Art : Guilherme Kramer

I love Guilherme Kramer’s work. He was the first artist to actually stick in my culturally ignorant mind and his pictures inspired my biggest (and still growing) tattoo. Even my own idle attempts at drawing  were triggered by a desire to match his stuff, although hopefully I’ve moved on a bit from mimicry since then.

I love the freedom of his work, the strangeness, the intricacy, the weight it all holds despite the seeming lack of carefully planned force. So, as an introduction, here are a few randomly picked pieces of his to have a glance at. You can find more of his work here in far higher quality.

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Podcast Recommendation : History of Rome

Probably not much of a revelation to most this one. Mike Duncan’s excellent ‘History of Rome’ podcast has been around for years now, long enough for me to have run through it two or three times at least. The first time out of pure interest in the history but with subsequent listens as much to relax into the stories of Rome as anything.

All through the 180 or so episodes Mike does a brilliant job of tracing the lines of Rome’s rise and fall with just the right balance between interesting detail and a coherent, listenable flow. And it’s all rich enough to be immersive, drawing you into the ancient world just as well as any fictional effort can.

It’s not a course in academic history, so if you’re already an expert don’t expect revelations, but for the more casual historians amongst us, or those who just enjoy the story it’s perfect.

Mike’s also gone on to do other historical podcasts, all of which are, I’m willing to bet, very good although I haven’t gotten around to them myself yet.

You can find the History of Rome here on the blog, and I believe there’s also a full YouTube playlist which’ll save you from having to pick each new episode.

Highly recommended.

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Athletico Mince Podcast

My recommendation for the day is the Athletico Mince podcast with Bob Mortimer and Andy Dawson. Mostly it’s two blokes talking absurd bollocks for a bit and then stopping, which is great really. If you’ve seen Bob doing stuff like Would I Lie To You? then you’ll know he can spin a ridiculous yarn even when he’s not going full, prop heavy surreal. And without even saying much he can crack you up with nonsense. Andy Dawson’s a bit more sane but he’s got plenty to offer and makes a perfect foil – and break – from the weirdness. Even if ‘break’ is a relative term given his own fine line in bollocks talking. It does (very, very) vaguely circle around football but really, even if you’re not a fan, that shouldn’t put you off because Gangs of the EPL and the adventures of Steve McClaren and his snake are something the whole family can enjoy.

Not every character/sketch works for me but you can always recognise what you might want to skip and the stuff that’s good is great, so you never need to skip far.

I finished binging it over the course of a week and even paid a couple of quid for the recording of one of the live shows they did, well worth it and a show I’m happy to support. Anyway, if you like nonsense, tall tales and the idea of Steve McClaren’s snake throwing up a lot give it a go.

You can find Athletico Mince here.

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Dry Land by Baydog

 

Been a while since I’ve done any sonic squirrelling but as I’m laid up with a cold today I took a random nose dive into the ‘newest’ section of Bandcamp. It’s always a joy once you spend the time to do it and there’s inevitably something good to be found if you poke around enough, like Dry Land by Baydog. Very cool Jazz/Electronic stuff, smooth as silk too – a good immersive listen on a miserable day. Grab it here.

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The Water Knife by Paolo Bacigalupi

I’ve been on a mini Bacigalupi streak recently – Wind Up Girl, Ship Breaker and now The Water Knife, a minor diversion into post-apocalyptic and dystopian misery which, to be honest, is a bit exhausting.

To start with the good The Water Knife is an efficiently well written and occasionally very immersive book, Baigalupi seldom drifts from the essentials of his characters and story telling and while the prose has flair to it there’s little that doesn’t also serve a purpose. So it’s readable, very readable.

The story is set in a water starved Southern and Mid-Western US where thirsty power blocs – California, Las Vegas, Colorado – vie for rights to the ever diminishing supplies under the decaying and largely indifferent gaze of the government back East. Throw in straggling hordes of refugees from the dried out state of Texas, narcos from the now formally declared Narco States, Chinese corporate interests and local gangs in Phoenix, the broad focus of the book, and you’ve got enough apocalyptic fodder to depress anyone. Which Paolo does, constantly.

There’s an ensemble cast of characters, all unified by their existence on the edge. On the edge of legality, criminality, their own societies, their own professions, morality. Bacigalupi’s world here is one with no interest in or time for the masses or the middle which, as far as an action driven plot goes, makes perfect sense. His perspective is one held just beyond the breaking point, his characters either spiralling towards it or long since submerged into a chaotic mess of cruelty and survivalist necessity. Which does work, for the most part, as I said this is a well written and eminently readable story. One which is set in a interesting world too, a compendium of human paranoias and fears about climate change, cultural decay and societal oblivion all brought to their pinnacles in one hellish, desertified landscape.

The one problem I found with that though was that his focus is a little bit too relentless. In Wind Up Girl, the first of his books that I read, things weren’t that much less extreme but in some characters at least he did allow a little humanity to survive. Even as it was shattered by another, similarly brutalised, world there were elements and characters which spoke to a remnant of recognisable humanity which wasn’t entirely despairing. With The Water Knife though there’s pretty much no redemption, no trace to be found of anything positive about our species and what minimal nods there are to a world beyond the extremities of the main characters are only ever given as a prop to demolish in the greater service of making everything worse.

I’m not saying this should be a book which offers hope mind, it obviously didn’t set out to be and grim as the reality he’s created is there’s not much scope for it. But even in the world Paolo builds there is evidence of something else, some ongoing collective struggle and sense of community existing within the horror. The shanties of the thirsty future aren’t just killing grounds, the streams of refugees aren’t solely comprised of those who’ve turned to obscene cruelty and violence as a basic state. Again though, as far as the story goes they exist only to further the main cast’s misery, to reinforce and, through suffering, prove their own descents into moral oblivion and incomprehension. There are hints that this is being presented as a comment on the US itself, a condemnation of the spirit of ultra-individualism in times of crisis which, maybe, wouldn’t be the same in other cultures. But if the relentless hopelessness is meant to push that line then it’s almost comically extreme. Pushed too far to make the point as anything short of a hammering horror story.

It’s a lack of balance which stops a good book from being a great one for me. The best exposures of human misery, in my experience, are the ones which don’t forget that there are humans in the story. The ones which don’t forget that, for most people, there is a desire towards community and a sense of security, even in situations which refuse to allow for it. That’s not to say there are happy endings or that some fantastical ‘good guys’ get their moment of victorious glory but there is some desire and, well, hope that things could be more normal. Something which Bacigalupi seems to revel in repeatedly smashing down as fodder for corruption.

On the generous side you could say that, given the issues of the books covers, like climate change, resource scarcity and societal decay an element of over the top grim-darkness is justified. Maybe that was an active choice for this story and, to be fair, in his YA Ship Breaker book there are hints of solidarity and (attempted) decency even amidst a similarly decaying world. With The Water Knife though it’s so completely, resolutely absent that it almost just feels like nihilism. Paolo has concluded that humanity will turn to cruelty without hesitation or even much resistance when circumstances demand it. All of humanity, more or less, with any hold outs falling quickly enough to be exceptions that prove the rule. A certain relish for violence, especially sexual violence, in this book (and The Wind Up Girl) doesn’t do much to dispel that notion. It’s evil all the way down here, with the only question being how long it takes any given character to descend, or be butchered before they can.

That said it’s still a good book, it’s still very well written and very strong in its intent and dystopian vision. Just as The Wind Up Girl was before it. When I circle back to his work though (and I will) it’d be nice, maybe even necessary, for him to allow for a view from the centre. Not one that’s any more upbeat or hopeful perhaps, but one where there are characters at least allowed to attempt decency without being knocked down with knowing disdain by a sense of absolute misery. Perhaps even allow a sense of agency for them, show that not everything, from society to family, is a flimsy front for inherent cruelty.

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