The Polyverse
(Beneath The Pleasure Zones II)
Paul Green

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9781906958701_cov


The Polyverse
(Beneath The Pleasure Zones II)
Paul Green
Format: Softcover
ISBN: 978-1-906958-70-1
£9.99/US$14
Subjects: Fiction/Science-Fiction/Cyberpunk

In Beneath the Pleasure Zones 1 – The Rupture Paul Green created a dystopian world disrupted by the Qliphothic forces of chaos. Its sequel The Polyverse takes us deeper into the inscapes of a ravaged Britain, where the pagans of Leynebridge, the digerati of London and battling fundamentalist militias all struggle to control the flux of reality, under the overview of those sinister cyber-demons the Quantum Brothers.

In the midst of these upheavals, Lucas, poet and aspiring scribe of Thoth is still seeking Carla, his capricious sex-goddess, while Lombard the manic virtual reality tycoon undergoes a psycho-sexual metamorphosis that transforms his strategies of control. Ultimately things fall apart, on an apocalyptic scale, taking characters on journeys where everything they most love appears to be destroyed. Magicks work, but not as expected and signs in the sky can be deceptive. But from this maelstrom of horror, wonder and bleak farce, the possibility of Albion’s new beginning emerges.

Paul Green’s other work includes the novel The Qliphoth and the poetry collection The Gestaltbunker. His dramas, which have been broadcast on BBC Radio 3, CBC Radio, RTE Ireland and Resonance FM, have been collected in Babalon and Other Plays – the title piece being his evocation of occult rocket scientist Jack Parsons. Based in Hastings, he has performed at numerous esoteric and literary events. He is not to be confused with the esteemed psychic biker of the same name, whose fascinating book is also published by Mandrake. insert link here?

‘Good storytelling always leaves you wanting to know what comes next… Plus Green has a talent for some splendidly epigrammatic and surprising phraseology. The bizarre events become satires for our fears and desires and fantasies about where magic and science and social fragmentation might take us…’ (Peter Carroll on Beneath the Pleasure Zones – The Rupture)

Mind-Sprung
A D Harvey
(Crime Fiction)

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978-1-906958-67-1b


Mind-Sprung
AD Harvey
Format: Softcover
ISBN: 978-1-906958-67-1
£9.99/US$15.99
Subjects: Crime Fiction/Entheogens/Counterculture.

An A-Level drop-out graduates from evicting immigrants during the heyday of the inner-city slum landlords during the 1960s to stripping redundant churches during the early 1970s, before moving to northern Sweden equipped only with the proceeds of selling stolen property and some hashish. He finds new sources of hashish even in Sweden but eventually the money runs out, and he returns to London: only to discover it is even worse than when he left.

Eric Naiman, a Professor of Russian and Comparative Literature at Berkeley, in a six-page attack on A.D.Harvey’s multitudinous literary crimes in THE TIMES LITERARY SUPPLEMENT in 2013, described Harvey’s account of drug-taking and other shenanigans in London and the Swedish Arctic as “unreadable”, but perhaps that was because he hadn’t actually read it. Another of A.D.Harvey’s novels, WARRIORS OF THE RAINBOW was described by THE GUARDIAN as “weirdly compelling” and by THE INDEPENDENT as “free-flowing and poetic….unforgettable.”

Beneath the Pleasure Zones :
The Rupture
Paul Green

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Beneath The Pleasure Zones
The Rupture
Paul Green
Format: Softcover
ISBN: 978-1-906958-58-9 (ebook 978-1-906958-51-0)
£8.99/US$12.99
Subjects: Fiction/Science-Fiction/Cyberpunk.

When Lucas Beardsley blundered into the Qliphothic Forces of the Polyverse, Britain’s reality-consensus was drastically disrupted. Everyday causality was never quite the same again…

Now Londoners escape into the virtual-reality thrills of Pleasure Centres plc, while Borderland villages embrace an eclectic neo-paganism. Meanwhile Fundamentalist militias – Mo-Boys and Heavy Shepherds – battle for overall control.

In the Borderlands, Lucas works desperate magicks to win back his ex-lover Carla. In London traumatised computer wizard Dr Crowe seeks work with Pleasure Centres. For Lombard, CEO of Pleasure Centres, has a manic plan to restore the status quo by using Crowe’s cyber-skills to manipulate the ancient forces of the Borderlands.

‘A profound knowledge of the byways of pagan and magical thinking is integrated with an awareness both of current political trends and new technologies.’
– Tim Pendry

This first volume of Paul Green’s new fiction sequence ends with a bizarre and terrifying climax that defines the world of the sequel –
– BENEATH THE PLEASURE ZONES –THE POLYVERSE

Paul Green’s other work includes the novel The Qliphoth and the poetry collection The Gestaltbunker. His dramas, which have been broadcast on BBC Radio 3, CBC Radio, RTE Ireland and Resonance FM, have been collected in Babalon and Other Plays – the title piece being his evocation of occult rocket scientist Jack Parsons. Based in Hastings, he has performed at numerous esoteric and literary events. He is not to be confused with the esteemed psychic biker of the same name, whose fascinating book is also published by Mandrake.

The Return Of The Tetrad
Christopher McIntosh

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(Occult Fiction)

cover


The Return of The Tetrad
Christopher McIntosh
Format: Softcover
ISBN: 978-1-906958-18-3
£9.99/US$15
Subjects: Magical/Occult Fiction/Occult Thriller.

Paul Cairns, the narrator of this story, is a young journalist with a penchant for the occult. Prompted by a mysterious recurring nightmare, he seeks the advice of Gilbert North, scholar, country squire and occultist, who leads him on an extraordinary series of adventures involving a quest for the Tetrad, four primal magical objects corresponding to the elements and the suits of the Tarot. Cairns’ life becomes full of weird and supernatural happenings in a great magical battle between dark and light. But in the world of Gilbert North things are not quite what they seem. Layers of reality and unreality are peeled away until the deeper meaning of the whole quest is revealed.

REVIEW
Herbie Brennan (Ireland) –

This review is from: The Return Of The Tetrad (Kindle Edition).

Christopher McIntosh’s `Return of the Tetrad` is that rarest of commodities, an intelligent, vivid, well-written and, above all, authentic occult thriller that grips like a man-trap and provides an ending at once surprising and ultimately satisfying. The McIntosh style is reminiscent of Colin Wilson’s early novels, presenting thought-provoking ideas and deep-rooted esoteric concepts in an easily-digestible form that never becomes either difficult or patronising. This is occult fiction as it should be, but seldom is.

McIntosh, himself an academic expert in the esoteric, has mastered the art of suspending reader disbelief until the time comes for revelations that are as convincing as they are unexpected. According to the author,the first draft of the work was completed 40 years ago and has undergone various rewrites and revisions ever since. The end result is worth the wait. I read this book with enormous enjoyment and no little admiration.

Highly recommended.

HIPPALOS

Greek and Indian sources tell of Greek and Indian sources tell of an Alexandrian Greek navigator called Hippalos. He discovered a direct route across the ocean from the Red sea, to legendary Musiris in South India. 2000 miles of open ocean in 30 days and nights. India: when the Kama Sutra was first written down. India where Buddhists and Hindus hate each other with a vengence and where mighty dynasties are embroiled in bloody war. Against this powerful backdrop the heart of Hippalos is tested to its limit as friends fight for survival and a passionate love affair grows. Hippalos’s journey, based on fact, offers us a way through the vast ocean of Indian story. You will be entertained and then initiated into the secrets of ancient India as you have never before seen it.

272pp / 3 maps / Price: £9.99

I, Crowley
Snoo Wilson


I, Crowley
Snoo Wilson
Format: Softcover
ISBN: 9781869928476
£9.99/US$20
Subjects: Occult Fiction

‘I never killed Raoul Loveday with a magical spell.’

Aleister Crowley, otherwise known as the Beast 666, shared membership of the Golden Dawn with W.B. Yeats, and publishers with D.H. Lawrence. Now in a beyond-the-grave autobiography, he recounts his own vocation, his practice of sex magic, and his bruising encounters with his contemporaries.
The great magus, whose own world-conquering creed, The Book of the Law, was written in Cairo in 1904, was according to him, no murderer, but a prophet and practitioner of all kinds of sexual freedom and new magical systems.
‘I shall continue to protest my innocence as long as I have a hole in my bottom.’
The Wickedest Man in the World? Or Post-Christian Messiah? Read this book and judge for yourself.
Extract
Reviews
‘intriquing and sordidly entertaining’ – Gay Times
‘Brilliant . . . the Great Beast explaining himself in lapel-grabbing prose:’
– Simon Callow, Sunday Telegraph
‘Excellent . . . perverse, funny and at times as inexplicably moving as its subject. Recommended’
– Fortean Times
‘Probably the most fun you’ll have with a British novel all year’ – The Edge
…thanks to Snoo for a great book. Thoroughly enjoyed it. Made me laugh and cry. Excellent.’ – Sparky

‘. . . really good fun. Its not very kind to old Crow, and the language is a bit more vulgar than required (or than he would have used), but on the other hand. . . it does produce a charming caricature of Ye Great Beast that serves to perpetuate the myth. …Dear 666 would have felt flatttered… What I liked about the book, part from its jokes and the invaluable occult illustrations, is the contrast between Crowley as a human being (and egomaniac) and the Master Therion, the perfect ego-less adept he would have liked to be . . . Its the difference as between a Thelemite and a follower of Crowleyanity. Symonds’ Great Beast was almost totally obsessed with the Demon Crowley, Wilson’s novel is better balanced , it mixes the ego tripper with the Logos of the Aeon. This produces some confusion, and maybe this confusion is close to the conflicts that the real AC experienced. I suspect that he often got muddles up as to who was who in him and who cares, and put on his Great Magus Hat whenever his ego felt threatened and misunderstood. Considering that so many people are involved in the dull cult of Crowleyanity, and spend their time trying to be like the guru or wasting money collecting the master’s underpants, a critical treatment of the person Crowley, such as you dared to inflict on the long-suffering public, is an excellent and much need magickal gesture.’ – Jan Fries

Extract pages 25-31

It is time to meet Raoul Loveday.

He who was once my beloved, my Man. The year is 1918. We go inside the British Museum. The room is resplendent, a magnificent invocation of the age of the Pharoahs. You may hear my whispered voice but I shall only be ‘directing traffic’, as it were, a friendly astral presence.

Before we meet Raoul I should explain. In reality, at this moment, I was astride a fat black whore, very sensuous, three thousand miles away in New York in the heat of summer. If we stuck strictly with Greenwich Mean Time, she would be squealing delightedly as I slipped a cornucopia of products from the local ice house into her vas nefandum. But; – by virtue of my Parker pen, I am hovering here in the British Museum, in the Egyptian room, a ghostly Virgil, to guide you towards your meeting.

Come with me, oh sensation-seeking novitiates, past Babylonian lions, and giant relics of vast statues of the Pharoahs of Egypt. Let me move you past the mummies in their bitumen-soaked linen wraps, the golden scarabs and riddling sphinxes. Here a giant arm, there a huge disembodied head. Shelley caught fallen greatness in his web here over a hundred years ago. And yet, what is a hundred years to Ra and Osiris?

Sunlight shines through the boards, shafting into the exotic gloom. Peace has arrived at last, but the windows are still boarded up after Zeppelin damage.The atmosphere in here is of dark, brooding intensity. Footsteps on stone echo round the high ceilings. Sounds of hackney horse-drawn cabs filter through from outside, and an infrequent intrusive motor car.

A young couple are examining the exhibits. They have the glow of youth upon them. The young man is tale, pale and excitable, with flopping dark hair, his movements feline and attractive, the woman, short, older than him, brassy and self-assured. Yes! It is Raoul Loveday and his wife. This way, dear boy. Come and claim your dread destiny. The Museum is where your die will be cast.

Raoul is so overcome by the atmosphere breathed out by the relics, he cannot understand how anyone can not be equally moved. But Betty does not, cannot ever share his sublime thoughts.

Raoul’s head is ablaze with the laws of numbers that underpin the firmament. Betty is thinking about the impression she made on his parents at their wedding. The age difference, do you see, must have been mentioned. Her being so much older than him, already tweaking and bleaching her tiny moustache, pulling in her flaccid stomach as she tummocks in the altogether for boys from the Slade Art School, who are all wearing berets and green corduroy smocks, and worrying whether they have, or do not have, the clap-

Betty and Raoul. Alone in the British Museum. With me, Like Raoul’s Holy Guardian Angel, hovering above.

How did Raoul find me? In search of a mentor, he had written to me about the laws of magic in mathematics before the war, and I courteously returned his schoolboy enquiries by outlining some paths of exploration her could pursue relating to the numeric structure of the ‘Qabal, and the relationship of p to the Sephiroth. We met, after the war, which as I am not afraid to say, I spent in America. I was almost too old to fight, certainly too wise to drown like a dog in Flanders mud. In any case, my services as a secret agent for the British Government having been refused,21 I had a mind to take America by storm.

When I came back to England, Raoul had grown into a man. But he had taken ether under my supervision. When he married Betty, she made him swear he would not touch me, or drugs again. Betty came from Soho, in London, and the prevailing ‘wisdom’ of artists models and tarts alike (Indistinguishable categories around the likes of Augustus John23) was that boys like Raoul had to be kept on the straight and narrow, or, in shopgirl parlance, they went ‘to the bad’.

I will say one thing for Betty. She was never backward about supporting the pair of them, using her body. She was close to being that impossibility, an honest whore. Her cocaine intake had been stupendous, but she had pulled away from it.

‘There was once a religion which could have united mankind. We have to rediscover the source of inspiration.’ Raoul’s whisper to her in that echoing room falls on stony ground. Betty’s scornful rasp would have come back something like-

‘I thought Mister Crowley had the secret already and went to America to keep it safe.’ Never mind I was in two minds about getting involved in stupidest epidemic of hostilities in history. By the end of the conflict, The War Office in England had been bullied into conscripting anyone under forty five. In Betty’s view if I had joined the Clerkenwell cattle on their way to the slaughterhouse, it would at least have got rid of me.

Raoul had told her that I wanted to work in Europe, and that I had plans for a idealistic community which he wanted to join. She of course sneered.

Raoul related to me how the tragedy snowballed after that. Betty had sneered first at me, then at Anubis. Anubis is the jackal-headed god, with a human body, who ferries the souls of the dead to the underworld. Anubis sees both life and death. There was a fine statue of him there. He is a kindly psychopomp unlikely to take offence.

Betty’s third slight, which wound up destiny irrevocably, was to a priestess of Amon Ra, a most powerful lord of life and death, and unable, if you wish for my opinion, to take such a thing lightly.

According to Raoul, they were standing before the imposing mummy of the handmaiden to Amon Ra.

Betty began making flippant remarks, while poor Raoul was stuttering that he wanted the priestess to bless their wedding. Not even the high god, the priestess. Raoul was always humble.

Then Betty did this foolish thing. Her insult was to thumb her nose at the mummy, in a deliberate fashion.

Raoul begged her not to do it, to apologise.

Naturally, Amon- Ra could not overlook this insult to his handmaiden.

‘What’s wrong?’ Betty said. The words dried in his mouth, he told me. He could not speak, and all he could think of was numbers. Behind her, Raoul could see a boarded up door with a message on it, which boded ill. It read NO ENTRY. ZEPPELIN DAMAGE. Just then Betty, undaunted by her new husband, to cap her insolence, stuck her tongue out as far as it would go, at the handmaiden of Amon Ra. Sometimes it is necessary to arrest insolent ignorance at the point of issue, or it breeds pestilence. If I had been in Raoul’s shoes, wed to Betty, I would have fetched her a smack in the chops that would have carried her across the room, and put her out of modelling work for a week. Raoul, of course, being Raoul, kept his hands to himself. ‘Betty! Stop!’ Raoul whimpered.

The tongue, stuck out like Betty stuck it out is a particular insult to the Egyptian Eternals. For the old Egyptian language – (lost to us now, alas, we only have debased hieroglyphics) – is the closest we may ever get to the Words of the Creator.

The Tongue shares the blame for The Fall. Sometimes I believe I will meet one of the Secret Chiefs24 who will address me in that divine language. I speak prayers in Enochian,25 but the Highest Angelic discourse has not yet been reclaimed.

– To return to our thickened plot – Betty, having offended the gods with her tongue, (Hers went out a particularly long way, I noticed when they came to Cefalù) turned on one polished heel, like the slut she was, and walked smartly away. Her footsteps echoed. Raoul cried-

‘Betty – come back and apologise – please.’ Of course she did nothing of the sort, but continued titupping out of the room.

Raoul turned, full of foreboding, to the statue of Amon Ra himself. He sank to his knees to the stone god. The foolish boy tried to bargain, to protect The Model, his slatternly new bride. So much charcoal had been crushed by so many ‘artists’ depicting Betty’s plumply endowed bush it is surprising the area had any mystery left in it. But Raoul was young. Like the doomed youths who went ‘over the top’ for Horatio Bottomley and the rest of the war profiteers, he took it upon himself to expiate others’ crime with his own blood-offering. Raoul bleated to Amon Ra- ‘Don’t take it out on her. If there must be a judgement, great Lord, let it be on me – on me!’

Naturally, Amon Ra took him at his word.

Later, Raoul answered my summons to the Abbey, Betty reluctantly accompanying him. London, Dover, Calais, Paris, Palermo. Betty was spared but Raoul was called, and was buried by me outside the cemetery of Cefalu, with a huge crowd of Sicilians ogling the goings-on. Subsequently there was a great brouhaha in the Beaverbrook press about a ‘Satanic’ burial by the light of babies being burned, in unconsecrated ground. The same old lies that Christians have told about Jews for two thousand years.

The truth is, Raoul could not possibly have been buried inside the cemetery, he was not a Catholic. In fact, Raoul’s soul had a fine send-off. We danced and sang and threw libations. The robes of the Abbey came in for applause from the crowds, who were openly disappointed when the magnificent show came to an end. It was the frankness and sexual openness of the community women which really touched the imaginations of the crowds of short, greasy Sicilian men. Even Betty had to admit that the funeral touched the heartstrings. If I had not been expelled from Italy immediately after, I would have been able to staff any number of Abbeys from amongst the local population. I sent Raoul off with my very best poem, one we used to recite almost daily in our rituals together, my ‘Hymn to Pan’. If you cannot find a copy in your local library, do feel free to make your own Hymn.

I’m sure Pan will not mind.

Your fond uncle,

The Grammar Of Witchcraft
David Parry


The Grammar of Witchcraft
David Parry
Format: Softcover
ISBN: ISBN 978-1906958-053
£8.99/US$18
Subjects: Culture/Poetry/Fiction.

In this collection of poems and mini-sagas, Parry narrates the final journey taken by Caliban from a lesbian wedding in Liverpool, back to a London which doesn’t exist. Along the way, concepts of Saxon Witchcraft, Radical traditionalism and English ethnicity are discussed as the author unfolds his vision of an endlessly benevolent Spirit world.

THE GREAT PURPLE HOO-HA
part II
Philip H. Farber


The Great Purple Hoo-Ha
part II
Philip H. Farber
Format: Softcover/232 pp.
ISBN: 978-1-906958-251
£9.99/US$14.99
Subjects: Fiction/NLP/Magick.

‘Joe climbed out of the hole into the gray light of a stormy afternoon. Nothing was going as planned. He still hadn’t gotten his girlfriend, the goddess, into bed.

The aliens never arrived and Elvis hadn’t returned.

Up on the stage, robed magicians toting automatic weapons called down unspeakable things from the sky. A crowd of a million people was beginning to riot. And Joe knew that it was up to him, the most famous man in the world, to save the day and bring forth the Great Purple Hoo-Ha – if he could only figure out what the heck it was.’

‘As blatant propaganda, The Great Purple Hoo-Ha is funnier than Catholicism and slightly less disgusting than ads for colonic irrigation.’
– Ivan Stang,
Church of the Subgenius
www.subgenius.com

‘A surreal, submodalicious page turner that will have you leaping from the written words to your own life in a joyous celebration and an aching wish for your own Hoo-Ha.’
-Donald Michael Kraig,
author of Modern Magick and The Resurrection Murders

”From a magicko-religious point of view I’d say, ‘The Great Purple Hoo-Ha proves that changing Perception is the Great Work’. From a reader’s perspective I’d say, ‘It’s like Stranger in a Strange Land except much funnier and with hotter sex.’ From a friend’s perspective I’d say, ‘Dude, you should buy this!'”
– Don Webb,
author of Aleister Crowley: The Fire and the Force and Uncle Setnakt’s Essential Guide to the Left Hand Path

‘Farber’s writing is a joyride through the psyche. Absurdity and the internal workings of our own beliefs are less than a hair’s width apart – and Farber illustrates this with inimitable style, humor, and a kitschy sense of self- referential pseudo-realism.’
– LaSara Firefox Allen, MPNLP,
Developer of Gratitude Games and author of Sexy Witch
lasaraallen.com

THE GREAT PURPLE HOO-HA
part I
Philip H. Farber


The Great Purple Hoo-Ha
part I
Philip H. Farber
Format: Softcover
ISBN: 978-1-906958-16-9
£9.99/US$14.99
Subjects: Fiction/Magick/NLP.

‘Joe had a drinking problem. The possible demise of his television talk show and the end of his career had tilted a very big bottle of Old Mystery into his guts.

Now he was having trouble telling where the hallucinations ended and reality began. Had the mysterious young man with the cat – whom nobody else could see – really granted him a magical wish for fame and fortune?

Were the sex-obsessed cultists he was investigating on the show really bringing on the End of the World? Where did the sentient cream-filled pastries come from? Who was the Most Disgusting Rock Star Ever?

And, more importantly, would Joe ever get his new girlfriend, the Goddess, into bed?’

‘As blatant propaganda, The Great Purple Hoo-Ha is funnier than Catholicism and slightly less disgusting than ads for colonic irrigation.’
— Ivan Stang,
Church of the Subgenius

‘A surreal, submodalicious page turner that will have you leaping from the written words to your own life in a joyous celebration and an aching wish for your own Hoo-Ha.’
— Donald Michael Kraig,
author of Modern Magick and The Resurrection Murders.

”From a magicko-religious point of view I’d say, ‘The Great Purple Hoo-Ha proves that changing Perception is the Great Work’. From a reader’s perspective I’d say, ‘It’s like Stranger in a Strange Land except much funnier and with hotter sex.’ From a friend’s perspective I’d say, ‘Dude, you should buy this!'”
— Don Webb, author of Aleister Crowley: The Fire and the Force and Uncle Setnakt’s Essential Guide to the Left Hand Path.

‘Farber’s writing is a joyride through the psyche. Absurdity and the internal workings of our own beliefs are less than a hair’s width apart – and Farber illustrates this with inimitable style, humor, and a kitschy sense of self- referential pseudo-realism.’
– LaSara Firefox Allen, MPNLP,
Developer of Gratitude Games and author of Sexy Witch

SYBARITE
AMONG THE SHADOWS
Richard McNeff



UK Kindle Edition [Click Here]

USA Kindle Edition [Click Here]


Sybarite among the Shadows
Richard McNeff
Format: Softcover
ISBN: 1869928822
£9.99/US$18
Subjects: Occult Fiction/Aleister Crowley/Thelema.

Extract from SYBARITE AMONG THE SHADOWS
For Dylan Thomas centenary:

After a sinister encounter with Aleister Crowley in a Soho pub, Dylan Thomas visits his mentor Victor Neuburg, formerly the Beast’s principal follower. Everything else in the book follows on from this reputedly true event.

Dylan was standing by the bookcase squinting at the titles. He had grown a little plumper in the year since Vicky had seen him but was still cherubic, his nest of curls tousled, though not by wind, for it was one of those temperate days in early June when London flings off its overcoat and apes Marseilles. Instead, his unshaven chin, bloodshot eyes and rumpled blue check suit, with the telltale bulge in the right-hand pocket, spoke of a night of it. Nevertheless, something in his look seemed haunted by more than drink.

‘Do you think a man can read another’s mind, Vicky?’ he demanded, without preamble, in that singsong voice in which only the lilt was Welsh. ‘I was in the Swiss last night, in cahoots with this Polish girl I’d met at Pop Kleinfield’s. We had put back a few, and she was laying into me something chronic. I had heard that sort of guff before, so I just stood there doodling on the bar. I noticed a man sitting in the gloom. He was staring up at me. Large fellow, thickset, looked like a stockbroker, apart from his head, which was shaven, oh, and the hands, which were very dainty. In one, he was miffing a brandy; with the other, deliberately, as though he wanted me to notice, he took a pen from his jacket and began drawing on a napkin. The cheeky bugger’s mimicking me, I thought.’

‘Shaven head, you say’ said Vicky, trying unsuccessfully to conceal his excitement.

‘Apart that is from a little horn of hair, which I noticed when he lumbered over like an eclipse and tried to hypnotise me with the pin on his swaying tie. It was a large ebony brooch, bearing the head of a stork-like bird with a long bill curved like a boomerang. Moreover, did he stink! There was this cloying scent like cheap perfume. “I think we artists should compare productions,” he wheezed, and waved his drawing under my nose. Bugger me black if he hadn’t drawn the same as me!’

————————————–


What if the Beast returned and you were not sure if he were the best or worst thing that had ever happened to you?

Sybarite among the Shadows finds Victor Neuburg on June 11 1936 with the poet he discovered, Dylan Thomas. They embark on a quest whose object is Neuburg’s old master, the Great Beast 666; settings, the Surrealist Exhibition, and pubs and clubs of bohemian London; characters, Augustus John, Nina Hamnett and Tom Driberg. Neuburg confronts his demons; Crowley does too. They also meet something far more menacing: MI5’s plot to avert the Abdication.

Praise for SYBARITE AMONG THE SHADOWS

‘McNeff’s novel is so different from anything else you’d normally find on a bookshelf that it should perhaps be a compulsory purchase.’
Independent On Sunday

To use Aleister Crowley in a work of ‘faction’ is brave indeed. Just his name casts a spell over the page Richard McNeff has faced up to the task with aplomb and realistically recreates him in all his bizarre, mesmerizing complexity.’
Martin Booth, author of Aleister Crowley: A Life

From Snoo Wilson:

‘Full of fascinating nuggets…..Neuburg’s crisis of identity with AC is very well observed.’

Merlin’s Mound
Nigel Bryant

(Magical Fiction)
(Arthurian Myths & Legends)





Merlin’s Mound
Nigel Bryant
Format: Softcover
ISBN:
£6.99/US$10
Subjects: Magical Fiction/Grail & Arthurian Myths & Legends/Spirituality.


“a wonderful book… in the same category as Alan Garner and Susan Cooper” Professor Ronald Hutton

‘This boy’s stupendous! He can see the past and see the gods. He’s seen the Lady of the Lake!’

A colossal Stone Age mound in Wiltshire is the legendary burial place of Merlin. When Jo’s father begins to excavate, Jo himself is drawn into an extraordinary adventure that unearths the mound’s true secret. It’s up to him to reveal it before it’s destroyed. And time is short.

‘A week ago he’d have laughed at this. Now he’s on the edge of a whole new world.’

This is a story for everyone with a taste for myth, visions and another reality…

About the book:
The Stone Age monuments at Avebury in Wiltshire are world-famous, attracting thousands of visitors each year. Two of the most dramatic are the enormous burial chamber known as the West Kennet Long Barrow, and Silbury Hill, the largest man-made mound in Europe. Less well known is Silbury’s “sister” mound at Marlborough a few miles due east, but this is nothing less than the legendary burial place of Merlin.

These extraordinary sites are the key locations of the novel Merlin’s Mound, in which an adolescent is awakened in startling fashion to their meaning and original purpose. It will appeal to everyone from the protagonist’s age upward with a taste for myth, legend and visions [Marlborough is surely the only town in Britain with an Arthurian motto – WHERE NOW ARE THE BONES OF WISE MERLIN – and Merlin’s Mound will appropriately be published on June 20th 2004, the 800th anniversary of the granting of Marlborough’s charter by King John who, as it happens, makes a crucial appearance in the novel…]

REVIEWS

From Dragon’s Wood Magazine:
‘Meet Joel (Jo). He’s a nice lad. He likes football, he misses his mother (who is no longer with his dad), and he has the misfortune to have an obsessive and arrogant archaeologist for his father. Jo’s dad takes him on a dig in Marlborough Wiltshire to excavate what is locally known been as Merlin’s mound. Jo really doesn’t want to be there, he would rather be watching football or playing computer games. Indeed he calls Silbury Hill ‘another pile of prehistoric pointlessness’. Jo’s relationship with his father is fraught at best and certainly not helped by some of the comments his father makes to his son.

Things start to happen…

Jo meets Dag, Gareth and Mort, three enigmatic characters who will play an interesting role as the story unfolds. Joe starts to realise that things are happening, things that he has no explanation for, things that will cause him to question and wonder. As time goes on Jo is more and more against the excavation of the Mound. He ‘knows’ that below the ground something or someone is still in residence. Is it Merlin? His father is convinced that the Marlborough site is a burial mound of someone pretty special and that somewhere in the mound four and a half thousand-year-old treasure is waiting for him to get his grasping hands on. He doesn’t subscribe to the Merlin theory however. Jo on the other hand becomes more and more convinced that digging the mound is the wrong thing to do. It becomes his mission to reveal the true secret of the site and time is running out. What is that secret and ce of will Jo succeed?

Published by Mandrake of Oxford, Merlin’s Mound is listed on their website under the ‘young fiction’ genre. Certainly the content of this book will appeal to teenagers. However that should not deter older readers. I found this both entertaining and interesting and certainly some light relief from all those other heavy books we pagans tend to read.

The author Nigel Bryant, whose involvement with Arthurian matters is long-standing and obvious from the way he writes, brings the reader a lively contemporary tale which often challenges our ideas on modern archaeology. I was left wondering whether or not digging up the past is always the right thing to do. This is the type of story that is great for us oldies to read on lazy summer afternoons in the back garden. Youngsters will no doubt identify with the often anxed adolescent that Jo is and I highly recommend it to anyone from about 15 years old. ‘

More reviews

Druid Network:
This is a book aimed at a ‘teenage’ audience, and it’s easy to see the central character appealing to many a surly teenager! But this the tale of a special teenager with special gifts, which link everyday events and archaeology – the never ending search for scientific ‘truth’ and knowledge – to the sacred within and around us all, and to the sacred landscape of Wiltshire.

But it is a work that can be read and enjoyed by any age, the story a timeless tale, one that holds the reader spellbound, fully involved with events and engaged with the participants. The monuments of Avebury and Merlin’s Mount at Marlborough come alive on the pages, and the less well known mound of Merlins Mount is central to the whole story, as the title suggests!

The tale is well written and flows beautifully and evocatively, pulling the reader in and giving real involvement with what is happening, and how the mystery will unravel. Highly recommended.

NIGEL BRYANT v DAN BROWN
MERLIN’S MOUND author Nigel Bryant appeared on ITV’s much-publicised programme The Grail Trail (25.9.05) to attack the vision of the Holy Grail in Dan Brown’s THE DA VINCI CODE.

“It may seem strange,” he says, “that I laid into Brown for using the Grail as a symbol of the womb, of the sacred feminine, when that very thing is central to MERLIN’S MOUND. But the difference is that I’m using it knowingly as a symbol. And I don’t claim that MERLIN’S MOUND is anything more (or less) than a story.”

“The trouble with Brown’s book is that it’s a prime example of a dire new literary genre of pseudo-fact. Unfortunately, in THE DA VINCI CODE Dan Brown has swallowed hook, line and sinker the central thesis of a best-seller of two decades ago – The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail – which can be demolished in 30 seconds. ”

“The theory depends entirely on a mistake caused by astonishingly sloppy scholarship. The play on words by which the SANGREAL (the Holy Grail) is supposedly a code for SANG-REAL (‘royal blood’) – leading on to the hilarious notion (after all, let’s just stop and think about it for a second) that a child born of Jesus and Mary Magdalene was the start of a bloodline which kept going in secret for 2,000 years – simply doesn’t work. Dan Brown lists a series of ‘facts’ at the start of his book; well here’s a fact he doesn’t mention: the spelling SANGREAL doesn’t exist in any French work. It’s a pun that works only in French, but no French writer ever used it. In French it’s invariably written SAINT GRAAL. The only person who ever did write SANGREAL was the 15th-century Englishman John Hardyng whose French wasn’t very good, so he heard ‘saint graal’, didn’t know how to spell it, had a guess and wrote ‘sangreal’. And on that simple mistake, almost akin to a typing error, is the whole wild theory based.”

“I’ve no problem with it, actually – the Mary Magdalene / bloodline of Christ idea’s a fun story – but claiming it (and other supposed ‘facts’ in Dan Brown’s book) to be ‘true’ is sad in the extreme. We’ve got to be able to distinguish fact from fiction. Pseudo-fact does no favours either for fiction or for history or, for that matter, for the world of symbols.”

“I’m seriously interested in the medieval Grail stories – hence my book The Legend of the Grail [Boydell & Brewer, 2004], which brings together the eight great French grail romances of the 12th and 13th centuries and creates from them a single, coherent narrative. Womb imagery is nowhere to be seen. But that doesn’t mean I can’t use the Grail’s potential symbolism and work it into a story of the sacred feminine in MERLIN’S MOUND. But I’m not going to do a Dan Brown and claim it to be ‘true’ in the sense of being a ‘fact’. Let’s all grow up a bit. The Grail doesn’t exist and never did. But it’s there even though it’s not there. It’s absolutely ‘true’, profoundly ‘true’, when you take it as a symbol.”

Gateway to Hell
Margaret Bingley

(Occult Fiction)


Gateway to Hell
Margaret Bingley
Format: Softcover
ISBN:
£9.99/US$18
Subjects: Occult Fiction/Egyptian Magick.

Child psychologist Nicola Grainger and her husband Howard have chosen to remain childless, but when Nicola’s sister and her husband are killed in a car accident in Egypt, Nicola feels duty bound to offer their young twin sons a home.

After their arrival, it quickly becomes clear that their upbringing in Egypt, their father’s country, has left them spoiled and difficult to handle. They also have the disconcerting ability to finish each other’s sentences and constantly answer to each other’s names. At times Nicola feels that they’re not two children at all, but in fact represent different aspects of one child.

As a child psychologist, Nicola knows that the boys need time to adjust to their new life, but she has failed to understand their ability to read the minds of people around them, playing on their most terrifying subconscious fears with horrific results.

In addition to these problems, Nicola finds that she is having to cope with the boys’ attachment to the handsome Sergei, a friend of their father’s in Egypt, who visits them regularly to provide a much needed link between their past life and their new one. Only Sergei truly understands these children, and only Sergei knows the truth about their past and what the future holds for them. As he draws Nicola into his magnetic web she is literally unable to get him out of her mind. To the astonishment of everyone, including herself, she abandons Howard and travels to Egypt with Sergei and her nephews. Once there, she is plunged into a world of dark eroticism and looming evil – the hidden, gaping gateway to hell.