Friday, December 14, 2012



My Blood Curry collection was published in 2011 to great reviews. Here are some:

**


Blood Curry
John Irvine
Dark Continents Publishing
Horror poetry. There’s a niche subgenre if ever there was one, but there appears to be quite a lot happening in this particular area with the arrival of three collections in the past year.
Anomalous Appetites edited by Kiwi John Irvine is a truly international smorgasbord of ‘fantastic’ poetry, spanning SF, fantasy, horror and all points in between. Each poem is accompanied by an original illustration. It was a prodigious undertaking from John and the outcome is impressive. At times playful and self-referential, at others it is darkly revealing.
John’s own work has now surfaced in the deliciously titled Blood Curry, described as a, ‘collection of recipes, poems and short stories in the speculative genre’. Again beautifully illustrated, I can imagine the fictional Paul Haines having a copy of this next to his other cook books. Perhaps there’s something in the New Zealand water that makes for unsettling writing. Whatever the cause, you’ll find it here in spades.
Keith Stevenson
Writer, Publisher, Editor
Read coeur de lion books — www.coeurdelion.com.au
Listen to the Terra Incognita podcast – www.tisf.com.au and on itunes

**

Blood Curry
by John Irvine
Reviewed by Edward Cox
(600 words approx)
Food has always been a source of inspiration for writers, especially fruit with its rich metaphors of skin and flesh and seeds, and the juxtaposition of a healthy options diet used to explore darker themes. With Blood Curry, John Irvine shrugs off the diet entirely, cracks open a tub of real lard, and fries up a full English breakfast for the morning after a night on the booze with your friends . . . that is if your friends just happen to be creatures of nightmare whose particular tipple is poison that has been mulled and spiced with blood.
            Blood Curry is a collection of poems and flash fiction, and each piece is as gruesome as the next. “Compassion” is a jarring account of a mother’s ‘kindness’, while “Grandfather” and “It’s a Dirty Job” are disturbing in their use of supposed taboos. In “The Voodoo Man” Death is not so easy to cheat, and “The Symphony of Abaddon” puts souls on the menu as the devil grooms we poor mortals for a place in his eternal choir. 
            Lurking between the poems and stories are recipes from around the world for genuine dishes with one common ingredient: animal blood. In context of the book, these recipes read like something found on the menu for Mrs Lovett’s pie shop. Not only will they repulse you, but also leave you strangely hungry for what’s on offer. The most gruesome dish is perhaps Tiét Canh, or Raw Blood Soup, which is made with the life juice of ducks or geese. Diners are warned that eating Tiét Canh runs the risk of contracting the H5N1 bird flu virus, which, frankly, seems the least of their worries.  
            An anthology so inspired by food demands the appearance of vampires somewhere along the line, and Irvine doesn’t disappoint with the likes of “You know you’re a writer when . . .” and “Hollywood”. Nor, indeed, could the absence of cannibals be excused, and here we’re treated tales like “Undead” and “Five”. And to provide a little light in the darkness, Irvine scatters a few jokes here and there such as: Zero gravity love: coming is mainly going; and: My alien penis: one is apparently too many.
            My favourite piece of the collection is “The Sailor”, which is also accompanied by my favourite piece of artwork, courtesy of Marge Simon. “The Sailor” is a chilly account of a passenger waiting to be taken across the river Styx. Unfortunately for this passenger, Charon might just be hungry for more than the coin in his hand. The poem carries a sense of menace throughout, and the imagery suggests there is more here than what the eye can see and the ear can hear:
His ship glides
effortlessly,
casting no bow wave,
making no sound,
touching gently
upon the shore where
a passenger waits.
            All in all, Blood Curry is a book that’s out to have fun, to disturb, to entertain and intrigue. The provocative and thoughtful artwork of Tony Karnes, Laura Givens, Jeff Beckman, Cathy Edmunds, Marge Simon, Stella Danelius and Dave Freeman, does a grand job of rubber stamping the imagery induced by the words. And with a final note on our wordsmith, a man who hopes to die peacefully one day without warning and with minimal leakage, John Irvine is certainly an author you want to find on your bookshelf, but most definitely not in your kitchen.

EdwardCox
for Star*Line magazine

**

                    
Blood Curry
John Irvine
Ever wanted to find out exactly how many different dishes in the world are made with the use of blood all while reading a wide range of short stories and poetry?  Then Blood Curry is the book for you.
I have to say, I’ve never seen a set of human cooking recipes that I found so delightful.  I’ve read The Superior Guide to Italian Cooking, not impressed, Everything You Ever Needed to Know about Asian Cuisine, wasn’t interested personally, I even read the horrible set of Biggest Loser cookbooks they came out with, all I can say about those overly sappy books is that if I wanted to hear so many f***ing sob stories I’d pick up a book on celebrity apologizes.  The one and only cookbook I’ve ever been able to agree with was 986 Ways to Eat a Human; it wasn’t nearly as popular as its predecessor, 40 Ways to Cook a Human but I’ve never really enjoyed cooking people with my undead tastes aiming more towards the raw side of human flesh.  I guess I can’t really blame all these other human written cookbooks since other than Hannibal Lector, most people don’t eat other people and with the exception of the occasional pig, I only eat people.  However, with some of the great recipes author John Irvine presents in Blood Curry I may have to become reacquainted with human food, at least these blood infused flavors.  Enough with the edibles for now, considering this collection isn’t just about the food I should stop babbling and just get on with the review.
Blood Curry is basically broken down into three different parts (all mixed together throughout the collection): recipes, short stories, and poems.  I’ll go over each one separately.
The first bit is the above mentioned recipes, all of which contain some kind of blood or another.  Sometimes it’s beef blood, sometimes pork blood, and sometimes rabbit blood, but sadly none containing human blood, though since I hear human blood is still illegal in all but two countries I won’t hold it against him.  These aren’t made up recipes either; these are real culinary treats from around the world.  I have to admit at being a little surprised at how many members of the living from all walks of life consumed bloody delights, some of them even sound rather tasty.  Personally, I find that impressive, that a meal made with animal blood could peak my interest.  Understand there are a few that repulsed me, making my stomach churn just by reading what they were, meals that I imagine you’d have to grow up with in order to develop the taste.  It was an odd, but intriguing addition to a collection of short stories and poems and I’m glad these recipes were included.  Besides, odd is always better than normal.
The second bit would be the short stories, stories which are impossible to pin down in any one genre, a nod to the talent of John Irvine.  Alien breeders, he’s got it, time travel gone awry, he’s got it, giant horny Monarch Butterflies, he’s got it, evil Jesus, yep, he’s got that too.  It could be Science Fiction, Horror, or Speculative Fiction but one thing that is certain, there’s not a bad story among any of them.  They’re twisted, dark, and sometimes even funny; most of them are also very short, meaning you can get through a few stories at a time.  Don’t take their brevity to be a complaint; I enjoyed the ability to go through a few stories at a time, the way each story is such a different class than the last makes for a very fascinating read.  I’ll give you a few ideas of what you’re going to be reading, and these are only a few amid my favorites.  Fly My to the Moon has a man dealing with alien abduction theories (I won’t say more), Annabelle of Aries shows us how off an extraterrestrial species may be in determining the dominant life on Earth, Dah, dah, dah finds a piano prodigy full of arrogance ready to be brought down, and Hollywood tells the tale of a vampire sick of the stereotypes.  There are so many examples to choose from that these are just a drop in the bucket.
The last bit is dedicated to John Irvine’s distinctive style of poetry.  This was the bit that surprised me the most.  I hate poetry just as much as I hate most art (H.R. Gigar and the students of the late Stan Winston being exceptions); I take most things too literally to get a lot out of the symbolic nature art and poetry present.  Irvine’s poetry I really dug.  There may be a reason for this in my case.  A lot of his poetry comes across more as mini stories unto themselves, something I could get into.  The ones that do have a more symbolic nature are easily relatable, giving those like me (the ones who see a picture for a picture) a better chance of understanding what Irvine is trying to present.
Once all of these bits have been put together, the result is a great read I would not recommend missing out on, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy the hell of the artwork as well.
Andy Taylor
The_Undead_Review

Published By: Dark Continents Publishing
Written By: John Irvine
Horror-Web Rating: 5 Stars Out of 5

**



Sunday, December 24, 2006

Drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs

Yes, indeedy...where would we be without the good old pharmaceutical companies looking out for our mental health. Administering to our every schizophrenic whim, conceptualising our various phycoses...

I've changed my meds recently as the previous post explains. The following is a bit of whimsy that is firmly embedded between the succulent thighs of reality.

Here's how I see it..

****

It's the bee's knees

I’m on a new medication

apparently the old one
wasn’t up to the job
out of the ark, really
I mean Prozac’s
been around forever.

my pragmatic doc
assures me that these
new ones are the bee’s knees
even if I indulge
in a few daily beverages
now that’s really good news
and they seem to be working fine

my only problem now
is staying awake long enough
to go to sleep

Cooldragon
24th December 2006 ©

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Back to the wall.......

Yes, it's back to the wall today. Changed meds a few weeks ago, and yesterday had them reduced slightly. Great, you might say. Less drugs has to be better, right? Well, tonight I'm wound up like a clock spring, tight and tense. Everything aggravates me.

Is it the meds, or am I just losing my grip? Or am I just pandering to my weaknesses?

Who knows... not even the Wonder Woman doc here does.... I'm of a mind to get shot of the bloody things altogether and go back to the good old days when I was occasionally suicidal, but WRITING! I don't wish to be as calm as a cabbage or as level as a lemon. I have no libido, no attention span, I'm always tired and have no desire for anything at all except quietness and space. A lot of space...

I'd rather have a shorter and more fulfilling existence than a lovely long life with lashings of lalalalalala.

I'll think on that. Meantime, I'll have another double rum.... just in case.

Monday, December 11, 2006

I want to be fat, don't I?

Yea, well.... week two (or is it three) along the new anorexia trail
and I'm all hanging out behind like a dog's arse. At first I strode out,
determined not to let Shortarse get to the predetermined lamp post
at the far end of the bay first. That lasted two days before my back gave out.

Yea right...

But true. Honest injun. I do have a lower back "issue" probably resulting
from years of motorcycle racing and having consenting sex in the back
of a 1937 Morris Eight. Whatever.... The fact is that a one km flat out walk
leaves me in considerable pain. What a bugger, eh?

So now I stroll along the beach looking for driftwood and NZ kauri gum (amber)
while Herself JOGS along the road. We meet up at the half way back point, and
I hand over any treasures I've been lucky enough to find. Part of the deal.

I've slipped back into old habits as quickly as a fox on the trot. I still go along,
but "the back" is my out for anything strenuous. I'm a weakling, I know, but
it can't hurt to let Herself have the limelight, can it? She deserves it really...
Of course, now I have to drink all the grog because that's on the prohibited
list for her now.

Maybe fat is OK after all...

Friday, November 24, 2006

Flying close to the sun...

Flying close to the sun...

So it's been a while. Sue me..

We're three days into the new regime health here: we are to become fatless and fit apparently. Less drinking, less red meat, more fruit and more (shudder) exercise. I am not allowed to have a heaping of last night's left-over stew on my 1" thick toast for breakfast.. oh no. Now it's a grapefruit or yogurt or a banana. Yum. I can't wait to wake up in the mornings.

We drink NZ goat's milk, eat NZ sheep's milk feta, and I use no cream in the sauces. It's not all bad. I actually like the taste of goat's milk in my coffee, and the feta is delicious. It's all just bloody expensive. Bad luck to have begun all this right now when I need a new computer.

Then there's the exercise, of course. Oh, I know it's good for me... heart rate improves, bowels work (not that they were a problem before) and better wind. We drive to the beach each morning and power walk to the far end along the foreshore and road--about a kilometre. Then stroll back along the beach among the fish skeltons, dead shellfish, dried seaweed and beer bottles.

Herself has become rampant... her little short legs sweep her along in front increasing the distance between us with every aggressive stride. She can't swing her arms because of damage to her shoulders, but she barrels along scattering mynah and heron and blackbird, dust swirling in her wake. Which is where I am.

She is a shining example of dedication to a healthier life-style, and I can only hope that she finds another windmill to tilt at before she looks like a stunted version of Naomi Campbell. Mind you.........

Monday, October 02, 2006

My bro Bob..

Flying close to the sun...

I'm melancholy today, thinking about my brother Bob. Not blood, in fact I never met him in the flesh, but he was as true a brother to me as anyone who may have come from my mother's womb.

A bit older, a lot smarter... Mensa-rated, in fact. But gentle and loving and understanding. A Southern Baptist preacher, ex-cop, among many other things... he was there for me in spite of his horrific health problems. We chatted daily on Messenger, even when he could hardly breath.. it was tough for him, and bloody hard for me at this end.

I got to hear his voice not long before he died, even if his deafness pervented him from hearing mine.

God help me, I've never loved another soul like this man... except maybe my old dog. All brothers togetherr, eh?

Saturday, September 30, 2006

Bloody broadband..

OK, I'm going to have a wine about the Internet. Well, more about the telephone company who provides the service (there's an oxymoron for a start) to our locale. We live in rural NZ, and Telecom, who've had a monopoly since the far-sighted NZ govt sold the system off some years ago, have an inadequate system in place for the year 2006. We were told, however, by a man who sounded as though he were talking to 5 year olds that when they put the system in it was state of the art... spare no expense. Back in 1992, that was.

After much lobbying by local residents to Telecom moles and our local MP, (yes I know, a politician) Telecom despatched three souls from three far-away places (at great expense)
in NZ to confront a simmering gaggle of local residents, farmers and business people. It was to be an afternoon of pie-charts, graphs and defensive rhetoric. After one and a half relentless hours, no questions out to the panel were satisfactorily answered, and several residents were pretty darned hot under the collar.

All questions were defended with the beloved and utterly inaccurate charts. Our local MP ran a tight ship, and defused several potential murders... all justifiable homicide in my opinion. She took copious notes and is to present a cogent plea to the CEO of Telecom sometime in the near(?) future. Maybe it will bring results given that it will be woman-to-woman, but I doubt it.

Oh, we got the grand vision... no promises mind, but a grand vision of how rural NZ was to become blah blah blah.... you know.

So we have no access to broadband (highspeed), a dial-up speed of 19.2kps, and the frontline telephone Helpline (another oxymoron) tols two residents recently that if we choose to live in a rural community that we have to expect poorer services. Good one, Telecom.

It all comes back to shareholders...

I think I'll blow up Telecom headquarters...

icarus...