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Sanctuary of the White Friars #1
The Whispering Swarm
Almost anyone who has read or written science fiction or fantasy has been inspired by the work of Michael Moorcock. His literary flair and grand sense of adventure have been evident since his controversial first novel Behold the Man, from the stories and novels featuring his most famous character, Elric of Melniboné, to his fantasy masterpiece, Gloriana, winner of both the Campbell Memorial and World Fantasy awards for best novel. Neil Gaiman, Alan Moore, and Michael Chabon all cite Moorcock as a major influence; as editor of New Worlds magazine, he helped launch the careers of many of his contemporaries, including Harlan Ellison, Philip K. Dick, and J. G. Ballard.
Moorcock's first independent novel in nine years is a tale both fantastical and autobiographical, a celebration of London and what it meant to be young there in the years after World War II. The Whispering Swarm is the first in a trilogy that will follow a young man named Michael as he simultaneously discovers himself and a secret realm hidden deep in the heart of London.
Moorcock's first independent novel in nine years is a tale both fantastical and autobiographical, a celebration of London and what it meant to be young there in the years after World War II. The Whispering Swarm is the first in a trilogy that will follow a young man named Michael as he simultaneously discovers himself and a secret realm hidden deep in the heart of London.
480 pages, Hardcover
First published November 25, 2014
85 people are currently reading
1448 people want to read
About the author
Michael Moorcock
1,209 books3,749 followersMichael John Moorcock is an English writer primarily of science fiction and fantasy who has also published a number of literary novels.
Moorcock has mentioned The Gods of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Apple Cart by George Bernard Shaw and The Constable of St. Nicholas by Edward Lester Arnold as the first three books which captured his imagination. He became editor of Tarzan Adventures in 1956, at the age of sixteen, and later moved on to edit Sexton Blake Library. As editor of the controversial British science fiction magazine New Worlds, from May 1964 until March 1971 and then again from 1976 to 1996, Moorcock fostered the development of the science fiction "New Wave" in the UK and indirectly in the United States. His serialization of Norman Spinrad's Bug Jack Barron was notorious for causing British MPs to condemn in Parliament the Arts Council's funding of the magazine.
During this time, he occasionally wrote under the pseudonym of "James Colvin," a "house pseudonym" used by other critics on New Worlds. A spoof obituary of Colvin appeared in New Worlds #197 (January 1970), written by "William Barclay" (another Moorcock pseudonym). Moorcock, indeed, makes much use of the initials "JC", and not entirely coincidentally these are also the initials of Jesus Christ, the subject of his 1967 Nebula award-winning novella Behold the Man, which tells the story of Karl Glogauer, a time-traveller who takes on the role of Christ. They are also the initials of various "Eternal Champion" Moorcock characters such as Jerry Cornelius, Jerry Cornell and Jherek Carnelian. In more recent years, Moorcock has taken to using "Warwick Colvin, Jr." as yet another pseudonym, particularly in his Second Ether fiction.
Moorcock has mentioned The Gods of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Apple Cart by George Bernard Shaw and The Constable of St. Nicholas by Edward Lester Arnold as the first three books which captured his imagination. He became editor of Tarzan Adventures in 1956, at the age of sixteen, and later moved on to edit Sexton Blake Library. As editor of the controversial British science fiction magazine New Worlds, from May 1964 until March 1971 and then again from 1976 to 1996, Moorcock fostered the development of the science fiction "New Wave" in the UK and indirectly in the United States. His serialization of Norman Spinrad's Bug Jack Barron was notorious for causing British MPs to condemn in Parliament the Arts Council's funding of the magazine.
During this time, he occasionally wrote under the pseudonym of "James Colvin," a "house pseudonym" used by other critics on New Worlds. A spoof obituary of Colvin appeared in New Worlds #197 (January 1970), written by "William Barclay" (another Moorcock pseudonym). Moorcock, indeed, makes much use of the initials "JC", and not entirely coincidentally these are also the initials of Jesus Christ, the subject of his 1967 Nebula award-winning novella Behold the Man, which tells the story of Karl Glogauer, a time-traveller who takes on the role of Christ. They are also the initials of various "Eternal Champion" Moorcock characters such as Jerry Cornelius, Jerry Cornell and Jherek Carnelian. In more recent years, Moorcock has taken to using "Warwick Colvin, Jr." as yet another pseudonym, particularly in his Second Ether fiction.
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July 3, 2015
3 of 5 stars at The BiblioSanctum http://bibliosanctum.com/2015/01/13/b...
Michael Moorcock’s The Whispering Swarm is certainly a strange book and not what I expected at all. My first venture into this renowned author’s work notwithstanding, even I could tell this was quite a departure from his older work, involving no small amount of literary experimentation – and not least because of the novel’s semi-autobiographical nature in which Moorcock chronicles the shift of his craft from sci-fi fantasy pulp fiction towards a “new wave” and more modernist tradition.
The first book of a new trilogy, Moorcock’s latest novel presents to readers a semi-factual, semi-fictitious version of the author’s younger self growing up in post-World War II London. We follow Michael Moorcock as he navigates the world of science fiction and fantasy publishing, starting out as editor of his Tarzan Adventures fanzine at the age of 17 and eventually moving on to bigger and more prominent roles in the industry – including his controversial position as the editor of British science fiction magazine New Worlds during the 60s and 70s.
While the character talks about much of his writing, the narrative is also laced with a heavy dose of fantastical elements. Between sections detailing Michael’s personal and professional life, the book slips in and out of reality to feature an alternate world called Alsacia, a hidden sanctuary and home to both historical and legendary figures like Prince Rupert of the Rhine or Dumas’ musketeers. It’s a place where death does not exist and time flows differently, where heroes from different centuries can share a pint and rub elbows down at the tavern and no one will bat an eye. The first time young Michael accidentally stumbles into Alsacia, he meets the beautiful Mol Midnight, literally the girl of his dreams who later on becomes his muse for a number books and stories. And so begins his long relationship with this mystical place and the denizens within. Thus Michael finds himself torn between two worlds, the real London where his career and family reside, and Alsacia where he can indulge in wild romances and adventures. Before long, he can hardly ignore the whispers of what he calls the Swarm, always calling him, tempting him back into the sanctuary where he can find solace from the pressures of the world.
As someone previously unfamiliar with Moorcock’s work, I found myself intrigued by the premise of the book. Unfortunately, I was also frequently frustrated with the seemingly disorganized and irregular pacing of what at times barely passes for a plot. As previously mentioned, a huge chunk of the novel is written in a semi-autobiographical style, where readers are swept along on lengthy descriptions of young Michael’s professional and social life, which include his experimentations with sex, drugs and music. I wasn’t so fond of the explanatory narrative and found myself less interested in the nitty-gritty details of his editing and writing, but when it came to the character’s internal insights into the evolution of his style, I was perhaps more enthusiastic.
As a character, Michael’s motivations were hard to grasp. He’s an unsettled and indecisive narrator, not to mention frequently unreliable which made it more difficult to find him sympathetic. He would alternate between being selfless and self-pitying, especially where the needs of his young family are concerned. The times he steps through the veil into Alsacia are the highlights, however. Regrettably I found these to be too few and far between especially in the first half, or else I might have had an easier time getting into the book; instead, I had to push myself through most of the beginning.
On the other hand, I didn’t expect to enjoy the blurring of reality and fantasy as much as I did; there was always that uncertainty lingering in the background, mixing in that element of the unknown which made the situation more compelling as Michael became more entrenched in the business of Alsacia. This novel is definitely the first of its kind that I have read, and even knowing that most of Michael’s personal details had to be completely fabricated, the questions it made me ask were the sort that were entirely different and unique.
I have a feeling this is a very special trilogy in the making, but the ultimate payoff may require too much investment for some readers, including myself. Michael’s exploits with the various adventurers from Alsacia were exciting towards the end, but I wish more of the book had been dedicated to that aspect of the story. There are some great ideas in here, if somewhat radical and on the experimental side, but my experience was mainly dampened by the slow pacing of the plot as well as a lack of direction for most of it. An interesting novel overall, and in the end I’m not sorry I read it. The style is not exactly to my tastes, but it’s broadened my horizons.
Michael Moorcock’s The Whispering Swarm is certainly a strange book and not what I expected at all. My first venture into this renowned author’s work notwithstanding, even I could tell this was quite a departure from his older work, involving no small amount of literary experimentation – and not least because of the novel’s semi-autobiographical nature in which Moorcock chronicles the shift of his craft from sci-fi fantasy pulp fiction towards a “new wave” and more modernist tradition.
The first book of a new trilogy, Moorcock’s latest novel presents to readers a semi-factual, semi-fictitious version of the author’s younger self growing up in post-World War II London. We follow Michael Moorcock as he navigates the world of science fiction and fantasy publishing, starting out as editor of his Tarzan Adventures fanzine at the age of 17 and eventually moving on to bigger and more prominent roles in the industry – including his controversial position as the editor of British science fiction magazine New Worlds during the 60s and 70s.
While the character talks about much of his writing, the narrative is also laced with a heavy dose of fantastical elements. Between sections detailing Michael’s personal and professional life, the book slips in and out of reality to feature an alternate world called Alsacia, a hidden sanctuary and home to both historical and legendary figures like Prince Rupert of the Rhine or Dumas’ musketeers. It’s a place where death does not exist and time flows differently, where heroes from different centuries can share a pint and rub elbows down at the tavern and no one will bat an eye. The first time young Michael accidentally stumbles into Alsacia, he meets the beautiful Mol Midnight, literally the girl of his dreams who later on becomes his muse for a number books and stories. And so begins his long relationship with this mystical place and the denizens within. Thus Michael finds himself torn between two worlds, the real London where his career and family reside, and Alsacia where he can indulge in wild romances and adventures. Before long, he can hardly ignore the whispers of what he calls the Swarm, always calling him, tempting him back into the sanctuary where he can find solace from the pressures of the world.
As someone previously unfamiliar with Moorcock’s work, I found myself intrigued by the premise of the book. Unfortunately, I was also frequently frustrated with the seemingly disorganized and irregular pacing of what at times barely passes for a plot. As previously mentioned, a huge chunk of the novel is written in a semi-autobiographical style, where readers are swept along on lengthy descriptions of young Michael’s professional and social life, which include his experimentations with sex, drugs and music. I wasn’t so fond of the explanatory narrative and found myself less interested in the nitty-gritty details of his editing and writing, but when it came to the character’s internal insights into the evolution of his style, I was perhaps more enthusiastic.
As a character, Michael’s motivations were hard to grasp. He’s an unsettled and indecisive narrator, not to mention frequently unreliable which made it more difficult to find him sympathetic. He would alternate between being selfless and self-pitying, especially where the needs of his young family are concerned. The times he steps through the veil into Alsacia are the highlights, however. Regrettably I found these to be too few and far between especially in the first half, or else I might have had an easier time getting into the book; instead, I had to push myself through most of the beginning.
On the other hand, I didn’t expect to enjoy the blurring of reality and fantasy as much as I did; there was always that uncertainty lingering in the background, mixing in that element of the unknown which made the situation more compelling as Michael became more entrenched in the business of Alsacia. This novel is definitely the first of its kind that I have read, and even knowing that most of Michael’s personal details had to be completely fabricated, the questions it made me ask were the sort that were entirely different and unique.
I have a feeling this is a very special trilogy in the making, but the ultimate payoff may require too much investment for some readers, including myself. Michael’s exploits with the various adventurers from Alsacia were exciting towards the end, but I wish more of the book had been dedicated to that aspect of the story. There are some great ideas in here, if somewhat radical and on the experimental side, but my experience was mainly dampened by the slow pacing of the plot as well as a lack of direction for most of it. An interesting novel overall, and in the end I’m not sorry I read it. The style is not exactly to my tastes, but it’s broadened my horizons.
January 1, 2023
“Part of me was a sceptic – even a cynic, but part of me was also romantic and gullible.”
This is an odd one and a little of pre-knowledge about Moorcock and his work does help. It’s the first in a trilogy, although the other two have yet to appear. This is what we would call today a mashup, two strands in the same story and Moorcock becomes his own unreliable narrator. It is part autobiography and part fantasy.
The autobiographical part is an account of Moorcock’s early life in London in the 1950s and 1960s. This includes his musical career in various rock and roll bands and of course the development of his writing career. In the 1960s Moorcock wrote a great deal or fantasy and science fiction. Many short stories and the Elric of Melnibone sagas. This is one part of the whole and describes Moorcock’s adolescence and young adulthood including his marriage, children and divorce. All very worthy and it makes up a straightforward piece of autobiography.
However there is another strand woven into this which is pure fantasy. Moorcock meets a monk called Father Isidore. He recognises something in Moorcock and takes him to a place in London he has never been before. It is called Alsacia and is near the Inns of Court and the river. It is a part of London which seems to exist out of time and space. It is full of characters from different times, but especially from the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries. Characters out of fiction mingle with real life characters (the four musketeers for example). Other authors have done this: Rowling with Diagon Alley and Doctor Who to name two. It’s all pretty far-fetched and Moorcock has some fun trying to make his young rational self get his head around the metaphysics of it all. The whispering swarm of the title is a form of tinnitus, the voices Moorcock hears when he isn’t in Alsacia.
This is all very unusual, there is a plot to rescue Charles II, fights between Roundheads and Cavaliers, Dick Turpin, Buffalo Bill and Moorcock falls in love with a Highwaywoman. Then there’s the monastery and some very old monks and rabbis (very old). There’s also a fair amount of navel gazing and philosophising.
I am sure Moorcock fans will love this, but although there is a lot to interest it is rather muddled.
This is an odd one and a little of pre-knowledge about Moorcock and his work does help. It’s the first in a trilogy, although the other two have yet to appear. This is what we would call today a mashup, two strands in the same story and Moorcock becomes his own unreliable narrator. It is part autobiography and part fantasy.
The autobiographical part is an account of Moorcock’s early life in London in the 1950s and 1960s. This includes his musical career in various rock and roll bands and of course the development of his writing career. In the 1960s Moorcock wrote a great deal or fantasy and science fiction. Many short stories and the Elric of Melnibone sagas. This is one part of the whole and describes Moorcock’s adolescence and young adulthood including his marriage, children and divorce. All very worthy and it makes up a straightforward piece of autobiography.
However there is another strand woven into this which is pure fantasy. Moorcock meets a monk called Father Isidore. He recognises something in Moorcock and takes him to a place in London he has never been before. It is called Alsacia and is near the Inns of Court and the river. It is a part of London which seems to exist out of time and space. It is full of characters from different times, but especially from the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries. Characters out of fiction mingle with real life characters (the four musketeers for example). Other authors have done this: Rowling with Diagon Alley and Doctor Who to name two. It’s all pretty far-fetched and Moorcock has some fun trying to make his young rational self get his head around the metaphysics of it all. The whispering swarm of the title is a form of tinnitus, the voices Moorcock hears when he isn’t in Alsacia.
This is all very unusual, there is a plot to rescue Charles II, fights between Roundheads and Cavaliers, Dick Turpin, Buffalo Bill and Moorcock falls in love with a Highwaywoman. Then there’s the monastery and some very old monks and rabbis (very old). There’s also a fair amount of navel gazing and philosophising.
I am sure Moorcock fans will love this, but although there is a lot to interest it is rather muddled.
March 28, 2015
reviews.metaphorosis.com
1 stars
An unusual mix of straight autobiography and fantastic alternate universe/time travel in a secret section of London known as Alsacia.
When I was young, I found a biography of Johnny Cash on my father's shelves. He warned me not to read it, but I did anyway, to find that while Cash was a great singer, he was also pretty much an ass. This book provides the same experience with Moorcock - except that I've never thought Moorcock was a great writer. Apparently some do. I've read quite a lot of 'literary'/non-SFF fiction, but until encountering this book, I'd never encountered any by Moorcock. If it reads like this, it's no wonder.
I don't know much about Michael Moorcock personally. I read several Elric books and wasn't too impressed. I tried one or two Eternal Champion books, but had trouble telling them apart. And the first book of his I read, a collaboration with (and mainly by) Michael Butterworth called The Time of the Hawklords, was terrible. Still, Moorcock is a respected name in fantasy. Plus, I recently read a short story of his that showed surprising elements of humor from the man who created the dour Elric. So, when The Whispering Swarm came available for review, I thought I'd give Moorcock another try.
The book was billed as both fantastical and autobiographical. What I found was initially weak on fantasy, and heavy on autobiography. Unfortunately, what I learned from the autobiography is that Moorcock is self-centered, self-important, and self-aggrandizing. Self-centered, to be fair, is part and parcel of autobiography. The others are a matter of choice.
The first few chapters were interesting. Moorcock's description of London after the war is fascinating. Snippets of fantasy were early but few and seemed mostly an afterthought. Unhappily, the narrative soon becomes less of an introduction to post-war London, and more of a stream of consciousness recitation of famous acquaintances. Name a fantasy writer alive at that time, and Moorcock knew them - White, Lewis, Peake, you name it. Generally speaking, he drops the name and moves on. While he claims Peake as his mentor, he says little about the relationship. He spends far more time on the minutiae of interaction with other friends - just as famous, he claims, but they're often not names I've heard of. At first encounter that's promising - a man more focused on real relationships than on celebrity. But he seem to think they're celebrities, and these friends only enter the narrative for short periods. For example, Moorcock spends page after excruciating page detailing a single holiday dinner, largely focused around the personal quarrel of three friends introduced a few pages earlier, and who leave the scene almost entirely thereafter. It's deadly dull - the worst kind of reminiscence by a host whose party you're already looking to leave. To make it worse, Moorcock uses the occasion to take cheap shots at relatives he dislikes, all in the name of objective appraisal.
His in-laws may be coarse and bigoted, but Moorcock himself is a paragon, if we're to take his word for it. Every few pages, he invents a new sub-genre, or leads a literary revolution, all while cranking out what he considers literary garbage (such as the Elric series) for the money. He singlehandedly feeds the family, runs a magazine, writes novels left and right, all while taking care of the kids so that his wife can have time to herself - apparently to mope. For a man who says he doesn't do passive-aggressive, Moorcock provides an excellent imitation. But it's alright, because he was a great father who took his toddlers to hang out backstage while he played his rock gigs. And he's loyal by nature - except for constantly cheating on people.
Moorcock does offer some self-criticism, but it's largely drowned out by his highly defensive tone, self-justifications, and score-settling. He himself admits to wondering why he was so popular as an individual - as he tells us he was. Presumably it had something to do with his incredible lovemaking skills - certainly lovemaking is virtually the only thing he has in common with his wife. That and (he tells us) her love for the power he offered - because "most women [are] turned on by power". This and a host of other attitudes might be overlooked in the younger Moorcock, living through the turbulent 60s and 70s. But they're equally prevalent in his current musings, and less forgivable. Some of it is gratuitously offensive, and presumably intended to shock.
For a while, I thought that Alsacia was simply a metaphor for an affair, or a drug habit. But it's both too complex and too obvious for that. Perhaps if I knew more about Moorcock's true history, I'd spot the truth. Reading this has given me no interest in finding out.
I confess - I didn't read the whole book. By page 16, I was already wondering where the autobiography was going, but I read thoroughly up to page 300. At that point, the pain was too much, but I wanted to 'finish', so I skimmed each of the remaining 200 pages, dipping in deeper for a few pages at a time. While this last portion is heavy on the fantastic element, it is no more enticing than the earlier sections.
Moorcock claims he put together his trash books in three days each, and his good ones in double that time. Reading this book backs up the claim. Frankly, it reads as if he wrote a meandering autobiography, couldn't find a publisher, and resurrected it by throwing in a few shreds of fantasy. Tor has been publishing great stuff recently, but I have to assume they were starstruck when they let this past their doors.
I can't think of anyone to recommend this to. If you like Moorcock, you won't after reading this. If you like fantasy, you won't find much here. If you like literary fiction, you can call this an attempt, but it's not a success. In short, then, my advice is: don't read this book.
NB: Received free copy from Net Galley.
February 20, 2015
It grieves me to have to rate a Moorcock book this low. He has been one of my favorite authors since I read his six-book Elric saga in high school. When I became a Sporadic Reader (as opposed to a Constant Reader) of Stephen King in 1990 after reading his atrocious vanity project The Stand: The Complete and Uncut Version, Moorcock filled the void. I scoured all the back-alley bookshops and used bookstores I could find around the world for Moorcock paperbacks and for 20 years enjoyed his many stories. His masterpiece Mother London is in my top 3 favorite books and The Warhound and the World's Pain is in my top three fantasy books.
I am indeed sorely grieved.
Michael Moorcock has led an extraordinary life and he puts himself front and center in his latest book, using his own name (along with notable writers of his day. Amusingly, he changes the name of his first wife--although he keeps her initials). The editor of a popular fanfiction magazine at 16, he becomes a stage musician, experiences the sex and drug culture of 1960's London ,and eventually becomes the heart and soul of the New Wave Science Fiction movement--combining elements of social comentary, politics and philosophy to bring a new credibility science fiction/fantasy.
Here, Moorcock relates the events of his life but mixes in his signature blending of fact and fiction. As his life as an editor, musician, author, husband and father unfolds, he finds inspiration in the Alsacia, the sanctuary of the order of the White Friars: a place that stands at the hub of the many worlds that make up Moorcock's multiverse. Moorcock must learn to use his inherited ability to walk the silver roads between the worlds if he is to survive his adventures and return to his dissolving family.
Any fan of Moorcock's will recognize Tanelorn, the Eternal City that exists on all planes, called by different names, that appears and disappears with regularity and that offers sanctuary to those who can navigate the silver roads. His many fans will also relish the complex interplay between fact, fiction and Moorcock's mythologizing within The Whispering Swarm. From a technique standpoint, this novel is brilliant.
But Moorcock relates the events of his life without any artistry. His dull prose does not have the eloquence of his previous works. The events surrounding Alsacia and it's inhabitants are imaginatively and metaphorically on level with his best work, but they become tedious as he keeps trying to find a natural reason for Alsacia's existence.
This book is essentially about a man of high assholery being forced to unwillingly accept the existence of God. Moorcock was content with the life sex, drug and rock-n-roll afforded him; even the Alsacia provided him with the opportunity to have "two lives, two wives, two children, two careers." But his encounters in The Eternal City are challenging his rational view of the universe and threatening his sanity.
Inconsistent tone (this book seems at times a confessional and at others a defense to bad behavior) and lifeless prose sink this first novel in a new trilogy. Finishing the book was quite a painful experience. Hopefully, the next installments will be better.
I am indeed sorely grieved.
Michael Moorcock has led an extraordinary life and he puts himself front and center in his latest book, using his own name (along with notable writers of his day. Amusingly, he changes the name of his first wife--although he keeps her initials). The editor of a popular fanfiction magazine at 16, he becomes a stage musician, experiences the sex and drug culture of 1960's London ,and eventually becomes the heart and soul of the New Wave Science Fiction movement--combining elements of social comentary, politics and philosophy to bring a new credibility science fiction/fantasy.
Here, Moorcock relates the events of his life but mixes in his signature blending of fact and fiction. As his life as an editor, musician, author, husband and father unfolds, he finds inspiration in the Alsacia, the sanctuary of the order of the White Friars: a place that stands at the hub of the many worlds that make up Moorcock's multiverse. Moorcock must learn to use his inherited ability to walk the silver roads between the worlds if he is to survive his adventures and return to his dissolving family.
Any fan of Moorcock's will recognize Tanelorn, the Eternal City that exists on all planes, called by different names, that appears and disappears with regularity and that offers sanctuary to those who can navigate the silver roads. His many fans will also relish the complex interplay between fact, fiction and Moorcock's mythologizing within The Whispering Swarm. From a technique standpoint, this novel is brilliant.
But Moorcock relates the events of his life without any artistry. His dull prose does not have the eloquence of his previous works. The events surrounding Alsacia and it's inhabitants are imaginatively and metaphorically on level with his best work, but they become tedious as he keeps trying to find a natural reason for Alsacia's existence.
This book is essentially about a man of high assholery being forced to unwillingly accept the existence of God. Moorcock was content with the life sex, drug and rock-n-roll afforded him; even the Alsacia provided him with the opportunity to have "two lives, two wives, two children, two careers." But his encounters in The Eternal City are challenging his rational view of the universe and threatening his sanity.
Inconsistent tone (this book seems at times a confessional and at others a defense to bad behavior) and lifeless prose sink this first novel in a new trilogy. Finishing the book was quite a painful experience. Hopefully, the next installments will be better.
January 3, 2015
(won in Goodreads giveaway for honest review)
Dear Mr.Moorcock,
You are a prolific and creative writer,with an imagination that soars like an eagle. One of my favorite reading experiences in the early 80's was 'Dancers at the Edge of Time.' Having said that , I strongly urge you to give "The Whsipering Swarm" back to the publisher, find a different editor and cut, prune, regroup, re think and generally overhaul the whole damn mess before you inflict it upon your dedicated following.I am sure some will chew on this narcissistic dry bone and swear they love it, but ity the poor swine who know your better work and picks up this hodge-podge. I really can't believe you want this schizophrenic, half-straight autobiography , half-muddled fantasy to be part of your legacy. I honestly tried to like this book and when I couldn't, I at least tried to finish it, but 2/3 I got so bored and irritated,I closed the covers and will not re-open.If i hear that it has been revamped and redone, I might give it a go ;otherwise, it's the Deep Six for anything with this title.
Dear Mr.Moorcock,
You are a prolific and creative writer,with an imagination that soars like an eagle. One of my favorite reading experiences in the early 80's was 'Dancers at the Edge of Time.' Having said that , I strongly urge you to give "The Whsipering Swarm" back to the publisher, find a different editor and cut, prune, regroup, re think and generally overhaul the whole damn mess before you inflict it upon your dedicated following.I am sure some will chew on this narcissistic dry bone and swear they love it, but ity the poor swine who know your better work and picks up this hodge-podge. I really can't believe you want this schizophrenic, half-straight autobiography , half-muddled fantasy to be part of your legacy. I honestly tried to like this book and when I couldn't, I at least tried to finish it, but 2/3 I got so bored and irritated,I closed the covers and will not re-open.If i hear that it has been revamped and redone, I might give it a go ;otherwise, it's the Deep Six for anything with this title.
August 5, 2015
This Review originally appeared on Pop Verse.
Moorcock is one of those writers that any SFF fan has probably heard of, if not read. I have to admit that I had never read any Moorcock before The Whispering Swarm and perhaps that has put me at a significant disadvantage when reading this incredibly meta-textual tome. The novel is part autobiography, part fiction – how much is real and how much is invention is never clear (though is it ever when it comes to autobiography?). At times Moorcock writes about actual events and people in his life without any clouding of the truth (using real names, dates, etc), while at other times he uses false names or casts characters from his life into his invented world.
The trouble is, most of the novel becomes a self-indulgent, narcissistic review of all the wonderful things that have happened to him. Too often, these events are simply reported (though with far too much detail) and very little is given in terms of characterization of the supposedly real-world characters. I have always found that autobiography does well when it relates amusing anecdotes, singular snapshots into an interesting life. Moorcock apparently does not agree, as he delivers a blow-by-blow of how his life progressed from a very young age. Too much detail and yet still a completely superficial account. How does he even manage that?
Premise
Young Michael Moorcock is a talented writer and editor, fascinated by the world of SFF. While his career takes off, he meets a strange Friar who introduces him to the world of Alsacia. Existing within London, very few people can see the doors to Alsacia, let alone enter them. Michael embarks on two separate lives, one in the fantasy of Alsacia, one in the real world with his wife and children.
Nostalgia, self-indulgence, and hindsight
There are some truly intriguing aspects of the Sanctuary – a city within the city, beyond time, and so on – that he develops stunningly well. And yet they are put on the backburner to allow for his name dropping of famous writer friends and accounts of how awesome he was as a young superstar editor and writer. It’s clear that there’s a great story embedded within The Whispering Swarm, if only the author had dropped his self-indulgent autobiographical piece and approached it as a piece of straightforward fantasy writing. We might’ve had something really special.
The world of Alsacia is actually incredibly intriguing. I felt myself just as curious as Michael’s character in the book. So each time he pulls away to deliver long diatribes on his ordinary life, going on and on about the publishing industry at the time or banal love triangles amongst his friends, I was seriously annoyed. Why go to all the trouble of inventing a fantastic story premise to just pad most of the novel out with tedious tangents? The same goes for the characters within these worlds. Those that appear in the ‘real world’ are barely sketched out, while the only personalities with any depth exist only in Alsacia. It seems like Moorcock was also entranced by his creation far more than his real world reminiscences, so I have to ask again, why waste so much of the reader’s time?
Throughout the novel Moorcock makes reference to his writing never really being original – most of his popular stories spill out of his encounters with the imaginary world he has created while others are repurposing of other works or attempts to mimic other writers’ styles and so on. Even the premise for this bizarre autobiographical novel is appropriated from his friend JG Ballard and The Kindness of Women. And while it might be saying something along the lines of ‘there are no new stories in the world’, which we all know by now, it never really delves into this theme in any meaningful way.
What is most infuriating about The Whispering Swarm is that Moorcock’s prose is thoroughly readable. He writes with easy clarity and a way that does make you push on. But even with that tremendous skill, it will take the most dedicated SFF lovers to stick with the novel all the way through – and for them to come back for more (yes, this is supposedly the first in a trilogy) would take something of a miracle.
Verdict: Really not recommended and a real shame given the amount of potential locked away amongst the self-indulgent nonsense.
Moorcock is one of those writers that any SFF fan has probably heard of, if not read. I have to admit that I had never read any Moorcock before The Whispering Swarm and perhaps that has put me at a significant disadvantage when reading this incredibly meta-textual tome. The novel is part autobiography, part fiction – how much is real and how much is invention is never clear (though is it ever when it comes to autobiography?). At times Moorcock writes about actual events and people in his life without any clouding of the truth (using real names, dates, etc), while at other times he uses false names or casts characters from his life into his invented world.
The trouble is, most of the novel becomes a self-indulgent, narcissistic review of all the wonderful things that have happened to him. Too often, these events are simply reported (though with far too much detail) and very little is given in terms of characterization of the supposedly real-world characters. I have always found that autobiography does well when it relates amusing anecdotes, singular snapshots into an interesting life. Moorcock apparently does not agree, as he delivers a blow-by-blow of how his life progressed from a very young age. Too much detail and yet still a completely superficial account. How does he even manage that?
Premise
Young Michael Moorcock is a talented writer and editor, fascinated by the world of SFF. While his career takes off, he meets a strange Friar who introduces him to the world of Alsacia. Existing within London, very few people can see the doors to Alsacia, let alone enter them. Michael embarks on two separate lives, one in the fantasy of Alsacia, one in the real world with his wife and children.
Nostalgia, self-indulgence, and hindsight
There are some truly intriguing aspects of the Sanctuary – a city within the city, beyond time, and so on – that he develops stunningly well. And yet they are put on the backburner to allow for his name dropping of famous writer friends and accounts of how awesome he was as a young superstar editor and writer. It’s clear that there’s a great story embedded within The Whispering Swarm, if only the author had dropped his self-indulgent autobiographical piece and approached it as a piece of straightforward fantasy writing. We might’ve had something really special.
The world of Alsacia is actually incredibly intriguing. I felt myself just as curious as Michael’s character in the book. So each time he pulls away to deliver long diatribes on his ordinary life, going on and on about the publishing industry at the time or banal love triangles amongst his friends, I was seriously annoyed. Why go to all the trouble of inventing a fantastic story premise to just pad most of the novel out with tedious tangents? The same goes for the characters within these worlds. Those that appear in the ‘real world’ are barely sketched out, while the only personalities with any depth exist only in Alsacia. It seems like Moorcock was also entranced by his creation far more than his real world reminiscences, so I have to ask again, why waste so much of the reader’s time?
Throughout the novel Moorcock makes reference to his writing never really being original – most of his popular stories spill out of his encounters with the imaginary world he has created while others are repurposing of other works or attempts to mimic other writers’ styles and so on. Even the premise for this bizarre autobiographical novel is appropriated from his friend JG Ballard and The Kindness of Women. And while it might be saying something along the lines of ‘there are no new stories in the world’, which we all know by now, it never really delves into this theme in any meaningful way.
What is most infuriating about The Whispering Swarm is that Moorcock’s prose is thoroughly readable. He writes with easy clarity and a way that does make you push on. But even with that tremendous skill, it will take the most dedicated SFF lovers to stick with the novel all the way through – and for them to come back for more (yes, this is supposedly the first in a trilogy) would take something of a miracle.
Verdict: Really not recommended and a real shame given the amount of potential locked away amongst the self-indulgent nonsense.
January 4, 2021
The Whispering Swarm is the first book in a new trilogy by Michael Moorcock, his first new book in nine years. I was immediately struck by his mastery of language, something I've missed since the Elric and Jerry Cornelius books brought so much imagination to my adolescence.
The story is told in the first person and artfully brings the reader into the setting even before you know what it's going to be about. It's largely autobiographical and reads much like a memoir and is very believable, even when talking about seeing ghosts. It is a nostalgic look at post war London that subtly moves into the realm of fantasy, then back out again. At times the line between autobiography and imagination is hard to see and it becomes difficult to know what is real and what is just part of a story.
An author as a character in their own fantasy story is unusual, though not unprecedented.
It is done well and definitely holds interest, at least most of the way through. I have to admit that it did seem overly long by the end, especially after characters from a certain Classic joined the fray.
The Fantasy part of the story partly fed my time travel addiction and adds historic interest, though the theology came across as digression. One question that bothered me was how does the money work? A modern writer stepping into a historic setting and buying rounds for men from another time, what coins would he use?
It's difficult to read Moorcock without comparing it to earlier Moorcock, but on its own merits the story has definite appeal and insight into publishing from another century, but I did find my attention wandering at times.
The story is told in the first person and artfully brings the reader into the setting even before you know what it's going to be about. It's largely autobiographical and reads much like a memoir and is very believable, even when talking about seeing ghosts. It is a nostalgic look at post war London that subtly moves into the realm of fantasy, then back out again. At times the line between autobiography and imagination is hard to see and it becomes difficult to know what is real and what is just part of a story.
An author as a character in their own fantasy story is unusual, though not unprecedented.
It is done well and definitely holds interest, at least most of the way through. I have to admit that it did seem overly long by the end, especially after characters from a certain Classic joined the fray.
The Fantasy part of the story partly fed my time travel addiction and adds historic interest, though the theology came across as digression. One question that bothered me was how does the money work? A modern writer stepping into a historic setting and buying rounds for men from another time, what coins would he use?
It's difficult to read Moorcock without comparing it to earlier Moorcock, but on its own merits the story has definite appeal and insight into publishing from another century, but I did find my attention wandering at times.
February 14, 2015
Unless you're a long time fan of Moorcock, I doubt this book will be incredibly gripping for you. It's actually part fantasy and purports to be part autobiographical. How is this pulled off?
There are basically two threads throughout the novel. One focuses upon a young Michael Moorcock as he rises from being a struggling British pulp writer to being a major cultural gatekeeper that helps to foster the New Wave of SF&F back in the 1960s. This is obviously the autobiographical part; and if you're interested in the history of SF&F, this is a very engrossing thread to follow.
The other thread of this novel relates to Moorcock's adventures within the fantastic, and hidden from most people's view, enclave of Alsacia--a mystical sanctuary somewhere within London. Here time and reality works differently since there seems to exist here actual historical individuals from throughout history alongside of fictional and literary characters. Here Master Moorcock becomes something of a swashbuckling, though reluctant, hero.
I found it incredibly interesting how Moorcock weaved his story between these two threads. Just as you get interested in the biographical details of 1960s British SF&F and rock-n-roll scene, you are whisked away to Alsacia. Just as you get into the mysteries and adventures of Alsacia, you are pulled back to the "real" London.
This gets a bit frustrating at times, but overall I thought it was done well and kept me gripped. However, I doubt that the fantasy thread is gripping enough alone for those who are not fully invested in Moorcock's literary career and personal history. Since this is the first of a trilogy, personally I have to admit that I'm looking forward to future volumes to see more of the biographical material, but not necessarily to the fantasy material.
Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed The Whispering Swarm. Moorcock is a great writer. I suggest giving it a try even if you are not a Moorcock devotee.
There are basically two threads throughout the novel. One focuses upon a young Michael Moorcock as he rises from being a struggling British pulp writer to being a major cultural gatekeeper that helps to foster the New Wave of SF&F back in the 1960s. This is obviously the autobiographical part; and if you're interested in the history of SF&F, this is a very engrossing thread to follow.
The other thread of this novel relates to Moorcock's adventures within the fantastic, and hidden from most people's view, enclave of Alsacia--a mystical sanctuary somewhere within London. Here time and reality works differently since there seems to exist here actual historical individuals from throughout history alongside of fictional and literary characters. Here Master Moorcock becomes something of a swashbuckling, though reluctant, hero.
I found it incredibly interesting how Moorcock weaved his story between these two threads. Just as you get interested in the biographical details of 1960s British SF&F and rock-n-roll scene, you are whisked away to Alsacia. Just as you get into the mysteries and adventures of Alsacia, you are pulled back to the "real" London.
This gets a bit frustrating at times, but overall I thought it was done well and kept me gripped. However, I doubt that the fantasy thread is gripping enough alone for those who are not fully invested in Moorcock's literary career and personal history. Since this is the first of a trilogy, personally I have to admit that I'm looking forward to future volumes to see more of the biographical material, but not necessarily to the fantasy material.
Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed The Whispering Swarm. Moorcock is a great writer. I suggest giving it a try even if you are not a Moorcock devotee.
February 7, 2015
As a relatively new fan of the sci-fi fantasy genre I had not heard of Michael Moorcock or read any of his previous works. I feel that I can give a un-bias opinion of this new book for that reason. The book was, at first, very slow and I wasn't sure if I was reading a work of fiction or a biography. It was incredibly detailed and for me took a little while to get into, but when I did, WOW! I love that this book is actually a bit of a autobiography, touching on aspects of his life, but then has a wonderful mix of fantasy and steam-punk which blends so completely that you end up believing that these things all happened to him growing up. After reading this one I will be reading his earlier works too. Thank you for letting me read this.
March 25, 2015
Brilliant. Audacious. Frustrating. Experimental. The Whispering Swarm is all of these things. Moorcock has pushed boundaries here by combining autobiography with fantasy and although this sometimes jars when transitioning, it does even out as the story progresses. I liked it very much--a love song to a long-vanished London of the fifties and sixties--but would caution readers new to Moorcock to first delve into his other works. For those who are fans, this book will enlighten you further on the mysteries of the Multiverse.
February 15, 2015
I really wanted to like this book.
Michael Moorcock is one of the formative writers of my youth, I spent my teens curled up with dog-eared copies of his novels, drinking in the exploits of the eternal champion in all his incarnations: Elric, Corum and Hawkmoon. Especially Elric.
So I was stoked to see he had a new series coming, and jumped at the opportunity to review it.
Sadly, The Whispering Swarm didn’t wow me like his earlier works. But not for lack of trying.
Pitched as a tale about a group of monks who established a mysterious sanctuary in the heart of London during the reign of King Henry III, The Whispering Swarm confounded me almost immediately.
Mostly because it starts as autobiography. Moorcock recounting his early life growing up in post-war London, entering the publishing business, starting a family and engaging in swashbuckling adventures with legendary characters in a hidden part of London where time does not change.
Yep, Moorcock pulls a nice switch, transforming his stream of consciousness biography into a tale of high adventure filled with such larger than life literary figures as the Three Musketeers as well as historical figures like Andrew Marvell and Prince Rupert of the Rhine.
Moorcock eases the reader into his adventures slowly, the first third of the novel is primarily biography, the middle interweaves his real-world adventures with his initial forays into this alternate London, known as the Sanctuary, or Alsacia, while the final third is firmly in the realm of fantasy.
He first discovers Alsacia as a teen, working as editor of Tarzan Adventures magazine. Encountering a mysterious monk in a pub on Fleet Street, he is invited back to the monk’s home in Alsacia. Here he first meets the mysterious Moll Midnight, a dashing red-haired woman he initially mistakes for an actress. Soon however, he is robbing trains on horseback with the bold highwaywoman, a’la Dick Turpin (who also frequents the same pub in Alsacia).
Despite the thrill, he is hesitant to return, however, concentrating on his burgeoning writing career and his new wife, Helena. He does not forget his adventure in Alsacia, however, and it becomes the basis of his early work in pulp magazines. Or so he claims – my non-literary encounters with Moorcock’s work seemed to owe quite a bit to psychedelics, which would provide a more sensible excuse.
As he grows more successful throughout the ’60s, Moorcock finds himself plagued by a strange sort of tinnitus, the titular “Whispering Swarm”, which eventually draws him back to the Sanctuary and Alsacia. He learns the secrets behind the mysterious order of the White Friars, and becomes a character in his own adventure novel, albeit at a heavy price when both realities begin to spill over into each other.
As Moorcock writes:
“Memory is the foundation of identity…. We rewrite our own memories, of course, all the time. We create fresh narratives to use in our survival. We agree on fresh histories enabling us to take action. It is part of what makes us such flawed creatures. Creatures of narrative fiction creating cause and effect…. We are protagonists in our own novels.”
As I said, this was an intriguing premise, and The Whispering Swarm is gorgeously written. His adventures in Alsacia make me question the veracity of his real-life experiences, even if some were verifiable — Moorcock was the youngest editor of Tarzan Adventures, he was a guest of honor at the 1967 WorldCon in New York City. He was also a part-time rock musician, fronting a band called “The Deep Fix”.
Moorcock even throws nods to his own narrative creations, like Elric, Jerry Cornelius and even Karl Glogauer from Behold the Man, into his experiences in Alsacia. The monks and the cavaliers he encounters live in a world of universal absolutes, Law and Chaos, and we see the same figures affecting time and space in different places in our own universe. He is taking the underlying ideas from the rest of his works and applying them to his own life and our world history.
An ambitious conceit, which unfortunately didn’t quite work for me.
I can’t even really pinpoint where it fell apart. I liked the idea, I liked the writing but the story left me a little cold. When we were in Alsacia I wanted more biography, when we were dealing with domestic issues I wanted more adventure. And most of all I wanted some sort of explanation of the fuzzy metaphysics that became the focus of the finale.
There are still two more books to go in “The Chronicles of the White Friars”, so I look forward to learning more, even if The Whispering Swarm will never hold the same place as Stormbringer, Behold the Man, Gloriana or The Dancers at the End of Time.
August 14, 2015
Oh! The exclamation points!
December 21, 2019
I tried. I was not able to get into this story. I jumped ahead and looked through the story and it never changes.
August 9, 2015
First in a proposed ‘Sanctuary of the White Friars’ trilogy, The Whispering Swarm is a combination fantasy novel and fictionalised autobiography — quite a feat, if it can be managed, and who better to find a balance between these two apparent literary extremes than the man who spent a career balancing other opposites (Law and Chaos, pulp fantasy and literary fiction), Michael Moorcock?
The autobiographical element is, mostly, straight reminiscence & ramble, following Moorcock’s upbringing in a bustling post-WWII London: ‘It seemed as if I could live my entire life in a bubble less than half a mile across and find everyone I wanted to meet, everything I wanted to do!’ Like the real Michael Moorcock, this literary character Michael Moorcock begins editing Tarzan Adventures at the age of 17, then graduates to hack writer of pulp fiction and steersman at the helm of the British SF ‘New Wave’, thanks to his being given the reins of New Worlds magazine in the mid-sixties. He then brings on the swinging half of the 1960s in full, multicoloured regalia: sex, drugs, rock’n’roll, outrageous fashions, and a few famous names… Mostly, the famous names are real ones, so it took me a couple of pages to realise that ‘Jack Allard’, a fellow SF writer and William Burroughs enthusiast, who had ‘grown up under the German occupation’ of Guernsey, is of course J G Ballard, who grew up under the Japanese occupation of China. (Similarly, Rex Fisch is Thomas M Disch, and Jake Slade is presumably John Sladek.) Why the change of name in just these few instances? Hardly to hide who they really are! This, though, was the most fun part of the novel, for me — the one bit of Moorcock’s life I knew a bit about.
What about the fantasy part of the book? A fellow magazine editor, Friar Isidore, invites Moorcock to an area of London he’s never visited before, called the Alsacia, also Sanctuary. Here, an order of White Friars exists in a seemingly timeless pocket of old shops, old streets and old taverns, peopled by an oddly historical-looking mix of ‘Actors, vagabonds, cheapjacks, rum pads and balladeers’ — as well as highwaymen, Cavaliers, and four familiar-seeming French musketeers… Returning the next day to meet a fiery-headed young woman who caught his eye, Moorcock is distressed to find he can’t enter the Alsacia. You see, it’s not entirely in our world. It’s not, perhaps, entirely in any world, but other times (and perhaps other realities) can be reached through it. Since leaving it, Moorcock’s ears fill with a tinnitus-like susurration of murmurs, which he calls the Whispering Swarm, a maddening effect that can only be quelled by returning to this apparently impossible place.
For most of the book, Moorcock is torn between his real life and real family, and the companions and girlfriend he has in Alsacia. He spends a lot of the book agonising about the morality of living such a double life, as well as wondering if ‘Alsacia’ is imaginary, or even evidence of a fraying sanity. Rather too much time, in fact, as these parts of the book tended to be storyless and repetitive. But the book ends well, with a bit of old-time adventure, as Moorcock is recruited for an escapade that takes place a good two centuries before he was born…
Book one of three, I’ll certainly read the next.
The autobiographical element is, mostly, straight reminiscence & ramble, following Moorcock’s upbringing in a bustling post-WWII London: ‘It seemed as if I could live my entire life in a bubble less than half a mile across and find everyone I wanted to meet, everything I wanted to do!’ Like the real Michael Moorcock, this literary character Michael Moorcock begins editing Tarzan Adventures at the age of 17, then graduates to hack writer of pulp fiction and steersman at the helm of the British SF ‘New Wave’, thanks to his being given the reins of New Worlds magazine in the mid-sixties. He then brings on the swinging half of the 1960s in full, multicoloured regalia: sex, drugs, rock’n’roll, outrageous fashions, and a few famous names… Mostly, the famous names are real ones, so it took me a couple of pages to realise that ‘Jack Allard’, a fellow SF writer and William Burroughs enthusiast, who had ‘grown up under the German occupation’ of Guernsey, is of course J G Ballard, who grew up under the Japanese occupation of China. (Similarly, Rex Fisch is Thomas M Disch, and Jake Slade is presumably John Sladek.) Why the change of name in just these few instances? Hardly to hide who they really are! This, though, was the most fun part of the novel, for me — the one bit of Moorcock’s life I knew a bit about.
What about the fantasy part of the book? A fellow magazine editor, Friar Isidore, invites Moorcock to an area of London he’s never visited before, called the Alsacia, also Sanctuary. Here, an order of White Friars exists in a seemingly timeless pocket of old shops, old streets and old taverns, peopled by an oddly historical-looking mix of ‘Actors, vagabonds, cheapjacks, rum pads and balladeers’ — as well as highwaymen, Cavaliers, and four familiar-seeming French musketeers… Returning the next day to meet a fiery-headed young woman who caught his eye, Moorcock is distressed to find he can’t enter the Alsacia. You see, it’s not entirely in our world. It’s not, perhaps, entirely in any world, but other times (and perhaps other realities) can be reached through it. Since leaving it, Moorcock’s ears fill with a tinnitus-like susurration of murmurs, which he calls the Whispering Swarm, a maddening effect that can only be quelled by returning to this apparently impossible place.
For most of the book, Moorcock is torn between his real life and real family, and the companions and girlfriend he has in Alsacia. He spends a lot of the book agonising about the morality of living such a double life, as well as wondering if ‘Alsacia’ is imaginary, or even evidence of a fraying sanity. Rather too much time, in fact, as these parts of the book tended to be storyless and repetitive. But the book ends well, with a bit of old-time adventure, as Moorcock is recruited for an escapade that takes place a good two centuries before he was born…
Book one of three, I’ll certainly read the next.
June 29, 2022
4.5 stars.
A beautifully written autobiographical historical fantasy. Moorcock seamlessly blends his own autobiography of growing up in WW2-era and mod-era London with a 17th century cavalier adventure and some fantasy as a kicker.
As much as I enjoyed it, it probably is best aimed at somebody who has already read some Moorcock, or at least somebody who had some interest in his life. I say that because most of the less favorable reviews I've read seemed upset at not getting a hardcore fantasy novel (like Elric) and were not fans of hearing about Mr. Moorcock and his mother. I'm a longtime Moorcock fan, so the autobiographical parts were interesting to me.
Though this particular book might not be everyone's cup of tea, Moorcock shows once again why he's one of the very best writers (fantasy or otherwise) of his era.
A beautifully written autobiographical historical fantasy. Moorcock seamlessly blends his own autobiography of growing up in WW2-era and mod-era London with a 17th century cavalier adventure and some fantasy as a kicker.
As much as I enjoyed it, it probably is best aimed at somebody who has already read some Moorcock, or at least somebody who had some interest in his life. I say that because most of the less favorable reviews I've read seemed upset at not getting a hardcore fantasy novel (like Elric) and were not fans of hearing about Mr. Moorcock and his mother. I'm a longtime Moorcock fan, so the autobiographical parts were interesting to me.
Though this particular book might not be everyone's cup of tea, Moorcock shows once again why he's one of the very best writers (fantasy or otherwise) of his era.
January 17, 2016
I can only review the first 140 pages, as I couldn't read any further.
This book was filed as a fantasy novel in the library where I picked it up; I had no idea it was autobiographical as well. If I'd known this I'd have left it on the shelf. I like a bit more fantasy in my fantasy novels than this. Most of what I read was over-written and over-indulgent and got in the way of what might have been a pretty good story, albeit one I was finding had passages that made very little sense to me. The first few pages came across as nothing but bragging and it was a chore to read; it did nothing to benefit the story. By the end of what I read I was starting to forget what the story actually was. It's a shame, as I quite liked the fantasy location. Disappointing.
This book was filed as a fantasy novel in the library where I picked it up; I had no idea it was autobiographical as well. If I'd known this I'd have left it on the shelf. I like a bit more fantasy in my fantasy novels than this. Most of what I read was over-written and over-indulgent and got in the way of what might have been a pretty good story, albeit one I was finding had passages that made very little sense to me. The first few pages came across as nothing but bragging and it was a chore to read; it did nothing to benefit the story. By the end of what I read I was starting to forget what the story actually was. It's a shame, as I quite liked the fantasy location. Disappointing.
January 16, 2015
not that engaging after an intriguing start; the combination of autobiography and sfnalness didn't work for me - I would have much preferred a straight-out literary novel or even a semi-autobiography a la Knausgaard
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January 18, 2020
I will confess I forced myself to give this 2 stars instead of 1, for whilst I find it to be indelible self-important twaddle, I can see that Moorcock (an author I have never read but really would like to) has an intensely radiating imagination and a wonderful writing style. Sadly, this quasi-autobiography mushed up with sci-fi oddness is too much Ulysses and not quite enough War of the Worlds. Full review to follow.
March 9, 2015
Numa entrevista recente Moorcock referiu que este livro será, provavelmente, a última vez que conseguirá tentar fazer algo de novo em literatura. É notável que um veterano de longa idade resista ao conforto dos seus louros e insista em inovar na sua prosa. O resultado é um pouco desconcertante. The Whispering Swarm lê-se demasiado como o Hemingway de A Moveable Feast, embora contada por um exímio fabulista que entretece o fantástico com o real. Boa parte do livro incide num Moorcock auto-biográfico que nos fala e reflecte sobre a sua vida, a sua dedicação à literatura e as aventuras na Londres dos swinging sixties. No meio das muitas histórias da sua vida vai colocando pitadas de sobrenatural, que incrementa gradualmente até ao momento em que o fantástico que tanto desejamos toma conta do livro e coloca de lado a biografia do fabulista.
O romance não tem sido bem recebido pelo público, talvez por ser tão desconcertante e contrariar expectativas. Esperamos algo dentro do fantástico tradicional e sai-nos uma autobiografia fabulista em que a vida real vai perdendo terreno para um imaginário táctil ao longo das páginas. Algo que certamente desagradará aos fãs mais hardcore que estariam à espera de mais umas espadeiradas moralmente ambíguas à Elric ou deslumbres proto-steampunk com Cornelius.
No seu cerne está um mistério sondável, e um conceito fascinante para aqueles que como eu adoram os jogos geométricos do espaço urbano. Moorcock faz situar no centro histórico de Londres um local onde as regras do tempo se alteraram. Atravessar os portões e entrar no quarteirão junto ao rio que designa como Alsacia é entrar num mundo onde passados, presentes e futuros se misturam. Uma espécie de zona franca dos tempos possíveis, onde personagens históricos e ficcionais se mantém vivos para lá do seu tempo. Um local que parece fixo num eterno século XV, completo com casas soturnas à beira-rio, verdadeiras estalagens de taberneiros e um templo nominalmente cristão no seu epicentro. Um espaço isolado do fluir do tempo, mas que não lhe é imune. A arquitectura fixou-se num pós-medievalismo, os habitantes vivem num perpétuo século XV, os personagens das ficções pulp das várias eras partilham canecas de boa cerveja na estalagem, mas os artefactos das eras mais recentes encontram-se nas lojas e o jornal da abadia no centro do quarteirão é impresso nas gráficas da vizinha Fleet Street. Afinal, um jornal é um jornal, porque não ser impresso onde o eram os maiores jornais londrinos?
Em parte, este romance é um hino à cidade, a uma Londres vivida, nostálgica e idealizada, talvez longe do recreio europeu dos super-ricos em que parece estar a tornar-se. Hino à Londres do passado real de Moorcock, entre os swinging sixities, os clubes de música, as redacções dos jornais e revistas por onde passou. E hino à Londres histórica e fabulista, a capturar a imaginação de leitores e escritores.
O lado nostálgico também é perceptível neste livro. A vénia ao pulp clássico, aos heróis dos penny dreadfuls vitorianos ou dos romances juvenis do princípio do século, é muito profunda. Moorcock recupera personagens esquecidos e envolve-se romanticamente com uma aventureira do século XVI, porque, enfim, neste romance a barreira entre a realidade e ficção não existe. Alsacia é um espaço onde a ficção é real. Um dos homenageados é um certo Príncipe Rupert, que Moorcock nunca completa com o óbvio de Hentzau, que viaja pelo mundo em busca de elementos para um artefacto de mecânica cósmica e envolve Moorcock numa atribulada aventura para tentar salvar o pescoço do rei inglês deposto do machado dos algozes do parlamento de Cromwell, aventura cheia de peripécias dignas de Os Três Mosqueteiros. Que, já que os menciono, são personagens que também participam no livro. Refira-se que a homanegem às narrativas aventureiras do passado também é expressa pela própria estrutura do livro, feita de pequenos capítulos que se seguem a bom ritmo e deixam sempre algo em suspenso para ser continuado no seguinte.
Moorcock não faz grande segredo do artefacto guardado pela estranha ordem de monges que, nas suas próprias palavras, não se chateiam que sejam confundidos com cristãos porque isso lhes facilita a vida. Curiosa ordem sincrética, que conta entre os seus membros dispersos muçulmanos, judeus, budistas e hindus. Veneram a essência do divino sem se preocupar com a forma exterior e guardam um velhote quase eterno, um rabi de sabedoria intemporal.
The Whispering Swarm é um livro desconcertante. Não é o que se esperava do autor, com uma mistura entre ficção e auto-biografia que apesar da excelente prosa se torna por vezes cansativa. A veia geográfica, a homenagem à ficção popular de outros tempos e a um espírito mais inocente intrigam leitores mais conhecedores das referências de que o autor se apropria.
O romance não tem sido bem recebido pelo público, talvez por ser tão desconcertante e contrariar expectativas. Esperamos algo dentro do fantástico tradicional e sai-nos uma autobiografia fabulista em que a vida real vai perdendo terreno para um imaginário táctil ao longo das páginas. Algo que certamente desagradará aos fãs mais hardcore que estariam à espera de mais umas espadeiradas moralmente ambíguas à Elric ou deslumbres proto-steampunk com Cornelius.
No seu cerne está um mistério sondável, e um conceito fascinante para aqueles que como eu adoram os jogos geométricos do espaço urbano. Moorcock faz situar no centro histórico de Londres um local onde as regras do tempo se alteraram. Atravessar os portões e entrar no quarteirão junto ao rio que designa como Alsacia é entrar num mundo onde passados, presentes e futuros se misturam. Uma espécie de zona franca dos tempos possíveis, onde personagens históricos e ficcionais se mantém vivos para lá do seu tempo. Um local que parece fixo num eterno século XV, completo com casas soturnas à beira-rio, verdadeiras estalagens de taberneiros e um templo nominalmente cristão no seu epicentro. Um espaço isolado do fluir do tempo, mas que não lhe é imune. A arquitectura fixou-se num pós-medievalismo, os habitantes vivem num perpétuo século XV, os personagens das ficções pulp das várias eras partilham canecas de boa cerveja na estalagem, mas os artefactos das eras mais recentes encontram-se nas lojas e o jornal da abadia no centro do quarteirão é impresso nas gráficas da vizinha Fleet Street. Afinal, um jornal é um jornal, porque não ser impresso onde o eram os maiores jornais londrinos?
Em parte, este romance é um hino à cidade, a uma Londres vivida, nostálgica e idealizada, talvez longe do recreio europeu dos super-ricos em que parece estar a tornar-se. Hino à Londres do passado real de Moorcock, entre os swinging sixities, os clubes de música, as redacções dos jornais e revistas por onde passou. E hino à Londres histórica e fabulista, a capturar a imaginação de leitores e escritores.
O lado nostálgico também é perceptível neste livro. A vénia ao pulp clássico, aos heróis dos penny dreadfuls vitorianos ou dos romances juvenis do princípio do século, é muito profunda. Moorcock recupera personagens esquecidos e envolve-se romanticamente com uma aventureira do século XVI, porque, enfim, neste romance a barreira entre a realidade e ficção não existe. Alsacia é um espaço onde a ficção é real. Um dos homenageados é um certo Príncipe Rupert, que Moorcock nunca completa com o óbvio de Hentzau, que viaja pelo mundo em busca de elementos para um artefacto de mecânica cósmica e envolve Moorcock numa atribulada aventura para tentar salvar o pescoço do rei inglês deposto do machado dos algozes do parlamento de Cromwell, aventura cheia de peripécias dignas de Os Três Mosqueteiros. Que, já que os menciono, são personagens que também participam no livro. Refira-se que a homanegem às narrativas aventureiras do passado também é expressa pela própria estrutura do livro, feita de pequenos capítulos que se seguem a bom ritmo e deixam sempre algo em suspenso para ser continuado no seguinte.
Moorcock não faz grande segredo do artefacto guardado pela estranha ordem de monges que, nas suas próprias palavras, não se chateiam que sejam confundidos com cristãos porque isso lhes facilita a vida. Curiosa ordem sincrética, que conta entre os seus membros dispersos muçulmanos, judeus, budistas e hindus. Veneram a essência do divino sem se preocupar com a forma exterior e guardam um velhote quase eterno, um rabi de sabedoria intemporal.
The Whispering Swarm é um livro desconcertante. Não é o que se esperava do autor, com uma mistura entre ficção e auto-biografia que apesar da excelente prosa se torna por vezes cansativa. A veia geográfica, a homenagem à ficção popular de outros tempos e a um espírito mais inocente intrigam leitores mais conhecedores das referências de que o autor se apropria.
December 23, 2017
Sample quote: “Once focused on a literary book’s subject I never let it go and I talked on and on about it. The genre books were written so quickly you might not have noticed.”
Another sample quote (regarding Milton): “The freedom of choice he permitted his beloved Lucifer was precisely zero. Read that and you examine the American soul. Its great dilemma.”
The issue with this book, as reflected in earlier reviews, may well be that it isn’t any one thing, but an amalgam several things. I come to it having been a Moorcock fan since 1967 and Lancer’s The Stealer of Souls. I believe that I’ve read everything the man has had published in book form, including essays.
This book is a blend of fictionalized (how fictionalized is open to question at this reserve, but I’m fairly certain that he didn’t write any songs for The Move) autobiography with historical fantasy set mostly in 17th Century London and in a timeless pocket universe beyond the “moonbeam roads” called Alsacia. The fantasy elements range from wish fulfillment to what seems to be the working out of guilt. The book is also a love letter to the pulp fiction which MM grew up on. That influence is probably clearest in his Oswald Bastable series and his Second Ether Trilogy; the latter is referenced often. Certainly no one who has read the Second Either Trilogy would miss the similarities. Many characters are real. Many are taken from the reading obsessions of his boyhood. Others are variants on one or the other. It contains a fascinating, lived, history of the pulp, comic strip and SF magazine publishing industry from the 1950s up through (I’d estimate) 1972, as well as techniques of how to make a decent living writing for those outlets, techniques which MM”s career has used in abundance. Part of the book is a love letter to London, although less pure a one than, and consequently not as great as, Mother London. Other things to be found are a meditation on imagination, creativity and writing; on the intersection of memory and identity; on superstition and rationality; on anarchy and responsibility; on time travel and the English Civil War. The reader becomes at times exhausted by the extent of his learning and the intensity of his imagination.
An uneasy and not always successful blend of real life events with fantastic events, it has portraits of friends (some clearly named, others so very thinly disguised that the reader wonders why he bothered – e.g. “Jack Allard” whose novel “The Savagery Show” was pulped by his US publisher) and opinions on writers, music (skiffle, blues, bluegrass), cinema and art. It has sly references to many of his characters and series; it’s possible to see the genesis of many of them. It is frequently funny. The prose is clear and in a relatively rare, for MM, 1st person voice. It pulls together disparate threads from the early part of a full, remarkable, and artistically complex life. If it doesn’t reach the heights of his best work (such as The Pyat Quartet, Dancers at the End of Time, Mother London, The English, Assassin, The Adventures of Una Persson and Catherine Cornelius in the Twentieth Century, The Dreamthief’s Daughter), which are usually more focused in ambition, it’s certainly closer to his highs than it is to his weakest work, some of which feels rushed to meet deadlines and to get bread on the table (as this book even tells it). It’s significantly better than his 2000 roman à clef King of the City. It begins a summation of his life that he deserved (needed?) to write, and one that we are enriched by reading. It refers to itself as “Book One” and the autobiographical bits (which I confess that I preferred) end around the writing of Breakfast in the Ruins (1972). I hope health and his interest permit him to continue the series, but I’m certainly happy that we got this.
Another sample quote (regarding Milton): “The freedom of choice he permitted his beloved Lucifer was precisely zero. Read that and you examine the American soul. Its great dilemma.”
The issue with this book, as reflected in earlier reviews, may well be that it isn’t any one thing, but an amalgam several things. I come to it having been a Moorcock fan since 1967 and Lancer’s The Stealer of Souls. I believe that I’ve read everything the man has had published in book form, including essays.
This book is a blend of fictionalized (how fictionalized is open to question at this reserve, but I’m fairly certain that he didn’t write any songs for The Move) autobiography with historical fantasy set mostly in 17th Century London and in a timeless pocket universe beyond the “moonbeam roads” called Alsacia. The fantasy elements range from wish fulfillment to what seems to be the working out of guilt. The book is also a love letter to the pulp fiction which MM grew up on. That influence is probably clearest in his Oswald Bastable series and his Second Ether Trilogy; the latter is referenced often. Certainly no one who has read the Second Either Trilogy would miss the similarities. Many characters are real. Many are taken from the reading obsessions of his boyhood. Others are variants on one or the other. It contains a fascinating, lived, history of the pulp, comic strip and SF magazine publishing industry from the 1950s up through (I’d estimate) 1972, as well as techniques of how to make a decent living writing for those outlets, techniques which MM”s career has used in abundance. Part of the book is a love letter to London, although less pure a one than, and consequently not as great as, Mother London. Other things to be found are a meditation on imagination, creativity and writing; on the intersection of memory and identity; on superstition and rationality; on anarchy and responsibility; on time travel and the English Civil War. The reader becomes at times exhausted by the extent of his learning and the intensity of his imagination.
An uneasy and not always successful blend of real life events with fantastic events, it has portraits of friends (some clearly named, others so very thinly disguised that the reader wonders why he bothered – e.g. “Jack Allard” whose novel “The Savagery Show” was pulped by his US publisher) and opinions on writers, music (skiffle, blues, bluegrass), cinema and art. It has sly references to many of his characters and series; it’s possible to see the genesis of many of them. It is frequently funny. The prose is clear and in a relatively rare, for MM, 1st person voice. It pulls together disparate threads from the early part of a full, remarkable, and artistically complex life. If it doesn’t reach the heights of his best work (such as The Pyat Quartet, Dancers at the End of Time, Mother London, The English, Assassin, The Adventures of Una Persson and Catherine Cornelius in the Twentieth Century, The Dreamthief’s Daughter), which are usually more focused in ambition, it’s certainly closer to his highs than it is to his weakest work, some of which feels rushed to meet deadlines and to get bread on the table (as this book even tells it). It’s significantly better than his 2000 roman à clef King of the City. It begins a summation of his life that he deserved (needed?) to write, and one that we are enriched by reading. It refers to itself as “Book One” and the autobiographical bits (which I confess that I preferred) end around the writing of Breakfast in the Ruins (1972). I hope health and his interest permit him to continue the series, but I’m certainly happy that we got this.
Read
January 14, 2021It's always disappointing when an author you like turns out a book that's long winded and worst of all, disappointing. I like Moorcock, I find that he's certainly a clever and imaginative author, and I was pleasantly surprised by his moody and evocative deconstruction of heroic fantasy tropes with his Elric of Melnibone saga and I also heard from other sources that his longer works tend to be his better ones, in consideration of complexity, thematic material, and tone. Though unfortunately I didn't find any of that here. If there's one word that I would give to this book, it would be erratic.
There are moments of brilliance in this book, especially in regards to the mature tone that Moorcock gives in this novel as well as his attempt to take his time and allow himself to write something of merit. There are passages in this novel that simply took my breath away, but then there were other passages in this book that made me want to throw the book across the room because they would go on and on, as well as having some really uncomfortable passages (I really don't want to picture Michael Moorcock receiving fellatio). There's also Moorcock's characterization of himself, there were moments where his self deprecating wit had me enamored and then there were moments where Michael came off as neurotic and even whiny (I certainly understand his guilt over making mistakes and self loathing from time to time, but it becomes angsty and annoying by the end of the novel), I was certainly more intrigued by the fantasy elements of the novel than the real world shenanigans of the fictionalized Michael Moorcock, though there are also problems there as well.
Moorcock is playful, and full of wit, as previous books I've read of his have shown me, and he certainly brings that to the table in this novel as well when he isn't being a neurotic douchebag, and his playfulness certainly shines during the fantastical sequences of this novel, which I would argue are the better parts of the novel, until Moorcock weaves in a convoluted rescue plot that not only goes nowhere, but also drags in its execution. There were also points in this novel where I didn't really know what to make of it, as I got confused on what was going on in several parts of the novel.
The idea that Moorcock presents in this novel is an intriguing one, it's not the most original idea that's been put out there, but it's certainly intriguing. Moorcock has always been fond of dubbing himself a 'bad writer with big ideas' and like I said, that same self-deprecating wit shines through this novel in some of its best passages, but I find that Moorcock has shot a dud with this one, and has even been surpassed in this same concept by authors that he himself influenced such as Gaiman, Mieville, and Moore, and its something that's sad to see and I think that Moorcock could've done a lot better with the concept at hand, as well as with his story.
As I've noted in the past, there's some authors who've lost their touch as they've aged, such as Gene Wolfe or one of Moorcock's heroes Fritz Leiber. I certainly hope that it is not the case that Moorcock is starting to fall into the same fate as these authors, as I can't stand to see yet another gifted author disappear into the abyss because of some lackluster efforts, and Moorcock is simply too talented to be overlooked.
God, I hope Gloriana doesn't turn out to be as long winded without going anywhere as this.
May 5, 2015
This review originally published in Looking For a Good Book. Rated 4.5 of 5
It has been awhile since I read a Michael Moorcock book, but back in the 1970's I was quite enamored not just of hs popular Elric series, but his Cornelius books and Eternal Champion books as well. When I saw that there was this new Moorcock book available, I was eager to get in to it, and bumped it up my reading list.
You can see, simply by looking at the cover, that this is book one in "The Sanctuary of the White Friars." So...a new fantasy series. I'm tingling with excitement!
As I began to read, I was confused. A fantasy? This reads like a biography! Michael Moorcock is the main character in this Michael Moorcock book, and he talks about his early days; about his editing; his writing; his family life. Though I don't know anything about Moorcock, and this biography could 100% made up, it certainly offers enough little detail about his works that it feels as though the biographical details are real. Though I must admit that, being autobiographical, he does seem to put himself on a sizable pedestal and pat himself on the back more than a little (he is also pursued and loved by women and though he essentially has two wives and neither will tolerate the other, he, of course is so grand that they are willing to put up with sharing).
But this is a fantasy, and not just a romantic or sexual fantasy. Moorcock slowly weaves in the fantasy story, offering hints of it early, and it's not really too difficult to pick out, except that he does make the biography so real, so personal. But by the end of this book, the fantasy story has taken over.
Moorcock writes about his life, and his occasional visits to a sanctuary he knows as the Alsacia which exists out of time, though Moorcock's visits bring him in touch with figures from the past (including, but not limited to, the three (four) musketeers).
***WARNING -- POTENTIAL SPOILER ALERT***
It is through his connections at the Alsacia, that Moorcock learns he has an ability to travel through space/time/alternate realities, and this ability is encouraged and developed with help from the friars who oversee the Alsacia. These friars, it seems, have been charged with a special duty to protect a holy object, and Moorcock is brought in to the holy war.
Although this is a book one, it does stand alone as a solitary book, with enough of a tease to get you to want to read more (as opposed to what I despise, which is a book that doesn't conclude its story). I'm definitely interested in reading on in this new series.
Moorcock does a masterful job of weaving his biography and his fantasy. It's like an Escher painting in words, where it starts out with one look, and slowly changes until it has a completely different look to it. It's a brilliant piece of writing.
Fans of Moorcock and fans of strong fantasy series' should enjoy this book, though it does take a little effort to get past Moorcock's ego, especially early in the book.
Looking for a good book? A biography that's not a biography? A religious theme that doesn't pertain to any religion? Master fantasy writer Michael Moorcock delivers the unexpected (just as you might expect from Moorcock) in this book, The Whispering Swarm.
I received a digital copy of this book from the publisher, through Netgalley, in exchange for an honest review.
It has been awhile since I read a Michael Moorcock book, but back in the 1970's I was quite enamored not just of hs popular Elric series, but his Cornelius books and Eternal Champion books as well. When I saw that there was this new Moorcock book available, I was eager to get in to it, and bumped it up my reading list.
You can see, simply by looking at the cover, that this is book one in "The Sanctuary of the White Friars." So...a new fantasy series. I'm tingling with excitement!
As I began to read, I was confused. A fantasy? This reads like a biography! Michael Moorcock is the main character in this Michael Moorcock book, and he talks about his early days; about his editing; his writing; his family life. Though I don't know anything about Moorcock, and this biography could 100% made up, it certainly offers enough little detail about his works that it feels as though the biographical details are real. Though I must admit that, being autobiographical, he does seem to put himself on a sizable pedestal and pat himself on the back more than a little (he is also pursued and loved by women and though he essentially has two wives and neither will tolerate the other, he, of course is so grand that they are willing to put up with sharing).
But this is a fantasy, and not just a romantic or sexual fantasy. Moorcock slowly weaves in the fantasy story, offering hints of it early, and it's not really too difficult to pick out, except that he does make the biography so real, so personal. But by the end of this book, the fantasy story has taken over.
Moorcock writes about his life, and his occasional visits to a sanctuary he knows as the Alsacia which exists out of time, though Moorcock's visits bring him in touch with figures from the past (including, but not limited to, the three (four) musketeers).
***WARNING -- POTENTIAL SPOILER ALERT***
It is through his connections at the Alsacia, that Moorcock learns he has an ability to travel through space/time/alternate realities, and this ability is encouraged and developed with help from the friars who oversee the Alsacia. These friars, it seems, have been charged with a special duty to protect a holy object, and Moorcock is brought in to the holy war.
Although this is a book one, it does stand alone as a solitary book, with enough of a tease to get you to want to read more (as opposed to what I despise, which is a book that doesn't conclude its story). I'm definitely interested in reading on in this new series.
Moorcock does a masterful job of weaving his biography and his fantasy. It's like an Escher painting in words, where it starts out with one look, and slowly changes until it has a completely different look to it. It's a brilliant piece of writing.
Fans of Moorcock and fans of strong fantasy series' should enjoy this book, though it does take a little effort to get past Moorcock's ego, especially early in the book.
Looking for a good book? A biography that's not a biography? A religious theme that doesn't pertain to any religion? Master fantasy writer Michael Moorcock delivers the unexpected (just as you might expect from Moorcock) in this book, The Whispering Swarm.
I received a digital copy of this book from the publisher, through Netgalley, in exchange for an honest review.
November 20, 2016
If anything this book feels like a bridge between worlds and not just in the literal sense as described in the narrative. Moorcock has always slipped moments of autobiography into his work, moments where he is glimpsed in the ruins, or as an inheritor of a leaf of tall tales passed on by an ancestor or random stranger. So this is an autobiography, a book about Moorcock's early forays into publishing and writing. As the teenage editor of Tarzan Adventures, as a journalist mingling with his peers on fleet street, as an author finding his way while supporting a young family.
He is a man whose creations take on a life of their own, drawing him into the midst of a fantastic realm in the midst of London. A place at the nexus of the moonbeam roads, where the progress of time and the rules of reality are bent out of alignment, where history and fantasy mix and merge. He finds the woman of his dreams, who immediately drags him into the life of a highwayman, raiding trams in the leafy glades just outside the city. He becomes a man caught between two lives in two very different places, the idyllic sanctuary where these figures from history and literature mix and at times war, and the world outside where emotional turmoil and the sounds of the whispering swarm are never far away.
If the Second Ether novels (Blood, Fabulous Harbours, A War Amongst the Angels) were the first steps in finding a new language to describe the multiverse and express its complexity, then this is another step on that path. It's not as loud or colourful, the backdrop is a heart of London out of time under siege from Cromwell and his minions, assorted highwayman, cavaliers and characters borrowed from Dumas. In fact at times it is as though Dumas has rode cart and horses through the story. There are no albino's wielding soul sucking swords, bat-winged cats or lords of chaos. Instead a quiet sanctuary, housed by monks protecting an ancient treasure and the secrets of metaphysics, under siege in more ways than one.
It's a book only Moorcock could have discovered, wrought as it is from over half a century of literary explorations, and for a book that is the start of a trilogy it feels satisfyingly complete.
He is a man whose creations take on a life of their own, drawing him into the midst of a fantastic realm in the midst of London. A place at the nexus of the moonbeam roads, where the progress of time and the rules of reality are bent out of alignment, where history and fantasy mix and merge. He finds the woman of his dreams, who immediately drags him into the life of a highwayman, raiding trams in the leafy glades just outside the city. He becomes a man caught between two lives in two very different places, the idyllic sanctuary where these figures from history and literature mix and at times war, and the world outside where emotional turmoil and the sounds of the whispering swarm are never far away.
If the Second Ether novels (Blood, Fabulous Harbours, A War Amongst the Angels) were the first steps in finding a new language to describe the multiverse and express its complexity, then this is another step on that path. It's not as loud or colourful, the backdrop is a heart of London out of time under siege from Cromwell and his minions, assorted highwayman, cavaliers and characters borrowed from Dumas. In fact at times it is as though Dumas has rode cart and horses through the story. There are no albino's wielding soul sucking swords, bat-winged cats or lords of chaos. Instead a quiet sanctuary, housed by monks protecting an ancient treasure and the secrets of metaphysics, under siege in more ways than one.
It's a book only Moorcock could have discovered, wrought as it is from over half a century of literary explorations, and for a book that is the start of a trilogy it feels satisfyingly complete.
June 28, 2020
This is typical Moorcock. It's audacious and original. A memoir and a fine example of why this author is a revered fantasist. It's quite a statement, detailing sexual and literary conquest. The author certainly doesn't hide his light under a bushel! The period does come out in all it's warts and wonders and sometimes one finds Mr Moorcock a bit of a braggart. However, as this is the memoir of a writer of largely fantastic fiction the reader gets a parallel journey into the fantastic which is a lot of fun and superbly well done. The style goes from pulp fiction to really brilliantly well crafted historical recreation and then some so as to parallel the authors actual journey as a writer. Apparently this is the first part of a trilogy, can't wait for the next installment.
December 7, 2016
In my early twenties I came down with something of a Moorcock obsession, reading a ton of his work, especially the Jerry Cornelius stuff (A Cure for Cancer and The English Assassin remain essential) and his brilliant London fictions: Mother London, King of the City and London Bone. In backwards fashion, I ended up reading his more pulpy works like Elric and Corum later. I was very taken at the time with his cheerful iconoclasm of writers like Tolkien, who I considered stuffy and conservative (and still do). Moorcock provided a real antidote to the conservative tendencies of fantasy and sci-fi, and as such was very exciting.
The Whispering Swarm, his latest novel, is a curious mix of autobiography, his London fiction and swashbuckling pulp
I think the novel works best if you have an interest in Moorcock himself and his life story – as it's the story of a young writer and editor called Michael Moorcock in 1960s London who finds a door to a secret and magical undiscovered part of London called the Alsacia. Moorcock is surprisingly candid about how awfully he treats his wife and family, abandoning them for long periods to live in the Alsacia (a fairly obvious metaphor for the life of the SFFH writer, or at least one like Moorcock) with the inevitable negative consequences.
I was mainly interested in the accounts of his (semi-fictionalised) life as editor of New Worlds, how he created characters like Elric and Cornelius and his friendship with people such as Jack Allard and Rex Fisch (i.e. J.G. Ballard and Thomas Disch). I appreciate the metaphor of retreating into fantasy-land at the expense of friends and family, but there were too many lengthy sections of pulp swashbuckling that ultimately detracted from the meat of the story. I realised that Moorcock can write literary fiction AND genre pulp about 15-years ago; it seems odd that this point is stressed so heavily here. Still, when The Whispering Swarm works it's wonderful and definitely worth your time.
The Whispering Swarm, his latest novel, is a curious mix of autobiography, his London fiction and swashbuckling pulp
I think the novel works best if you have an interest in Moorcock himself and his life story – as it's the story of a young writer and editor called Michael Moorcock in 1960s London who finds a door to a secret and magical undiscovered part of London called the Alsacia. Moorcock is surprisingly candid about how awfully he treats his wife and family, abandoning them for long periods to live in the Alsacia (a fairly obvious metaphor for the life of the SFFH writer, or at least one like Moorcock) with the inevitable negative consequences.
I was mainly interested in the accounts of his (semi-fictionalised) life as editor of New Worlds, how he created characters like Elric and Cornelius and his friendship with people such as Jack Allard and Rex Fisch (i.e. J.G. Ballard and Thomas Disch). I appreciate the metaphor of retreating into fantasy-land at the expense of friends and family, but there were too many lengthy sections of pulp swashbuckling that ultimately detracted from the meat of the story. I realised that Moorcock can write literary fiction AND genre pulp about 15-years ago; it seems odd that this point is stressed so heavily here. Still, when The Whispering Swarm works it's wonderful and definitely worth your time.
November 17, 2023
This book is so weird that I don't know where to start. But it's so good that if you're a Michael Moorcock fan, it is essential. Don't miss it!
Re-read Edit: I'll give it a shot in brief: Weirdly autobiographical, this book tells the story of Moorcock's life, growing up in WWII and postwar Britain. It's autobiographical . . . until it isn't . . .? He discovers a hidden district of London - Alsacia, the Sanctuary of the White Friars (which was based on a real thing in London at one time!)- which seems to somehow exist outside of time. While living his life as an author in London (writing Elric and Jerry Cornelius books, among other things), he also keeps going back to visit this hidden world which partakes of the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries, and where historical fictional and legendary characters (such as the Three Musketeers) are real, and becomes involved in a plot to save King Charles I from execution (to change history), and although he has a wife and children in the "real" world has an ongoing affair with a female highwayman named Molly in the Sanctuary, and . . . and . . . how much is real, how much is fantasy, and what is the line between the two? AND it is not entirely clear whether or not this world somehow partakes of the "multiverse" of Moorcock's other fiction!
Re-read Edit: I'll give it a shot in brief: Weirdly autobiographical, this book tells the story of Moorcock's life, growing up in WWII and postwar Britain. It's autobiographical . . . until it isn't . . .? He discovers a hidden district of London - Alsacia, the Sanctuary of the White Friars (which was based on a real thing in London at one time!)- which seems to somehow exist outside of time. While living his life as an author in London (writing Elric and Jerry Cornelius books, among other things), he also keeps going back to visit this hidden world which partakes of the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries, and where historical fictional and legendary characters (such as the Three Musketeers) are real, and becomes involved in a plot to save King Charles I from execution (to change history), and although he has a wife and children in the "real" world has an ongoing affair with a female highwayman named Molly in the Sanctuary, and . . . and . . . how much is real, how much is fantasy, and what is the line between the two? AND it is not entirely clear whether or not this world somehow partakes of the "multiverse" of Moorcock's other fiction!
March 28, 2016
Oh. Oh, my! I've been a Moorcock fan for a long, long time and once again, the master did not disappoint! Having read the various reviews on this book, I can only say as a fan, I know what he's doing here (and it's not what you think! :)) The mixture of quasi-biography was interesting, and any longtime fan will recognize the glimpses into Moorcock's life, but I especially enjoyed it, not only for the raucous adventure of the battle to save Charles, but especially for all the little easter eggs hidden in the text--that begin right off the bat.
I won't spoil the book by giving things away, but let me just say if you read back over his other books (particularly The Dancers series, the Second Ether, and the Von Beck stories, you'll see the easter eggs better). Keep in mind, the author is a character in this story, not truly himself, so it is a biography, but it's not. He's a character in his own mulitverse and revisioning his own history. (I came to these conclusions via papers I found in my grandmother's attic ;))
Fantastic book. I can't wait for the second installment!
I won't spoil the book by giving things away, but let me just say if you read back over his other books (particularly The Dancers series, the Second Ether, and the Von Beck stories, you'll see the easter eggs better). Keep in mind, the author is a character in this story, not truly himself, so it is a biography, but it's not. He's a character in his own mulitverse and revisioning his own history. (I came to these conclusions via papers I found in my grandmother's attic ;))
Fantastic book. I can't wait for the second installment!
March 19, 2016
As a young man growing up in Central London, Michael Moorcock discovers the sanctuary known as "The Alsacia". As he grows older, becomes more successful and has his own family, the pull of the Alsacia draws him back until, finally, he becomes involved with a plot to stop King Charles being beheaded, and what was once a sanctuary becomes the stuff of nightmares.
I should imagine that this is a " marmite" book for a lot of people and, luckily for me, I was certainly one who really enjoyed it. I have not read any Moorcock novels before and know nothing about his life, but I absolutely loved the way that this novel was written - as an autobiography but with the Alsacia parts interwoven with what does sound like his real life at the time.
The Alsacia itself is really well imagined and the characters likeable. Michael himself, is also very well written and sympathetic, even though some of his decisions are, frankly, well past selfish. All in all, this was a very engaging book to read and I really enjoyed it.
I should imagine that this is a " marmite" book for a lot of people and, luckily for me, I was certainly one who really enjoyed it. I have not read any Moorcock novels before and know nothing about his life, but I absolutely loved the way that this novel was written - as an autobiography but with the Alsacia parts interwoven with what does sound like his real life at the time.
The Alsacia itself is really well imagined and the characters likeable. Michael himself, is also very well written and sympathetic, even though some of his decisions are, frankly, well past selfish. All in all, this was a very engaging book to read and I really enjoyed it.
February 22, 2015
“… There was Blackfriars Bridge and the rich waters of the river, marbled by rainbow oil, poisonous and invigorating, buzzing like speed. What immune systems that environment gave us! It was an energy shield out of a science fiction story. The city lived through all attacks and so did we. Our bit of it – almost the eye of the storm – was scarcely touched. I grew up knowing I would survive. We all knew it.”
Michael Moorcock is one of Those Names in the SFF field. Larger than life, striding across the 1960s in his velvets, lace and plumed hats with his rock-and-roll band, his British accent, his Eternal Champion and a plethora of sex partners, he and his colleagues created “the New Wave” movement. In The Whispering Swarm, Moorcock revisits those years and his earlier life, growing up in London during and after World War II. At ... Read More: http://www.fantasyliterature.com/revi...
Michael Moorcock is one of Those Names in the SFF field. Larger than life, striding across the 1960s in his velvets, lace and plumed hats with his rock-and-roll band, his British accent, his Eternal Champion and a plethora of sex partners, he and his colleagues created “the New Wave” movement. In The Whispering Swarm, Moorcock revisits those years and his earlier life, growing up in London during and after World War II. At ... Read More: http://www.fantasyliterature.com/revi...
May 11, 2018
In The Whispering Swarm, the legendary and prolific creator of Elric, the albino Prince of Melniboné and other aspects of the Eternal Champion attempts to blend a memoir of his early personal and writing life with a story entwined in travelling the silver strands of the multiverse. It didn’t work.
Someone of Moorcock’s skill and experience should have realized that. Yes, memoir often borrows from the tools of fiction to smooth the narrative, creating composite characters and condensing time lines and the like, but here, all that has been done is obscure anything resembling accountability.
The fantasy suffers as well. If the hero has kids in the real world, he really should be getting back to them. If Moorcock had split this work into two, we might have had a couple of decent books, but as it stands, we have a curious experiment that might appeal to fans, but likely no one else.
Someone of Moorcock’s skill and experience should have realized that. Yes, memoir often borrows from the tools of fiction to smooth the narrative, creating composite characters and condensing time lines and the like, but here, all that has been done is obscure anything resembling accountability.
The fantasy suffers as well. If the hero has kids in the real world, he really should be getting back to them. If Moorcock had split this work into two, we might have had a couple of decent books, but as it stands, we have a curious experiment that might appeal to fans, but likely no one else.
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