NEW RELEASE: RITE OF SUMMER BY TESS BOWERY

Blurb:

Description

There are terrors worse than stage fright. Like falling in love.

Violinist Stephen Ashbrook is passionate about three things—his music, the excitement of life in London, and his lover, Evander Cade. It’s too bad that Evander only loves himself. A house party at their patron’s beautiful country estate seems like a chance for Stephen to remember who he is, when he’s not trying to live up to someone else’s harsh expectations.

Joshua Beaufort, a painter whose works are very much in demand among the right sort of people, has no expectations about this party at all. Until, that is, he finds out who else is on the guest list. Joshua swore off love long ago, but has been infatuated with Stephen since seeing his brilliant performance at Vauxhall. Now he has the chance to meet the object of his lust face to face—and more.

But changing an open relationship to a triad is a lot more complicated than it seems, and while Evander’s trying to climb the social ladder, Stephen’s trying to climb Joshua. When the dust settles, only two will remain standing…when they’re not flat on their backs.

Available now from SamhainARe and Amazon.com, .co.uk

 

The shady side of Victorian London

The shady side of Victorian London

My about-to-be-released book, A Case of Possession, is set a slightly alternate Victorian London. There’s magic, but otherwise it’s not unlike the real city. So, since the Wellcome Collection have just made an incredible archive free to use, here’s a glimpse of what Stephen and Crane’s London looked like.

My hero, Lord Crane, is a smuggler, China trader and recently promoted earl. That means he gets to live somewhere very nice, with things like gas and hot water and personal space.  He is more interested in his business than high society and glittering parties, so he’s generally at his office in Limehouse, in the East End, right where the Thames does its bendy thing and the Da! Da! Dadadada’ drum starts off. (If you have never watches EastEnders, that will make no sense to you, but console yourself with the thought that you have never watched EastEnders.)

Limehouse

In the 1870s and 80s, the East End had taken over from the now-demolished rookeries as the place with the worst reputation in the country. The (tiny) Chinese immigrant population became the centre of novelists’ lurid imaginings and newspaper racism. Dickens put an East End opium-den scene in the Mystery of Edwin Drood. Here’s the popular image (note the three kinds of scary foreign people for extra racism).

L0017427 J.C. Dollman's"London sketches-an opium den at the East End"

Interestingly, it seems that all the newspaper reports of opium dens were based on just one place, run by a Chinese man and his English wife, and presumably doing a roaring trade in getting lazy journalists stoned.

The East End was the dark, foreign, dangerous bit of London, the no-go area, where gentlemen went to slum it and Jack the Ripper added to the appalling total of murdered women. Oscar Wilde sent Dorian Grey off to Shadwell and the Docks, and had him hanging around ‘foreign sailors in a low den in the distant parts of Whitechapel’ to show just how debased he was. Mostly, it was horrifically, disgustingly poor. This image of Whitechapel is pretty romanticised, in that the kids look quite clean and not drunk.

L0000878 Wentworth st, Whitechapel

London was grossly overcrowded, and it didn’t help that vast swathes of slum housing were torn down to make way for railways, without any provision for rehousing. At the same time immigrants were piling into the city (mostly from other parts of England), which led to a chronic housing shortage.

L0073465 Illustration depicting cramped and squalid housing conditions

There was enough poverty and desperation and brutality that it’s amazing anybody needed to invent any. I like to write horror and grotesque dark magic in my books, but the real stories of the seething, overcrowded, callous Victorian city beggar belief.

Here’s one of my favourite examples of that. Let me tell you about Enon Chapel.

Enon Chapel was a chapel built over a burial vault. Its minister had offered burials for a bargain price, and made the sums add up by cramming twelve thousand corpses into a pit measuring twelve by sixty feet. Right under the chapel. Separated only by a board floor. Where they stayed, rotting, for seventeen years before people wondered why the smell was so bad. (Worshippers regularly passed out. You have to wonder what the rest of London smelled like that it took seventeen years for anyone to say, ‘Do you think there might be something dead under there?’)

Unsurprisingly, the chapel was closed as a place of worship. Slightly more surprisingly, it was bought by new owners who reopened it, in an impressive PR coup, as…a party venue.

Enon Chapel – Dancing on the Dead – Admission Threepence. No lady or gentleman admitted unless wearing shoes and stockings.

L0073464 Illustration of a dance hall above a cemetary area

 

Which is something to think about the next time a politician talks about Victorian values.

 

(All images courtesy of Wellcome who have just made a vast swathe of images freely accessible. )

A Case of Possession by KJ Charles comes out on 28 January. KJ is on Twitter @kj_charles and blogs at kjcharleswriter.wordpress.com.

 

Blurb:

A Charm of Magpies, Book 2

Lord Crane has never had a lover quite as elusive as Stephen Day. True, Stephen’s job as justiciar requires secrecy, but the magician’s disappearing act bothers Crane more than it should. When a blackmailer threatens to expose their illicit relationship, Crane knows a smart man would hop the first ship bound for China. But something unexpectedly stops him. His heart.

Stephen has problems of his own. As he investigates a plague of giant rats sweeping London, his sudden increase in power, boosted by his blood-and-sex bond with Crane, is rousing suspicion that he’s turned warlock. With all eyes watching him, the threat of exposure grows. Stephen could lose his friends, his job and his liberty over his relationship with Crane. He’s not sure if he can take that risk much longer. And Crane isn’t sure if he can ask him to.

The rats are closing in, and something has to give…

 

Victorian England: not boring.

Quote

I’m giving away a free copy of The Magpie Lord in the electronic format of your choice! Just leave a comment below, naming your favourite Victorian thing to enter the draw! (Anything Victorian – building, social innovation, person, book, sewage system, monarch…actually, maybe not monarch.) Contest closes 9am GMT 21 August. 

GIVEAWAY FINISHED. Thank you to everyone who took part.

***

Victorian England: not boring.

Friend: So what’s your book about?
KJ: It’s a Victorian gay fantasy mystery romance with magic, sex and violence.
Friend: Well, anything to make the Victorians less boring.

We all know the Victorians are dull, right? They never had sex, and they put frilly bloomers on their piano legs. They hassled fallen women and gay men and countries that didn’t belong to them. They wrote gigantic novels about politics and bonnets. Some of them built an iron bridge, or maybe a canal. Yawn.

Well, people are misinformed. Here are some of my favourite facts about Victorian England.

The Victorians were mostly high, or drunk, or both.

You could buy as much opium as you liked from the chemist. Mrs Beeton advised housewives to stock up on both powdered and liquid forms. Teething babies got a mixture of opium and black treacle. Florence Nightingale took it regularly (smack that nurse up), while the Prime Minister William Gladstone got buzzed on laudanum, a mix of opium and booze, before making speeches. John Sutherland writes of Wilkie Collins 

“During attacks [of venereal disease] his eyes were described as looking like “bags of blood”. Secretaries left his employment because they couldn’t stand the screams that punctuated his dictation. His medicine of choice was laudanum, which he consumed by the pint, with bottles of champagne as chaser (“refreshing”, he said). He claimed to have written chunks of The Moonstone so stoned that he didn’t recognise his work.”

Victorian England used arsenic like it was…um… not arsenic.

It was used in wallpaper, playing cards, the binding of children’s books, dresses, hat decorations, toys. This was not ignorance, just a robust attitude to Health and Safety and a keen sense of aesthetics. Toxicologist Alfred Taylor was a little narked to learn that his baker’s shelves were painted with arsenic-laden colours that flaked off onto the loaves. The painter admitted that the paint was deadly, but “without arsenic it is impossible to get a good green.”  Oh, well, that’s all right, then.

Victorian England had a press much like modern Britain. Sadly.

Snapshots, concealed cameras and the like came in from the 1880s. Queen Victorian got papped at the Diamond Jubilee in 1897. Penny Pictorial Magazine ran a regular page of photographs headed ‘Taken Unawares: Surreptitious snapshots of celebrities.’ (They hadn’t really got the headline thing down.)

The first tabloid Shock Paedo Sting took place in 1885 when crusading journalist WT Stead bought a prepubescent girl from her mother as a stunt, then ran a massive campaign against the sex trafficking of children. He called it ‘The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon.’ (See what I mean about headlines?)

Victorian fiction is nuts.

Think it’s all spinsters in bonnets discussing the vicar? Oh, no, my child, this is what Victorian England was reading:

Lady Audley’s Secret  by ME Braddon: bigamous heroine deserts her child, pushes first husband down a well, plots to poison second husband and attempts to kill off enemies by arson. A huge hit.

Poor Miss Finch by Wilkie Collins. A young blind woman temporarily regains her sight while finding herself in a love triangle with two brothers, one of whom is blue. No, not depressed, the colour blue. Yes, all over. Don’t ask.

Ayala’s Angel by Anthony Trollope: Heroine refuses to marry hero because his first name is so absurdly ridiculous that she’s embarrassed even to mention it. His name is Jonathan. (This is actually a fantastic romance novel. It’s young, modern, charming, funny, and the author has style.

anthony_trollope

Armadale by Wilkie Collins (again). This book has four characters called Allan Armadale. One of them very reasonably changes his name to Ozias Midwinter (because he’s on drugs) before falling in love with a woman who tries to murder him with poison gas (because she’s on drugs). Did I mention that Wilkie Collins was permanently blitzed?

The Victorians loved sex toys.

An advert for a Victorian blow-up doll.

And one for a dildo, or Wife’s Consolation.

Yes, you also got some delightful devices to discourage erections, like this:

anti masturbation device

Just looking at it would work, I should think. But there’s little evidence they were actually used. Even less that they were used twice.

 Victorian England had its very own Twilight. 

The Sorrows of Satan by Marie Corelli. Just consider:

  • A massive, record-breaking popular bestseller, critically despised
  • Includes a female character for whom the author invented a new name. Everyone ever called Mavis was named after the heroine of this book. (Not great, I know, but still better than Renesmee.)
  • Features a devastatingly attractive supernatural being who is supposed to be a powerful evil force yet is effortlessly conquered by the unassuming ‘Who? Little me?’ heroine.
  • Chronic case of Mary Sue. The Mavis Clare character, who sadly does not get dragged screaming to hell at any time, is a blatant surrogate for Marie Corelli (same initials, both popular novelists despised by the literary establishment, both smugger than is humanly tolerable).

You can download it from Gutenberg, but I take no responsibility for the consequences. This is the face of a man who actually finished The Sorrows of Satan.

scary face.gif large

(Actually, it’s an artist’s impression of an inveterate masturbator. Bet those spiky devices seem a better idea now, eh?)

The Victorians did not put bloomers on piano legs.

Total myth. Never happened. They really didn’t need to put clothes on furniture to suppress their lustful thoughts: they were on opium, not E. Or acid.

Piano Legs

Sorry, should I have tagged that NSFW?

Prince Albert did not actually have a Prince Albert.

You win some, you lose some.

My first book, The Magpie Lord, is set in Victorian England! Woo! As if that’s not enough, it also has gay romance, mystery, magic, sex, violence and none of those bear trap devices at all, and it comes out on 3 Sept with Samhain Publishing.

Magpie Lord

A lord in danger. A magician in turmoil. A snowball in hell.

A Charm of Magpies, Book 1

Exiled to China for twenty years, Lucien Vaudrey never planned to return to England. But with the mysterious deaths of his father and brother, it seems the new Lord Crane has inherited an earldom. He’s also inherited his family’s enemies. He needs magical assistance, fast. He doesn’t expect it to turn up angry.

Magician Stephen Day has good reason to hate Crane’s family. Unfortunately, it’s his job to deal with supernatural threats. Besides, the earl is unlike any aristocrat he’s ever met, with the tattoos, the attitude…and the way Crane seems determined to get him into bed. That’s definitely unusual.

Soon Stephen is falling hard for the worst possible man, at the worst possible time. But Crane’s dangerous appeal isn’t the only thing rendering Stephen powerless. Evil pervades the house, a web of plots is closing round Crane, and if Stephen can’t find a way through it—they’re both going to die.

Warning: Contains hot m/m sex between a deeply inappropriate earl and a very confused magician, dark plots in a magical version of Victorian England, family values (not the good kind), and a lot of swearing.

Author Bio:

I’m a writer of romance, mostly m/m, often historical or fantasy or both. I also have a contemporary thriller coming out soon. I like to mix it up.

I’m a commissioning editor in my daily life and I blog about writing and editing at kjcharleswriter.wordpress.com.

I live in London, UK, with two kids, a tolerant husband and an even more tolerant cat.

KJ Charles is on Twitter at kj_charles and blogs at kjcharleswriter.wordpress.com. Or say hello on Facebook and Goodreads.