Review of ‘Imperium’ by Robert Harris.

Harris breathes life into the world of late-republican Rome in a taut tale narrated through Tiro, scribe to the greatest orator of the day, Marcus Tullius Cicero. In an effort of the imagination, the author brings us Tiro’s lost biography of the Roman lawyer and statesman, with this being the first volume of a trilogy which charts his rise to power as consul. The names of many of the leading characters in this book – Crassus, Caesar, and Pompey – will be familiar to those with an interest in this period of history, and it is through his vivid portrayal of their rivalries, scheming, and politicking, that we are permitted to play the role of disinterested spectators, although no reader could surely feel anything but antipathy towards such monstrous specimens of humanity as Verres and Catalina.  

Key to Cicero’s rise are his eloquence, sharp wit, and sheer political nous, and Harris ensures that certain enduring features of electoral politics – corruption, compromise, and emotional demagoguery, amongst many others – are also given centre stage, with parallels being alluded to with respect to the politics of the early 21st-century. Harris, being a former prominent supporter of the Labour Party, would appear to be drawing certain parallels between Cicero and another then ambitious young lawyer who had become Prime Minister in 1997 – Tony Blair. 

Pompey’s war on the pirates is also made something of a metaphor for the ‘War on Terror’, although in many ways it is but a poor comparison, for pirates possess no motivating ideology other than that of predatory self-serving greed. Islamism, on the other hand, is a coherent, albeit irrational, ideology, as well as a protean and existential threat, springing up hydra-like with the backing of vast reservoirs of funding from certain wealthy Arab regimes that are allegedly our ‘friends’. If anything, this latter fact serves to demonstrate the eternal perverting influence of vast sums of money on the political process, bringing to mind an image of the figure of the current incumbent of the White House swaying, sword in hand, in unison with the flowing-robed moneyed interests of his Arabian companions, whilst denouncing the very ideology that they propagate. In many respects, Trump resembles Crassus, albeit a far less intelligent version of the latter: a cynical plutocrat, willing to purchase the votes of the plebs to satisfy his own vanity. O tempora! O mores! Everything changes, and yet it remains the same. I look forward to reading the next two volumes in this trilogy.

The Supernatural Charm of the English Countryside

It seems that there is scarcely a patch of earth in rural England that does not bear some trace of the lives of its former occupants, and one cannot help, at times, but feel that something of them lingers, lending the landscape a sense of the uncanny. Dotted about here and there are the remains of the monuments of prehistory and distant antiquity, their original names and functions lost with the passing of the people who built and used them, but beneath the soil, unseen to the eye, lies so much more. Some of those things that lie below were put there for a reason, whereas others were lost by their owners and, for one reason or another, never retrieved. 

In the finding of such artefacts, the finder kindles a physical and tangible bond with the past, although the original owners can never be known, at least directly. These crafted pieces of metal, stone, and pottery may speak to us through their form of their past function, significance, and role, but of the specific personalities of the men and women who held them in their hands, they say but little. It is into this void of the unknowable that supernatural fiction dares to tread, with M.R. James providing many fine examples, with two of my favourites being Oh, Whistle and I’ll Come to You My Lad, and A Warning to the Curious.  

In both instances, an object is found and taken by the finder, who soon discovers that retribution is not long in coming. In the first tale, it is a bone whistle protruding from a former graveyard upon a crumbling cliff edge that summons up the guardian spirit, whereas in the second it is the theft of an ancient Saxon crown from a burial mound that does the same. However, the nature of the spirit in A Warning to the Curious is somewhat unusual, for it is not connected, directly, to the former wearer of the crown that lies buried in the mound, but rather to a now extinct family of guardians, entrusted to watch over and protect the place of burial. The message of these tales is clear: do not take that which was placed in the ground for a purpose.  

For some reason, which I cannot explain, I find this inadvertent release of the forces of psychic chaos somehow satisfying, and it is a device that I have employed in my latest tale Epona, a blend of Victorian gothic ghost story and folk horror, the title of which derives from the Romano-Celtic goddess of that name. If the reader should be curious to see what enfolds, then please click here, or on the picture above. Epona is also available, alongside three other tales, as part of my anthology Uncanny Tales, either as a paperback, or on Kindle.

Four Uncanny Tales in One Volume

Although I have been working on a novel for almost three years, it has yet to see the light of day, for I keep getting distracted by ideas for shorter pieces. Thus it is that over the past eighteen months or so I have published nine tales – novelettes and novellas – on Kindle. None have been long enough to publish in paperback format individually, so I have waited until I have had a sufficient quantity available to issue anthologies. The first, Anthology: Wry Out West, came out last spring, and now the second – Uncanny Tales – has just been published as a paperback. It is also available in Kindle format

So, what does this new anthology contain, you may wonder. Four tales in all, the covers of which you see pictured in the collage above. It is likely that you may not recognise them, as I’ve given them a revamp this week in an attempt to make them look a little more appealing. One of the stories – The Rude Woman of Cerne – was too long to include in the first collection, so is found here alongside the first three novelettes in the Tales of the Uncanny series: The Ghost of Scarside Beck, At Fall of Night, and Epona. The last two of these tales are set in Victorian Wiltshire, and whilst standing independent of each other, are linked by two characters, one of whom is central to both stories.  

Within these pages the reader will encounter four spirits: a mediaeval animalistic heretic; a personification of Death that has journeyed far from its Breton homeland; a Celtic goddess thirsting for vengeance, and a mysterious sickle-wielding hedger. Some are guardians of their place and of their values, caring not for contemporary social mores, or those who cleave to them. Woe to those who care to transgress what they deem to be right! Others wreak a vengeance upon the living to make them atone for perceived injustices, unleashing chaos in the personal lives and relationships of their chosen victims. Beatrice Clemens, the eponymous Rude Woman of Cerne, is something of a living spirit too, and she’s equally rigid in what she believes to be right and just, and doesn’t she just like to let everyone know what those beliefs are! The tone of this particular novella, which is the final one to be encountered in this collection, is markedly different from the others, being primarily satirical, although it does also feature a pronounced supernatural element. It is hoped, therefore, that the reader will finish Uncanny Tales with a laugh, although perhaps a shudder too.  

You can preview and purchase the paperback version of Uncanny Tales by clicking on the link here, or on either of the images in this post. The Kindle version may be accessed by clicking here. Kindle Unlimited subscribers may read the volume for free. As for my novel, I’m not writing anything else – in terms of fiction, that is – until it is finished.