Alex Bell – fantasy author

I have a longstanding adoration for Basil Rathbone, not just because he is – very probably – the sexiest man who’s ever lived, but also because I love his performance as Sherlock Holmes:

I have a box set of the fourteen Sherlock Holmes films Rathbone made with Nigel Bruce between 1939-1946, and it is the most oft-watched box set I own. House of Fear and Terror by Night are my all time favourites, and I have watched both those films over and over again.

For many people, Jeremy Brett is the definitive Sherlock Holmes and it is, indeed, the case that the Brett version is far more true to the books than the Rathbone one. Rathbone’s Holmes is warmer – there is no evidence of a cocaine addiction, or much in the way of Holmes’s depressive nature. Basil Rathbone’s Sherlock Holmes lacks the cold asceticism Jeremy Brett brings to the part. These films are done with a much lighter touch, and there is much more of a sense of very close friendship between Holmes and Watson:

That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy the Jeremy Brett version – I do, very much, and have the box sets for that one as well, but I would not be able to watch them over and over again the way I do with the Basil Rathbone ones. This is partly because the Rathbone films have a much greater air of nostalgia. Most of them are set in “modern day” – meaning the 1940’s, which, I think, gives them a sort of sophisticated elegance that the Victorian setting lacks. Plus the fact that they’re filmed in black and white, which makes them even more effective, especially in the spookier films, such as The Scarlet Claw.

Basil Rathbone’s Sherlock Holmes may not be as cold and clinical as Arthur Conan Doyle’s original, but he is still a master of deduction, and ferociously intelligent (you can tell just by looking at him!):

Inspector Lestrade and Dr Watson are both portrayed as bumbling – if good natured – fools in these films which, of course, is not accurate to the books, but allows for plenty of fine, surprisingly understated, comic moments. There is also the odd bit of accidental comedy when the story runs into the most delicious melodrama that seems quite over the top by today’s standards but - I won’t lie - I love a bit of thunder and lightning, and villainous laughs, and da da da theme music from time to time.

In short, the Basil Rathbone Sherlock Holmes films may not be the most accurate portrayal, but I think they bring something very special to the stories in terms of style, warmth, cosiness and nostalgia.

Anyway – what sparked this blog post was that it was my birthday yesterday and my lovely Mum bought me a Basil Rathbone bracelet and matching necklace from the utterly fabulous Alternative Boo Teek (for whom I have already expressed my love here):

How unbelievably cool? The photos really don’t do these pieces justice – they’re both literally stuffed with all manner of ghoulish charms – but they are totally gorgeous and combine two of my favourite things – Basil Rathbone and the macabre. Jewellery doesn’t get any better than this.  

And – because it’s beyond awesome – here’s a snap of my birthday cake, lovingly baked for me by my Mum. As anyone who knows their nursery rhymes will recognise, it is the notorious pie from sing a song of sixpence:

Yes, indeed, one of the only things that can come close to Basil Rathbone + macabre, is cake + macabre. Where possible, I always prefer my birthday cake to be just a little bit macabre, ghoulish, sinister or otherwise disturbing.

Regular readers of my blog will know that about once a year I grudgingly praise another writer’s work. I do not like to do it too often because I am greedy and grasping, and I despise the thought of people out there spending hard-earned money on books that were not penned by me. But every now and then, I enjoy reading a book so much that it enables me to rise above my natural, in-built pettiness.

So, up next is Tome of the Undergates – from the Next Big Thing ™, Mister Sam Sykes:

I think we can all agree that this cover is wicked, and the man on it is sexy as anything, and the water is . . . well . . . sort of mesmerising. It’s also a very big book (600 pages plus), and, as Amanda at Floor to Ceiling Books has already pointed out, if you were so inclined, you could, feasibly, beat a man to death with this thing. I don’t like to put it too close to any of my books because it makes me feel insecure, and I start wondering whether my efforts are just novellas, rather than actual novels . . .

Anyway, there are, basically, three main reasons why I love Tome:

1. The monsters. Heretofore (eek! I just said ‘heretofore’! The ol’ legal training creeps in when you least expect it!) – heretofore, I would have said that the estimable Chris Wooding was the undisputed king of fantasy monsters, but now I would have to say that Chris and Sam are pretty much on a level with each other on this, for there are several really cracking monsters in Tome. I don’t want to give any juicy details away, but the highlight for me were the Omens – these creepy monsters with bodies of birds, and heads of old women who parrot the words of dying men.
2. I have a special soft spot for characters who are at least a little bit mad/unstable/unhinged etc. Anyone who’s read The Ninth Circle will know this to be true (see what I did there? Sneakily got the post back onto my books, ah ha). And Lenk, who is the leader (in the loosest sense) of the mismatched band of adventurers in Tome, is haunted by a voice inside his head that only he can hear. More often than not, this urges him on to greater bloodshed and so on. It’s not clear where this voice comes from, or what its purpose is, but I’m an absolute sucker for this sort of internal conflict.
3. The similes. I know it seems a bit of an odd thing to highlight, but they really jumped out at me all the way through the book. From now on, I might have to refer to Sam as the King of Similes (he is, after all, yet to be christened by me with an appropriate nickname). I’ve never complimented an author on similes before – that’s how freakin’ great they are.

In addition, I think I would probably enjoy any adventure story that involved a rich fantasy world; a band of companions who are constantly at each other’s throats; and a heck of a lot of blood and gore. It’s true: I like my fantasy novels to be just a little bit filthy (hence my gushing love for anything written by Mr Abercrombie).

So for anyone looking for a thoroughly entertaining read, I would whole-heartedly recommend Tome. Sam is also an active Twitterer (is this a word?), but please don’t follow him because he already has more Twitter followers than me, despite having been around for only a fraction of the time, and that just isn’t right. Perhaps if I made my tweets a bit angrier, I would get a sudden influx of followers . . . ?

Finally, and most vitally, I must add that whilst Mr Sykes may write books that practically eclipse mine in size, my dog could eat his dog in one bite, because Moose is a Great Dane, and Sam is the owner of a teensy-tiny, ludicrously adorable pug by the name of Otis who, I believe, is soon to feature on the shiny new Gollancz blog.

Tome is released in the UK on 15th April, available in all good bookstores, etc etc.

I realised it’s been a while since I did a Wunderkammer post, and as I don’t want the blog to be lacking in weird stuff, here I shall present not one, but two, instances of weirdness.

Number One – the Mastodon:

 As you can see, it is both shrivelled and dead. Obviously, therefore, I love it. I found this mastodon whilst heading an archaeological dig in the wild jungles of Peru. Now Seth, as I like to call him, keeps my shrivelled mermaid and shrivelled bigfoot company. There is a fourth member of their little gang, but I will write about him another time.

Number Two – Erin’s New Hat:

This is Erin’s new hat. My Mum recently went on a trip to Marrakech, and she bought this for him in one of the markets there. That’s how cool my Mum is – when she goes on holiday she brings back presents for me, and for my skeleton. And it was perfect timing too because Erin was becoming bored with his Victorian top hat, and had taken to trying to put it on the Siamese, which she dislikes. And an unhappy Siamese makes for an unhappy human. Now, because of the hat, we are all happy, and living together in harmony once again. Soon, Erin will own more hats than I do. I spoil my skeleton almost as much as I spoil my Great Dane. Moose has a hat too. Here she is wearing it on her birthday:

So make that three instances of weirdness.

Oh yes, we are all mad here.

I currently include a hedgehog in my varied menagerie because it seems that my Great Dane has something seriously wrong with her lips – in that she has no feeling in them. I caught her a few weeks ago running around the garden tossing the hedgehog around, apparently in the belief that it was a spiky ball. I got it off her and, fortunately, it did not appear to be hurt. But it was seriously underweight, and the hedgehog rescue people told me that it would be unable to survive hibernating as a result. I therefore have to look after the hedgehog until it warms up in the spring, at which point I can let it go.

I have been calling the hedgehog Spiky Harold, which has got me thinking about the original Spiky Harold. For those who don’t know, Spiky Harold is a fiendishly difficult retro computer game back from the days when computers didn’t have mice. It’s the first computer game I can remember and, even now, just hearing the name of it gives me that childish excited feeling. Having said that, my brother and I could never get very far on it before poor Harold got killed.

But after Spiky Harold came the Sega. I know 99.999% of gamers will probably deride me for saying so, but I regard the Sega as by far the best games console. These were games that you could just sit down and play without having to spend hours and hours and hours practicing first. The original Sonic, for example – absolutely loved it. Spent many happy hours battling Dr Robotnik and co. But a while back I tried to play a new Sonic races game with my brother on his Playstation 2, and I couldn’t even finish the race. Stupid bloody New Sonic kept running off the edge of a cliff, damn him.

My eight year old cousin got a Wii for Christmas, and when I saw her playing on this recently I was like ‘jeepers!’ It all looks so complicated! A far cry from the pick-up-and-play games of yester-year. And I can’t help but lament the decline of the Sega because for people like me – who are not hard-core gamers but wouldn’t mind whiling away an hour every now and then – we need games we can just plug in and play. Things like old Sonic and the absolutely tremendous Castle of Illusion.

Perhaps the new games have better graphics, and the remote controllers vibrate now and all the rest of it, but I will always prefer the Sega, and I miss that clunky old games console even now. I could actually beat my brother in the occasional Sonic race or Bloody Roar battle back then (which infuriated him, and made me feel tremendously good about myself). Now if I ever try to play a game with him on one of these modern consoles, I get pitifully thrashed within minutes. Seconds, even. If I want to play a computer game now, it’s pretty much a question of tetris or nothin’. And – let’s face it – there’s only so much tetris a person can play before they get the urge to kill someone. So my plan is for the shops to scrap all this PS3/Wii/X-Box nonsense and just bring back the good ol’ Sega. Games ain’t so much fun when you have to spend hours perfecting your technique before you can even start. It was all so much better in my day . . .

This is the exciting tale of Smith and the Snow Hounds. A story of snow, stealth, Siameses and sinister plots. You have never heard a legend quite like this one. Once upon a time . . .

This is Smith:

These are the Snow Hounds:

This is the Evil Siamese, who has just ordered the Snow Hounds to find Smith and destroy him:

The Snow Hounds were shocked, but as the Evil Siamese must be obeyed in all things, they set out on their daring mission to find Smith and defeat him. The Black Snow Hound was the bravest but the Spotty Snow Hound – as shown in the second picture – was able to levitate at will by flapping her ears. Together, they made a formidable team. They travelled many miles through harsh and terrible terrain, sometimes going for days without food or sleep:

Carrying huge and fearsome weapons with them as they travelled:

Until, finally, after many months of weary searching, the Black Snow Hound discovered Smith’s Lair:

And the White Snow Hound pulled off Smith’s nose and ate it - effectively stripping the snowman of all his powers:

The Snow Hounds returned to the Evil Siamese’s Castle in triumph:

And the Evil Siamese slept well that night, safe in the knowledge that her enemy had been defeated:

And they all lived happily ever after, except for Smith.

The End.

Cast:

Black Snow Hound: Loki

Spotty Snow Hound: Moose

Evil Siamese: Suki

Smith: As Himself.

Pretty good, innit? I ought to go into the novel-writing business . . .