A Shout Out To Shelli

Whether Or Not She Wants It!

Regular readers (and you both know who you are) will be familiar with the lithe and lissom (that's as much compliment I can pay without becoming either cheesy or creepy) Shelli, she whom came back from her lunch break with a cello.  This led, as we all know, to the hilarious pun-name "Shello" being bestowed upon her, which was funny for as long as three and a half minutes.

Shelli at back with violin.  Which does not lend itself to punnery.

     For the first time ever, "Goodreads" had thrown up recommendations by someone I knew: Shelli.  Who else would it have been?  Do keep up!  And there was a book in there with the bold title "Piranesi", by Suzanna Clarke, whose debut novel "Jonathan Strange And Mister Norrell" Shelli had read and enjoyed.  Conrad, as you already know, is a big fan of Piranesi, or more formally Giovanni Battista Piranesi, the Italian artist of the 18th century, with whom our Shelli was unfamiliar.  She did promise to Google him afterwards.

     This is by way of an introduction to Piranesi himself (Your Humble Scribe has no idea what the novel's about).  You are bound to have seen some of his etchings or lithography and I've a book of them knocking around somewhere.  Art!

     GBP was helped by having the background of Rome to inspire him, as you simply cannot spit anywhere in Rome without hitting a historical building, structure or artefact.  Art!

     What he is most famous for are the series of designs that came purely from his imagination, under the general heading "Carceri" or "Dungeons" in English.  Art?

     Very dark and brooding, hmmmm?  Kind of Gothic before that was a thing, even.  Let's have another*!

     What I'd really like is a large-format Taschen book of Piranesi, similar to the one I have of M.C. Escher's work  <O Noes! squeaks wallet>.

     Okay, Motley, we're going to do some Carcering of our own, in the Upper Dungeon, and - well, we need a prisoner for it to be a prison, you see ...

Further Shouting And Shelli

Conrad was castigating our violinist for watching "The Crown" as being so low-brow, and then promptly admitted to reading "Locke And Key" in what he fondly imagined was hilarious irony.  Well, Shelli had the last laugh there, as she opined that the television series was enjoyable -

     Exqueeze me?  Baking Powder?  "Television series" on Netflix?  Egad!  Art?

     Conrad has now found yet another distraction from plotting to take over the world - really, it's a wonder I get anything done around here - and can see there's been some amendations from the comic.  The town is now called "Matheson" (after the actor Tim, one presumes) rather than "Lovecraft" because there's already "Lovecraft County" and this could have been confusing.  The mom isn't an incipient alcoholic, or at least not yet.

Cast versus comic

     I am about halfway through episode 1, so we'll see how it goes from here on.

     One thing the television series doesn't have is a breakdown by Gabriel Rodriguez of how a scene gets sketched out, pencilled, inked and coloured; we may come back to this as it's interesting.  Conrad speaks as one who cannot draw a straight line with a ruler.

"La Morte D'Arthur" By Sir Thomas Malory

Speaking of rulers ... sorry, couldn't resist that one.  Merlin has taken rather a back seat since Book 4, where he was lecherously pursuing a young 'damosel', much to her disgust.  He has ended up being trapped underground beneath a giant boulder, too big for him to lift.  

     The thing is, Sir Bagdagemus later hears Merlin lamenting from his prison, and tries to shift the boulder, which is too large for him to move.  Does he go and get help?  Look for a lever?  Cut down timber to make a crane?  No, no and - you're probably well ahead of me here - no.  Nor does he tell anyone else in passing about Merlin's location or situation.  Conrad can only suppose that nobody really liked Merlin in the first place; after all, how can you trust someone who can (and does) change appearance at will in order to fool folks**?

You're not fooling anyone there

A Blast From The Past

Once again Conrad is going to put up what they considered appropriate seventy or so years ago, in terms of a science-fiction magazine cover.  Art!

     Conrad is unsure exactly what's going on here, so let's talk through it, shall we?  The semi-opaque or semi-transparent beings here are apparently hostile - it comes with being bug-eyed - and intent on doing harm to the humans involved.  The young lady - isn't it strange how all these ladies on the covers are young and attractive rather than dowdy and middle-aged? - is either recoiling in fear at the alien intruders, or performing a type of dance once popular in the Thirties.  The impeccably-suited WASP with short hair AND A TIE is, of course, handily equipped with a gun, so yes this is South Canadian in case anyone was wondering.  It seems there was a dress code for men of that era just as there was an un-dress code for ladies, and if you doubt me, then look below.  Aha!  Got it!  This is a raid by the Radio Police, who are <thinks> adept at detecting unauthorised radio transmitters, and they are seeking to serve a writ.

     Or something.

Just barely on the right side of acceptable***

Finally - 

Your Humble Scribe normally dwells in a state of perpetual hatred, as the list of things which annoy him is easily as long as a Thomas Pynchon novel, so yesteryon he was more angry than ever, because it was Saturday and he was working.  The last group teleconference we had, I tried it on with Richard (our Number One) by saying that it was well-known that working on Saturdays added cost and complexity to our job, only for Sue (our Number Two) to immediately shoot me down with a caution that Conrad was, admittedly, making it all up.  One day, dammit, one day ....

     At least I was working from home, and not the Dark Tower.

     That, Vulnavia, sees us well and truly done.  Done done done!

*  Conrad, as you may have guessed, is big on dark and brooding.

**  Neat trick at parties, though.

***  "Planet Stories" - cue bad pun about a heavenly body ...  (I'll get me coat)