Strange Men In Pinstripe Suits by Cate Gardner

Figured it was long overdue for me to talk about something other than myself again, so here goes:

Point of interest- I've been familiar with the ever-reigning Cate's (TM) work for a good thirteen years now, and have not only spoken to her a couple of times on the phone but actually got to meet her recently. Back in the late '90s both Cate and her fiction had a bit of a Gothy thing going on, but in 2010 that's a thing of the past. These days the scariest thing about Cate Gardner is that she doesn't look scary, or strange. She just looks... nice. And- dare I say it?- normal. You could pass her in a crowd and never guess who just walked by.

Thankfully, though, Cate is not normal. I say 'thankfully' because... well, have you seen what counts as 'normal' behaviour these days? Watching X-Factor? Regarding Simon Cowell as a personage of importance, rather than an emissary of the Antichrist? Giving a toss what Cheryl Cole thinks about... er... anything?

Nope, Cate's no more normal than I am, and thank goodness for that. Quite understandably, she spends as little time as possible in a world where that kind of behaviour is considered acceptable or even (god help us) mandatory. Wherever possible, she resides in Cate-land. Now, I have no more idea than you do where exactly Cate-land is, but I can hazard a guess at what it's like. It's a world where robots are lovesick (or wage war with fairies in a greenhouse.) It's a world where you have (and may well need) zombie decapitation insurance. A world where serial killers relax on the bed of the local canal between victims, and breakfast on a bucket of crabs.

It's also a world, funnily enough, with rather a lot of strange men. In pinstripe suits.

But you probably guessed that.

How can I describe Cate Gardner's work? Well, the short answer is that I can't. She isn't really quite like anyone else. Her stories often have the feel of strange, dark little fairy-tales. Perhaps there's a little touch of Angela Carter there, then? Hm... not exactly. There's a quirky, inky-dark humour that darts through her tales that isn't quite like anything Carter ever did- I defy any reader to finish The Sulphurous Clouds of Lucifer Matches, for example, without a ripe, rich chuckle- and a deceptive easygoing lightness of touch that recalls Rob Shearman (which I can assure you is high praise indeed as far as I'm concerned.)

But quirky, humourous, even whimsical though the stories can be, they're not all light. The endings of Parasol Dance With The Chalkstripe Man and Other Side Of Nowhere are anything but twee; they're fiercely bleak. Burying Sam, a clever and typically Cate-ish- by which I mean idiosyncratic and not quite like anyone else- take on the zombie theme, grows more poignant with each reading. And it's only a page and a half long. But then again, the opening story, Dandelion Fluff, isn't even half a page in length, and yet it's another piece that packs a sting; one, again, that deepens with successive encounters.

Now there's one of the notable characteristics of Cate's fiction; brevity. The longest of the 24 stories in this book is about 14 pages long. There are others of 10, 11, 12 pages, but most are far shorter. Black Heart Balloon is 3 pages; Opheliac a mere 4. Both are little wonders of dark wit and bizarre invention that pull you through the looking glass into a darker world than anything Lewis Carroll envisaged.

Another defining feature is a child's-eye view of the world, but one that never escapes into naivety or refuses to grow up. A quality, perhaps, of innocence. The protagonists of The Graveyard Of Dead Vehicles and The Sulphurous Clouds Of Lucifer Matches (did I mention she's great with titles too?) negotiate hostile worlds with difficulty, seeking ways to emerge with their integrity intact. In the first, the protagonist needs to recapture a childlike belief in magic and reject the nullifying logic of a nightmarishly prosaic world; in the second, the protagonist is a child who uses guile and wit to win through, in the best traditions of fairy stories everywhere.

That quality of innocence is fundamental to Cate's work. If there's an overriding theme to Strange Men In Pinstripe Suits then it's the struggle to preserve it in a grim, inimical world. It's a struggle to do so; it would be so easy to let that quality be extinguished for the sake of an easy ride, a quiet life. But do so, and you're lost forever.

Perhaps these stories come, simply, from a fundamentally gentle soul, dramatising its own struggle to preserve itself. Perhaps they're intended as survival guides or the rest of us. Or perhaps they're just a collection of- literally- wonderful short stories that are like nothing else you're likely to have read this year. Whatever the truth of the matter, we have Cate Gardner and Aaron Polson of (aptly) Strange Publications to thank for giving these funny, touching and magical tales what they deserve- a home more permanent and enduring than the various magazines and websites they have graced.

For, as Cate Gardner knows so well, some things are more than worth the struggle to preserve.

In case you hadn't got the message already, I loved this book. Get yourself a copy. In fact, with Christmas coming up, it might be worth ordering a few.

Back From The 'Pool...

Ventured forth to the city of Liverpool today, which was great fun. As a native Manc, of course, I'm supposed to disparage our coastal neighbour (although we're guaranteed to close ranks against sneery southerners making disparaging comments- like the dicks who wrote for Private Eye when I bothered looking at it back in the early '90s) but in fact it's a lovely city (the bits I saw were, anyway.) And of course my family have a connection with it- my great-grandfather, Richard Lynam, lived there when he came over from Dublin, and my grandmother was born in the army barracks off Tramway Road (I think) in 1910. She's still alive, as well, which means there'll be a very special birthday party next month.

Anyway, despite my choosing to wear a black shirt (in that weather, decking myself out in the most heat-absorbent colour going might not have been the best idea- knew I should have worn a Man U t-shirt instead) it was a very nice afternoon. Two reasons for the visit:

One, Mr Conrad Williams was signing copies of his new crime novel, Blonde On A Stick, at Waterstone's Liverpool One. Nice to chat to Conrad, as always. The book, incidentally, is a belter and is highly recommended. Watch this space for a more detailed commentary in the near future.

Reason Two- cooler still!- was that I got to go for a cup of tea and a strawberry frappe with the ever-reigning Cate Gardner (yes, I know I've called her that before; I thinking of making it her official title.) Sadly, despite my taking my digital camera with me, no photographs exist of this historic meeting, as I was informed that the sheer glamour and awesomeness that is Cate was of such intensity that mortal sight could not bear it (indeed, I had to wear sunglasses throughout the encounter.)

But seriously, it was very nice to meet at last- given that I've known her, on and off, for about thirteen years, via correspondence, the wonders of the internet and a couple of phone calls! God bless modern technology, eh?

So, anyway, a very nice day. Just wanted to share. ;-)

We now return you to your irregularly scheduled weekend.

A Short Silly Post For Cate Gardner

Just a quick post to tell the world what the rest of us already know about what happens wherever Cate goes:



Thank you for your attention.

Shout outs: Cate Gardner, Chris Wood

Hi everyone. It's been a while.

Well, there's been a lot going on since last we spoke. First off, a shout out to the lovely Cate Gardner for a very pleasant surprise, when the first of her 'someone else Saturday' entries on her blog proved to be about none other than yours truly!

I often think the real acid test of writers is perseverance. It's one of those callings where you're a) going to get a lot of knockbacks and b) where it takes a lot of time, hard work and trial and error (mostly error) to find your voice and hone your craft. It's not something that provides instant gratification (I sometimes wish I'd learned to play guitar and gone the singer-songwriter route- you know immediately if you've bombed or succeeded. Plus there's always the chance of groupies. Ahem.) I've seen a lot of good writing over the years, in small press magazines and elsewhere, and the number of writers who just dropped off the radar, never to be seen again, is unbelievable. Good writers, too. And why? Because: It. Takes. Work. Lots and lots of work.

Which brings me back to Catherine Gardner.

I first encountered Cate's fiction in the late 90s, when I co-edited a small press magazine called Unreal Dreams, and later a small anthology called Oktobyr. Back then you could see the writers who were influencing her, but there was always something individual about her writing that I liked. The second story I took from her for Oktobyr, 'As Though Strangers Passed', really showed that potential coming into action, and it stays with me even today.

Catherine's fiction is short and focused. Sometimes quirky and funny, sometimes very dark, it's never less than interesting. Do yourselves a favour and go check out her story Trench Foot for a glimpse of her in lighter mode. It's a beguiling little tale- funny and quirky, as mentioned before- but with a dark little heart to it. It's strong, assured work, the work of a writer with her own voice and focus. And how did she get there? Hard work. Well over a decade of it.

There's no quick fix, no short cut. You do the damned work.

Now for my mate Chris Wood. Many of you will already know his blog. If not, go check it out. Chris is one of the funniest guys I know- both in print and in real life. For evidence, look no further than Sherlock Holmes And The Underpants Of Death (and then buy the book off Amazon) or the wonderfully demented (or dementedly wonderful) Hunter S Thompson And The Temple Of Doom.

Here you see a writer working away, honing his style. Mark my words- one day soon, Chris is going to find his own voice and will become one of the best comic novelists out there. That's a prediction. (Mind you, I also thought the Sinclair C5 was gonna be big. But I was only about 9 at the time, so cut me some slack, huh?) So remember, you heard it here first.

Right, now go and check out the work of two damn good writers. That's all for now.