‘Unholy Domain’ (Dan Ronco) can be best described as a science fiction techno-thriller combined with speculative fiction. This is the second book in a trilogy, set between ‘Peacemaker’ and ‘2031: The Singularity Pogrom’. I have to date not read the other two in the series, but did not find this a hindrance while reading this book. References are made to ‘Peacemaker’, yet they are fairly self-explanatory.

Set in a highly believable Gibson-style dystopian future where humanity is fighting itself over the use of technology: this novel brings into focus long held fears of what would happen to humanity if technology went too far. Or if we lost our access to technology and reverted back to a time before we were so reliant on it. There are classic Marxist similes in this novel and it is easy to see the disparity between rich and poor, religious and capitalist etc. This novel creates a future that is not so different from human history and some nations at present and utilises themes that are likely to follow humanity for many more centuries.

The world is a very different place from our own, society and its infrastructure are falling into disrepair. Humanity is split and there are two battling factions (the Domain and the Church of Natural Humans) who are not too perturbed over the body count they create. Religion and science are pitted against each other both fighting for control of the people. The American government is weak and the public are confused and afraid.

Ten years previously the PeaceMaker virus crippled the internet, left thousands of people dead and the world in its greatest depression. In response to this governments put a hold on technological advancement and left the people with crumbling services and cities. Technology is only available to those who can afford black market prices and everyone else only has access to technology from prior to the PeaceMaker attack, which is speedily becoming irreparable.

David Brown is the son of the man accused of creating the PeaceMaker virus and has spent his life haunted by his father’s crime and victimised for believing in technology. He is swept into the war between science and religion upon the receipt of a time delayed email from his dead father. In an attempt to find out more about his father he contacts the few people left alive who knew him and quickly gets the top spot on the both factions’ hit lists. It is up to David to find out who caused the PeaceMaker virus, avenge his father’s murder and clear his name. In doing so David discovers that he has a gift that could change the path of human evolution and bring us all closer to technology.

This is a gripping tale that reminds us of our dependency on technology and reaffirms fears of what would happen if terrorists were able to affect the internet and consequently financial markets and our own personal electronic data. A highly recommended read.

Richard Hine

A humorous window into the world of newspaper advertising, this novel is a mocking view of the not so simple life of a media executive. In part analogous to the humour of Tom Holt in books such as, ‘You Don’t Have to be Evil to Work Here, But it Helps’ and part the agonising absurdities of Helen Fielding’s ‘Bridgett Jones’s Diary’. ‘Russell Wiley is Out to Lunch’ is an enjoyable read for anyone who has ever worked in an office and is weary of corporate clichés and maxims.

Russell Wiley’s world is rapidly falling apart as the new owner of the Daily Business Chronicle seeks to spend less and achieve more. To supplement this, his nearly sexless marriage is on the rocks and his self confidence is at an all time low. Russell attempts to suck up to his scheming boss and stay away from the generic, yet highly dangerous, ‘hot-shot’ consultant with his business school project plans and templates. Simultaneously trying to keep his team on target, manage out the less able of them and not think too much about the lovely Erika Fallon. At which point Russell makes the worst mistake of his career and needs to work fast to mitigate this disaster and save his paper millions.

This book is a great and very funny read and the pace definitely keeps the pages turning. I look forward to the Richard Hine’s next offering.

Counting From Zero fits the paradigm of the modern thriller and brings the fear right up-to-date with the threat of a global cyber attack.

Mick O’Malley, after spotting and fixing some ‘zero day’ attacks on the internet takes it upon himself to try to discover more. With a little help from his friends, a bit of a love interest and some running from the bad guys this story follows his journey to find out who is behind the attacks, how they are achieving them and how to eliminate the threat.

Mick is an internet security consultant who is particularly paranoid about his security and has a tendency to become slightly repetitive in this area. He is a typical computer ‘geek’ (bad clothes and all) and he is also a bit of a techno snob and elitist. Mick is not a hard guy to like, but as he is not a typical protagonist it takes a bit more work on the part of the reader to see him as the hero.

This novel is both educational and entertaining and is very obviously written by an expert in the field of internet security. The structure is very much like ‘Sophie’s World‘ (Jostein Gaarder)in the manner that it stops to educate the reader and then continues on with the tale.

Through reading this book I have learnt a lot more about the internet and internet security, but possibly to the detriment of the story and characters. If anything this book is too detailed in its descriptions of ‘botnets’ etc. and this leaves little space to build up the pace and the tension in the story.

I think that there is a lot of potential here and that a second book could be a lot more punchy and pacey.

The story begins in 1917 in the French village of Rennes-le-Château where Bérenger Saunière, a priest, is found collapsed at the door to his tower. He has fought to protect the object that he has been safeguarding, but loses it to his attacker and also loses his life a few days later.

In the present, this secret that the Priory of Sion protects inspires covetousness in many as they ruthlessly hunt for the object and wonder what power it can bestow on them. At the same time there are those who fight to protect the secret, but who is on which side?

Jaared Sen is tasked by his British masters in The Company to monitor a dubious man called The Head who has shown an interest in the Priory of Sion. The Head employs Stel who is an art historian and Stel works to discover the tracks through history that the Priory of Sion may have left. Emile is an antiques dealer in France who suffers from a leg that troubles him more than he can understand and has his shop broken into, yet nothing is stolen? Paulette is a psychic who watches over Emile and tries to protect and aid him. With the help of his mysterious benefactor Jaared tracks The Head and his dealings and follows him to France as the search and the major players converge.

This is an intriguing and highly entertaining read. A mixture of grail quest and the paranormal set in a futuristic world where people can be rejuvenated, have phones in their heads, and where Britain is a kleptocracy This is a fast paced tale that keeps the reader wanting to know more as they follow the twists and turns of the various characters. The use of language and imagery is fresh and pithy and the hangover descriptions are especially vivid. A good reading choice if you like books by authors such as Kate Mosse, Scott Mariani and Will Adams.

****4 stars

Paying homage to, whilst parodying, the work of P. G. Wodehouse, and with just a snippet of Jasper Fforde style comedy, these two stories are a delightful romp in the world of Reginald Worcester, gentleman consulting detective, and Reeves, his gentleman consulting detective’s personal gentle-automaton.

These laugh out loud stories are a playful take on a wonderful relationship between the permanently bewildered and ‘boggled’ Worcester and the cool calm and collected Reeves. Who according to Worcester and his belief in the mind enlarging properties of fish has a ‘turbot charged’ intellect, but is quite unable to understand the importance of Eunuchs and Orang-utans.

In what Ho, Automaton! Reeves is liberated from a cupboard in the Drones Club attic where he has spent the last fourteen years. Unfortunately for Reeves he is dressed as a fairground fortune teller, and is not too happy about it. Reggie tells his tale of woe to Reeves and he is cajoled into assisting Reggie with his dictatorial ‘aunt’ problem. Making use of Reeves’ immense brain they take a trip to the country and a few misunderstandings in the troth plighted department and bizarre adventures ensue.

Something Rummy This Way Comes involves more aunt initiated problems for Reggie as it has been dictated by his Aunt Bertha that he must attend every ball and dinner party in this season’s calendar and that he must get engaged to one of this year’s debutantes. A demoralised Reggie looks to Reeves for help and Reeves suggests the Reggie act as if he is trying to get married whilst utilising a variety of ‘deb repellents’ simultaneously.

Six cloves of garlic later Reggie feels that Reeves’ plan is working reasonably well until he comes across Emmeline Dreadnought who is another force to be reckoned with. When Reggie enquires as to whether something is the matter with Emmeline she informs him that she thinks that one of the debs has been kidnapped and that the family won’t inform the police.

Verifying that this is the case and discovering that more debs are also missing, Reggie, Reeves and Emmeline start detecting their way towards catching the kidnappers. Unfortunately Reggie has been reading a lot of detective fiction and believes that the guilty party is always the person you least suspect, hence the search for Eunuchs and Orang-utans. A lots of balls, a dinner, and a bit of a disguise later they are well on their way to catching the culprits.

If you are a fan of Wodehouse or Fforde you will love these tales and the ‘rummy’ situations that Reggie manages to get himself into while trying to find the deb kidnapping ‘cove’.

Heirs of Mars: Preludes

Joseph Robert Lewis

Following in the model science fiction footsteps of those such as Isaac Asimov and Piers Anthony, Heirs of Mars: Preludes tells three distinct stories as an introduction to the novel Heirs of Mars (HoM).

These stories are succinct, yet vivid, glimpses of a futuristic human culture where man and machines exist together in a less than utopian society and a lack of freedom for all creates mistrust and anger. Human migration across the galaxy has not been the ideal imagined and the colonies are dying out as they lack real food, individual space and the supplies to maintain their habitats.

In To Reign in Heaven (19 years prior to HoM) India, Wolfram and their siblings are the children of a sentient satellite orbiting Venus. They live their lives in fear of the AI weapon that the humans have and the promise of a second war for independence. Mother sends a group of her children to Mars to fight and India and Wolfram remain behind to aid Mother’s research. Mother has designed these two of her children to feel love for each other and little understands the consequences that her ‘logical’ and experimental actions will have when her children start dying.

To Walk the Earth (18 years prior to HoM) tells the story of a search for freedom when Victoria decides to quit her job and head for the wilds. She sees her boyfriend Asher’s idea of migrating to Mars as a form of purgatory or punishment that is no different from her current situation. Victoria wants to fully escape the world of artificial computer driven life and find something real for herself. In her desperation to feel real freedom and leave everything, including Asher, behind she finds that her life becomes more constrained than ever.

To Serve in Hell (1 day before HoM) sees Neil, a maintenance man in a farm habitat on Mars, living in cramped substandard ghetto-like circumstances with his family. His world is full of resentment and frustration and he strongly feels the futility of his existence. When he sees one of the objects of his anger, a man he suspects to be a cloner, he calls his friends to help him deal with the problem and finds out that the need for revenge is not always your ally in a fight.

These are three well told stories that leave you wanting to find out more about this future dystopia and its inhabitants. So much so that I have already purchased Heirs of Mars on Kindle. I give this book 4*

Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the house

Paige could be heard to rant, stomp and grouse.

The mockings of her annual pre-New Year scare,

Tormenting her, often causing her to swear!

Her thoughts were befuddled like fog in her head,

They had settled in for the long haul, what dread!

The yammer of the thought thief, and the trap,

That just settled in her brain, this yearly crap.

Then out of the maelstrom there arose such a chatter,

She sprang to her feet to escape the clatter.

But she couldn’t avoid the internal clash,

Thoughts that mutter, and grow and thrash.

Her gloom and the test of a new year to go

Gave muster that made mid-life fears grow.

When, what to her surprise should appear,

But a limited chance that could quell fear.

With a little thought, so lively and quick,

She knew that there must be a trick.

More rapid than eagles her thoughts they came,

And she knew, and shouted, and called them by name.

Now work, now weight, now ambition. And mix in

Anxieties and fears of dreams not yet fixed in.

But comet-like worries that her longings will fall

Into the abyss, the abyss that dashes to bits all.

As sure as day leaves before the night will try

When she met with an obstacle she did not shy.

So up to each fear she stood and did not eschew

With her mind focused on joys and hopes too.

And then, in a twinkling, she found proof,

The thoughts in her head were not the truth.

The reality was what was all around

A world full of promise and choices abound.

She was stressed no more, nothing was caput

Her dreams were not tarnished with ashes and soot.

Instead she just needed to pick the right track

And muster her courage to make the attack.

Her eyes-how they sparkled! Her smile how merry!

Her weeks of foreboding had been very scary.

But now the future was topped with a bow

And her fears were left with no place to go.

The rules that she had hidden beneath

No longer encircled her head like a wreath.

She had broken the trance like an addict to telly,

And let out a laugh that came from the belly.

She decided it was time to like herself

And took down a diary from off the shelf.

Time to look fear in the eye and get ahead

She knew there would be nothing to dread.

She spoke not a word, but went straight to work.

Pen in hand, a list to write and not to shirk

The task in hand delicate as a rose

To write a list of ambitions she chose.

Her list finally completed she gave a whistle,

She had completed her first epistle.

Gaily she exclaimed as she danced like a sprite,

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

Brrrrrr...

I have to admit that I am still like a small child when it starts snowing as I jump up and down excitedly and press my face to the oh so cold window. Snow is still as enchanting and mystical to me as it always was and I am still moved by the way that it takes all of the hardness and grubbiness out of the world. Everything has a clean white downy cover, well until some bugger goes and stomps all over it and makes it all mushy and brown and slippy.

As a child there wasn’t a downside to snow. ‘Snow day‘ meant no school, lots of snowman building, lots of snowball fighting with my brother and sister and sledging down a too steep hill on one of mum’s tin trays. Now unfortunately it isn’t quite the same. I woke this morning hoping for massive snow drifts (really should know better as I live in London) and as my alarm went off I pressed my face to the window and saw two inches of snow. Two inches!?  Don’t get me wrong they were two very pretty inches of snow and more than enough to stop the trains running so that I could have my ‘snow day’, but then I remembered the responsibilities of adulthood and the need to keep my job. So I moped and sulked my way towards the home office and logged into work via VPN.

So here I am blogging in my lunch break about the fact that I am more than mightily miffed that I am sat here looking out of my window at all the lovely snow that I could be freezing my arse off in. Although not really enough snow to make a snowman, maybe a snowmouse though?

I know that many non-British people reading this will be shocked to hear that the trains are unable to run in two inches of snow, but the UK just isn’t kitted out for actual weather. Oh yes we talk about it all of the time, but as a nation we aren’t prepared for it.  Normally UK weather is variations on the theme of grey and bland and a bit wet. When it snows the nation shudders to a halt and the news broadcasts are all about the snow and the effect it is having. With people taking 9 hours to get home or sleeping in their cars on the motorways etc.  With all our technological advances and our understanding of global warming, (or cooling , or wetting, depending on your point of view), shouldn’t we be better prepared for weather in all of its forms? I live in the Western world where we have every advantage available to us, yet we don’t seem to be advancing in this area, Every year local authortities all over the country run out of salt and grit for the roads. This is not the first time in recent years that we have had snow across the UK so why aren’t we learning and improving?

Typical!

Excuse me...hello....!!!

When I first moved to London I moved from a little village in the depths of Somerset. I had never seen so many people in one place in my life. To say I was gob-smacked maybe understating it just a little bit. But,  after a while I became used to the huge morass of people, both Londoners and tourists and was content and somewhat secure in my bit of London. But, after completing my degree my world once again grew and my comfort zone was again swept away as I started job hunting.

Job hunting, and consequently getting a job (finally), meant that I would have to travel across London every morning and night to get to and from work. This meant navigating London’s varied forms of public transport, but also to do it in one of the most confusing cities in the world and during rush hour! (Well three hours really!)

The tube map is a fantastic tool and has proven very useful, but it took me a very long time to realise that the tube map, although an icon of design, bore no resemblance at all to the real world at street level. I spent a lot of my first year in London totally lost and wandering about aimlessly until I came across a tube station where I could then triangulate my position. Underground I am amazing, but overground you might as well put a bag over my head and spin me around for all the difference it would make. As an example of how I really shouldn’t bet let out alone. It took me two years to realise that Embankment is right next to Charing Cross and that you should NEVER try to get on or off a tube at Charing Cross because it is like Jules Verne‘s Journey to the Centre of the Earth.

So feeling a little impressed with myself and thinking that I was well on my way because I could navigate the underground. I then moved further out of London and had to get a train into London and then catch the tube from Waterloo. Again I hear you say easy, and yes it is, as long as you don’t mind being a tiny part of the slowest and angriest stampede in the world!

Basically, the forms of transport are not the problem in London. Well I should actually clarify;  they run late, they are filthy, there is no air conditioning, half of the announcements are for the wrong station, (Twickenham occurs twice on the overground Waterloo loop via Richmond) and they are overcrowded. But, really they are just machines. It is the other commuters that are the problem. I have a litany of tales of the woes of the commuter and some of them I will share, but I think a little clarification first.

This is not an anti-Londoner rant, mainly because I am now consider myself to be one (although my Somerset accent will pop up out of the blue and shock people) and I am obviously lovely. But, I would like to bring to your attention the weird and slightly malevolent changes that happen to the commuter, whether they are born and bred or not. When I arrived in London I was young, eager, polite and respectful and always said thank you to the bus driver or other commuters when they let me past etc. But without realising it the London commuter fog starts misting your eyes and your brain starts to see those human beings around you not as people, but as  as impediments, obstacles and competitors in the big race to get where you are going.

This infliction manifests itself at the start as a mild indifference toward other travellers. Whereas when you started commuting you would watch the other travellers from beneath your eyelashes (ADVICE: NEVER EVER, AND I MEAN EVER, MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH ANOTHER COMMUTER! For one they will think you insane and secondly they will see it as a sign of aggression and will in turn glare at you and make tutting noises or mumble loudly. Commuters are a rare and strange breed and you will want to look at them, but would you try to stare down a Tiger – no? Exactly.) and marvel at their difference. You would find the evidence that you are in one of the world’s largest melting pots awe inspiring and you would not be able to help yourself wondering what their lives were like and where they might be going.

The second symptom is that now you are not merely feeling indifference toward their existence, but you are actually now starting to feel some resentment towards the fact that you are in such close proximity to them. Well if you are spending two hours minimum a day with either your face in someone’s armpit or someone’s elbow prodding you in the ribs while they read their book or paper. Or you are sitting next to a man that sniffs every 20 seconds and then coughs everywhere without covering his mouth, you are going to start to feel a little miffed. And once you compound this with two journeys a day, five days a week, forty six weeks a year you can understand why there are certain conventions of behaviour and maybe even why Londoners are so impatient and abrupt. Too many people in too small a space, not conducive to good will to all men.

This mild resentment quickly mutates into silent frustration and negative thoughts about your fellow travellers. You find yourself imagining them tripping as they bound off the train. When they throw themselves on the train as the doors are closing you silently pray to the god of London transport that their coat or bag becomes trapped in the doors. This then escalates to tutting and huffing and even mumbling incoherently in the worst cases. This disease is highly infectious and has to all intents and purposes infected the entire commuter population.

Before you know it the commuter virus has taken over your behaviour centre and now you are constantly searching for a space in which to squeeze your slightly sweaty, bruised and jittery body. A space that puts you in front of the person next to you. Look you are ahead, but oh no someone else is next to you now and there is someone dawdling in front of you and then they just stopped moving right in front of you so that you have to do an ungainly swerve in order to miss crashing into them. This is when the illness spreads to your voice box properly and you discover that you now have commuter tourettes to go along with all of your other ailments!

I have to admit that only after a few strained  months of daily commuting I was dodging through overcrowded stations angrily chanting the London commuter mantra, ‘for fuck’s sake’ under my breath with every move I made. The disease is out there and they have yet to find a cure.

More soon…..

I actually think that should is a good word as it motivates and does not control. Should is a word that implies that it might be a good idea to do something, but also that it is not a vital imperative. So if you don’t do it then you will not suffer for your inactions. I think that should is akin to would like. In the same way that need and want are more dictatorial terms, should and would like are ideas, they are wishes and dreams. They aren’t stentorian and bullying, and they are not demanding.

I find my list of shoulds affect me in a number of ways and not all for them are warm and cuddly, but is it approval that I am looking for? No, I don’t think so, I think there is an element of that, but I don’t think that we are all charging about thinking that every person that we come across must approve of us in some way, or every way. I don’t think that we are as unsure of ourselves when we are in our 30s and beyond. Approval is something that you earn and it cannot be won without effort. The shoulds, that feel at times like peer pressure, are more about our own wishes and dreams rather than those heralded by our peers or society in general. They are our way of identifying who we are and what we are about.

Also, in this fast-paced world we need to have outward signs of our beliefs and values so that we can make clear to others what we are all about and find others like ourselves, and I suppose also avoid those who are not like us and don’t think that the Harlequins rugby union team is the best team in the world! Clothes, houses, jobs, everything we choose to do, wear or buy describes us and shows others who we are and what we are about.

Peer pressure just becomes our friends and colleagues etc. wanting to share their ideals and their wishes and dreams. I go and watch Harlequins rugby team play at their home ground and I wear my team top, as does nearly everyone else who is a season ticket holder. We wear our tops with pride as they show our support of our team. Immediately I know who my fellow supporters are and this has at times enabled me to strike up a conversation with a total stranger who I would never have spoken to otherwise. It enabled me to make a new connection in the world.

So yes, there are a lot of shoulds in my life, but I don’t find them a massive burden. They are goals to aim for, ambitions that drive me. If I didn’t feel that I should be a writer I wouldn’t have started this blog. If I didn’t have shoulds I would lose direction and achieve little. They do cause me stress and they can become tricky to manage if you are trying to achieve too many things at once, but the choice of having them is mine and the management of them is mine also. My frustration isn’t that I have to achieve all of these because I have been told to, but the fact that there just isn’t enough time. If I didn’t have a full time job there still wouldn’t be time for me to achieve the gigantic lists of things I desire to do, learn and experience etc.

Paige