Older Fish

...come over and arrest you for giving incorrect information to the police." "Oh, is that so, PC Dibble? So you were calling me for official purposes then, I assume. What was the call about?" PC Dibble blushed a deep red, and stammered, "umm..I.. It....Umm... Doesn't matter. Gus Despicable, you said? Alright, what's the address then?" The police car screeched to a halt in front of Annabelle's Detective Agency in scant minutes. The first thing that PC Dibble noticed was the man-shaped splatter of bullet holes on the cheap, plasterboard wall. Suspecting the worst, the intrepid constable avoided the front door, and ran instead head first in to the man shaped profile on the wall. The constable burst in through the wall issuing a blood curdling yell, ready to tear the perp limb from limb. The gun went off in startled Harriet's hands at the same moment as Dibble slipped on a piece of plasterboard and fell backwards, hitting his head and knocking himself out. Gus took one look at the cop, lying on the floor in his ketchup stained shirt, and sprinted out through the hole in the wall and kept on running. "You shot him," exclaimed ...

Police Constable Winifried "Winnie" Dibble esq was having a bad day. First, when he had picked up his uniform shirt from the Sum Ting Rong Chinese Laundry, there was a penny sized hole in the front pocket. When he complained, it had escalated to a heated argument in polite English interspersed with choice Hokkien swear words. In the end the proprietor had thrown at him a loud Hawaiian shirt two sizes too big as compensation and refused to talk to him anymore. Then, at lunch, he found his favorite chip shop shuttered. Instead he had to eat at the ghastly McDonalds next door, where the pesky ketchup tube had burst open under his strong copper hands, splattering the shirt with a red streak that coincidentally, ran down from that penny sized hole. And now, to add insult to injury, someone had misplaced the Fleetwood Mac vinyl record where he had carefully damaged the grooves so that it would keep playing "Sweet little lies" over an over again for hours in the interrogation room, as a "softening process" (it wouldn't do to label it torture, now would it) for the perps he interviewed there. And the phone rang.

...rag that publishes local gossip and scandals. In the meanwhile, a stunned Gus Despicable held his hands rigidly over his head, while Annabelle sneezed uncontrollably at the cordite smoke. Harriet bent down and picked up the pistol, discarding the Uzi with the empty magazine in favor of the new weapon. "Now, return the pistol you took from the lady, if you please," demanded Harriet. His face burning bright red, Gus removed the gun by the barrel and carefully placed it on the table. "Alright now, about face and march out of here," Harriet commanded. "If you ever dare show your face in here...

...the lazily spinning polished silver object - so dainty, yet so deadly. A frown creased Gus' brow as he bent over and picked it up. "Now what do we have here?" exclaimed Gus, admiring the sleek, minute weapon of death, designed to fire a single bullet. "A wee toy for a wee woman isn't it? Well, let me show you what boys play with." He put the Derringer in his pants pocket, slid his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a nasty looking Heckler & Koch automatic pistol. With one sweep, he aimed it squarely at Harriet, who let out a squeal and melted against the wall. "Now, I think it's time you came clean, you little vixen. Or that bird over there gets it," announced Gus in a low, menacing growl.

bang, as Gus' fist slammed on to the desk. "What I want to know is why you have opened this establishment in my neighborhood, and haven't had the courtesy to even pay me a visit?" "W...what? We are supposed to..to pay you a visit?" stammered Annabelle, surprised by the turn the conversation was taking. So Gus was not on to them at all. He simply wanted protection money most likely. Gus' lecherous glance traveled up and down over Annabelle's shapely body. "Well, maybe just you then. That bird over there can mind the shop for you, can't she? Doesn't look like you have a lot of customers anyway." "Erm... well, for sure," replied Annabelle. At that moment, without prior warning, the cheap elastic of the fake Heidi Klum undies (produced in the best of Chinese sweatshops by skilled 11 year old hands, and with the waist band proudly stating "Hedi Klump"), gave way completely, and the undies, with a soft rustling of fabric, came to rest at her ankles.

..pushed open the door with his ham fists and barged in to the office, his face burning red. Annabelle gasped, recognizing immediately the face of the man she had sent her team out to hunt for. "Who is the proprietor of this establishment?" demanded Gus, in his rough voice. To her surprise, Annabelle found that voice very... sexy. She had always been partial to men with authoritative voices. Harriet let out a meek squeal and pointed at Annabelle. Gus' glaring eyes focused on her like a pair of burning search lights. Annabelle stood behind the heavy oak desk, discreetly trying to work her hand under the hem of her skirt to reach the tiny Derringer concealed in her knickers.

"Enough! This is not an award ceremony!" snapped Annabelle. "I have new tasks for both of you." "Bertram, you will go rent a nondescript car, and stake out the Nobody Inn. If... umm... Mr Bauble happens to go in or out of that place, I want you to note down the times and... umm... in whose company he is. Take photos. There's a good lad." Annabelle reached in to her purse and pulled out a small, exquisitely crafted glass perfume bottle. "As for you, Trixie, take this." Trixie was overjoyed that Annabelle had forgiven her so quickly and was even offering her a gift. "Oh, thank you Annabelle. I will use this everyday," she effused. "That's not for you to use, you little muppet!", exploded Annabelle. "There is a tracking device in the cap of that bottle. You will place it in your purse, dress innocently and walk around in the area where the purse snatchers are known to be active. When they grab your purse and run, we can track them to their hide out. That will eventually allow us to nail Gus." "Oh, and one more detail," continued Annabelle...

Sandals

I read Eternity Road by Jack McDevitt years ago, and have re-read it multiple times since. The cover of the one on my bookshelf testifies to the number of times I have read it. The story is haunting, melancholy, and yet inspiring hope. Once I had read it, whenever I used some familiar, day to day object, I always had in the back of my mind the question, "what would a future archeologist think of this?" The story takes place more than a thousand years after the catastrophic collapse of civilization (the book alludes to a plague, but does not go in to details, which are unnecessary to the story anyway). Nascent civilizations are starting to spring up from the tiny groups of survivors. From one such settlement, a group of explorers set out to find a fabled treasure - a trove of books, containing the secrets of the ancients, known as the "road makers." The story is riveting and believable. McDevitt looks at the things we use in our day to day life from the eyes of someone who has absolutely no idea what they used to do. And that is a strange viewpoint that haunts me to this day. It gave me an idea for a story, set in a similar universe - maybe I will write that story here, when I get access to the writers forum.

Unfortunately, as in many such cases, the film version left much to be desired. The book paints a more adrenaline-inducing picture of the museum than the film did. The sounds and smells described in the book cannot compete with the weak imagery presented in the movie.

Lithography

...the issue at hand here? We need to find evidence that exposes Gus' complicity in the crime waves before the Police does. I don't know about any of you, but I need to pay rent this month.' 'Very well,' conceded Annabelle. "If you must know, Cyril and I have had our differences, and in the last couple of years, we have been, as you might say, estranged.' 'Does that mean you both go off and do things with total strangers, then?' interjected Bertie, with curiosity burning in his naive voice. A loud clang sounded as Harriet dropped the tray and doubled up with laughter. 'That'll be all, Harriet. Off you go now," commanded Annabelle in a brittle voice that suggested all sorts of medieval torture if the imperative was not promptly complied with. Still shaking with laughter, Harriet bent down to collect the tray. 'Blimey!', exclaimed Harriet, pointing to the underside of the table. 'What in...

...none.' Annabelle continued in an even, controlled tone, 'Because I know for a fact that he hates changing light bulbs. He has a fear of electricity. He always calls the electrician for that. The detective in me leads me to conclude that you are lying to me' Annabelle aimed a withering glare at Trixie. 'Now come clean, wench. What did you do with my husband?' Harriet held on to the empty tray with a gleeful face, as if she was watching a Mexican soap opera. Her face visibly reddening, Trixie stammered, "I... I... We...

Sanity

I think the problem is that this sense of wonder gets bashed out of us as we get older (as in the "Logical song" by Supertramp). Maybe the reason why I like science fiction and stories by Neil Gaiman and the like, is hopefully because a vestige of that childhood wonder was left in me. I'd still like to explore the Amazonian tepuis one day, but the certainty that I won't find a lost world of dinosaurs does dampen the enthusiasm. I many ways, I envy Colombus - he lived in a world where there were still things left to be discovered.

Ah, now that is a deficit that ought to be rectified. If you'd like to start, I would recommend Relic, Still Life With Crows, or Brimstone. If you are scientifically or technically oriented, Ice Limit is a fantastic read.

That's an intriguing idea. In childhood, the world has this magical quality to it - as if anything can happen. I remember planning to lead an expedition to find the entrance to the middle Earth, or to find living dinosaurs in the Amazonian tepuis. I see that sense of wonder in my five year old son. It definitely has to affect how we perceive the world of literature. If I do find those books, I won't read them, but I will make sure my son does.

Long time ago, I read Preston and Child's Relic and got addicted. The setting of the book blended perfectly with the horror movie like aura of the story, and I have never thought about a museum in the same way since. As it was the first book that introduced Special Agent Pendergast, he wasn't as overbearing and overly caricatured as in the later books. I have read and own most of the books the duo have produced, as you may have guessed, I am not a fan of "series" books, and I have come to dislike how the need to have Pendergast in every book they write has limited the imagination of this otherwise creative duo. Such "series" books ultimately become dreary, unimaginative litanies of how some superhuman hero survived yet another overly engineered trap by an equally superhuman nemesis. Ok, the content is interesting, but you know from the moment you turn the first page, that Alouysius Pendergast, the scion of an ultra rich and ultra enigmatic family, and an FBI agent to boot, and his numerous wards and proteges will survive to carry on to another book - even if they get walled up in a Tuscan castle. Their non-Pendergast books are mind-blowing. Ice Limit is one such feast for the brain. So are the books written individually by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. Are you a fan of Preston and Child? What are your favourites?

Yes, I know what you mean about childhood books. Maybe it would be better to treasure memories than potentially ruin them by re-reading the books in my jaded, cynical adulthood.

...what information have you uncovered about Gus Despicable? The police have no clue, but that won't last long with Constable Dibble on the case. If we are to claim the reward, we must make haste. So tell me - did you uncover how Gus runs his operations?" Bertie cleared his throat. It wasn't just the cloying texture of custard creams that was blocking his throat - Trixie's hand that suddenly squeezed his thigh confused him. Instead of using the "I" as he had been planning, he blurted out "We...

Chocolate

Here is what I have read: A CASE OF CONSCIENCE James Blish A FALL OF MOONDUST Arthur C. Clarke A MAZE OF DEATH Philip K. Dick AMMONITE Nicola Griffith ARSLAN M.J. Engh A SCANNER DARKLY Philip K. Dick BABEL – 17 Samuel R. Delany BEHOLD THE MAN Michael Moorcock BLOOD MUSIC Greg Bear BRING THE JUBILEE Ward Moore CAT’S CRADLE Kurt Vonnegut CHILDHOOD’S END Arthur C. Clarke CITIES IN FLIGHT James Blish CITY Clifford D. Simak DANCERS AT THE END OF TIME Michael Moorcock DANGEROUS VISIONS Ed. by Harlan Ellison DARK BENEDICTION Walter M. Miller DHALGREN Samuel R. Delany DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC SHEEP Philip K. Dick DOOMSDAY BOOK Connie Willis DOWNWARD TO EARTH Robert Silverberg DR. BLOODMONEY Philip K. Dick DUNE Frank Herbert DYING INSIDE Robert Silverberg EARTH ABIDES George R. Stewart EMPHYRIO Jack Vance ENGINE SUMMER John Crowley EON Greg Bear FLOATING WORLDS Cecelia Holland FLOW MY TEARS, THE POLICEMAN SAID Philip K. Dick FLOWERS FOR ALGERNON Daniel Keyes FRANKENSTEIN Mary Shelley GATEWAY Frederik Pohl GRASS Sheri S. Tepper GREYBEARD Brian Aldiss HELLICONIA Brian Aldiss HELLSTROM’S HIVE Frank Herbert HYPERION Dan Simmons I AM LEGEND Richard Matheson INVERTED WORLD Christopher Priest JEM Frederik Pohl LAST AND FIRST MEN Olaf Stapledon LIFE DURING WARTIME Lucius Shepard LORD OF LIGHT Roger Zelazny MAN PLUS Frederik Pohl MARTIAN TIME-SLIP Philip K. Dick MISSION OF GRAVITY Hal Clement MOCKINGBIRD Walter Tevis MORE THAN HUMAN Theodore Sturgeon NON-STOP Brian Aldiss NOVA Samuel R. Delany NOW WAIT FOR LAST YEAR** Philip K. Dick ODD JOHN Olaf Stapledon OF MEN AND MONSTERS William Tenn PAVANE Keith Roberts RENDEZVOUS WITH RAMA Arthur C. Clarke RIDDLEY WALKER Russell Hoban RINGWORLD Larry Niven ROADSIDE PICNIC Boris Strugatsky, Arkady Strugatsky ROGUE MOON Algis Budrys R.U.R. AND WAR WITH THE NEWTS Karel Čapek SARAH CANARY Karen Joy Fowler SIRIUS Olaf Stapledon SLOW RIVER Nicola Griffith STAND ON ZANZIBAR John Brunner STAR MAKER Olaf Stapledon SYNNERS Pat Cadigan TAKE BACK PLENTY Colin Greenland TAU ZERO Poul Anderson THE AFFIRMATION Christopher Priest THE BODY SNATCHERS Jack Finney THE BOOK OF SKULLS Robert Silverberg THE CALTRAPS OF TIME David I. Masson THE CENTAURI DEVICE M. John Harrison THE CHILD GARDEN Geoff Ryman THE CITY AND THE STARS Arthur C. Clarke THE CONTINUOUS KATHERINE MORTENHOE D.G. Compton THE COMPLETE RODERICK John Sladek THE DEMOLISHED MAN Alfred Bester THE DIFFERENCE ENGINE William Gibson and Bruce Sterling THE DISPOSSESSED Ursula Le Guin THE DROWNED WORLD** J. G. Ballard THE FALL OF HYPERION Dan Simmons THE FEMALE MAN Joanna Russ THE FIFTH HEAD OF CERBERUS Gene Wolfe THE FIRST MEN IN THE MOON H.G. Wells THE FOOD OF THE GODS H.G. Wells THE FOREVER WAR Joe Haldeman THE FOUNTAINS OF PARADISE Arthur C. Clarke THE GATE TO WOMEN’S COUNTRY Sheri S. Tepper THE HITCHHIKER’S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY Douglas Adams THE INVISIBLE MAN H.G. Wells THE ISLAND OF DOCTOR MOREAU H.G. Wells THE LATHE OF HEAVEN Ursula le Guin THE MAN IN THE HIGH CASTLE Philip K. Dick THE MOON IS A HARSH MISTRESS Robert A. Heinlein THE PENULTIMATE TRUTH Philip K. Dick THE PRESTIGE Christopher Priest THE REDISCOVERY OF MAN Cordwainer Smith THE SEA AND SUMMER George Turner THE SHRINKING MAN Richard Matheson THE SIMULACRA Philip K. Dick THE SIRENS OF TITAN Kurt Vonnegut THE SPACE MERCHANTS Frederik Pohl and C.M.Kornbluth THE STARS MY DESTINATION Alfred Bester THE THREE STIGMATA OF PALMER ELDRITCH Philip K. Dick THE TIME MACHINE H. G. Wells THE TIME MACHINE/THE WAR OF THE WORLDS H. G. Wells THE WAR OF THE WORLDS H.G. Wells TIME OUT OF JOINT Philip K. Dick TIMESCAPE Greg Benford UBIK Philip K. Dick UNQUENCHABLE FIRE Rachel Pollack VALIS Philip K. Dick WHERE LATE THE SWEET BIRDS SANG Kate Wilhelm I can't stand Michael Moorcock (Bones of the Earth was okay-ish), and Philip K. Dick gets boring pretty fast (except for Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep). The books that I have started but didn't finish are not marked here. There are much better works by Gregory Benford than Timescape, though.

Thanks for posting the link. The story is deliciously dark, in true Gaiman style. I loved American Gods - the first book by Gaiman that I read. The imagery is very powerful. That said, I enjoyed his "lighter" works as well - Stardust and Good Omens (with Terry Prachett).

I read The Sword in the Stone, The Queen of Air and Darkness,The Ill-Made Knight, and The Candle in the Wind as a child. My childhood imagination of the Arthurian legend were formed by these books. It's been such a long time since I read those books last. Next time I visit my parents I'll see if those books are still on Dad's bookshelf. Thanks for bringing back the memories.

I read it, and I had the same reservations as you before I started. I was surprised that it read like the first three books of the 5-book "trilogy". It even made up for the anti-climatic "Salmon of doubt".