And who wouldn’t want to be a thing at play here? Wouldn’t you love to be seated before these curtains, waiting for the show to begin?  Clive Hicks-Jenkins has the creational details at his Artlog …. Which reminds me, let’s all book early for Great Small Works’ Toy Theatre Festival this year.

…posts about Under the Poppy‘s cover here, as well he might, being on it. Thank you, Jonas!

Do you know Parliament & Wake? Can you speak Polari? Do you need a new corset? Is your reality spectacular enough? Have you seen “Berlin”? or “Nutcracker Rouge”? Has your puppet threshold been crossed? … So much to do in the New Year, so much to see. Remember

“What good is sitting alone in your room?
Come hear the music play.
Life is a Cabaret, old chum,
Come to the Cabaret.”

See you at the Opera House!

… some sprightly air, what was it? “Cupid’s Garden,” yes, Come with me to Cupid’s Garden, trickling notes like a silver fountain in the sun, where was that fountain? that he and Istvan saw once on their travels, not real silver of course but it shone in the sun like Paradise, and the water was cold and clean….Behind the bar, tucked beneath the locked and hoarded gin, is a smaller brandy bottle, filled now with whiskey the color of old gold. Perhaps that runs through the fountains of Cupid’s garden, if only one could find the way.

He leaves now via the stage, out a side passage, back to the hall, the stairs, heading it seems for his roost on the roof — then halts instead as if compelled before the Cell, pushing with the bottle’s lip at the door, to open it a finger’s width on Istvan, legs crossed, hair loose, bent studious as a boy over Pan Loudermilk, the world around him less than a dream and “Working?” says Rupert, on the threshold now; he makes a tired little smile.  “Incorrigible.  It’s a holiday, messire.”

Istvan smiles in return, rising to close the door, turn the flimsy lock and “I prefer,” he says, “to think of myself as steadfast.” Gently pushing aside Pan’s body, making room on the little cot.  “And every fucking day a holiday.”

Black frost crawls the foggy skylight. The whiskey tastes of midsummer, of shining days that never end.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

May your own holidays be very happy ones.

…with a holiday thumbs-up to Under the Poppy. Thanks, Robert del Valle!

And thanks too to reader Maris, whose Amazon review notes that:

“I love this book. I’ve read it twice now, the first time as fast as I could since I had to know what happened, and the second time slowly, savoring the rich language, the heat and beauty and ragged sadness of the story. I will say that it may not be for everyone; if you like your sentences and your plots straightforward in structure, if you’re offended by prostitutes and priapic puppets and men in love, then sadly this book probably isn’t for you. On the other hand, it’s bawdy, sweeping, wildly cinematic, complicated and intoxicating; if that appeals, read this book. Think Tom Waits, wobbling accordions, whisky-soaked in the dark.”

And indeed it is not for everyone; which is a virtue.

At Small Beer’s Not A Journal, my take on the glamour and danger behind the eyes and the masking smile of the beautiful trickster, like Marlowe’s Gaveston, say, to whom Under the Poppy‘s own Istvan would surely recognize and celebrate a debt of gratitude (or Feste: “Now the melancholy god protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal”).  If fun is where you make it, well then, in this company is fun forevermore. There is nothing more ravishing than a trickster, in all sense of the word.

…and today they were all over: at the Cass Cafe in midtown Detroit -

- and with Craig Fahle on WDET, who interviewed me this morning, and blushed a bit at the novel’s passionate action -

- and praised by Christy at Readin’ and Dreamin’ who notes that “Under the Poppy is my kind of novel. It is a pure character driven story. . . . The writing was so intricate and gorgeous. Sometimes I went back to read over a section because I wanted to make sure I caught everything, but sometimes I went back just to reread the words again and again.

…wherein I’m a guest on the Craig Fahle Show tomorrow on WDET 101.9 FM, and where-also-in I talk about Under the Poppy, and make an important and very exciting announcement about the stage presentation: all of which will be great fun, so if it’s fun you’re after … well, you know the rest. Craig Fahle’s show is 10 AM – noon and repeated 7-9 PM, so please do listen in.

One arm warm around his neck, thin ropy arm in the ragged greatcoat, silver braid on his collar, Lieutenant Flat-Boy, rent boy,from behind with his hair in braids he can be a rent girl, too.  He can be whatever you want, whatever you pay for, for as long as you pay, or until he decides to be something else. Like mercury on glass, Mercury the patron of thieves and travelers, feathers on his helmet, wings on his feet.

Writing a piece on the pleasures of the mask for Small Beer brought me to a peek back into the text, Istvan the character most at home in that home of artifice, happiest behind the mask … Here he is as a boy, portrait of the artist as a young con artist, quick on his feathery feet, already in love for a lifetime.