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I’ve pointed out before that tending bar in our Pub leaves me with short periods that I can do some reading in. My preferred reading form is short stories as novels usually don’t lend themselves to reading in bits and pieces. So I have two recommendations for you that I found worth reading in . . . → Read More: Horror Anyone? Four looks at short stories this outing; two are author collections and two are anthologies. None grabbed my interest, but maybe something will capture yours! We lead off with Deathbird, a collection of stories by one of the Grumpy Old Men of New Wave SF, a man who elevated being testy to an art . . . → Read More: Words: Short Fiction Considered ‘Have another drink and just listen to the music.’ — Charles de Lint in Forests of the Heart I hadn’t read this novel until I had a contradance tour with one of my bands along the Border earlier this year and asked around the Pub to see which de Lint they liked. This . . . → Read More: Charles de Lint’s Forests of The Heart She looks like the wizened old crone in that painting Jilly did for Geordie when he got into this kick of learning fiddle tunes with the word ‘hag’ in the title: ‘the Hag in the Kiln,’ ‘Old Hag You Havef Killed Me, ‘ ‘The Hag With the Money,’ and god knows how many more. . . . → Read More: Fiddlers (A Pub Tale) I thought I knew what cold was, before cold stripped me bare of thought, then blinded me and froze my heart. I could not feel such cold and live; cold forced me into something other, something not quite human, who held a dream with bones of ice, and did not remember names, only what . . . → Read More: Considering Patricia McKillip Iain: Did I mention that things get a bit weird here at Green Man sometimes? Jack: things are always weird here — it’s just a matter of how weird they are! Grey: And yes, we’ve mentioned it. Many times. Jack says it most often. Jack: Only ’cause it’s true. Sometimes. Ahem. Ignore them as . . . → Read More: Babbage Machines It’s late afternoon on a perfect summer day (mid Twenties, cooling breeze) so the Neverending Session has decamped to the courtyard to sit under the Hanging Oaks and play more than a bit of John Playford’s compositions; the punters here decided to follow them as there’s a cask of St. George Nut Brown Ale . . . → Read More: A quick music update I prefer my history dead. Dead history is writ in ink, the living sort in blood. — A Feast for Crows by George R. R. Martin Despite what Martin says, no history is ever dead so long as someone, somewhere ‘members it and tells others about it. Same’s true of trad music as anyone . . . → Read More: Keeping Tunes Alive Myself, Bela, and one of the piping Jills are, over a few pints of a particulary good Hungarian ale by the name of Szalon Barna which I got in here for the Pub, discussing the excellent selection of music and books reviewed this edition. So sit, grab a bottle of this excellent ale, and . . . → Read More: Words and Music |
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