Book Review: Peter and Wendy by J.M. Barrie

J. M. Barrie’s Peter Pan And Wendy

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Written in 1911 by Sir James Matthew Barrie, Peter and Wendy is the novel adaptation of his earlier play, Peter Pan, or The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up. It is the basis of all the Disney movies and series about Peter, his pals the Lost Boys, Tinker Bell and, of course, the girl he adores, Wendy. It is a relatively short novel and fits somewhere between the MG and YA category in today’s marketplace.

I’m not usually big on fairy tales, but this book is something special in my mind. Not only has it endured the test of time, with characters still popular and relevant after a hundred years, but it speaks deeply to the desires and dreams of youth. The only thing I was surprised by was how closely the original Disney movie followed the book in its interpretation. Quite a few of the scenes and dialog from the movie are lifted right from the book—as they should be when the words are this good—but it unfortunately forced me to imagine the entire book in cartoon format.

This is a great work of art that has been in almost every format known to man, and in novel form it holds up extremely well. J.M. Barrie’s words on the page are eloquent, direct, and full of life. If you haven’t read this book, you should get a copy now. Free copies of this classic are available on Kindle and other outlets. And if you have children, put it on the bedtime reading schedule IMMEDIATELY.

The Good: Action, adventure, humor, absurdism, irony… it’s hard to think of a category of literary goodness that isn’t contained in these pages. From the ridiculous mathematical figurings of Mr. Darling to decide whether to keep the children, to the wickedly evil Captain James Hook and his obsession with good form, to the brutal irony of children running away to Neverland only to spend their days in make-believe that they are grown ups, this book had me smiling from cover to cover.

The Bad: I considered trying to come up with something bad to say about the novel, but I felt like a codfish for doing so. Bad form, James. Bad form.

Recommendations: I’d highly recommend this book to anyone and everyone. It will especially delight lovers of fairy tales and Victorian sensibilities, but there is something in here for children at heart from 9 to 90. And since it’s free and short, you have no excuse not to read it.



View all my reviews

A Writer’s Dream Review of Dead Sea Games

I want to take a moment to thank Marissa Ames for a terrific review and promo blog post for Dead Sea Games. I was introduced to Marissa through a writer’s group and she’s not only a great writer, but a great supporter as well. She’s incredibly active in helping all the writers in the group and is always quick with an idea and uplifting comment. Whether you’re building a zombie apocalypse team or a publishing company, you want her on your team. An excerpt of my favorite part:

This is big, people. If you’re reading this and you happen to be in the publishing industry, do yourself a favor and look into these books. Mr. Hazzard has caught the fad while it’s big, and has taken it in a completely new direction.

Mr. Hazzard doesn’t try to retell the beginning of the Zombie Apocalypse, as nearly every other zombie work has done. This story starts mid-apocalypse, right after the survivors have stopped running. It takes a completely different viewpoint: that of a 15-year-old boy running around with gangs, intent on survival. The reader jumps into the mind of that boy who has been forced to grow up far too fast, seeing the other teens, whom have made some rather mature decisions in the absence of their role models. The action begins at the breakfast table as he hides the day’s plans from his mother, and continues on all the way until…

 Until you’re downloading the next book because you can’t stand it any longer! You have to know what happens next!

You can read the full review HERE.

Be sure to keep an eye out for Marissa’s fantasy novel, MINSTREL debuting later this year. Thank you, Marissa!

PS. I have to confess that I’m sitting on a draft of Episode 3, Dead Sea Games: Kidnapped that I’ve been fighting with for a month. Every time I tweak it to add depth, I seem to break a portion of the narrative or lose a character to irrelevance. It’s very frustrating, as I’m sure you other writers can attest to. The beginning and end of any story are fun and usually easy to write. Act III is a biatch to get right. One day soon, I’ll get up the courage to set my keyboard down and let you all read it.

Oh, and do me a favor and click over there  —————–>

Buy a copy of DSG: Adrift, DSG:Exiled or add them to your GoodReads.com list and help a guy out.

#DirtyGoggles Blog Hop: Fatale

My writerly buddies, Ruth Long, Jenn M., and Steven Paul Watson put together a nifty Steampunk/Dieselpunk blog hop. Rules are simple, 500-700 words, punk type of your choice and away we go…

I’ve been kicking around an idea for about a year now of a secret society borne of a rift in the British royalty in the Victorian era. I didn’t realize until today that it’s a steampunk story about justice, feminism, ladies’ sewing circles, and assassins. Enjoy.

Title: Fatale
Word Count: 691
Name or Twitter Handle: @zombiemechanics
Category: Steam
Content label: Mild violence

FATALE

by J. Whitworth Hazzard

The warehouse at Blackwall was shabby by design. South of the Thames, the abandoned docks drew the dregs of society, and Abigail was acutely aware of how out-of-place she looked. Satin skirts and Parisian hats rarely saw this side of the city.

She slid back the groaning wooden door and her heeled boots clicked as she crossed the deserted warehouse. The broken crates and mummified fish carcasses lent an air of authenticity to the abandonment. When she got to the office, she closed the door behind her and felt along the wall for the brass nodules. 

Top to bottom, 6-4-4-1.

The panel slid open and she stepped inside. A hiss and faint sound of gears and the tiny chamber rotated, locking her inside. A large floor-length gilded mirror came into view next to two gas lamps. 

“Name?” A deep voice piped into the small chamber.

“Abigail Elizabeth Montgomery, 552874,” Abigail announced. She knew If her identity wasn’t verified the chamber would fill with a lethal dose of hydrogen cyanide gas and she’d have seconds to live.

The mirror faded to reveal a woman with long blond hair standing behind the glass with a pistol pointed at Abigail’s forehead. She lifted her dark purple goggles and returned the gun to the holster strapped to her leather breaches.

“You’re late,” Margaret said. The glass slid back and Abigail stepped into the headquarters of the Themis Society.

“I was shadowing Inspector McGregor and he decided to question the bottom of a pint glass. Twice.”

Margaret tromped down the iron stairs leading into the Themis Society’s workshop. The foundry was going full blast, cranking out steam, sparks and enough heat to singe hairs from twenty feet away. 

“What did you find out? Margaret asked. She walked the perimeter of the foundry, looking over each of the women’s shoulders in turn to make sure they were on schedule for tonight’s mission.

Abigail had to shout to be heard this close to the machinery, “The Ripper took another victim last night. The police are trying to stall the press, but it’ll hit the morning’s Chronicle.”

“Blast. One of ours?” Margaret waited with baited breath. There were no agents missing, but they had a large network of women on the payroll.

“No. Some poor working girl. The fiend slit her throat and raped her while she bled out.”

“Are we sure it was Lord Calvert’s man?”

Abigail sighed, “Positive. Two of our spies described a tall man with long dark hair and a scar on the right side of his face, right before they heard the screams. They saw the rose on his top hat. The black rose.”

“Bloody bastard. If Lord Calvert thinks he can draw us out by murdering innocent women, he’ll get more than he bargained for.”

“He’ll be in Whitechapel visiting his Uncle tonight. It’s time to strike. Is everything ready?”

Margaret whistled loudly and the frantic work around them came to a standstill. “Attend to Lady Abigail. It’s time to dress her for the evening.” Margaret led Abigail to the platform in the center of the shop and whispered in her ear, “The tinkers have exceeded even my expectations. You’ll be unstoppable.”

The tinkers took on their roles as maid and quickly stripped Abigail down to her linen chemise. Each one presented their gifts in turn as Abigail turned—layer by layer—from Lady to Assassin.

“The corset looks ordinary, but it is reinforced with brass and Oriental silk, stab proof and nearly bullet proof.  Two hidden pistols in your bustle, holsters are sewn in so you can sit without risking a misfire. Leather bracers are reinforced with steel gauge and spring-loaded four inch blades. The choker is magnetite iron, incompressible and garrote proof. Razored steel chastity belt—just in case, and the best we saved for last. Each glove has two ampules of our special wormwood and opium brew. Crush the ampule and blow on his face and he’ll be rendered helpless by powerful hallucinations.”

Abigail looked in the mirror approvingly and donned her hat.

“Fear no more, Ladies. Jack the Ripper dies tonight.”

<<<>>>

@zombiemechanics

VisDare 17: A Cat’s World

In an effort to get back into the writing saddle after a bought of illness, I’m hitting Angela Goff‘s Visual Dare today with a fun little tail. Tail… get it.

The Pic:

A Cat’s World

Memories of a Ninth Life

by J. Whitworth Hazzard

Confirmed. Attack pattern delta.
“Begin your run on the Salmon transport. Stay in his blind spot, kid,” I said.
Yes, Sir.
Betcha a bag of ‘nip, the rookie blows it.
“Stow that shit, Mr. Blinkers. No one’s going to botch anything.” Bingo and Mr. Blinkers pounced hard on the kittens coming up the ranks. You had to have thick fur to run with this outfit. Crying over spilt milk ain’t an option.
Whatever you say, boss.
“Be ready to move when he hits the cargo bay. Just like we practiced it.”
Ten meters… five meters…
The van came screaming out of nowhere; Le Boucher on its side in bold red letters.
“Abort! It’s a trap! Get out of there, kid!”
…
I hissed and bolted awake. My human shushed me and stroked my greying fur, but I couldn’t shake the fear.
Some nightmares never leave you.

145 words

@zombiemechanics

<<>>

Enjoy!

DFQWBS: A Simple Proposal

So Anne Meade (@ruanna3) is getting married. In addition to a traditional wedding–which I’m sure will be spectacular–Anna’s friends, Laura James and Miranda Kate are putting together a flash fiction tribute to the Bride-to-be. Anna’s all about creativity and whimsy and is a huge supported of the flash community, so we all jumped at the chance to write a little tale in honor of her upcoming nuptials. I don’t get invited to a lot of bridal showers (ok, ANY bridal showers) but a writerly bridal shower is something I can get on board with. I will miss the finger sandwiches and tea though. I do love a good finger sandwich. The crunchy thumbs are my favorite!

If you’d like to join in, you’ve got another ~20 hours. Rules are HERE.

And now without further trumpeting and mucking about, here’s my entry:

A Simple Proposal

By J. Whitworth Hazzard

(Ebook yes)

She could take the lousy hours, the terrible pay, and the corporate-image-required fake smile. But these Goddess-damned epaulets were ruining her image. Her beautiful lavender gossamer dress, hand made by fairies and enchanted wombats, looked ridiculous with the would-be sailor uniform of park employees bolted on.

The mice had long abandoned the Dark Fairy Queen’s ticket booth, scurrying far out of their way to avoid a zap from her wand brought on by boredom and rude tourists. She sat, night after night, at the entrance to Fair-ey Tales World™, trading in the dirty silver pieces for faux-gold tickets to enter the park. She was optimistic at first. Working an amusement park will be fun, her friends convinced her. The woodland creatures disappeared first. Then her fairy friends stopped coming by. 

“Oh, I totally forgot about our plans. You know how it is.”

“I’ve just been so busy with the new spring tinkering schedule.”

“I pulled a wing muscle, gotta stay in tonight.” 

Mierella sneered, “Traitors. The lot of you.”   

“Pardon?” 

Mierella’s wand sizzled and snapped, the sudden pop breaking her reverie. A handsome Prince stood at the corner of her booth looking expectingly, like he was waiting for a response. How long had he been standing there staring at her? Mierella’s heart skipped a beat, then she spotted the bratty blue epaulets sewn onto his royal doublet. 

“Oh, you work here too,” Mierella’s voice trailed off. “I said… nevermind.”

“You look sad. A beautiful woman like you should never be sad. Is there anything I can do? Prince Erlick at your service.” He bowed deeply.

“I’m not sad. I’m annoyed. I shall warn you but once, Sir. Beware the Dark Fairy Queen’s wrath!” Mierella’s wand crackled with dark energy. Her gown swayed back in the rising current of magical wind. The lights dimmed in the ticket booth and a purple aura surrounded her. “All shall love me and despair…”

Prince Erlick, “I don’t know about that whole despair bit. Look, I have to give another tour but afterwards I was going to go over to Cinderella’s Ball for a drink.“ He shuffled his feet for a bit, then smiled, bowed and moved on.

Mierella looked at him in shock. He wasn’t cowering, or trembling, or fleeing in terror.  He simply smiled and walked off towards the cotton candy stand. What a strange Prince!

An hour later the Prince came wandering by her booth. This time he looked even happier and a little stumbley. He walked by her booth three times, back and forth, mumbling to himself and trying to wink at her without success.

“Cinderella’s a bitch. How about you come have a drink with me? Do evil queen’s drink?”

Mierella snorted with shock. “I’m the ‘dark’ fairy queen, not the evil fairy queen. It’s not the same thing. It means I can be sarcastic and mischievous. I’m not evil, you cheeky man.”

“Heavens, I do apologize your Fairy-ejesty.” Prince Erlick bowed a little too deep and took an extra step to recover his balance. “That’s a relief. You know what they say about ‘evil’ girls…” He whispered but didn’t finish the sentence. 

“I hope you’re not riding in your condition,” Mierella smirked. 

Prince Erlick shook his head. “Can’t. They towed my noble steed last week. Bastards. Hey, Aurora is having an after-ever-after party. It’s right over the hill. Whadya say? One drink!”

The Prince got down on one knee and took off his hat, perching it squarely over his heart. Mierella looked sideways at the creature. There wasn’t a hint of trickery or malice in him. In the glow of the marquee lights, he looked honest, kind, and courageous. For a down on his luck Prince, he looked downright–regal.

“One drink. No tricks. No poisoned apples, or enchanted roses, or cursed spinning needles. Got it?”

Prince Erlick smiled earnestly. “My beautiful queen, I would never dream of using someone else’s fairy tale to win your heart. Our fairy tale is going to be original, wildly adventurous, and epic. And if you but take my hand… it starts, right now.”

Wedding Toast:

My wedding wish for the couple is a simple proposal: happiness. Find it in each other through the smallest acts, the tiniest gestures, the plainest words, and in everyday living.

@zombiemechanics, http://zombiemechanics.com

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