Author Archives: Iain Nicholas Mackenzie

People used to say, don’t you object to the title? And I said, well there are two of us. I had problems with ‘ladies’ because it sounds like a public convenience. But which bit do you object to? Are you … Continue reading →

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 Have … Continue reading →

“Anyway, death is so final, isn’t it?” “Is it?” asked Richard. “Sometimes,”  said the Marquis de Carabas. Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere If you look down to the bottom floor of the central well of the Library, you’ll see our card catalog on the wall … Continue reading →

These fragile, worn, faded, thin, cheap paper-bound books. They smelled of dust, and mould, and age. They smelled, faintly, of pee, and tobacco, and spilled coffee. They smelled like things which had lived. They smelled like history. ― Lavie Tidhar’s Central Station It’s … Continue reading →

She wanted to apologize again, but how many times could she repeat empty words without becoming empty herself?  ― Aliette de Bodard’s On a Red Station, Drifting I’ve been listening to Laurie Anderson’s Life On A String recording this fine late … Continue reading →