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Welcome to this special

Steampunk edition of my fanzine Andromeda's

Offspring. In this issue you will find some really exciting (I hope) material, including a brand new story from regular Raven Dane as well of thoughts on Steampunk ad In a letter to Locus magazine in 1987, Jeter what makes it so enjoyable remarked on the writing that himself and fellow from scribes such as Kim scribes such as James P Blaylock and Tim Lakin-Smith and K. W. Powers were experimenting with. The term

Jeter. And speaking of Mr used, which is now recognised as a in its Jeter, for those that don't own right, is Steampunk. The two books Jeter is know the story of how particularly known for is Night and Steampunk gained its Infernal Devices . These books, along with name, let me fill you in. works by Blaylock and Powers and The Difference Engine by Gibson and Stirling, have

become the canon.

LETTERS OF COMMENT

November 29, 2012

Dear Theresa:

Thank you for Andromeda's Offspring 5. On my way down to last week, I made some notes on this issue, but as always these days, my time is not my own. Now to look at the notes, and see if anything I wrote makes sense any

more.

It's great to see a picture of you! Now I know who I'm talking to. Or writing to, or something like that. Congratulations on the new book. I wouldn't mind the kind of

job you have with Urban Shadows...if there are similar publications here, I don't

know about them. I have a job in publishing right now, but I'd like a better one, and I am trying to turn my evening job into my full-time job. I hope there's plenty of support for Andromeda One. Good luck with running the convention, and who

knows how far this could go?

Some ideas for future interviews...two old friends of mine are Karen Wehrstein and Shirley Meier. They used to write novels together and with S.M. Stirling back in the 90s. Another old friend is Tanya Huff. All three of these great ladies would

make for excellent interviews. Karen and Shirley are starting to revive their writing careers.

Not many times do I see the name Doris Piserchia in fanzines. I have a lot of her books on my shelf, and she wrote a fair number of them for DAW, if I recall. A

quick look online shows that she is in her 80s, and hasn't written anything new in nearly 30 years. She is a subject that needs more research than what a Wikipedia entry can provide.

The success of Fifty Shades of Grey comes not from the quality of the writing, but from the publicity it got, and the resulting public interest in mommyporn, as it's been called. Perhaps that's just a slightly higher level of Harlequin romance book? And the parody opportunities...there must be hundreds, if not thousands of parodies out there now, which unfortunately will probably make the original Fifty Shades of Grey one of the most successful books in publishing history.

Many thanks for this issue...I am looking forward to the Steampunk issue! We took our Steampunk costumes to Loscon, lots of pictures and kind comments, and they made our day. Many thanks for this issue, and as always, I look forward to the next one, and I hope I can respond a little faster next time.

Yours, Lloyd Penney.

Thanks as always Lloyd, I'll take on your suggestions! Theresa

Hello Theresa,

I came across Andromeda's Offspring via Suzanne McLeod's blog. I

enjoyed your issue, especially because you had a short story by Ms

Mcleod in no.#5. I've been a fan of McLeod's writing for a few years,

ever since I came across an excerpt ('across the pond' I see it's called

an extract) of her novels way before they were available to us in the

United States. I'm always happy to find a short story of hers to read,

and Piece of Cake was especially fun, because I could totally imagine my granddaughter with a pair of magical fairy wings divebombing us and the dogs!

Something that grabbed my attention was the article about women SciFi writers. There was a list, and something about displays and the money they made which I didn't really understand, because in the bookstores I've been to, no matter how things are displayed, when things are purchased, the items are brought up to the cash registers, so not sure how they would register as separate sales - but then my brain no longer wants to actually WORK.

I do have something to say about regarding the low sales of women writers in the SciFi genre though. I have a hard time FINDING women authors in our SciFi sections in the bookstores I go to (Barnes & Nobel, mainly). While I love reading urban , I do wish they would focus less on the strong romance and more on story. I wonder if that's why the sales are less for women - do people expect more romance in a woman's story? I would love to read SciFi by women writers with little to no romance, and wish that I could find more to read.

I only recognized a few of the writers on the list by Helena Bowles; Lauren Beukes, Sara Creasy, Elizabeth Moon, Bujold, and Kristine Kathryn Rusch are a few of the authors from the list that I have read and enjoyed. I have copied the list down on my laptop for referencing purposes. I plan on searching out some of these writers to see if I might enjoy reading their work. I hope so, and am glad I read this article and now have some new names to explore.

Thanks for a fun 'magazine'(?) zine(?) issue. Between the short story by Suzanne McLeod, the reviews and the interesting article, I had an interesting interlude of reading.

Sincerely

Mardel Sissle (from way far away, across the pond)

Hi Mardel, many thanks for your letter. In respect of the book sales, Helena keeps tabs on her section of what actually leaves the shelves in order to measure the sales. Interesting what you say about the romance aspect, and I do wonder if that is the issue. When does become urban fantasy? I'm really pleased you'll be exploring new writers. That is all I could've hoped for.

Yours truly, Theresa

Congrats on becoming Reviews Editor for Urban Shadows. I'm something of an

Urban Fantasy fan (mostly , Jim Blaylock and that crowd) so I'll have to check it out. I've recently restarted the plan to launch my Film Journal, Klaus at Gunpoint, and we've got a couple of grants to make it possible, so now it's almost like I'm a real editor! Wow, good on ya for thinking about TAFF! We all know that the 2014 race is looking like it's going to be quite full, but I've heard of a few people already considconsidering ering 2013! I'll say this: TAFF for me wwaaaass a lifelife----changingchanging experience and one that I'll always cherish.

For some reason, the second page showed the book cover, but no text! Was it just my PDF reader, or did something go weird?

Love Laura Resnick's stuffstuff.. Got to meet her at WorldCon this year, she did the Writers Under Glass project, a group writing exercise that ended producing a helluva weird novel I really want to readread.... I would really love to read Katya's World, and I didn't know there was a new Kitty Norville novel! I love Carrie Vaughn (she's really cool, I met her right before the first Kitty novel was released, and she's kindly written for Journey Planet) and I am going tototo have to pick it up and read it. I like the new cover theme for it too! Page 11 and 12 are blank for me too, other than teh graphgraphicic on 12! Is there a monster in my machine? Is it eating pages? It would seem appropriate, a computerized monster eating pages out of a zine. There may be a story in there...

...of course, I can' t write it until I'm done with National Novel Writing Month!

Thanks!

Chris

WHAT IS

STEAMPUNK

ANYWAY?

By Adrian Middleton

Genre mutates. And the Steampunk of the In literary terms, modern Steampunk twenty-first century isn't what it was in the perhaps should be renamed twentieth. It started out as a literary affectation, 'steampulp', focusing as it does on not even a sub-genre, and the name kind of tales of adventure and romance. stuck. But with no real literary movement driving Nothing wrong with adventure and it, it sort of migrated into the world of music romance, but there seems to be a culture, and (I'm generalizing here) became a sort dividing line between this and the of fashion statement for the well-to-do goths. That desire by many to see a more socially too changed, as even the non-goths and the not- conscious foray into the realms of so-well-to-do now find it an affordable fashion, Imperialist/Victorian social and cultural and the Steampunk movement has at last history. There may be room for both, become a revolution, returning to its literary roots but in the hard-nosed literary because, lets face it, the pen is always a better marketplace the lack of distinction method of expression than the corset-and- between the two can rankle. goggles. Let's face it, the original Steampunk

stories were pure fantasy with a touch of laudanum-laced pseudo-historical

licence. To be honest, the idea of punk as a reaction against the establishment

wasn't particularly visible within those early stories, which were simply

imitating the earlier Victorian of Burroughs, Haggard, Kipling, Verne,

Wells et al. in what Locus originally referred to as the 'gonzo-historical' novel.

The Anubis Gates (1987) by Tim Powers was a time travel fantasy novel set in both the modern day and in an early 19th century where followers of the Egyptian gods are secretly at war with the British Empire. Of the original , it was Powers who drew most on outsider culture, basing may of his Victorian underworld characters on Henry Mayhew's

London Labour and the London Poor. The Digging Leviathan (1983) by James P Blaylock. Often discounted as a Steampunk novel in favour of its successor, (1984), possibly because it was set in 1964, this novel is a comic science adventure inspired in part by the works of Edgar Rice Burroughs. Homunculus, by contrast,mess the first book to throw Victorian spaceships and the undead into the mix.

Morlock Night (1979) by K W Jeter was the first of the so-called Powers/Jeter/Blaylock triumvirate novels. This story and its successor

(Infernal Devices, 1987) set the tone for most future Steampunk stories. Having been at the forefront of the movement, it made sense that Jeter should coin the phrase Steampunk, although in doing so there is no real exploration of punk as a theme within the books themselves.

Morlock Night was a sequel, of sorts, to H G Wells' , and introduced the concept of historical heroes like Merlin and King

Arthur being transported into a more contemporary world - a theme beloved of many modern urban fantasies. Similarly Infernal Devices played out the first clockwork automaton-as-antagonist storyline used in many modern Steampunk tales, and indeed the term Steampunk was coined whilst Jeter was promoting this second novel.

The Difference Engine (1990) by William Gibson and Bruce Sterling. A latecomer to the emerging genre, this book is often a honourable addition to the cornerstone books of the genre, probably because Gibson and Sterling were the founding fathers of Cyberpunk.

Unlike Powers' secret history approach, Gibson and Sterling introduce the alternate

Victorian history theme, as sort of 'what if?' approach with its consequences rooted in post- modern hindsight.

None of these classics fully explore the anti-establishment viewpoint, although their heroes are largely from the scientist-outsider mould that has become the flagship of modern

Steampunk . While the latter occasionally touches upon the anti-establishment viewpoint, it doesn't change the fact that most Steampunk continues to revisits 'scientific romance with hindsight' or else offers a glimpse of alternate histories inspired by historical possibilities. If you were to compare the style and tone of these books to a pre-Steampunk novel that defined itself as a 'scientific romance', such as (1976) by Christopher

Priest, you would be hard-pressed to find much difference between them. Indeed, the first non-literary incursions into Steampunk-before-it-was-in-vogue back this up.

Frank Chadwick's Space 1889 role-playing game caught the spirit of modern Steampunk through the expansion of the British Empire and the lead up to a Worlds-war through adventures and conflicts between liftwood ships traversing the aether between Earth, Venus and Mars. In computer games of the time similar adventures were being spun off by Lord

British of Ultima fame, with his classic Martian Dreams.

While scientific romance stories can hardly evoke a punk edge, although the naïveté of the "Imperialist civilizers of lesser nations" must surely, in modern fiction, reflect more upon the imposition of moral values than the Victorians themselves might ever have done. The heroes of scientific romance or Victorian fantasy are now, as they were at the time they were originally conceived in, firmly rooted within the Imperial middle or upper classes. It is rare to see the working classes or the poor cast in any

significant role, with the possible exception of the child urchin. But even when these appear, they are - like Oliver Twist - either the

children of the fallen gentry or, - like Pip Pirrip in Great Expectations - become the inheritors of some great fortune.

Alternate histories, by contrast, clearly should, and do, explore the consequences of the societal models they present, but that's more

about the author than it is about the genre.

Often they are merely vehicles for a new and fantastical world that couldn't possibly exist today, and the unique features of that world may be of more interest than how the little people are affected by it. Whatever Steampunk now *is* or will become, the fact remains that it is driven by two things: who the publishers *think* are their target audience, and what genre they want to fit the books into. The harsh reality is that most Steampunk isn't seen as particularly sabulous, but more like light entertainment. This means that many uncomfortable historical truths will be glossed over in favour of the adventure. Compare Verne with Dickens. The former is offering up pure escapism while the latter is consciously offering up a social commentary. Compare Wells with Haggard or Kipling. The former considers the often negative consequences of scientific discovery, while the latter tells jolly good yarns that occasionally read as un-PC because time for the reader has moved on.

It is ultimately for the author, not the genre, to decide if they should offer up a gritty, historically accurate anti-Imperialist viewpoint or to simply emulate the language and ignorance of the Victorian Age. Social commentary-with-hindsight is perhaps the biggest

'new' perspective that can be brought to these stories – Dickens after all, was a Victorian man, and as such even his social commentaries would have failed to accurately reflect women's suffrage and other experiences at the time, but that doesn't mean it is seen as something that will sell a book to the modern audience. Right now that choice , for better or for worse, sits with the publisher.

Most mainstream Steampunk is now provided through Young Adult imprints. Bearing in mind that these books are being read by 15-25 year olds, there should be plenty of scope for a realistic, almost educational view of the Victorian age. Scope yes, but would most first time YA authors be prepared to take the risk?

Another outlet for mainstream Steampunk is Paranormal Romance. Here, those daring to defy its constraints do so by trying to break out of the genre - to be treated as urban fantasists rather than romantic storytellers. They remain few and far between, and the focus on romance and supernatural creatures overshadows any challenges to the status quo.

That leaves the independents and the genre-specific publishers. Here it is the independents who are most likely to embrace the outsider viewpoint, because the genre-specific publisher will most likely produce 'more of the same' rather than take risks that challenge its audience. But with fragmenting marketplaces and the growth of the niche audience, there is a real opportunity for the author to make her mark.

Ah yes, the audience.

Steampunk as a subculture brings together a wide range of people who, while they may not support the darker aspects of Victorian morality, will happily extol its virtues. This, somewhat erroneously, is seen as ignorance, or worse, as tacit bigotry. Whether goths, Victorian re- enactors, or people who just like the clothes, the Steampunk movement is seen by publishers as wanting to view their fiction through rose-tinted goggles, while their critics consider them to be complicit in the misrepresentation of the Victorian age.

That seems odd to me, because older goths often started out as die-hard anti-establishment punks, while members of Victorian societies go to great lengths to point out how hard times were, and often lean towards the Dickensian tragedy rather than towards Vernian fantastica.

So, while it is important that authors should take more care and responsibility for the works they produce, I can only conclude that publishers should be taking more care and responsibility for finding out what, exactly, their readership wants.

TAFF: VOTE FOR THERESA

Breath of the Messenger

(A Lovecraftian Steampunk tale)

Raven Dane

London 1876

Terrified, Jonas Fairfax bolted, covering his mouth and nose with a woollen scarf which did little to keep out a foul miasma engulfing the city. It had started with a normal occurrence, the thick, seasonal fog which often rose from the Thames to mix with industrial waste, household soot and foul emissions belching from the Ephesysium Gas Works. A London Particular, the locals called it. A Pea Souper. Only Fairfax knew this one was so much more, this fog was tinged with a spreading and deadly malign effluence of occult origin. Fairfax was the only living human to know this, now his master was dead by his own hand, what kind of maniac cuts out his own heart with a kitchen knife? The servant had arrived at Vespasian’s basement in Whitechapel but minutes before, steeling himself to plead with the mage to stop his infernal experiment. It was too late, Fairfax found the old man covered in still steaming gore, lying on his back, his face contorted with terror and insanity, his right hand clutching a knife, his left gripped his heart. It was the expression on his master’s face that caused Fairfax to flee in panic, what nightmare had he seen to die so horribly by his own hand? At first Fairfax had been content to go along with what he thought harmless eccentricity. Vespasian paid well, he doubted a servant in the employ of Her Majesty was so well reimbursed. For an ex-thief with no trade, Fairfax had been content to seek out the obscure and arcane objects and potions, Vespasian demanded. Even to the extent of using his criminal skills to acquire what he could not purchase. It was all nonsense. Nothing would happen. Vespasian was senile, barely able to remember his own name. Even though Fairfax did have to accept London had changed beyond all recognition when decades before, another bumbling fool had opened a lower rung of Hell, releasing demonic vermin to plague them all. But London’s citizens had learned to live with and avoid the parasitic Breeth and scavenging Blaggers. Fairfax doubted the old fool could raise more than a mild breeze in a teacup, never mind a storm. Contacting the Great Old Ones, whoever they were would never happen. But something had happened, enough to frighten Vespasian into a terrible death at his own palsy-trembling hand, something that now filled the narrow, dark streets with a creeping, silent, choking dread. Fairfax ran from Whitechapel as if pursued by the Hounds of Hell, the miasma could be their vile breath for all he knew. At first his flight had no direction, no purpose beyond getting far away from that basement. As the polluted air forced its way into painful lungs, Fairfax slowed down, paused to rest against a dank inn wall reeking of stale urine, vomit and old, cheap beer. His mind raced in time with his frantically beating heart. Where to go? What to do? Then through his confusion, he remembered tavern talk of a man who may be able to help, give him refuge. The notorious maverick, the alchemist Cyrus Darian, a ruthless bastard but one well versed in all supernatural matters. It was said he lived with a demon prince in human form, another bonus, surely a creature of such power would be able to protect him too? ***

Vexed, Cyrus Darian tapped the wooden floor of a steam hansom with his crystal orb topped cane. Another night at the theatre ruined by the Particular. He had looked forward to the performance of a much feted Italian songbird, the lovely Allegra. Even more to the prospect of an amorous liaison with her, after the concert. His dark good looks and dangerous but alluring charisma meant he was rarely refused willing female company. But the wretched smog seeped through every opening to the theatre, filling it with a foul, stinking air, obliterating sight of the stage even with the limelights on full. As usual, it burnt people’s throats, causing nausea and difficulty breathing; more wretched souls would meet their Maker that night from the effects of the fog. And of course no singer would risk the precious gift of her voice in such circumstances. With no other choice, Darian left the theatre quickly at the first sight of the Particular, hailing a steam hansom before they became scarce and with the more than generous offer of a gold sovereign in payment, bid the driver take Darian to his Mayfair home. As the vehicle chugged and wheezed its way from Drury Lane, Darian gazed out of the window and was puzzled by the nature of the fog. He had never seen one so dense, indeed it appeared solid, such a strange dirty orange colour and the smell ….a fetid charnel house stench that made him gag with revulsion. No gas lamp could pierce the gloom, the streets normally so busy at this time of night were emptying. He doubted even the most desperate street walker needing her supply of gin would be plying her trade that night. As the journey progressed, Darian became aware of a growing unpleasant sensation, a soul-sapping depression of his spirits, a toxic combination of dread, fear and hopelessness. He forced it aside, it was not real but another effect of the still-thickening miasma. What was the nature if this occult assault and who was the perpetrator? On arrival at the steps of his Georgian townhouse, Darian threw the driver the promised sovereign and ran the short distance into his home. Even that was enough to confirm his belief there was nothing natural about the fog. It was a warning, a feeling of impending danger, that something bad was coming and the miasma was merely the beginning. Darian found himself alone, his companion Belial had left on a mission of his own earlier that night, to prowl among the secret taverns frequented by demonic half–breeds to gather any information of use in acquiring interesting artefacts. And indulge in some recreational unspeakable debauchery, for in weakened human form, High Prince of Hell, Belial had physical needs to indulge in. While he waited for the demon’s return, Darian stoked up a hearty fire in a parlour and poured himself a large measure of fine old cognac. Rich as Croesus, the alchemist, hedonist, thief, philanderer, necromancer and compulsive liar no longer kept servants. Too many lost to his experiments when they went wrong or caught in the cross fire when he was attacked by his many enemies. Lack of staff also gave Darian the freedom and secrecy to live his delightfully degenerate life to the full without the distraction of rumour and public censure. He must have dozed off in the old leather armchair by the hearth, for when he awoke, stiff and cold, it was morning and the smell of freshly brewed coffee rose from the kitchen. Darian stood up with a wince at his complaining muscles, stretched and followed the enticing aroma, finding Belial preparing breakfast for them both. The demon paused to pass a letter to Darian, the envelope soaking and filthy. ‘Found this clutched in the hand of a corpse on your doorstep. I assumed it was for you.’ Darian took the letter, puzzled. ‘And the body?’ ‘Disposed of,’ Belial replied with a slight shrug, ‘as always.’ A Fallen Angel, one of seven High Princes of Hell, on earth, Belial had taken the form of a slender youth, beautiful, with long pale gold hair and amber eyes that reflected an ageless, corrupt evil. His devotion to Darian was unswerving, an obsessive fidelity that exposed the cruelty of his cursed existence. A doomed love that could never be fulfilled without an eternity of disaster befalling them both. The alchemist studied the frantic scrawl of a terrified soul, one that knew his life was over. A plea for help that went out beyond the grave. Darian glanced up at the demon. ‘What knowledge have you of the Great Old Ones?’ Belial feigned a yawn of boredom, in truth he never tired, never needed to sleep. ‘Luckily for you humans, they keep to their own dimension. They are vast, humourless, incredibly ugly bastards with a predilection for destroying whole planets on a whim. Usually when some fool summons them, they do not like their eternal sleep disturbed.’ Darian nodded, he’d read once something similar in one of his grimoires but had dismissed it as irrelevant old legends not based in reality. How wrong he had been. ‘Well, my friend. Our unfortunate deceased visitor was trying to seek shelter from the results of his master’s meddling with these Great Old Ones. I take it that is bad news?’ Belial stood up abruptly, paced over to the window. It was seven am, but no sunlight could pierce the pall of smog engulfing London, maybe the whole country. ‘The worst news possible. If that fool had indeed made contact, then all human life on this world is at peril. Does our visitor name the Elder God involved?’ Darian returned to the note, struggling to make out a name in the desperate scrawl. ‘Yghraal?’ The demon gave a sigh, ‘Then there is hope, a slight one. Yghraal is a celestial messenger, a go between and not an actual god. He serves Pharol, a black-fanged one-eyed demon who lives in a seething realm of chaos beyond this universe.’ Darian decided coffee was not enough in the circumstances and sought out an unopened bottle of brandy in a kitchen cupboard. After generously lacing both of their cups, he sought more information, ‘So, why this Pharol? Why seek contact with something so horrendous, so destructive?’ ‘Vanity,’ Belial answered, ‘vanity and greed. This fool must have learnt another occultist did in fact successfully contact Pharol to gain arcane information to strengthen his occult abilities. A wizard called Eibon of Hyperborea. Only he was a powerful enough sorcerer to contact Pharol directly. This idiot has tried to engage an intermediary and thus doomed humanity.’ ‘And what happened to Eibon?’ The demon gave a humourless grin, ‘Nothing comes for free in this universe. But humans foolish enough to deal with us Fallen do have the hope of redemption and salvation...unfortunately! No such good fortune with these Elder bastards. The man is languishing in agonizing perpetual torment on a distance world with no possibility of or death. Ever.’ Belial continued, ‘Our biggest problem is dealing with Yghraal. He must be stopped before leaving this world, I know he is still on his way here because of the wretched miasma. It is the Breath of the Messenger, that which brings madness and death to all that breathe it in.’ ‘Splendid.’ Darian did not hide the bitterness in his voice. He’d saved England twice over the past year and not one citizen of this great empire would lift a hand to help him. His half Persian, half Irish birth made him a despised outsider, a filthy, untrustworthy foreigner. Well, they had got the untrustworthy bit right. His refusal to accept the authority of the British establishment marked him as a maverick and pariah. ‘Let someone else deal with it this time,’ he announced, ‘all those high and mighty generals and police chiefs, all the men of science with their open scorn for my alchemy and arcane learning. I’ve done more than enough.’ Darian picked up the brandy bottle and took a big swig, ‘Let’s wake up Hardwick and take his dirigible to somewhere with clean air and beautiful, willing women.’ ‘I am sorry my friend,’ Belial answered, ‘that will only buy you a week or two of freedom. Nothing will stop the spread of the Breath of the Messenger, it will engulf every country on the planet. I doubt if any human being will survive.’ Darian learnt from the demon that the current smog was unpleasant and dangerous to those with weak lungs but with Yghraal’s arrival, it would strengthen to a poison infecting the brains of all living things, turning them suicidally insane. The uncharacteristic depression he’d suffered in the steam hansom was a mere foretaste of what was to come. ‘Then we must still get to Hardwick, no doubt he has some respiratory devices I can utilise.’ The demon agreed but insisted on travelling alone to reach their companion in adventures, the aristocratic inventor and genius Sir Miles Hardwick. ‘There is nothing these tiresome beings can do to harm me but my friend, you are not immune to the Breath of the Messenger. We must hope Miles can come up with a technological solution to this disaster…your old earth magickes and weird potions will be useless.’ Glancing across to his companion, Darian looked for a glimmer of hope to pierce the spreading gloom. ‘Come on old chap, you are a High Prince of Hell, have you no influence over this Yghraal?’ Belial did not answer, had no need to. In order to fight the Messenger, the alchemist must reverse the summoning, to return him to Hell and regain his full, awesome cosmic power. The chance of Lucifer and the other princes allowing him to return to earth and save mankind was negligible at the most optimistic. It would not happen. So nothing more was said, the demon went to seek out Hardwick and Darian retreated to his library, seeking anything from ancient tomes that could aid their battle against Yghraal. Yet again it was down to him and his stalwart companions to set things right. How tiresome. The alchemist lost all sense of time as he concentrated in translating ancient Sumerian and Chinese inscriptions, all to no avail. His futile search ended at the rhythmic thud, wheeze and huff of a steam-driven dirigible arriving at the mooring point above his home. An unmistakable sound of well-tuned and perfectly engineered machinery, the Dauntless had arrived. Shaken to the core, Hardwick hastily descended to meet the alchemist within the townhouse, Belial remained to check the dirigible’s secure moorings and look out for any danger. The Mayfair square was quiet, empty but Belial could see columns of smoke rising in the distance. How he would have loved to join in the mayhem, glory in human suffering and bloodshed but his place was at Darian’s side, to protect him against this spreading chaos. ‘It’s bad, Cyrus, spreading like a nightmarish plague across the city. Fires, explosions…the screams….’ Hardwick’s hands shook, his face a grey pallor, ‘the terrible shrieks…..London has become a charnel house of the damned.’ ‘Then we do not have much time to stop this,’ Darian replied with a weary inevitability, ‘what have you brought?’ ‘Respirators, obviously. They are frightfully heavy I am afraid, but they produce their own air supply, not just filter surrounding air. I assume you have an occult-based plan …’ Darian poured three glasses of cognac with a more than generous measure, handed one to the inventor, ‘Actually no. Not a thing. I was rather hoping you had a technological solution, old chap…’ Hardwick downed his cognac in one go, ‘then your fiendish playmate is right, humanity is doomed.’

***

Materialising over London, a mountainous figure of roiling gases gathered strength, feeding off the agony rising from its victims, revelling in their pain and despair. It needed the energy of their murderous, suicidal insanity, their last dying gasps to give it enough power to cross vast universes and traverse an infinity of dimensions to seek its master Pharol. In a mindless thrall to Vespasian’s spell, one created with the spilled blood of a hundred innocents. Beneath it, London’s streets ran with hot, crimson rivulets, pooling into lakes of gore from those caught in the deadly miasma. Some killed in a blind rage, oblivious to the identity of their victims before turning their ire on themselves, fathers murdered sons, neighbours turned on neighbours, some blundered through the streets attacking anything living in their path, adding carriage horses and dogs to the growing death toll. Approaching the baleful cause of the slaughter, the crew of the Dauntless were safe from succumbing to the madness due to the cumbersome but effective respirators. From his scientific viewpoint, Hardwick studied the gaseous monstrosity through a thermo-frigian telescope, Yghraal appeared to have no substance, though clearly a sentient life form. A single red orb pulsated on a snaking pseudopod protuberance which he took to be an ocular structure. A gaping maw, surrounded by tendrils of waving cilia opened and Yghraal bellowed in its grim triumph. ‘Hang on, we are in danger,’ Hardwick managed to cry as the shock waves from the creature’s roar battered the dirigible. It was only Belial’s demonic strength and quick reactions at the helm which prevented the airship from plunging to its doom as the strength of a full hurricane blasted at the vulnerable canopy. Buffeted, the Dauntless was thrown and spun like a leaf in a gale. ‘Point her bow upwards,’ Hardwick roared above the cacophony as he applied full steam power to the airship’s engines, ‘we must get her high, above and away from this bloody turbulence.’ The dirigible fought against all attempts to regain control, it was easier for her structure to give into the power of the infernal blast, let it blow her canopy at will but after minutes of desperation, the Dauntless returned to the control of her crew. ‘That little display of ill-temper was for our benefit,’ Darian mused, ‘it knows we are attempting to tackle it head on.’ ‘And failing in spectacular fashion,’ muttered a despondent Hardwick’ wiping his brow with an oil-stained kerchief. Darian borrowed the enhanced telescope and studied their foe, ‘Actually, I think not. If it tried to repel us, then it feels threatened by us. It is vulnerable.’ He handed the instrument back to Hardwick, ‘Look within the miasma, can you see the bolts of lightning? And occasional glimpses of a white- hot plasma at the thing’s centre? There must be a heat source powering its existence.’ ‘For all its sound and fury, it is only a messenger to the Elder Gods,’ agreed Belial, ‘it may have an Achilles Heel, so to speak.’ Hardwick paced the dirigible’s gondolier, agile mind racing with this new information. From its appearance and violent discharges, the plasma looked electrical in origin, could a reverse galvaniser driven deep into its heart and earthed to water discharge the power and defeat it? ‘We need metal cable, a great deal of it. And enough courage to get as close as possible to that monstrosity.’ ‘Then I suggest we fly the Dauntless to the docklands,’ Darian suggested, I cannot think of another suitable source of what we need. The courage I cannot guarantee though.’

****

Hours later, moored above Hardwick’s workshops in a converted mews block, the inventor, aided by Darian worked hard to prepare a device. Every door and window was barred and locked, the gas lamps turned down as low as possible and a watchful Belial stood guard. Outside a medieval vision of damnation raged through every region of London. Some people survived, locked in basements and cellars, but many were dragged out onto the streets to be butchered by those crazed by Yghraal’s toxic fumes. The afflicted formed loose gangs to rampage in a deranged frenzy, when they couldn’t find victims they turned on each other. What had been doctors, clergymen, costers and housewives were ravening beasts, leaving the streets strewn with torn bodies and whole districts ablaze. The beast grew in strength as its malign miasma spread beyond central London and onwards to the suburbs and surrounding villages. The whole of England lay, helpless in its path. ‘It is rough, flawed and crude,’ announced an exhausted Hardwick, ‘but it only needs to work once.’ The device was a cigar-shaped torpedo of roughly hammered copper, rigged to a small galvanic motor. ‘There is enough fuel to propel it for twenty seconds,’ Hardwick spoke, aware the others would understand the implications, ‘which means getting very close to the monstrosity.’ ‘Twenty seconds is a long time,’ ventured Belial in a mocking drawl, ‘too long. And you are assuming the physics of your world applies to this being from another dimension.’ Hardwick had never hated the demon as much as now, he turned on him, the inventor’s normally placid nature erupting into fury, ‘Has the great Prince of Hell got another solution? No? Then I suggest your infernal highness shuts his foul mouth.’ ‘Gentlemen, please,’ an amused Darian soothed, ‘we have a vast cloud of reeking unpleasantness to defeat, can we leave the old scores on hold?’

***

Once again, the Dauntless took to the choking skies, the air so polluted by the Breath now, no breeze buffeted her canopy, she moved from steam power alone, her way barely lit by a large Galvanic Illumination beam whose blue/white beam could not pierce the gloom. The fog seemed solid now, a death shroud thrown over a lost city. The creature, confident of its victory had moved from the heart of London, seeking new concentrations of human misery. Just two people - Carrew the dirigible, a bitter, angry Hardwick facing death with the stoic courage bred into his aristocratic genes and a seemingly indifferent Darian, unbothered by the demon’s last minute defection. ‘Belial cannot help his behaviour,’ he stated, ‘he is a Fallen Angel cursed to revel in humanity’s evil towards its fellows. I bear him no ill will.’ All thoughts were put aside as they approached the Messenger, all vision now limited to Hardwick’s ingenious invention, the thermo-frigian telescope which cut through the dense toxic pall and showed Yghraal’s blazing core as a beacon fluxing through the miasma of its malign breath. The two companions shook hands, then held each other in a brief, awkward embrace, accepting this could be their last adventure together. At least in this life. Despite his slender, elegant frame, Darian was physically stronger than the inventor and he chose to handle the torpedo, while Hardwick steered the Dauntless toward the Messenger’s heart. Pulsating with power, Yghraal’s amorphous form surged slowly away from the stricken city, gathering more energy as it passed across humans poisoned by its breath. If it was aware of the approaching Dauntless, it gave no sign, its one gelatinous orb fixated on the far horizon and the teeming cities beyond. Darian started up the torpedo’s motor and lowered it and the metal cable from the airship as Hardwick steered the craft on a headlong collision course with their foe. Armed only with their respirators against the Messenger’s influence on their minds, they planned to fly close enough to swing the torpedo into the plasma core of the being. A desperate plan and their only one. As they neared, the waves of infecting insane rage and suicidal despair from the beast’s breath began to seep through the mechanism of their respirators, Darian could hear the inventor’s sobbing, a soul-deep wail of abject despondency. Too arrogant and selfish to be so easily affected, he flung the torpedo from the airship and pushed Hardwick from the controls. The inventor’s despair turned to murderous rage but pre- empting an attack, Darian floored him with a well–aimed uppercut to the jaw and concentrated on taking the Dauntless into battle. Flying virtually blind now, Darian hauled the airship left and right, avoiding the lashing arms of Yghraal’s pseudopodia, long, writhing tentacles of hate. Its glowing orb whipped round, to view its enemy up close, filling the glass screen of the Dauntless, flooding the craft with a baleful light. ‘Got your attention, now you ugly, big bag of stinking wind,’ Darian laughed as he threw the tethered end of the cable from the airship, sending the torpedo into its target. The creature flinched, unused to any opposition, giving Darian enough time to swerve away and flee from the Messenger. In his mind, he saw the snaking cable touch the earth, the plasma heart discharge its energy and Yghraal disappear in an explosion of dissipated energy. But it didn’t happen. Darian turned the vessel around and looking through the enhanced telescope saw the ravening beast untouched and unharmed. He swore in his native Farsi, time to abandon England and seek distant shores and re- assess the situation. If need be, spend the last weeks of life in a blaze of hedonistic abandon. His many–times sold and damned soul would spend long enough in Hell! But Yghraal was not finished with the impudent vermin who dared oppose it, a lightning-swift tentacle lashed out from its body, hitting the Dauntless with the impact of a vast, cracking whip. The dirigible spun in a frenzy, its canopy losing inflation from the battering forces railed against it. With the ship’s master still out cold, Darian did what he could to bring her down, a crash was inevitable, the best outcome was a survivable one. Using all his strength and quick-witted intelligence, the alchemist wrested a little power back to her failing engines and with seconds to spare to disaster, found a passage through the wide boulevards near the Palace, bouncing off the buildings lining Pall Mall before crash landing the Dauntless in Green Park. Badly bruised and concussed, Darian pulled the inventor clear of his ruined airship and sought shelter in a nearby stand of trees. Expecting the ship to explode into a fireball, the Dauntless died with a whimper and one lone curl of black smoke. Even in its last moments, the dirigible was a lady. He lay, back resting against a tree and watched the Messenger lumber towards victory against mankind through the glass of his respirator, determined to keep hold of his sanity for as long as possible. His attention was caught by a billowing column of cloud approaching from the north, it swiftly became a vivid ice-blue blizzard of cold light. As it neared, Darian could see many snow storms swirl and clash within its form, striking blinding flashes of white lightning. These illuminated the roiling maelstroms of frigid power deep within the cloud. It formed itself into the shape of a striding cyanotic man. As tall as Yghraal, the man was now solidified into the form of blue ice, who raised one fist and punched deep into the plasma heart of the cloud being. The Messenger’s cilia-fringed maw opened into a vast, ragged abyss, letting out a deafening howl of outrage and pain. The beast staggered backwards, its structure dissipating as tentacles of miasma broke away and dissolved. Fragments rained down on the streets below, splitting into myriads of worm-like creatures that sank beneath the surface in flight from their attacker. The colossal ice creature struck again, a glacial fury strengthening his blow and Yghraal finally collapsed into oblivion, all traces of the poisonous fog gone. The battle over, the victor returned to a mighty blizzard then a cloud before returning to whatever dimension he belonged to. Darian had but one thought…find Belial and thank him. He had never doubted the demon had left earlier, not to revel in the carnage but to seek help. Belial’s cursed devotion to him was too powerful to allow the alchemist to perish without a fight. Darian waited until Hardwick recovered his senses and led the dazed man back through the ruined, blazing streets, past piles of corpses and the bewildered survivors, stumbling like the living dead, wondering why their hands were covered in blood and gore. With no one attempting to kill them, they arrived safely back at Darian’s townhouse to find the demon waiting with a chilled bottle of vintage champagne and three glasses. For the alchemist was right, Belial had not left his beloved Darian to gloat over the rioting inhabitants of a doomed London. Instead he had used his demonic power to summon the only approachable Great Old Ones. B’gnu-Thun, the soul-chilling ice god, gambling that the one thing these deities hated more than humans was each other. ‘I doubted your brave plan would work, so I called up a favour,’ Belial announced holding up his champagne glass in a toast to himself. ‘Great Old One up against a mere messenger made of filthy fog? It was no contest.’ Belial continued, enjoying the look of outrage on Hardwick’s bruised face, ‘I will have to torture and annihilate some unfortunate humanoids on another world sometime in the future in return but that does sound rather splendid fun.’ Darian raised his glass towards the demon and smiled. ‘On behalf of the no doubt ungrateful, wretched people of England, I thank you. But can we get the hell out of London for a while? It is going to be an utter bore while they clear up all this mess.’ He glanced across to the inventor, patted him on the shoulder, ‘So sorry, old chap, we won’t be able to travel in the Dauntless, a brave casualty in the battle.’ Hardwick pulled himself together, he was an English gentleman, he had no intention of running away from his damaged airship or the ruins of London’s society. Unlike the louche, degenerate foreigner and his demon sidekick, Sir Miles Hardwick would use his ingenuity and hard work to rebuild the airship and help restore order to the city he loved. He told the others of his resolve. ‘Well, see you in six months or so then,’ Darian replied, turning his attention to the demon, ‘so, where shall we go? You’ve made it impossible to go to Rome, Istanbul and Vienna, my short-tempered demonic friend. How about St Petersburg? Or Seville…I have the desire for the delightful company of a dark-eyed gypsy temptress- or two…’ Belial gave his smile of eternally corrupted innocence, ‘Make that three and you have a deal, Cyrus.’

***

Rain water pooling on the damp cobbles revived the scattered, wriggling fragments of the Messenger, they squirmed, gelid and stinking of corruption, seeking each other in the darkness. As they reached each other they melded, becoming a pulsating wide ribbon of ichor and squalid flesh until strong enough to burrow, deep beneath the stone and concrete, deep beneath the claggy London clay to seek a sanctuary underneath the city. Nothing could truly defeat Yghraal, not even time itself.

The End

THE CONVENTION: ANDROMEDA ONE

SAT 21 SEPT 2013

09:30 --- 17:00

Male GoH Paul Cornell

Female GoH To be confirmed

Location: TBC West Midlands

WHAT STEAMPUNK MEANS

TO ME - SOME VIEWS

I asked Mr Jeter why he loves Steampunk. Here's what he had to say to you:

The main reason I love Steampunk is that a whole bunch of seemingly rational people act as if I did something wonderful, merely by coming up with the label that got stuck on the box that other writers filled up later on with wonderful, exciting, fun-to-read books. Really, folks, it was nothing – and I’m pretty sure that all of those great books, and the whole genre of Victorian technological fantasy, or however you want to define it, would’ve come along anyway, with or without the “Steampunk” label being affixed to them. Any credit goes to those other writers, not to me.

In fact, it’s somewhat intimidating how much has been done with this wild genre. Last night, I wrote an afterword to my friend ’s new novel THE AYLESFORD

SKULL, which should be coming out next January, and which I’m informed is Jim’s first Steampunk novel in twenty years. When I read the manuscript, I was relieved to see that an old dog can still keep up with the young steam-pups. It gives me hope that FIENDISH SCHEMES, the sequel to my long-ago INFERNAL DEVICES, will be able to make it around the track as well, when it comes out from Tor next year. But in the meantime, carry on, all you crazy Steampunks. Best, K. W. DUSTPUNK by Kim Lakin -Smith

“We live with the dust, eat it, sleep with it, watch it strip us of possessions and the hope of possessions. It is becoming Real."

Avis D. Carlson: The New Republic magazine, 1935 The dust storm is one of Nature’s deadliest, rising up from the wastes to suffocate the landscape. But alongside the devastation, there is something captivating about dust’s dark beauty, from the apocalyptic streak of grey at the horizon to the quiet drift of motes in the atmosphere.

Despite its natural origins, dust has a creepy, alienesque quality which appeals to me as a reader and a writer. The dustbowl is the perfect setting for offbeat, character-driven narratives. Dust speaks of poverty, barrenness, vigilantism, lone gunmanship, makeshift mechanics, and the endless search for hydration aka salvation. In literary terms, dustpunk is a grittier, desert-based alternative to Steampunk. The term is sometimes applied to stories set in 1880s America, specifically the Wild West. For me though the subgenre borrows from 1930s American dustbowl narratives. The landscape is bleak, the people forced to colour it with travelling shows, miracle elixirs, sit-up-and-beg trucks, tumbledown farmsteads and religion.

Think Carnivale, The Wizard of Oz’s pre-twister Kansas, and John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of

Wrath, but with a generous dose of the science fictionally weird and mechanically corroded.

In many ways, dustpunk is less akin to steampunk than the dystopian ecopunk of Mad Max. Fuel is a scarcity fought for and fought over. Alternatively, old tech mechanics are adapted to suit new fuels derived from minerals or self-sustaining plant life. Either way, dustpunk is not a genre suited to gleaming brass, well-greased pistons and an elegant turn of the ankle; this is a violent wasteland of make-do and subsistence. Which is not to suggest these are stories without hope or wonderment; only that the dust narrative is a rawer breed of ‘punk’. Inside its own barb-wire boundaries, dustpunk varies wildly in tone. The Book of Eli is an exquisitely dark narrative, the focus being on an epic quest through an often deserted, sometimes violent, setting. In contrast, Tank Girl is a gutsy, girl-with-gun riot laced with humour and the downright peculiar. Solipsist Films have recently brought the rights to a vampire story set in the dustbowl of 1930s America - the as-yet-unpublished graphic novel, In The Dust, written by George

Mahaffey. My own stories range from the dustbowl mining planet of Cyber Circus to the desiccated coral bed of Deluge. Both are themed around scarcity, corruption and geological wilderness.

Steampunk is often accused of superficiality, in particular of aesthetics taking priority over substance. But this is where it is important to emphasise the ‘punk’ aspect of these alternative histories/other worlds. Dustpunk’s edginess is quite literally grounded in its sore earth. Stories should be a darn good yarn, but they should also make readers think and feel. Just like the dust of Avis D. Carlson’s 1930s America, they should become Real.

First published http://blackwellscxr.blogspot.co.uk/2011/11/kim-lakin-smith-on-dustpunk.html

Zombies at Tiffany’s

Author: Sam Stone

BOOK Publisher: Telos Publishing Ltd Publisher: REVIEWS PPPagePage count/Size: 120pp

th Release date: 30 September 2012

Reviewer: Theresa Derwin

This Steampunk zombie novella starts with the journal

of a soldier in the Union Army during the American Civil War in 1862. In the midst of the battlefield is

some sort of unidentifiable outbreak that creates talking zombies.

We then switch the war time civilization in New York and women are the main breadwinners whilst the men

are at war. To feed her family whilst her brother Henry is away, Kat Lightfoot (a strong female role model)

takes a job at Tiffany’s jewellery store.

There she meets a host of interesting people, including Martin who as well as designing jewellery creates weaponry using diamond off cuts and regular guns, which will no doubt

come in handy later.

Kat also meets neighbour George Pepper, a reporter sent home from the war as mentally unstable after he reports the zombie attacks on the warfront to his supervisors. Interspersed with letters from Henry and George’s initial war report, we are shown the tr ue horrors of the war exaggerated by the zombie activity, as the Union soldiers are compared to the zombies; tired and shambling creatures trudging through the land. It is clear that as well as delivering an adventure, Stone wants us to see the genuine horror of war.

As the New York action progresses, dead are disappearing from morgues and bodies are being found ravaged in Central Park. Of course it all comes to a head as the staff and customers at Tiffany’s are ambushed and barricade themselves in.

Each ch apter starts with a relevant sketch, which adds to the old world feel of the novella. There is a great deal of wry humour in the piece and the actions of the boss, Levy, also raise a guffaw, though it would be spoilerish of me to tell you when!

There are s ome lovely gruesome bits in the novella, the talking zombies are an original slant on the zombie genre, and the Victorian American world is well constructed. A very entertaining romp indeed.

Cyrus Darian and the Ghastly Horde

Author: Raven Dane

PublisherPublisher:: Prosochi

Page count/Size: 326pp

Release date: 29 th Nov 2012

Reviewer: Theresa Derwin

In the first novel, Cyrus Darian and the Technomonicron we meet young Darian, who at age twenty three, and orphaned flees his homeland of Persia heading for the delig hts of

London where the supernatural is second nature. Darian is an exotic blend of Irish from his Mom and Persian from his Dad and is fluent in Farsi.

In this eagerly awaited sequel to the Victorian Steampunk Society Best Novel of 2011 our favourite anti-hero is back! And this time he's acquired an army of adoring followers from

the netherworld. Share his adventures as he struggles to extricate himself using Steampunk technology and a tiny dose of the occult.

Darian is many things; alchemist, amateur da bbler in the occult, collector of antiquities,

necromancer, sorcerer and murderer. As I said in my review of the first book, Darian is a fully fledged living breathing reason to read this book. And the beauty is that The Ghastly

Horde , though following on from the shocking end in the first novel, can be read independently of it.

Darian's side-kick Belial is also an alluring creature, literally a handsome devil! The friendship between Belial and Darian makes for intriguing and very sensual reading. The

dyna mic between them is fantastic. Yet Darian can't accept that someone might love or trust him and has a constant barrier up against receiving such affection. Now in danger of

being assassinated (he isn't exactly a popular boy!) Darian must decide if he will trust his usual entourage.

Gripping, exciting, dangerous and thrilling, The Ghastly Horde , starts with a bang and doesn't let up. I want more!

The Bookman

Author: Lavie Tidhar

Publisher: Angry Robot

Page count: 412pp (includes sequel extract)

Release Date: 9th Jun 2011

Reviewer: Theresa Derwin

PS: The collected Bookman Histories came out 3rd

JanJanJan 2013

Steampunk is a strange kettle of fish and readers either love it or hate it. I happen to love its’ insanity, but with the caveat that I only like good Steampunk. By its very nature, the genre challenges knowledge, preconceptions and history itself. If that’s not your cup of tea, move away now. If however, you relish adventure, fantastical events and the mingling of historical fact and fiction with all s orts of technology twisted into a barmy dose of perfect pulp, climb on board this steam train!

If, like me, you want the best of Steampunk, then you simply have to read Lavie Tidhar. The Bookman , Tidhar’s exemplar Steampunk novel features young hero Orph an. As the novel commences in an alternate Victoria’s England where the Queen is in fact a Lizard, young Orphan is due to marry his beloved Lucy when she is murdered in a terrorist attack on the new Martian probe due to take off. This is quite a feat cons idering Mars was only theorised about by scientists such as Percival Lowell at this stage in history.

As you might gather so far, this is no ordinary England. The London of The Bookman is full of glorious sights, sounds and smells. It has two castes of L izard, the ‘royal’ lizards and the regular

Joes, Automatans play chess and successfully imitate humans, poetry is a way of life, The

‘Bookman’ is a cunning terrorist and all must ‘beware the books’. All manner of historical figures from Isabella Beeton to Gilbert & Sullivan and Irene Adler take part in Orphan’s adventures to save his beloved and bring her back to life.

Tidhar’s London is a sumptuous feast of gas lamps, airships, fog, pirates, lizards, murky pubs and whales that sail the Thames. As Orphan starts his quest, it is not just his Lucy he finds, but a hint towards his own hidden identity and that of the mysterious ‘Bookman’. Played like a pawn in a chess game, ( a theme that runs through the novel ), Orphan is thrust into manhood & heroism in a ma nic world of colour and life. Most impressive in this novel is Tidhar’s authenticity in his world building. He is obviously a scholar of history and/or literature, his various literary excerpts which head each chapter, appropriate, enjoyable and also ident ifiable. There is also a slight mention of

‘giant squids in space’ in the text, a reference most SF fans may just recognise!

All in all, The Bookman is a tremendous achievement and a perfect example of Steampunk. Read it and I guarantee some serious satisfaction!

If you want to know more about Angry Robot’s latest projects take a look at their website Angry

Robot Books . To find out about Lavie Tidhar, follow him @lavietidhar, where he remains active.

Morlock Night

Author: K W Jeter

Publisher: Angry Robot Publisher:

Release date: 7th April 2011 (sort of!)

Page count: 301pp (includes Introduction & Afterword)

Reviewer: Theresa Derwin From the writer who coined the phrase ‘Steampunk’ comes; Morlock Night . Ori ginally published in 1979, this 2011 reprint by Angry Robot comes with a glorious front cover, an Introduction by fellow Steampunk author Tim Powers and an after word by academic & Steampunk/SF writer

Adam Roberts. And that’s just for starters. What you have here is the seminal Steampunk text by the Godfather of Steampunk itself.

A sequel to H. G. Well’s The Time Machine this novel starts on the evening of The Traveller’s narrative to his friends as he tells them of his adventures with the Morlock and his E loi love

Weena. Following on, rather loosely, from the Wellsian classic, Morlock Night starts as Mr. Edwin Hocker leaves the Traveller’s house on the same evening and is accosted by a mysterious stranger known as Dr. Ambrose who transports Hocker to an al ternative 1892 over run by the , a barren, rubble strewn post apocalyptic ‘present’ where he meets the far too modern female Tafe, who saves his life.

In the blink of an eye Hocker is transported back to his contemporary present, a Morlock-less pre sent, where he is informed by Dr Ambrose that he and modern woman Tafe must join forces to prevent the Morlocks, currently hidden in the London sewers from conquering London, then the world. Then begins the adventure, when Hocker and Tafe must help Ambrose rescue a reincarnated King Arthur from abduction and hunt down three missing copies of the sword

Excalibur. And that’s within the first few chapters! Still with me? Good!

Insane it might be, but that is what makes Morlock Night so bloody good. Combining a ll of the wonderful elements found in Steampunk; historical characters and settings, infernal devices such as submarines and rolling adventure, this novel is indeed a stunning example of Steampunk and a veritable visual feast.

The characters and settin gs literally leap off the page and the darkened, rotten sewers that Jeter shows us at the heart of London are murky yet glorious. And this is no mere copy of Well’s original. As all good creations should, the Morlocks have evolved. We encounter a sub-spec ies of

Morlocks who can talk, wear shades to hide from the light and fight wars with military prowess, as well as the traditional Morlocks seen in Well’s novel; guttural and Neanderthal.

Jeter has created a fantastic vision, and whilst not perfect, must be read by all fans of Steampunk or decent SF Literature for that matter. Simply sublime.

If you want to know more about Angry Robot’s latest projects take a look at their website. To find out about K W Jeter, all you need do is Google.

Soulless: Book 1 ooff Parasol Protectorate

Author: Gail Carriger

Publisher: Orbit

Release date: 2nd Sept 2010

Page count: 373pp (includes excerpt from Book 2)

Reviewer: Theresa Derwin

There is naught like treacle tart and a cup of tea to keep a soulless spinster of 26 years happy. Unfortunately for Miss Alexia Tarabotti, her tea and tart are rudely interrupted by a rove

(hiveless) vampire with no social graces or etiquette who tries to attack her at a ball and ends up on the painful end of a wooden hair pin.

Even more unfortunately, Queen Victoria sends gruff yet handsome werewolf Lord Maccon to investigate the death of the vampire. It appears that there have been a number of disappearances amongst rove vampires & werewolves too. Despite her obstinate protestations, Lord Maccon refuses to let Miss Tarabotti become involved in the investigations. As subtle as a sledgehammer, the spinster nevertheless believes she is the woman for the job.

Blending a splash of Steampunk, historical and a hint of romance between Maccon &

Tarabotti, Soulless (Parasol Protectorate) is like a 19 th Century Torchwood with Maccon as a straight Captain Jack. The novel had me laughing and smiling throughout. It is a light easy read that is researched well for the period, though Miss Tarabotti occasionally comes across as more 1920s than 19 th Century. However, this minor quibble aside, she is a strong entertaining female lead who refuses to accept the position that polite society dictates. The humour is spot on and the romance blend is just right, avoiding sickly sentiments and feeling real throughout without an overkill of sex so common nowadays.

All in all I thoroughly recommend this novel to readers wanting to find something with plenty of comedy and a supernatural edge. Bloody good fun.

If you want to know more about Orbit’s latest projects take a look at their website.If you like the look of this book, check it out at Soulless (Parasol Protectorate) Boneshaker

Author: Cherie Priest

Publisher: Tor

Page count/Size: 416pp Release date: 2009

Reviewer: Theresa Derwin

Brimming with historical integrity (though Priest does admit to playing around with dates),

Boneshaker is a Steampunk novel set in following a in the Klondikes.

Inventor Leviticus Blue is commissioned to create a new invention, the Boneshaker, a massive drill to help get to the gold buried deep within the ice. On its first use it all goes horribly wrong as the drill breaks through the ground releasing a gas, the Blight, which permeates Seattle turning its citizens into the living dead. The city of Seattle is swiftly walled up along with its dead.

Fifteen years later, Blue’s widow Briar Wilkes lives in poverty with her son Zeke on the Outskirts. Taking it upon himself to find out more about his father, Zeke runs away into the walled up city and Briar soon follows him to get him home safe.

The Blight district is filled with a myriad of interesting characters including giant Swakhammer, one armed Lucy O’gunning and the strange and powerful Dr Minneracht, who some believe to be Levi Blue. The walled city is also filled with a number of rotters (zombies).

Priest is an engaging and talented writer. Her characters are fully fledged, Briar is a strong and forceful woman and the action is plentiful. Like most modern Steampunk, this is a historical action adventure that keeps the pages turning. Well worth a look.

The Iron Wyrm Affair

Author: Lillith Saintcrow

Publisher: Orbit

Page councount/Size:t/Size: 336pp

Release date: 2nd Aug 2012

Reviewer: Theresa Derwin

In the town of Londinium, Emma Bannon is sorceress working for Queen Victrix and Archibald

Clare is the only unregistered mentath left alive in the city. He is unregistered because of a murder he was previously involved in.

Bannon has been charged by the Queen to find out who is killing the mentaths and why, so she seeks out Clare to help with her investigation. Clare is quite excited by the prospect of a diversion so welcomes Bannon's arrival. Helping with this case could put Clare back on the register.

Bannon as Prime Sorceress is supported by Mikal, her Indian 'Shield' who is tasked to protect her.

There is a definite romantic link between Mikal and Bannon, which adds an extra dimension to the novel, particularly given his multicultural background.

As well as the usual Steampunk tropes, we have giant mechanical spiders, clockwork horses and magic. We also see alternate appendages such as lobster claws and tentacles. We also have a very Dickensian portrayal of London/Londinium with yellow fog and Flashboys reminiscent of

Fagin's boys.

Emma Bannon is talented, intelligent, powerful, strong willed, sexually aware, independent and has a striking temper. In fact, as a character and an example of a female role in Steampunk fiction, she is a great role model. As Saintcrow puts, 'she did not mind the screaming and blood as a proper woman should.'

In short, a splendid addition to the Steampunk genre with very likeable characters.

The Alchemy of Stone Author: Ekaterina Sedia

Publisher: Prime Books

Page councount/Size:t/Size: 304pp

Release date: 10th Nov 2009

Reviewer: Theresa Derwin

Boasting poetic language from the outset, The Alchemy of Stone is about a mechanical/clockwork girl, called Mattia, created by Mechanic Loharri, who is now emancipated and lives in her own apartments working as an Alchemist. With a porcelain face and clockwork pistons attaching her face to her head, Mattie is always seen as 'other' or something less, and is often referred to by derogatory names such as 'clunker'. However, for the Gargoyles who overlook and protect the city, she is special, as she may hold the secret to freeing them and ensuring they can survive as a species. We also meet the Soul-Smoker, Ilmarekh, who literally smokes in the souls of people about to die. Mattie is also hired on a retainer by Iolanda, a powerful woman who seems to know Mattie's ex master Loharri.

It is with the characterisation of Loharri and others, as seen by Mattie, that we gain a true insight into her society. In particular, although Mattie does not see it as a major incursion of her rights to begin with, Loharri holds the key to wind her up and will ot let her own her own key. Similarly, before her emancipation, Loharri would remove

Mattie's eyes and leave her bumbling about and blind to teach her a lesson. Loharri still wants to own Mattie despite her emancipation and does everything he can to remain in a superior position to her. But Mattie begins to resent this and soon learns how important her freedom is to her. When Mattie sees mindless automatons, she feels a deep sense of wrong doing that they could be made that way. And when Loharri opens up her chest to repair her heart, for all to seem she feels violated.

Mattie is the perfect fictionalisation of 'other' and through her moving tale, we begin to understand the plight of the oppressed. Simply brilliant. Mammoth Book of Steampunk Author: (Ed) Sean Wallace

Publisher: Robinson

Page count/Size: 512pp

Release date: 5th April 2012

Reviewer: Theresa Derwin

With an introduction by Ekaterina Sedia, which talks about Steampunk in culture and giving a voice to those who were oppressed, the Mammoth Book of Steampunk is not your usual foray into this genre. Featuring a plethora of good solid stories by a number of talented writers, many recognised in the genre, this collection is a must have for Steampunk fans.

This anthology challenges the Steampunk tropes, also utilising them to powerful effect, to create new and exciting premises. There are so many stories I could mention here, and as with all anthologies, a number of stories that fall short, so I shall be picky and tell you about these few! In ‘The Steam Dancer (1896) by Caitlin R Kiernan, the female protagonist is found with her leg consumed by gangrene. Her limbs are therefore replaced by mechanical parts and she becomes a dancer at a local inn. The story highlights the degradation of the period, which is rife whereas the dance makes her feel whole and alive.

‘The Zeppelin Conductor’s Society Annual Gentleman’s Ball’ by Genevieve Valentine is a strange tale, which uses structure and different narrative forms to wonderful effect in order to make the reader aware of the realities of Victorian life.

‘The Clockwork Fairies’ by Cat Rambo is a fun take, which is darkly ironic and features heroine

Desiree, a mulatto scientist with a rather deluded fiancé who believes that “clever machines were simply a way to channel her maternal instinct”. This story deals with the truth of race issues during the period, as does ‘The Effluent Engine’ by N K Jemisin, set in New Orleans featuring a black female spy and scientist. This one, whilst sharing its political agenda also discusses race issues whilst delivering an adventure that is great fun, passionate and intelligent.

With stories by Aliette de Bodard and Lavie Tidhar, we also have regular genre contributors who also deliver a new spin on the genre.

The thing that makes this collection essential, is that it focuses on telling the story of the realities of Victorian life throughout the globe. As Sedia pits it, it gives a voice to the oppressed. If you’re looking for harmless, easy going Steampunk that does not challenge you, go elsewhere. If you want to be challenged and you want to think of these stories long after the collection is finished, then this is the book for you!

Corsets and Clockwork (Ed) Trisha Telep

Publisher: Robinson PagesPages: : 448pp

Release Date: 26th May 2011 Reviewer: Linda Monk

This was a great short story collection - and that's speaking as someone w ho doesn't like

short stories! These thirteen steampunk romances kept me interested and wanting more.

Although styled as romances - for the majority of the collection, there were also

entwining themes of war, rebellion and wining against adversity.

The stories that really worked for me were: 'Wild Magic' by Ann Aguirre, 'Code of Blood'

by Dru Pagliassotti and 'Under Amber Skies' by Maria V. Snyder. I thoroughly enjoyed the mix of magic and clockwork of the first two, while 'Under Amber Skies' focussed

wholly on the machines. The action was nicely paced, with well thought out plots, and the stories were succinctly told. Excellent character development too, especially in the

latter title. I enjoyed too 'Clockwork Corset' by Adrienne Kress, where machines were being used to

win a war, and to keep love alive. (I'm guessing this is where the title to this short story collection came from.). 'Tick, Tick, Boom' by Kiersten White was great fun, with it's

rebellious lead finding love via clockwork watch bombs. As was 'The Cannibal Fiend of Rotherhithe'. A rather bizarre mix of folklore, Northerners and righteous murders.

Coming around to my least favourites, I feel like I should read them again to make sure I really didn't like them. I liked 'Deadwood' more after a second reading but 'The Vast Machinery of Dreams' by Caitlin Kittredge - really wasn't for me. The echoes of Cthulhu were interesting but the constant rewriting of what actually happens in the story (which confusingly is the story) was just too much for me.

'Corsets & Clockwork' acknowledged, with some sly winks and head slaps, allusions to well known films, books, and social issues of today and the past. Whether it be 'Deadwood' with it's new slant on , or Dia Reeves' 'Chickie Hill's Badass

Ride' and the Klan, theses stories were both fun and insightful at the same time. You could do some serious thinking with this collection.

The Gaslight Dogs

AuthorAuthor:: Karen Lowachee

Publisher: Orbit

PagesPages:: 359pp

Release Date: 1st April 2010

ReReRevRe vvviewerieweriewer:: Andy Angel

This is a story of colonisation and the clash of cultures marketed as steampunk (although I didn't feel there were enough steampunk elements to deserve that).

Sjennonirk (Sjenn) is a spiritwalker of the Aniw, an Innuit-like nomadic people of the North. She

has the ability to call forth a practically indestructable dog spirit when needed.

>Sjenn is taken prisoner by the more industrialised Ciracusan army from the South who are

moving into the lands and bringing guns. Sjenn is taken South to Ciracusa and will only be allowed to return to her people if she can teach Jarrett, the son of General Fawle to use his

summoning magic.

I must say I did find parts of the book to be a bit heavy going but it did pick up a lot in the last

third. A good enough read but not what I would class as a page turner. The ending hints that there is more story to be told in this world (I expect it will be a trilogy) and maybe, now the scene has been set maybe the next book will pick up a bit more speed.

I feel this book will probably be more of a hit with the North American and Canadian markets, as an English reader I didn't really relate to the cultural side of the story. I feel I must also add that I really liked the cover a rt of this boo k FURTHER BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS

It isn't always possible to read every book you want to, and certainly, with this issue of AO, I had trouble getting them all in, so below is a list of books I'd like to recommend based on hearsay and reviews. Some of these will be reviewed in my next issue due out for Eastercon. Enjoy.

Etiquette and Espionage Gail Carriger

God Save the Queen Kate Locke

The Queen is Dead Kate Locke

The Best of All Possible Worlds Karen Lord

The Venus Complex Barbie Wilde The Infernal Devices One Cassandra Clarke

The Girl in the Steel Corset Kady Cross The Diary of a Witchcraft Shop Liz Williams

Devils Bargain Rachel Caine Pantomime Laura Lam

Between Two Thorns Emma Newman Shifting Price of Prey Suzanne McLeod

Steampunk Holmes P C Martin Defiant Peaks Juliet McKenna

Merchant of Dreams Anne Lyle Among Others Jo Walton

Cyber Circus Kim Lakin-Smith Dangerous Gifts Gaie Sebold

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Theresa Derwin