To be considered for programming, you must submit the Programme Participant Query Form no later than 6 March 2019. Filling in the form allows us to email your Programme Survey to you, which is required for consideration on panels and programming. No person shall be considered for programming without first submitting this form due to the European Union’s data privacy regulations.

Your Programme Survey is due by Friday, 15 March 2019. The Programme Survey allows us to actually place you on programme items. Without your survey, our staff is not likely to know what topics and items would be a good fit for you, which would either result in your not being placed on programme or your being placed on poorly chosen programme items. Therefore, adding key terms in the tags section as well as other interesting notes about your experience and/or programme idea suggestions will help influence our decision on whether or not to put you on programming. Only including your bio is usually not enough information for us to make informed decisions for such a complex and competitive programming process.

After we receive your Programme Survey, we will be sending your Availability Survey, which is due by Saturday, 23, March 2019. The Availability Survey will allow us to schedule your items on days and times that you are planning to be at Dublin 2019.  Please note that we need people who are available in the morning and evening hours, and the more reduced your availability, the less likely that we will be able to find a program item for you, even if we have accepted you onto programme.  Similarly, and unlike North American Worldcons, there will be a great deal of interest on Thursday and Monday, and we need people who are available on both of those days.

To help us meet these upcoming deadlines, we will be emailing a series of reminders to everyone who has requested to be on programming. Email messages sent from the Dublin 2019 Programme Team come from the sender “Programme” and the email address programme@dublin2019.com or from one of our @dublin2019.com email accounts. If you have not heard from us, please check your spam folders and/or contact us at programme@dublin2019.com with any questions.

Please note that we have already begun sending out programme acceptances, and we will begin declining programme requests in March. Everyone should receive an answer to their programme participant request by the end of May.

Thank you so much! We look forward to seeing you in Dublin.

The post Programme Survey Tips and Deadlines Coming Up appeared first on Dublin 2019.

Here you’ll find fanzines from 4sj, Doc Lowndes, J. Michael Rosenblum,
Bob Tucker, Jack Speer, Larry Shaw, F. T. Laney and other stalwarts of
1943 fandom. There are FAPAzines, newszines, and letterzines. There is
fannish artwork, and fannish poetry. There’s even the first publication
of Lovecraft’s “Funghi From Yuggoth”. Fanzines which meet the issue
requirements for Best Fanzine are so marked. We hope you enjoy the
material, and nominate in support of the Retro Hugos.

The link is: http://fanac.org/fanzines/Retro_Hugos1943.html

If you have additional material for this list or corrections, write to
fanac@fanac.org

The post Diving deeper into 1943 fandom appeared first on Dublin 2019.

There is a raft of other categories beyond fiction and dramatic presentations in which work from 1943 can be nominated for the Retro Hugos that will be awarded this August in Dublin. As with previous posts, the items listed below are being offered as a guide, but readers are free to nominate such other eligible works or persons from 1943 as their researches uncover.

Comics

Comics have sometimes been a bit of a problem category for the Retro Hugos. Lots of people like comics and lots of comics were published in years eligible for Retro Hugo recognition, but many 1940s comics were extremely ephemeral, never reprinted and only read in more recent years by serious collectors. There are online databases containing scans of vintage comics now in the public domain, notably Comic Book Plus and the Digital Comic Museum, but they are a bit terrifying in the amount of material they offer. The Digital Comic Museum unfortunately does not have an obvious means of searching its database by year, but Comic Book Plus does at least allow readers to see comics published month by month in 1943. If readers start here they will see comics books whose precise 1943 cover date is unknown. Clicking on next brings up January 1943 comics, and so on. Comics here can be downloaded (after registering) or viewed online. So, trawling there might uncover comics worth nominating, but beware: many big comics of the era are still in copyright and are not included in Comic Book Plus (or indeed in the Digital Comics Museum). Batman and Superman appeared in a variety of titles and formats in 1943 but neither of them are to be found in these datasets.

Another comic that is not in either of those databases, presumably because it remains in copyright, is The Victory Garden, which appeared in Walt Disney’s Comics and Stories #31. This sees a popular anthropomorphic duck’s attempts to grow vegetables being thwarted by some greedy crows. The Victory Garden is noteworthy as the first Donald Duck comic drawn by Carl Barks. Carl Barks also gave us The Mummy’s Ring (originally appearing in Four Color Comics #29) in which Donald and his nephews find themselves caught up in Egyptological adventures.

Wonder Woman and Plastic Man have appeared separately in two 1943 comics that have received some praise. In Battle for Womanhood (created by William Moulton Marston and Harry G. Peter for All-American Publications and appearing in Wonder Woman #5) Wonder Woman faces up against Dr. Psycho, who attempts to undermine the US war effort by impersonating George Washington and warning against the employment of women in war industries. Plastic Man and the Game of Death (by Jack Cole for Quality Comics) sees the stretchable superhero take on a death cult, Japanese spies (with the usual problematic stereotyping), and cowboys in a series of bizarre adventures.

Newspaper strips were an important part of the comics firmament in 1943. The year saw the conclusion of the Flash Gordon series Fiery Desert of Mongo (by Alex Raymond for King Features Syndicate). Two Buck Rogers strips concluded this year, Martians Invade Jupiter and Mechanical Bloodhound (both by Dick Calkins for National Newspaper Syndicate); these were subsequently collected as Volume 9 of the Buck Rogers In The 25th Century: Dailies

The Brick Bradford newspaper strip On the Throne of Titania, created by Clarence Gray and William Ritt for the Central Press Association, finished its run of more than two years in 1943. Like Flash Gordon, Brick Bradford started life as a Buck Rogers knock-off before embarking on his own adventures, travelling through both time and space, eventually becoming better known in Europe than in the USA. As well as the daily strips, Gray and Ritt also produced a weekly Brick Bradford strip for the Sunday newspapers, with The Men Of The North and Ultrasphere both finishing in 1943.

1943 also saw the conclusion of the Sunday newspaper strip John Carter of Mars, adapted by John Coleman Burroughs from his father’s books and distributed by United Feature Syndicate. The strip was less successful than Rice Burroughs’ novels and was sadly cancelled in midstream in March 1943.

A more popular newspaper strip in 1943 was Prince Valiant, created by Hal Foster for King Features Syndicate. Readers may have encountered Fantagraphics’ reprints of Prince Valiant, volume 4 of which includes stories from 1943. Little Orphan Annie (by Harold Gray, for Tribune Media Services) was also widely read.

In 1943 as now comics were not just being published in the Anglophone world. In Nazi-occupied Belgium, Hergé was writing Tintin comics, with Secret of the Unicorn published in book form by Casterman and its sequel Red Rackham’s Treasure serialised in Le Soir. Unlike some other Tintin titles, neither of these deal particularly with science fictional or explicitly fantastic themes, yet there is a strange outlandishness to all of Tintin’s adventures that could slide them into Hugo eligibility.

Another noteworthy Belgian comic of 1943 is Le Rayon U (translated much later into English as The U Ray) by Edgar P. Jacobs (more famous for his subsequent Blake & Mortimer comics). Le Rayon U appeared in the pages of Bravo and is a fantasy/science fiction tale in the Flash Gordon mould, which it was produced to replace, as the US entry into the war meant that Flash Gordon comics could no longer be imported into Europe.

Best Professional Artist

As with the contemporary Hugos, professional science fiction and fantasy artists of 1943 are eligible for Retro Hugo recognition. Many of these saw their work appearing on the covers of the era’s magazines, samples of which can be seen at the links below:

A. R. Tilburne: Weird Tales, January 1943, Weird Tales, September 1943, & Weird Tales, November 1943

Earle K. Bergey: Startling Stores, June 1943 Captain Future, Summer 1943, & Thrilling Wonder Stories, April 1943

George Gross: Jungle Stories, April 1943, Jungle Stories, February 1943, & Jungle Stories, Summer 1943

George Rozen: Planet Stories, Fall 1943 & Planet Stories, May 1943

Harold W. McCauley: Amazing Stories, May 1943, Fantastic Stories, May 1943, & Fantastic Adventures, June 1943

J. Allen St. John: Amazing Stories, January 1943 & Amazing Stories, February 1943

Jerome Rozen: Planet Stories, March 1943

Lawrence: Famous Fantastic Mysteries: December 1943

Margaret Brundage: Weird Tales, May 1943

Milton Luros: Astonishing Stories, February 1943, Future Fantasy and Science Fiction, February 1943, & Science Fiction, July 1943

Robert Fuqua: Amazing Stories, March 1943, Amazing Stories, April 1943, & Amazing Stories, August 1943

Robert Gibson Jones: Fantastic Adventures, February 1943, Fantastic Adventures, March 1943, & Amazing Stories, November 1943

Virgil Finlay: Famous Fantastic Mysteries, March 1943, Super Science Stories, February 1943, & Super Science Stories, May 1943

William Timmins: Astounding Science Fiction, February 1943, Astounding Science Fiction, June 1943, & Astounding Science Fiction, October 1943

Of course, not all artists got to do covers in 1943. Artists who only did interior art this year include Alex Schomburg, Edd Cartier, Frank R. Paul, H. W. Wesso, Hannes Bok, & Hubert Rogers. Readers may have encountered some of their 1943 work.

Mervyn Peake would subsequently gain a measure of fame as the author of the Gormenghast novels, but in 1943 he was attempting to earn a living as an artist. His illustrations for an edition of Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner could perhaps earn him a Retro Hugo.

Children’s book illustrations might also be the kind of thing that appeals to Retro Hugo nominators. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry‘s own illustrations for The Little Prince are a big part of that book’s appeal. Enid Blyton’s The Magic Faraway Tree would not be the same without Dorothy M. Wheeler‘s illustrations.

Editors

There are two editor categories in which people can be nominated for Retro Hugos, short form and long form. In the short form category, the nominee must have edited at least four (4) anthologies, collections, or magazine issues (or their equivalent in other media) primarily devoted to science fiction and/or fantasy, at least one of which was published in 1943. In the long form category, the nominee must have edited at least four (4) novel-length works primarily devoted to science fiction and/or fantasy published in 1943; they must also not have qualified in the short form category.

Your guess frankly is as good as mine with regard to the long form editor category. In the short form category there are however a great many people to choose from. Science fiction was still something that people experienced primarily in periodical magazines, whose editors played a vital role in developing the genre. Some eligible editors of 1943 periodicals and anthologies include:

Alden H. Norton, editor of Super Science Stories

Dorothy McIlwraith, editor of Weird Tales

John W. Campbell Jr., editor of Astounding Science Fiction & Unknown Worlds

Malcolm Reiss, editor of Jungle Stories

Mary Gnaedinger, editor of Famous Fantastic Mysteries

Oscar J. Friend, editor of Thrilling Wonder Stories

Raymond A. Palmer, editor of Amazing Stories & Fantastic Adventures

Robert A. W. Lowndes, editor of Science Fiction Stories

W. Scott Peacock, editor of Planet Stories

Donald A. Wollheim‘s editing career meanwhile saw him compiling the The Pocket Book of Science Fiction in 1943.

Fan categories

As with the regular Hugos, a variety of fan publishing activities from 1943 are eligible for Retro Hugo awards. There was probably nothing in that year eligible in the Best Fancast category, as few science fiction fans had their own radio stations, but by 1943 the explosion of fandom meant that there is plenty of material that could now be honoured in the Best Fanzine, Best Fan Writer, and Best Fan Artist categories. There might also be an overlap between the Best Fanzine and Best Semiprozine categories.

Fan produced material is almost by its very nature ephemeral and there are probably few Hugo Award nominators who have an extensive collection of fanzines from 1943. However, this in no way prevents people from nominating material from that year. The Fanac Fan History Project collects scans of old fan publications and has posted up links to Retro Hugo eligible zines published in 1943. Browsing here may well throw up items worth nominating in all of the fan categories. Even people who have no interest in nominating for the Retro Hugos will I think find the Fanac Fan History Project a fascinating window into the history of fandom.

The post More Retro Hugo categories: comics, art, editors and fandom appeared first on Dublin 2019.

Think of Ireland and “stately homes” is probably not the first phrase to come to mind. Not for me, anyway. Instead, I pictured green hills, ancient ruins, and delightful pubs. (Or was it leprechauns, musicians, and Guinness? One could make many such lists.) What tourists often forget is that Ireland before the famines of the Nineteenth Century was incredibly prosperous, and when the wealthy put down roots, they built big.

A lot of their big homes still remain, as a glance at Wikipedia reveals. Some are now ruins, others are the crown jewels of golfing resorts, but a fair few remain in excellent condition and available for sightseers to visit, with tours of the house, access to the gardens, and a café for after.

A quick aside, before I get into the ones my wife and I visited: the question I was most asked while living in Dublin was “When are you going to write your ‘Irish’ novel?” Lacking a good answer to that question, I tended to mumble something about faerie and “We’ll see what emerges.” Well, what emerged was a middle-grade fantasy novel set in a big house that might possibly be haunted. Her Perilous Mansion is the unintended consequence of visiting so many stately homes in a row and letting my subconscious run riot. I’ll call out the ones that inspired specific parts of the book.

Duckett’s Grove, Co. Carlow

Although it’s a ruin, we absolutely loved this former great house, which is open now as a public park.

All old homes have history, but I particularly like this one. When the widow of the last heir fell out with her daughter, Olive, she left Olive a pittance out of an estate valued at nearly £100,000: this came to be known as “the angry shilling”, which is a title someone should totally use.

The huge house burned down under mysterious circumstances in 1933. It’s purported to be haunted by a Banshee ghost, but we didn’t see anything while we were there. Too busy gawping at the tower, probably.

Lissadell House, Co. Sligo

A fascinating place for many reasons, austere Lissadell House was the first in the country to have gas piped in and, when sold in 2003, the only stately home in Ireland to retain the furniture built for it, designed to compliment the architect’s plans.

Also, William Butler Yeats wrote a poem about it once, and whether that or the inhabitants (revolutionaries, suffragettes and poets all) made it famous is anyone’s guess. Possibly both.

There are so many other things I could mention about this place, which is my personal favourite, but I’ll limit it to two: there’s a memorial to Leonard Cohen on the grounds (he played there, apparently); and the kitchen features distinctive iron columns (thus earning it a key position in Her Perilous Mansion).

Bantry House and Garden, Co. Cork

It’s worth trekking nearly to the southernmost tip of Ireland to see this place. (If you need a snooze at the end of your journey, you can stay there overnight.) The grounds are spectacular and so is the view over the nearby water. The garden has seven terraces, giving it a tremendous sense of size and opulence.

I loved it for the second of two large stables, which is fallen into very picturesque ruin. There’s also a nice café, something many of these stately homes possess. Go for the view, as they say, stay for the cake. (Actually, no one’s ever said that, but it’s not bad advice in Ireland.)

Newbridge Estate, Co. Dublin

Irish tour guides tend to be very good, but none surpassed the young historian who took Amanda and I around Newbridge Demesne the day we visited, shortly before we returned to Australia. He was absolutely first-rate. Visit just for him, if you can. (They accept tips, btw, and it’s usual to offer one, I’m told.) You can also visit the side-room full of statues that make a brief appearance in Her Perilous Mansion.

There’s a working farm on the estate, one that comes with owls and peacocks as well as the usual complement of beasts. Another highlight.

Kylemore Abbey, Co. Galway

This is one of two places on this list that are so famous they probably don’t need mentioning. If you’re anywhere near Galway, just go. You’ll love it, if not for the house itself, then for the miniature Gothic folly nearby or the walled Victorian Gardens–or the view across the lake, which everyone photographs.

Nuns, bombed out of Ypres during World War I, moved in a century ago and have left a legacy of religiosity that sometimes seems a bit trippy (there’s a giant cross on a mountain nearby that I initially thought was a hallucination) but don’t let that put you off, or the fact that the tour of the house isn’t extensive. It’s a very special place. We’ve been twice.

Strokestown Park, Co. Roscommon

People who have visited Ireland before might not know about Strokestown, as it’s only opened to the public in recent years. Once owned by a particularly vicious man who was (probably) killed by his own tenants during the Famine, it’s now home to the National Irish Famine Museum, which is profoundly moving and informative. (We learned, for instance, that potatoes are actually very good for you, leading to pre-Famine Irish being generally larger in stature and healthier than other Europeans because of their tuberous diet.)

The café uses produce from the gardens to make delicious soup, so don’t miss that.

Glenveagh Castle, Co. Donegal

This looks like a castle but is in fact a crenelated mansion built in the 1870s, now the centrepiece of a mountainous national park sharing the name. The original landlord was apparently so cruel that someone cursed the castle, leading (it’s said) to none of the subsequent owners leaving heirs to bear the family name.

The gardens are lush and full of details like Balinese statues that look deliciously out of place amongst the green. There’s also a “Gothic Orangery” on the grounds, but we never found out what that was. The not inconsiderable walk to the castle is well worth the effort. It’s such a rewarding place, with all sort of nooks and crannies to explore.

Westport House, Co. Mayo

Justifiably regarded as one of the finest sites in Ireland, Westport House boasts extensive activities on the grounds for all the family, including giant swan paddleboats, if you go for that kind of thing. The house itself is magnificent. Elaborately painted ceilings and a quaint miniature library annex made it into Her Perilous Mansion.

In fact, I took extensive research photos here. No one complained. Sometimes these houses are privately owned and cameras are not allowed to be used inside. Westport House was not one of them.

Castle Coole, Co. Fermanagh

This is another faux castle, actually a neo-classical house of very grand appearance. I mention this mainly because I have a cool photo of it–also to note that many of these estates close for winter, although the grounds may remain open. Alas, we left visiting too late, so had to content ourselves with merely walking about the place, stickybeaking where we could. Worth it.

Other houses we didn’t enter include Burtown House and Gardens, Co. Kildare (there’s a delicious restaurant called the Green Barn and super vegetable garden we were able to stroll through) and Turlough Park, Co. Mayo (on the extensive grounds of which is the excellent Museum of Country Life).

Rothe House, Co. Kilkenny

Although smaller in scale than the other places I’ve listed, this house is a real treasure. A Sixteenth Century townhouse built by a merchant for his family, it’s the only one of its type surviving in Ireland. Actually three houses built in succession, with courtyards between them, it’s home to a large number of archaeologically significant objects and has a lovingly restored garden at the rear of the property, which is a must-see.

Close at hand is the somewhat grander but still relatively modest Butler House, which is now a guest house. When we were there, the gardens were covered in rather bizarre Xmas ornaments, so we didn’t get a clear sense of what it looks like when sanity prevails. We’re told they’re rather nice.

Castletown House, Co. Kildare

This is Amanda’s favourite stately home in all of Ireland. I can’t argue the point because sadly I missed that trip, but in photos it looks very stately indeed. Its history, however, seems bland: not a ghost, executed landlords, or disgruntled heir to be found! Still, it’s high on my list of places to visit when I return. See you there, perhaps?

Belvedere House, Co. Westmeath

Stately homes don’t have to be the biggest or the best to be worth visiting. Sometimes being close to Dublin and possessing a great story is enough. We loved Belvedere House for both reasons. The story goes something like this: 1^st Earl of Belvedere married a reluctant actress and treated her very badly, effectively imprisoning her, in the end. Suspicious of his brother, who lived next door, he erected a massive spite folly, the “Jealous Wall”, to block the neighbouring estate from view. This folly is a thing to behold.

The gardens and park are also delightful, and the tour of the house is more inclusive than most. Its floorplan informed the manor in Her Perilous Mansion.

Powerscourt Estate, Co. Wicklow

Some might say I’ve saved the best for last. It’s certainly the grandest and possibly the most famous, and also a very convenient drive or bus trip from Dublin: therefore, perfect for a day trip. Come visit, have lunch or morning tea, then move on to the waterfalls and nearby Glendalough. The place is a treasure-trove of wealth and beauty, and a powerful reminder of just how rich Ireland has been in its recent past.

Do consider forgoing a stone circle or two to visit some of these amazing old homes. You’ll be amazed, and you’ll learn a lot about Irish history, too. There’s enough material here for a dozen books!

Sean Williams is a #1 New York Times-bestselling author of over forty novels and one hundred and twenty short stories for adults, young adults and children. Normally, he lives in South Australia with his wife and family, but 2018 saw him living in Dublin and loving everything about it. Have Sword, Will Travel and Let Sleeping Dragons Lie, launched at Octocon 2018, are the first adventures in a new middle-grade series co-written with Garth Nix.

The post Touring Tuesdays: From “The Angry Shilling” to the “The Jealous Wall” by Sean Williams appeared first on Dublin 2019.

I hesitate to romanticize being Irish, or Ireland in general. It is a place; people live here. Occasionally we get things right, often we get them wrong. Some things are improving. Others aren’t. It rains.

One thing Ireland is particularly known for is being a nation of ‘writers and storytellers,’ which does sound extremely impressive, especially on a tourism brochure. Unlike a lot of preconceptions about Ireland, this has the benefit of being true. We buy a lot of books here. We fiercely defend indie bookstores. Despite the recent recession, more and more literary festivals are popping up each year like flowers after rain. It is completely normal, at a large family gathering, for that nine-foot tall lumpen uncle who spends three hundred and sixty-four days of the year communicating solely in frowns (every Irish family has one of these) to suddenly stand and recite a fifteen-minute-long poem from memory.

When I visit a school to talk about books, I don’t like to put anyone on the spot by asking who wants to be a writer, but I’ve visited schools where every single student puts up their hands. Teachers tell me with pride that ‘some schools are rugby schools and other schools are football schools, this is a writing school.’

And nowhere is this passion for storytelling clearer than Dublin. Writers like Joyce, O’Brien and Swift loom large, of course, but they are a bedrock, a fertile soil for a living, vibrant ecosystem. When I first moved to Dublin, it seemed that every single pub had its own spoken word night. There was Nighthawks in the Cobalt Café, Brown Bread Mixtape in the Stag’s Head, Milk & Cookies Storytelling in the Exchange. The International Bar has a different event on every night of the week, from the Monday Echo to Playtyme to the Underground Beat. And in all these places there was an unseen compact particular to storytelling and spoken word – the audience were on your side. Nobody heckled or tried to throw you off-balance. They wanted you to succeed.

The comedian Hannah Gadsby, in her sublime Netflix special Nanette, described comedy as ‘trauma and punchline,’ whereas storytelling, in contrast, offers more by being made of ‘beginning, middle and end.’ Storytelling isn’t a binary art. In comedy, if the audience aren’t laughing you aren’t doing your job. Storytelling offered more options – from the sweet to the sad to the scary.

Of course, you can only rely on the audience’s charity so far. The first time I told a story in public, it was an unmitigated disaster. I had written a short story about a father who, every night, brought dinner in bed to his daughter. He would lay everything out perfectly on a tray and tell her a story about how she was going to grow up and become a princess, or a pirate, or a poet. She knew that he was lying. She knew, and the reader knew too, from the machines and tubes and soft ragged beeps crowding the corners of her room, that it was unlikely that she would grow up at all. But it was the performance that was important, for both.

I decided to tell this story at an open-mic storytelling night called Milk & Cookies. There were two things I didn’t know. The first was what the etiquette was after finishing the story. Did I bow? Was that too formal? Did I just leave the stage? The second was that the nights were themed, and unbeknownst to me, the theme of this night was truth or false, where the audience would cheer if they thought the story was true, and boo if they thought it was false.

I arrived, signed up, listened to stories about old gods and bad break-ups, and then my turn arrived. I was incredibly nervous – the kind of nerves that can only come from meeting the gaze of fifty expectant faces. I stammered through my story (a story written in first-person; this is important) eyes for the most part on the floor, and when I finished…

Silence.

A long silence.

And then a girl at the front whispered, ‘Oh my god.’

Not knowing what to do, I ran back to my seat. The MC shuffled back on stage, looking as awkward as I felt, and said ‘Oh. Oh dude. Um. Obviously, we’re not going to ask you if that’s true or not. We’re so… so sorry.’

Which is when I realized all of them thought that my nerves were sadness, and my story was true. I immediately apologized profusely, and the tension in the air escaped like air from a balloon. That was the moment I learned that, far from being scary or judgemental or disinterested, audiences want to trust a performer or author. They give you that gift – you just have to make sure you don’t screw it up.

The spoken word scene here is still vibrant – full of veteran performers and new talents taking their first steps onto the stage. The International Bar is a must, as is the Poetry Ireland list of open mic opportunities. Sometimes clichés are there for a reason. There is a vein of story in Ireland, rich and beating beneath our skin, and if you’re travelling here for Worldcon, or just passing through in general, it’s a vein you should seek out. Maybe you’ll decide you want to tell a story yourself.

Just maybe check is the night themed first.

Dave Rudden is the author of the award-winning Knights of the Borrowed Dark trilogy and the Doctor Who anthology Twelve Angels Weeping. He enjoys cats, good beard maintenance and being cruel to fictional teenagers. Follow him at @d_ruddenwrites.

The post Touring Tuesdays: The Spoken City by Dave Rudden appeared first on Dublin 2019.

I’m not from the Glens of Antrim, but I’m not far away. Around 5 miles from my house, there is a small glen (Gleno), with a waterfall and a magical wild-swimming pool. The Antrim Coast Road begins, properly, about 10 miles up the road from me. I’ve been up and down that road, and in and out of the glens, all my life. And yet, even to one familiar to them, they are still a place that feels different. Magical, almost.

One of my family’s favourite places to visit – even the jaded teens! – is Glenariff, with its waterfalls and fairy-land walkways. There’s an enchantment about the place, a slowness that makes it feel cut-off. That aspect of the Glens is the version shown on Tourist leaflets and fridge magnets. Indeed, there are often tour coaches in attendance, and American voices mingle with the Northern Irish tones.

What, perhaps, is not so well known is the harsher landscape of the Glens, the mountains through which the fairy-like valleys cut. That land is harsh and rocky. As much as the Coast Road is pounded by the Atlantic on one side, it was pounded out of the land that flanks the other. It’s not hard to see why I was inspired to set Waters and the Wild, a complex tale of mental illness set against a rich fantasy backdrop, in the Glens.

Whilst I show the gentle side of the Glens – my opening scene is set at the waterfall at Glenariff – some of the key scenes are set in the harsher areas. The sea, sometimes. But, also, on the bleak hills. And one of the places in that landscape called to me, like few places ever had.

It’s a place – set in a field, really – called Ossian’s Grave, near Cushendall.

It’s not the easiest place to find. It’s off a road, past a farm, complete with barking dog, and up a long hill. I spent a week on holiday across the road from the site and didn’t make it up until the last day. Finally I decided to embrace my inner hill-walker (never that keen to put her boots on, to be honest) and started to climb. The lane was narrow, and steep, but not difficult. It cleaved to the right and then there was a stile and a green sign marking a bare field, that looked over a glen to another hill beyond. In that bare field is Ossian’s Grave.

Ossian – or Oisin, as commonly known – was a Celtic mythological hero, who was taken from this world to dwell in Tir-na-Nog and have eternal life. But Ossian, we are told, grew to miss the Glens and he asked to return to see their beauty again. To do so, he was warned not to come off his horse; to set foot on the land would kill him. His horse stumbled, Ossian fell to the ground, and there he withered and died.

There are a several Ossian’s/Oisin’s Graves throughout Ireland, and indeed Scotland, but this one over Cushendall is more than just a mythological site. The grave itself is a megalithic court cairn, scattered across the field. Its grey stones are fixed to the Earth, tall sentinels of a lost past.

And then, to make sure everyone knows they are in a special place, to one side of the field a small cairn can be seen, with a rowan growing from it. Go closer, and a plaque catches what light there might be. This is in remembrance to John Hewitt, known as the ‘poet of the Glens’, a voice for the people of the North. It is, the plaque announces, ‘his chosen ground’.

It came to me that this place was somewhere thrice-touched by magic. The cairn, the hero, the poet, all in one place.

As the wind raked the grass and the world carried on at the bottom of the hill, it was clear that to know the Glens of Antrim requires a person to move beyond the fairy glens, onto the rugged mountains. The mountains give a sense of the land and its people and that’s captured, as well as anywhere I know, at Ossian’s Grave.

It’s why I had to write about it – and why, I’m sure, the Glens and their bewitching land, will appear in more of my writing. It might even be about the dicotomy that is Northern Ireland – the harsh appearance and accents, the softer lands and warm welcome, the confusion and complexity that is this place. That magical combination of peace and history, of bleakness and poetry, might well be the very essence of my homeland to me.

Jo writes science fiction and fantasy, mostly based in her native Northern Ireland. Best known for Inish Carraig, where she destroyed most of Belfast in an alien invasion, she’s currently working on the sequel, in which she turns her attention to the rest of the country. When not writing, Jo is a management consultant. 

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More specifically, we need your generosity, kindness, and participation in this special crowd-sourced programme that will help us facilitate Dublin 2019 attendance for members of several groups who have barriers to attendance.

You can help. Our community is filled with incredibly generous people who want to help others share in the joy and wonder of Dublin 2019 — An Irish Worldcon. Please give to the Fantastic Dublin Fund by making a financial gift in any amount (because every euro, dollar, pound, and yen counts!) or by giving your unused membership(s) to the FDF. (Please note that gifts to Dublin 2019’s FDF are not tax deductible). To make a gift, click the donation button and make a difference today!

How the Fantastic Dublin Fund will be used. A sample list of groups is listed below, but for more detailed information as well as access to our FAQ, please be sure to visit and read Dublin 2019’s FDF policy.

• Irish Fans of Limited Financial Means
• Irish Traveller Community
• People of Colour
• Programme Participants from Marginalized Communities/Participants of Colour

Boost the signal. There is one more way that you can help, and that’s by spreading the word about the Fantastic Dublin Fund within your social media network. The more people who hear about the Fund, the more people will give to it, and we need donations in order to make this work. So, even if you don’t have the cash to help, we would deeply appreciate your sharing the FDF link with others who may either have the resources to give or who may need to take advantage of this special opportunity for funding assistance from the FDF.

On behalf of Dublin 2019 we thank you for your generosity and support, which will make the Fantastic Dublin Fund possible. We look forward to seeing you and celebrating speculative fiction and art in all of its glory this coming August in Dublin, Ireland.

Thank you from the entire Dublin 2019 team.

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When I moved to Dublin in 2000, I immediately set about familiarising myself with the literary heritage of my new home. Of course having a lifelong interest in ghost stories and things that go bump in the night—which, by the way, shows no sign of abating—my attention naturally focused on Irish contributions to the genre. This curiosity resulted in my first book, Literary Walking Tours of Gothic Dublin (2006), copies of which are still floating about if you’ve the mind; and a twice-yearly journal I edit called The Green Book: Writings on Irish Gothic, Supernatural and Fantastic Literature (2013- ). The title pretty much says it all. 

Sure, I’d read Wilde and Stoker and Dunsany before moving to Dublin, but never with the added opportunity for geographical context. Being able to walk the same streets, the same paths and lanes, is a far more illuminating experience than sitting in the Midwest with a European city plan. Now that I was in Dublin I could visit Wilde’s birthplace on Westland Row, the church where Stoker married shortly before moving to London, the hospital on Jervis Street where Lord Dunsany lay wounded from shrapnel during the 1916 Easter Rising. I could walk from Charles Maturin’s house on York Street, where he wrote Melmoth the Wanderer (1820), to nearby Saint Peter’s Church, where he served out his final days as a curate. Maturin was eventually buried in the churchyard there, until the church, the yard, and hopefully the deceased too were cleared away to make room for a YMCA. But still, that plot of land, that precise location along the street, will always hold, like geological layers, a cumulative spatial significance. At least for me.

That’s the thing about Dublin or, I would imagine, any city of substantial size: Time collapses on itself, compressing layers of place, both literal and figurative, one on top of the other. There is the surface of the modern day, yes, but if you learn the city’s furtive language, you will also learn that a particular bend of a certain road echoes a now vanished waterway; or that behind the façades of certain ancient buildings on Aungier Street stand structures still older and forgotten. Secrets are concealed all over this town.

In October of 2000, while I was still searching for legitimate work, I found myself sitting in my new Dublin flat reading Bill McCormack’s biography of Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, the Victorian ghost story writer whose gothic novel Uncle Silas (1864) still has many sinister thrills to offer the modern reader. There is Le Fanu’s popular, if slightly sensational, vampire novella “Carmilla” (1871-2), which many already know. But my favourite tale is “Green Tea” (1869), a horrific depiction of a man’s psychological decay, originally published in All the Year Round by Charles Dickens before it was later collected in Le Fanu’s crowning achievement In a Glass Darkly (1872).  

Anyway, that autumn afternoon, as I was sat in my armchair reading, I turned to a page showing a photograph Le Fanu’s tombstone, with a note that he was buried in Mount Jerome Cemetery, Dublin. It was an epiphany, albeit maybe an obvious one: We’re not in Wisconsin anymore. Why continue sitting in the chair? Not content to just read about these places, I could now visit them too! I jumped up, grabbed a map and my coat, and within minutes was heading west towards Harold’s Cross—a short fifteen-minute walk from my flat. 

Mount Jerome Cemetery is Dublin’s “other cemetery”—by that I mean it is not Glasnevin Cemetery on the north side of the city, which, due to its high volume of political heroes, is plainly the more celebrated of the two. However, for the lover of fantastical literature, Mount Jerome may well have more to offer. Mount Jerome was founded in 1836, originally a Protestant cemetery, an overflow for the dangerously brimming city graveyards. With cholera epidemics sweeping across Ireland at the time, a bit more space was necessary. By the 1990s, the cemetery had fallen into extreme disrepair. It was overgrown with weeds and the quantity of empty beer cans threatened to outnumber those interred there. Roots had overturned tombstones and advanced deterioration worked on some of the burial ground’s grander monuments. Fortunately, the cemetery was restored by the Massey Brothers at the turn of the century. While there is still a sense of majestic decay—proper to any such cemetery of nineteenth-century vintage—I cannot think of a more pleasant way to spend an afternoon, provided the weather holds: ambling among the tombs and reading the details of lives etched into the stones.

As I mentioned already, the vault of Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu (1814-1873) is, in my opinion, Mount Jerome’s literary centrepiece. The vault is topped by a large capstone facing the open sky. The elements have nearly erased all names of those interred therein, though traces of Le Fanu’s name can still be discerned in the limestone if the sun is at the right angle. His gothic novels and ghost stories were much admired by M. R. James, among others, and echoes of his writing can be found in James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake and—I’m fairly certain—Family Guy. For the bicentenary of Le Fanu’s birth in 2014, I organised the vault’s restoration. With contributions from members of the Le Fanu family, we had the stone scrubbed clean of grime and lichen, and a new plaque installed, which reads: “Here lies / Dublin’s Invisible Prince / Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu / 28th Aug. 1814 – 7th Feb. 1873 / Novelist and Writer of Ghost Stories”.

Not far from Le Fanu’s vault is the burial place of one of the most obscure Dublin writers: Oliver Sherry. Sherry was the nom de plume of George Edmund Lobo (1894-1971), which is how he is identified on the stone slab marking his simple grave. Lobo penned five slim volumes of poetry, but is now best remembered for (if that phrase is applicable to someone so thoroughly forgotten) an occult thriller entitled Mandrake (1929). With an introduction by the late genre scholar Richard Dalby, Mandrake was republished for the first time in eighty years by Medusa Press: “The story centers around the investigations of an American occult detective, Tom Annesley in two remote English villages. This area is terrorized by the immortal Baron Habdymos, malevolent sorcerer and last surviving of seven ancient adepts of black magic, and his evil bestial familiar or ‘mandrake’, which feeds on blood—a memorable creation worthy of M. R. James at his darkest.”

Next up is the resting place of George William Russell (1867-1935), who wrote and painted under the name A.E. I hesitate to call “A.E.” a pen name inasmuch as the name was the true spiritual manifestation of Ireland’s foremost mystic. A.E. outlined his beliefs in The Candle of Vision (1918) and Song and its Fountains (1933). In the latter he wrote: “I lay on the hill of Kilmasheogue and Earth revealed itself to me as a living being, and rock and clay were made transparent, so that I saw lovelier and lordlier beings than I had known before, and was made partner in memory of mighty things, happenings in ages long sunken behind time.” Occasionally A.E.’s works are on display at the Hugh Lane Gallery, including his sublime painting The Winged Horse; and a bust of his great bearded visage, sculpted by Oliver Sheppard, stands in the National Gallery—though for some reason they’ve none of his pictures on show there. On the poet’s headstone, beneath a deeply carved “Æ”, are the words: “I moved among men and places, and in living I learned the truth at last. I know I am a spirit and that I went forth in old time from the self-ancestral to labours yet unaccomplished.” Swan River Press re-printed A.E.’s Selected Poems for his sesquicentenary in 2017. It is currently his only work in print.

Just outside the cemetery’s chapel is the grave of Sir William Wilde (1815-1876), father of Oscar Wilde. While not directly a genre writer—Sir William was, in fact, an ear, nose, and throat doctor—his interests as an antiquarian and folklorist put him squarely in our literary purview with books such as Irish Popular Superstitions (1852) and Narrative of a Voyage to Madeira, Tenerife, and along the shores of the Mediterranean (1840). Sir William brought back from this Mediterranean tour numerous archaeological souvenirs, including a mummy, which he displayed his home on Merrion Square. (He also once had possession of Jonathan Swift’s skull, but that’s another story.) The Wilde’s home was host to a social circle that included the young Bram Stoker, and Sir William’s Egyptological reminiscences may well have played a formative role in Stoker’s novel The Jewel of Seven Stars (1903). Wilde’s gleaming white monument in Mount Jerome, flanked by fragrant lavender, also serves as a memorial to his son Oscar and his wife, the poet Lady Jane Wilde, who published under the name “Speranza”.

Further along from the cemetery offices, and behind a low hedge, is the grave of Christine and Edward Longford (1900-1980; 1902-1961). Edward was the chairman of the Gate Theatre and, with his wife, co-managed Longford Productions. So what brings us to their graveside? Both Christine and Edward seem to have had a particular affinity for our friend Le Fanu. They adapted no fewer than four of his stories for the stage: Carmilla (1932), The Watcher (1942), The Avenger (1943; based on “Ultor de Lacy”), and Uncle Silas (1947). Scripts for Carmilla and Uncle Silas are still extant; the other two have not yet shown up in the archives at Tullynally Castle. But perhaps a revival of Carmilla is soon due? Christine also wrote an introduction to Uncle Silas for Penguin’s abridged edition in 1940. I wonder if they knew they would be buried so close to him? Flecks of scarlet paint are still in the Longfords’ engraved names, while the dramatic masks of tragedy and comedy have been cut into the stone’s sides.

The final stop on our perambulation of Mount Jerome is the grave of Sir William Thornley Stoker (1845-1912). Thornley, the name he went by in life, was a surgeon like many other members of his family. He lived in a grand house on Ely Place, collected antiques, and served as president of the Royal College of Surgeons on Saint Stephen’s Green—there’s a portrait of him that still hangs there, though you might have to bluff your way in to see it. While he was writing Dracula, Bram contact his brother Thornley to consult him on the effects of head wounds. Thornley wrote a memo, even providing a diagram, showing where on the head certain blows might cause paralysis to the legs, arms, and face, and what medical procedures might be necessary in the wake of such a ghastly trauma. Bram incorporated Thornley’s notes into Chapter 21 of his magnum opus—describing Renfield’s unfortunate accident with some suspicious-looking mist that had gathered outside his cell window.

There is much else to discover in Mount Jerome, but the above names are some of my own favourite people to visit. The cemetery is not too far outside of Dublin, a forty-five minute walk from the city centre, an even shorter bus journey. One could easily spend hours among the stone urns, broken columns, stoic angels, and various memento mori that decorate the myriad vaults and tombs. I will, however, give one piece of advice: make sure you get an early start. There are signs at Mount Jerome’s entrance proclaiming that they close the front gates at four o’clock sharp. I would imagine they do mean business. I admit, I would not care to find out.

With thanks to David J. Skal for the use of his photos of the Wilde and Stoker graves; photo of Brian J. Showers by Aoife Herrity.

Brian J. Showers is originally from Madison, Wisconsin. He has written short stories, articles and reviews for magazines such as Rue Morgue, Ghosts & Scholars, and Wormwood. His short story collection, The Bleeding Horse, won the Children of the Night Award in 2008. He is also the author of Literary Walking Tours of Gothic Dublin and Old Albert, the co-editor of the Stoker Award-nominated Reflections in a Glass Darkly, and the editor of The Green Book: Writings on Irish Gothic, Supernatural and Fantastic Literature. He also runs Swan River Press, who can be found on .

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We have watched as membership increases beyond our expectations, and have been working for some time now on how to ensure we can welcome and accommodate everyone.

We also want to ensure that any expansion works to improve the experience for members who come along, while taking into account that there is not a building directly next to the Convention Centre Dublin that we can expand into.

Eight hundred and fifty meters from the CCD, or just over half a mile, are a number of facilities that we have decided to hire and use at a wonderful location called The Point. Conveniently, there is a Luas stop outside the CCD and one outside our new facilities, with direct tram travel between them. The facilities include hotel function rooms for over 300 people, auditorium space in the Odeon Cinema for 1,000 people, 2,600 sq metres of extra exhibits space, and a number of bars, social spaces, and restaurants, all in one ‘Block’.

The additional space is not only desirable to accommodate our members, but also to accommodate everything we want to celebrate and bring to our members. It allows elements such as our art show to increase their footprint, it allows programme to programme more items for the 800 potential participants who have signed up already, it allows us to include an amazing installation from a featured artists, it will allow us to have more large displays, and it will allow us to increase dealers’ space and our ‘creative alley’.

The new spaces are the Odeon Cinema, The ‘Warehouse’, and the Gibson hotel.

The Odeon Cinema offers us six purpose built auditoriums, with very high standards in projection, for presentations and film. There will be food concessions available here as well as some social space. Programme items in the Odeon screens would run on the half-hour to allow movement between items at the Odeon and the CCD. The availability of purpose-built audio-visual equipment, will of course be appreciated, especially by our art and media teams.

The ‘Warehouse’ features some 2,600 sq metres of exhibit space in two large rooms. It is directly below the Odeon Cinema, and has just seen the Dublin Christmas Flea Market take place for the second year running. 

The larger of the ‘Warehouse’ spaces has very high floor to ceiling windows along one whole side, offering considerably more natural light than we would have at the CCD. With the enthusiastic support of our Art Show team, we will now situate the Art Show in this space. In many respects, it made me think of Andy Warhol’s Factory, although the wall of glass offers us quite a unique feature for convention or other spaces.

The Warehouse offers us the opportunity to expand what activities we were intending to have occur, offering our Programme, Fringe and Events divisions extra space to look at what will work well. We will be working to make this a vast ‘creative hub’ with a focus for art, art-related and other creative activities that occur and can occur at a Worldcon.  

The Gibson Hotel is next door to the Odeon, and I have mentioned this previously in communications, and is where we intend to have the WSFS business meeting amongst other activities and programme. The Hotel also has two bars as well as indoor and outdoor social space, and outside these three venues there are a number of eateries, including Starbucks, Eddie Rockets Diner, Rubys Pizza and Grill, and the Salad Box.  

Our Fringe division has demonstrated to us that we can do more, beyond the walls of the Convention Centre Dublin, and now with this space we will bring you our ‘Creative Hub’.

We can now start to realise some of the more brilliant ideas that the team have harboured and work to bring to fruition such ideas as collaborative art projects, live model sketching, workshops, performances and presentations as well as a crafting lounge,  a generous showcase for our featured artists, and a walk through installation — to name but a few of the elements.

The choice has been simple. We want to do more, to bring you more, to enhance your experience at Dublin, and as membership grows, we also want to welcome people, and make them feel comfortable. It was expand or die, wait, no I mean expand or stop taking memberships.

We have worked hard to get this far, and are committed to continuing to work hard on our new Creative Hub and hope you will enjoy what we have planned.

As ever my very best – James

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The crackle of the grand fireplace, the slosh of wine pouring into a goblet, the glow of candles, the smell of fresh food wafting around the stone hall. The Bunratty Castle Medieval Banquet is one of the most immersive experiences you could ask for.

Hi everyone, I’m Paul Anthony Shortt, fantasy author and YouTuber. For my entry into the Dublin 2019 Touring Tuesdays Blog, I wanted to harken back to an experience I had several years ago, which I’ll never forget.

Several years ago, I brought my wife, Jen, on a trip to Bunratty for her birthday. Home of Bunratty Mead and close to Limerick and Ennis, Bunratty is a lovely area with beautiful countryside. It’s also home to an attraction we’d been wanting to experience for years.

Bunratty Castle is a 15th Century tower house in Co. Clare. Shannon Heritage host banquets here, in full medieval style. Tickets have to be booked in advance, but it’s well worth the time if you can go.

The evening begins as you make your way up the wooden steps, to the sound of a piper playing. There is no wheelchair access, unfortunately, which made things tricky for Jen, but she made her way up with her crutches and staff were happy to keep her wheelchair safe for us. This leads you to the main level of the castle, where you’ll sit for your meal.

Before that, you are led up a spiral staircase to a reception room where a string quartet plays while you’re served a cup of mead. As Jen couldn’t make it up the spiral stairs, she was brought to the main hall and given a jug of mead to herself. The music is pleasant, and really sets the tone of the evening. And all the while, the period-attired staff greet you as “m’lord” and “m’lady.”

But where the night really gets going is when the banquet itself begins. Seated at long benches in the main hall, you can feel the banter and atmosphere rise. Then the Earl of Thomond appears on a balcony above and greets you as his guests.

The etiquette of the night is explained. The Earl’s Butler will ask the Lord, nominated from the assembled guests, to give approval for each course brought out in order, and there is to be no smoking of the tobacco leaf from the New World “for fear of witchcraft.”

The first course is soup, but there is no spoon. You must drink by lifting the bowl and slurping, mopping up the rest with fresh bread served on wooden boards. Between courses you are entertained by singers and musicians, and clay jugs are brought out to refill your wine throughout the night.

Next is a course of ribs, and you’re left to use your dagger (a wood-handled serrated knife) to cut your food and eat by hand. Historically-accurate or not, it evokes an intoxicating atmosphere that only the most cynical could resist.

Before the main course, it is revealed that someone among the guests is a traitor, and is revealed to the Earl. They are swiftly locked behind a cage door until the Earl can decide a fitting fate. Which, usually, turns out to be singing a song or telling a joke.

The traitor dealt with, it’s time for pain-fried chicken on the bone and a selection of vegetables, again eaten with just your dagger. I should mention that vegetarian options are available for all courses, and the commitment to customer experience is stellar.

The night ends with desert and tea or coffee. Despite the heavy element of performance and the structure of the evening, nothing ever feels rushed or forced. The staff fit their roles so naturally that, sitting under wooden rafters and surrounded by stone walls decorated with tapestries, you could be forgiven for feeling like you’d been pulled into another time.

It’s not a night for everyone, of course. I can easily imagine some might have issues with how the food is to be eaten and the obvious difficulty for the mobility-impaired. And anyone suffering from social anxiety might have a problem if they’re selected as the traitor. But if my own experience is anything to judge by, if there is a way that the staff can help you enjoy the banquet, they will do their utmost to make it happen.

If you’re looking for a unique activity and some fond memories, this is heartily recommended.

Paul Anthony Shortt has been writing since he was a teen, starting with attempts at horror, then discovering urban fantasy as an adult. His first series, The Memory Wars Trilogy, began in 2012 and in 2014 he dabbled in steampunk fantasy with Lady Raven. The final book in this series, The White Raven, will be released this winter. He is presently working on two dark urban fantasy series and hosts a YouTube channel called Epic Storytelling. He can also be found on Twitter.

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