Still very good revolver shot

[sovay]

I had never heard of Kyril Bonfiglioli before Monday, when I read two articles about the Charlie Mortdecai novels (which I had never heard of, either). I'm not surprised that the movie is being met with a mixed reception; they sound unadaptable. I will probably look for them in a local library to see whether their idea of pitch-black comedy matches mine. The New Yorker mentioned Bonfiglioli's editorship of "a couple of small science-fiction magazines." nineweaving asked which ones. I had no idea; it wasn't mentioned.

Two nights ago, I picked up Judith Merrill's England Swings SF: Stories of Speculative Fiction (1968), one of the paperback anthologies from my parents' library that came home with me in the spring. Not only does it appear to be one of the seminal collections of New Wave science fiction, it includes—in a table of contents featuring Josephine Saxton, J.G. Ballard, Daphne Castell, Thomas M. Disch, Keith Roberts, Charles Platt, Christopher Priest, Barrington J. Bayley, Pamela Zoline, Michael Moorcock, Brian Aldiss, and other people who are probably also very talented—Kyril Bonfiglioli's "Blastoff" and a short bio written interleavingly by the author and Merrill. He edited Science Fantasy, later Impulse. The list of contributors overlaps notably with Merrill's anthology and the general New Wave. Thomas Burnett Swann's The Day of the Minotaur (1966) and Harry Harrison's Make Room! Make Room! (1966) were both serialized under Bonfiglioli, as was most of Keith Robert's Pavane (1968). He published Christopher Priest's first short story, which means I have him in some roundabout way to thank for The Prestige (2006). And then he seems to have moved away from science fiction and into his own outrageous deconstructions of genre, which look like they were cult items until someone made them into a big-budget comedy which I don't plan to see.

But it did bring the author to my attention, for which I guess I should thank its existence. In the meantime, I am enjoying England Swings SF and devouring Ali Smith's How to Be Both (2014), which has a fifteenth-century non-binary trans protagonist (I am informed by the jacket copy that it's a dual narrative and the co-protagonist is contemporary, but so far Francescho's story alone is worth it. If you like richly imagistic writing, genderqueerness, and Quattrocento painting, pick this book up immediately). Smith is the author of one of my favorite classical retellings; I was curious when I saw she had a new book out and within thirty pages I was taking it home. If it all falls apart in the second half, I suppose I will very sadly let people know. I don't expect it to.

(I am not writing about nearly as much of anything as I would like, right now. It's not that I've stopped thinking: I don't see how to find the time. Everything is exhausting. Everything takes too long. I saw Freaks (1932) with rushthatspeaks last Saturday and that deserved a post; didn't happen. I still haven't written about any of the pre-Code films I saw in December. At least I had an antidote to The Franchise Affair. At least we made French toast on a snow day. At least I'm still alive.)

Comments

[ladymondegreen.livejournal.com]

I would very much like to see your thoughts on Freaks when you have the energy.

I also had pretty much exactly the same reaction to The Ballad of Lost C'Mell that you did, though I think I got my copy out of a Ben Bova anthology, which also had Who Goes There? and I vividly remember reading it on a train and having wonderful back-of-the-neck prickle.

It probably does not surprise you at all that The Prestige is one of my favorites, given my obsession with stage magic.

[sovay]

I would very much like to see your thoughts on Freaks when you have the energy.

I will try. I should also like to write about Peter Strickland's The Duke of Burgundy (2014), which I saw on Friday with rushthatspeaks and gaudior, because it's filmed like a soft-core horror film and in fact it is an incredibly sweet and insightful film about love, kink, and the complex negotiations entailed in any relationship, but especially a relationship where one of you wants D/s twenty-four-seven and the other one of you just wants to wake up slowly together and slouch around the house in pajamas sometimes. Also, entomology. There is a lot of entomology. If you do not like insects, you may have a difficult time with this film, but the camera looks at moths the way the characters look at them and each other: enraptured, appreciatively; subjects of great beauty.

I also had pretty much exactly the same reaction to The Ballad of Lost C'Mell that you did, though I think I got my copy out of a Ben Bova anthology, which also had Who Goes There? and I vividly remember reading it on a train and having wonderful back-of-the-neck prickle.

I was lucky enough to live with parents who owned a paperback of Norstrilia and a number of anthologies already containing stories by Cordwainer Smith, so that I got to read "Drunkboat," "Under Old Earth," "Down to a Sunless Sea," and at least one other story—possibly "No, No, Not Rogov!"—without having to resort to used book stores. My high school yearbook quote was "She got the which of the what-she-did . . ."

It probably does not surprise you at all that The Prestige is one of my favorites, given my obsession with stage magic.

I am so happy that movie holds up to multiple re-viewings, not just the compulsory second one. It was my favorite movie of its year.