Every good fiddler has a distinctive sound. No matter how many play the same tune, each can’t help but play it differently. Some might use an up stroke where another would a down. One might bow a series of quick single notes where another would play them all with one long draw of the bow. Some might play a double stop where others would a single string. If the listener’s ear was good enough, she could tell the difference. But you had to know the tunes, and the players, for the differences were minute. — Fiaina in Charles de Lint’s Drink Down the Moon
Cat decided as you can see from the quote that we have lead off with some of the works of Charles de Lint, a much beloved writer around here. He did a number of novels set in the real city of Ottawa where he and his wife, the late artist MaryAnn Harris, lived and had made their home for many decades, so those are the ones you will find here.
Gary reviews a set of Nordic fiddle or fiddle centered albums for us. One is so true to live music that he says it’s ‘like sitting on the perimeter of an after hours fiddle jam at a Scandinavian folk festival’ and another was a work which ‘follows the reindeer’s annual cycle of birth, searching for food, near constant movement, and graze’. Fascinating reviews all.
We finish off with some music that I think befits the summer season. It’s Michele Walther and Irina Behrendt playing Aaron Copland’s ‘Hoe Down’ from his Rodeo album.
His Yarrow: An Autumn Tale gets a loving look by Grey: ‘Cat Midhir has stopped dreaming. People assure her that it isn’t possible, that she just doesn’t remember her dreams, but Cat knows they’re wrong. Where her dreams have been, there is only heaviness and loss. For Cat, this loss means more than it would to most of us, because she is that rarest of all dreamers, a person who returns to the same dream every time she sleeps. In her dream world live her truest friends and her only source of inspiration for the books and stories that have won her acclaim in her waking life…’
Robert has two set there which are Autumnal: ‘Charles de Lint is known as “the godfather of urban fantasy,” and indeed, it’s in that genre that he’s made his mark – he’s never been a writer of heroic fantasy: in a better than thirty year career, very few buckles get swashed, although the two short novels included in Jack of Kinrowan — Jack the Giant Killer and Drink Down the Moon — come close, something of a romp a la Dumas pere — by way of Harold Lloyd, perhaps. Both concern the adventures of Jacky Rowan and Kate Hazel, best friends who find themselves enmeshed in the doings of the land of Faerie that coexists with modern-day Ottawa.’
He also looks at Moonheart, perhaps de Lint’s best loved novel: ‘Moonheart may very well be the first novel by Charles de Lint that I ever read. I can’t really say for sure — it’s been awhile. It certainly is one that I reread periodically, a fixture on my “reread often” list. It contains, in an early form, all the magic that keeps us coming back to de Lint. (And be reminded that Charles de Lint may very well be the creator of what we call “urban fantasy” — he was certainly one of the first to combine contemporary life and the stuff of myth.)’
Spritwalk he says ‘is a loose sequel to Moonheart, a series of related tales, again centering around Tamson House and including many of the same characters. In fact, the House is even more important as a Place in this group of stories. It begins with a brief discussion of Tamson House from a book by Christy Riddell, whom we will meet again in The Onion Girl and, Widdrrshinsfollowed by a delightful vignette, “Merlin Dreams in the Mondream Wood,” of Sarah Kendell, age seventeen, remembering her childhood “imaginary” playmate, a red-haired boy named Merlin who lived in the oak tree at the center of the garden. It’s a sweet, sad tale of the price of love.’
‘This album is like sitting on the perimeter of an after hours fiddle jam at a Scandinavian folk festival,’ I say in my review of Hans Kjorstad’sDålågjel. That’s a good thing, mind you. ‘Five fiddlers sawing away at hoary old Norwegian dance tunes, each of them occasionally swapping out the fiddle for some kind of percussion, a lute or a lyre, a mouth harp or portable pump organ. A couple of times they even break into song, an old Norse hymn about how good it is to love?
Here he reviews Ilmajousi / Luftstråk, by Maria Kalaniemi and Swedish fiddler Sven Ahlbäck. ‘It’s a remarkable synthesis of sounds, styles and genres. The duo plays nine traditional pieces, most of them arranged by Ahlbäck, and eight contemporary works, six by Ahlbäck, two by Kalaniemi.’
Next he reviews a most unusual album, subject wise, Mirra, from the progressive Norwegian Hardanger fiddler and composer Benedicte Maurseth, whose 2022 album Harr was one of my favorites of that year. ‘This is a deeply immersive work, its themes, motifs and sounds moving in patterns that repeat and modulate. The entire work follows the reindeer’s annual cycle of birth, searching for food, near constant movement, and grazing, and incorporates the grunting and pawing sounds they make as they feed and interact. The titles of the eight pieces that make up this suite reflect this cycle, such as: “Windy Days,” “The Calf Rises,” Hunting March,” “Fresh Snow Over Reindeer Moss,” “A Flock Of Birds Under The Moon.” ‘
The first time he saw or heard the Nordic Fiddlers Bloc was at a superb show called “Far Flung Fiddles” at the Judique Community Center in Judique, Nova Scotia, as part of the 2013 version of Celtic Colours. The show also featured local band Beòlach and American Irish fiddler Liz Carrol. I noted that the Bloc comprises Olav Luksegård Mjelva of Norway, Anders Hall of Sweden and Kevin Henderson of the Shetland Islands. ‘As is typical for an opening act here, they played four suites of tunes that included many jigs and reels but also some polskas and more.’
He wraps off his reviews with Nils Økland Band’s Kjolvatn. Økland, who plays hardangar fiddle, violin and viola, leads this ensemble in droning, jazz-inflected music informed by Norwegian folk music. ‘Fans of Nordic fiddling should seek out this recording, especially those who are on the adventurous side when it comes to some subtle jazz elements in the music.’
So I’ve got some music for you that I think fits pretty much any season. It’s Michele Walther and Irina Behrendt playing Aaron Copland’s ‘Hoe Down’from Rodeo. I sourced it off a Smithsonian Institution music archive which has no details where or when it was recorded (which surprised me given how good they usually are at such things), but it may have been around twenty years ago according to other sources.
Posted inCommentary|Comments Off on What’s New for the 19th of July: Charles de Lint’s Ottawa novels with a quote from Drink Down the Moon, Gary’s review of Nordic fiddle music, It’s Michele Walther and Irina Behrendt playing Aaron Copland’s ‘Hoe Down’ from his Rodeo album
Nearly Midsummer, and life around the Green Man offices has started getting a little weird. Oh, all right, a little weirder. Zina Leehere, reporting in from Kinrowan Hall on a beautiful warm June day. I’ve been noticing that the young plants in the gardens and window boxes have started hitting their stride and the baskets outside the doors are approaching full speed on the floral display. But there’s other stuff going on. The Midsummer Solstice is our namesake’s time, sure, mischievous nature and all, but this is ridiculous.
Things have been going missing a little more often; one puts something down and it disappears — a week later, one finds it in a totally different room than the room from which it went missing. Poltergeists? The early onset of senile dementia? One of The Cats has developed opposable thumbs? Hmmmm.
Inanimate objects — computers, sound equipment, bicycles, you name it — have started developing what might be called personalities, or perhaps a migration path. Surely that computer desktop was different yesterday when you put it to sleep, but you can’t quite think how. One of Reynard’s taps has gotten cranky (okay, so that’s not all that unusual, but throw it in anyway) down in the Green Man Pub, and the musicians in the Neverending Session have recently started complaining of strings that won’t stay in tune, cracks in previously entirely stable reeds (all right, pipers’ complaints can’t be called unusual either), and rosin going missing.
And don’t get me started on the kitchen staff complaints.
Significantly, there’ve been some magnificent displays put on by lightning bugs in the gardens the last few evenings, and the cats have been very alert indeed.
I suppose you could make a case for overflow of life-force, or biorhythms going off kilter, or just that the midsummer energy has gotten into us all (and Kinrowan Hall). But I’m plumping for a slight rash of fairies.
Mind you, not the tall, Seelie noble-looking fairy or elf of literary and celluloid fame, but the average, household, put-the-milk-out-in-a-saucer-so-we-don’t-end-up-cursed-Mildred kind of fairy, common as measles.
I can’t be the only one who has suspicions. The woman on the flower and herb cart at the corner out front is completely out of St. John’s Wort, rue, forget-me-not, rowan, and rosemary, and someone has risked the wrath of old Augustus, our concertina-playing gardener, by taking clippings off the young morning glory vines on the brick wall outside the kitchen garden. I even noticed a new horseshoe hanging up over the door of Gus’s shed near the old stables the other day; I expect not so much for its luck, but for its iron.
And now I’m wondering if it wasn’t Gus who’s been cleaning up the twigs under the rowan copse on the east side of the grounds.
Mind, one wouldn’t want to rid oneself totally of fairies. Besides the fact that they can be just as capriciously generous and benign as they can be suddenly irritable and malign, there’s the wonder factor; life without them might be a bit too grey and predictable. Anyway, when odds and sods go missing, they make excellent scapegoats.
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I’m the lead publican here at the Pub, and, if I must say so myself, a damn fine concertina player even though I need to find more time to play these days. I’m also an avid reader, so I’ve made many a visit to the Library here which is why you’re getting this tale today…
The Kinrowan Estate Library is full of dark paneling, with darkly stained walnut shelves up to the ceiling, with an open atrium of several stories, topped by an opaque skylight, with several stories of bookshelves, so that one can look up and see the books, or peer over the wrought iron balcony, over the white marble floors, or see a reader curled up below in a lovely overstuffed, winged armchair. All the shelves have those brass ladders attached to a sliding rail, so that one can climb up and get to the things tucked away on the top shelves. Many of the shelves have sliding glass doors, some with leaded stained glass, so that one is never sure of what might be inside. And some are locked! One must ask the Librarian for the key, if one has a pressing need. There are also study rooms with long tables, with lamps in the middle. And one can ask the assistants to get things from the stacks. Ah, the stacks. Given the nature of the filing system it is difficult to say what might be in there….
As one staffer put it, it has ‘Nooks. Crannies. Things you can hide under…. Capability to find exactly what you are looking for immediately — invaluable for research… Capability to find exactly what you really, really want to be reading right now, whether you knew it or not — invaluable for fun… Ambient lighting that adjusts automatically for print size, strength of bifocals — or lack thereof…’ Sounds like a pretty normal library, eh? But the Library here is like none other as it straddles, like the GMR offices, the Border. As Maria Nutick once noted, ‘The Library may be the only place where you can go to read William Shakespeare’s The Trapping of the Mouse or Edgar Allen Poe’s The Worm of Midnight while listening to the music of Gossamer Axe or Snori Snoriscousin and His Brass Idiots. The world of literature is a big, big place, and it’s an intrepid and meticulous soul who can keep track of the shifting tapestry that we call reality.’
If you think the Library is a bit strange, wait ’til you meet the Librarian! Have you seen John Hurt as The Storyteller in the series of the same name? Iain MacKenzie is every bit as scruffy as The Storyteller was. Tattered old clothes that have seen much better times, long hair and a very scraggly beard… Now I know that one expects Librarians to be bespectacled boring and rather quiet beings. Sure. You obviously haven’t spent anytime here, as ‘normal’ is never what happens around here! No one here remembers when he first showed up, nor are we sure how he came to be the Librarian, but he’s living proof that knowledge can be a dangerous thing, and that those who search for it must be brave, if not foolhardy.
The Librarian presides over a collection that holds as much delight as it does difficult truths and disturbing stories. No, the scruffiness is not accidental, it’s the product of long years looking clearly into corners that might have preferred not to see the light of day. After awhile knowledge sticks to a person, so that you don’t just see their face when you look at them, you see some of what they’ve seen as well. In our case those memories are bolstered through an appreciation of a certain beverage, aged in wooden casks, and bottled only after some years in the cellar. It’s clear why he likes it — they have a lot in common!
It’s best not approach the Librarian with trivial requests — after all, the magic of our library is the unexpected things one finds when searching. But more than that, he must find the applicant worthy, or he’ll send you on a goose chase down a maze leading to a dead end. Or perhaps it’s just hazing — but we’ve found that it takes more than breezy persistence to crack the code — you have to know your stuff, and be willing to accept what you find — whether or not it’s what you are expecting. In these days of search engines, it’s important to remember that wisdom trumps knowledge is a living thing, and her keeper is not to be approached without caution.
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All writers write about themselves, just as the old storytellers chose to tell stories that spoke to and about themselves. They call it the world, but it is themselves they portray. The world of which they write is like a mirror that reflects the inside of their hearts, often more truly than they know.
~ Jane Yolen, Touch Magic: Fantasy, Faerie and Folklore in the Literature of Childhood, 1981
If a writer’s work is truly ‘like a mirror that reflects the inside of their hearts’ as Jane Yolen said in the work quoted above, then her heart was indeed a wondrous place. Yolen, who died June 11 at age 87, was one of our favorite and most reviewed writers here at Green Man Review, and we’re dedicating the book section of this edition to her.
As Gary K. Wolfe and Jonathan Strahan astutely observe in the most recent edition of their Coode Street Podcast, Yolen was so prolific over such a long time that she may not be ‘best known’ for any one work. Worth a listen if you enjoy this sort of thing, which is two veterans in the field of SFF reviewing and criticism, engaging in frequently rambling discussions on a variety of related topics.
That said, perhaps Yolen’s best known book is Briar Rose, which reimagines the fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty wrapped up in a YA story of a young person discovering the secrets of her grandmother, who was a Holocaust survivor. Eric did a fine job of reviewing it. ‘Briar Rose evokes all of the emotion that a true fairy tale should. The language is very moving, describing events in World War II in words that are both shocking and uplifting, while still preserving something of a fairy tale’s magic.’
Cat reviewed Yolen’s essay collection Touch Magic: Fantasy, Faerie and Folklore in the Literature of Childhood. ‘What this volume is about is acting as an advocate for the preservation and protecting of traditional folk and fairy tales.’ He was also very enthusiastic about a collection of Yolen’s stories: ‘Once Upon A Time (she said), shows her at her very best, with a fine collection of short stories, poems, and essays in a wonderfully designed book.’
Back in the day, Jo Morrison reviewed The Wild Huntfor Folk Tales, a long ago predecessor of Green Man Review. ‘Folk legend merges with Jane Yolen’s creative world to create a work of pure magic in The Wild Hunt, which should be destined to become a classic in the world of children’s literature.’
Liz had fun with Fairy Tale Feasts: A Literary Cookbook for Young Readers and Eaters, that Yolen wrote with assistance from her daughter Heidi E.Y. Stemple, and illustrator Philippe Béha. ‘Fairy Tale Feasts presents 20 classic fairy tales from around the world masterfully told by ace word slinger Jane Yolen. … The book includes fairytales from European, African-American, Ashkenazi Jewish, Arabic, Turkish and Chinese cultures. Sidebars give quick facts regarding the stories and the foods mentioned in them.’
Marian McHugh reviewed Not One Damsel in Distress, a collection of tales with illustrations by Susan Guevara. ‘Yolen initially compiled Not One Damsel in Distress for her daughter and three granddaughters, as she wished to provide for her girls that which she had not been able to access — stories where girls are the heroes.’
Michael was utterly swept away by the beauty of Merlin and the Dragons, in which Yolen collaborated with the artist Li Ming. ‘… there are children’s books … and then there are books for all ages that just happen to be marketed for children. This is the latter. You can leave this on your coffeetable, or next to your child’s bed, and be equally proud either way.’
You want it darker? Try The Midnight Circus, says Warner. ‘This book is billed as a short story collection, yet in some ways this volume serves as two anthologies rather than one. After the bulk of the book, all of the short stories, comes a section in which Yolen examines the stories collected and, usually, includes an associated poem. Each is an enjoyable read in its own right, and many are published in this collection for the first time.’
And in a previous Yolen edition, Zina noted that Briar Rose continues to astound her as a reader. ‘That Briar Rose is about an evil that grew to be so large that it almost eclipsed the humanity of its participants, yet still manages to be a beautiful tale astounds me as a writer. As a human being and a reader, I was touched to the core over and over again.’
Gary here with new music. First up is some very nice jazz from ECM. ‘This inaugural self-titled record by saxophonist Joe Lovano’s Paramount Quartet would get a high rating just on the strength of its two covers, both of them warm slow ballads: Charlie Haden’s “First Song” which appropriately opens here, and Wayne Shorter’s “Lady Day.” Both give lots of room for guitarist Julian Lage and Lovano to showcase their tone, control, and easy way with melody and improv, and lift bassist Asante Santi Debriano and drummer Will Calhoun out of mere supporting rhythmic roles to the realm of full partners in song sculpture.’
Then there’s a new release of an old(ish) live recording, Kenny Barron’s So Many Lovely Things from the archival label Elemental Music. ‘You can drop the needle on any of the 10 tracks (and yes, it’s being released as a limited-edition 2-LP set as well as a 2-CD set, via digital download and streaming) and hear some of the best straight jazz ever laid down. These three veteran musicians knew each other like brothers and they knew every song in the book, but they never phone it in.’
With something quite different, Norwegian Hardanger fiddler Helga Myhr’s second solo release Slåttespel ‘puts the focus squarely on her fiddling and on traditional Norwegian dance music from her home region of Hallingdal. This is the music that got her named Norway’s finest Hardanger fiddle player at the 2025 National Championship for Norwegian Folk Music and Dance (Landskappleiken), an event that’s been going on since 1896.’
On the Americana front, Chicago queer country crooner Andrew Sa is releasing his debut album and it’s a winner. ‘Yes, the songs on American Rough subvert the entrenched hetero normative tropes of country music. But that seems like just a minor detail with songs this beautifully written and realized.’
New York’s Benny Bleu blends bluegrass, old time and jazz in his latest release When I Am A Fossil, a nod to his background as a geologist. ‘The fare here ranges from humanist earth-friendly songs informed by Bleu’s scientific background and his streak of pure humanism, to anti-capitalist ballads to instrumentals that draw equally on bluegrass, old-time and jazz …’
With high summer officially underway we’re thinking of one of our favorite pastimes, namely fishing. And the best song ever penned about fishing, one that’s been recorded by many, “Fishing Blues.” This one is possibly the original recording; it’s from the Anthology of American Folk Music, recorded by Henry Smith in 1928.
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It was three in the morning, the time most babies are born and more people die than at any other hour. The Pub was empty but for me and The Old Man writing in his journal as His Ravens looked on. It was then she walked through a door which went where I did not know. She took a seat at the bar, order a not inexpensive whiskey from me and looked at me with a gleam in her eyes.
I am, She said, just a figment of your imagination. I pondered this as I was sure it had been many, many years since I’d taken anything that gave me anything that odd for visions, be they dreams or nightmares
Ok, I said, I’ll play along. Why are you a figment of my imagination? Because I’m a figment of your imagination, she said.
Ahhhh a recursive loop, I thought. We can’t possibly both be the products of the other, I said.
Why not, she said, Is there any reason we can’t both be dreaming the other into being? Surely if Old Gods can sit here and no one notices them, then why not this as well?
Well, she had me there. So, I said, are we all but dreams of someone else? Is there an objective reality at all?
Surely you’re kidding, she murmured, you’re the Pub Keeper on an Estate where dead kings will keep fighting each other until time itself ends, where a dead librarian has been known to help patrons out late at night, where midnight wine is offered up as something to toast with, and where the very boundaries of the Estate encompass an ancient Wild Wood whose dimensions are far larger that can really exist in a rationale universe? And where you border what’s the Summerlands?
That earned her a dram of my very best whiskey which is centuries old and so costly that no one has ever ordered it. Need I say that the distillery was one that never existed in our reality as it’s from a Scotland where Bonnie Prince Charlie beat the English oh so long ago?
So, I asked, who are you?
Ahhh that would be telling was all she said as she downed that single malt. Suffice it to say that you and I will meet again as all mortals meet me eventually..
I turned to get her another dram but she was gone and when I turned around her glass was there, empty of course. I asked The Old Man what he thought of her and he gave me a queer look before saying that no one had been here for hours.
That made me pour myself from that same ever-so-rare bottle and I never drink while working.
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She’s looking for the music. She can hear it but she can’t find it. There are candles everywhere. Some parts of the room are low-ceilinged and high-cushioned, just right for kissing and gossip and splitting a bottle. Some parts are ballroom-size. The floor slopes down, away from the stone ceiling. Dawn trips a little, blames the drink. The bass gongs through her blood, a fiddle skirls, the faraway downbeat (alone of a tinny fusillade) cracks two glasses touching, a false blow, ting! Not in this room. Nor the next. — Jennifer Stevenson’s ‘Solstice’
We all tell stories and Jennifer Stevenson tells a great one in Solstice. But first, I asked her to tell us about how it came to be and that is a fascinating story in itself, so here it is…
Delia Sherman, Don Keller and Ellen Kushner were doing a theme anthology called Horns of Elfland. I was invited to write a story for it and did so, which was rejected. So I wrote another story. And they put it first in the anthology.
This story was my first professional sale.
I did something mildly sexy with the literary-ness: I didn’t use certain time-related words at all, so that when I did, it would stick out. (It’s been yonks since I thought about this so I would have to reread it to remember what exactly. At this range I think the word I was trying not to use is “was.” Yeah. Write me a short story without “was” in it!
So her literary offering this time in ‘Solstice’ which Grey reviews for us here: ‘The reader somehow senses that everything Dawn sees, each action she takes, even her name, has a deeper significance. She’s not just playing for a great party, she’s playing to keep a shrinking, fading man alive on the longest night. And if it’s an over-the-top, splendid bash that keeps the sun alive for another year, well, human beings believed that for a very long time. Maybe this story will help us remember some of what we’ve forgotten.’
You can hear the author splendidly reading ‘Solstice’ here.
Jennifer Stevenson finds new uses for old sex demons. Check out her five comedy series: Hinky Chicago, Slacker Demons, Second Lives Club, Liars in Love, and Backstage Boys. Her first novel, Trash Sex Magic, was shortlisted for the Locus award for new fantasy fiction and longlisted for the Nebula Award two years in a row. Check out her manifesto at John Scalzi’s The Big Idea. She lives in the Chicago area with her stagehand husband and two bossy kittens. For more Jennifernalia, find her on Facebook or her website, or sign up for her newsletter for early wake-up calls for books, cool extras, free stuff, deleted scenes, and kitten pictures.
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Coffee should be as black as hell, as strong as death, and as sweet as love. — Old Turkish saying
We’ve been playing backgammon to escape the unusually warm weather, gathered round small tables at the Green Man Pub, or in the common areas of Kinrowan Hall. One of the players, Zina Lee, has been telling me about her liking of a certain beverage that’s popular in this building: ‘There are certain things that make civilization more . . . civilized. Overall, they tend to be the ones that encourage a sense of luxuriousness in one’s existence, and if they support a sense of community and of sharing with other people, so much the better.
‘For me, the inky little cups of Turkish coffee are exactly that — it’s not so much the coffee itself that’s so wonderful, but what tends to happen over the cups of it, even if I’m drinking it alone. I was in a tiny, tiny village in the pastoral English countryside visiting friends a bit ago, and after dinner we had Turkish coffee, some tunes, and a great deal of talking and laughing, in the lovely, warm, hospitable dining room of that unbelievably old house.
‘And I’ve just come back from a lovely little Turkish restaurant in the East End of London, having had a wonderful dinner with two handsome English gentlemen of my acquaintance. One is quiet, slender and dark, with a sardonic twitch to his mouth; the other is bluff, solidly-built and fair, with his sardonic twitch in the lift of his left eyebrow; but both of them are devastatingly intelligent, both can be dismayingly erudite, and also the both of them are vastly quick and entertaining. Over snifters of Turkish brandy and those tiny white cups of sweet hot coffee, the two had me giggling non-stop with their sharp, witty, and exquisitely detailed descriptions of the worst English towns one might have the misfortune to visit, in a rather loopy reversal on the more normal litany of sights one really must see.
‘Turkish coffee doesn’t cause these experiences, exactly, but they form an ineffable, intrinsic part of the conversations I’ve had while drinking the stuff.’
I can only agree with Zina. I’ve been sipping cups of Turkish coffee with Béla at a very small food stall that appears to have existed for many years near the Library in Kinrowan Hall… a small square of achingly sweet baklava, some Turkish coffee, and a friend’s company have been a luxury for a late afternoon break for no little time, thanks to the proprietor, a small, neat, clean-shaven gentleman of a certain age with a spotless white apron highlighting his closely cropped jet-black hair and eyes.
He’s very skilled with his mortar and spoon, our host, grinding the beans to a very fine fluff, or gently stirring in the foam of the coffee as it boils in the gleaming ibrik over his little burner; part of the pleasure of the experience is watching him prepare the coffee after you’ve ordered it.
Something I never noticed until after the conversations with Zina about her digestif of choice is that, as soon as the Turkish coffee makes an appearance on the table, there’s an almost imperceptible relaxing of body tension, of the conversation turning towards something just that much more enjoyable, just a gentle click towards ‘civilized’ on the dial of the day.
The Turks have another old saying about coffee: ‘To drink one cup of coffee together guarantees forty years of friendship.’ At this point, Béla and I may have to live a few extra centuries to celebrate a friendship blessed with many cups of foamy Turkish coffee. May there be many more.
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When I was young and in my prime (in my prime) I left my home in Caroline Now all I do is sit and pine, for all those folks I left behind
I got the Blue Ridge mountain blues, and I sat right here to say ‘My grip is packed to travel, and I’m back to ramble to my Blue Ridge far away’
John Fogerty’s ‘Blue Ridge Mountain Blues’
Though fox hunting by the gentry was common in Scotland for centuries, this Estate never allowed them to be hunted here, so the Estate foxes have thrived. Even when we had a Groundskeeper here, before we abolished that position and created the Estate Head Gardener position that I now hold, they were safe from being hunted.
Foxes, both mythical and real, have shown up in literature for a very long time now. Our selected book reviews reflect multiple threads of their story. We’ve got two of the kitsune myth, one riffing off the British myth of the intelligent fox and one looking at an interesting take on foxes that I hadn’t run across before.
Oh and Charles de Lint, one of beloved writers here, has one as a character in his story set in the Appalachians which is illustrated by Charles Vess, so we get to see the foxes in their glory. The Cats of Tanglewood Forest naturally being set in a very old forest has to have at least one fox among the characters that the girl Lillian here will meet; this one is named rather charmingly T. H. Reynolds.
It’s a short list, so you have time to go to your favourite bookstore to order a copy The Cats of Tanglewood Forest. Yes it’s that good and it makes really good reading any time of year. Though it is marketed as a young adult novel, I think it’s a fine novel for any adult interested in fantasy literature as well.
Cat introduces us to the foxes of Rita Mae Brown’s Crazy Like A Fox: ‘What is fascinating is the deep, loving look at that culture, and though the novels are always built upon the story in the previous novel, the author does a perfect job of giving the reader enough information to know why a character, say a fox, who was a cub in an earlier story, is now an adult. Yes, it’s a charming plot device, having the creatures speak, that allows Brown to give depth to story that’s simply not possible if only the humans in the story were speaking, and it’s particularly entertaining when the a fox and a foxhound trade insults, as they often do in these novels.’
His second offering to us is not a book but rather a film which is based off a graphic novels, so yeah it’s literature based. It’s Hellboy: Sword of Stormswhich his review will tell you more about, but the fox is described here: ‘a kitsune which is a Japanese fox spirit who though she does not speak a word here, and yes, I believe that all of the kitsunes are female, is wonderfully depicted here and is given enough character that you feel that she is quite real…’
In Ben Aaronovitch’s What Abigail Did That Summer (Rivers of London #5.83), there are foxes, very special ones. Let’s have have Lis introduce them to us: ‘When Abigail realizes that Natali and Jessica, the girls who invited her and Simon to the “happening” that never happened, have disappeared, she can’t let go of it. She insists on investigating. Simon introduces her to the Cat Lady, who is a good deal more interesting that that label alone suggests. A talking fox named Indigo approaches Abigail, and says Abigail is needed for something the foxes can’t do on their own.’
A fox, another Asian kitsune, is central to following novel. An albino one to be exact. Who may or may be haunting him. Robert’s review of 9Tail Fox that whittles down the general genre label and gets to the heart of the story. ‘The book cover claims that Jon Courtenay Grimwood’s 9Tail Fox is ‘A novel of science fiction.’ Considering what science fiction has become over the past generation, that could well be valid — with some qualifications. I’m going to call it ‘slipstream’ in honor of its genre-bending tendencies and let it go at that.’ So how does the fox fit in? Read the novel to see how.
Gary here with new music. First, some live music!
‘I was a member of a trio that trekked to North Portland on the last night in May 2026 to enjoy the ambience of the Rose City Book Pub and the music of Trio Tsuica, which bills itself as Portland’s only four member trio. The ensemble is named for țuică, a fiery Romanian plum brandy, and they play a fiery blend of music from Romania, Hungary and other places in central and eastern Europe.’
Next, some moving and comforting jazz. ‘Kris Tiner & Cathlene Pineda’s Sung is a deeply intimate record by this trumpet and piano duo from Southern California; every moment of this chamber jazz recording reflects a close personal connection between the two musicians.’
Jazz and Americana fiddler John Mailander has a new EP out, called Little Wheel // Hope Looming. ‘This EP could just as easily be called a single, featuring as it does two full tracks and one brief electronic ambient sample, but it is a timely recording whatever you call it. Forecast plays the kind of jazz informed Americana beloved of Bruce Hornsby fans, no surprise since that’s been a major one of Mailander’s many gigs in the past few years.’
Phillip Golub’s new album Partisan Ship had me grasping for descriptions that were weird enough. ‘It sounds like free association, but if you listen closely you realize it’s not. It’s composed music, each part intricately woven together into a fascinating and often moving whole. High speed keyboard runs, polyrhythmic drum and percussion parts, deep honks from low clarinets, melodic flute, Klezmer trumpet lines, all undershot with a multitude of synthesized sounds that create those atmospherics that make it such a good accompaniment to a good SF narrative.’
Cat found a concert recording, John Fogerty’s The Long Road Homewhich he really liked: ‘Though Creedence Clearwater Revival was one of the best bands of the Sixties, I’m more fond of the recordings of the post-CCR career of vocalist John Fogerty. And his best recordings are by far the concert recordings, both the legit ones like this release and of course the many bootlegs done as soundboard recordings.’
Of course we can’t leave you without music from him, so here is ‘Blue Ridge Mountain Blues’ from his concert at the Air Canada Centre, Toronto twenty years ago.
Posted inCommentary|Comments Off on What’s New for the 7th of June: Foxes in literature, live Balkan music, comforting jazz, Americana jazz, and wonderfully weird fusion jazz; and John Fogerty live
There are stories of hauntings here at the Kinrowan Estate going back centuries. Of ghostly patrons of our Pub in the Kinrowan Hall who came back again and again at last call to hoist just one more pint of their favourite ale, of the gameskeeper (in those long ago days when we had such a post) who is still spotted watching over the deer as they eat acorns in the late fall, of the piper heard playing in the distance as the dawn breaks over the hills where High Meadow Farm is.
And any other of the myriad tales passed down generation after generation ’till they past from being remembered to being part of our history into being simply stories…
There is one ghost, or rather a set of ghosts, that I See in my vision when I’m unable to sleep and leave Catherine sleeping soundly in our bed to roam around Kinrowan Hall and nearby grounds in warmer weather. So it was when some decades back that I first encountered them.
At first all I noticed was the crickets chirping loud in the warm night air. Then I heard the Irish wolfhounds we have to keep the sheep and pigs safe from wolves and other predators growling lowly in their throats as if something was well beyond their ken. So I walked out to where they were and stopped awfully fast when I saw them.
They were I thought that they were just some waking dream I was having, not really there but I son realised that they were really there. They were a King, stocky and red haired, terribly wounded but still standing, fucking huge sword unsheathed and covered with blood and gore, and his foe, equally stocky and blond haired, obviously Viking from the runes etched on his equally bloodied sword. Dead men walking. As I watched, they resumed hacking at each other. Over and over again.
They went on, silently, never saying anything, cutting at each other ’til they were far past the point where they should have been dead, but they went one cutting at each other. They were still having at each other as they faded away.
I’ve seen them several times since, always on the same date. I’ve tried researching the old battles, the old kings of Scotland, but never found anything that even vaguely matches up properly to what I saw. I do know that there are several barrow mounds on the Estate that may indeed be those of Kings lost now to even myth as they live and died so long ago that no one even remembers them even in stories.
Posted inStories|Comments Off on A Kinrowan Estate story: Bloodied Kings
So several years ago I got to interview her about all things culinary that interested her, ranging from her ideal picnic basket, what makes agreat winter hearty meal and even the perfect brownie.
Now let’s get to this edition.
I think that her White Space series is without doubt her finest one to date, so let’s have Gary talk about them.
I’ve thoroughly enjoyed Elizabeth’s three SF books set in the White Space universe she’s created. It’s named after the only vaguely explained “space folding” effect by which people of all kinds, not just humans, traverse this far future galaxy. The stories told in the three books — Ancestral Night, Machine, and The Folded Sky, — are not related at all except by being set in roughly the same time span. What they share is that, though they’re definitely space operas with faster than light ships and exciting space battles and exploding stars, they’re much more focused on the inner space of their protagonists, all of whom are incidentally on the gender queer spectrum.
‘Ancestral Night is the tale of Haimey Dz, a nominally lesbian engineer on a little salvage tug whose ship mind is named Singer and which is piloted by her friend Connla Kurucz,’ Gary notes. ‘On this salvage run, they’re way out in one of the far arms of the galaxy investigating an anomaly that turns out to be a highly valuable artifact as well as a horrendous crime scene. They’re almost immediately attacked by someone, probably pirates who also seem to be interested in the artifact. And, needless to say, adventures ensue.’ Along with the adventures, Haimey deals with internal struggles as well. ‘We spend a great deal more time inside Haimey’s head as she grapples with her past and the lies she has believed about it, and tries to come to terms with who she is and is not.’
‘The story of Machine is several things — including murder mystery, police procedural, and utopian/dystopian novel – wrapped up in a space opera,’ Gary says. ‘Our protagonist this time is Brookllyn Jens, usually just called Llyn. She’s a doctor and rescue specialist on a fast ambulance ship. And a former cop. Llyn has a genetic condition that causes severe generalized neuralgia so she uses a sophisticated, not quite sentient exoskeletal body suit to help her get around and manage the constant pain.’ It’s an adventure mystery involving an ancient ship full of corpsicles and a self-replicating machine that could threaten the entire galactic civilization known as the Synarche. ‘But as with Haimey Dz in Ancestral Night, it’s Llyn and her character’s growth arc that Bear uses to tease out some of the more elaborate and deep questions that face the Synarche and our own reality-based human society. ‘
‘Is it just me, or is Elizabeth Bear’s third entry in her White Space series actually a cozy mystery?’ Gary asks rhetorically in his review of The Folded Sky. ‘One that just happens to be wrapped up in a dramatic and far-ranging space opera?’ He goes on to explain: ‘Dr. Sunya Song is an expert at teasing information out of ancient archives. She has travelled long and far to an exotic location to do just that, surviving an attack by pirates along the way, only to discover that her wife and their two children have unexpectedly arrived before her, as a surprise. Sunya is very surprised and actually quite dismayed, because they came on a ship piloted by a treacherous former lover and professional rival, who seems bent on both undermining Sunya professionally and stealing the affections of her teenage daughter. Then someone poisons a member of their expedition, Sunya is attacked and injured, and their host asks her to do some sleuthing to try and discover who is behind the attacks. Oh, the pirates are still circling, and the dilapidated habitation where they’re staying also seems to be haunted!’
Gary here with new music. I’ve been savoring an album of Balkan vocal polyphony, Neha!’s Svetu. The six women of Neha! plus their choral director present traditional music in new ways, always giving context and commentary that helps square the old lyrics with modern values. ‘Beautiful traditional songs presented in creative arrangements, stunning performances by singers and musicians, and a generous booklet with notes about each song and an introduction to each singer — Neha!’s Svetu is a must have for anyone who enjoys Central European polyphonic singing, or really world music of any kind.’
I greatly enjoyed Counting Sunsets, the new album from SUSS, the New York trio that practically invented the genre known to its devotees as Ambient Americana. ‘Counting Sunsets‘ is maybe their most focused recording yet, 10 tracks that are relatively short for the genre, almost all well under five minutes, exploring related yet subtly different moods. And it’s very relatable — everyone’s seen and marveled at a sunset, right?’
And I rejoiced at the forthcoming release of the latest from the Norwegian jazz fusion power trio Bushman’s Revenge. ‘Sometimes when I’m stressed I look to a pensive piano trio to calm myself. At other times, I want a wall of noise, driven by passion but not taking itself too seriously. That’s exactly the role Bushman’s Revenge has played for me these past few wild and crazy years. That’s what makes Ah, Les Vaches! and others of their oeuvre so indespensible.’
From the Archives, since we’re talking about Balkan music … one of my favorites ever is Ion Petre Stoican’sSounds From A Bygone Age, Vol. 1. ‘This is fiery, joyous music obviously played by true professionals. The album is dominated by the rapid hora and sirba styles, with some forays into slower pieces now and again. On a typical track, the melody will first be played on cymbalom, or occasionally clarinet or accordion, with Stoican taking over on his violin by the second verse.’
And Judith reviewed a rare disc of Balkan music, tambura virtuoso Adam Good’sDances Of Macedonia and the Balkans. ‘Without loud attention grabbing gaidas, clarinets, and accordions, this quick dance music may seem more exotic and introspective than some Balkan music; certainly without the gimmicks, this album is much less imposing than modern Balkan music often is! But Good is good at what he does, playing quick dance tunes on tambura with an intricate style — the music goes well with wine.’
Sometime ago, Elizabeth narrated a story of hers for a podcast, ‘The Chains That You Refuse.’ she gave us permission to use it, so here it is; do enjoy!
Posted inCommentary|Comments Off on What’s New for the 24th of May: Gary’s Review of Elizabeth Bear’s White Space novels, iain’s review of the Lonely Signal Burns novellas by her, she reading her own story, ‘The Chains That You Refuse’, and I see Gary has some tasty music reviews fir us as well
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What’s New for the 19th of July: Charles de Lint’s Ottawa novels with a quote from Drink Down the Moon, Gary’s review of Nordic fiddle music, It’s Michele Walther and Irina Behrendt playing Aaron Copland’s ‘Hoe Down’ from his Rodeo album
Every good fiddler has a distinctive sound. No matter how many play the same tune, each can’t help but play it differently. Some might use an up stroke where another would a down. One might bow a series of quick single notes where another would play them all with one long draw of the bow. Some might play a double stop where others would a single string. If the listener’s ear was good enough, she could tell the difference. But you had to know the tunes, and the players, for the differences were minute. — Fiaina in Charles de Lint’s Drink Down the Moon
Gary reviews a set of Nordic fiddle or fiddle centered albums for us. One is so true to live music that he says it’s ‘like sitting on the perimeter of an after hours fiddle jam at a Scandinavian folk festival’ and another was a work which ‘follows the reindeer’s annual cycle of birth, searching for food, near constant movement, and graze’. Fascinating reviews all.
We finish off with some music that I think befits the summer season. It’s Michele Walther and Irina Behrendt playing Aaron Copland’s ‘Hoe Down’ from his Rodeo album.
His Yarrow: An Autumn Tale gets a loving look by Grey: ‘Cat Midhir has stopped dreaming. People assure her that it isn’t possible, that she just doesn’t remember her dreams, but Cat knows they’re wrong. Where her dreams have been, there is only heaviness and loss. For Cat, this loss means more than it would to most of us, because she is that rarest of all dreamers, a person who returns to the same dream every time she sleeps. In her dream world live her truest friends and her only source of inspiration for the books and stories that have won her acclaim in her waking life…’
Robert has two set there which are Autumnal: ‘Charles de Lint is known as “the godfather of urban fantasy,” and indeed, it’s in that genre that he’s made his mark – he’s never been a writer of heroic fantasy: in a better than thirty year career, very few buckles get swashed, although the two short novels included in Jack of Kinrowan — Jack the Giant Killer and Drink Down the Moon — come close, something of a romp a la Dumas pere — by way of Harold Lloyd, perhaps. Both concern the adventures of Jacky Rowan and Kate Hazel, best friends who find themselves enmeshed in the doings of the land of Faerie that coexists with modern-day Ottawa.’
He also looks at Moonheart, perhaps de Lint’s best loved novel: ‘Moonheart may very well be the first novel by Charles de Lint that I ever read. I can’t really say for sure — it’s been awhile. It certainly is one that I reread periodically, a fixture on my “reread often” list. It contains, in an early form, all the magic that keeps us coming back to de Lint. (And be reminded that Charles de Lint may very well be the creator of what we call “urban fantasy” — he was certainly one of the first to combine contemporary life and the stuff of myth.)’
Spritwalk he says ‘is a loose sequel to Moonheart, a series of related tales, again centering around Tamson House and including many of the same characters. In fact, the House is even more important as a Place in this group of stories. It begins with a brief discussion of Tamson House from a book by Christy Riddell, whom we will meet again in The Onion Girl and, Widdrrshins followed by a delightful vignette, “Merlin Dreams in the Mondream Wood,” of Sarah Kendell, age seventeen, remembering her childhood “imaginary” playmate, a red-haired boy named Merlin who lived in the oak tree at the center of the garden. It’s a sweet, sad tale of the price of love.’
‘This album is like sitting on the perimeter of an after hours fiddle jam at a Scandinavian folk festival,’ I say in my review of Hans Kjorstad’s Dålågjel. That’s a good thing, mind you. ‘Five fiddlers sawing away at hoary old Norwegian dance tunes, each of them occasionally swapping out the fiddle for some kind of percussion, a lute or a lyre, a mouth harp or portable pump organ. A couple of times they even break into song, an old Norse hymn about how good it is to love?
Here he reviews Ilmajousi / Luftstråk, by Maria Kalaniemi and Swedish fiddler Sven Ahlbäck. ‘It’s a remarkable synthesis of sounds, styles and genres. The duo plays nine traditional pieces, most of them arranged by Ahlbäck, and eight contemporary works, six by Ahlbäck, two by Kalaniemi.’
Next he reviews a most unusual album, subject wise, Mirra, from the progressive Norwegian Hardanger fiddler and composer Benedicte Maurseth, whose 2022 album Harr was one of my favorites of that year. ‘This is a deeply immersive work, its themes, motifs and sounds moving in patterns that repeat and modulate. The entire work follows the reindeer’s annual cycle of birth, searching for food, near constant movement, and grazing, and incorporates the grunting and pawing sounds they make as they feed and interact. The titles of the eight pieces that make up this suite reflect this cycle, such as: “Windy Days,” “The Calf Rises,” Hunting March,” “Fresh Snow Over Reindeer Moss,” “A Flock Of Birds Under The Moon.” ‘
The first time he saw or heard the Nordic Fiddlers Bloc was at a superb show called “Far Flung Fiddles” at the Judique Community Center in Judique, Nova Scotia, as part of the 2013 version of Celtic Colours. The show also featured local band Beòlach and American Irish fiddler Liz Carrol. I noted that the Bloc comprises Olav Luksegård Mjelva of Norway, Anders Hall of Sweden and Kevin Henderson of the Shetland Islands. ‘As is typical for an opening act here, they played four suites of tunes that included many jigs and reels but also some polskas and more.’
He wraps off his reviews with Nils Økland Band’s Kjolvatn. Økland, who plays hardangar fiddle, violin and viola, leads this ensemble in droning, jazz-inflected music informed by Norwegian folk music. ‘Fans of Nordic fiddling should seek out this recording, especially those who are on the adventurous side when it comes to some subtle jazz elements in the music.’
So I’ve got some music for you that I think fits pretty much any season. It’s Michele Walther and Irina Behrendt playing Aaron Copland’s ‘Hoe Down’from Rodeo. I sourced it off a Smithsonian Institution music archive which has no details where or when it was recorded (which surprised me given how good they usually are at such things), but it may have been around twenty years ago according to other sources.