A friendly warning: this isn’t a brief post. It goes on for quite some time… sorry about that.
Fulke Greville, 1st Baron Brooke, lived from 1554 to his murder in 1628. He was therefore an approximate contemporary of Shakespeare (1564-1616), Marlowe (1564-1593), Jonson (1572-1637), Donne (1572-1631), Sidney (1554-1586), Spenser (1552-1599), Chapman (1559-1634), and half a dozen other giants of English poetry and letters.
Greville is, probably deservedly, rather less known than any of these. To be honest, until recently, I’d never heard of him. And yet, when some time ago I was making my way through an anthology of English verse, it was Greville who, amid this stellar era, caught my attention: not because of any obvious genius, but in a way because of the exact opposite – amid the easy rhymes and conventional attractiveness of the many flowers of late Elizabethan poetry, Greville sticks out like a thorn bush.
So, I’m back with Sluggy Freelance, for what will be, for the present, my penultimate review. If you’re unfamiliar with Sluggy – the sprawling gag-a-day/sitcom/adventure/drama/horror/thriller webcomic now in its 21st year – my previous review sketches out the basic concept of the comic, so there’s no point me repeating myself, and I’ll just press on…
Sluggy Freelance – a sprawling epic that has kept its devotees hooked since the 1990s. One of the most venerable webcomics, Pete Abrams’ Sluggy began more than twenty years ago, with newspaper-style, three-panel, gag-a-day (not very good) strips, and developed to become, without exaggeration, one of the most complex, varied, surprising and ingenious narratives I’ve ever encountered.
I was distracted from writing this review at the time I actually read the book, so this will be brief…
When I was young, some of my favourite books were by Enid Blyton. Oh sure, my favourite book was The Lord of the Rings. But aside from that, Enid Blyton was high on the list. I never read Noddy; I think I only ever read one Secret Seven. And most shockingly, I never read any Famous Five at all (though I did once have a very complicated sort of choose-your-own-adventure Famous Five kit with dice and special apparatus).
What I read, and what I adored, were her eight Adventure novels, starting with this, The Island of Adventure.
At the end of my boyhood and at the age of being able to manage a horse, I was brought to Lille before Duke Charles of Burgundy, then called the Count of Charolais, who took me into his service. This was the year 1464.
So, it’s a new year. It’s also, a little unbelievably, a new decade, at least for this blog – I started this back in December 2008. In ‘honour’ of that, I thought I should probably update a few things around the place that I’ve been meaning to do for ages (maybe even move to a new theme that actually uses more than 20% of the screen for content…).
Then, of course, I got ‘flu. That’s what happens when you start getting too decisive…
But one thing I have done is create a new index for my book reviews. Rather than going alphabetically, this time I’ve gone by rating, from brilliant down to eye-gougingly bad, which may be more immediately useful for people than a big alphabetical list – although do feel free to tell me I’m an idiot for doing it this way. I’ve also taken the opportunity to explain a little more about what those ratings mean in my practice.
[in other news, I did mean to be posting more this month, but… yeah. Aside from influenza, and other distractions, I’ve gotten bogged down in a review, and at the same time bogged down in a truly gargantuan (and relentlessly dour) novel, so… I would apologise for lack of content, but after a decade of this that would sort of ring hollow at this point…]
When Legends was published, in 1998, it seemed not only welcome, but necessary. The empire of literature, it goes without saying, has for at least a century been too broad for any one reader to know it all first-hand in one lifetime. Even in a single field, a single subgenre, it can be hard for a reader to really have a firm grasp of the state of the art (let alone the canon of classics). We all hear names, from time to time, of this writer or that, and make a mental note to catch-up… but how often do most of us follow through? It’s a perennial problem… but it may never have been a more pressing problem than in the epic fantasy genre of the late 1990s.