Category Archives: Commentary

Crop handle carved in bone, sat high upon a throne of finest English leather. The queen of all the pack; this joker raised his hat and talked about the weather, All should be warned about this high born Hunting Girl; … 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 →

After doing extensive research, I can definitely tell you that single malt whiskies are good to drink. – Iain Banks’ Raw Spirit: In Search of the Prefect Dram Summer is passing as it always does on the Kinrowan Estate in fits and … Continue reading →

In the middle of this poor life, we are surrounded by mystery, and the pity of it is that we would rather just be poor. No real tolerance for mystery at all. — Jennifer Stevenson’s Trash, Sex, Magic Come in… Let me … Continue reading →

When I am dead, I want for my grave A flashy funeral pray let me have Six highwaymen for to carry me Oh give them broadswords and sweet liberty Oh give them broadswords and sweet liberty ‘The Newry Highwayman’ What’s that … 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 →

The problem with sending messages was that people responded to them, which meant one had to write more messages in reply. — Arkady Martine’s  A Memory Called Empire It is  pleasantly quiet here in the Green Man Pub on this summer morning so I’ve … Continue reading →

He never raised his voice. That was the worst thing. The fury of the Time Lord. And then we discovered why. Why this Doctor who had fought with gods and demons, why he’d run away from us and hidden. He … 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 →