#Weaveworld

[book--brackets]

Fledgling by Octavia E. Butler (2005)

This is the story of an apparently young, amnesiac girl whose alarmingly unhuman needs and abilities lead her to a startling conclusion: She is in fact a genetically modified, 53-year-old vampire. Forced to discover what she can about her stolen former life, she must at the same time learn who wanted-and still wants-to destroy her and those she cares for and how she can save herself.

Weaveworld by Clive Barker (1987)

The Fugue, a magical land inhabited by descendants of supernatural beings who once shared the earth with humans. The Fugue has been woven into a carpet for protection against those who would destroy it; the death of its guardian occasions a battle between good and particularly repulsive evil forces for control of the Fugue.

Fractured Fables by Alix E. Harrow (2021-2022)

It's Zinnia Gray's twenty-first birthday, which is extra-special because it's the last birthday she'll ever have. When she was young, an industrial accident left Zinnia with a rare condition. Not much is known about her illness, just that no-one has lived past twenty-one.

Her best friend Charm is intent on making Zinnia's last birthday special with a full sleeping beauty experience, complete with a tower and a spinning wheel. But when Zinnia pricks her finger, something strange and unexpected happens, and she finds herself falling through worlds, with another sleeping beauty, just as desperate to escape her fate.

Midnighters by Scott Westerfeld (2004-2006)

A few nights after Jessica Day arrives in Bixby, Oklahoma, she wakes up at midnight to find the entire world frozen. For one secret hour each night, the town belongs to the dark creatures that haunt the shadows. And only a small group of people--Jessica included--is free to move about then. They are The Midnighters.

Pet by Akwaeke Emezi (2019)

There are no monsters anymore, or so the children in the city of Lucille are taught. Jam and her best friend, Redemption, have grown up with this lesson all their life. But when Jam meets Pet, a creature made of horns and colors and claws, who emerges from one of her mother’s paintings and a drop of Jam’s blood, she must reconsider what she’s been told. Pet has come to hunt a monster—and the shadow of something grim lurks in Redemption’s house. Jam must fight not only to protect her best friend, but also uncover the truth, and the answer to the question—How do you save the world from monsters if no one will admit they exist?

The Book of the New Sun by Gene Wolfe (1980-1987)

It is the tale of young Severian, an apprentice in the Guild of Torturers on the world called Urth, exiled for committing the ultimate sin of his profession - showing mercy toward his victim - and follows his subsequent journey out of his home city of Nessus.

The Supernaturalist by Eoin Colfer (2004)

In the future, in a place called Satelite City, fourteen-year-old Cosmo Hill enters the world, unwanted by his parents. He's sent to the Clarissa Frayne Institute for Parentally Challenged Boys, Freight class. At Clarissa Frayne, the boys are put to work by the state, testing highly dangerous products. At the end of most days, they are covered with burns, bruises, and sores. Cosmo realizes that if he doesn't escape, he will die at this so-called orphanage. When the moment finally comes, Cosmo seizes his chance and breaks out with the help of the Supernaturalists, a motley crew of kids who all have the same special ability as Cosmo-they can see supernatural Parasites, creatures that feed on the life force of humans. The Supernaturalists patrol the city at night, hunting the Parasites in hopes of saving what's left of humanity in Satellite City. Or so they think. The Supernaturalist soon find themselves caught in a web far more complicated than they'd imagined, when they discover a horrifying secret that will force them to question everything they believe in.

Dragon Slippers by Jessica Day George (2006-2009)

Poor Creel. She can't believe her aunt wants to sacrifice her to the local dragon. It's a ploy to lure a heroic knight so that he will fight the dragon, marry Creel out of chivalrous obligation, and lift the entire family out of poverty. Creel isn't worried. After all, nobody has seen a dragon in centuries.

But when the beast actually appears, Creel not only bargains with him for her life, she also ends up with a rare bit of treasure from his hoard, not gold or jewels, but a pair of simple blue slippers-or so she thinks. It's not until later that Creel learns a shocking truth: She possesses not just any pair of shoes, but ones that could be used to save her kingdom, which is on the verge of war, or destroy it.

Lost Boy: The True Story of Captain Hook by Christina Henry (2017)

There is one version of my story that everyone knows. And then there is the truth. This is how it happened. How I went from being Peter Pan's first--and favorite--lost boy to his greatest enemy. 

Peter brought me to his island because there were no rules and no grownups to make us mind. He brought boys from the Other Place to join in the fun, but Peter's idea of fun is sharper than a pirate's sword. Because it's never been all fun and games on the island. Our neighbors are pirates and monsters. Our toys are knife and stick and rock--the kinds of playthings that bite. 

Peter promised we would all be young and happy forever. Peter lies.

The Elric Saga by Michael Moorcock (1965-1977)

It is the color of a bleached skull, his flesh; and the long hair that flows below his shoulders is milk-white. From the tapering, beautiful head stare two slanting eyes, crimson and moody... He is Elric, Emperor of Melnibone, cursed with a keen and cynical intelligence, schooled in the art of sorcery and the hero of Michael Moorcock's remarkable epic of conflict and adventure at the dawn of human history. 

[samstalgia]

finally done

time taken 7 hours 41 min

cal and suzanna

[ofleafstructure]

Pocket Books die-cut cover of Clive Barker's Weaveworld. Artwork by Jim Warren.

[adarkrainbow]

I am re-reading Weaveworld, and I had utterly forgotten (or maybe not noticed before) the fairytale influence on the first part of the book.

I always thought of Weaveworld as just another fine example of your typical Clive Barker fantasy - dealing with supernatural people answering to ancient esoteric laws hiding from human persecutions and standing in for an occult-psychedelic version of queer people (like Cabale), with hidden supernatural worlds of magic in which an all-loving embracing protagonist is taken into and in which they discover their own magical powers (like Imajica), with elements of morbid horror and twisted dark versions of Christianity and comments on abusive figures of the law or psychopathic embodiment of "respectable" institutions (every Barker writing ever)...

And yet it is technically one of Barker's fairytale fantasies. (The other twos, if you are curious, are The Thief of Always - a male version of Coraline, written for a young audience - and Abarat - a sort of drugged-up Barker-typical version of Wizard of Oz/Narnia for teenagers) I mean there's obvious elements - the Seerkinds explicitely inspired legends of fairies and nature spirits in our world, Cal keeps comparing and identifying the Fugue as Wonderland, Immacolata is a variation on the wicked witch, Shadwell stands in for the devil making supernatural scam-deals to "own" people... But I had forgotten the whole part with the German fairytale book. I absolutely adore this part of the story - and Suzanna's thoughts and reflexions about fairytales, her poetic embracing of the fairytale logic and philosophy (and by extension Barker's own), is so awesome.

Here is an extract, early on in the story, right as Suzanna discovers the book of fairytales - and it actually tells in a very simple and beautiful way what I think is one of the truths when it comes to how we are seduced and charmed by fairytales as adults. (Barker has a thing for slipping, even in the middle of the horrifying and fantastical, just the more mundane realities or obvious facts or deep truths, and have them embrace the magic and deepen it somehow)

She sat down at the top of the stairs, candle at her side, and began to study the volume more closely. The stories were familiar, of course: she'd encoutered them, in one form or another, a hundred times. She'd seen them reinterpreted as Hollywood cartoons, as erotic fables, as the subject of learned theses and feminist critiques. But their bewitchment remained undiluted by commerce or academe. Sitting there, the child in her wanted to hear those stories told again, though she knew every twist and turn, and had the end in mind before the first line was spoken. That didn't matter, of course. Indeed, their inevitability was part of their power. Some tales could never be told too often. Experience had taught her much: and most of the news was bad. But these stories taught different lessons. That sleep ressembled death, for instance, was no revelation; but that death might with kisses be healed into mere sleep... that was knowledge of a different order. Mere wish fulfillment, she chided herself. Real life had no miracles to offer. The devouring beast, if cut open, did not disgorge its victims unharmed. Peasants were not raised overnight to princedom, nor was evil ever vanquished by a union of true hearts. They were the kind of illusions that the pragmatist she'd striven to shard to be had kept at bay. Yet the stories moved her. She couldn't deny it. And they moved her in a way only true things could. It wasn't sentiment that brought tears to her eyes. The stories weren't sentimental. They were tough, even cruel. No, what made her weep was being reminded of an inner life she'd been so familiar with as a child ; a life that was both an escape from, and a revenge upon, the pains and frustrations of childhood; a life that was neither mawkish nor unknowing; a life of mind places - haunted, soaring - that she'd chosen to forget when she'd took up the cause of adulthood. More than that; in this reunion with the tales that had given her a mythology, she found images that might help her fathom her present confusion. The outlandishness of the story she'd entered, coming back to Liverpool, had thrown her assumptions into chaos. But here, in the pages of the book, she found a state of being in which nothing was fixed: where magic ruled, bringing transformations and miracles. She'd walked there once, and far from feeling lost, could have passed for one of its inhabitants. If she could recapture that insolent indifference to reason, and let it lead her through the maze ahead, she might comprehend the forces she knew were waiting to be unleashed around her. It would be painful to relinquish her pragmatism, however: it had kept her from sinking so often. In the face of waste and sorrow she'd held on by staying cool; rational. Even when her parents had died, separated by some unspoken betrayal which kept them, even at the last, from comforting each other, she'd coped ; simply by immersing herself in practicalities until the worst was over. Now the book beckoned, with its chimeras and its sorceries; all ambiguity, all flux; and her pragmatism would be worthless. No matter. Whatever the years had taught her about loss, and compromise, and defeat, she was here invited back into a forest in which maidens tamed dragons ; and one of those maidens still had her face.

[dark-ethereal-visions]

Happy Birthday - Clive Barker

Clive Barker (71) - Born on October 5, 1952

[dinosaurgiantpenny]

Illustration from Weaveworld by Clive Barker

[browsethestacks]

Marvel Age (1991)

[veryslowreader]

Weaveworld by Clive Barker

Candyman

[whats-in-a-sentence]

True joy is a profound remembering; and true grief is the same.

"Weaveworld" - Clive Barker

[avantegarda]

clive barker please let me make and design costumes for a musical based on your 1988 novel Weaveworld. i promise it'll be weird. (costume designs part 1)

who are these fuckers? below cut:

Immacolata: necromancer. the personification of that Kpop "celibacy" gif. big fan of revenge.

The Magdalene: Immacolata's undead sister. Proud single mom to a whole host of demon babies. yeah she gets laid but at what cost.

The Hag: the OTHER undead sister. really into fortune-telling using bodily fluids. hates existing.

Shadwell: sleazy salesman, simping hardcore for Immacolata. has a magical Jacket of Bullshit. major incel vibes.

Inspector Hobart: acab. will arrest anyone even mildly interesting. secretly wants to be a dragon when he grows up.

Uriel: angel???? demon???? either way, went insane from loneliness and wants to kill literally everyone but especially wizards. and gay people.

[book--brackets]

Hi everyone, there’s only around 12 hours left to vote in preliminary rounds 1-8 for Best Fantasy Book. If you’ve yet to cast your vote, check out my pinned post for links to all the polls, and here’s a quick update on books at risk of being eliminated (less than 2% of the vote when adjusted for the 'see results' option) in all the polls:

Poll 5: Saga by Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples

Poll 6: Legacy of Orisha by Tomi Adeyemi

Poll 8: Hex Hall by Rachel Hawkins, Fables by Bill Willingham

Poll 9: The Hollows by Kim Harrison

Poll 11: The Riftwar Saga by Raymond E. Feist

Poll 13: Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn by Tad Williams, Starbound by Amie Kaufman and Meagan Spooner

Poll 14: The Checquy Files by Daniel O'Malley, Lumatere Chronicles by Melina Marchetta

Poll 15: The Chronicles of Alice by Christina Henry

Poll 16: Entwined by Heather Dixon Wallwork

Poll 17: The Thief of Always by Clive Barker

Poll 18: Weaveworld by Clive Barker

Poll 19: The Star-Touched Queen by Roshani Chokshi

Poll 21: Traveler's Gate by Will Wight

Poll 24: Healer Seer by Victoria Hanley

Poll 25: Tales of Alderly by Alan Garner

Poll 27: Guides for Dating Vampires by D. N. Bryn

Poll 28: Teeth by Hannah Moskowitz

Poll 31: Lilah's Adventures by Sherwood Smith

Poll 32: Knights of Liofwende by Garry Kilworth

[tenth-sentence]

'You know you don't belong in this world.'

"Weaveworld" - Clive Barker

[saintkevorkian]

It was only when, in the middle of a dreary day, something reminded him--a scent, a shout--that he had once been in another place, and breathed its air and met its creatures; it was only then that he realised how tentative his recall was. And the more he went in pursuit of what he was forgetting, the more it eluded him.

Clive Barker, Weaveworld [1987]

[pd-lyons]

off the book shelf ~ with Clive

One of the most original, chilling, wonderful writers of all.

[severalpsychicdogsinatrenchcoat]

It’s been three days since Marlo last passed through a populated area. San Diego, as strange as that city now is, has long fallen out of view of his rear-view mirror. He reflects on the surreal sight of the Rangers’ massive encampment set up on the rocky shore, next to the old skyscrapers jutting up from the flooded ocean, like steel monoliths reminding its forces of the society they used to be. He’s traveling north, now, towards Oregon with no real destination in mind.

Music drones softly from the radio of Marlo’s pickup truck as he shifts in his seat, keeping an eye on the road. The sun’s setting against the ocean to his left, signaling he should look for a place to stay the night.

The roads in this stretch of what was once California are treacherous, though. Erosion from the lapping of risen tides and debris flooded in by worsening storms leaves the shattered highways full of sudden cliffs, drop-offs, and obstacles. Still, Marlo’s an expert driver, keeping a vigilant eye out as he slowly weaves the truck across the shores.

As the sky is painted a brilliant orange by the evening sun, Marlo eventually finds a safe place to park for the night. High on an elevated cliff, where he can keep a careful lookout over the surrounding areas- but pulled in next to a pile of junk cars left here years ago. From afar, his truck would simply look like just a part of the scrap heaps littered across the landscape.

He stands up, yawns, stretches his legs, feels the breeze in his fur. He sniffs the air, tasting the scent of salt and evergreens. Then he leans against the hood of his vehicle and looks out over the ocean.

🌅

A variety of ships, silhouetted somewhat by the sunset, slowly drift across the Pacific, occasionally steering out of the way of the roofs of buildings that still poke out from the flooded bay. He knows little about the modern seafaring life- with no governments to regulate them, living on one of those ships must be something like the pirate life he read about in old books. It sounds romantic.

He stirs himself and walks back to the bed of the pickup, running a quick inventory of its contents. His radio set, barrels of drinking water, gasoline and propane containers, small vegetable bed, camping oven- all present and accounted for. He gets to work making dinner.

The propane stove is safer when he doesn’t know whose territory he’s in; it leaves no trail of smoke to be traced. He fuels it up and pulls a cooler with more food supplies from the backseat of the truck, quickly throwing ingredients together. Wild venison he managed to hunt, some hot sauce packets from Franz’ Burgerz that never go bad, diced up onion, tomato and garlic from his garden, sea salt and wild sumac for flavor. On the side he breaks a loaf of crusty potato bread he baked a week or so prior. To drink, he pulls out an aluminum bottle of spruce tea, brewed yesterday- vital for its vitamin C. The resulting meal’s remarkably filling and flavorful, a pleasant reprieve from the usually somewhat bland world of wasteland food.

After his meal, Marlo washes up his dishes, packs away his gear- then prepares his sleeping setup. A fold-out tent from the left side of his truck, expanding the space into a little living area. A rug, a sleeping bag, and a change into authentic flannel pajamas from his hometown in Wisconsin- and Marlo’s ready for bed. The darkening sky and cool, dry air drifting across the shore lull him to sleep.

Goodnight, Marlo. You’ve got to be up bright and early tomorrow, so rest well.

[dinosaurgiantpenny]

Urban fantasy writers be like: But what if there was ANOTHER LONDON