On the coast of Dogs, sir; y’are i’th’ Isle o’ Dogs, I tell you…

As a general rule, authors do not read fan fiction.

They do not read fan fiction and are also, generally, loath to accept plot ideas from random members of the public. The reason for this can best be demonstrated by the following short play…


TAMBURLAINE AND THE WALRUS

Random Member of the Public: Excuse me good sir, are you by chance the famous author Congreave?

The Famous Author Congreave: I must confess, sir, that I am indeed he.

Random Member of the Public: And I in turn must confess that I am the most ardent admirer of your work, often resorting to unseemly extremes to obtain your latest publication.

The Famous Author Congreave: I am flattered sir. Flattered.

Random Member of the Public: Allow me to ask, have you ever considered writing upon the great conqueror Tamburlaine? I fancy your talents well suited to a fabulous tale of his encounter with a surly walrus.

The Famous Author Congreave: I have not, but I must admit that the idea is an intriguing one.

Random Member of the Public: Then I hope you shall consider it. It would be an honour indeed to inspire one of your works.

The Famous Author Congreave: You honour me sir with such praise. I see my driver has arrived and I must away, however it has been a pleasure to to make your acquaintance.

Random Member of the Public: And yours sir. And yours.

FIVE YEARS LATER

Random Patron in a Pub: Did you hear? The latest work of the famous author Congreave – a fabulous conceit on the subject of the conqueror Tamburlaine encountering a walrus – has sold out in each and every book emporium and has been optioned by a Hollywood producer! He stands to receive millions!

Random Member of the Public: What!? That was my idea! I shall contact my attorney at once!

LENGTHY AND EXPENSIVE LEGAL PROCEEDINGS ENSUE

FINIS


As I hope this short drama illustrates, any person in a creative field must be extremely careful when it comes to sourcing ideas. Recent history is replete with famous authors being dragged through the courts by random so-and-sos insisting that said author’s best selling novel is plagiarised from the 20 page storybook they self published in 1983. It’s safest overall for an author to straight up refuse to engage with fans offering them ideas, and to completely avoid any amateur writing involving their worlds and characters.

Which sucks, because I have a great idea for a Rivers of London/PC Grant novel.

Or at least I think it’s a great idea. It ties together some obscure real-world London history with some obscure real-world London geography while involving a number of well known historical figures and events in the way that the best moments of the PC Grant novels do. It’s the kind of hook that an author like Ben Aaronovitch could hang a great story on – it’s just unfortunate that it occurred to me and not him.

“So why don’t you write it yourself?” you ask. And it’s a fair question. I’ve written my fair share of fanfic and without wanting to sound big-headed I think a fair amount of it passes muster. The problem lies in the kind of writing I’m good at. You want an idiotic comedy where established characters behave like lunatics? I’m your man! Or are you after a faux-academic paper? No problem! Could I interest you in a brochure for a non-existent museum replete with in-jokes? I have one right here! You want a story where realistic characters behave in a realistic fashion in the real world? Yeah… That’s not something I can do.

I suspect that’s down to my autistic brain. It’s easy to write characters breaking the accepted rules of society when you’re not that clear on the accepted rules of society to begin with. Imitating a specific literary style is simple when you’re a hyperlexic who’s read literally thousands of books. But describing the thoughts and actions of realistic human beings? I’m barely a realistic human being myself.

And then there’s the issue of length. My brain fizzes with so many ideas and urges that it’s hard to find the time to get even a short story written. At any given time I’m likely to have at least a dozen projects on the go. I’ve never been diagnosed with ADHD but I certainly have enough of the traits to frame a suspicion.

So, what to do?

To my mind the only sensible option is to lay the whole thing out here, if only to get it out of my head. As such I am pleased to present the plot for a PC Grant novel based on my idea. It’s not the only possible plot, and certainly not the plot that Mr Aaronovich would come up with (I’m entirely confident that his version would be far better). I’ll avoid spoilers by placing an explanation of my brainwave at the end – if you’re not interested in my painful attempts at story-telling then please feel free to skip to there. But if you’d like to come on the journey then please read on as I sketch out the plot of –

EASTWARD HO!

(or “Der Kreis auf der Hundeinsel” if you’re nasty)

I couldn’t help myself…

The story begins with the body of a middle aged man being discovered in Millwall Park on the Isle of Dogs, apparently having been stabbed to death. The Folly is called in when a battered business card is found in his pocket with the contact details of the late and unlamented Martin Chorley – AKA the Second Faceless Man.

Investigation shows that the man – one Christopher Greenshield – was an antiquities specialist who’d recently returned to the UK after an absence of about six years. He was renting accommodation along the Outer Millwall Dock, which proves to have been burgled and ransacked around the same time as his murder. There are no traces of vestigia in the flat, on his body or at the site it was discovered, although it’s quickly determined that he was attacked elsewhere and his body relocated post mortem. It’s also determined that he was killed by several stabs with a narrow, stiletto-style blade.

Historical investigation fails to uncover any links between Greenshield and the Little Crocodiles. It is determined however that since his arrival back in London two weeks earlier he’d been trying to contact Chorley – apparently unaware of his demise. A painful slog through the material in his flat and tracking his movements eventually establishes that Chorley had been in contact with him around 12 years earlier, seeking some kind of rare historical document. He’d returned to London because he managed to obtain a copy and was seeking Chorley as a buyer.

The actual identity of the document is unclear, but Greenshield’s documentation shows he found it after research into 18th century Shakespeare forger William Henry Ireland. This puzzles everyone – why would Chorley be interested in Ireland? A tenuous connection is suggested between his Arthurian obsessions and Henry’s forged play Vortigern and Rowena – did he base it on some kind of authentic material? Or was Chorley somehow unaware that the play was a forgery?

Investigation on the Isle of Dogs indicates that Greenshield had a number of encounters with an eccentric local resident living on the north side of Mudchute Park, one Justin Linstock. Linstock appears to have appointed himself unofficial caretaker of the park and often harasses visitors with accusations of littering, noise and anti-social behaviour – complaints about which have previously brought him to attention of the police. He’s interviewed but denies all knowledge of the burglary and the murder, stating that Greenshield was loitering in the park and needed to be moved on.

Following up leads eventually tracks down a historical researcher employed by Greenshield to authenticate the mysterious document. Greenshield had him sign a non-disclosure agreement, but the prospect of prosecution convinces him to talk. It’s revealed that when composing his Shakespeare forgeries William Henry Ireland managed to obtain a genuine Elizabethan script to use as a model, and Greenshield found it. A manuscript copy of the suppressed and long lost 1597 play by Thomas Nashe and Ben Jonson The Isle of Dogs.

No one believes this to be a coincidence.

Happily the researcher has a photocopy of the whole thing which is quickly forwarded to Professor Postmartin, who almost has a stroke out of sheer literary excitement. He quickly confirms that the work is genuine, although it shows clear signs of not being the original script. Rather it’s a ‘memorial reconstruction’ or ‘bad quarto’ put together from the memories of audience members and actors. This would explain how it survived the government suppression of the original. Comment is made on the irony of Ireland laboring over painful Shakespeare pastiches while sitting on a genuine literary treasure.

Postmartin goes on to reveal the astonishing reason why the play was suppressed. Accepted history says it was banned as being insulting to Queen Elizabeth. Instead it turns out to be a dramatised claim that the playwright Christopher Marlowe was ritually murdered as part of a magical ceremony conducted by Queen Elizabeth’s court astrologer Doctor John Dee to establish a magical nexus or ‘omphalos’ on the Isle of Dogs. A nexus intended to serve as the heart of a world spanning British Empire.

Postmartin explains that there have been strange rumours surrounding Marlowe’s 1593 death for centuries. The official story says he was stabbed to death in a drunken fight over the bill in a Deptford boarding house, but there have been claims that he was involved with espionage and may have been eliminated to plug a leak. He was also known to be associated with a group of radical free thinkers, occultists and atheists – labeled in later centuries as ‘The School of Night’ – who were viewed as a threat to the Throne. The play – employing a series of fairly transparent pseudonyms – alleges that Dr Dee was the head of a magical group loyal to the Queen and who decided that Marlowe would not just be a suitable sacrifice, but that his death would strike a blow against their rivals.

Research shows that stories surrounding Dr Dee and the Isle of Dogs are well known among modern day occult groups, who tie them into a series of alleged ‘ley lines’ stretching across the city of London. Nightingale even heard similar stories as a young man, but the Folly never considered them as anything more than spooky campfire tales. The existence of the manuscript – authored by Marlowe’s friends Nashe and Jonson – entirely changes matters. Putting aside the historical implications, could Chorley have been after it for details on how to construct his own omphalos or reactivate the purported Elizabethan one? If there was already a nexus of empire-building magical power in London then re-energising it might be an easier way to Make Britain Great Again than trying to create and control a god. And regardless of Chorley’s intentions if there is a nexus of empire-building magical power in the heart of London’s Docklands then the Folly needs to know about it.

Postmartin and Nightingale dissect the details of the script to try and determine if the ritual described therein has any accuracy to it while Peter heads out to the supposed site of the omphalos – located in Mudchute park. He finds nothing unusual or magical at the site – a circle of stone paving – but has a run in with a somewhat agitated Justin Linstock who tells him he’s not welcome in the park and orders him to leave. Peter leaves, then doubles back to shadow Linstock, but he merely returns to his house.

Back at the Folly Peter does some more digging on Linstock. He has a lengthy record of warnings and public nuisance reports to his name, all relating to incidents in Mudchute Park. One from 18 months ago particularly stands out where he was involved in a physical scuffle with a John Leverpool. According to the incident report Leverpool – a New Age enthusiast – was dowsing for ley lines in the vicinity of the omphalos when Linstock approached from behind, tackled him to the ground and made several attempts to punch him in the head. Bystanders intervened and the police were called. On their arrival Linstock refused to explain himself and Leverpool declined to press charges. Peter attempts to contact Leverpool but he’s at a retreat in Scotland and won’t be back for the next week. Leverpool is tagged as a person of interest and Peter marks Linstock as worthy of more detailed investigation.

By the next day Nightingale and Postmartin have completed their research and have concluded that the ritual described in the manuscript – while consistent with pre-Newtonian magical beliefs and practices – simply couldn’t work. It’s a farrago of portentous sounding nonsense, and if it bears any relationship to an actual ritual carried out by Dee, said ritual would have achieved nothing. Speculation is had concerning Martin Chorley – did he figure this out for himself somehow, or did he simply give up on the omphalos and move on to other projects because of the lack of information? It will probably never be known.

An alert is then received. The previous evening a South London schoolboy failed to return home. CCTV has turned up showing him talking to and then leaving Greenwich railway station with a man who has been identified as Justin Linstock. Nightingale notes today’s date – May 30th, the anniversary of Christopher Marlowe’s mysterious death in Deptford…

A search of Linstock’s house turns up no trace of him or the missing boy, however the missing manuscript of The Isle of Dogs is found along with a large collection of books and material relating to the Elizabethan era, Doctor Dee and ley lines. Examination of the manuscript shows that the pages containing Dee’s supposed ritual are missing.

Nightingale leads a team across the park to the omphalos but finds nothing. At the same time Peter heads across the river to meet up with another team at Deptford. Matters are complicated because the exact site of the house in which Marlowe’s was killed is unknown – the best information is that it’s in the vicinity of Charlotte Turner Gardens. As police go door to door Nightingale races to meet up with Peter who is on the phone to Postmartin, going through the script for any clues. References to the river and “harnessing nature’s power” eventually lead to the electricity substation on Borthwick Street, when they interrupt Linstock acting out Dee’s ritual from the play, arriving just before he’s about to sacrifice the schoolboy using a stiletto-like Elizabethan ballock dagger.

Under interrogation Linstock confesses to the murder of Christopher Greenshield using the same dagger, which he claims is the very one used to sacrifice Christopher Marlowe. He claims to be a descendant of John Dee, and the hereditary guardian of the omphalos, a role that has been passed down through his family for centuries. Communication with angels (received via automatic writing in Dee’s Enochian alphabet) alerted him to Greenshield’s presence and his possession of the key to re-activating the omphalos. When Greenshield refused to hand this over he had no choice but to kill him and recover the manuscript himself. An initial psychological assessment shows him unlikely to be competent to stand trial.

The Museum of London confirms that the dagger is authentic to the period, so the claim that it killed Marlowe is at least plausible. The rest of Linstock’s claims are rather dubious with his family only emigrating to the UK in the late 1800s and his knowledge of the manuscript more likely coming from conversations with Greenshield in the park than from angels. However they cannot be entirely ruled out.

The play is added to Postmartin’s archives and the omphalos site is added to the Folly’s watch list, although assessed as very low risk.

THE END

OK, so that’s the story as best I can tell it. Or at least as best I care to tell it – I could work on it more but there’s not really much of a point. My inspiration was some random neurons in my brain suddenly linking the (quite real) occult claims about the mysterious paved circle in Mudchute Park to the suppressed and lost The Isle of Dogs. After that it pretty much all flowed. That’s the core idea, and that’s what I’d like – were it at all possible – to submit to Mr Aaronovitch for what I assume would be his far better take on it.

I decided to throw William Henry Ireland into the mix both to pad out the tale and because his story is a fascinating one. I read most of his Vortigern and Rowena for this project and how it could ever have been mistaken for Shakespeare is entirely beyond me.

The name Eastward Ho is taken from a another Ben Jonson (with George Chapman and and John Marston) play from 1605 which features a scene on the Isle of Dogs and which (like The Isle of Dogs) got into trouble with the government, this time for it’s satirical take on King James’ Scottish associates. It was written in response to the play Westward Ho by Jonson’s rivals Thomas Dekker and John Webster who went on to write Northward Ho as their own response. The names of several characters in my story are taken from these plays.

So that’s it. I have yelled my idea – for what it’s worth – out into the universe. If you’ve managed to stick with it this far I hope it has provided some level of entertainment. Keep an eye out for my next project, Southward Ho, completing the City Comedy tetralogy started over 400 years ago!

(Just kidding.)

Stalingrad Tank Trap

Happy new year one and all! Let’s hope this year is somewhat less vicious when it comes to beloved celebrities and musicians.

Anyway, back in 2000 a Russian DJ by the name of Oleg Kvasha had a hit in Russia with a fairly generic dance track titled зеленоградское такси. For those of you unable to read Cyrillic (what are you doing with your life?) that’s Zelenogradskoe Taksi or Green City Taxi – although it often seems to be referred to as Zelenoglazoe Taksi instead which means Green-Eyed Taxi. Here it is…

Not long afterwards musician and TV presenter Aleksandr Pushnoy re-recorded a bunch of popular Russian pop  and dance songs in the style of scary German Neue Deutsche Härte band Rammstein – including of course Zelenoglazoe Taksi. And the result is glorious! 😀

The video – despite fitting so well – isn’t original to the song. It’s the intro from a 1994 computer game, the Doom clone Quarantine. In this game you play a post-apocalyptic taxi driver picking up and delivering passengers around the crazed streets of Kemo City, shooting up and running down attacking psychopaths with a variety of vehicle mounted weapons all the while. You know, good old fashioned fun.

Jumping forwards to 2007, the Austrian group Global Deejays released their own remix of the song, titled Zelenoglazoe Taxi

What’s interesting about this is that I strongly suspect it’s the inspiration for Stalingrad Tank Trap, a track mentioned in Ben Aaronovitch’s Peter Grant novel Whispers Underground

I put my ear against the cold metal of the nearest door – the bass rumble was enough for me to identify the track.

‘”Stalingrad Tank Trap”,’ I said. ‘By Various Artiz.’

I like a bit of drum and bass to dance to, but Various Artiz were notorious for cranking out one identikit track after another – they were as close to mainstream as you could get on the club circuit without turning up on a Radio Two playlist.

My logic is as follows.The original name of the track referenced the Russian city of Zelenograd, hence “Zelenograd” = “Stalingrad”. “Tank Trap” sounds suspiciously similar to “Taxi”. Naming your group “Global Deejays” is only slightly less inane and generic than “Various Artiz”, and from what I can gather the general opinion of Global Deejays is pretty much as Peter narrates in the extract above. Quod Erat Demonstrandum!

Maybe I should tweet Mr Aaronovitch about it? Or maybe not 🙂

To quote the Propellerheads – that is all!

Deus in Machina

Shocking isn’t it? I say I’ll start updating again, and then complete silence for weeks. I’ll claim the psychological shock of returning to work combined with the first day of said work coinciding with the hottest day in 18 years – 44.4º C to be exact (about 112 in the old money), which is the kind of temperature that requires the better part of a week to get over no matter how mild the subsequent days may be by comparison.

In any case, I survived both the resumption of the daily grind and mother nature’s seeming determination to kill me and it’s probably time I made some kind of update. So here I am.

Books. I have now finished some of the books I got at Christmas, in addition to The Martian which I devoured in under 12 hours. The latest Peter Grant novel for instance, Foxglove Summer. It’s quite a different beast to the previous installments as it sees PC Grant leave the familiar environs of London for the open countryside. Not to fear however, things out there are just as strange as in the big smoke – maybe stranger. Unless I’m mistaken it’s the longest novel in the series so far, but it doesn’t seem long – it flows along as enjoyably as any of the other books.

If I had one complaint it would be that it ends rather abruptly with something of a deus ex machina (or perhaps more accurately deus in machina). I have to wonder if Ben simply couldn’t stop writing and his editors had to cut him off. In any case it’s well worth a read and a worthy addition to the series.

The second book is Graham McNeill’s Gods of Mars, the conclusion of his Adeptus Mechanicus trilogy. While quite good, I feel that it’s not quite up to the standard of the previous two entries (Priests of Mars and Lords of Mars). Graham had a lot of balls in the air at the end of Lords, and it seems as if he wasn’t quite sure to do with them all in the concluding volume. As a result the various plot lines kind of smash together in an uneven fashion to bring them all back under control. That said, the characterizations are still great, the dialogue enjoyable, and a variety of Xenos we hardly ever get to see pop their heads up for a brief moment in the sun, which is always fun.

One thing I must take Graham to task for however is the sneaky references he keeps slipping in. Honestly, it’s like he has some kind of strange disease. I can accept for instance that the Imperium might well rescue and refit some burnt-out battlecruisers found drifting near the shoulder of Orion. And it is in fact logical that a cadre of weaponised hunting hounds (which are lean and athirst) might be named Tindalosi. But an ancient Adeptus Mechanicus scrying device named a Mars Volta? Seriously Graham, seek help before it’s too late! ;D

In addition to reading books, I went to see The Imitation Game with Rebecca and Dom. It was really, really good. Historically inaccurate on a number of points, but a really excellent movie. I was particularly impressed with the way they included explanations of cryptological concepts like cribs and cillies into the plot without having to load the viewers down with exposition. Although not 100% accurate it’s a fitting tribute to one of the most brilliant minds of the 20th century, and if you’re at all interested in Turing and Enigma then you should go and see it immediately.

OK, that wall of text should make up some for my lengthy absence. Now go and make your own damn entertainment! ;D

Stadtkrones Ahoy!

For all my fine words about taking a break from the Peter Grant series I bought volume 4 – Broken Homes – on Wednesday evening and finished it on the way to work this morning. Another great read with some fascinating information on German architectural theory (the idea of a Stadtkrone intrigues me). But that ending! How could you do that to us Mr Aaronovitch?! How?!

The Mythbusters were great! Apparently we were the biggest crowd they’ve ever performed to. And Adam was greatly amused by the idea that people from Perth should be called Perthlings. I was sitting right at the very back but still managed a few decent photographs, which I’ll put up once I get the chance.

Where the Pink Flamingos Stand

I’ve really been getting into Ben Aaronovitch’s Peter Grant series of late. For those not in the know it’s a series of urban fantasy books about a rookie cop in London who finds himself apprenticed to the UK’s last operating wizard, who also happens to be an Inspector in charge of a department of the Metropolitan Police that they don’t like to talk about. They’re great reads with sharp, funny writing and plenty of geeky references to both popular nerd culture (book number three mentions Space Hulk for crying out loud!) and the history of London – both subjects dear to my heart.

I’ve read the first three so far. I actually enjoyed the first one (Rivers of London or, if you’re American and thus can’t be trusted with proper book titles Midnight Riot) so much that within ten minutes of finishing it I had purchased and was reading book two, Moon Over Soho (it helped that I was in the city at the time and hence only a few minutes walk from White Dwarf Books). On two occasions while reading the series I almost shouted out loud in a public place – the first when I figured out who the villain in Rivers of London was (a full two pages before his give away catchphrase I would like to point out ;)), and the second from sheer astonishment at Nightingale’s reminiscences about tiger hunting – which is pretty impressive for someone as reserved as my good self.

Prior to picking up Rivers of London I was chiefly familiar with Ben due to his work on Doctor Who, he being responsible for the classic McCoy era story Remembrance of the Daleks and its brilliant novelisation. I was already a fan simply because he included in that work a reference to the British Rocket Group, but he has now been elevated into the pantheon of my absolutely favourite authors. I’m very much looking forwards to reading the continuing adventures of PC Grant, but am taking a break before moving on to Broken Homes to minimise my risk of hyperthaumaturgical degradation.

Now, it’s inevitable that the title of book two in the Peter Grant series – Moon Over Soho – would not as intended remind me of jazz music, but of The Drew Carey Show. As such I’ve been wandering around the flat singing to myself…

Moon over Soho bring my love to me tonight!
Guide her to Lambeth, underneath your silvery light!
We’re going shopping! So don’t lose her in Wapping!
Moon over Soho, tonight!

(I cannot see any reason why someone would travel from Soho to Lambeth via Wapping, but when the Muse calls you gotta accept the charges).

After several weeks of such awfulness it occurred to me to do some poking around to try and find the source of Mr Carey’s first season ditty, and with very little trouble I tracked down the original, as broadcast on Cleveland area TV station WJW in what would appear to the early 70’s, but based on contextual clues can be no earlier than 1988…

I really like it. Singer/Songwriter Bob “Mad Dog” McGuire has a fine voice, and I enjoy the way his slightly tongue in cheek lyrics depict the North Coast of Ohio as a setting for romance equivalent to Hawaii or Capri. Well done Bob!

On top of his cut down opening theme performance Drew Carey actually recorded a full version of the song, giving it more of a swing…

Also, in an act of wonderful lunacy, 90’s Canadian white boy rapper Snow also did a version for the final season of The Drew Carey Show, which is one of those things that you need to hear to actually believe…

So yes. Read the PC Grant series, keep an eye out for anything involving Ben Aaronovitch and consider Lake County Ohio for your next romantic getaway!

PS: I wonder if Mr Aaronovitch is aware that a branch of the river Tyburn passes almost exactly underneath the Folly? This cannot bode well…

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