Azincourt - Book review

Bernard Cornwell’s historical novel was published in 2008 and uses the French spelling for the famous battle as it avoids any confusion with the many non-fiction books on the same subject.

The book concerns Nicholas Hook, a young man of nineteen, a forester tasked with providing venison for the local lord by using his trusty longbow. While the book is ultimately about the conflict at Agincourt, it is also about family conflict. For two generations the Hook family had been feuding with the Perrills. An altercation with the Perrills makes Hook an outlaw, so he flees to France as part of the English contingent hired by the Duke of Burgundy. Stationed in the town of Soissons, he is comfortable – until the French attack. The town is betrayed and Hook has to fight for his life, using his skill with the bow to evade capture. While he is escaping, he saves the virtue and life of a nun about to be ravaged. The nun is called Melisande and stays with him. Before they get away they witness the outrageous slaughter of the English bowmen and others.

They make it back to England via Calais, but it is not long before Hook is recruited to join the troops of Henry V as he leads an invasion force against France. They land without incident and lay siege to Harfleur. But the siege seems to go on too long, and the English become debilitated by disease…

At considerable cost to men, Harfleur is taken. Against all advice, Henry V plans to move through France towards Calais, expecting, hoping for a battle.

And of course he gets one.

The sack of Soissons, the siege of Harfleur, the trek to Agincourt and that battle are all described in riveting detail, unsparingly gory.  There is no glory in war. War is hell, and it is depicted as such here. Yet there is humour, too:

Sir John ordered them to stick to their positions before the battle. Even if their bowels were loose. ‘You’re to shit where you stand. Shit and die! And go to hell with fouled breeches.’ A moment later, Sir John scowled at Hook. ‘Jesus, man, can’t you do that upwind of me?’ (p360)

Sir John is a larger-than-life character, as is the priest who travels with Hook, Father Christopher. Melisande is the bastard daughter of a French nobleman, which complicates matters for Hook. The Perrills are also in the fighting force and pose a serious threat, notwithstanding the thousands of French men-at-arms ahead of them.

Cornwell has the splendid knack of bringing alive the battle scenes while simultaneously ratcheting up concern for the main protagonists, for Melisande is among the camp-followers.

In addition, there are additional layers of superstition, unquestioning belief in God, who is according to Henry V on their side, and unbridled lust and hatred.

I’m just sorry it has taken me so long to get round to reading this superb novel.

There are appropriate maps, and a ‘Behind the Battle’ section which includes a historical note, a brief treatise on the longbow, and an interview with Cornwell.

Highly recommended.

Book review - Little House on the Prairie

Laura Ingalls Wilder’s classic autobiographical children's novel (1935) has been in print since its first publication and it’s not difficult to see why. It is a simply told enchanting depiction of a time lost as seen through the eyes of a child, though revealed in the third person some sixty-odd years after the events depicted.

Note: I've read a number of reviewers who feel uncomfortable with some of the material in this book, even declaring it racist. I would suggest that if they bring their present-day consciences (and prejudices) to bear on a book written of its time, either leave their political correctness at the front cover or don't bother to read any 19th and early twentieth century literature.

Ma (Caroline) and Pa (Charles) Ingalls and their three children, Mary, baby Carrie and Laura are leaving behind the Big Woods of Wisconsin, intent on settling in Indian country. The family travels in a single wagon, accompanied by their dog, Jack. They come close to losing everything while crossing a high-water creek, but they survive and camp out on the prairie. All alone on the prairie. While the events of the true story took place about 1869-1870, this story can be taken as a microcosm of the mass migration of settlers moving West in the 1830s-1850s. Their bravery and steadfastness is taken for granted. It must have been a daunting undertaking. And at times the man of the family had to leave them to their own devices while he went hunting for food: ‘He went away. For a little while they could see the upper part of him above the tall grasses, going away and growing smaller. Then he went out of sight and the prairie was empty.’ (p27)

Eventually, they find a spot near Verdigris River where Pa will build their house on the prairie, using logs from the creek bottoms. They unloaded the wagon then dismantled it, using the wagon cover to protect their belongings; all that was left were the four wheels and the parts that connected them: ‘It was strange and frightening to be left without the wagon on the High Prairie. The land and the sky seemed too large, and Laura felt small. She wanted to hide and be still in the tall grass, like a little prairie chicken. But she didn’t. She helped Ma, while Mary sat on the grass and minded Baby Carrie.’(p34)

Once the house was built, the wagon was reconstructed. The wagon canvas served as a temporary roof; eventually, a wooden roof and floor would be installed. It would be needed to obtain supplies from the town of Independence some forty miles away. Pa also constructed a barn to protect their horses, for wolves roamed about: ‘There in the moonlight sat half a circle of wolves. They sat on their haunches and looked at Laura in the window, and she looked at them. She had never seen such big wolves…’ (p56)

Throughout we get atmospheric glimpses of nature: ‘Everything was silent, listening to the nightingale’s song. The bird sang on and on. The cool wind moved over the prairie and the song was round and clear above the grasses’ whispering. The sky was like a bowl of light overturned on the flat black land.’ (p41)

Another impression: ‘All along the road the wild larkspur was blossoming pink and blue and white, birds balanced on yellow plumes of goldenrod, and butterflies were fluttering. Starry daisies lighted the shadows under trees, squirrels chattered on branches overhead, white-tailed rabbits hopped along the road, and snakes wriggled quickly across it when they heard the wagon coming.’ (p66) ‘… and the ox-eyed daisies’ yellow petals hung down from the crown centres.’ (p102)

Life was simpler. They didn’t think of themselves as poor. They felt blessed, because they were a family, and loved. At Christmas, the girls were overjoyed to get from Santa a glittering new cup each, and sticks of candy, and heart-shaped cakes, and a bright new penny. ‘There never had been such a Christmas.’ (p143) ‘The ground was hot under their bare feet. The sunshine pierced through their faded dresses and tingled on their arms and backs. The air was really as hot as the air in an oven, and it smelled faintly like baking bread. Pa said the smell came from all the grass seeds parching in the heat.’ (p102)

Their first encounter with Indians is tense, during one of Pa’s hunting absences, but the incident was harmless enough, though a couple of these visitors stole Ma’s cornbread and Pa’s tobacco pouch. They almost took the bundle of furs (which were to be traded for seeds and a plough), but refrained. It did raise the thorny issue of settling in Indian country: ‘The government is going to move these Indians father west, any time now. That’s why we’re here, Laura. White people are going to settle all this country, and we get the best land because we get here first and take our pick. Now do you understand?’ Laura said, ‘Yes, Pa. But, I thought this was Indian Territory. Won’t it make the Indians made to have to…?’ Pa said, ‘No more questions, Laura. Go to sleep.’ (p136)

Their stay in the log cabin only amounted to about a year. Pa had wanderlust, and had heard that the army was intent on moving settlers east, over the territory border, since they’d mistakenly settled in Osage reservation land. So Pa upped sticks, left behind all that hard work, and lit out in the wagon with his family to Minnesota.

A poignant tale, possibly idealised, but well told.

The ‘Little House’ series consists of:

Little House in the Big Woods (1932)

Farmer Boy (1933)

Little House on the Prairie (1935)

On the Banks of Plum Creek (1937)

By the Shores of Silver Lake (1939)

The Long Winter (1940)

Little Town on the Prairie (1941)

These Happy Golden Years (1943)

Other authors have added to the series.

The TV series starring Michael Landon (1936-1991) ran from 1974 to 1982.

FFB - Expressway

Elleston Trevor (1920-1995) wrote Expressway as Howard North (1973). This version was released under his own name, 1975 (he changed his name from Trevor Dudley-Smith); he was British, lived in France and Spain and finally settled in Arizona. 

Trevor used quite a variety of pennames – see this site for a listing - http://bookitinc.com/checklists/EllestonTrevor.shtml - such as Adam Hall, Simon Rattray, Roger Fitzalan, Mansell Black, Trevor Burgess, Warwick Scott, Caesar Smith and Lesley Stone.

 

Expressway is a documentary novel in the same vein as Arthur Hailey’s Airport and Hotel, as the cover of my version says. Mainly omniscient in point of view, it still works in a strong cinematic sense. The story is about the holiday weekend of 3-5 July on and around the New York - New Jersey Parkway, early 1970s.

It’s about those who drive and ride in vehicles and it’s also about the cars themselves. In the pearl-finish Cougar, Walt and Carol Amberton can’t talk about the alcohol that’s destroying them. In the black Cadillac, the sinister Mr Solo is ‘cruising, searching, waiting to see at first-hand a fatal accident’. In the Buick Riviera, Dr Brett Hagen is trying to find his teenage daughter, Tracy, and her companion, a man old enough to be her father. In the Chrysler Newport, Rod Gould and Nat Renatus ‘start the weekend with murder and bring death along with them.’ Then there’s the married couple, Floyd and Sue, expecting their first baby any week now; and Erica, running away from her husband Craig, and highway cop Lieutenant Frank Ingram and his paramedic wife Debby, whose lives are not improved by the officious unhelpful interference of Captain Darrow… Suspense, tension and action in a jam-packed holiday weekend.

Figures are now out of date, naturally, but the carnage is still shocking. ‘… on the Fourth of July holiday last year the national figures for death on the road reached a new peak at 917, while more than 36,000 persons were injured…’ It begins with an overview of the area and homes in on Patrolman Nolan who is due to complete his shift – until he stumbles upon a couple of drug-dealers (Rod and Nat) and he’s killed by Nat; Rod is wounded by Nolan. A neat little framing device is the young boy Jimmy, who is a car-spotter, munching on an apple.

Trevor has a good eye for detail. And in certain scenes we can discern the fast pace of his alter ego Adam Hall (Quiller books), viz: ‘Only when something goes wrong are you brought to realize how fast you are moving at a mile per minute but there’s no time to think about what you are learning too quickly and too late, because there’s a rocking motion and the scene dips as the brakes bite and then the world goes wild and great forces rise to hurl you bodily through tumult and you know that this is not you any longer, the you to whom nothing could happen, nothing terrible, nothing so unimaginably terrible as this.’ Breathless, yet powerful and so indelibly true.

Jimmy’s apple is one subtle leitmotif; another is the Venus 1000 car – advertised ‘as lithe, compliant, trembling under your touch’. Walt is the salesman who thought up that sexist spiel, before he succumbed to liquor. And another is the moths in the night air… when, a page later, after Carol worries about her alcoholic husband Walt: ‘For some reason they always go faster the nearer they go to the flame, spinning faster and faster till they touch; but what about self-preservation, aren’t all living creatures supposed to know when they’re in danger? Can’t they feel the heat growing as they circle closer? Surely they do. Then why can’t they stop?’ And of course her allusion relates to Walt’s alcoholic descent, not the moths. Later, she’s in the car knowing Walt has imbibed and ‘can only sit here feeling the refined brand of fear that is experienced by the trapped animal.’ This is an excellent devastating exposal of alcoholism, right up there with Malcolm Lowry’s Under the Volcano.

Cop-killer Nat got a piece of grit in his eye and it troubled him. This symbolizes the irritation of guilt and fear. A little later, ‘Rod watched his friend, his thin and dangerous friend, whose nerve had gone because he’d done it before but never to a city cop. Nat was finished. He’d never get his style back, even if he beat this rap and set up somewhere safe, because the Nolan killing had changed everything and a bit of it had spun off and got inside Nat, just like Nolan’s bullet had got inside Rod himself.

‘ “It’s out,” Nat said, “I got it out.” [Referring to the grit].

‘No, Rod thought, you never will.’

Although I enjoyed Arthur Hailey’s books Hotel, Wheels, Airport and Overload etc, I find it baffling that they are still in print while this fine writer’s Expressway isn’t.

 

[If you're interested in the insight into a writer, you might try a memoire about Elleston Trevor by his wife, Bury Him Among Kings. Intimate Glimpses into the Life and Work of Elleston Trevor by Chaille Trevor (2012). It's a worthwhile e-book.]

 

 

Sonalumes, 2050 Arisan Calendar

This fantasy quest novel, Wings of the Overlord, has been a long time in coming to print - from original conception to now it has taken 50 years, in fact. Now, Knox Robinson has just published it and soon will be offering a free e-book short story ('Shadows over Lornwater') that lays some of the groundwork for this novel and its sequel, To Be King, which is in progress.

http://www.knoxrobinsonpublishing.com/ 

 

PROLOGUE

SONALUMES, 2050 AC

No one can ever truly know or understand these magnificent creatures  - how could they? For the Red Tellars are the Wings of the Overlord. - Dialogues of Meshanel

 

Snow-clad and ice-bound, the two peaks opposite rose in ragged splendour to pierce the egg-blue sky of dawn. Wisps of cloud gusted and swathed about the rock formations, occasionally obscuring the chasm far below. Scattered on narrow ledges and precipitous ridges, thousands of drab-clothed men stood or crouched, waiting.

   Wrapped in an inadequate fawn-fur cloak which freezing gusts of air threatened to whip from him, General Foo-sep braced himself and, his clean-shaven chin set with annoyance, looked down upon his suffering men. His gums ached dully with the insidious cold, yellow teeth chattering. In vain he rubbed fur-gloved hands together.

An entire toumen! Ten thousand men! And they were to take orders from an accursed civilian! He seethed, casting an embittered glare to his right, at a black-clad man of slight frame, parchment-coloured skin and ebony pebbles for eyes.

   The wind slapped at the man’s fur cloak and whistled over the bare out-jutting rocks nearby.

   Wind-howl was deafening on the outcrop up here, yet only a step back into the shelter of the overhang no sound penetrated; and from here the entire range of the Sonalume Mountains seemed enveloped in this same eerie stillness.

   “They will be along soon,” said the civilian, visibly tensing as he leaned over the sloping ledge. His bear-hide boots crackled as he moved, shifting ice from the soles.

   Below – a dizzying drop that had claimed too many men already – the bottom indistinct in a slithering purple haze.

   Foo-sep discerned the tiny motes of black in the sky and, as the shapes approached, he was struck by their immense size. Framed by the two grey-blue peaks, the birds were coming; he had to admit, grudgingly, as predicted.

   “Now!” howled the civilian.

   Hoarfrost encrusted brows scowling, Foo-sep lifted his arm and signalled to his men on both sides of the wide, gaping chasm.

   Soundlessly, with military precision, the prepare signal was passed through the dispersed ranks.

   Foo-sep raised his eyeglass, careful lest he touched his skin with its icy rim.

   Stern-faced with the cold and, at last, a sense of purpose, his loyal soldiers were now unfurling nets and arranging stones for quick reloading of their sling-shots.

   Foo-sep slowly scanned across the striated rock face.

   Abruptly, the birds leapt into focus, their presence taking away his breath in cold wisps. Such an enormous wingspan! And red, O so red! He hesitated at the thought of the task ahead.

   His momentary indecision must have been communicated to the other, or perhaps the civilian possessed even more arcane powers than those with which he was credited; “The King desires it,” was all he said.

   Foo-sep nodded and moved the eyeglass across to the other rock face where the remaining soldiers were trying in vain to keep warm, quivers ready, bowstrings taut and poised.

   Now the birds were entering between the peaks.

   Foo-sep waved to a signaller who blew three great blasts on his horn. The sound echoed among the peaks.

   In a constant flurry, ice-coated nets looped out, a few attached to arrows, entwining many of the creatures’ wings. Some birds swooped beneath the heavy mesh then swerved, talons raking the men responsible. Others used their wings to sweep soldiers from the ledges as though dusting furniture. Stones hit a few on their bright red crests and they plummeted, stunned, to be caught by outstretched nets beneath; nets that were slowly filling up, straining at their supports.

   Watching through his eyeglass, Foo-sep was amazed at the weird silence of the birds: only their frenetically beating wings generated any sound; all other noise originated from his yelling and shrieking soldiers as they flung nets and stones or were dragged from precarious positions. He scowled as a group of fools forgot to keep clear of their own nets; entangled, they were wrenched to giddy, plunging deaths.

   Pacing from side to side, Foo-sep watched helplessly as his beloved toumen was decimated. And for what? A few hundred birds!

   His attention was diverted to an uncannily large specimen ensnared in nets, its feathers flying as it clawed at two soldiers on a ledge while they loosed sling-stones at the creature.

   Yet the missiles had no effect, and the massive curved beak snapped through the brittle mesh as though it was flimsy plains-grass.

   As the bird looped, Foo-sep noticed a distinctive marking none of the others seemed to possess – a white patch on its throat.

   The civilian must have observed it also, because at that instant he gripped Foo-sep’s arm, lips visibly trembling, black pebble-eyes shining. Then, in desperation, the idiot shouted an order that made no sense at all: “Let that one go!”

   Numb with cold, bitterly aware of how many good men had suffered already at the talons of that gigantic bird, Foo-sep steeled himself against his better instinct and cupped gloved hands round his mouth.

   “Let that one go!” he called.

  And the words echoed, mocking: “Let that one go!”

*** 

The book is a collaborative effort, between Gordon Faulkner and me. We use the penname Morton Faulkner for this series. I would hope that readers will want to find out more – in particular why the civilian let that bird go. Indeed, you can download as a free sample the Prologue plus the first chapter from the Knox Robinson website - http://www.knoxrobinsonpublishing.com/book/wings-of-the-overlord/

 

'A cracking good story...'

I've just seen the latest edition of a local weekly newspaper, The Coastrider and was very pleased to see a review of my book Sudden Vengeance (published by Crooked Cat).  Here is the full review, below (click on the image and the text should be legible).

I particularly liked the phrasing 'Sudden Vengeance is one of those books that is difficult to put down but is unsettling at the same time.'  Because the subject does tend to be a controversial issue, especially in recent times.

Amazon UK
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Sudden-Vengeance-Nik-Morton-ebook/dp/B00KE1GTPA/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1409051550&sr=1-1&keywords=nik+Morton

Amazon COM
http://www.amazon.com/Sudden-Vengeance-Nik-Morton-ebook/dp/B00KE1GTPA/ref=sr_1_6?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1409051553&sr=1-6&keywords=nik+Morton

Paperback post-free worldwide
http://www.bookdepository.com/Sudden-Vengeance-Nik-Morton/9781909841697

Writing tips - What is a novel's origin?

What’s the impetus to write a novel? It can be an idea, a phrase from a book, an incident read in a periodical, or an inspiration from some person or incident. 

For The $300 Man, I stumbled on an interesting fact while doing research into another western. The Union draft allowed for draft dodgers – if they paid a substitute to take their place – and the going rate was $300. The title of The $300 Man was born. [Different novels will originate in other ways – the title may not come to mind at first, or even when the book is finished!]

In 1861, Andrew Carnegie, 25, invested in Columbia Oil Co. He never enlisted in the Civil War but purchased a substitute. His firm pumped 2,000 barrels a day; he also invested in the new steel industry. Two years later, at the war’s height, John D. Rockefeller, 23, built with four partners an oil refinery in Cleveland near Cuyahoga River. He avoided military service by buying a substitute.

Once I had my title and the initial idea about a substitute, I then had to decide on why anyone would accept the money to go and possibly get maimed or killed. The thought of being maimed brought to mind a few heroes (and villains!) who wore a hook. I decided my hero would lose a hand in the Civil War and a hook would replace it. A special hook, however, that is adaptable for use with other tools or utensils.

You might be able to start straight in on your novel – or you may need to plot it first. That’s entirely up to you. Working from a rough plot-plan makes the going easier – and usually there are still surprises on the way to make the story interesting to you, the writer.

For this novel, which would take place some years after the war, I wanted to mention $300 early on – and decided that the hero would always carry that amount – a significant reminder for him. And to create action to hook the reader, I’d have him getting robbed. These are the first words of the book, in the Prologue: The Hook:

‘$300 – that’ll do nicely!’ said Bert Granger as he finished thumbing through the billfold Corbin Molina had been encouraged to hand over. As added persuasion, Bert held a revolver in his other hand.

‘That’ll do nicely’ is a modern American phrase which I used for a bit of fun.

I wanted the novel to be more than a traditional western, though it would contain many of the genre’s traits. As I built up the storyline, I found that it contained romance, action, betrayal, family disputes, historical events, and courage. A good mix.

The writing doesn’t always go from beginning to end. That’s why I use a plot-plan document. Certain scenes might pop into my head concerning particular characters – but those scenes may be further along in the story. It doesn’t matter – put them into the plot-plan till you need them. Think of how films are made – scenes and characters are rarely filmed in linear fashion (usually it’s for convenience and cost reduction) – the film’s all slotted together in the correct order at the editing stage.

- excerpt from Write a Western in 30 Days, pp 6/7.

 

E-book from Amazon com bought from here

 

E-book from Amazon co uk bought from here

or paperback post-free world-wide from here

On Amazon.com this book has eight 5-star reviews and two 4-star reviews; on Amazon.co.uk it has an additional three 5-star reviews. The book keeps dropping into the top 100 Amazon charts. Many thanks to everyone who has bought the book, enabling this to happen. I know of at least two people who have bought the e-book and the paperback version!

This book is a very useful guide for anyone wanting to write genre fiction – that is, any genre, not only westerns. Those aren’t my words, but the opinion of reviewers on Amazon.

 

Writing tips - And now, the prologue

Some books have a prologue. And some readers don’t bother reading prologues; a few won’t even buy a book if it contains a prologue.

So what is it with this prologue business? Is it necessary, or merely pretension?

By definition, it is the preface or introduction to a literary or musical work; it can be an introductory speech or poem addressed to an audience by one of the actors in a play – in the manner of Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida, for example, or even Frankie Howerd in Up Pompeii, no less! It can be a preliminary act or event, too.   

 

A preface states a literary work’s subject, purpose, plan and so on. A preface is not going to be used much in fiction now, unless the work is first person narrative or omniscient point of view.

These days, fiction doesn’t need any chapter numbers, headings, though I suspect readers prefer them to signify breaks; they’re also markers and help track back to any event the reader wishes to re-read. I like to use chapter titles and discuss this and the prologue in Write a Western in 30 Days, p70-71.

 

Of my twenty published books, I’ve used the prologue in only seven, and five of those are westerns. The other two are my out-of-print vampire thriller Death is Another Life and my latest crime thriller Sudden Vengeance. You can read the Prologue to this book here.

 

 

Other books I’ve started with Chapter 1 (with suitable title), while others, by their nature, required an Introduction or a Foreword.

 

So, why employ a prologue? Why not simply jump straight in to Chapter 1?

A novel has structure. It may not start out that way, but as it evolves it develops a form unto itself. Some books cry out to be broken up into parts; others are linear and can stand on their own with sequential chapters only. It depends on the narrative. For example, my first person novel from the point of view of a nun who used to be a policewoman was broken into parts, deliberately, to signal change of scene and shifts in time, but it didn’t require a prologue.

A prologue can be one-half of a book-end to the tale; closed off with the epilogue. To many readers this can be satisfying, perhaps coming full circle for the protagonist. This was how I approached The $300 Man. There, the prologue was ‘The Hook’ – which introduced the hero who had a hook in place of a hand, plus the narrative was also the hook to pull the reader in; the epilogue was called ‘El Gancho’, which is Mexican (Spanish) for ‘the hook’ and ends with a play on words. Full circle. I did the same with Blind Justice at Wedlock, ending the first paragraph of the prologue with ‘blind’ and ending the last paragraph of the epilogue with the same word. Echoes of this can be found in Bullets for a Ballot, too, and happily at least one reader spotted this little touch!

A prologue can set up the story before the narrative moves on to the main action or even the main protagonist. A prologue can concentrate on individuals who are not the hero or heroine, simply to create suspense and a threat to come. Then the thrust of the book begins with the hero/heroine in Chapter 1.

Structure. You will see visual versions of the prologue employed in films, too. Draw the reader in, raise questions that must be answered, dilemmas that must be resolved. Yes, this can be done without recourse to a prologue – but it can appear disjointed if not signalled by that simple word, ‘prologue’. It’s an author’s short-hand, saying, ‘I’m showing you something that is relevant and creates motivation for later. Read it if you like. You will miss a certain dimension in the story if you skip it, but the story can stand alone without it.

A layer of added dimension – that can be a description of the prologue. Giving the reader that little extra, perhaps.

If you use a prologue, you don’t have to use an epilogue. Only if the structure of the story would allow it, perhaps; creating a satisfying shape.

In the final analysis, it’s up to the writer and an appreciation of the work entire.