Review - The Lords & The New Creatures

Those that know me know that I have recently fallen for the music of The Doors. Those that stalk me know that I have recently acquired a copy of the late, great frontman Jim Morrison's poetry books, in one combined volume, The Lords and The New Creatures, for both myself and a friend. As the volume is one book, so shall this review be of the collected works of poetry published during Morrison's lifetime.

Did this live up to the standards set by the music of The Doors?
Yes, and no. No, in that it's harder to see the rhythme of the poetry, which is what makes so many of the songs by The Doors so great; a constant beat, a drive towards something, a pace that can change radically mid-song to create something wonderful, to reach a climax, empowered by electric sounds and mind-blowing lyrics. Yes, in that the words are fascinating, an adventure Morrison went on with The Doors, opening up to new thoughts, and presenting a wonderful fascination with life, death and culture, three of Morrison's biggest concerns, overall, if you let certain things fall into them.

How does the poetry compare to other works you've read?
To be fully honest, most of the poems are entirely unlike anything I've ever read. There are certain things lacking, but this comes down to the simple fact that my greatest experience with poetry is with very controlled poetry. This is freedom, absolute control of the words held by the poet, not the art-form. It's not greater or worse than anything I've ever read; it stands apart from it all, a distinct life-form of its own, unique compared to my previous experiences with poetry.

Which is, in your own opinion, the greater of the two books?
My favourite of the two was The New Creatures. It may be because there is a clearer system of verse in it, or that it focuses on a wilder side of Morrison's life, and on Pamela, rather than largely looking at cinema. That said, The Lords is still a powerful piece of poetry, and shouldn't be skipped. They're available together, so read them together, and make your own mind up.

Is this recommended?
I don't read something without recommending it, most of the time. What I'll say, though, to be fair, is that this book is probably best suited for lovers of (a) poetry and/or (b) the lyrics of The Doors (or just the band itself). It's not something I would give just anybody (and I didn't give it to just anybody - the friend I got a copy for is the very same friend who got me into the band in the first place). And I rather like my way of doing this: buy yourself a copy and buy a friend a copy, so you can discuss the poetic awesome that is Jim Morrison's work. It's better shared, like the music. Thousands of fans didn't flock together for no reason; the music of The Doors, the words of Jim Morrison, are a group experience. So yes, the volume is recommended, but recommended for sharing too.

Strange Days

All throughout Sunday and Monday, I had a period of silence; I texted whomever texted me, and with the exception of a couple of texts on Monday, that was it. I didn't talk to anyone until they talked to me. This does make for a lonely time, of course, until someone says something to you. I was fortunate that on Sunday, I got a text from the lovely Miley Cyrus, and for seven hours we kept a conversation going about friends and stuff like that. At the same time, I was reading The Thin Executioner (review). It kept me going through the day. It was actually a pretty good day, after that. I remember going to bed happy.

The next day, I wasn't so happy. Having discovered I wouldn't be seeing a friend, whom I haven't seen in about three and a half weeks and hadn't heard from in a few days, either, I got myself a bit down. I didn't text anyone, then. I stopped replying to Miley to stop myself moaning to her the entire day and getting her down. Paper Towns (review) arrived at twelve. I read that, to keep me going. I got through the entire thing that day, in between a couple of texts to see what, exactly, I might be able to arrange with the ever-distant friend. In short: nothing. He didn't reply. I sent him a long, bitchy email about it. I finished Paper Towns, texted him again.

Three things: one, sorry for being such an arse earlier. Two, I've sent you an email that I still don't really understand but I know I still want you read. Three, I read the most amazing novel ever today, and I think I understand things a whole lot better now

I didn't get a reply, and I didn't expect one. I went to bed thinking about hunting down paper towns.

I awoke at three in the morning. I was tired. Very tired. Three hours sleep. That was all I'd gotten. I was awake until six, thinking about something. Just thinking and planning. Like Margo Roth Spiegelman. I love Margo Roth Spiegelman. So I planned, like Margo, to go somewhere. I knew my itinerary, once I knew when I was having dinner; I left my house early in the morning..ish. I got a quarter past eleven train with an Eason bag in my hand, containing a not-birthday present and a brown envelope filled with the necessary explanations of crazy, and my novella.

I walked to his workplace; I had my plan, but I didn't have a car to speed things up. I hurried around the industrial estate, looking desperately for where he worked so I could hurry back to the city centre for lunch. I eventually asked a man at a taxi place - because taxi drivers know where everything is - and found the place. Closed. Yeah, they'd just moved a few days ago.

That was it, I thought. I'd come all that way for nothing. Except... "Are you looking for [insert name of company here]?" It was one of the employees. He had the van behind him. He had a pony tail and a friendly face, and he explained that they'd moved, and where they'd moved to, and asked did I know how to get there. No, I told him. I didn't say I'd gotten the train, that I couldn't drive, and that I was in a big hurry. He gave me directions. I was still a little lost. Eventually, I just asked if he could deliver the Eason bag.

And he did. He took it from me and drove off. Sorted. I walked to the train station again. There was nobody else there. No staff, no commuters. It was silent. There was no info on when the next train was coming. I was in the middle of nowhere, the only back arse of Dublin, and I had no way of getting home. No one but Miley Cyrus and Pony-Tail Man knew I was in the area.

I waited. What else could do? I just waited, and waited, and waited. Eventually the train came. I was already late for lunch. I had already deferred the question of where I was and how long I'd be. I had no idea how long I'd be, when I first got the text. The train brought me back to the city. I finally had my lunch.

Then Miley texted. Could she meet up? Of course she could! We hung out. Adventureland Day 3. We headed towards Stephen's Green. I had just said to her to text our friend who I'd tried to visit, when the TARDIS began to call out. The TARDIS is my ringtone. I know, utterly nerdy. I didn't recognise the number, but I knew who it was.

The package had been delivered. I'd asked him to call when he'd gone through everything. It was in a letter of explanation in the brown envelope. I'd written it between half four and ten to five that morning, then rewrote it much neater writing, and with a fancy pen. He called me crazy, twice, in two different ways. He could write a book if he wanted if he can manage to not repeat himself in conversation. I was impressed, and laughing. He was stuffed away under a table. Literally under a table. He had three computers, two screens, over 100 ports and, if you'll excuse my French, a shit load of cables. He had to try figure out what went where. And he had no windows. Not the comptuer programme. He literally had no windows. He couldn't see what sort of day it was outside. He wasn't missing much. It was overcast.

I bought Strange Days, the album by The Doors, and a Jim Morrison poster. I was happy. I was estatic, actually. I'd gotten a phone call, and when I got home, I discovered that I'd also gotten a reply to my really long email. A really cool reply. I won't post it here. It's more fun keeping it to myself. My train had left the station four minutes before I received the reply, so I didn't get until later. That and the phone call and the meeting up with Miley - they made my day. It. Was. Amazing.

But I was still very tired. Sure, I now had the musical awesome that is Strange Days playing, and we got pizza in for dinner, but that didn't make up for the fact that I woke at three and fell asleep shortly after six, only to wake again shortly before eight. Even as I write this, after at least eight hours sleep, I'm tired. I'd let myself worry too much beforehand. Still, it's all turned out for the best. I think... Unless he really thinks I'm crazy. But he wouldn't have called if he didn't want to be friends. S'all good in the hood.

Yeah... that was three really strange days. Today is recovery day. I'm tweeting again, blogging again, responding to comments again, leaving things on Facebook again, texting again, not calling anyone unless I need to because I'm low on credit, but that's it. I'm back in touch with the world, after lots of silence and lots more craziness.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some tea to make and drink. I reckon five-seven cups today should help...

Review - Paper Towns

I received Paper Towns yesterday, as a result of the wonderful giveaway by The Book Smugglers. Devoured it in less than eleven hours, in between a few personal problems that needed addressing, making and eating lunch and consuming a somewhat over sized chicken curry that I didn't regret later on, thankfully. Naturally I had to review it, to tell people who weren't already familiar with the author about how amazing it is.

How amazing is it?
Life-changingly so. I mean, I've never really understood myself until I read this book. I still have a few questions, but I think I finally get a lot of the stuff going through my head. I'd need to scour the book for quotes to use in my defense of me being crazy, but the book more or less does it for me. Paper towns, paper people, travel, life, death, love, hate, family, friends - I get it. That's my life. This book is my life. And you know what? I bet it's the lives of at least a dozen other people. You don't get that very often with fiction. That's how amazing it is. John. Green. Kicks. Ass.

How does it compare- WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS IS YOUR FIRST EXPERIENCE OF JOHN GREEN? FOR SHAME!
Yes, I know, it's horrible. But this is the first of John Green's books that I've read. I started reading Looking For Alaska, but I don't have a library card that definitely works, and I didn't have it with me that day I started reading it but didn't get very far, so I didn't get to take it home with me. Anyway, it was bad timing. I had exams to sit, still. But if Paper Towns is anything to go by, then the rest of John Green's books will be equally brilliant pleasures.

So, aside from being life-changing for you..?
Ah, that. Yes, the book is very funny. That's worth mentioning. I mean, I was literally laughing out loud for a few minutes, balled up on my bed, almost in tears because of one hilarious line. That's how funny it is. Even the best of comedy movies can't do that to me. Most comedians can't. And aside from being brilliantly funny, it's also a thought-invoking book, and one that really does set high standards for intellectual thought. If I thought my friends would read it, I'd make them all get a copy of this book.

Definitely recommended, then?
Haven't you been reading the review? Of course it's recommended! I wish I'd read it a few weeks ago so it could be in my staff picks at work. That's how brilliant it is and how much I recommend it to people. It will blow them all away!

Any last remarks?
I will be in search of paper towns. There will be a blog post about this at some stage in the future, when I have followed a string to its dead-end. If and when you read this book, you will understand what I mean. That is all.

Review - The Thin Executioner

This long awaited review of Darren Shan's The Thin Executioner comes a couple of days after I've finished reading it. I'll admit it took me much longer than I'd hoped to read it; it came out at the end of April, but I had exams that got in the way, and then a lot of summer distractions. Anyway, on to the review!

First impressions of the book?
Okay, at first I wasn't happy with the book. I couldn't get into it after my exams. It took a while to get back into the swing of it. That's more to do with me not being in the mood to read. Once I got going, mainly on the last day when I got through an awful lot of it, the book was a great read. The story always took the reader on a new journey. There was always something to reference back to, something to shock and disgust and repel. In short, something to horrify!

How did it compare to other books by the author?
Darren Shan out-did himself on this one, creating a stand-alone title that rivals both his series(es?). It ended in a much neater way than The Saga of Darren Shan and The Demonata. While I loved both of them, this was truly a masterpiece of collective story telling in a single tome. The character developed in a lot neater way, the world was much more full, the mythology more expansive, and there wasn't any of what had become usual of Shan as a downside. That is to say, there was no verging-on-pretentious creation story, and no meddling with time. The book was was it was; an adventure, a change in a life, and in the end the love story everyone had been hoping for. Okay, so I knew how it was going to end. But anyone who knows anything about stories or Darren Shan, or both, could figure that one out. Still, it was a nice ending.

I want to get this for my ten/eleven/twelve year old; is it suitable?
What does that even mean anymore? Okay, there's references to sex. But that's in everything now. The Simpsons makes loads of references to sex. Much more than this book. There's violence. Lots of it. But almost every movie and television show has violence. The only difference is that this is a book. But can I just say, if you're surprised there's violence, look at the title. See the third word? Yeah, those guys kill. There's violence, and it's wonderful. So, if you're okay with those two details, then yes, this book is suitable.

What about recommended?
Most definitely! If it had been out in mass paperback this would have been a staff-pick at work! But they frown on us picking books that cost too much if they're going to be available for cheaper in a few months. But I still recommend it. Especially as a summer read! It's pretty much amazing.

Did you get it signed? We know you Paul - you're obsessed with Darren Shan.
What are you, my stalker? Yes, I got it signed. I went to the signing in Dublin on April 30th, and had a nice little chat with Darren Shan himself. It began with "Oh, hello again. Still writing away?" Yeah, we keep in touch. He's pretty cool that way, that he remembers who I am every time I got to a signing now. He also wrote a pretty cool inscription on the book. Made. My. Day.

What a fun anecdote... why did you tell us that?
To show that Darren Shan's not just a great writer for his stories! He's a legend of a man, very friendly, and you're doing the world a service by making sure he has the publication deals to keep making his tours amazing for everyone. He listens to his fans. He gets to know them. You don't get that very often. You will love Darren Shan. Trust me on that one. He's very cool. And his books are pretty awesome too.

So... are you going to rate the book?
Eh... no. I never rate books. I'm not critical enough to give anything less than a four. If we go by YouTube's system of rating, though, I give this book a thumbs up. It's not to be missed.

Oh My God It's Miley Cyrus!

So, yesterday was my second day of Adventureland with Miley Cyrus. It was rather epic. I went to Offaly, where she lives; we spent a large amount of time being children, in and out of her house. Her parents were lovely; her dad (or, daddy if you go by how she refers to them) was very smart and funny, and her mum kept trying to feed me. Her brothers were shocked that I didn't like football, but oddly didn't hold it against me. Once I said I had no interest in it, they left it at that. That's a first. Really, it is. Too many people start asking, things like, "But why? Would you not just watch it?" Eh, no.

We also watched Ferris Bueller's Day Off, and decided that one of our friends is pretty much like Ferris. Naturally, I texted him to express our opinions. "You. Are. Ferris. Bueller. FACT!" I don't know whether he was more amused or confused.

Aside from having a wee adventure to Tullamore, getting Animal Cookies, White Mice, jellies and hot chocolate, we pretty much just hung out and chatted. Good times were had. We also took a few photos, and recorded the above video. Photography was mainly consisting of us wearing 3D glasses. Let's face facts - 3D glasses are a waste unless they are actually worn, so we might as well take photos with them. I won't be posting them here... because really I'm too lazy. See, it takes a while to get to Offaly, so I travelled a bit yesterday... two 40-45 minutes train journeys, two 15-20 minute LUAS journeys, one 20-25 minute bus journey and four 15-20 minute car journeys. I got home after twelve at night, having left before nine in the morning.

It. Was. Awesome!

However, it has left me quite tired. I think I'll be resting up tonight and writing tomorrow, and hoping I'll have another day of Adventureland next week. Even if it does stop me writing, it's loads of fun! And that's what this summer is all about, for me. Writing is what eats away at the boredom between Adventureland, and what lets me explore the lives of a few people. Fun fun fun!

*gasp* Cheating in Exams? Really? *sarcasm*

The Irish Times recently posted an article online about cheating during the Leaving Cert, after a student revealed on boards.ie that there had been some cheating in her Carlow school. Notes in socks and phones and laps, stuff like that. And we're supposed to be surprised by this? I mean, there are literally dozens of ways to chear during exams. Dozens. I've heard loads of ways people have cheated over the years, in big exams and in small exams, and so this student's post that people are cheating in the Leaving Cert didn't really catch me off-guard (by the way, if you have no idea what the Leaving Cert is, it's the set of exams Irish second-level students have to take to determine what third level courses they can do).

It has been pointed out by the State Examinations Commission (SEC) that they are aware that cheating happens. Last year, with both the Leaving and Juniors certs, there was a total of 89 investigations into cheating, 83 of them in the Junior Cert. The only difference this time around is that the media have been let in on what's happening. The SEC also dismissed the myth that any student caught cheating would be exempt from sitting exams for four to five years; only in extreme circumstances is this measure taken. However, they never specified the period for how long the student wouldn't be able to attend exams.

This article really annoyed me for a couple of reasons; firstly, that the student in Carlow thought that cheating in her school ought to be announced to the SEC by her - if she was aware of it happening, she should have first told her principal; secondly, that no one on boards.ie was able to clarify whether or not the myths were true; and thirdly, a remark made by a student in oppositon of the Carlow girl - the system cheats students, so students who can't remember facts and other such things should be allowed to cheat during exams so they can get into third level.

News flash - college exams require the same, if not more, attention to detail and memorising of facts as the Leaving Cert. If you don't learn to memorise things in a way that suits you, then you're only option is to cheat the entire time. And if you get caught in college, do you know what happens? You get kicked out. No SEC to back you up. If you make the mistake of cheating (or getting caught), then you have to suffer the consequences. Encouraging cheating in the Leaving Cert to get into third level is just a load of bull. It doesn't get easier when you get to college. You can't cheat and expect to get away with it like so many people do at second level.

And the shock at cheating. Oh. My. God. Would people get over themselves? This isn't a perfect little world where everyone does what I do at exams. I study. I don't study well, mind you, but I study. I don't cheat and I don't even give myself the chance. That doesn't make me better than people. I can tell you one person who did better than me in the exact same exams this year who didn't cheat, either. I don't actually know too many people who cheated. At all. My point, though, is that not everyone does things my way. Which isn't the best way, mind you. I was in a panic the entire time. I'm just saying - people shouldn't be shocked at cheating. The world isn't filled with crazy people like me. Lets face it - lots of students bring something into an exam to cheat with. But that doesn't mean they use it. I mean, they might have a note in their pocket, or something, but that's a safety net. I don't believe in them, because I'd be afraid I'd get caught not using it.

Like I said, crazy.

No, cheating isn't as shocking as the Irish Times article shows us people think it is. People really have no idea of the world if they think no one cheats. Heck, lying and cheating is what many people do to make sure they can keep living their lives. It's not bad as such. Okay, it's a bit bad. I wouldn't recommend it. But at the same time, I acknowledge it happens. People not paying taxes, or people lying about their health to get benefits, or people using a quick-fix method at work for something, or stealing someone else's work despite the copyright disclaimer at the bottom of the page. It happens. Get over it. It's technically cheating the system.

All I can say is, those students need to look down at their feet. There's a welcome mat there, right in front of the Real World.

Love is a Remarkably Destructive Bitch, Extract

Love is a remarkably destructive bitch. It comes and goes and all the time leaves heart ache for someone. Someone. Always. Hurts. That is the truth about love. It’s not music where there is none. It’s not getting that funny little feeling in your stomach when you see that certain someone. Love isn’t that first kiss under the apple tree or walking down a beach holding hands. Drunk people hold hands all the time. Children kiss under apple trees for a dare. They aren’t love, and they never will be.



Love isn’t a song on the radio that two people adore.


Love isn’t roses on Valentine’s Day. Roses are soft, silent death and you just don’t know it. Kill the bitch if that’s how you want to be. That isn’t love. That’s murder.


The point, the truth, is that love hurts too much for us to really logically wish to pursue it. And yet, humans as we are, we look for love everywhere we go. We read books on the matter, watch films about it, hear some poems about it. We do everything we can to find love, and we’re always looking in the wrong place. And it is in this truth that I present to you a case of love, that I ask you a question I’ve been wondering for some time now. What is love, but loss?

Andrew didn’t save those words; he didn’t post them online, he didn’t print them off. If he needed them, he’d write them again, though he had his doubts about that: he would never need – really need – a short essay on how love is a bitch in all its forms, and he wouldn’t remember exactly what’d written, and nothing could ever come out like that again. With a sigh of resignation, he left the computer room.

His full name was Andrew McCourt. He was a closet musician; that’s not to say he played music in his closet – he called it a wardrobe, anyway – but that he never told anyone about it. A lime green ukulele was forever hidden from his parents and their prying eyes, and he only played when he was alone. Andrew McCourt had much experience with being alone. Most people would find that evident in his unnaturally grim look on the world of love. Everyone would find it strange, if they knew how he felt about love, that he mostly played love songs.

Andrew couldn’t sing for shit, as far as he was concerned. With a few thousand songs at his disposal, he was sure he could maybe sing...three. He could sing three of the songs. He could play a dozen times more, but when it came to actually hitting any of the notes, and sounding good at the same time, Andrew McCourt was a lost cause.

He went to a small college locked away in a tiny pocket of space, away from spying eyes and judgemental pricks, in one of the greater suburban areas of Dublin, studying a sorry combination of music and religion and pretending he knew what he was doing. He didn’t have a clue about composition, and even less of one about anything they did in religion. He didn’t care for God, very much. God hadn’t done him any favours past creation, and even that was called into question.

Andrew’s parents accidentally had sex with each other, thinking they were different people. The miracle of Andrew’s conception.

He didn’t tell everyone that story. He refused to let people know that he wasn’t an accident in the same way they were – that the lovely people at the condom factory had made a few errors back in the late eighties and early nineties; he wished he didn’t know that he was a mistake of human judgement and manufacturing defaults at the same time. While they were sober. Allegedly.

What he did tell them was that he had a very good reason for getting sloshed, and that maybe he’d tell them some day. He would in his arse; Andrew knew what to tell people and what not to tell people. In his years of experience, limited though they may be at the age of eighteen, he’d discovered that the trick to faking happiness is to hide everything that might make you unhappy. It had worked so far.

He surrounded himself with the strangest bunch of people he’d ever thought possible; they all had their own problems, of course, because people are born for trouble; they all had their little idiosyncrasies that drove other people insane; they had all been bitten by the love bug at some stage in their time in the college. Not Andrew. Andrew was a miserable child when it came to love. Andrew swatted the love bug before it had a chance to hang around for too long.

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This has been the opening extract for my new WIP, Love is a Remarkably Destructive Bitch. I hope it has kept you suitably amused.