"Sharing writing successes - and rookie mistakes - since 2006"

Monday, September 20, 2010

Small Press review: Silversands

Crossing the great divide from short fiction to full-length novel writing is one that some writers achieve with consummate ease, while others fall over the edge, disappearing into that stygian abyss with dismay, thinking they were only a few sentences away from perfection, when in reality they were yards away from a good plot.
Knowing this, I admit to feeling a little nervous about reading Gareth L. Powell’s debut novel, Silversands, especially in light of his first collection of fiction, The Last Reef. In my opinion, The Last Reef was the best and most exciting short story SF collection in recent years (and you can read my review of it here) and one of the few collections I still go back to even now (amongst them Hope by James Lovegrove and Barker’s Books of Blood).
So when Silversands was announced I was excited, nervous yes, but excited. I mean, what delights could the writer construct over the course of a novel? Could it match the dizzying heights and imaginations of The Last Reef?


From the blurb:
In an age where interstellar travel is dangerous and unpredictable, and no-one knows exactly where they’ll end up, Avril Bradley is a Communications officer onboard a ship sent to re-contact as many of these lost souls as possible. But a mysterious explosion strands her in a world of political intrigue, espionage and subterfuge; a world of retired cops, digital ghosts and corporate assassins who fight for possession of computer data that had lain undisturbed for almost a century. . .”


Silversands’ universe requires little introduction; the science fiction tropes within the story are familiar without being unoriginal. There is no plodding back-story to labour over and it keeps that sense of wonder that all good science fiction has. This has its own advantages as we get into the plot from the off and the story rattles along at a good pace. Powell's writing skills are explicit and direct, creating mood and character through economical prose and without exposition. Each scene is lovingly created and you can tell the writer is enjoying his craft here.
The world building is gritty, frontier SF at its best, with the feel of a society not far away from implosion which adds it’s own sense of tension, while the action is also typically dazzling and dynamic – it has its pulpy moments but nothing that the great SF writers such as Harrison or Asimov would be worried about. It’s utterly compelling, and there’s a feeling of crescendo, of sub-plots merging for a big bang somewhere down the line…

…Which is perhaps were I have one quibble: while the book is indeed compelling and fantastically written, it just feels a little unfinished. There were too many lose-ends, like a fine rug with frayed edges, which is okay if you're writing a short story - where the requirement for a satisfactory ending is negated for an "experience" or snapshot of story-telling - but as a novel the ending comes too soon and too many questions are left unanswered to make it wholly satisfying especially for a novel with less than 100 pages. You just wish there was more.
If I’m honest this isn’t a criticism, after all how can you damn fine writing by complaining you wanted more? It’s like telling the best chef in the land you thought the meal was a poor one because you could have eaten more of it.

Culinary euphemisms aside, this is a thoroughly accomplished piece of writing; not one I’d class as a ‘novel’ (novella, probably, and something that could form the back bone of a collection someway down the line), but I’m glad it’s been published and published lovingly (beautifully bound with a great cover) by Pendragon Press. I’m not sure I’ll return to it as much as the well-thumbed Last Reef, but Silversands sits proudly on my bookshelf with other acclaimed genre authors (Dick, Bradbury, Baxter, Banks etc)…
…And you know, Gareth L. Powell doesn’t look out of place amongst them.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Favourite book is where I am

Buses. That's me. Like buses, this blog is. And so I've decided to post two blog entries, post-dating one for next Monday because I like to be difficult. Monday's blog entry will be the awaited review of Gareth L Powell's Silversands, with Paul Meloy's Islington Crocodiles to be posted before the end of the month.

The reason for this slack-arsed and very irregular blogging is in the writing. It's been a busy ol' summer, you see. After 6 weeks of intensive editing, The Black Hours was finally put to bed, or rather printed and posted to my agent. I'm quite pleased with it, more pleased than during the earlier drafts which my editor at Pan Macmillan had read; hopefully my agent will be just as pleased and the next editor to come my way will embrace with gusto (and maybe a nice fat contract!).

The filthier shade of publishing aside, the work on The Black Hours and then the almost instantaneous decision to leap into writing PURGATORY, has left me with little-to-bugger-all time to spend on blogging, and not just blogging but visiting other people's blogs. I really have been quite the hermit recently, physically as well as mentally. Last Tuesday's get together with writing pal David Budd was just one of very few evening's out and made me realise that I've been neglecting myself socially both in the pub and on the internet. Another casualty of this has been this weekend's Fantasy Con which I had plans to attend but other matters have intervened, and as a result I won't be going to Nottingham. It's all rather annoying, and partially down to the more and more precarious day-job; a day-job that I would love to shed like a caterpillar emerging from a very damp chrysalis. I don't think many of the impacting issues are going to be resolved anytime soon, so blogging will remain something I nurse over the increasingly cold months until - hopefully - I can get the time to do this more regularly again. We'll see…

On a big positive note though, the new book, PURGATORY, is writing well (40,000 words and counting) and should be done by next summer. By then I'll hopefully have a steer as to what's happening with the Secret War books. With the Spanish translation out this month (La Guerra de Secreta - Solaris Fantasia/La Factoria de Ideas) and the press release intimating the rights to Horde of Mhorrer are being discussed, the Secret War books certainly have a future. The first draft of The Traitor of Light is complete and there is a detailed chapter synopsis for Fortress of Black Glass, so it's all there waiting to be written, it's just a question as to when. As always, any big news will be published here and on the website so watch this space.


And just to close this blog entry, Aliya Whiteley and Frances Garrood have posted a list of ten favourite books they would recommend for this Autumn/Winter (maybe a stocking present or two) so here's a list of mine, in no particular order:

The Book Thief - Marcus Zuzak (because it made me cry)

The Last Reef - Gareth L Powell (because it was awesome)

Weaveworld - Clive Barker (because it took me to another brilliantly realised world and held me there for the longest time in my life)

The Kraken Awakes - John Wyndham (because it's Wyndham - and you know it will be good)

Candide - Voltaire (because he is timeless - and bloody funny too)

Martian Chronicles - Ray Bradbury (because his science doesn't have to be confounding, but his philosophy is profound).

Perdido Street Station - China Mieville (because he has returned the weirdness of fiction back to the bookshelves with steam and plenty of grease).

The Last Amazon - Steven Pressfield (again because it made me cry, but also cheer)

Mort - Terry Pratchett (because I almost weed myself laughing)

The Death of Grass - John Christopher (because I almost weed myself with dread)