Trick or Treat

Today at work, as the day was dragging on and I was getting really fed up, as I wanted to be home and enjoy Halloween, I said joking: "I think I will stop to have a toffee apple tonight. With a Razor blade in it." I was only joking of course: I hate toffee apples. Anyway, this must have been a good joke, as people laughed. At the end of the month, it must have been everyone's state of mind. It deserves to be a great unknown line.

Anyway, I thought it illustrated pretty well the bad reputation trick or treat has in the UK. Something that allows sick and evil minds to hurt little children. As a child, I was warned about the dangers of finding a razor blades in apples and needles in marshmallows. Here, it is also considered a form of begging. But tonight, I was happy to see that it seemed quite popular among the children of this English town. There were a decent number of Jack O'Lanterns in houses and many children. And people seemed to be enjoying this Halloween night. Trick or treat does end early though, even on a Friday night. I cannot help but feel a bit like Halloween is already over. But my Jack O'Lanterns are burning nicely and the night is still on.

Un fantôme dans la citrouille

J'ai pris cette photo il y a quelques heures, une chandelle en forme de fantôme achetée chez Waitrose. Elles ont une durée de vie pas mal plus longues que les chandelles normales. Mais j'ai pris cette photo parce que Jack O'Lantern est un fantôme.

Something wicked this way comes

Double, double toil and trouble;
    Fire burn, and caldron bubble. 

This is of course from the Scottish Play, first acts, an incantation of the three witches. But it could also fit Halloween easily: witches, witchcraft, etc. And it was turned into a song in one of the Harry Potter movies (this one if I am not mistaken), sang in an Halloween scene. I usually upload a song for Halloween, this one is perfect. I do not have three witches, but I do have three Jack O'Lanterns, an Unholy Trinity. So here it is.

Une sinistre citrouille

Cette citrouille, ce Jack O'Lantern, est peut-être classique, mais c'est le design préféré que j'aie fait cette année. Elle a une sale gueule dans le genre sinistre, une bouche dentée et dévoreuse. J'ai vu les autres citrouilles dans le quartier, et elles ne valent pas celle-ci. J'aimerais pouvoir la mettre à la fenêtre et offrir des friandises. C'est ce qui me manque le plus.

Halloween!

As the clock strike midnight, I wanted to have a post ready for Halloween. These are the two Jack O'Lanterns I made tonight.

With the first one I made, it is an Unholy Trinity of grimacing Jacks. My favourite is the one on top of this post. But I digress. Happy Halloween 2014 everyone!

Question existentielle (244)

Je suis incorrigible, mais c'est l'Halloween bientôt, alors voici une question existentielle inspirée de ce billet:

-Quel personnage du folklore québécois pourrait/devrait être associé au folklore de l'Halloween?

Trick or treats, the right and wrong ways

A quick video for tonight's countdown to Halloween post. I say this and I will probably post more. Because Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie are hilarious and because this is so funny in the funny because it's true kind. Trick or treat is still very controversial in this country, at least for some people.

L'Halloween à Paris?

Cette photo a été prise dans une chocolaterie/confiserie à la Gare du Nord. Des crânes et des citrouilles (je crois) en chocolat. Des chocolats sous les couleurs et les thèmes de l'Halloween (Halloween comme ils disent en France). Ca m'étonne: l'Halloween est vue comme une vilaine fête consumériste et américaine chez les Gaulois et chez les éléments encore religieux (lire: obscurantistes) de la société française (ils existent encore), c'est une fête démoniaque. Bref, voir ça, ça m'a comme redonné foi en la France. Bien sûr, c'est à Paris, et dans une gare qui donne sur l'étranger en plus. Néanmoins, c'est rassurant de voir que l'hostilité à l'Halloween n'est peut-être plus aussi hystérique qu'elle l'a déjà été.

First Jack O'Lantern

This is the first of three pumpkins I will carve for Halloween. I wanted to do the other two, but was too tired. I tried to go for a look that was creepy and unsettling. I hope it worked. By the way, I wrote a story about Jack O'Lantern (it is a tradition on this blog), which you can read here and here).

L'été indien pour l'Halloween?

Enfin, il semblerait que ça soit le cas, du moins à certains endroits: on risque de battre des records de chaleur, allant jusqu'à +20. Et les Anglais sont heureux parce qu'on a une fin d'octobre chaude. Misère! Je vais apprécier l'Halloween peu importe la température, mais je l'aime plus quand il fait frais, voire froid. Suis-je seul à vouloir des températures automnales pour l'automne, surtout lors de la fête qui marque la saison?

Autumnwatch tonight

Before I do my countdown to Halloween post, I wanted to write a quick post to all my UK readers as a reminder: Autumnwatch is on tonight, at 08:00PM. My favourite UK program, about this country's wildlife in... autumn. It has many animals featured, including otters. These ones were seen in the otter sanctuary in Buckfastleigh. I thought they would illustate this post beautifully. So tune in.

Casserole de porc aux pruneaux

Préambule: je ne suis pas un grand fan de porc d'habitude, ce n'est pas ma viande préférée. Étant marié avec une végétarienne, je mange peu de viande en général, par paresse je l'avoie, mais quand j'en mange, c'est très rarement du porc, sauf en saucisses. Mais c'est rarement du porc, porc. Or, lors de notre fin de semaine chez son couple d'amis, ils nous (enfin ils m')ont fait une casserole de porc aux pruneaux qui était vraiment bonne. Une recette de Mary Berry. Avec un vin rouge, c'est pas mal le meilleur repas avec de la viande que j'ai mangé depuis longtemps. Parfaite pour un soir d'automne frais ou froid. Et la preuve que les Anglais savent faire la cuisine.

Out of pumpkin chai

Quick countdown to Halloween post for tonight and I announce a tragedy, or at least a dramatic moment: I am out of David's Tea's pumpkin chai. My tea for autumn and for Halloween. I drank all that was left of it last Sunday. Now I am completely out of stocks. I guess I should not complain: I still have my Halloween perfect mug, with its spooky design. But drinking something else than pumpkin chai is, well, not the same.

La Corriveau

Vous connaissez la légende de la Corriveau? Qui a déjà existé, d'ailleurs, et on lui a donné une sale réputation. C'est du personnage de légende dont je veux parler ici, la meurtrière, un peu sorcière, dont le fantôme dansait avec le diable. Elle fait peur, ce personnage de légende. J'ai trouvé sur YouTube une vidéo qui en fait un joli petit film d'horreur contemporain et comme c'est l'Halloween bientôt j'ai voulu donner une touche québécoise à la fête avec ce petit bijou de film muet.

Canon Alberic's Scrap-Book

(Before you read this post, please read and comment part 1 and 2 of my last Jack O'Lantern story. A warning: it gets violent and nasty near the end.)

Tonight for my countdown to Halloween post, I thought about making you discover a horror story from the great M.R. James. Since I mentioned plenty of ghost stories recently, I also thought it should be one when the antagonist is not a ghost. Although at the time all horror and supernatural stories were called ghost stories, Canon Alberic's Scrap-Book has as its villain a demon. And the protagonist, like in most of M.R. James' stories, is a mild-mannered academic. You can read it online here. But I would recommend that you get your hand on a paper copy. In any case, read it by a dim light and enjoy. It is not very long. This was the first horror story he ever wrote and the second I read. It is one where evil is at its most malevolent and most inhuman. And it is one ugly monster too. Anyway, read, enjoy, and tell me what you thought of it in the comments.

La Brasserie du Capitaine

Cette photo a été empruntée (ahem!) de la page Facebook de mon cousin Samuel Archibald. Je n'ai aucune honte, comme vous le voyez. Je l'ai téléchargée ici parce que je ne suis rendu compte d'une chose: je la connais depuis mon enfance et pourtant je n'y ai jamais mis les pieds. C'est d'une laideur sans nom, on s'entend. La brasserie, qui est en fait un bar entre Chicoutimi et Jonquière, est là depuis des décennies. Enfant, je trouvais les couleurs vives de l'enseigne assez intrigantes et l'endroit avait quelque chose de mystérieux et d'exotique. Bon, on est quand même loin de la mer. Et voir cette photo m'a fait penser à toutes les fois où je passais devant lorsqu'on se rendait à Jonquière.

Jack O'Lantern and the headmistress (part 2)

This is part two of my Halloween story, see here for part 1. I might write an epilogue, as this is quite long.

Charity Fairchild did not feel the cold autumn air, did not care about her undignified clothing. All she could think of were the lanterns and the perpetrators, whoever they were. If only she could strike the children who had done it the same way she would strike the pumpkins. It must have been someone from the school. And she would find them easily. Her instinct and the Lord's help would allow her to find the culprits as easily as if she had seen them committing their vile act herself. And then she would extoll punishment Of course, not hitting their stupid heads with a shovel (although she would have loved to do so), but spank them hard with the cane she used for such duties. She would have to find an excuse for it, some other misbehavior, as she had no intention to admit the school had been vandalized like this. She had to destroy every evidence of the crime, then see in the eyes of the pupils who were disappointed by the appearance of the place. Then find some other misbehavior they were guilty of, that would be easy enough, they were always guilty of something, sinners from the womb, ready to grow in depravity. And then, then hit them hard with the cane. Nobody would know but the guilty pupils, herself and the Lord.

Once in the playground, she put the bin down and held the heavy shovel with both hands. So many of these atrocities. Who did this, who desecrated her school like this, and why? She held the shovel high in the air, ready to strike one who seemed to be smiling at her stupidly. She was about to strike when she heard a mocking voice ahead of her.

"Oh Charity, I suggest you forget about breaking my fellow lanterns, it would be a long work and you don't have much time."

She rose her head, dumbstruck. The voice was the one of an adult man, not a child, not a teenage boy. It was strangely hollow, as if coming from a cave or the bottom of a well and had something of an Irish accent. Which would explain a lot, thought the headmistress. Nasty Papists and drunkards, all of them, savages who first developed this Satanist holiday. She looked where the voice was coming from. Sitting on the branches of a rowan three, she saw the man. He was tall and lanky, clad in old green clothes from another time, he had a very large and round head... And then Charity Fairchild saw that it was not his head, but a large pumpkin resting on the man's neck and shoulders, as if it was a helmet or a large mask. A pumpkin just like the other lanterns, with a mocking smile and wicked eyes. Looking at the trespasser, there was something strange that unnerved her: there was light coming off the pumpkin mask, the same orange tainted light that was coming from the lanterns, making the pumpkin shine like burning hot coal. The stranger jumped down the tree as easily as if had been a cat and walked to her.

"You, you did this!" said the headmistress with as much venom as she could spit.
"You have been tormenting these children long enough, I thought I would torment you a bit before you go to the grave."

He was Irish, most definitely she thought. She could hear the accent very distinctly now. And he was an adult, so there was no proscription about hurting him. She was merely defending herself and the school's property. She let him walk closer, trying to forget the glow coming from the pumpkin the stranger used as a mask.

"Shame on you!" she said. "For doing this abomination, you agent of Satan!"
"You should get educated. If you knew my story, you would know Old Nick and I are not on speaking term. Neither am I with the Old Man upstairs, mind you, so I am on nobody's side."

This was more than the headmistress could hear. Making some trivial comments about Christianity's revealed truths, making fun of hell and talking of the Lord in such blasphemous terms overwhelmed her with fury. She rose the shovel and plunge its sharp edge where the stranger's head was. Nothing happened. She felt the shovel hitting the lantern hard, then deflecting, as if it had ricocheted, to hit the ground. Or maybe it had simply gone through the stranger. She was not sure, she could not be sure of what she had seen and felt. But the shovel was there, stuck on the moist soil like a javelin. The stranger laughed.

"Your senses are not betraying you, stupid old bat! No human weapon has an effect on me. I think you should have guessed who I am now."
"You, you are a devil."
"I told you, Old Nick and I are not even friends. Acquaintances, yes, but we don't like each other. He tricked me a few centuries ago to give him my soul, I tricked him back and again so I would not go to Hell. As the Old Man upstairs considered me unworthy of Heaven, I was condemned to walk the earth until Kingdom Come."

The stranger stepped forward, so fast Charity Fairchild did not have time to walk away. She could see the pumpkin head well now. It was hollow, there was head in it, only a piece of burning brand producing a bright flame. The headmistress gasped.

"I am Jack O'Lantern," continued the spectre. "I have been walking this earth as a shadow of what I was, unable to enjoy food and drink as I used to, unable to get drunk as I loved to, yet remembering every bit of my wicked life, feeling the same thirst I ever had, which makes my suffering all the more bitter. This is the part of my curse which is mine alone, but I carry the seed of a curse with me, a curse which I give to those I meet on Halloween night. The same fateful night I tricked Old Nick. I bring death and ruin to those who see me."
"But you cannot hurt me, I am an humble servant of God!"
"Servant, yes, humble no. You think the Old Man cares about you, about what will happen with you now? We would not have met if he did. Tonight is your last night on Earth. You will not live to see November."
"You cannot punish me, I did nothing wrong, I was always a righteous Christian!"
"And you hurt and deprived those you considered not to be. I was what you call a sinner, enjoying life fully, not I cannot. Those children still can, and you are taking their pleasure and happiness away from them. I will give them freedom. This is my treat to them. This is my night. My rules. Old Nick gave it to me. The Old Man agreed with it. And now the trick is on you, Charity. A taste of hellfire."

Charity Fairchild saw that the cord of her bathrobe was now inside one of the lanterns, as if it had bit it. It was suddenly ablaze, running from the cord to her robe. She had a short cry of of horror, muted as she saw the dark ochre flames engulfing her clothes and herself. She felt the heat gnawing her skin swallowing her whole. In spite of the overwhelming pain, she started running, running to her house which she could barely see through the fire of the living torch she had become. She felt her slippers turn to ashes as she was running, her feet now bare of skin, only muscles and bones, every hair of her body being swallowed by the flames. When she reached her doorstep, leaning on it, all she could see before the heat boiled her eyes and made them burst from her sockets were her fingers withered into small black twigs. They broke hitting the door as what was left of Charity Fairchild turned into ashes on the porch, victim of the curse of Jack O'Lantern and the day she had always hated.

Question existentielle (243)

Je ne crois pas encore avoir posé cette question existentielle avant. Alors comme l'Halloween approche à grands pas:

-Quels sont les films incontournables à regarder durant le temps de l'Halloween?

Ghost stories from the Pickwick Papers

Before you read today's first countdown to Halloween post (there may be a second one), please read (and if you wish comment) the first part of this original Halloween story. Only on this blog. But right now, I would like to make you discover some ghost stories by Charles Dickens, from The Pickwick Papers. Which I have not read yet, as I read very little of Dickens. A shame, as he wrote some amazing ghost stories, which I truly rediscovered recently (see this post and that one). I guess now they have been obscured with his most famous ghost story, A Christmas Carol. Because yes, it belongs to the genre. Ghost stories have been a Victorian tradition, published and read around Christmastime. You see this influence in one of the tales in the Pickwick Papers. But I digress...

About two decades ago, when I was a child still unable to understand more than a few words in English and not being allowed watch horror movies because of an overprotective mother (my father was a bit more liberal regarding this), my brothers and I once stumbled upon this animated adaptation of the ghost stories told in Dickens novels. It was a weekend afternoon in October, I was desperately seeking to find scary stories, in book or movie form or whatever, to get myself in the mood for Halloween. It was on an English speaking channel, so we understood very little. We only watched the second half of the program, so we missed the first story and the first half of the second. We did understand that the second one was a tragedy, with the main character falling in love with a lady ghost, unable to fulfill his love before his death. And the second one had an uncanny resemblance to A Christmas Carol (in fact, it was its prototype). Which made me like it less, although I did find the goblins spooky. And the second story had plenty of adventures against angry, prone to fight ghosts, so this was the most exciting one for us, not unlike our Halloween game. In a way, not knowing English made us enjoy it more. The first one, I discovered later on, was a parody of ghost story. Not a proper horror story, although there are the classic scary tropes, as they end up deconstructed by a rather smart protagonist.

I rediscovered them years later on YouTube, thanks to PJ. You can find the first part here. As it is divided in six parts, I will not upload them on Vraie Fiction. Instead, I will give you the trailer, which gives you a pretty good idea of what will come. It is not the best animation, far from it, but it has nevertheless plenty of atmosphere and certainly worth a watch. Enjoy.

Une feuille d'automne

Je télécharge sans gêne aucune une photo prise par ma cousine Amy, qui est dans ses temps libres une artiste-photographe. C'est son violon d'Ingres. Je me permets de télécharger cette photo parce qu'elle me l'a permis et parce que c'est une superbe photo. J'aime que vraie Fiction prenne les couleurs de la saison, surtout lors de ma saison préférée, et il n'y a pas plus automnal que cette feuille morte.

The Hobgoblin label

This is my second countdown to Halloween post today, my first one can be found here. I took this picture in a local pub, of the tap label of the Hobgoblin from Wychwood Brewery. One of my favourite beers, maybe my favourite one. Certainly my favourite autumnal beer. It is the officious beer of Halloween, as they claim. Anyway, I had to blog it tonight: the  label is so dramatic, so elaborate, with the many Jack O'Lanterns and the dark and firery colours. They seem to outdo themselves every year. Last year's pump label label was already great. This one is amazing.

Retour à l'heure normale

Petit mot afin de souligner un petit évènement qui marque l'automne: cette nuit à deux heures du matin, on recule d'une heure ici. Ce qui veut dire que je dormirai une heure de plus et que le soir va tomber plus vite. Et que nous ne serons plus dans ce concept bancal d'heure "avancée". J'ai de la misère avec l'heure avancée. Je n'aime pas du tout en fait. L'heure normale, c'est ce qu'on devrait avoir durant toute l'année. Cela dit, le retour à l'heure normale me donne une raison de plus d'aimer l'automne.

Jack O'Lantern and the headmistress (part 1)

For today's countdown to Halloween post, the first part of a scary (or trying to be) story by yours truly. This story is one of many inspired by the legend of Jack O'Lantern.

From the narrow window of her bedroom, where she usually enjoyed spying on people walking by, Miss Charity Fairchild looked at the empty schoolyard with satisfaction. She loved to keep an eye on it, even in the middle of the night, like now. Her school. She could call it like that, whoever owned it, she was the headmistress. It was clean, tidy, orderly, disciplined like its staff and its pupils. Sure, the cold wind of the autumn night was bringing some dead leaves on the yard right now, but early in the morning tomorrow she would see to it that they'd get rid of them. Those trees, those bloody oaks and ash trees, not to mention the rowan ones she hated, especially in autumn, wildly stripping themselves down, baring themselves in a borderline obscene way, and messing up her school's yard. But she would not have it. Discipline, discipline and order, a rigid devotion to the place is all that was needed to keep it harmonious.

Miss Fairchild hated autumn and its wild, fiery colours. She hated also the way it induced people to excess: the children especially, far too excited the moment the leaves gathered in bundles on the ground, far too excited about the change of temperature. And that horrid, horrid celebration that was coming tomorrow. The Feast of the Devil, as she used to call it. A disgusting importation, American, Irish, or both, rather, which made it even worse. Disgustingly Pagan. It was slowly gathering in popularity in her beloved Christian England. Devil's faces in pumpkins, thinly disguised Satanic worship. Trick or treats, turning children to gluttonous, wild animals and pranksters. Beggars at best. As if it was not difficult enough to tame the vicious beast in them. Sweets, sugar, all the things she hated.

But Charity Fairchild would not have it. She would not have any of it. Hallowe'en was banned in her school and she had decided to make the 31st of October a day of fasting, prayers and repentance. Teach those little unworthy brats about the mercy and justice of Our Lord. Ban any display of the temptations of Satan that they would fall for. Toffee apples, chocolates, those ghastly pumpkin lanterns, things that belonged to a graveyard, not a school and certainly not a Christian school. No disguise, those deceiving items making a mockery of the creation of God, corrupting their already twisted little minds with vicious imagery. Oh no, she would not have it, she would not have any of it! In her own way, as a devout servant of God, she would make sure tomorrow was going to be His day too, she would make sure the pupils knew he reigned over them tomorrow like any other day, that they must follow the straight and narrow path, that they must obey Him and his servants on earth, first and foremost his most devout servant in this Buckinghamshire village, the head mistress of this Christian school. Of course, they all had parents, but parents nowadays were permissive, sometimes even faithless liberals.

As the clock stroke midnight, Miss Fairchild looked outside again, to see if the wind had blown more leaves on the ground, or scattered them away from the school yard. What she saw shocked her. She was not easily shocked. Angered yes, disgusted, certainly, but the wickedness of the world, while always disappointing to her, very rarely shocked her. She was used to see decadence. But not that. Pumpkins. Hollow pumpkins, grimacing faces, all laid out on the school yard, like a swarm of orange little monsters gathered there. Ugly, ugly, devilish pumpkins! In her school! Who was the wicked person who had done that? And so quickly? One nasty teenager or most likely or a group of them! But she was not afraid. Charity Fairchild was old, but she was strong as an ox and her wrath itself could scare any prankster who was stupid enough to do such a thing. So she would show them. Hurt them, punish them. But before, she would destroy these awful, awful lanterns. She took a shovel she used for gardening and her old rubbish bin, put a thick bathrobe on her nightgown, opened the door and walked across the street to her school in the autumn night.

Ah les vaches!

Cette photo a été prise lors de notre fin de semaine avec les amis de ma femme dans le Derbyshire. Ils ont juste à côté de chez eux un champ avec des vaches qui broutent. Et je ne sais pas si c'est parce que mon côté paysan s'est réveillé, mais je les ai beaucoup enviés d'avoir des vaches comme voisines. Moi qui suis si urbain d'habitude.

An new (but old) Danse Macabre

Tonight for my countdown to Halloween post, I am uploading again, as this is a seasonal tradition on this blog, the Danse Macabre. This time, it is a short, silent movie adaptation of the symphonic poem, dating back from 1922. This movie is more an allegory than a scary story, but it has many creepy, even tragic, moments. I enjoyed it a lot and I hope you do too.

Un moins pire bagel

Avertissement: ce billet est un billet de chauvinisme purement montréalais. J'ai pris cette photo dans le No Car Cafe dans le Derbyshire. Parce que j'avais envie de voir si l'endroit servait des bagels décents et de manière décente. Décent est le mot, mais c'est tout ce que je puisse dire. Le bagel était correct sans plus, pas le truc dégueulasse qu'on achète ailleurs d'habitude. Un assez honnête bagel anglais. Mais comme vous le voyez, c'est un bagel un peu tout nu: où sont les câpres, les oignons, les tomates? Comparez ça à un repas à St-Viateur, on n'est comme pas vraiment dans la même ligue. C'est un moins pire bagel que ce qu'on trouve hors de Montréal. Alors voilà, petit moment de fierté montréalaise. On fait les meilleurs bagels au monde et on sait les apprêter correctement.

A cat and a Jack O'Lantern

I bought this Halloween decoration at the local sweet shop a few years ago, back in 2011 I think. I have very little to say about it, but thought I would upload it for my countdown to Halloween post tonight. I am preparing a few more exciting posts for the next few days (so watch this space, wink, wink). I do have a bit to say about it though: this black cat looks nasty. Not exactly my experience of black cats, as you know. I have many black cats themes decorations, some really lovely one, but sadly these are the only black cats that I will have this Halloween.

Les loups et la meute

Cette caricature a été publiée par Ygreck dans le Journal de Montréal, suite à l'attentat terroriste d'Ottawa. Il a illustré une question la foi fort pertinente de Richard Martineau (oui, oui, ça lui arrive) dans cette chronique:  "ça prend combien de loups solitaires pour qu’on puisse commencer à parler d’une meute?" Une répétition d'attaques, en si peu de temps, ce ne sont pas des cas isolés, encore moins une série de cas isolés. Ce sont les symptômes d'une idéologie obscurantiste. Je songe souvent à une certaine fable de La Fontaine lorsque l'on parle d'islamisme. Aujourd'hui, je trouve l'analogie plus exacte que jamais.

Haunted pub?

This is tonight's countdown to Halloween post. I took this picture of the pub by the train station when I was walking back home, straight off the train. I took it first because I thought it looked like a beautiful autumnal picture, then because I thought about yesterday's countdown to Halloween post. And I remembered, as I mentioned here, that I suspected that it was the setting of a ghost story of E. Nesbit. I have little evidence, almost none, that it served as the setting, but one clue in the text at least made me think it could have served as inspiration. The pub used to be the hotel station, back when trains were coming and going from and to everywhere here. Strange, as the first time I came here, I stopped at the pub and thought this would be such a great setting for a scary story. Anyway, enough teasing, as Halloween is round the corner, I would invite you to read Number 17. It is public domain in Canada, I don't know where else. Or buy this book. I have been plugging Edith Nesbit very often these days, but she is worth discovering. Anyway, is the pub haunted, like the hotel before? I don't think so. There is by the way an amusing twist about the nature of the ghost in Number 17 which makes it worth a read in itself. All the same, it is rather pleasant to imagine such a place haunted.

Humour littéraire

Une amie sur Facebook a publié ce dessin. Je ne sais pas qui est l'auteur, mais j'ai trouvé ça très drôle. Au cas où ça vous tenterait de vivre de votre plume...

In the meantime, in Ottawa...

I was at my desk this afternoon, working as usual, when a colleague told me to check the news. So this how I learned about the terrorist attack in Ottawa. Probably by Islamists. My brother PJ works in Ottawa. So I was worried. I tried to reach him, to reach my parents, failed to reach him, got my parents, gave them the news, we tried to reach him again, etc. My brother had an interview in Montreal yesterday and was coming back to work this morning by bus. His bus stops in front of the University of Ottawa. I was hoping that his bus had been stopped before crossing the bridge, so he could stay in Gatineau and go home. I then saw this from my bro on his Facebook page: "I should have stayed in Montreal an extra day..." I know it is a very serious moment, the situation is  dark, it is still going on as I am typing this, but I still this deserves to be a great unknown line.

Anyway, my brother is safe and sound, as I have now learned. In Ottawa, locked down at uni, but safe and sound and with his friends.

Question existentielle (242)

Une question existentielle qui m'est venue en tête ce matin:

-Quel est (ou était) le cours à l'école secondaire le plus stupide et le plus éloigné de la mission éducative de l'école?

Eerie Autumn

I could have chosen a dozen topics for tonight's countdown to Halloween post. But it is the temperature that truly inspired me today. It was cold. Not in the morning, but the temperature dropped during the day. It was mostly sunny, but with bits of clouds and rain, and thunder was even heard once. In the evening, walking home, daylights were already dim past six o'clock. The wind was blowing, there were leaves on the ground, I just stood there a moment, enjoying the eeriness of this small English town, wondering what monster could come off from the shadows of the trees or the old buildings, or from the shrubberies. A thousand horror stories could be written with this town as a setting and this day or this evening as the time. An ideal time for Halloween and an inspiring one too. It was just one of these moments when I could feel both the season and Samhain. So this is it for tonight's countdown to Halloween post. No picture, no video. Just a bit of rambling about a beautiful, deliciously eerie day.

Macaroni au fromage (le meilleur)

C'est un macaroni (en fait on devrait dire des macaroni) au fromage que ma femme et moi avons fait il y a quelques semaines, quand il a commencé à faire plus frais. C'est de loin la meilleure recette de macaroni au fromage que je connaisse: béchamel avec Boursin et un fromage dur mature (un cheddar par exemple), des tomates et finalement des câpres, l'ingrédient qui fait la différence. Pour le gratin, le même fromage mature pour le couvrir. C'est bon pas rien qu'un peu. Lors d'une soirée froide et grise ou après une dure journée de travail, c'est le traitement prescrit pour le souper. Alors voilà: essayez-le et donnez-moi des nouvelles.

Dark and sinister London

For tonight's countdown to Halloween post, I have decided to muse about the biggest city in Europe. I was in London last Monday and it was a dreary, ugly day and London looked as it often does dreary and ugly. I would even say sinister. The day before, I had flickered through Terrors Out of Time, which I blogged about here. It may have been because of it, but I half expected to see the sinister figure of Baron Ausbach from the gamebook (the one you see on the cover), or even Dracula walking by. We often forget that, while Stoker's most famous work starts in a Transylvanian castle, a lot of it is set later on in Victorian England, including London. It is basically a hunting ground for Dracula. The same happens in the gamebook I am so fond of: the story kickstart with a theft in London that leads the hero/player character into the British Museum, on the pursuit of the burglar. The burglar being... Baron Ausbach, pictured left.

So, while I love a good eerie forest, an abandoned castle, a haunted house in a village or simply a dark road in the countryside, modern cities have some appeal in horror stories. All urban violence aside, a city like London allows modernity to clash with the ancient, whether it is from its own history or foreign. In Dracula, London has among its dwellers an Eastern European aristocrat who is of course a vampire. The lights of the modern world are threatened by the occult, civilization by animal savagery. Baron Ausbach is also an Eastern aristocrat whose monstrosity is not even thinly disguised: he is reptilian in appearance. Oh and he brings back to life mummies in the British Museum. The cover of Terrors Out of Time is a perfect illustration of this clash between modernity and primitive evil. So next time you walk in a big city, thing about what may be dwelling in its sewers, its undergrounds, its parks, its buildings, old or new. And if you don't get a chill, go to London.

La Tour Eiffel

J'ai pris cette photo mardi dernier, lors de mon très court séjour à Paris pour le travail. Certains diraient que c'était un court séjour, mais pour moi c'était bien assez long, je dois le confesser. Néanmoins, j'ai pu prendre cette photo à partir du lieu de la conférence. Ca aura servi à ça: prendre une photo de la Tour Eiffel. Une image de carte postale. Je l'ai téléchargée sur Facebook d'abord où elle a eu un succès assez important. Alors j'ai pensé la télécharger sur Vraie Fiction. Une observation bête: on ne dirait pas vraiment qu'on est en automne.

A Halloween tea mug

Be warned: this is the third countdown to Halloween post I am writing in a row. I bought this mug at David's Tea, as my readership who were following me last year know or suspect, as I blogged about their Halloween collection. If you look at their collection this year, you can see they got even better in look and design. But I do not regret one bit my purchase. I fill this mug (one of their Perfect Tea Mugs) with pumpkin chai, which I am soon going to run out of. I will need to stock up in Montreal. The design of this mug is more simplistic than the new ones, but it is cool all the same with the spooky Jack O'Lanterns. And it has a good bit of Halloween magic: the colours change when you fill it with hot water. In any case, enjoying pumpkin chai in it is a new ritual I do in the weeks and days coming to Halloween.

C'est un vieux château du moyen âge....

Ma gardienne préférée dans mon enfance me chantait le refrain de cette chanson, j'ai découvert la version complète des années plus tard. J'ai appris avec elle ce qu'était le moyen âge et j'ai eu mes premiers délicieux frissons en imaginant les fantômes qui le hantaient. La chanson est en fait comique plutôt qu'effrayante. En voici une version chantée en duo par Georges Brassens et Georges Tabet. Un peu de musique pour nous mettre dans l'ambiance de l'Halloween qui arrive à grands pas...

More Halloween stories

For my countdown to Halloween post, I am plugging another book of Halloween stories. Like Halloween: Magic, Mystery and the Macabre, it is edited by Paula Guran. In fact, this one, simply called Halloween, is its older brother, or its prototype. It is also an anthology of many traditional horror stories set around Halloween, although there are also more modern authors. You will find among the classics Man-Size in Marble by Edith Nesbit, which I have recently blogged about. This is partially what convinced me to purchase it, even though I already have the short story in two different books. I just thought, if the rest is as good as Nesbit, it is worth a purchase. And I am making myself a nice little collection of horror stories. Its front cover, with the although spooky and beautiful Jack O'Lantern, is not as nice as the second book, but it still looks nice. And there are of course the stories. This is one of the books I am reading at the moment anyway. And I will finish this countdown to Halloween post by a teaser: I am writing a scary story myself for this blog, which I should post soon. So watch this space.

Bleuets et lavande

Petite découverte inusitée lors de la fin de semaine dans le Derbyshire chez les amis de ma femme: cette confiture de bleuets et lavande. C'est ce que j'ai eu pour le déjeuner le matin, un délice qui vient, comme vous le voyez, de Bracken Hill, une compagnie du Yorkshire. je ne sais pas si on peut trouver leurs produits dans le sud, mais je compte essayer d'en trouver, s'ils sont aussi bons que la confiture de bleuets et lavande. Je peux toujours en acheter sur leur site en ligne, j'imagine.

Bon, pas que je tienne à en beurrer épais (ha, ha, ha!) sur une simple confiture, mais c'était vraiment bon et je n'avais pas pensé que la lavande se marierait bien avec le bleuet. Pour moi, la lavande, c'est un parfum. J'ai choisi cette confiture pour mettre sur mes toasts par curiosité et parce que le bleuet est le fruit du Saguenay-Lac-St-Jean. Il fallait bien que je l'essaie, mais je ne savais pas que ce serait aussi bon. Le Yorkshire étant dans le Nord, je me demande s'il n'y a pas une certaine affinité avec mon propre coin de pays.

A pub in autumn

This is a picture of a local pub I took back in 2012. I say it is local, but to say it is local is an understatement: it is very local, in an almost forgotten part of town. It is an old and old fashioned pub, with old customers, old furniture, old stuff all around. When I was unemployed, I used to go there very often, trying new beers, or just drinking something non alcoholic. Now I only go there on very rare occasions. When I remember it exists. But anyway, I went there for a beer tonight. And it reminded me of the picture I took back in 2012. I thought it looked quite nice.

Vendémiaire

J'écris rapidement un billet parce que je veux souligner que nous sommes encore en plein Vendémiaire selon le Calendrier républicain. Le mois des vendanges, donc des récoltes, enfin d'une partie des récoltes. Grosso modo, vendémiaire la plupart du mois d'octobre, jusqu'au 21, donc une bonne section de l'automne. Je le souligne parce que j'aime le nom. Aussi parce que je suis un républicain intempestif, alors même si je trouve le calendrier révolutionnaire bancal, j'y trouve parfois un certain charme. Alors voilà, nous sommes encore pour quelques jours en Vendémiaire.

A Halloween story about a black cat

For my countdown to Halloween post today, I have decided to blog about a story from Halloween: Magic, Mystery and the Macabre, which I blogged about recently. It is funny, because it was not really a scary story. It is called For the Removal of Unwanted Guests and was written by A.C. Wise, who is a fellow Montrealer. I loved the story so much, I intend to read more of her. The story is about a witch and her black cat moving into the home of a bachelor. Not an evil witch, just an invasive one.
But for me, the story was all about the cat.

It touched me particularly because when I read it, Odin was curled up right next to me. He also pretty much took over the place the way the witch did in the story, walked in one night as if the flat was his home. In Wise's story, the witch says that the house needs a witch. In the story, just like real life, I think this house, like every other, truly needs a cat. Anyway, while there was no witch in my story, or no friendly, cat-loving one anyway (because unfortunately there was a nasty one), there certainly was a cat with the same carefree attitude. If you are into Halloween but not so much into horror (it exists), I would recommend this story.

Au coin du feu

Cette photo a été prise chez les amis de ma femme que l'on a visités il y a deux semaines. Ils ont un foyer, avec le feu qui va avec les soirs d'automne froids comme c'était le cas ce soir-là. S'il y a une chose que je leur envie, à part leurs deux chats, c'est ce foyer. Ca fait très home sweet home, mettons. Je voudrais bien en avoir un, afin de pouvoir lire au coin du feu les soirs d'automne. Les feux de foyer, surtout quand ils sont de bonne taille, surtout quand la maison est au beau milieu de nulle part (c'était le cas), ils ont un charme particulier.

The Raven by Poe (The Simpsons take on it)

First and foremost, to begin this countdown to Halloween post, I wanted to say thank you to Wendy from The Halloween Tree blog for giving me such beautiful gifts. I feel so grateful and so unworthy of such generosity. As people know if they read her post about the giveaway, one of the presents The Illustrated Edgar Allan Poe Unabridged. To thank her, I have decided to upload here the upload here The Raven as narrated on The Simpsons, on their very first Treehouse of Horror Halloween special. I could not find the video, only the audio of the narrative, but it is still incredibly funny, yet it keeps the original text as beautiful as scary. In other words, two classics in one. And again, thank you so much Wendy.

Si vous passez par la Binerie...

Je parle de la Binerie Mont-Royal bien sûr. C'est vendredi, j'y allais tous les midis pour me gâter quand j'étudiais à l'université, après mon dernier cours de la semaine. Alors bref, si vous passez par la Binerie, essayez sur leur menu leur boudin noir avec compote aux pommes. Ca a l'air de rien sur la photo de gauche, surtout que j'en avais déjà mangé la moitié, mais c'est vraiment bon.

Little Red Riding Hood (and an early Halloween memory)

 This picture was taken in the Totnes Museum during my last holiday in Devon and it will be used for tonight's countdown to Halloween post. It is the center page of an old, old chidren book of fairytales. And let's face it: it is a horrid drawing, especially on the left hand side, with the floating head of Little Red Riding Hood. And the wolf looks like he has a beak instead of a mouth. But the ugliness of the drawing itself makes it scary. But anyway, I wanted to blog about the tale.

It is maybe my favourite fairytale and the one I loved most as a child. My early fascination to the tale was because of its antagonist: the hungry wolf who was both a ravenous beast and a soft spoken seducer, as well as a master of disguises. I loved the wolf so much, I believe the wolf of the tale became my first Halloween disguise when I went trick or treating, at the time I was little more than a toddler. There is still a picture of me as the big bad wolf somewhere. it was a rather poor costume: an old black cape with a hood and some fangs and blood my dad had done with makeup. Still, I felt terrifying. There is more to blog about the tale and I might do this in the next few weeks. But tonight all I can think of is this early Halloween memory.

J'ai pô d'chasse

J'étais à Paris mardi dernier pour le travail, une conférence organisée par ma compagnie. Superbe endroit choisi comme lieu de conférence, mais la connexion internet était hasardeuse. Alors quand j'ai réussi à me brancher, j'ai demandé à un collègue français ce qu'il en était de son côté. Sa réponse: "J'ai pô d'chasse", ce qui sonnait comme "J'ai peau d'chasse".  Bien entendu, il voulait dire "J'ai pas de chance". Je lui ai demandé s'il essayait de le dire avec un accent régional français quelconque. Il m'a dit: "Non, j'essaie d'avoir un accent québécois." Meilleure chance la prochaine fois. C'était un calembour aussi involontaire qu'atroce.

Man-Size in Marble (a horror story)

Tonight for my countdown to Halloween post, I want to recommend one of my favourite scary stories, a classic Gothic ghost story by Edith Nesbit. It is called Man-Size in Marble and it is available online here. Why this ghost story more than any other? Because this one is set on Halloween night, which of course makes it very topical. But this is not the only reason. Nesbit is a crafty writer and her scary stories are too little known. Without giving too much away, Man-Size in Marble is as much a tragedy as it is a scary story, just like many of her stories. I first read it in The Oxford Book of English Ghost Stories, an anthology I plugged here. I loved the story so much that years later I purchased The Power of Darkness: Tales of Terror, which contains all (I think) her ghost stories. I now have the short story in at least three different books including these two. I recommend that you read all the ghost stories of Edith Nesbit, but start with this one. Take the time to read it at the above link, then tell me what you thought of it in the comments.

Prendre l'air (la photo du mois)

C'est le moment de la photo du mois, le thème est "Prendre l'air", choisi par La Fille de l'Air. Une fois que j'avais mon sujet sous les yeux, ce fut très facile: cette sculpture de Christopher Le Brun, inspirée de la poésie de Virgile et du vol d'Icare. On ne peut pas prendre plus l'air. Dans un parc anglais du Derbyshire, un petit jour d'automne frisquet. Il y a des choses dans une photo qu'on ne peut pas voir et qui pourtant font tout son sens.

Allez voir comment les autres ont pris l'air:

A'icha, Agathe, Agnès, Agrippine, Akaieric, Alban, Alexinparis, Alice Wonderland, Angélique, Anne, Annick, Arwen, Aude, Autour de Cia, Ava, Bestofava, BiGBuGS, Blogoth67, Blue Edel, Brindille, Calamonique, Cara, Cécile Atch'oum, Céline in Paris, CetO, Champagne, Chat bleu, Chloé, Christophe, Cocazzz, Crearine, Cricriyom from Paris, Dame Skarlette, DelphineF, Destination Montréal, E, El Padawan, Elsa, Estelle, Eurydice, Eva INside-EXpat, Fanfan Raccoon, François le Niçois, Frédéric, Galinette, Gilsoub, Giselle 43, Gizeh, Guillaume, Homeos-tasie, Isa ToutSimplement, Isaquarel, Josiane, Julia, Kenza, KK-huète En Bretannie, Krn, La Dum, La Fille de l'Air, La Flaneuse, La Nantaise à Paris, Lau* des montagnes, Laulinea, Laurent Nicolas, Laurie, Lavandine, Lavandine83, Les bonheurs d'Anne & Alex, Les Filles du Web, Louisianne, Loulou, Lyonelk, magda627, Mahlyn, Mamysoren, Maria Graphia, Marie, Marmotte, MauriceMonAmour, Memories from anywhere, Milla la galerie, Mimireliton, MissCarole, Morgane Byloos Photography, Nanouk, Nicky, Philae, Photo Tuto, Pilisi, Pixeline, princesse Emalia, Renepaulhenry, Rythme Indigo, Salon de Thé, Sandrine, Sephiraph, Sylvie, Tambour Major, Tataflo, Testinaute, Thalie, Tuxana, Vanilla, Xoliv', Yvette la Chouette, Zaza

An eerie attic

Quick countdown to Halloween post this morning. I live in a top flat, by any practical means in an attic, as my readers may know, which makes the flat more sensitive, if you will, to weather. I went to bed the rain was falling down loudly, with the wind blowing furiously, then this morning it has been so far only the wind... and a cold flat. But it has such an atmosphere! My home is quite modern in look, yet in days like this I feel like I live in an haunted house. It felt deliciously eerie, like the beginning of a ghost story.

Question existentielle (241)

C'est l'Action de Grâce aujourd'hui. Une question existentielle m'est venue en tête, la deuxième sur la Fête:

-Devrait-on célébrer l'Action de Grâce le lundi de la fête même, ou le dimanche?

A sinister witch

This is tonight's countdown to Halloween post. A rather simple one this time, merely the upload of a picture I took last year on the Plateau Mont-Royal. This is a rather sinister witch, in spite of her rather benign, almost simpleton smile. Because her skin is all greyed and unhealthy, because of her eyes are shifty and because well, she is a witch. I am not sure if the two pumpkins at her feet are actually her feet. But her arms are made of straw and you can see that she is as much a scarecrow as a witch. So she is two scary Halloween creatures rolled into one, and also like all scarecrows an icon of harvest. Anyway, it is a Halloween decoration like I love them, because it is not merely a decoration: this witch is a character.

L'Action de grâce demain

Demain sera le lundi de l'Action de grâce, je viens de m'en rendre compte. En fait, est-ce que l'Action de grâce n'est pas un peu une célébration de la fin de semaine plutôt que le lundi lui-même? Je me le demande. L'Action de grâce, c'est une autre fête automnale des récoltes, mais ce n'est pas célébré ici, alors j'oublie. J'ai demandé une fois comment la célébrer. Or, pour moi, en y pensant bien, c'est surtout, en fait seulement, un jour férié au mois d'octobre. Ce sont les circonstances que j'apprécie plus que la célébration elle-même. Cela dit, si vous avez/allez célébrer, dites-moi comment.

A mysterious teapot

It was the birthday of my brother PJ recently and I uploaded a cropped picture of one of his childhood's birthdays on the post for the occasion. I had cropped another bit of the picture, which I uploaded as the topic of another French post last year. I was, I am still, fascinated by it. It is a mysterious teapot. Why, you will ask. Because it is a teapot (unless I am mistaken) and I wonder what the heck it is doing there. It may sound stupid, I mean it makes sense, in October, in autumn, to have some warming tea on a family gathering, but there it is: my parents don't like tea. My mother borderline hates it. And there is this big teapot in one of our anniversary events. I did not drink tea at the time of course, so I never noticed it until today. I know we had many guests, but I don't remember any member of family being particularly fond of tea, not enough to warrant boiling such quantity. So I look at it and wonder.

Un temps de loutre

Cette photo a été prise au sanctuaire des loutres à Buckfastleigh, je la télécharge ici rien que parce que ça illustre mon propos et que parce que j'aime les loutres. On dit un temps de chien, un temps de grenouilles parfois, mais vous remarquerez que l'on ne dit pas, enfin pas ce que je sache, un temps de loutre quand il pleut. Pourtant, s'il pleut des cordes et que je suis dehors, je me sens comme une loutre. Tous ceux qui ont vu des loutres peuvent en témoigner: lorsqu'il pleut, c'est vraiment plus un temps de loutre, lire un temps où seule une loutre serait confortable. Or enfin bref, il pleut souvent ces temps-ci et à chaque fois que je marche sous la pluie, avec le capuchon de mon Kanuk qui me couvre la tête, je me sens comme une loutre. Alors je suggère de populariser cette expression.

Heroes against the Forces of Darkness

This is my countdown to Halloween post for today (or tonight really). I was thinking about it reading two old posts about Halloween, the one called The Arsenal against the Forces of Darkness and the other one about the Dracula game. Please read them for background info. Anyway, it made me think that in make belief games as well as horror stories, there are malevolent creatures, but there are also human beings pitted against them. Every monster needs a hunter to slay the beast, or at least try. In Dracula, the character who became the archetype of monsters hunters in general and vampire hunters in particular is of course Professor Abraham Van Helsing. He was himself inspired by a prototype: Dr Martin Hesselius, invented by Sheridan Le Fanu. They have things in common: both are elderly men of science, both are doctors, both are thus intellectuals in an age when reason is confronted to old superstitions, superstitions which sometimes are the signs of sinister and supernatural phenomenons. But Van Helsing is different and more completed than Hesselius: however an intellectual, he is more of a man of action, getting his hands dirty(er). I have heard somewhere that he is a Victorian superhero, and there is a lot of truth in it. He was carved in the same mold as Sherlock Holmes, in a way, albeit older, maybe wiser, certainly warmer. I see him as the cousin of Holmes, but also Gandalf and many others, in other genres. 

But Bram Stoker invented many other good guys in his famous novel, of various importance. My favourite is Jonathan Harker, the one I think the reader identifies himself (or herself) the most when reading it. In that silly gamebook that inspired me the Dracula game a long time ago and had such a lasting impression on me, Jonathan Harker is the hero played by the reader. Later, reading the actual novel and watching its many, many adaptations, I thought that, however silly and self-parodic the gamebook was, they gave some sort of justice to the character: in most adaptations, Harker's importance in the story is considerably reduced, when he is not turned into a joke. I guess Van Helsing's destiny was barely more enviable: he is often turned into a macho, ridiculously virile vampire hunter, a far cry from the elderly academic. But anyway, in Dracula's Castle, Harker was a proper vampire hunter, even though he kept the appearance of a mild mannered solicitor. That is not quite like the original character, but it showed more respect towards the man who was Dracula's guest and survived the count's castle to tell the story... And fight him back. Nowadays, and since a long time actually, the heroes of horror stories are often heroines and mainly scream queens. I do not long for a return of masculine heroes, but of more professional ones, people with nerves as much as intellectual capacities and of course education. Against exceptional foes, you need exceptional heroes.

Promenons-nous dans les bois

"Promenons nous dans les bois
pendant que le loup n'y est pas
si le loup y était
il nous mangerait
mais comme il n'y est pas
il n'nous mangera pas"

...Comme le dit la chanson/comptine. Tout ça pour dire que la fin de semaine dernière, samedi soir avant de souper, c'est ce que ma femme et moi avons fait avec ses amis dans le Derbyshire, pour nous rendre jusqu'à un pub prendre l'apéro. C'est dur de trouver une activité que j'aime le plus faire en automne que de me promener dans les bois, surtout une journée fraîche. J'ai alors toujours la comptine en tête. Dans les semaines qui mènent à l'Halloween, je tiens à marcher au moins une fois dans un coin boisé. Comme je l'ai dit dans ce billet du même titre, les bois ont en automne ont une beauté sinistre. Malheureusement, ou heureusement, il n'y avait pas de loup féroce qui nous épiait, mais j'avais parfois l'impression qu'il y en avait un, alors c'était tout comme. Un loup anthropomorphique, comme dans la chanson/comptine...

The fiery autumns from home

My father sent me many pictures taken long the Saguenay river, near a little village named Sainte-Rose-du-Nord. The Saguenay region is where I come from, where I grew up. And I never saw autumns like there, with such fiery colours. It is one of the things I am proud about, even though I cannot take the credit for it, as I mentioned here. In any case, I wanted to share more autumnal pictures here, so here is another one. As my youngest brother mentioned on Facebook: "Our region of birth, as long as we don't take into accounts its politicians, is damn hot." I think this deserves to be a great unknown line.