Guest Blogger––Thomas Mogford, "Gibraltar––An Introduction"

Every other Sunday is our day for Guest Author Postings by mystery writers who base their stories in non-US settings.  We think it a great way of introducing our readership to new experiences and places.  We’re honored to have with us today Thomas Mogford, a fellow reformed lawyer (but he’s a nice guy) I had the great pleasure of sharing a panel with a few weeks back at CrimeFest in Bristol.

Thomas studied Modern Languages at Oxford University and holds a Postgraduate Diploma in Law from City University, London.  His first novel in the lawyer Spike Sanguinetti series set on Gibraltar, Shadow of the Rock, was shortlisted for a Dagger award in the UK for best new crime writer of 2013. The sequel, Sign of the Cross, was shortlisted for the eDunnit award in 2014. The third, Hollow Mountain, was published in the UK in April, and has already been called 'a classic detective story' by The Sunday Times. Thomas lives with his family in London. www.thomasmogford.com, #ThomasMogford

Welcome, Thomas.  And thank you.

Jeff

‘As safe as the Rock of Gibraltar’ – or so the saying goes. For centuries Gibraltar has been a symbol of impregnable strength, its silhouette still used today as the logo for one of the largest American insurance companies.

But the strange truth is that the Rock of Gibraltar is not solid at all. Its Latin name is ‘Mons Calpe’, ‘Hollow Mountain’, as its interior is honeycombed by hundreds of natural passageways and caves. One of these, Lower St Michael’s, is so large it contains an underground lake, which the Romans associated with Charon the ferryman, believing that Gibraltar marked the entrance to Hell. Interlinking these caves are thirty-three miles of hand-bored tunnels, built to provide defence against the besieging Spanish. There are more miles of road inside the Rock of Gibraltar than out. In World War II, further caves were constructed inside the Rock to house the entire civilian population should Hitler decide to invade (he didn’t – his greatest tactical mistake, according to Goering). Hospitals, bakeries and warehouses lie eerily rotting inside. The mighty 1400-foot high limestone mountain has a hollow belly.

This sort of paradox is a regular occurrence in Gibraltar. The first time I visited, fifteen years ago, I did so with certain preconceptions. I knew it was part of the Iberian peninsular, and had belonged to Spain until the British captured it in the early eighteenth century. I knew there were Barbary apes living wild, and that the British military still used it as a stronghold, hence the alleged plot by the IRA to detonate a bomb, which resulted in the killings of three of its members in 1988. Union Jack flags were waved, warm English beer was drunk, the sun shone. I thought I would be in for an odd, if not particularly edifying, visit. I was wrong.

The first surprise was the locals. I’d assumed they’d be Spanish or British. Maybe half and half. But a simple glance at the shop names on Main Street revealed something different. Caruana, Isola, Sanguinetti… the most common surnames were Italian. What was a bunch of Italians doing in a disputed British territory at the southern tip of Spain? It turns out that, after the British captured the Rock in 1704, the Spanish population literally fled for the hills. The garrison needed people to service its needs, so immigration was encouraged from elsewhere in Europe. The Genoese were the Mediterranean’s most accomplished sailors – Christopher Columbus the most famous –  so in they flowed, and their descendents form the largest ethnic group among the 30,000 locals today.

What about the military? The sight of the Rock as you approach could hardly be more pugnacious – rearing like a lion against the Strait of Gibraltar and the flat Spanish plains beyond. Comprising just two and a half-square miles – the same size as Hyde Park in London – but as tight and compact as a prize-fighter. The flanks of its bone-coloured limestone are pockmarked with cannon embrasures; the street names of the city which clings to its side bristle with military history – Horse Barrack Lane, Devil’s Tower Road, Casemates Square. On closer inspection, though, the barracks and depots have been converted into offices and luxury apartments. The King’s Bastion that once protected the seaward approach to the Rock is now a leisure centre, complete with bowling lanes and ice rink. Since the end of the Cold War, the military have scaled down, and Gibraltar has had to find income from other sources. Taxes have been lowered, high finance has arrived, and the city now swarms with lawyers, hedge fund managers and online gaming firms.

The Barbary apes, then – surely they wouldn’t mess with expectations? After all, Winston Churchill promised that as long as the apes remained on the Rock, Gibraltar would stay British. He even had replacements drafted in from North Africa to keep the numbers up. The apes are there all right – you don’t even have to catch the cable car to the reserve on the Upper Rock to find them. So assured are they of their existence that they make regular sorties into town, where they raid bins, steal sandwiches from tourists, and generally swagger about with the insouciance of a bachelor party. And yet… Barbary apes? It emerges they aren’t apes at all, but monkeys – Barbary macaques with tails so stubby they were nicknamed apes. Not only are they misidentified but no one knows for certain how they got to the Rock. Some say in a hidden underground tunnel from the Atlas Mountains of Morocco. Others that they’re the descendants of pets kept by the British garrison. Another Gibraltarian enigma.

And the flag-waving? The Union Jacks certainly fly liberally – draped from the windows of cheap government housing flats, from public buildings, from the peak of the Rock itself. Graffiti that wouldn’t be out of place in Unionist bastions of Belfast colours the backstreets.

The assumption is that the Gibraltarians love Britain as it shields them from Spain, and that the British love Gibraltar as an example of the bulldog spirit they hope characterises their nation’s finer qualities. Yet this has not always been the case – on at least four occasions, most recently under Tony Blair in 2002, the British government has considered disposing of Gibraltar.

Her military use has faded, and the souring of relations with Spain has always represented a thorny issue. The problem for the British government is the loyalty of the Gibraltarians. According to the UN Charter for self-determination, if the locals vote to stay British, then British they shall stay. At a time when Scotland is debating whether to become independent, some would say that Whitehall should be pleased by Gibraltar’s steadfastness. Yet the idea of the Rock of Gibraltar being ‘safe’ is misrepresented. The threat to their existence is what makes the residents wave the British flag so fervently.

Intrigued by the Rock’s contradictions, I decided to try and capture them in a book. Lawyers are everywhere in Gibraltar, and as I trained as one, a lawyer seemed the ideal protagonist. Spike Sanguinetti came into being – and his  third adventure, Hollow Mountain, published in April 2014 in the UK, comes out August 5^th in the US.

Sunday Guest Blogger—Thomas Mogford

Bouchercon and Me

I thought of titling this “Bouchercon and MIE,” because without Bouchercon there would be no Murder is Everywhere. You see, our genesis was a panel moderated by Leighton Gage at Bouchercon 2009 in Indianapolis, through which seven renowned mystery writers from around the globe, united in common cause and dissolute bar behavior, created MIE. 

Yes, but for “Bouchercon: The World Mystery Convention,” Leighton, Cara Black, Tim Hallinan, Michael Sears, Stanley Trollip, Dan Waddell, and Yrsa Sigurdardottir would not have come together to form MIE and give those of us who follow in their footsteps (Annamaria Alfieri, Lisa Brackmann, Caro Ramsay, Zoe Sharp and moi (Jeff Siger)), a place to welcome our readers.

Long Beach, CA

But this is not about MIE it’s about me, and how I grew to love Bouchercon: that completely volunteer, fan-driven organization which each Fall offers all segments of the mystery world the big daddy of opportunities to band together in a different locale for four days of nothing but crime.  This year it’s November 13-16 in Long Beach, California in what’s billed as the “Murder at the Beach” version of camaraderie among the crime writing community.  And by community I mean fans, writers, editors, publishers, agents, and booksellers of every crime writing genre, participating in a plethora of panels and special events embracing virtually all aspects of the mystery world. 

It’s a family reunion-like atmosphere filled with up close and personal opportunities to interact with all who attend. Everyone is approachable, fair game for striking up a conversation or perhaps even sharing a meal.  After all, authors come to Bouchercon to interact with fans—and, of course, the legendary bar scene.   

Even if you don’t drink, the Bouchercon bar scene is an experience not to be missed, for that’s where everyone comes together in late night revelry, and even later night shared confessional moments among folks who just hours before were but perfect strangers.

Which brings me around to my own life-changing Bouchercon moment.  Drum roll please.  It takes place at Bourchercon 2012 in Cleveland.  

To set the scene, think of the urban legend about an innocent rube who walks into a bar in a Mexican border town, meets three enthralling beauties, and wakes up the next morning in a bloody bathtub missing a kidney. 

Now, back to Cleveland.

As innocent as a new borne babe I strolled into the convention hotel’s bar and noticed three ladies sharing a booth. Not wanting to be rude, I smiled and said hello.  They lured me over by smiling back.  We fell to talking (and drinking) and before I knew it they’d pried my past right out of me—down to the part about being a former New York City lawyer involved in various pro bono organizations.  Here comes the kidney part: The next day I woke up and found myself nominated for a position on Bouchercon’s National Board.

At least I still had my kidneys.  Okay, all kid(ney)ing aside, I found myself in a “what-am-I doing-moment” for I’d consciously opted to exchange the responsibilities I’d felt as a lawyer to any organization I served, for the solitary (not lonely) independent life of a writer.  Now I was back on a board. 

But a strange serendipity came to pass: I found satisfaction in a way I never expected; for Bouchercon allowed me to give back to the mystery community a measure of thanks for all the good fortune I’d found through the writing life, and brought me many new wonderful friends in the process. 

And speaking of friends, at the top of the list sits the three ladies from that Cleveland bar who will forever have a place in my heart but whose names shall never pass my lips, unless of course, Ingrid, Karen, and Sue allow me to so.

See you all in Long Beach at Bouchercon 2014.  But first, you must register.  You can also find information about programing, attendees, how to volunteer, and much more at this link.

Jeff—Saturday

Rosemary for Remembrance

Rosemary Goring

                                                               Courtesy Of The Herald

An article appeared in The Herald a few weekends ago, written by Rosemary Goring.

It annoyed a fan of crime writing so much she was compelled to cut it out and send it to me.

I have met Rosemary three times and she is a kind and decent human being. She has the reputation of not really liking crime fiction – which is quite a different thing to not really liking crime writers. To my mind, in her role as literary editor of Scotland’s quality paper, she has always given the ‘tartan noir’ a fair crack of the publicity whip. But in this column she really let rip.

It is true that in GB in the last few months we have had a spate of trials of high profile men accused of sexual harassment, rape, abusive behaviour against women, sexting or just writing about the X chromosome in a misogynistic way.  And Rosemary claims than these attitudes are not all from men and that woman, especially female crime writers seem to feed the appetite of young women for extreme violence towards their own sex.

Rosemary seems to have attended a panel at  the Bristol Crimefest and was quite shocked by what she heard.  Basically that big money lies on the grittier, more violent novel  and that novelists who write scenes of horrific degradation and mutilation are much more successful than those that don’t. And that editors will encourage writers to write in that way because it will make more money. She also says ‘as a result, the idea that women are powerless is not just confirmed, but endorsed, and indeed fetishised. A woman portrayed on a crime novel cover will be a victim, whether she ends up dead or is simply scared witless in the course of events.’

                               

                                      From the Daily Record... the evil Melrose with some

                                         woman sitting behind him.

I was going to counter that argument with the fact crime writers normally have an intelligent female detective/ PI sorting the situation out. But Rosemary heads that argument off at the pass. ‘No number of feisty female detectives trouncing their insensitive male colleagues as they track down the psychopath will compensate for the stark and irresponsible message this sexual slaying genre conveys ; women are objects, and never more fascinating than when on a pathologist’s slab.’

She goes on to say ‘there is something profoundly nasty about these books and the appetite they feed.’

And then -   ‘Would I feel as disgusted if these books were brilliantly written novels that transformed misogynist bloodlust into great literature? Indubitably. A work of high literary quality would not trade in clichés or formula.’

Obviously never read On Beulah Height then!

                                            

She finishes by having a wee go at the readers. When it comes to them, she is quote ‘Speechless.’ ‘They are not interested in fiction, as such, but in carnage. So much for the gentler sex. So much for sisterhood.’

I confess that I don’t get the argument. I don’t intellectualise what I do.  I find both sexes interesting on the pathologist’s slab.  I have cut up many bodies, the gender doesn’t matter to me.  I am just as much of a feminists as the next woman but I don’t think of women to be the gentler sex.  In any species… we are not. 

  (That is just a ruse to confuse men.)  As to the violence in books. Does it reflect society, and is it relevant to the society the book was written in? Does the crime novel not snap shot then paint a picture of 100 000 words? We are creative writers not journalists. If it was not relevant people wouldn’t read it.

And every crime writer has a different take on the violence in their book. Some violence is comic, some  brutal, some graphic. It has to be said I’ve read crime fiction where the violence was gratuitous and I have put the book down and refused to read another by that author. And it didn’t matter to me if the violence was against male, female or animal.  Gratuitous violence to me has no place in a well written crime novel, but that’s just my opinion.

Nobody ever writes a book about a parking ticket. Nobody would follow 350 pages to find out who parked in a double yellow. It has to be the crime there is no way back from. Murder.

Weirdly I think crime fiction is one of great levellers – men and women combine to sort out the crime that has been perpetrated on the victim, no matter of creed, colour, sex or (in some novels) species.  Would I be wrong in saying that we shine a wee torch into these dark corners where subtle inequality still exists; the kicking to death of a homeless person?

I write to engage folk while they are waiting in airports.  I don’t care if I spoon-feed my readers with short words that zip along and have them turning the pages to follow the plot - horses for courses. Those that want to counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphors are perfectly happy to do so. But in the pages of my books they might struggle!!

                                                                    

Two small points; ( as long as we are agreed  that the collective noun for a group of human beings should be called a difference and freedom of speech means we are all allowed an opinion.)  I personally find chick lit much more sexist and degrading to woman than crime fiction. As if the only reason for us to be on the planet is to bag Mr Right - or Mr healthy bank balance. And wear the right shoes. And be thin.  And… arghhhhhhhhhhh.  The other point is that old nugget of being offended by the F word/ death of a cat/ eating with a fork incorrectly but totally OK with the violent death of a ten year old on the first page????

     

Anyway. Crime writers are the loveliest kindest, funniest, most charitable bunch of bampots you could wish to meet.  With very few exception, they are very bright people who are totally without pretension.  A lot of the Tartan Noir are veggie, non violent, hippy types..... 

                                        

I shall stop now and buy some designer shoes, go on a juice diet and read a proper book…..

Caro  GB  13/06/2014

The Secret of Nordic Noir

A couple of weeks ago, I was the moderator of a panel at the wonderful Crimefest convention in Bristol, England.  One of the pleasures of being a moderator - and certainly one of the main reasons I so enjoy being one - is that I get to read books I probably wouldn't come across.  This year was no exception.

Today I have the great pleasure of introducing to you another terrific writer from Scandinavia - Jørn Lier Horst from the land of one of my grandmothers - Norway.  The book I read and thoroughly enjoyed was CLOSED FOR WINTER - the seventh of nine stories featuring William Wisting, chief inspector of police and head of the Criminal Investigation department at Larvik police station.  As with so many of the Scandinavian stories, not only is there an interesting and entertaining mystery to solve, but there is also an undertone of important social issues.

Jørn knows what he writes about because he, too, was a police officer, a Senior Investigating Officer.

Today he is widely recognized as one of Norway´s premier crime writers, and is the recently winner of the Glass Key award for the best Nordic Crime Novel. He made his debut in 2004 with a novel based on a true murder story. 

One of the things that struck me about Jørn as a panelist was how thoughtful his responses were both to my questions and to those from the audience.  It is clear that he took his job as a policeman very seriously, and now approaches his job as a writer in the same vein.

I highly recommend his books and am sure you will enjoy them as much as I did.

His website is www.jlhorst.com.

Before I ask you to welcome Jørn to Murder is Everywhere, I have to show you some pictures of his home country.  I just can't resist.

Stan - Thursday

________________________________________

Four months ago, I found myself sitting at a roadside tea stall in Jaipur, India. As the noise and smells assailed me, it felt quite natural to ask: what on earth am I doing here? What are my books doing here? All the way from a small country called Norway, to a large continent called India!

The Jaipur Literature Festival 2014 was just one of the planned stops on my spring tour, where one of the themes — Crime and Punishment — focused on Nordic crime fiction. This genre’s enormous impact is paradoxical: the Nordic countries, decidedly among the most peaceful and secure places on the globe, have produced writers who have captivated readers the world over with their depictions of brutality and murder. I’m not the only one to wonder how that could have come about. What’s the secret of Nordic Noir?

In my increasingly frequent encounters with foreign readers of crime fiction, I believe I’ve come closer to an answer to that enigma. Nordic crime novels are usually considered more sophisticated than, for example, American thrillers. Readers comment that they have found our crime novels to be more than just narratives about crime. They are fascinated by what we might call ‘Nordic melancholy’, concocted from winter darkness, midnight sun, and immense, desolate landscapes. The taciturn, slightly uncommunicative heroes are lone wolves living in a barren, cold part of the world, constantly on an uncompromising pursuit of truth and clarity. What’s more, the entire idea of paradise lost is a prominent feature of Nordic crime: the social-democratic efficient society attacked from within by violence, corruption and homicide.

As far as Nordic crime heroes are concerned, I believe they are primarily distinguished by their single-mindedness and their rebellion against authority in all its facets. In addition, a great deal of space is given to the protagonist’s private life. In a crime series, readers can follow their heroes through different phases as they age and alter.

The numerous Nordic small towns presented as scenes of literary murders do not perhaps provide obvious settings for crime stories. The beautiful scenery inspires picturesque enticing descriptions of nature. But the attraction lies in the contrast between these peaceful small-town communities in their attractive settings and the brutal violent action taking place there.

The authors too are drawing attention to a social system that makes promises about protection and inclusion, but nevertheless fails many of its citizens. The crime novel has proved to be an excellent tool for revealing corruption in society, greed and misuse of power. The best Nordic crime writers use their work as an instrument of social criticism to create a new political awareness in their readers. Their stories wrest us from complacent notions of our society’s excellence and instead plant seeds of unease that makes it difficult to accept current conditions and increasingly forces us to modify our view of those who turn to crime, why they do so and what motivates them.

This characteristic of Nordic crime novels gives them a special earnestness, distinguishing them from other genre fiction and ensuring that their readers do not forget the book’s content and import after the final page is read.

The expression Nordic Noir is recent, but the Nordic method of telling crime stories is almost 50 years old. In the mid-1960s, novelists Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö marked the start of a unique genre with their policeman Martin Beck. Their books broke the established norms of pure entertainment. Social criticism and existential dilemmas were interwoven into the crime format, and the distinction between so-called ‘highbrow’ and ‘lowbrow’ forms of literature became more diffuse. The crime novel gained admittance to the same market as other serious literary fiction.

In 1991, Henning Mankell wrote his first book about Kurt Wallander and eventually expanded this to a series still making its way triumphantly around the globe. Barely a decade later came Stieg Larsson’s outstanding Millenium Trilogy. This success has been crowned by Jo Nesbo’s impressive breakthrough with millions of books sold in almost 50 countries.

Nordic crime novels vary when it comes to description of landscape, characters, language, plot and action but are regarded as relatively uniform by the readers, as the writers share a common history and tradition, and have several external features in common as far as social structure, welfare, political system and values are concerned.

So to answer the question: Why has Nordic crime fiction made such a powerful international impact? These novels possess the ability to imitate real life with originality and elegance, with linguistic precision and psychological depth while simultaneously telling an exciting and compelling story.

Thank you.

FIFA in Brazil: Time to read A VINE IN THE BLOOD

President Dilma Rousseff takes first kick-off at the Dunas Arena

The FIFA World Cup hosted by Brazil is about to kick off.   I am taking this opportunity to bring everyone’s attention to our dear Leighton Gage’s book dealing with the world of Brazil’s soccer players.  Here is what Leighton himself had to say about his story Vine in the Blood. It is a wonderful book.  Now would be a great time to read or reread one of our blog's  founder’s wonderfully crafted and riveting stories.

Annamaria - Monday  VIVA LEIGHTON!

FROM 18 April 2011:

Once a year, each of us gets a chance to toot his/her own horn.
Normally, we do that when we launch a new book in the United States and Canada.
This time, I'm going to do it differently.

This is the North American cover for A Vine in the Blood:

I love that cover, and I'm anxious to see it on the shelves of bookshops, but it won't be launched in North America until the 27th of December.

This is the cover for the English-language Kindle version elsewhere in the world:

And it's up for purchase, on Kindle, as of today, as long as you don't live in the United States, Canada, the Philippines, the American possessions and a couple of other places.

In the UK, here's the link to the Kindle store:

http://tinyurl.com/AVineInTheBloodUKlink


If you live anywhere else, I can't give you a link, because the URLs vary from country-to-country.
I don't know them all. But, even if I did, there wouldn't be space to list them. They number over two hundred.

Which is how it's possible to put books up on Kindle at different times, and in different places, without violating copyright arrangements with publishers.

I suppose you know that, if you don't have a Kindle, you can download a free application from Amazon that enables you to read Kindle books on your computer or smart phone.

It's not my preferred way of reading, and I suspect it isn't yours, but it's possible.

And it will save you eight months of waiting for the next installment of the adventures of Chief Inspector Silva.

Here's the synopsis, extracted from the copy on the book's jacket:

It is the eve of the FIFA World Cup, the globe’s premier sporting event. The host country is Brazil. A victory for the home team is inextricably linked to the skills of the country’s principal striker, Tico “The Artist” Santos, the greatest player in the history of the sport. All the politicians in Brasilia, from the President of the Republic on down, have their seats squared-away for the finale, when they hope to see Argentina, Brazil’s bitterest rival, humbled by the Brazilian eleven. But then, just three weeks before the first game, Juraci Santos, Tico’s mother, is kidnapped. The star is distraught. The public is appalled. The politicians are outraged. And the pressure is on Chief Inspector Mario Silva to get her back.

Suspects aren’t lacking. Among them, are a cabal of Argentineans, suspected of having spirited the lady away to put Tico off his game, the star’s gold-digging, top-model girlfriend, whom his mother dislikes and has been trying to get out of his life, his principal rival, who wants to play in the World Cup in Tico’s place, and the man whose leg Tico broke during a match, thereby destroying his career. In the end, Silva and his crew discover that the solution to the mystery is less complex - but entirely unexpected.


The book is no cozy, but it's not very violent, either. And there's humor from the wisecracking Arnaldo Nunes to break up the action.

Which is, otherwise, pretty non-stop.

Thanks, Dear Readers, for putting up with this blatant self-promotion.

Like I said, it's only once a year for each of us.

Leighton - Monday

Four Meals Away From Anarchy

Zoë Sharp

Yesterday morning I was working away on my laptop when there came the most amazing thunder and lightning storm, accompanied by a downpour the weathermen had predicted with the word “monsoon” attached.  Not quite my idea of a monsoon, but pretty impressive all the same.

If this had happened a few years ago I would have hurriedly shut down my computer, disconnected the hardwire to the modem, and resorted to using a myPad (pencil and paper) or neck-top computer (also pencil and paper) until the storm had passed.

Now, however, I just yanked out the power lead and carried on wirelessly.

Ah, how times have changed.

And with the changing times comes the blasé expectation that gadgets will continue to function regardless of what else is going on around you. Not always the case.

I can still remember when I first moved into my last house, the valley was hit by 130mph winds, causing major damage to infrastructure all round and a week-long power-outage. That served as a sobering reminder that, for all our apparent sophistication, it’s all too easy to suddenly leave the technological age of computers and email and instant communication and information behind. Without a regular and reliable power supply we are suddenly back to using a graphite stick on a sheet of compressed tree and the prospect of burning string inserted in wax for light.

In crime writing, the advent of more and more technology has become something of a handicap. Unless you use the old ‘low battery’ or ‘No Service’ excuse, for instance, just about everybody these days has a mobile phone. This means they have instant communication, often internet access, navigation and various other apps at their fingertips. However, the more we rely on this technology, the more lost we are if for any reason it’s abruptly taken away from us, and the further removed we become from the business of day-to-day survival.

Take the cheetah—the fastest land animal. For short bursts, the cheetah can run at up to 60mph (96kph), but in evolving into this sleek speed machine, it has become too lightweight to defend its kills, often expending life-threatening amounts of energy to bring down prey, only to have other scavengers horn in and elbow it away from the table before it’s had a chance to eat.

Not that I’m likening the average human to a cheetah, but it seems that, as a species, we’re in danger of evolving ourselves right out of existence.

Of simply being too clever for our own good.

And that information, of course, came from a quick Google search on cheetahs. When I first started writing, research meant hours spent in the local reference library, not simply surfing the Web from the comfort of your own home. Increasing numbers of libraries have been taking out bookshelves and putting in computer terminals, so has some of that knowledge been lost?

Back in 1975 there was a brilliant TV series on the BBC called ‘Survivors’. Devised by Terry Nation, the concept was that a genetically engineered virus is accidentally let loose, wiping out 95 percent of the world’s population, and leaving the survivors to face both nature and human nature, in their attempts to rebuild a way of life.

The BBC remade the series a couple of years ago, with a new cast and story arcs interwoven with the original ideas.

And it struck me that people thrust into that same situation today would have a much harder time than their 1975 counterparts. Back in ‘75, there were no personal computers, no mobile phones, no satellite TV broadcasting 24-hour-a-day news from around the world, no internet and no sat nav systems. Domestic microwave ovens were still a relatively new invention, and the majority of people did not rely on them as their sole means of preparing a mind-boggling array of pre-packaged convenience food. People still knew how to meet up at a prearranged rendezvous point without being in constant “Where are you?” cellphone communication. They knew how to read a map, mend their own clothes instead of throwing them away, and could prepare a meal from raw fresh ingredients.

In 2004, there was an article published in The Times, which explained the opinion held by the British security service, MI5, that western societies are “four meals away from anarchy”. If there was a terrorist attack hacker-instigated computer meltdown, or some other natural disaster that disrupted the electricity, food and water networks, it would be approximately 48 hours before things began to descend into chaos. The panic-buying and hoarding would start, and—when stocks ran out—violent defence of those limited assets would quickly come into play. As soon as people start to go hungry, in other words, civilisation goes out the window.

So, what if that week-long power-cut I experienced was not a relatively short interruption to normal life, but the start of a global catastrophe? What would I have done then?

What would YOU do?

You need transport, but cars need fuel. With no power, you need to hand-crank the fuel out of its underground tanks and hoard it, because the refineries have shut down and there won’t be fresh supplies being delivered any time soon. And no doubt a lot of other people will have the same idea ...

And cars have become a disposable item. Could you mend yours if it went wrong? No mechanics to take it to, no computer diagnostics at the local dealership to pinpoint the problem. So, maybe you need to resort to more primitive means. Can you ride a horse? Do you know how to feed and care for one? And, even if you do, can you also act as your own veterinary surgeon and farrier?

What happens if you get sick? No Googling the best form of treatment, no paramedics or surgeons, no modern anaesthetic or drugs.

Could you make a fire, build a shelter, identify what’s safe to eat in the wild or what will kill you stone dead? Can you fend off predators—human and animal?

Processed food in the supermarkets—always supposing they haven’t been picked clean by looters by now—has a sell-by date. What happens when it’s all gone, or gone bad? Could you grow enough food to sustain you and your family? Could you catch, kill, and butcher an animal to eat?

Could you kill another human being to defend what’s yours?

OK, I’ll stop now. This is what happens when I let that writer’s ‘what if’ side of my brain loose to run with an idea.

A few last questions. If society as we know it ended tomorrow, what would you miss most?

What about modern life would you be rather glad to see the back of?

Meanwhile, if I may return you to the technological world for a moment, I’d like to give a small plug for my latest ePublication—KILLER FEMMES. (US)

Who can resist 5 suspenseful crime novels set in unique exotic settings … all written by award-winning, best-selling authors … and best of all the complete set is only 99 cents … for a limited time? We couldn’t, so we created the Killer Femmes Boxed Set. Between us, we’ve written over 60 novels and have been nominated for (and even won) numerous awards, including the Edgar, the Anthony, the Agatha, the Macavity, the Barry, the Lovey, and the CWA Dagger.

Killer Femmes presents:

Easy Innocence by Libby Fischer Hellmann

Cross Current by Christine Kling

The Flower Master by Sujata Massey

Killer Instinct by Zoë Sharp

Louisiana Hotshot by Julie Smith

And this week’s Word of the Week is facinorous, which means atrociously wicked, from facinus, a crime.