You’ll Never Walk Alone by Chris Hall

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1980's, Adventure, Chris Hall, Liverpool, mystery, Reading, Review, Review week, story, You'll Never Walk Alone

Just for a change (and in support of a few authors whose work I have been enjoying) I thought that I’d post a review a day for a week. Hopefully something might take your fancy!

You’ll Never Walk Alone by Chris Hall

Chris Hall writes with a style which can only be described as irresistible. From the very opening of ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ until the closing sentence I was hooked and, like all of the other stories of hers that I have read, I simply didn’t want to put the book down.Written with great wit and humour, the story twists and turns, drawing new characters in as it unwinds, each of whom has their role to play. Without wanting to give too much away this is a story that is easy to imagine actually happening; the characters are all very real and three dimensional and some of the coincidences that occur along the way are very believable and, indeed, relatable.
Chris’s descriptions are vivid and clear, and certainly not over-worked, allowing the reader to easily form a visual narrative as they read. Would it help to have a little background knowledge of Britain in the 1980’s? Well, I’m not sure. Being British (and of an age) I found it easy to identify with the setting (even though my knowledge of Liverpool, where the story is set, is very limited), and I found myself chuckling at times at some of the references to which her characters allude: (‘You dancing?’ for example). So, in answer to the question, I would say not, such is the strength of the story.
There are moments within the story where I genuinely took a breath and thought ‘well, I didn’t see that coming’, which, if I’m honest, doesn’t happen that often.
And, of course, there’s a monkey! Who could say no?
This is a story that I know I will re-read over and over and, if you enjoy a good, realistic adventure (with just a hint of mysterious legend) then ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ is the book you’ve been searching for. 
Highly recommended. 

A week of reviews

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Adventure, Amazon, Chris Hall, Lunaisonline, Reading, Review week, Reviews, Song of the Sea Goddess, story, writing

Just for a change (and in support of a few authors whose work I have been enjoying) I thought that I’d post a review a day for a week. Hopefully something might take your fancy!

Song of the Sea Goddess by Chris Hall

Part fantasy, part adventure and part allegory, Song of the Sea Goddess is an imaginative and eloquently told story about the unfolding of the lives of a group of seemingly unconnected characters following one bizarre event.Chris Hall develops each character through individual chapters that slowly become interwoven and lead towards an unexpected climax. Particularly enjoyable is how seemingly random events show up which give a wonderful insight into the past lives of several of the characters. Indeed each character comes to life as the story unfolds and, as most of the book is written in the present tense, the reader’s connection with them develops in a sort of ‘real time’.
The chapters themselves are relatively short which works very effectively to help the reader to internalise their understanding of the characters and their relationships. 
I don’t want to go into plot detail as each event is important to the overall story and needs to be discovered by the reader, but expect plenty of twists and turns with each page. 
So often, I find, story endings can ‘tail off’ a little, but this is far from the case here; Chris’s ending is as strong as her opening and leaves a satisfying feeling on the reader.
I would heartily recommend this book to anyone who enjoys a fantasy adventure with its feet firmly planted in reality.

The Time Traveller’s Murder

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Adventure, Andrew French, Andrewsfrench, Apocalypse, Book review, creative, Detective, future, mystery, Novel, Review, Sci-Fi, story, The Time Traveller's Murder, Thriller, Time travel, writing

A short review of ‘ The Time Traveller’s Murder’ by Andrew French.

‘The Time Traveller’s Murder’ is a novel which is tricky to categorise – part mystery, part thriller and part Sci-Fi, it excells in crossing between genres to create an engrossing and entertaining story.

Set in the near future it tells the tale of an ex-detective (now turned private investigator) who gets drawn into an elaborate investigation involving time travel. However, as the story unfolds, French brings in several sub-plots which are interwoven cleverly and keep the reader engaged (and indeed guessing) as the main plot progresses.

From the opening line: ‘Detective Inspector Harry Hook flexed his fingers in anticipation of strangling a man’ we are introduced to characters who are rounded, three-dimensional and believable and French’s strong, realistic use of dialogue serves well to enable them to be visualised clearly. The back-stories of the main characters are drip-fed into the novel cleverly, helping to provide the reader for a deeper understanding of both them and their motivation.

The Sci-Fi element of the story is well researched and explained effectively, but also poses some interesting philosophical questions about the nature of time travel.

From the first chapter – which sets both the scene and tone of the book and gives the reader an outline of the lead character – we are lead through a series of twists and turns, many of which are quite unpredictable, and I found myself being sucked deeper and deeper into the book the more I read. Music plays a strong role throughout the book (look closely at the chapter titles!) and acts as a reminder that, despite time moving forward, links to our pasts are everywhere. 

If I were to level any criticism at this book (and it is a very minor point) it would be that I found one or two phrases to be a little stereotypical.

Overall this is a fantastic read which I would recommend for anyone who enjoys a good mystery, detective story, thriller or, indeed, a slice of Sci-Fi.

The Old House on the Hill (Part Three)

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Adventure, Childhood, creative, friendship, Ghost, haunted, mystery, old house on the hill, school, short stories, short story, story, writing

The final part of the story which I have posted over the past two days, (and thank you for your patience!):

This new room must, I thought, have been towards the back of the house, as it seemed darker and gloomier than the first, and I reached into my jacket for my torch. I switched it on. It flickered, faded and then died as if it too feared what it might reveal. In my frustration I shook it, banging it against my hand as quietly as I could. Still it refused to work. Realising that it was useless I stuffed it back into my pocket and squeezed my eyes tightly hoping that my actions would help me to see more clearly. Once more I was sure that I heard a faint creaking closer to me now than before, but, before I had the chance to say anything, a howl ripped through the house. We jumped as if we were one, none of us knowing quite what to do; my palms cold and clammy as I screwed them up into fists. The creaking sound gradually became louder and I realised that it was coming from the corner of the room that we were now in. I knew that we could all see the same thing – a figure, old and silent, shadowed in the darkness, rocking gently to and fro on a chair. I bit my lip, tasting the metallic tang of the blood in my mouth as my heart pounded. I tried to swallow but my mouth had become dry and sticky. The old man seemed to be staring straight through us, as if we weren’t there. Two small yellow lights appeared to one side of him, flickering with an intense fire. Then two more appeared, and I realised in an instant that they weren’t lights but eyes! In a heartbeat two fiendish hounds were racing towards us. But these were no ordinary dogs. As we stood rooted, too scared to move, we all realised the same thing at the same time – that we could see the wall behind them, as if they were transparent, ghost hounds. 

We turned, linked as one through our friendship, and ran. We ran through the first room, ignorant now of the books and animals. We ran, desperate to make our get away. We scrambled out of the still open window and raced across the gravel as if our lives depended on it. We hurtled through the gate without once looking back, flying up the lane and over the field with a speed none of us knew we were capable of. We slipped quickly down the gulley which took us through to the top end of our estate and stopped only when we were under the protection of the streetlamp which illuminated the end of the street where I lived. We, sank down, our hands on our knees, as we tried to catch our breath. I thought that I could hear a faint laugh floating down from the hill, but my heart was beating so fast that I couldn’t be certain. After a couple of minutes, and with our minds still racing, we swore a pact of secrecy, turned and went our separate ways. 

Shortly afterwards Brian too left the area. We had not once mentioned what we had seen and heard. Behind the house, at the bottom of the hill, there now stands a modern secondary school. What were the old fields have been turned into sports fields for the school, and there is only one small piece of waste land left; the one over which we made our escape all those years ago. At some point in the future, I am sure, even that will be built upon. The lane has been cleared now and widened but, if ever I walk along it, I can’t help but shiver and increase my pace, when I walk past the old house on the hill. 

The Old House on the Hill (Part Two)

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Adventure, Childhood, creative, friendship, Ghost, haunted, mystery, old house on the hill, school, short stories, short story, story, writing

Continued from yesterday’s post:

One day David told us that he and his family were moving to another part of the city soon and that he would be leaving our school. That night we had a small party at his house and, when it was time for us to go, he drew Brian and myself to one side, out of earshot of any lurking adults. 

“Before I go,” he said, “I need to find out about the house.” 

We both knew, of course, which house he was talking about, and instinctively looked at each other, our faces a mixture of excitement and trepidation. David caught our attention again and explained that he was planning a late-night trip to explore the house and to finally put his mind at rest – after all, once he had moved he would never have the chance again. For a while no-one said anything, but eventually Brian broke the silence and then we both agreed that we would go with him. David’s face looked as serious as I had ever seen as he outlined his plans; we would sneak out of our houses and meet by the park gates at midnight on Friday night. 

The week dragged by, but eventually Friday arrived. That evening I stayed in and told my mother that I was going to bed early. My mother was worried that I wasn’t well, but I told her that I was just a little bit tired because school had been busy, which she seemed happy to believe. Once I was safely in my room I made sure that my jacket pockets were full of everything that I thought I might need – a torch, a penknife, my front door key, a small note book and a couple of pencils in case I needed to take notes. I checked the batteries in the torch which, thankfully, seemed to be working well, and, after setting my alarm clock, and stuffing it beneath my pillow in case it woke anybody else, settled down for a couple of hours rest. 

At a quarter to twelve I silenced my alarm, quickly and quietly pulled on some clothes, and checked my jacket one last time -m there was no turning back now. Silently I crept out of the front door, slipping my key into the lock and turning it as quietly as I could as I pulled the door to. I raced to the park as quickly as I could, but was the first to arrive, and, for a moment, thought that the others weren’t coming. My fears vanished though as I saw them emerging from the darkness together and heading towards me. We looked at each other and, without saying a word, turned and headed up our lane. 

Soon we came to the blackness of the smaller, more mysterious lane; the lane which held the mystery that we were determined to solve. David whispered quietly as if he feared that his ghosts might be listening, and we set off, more slowly now, blaming the darkness rather than our own fears. 

I shuddered when we eventually arrived at the blackened gates of the house. It looked, if it were possible, even more terrifying at night, as if it were one enormous, ghastly shadow which was throwing a deathly cloak over everything beneath it. I heard Brian swallow hard. Without speaking we could sense each other’s fears but knew that we had to find a way into the house. 

We checked the silent driveway. There was nothing there, no vehicle and no sign of life, and, taking this as a positive sign, we set about climbing the gate. To our surprise, and horror, however, we found that the gate was not padlocked and, as we leaned against it, it swung open, noiselessly, as if it were new. Steadying ourselves we started to walk towards the house. The gravel beneath our feet felt hard and cold, even through our shoes, but made no sound as we tiptoed across it towards the front door. Before we knew it, we were standing directly in front of it. With an unusual show of bravery, I reached out and touched the wood. It felt cold and damp against the palm of my hand and I shivered – I had never touched anything which felt quite like it before. Brian stepped up next to me and leaned his shoulder against the door. He pushed as hard as he could, but we knew that it was locked and wouldn’t budge despite our efforts. Suddenly we heard David hissing at us. The sound, though it came as quiet as a mouse, nearly made me jump. He had discovered a small, unfastened window. Cautiously we pulled ourselves up and through it, our feet feeling tentatively for something solid to rest on. As our eyes became accustomed to the dark we collectively took in our surroundings. We were in a large, dust filled room whose walls were stacked high with books, stuffed animals and collections of mementoes which we couldn’t place. 

I stepped forwards to look more closely at the volumes of books that seemed to reach out in every direction. I saw that there were books about witchcraft, the supernatural and ghosts. I turned to show David and Brian, but nearly yelped out as my foot cracked against a stuffed crocodile which had seemed to appear from nowhere and now lay in my path, its gaping mouth baring its teeth at me. Too frightened to speak, but driven on by nervous excitement, we opened the door to a second room. I was sure that I had heard the creaking of floorboards, but said nothing, hoping that my imagination was playing tricks on me. As we entered the next room I could feel my pulse racing through every fibre of my body but nothing could stop us now. 

The Old House on the Hill (Part One)

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Adventure, Childhood, creative, friendship, Ghost, old house on the hill, scary, school, short stories, story, writing

Time for something a little different.

For the next three days I will be posting parts of a short story which I have (for want of a better word) serialised. I hope that you feel the urge to stick with it and enjoy it.

When I was young I used to live, with the rest of my family, in a quiet suburb on the edge of a large, sprawling city, whose streets stretched out like an octopus’s tentacles in every possible direction. It was a peaceful and pleasant area in which to live, far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the city centre, but still close enough to allow us to make regular trips to taste the delights of city life. At one end of the street in which our house stood was a large patch of land known to us as ‘The Green’; a place where my friends and I would happily waste away our hours playing football or daydreaming. At the other end of our street a tree-lined lane separated the glut of houses from a park which was large enough to house a miniature golf course but small enough to have no given name, at least not one that I, as a child, had any knowledge of. The park sloped heavily, taking with it a tiny stream which trickled gently down its slope before emptying itself out into a small brook which, in turn, flowed onwards towards the city. Here we spent the long days of summer holidays fishing for stickleback and searching for golf balls and the promise of the pennies they might bring us. 

On weekdays we would climb the long winding hill towards our primary school, everyday walking the same streets. We walked past the local shops, up the hill and past the local youth centre which used to show films on a Saturday morning, and into the crowded playground. When the school day was over and our ears were filled with the joyful sound of bells, we would race home as if nothing had happened and nothing had been learned, our minds emptying as quickly as they had been filled. When the weather allowed it we would gather on our beloved Green as if it belonged only to us, a football always at our feet, until our elder brothers and sisters were sent out to round us up like cattle to return to our homes for tea. When the cold, dark nights drew in, and the outside world became a stranger to us, my friends and I would try to spend as many evenings together as we could. We devised an unwritten rota of whose house we would visit on which evenings, always taking with us our respective collections of football or super-hero cards which we had lovingly retrieved from the packets of bubble-gum that had become our sweet of choice. 

Sometimes, when the summer evenings were long and hot, we would walk the long way back from our school, across the main road and along the lane which ran above our estate. At the top of the hill fields, overgrown with trees, bushes and unnaturally long grass, stretched out into the distance and it felt, here at least, as if we really were in the countryside. Between two of these fields a second even smaller lane twisted and turned, partially hidden by the undergrowth, and it was down this lane that we would walk on those long, lazy late summer afternoons. We knew, despite its tendency to disappear and reappear from view, that this lane would lead us back to the park where we could re-join the lane which would lead us back to our houses. It was a journey, however, that we never made on cold, dark, wintery days. 

About halfway along the lane, and set well back from it, stood a large, grey and imposing house. Its door was made from thick, dark wood, which reminded me of the timbers used to make the hulls of ancient ships, and the windows, dirtied by age, were criss-crossed by a leaden lattice. The house was surrounded by huge trees which, even on a clear summer day, cast eerie shadows across it. The only entrance, the only way past these menacing guards, lay through a pair of forbidding gates, whose wooden panels had begun to rot through lack of care and the passing of time, and which were always kept padlocked. We had never seen anyone near the house or at any of the windows, although, given the heavy coating of dirt that they bore, it would have been difficult, if not impossible, to make out a face even if one had appeared. At night, however, we had all heard the howl of dogs as it came floating over our houses from the hill above. 

My friend, Brian, who, even in those days, had begun to develop a fascination for chemistry, and was always experimenting with the set that he had had for his birthday, believed that the house was owned by a mad scientist. When we talked together we would imagine a dark and dingy cellar containing Frankenstein’s monster, or the mad scientist himself concocting a potion which would change its drinker into a werewolf or worse. Our friend David thought that the house was haunted and that the howling dogs were actually ghosts. He believed that their wailing was for their now dead master who roamed the house and nearby fields at night unable to rest. 

I didn’t know what to believe. My family thought that it was all superstitious nonsense, but I was sure that there was something that was not quite right about the house. I desperately wanted to investigate, to satisfy my curiosity, but deep down I felt too scared to even think about doing anything. 

You’ll Never Walk Alone – Review

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Adventure, Book, Chris Hall, Goodreads, Jade Camel, Liverpool, Monkey, Necklace, Review, Ruby, story, You'll Never Walk Alone

Time for another book review, I think. Today’s book is ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ by the very wonderful and gifted Chris Hall.

Chris Hall writes with a style which can only be described as irresistible. From the very opening of ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ until the closing sentence I was hooked and, like all of the other stories of hers that I have read, I simply didn’t want to put the book down.

Written with great wit and humour, the story twists and turns, drawing new characters in as it unwinds, each of whom has their role to play. Without wanting to give too much away this is a story that is easy to imagine actually happening; the characters are all very real and three dimensional and some of the coincidences that occur along the way are very believable and, indeed, relatable.

Chris’s descriptions are vivid and clear, and certainly not over-worked, allowing the reader to easily form a visual narrative as they read. Would it help to have a little background knowledge of Britain in the 1980’s? Well, I’m not sure. Being British (and of an age) I found it easy to identify with the setting (even though my knowledge of Liverpool, where the story is set, is very limited), and I found myself chuckling at times at some of the references to which her characters allude: (‘You dancing?’ for example). So, in answer to the question, I would say not, such is the strength of the story.

There are moments within the story where I genuinely took a breath and thought ‘well, I didn’t see that coming’, which, if I’m honest, doesn’t happen that often.

And, of course, there’s a monkey! Who could say no?

This is a story that I know I will re-read over and over and, if you enjoy a good, realistic adventure (with just a hint of mysterious legend) then ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ is the book you’ve been searching for. 

Highly recommended. 

A quick review…

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Adventure, Book, Chris Hall, E-book, fantasy, Review, South Africa, Spirit of the Shell Man, story, writing

Another book review appears to have escaped!

I hope that my review of ‘Spirit of the Shell Man ‘ by the wonderfully talented Chris Hall encourages you to check it out.

Spirit of the Shell Man is a wonderfully told and difficult to put down sequel to the fantasy/adventure Song of the Sea Goddess. In it, we are re-introduced to the central characters of the prequel, and their personalities continue to be developed with wit, skill and humour. Yes there are many references to the previous story, all of which link perfectly, and with continuity, for anyone who has read ‘Song…’ . What stands out in this story, however, is the quality of writing which ensures that this is not merely a sequel but also stands on its own two feet as a work in its own right.
Spirit of the Shell Man is a thrilling and compelling adventure story which combines both action, fantasy and a touch of mythology, and yet is rooted very much in the everyday lives of a group of people living in a small community in South Africa. Chris Hall’s characters are rounded and interesting and her attention to detail in her descriptions allows the reader to fully visualise every scene. There are twists and turns a-plenty here which will keep the reader on their toes and guessing right up until the story’s fulfilling conclusion.
Highly recommended.

Song of the Sea Goddess by Chris Hall

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Adventure, Allegory, Amazon, Book, Chris Hall, fantasy, Knidle, Novel, Review, Song of the Sea Goddess, story

This is not something that I would normally do (but who knows what the future holds), but I have just finished reading this wonderful book by Chris Hall and wanted to share my thoughts:

Part fantasy, part adventure and part allegory, Song of the Sea Goddess is an imaginative and eloquently told story about the unfolding of the lives of a group of seemingly unconnected characters following one bizarre event.

Chris Hall develops each character through individual chapters that slowly become interwoven and lead towards an unexpected climax. Particularly enjoyable is how seemingly random events show up which give a wonderful insight into the past lives of several of the characters. Indeed each character comes to life as the story unfolds and, as most of the book is written in the present tense, the reader’s connection with them develops in a sort of ‘real time’.

The chapters themselves are relatively short which works very effectively to help the reader to internalise their understanding of the characters and their relationships. 

I don’t want to go into plot detail as each event is important to the overall story and needs to be discovered by the reader, but expect plenty of twists and turns with each page. 

So often, I find, story endings can ‘tail off’ a little, but this is far from the case here; Chris’s ending is as strong as her opening and leaves a satisfying feeling on the reader.

I would heartily recommend this book to anyone who enjoys a fantasy adventure with its feet firmly planted in reality.