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Posts Tagged ‘Mark Hodder’

First off, the winner of the book CUTTLEFISH is:

Widdershins

If you enjoy reading steampunk, you’ve probably read Mark Hodder (Burton and Swinburne series).

His new book A Red Sun Also Rises which releases in December 2012 from PYR is independent of the Burton and Swinburne books, but is just as fascinating and creative.

This is a tale exploring good and evil and how nothing (or anyone) is as it seems.  Aiden Fleischer is a bookish priest and Clarissa an outcast hunchback who are transported to an alien world. There they encounter the Yatsil, a supposedly peaceful race of mimics. Then the red sun rises, bringing with it the forces of destruction.

Hodder’s twisted take on an alien version of Victorian London is vivid and imaginative, while the psychological twists and turns push the genre with amazing results.

But don’t take my word for it. PYR will graciously give away three ARCS of A Red Sun Also Rises to give away (North American only) and I’ll give away my own ARC to an international winner. Contest closes October 7th at 11:59 PM PST.

If you lived on an alien world that could shape itself to any place  in any time, which would you chose and why?

 

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Today we welcome author Mark Hodder. One lucky commenter gets a copy of Expedition to the Mountains of the Moon.

Mark Hodder is the creator and caretaker of the BLAKIANA Web site (www.sextonblake.co.uk), which he designed to celebrate, record, and revive Sexton Blake, the most written about fictional detective in English publishing history. A former BBC writer, editor, journalist, and Web producer, Mark has worked in all the new and traditional medias and was based in London for most of his working life until 2008, when he relocated to Valencia in Spain to de-stress and write novels. He can most often be found at the base of a palm tree, hammering at a laptop. Mark has a degree in cultural studies and loves British history (1850 to 1950, in particular), good food, cutting-edge gadgets, cult TV, Tom Waits, and a vast assortment of oddities.

Dancing Amid the Ruins
(A Peculiarly British Perspective)
By Mark Hodder

We, in the Western world, are dancing amid the ruins of fallen empires. They died slowly, those great, lumbering beasts, and there are those who think to revive them, or to create new ones, but we won’t let them. We know that empires benefit the few whilst enslaving the many. We cannot support such injustice, such avarice.

In Britain (God bless her, and all who fail in her)—once the seat of the largest empire in history—it was young satirists who alerted us to the fact that the beast must die. The world wars had already destroyed the myth that the privileged were special, deserving, superior. Forced by conflict into close proximity with the smelly commoner, the Lords and Viscounts were revealed to be a mite funky themselves—rather ordinary, in fact—and, by golly, they got needlessly slaughtered just as efficiently as plain old Tommy Watkins.

After the conflict (which was really one long war with an intermission for ice cream), those toffy nosed twits who’d managed to survive dug in their claws and clung on to their riches and, of course, continued to propagate the cultural myths that kept them in their stately homes. But they were much weakened. And now they had a new enemy. Not Johnny Foreigner this time. No, it was Johnny Bird and Johnny Fortune and the other satirists of the snarky Sixties. Those guys ridiculed the heck out of any pompous idiot who tried to maintain a delusion of dignity. The aristocratic, the rich, and the powerful became the laughing stock of the country. Respect your betters? Are you serious? Take a look at what they get up to! Listen to the gibbering nonsense that spews out of their mouths! They’re too busy bothering foxes to understand the real world. Down with the upper class! Up with the lower class! We’ll mingle in the middle!

The gloss came off the posh.

The killing blow, the true end of the empire, was struck in the late Seventies. Again, it wasn’t at the hands of Johnny Foreigner. This time, it was Johnny Rotten. The punk movement jabbed the knife in good and proper, and did so with one very clear, very basic, very deadly war cry: “We don’t respect you.” You might have a plummy voice, country tweeds, a Range Rover, a family crest, and a comfy seat in the House of Lords—but we don’t care what you got; if you want respect, you gotta earn it, you greedy git.

Empire only functions when you know your betters. Punk didn’t know any.

So the British Empire snuffed it, just like the Portuguese Empire had done, and the Spanish and Dutch and Italian and Russian and all the many others. The time of empires is gone, but their ghosts still haunt us. Obviously, the pitiful remnants of the elite would like to resuscitate them, but, even more, now it’s the economists who want empires. Shiny new ones. Great big cash cows. Come on European Union, get your act together. Trust me, it won’t. We have no will for it.

Enter Johnny Steampunk.

Steampunk embodies the ghost to remind us that the dead are dead. It plays at empire with a wry smile. It toys with the romance of it—the unexplored territories ripe for exploitation, the pioneering spirit required for imperialistic colonisation, the promise of fabulous contraptions that will cower the less “civilised” into submission—but it does so with a knowing wink and a gentle dose of self-mockery. It’s the cool clothes without an evil bastard inside of them, it’s an airship that doesn’t drop bombs on the natives, it’s a blunderbuss that won’t mess with your face. See, a lot of the propaganda produced to bolster belief in the empire was actually tremendous fun. You just have to filter out all the guff. Back in the day, stiff upper lips and prodigious whiskers adorned the faces of heroes who, just beneath their very, very, very white skin, were racist cads of the highest (which happens to be the lowest) order. Now, though, you can square your shoulders, grow a fine pair of Picadilly Weepers, don a stove pipe hat, and everyone recognises that you’re affiliating yourself only with the joy of the wrapping, not with the filth of the content. Steampunk gives the icons, symbols, fashions and mores of empire a damned hard shake until all the confounded nonsense has fallen out of them. What’s left signifies that which deserved to die and must never be allowed to live again. It’s a celebration—a happily nihilistic jig on a well-earned grave, stamping down the earth so the corpse can’t rise, while a curious and optimistic eye is cast to the future.

Punk was the murder. Goth was the mourning. Steampunk is the wake.

Mark Hodder
THE STRANGE AFFAIR OF SPRING HEELED JACK
THE CURIOUS CASE OF THE CLOCKWORK MAN
EXPEDITION TO THE MOUNTAINS OF THE MOON

One lucky commenter wins a copy of Expedition to the Mountains of the Moon. North America only, please. Contest ends 11:59 PM PST, April 23, 2012.

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First I have the winner of Caitlin Kittredge’s The Iron Thorn.

Antonio

Antonio, you’re our lucky winner.  Please email me at suzannelazear (@) hotmail to claim your prize.

Didn’t win?  You can still win The Vespertine, a bag of swag from RT, and The Vampire Dimitri.

This week at Steampunkaplooza we’re featuring authors from Pyr and giving away a ton of great books.  Today we welcome author Mark Hodder to Steampunkapalooza.  Mark Hodder is the author of: THE STRANGE AFFAIR OF SPRING HEELED JACK (Pyr, 2010), THE CURIOUS CASE OF THE CLOCKWORK MAN (Pyr, 2011) and EXPEDITION TO THE MOUNTAINS OF THE MOON (Pyr, forthcoming).

Mark Hodder is the creator and caretaker of the BLAKIANA Web site (www.sextonblake.co.uk), which he designed to celebrate, record, and revive Sexton Blake, the most written about fictional detective in English publishing history. A former BBC writer, editor, journalist, and Web producer, Mark has worked in all the new and traditional medias and was based in London for most of his working life until 2008, when he relocated to Valencia in Spain to de-stress and write novels. He can most often be found at the base of a palm tree, hammering at a laptop. Mark has a degree in cultural studies and loves British history (1850 to 1950, in particular), good food, cutting-edge gadgets, cult TV, Tom Waits, and a vast assortment of oddities.

 

Building a World for Burton & Swinburne

By Mark Hodder

It’s a tricky business using real historical figures in a fictional setting, especially when you’re turning some very well respected scientists into crazed villains. Where do you draw the line? When does creativity become slander?

While plotting the Burton & Swinburne novels, I was often faced with this dilemma, particularly in relation to one particular scientist who changed the way we think about existence, and whose genius I’m in awe of. I really didn’t want to portray him in a way that might cause even a single person to change their opinion of him.

The solution was to make my alternate versions of these personages as wildly over the top as possible—to push them to the point of absurdity—to make it blatantly apparent that I didn’t for one moment expect anyone to regard them as truly reflective of their historical counterparts.

This, though, presented another problem. How could I expect readers to invest in the story if key characters were entirely unbelievable?

The answer came with world building.

In any kind of speculative fiction, world building is important. When you’re dealing with an alternate history, it becomes crucial. I placed Burton and Swinburne in a different version of the Victorian Age—but being different cannot justify being any less complex. There has to be politics, there has to be art and technology, there have to be social and cultural forces at work, and there has to be a zeitgeist—a “spirit of the age.” Anything less will not feel like a living, breathing reality.

So I started with the facts. Fortunately, I was already pretty well versed in Victoriana, so I didn’t need to do as much research as I would have had I been setting my stories in, say, the Elizabethan Age or in Feudal Japan.

I began to ask myself questions such as:

“What if these two people had met?”

“What if a solution to this problem had been found?”

“What if this event had never occurred?”

and

“What if this event had occurred?”

From each of these starting points it was relatively easy to create chains of causes and effects then start to interrelate them.

For example, I wanted to feature Oscar Wilde in the stories, the reason being that he was famously associated with aestheticism, which provides a wonderful counterpoint to one of the main themes of the trilogy. I’ll not tell you anything about that theme (no spoilers here!), but suffice to say it comes to the fore in the third book, EXPEDITION TO THE MOUNTAINS OF THE MOON.

My problem was that Oscar was only seven years old in 1861, when the first book, THE STRANGE AFFAIR OF SPRING HEELED JACK, is set.

In real life, he had a happy childhood in Dublin and was most definitely not in London when I needed him to be. I knew, though, that Ireland had suffered a terrible famine between 1845 and 1852. By extending the dates and intensity of this event, I could turn Wilde into an orphan who fled to London, there to eke out an existence as a newspaper boy. So in my alternative history, the famine begins in 1837 and is ongoing. But for what reason is it different? I don’t explain, but 1837 is a key date in the story for other reasons, and I thus give the reader a coincidence to ponder over and perhaps they’ll fill in the gap themselves. (As a matter of fact, I do have an untold backstory there, and may visit it in a subsequent novel).

This is an important point: you can’t describe every single reason for why things are they way they are in your alternate history. It would make your novel very thick and very boring. Most things have to be simply suggested then left to the reader’s imagination.

Okay, so I got Oscar to where Oscar needed to be, but in doing so I devastated Ireland. This, obviously, has to have major consequences. So by 1862, the time of the second book, THE CURIOUS CASE OF THE CLOCKWORK MAN, Britain has been flooded with refugees, causing a strain on its resources. How would politicians respond to this? A quick look at the history books revealed that right at the end of 1861, an event called the Trent Affair occurred. This very nearly drew Britain into the American Civil War. In my version of events, it does lead to such an involvement, and the reason is directly related to the Irish refugee crisis.

I then have scientists trying to solve the problem of the famine, and, in doing so, making the situation much worse, kicking off events that will lead to the far-too-early outbreak of the First World War.

That is how one small requirement—the need for Oscar Wilde to meet Sir Richard Francis Burton in London in 1861—ultimately led to the development of the entire political backdrop for Burton & Swinburne’s world, and that backdrop becomes a vital story element in the final book of the trilogy.

When an author creates a convincingly deep, multifaceted and convincing world, whatever fantastic elements are then thrown into it will seem wholly natural to it, a part of it.

In SPRING HEELED JACK, London is filled with steam powered penny farthings. By CLOCKWORK MAN, there are gigantic steam-driven insects thundering up and down the streets. Plainly ridiculous! However, when made an element of a world that seems otherwise perfectly logical—where effects have realistic causes—such craziness is much more easily digested. The same applies to wildly over-the-top characters. Now real historical figures can be made absurdly unbelievable—it’s perfectly obvious that no slander is intended—and they are less likely to be rejected by the reader, because they exist in a properly constructed context.

~Mark Hodder

We have two sets of The Strange Affair of Spring Heeled Jack and The Curious Case of the Clockwork Man to give away two lucky commenters — North American winners only.  Contest ends 11:59 PM PST, April 17, 2011.

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