I turned on the three-dee, tried to watch a documentary about the Arctic.
Jesus... Eight o’clock.
They’ll be fine, I told myself. Kelly’s just got herself some overtime, that’s all, and Ed’s helping her, and they’re so damned busy they haven’t had time to call.
Then the image of the Arctic faded.
I stared at the guy in the black suit, my heart racing.
He stared back at me. I told myself he was just a virtual construct, not a real person with feelings. But that didn’t stop me hating the bastard.
“I regret to inform you...”
I interrupted.
“Who?” I said. “Kelly, or Ed?”
Eric Brown has won the British Science Fiction Award twice for his short stories, and his novel Helix Wars was shortlisted for the 2012 Philip K. Dick award. His latest novel is Murder Take Three. He writes a regular science fiction review column for the Guardian newspaper and lives in Cockburnspath, Scotland. His website can be found at: www.ericbrown.co.uk
SF Caledonia:
Chris Kelso
Our SF Caledonia editor Monica Burns is taking a break to allow her to concentrate on her Masters at the University of Dundee. This gives me a chance to introduce you to an up-and-coming Scottish writer, Chris Kelso.
Chris is a writer, a poet, an editor, a musician. He sold his first story at the age of 23 – he is now 29 – to the Evergreen Review. His works skitter around the edges of the definition of science fiction, often tending towards the weird and with a definite nod to the New Wave science fiction of the 60s and 70s. He does horror too. He is always experimenting with form, structure and flow, but always with characters you’d like to meet – or rather not, in lots of instances.
Chris is a busy man: he has five novels: The Black Dog Eats the City, The Dissolving Zinc Theatre, Unger House Radicals and the upcoming Shrapnel Apartments and I Dream of Mirrors.He has eight novellas: A Message from the Slave State, Moosejaw Frontier, Transmatic, Last Exit to Interzone, Rattled by the Rush, Wire & Spittle, The Folger Variation, and The Church of Latter Day Eugenics (jointly written with Tom Bradley). There are two short story collections: Schadenfreude and Terence, Mephisto and Viscera Eyes. Chris has also edited a few anthologies: Terror Scribes, Caledonia Dreaming (edited with Hal Duncan, Slave Stories and This is NOT an Anthology, which featured previously unpublished work by William Burroughs, Gerard Malanga and art by Clay S Wilson.
The Black Dog Eats the City was listed in Weird Fiction Review’s best of 2014 and Unger House Radicals won the Ginger Nuts of Horror Novel of the Year award 2016
Most of Chris’ work is published by American and Canadian publishers, something which Shoreline of Infinity is sorting: we have published the digital edition of The Folger Variation and Other Lies, and we will be publishing I Dream of Mirrors at some point in the near future. Most of Chris’ works are available through online booksellers.
I met Chris at a Speculative Bookshop event in Glasgow last year, where he placed a copy of The Folger Variation and Other Lies into my hands. When I finally reached that point in my to-read pile, I was immediately sucked in and held captive by the freshness of his writing and the apparent ease with which he draws his characters and settings. Chris gives them a twist of reality which brings them screaming into life and imprints them firmly into your brain. I swear I know Pancake Patterson from the Folger Variation.
I have since met Chris a few times, and got to know him a little. He’s calmly energetic, quietly modest, and a pleasure to talk to. He looks so young – far younger than his often worldly-wise stories would lend you to believe. If I ever go to his house, I will not venture to look for paintings in his attic.
As a way for you to meet him, we exchanged emails, and here is a result of that. We’ve included an abridged extract from The Folger Variation and Other Lies.
-Noel Chidwick
Noel Chidwick: How would you describe your early years growing up, and do your experiences influence you as a writer?
Chris Kelso: I was a bit of a depressed kid – well, yeah, that would be an understatement. I got bullied quite a bit. I had milk-bottle specs and a crazy blonde bowl haircut. I was socially inept, majorly introspective and terrified of absolutely e-v-e-r-y-thing. Leaving my home town of Cumnock for Kilmarnock was enormously stressful. I had to join a new school, and I had to grow up fast. Predictably, the bullying intensified and I retreated into literature, arty films, weird music and, of all things, an obsession with football (which still didn’t make me any more popular I should add!). It’s strange, I still feel like that young boy on the receiving end. I’m much better at hiding my insecurities now though. Christ, I think I’d have bullied myself if I went back in time! I was this ridiculous, spectral presence. I brought most of the misery on myself, not that it excuses the victimisation – but it got to the stage where I enjoyed being left out. It gave me an excuse to explore the darkness further.
NC: Can you tell us a bit about your writing and motivations?
CK: In my books I am always writing from the perspective of the outsider. Of someone looking in from the outside. Someone trying to squint through the darkness for the tiniest mote of light. The underdog fascinates me – I am Scottish I suppose! It’s much more interesting for me to drag tortured psyches through bizarre alien landscapes. Maybe I’m trying to make my own superhero, one who succeeds without donning a spandex suit or obtaining superhuman abilities. I actually find Peter Parker much more interesting when he’s just a put-upon snot-nosed kid. If he’d managed to outwit the Green Goblin or Dr Octopus without the radioactive spider bite he would’ve been much more relatable. I’m not so much interested in the protagonist overcoming adversity, although I realise that’s a depressing read for most people. I’m interested in how failure changes people. How they deal with abject rejection and heartache.
NC: When did you start writing? What kind of stories did did you write at the beginning?
CK: I was probably 8 or 9. I wrote a crazy story about this alien, made of bogies, who came to earth and took up residence in the mucus-filled caves of a human boy’s nose. My primary 4 teacher was really disturbed by it and I seem to remember her using it against me at a parents evening chat with my parents – but I wrote the story straight faced! I wasn’t trying to upset anyone or come off glib, I just wanted to write about an alien made of bogeys. To me it was legitimate short story subject matter.
NC: It’s always fascinating to find out which books and authors kickstarted a writer’s imagination - what books were you reading as a teenager? Which writers inspired you into becoming a writer?
CK: I was reading anything transgressive or dark – I was a pretty depressed young man, Noel. When I sit down and think about it, I graduated from the Goosebumps books, to 2000AD comics, to fairly extreme adult literature in a relatively short space of time. I distinctly remember thinking Lanark by Alasdair Gray was the ultimate pinnacle of artistic achievement at 16 – I still kind of think that to be honest. I remember Naked Lunch by Burroughs and a lot of Samuel Delaney’s work (his non-SF stuff, like The Mad Man and Hogg) all having a profound influence, they were eye opening, unapologetic. At 17 there was Blood and Guts in High School by Kathy Acker and a LOT of Bukowski – this was my ‘punk’ phase. From there I ran the course of the new wave, speculative writers with something interesting to say and saying it in an interesting, confrontational way really appealed. Dangerous Visions [edited by Harlan Ellison] was a game changer. It introduced me to Philip José Farmer and Michael Moorcock and I measure my prose up to their standard every time. I like that SF didn’t have to be space operas and laser beams (although I have a soft spot for their naiveté as I approach 30). Introduce a brief love affair with the Russians and Hubert Selby Jr, and you’ve about got my teenage, post-university pallet to the letter. I had a healthy hodgepodge of inspirations.
But really, I’ve always wanted to be a writer, socialise with writerly people. I’ve always admired authors and fantasized about being one when I grew up, as young as 9 or 10 I remember that feeling. You basically get to sit around all day expressing your own little stories and occasionally selling them on to publishers. You get to pick a cool front cover and have someone else typeset the thing for you so it looks good. The life of a published author is pretty sweet, even if the money is awful! When it comes to ego fondling, there’s not much that can top it. I think I’ve just always been into the lifestyle and the freedom of writing too. I really love sharing ideas and I think we achieve a whole different level of intimacy through creative collaboration. That’s my idea of inspirational. Hope that doesn’t sound trite.
NC: I’d describe your writing style as punchy, vibrant and direct. A distinctive writer’s voice is important – how did your voice evolve and develop? Was it instinctive, or something you have worked on over time?
CK: It came out naturally. I had a lot of pent-up frustration that I wasn’t articulating. I’d just dropped out of university and my girlfriend had dumped me. I wrote like an angry little man with no filter. Writing was a release. It was therapeutic. I come across as much more self-assured in my narrative voices than in real life. Writing let me be other people, angry ones who wanted to revel in the abyss. It’s not an affectation though. That self-assured, ballsy wee man is in me somewhere. He must be. Buried deep down maybe, shackled – but he’s in there nonetheless. He comes out when I’m in front of a keyboard. Bloody lucky too.
I think I’d like to tame him a bit. He can be a bit of a force of nature and that’s always exhausting for a reader. I think we’re always trying to perfect a style and as an artist it’s difficult not to pick holes in your own work. I would eventually like to write something that appeals to a wider audience. By that I don’t mean write schmaltzy romance books or high fantasy, nor would I consider censoring myself – but I think the essence of what I’m trying to say isn’t such an inaccessible idea (the idea that we want to belong to something, that we’re pissing against the wind). I just need to crack the template that makes this concept appealing to a broader audience.
NC: You’re obviously inspired by William Burroughs - what attracts you to that style of writing?
CK: Burroughs did whatever he wanted. He was a punk rock pioneer. At a time when I needed a real shot to the arm, a new hit, Naked Lunch came into my life. He experimented with narrative, with form and typeset. He made books into art objects. Plus, he just never seemed to give a shit. The writing was in your face and possessed a kind of punk energy. Basically it’s everything I wish I was in real life but will never be. He can teach you a lot about being an artist and about integrity.
Burroughs was a superstitious fellow too; I relate to that. While I’m not religious at all, I do have some irrational beliefs. One tradition I’ve adopted from him is this – I finish the book, get it published then I never read that book again. If I never read the book again then it won’t be a complete failure. I’m not even that superstitious. Depending on what your idea of failure is, I think it’s a solid tradition that’s seen solid results.
NC: Anything you wouldn’t write about?
CK: Absolutely not. There is no subject I’ll shy away from. I might alter the way I approach something just to make sure the writing doesn’t come across as glib or totally insensitive, but generally – no – I won’t back away from anything. I think I’ve covered most, if not all the taboo subjects, in my writing. Those are the subjects that are interesting! In fact, I might steer clear of bestiality because, well, I just don’t have the imagination to explore that particular area.
NC: So far your works are shorter novella/novelette length – when will we see the Chris Kelso pan-galactic space operatic six-volume box set?
