Dystopian Indie book review - Indigo By DL Young 4/5

"I grind my teeth, try not to react. He wants me to break down, to beg him to stop. He wants me to know this is only a taste of what he’ll do to me if I don’t play along."

Texas has finally seceded from the United States, and while it was prosperous for a while, it wasn’t long before it disintegrated into self-interested factions willing to do whatever it took to hold on to power, or push for more.

Within this world is Indigo, the narrator; a successful trader keeping her head low and out of trouble inside her own turf, managing a fleet of other traders and ‘greenies’ (traders-in-training). Until the crap hits the fan and she is taken prisoner by religious fundamentalists for a purpose she slowly begins to piece together.

Full review: https://culturedvultures.com/indigo-by-dl-young-review/

Movie Review: IT - For the Constant Reader

I'm about 30 hours into the IT audiobook, with another 20 to go. That'll tell you something about the impossibility of translating IT to the big screen with any kind of satisfaction for the Constant Reader. And yet, IT succeeds in the places the Constant Reader would want. Stephen King's novel is as much a coming-of-age parable as it is about horror. When I first read it in my very early teens, it was transformative: here's this seriously scary horror novel, written by an adult, but about kids. I loved it, and I loved the characters. Stephen King's style is informal, sometimes unfocused and often tangential, as you may expect at over 1,000 pages, but it is immersive. There's plenty of major plot points to hit, but the journey between them is just as important, and that's what I took from the movie.

The kids are great, written with an edge and comedy that reflects the novel well. Inevitably they are condensed versions, borderline caricatures of themselves, but they are played with such enthusiasm by the actors that you can be forgiven. There's a couple changes; Haystack is no longer Haystack; when they called him simply the New Kid, it didn't feel honest, simply because it wasn't a proper nickname I think. Ben Hanscom instead becomes the foil that bring the kids together; being new, and being a loner, he researched the town and its history to shoehorn the myth and cyclical nature of past events into the movie. A little backstory.

Richie Tozier is perhaps the most memorable of the kids; as the comedic relief, he gets all the best lines. Some laugh out loud. But not to do a disservice to all the kids, they all get moments to shine and make the viewer smile; subtleties that you might miss the first time round, such as Eddie (or perhaps Stanley) being the only one to hitch their bicycle while the others chuck them down to the ground.

Where the film falls is when it pushes too far with its horror. Bill plays Pennywise just fine, it's just that Pennywise's effectiveness comes to a height about two-thirds in, and thereafter loses all tension. Spoilers follow. Two great horror moments in this are set pieces that don't rely on jump scares or quick movements, or individual stupidity, but instead on visuals. The bloody scene in Beverley's bathroom was executed brilliantly, gushingly. As a recent reader, there was even more blood in the movie than there had been in my head. The other high point was the projector scene in the garage, with slow reveals of the clown being shown on the wall, culminating in the best jump scare, simply because of the size of the his head as he comes at them. The CGI lets it down in the end, with too much of the scene cutting away so you can't get a clear idea of what's going on and then miraculously they get the garage open and all is well.

The trouble with these scenes is they are outlandish and extreme, but with very little time after them for reflection. That none of the kids were harmed in the garage too, when the chance was obviously there (and they were all in 'fear' and could have fed Pennywise) just took the edge away. And later, when the kids truly lose their fear, it stops being a horror while continuing to try and be one, simply because the tension is gone.

There's too much reliance on CG, more practical effects would have been great for authenticity. On top of that, the movie tried too hard to scare us, pushing the kids into one-on-one situations that just made you want to scream at the screen, seconds after saying let's stick together. In other words, it became cliched and formulaic. Which is why it's the kids that hold it all together. There's barely an adult in the whole film who isn't a total asshole, which fits with the lore of the novel well (at least when they're kids). The movie pushes this to the extreme, ensuring we end up rooting for them.

This is why the Constant Reader will like this movie, and this is why I give it 4 out of 5. There's plenty of straight up horror movies out there, cliched and formulaic, whose characters you don't care about, that have no energy and life or humour; that don't even have high points of horror. But IT does have all those things, even romance! Bring on chapter two.

DailyFlash: Wailing

1056 Mitton Street. Every day, the same crying, the same high pitched wail followed by sobs sad enough to melt a Republican heart - no offense to Republicans. "Some taken, actually," he says to himself with a smile. A smile that immediately turns back into a look of concern as he looks over his shoulder to the basement grating.
     1056 Mitton Street; a red-brick townhouse, one of many down this block. He walks past every day on his way to work, and every day for the last two weeks, that he has noticed (lost half the time in his phone) a baby has wailed from the basement. Today he stops, and turns back towards it.
     Looking down into the grating, he sees nothing but darkness, but the baby cries on. He stands there a moment, looking around and at his phone, looking for answers, wondering about making a decision that will take him out of his daily routine. The baby cries on.
     He sighs and steps up to the front door of the townhouse. He knocks to no avail, waiting five minutes before really banging on the door. No answer, yet the baby cries on. No answer, so he turns the doorknob. The door opens inwards, so he calls out down an empty hall. No answer, but the crying has stopped.
     He steps inside, listening, but there's nothing to hear. Smells like there'd be nothing to hear: fetid - dusty, damp and musty. No-one's lived here for ages, he thinks. And then he steps quickly to the basement door, and he's just about to open it when the wailing begins again, causing his hand to freeze. That wailing, it ain't no baby, It ain't like nothing I've ever heard before.

DailyFlash: Intrusion

"I'm ooold, you don't want to hear anything this old man has to say."
     "Oh but I do. Don't hold nothing back now. Ooold man." The intruder hovers all hoody and black scarf, pointing a knife and waving it around in front of the seated pensioner. The tall arms of the armchair seem to wrap themselves around his frail frame as he sinks into it, urging his body away from the tip of that knife. His wrinkled face begins to shake, his lips moist, almost drooling.
     "What say you tell us where the key is?"
     The old man shivers.
     "Hey! I'm speaking to you, want me to cut out your tongue? Then you'll be really mute."
     The old man shrinks, almost, disappearing into the armchair.
     "Hey, Badger! Oi!" shouts the intruder, backing away.
     Badger shows up behind him. "Where'd the old dude go?"
     The door of the safe, set into the wall and revealed by removing a painting, clicks. It swings open.
     "Look, it's open," laughs Badger, bounding, almost gleefully, like a child chasing the ice cream van, towards it. "I wonder what's inside."
     The old man's face shoots from the darkness within the safe. Only it's smirking, eyes yellowed and fangs dripping saliva. "You wanna talk now?" he howls.

DailyFlash: Bathtime

"No, not yet," said Gemma, flattening her pink body in the bath, submerging herself and sending waves up the sides.
     "You have until the water's gone," said her Auntie Maisie, pulling the plug. "Then out, out, out."
     "Alright," sulked Gemma, sitting back up and grabbing the plastic jugs. She began to pour water from one to the next, the sound like feet shuffling along gravel. Ssccchhhht. Ssccchhhht. "The water's going, Auntie Maisie."
     "That's right," she agreed. "Do you know where?"
     Gemma looked up, a confused expression on her face. "Under, ground?"
     "Almost. The house is thirsty."
     "Oh," smiled Gemma. Picking up the plastic toy duck, she squeezed it under the water and then let it enlarge again, sssucking the water in. "Look. Duck is thirsty too," she laughed.
     "That's right, sweetheart. Just like the duck." Auntie Maisie hovered, and began to twist the towel she was holding between her hands. The water circling the drain began to gurgle like the last dregs of coke at the bottom of a straw.
     "All gone," said Gemma, standing as the last bit of water began pulling, pulling towards the drain. Pulling, almost sucking around her tiny feet. She could feel a tugging sensation, like octopus feelers clamping to her skin.
     "And now the house is hungry," said Auntie Maisie, watching as Gemma's legs were upended by the almost tidal pull towards the now gaping mouth.

ReadingList Update - AmReading - Indie Goodness - Indigo by DL Young

Another day, another indie book finished. Can I get the first one now please DL Young? You sent me #2 in the series and now I know #1 is from the POV of a certain character in #2, I wanna read it!

Anywho, Indigo was a fun read and the review will be up shortly. The review for Under the Amoral Bridge by Gary Ballard, who I accidentally just wrote as Gallard - bet you got that all the time, eh - or maybe not - went up on Cultured Vultures last week - delight in it here. In fact, for more of my Indie book reviews, check out my CV page.

Reminds me, I now have 10 indie novels I can order from best to worst - or more likely, most favourable to least. I've only really read one that fell short. Once I've sorted that I'll tweet away like the magpie I am.

Currently reading

The Method by Duncan Ralston

How hard would you fight for the one you love?

Frank and Linda's marriage is falling apart. When old friends tell them about an "unconventional therapy retreat" called The Method, they jump at the chance to attend.

Dr. Kaspar's Lone Loon Lodge is a secluded resort deep in the Montana wilds. The staff is friendly. The other couple joining them is intense. But when a death occurs events quickly spiral out of control, leaving Linda and Frank unable to trust anyone but each other.

Nothing is what it seems, and only one thing is certain: Love Is Pain.

Reading list

Humanity's Hope by Pembroke Sinclair

Caleb, a 17-year-old boy, survived the zombie uprising, but he didn’t come out of the ordeal unscathed. He’s been scarred—both mentally and physically. The rest of humanity is trying to rebuild, to make the world normal again. Caleb is trying to return to a normal life also, but after all he’s seen, after the loss of his family and friends, the transition is difficult. The darkness that led him down a path of self-doubt and self-harm keeps trying to creep back into his mind.
Things only become worse when he discovers he’s immune to whatever makes a zombie a zombie. Fighting zombies was predictable. He knew what to expect. Fighting humans is volatile. They are malicious and treacherous. They won’t stop to get what they want, and Caleb has to figure out exactly what that is.

DailyFlash: The Wedding Speech

James stands, champagne glass in hand, and looks out at his friends and family waiting for him to speak. So many eyes on him, so much expectation; from those who know him best to Melissa's cousins, aunts and uncles whose faces he has seen today for the first time (and in them, the uncanny of the bloodline).
     "We met," he begins, smiling and turning to Melissa, "in first-year molecular biology. I said something along the lines of how beautiful your chromosomes had combined, which degenerated into the worst gene-related jokes we'd heard. But it was enough to break the ice." He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a remote, pressing a button. As a projector screen descends behind them he continues. "But you know. You've never really understood how truly the girl of my dreams you are."
     Melissa turns, a confused look on her face, to look at the screen. James can almost feel the weight of eyes shift from him to the screen. Another button, and the lights dim slightly and a video is projected onto the screen. "Is that?" says Melissa, clutching James' hand. "Is that you?"
     "Yep," says James of now. "Hi, everyone," says James of fifteen years ago. "If you're watching this, you're at my wedding. Well, not my wedding - our wedding."
     "Aww, you look so cute," says Melissa.
     The boy on the screen continues. "So thank you for coming. I must've said that already, right? No? Where have my manners gone?" The boy smiles, and then breathes deeply, straightening his face. "I'm so impatient. I've imagined this day since - well, since I was a boy! I've imagined marrying you. I can see you now; you're blond, most of the time." Small gasps in the crowd.
     "Good guess," whispers Melissa.
     "Blue eyes. My height. Most of the time. You like a lot of the same stuff as me, but you're more of a rocker than me."
     "Hmmkay," Melissa furrows her brow, looking up at her new husband, and then back to his boy-self.
     "You like it when it rains, more when it snows. Oh, and when it's cold you get a little cramp sometimes in your hip. We should get that looked at."
     "What the?"
     "But Melissa, you know, I just can't wait to grow up and find you. The man standing next to you right now is the luckiest man alive."

DailyFlash: Neon Knight

The police waves are static white noise broken by intermittent code-words and numbers, all of which he knows. One hand on the wheel, with the other he flicks through different channels, cruising at speed on the urban highway, slashing the asphalt of the night with tires blazing a trail from one scene to the next. It's raining, of course it is, this damn city would be underwater if not for the storm drains letting it all run away. No one overtakes, instead he glides quietly past fellow travellers with glowing advertisements running down the sides of their vehicles; goddamn sell-outs. He is a void on the tarmac, a shadow weaving through the neon. The homicide frequency whispers "Ten-fifty. Perp go, sight on foot, T with BC. BH." He flicks a switch and the car rises above everything, no longer a shadow.

DailyFlash: Bloody Knuckles

His right hand is shaking - his small child hand - still balled tightly into a fist at the end of a hairless arm and thin wrist. The knuckles are red and raw with bits of white skin torn away. For an instant he sees his father's face as he reacts to the news, gearing into a rage. Not now, man, he thinks, pushing it aside with deep breaths, quelling an urge to pant.
     The other boy, the one on his haunches, is looking up at him, one eye beginning to puff up. He glances at the girl who started it all and then shuffles backwards, inadvertently putting his left hand in the sticky, bloody residue left on the tarmac by the second punch he'd dodged. Had I dodged it, though? Didn't he just punch the ground?
     To the girl, it's as though the sun has just broken through the clouds. Which it had, funnily enough; it settles over the scene casting shadows. From behind, she eyes her saviour's fist as it shakes, and reaches out to grab it. As she takes it, it stops shaking, and the boy stands taller somehow, stretching his shadow until it reaches and covers the hopscotch pattern chalked into the pavement.

DailyFlash: Youth on Fire

Where the residents of Halbrook Street were in agreement was the need for extra policing. You can't turn the lights off and close youth centres and remove apprenticeships and not expect school leavers and younger not to get up to mischief! It was common sense. Worse, unnecessary. And yet, here they were, barricading themselves in at night in fear of youth-on-youth 'games' - the reality being streets on fire and music blaring loudly from bluetooth speakers connected to phones. No need for street-lighting with substance fires cutting up the streets like road-markings.
     Damn this fucking State, pushing blame onto the parents for their own failings! Greedy fatcat politicians, tearing it all down just to build it all back up again, lining their own pockets. Look at the kids out there with nothing to do but smash mailboxes and crush the souls of anyone who dares to walk the streets! Laughing, dancing and drinking in the orange glow, leather jackets and denim two-piece blends and halter necklines. We don't blame them. We want to join them. Maybe not too long from now we will.

DailyFlash: Monolith

The gravity was heavy underfoot as I climbed the incline to get a better view. Boy, was it spectacular. The ancient alien monolith even more mysterious against the backdrop of undulating, barren hills, punctuated by faux-cacti and shrubs. It glistened irregularly, humming audibly; I could feel its vibrations in my fingertips. The shadow of its tall pillar stretched taller still, a thick black block of darkness reaching for the hills, as though running from the sun. It was happier, more at home, in darkness I sensed.
     The dusty ground at my feet began to move; slowly, the tiny grains of sand, stone and dirt rolling around my boots and between my legs and away from me, in ever increasing swells, towards the now-blinking light of the monolith. Not a breath of wind whispered in my ears. It was pulling me in. It was pulling everything in.

DailyFlash: Paint the Playground Red

Years of school playground games of tag, football kickabouts, rounders and training, and we're finally ready for the real thing. A lottery selected the two captains: Jerry and Samantha - two mid-grade players at best, now taking turns to choose their teammates. Friendships mean nothing at this point: Jerry's best friend is Mark, but he can't shoot for shit and his weapon of choice is a Samurai sword; lethal, for sure, but not when looking down the dark end of a barrel of lead.
     "Felix," says Jerry, meeting his eyes gravely. Felix, the sharpshooter, smiles and joins ranks.
     "Samantha, your turn," says the Sergeant.
     "I..." she looks at Melissa, her hands and voice shaking. After a swallow she looks away, looks down, and says, "Jason."
     Jason, all six-foot-seven of him, strolls with long strides to stand behind Samantha.
     Uniformed, we are picked, one-by-one, and then given coloured bibs to distinguish the teams.
     "Now go," says the Sergeant. "Team Red, go west. Team Blue, go East. Find your HQs. Find your supplies. You have thirty minutes, and when the klaxon sounds, it's time. Last team standing wins."

DailyFlash: Torn

Something elastic stretches from inside the broken flesh, pulled by the coyote's clenched jaw and bared teeth. It snaps with a wet slap and splats blood on his stained muzzle (from years of successful scavenging). Each rebirth recalls the faint red dye of blood around his chops, his human eyes betraying his heritage as he morphs. He licks his lips and looks down at the drifter, soft guts spilling from the torn flesh of the belly. Blood seeps into the yellow sand and between the copse growing by the side of the deserted highway. A tent sits empty 20 metres away; what was once the drifter's is now his until the desert sun calls his name again, demanding that the scavenge continues.

Under the Amoral Bridge Book Review - 4/5

Artemis Bridge is a fixer. You need something? Bridge knows a guy. For a finder’s fee, he can hook you up, no questions asked. In fact, the less he knows the better. As a character, he is a curious one; he is the protagonist but he is conflicted, and so, as readers, we’re never quite sure how we should feel about him.

Full review: https://culturedvultures.com/amoral-bridge-gary-ballard-review/

Free Download Week - Hereafter & Other Short Stories

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B073Q67J4S

28/8 - 1/9