Urx Quonox

 

Urx Quonox by Adam S. Cantwell
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I'm reading the Occult Press version, gifted to me and signed by Adam, 37/120 limited edition. Thanks, Adam!

I'm a big sword and sorcery fan, have been since the mid-70s, reading Savage Sword of Conan and the old Howard paperbacks. Here, with Grasm the Barbarian, Cantwell has taken S&S to a higher literary level, the inevitable evolution out of pulp and into thinking-man's writing, and I'm here for it.

If Robert E. Howard had cast aside all prudery and collaborated with William Burroughs, this might start to approximate the style of "The Monarch in Disarray," but this tale is much more transgressive, visceral, and psychedelic than that. It's a decadent sword & sorcery tale, pushed to carnal extremes with an emphasis on the sorcery and its deeper effects on the psyche. Grasm > Conan, maybe. The writing is head and shoulders above Howard's.

Another story of Grasm the Barbarian, "Scream of the Bluejay," is a barnacle-encrusted sea-salt soaked rope of a tale about revenental vengeance. While the center of attention in the story isn't the barbarian, it says much about him and twists in such a way as to wring out more of his past. It's a clever tale of sword and sorcery, of regret, betrayal, and murder; a hideously glorious, horrifically beautiful tale.

The final entry in the Grasm trilogy, "Cities Below the Strand," again puts an emphasis on sorcery over swords. No swords are drawn in this tale, but there is a deep cut of nihilism here, particularly as regards both the past and the future of Grasm himself. This is a small window into what could be a large, inglorious panorama both for the barbarian himself and for his world as a whole. Hearts die, nations collapse, the world keeps spinning.

Three tales about the same person, but exploring different aspects of his past, present, and future. Grasm learns about Grasm even as we do. I want to continue this journey!

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Des Lewis' Brainwright and My Writing

 Here, a very brief post, a mere link, really, to Des Lewis' Forrest Aguirre and the Brainwright for my old age. As some of you know, Des is a master of reviewing works of fiction in such a way as to re-present the work to new audiences by offering a detailed analysis that is less explanatory and more exploratory, not ingesting and regurgitating the material, but painting a picture of a painting with other eyes. His reviews are a kaleidoscope, zooming in and out, lensing, coloring, sometimes distorting to catch images out of the corner of the intellectual eye that one would otherwise miss. As I said, they re-present the work in fully self-sufficient strokes.

Now Des has examined his reviews through the lens of what I will call a Deep-Observational Engine, which takes the whole of his output (which has a vast and riddling complexity) and twists the kaleidoscope on the reviews themselves. For my own work, this is fascinating to me. I have no argument with the conclusions, but note that many of the threads presented here were not anything intentional on my part. Some were, of course, but some are just organic threads that emerge through my writing process from somewhere deep inside. When I read the review, it gives me reason to reflect not only on my work, but on myself. I think back to "where I was" in life at the time I wrote each of those stories, and I can see windows back into my own experience (the experience of living, not writing) two steps removed from my own biased analysis of myself. It's a refreshing view and lends perspective that I otherwise wouldn't have.

As always, Des: fantastic. You are a modern Wizard.

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Now It's Dark

 

Now It's Dark by Lynda E. Rucker
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I first encountered Lynda E. Rucker's work in such magazines (remember those?) as The Third Alternative , Shadows and Tall Trees , and Nightmare Magazine . I've always admired her work, but I've read it intermittently, in sparse doses. The wonder about short story collections is that a reader can encounter stories by the same author, one after another. Sometimes this is disconcerting - quality is varied, voices change so dramatically as to be jarring, the same themes are done to death - but the best collections show just enough of the author's range of voices and themes, all at high quality, to introduce the reader not just to a new world, but to new worlds.

The worlds that Rucker takes us to in Now It's Dark are, well, dark. Not gory, not reliant on jump-scares, but more than just weird. At times, her work is creepy, emotionally gut-wrenching, or shocking, and sometimes (as in the last story of this volume) all three at once. Let's explore each story, in turn.

"The Dying Season" is composed (with a deft authorial hand) of a series of mis-steps by a fragile, emotionally-shaky woman who is on a supposed vacation in an off-season resort. This is not a fairytale but a tale of dark fairy that leaves one befuddled and even less sure of one's place in the world, like a psychogeographic black blot on the map, where being found is being lost. An unsettling tale.

"The Seance" was first published in Uncertainties, volume 1 and I can . . . certainly . . . see why. It's the vagaries peeking around corners, not the jump scare or obvious gore, where the real terror lies. Or does it? Just when you think you know something or, worse yet, someone, another angle reveals a hint of things you really don't want to see clearly. But you're the curious type, aren't you? Careful! You don't want to peek! But Rucker forces the issue and you are helpless and wide-eyed.

Rucker captures liminality in a bottle in "The Other Side". It's not a horrific tale, far from it, though the weird element might be considered horrific by some. Dark? Yes. But this was a somber contemplative piece drenched in sadness. Reflective and vaguely hopeful at the same time. Not only is liminality the subject of the story, but Rucker has captured the feel and mood of the liminal. Outstanding!

Egaeus Press's anthology A Soliloquy for Pan recently went through it's second printing and, once again, I missed my chance to get a copy. If Rucker's "The Secret Woods" is representative of the quality of the other stories in that volume, I have lost out on a treasure. It evoked in me both a deep emotional response and intellectual resonance. It's a gem in Rucker's crown.

I needed to sit with "Knots" for a while. It's a story about control and abuse, but there's a supernatural thread passing throughout that takes it firmly into the territory of the weird. It's heartbreaking, though, to think of those in abusive relationships that can't or won't get out. What are the knots that tie them to the situation? Mental illness? Emotional immaturity? Or something much more sinister than that? If you like to feel helpless, this is the story for you. And therein lies the horror: the horror of co-dependence.

Another story in the register of Aickman, "The Vestige" tracks a hapless traveler who has lost his passport, phone, and money. A traveling worst nightmare scenario. I've been in a similar situation when I last travelled to the UK and, on my way back, was detained in Heathrow Airport and had to give up my passport to authorities for reasons that were not clear to me then, but are now. I'll spare you the details of what is a very long story, but suffice it to say that I (and several others) were on Homeland Security's list for extra vetting and the first thing they did was confiscate our passports. Of course, that is a terrifying thing, but it's not the terror of the loss or fear of being a stranger in a strange land that affect the reader. These are sharp elements in the story, but it's the mystery of a past that might not have been and a present that also might not be that create the most emotional dissonance in this tale.

The next story was written for the anthology Gothic Lovecraft . There's just enough Lovecraft in "The Unknown Chambers" to call the story Lovecraftian. "Deep Ones" are mentioned once, as is Lovecraft himself. If you're familiar with the mythos, you'll figure out what's happening or going to happen early on. If not, then this might be a good introduction to Lovecraftiana not from the man himself. Disconcerting and stultifying, it's a good mythos tale, but not spectacular.

I suspected the final conceit of "So Much Wine" about three-quarters of the way through. The obtuse narrative could only lead to one conclusion, in the end. I was right. But I still love this story, not because of the way it concludes, but because the writing throughout devoured my attention, pulling it away from the fact that I already knew what was coming. The journey is more important than the destination.

"An Element of Blank" presents a coming-of-age story of three girls, now women, who experienced something - though it's never quite clear how fully - which may have been a demonic possession, those many years ago. Now, the possessor is back and the girls are wiser and braver than . . . what, exactly? Memory is a fickle mistress and cannot be trusted. And, yet, it must. But trauma, while it cannot erase the past, can redact it.

"The Seventh Wave" finishes this volume with, dare I say it? A splash. At turns, deeply sad, empathetic, and desperate, this story ends on a high note of pure terror. Possibly the most effective story in the volume, the voice of the narrator is strong, not in intensity, but in its depth. And the story will push and pull at your heartstrings until they're about to break until the inevitable, yet shocking end. I cannot recommend this story strongly enough.

And I cannot recommend this collection strongly enough. The physical object, as with all Swan River titles, is crisp and engaging. It might sound silly, but I love their size, the way they feel in the hand. The cover art for this volume is a painting by the amazing

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Minori Leather bag and Mudita Kompakt phone

 I'm not usually one for product reviews, but every once in a while I find something that's just such high quality that I have to let people know (no, I'm not being paid or sponsored to say this or anything else in this review, for the record, but if you find this mildly entertaining or even useful and you'd like to contribute, see my kofi link below). I just bought two such items (well, I bought one of them months ago, but it's one of those "time will tell" things that I had to let play out): 1) the Boulder Leather Crossbody bag by Minori Leather, and 2) the Mudita Kompakt phone, both of which are pictured here:

Let's start with the bag, as that will be quickest. I absolutely LOVE this bag. It's perfect for travel, and I'll be using it on my Alaska cruise next week! Great size: fits my Boox Go 10.3, a composition book, and my Leuchtturm 411 writing book, as well as my passport and Mudita Kompakt phone (shown in the photo for reference size). This arrived QUICK (buying locally helps, folks). I love the weathered look and this looks to be bomb-proof. Solid construction, tight stitching, zippers are smooth. I'll probably have to leave it in my will for my kids. Strongly recommended. "It's just a bag," you say? Yeah, kiddo, wait until the apocalypse and we'll see who's begging for something to comfortably carry.

As for the Mudita Kompakt: I made the decision a long time ago to try to simplify my life and move toward a more analog existence. If you've read my blog, you've seen windows into that journey. And for my next trick, I'm (gasp!) ditching my smart phone. Well, at least I am after my Alaska trip because I need it for the boarding pass and such. But my everyday carry does NOT include my smartphone anymore. I could go on for days about the many ways that we are being manipulated by the builders of smartphones and those who create apps for them, and how we need to simplify our lives more and spend less time on social media and online in general, and being offline more lets us focus on things we love more (like, for me, writing and playing RPGs), but I really don't need to. Many, many people have done this before, mostly on youtube (ironically, if you watch youtube on your phone): here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here. I'm sorry, you're welcome, and welcome to my rabbit hole.

So, the Mudita Kompakt does not run any google-fied apps. It can't. And I'm happy about that. It is a simple phone, with an e-ink screen (which minimizes that blue light that burns into your retinas at night from watching cat videos on your smart phone for too long - you know who you are) that is easy on the eyes and aesthetically pleasing. There are apps, but you can't access the App Store, which is fine by me. There's an alarm, calculator, calendar, camera (awkward to use and black and white through the viewfinder, though the pictures are taken in color), chess, E-reader, Maps, Meditation (really a glorified timer, if I'm being honest), Music (which needs some work. A lot of work, in fact), Notes (which also needs work - too few characters, to be sure), a recorder, and a weather app (fairly accurate). It's got some "warts" - music is just playable alphabetically or on shuffle, not by artist or album, but I'm confident they'll fix that in an update; maps has some latency issues because it's e-ink, but then the whole intent of the phone is to slow you down and make you think more intentionally, so it does that; the notes app definitely needs to allow more characters, and the screen is ultra sensitive, so I often find myself putting the phone into "Offline+" mode, which shuts off the phone, camera, microphones, and all wireless communications at the flick of a switch (psst: this is the phone privacy advocates have been looking for all along) and locking it. I had a lot of problems with pocket-dialing until I figured out I need to flip into Offline+ mode and lock my screen if I didn't want to inadvertently call someone. Like I said, it's ULTRA-sensitive and needs work, which I'm told they are doing.

Which brings me to another point: Mudita actually listens to their users. The proof is in the pudding. I've spent a fair amount of time on the Mudita forums and seen the complaints of users (myself included), and they have responded not just with patience and tact, but with updates that make sense. Yes, there is more work to do - I bought the phone on its kickstarter, so I knew there would be bugs - but I'm confident in Mudita's ability and willingness to address any shortcomings. However . . . if you think you're going to get a black and white smartphone, think again. That's not what this is about. This is about mental freedom from the grip of a smartphone. It's intended to keep you OFF the phone, to DISconnect and, thus, reconnect with yourself, your thoughts, your time, your surroundings, your hobbies, and your loved ones. Pretty revolutionary stuff.

My experience has been . . . good. At times, very difficult. I don't think I understood how strongly I was addicted to my smart phone (and still am until this trip is done) until I took the plunge. I have an addictive personality, so smartphones are built like a hook for suckers like me. So, if you can put down the smartphone and social media "anytime I want to" - this phone isn't really for you. But if you are looking to get more calm into your life, to avoid the jittery anxiety of the online world, and reclaim yourself and your time, give it a try. If you have any questions about the phone or my journey, I'd be glad to answer them.

And speaking of journeys, I'm about to take one! You'll probably see photos (taken by my Kompakt) in the not-too-distant future. Alrigh, packing my new bag for Alaska!

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Le Livre des Fourmis: The Book of Ants

 

Le Livre des Fourmis: The Book of Ants by Robin D. Laws
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

One of my favorite games is the old Surrealist game Exquisite Cadaver. I'm not only a proponent, I'm a teacher of the game. I spread the gospel of Exquisite Cadaver far and wide, whenever I have the opportunity. My primary reason for loving the game is that it breaks my brain and causes me to look at live in a whole new way. It's the cognitive equivalent of cubism - seeing objects (in this case, either grammatical objects, if you are playing the "sentence" version, or illustrative objects, if you're playing the "three part drawing" version). Through what appears to be an aleotory excercise, but is really a channeling of the sublimated unconscious, one discovers new ways of looking at (or reading or writing or drawing) Things. I capitalize "Things" because I think of those creations as entities - self-sufficient, complete entities created by a group of people exercising the collective unconscious in a double-blind experiment. These Things emerge as we take our disjointed thoughts or pieces of thoughts (memes, perhaps?) and force them into a relational structure that causes disparate bits of our processed perceptions to be ordered in a template that we would normally use to create "meaning" - sentences and/or drawings. Through this, we form a new "reality". Or, at least, we form a new perception of reality. And if perception is reality, well, you get the picture.

In The Book of Ants (I will use the English title, because, to be honest, there is very, very little French in the book, even though most of the protagonists are French Surrealists), we are introduced to all the most famous of the surrealist cadre, and quite a few minor, even peripheral players of that artistic/poetic era. The book is told from the viewpoint of one Henri Salem, but don't go researching him, he's not real. At least not in this reality. In the reality of The Book of Ants, however, he is a young poet who develops relationships (and rivalries, and sometimes downright mutual loathing) with Breton, Dali, Bataille, Magrite, and many others you have likely never heard of, who keeps a diary set in two worlds: The world of the Great War and the interwar years of Paris, and the strange "place" underlying the conscious world, The Dreamlands.

As others have pointed out, this book serves as a sort of addendum to an RPG book, The Dreamhounds of Paris (which I shall review at some future point), written for the Trail of Cthulhu gaming system. It is referenced in the rulebook as a possible history from which players and game-masters might leverage for their own game play.

That said, there is nothing game-specific about the book at all. It reads quite well (outside of some annoying typos). The style is sparse, at times elegant, but not "purple," which is a bit surprising when the narrator and many of the characters are French poets and artists and even more surprising when once considers the overly-ornamented prose of H.P. Lovecraft, who brought The Dreamlands into the popular conscience. It helps to know the Cthulhu mythos and The Dreamlands, specifically, but those aren't absolutely necessary to understanding and enjoying the story, in fact, that knowledge isn't necessary at all. There's enough context and explication to allow the reader "in," though some references, such as the names of certain creatures that inhabit The Dreamland, might miss their full impact. In summary, no experience with the game or the subgenre is necessary, though knowing the subgenre is helpful.

I acknowledged the annoying typos. And I've edited and written enough books to know that eliminating all typos from a manuscript is a herculean task and, in many cases, nearly impossible. But the number of typos in the book can throw one out of the "dreamstate" of the book, which is a real shame. One might be luxuriating in the strangeness of it all, only to be suddenly jettisoned back to grammatical reality by obviously missing words (or obviously "extra" words). Can this be forgiven? Sure, but not without losing a star on my rating.

But when it's flowing, this story will capture you, slowly at first, intriguing you through the historical relationships of the surrealists one to another, then accelerating with the discovery that many of those sensitive enough (note: Breton was not) might enter the dreamlands, then, with the discovery that the surrealists could not only enter that place, they could manipulate it, create, and destroy, the pace becomes almost frantic. A new reality is discovered, then it is manipulated, subverted altogether, and disintegrated by those who have crossed over. There is a strong thread of the responsibility of those who colonize and the heinousness of the erasure of another's culture. Some serious ethical questions are asked and the answers to those questions affect not only The Dreamlands, or early-20th-Century Paris, but our own waking reality today. This isn't a book about strangeness and horrific caricatures of monstrosities - it really is about what it means to have influence, and about the consequences of one's actions, intended or not. This takes the work a step further than any other book I've read that was based on a roleplaying game. This isn't a "real play". It's much more than that. It will cause something that roleplaying games rarely do, and which the best gamemasters will engender in their players: introspection.

It's not just a book based on a game. It has, dare I say it? Meaning.


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Terror Train to Köln Dom

 The last time I travelled to Europe, I was fairly convinced that it would be the last time I set foot on the continent of my birth. Of course, this saddened me a great deal, as half of my childhood was spent there (Germany, Italy, and England). But the travel gods have smiled on me and I was able to go to Germany, where my work sent me for some training and to establish some connections between our US facility (here in Janesville) and our division's "mothership" in Oelde, Germany. It was work, but it was excellent. I have a much greater appreciation for the breadth of the work we do now, so, mission accomplished. Of course, we couldn't pass up the opportunity to pay for my wife's flight over. So, while I was working, she did a number of day trips to surrounding cities in the region. And, of course, we took a weeks vacation afterwards, most of it spent in Belgium, but those are reminisces for later blog posts. 

On Friday, I packed up a little early and went to the train station in Oelde to catch a train to Köln. The intent was to meet my wife there (she was visiting a different city that Friday - Hamm or Essen, I can't remember which), and we were then to meet a co-worker who I got to know when she worked in the States for several months, along with her fiancée. 

What I didn't know, is that the German train system has degraded markedly since I was a kid. The trains most decidedly do NOT arrive on time (unlike Austria) and, as I found on this little "adventure" (it's not an adventure until you're lost), they are sometimes altogether cancelled for reasons that remain a mystery to me. I blame the de-socialization and privatization of the train lines. Yeah, the country has probably saved some money and cut some waste by privatizing, but have they really? The old adage "you get what you pay for" has never been more true.

I got to the train station with plenty of time before arrival, had my ticket and passport ready, and was very excited to get on a European train for the first time in six years. Then, as I was waiting, the announcer said something about my train that I mostly understood (I can understand a little over half of what I hear in German, but I still speak like a three-year-old. Maybe four on a good day.), but wasn't completely clear on, so I looked at the board and saw this:

That's my train on the highlighted column. Notice the lack of a platform number in the last column? Yep, my train was cancelled. So, I did what any person using public transit in a foreign country who only understands half of the langue does: I panicked. First thing, I called my wife, who had dealt with the train system for the past week while I walked to and from work. She was also having train issues. As we were talking, I remembered a local traffic office downstairs, in the "station" (that is far too grandiose of a word to describe the wide hallway with a glass-windowed office and bathrooms that I am confident people have been murdered in), so I went downstairs and, thankfully, they were still open. And the host there spoke excellent English. I'm sure he had dealt with dumb Americans who were in Oelde for work before, so he was well-equipped to recommend another train where I could switch trains in Hamm and catch a connector to Köln, no problem!

Slightly comforted, but still a little wary, I went on my way. Caught the train from Oelde to Hamm, which was standing-room-only because of the cancellations back down the line, but I had no idea which platform to catch my connector on. This occasioned another trip to the help desk, but this time, the English of the person who was trying to help me was about as good as my German, and she was most decidedly NOT used to dumb Americans. Eventually, as I was growing in worry about catching the train, she was able to direct me to platform 10. I sprinted and made it there in time. .

This time the train was even worse. It was a double-decker, which was cool, except I had to stand halfway up a semi-spiral staircase, which, while I'm sure it was very aesthetically pleasing, was not practical to stand on. Thankfully, I had been walking about six or seven miles a day for the first six days we were there, so my legs weren't too bad and my back held up. Above me and to my left was a young couple who were "working out their relationship" the entire ride. She was crying and he was muttering and trying to placate her and she just kept repeating the phrase "Wie schön für dich" ("How nice for you") again and again. I thought maybe this was just a German train culture thing, but when I looked at all the other passengers around me, they looked at them baffled, then looked at me like "Please! Help meeeee!" This was not normal, apparently. But it carried on the entire time of that train ride.

So, when word came over the speakers (and I understood this message clearly) that this train would not be continuing to Köln, but would instead stop in Dusseldorf and then skip Köln to go straight to Bonn, I'm not sure if I was pissed off or relieved. A bit of both, honestly. By this time, I had a three-way texting conversation going on between me, my wife, and my co-worker. Natalie's train to Köln had also been cancelled! Argh! Thankfully, my co-worker, who had just left Dusseldorf to head to Köln with her fiancée by car, told us to stay put at Dusseldorf station and they would come by and pick us up and we would drive to Köln. Oh, did I mention that we were an hour and a half late by that point and had an early train to catch back from Köln to Oelde?

Now, why would we suffer such torture at the hands of the German train system? I had been told by people whose opinions I respect that I must not leave the area without visiting Köln Dom (Cologne cathedral). This was the point of that tortuous pilgrimage. Being in the back seat of our friends' car travelling at 200 Kilometers Per Hour, as the frustration and fear of that awful train trip subsided, I was getting rather excited. Some of that anxious energy had to do with the fact that we would have about an hour to see the cathedral and get dinner before we had to catch our train back to Oelde, but as we rounded a corner and the Köln Dom came into view, I was completely awestruck.

I've seen a lot of cool things in my day because I was blessed to travel the world from birth. I've seen many of the "have you seen?" monuments in Europe and the US (though definitely not all), and some have been more impressive than others. But this was at a whole 'nother level, as they say. This monumental piece of architecture took 600 years to build. Yes, 600 YEARS! Nearly two and a half times as long as the United States has been a nation . . . to build one building! I asked my co-worker's fiancée if he knew how many people had died building that, at which point his face grew grave (he is a very cheerful person) and he just said "Many". I'm certain of that. 

And what did they get for all this sacrifice? Only one of the most beautiful and awe-inspiring structures on the planet. We had seen <a href="https://forrestaguirre.blogspot.com/2021/06/vienna-part-i.html">Stefansdom in Vienna</a> on our previous trip, and while that was very impressive, it really paled in comparison to Köln Dom. I took some photos (below), but honestly spent most of the time in reverence just trying to take it all in with my natural eyes. The phrase "pictures don't do it justice" seems trite and over-used, even abused, but in this case, it was clearly correct. I simply could not absorb the magnitude of it all through that stupid little piece of electronically-charged glass in my little phone. I'll include some pictures, but if you have any chance to see this magnificent structure, TAKE IT! 

As you can guess, because of the time in the evening, the cathedral was closed, so we didn't get a chance to see the inside. I'm guessing it's gorgeous, yet overwhelming, just like the outside. I'd love to get inside someday.

What we had planned to be a great dinner turned out to be ordering Döners at a shop on the square. They were good (but not nearly as great as the ones we had in The Hague the next week), but we had to eat them on the train back to Oelde. Which, incidentally, had to make an emergency stop in Hamm with policemen running around all over the place - I still don't know what the heck they were doing, and they looked like they didn't know what they were doing, either - which took about a half hour before we finally, finally arrived back in Oelde. Thus began the first of that vacation. More later. 

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Metal Hurlant

 

Metal Hurlant: Old Dreams, Young Visions by Brian Michael Bendis
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

If any one piece of media informed my teenage years, it was the movie Heavy Metal . Now, 43 years after I first watched that movie on HBO late night as a early teen (the perfect target for the movie at that particular time), I can honestly say that it still carries a heavy influence on my tastes in art, music, and just plain attitude. It was a significant blip on my cultural radar, but it was, in all honesty, just a blip. I watched it twice on HBO and then . . . the movie just disappeared. Vanished. I looked for news of a videotape release everywhere: magazines (remember, there was no internet back in 1982 - at least none that the military was sharing) such as Starlog or Fangoria , at obscure corners of videotape stores , libraries - wherever. I asked about it a lot. And whenever I asked, I either got a blank stare, or the person's face lit up, then quickly sagged with "Man, I wish. No one can find that." It wasn't until the very late '90s that the movie was released on DVD. There was some kind of legal kerfuffle about the use of the music, if I remember correctly, which prevented its release after the movie was shown on HBO.

But, though the times were dark, they weren't empty. I could always turn to the pages of Heavy Metal magazine, a number of which I usually shoplifted, and sometimes bought, from the gas station down the road from my house. Marvel comics also published a competitor in the form of Epic Illustrated , their first adult-themed publication. I could also rely on my old copy of Mechanismo (which I bought in the 1979, before I even knew about Heavy Metal) for a fix of cutting-edge scifi art. While in those "lean years" I also heard of a magazine titled "Metal Hurlant". It took some asking and researching (again: no internet) to figure out that this was the French version of the English "Heavy Metal". But it wasn't until 1985, when I moved to England, that I saw a copy of Metal Hurlant in the (paper) flesh. Sadly, the magazine ceased publication in 1987. A TV series, "Metal Hurlant Chronicles" emerged in 2012, but to be honest, it had little of the flair of either the original Heavy Metal movie or the magazine Metal Hurlant.

The English variant, Heavy Metal, had a series of misfortunes, mostly caused by abysmal customer service and poor money management, in the last couple of years. A kickstarter was done to re-release the magazine, which I've seen on bookstore (remember those?) shelves, though I hear there were also hiccups involved in getting copies to kickstarter backers.

At the same time, Metal Hurlant was kickstarted by a completely separate entity from Heavy Metal magazine. I did not back the kickstarter, as we were saving for a trip to Europe at the time, among other things. But I book-marked it as something I would look into. Lo and behold, my oldest son bought me a copy of Metal Hurlant for Father's Day. I raised that boy right!

With that long history lesson behind us, let's turn briefly to the book itself. And it is a book, at 267 pages of content. It's a mixture of old, classic pieces that debuted in the pages of the original Metal Hurlant back in the '70s, and newer material that explores contemporary approaches to science fiction illustration. Interspersed are several excellent essays that cover the history of Metal Hurlant, introductions to the newer artists in the volume, and sometimes delve into the punk attitude that informs the art, stories, and even the publication itself of what might be considered a counter-cultural manifesto, as well as an expanded artistic view of possibilities.

Of course, my own attitudes toward art have changed since I was a young teenager. Back then, I was clearly focused on the violence, crazy vistas, and . . . other biologically-driven interests. While those things are still of interest, I've upped my reasoning and critique since those testosterone-fueled halcyon days of yore. It's not enough to be "gonzo," and frankly, I am oftentimes put off by "gonzo for gonzo's sake" in my media consumption. Yes, I'm currently listening to the Heavy Metal soundtrack as I'm writing this review (duh), but my "favorite" songs on this wildly-eclectic album have shifted over time. I like some songs better than I used to and others have grown moldy (though there is one exception that has always been on steady footing for 43 years now - though I prefer the live version to the album version).

The wonder of the current incarnation of Metal Hurlant is that it has chosen "classic" reprints of the highest quality. There are no "dumb" stories in this volume (unlike, for instance, the "snow time" vignette in the Heavy Metal movie - ugh), except for the one overly-indulgent story about Arzach's mount pooping out copies of Metal Hurlant - that was admittedly pretty dumb.

The new stories also create a sometimes subtle sense of wonder at small things and gentle turns of story, among the awe-inspiring and more visceral emphasis of others. "Catching the Wave" and "You Will Remember Me" are downright poignant. Dare I say that I have found a new level of sophistication in the pages of this historically irreverent, "punk" magazine. Yes, yes I dare. I am eager to see what the next volume brings (subscriptions are available). All-in-all, I am rather ecstatic of what we've got here in the "new" (but also old) Metal Hurlant, and I am optimistic about its future, which will contain many futures that we can't even yet imagine.

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