Skip to main content

Believing in progress does not mean believing that any progress has yet been made.


Snails really are the most interesting creatures. Geilston Bay, November 2010.

Two books read this week, and what a pair! I managed to complete parts two and three of the Lucifer Box trilogy. After reading The Vesuvius Club by Mark Gatiss a few weeks back, I leant of the library and score numbers two and three. # 2 is The Devil in Amber, and takes place twenty years after the Edwardian adventures of #1.

Lucifer is now middle aged, traumatised by the Great War, and under the pump from a new generation of secret agents. Of course, he remains as beautiful lithe as ever – and informs us on a regular basis – but seems a little less cocksure and a little more vulnerable than the earlier tale.

Without giving too much away, the story is a little darker as Lucifer battles a horrible gang of Fascists with a bent for Satanism. It is not quite the romp of the first, and the maudlin tone of the interwar period is well captured.

Finishing the set, we shoot forward another twenty-or-so years into a Cold War world very different from the earlier two stories. Perhaps this shift explains why Black Butterfly is the most Bond-like of all the novels.

Lucifer has now risen to the top of the ranks of the Secret Service, and is not shy off being retired. Of course, there remains one last adventure to be had. As expected, there is a sense of mortality that hangs over this one like a black cloud, but that does not stop our hero getting his end away on a regular basis. Despite the bisexual Box having at it with all sorts, this one is a played a little straighter than the previous two.

If you’re after a bit of light Christmas reading, and like your heroes a little different, you could do much worse than check these three out.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut