I’ve long admired the SF novels by British author John Christopher (Sam Youd), and have posted about his works such as The Tripods trilogy and the Sword of the Spirits series, with the former in particular having been an influence on my novel The Map of the Known World. Christopher’s Death of Grass is also an excellent post-apocalyptic novel, one that is rightly lauded and which felt eerily resonant with the onset of Covid-19 in 2020.

I recently read another of Christopher’s post-apocalyptic books, Empty World. A short novel, at around 134 pages, it follows fifteen‑year‑old Neil Miller, a survivor of the catastrophic Calcutta Plague. The story begins with Neil losing his parents in a car accident. As Neil struggles to adapt to this tragedy, the whole world is devastated when the Plague swiftly wipes out the adult population, including his grandparents, with whom he has lived with since the death of his parents.
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Although clearly published for young adults, Empty World does not soft-peddle and is often an unsettling read, with a bleak, unflinching atmosphere, establishing a bleak world of silent streets, abandoned homes, and the threat of rats and feral dogs, all punctuated with moments of fear and sadness. For example, the fate of Tommy and Susie, two young children Neil tries to help, is both brutal and movingly told.    

The inexorable spread of the Plague, and the rapid societal collapse it causes, feels horribly plausible, given weight and power by Christopher’s taut writing and chilling imagery.

Empty World perhaps works best as a character study, as Neil, already numbed by unimaginable loss and trauma, is forced to confront the disintegration of civilisation and the psychological torment of isolation. His struggle to survive and to find other survivors is quietly but vividly portrayed – when Neil reaches a desolate London, he finds all the material resources he could ever need to survive, but as one shocking encounter with an unfortunate survivor who believed himself utterly alone, the greatest danger, the biggest threat of all, is loss of human connection. When Neil does meet other survivors, their interactions are riven with suspicion and fear – this is a new world, without order, without rules, with the ever-present threat of violence, and who, if anyone, can you trust?

As he is forced to both battle for survival and face his own trauma, Neil is morally conflicted, and this is brought into sharp focus in the novel’s very last pages, which I won’t spoil here.

Empty World is a brief but impactful science fiction novel, a layered exploration of grief, loneliness and human relationships.
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If you’re interested in finding out more about John Christopher / Sam Youd, it is well worth visiting the Syle Press website, which is packed with information and resources about the author and his books. 

I’ve read many Stephen King novels in recent years, including recently completing his multi-volume magnum opus, The Dark Tower. With novels such as The Stand (which I reviewed previously), IT, ‘Salem’s Lot and 11.22.63, King’s imagination and brilliantly observed characterisation always shines through, whether working with horror, fantasy or science fiction elements, or portraying gritty realism. So, I was looking forward to reading The Institute and it did not disappoint.
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Luke Ellis, a twelve-year-old genius is abducted and his parents murdered. Luke is taken to a secret government facility in Maine, where children with powers of telepathy and telekinesis are drugged and subjected to cruel experiments to exploit their abilities for a mysterious purpose. The situation looks hopeless, with any thought of escape just an impossible dream, but the arrival of young Avery, whose powers outstrip anything seen before, encourages Luke and his friends to plot a way out… 

Although The Institute is not as overtly frightening as some of King’s work, it is a deeply unsettling and suspenseful page turner, and I raced through the novel’s final hundred pages.

There may not be literal monsters in The Institute, but the casual and unquestioning cruelty of the adult staff – personified by Mrs. Sigsby and Trevor Stackhouse – is horrifying. They commit inhuman acts and deceive the children in their ‘care’ at every turn, not because they are demons, but because it is their job, and although some claim to work for a higher purpose, their lack of conscience is both disturbing and all too plausible.

The imprisoned children suffer enormously, but show resilience, courage and a macabre humour in the face of evil, and their reactions always feel authentically child-like and believable. Their friendships – forged through mutual torment at the hands of callous adults – are hard-earned and touching, perfectly captured through King’s well-tuned dialogue.

There are plot twists aplenty, which I won’t reveal here, but it is another plotting masterclass from King. And King displays his talent for creating a vivid sense of place - alongside the more fantastical parts, the community of a small town, of people doing their best to get through tough challenges in life, is sensitively and movingly portrayed.

The Institute might not be quite as well-known as some of Stephen King’s other novels, but this is a top-notch, inventive thriller, the impact of which lingers long after the final page.

Treacle Walker is a short novel by Alan Garner, the English author of esteemed novels such as Elidor, The Owl Service and The Weirdstone of Brisingamen, and is a blend of folklore, magic and myth, exploring time and the nature of reality.

Joseph (Joe) Coppock is a boy who lives alone in an old house. From the house, Joe marks the passing of time by watching trains pass, and reads comics, collects bird’s eggs and plays with marbles. Joe is recovering from an illness and wears a patch to correct a lazy eye.
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Into Joe’s lonely life comes rag-and-bone man Treacle Walker. Treacle Walker trades a cure-all medicine and a donkey stone for a pair of Joe’s pyjamas and a lamb’s shoulder blade. Treacle Walker himself is an almost shamanic figure and is once referred to as a psychopomp, a guide for nearly deceased souls. The story develops through the friendship between Joe and Treacle Walker, and their interactions with Thin Amren, a mysterious figure with shades of Tollund Man and Lindow Man. 

Set in a Cheshire landscape infused with meaning, the style of the novel is spare and taut, with a sense of every word being chosen with immense care, and at times the book felt to me more akin to poetry. Magic permeates the story, digging deeply into folklore. There are shifts in time, with the appearance of a doppelganger an especially unsettling moment. Garner moves away from conventional narrative, for example the dazzling, dizzying scenes when Joe enters a mirror-world of comic books, fighting foes alongside Kit the Ancient, fusing the modern medium of comic books with myth.
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Treacle Walker is an allusive, challenging read, one that is not easy to categorise but I feel this intense novel carries real power and brims with energy and imagination. Treacle Walker would, I’m sure, reward repeat reading to tease out some of the details and it is a novel to which I’m sure I’ll return. 

Set in a future England, No Man’s Land is a curious and fascinating SF novel. The main character is teenager Alan, who lives with his family in the coastal village of Hamerburgh, an idyllic and gentle place of woods, orchards and dunes, and with a prominent landmark known as the Keep, the remains of a 900-year-old castle, but trouble is looming...

Hamerburgh is due to be ‘rationalised’ and most of the villagers have already left. Alan’s friend, the old General, who is the guardian of the Keep, and who is being forced to move to a Welfare Home, entrusts him with the keys. Soon, Alan’s family abandon Hamerburgh for a modern flat in the vast concrete city of Easton. Alan feels lost in his soulless grey surroundings and begins to make regular return visits to his former village to explore his old haunts and to visit the Keep. Hamerburgh is now deserted, but Alan is shocked to find the General has escaped the clutches of the authorities and still lives secretly in the village.

​The General is far from safe, as danger takes the shape of Giant, a nightmarish robot of terrifying size built by the authorities to clear land for rationalization with formidable speed. And Giant has Hamerburgh in his sights…

No Man’s Land is a carefully paced, thoughtful novel focused more on character and themes than action, though there is definite excitement in the closing stages. Watson takes the time to portray the beauty of Hamerburgh (a village I guess is based on Orford in Suffolk) underlying what will be lost once rationalisation has taken place. Alan is a well-developed character, whose appreciation for the natural world and the human history represented by the Keep, sees him marked as unusual, even a risk. Giant appears to represent the cold, remorseless drive to standardise and control, to view nature simply as a resource to be exploited or to be swept aside, with culture and history just meaningless impediments to progress.

Written in the 1970s, the story and its themes still resonate strongly, as swathes of the English countryside continues to disappear under brick and concrete in the name of progress, and society struggles to offer adequate care for older people, in the worst instances robbing them of agency and dignity.

I’ve tried and failed to find out more about the author Simon Watson, and I don’t believe No Man’s Land is currently in print, though secondhand copies are available (I read the 1977 Puffin Books' edition) and it is well-worth tracking down. In some ways, No Man's Land reminded me of the novels of John Christopher, another author whose work I've long enjoyed and who has definitely been an influence on my own writing.

No Man’s Land is a quietly powerful slice of British SF and deserves to be read and remembered. 

Survival is insufficient.

Station Eleven is a post-apocalyptic novel set during and after the ‘Georgia Flu’ pandemic, which kills 99% of humanity and leads to a widespread collapse of civilization.

The novel starts with the death of famous actor Arthur Leander, who suffers a fatal heart attack on stage during a production of King Lear in Toronto. Leander’s sudden death comes just as the pandemic is beginning to strike North America.

Station Eleven moves between the past and the future, connecting key characters through their relationship with Leander. In particular, the story follows Kirsten Raymonde, who was a child actor in Leander’s fateful King Lear. In the world shattered by the Georgia Flu, Raymonde performs in the Travelling Symphony, a nomadic collection of actors and musicians who strive to keep art and culture alive for the many scattered communities. The motto for the Travelling Circus is Survival is insufficient, which underlines one of the novels key themes, namely the value, the necessity, of art and community for humanity.

Miranda Carroll, Leander’s first wife, is a fascinating character. Her obsession with creating her graphic novel – the titular Station Eleven – reflects both her loneliness and her appreciation of the beauty of Earth and the joys of human society. Carroll’s graphic novel forms a metaphor for the suffering and struggles of the survivors of the pandemic.

The novel’s complex structure is no gimmick but a highly effective method for giving insights into the characters and developing the plot, building genuine suspense and adding layers of meaning. And throughout, Mandel’s prose creates a prevailing dreamy, poetic atmosphere.

Although Station Eleven is far from a standard post-apocalyptic novel, there are genuine horrors in the book as humanity reels from the pandemic, such as a murderous cult inspired by a fanatical prophet. I found the chapters where Jeevan Chaudhary seeks refuge with his brother Frank especially chilling, as they witness the relentless breakdown of Toronto to desperation and violence, and the eerie silence that follows, and clearly this grim scene is being repeated across the world. The bonds holding together civilisation are thin.

Although often haunting and unsettling, I believe Station Eleven to be an ultimately hopeful novel. It doesn’t shy away from the enormous loss and suffering inflicted by the pandemic, nor the appalling struggles endured by the survivors as they try to build lives out of the wreckage of civilization. But Mandel stresses how art, culture and community are necessary for humanity to endure. Station Eleven prompts us to remember and be grateful for the beauty of the world around us and the values of the connections we share with other people.

Survival is insufficient.

My first encounter with the work of British author John Wyndham was the BBC’s chilling 1981 adaptation of his classic SF novel, The Day of the Triffids, and although I’ve read several of his novels since, I’d somehow never got round to reading one of his most famous--The Midwich Cuckoos, an omission I recently put right.

The Midwich of the novel is a small, unremarkable English village, but everything changes when it is enveloped by a mysterious force and everyone inside falls unconscious. When the stricken villagers awake, everything appears to be normal, however it is soon revealed all women of child-bearing age have suddenly become pregnant. When the women give birth, the children, or the Children as they become known, are all golden-eyed and develop remarkably quickly. As the Children grow, they show signs of accelerated learning—when one of the Children learns something, they all learn—and appear to have telepathic ability.
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Within the village, unease grows into open hostility. And if this is not dangerous enough, it becomes evident Midwich is not the only place in the world to have experienced this weird phenomenon, and fears grow of a hostile alien invasion…  

Cosy catastrophe is an accusation often directed at John Wyndham’s work, and there are moments in The Midwich Cuckoos when this does not feel unreasonable, as without doubt some elements of the novel have dated. However, there’s a chilly undercurrent to the novel and the brutal force of the ending carries real weight. Wyndham masterfully reflects post-war concerns of invasion, infiltration and fears of the consequences of the growing gap between generations.

The Midwich Cuckoos explores the potential consequences of humanity’s relationship with an intelligent alien species, with the main characters struggling with moral and religious questions—is the very idea of killing the Children permissible, even necessary, to protect our own kind? Wyndham offers no comforting answers and the fact the novel plays out its weighty themes in the softest of settings—a quaint, quiet village—does, in my opinion, give the story even more impact.

I wouldn’t rate The Midwich Cuckoos as my favourite John Wyndham book (that would still be The Chrysalids, with The Day of the Triffids as a close second) but I thoroughly enjoyed it as a thoughtful, suspenseful and unsettling SF novel.

A galaxy of books has been written about Star Wars and there are some excellent titles covering the development of the original films, such as The Making of Star Wars by J.W. Rinzler and George Lucas – a biography by John Baxter. And there is also the outstanding Empire of Dreams documentary.
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It would be tempting, therefore, to think there’s nothing more to say about the creation of Star Wars but even in this crowded field, The Star Wars Archives – Episodes IV-VI brings fresh perspective and lives up to its billing as the definitive exploration of the original trilogy. 

​Paul Duncan’s book is structured with a series of long interviews with George Lucas – and other key contributors – accompanied with beautifully reproduced concept art, storyboard, stills and much more. As with all Taschen books, the layout and picture quality are second to none, and the sheer skill and creativity of the production and character design – such an important part of the success of the films – shines through. In bringing A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi to the screen, Lucas and his team faced immense difficulties, breaking new ground in film production, especially in the cutting-edge special effects created by Industrial Light and Magic, and Duncan’s book perfectly captures the challenges and eventual successes. 

As well as being a feast for the eyes, extracts from early script drafts provide fascinating insights into the development of the story of each film. I found the story conference discussions around the plot for Return of the Jedi particularly interesting; it’s intriguing to think how differently the final film could have been.

A treat from start to finish and a worthy tribute to the artistic achievements of the original trilogy, The Star Wars Archives – Episodes IV-VI is a must for any Star Wars fan, but also a great read for anyone interested in film production or the history of cinema.
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Impressive, most impressive…

The Star Wars Archives – Episodes IV-VI 1977-1983 – Paul Duncan (Taschen link)

Like many others, I had been looking forward to Scarred for Life: Volume Three. The first two Scarred for Life books (I reviewed both books previously) were real treats, digging deeply into the dark, often dystopian, world of 1970s and 1980s pop culture.

So, did volume three live up to my expectations? Absolutely, indeed I’d say it exceeded my expectations.

As with the first two books, Scarred for Life: Volume Three is a mighty tome, with over 700 pages and the book’s scope is enormous, encompassing novels, films, comics, games, music, television and much more. In fact, there’s so much packed into this book, it’s almost impossible to give a summary that gives its breadth and scale any justice!

Some of the many highlights include a fine section on horror novels from the 1980s, taking us through the paperback gore of writers such as Guy N Smith and Shaun Hutson, through to Stephen King and Clive Barker.

The section on comics – split into British and American publications – is exhaustive, and I particularly enjoyed the 2000ad chapters and the article on Charley’s War, my favourite comic story of my youth.

As a child in the 80s, I was fascinated by the paranormal, whether UFOs, ghosts or cryptids, and Scarred for Life: Volume Three excels in describing that decade’s obsession with all things paranormal. I loved the chapters on Arthur C Clarke’s Mysterious World and Arthur C Clarke’s World of Strange Powers – series I remember fondly!
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One of Volume Three’s biggest treats is the ‘book within a book’ focused on Cold War pop culture during the 1980s. From Z For Zachariah to Protect and Survive, When the Wind Blows to Judge Dredd: The Apocalypse War, the impact of nuclear anxiety on our culture is brought to vivid life. I was particularly engrossed by the extended chapters on the terrifying Threads, arguably the apogee of nuclear war films, and treated in the book as the masterpiece it undoubtedly is.

Scarred for Life: Volume Three understandably goes to dark places, but it is always witty, well-informed and deeply researched, and is often laugh-out loud funny. The level of detail and the passion of the authors shine through each chapter.

I can’t recommend Scarred for Life: Volume Three highly enough; as with volumes one and two, it provides hours and hours of absorbing reading. The three volumes of Scarred for Life form, in my opinion, a significant publishing and writing achievement, a passion project that has deservedly reached a wide and enthusiastic readership.

As well as live shows, the Scarred for Life books have also spawned an excellent podcast, with guests such as Danny Robins, Joe Cornish, Alice Lowe and Michael Sheen – episodes are now released weekly, and it’s an entertaining and fascinating listen.

It is also worth following the Scarred for Life account on X - as well as some great posts, there are regular and generous discounts on all their books. So if you can, order all three books and prepare to plunge into a world of 1970s and 1980s nightmares…

Scarred for Life (Volume one)
Scarred for Life (Volume two)
Scarred for Life (Volume three)

Dystopian science fiction is a genre I've long enjoyed and when I came to write The Waste, there were several novels that influenced and inspired me.

Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

Brave New World is often cited as one of the most influential and prophetical books of the twentieth century. Set in the far future, the World Controllers of the story have strived to create a perfect world. Every individual receives pre-natal / post-natal conditioning so as to accept his or her position in society, from the Alpha-Plus ruling class to the Epsilon-Minus Semi-Morons who are bred to perform menial tasks.

This society is perfectly ordered, and this control is strengthened through the state-endorsed use of the drug soma, and other pleasurable distractions. In many senses, the people of the novel are controlled by their pleasure and distractions; when life is so good and so easy, why even think to challenge the status quo, what would be the purpose? This is not a tyranny of brutal physical oppression, enforced by military strength and prison camps, but a tyranny in which the citizens are imprisoned in a gilded-cage of amusement and ease. I found this a fascinating concept: that a dystopian could be so insidious, almost hiding in plain sight with a benevolent façade.

Some of the thematic elements of Brave New World certainly influenced parts of The Waste. In the society shaped by the alien Seraphim, people are encouraged to focus only on their own needs and pleasures, with any concerns for wider society deemed odd, even suspicious – like the genetically bred humans of Brave New World, do they even notice they are living in a dystopian world, or if they did, would they care?

The titular Waste of my novel, a vast open-air prison, was also in part influenced by the Savage Reservation visited by Bernard Marx and Lenina Crowne in Brave New World.

Brave New World still impresses with its brilliant invention and wit, and as time passes, I’d argue Huxley’s novel simply becomes more and more relevant, and perhaps more and more troubling.

Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell

To the best of my memory, Nineteen Eighty-Four was the first dystopian novel I read and it is a book that certainly leaves a deep impression and although I have re-read it several times, its impact is never lessened.

Airstrip-One feels like a nightmare, a crucible of relentless pressure: the constant surveillance, the crushing conformity, the lingering danger of arrest and the sheer misery of the horrible food, the bitter cold and the dilapidated living conditions. And in this wretched world, mutilated by an endless three-sided war, anger and sexual frustration are channeled into hatred towards enemies of the state real and imaginary. The most memorable display of this is the Two Minute Hate, where the Party Members are whipped into a frenzy of loathing.

Outside of the Party members, the rest of the population of Airstrip-One, known as the proles, are distracted from political involvement by mass entertainment, a dubious National Lottery and sport (and, where necessary, the iron fist of state security). And it is difficult to read Winston Smith’s diary entry about his visit to the cinema, as he describes a film in which ships full of refugees are bombed in the Mediterranean, and not consider our own society’s indifference, even hostility, as children and adult alike drown in the very same sea Orwell described. In The Waste, this influenced the character of Oswald Beckett who shows no sympathy to the desperate refugees for whom he is responsible, seeing them not as people but as data to be controlled as part of reaching budgetary targets and developing his blossoming career.

Nineteen Eighty-Four is undoubtedly a book with profound comments on politics and society, it remains a story with a very human focus. We see Winston Smith’s suffering in everyday terms: the constant bombardment of propaganda, his blunt razors, the crumbling cigarettes, his coughing fits and varicose ulcers. The readers sees the misery and loneliness of an individual crushed and dehumanized by the tools of political terror. This approach influenced me when I wrote The Waste, and rather than take a broad view, I wanted to explore the society created by the alien Seraphim mainly through the lens of one ordinary person.

Nineteen Eighty-Four has had a huge influence on me as a reader and a writer. Orwell’s novel continues to burn with fury is a warning to us all, a warning I believe will endure through the ages.

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

In the future society of Fahrenheit 451 all books are illegal and if any are discovered, they are burned, for books are considered disruptive, dangerous, a cause of unhappiness. Guy Montag is a ‘fireman’, whose job is to find books and destroy them. Within this world, books are no longer valued and instead people have moved to new and addictive forms of media, encapsulated by the ‘parlour walls’, screens that fill entire walls and interact with the viewers. This media is seen as a better fit for an increasingly rapid pace of life and shortened attention spans.

Initially settled in his job and home life, Montag’s unease with this society grows as he feels increasingly uncomfortable with the mind-numbing ‘entertainment’, which addicts so many people, and he begins to doubt the wisdom of book burning, especially when he sees the lengths some custodians are willing to go to protect their books. Soon, Montag begins hiding books himself and the experience of reading starts to change him…

These ideas certainly influenced parts of The Waste. For example, although in my novel, books are not banned as such, they are considered quaint, redundant even – they have simply been supplanted by easier, less demanding media. The alien Seraphim encourage humans to only consider the present, to ignore or forget the pain of the past; books, as stores of knowledge, ideas and experiences, play no part in this world view. Museums and art galleries likewise are considered irrelevant and so close down out of apathy rather than a direct decree – of course, the Seraphim are not above appropriating works of human art when so inclined and hoard their treasures out of public view.

Other books: 

Although these three books influenced my writing of The Waste, there are several other dystopian novels that were significant touchstones too, such as The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, We by Yevgeny Zamyatin and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick, and I would definitely recommend these all as powerful, thought-provoking reads.

The Waste is out now, available in eBook and paperback, and free to read through Kindle Unlimited.

Like any author, I draw upon a broad range of inspirations when writing a book, and for me, visual art has always informed and influenced my writing. Although far from blessed in my drawing and painting skills, I’m rarely happier than when wandering around an art gallery! In this blog post, I am going to focus on four artists who have been particularly important and inspiring to me when I was working on my new novel The Waste.

William Blake

I have long been fascinated by the work of visionary painter and poet William Blake (1757-1827). His art is both highly personal and highly original, infused with his rebellious spirit and enormous imagination. Encompassing biblical and mythological themes, the delicate strangeness of Blake’s work is powerful and seeing the collection of his work is always a highlight of any visit to the Tate Britain.

Through his art and prophetic books, Blake developed a very personal mythology with a host of symbolic characters, and this mythology, along with the graceful, idealised human figures in Blake’s art, was a significant influence for me when writing The Waste, especially when developing the characteristics of the alien Seraphim. The act of developing and writing a novel can be a hard slog, but to spend time researching and thinking about Blake’s art and writings was a pleasure in itself.

Paul Nash

If I have such a thing as a favourite artist, then I think it would be Paul Nash (1889-1946). Whether it’s the raw, uncompromising power of his First World War art, the melancholy of his Dymchurch paintings or the mythical energy of his work inspired by the Avebury stone circle, I find his work captivating, his symbols resonant and meaningful.

Perhaps Nash’s best-known work is We Are Making A New World. I saw the original for the first time in an exhibition at the Imperial War Museum in London. Few paintings have had such an impact on me – the battle-ravaged, brutalised landscape reflected not only the hideous violence of war but Nash’s own emotional experience of the conflict. Consider the pallid sun peeking through the blood-red tide of clouds – is it striving to bring light and hope to the shattered world below, or is it too frightened to peer at the horror Mankind has inflicted? This painting makes an appearance in The Waste and Spare’s experience of viewing it certainly echoes my own. 

Through his paintings Paul Nash demonstrated an intense relationship with landscape, not just recording what his eyes saw, but adding deeply personal levels of symbolic meaning, giving the landscapes he portrayed an animated, vital presence. From his early drawings and paintings, influenced by Samuel Palmer and William Blake, to the harsh angles and blade-like waves of his Dymchurch work, which evoke such a sense of emptiness, of loss and depression, the landscapes of Nash are alive and mythic.

This sense of place, the genius loci, as Nash referred to it when he described places such as Avebury, was something I wanted to reflect within my novel. The titular Waste of the book is both a literal and symbolic landscape, where the layers of human history are almost a tangible presence. I have no doubt Paul Nash will remain a primary inspiration for my writing. 

Dame Elisabeth Frink

My first, very striking, encounter with the work of Dame Elisabeth Frink (1930-1993) took place in Bury St Edmunds in my home county of Suffolk. In the grounds of St Edmundsbury Cathedral stands a bronze statue of Edmund, a ninth century king of East Anglia.

After being defeated in battle by the Great Viking army, it is said Edmund refused his enemies’ demand to renounce Christ and so was beaten, shot through with arrows and beheaded. Legend tells the Vikings threw Edmund’s severed head into the forest, but it was soon retrieved by those loyal to the king when they followed the cries of a mysterious wolf.

Frink’s statue shows King Edmund as a young man, a cross grasped in his hand. This is not a caricature of a warrior or a king – there is pride in Edmund’s face but a sense of vulnerability, his slender body is fragile. Frink’s Edmund is very much a king, a saint, and a martyr, but still a human being. This often-unsettling combination of history, myth and human frailty seems to be present throughout much of Frink’s art.

​During the writing of The Waste, I was especially interested by Frink’s goggle head sculptures; shaped by Frink’s interest in themes of masculine aggression, the goggle heads’ sense of faceless authority very much shaped the look and attitude of the Shades, the cold, impersonal, unaccountable police force of my novel. The goggle head sculptures avoid eye contact, concealed behind polished headgear – they are dehumanised and as such offer a threat that cannot be reasoned with. The Shades in The Waste are human, but just as their visors hide their human faces, their humanity is also hidden and they appear almost machine-like, robotic.  

The unsettling and enigmatic nature of Elisabeth Frink's art continues to be both fascinating and inspiring. 

Alfred Wallis

Alfred Wallis (1855 - 1942) produced profoundly personal art, painting images of ships, boats, Cornish villages and the sea. With no formal art training, Wallis only took up painting after his wife’s death – with little money for materials, he mostly painted on found pieces of cardboard. Wallis painted from memory, drawing on his sea-faring experiences, to capture a rapidly disappearing way of life.

Wallis’s limited palette and distorted perspective give his work a distinctive look. Within his paintings, Wallis played with size and scale of objects, and although the paint is roughly applied, he often achieved high levels of detail. Wallis’s instinctive compositions give his paintings real vitality – you can almost taste the briny air, hear the waves booming. 

The art of Alfred Wallis, and discovering more about his life, unlocked for me the character of ‘The Captain’ in The Waste, who although is not meant to represent the real Wallis, does share many of the same motivations and obsessions. It is important not to romanticise the life of Alfred Wallis – he struggled with poverty and, it would appear, mental health difficulties – but he brought something profound and original into the world, and I hope he gained pleasure from the creation of his art. 

​The Waste is out now, available in eBook and paperback, and free to read through Kindle Unlimited.