
• Nicholas Royle's Diet Column
• Rob's Life - A Profile of Robert McCammon
• Prequel Power - Terry Brooks
• Of Sprouts and Men - Robert Rankin Interviewed
• Desert Island Books - Tad Williams
• Good Morning Neverland - Best-selling fantasy author Tom Holt takes a wry look at life ... Melons
  

On April 3 1997, Little Brown published a book which was possibly the most important Fantasy work to see print since Tolkien first put pen to paper. I have long felt that works about a given field are often far more interesting that works in a given field, and so any project of the sheer size and scope of The Encyclopedia of Fantasy excites by definition.

1994 saw the publication of John Clute and Peter Nicholls’ Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, a massive 1370 page, £45 volume of everything you ever wanted to know about Science Fiction in all its fields, but were afraid to ask. The book became an instant requirement for the bookshelves of any serious science fiction fan, and it looks as though the sibling volume, edited by Clute and John Grant and looking at all the many fields of fantasy, will become a similar ‘bible’ for fans of Fantasy.

Through the wonders of electronic communication, the Newsletter was able to track co-author John Clute across the wastes of America, in order to find out more about the background to this mammoth project.

“I think Peter Nicholls always wanted to do a Fantasy/Horror encyclopedia that would complement The Encyclopedia Of Science Fiction, which he began conceiving around 1975,” explains Clute. “In the mid 1980s, Peter (and I) proposed a fantasy encyclopedia, based pretty strictly on the lines and proportions of The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction. The actual Encyclopedia of Fantasy was proposed by me to Colin Murray, the editor at Little Brown, in September 1992, on principles substantially different from those which ended up governing the previous entry structure. Peter demurred from some of the implications of this presentation, mainly its downgrading of Horror. Although it looked superficially the same as the Science Fiction book — being divided into alphabetical entries on authors, magazines, films, TV, individual countries, and so forth — it was radically different underneath. Instead of one hundred or so theme entries, we promulgated a list of around one thousand theme/motif entries”.

“The entries were arrived at by several processes. I created an initial theme list that included all relevant themes from The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction plus any other book I could find; at this point, the list was a few hundred terms long. We (me, Paul Barnett, Roz Kaveney, Helen Nicholls, and others) then brainstormed for motifs, structural terms, characters of paradigmatic and carrying importance (like The Wandering Jew), literary references, etc.; ending up with about 2000 terms. Some of them were clearly similar in ultimate meaning to other terms, and were dropped or demoted to cross references; others simply didn´t attract any interest from any of us as we wrote entries (i.e. if nobody cross references to a term, then that term may well be useless, and not just ignored in error), then those terms would tend to be cut from the entry list. I don´t actually know at the moment how many terms remain. I´d guess at over one thousand, though”.

“The terms tended to be considerably less abstract than those which thematised science fiction; and the final one thousand or so motifs, ended up, on the whole, working as terms for describable elements of ‘Story’, rather than parcels of ‘Thought’. This distinction was not made to downgrade the previous entry structure, but to adapt it to the very different, and - in encyclopedia terms - unmapped regions of fantasy. The writing itself did not begin in earnest until well into 1994; there was too much to think about before plunging into words. The original guess that we´d be able to do the book in 500,000 words proved modest. By the time the last words of the Introduction had been written, in September 1996, we´d gone to over 1,100,000 words”.

“The publishers and John Grant and I agreed to ideal limits to the inexorable growth of the text on various occasions, and each time the limits were higher. We started at about 500,000 words, and ended, willy-nilly, at 1,100,000, from which total a lot of text had actually been cut. If we´d had another six months - and if Little Brown had had the paper mills ready to pour out free paper - we could have gone to 1,500,000 easy. I was sad with every exclusion for reasons of space”.

“There were numerous people working on the book. Paul Barnett (writing as John Grant) and I had worked together for years, primarily on the Encyclopedia of Science Fiction. We felt (rightly) that our areas of interest and skills in general were convergent: I did rather more of the confabulating of initial structure, and more author entries than Paul; he did virtually all the cinema entries, and shaped the final manuscript”.

“The other contributing editors were:

Mike Ashley: came in fairly late, due to other commitments. Mike wrote a great deal (about 200,000 words), scrutinised whole manuscript, and was a joy to work with.

Roz Kaveney: associated from the first. Her primary input was in the shaping of the initial structure, in thinking hard about the kind of theme/motif entries which would actually work as a descriptive matrix for the field we were trying to define - in Encyclopedia terms - as we went. She also contributed about 25,000 words of entries.

David Langford: associated from the first. David helped Paul enormously by (for instance) constructing complex WordPerfect macros that (amongst other things) tested out the cross-references, saving hundreds of hours of raw labour. He also controlled all the rest of the computer conversation and even managed to find time to write some important entries.

Ron Tiner: came in fairly late. Ron basically shaped the comics and illustrators sections, and wrote most of the relevant entries.

We also had two Consulting Editors:

David Hartwell and Gary Westfahl were both with the project from the first. They read vast stretches of manuscript, commented positively and negatively, pointed out omissions, etc. Gary also wrote some entries.

I don´t think we could have done it without the massive input from all these people, and credit is most certainly due to them.

One of the early tasks was trying to define what the field of Fantasy actually was. We ended up with, and there is a far longer version in the book: A fantasy text is a self-coherent narrative. When set in this world, it tells a story which is impossible in the world as we perceive it; when set in an otherworld, that otherworld will be impossible, though stories set there may be possible in its terms”

“What is important here is the phrase ‘fantasy text’ which we defined as being any format in which a fantasy story can be told: the written word, comics and graphic novels, illustration and fantasy art, cinema and television and music (notably opera and song). This was arrived at pragmatically and great regions of the Fantastic were eliminated from our primary run of entries”.

“Dream stories, pure surrealism, stories in which the fantastic elements are treated either as image or illusion; all of these went. Ultimately, we tended to eliminate or downgrade categories of literature in which the elements of the fantastic work - often in a Modernist or Post-Modernist frame - to make problematic or disrupt the narrative element of a text, to stymie the way in which fantasy materials are told”.

“For the purposes of the book, we ended up with a core definition of Fantasy which centres on High Fantasy (a term I don´t much like) and shallows out gradually through Sword and Sorcery, Contemporary/Urban Fantasy, and Supernatural Fiction, with Horror at the edge, or Water Margin: a term given to two entries in the book, one for the television show, and one to describe the infinitely regressive peripheries that surround central empires (like fantasy)”.

“Peter Nicholls characterised the central ‘move’ of science fiction as that outward, extrovert passage into the new that he called Conceptual Breakthrough. The central move of Fantasy, on the other hand, could be described as an inward, retroactive passage we called Recognition, borrowing the term from Aristotle´s Poetics, and using it very freely indeed. Genres in this century may be deemed counter-myths: if the counter-myth of science fiction is that - despite the contaminating evidence of history - the dream of the 20th century can be made to work, then the counter-myth of fantasy - I feel - is that the 20th century is simply wrong”.

“The biggest single problem for me - the biggest single problem John Grant had was getting me to finish writing my copy - was that of attempting to construct a pragmatic matrix or ‘raft’ of entries by virtue of which it would be possible to write compact, cross-reference-full entries on individual topics (like authors), while at the same time writing those individual entries. It was a balancing act. I think we got safely to shore, though”.

“Another difficulty was attempting to co-ordinate the languages of the various relevant scholarships as the fields of the Fantastic are variously well-plumbed, as individual fields, but by writers with very different voices. For example, Jack Zipes. His work on fairy tales, tales of wonder, etc., is incisive, profound, extensive and intensive; our coverage of these areas borrows (with acknowledgement) from him, but certainly does not attempt to emulate his intensity or depth of field”.

“What I am most pleased with overall, I suppose, is the fact that the book is pretty coherent. On a more personal level, I´m pleased with some of the theme/motif entries that either described terms not previously used or not previously given any prominence in any similar context. These included ARABIAN NIGHTMARE (taken from Robert Irwin´s novel), or BONDAGE (referring to everything but ropes), or EDIFICE, or GODGAME (from John Fowles), or INSTAURATION FANTASY (a term I trailed long ago in an Interzone column, asking for a better term: but we didn´t find one) or KNIGHT OF THE DOLEFUL COUNTENANCE (from Cervantes), or SLINGSHOT ENDING (from Kim Stanley Robinson), or TECHNOFANTASY (one of Paul’s inventions), or THINNING, or TROMPE L’OEIL, or WAINSCOT, or WRONGNESS. To find out what they are...; you’ll have to get the book!”

“I think that some negative comments may be inevitable, i.e. those which make it clear that we can´t get away with it twice. But I (at least) console myself with a couple of considerations: firstly, The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction was a second edition (the first appeared in 1979, the second, completely rewritten and twice as long, in 1993), which means it was a fully matured book whose predecessor had been tested and shaken down by over a decade´s use; and secondly, The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction was inherently easier to conceive: because science fiction can be understood as a field with boundaries, but fantasy is a fuzzy set of overlapping quasi-fields which we had to try to cast light into”.

“In the end, if I have to choose between children, I do think the Fantasy Encyclopedia is a denser, better, more enjoyable book than its predecessor; and more daring”

Viewing the world through mud-spattered spectacles

Since I'm in such a lousy mood this issue, here are some of my pet hates:

• People who say any of the following: ‘thanking you’, ‘pardon my French’, or ‘merci buckets’.
• People who say ‘hello Nick speaking’ when I answer the phone by saying ‘Nick speaking’.
• People who say bicep instead of biceps.
• People who spell Nicolas Roeg wrong, as in Nicholas Roeg.
• Motorway drivers who push in when a lane is closing and there´s a queue.
• Goatee beards.
• Motorway drivers who let other motorway drivers push in.
• Publishers who pay absurd amounts of money for certain books, leaving them nothing left in the budget to buy other new stuff. HarperCollins comes to mind. But then so do Picador and Heinemann and Cape and Fourth Estate and just about everybody...
• Rupert Murdoch.
• And people who buy his newspapers.
• People who say ‘Yes, all day’ when you ask ‘Is it Wednesday today?’
• People who say ‘Hello Sarah´s phone’ when I answer my colleague Sarah´s phone by saying ‘Sarah´s phone’.
• Fashion.
• Supermodels.
• Girls who won´t give up smoking when reminded of the dangers to their health, but say they might consider it when told it will give them wrinkles.
• Cyclists who think the Highway Code doesn´t apply to them.
• People who drive with their fog lights on when it´s not foggy.
• Flying.
• People who tell you that statistically flying is much safer than driving.
• Cheats.
• Publicists who tell you they´ve got something you´re simply going to love.
• And it turns out to be awful.
• Publicists who only work three days a week.
• People who don´t return phone calls, faxes, letters or e-mails when it´s actually quite urgent.
• And even when it´s not.
• The whole Oxbridge thing.
• People who ask you if you ‘want salt on that’ when you raise the issue of the whole Oxbridge thing.
• Anyone who can´t take a bit of reasonable criticism.
• Anyone who starts criticising me.
• People who talk in cinemas.
• People who continue to talk in cinemas after you´ve asked them to shut up.
• People who eat popcorn in cinemas.
• People who get up and leave while the credits are rolling.
• People who leave football matches five minutes before time.
• People who write ‘poof’ instead of ‘puff’.
• People who use the expression ‘opening gambit’ instead of just plain old ‘gambit’.
• Publishers who tell you anthologies don´t sell.
• People who don´t buy anthologies.
• People who vote Tory.
• People who... Oh God, just *people* really.

A Profile of Robert McCammon

“My key word is hope; I think there´s hope in any situation.“
(Robert McCammon in Fear, Nov/Dec 1988, p.27)

The Kings, the Herberts, the Barkers, the Straubs. It´s only been comparatively recently that you could add the surname McCammon to such a formidable lineup of names popularly associated with the modern horror genre. After 17 years, 13 books and a lot of adverse opinion regarding his novels, Robert R. McCammon has at last struck gold, not only in terms of critical success (there have been awards: Boy´s Life, for instance, won the World Fantasy Award for Best Novel in 1992) but also with regard to the richness of his writing. For the novels and short stories of this talented American author are nowadays acclaimed as amongst the best in the field, indeed any field you care to mention.

Robert McCammon began his career as a journalist. In 1978, at the age of 26, he sold his novel Baal at the first attempt; these were followed by a succession of bestselling horror novels including Bethany´s Sin (1979), The Night Boat (1980), They Thirst (1981), Mystery Walk (1983) and Swan Song (1987). To date his novels have yet to be filmed although two of his short stories ('Makeup' and 'Nightcrawlers') have been adapted for U.S. television. In 1984, McCammon came up with the idea of The Horror Writers Of America for which he has acted as contributing editor for the Association´s vampire anthology Under The Fang. He currently lives in Birmingham, Alabama.

Perhaps what first brought McCammon to the public´s attention was not the originality of his style or plots but instead the comparisons which were made to other name writers of the seventies, in the main one Stephen King. The parallel was undeniable. His first success Baal with its demonic-child-wreaks-havoc-on-mankind scenario was mirrored to a certain extent by King´s first effort Carrie, the story of a troubled teenage girl with telekinetic powers. Never mind that the former was a better novel, it soon became fashionable to equate McCammon´s books with his revered rival and often with justification. They Thirst, for example, is the author´s foray into the much-trod fictional arena of the vampire novel. Though intrinsically different from King´s vampire opus Salem´s Lot, there were certainly plot similarities thankfully balanced out by McCammon´s very different characters and ideas. And then there´s Swan Song, post-apocalyptical and long; versus King´s The Stand, post-apocalyptical and very long.

There´s actually some mileage to be had in comparing McCammon to other authors: it sheds light (both favourable and equivocal) on the many varying aspects of his writing and at the same time gives us an overview of his career, presenting his work in a better-understood light. Another writer associated with the deep south is Joe R. Lansdale. Could you compare the two and get away with it? Both McCammon´s and Lansdale´s characters are warm but often enigmatic in the extreme; both mix old-fashioned morality tales with sometimes extremely brutal violence in a mixture that conversely works well. McCammon´s stories however tend to be spread across a very broad canvas whereas Lansdale usually restricts his tales to a more personal viewpoint. Or what about the fact that more recent McCammon novels have followed the trend set by Clive Barker, Peter Straub and Dean Koontz in that they have tended to move away from supernatural horror and have merely retained elements of the fantasy genre to supplement their more mainstream works. In McCammon´s case, examples of these would include Mine, Boy´s Life and Gone South.

Which brings us to the type of books that the author writes. Certainly the horror tag is applicable to a good many of them. Baal, Bethany´s Sin, The Night Boat, They Thirst, Mystery Walk, Usher´s Passing: all classifiable as “horror novels“. Others range into more diverse territory. The post-apocalyptic terror of Swan Song which follows the plight of several unrelated characters in the aftermath of a nuclear holocaust; the out-and-out sci-fi of Stinger (assorted alien monsters let loose on a small town); the frank and at times spiritual account of a porn actress in the novella Blue World; Gone South with its bizarre assortment of characters including an awful Elvis impersonator called Pelvis Eisley, his partner, a freak with a mean streak and a woman with a disfiguring birthmark, all headed for the Louisiana swamplands. Into all of these books McCammon has thrust enough assorted ingredients to ensure readability at all times: despite not writing such conspicuously horror-based novels of late, all of his novels have utilised sex, violence, terror, humour and hope. Whether it is a book such as Usher´s Passing, an intriguing pseudo-historical updating of Poe´s legendary story The Fall Of The House Of Usher, which lends a depth (not to mention genuine scares) to the original, or the Bradbury-like nostalgia of a young boy´s tale of loss, redemption and innocence in Boy´s Life, Robert McCammon has demonstrated his competence several times over.

Arguably he hit high gear with the publication of Mystery Walk in 1983. This sensitive and often very eerie tale concerns a young boy and his extraordinary “gift“ to help the deceased “pass on“ following an often traumatic and sudden death. Following his path to manhood it sets him against many obstacles including a crackpot preacher determined to prove his powers are less than holy. It´s a beautifully paced novel, full of affecting moments and sensitive characterisation with enough ghostly chills to please any cynical horror fan. Following this with another masterly effort, Usher´s Passing, McCammon soon became a force to be reckoned with.

The Wolf´s Hour (1989) is the story of a British Secret Agent who is actually a werewolf and what´s more, a World War II hero to boot! As unlikely as it sounds, it was probably his best book to date taking an epic plot and weaving it in a way that was more focused than his previous epic, Swan Song.

1990 saw the publication of the psychological thriller Mine. It showed the author at the pinnacle of his ability. Mary Terrell is a former member of a 60s Liberation Army movement who years later, yearning for the “good old days“ of violent protests goes underground and eventually, quite mad. She decides to kidnap a baby from a hospital, and the rest of the novel examines the plight of the mother whose baby was stolen, her attempts to locate Mary and reclaim her offspring. Being a current and, as recent cases both in the UK and the U.S. have proved, pertinent issue, the book makes enthralling reading and you literally hold your breath during the scenes involving the extremely unpredictable Mary wondering what on earth she´s going to do next.

It´s been said before that one of the most important things about McCammon´s novels is the element of hope that infiltrates his fictional situations time and time again. True enough there is almost always a positive ending to his books but as in the best horror/fantasy novels, the characters really go through the mix before arriving, shop-soiled but basically intact at the conclusions to their personal journeys. And it is these characters that more than anything else determine the pedigree of a Robert McCammon novel.

McCammon´s people are often a strange assortment: the Elvis impersonator in Gone South; the bag lady-turned-heroine in Swan Song; the sewer-dweller with a heart in They Thirst. All endear themselves to our hearts because we all love an outcast. His players are some of the most rounded and fascinating in horror fiction. Although his narrative moves at a fast pace, he spends a lot of time showing us his major (and minor) characters, characters who are sometimes larger than life but always interesting enough to engage our attention through even his longest novels.

It is probably true that the author has used old plots and stereotypes with great frequency down the years, but it is the interpretation he gives his subject matter that counts. So McCammon has done vampires, he´s done werewolves, resurrected zombies, the apocalypse, people with paranormal gifts: yet he´s also executed each idea with a certain individuality and an undeniably intelligent finesse. Remove the chills from his novels and you´re still left with fine writing and quick-witted observation about the big L, Life.

Combined with the above assets, Robert McCammon has always demonstrated an astute ear for dialogue. Like several of his contemporaries, he seems to be able to be able to tell you as much about his characters through what they say as through straightforward description.

Note the following naturalistic dialogue, taken from his short story, Yellachile´s Cage (Blue World, p.67):

“Ive spent time in juve centres and workhomes and crap like that, but you say “Prison“ and your talking a different animal. You walk in a prison like the Brickyard and you be twenty-one years old and you better keep a tight ass and your head tucked down real low to the ground or somebody he gone knock it off cause thats his kick... Anyways, I didnt pay a feller no respect and I was in the hospital bout three hours after the Cap’n dropped me down the chute.”

Important too is the visual aspect inherent in his novels. In one magazine, McCammon comments that he writes his books as a film-maker constructs a film, taking into account sets, costumes, and actors. Bearing this in mind, one wonders why we haven´t seen the transition of print into celluloid with any of his longer works. (On the other hand, maybe that´s no bad thing considering what has happened to many of our best genre stars when their visions were debased and turned into some really dreadful movies.)

So what makes a powerful McCammon story? To answer this, let´s take a brief look at a short story and a novel both of which are good examples of why McCammon´s fiction has such universal appeal. Firstly, the short story, 'The Deep End' (Night Fears, 1989). It´s the story of Glenn whose son Neil ‘drowned’ in the local public swimming pool. However, the father is suspicious when he discovers that there have been similar deaths for at least the past five summers, and together with the evidence he found on his son´s neck (possibly bite wounds), he decides to investigate further in the hope of destroying the creature he suspects inhabits the pool, one which can change its shape and colour to suit its environment. What follows is typically McCammon in terms of style, content and characterisation. Almost Twilight Zone-ish in its story, we are made to feel the father´s anguish and self-doubt (Is the creature real? Is the grief driving him mad?) but also his hope, for revenge, for peace of mind. Typical also is the skillfully portrayed pathos and the simple but exciting storyline which sees a confrontation with an alien life-form and a climactic fight for life. Some of McCammon´s best stories feature heroism prominently - for example, 'Night Calls The Green Falcon', 'Yellachile´s Cage' and 'Wolf´s Hour' - and in 'The Deep End' we are once more confronted with a hero, whose deeds not only avenge his son´s death but also save a town from further tragedy.

Described by its creator as a ‘fictography’ - a mixture of fiction and biography - Boy´s Life(1991) is set in an Alabama town in 1964. It portrays a young boy and the adventures he has as a result of what he and his father witness one fateful morning. Here we have one of those nostalgic, often sentimental (though never melodramatic) epics which the likes of Ray Bradbury, Stephen King and Dan Simmons have tackled in the past and whose movie equivalents include Stand By Me, The Lady In White, and Something Wicked This Way Comes. In a letter included at the back of the U.S. edition of Mine, McCammon makes this comment:

“Boy´s Life is not about lost innocence, because I believe we all maintain the pool of innocence and wonder inside us no matter how far we get away from our childhood.“

Whatever the author intended his book be about it´s certainly an uplifting experience in every way. Few modern authors possess the asset of such a capable imagination that allows them to depict a grown man´s reminiscences of his magical past in quite such a moving, funny and enlightening manner. By means of affecting nostalgia McCammon takes us with his character through episodic accounts of practical realism (the witnessing of a tragedy), sharply etched humour (the ‘stinging sermon’) and fantastic improbability (a huge beast that appears during a flood), introducing us along the way to some of the most memorable characters ever devised. Here are all the elements intact: pathos; tragedy; humour; optimism. There are reminiscences on the golden age of science fiction, creepy moments, sad reflections: all lovingly presented in what is probably McCammon´s best book to date.

Robert McCammon and his work have been labelled many things over the years, but more and more recently these have included such descriptions as ‘electric’, ‘blistering’ and ‘enthralling’. He has even been cast in the ‘splatterpunk’ mode by some critics, though this is a term obviously ill-suited to a writer of such diverse books. As American as apple pie and with all the best attributes one expects from a talented modern author, it will be fascinating to discover to what heights Robert McCammon has yet to aspire if indeed such a pinnacle has not already been reached.

The Books of Robert R. McCammon :

• Baal(1978)
• Bethany´s Sin (1979)
• They Thirst (1981)
• The Night Boat (1980)
• Mystery Walk (1983)
• Usher´s Passing (1984)
• Swan Song (1987)
• Stinger (1988)
• The Wolf´s Hour (1989)
• Mine (1990)
• Boy´s Life (1991)
• Gone South (1992)
• Blue World (1989)

Bestselling author Terry Brooks reveals the background to First King of Shannara.

“I wasn´t going to write First King of Shannara. Really I wasn´t. I was going to begin work on a new fantasy series, one that I had been mulling over for almost five years, one that takes place in this world in present time. With the completion of Witches´ Brew in the Magic Kingdom series, I was more than ready to tackle this newest project. But then my editor intervened, as editors sometimes will, albeit in a kindly way, suggesting that perhaps I should do another Shannara book first. What? Another Shannara book? Already? I was flummoxed! (You can look it up.) Besides, I didn´t have another Shannara book to give him. The story after Talismans of Shannara requires a two book set, and I definitely wasn´t about to do two.”

“Then I remembered my oft-considered, but still-unrealized plan for a prequel to the series. It was you, the readers, who kept asking for it. Tell us about the time before coming of the Ohmsfords. Where were Allanon´s origins? How did he become a Druid? How was the Sword of Shannara forged? How were the Druids destroyed at Paranor so that Bremen became the last? Where did Jerie Shannara come from and how did he end up with the Sword? Those were the kinds of questions I would receive on a regular basis. But I steadfastly refused to answer them, saying that it was better if the readers imagined it for themselves, thinking slyly that I would someday write that story myself.”

“Well, here was my chance. But this seemed to me a hard story to write. The ending was already known to every reader of the series. So how could I make it exciting and suspenseful? I didn´t want to give a bland recitation of the events surround the battle between the rebel Druid Brona and Jerie Shannara and let it go at that. But after some thought and some casting about for a solid plotline, I came up with what I thought was a pretty good story. there were some new characters, including the Borderman Kinson Ravenlock, the Druids Risca and Tay Trefendwyd, the apprentice Druid Mareth and Jerie Shannara´s great love Preia Starle. There were old friends like the once-Druid Cogline. There were more than a few new tales to be told about some familiar people, and a few revelations about how things came to be.”

“To my surprise, the outline came together in about three weeks. I knew ti was going to be a big book, because the story was sprawling and covered a large period of time. Don´t worry, said my editor. Don´t worry, said my wife. I immediately began to worry. But the ease with which the story unfolded once I began to write it was a pleasant surprise. Even Keke the cat got in on the action. Early in the writing of the book, I left the computer on and walked downstairs for a short break. While I was gone, Keke must have walked across the keyboard, because when I came back, the sentence I had left unfinished now read:”

“There is time yet before it reaches us,“ Bremen whispered. I think we should aaaaaaeeaeaeaeeeeeiiiii...”

“Of course, maybe it wasn´t the cat. Maybe it was the things that live under the house. Maybe they´re getting impatient. The book I put off doing, after all, is about them.”

First King of Shannara was published by Legend on 23rd March 1996.

Robert Rankin Interviewed

After having held ‘some forty-two or forty-three’ different jobs over the period of his life, Robert Rankin settled down to being a writer.

One of the most well-known writers of humorous fiction - classified by the bookstores and publishers as science fiction/fantasy - Robert Rankin refers to his own work as ‘tall tales or far-fetched fiction’. While they cannot fit perfectly into any set category, science fiction is where he would most like to be placed. “It is probably the most exciting section,” he says, “and I can´t think of anywhere else I would rather be.” Beginning with The Antipope over fifteen years ago, Rankin has been writing novels ever since. While not always wanting to be a writer, and indeed starting out life as an illustrator after receiving a diploma in Graphics from Ealing School of Art (where he studied with Freddie Mercury), he has always known that he “couldn´t cope with the prospect of working for a living. The idea of working 9 - 5 was horrible.” He has always wanted to work for himself, setting his own hours and achieving his own goals.

Rankin did work for several years as a freelance illustrator, “but the problem with that is that you didn´t get paid. They´d take months and months and then just not pay you at all.” Then he´d have to take a job to get by, but because he had a job he couldn´t go see his agent or clients when work did come up, so he would lose out all around.

Over the period of his life, Rankin has held ‘some forty-two or forty-three jobs, being a full-time writer only for the last five years or so.’ Between the publication of his first novel and giving up outside employment all together, he was employed ‘in thirty-nine different jobs, thirty-seven of which he was sacked from and the other two he quit.’

This propensity to be hired and to take on work has spanned a variety of careers, from building work, shop assistant, office jobs, lead singer in a rock band, and many, many others. He even ‘worked for the Kray twins.’ Well, sort of. He ‘had a stall at Brick Lane selling junk and antiques for three weeks.’ When after the first week the price of a stall was put up from £3 to £4 per week, he complained and muttered to his neighbouring stall keepers. They hushed him up quickly and told him not to make a fuss. Rankin didn´t understand. Why couldn´t he complain to the council? he wondered. Because it was not the council, they hurriedly assured him, it was ‘The Brothers’. The Kray twins owned the stalls and hence his loose employment by these well-known gangsters.

Rankin´s favourite job after writing is carpentry. It is a very satisfying task as ‘carpentry is either right or wrong. It´s different from writing, as writing is never ‘right’, you can always change it, make it different, make it better.’ It is a definite achievement that the craftsman can feel proud of and satisfied with a job well done.

In the seventies Rankin was writing short stories when he met ‘a girl who worked for Aurelia Entertainment.’ They were looking for writers so he gave her some stories to show her boss, the 1960´s icon and illustrator Alan Aldridge. Thankfully for Rankin´s writing ambitions, the head of the company was delighted with his work, but told him that he couldn´t sell the short stories and asked him to do a novel.

Writing furiously for six months, Rankin merged a group of his short stories into his first novel, The Antipope. It was taken to Pan and sold within two weeks. He has been writing ever since and his twelfth book, The Garden of Unearthly Delights, came out in October.

When he first began writing, Rankin ‘really liked Spike Milligan and Flann O´Brien. ’ He longed to ‘write something for the English like O´Brien’ did for the Irish. He has always felt that the ‘Irish are the most exciting writers because of the way they use words. They have a way of communication that is almost melodic and they weave wonderful sentences.’

In his search for something different, Rankin began writing about the strange and bizarre. In fact, most of his ideas come from the Fortean Times. “It is like my bible,” shares Rankin, “my major source of inspiration.” Besides reading this magazine, he ‘has a library full of paranormal and occult books.’ But not only does Rankin read about mysterious happenings, but he also ‘collects weird stuff’. His ambition is to one day ‘open a curiosities museum’.

He is currently working on a book entitled A Dog Called Demolition. “It was inspired by an article in the Fortean Times about Multiple Personality Disorders.” He explains the idea. “In the US a judge threw out a claim for MPD and sent a man to prison for twenty-five years. This man had claimed to be possessed by Zaigor, the voice of George, and a dog called Demolition.” Rankin´s voice rises in excitement as he reveals his own plot. For his book, he thought, “What if these entities are real, but when the person gets sent off to prison the entities leave as they don´t want to be in prison?” He took the concept from there and the completed novel is due out next April.

Currently Rankin writes two novels per year, enough “to pay for the mortgage. I don´t like it, but it comes down to economics.” He does not have a daily routine, but rather “works as and when” he feels like it. In an interview “you´re supposed to say you sit at your desk and write 9 till 6 every day,” says Rankin. “But this isn´t true. If you look at all of the big, wealthy, and famous writers, they spend their time enjoying their money - on holidays, shopping, or whatever. I don´t believe you can write from 9 to 6. It´s not plumbing. Writing has to be artistic and inspiration doesn´t work like that.”

“For me the best time of year to write is January to March. It´s rainy and cold so you don´t want to go outside´ and are happy to stay indoors and just write. The busiest times of the year are right before a deadline. The last few weeks are manic,” says Rankin.

Married with four children (ages 18, 15, 11, and 6, though Rankin ‘may have a year wrong’), he feels that he is probably more of a distraction to his family than they are to him. “We live down this little lane in the country. It´s not far from the shops, but seems quite isolated. It is very comforting to have the kids playing outside.” If anything, Rankin disturbs his wife “by coming down for cups of coffee when she´s trying to design her garden.”

Robert Rankin now lives near Brighton after growing up in west London and having spent the last ten years moving around on the south coast, but he won´t specify the exact location. He´s received too much antagonism for that. His “characters are based on real people. In Brentford people didn´t mind, but in Sussex they do. Someone even shot out the windscreen of my car with an air rifle. I know who it is, but what can you do?”

Unlike most writers, Rankin doesn´t read contemporary fiction. He concentrates mainly on the Victorian period up to the 1950´s. Biographies are also acceptable, as are ‘weird’ books.

Of his own novels, his favourite is “usually the latest one just finished, but I always ask myself if I died just after I finished a book, would I want that to be the one I was remembered for?” But overall, he “would have to say that The Brentford Triangle is the best.”

Tad Williams

“I am assuming (perhaps erroneously) that the Bible and the complete works of Shakespeare are provided, as in the radio program. If not, I´m afraid I would have to select them as two of my five (I´ve always wanted to sit down and just read the Bible, since I come from an agnostic family and was never really catechised with it as a child).”

“So, I´m afraid it´s seven books for me. If that´s cheating, I expect you to inform the proper maritime authorities.”

“First off, Thomas Pynchon´s Gravity´s Rainbow, which always benefits from re-reading, and which had enough little puzzles and deep-construction games in it to keep it fresh through several visits. Plus, I just think it´s an amazing book.”

“Ten years ago, I would have selected The Lord of the Rings, but since I have re-read it once or twice since then, I think I´m rather surfeited with it. Still, I might want it again after a suitable amount of desert-island-dry-dock time had passed. Hmmm. I´ll come back to that.”

“My definite second would be the Complete Works of W. B. Yeats. Not only do I find his poetry consistently both challenging and comforting (an unusual combination), but I think the dank woodsy, Celtic twilight air of his work might prove a welcome change from the sand and sun I will be getting thoroughly sick of fairly soon.”

“Still haven´t decided on Tolkien yet. Competing with him for a roster spot are White´s The Once and Future King and Peake´s Gormenghast trilogy. I would hate to leave one and leave the others behind.”

“Also scrambling for position here are Moorcock´s Jerry Cornelius books, which I´ve never felt I had the time to read with proper attention, in some kind of sequence. Perhaps a desert island would be a good place to start a serious re-reading.”

“What else? I love the recently late Anthony Burgess, but none of his single works, except just perhaps his Enderby books, seem like the kind of meaty, read-over-and-over stuff I´d want with me. Same thing with Evelyn Waugh, another favourite of mine. Robert Graves´ Claudius books and Gore Vidal´s Creation are too recently re-read, but. Like LOTR, they may tug at me after I´ve left them behind.”

“Hmmm. (Again.) I think one of the big Larousse Encyclopedia of Mythologies (or something even more comprehensive, if I´m allowed a chance to shop before being cast away) will have to go with me. That´ll enable me to double-check some of the Yeats references, and also to really study up on Slavic myth. And a copy of Grimm´s Fairy Tales as well. So what is that... four definite?”

“Last book. Well, I think I´ll leave out Moby Dick (I was tempted, but let´s face it, there´s just too damned much seawater in that book for someone who´s going to be surrounded by the stuff) and take Homer. Can I count Iliad and Odyssey as one book? There´s a lot of ocean in those too, but the Aegean and Mediterranean seem less depressing than the Atlantic off New England.”

“Picking a single record is hard indeed. I can imagine getting heartily sick of any of my favourites, which include ‘Sergeant Pepper’, Hendrix´s ‘Electric Ladyland’, and The Who´s ´Quadrophenia´. Just find me a good album of Mozart lieder (there´s a lovely double album with Bernard Klee singing on one disc and Edith Mathis on the other, but I´m damned if I remember the name) and I guess that´ll do.”

“A single useless item? Probably my cat Henry, or a dog. (My current dog, living with my parents in America, is getting on in age and might not do too well, but if she could be guaranteed a few good years I´d take her.) There is nothing as useless as my pets, I promise you.”

Tad Williams is the best-selling author of the Memory, Thorn and Sorrow sequence of books: The Dragonbone Chair, The Stone of Farewell and To Green Angel Tower (available in paperback as two volumes: Seige and Storm), as well as the illustrated novella Caliban´s Hour and the Otherland series.

Best-selling fantasy author Tom Holt takes a wry look at life... MELONS

“Huh?” I said.

“I'll read it again,” she replied. “Listen carefully. Sometimes, if you´re not paying attention, it can almost sound like it makes sense.”

“Get on with it,” I said.

“All right.” She cleared her throat and opened the book. “The shot went through Freeman´s head like a soft watermelon*. End quote,” she added triumphantly. “So there.”

“Hang on a minute,” I said. “I think what he was trying to say was, ‘the shot went through Freeman´s head as if Freeman´s head was a soft watermelon.’ And that´s - ”

“That´s not what it says,” she replied sternly. “Here, see for yourself.” She thrust the book under my nose. The words, duly highlighted in Staedler screaming fluorescent neon, were as she had recited. “Furthermore,” she went on, “bear in mind that we´re talking about a major Hollywood production here. Multi-zillion dollar budget, the finest minds in the business all pounding themselves into jelly in the pursuit of transcendent excellence.” She blew smoke in my face, then went on. “When these guys hire writers to do novelisations, they hire the best. It follows that if they say a shot went through a head like a soft watermelon, that´s what they meant. Which just leaves us with the problem of working out how you shoot a watermelon through a bloke´s head.” She leaned closer. “What do they know that we don´t?”

I considered the problem. “It´s not impossible,” I said. “If you can shoot a soft lead bullet through a steel plate, you can shoot a watermelon through a head. Even a head as thick as Freeman´s, whoever in blazes Freeman was.”

“Rest his soul,” she said respectfully.

I reached for a beermat and a pen, and sat for a minute or so working out the figures, during which time she ate my dry roasted peanuts and the outside of my Scotch egg. “I think I´ve got it,” I said at last. “Have a look at this.”

She looked. “It´s a beermat,” she said.

“Correct. A beermat on which I´ve sketched a very rough schematic diagram of a workable watermelon cannon. The basic concept - ”

“What´s that supposed to be?”

“Spilt beer. The basic concept isn´t that difficult. Provided you can get your basic watermelon, which I´m estimating weighs something in the region of half a pound, so call that 3,500 grains avoirdupois, average mean diameter nine inches - ”

“Give or take a bit,” she said.

“As the crow flies,” I agreed. “If we can accelerate the melon to say four thousand feet per second muzzle velocity, penetration oughtn´t to be a problem. The tricky bit is not compressing the melon into slush before it leaves the end of the barrel. But I´ve thought of that.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“All you need,” I said, “is some form of protective jacket or sabot that´ll cushion the actual melon until it leaves the end of the barrel, but which will then fall away, allowing the melon itself to fly on unhindered. Make it out of one of these modern hard plastics, with a collapsible inner column to soak up the initial thrust; and you slit it up the sides, so that as soon as it hits the air they open up like the petals of a flower, whereupon air resistance -”

“It´d have to be a bloody big cannon,” she said.

“Not necessarily,” I pointed out, ostentatiously moving my beer to the other side of the table. “You see, I reckon that to accelerate 3,500 grains to 4,000 feet per second down a nine inch diameter tube, you´d only need an internal pressure of say two and a half tons per square inch, which actually isn´t too bad. If you made the actual tube out of high-tensile aluminium alloy, or better still titanium, you´d be able to keep the weight down and still only need a tube wall thickness of say seventy-five thousandths of an inch. Two strong men could carry it easily.”

“And a third,” she pointed out, “to carry the spare melons.”

“And a fourth,” I pointed out, “to load the thing. I&´m assuming it&´s loaded from the muzzle, because any sort of hinged breech is going to increase the weight quite dramatically, not to mention production costs ...”

“These guys are good for the money,” she assured me. “I feel sure they´d want nothing but the best.”

“All right,” I said, “so we add a basic falling-block artillery breech. Make that five men, unless you mount the whole thing on wheels, like those little shopping trolleys.”

She closed the book. “Thank you,” she said. “You´ve restored my faith in modern speculative fiction. For a moment there I was beginning to think the worst.”

“Shame on you,” I remonstrated. “When these guys throw rotten fruit, clearly they don´t muck about.”

“Yeah,” she added, reaching across the table and helping herself to my beer. “And neither do you.”

* From the novelisation of Stargate™, page 203