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All book reviews linked for each of these years:

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Also the ‘Search’ facility above on the banner is an efficient one.

THE DF LEWIS BACKSTORY – HERE

MY LONGER STRANDS OF PARTICULAR FLAGSHIP REVIEWS – HERE

MY REVIEWS IN BOOK FORM – HERE

MY REVIEWS OF OLDER OR CLASSIC BOOKS – HERE

PUBLIC REACTIONS TO THIS LABYRINTH OF DREAMCATCHER REVIEWS – HERE

THINKING BEHIND THIS SITE – HERE

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AVAILABLE DFL BOOKS – HERE

READINGS ALOUD BY DFL – HERE

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A no spoiler policy is always followed, subject to the nature of real-time reviews.

My book reviews are written for three separate parties: myself, the readers and the book’s inferred creator. Most reviews elsewhere are actual PREviews for readers. Mine can also be genuine REviews that can be read (a) alongside me as the reader reads the book or (b) after the book is read by the reader.

Books are bought by me for my personal reading and real-time reviewing.

I don’t necessarily need authors to react to my real-time reviews of their books I bought. But it is nice simply to know they have read (are reading) them. I do this activity, anyway, for my own pleasure and as a usefulness aid to my own reading, but I also do it for past and future readers of the books, and, yes, for the authors themselves.

When some other book reviews have receded into the past, these will still be dreamcaught.

This DF Lewis site was nominated for a British Fantasy Award in 2014 & 2015.

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…dreamcatcher, hawler, dowser, träumtrawler of fiction.

The Voices of Time by J.G. Ballard

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As a prelude to my review of THE VOICES OF TIME by JG Ballard (a new work for me today, turning out seminal to my interests), here are two relevant quotes from THE GLASTONBURY ROMANCE By John Cowper Powys –

“His mind seemed at that second absolutely balanced on a taut and twanging wire between two terrible eternities, an eternity of wilful horror, and an eternity of bleached, arid futility, devoid of all life-sap. He could feel the path to the horror, shivering with deadly phosphorescent sweetness. He could feel the path to the renunciation filling his nostrils with acrid dust, parching his naked feet, withering every human sensation till it was hollow as the shard of a dead beetle! The nature of his temptation was such that it had nothing to redeem it. Such abominable wickedness came straight out of the evil in the heart of the First Cause, travelled through the interlunar spaces, and entered the particular nerve in the erotic organism of Mr. Evans which was predestined to respond to it.”

“He was killed instantaneously, the front of his skull being bashed in so completely, that bits of bone covered with bloody hair surrounded the deep dent which the iron made. His consciousness, the ‘I am I’ of Tom Barter, shot up into the ether above them like a released fountain-jet and quivering there pulsed forth a spasm of feeling, in which outrage, ecstasy, indignation, recognition, pride, touched a dimension of Being more quick with cosmic life than Tom had ever reached before in his thirty-seven years of conscious existence. This heightened — nay! this quadrupled — awareness dissolved in a few seconds, after its escape from the broken cranium, but whether it passed, with its personal identity intact, into that invisible envelope of rarefied matter which surrounds our astronomic sphere or whether it perished irrecoverably, the present chronicler knows not.”

There are many other relevant quotes I once made from this book here: https://weirdtongue.wordpress.com/quotations-from-the-glastonbury-romance-by-john-cowper-powys/

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Extract from my real-time review of THE VOICES OF TIME by JG Ballard from Ann and Jeff VanderMeer’s massive BIG BOOK OF SCIENCE FICTION here: https://cernzoo.wordpress.com/the-big-book-of-science-fiction/:-

THE VOICES OF TIME (1960) by JG Ballard

A opening to die for…

“Later Powers often thought of Whitby, and the strange grooves the biologist had cut, apparently at random, all over the floor of the empty swimming pool.”

This is a mighty scientific-spiritual portrait of characters involved in Toynbeean ‘challenge and response’ against and with the cosmos, the existential cries of number-coded eschatology, amidst close-encounters-type building of obsessive concrete walls instead of mountains in situations of what can now since be called ‘Ballard-like’ abandoned places on earth, experimental sleep deprivation extrapolations, an Area X in proto-utero. Silent genes in latent literary suspension. We SEE time itself. Alarm clocks slept through, and ‘alarms’ in organisms themselves. All in a felt ambiance couched by optimum prose for such pessimums. Synaesthesia born from mere human words expressing the inexpressible. Astonishing.

3 Hawlings

FROM MY REAL-TIME REVIEWS TODAY —

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From here – https://dflewisreviews.wordpress.com/2016/08/19/youll-know-when-you-get-there-lynda-e-rucker/

THE HAUNTING HOUSE by Lynda E. Rucker

: remember that there was nothing that she had to get up for, and sink deeper Into the bed, deeper into sleep.”

What I was, in hindsight, hinting at the end of the previous story review seems here to be apotheosised. One house sublet in another woman’s name, and a lifelong recurring dream of a house haunting her from the few days days before Christmas, a house, with landing and grandfather clock, straight out of an Elizabeth Bowen Christmas (my favourite writer ever – my house for her here) and I wonder if Rucker is in Bowen’s soul, or vice versa, like the synergy of these two houses or two realities? Bowen also had a version of a fractured modernity in her fiction alongside the haunting and the aloneness to be disrupted by an Ames or a woman in the wood, like the Oregon reality here, a bus journey on a whim, leading from the hard edge of dream unreal to the soft edge of dream real, or vice versa. The tantalisation of never knowing. Sublet by time’s clock on the landing or blocked by modern contraptions, only thinking back through all these stories might give some clue of the whence and the whither of a deeper rhapsody. You’ll know when you get there.

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From here – https://dflewisreviews.wordpress.com/2016/08/13/short-stories-and-excerpts-from-larger-works-leena-krohn/

PICTURE BOOK by Leena Krohn

” — I beg your pardon? A thousand pages! How vast is the whole book! I asked, confused.
— Thirty-two trillion pages, he replied as if he really were serious.”
I thought at first this might be the BIG BOOK OF SCIENCE FICTION edited by Ann and Jeff VanderMeer … But, no, and this is indeed possibly the oddest discrete story you are ever likely to read. The narrator who stays in a tank of brine has a salesman visit selling a book containing photographs of children, some hinted at as naked, some weirdly disfigured, all of whom turning out to be the narrator’s own children that he COULD have had with his wife, and one of them in fact is his real daughter. I could go on, with the fascinating extrapolations from this scenario. It is probably the most remarkable few pages I have ever read. Should anyone get this far into Leena Krohn’s turquoise tome (of rival size to the one being sold), they will discover that for themselves.

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From here: https://cernzoo.wordpress.com/the-big-book-of-science-fiction/

THE MAN WHO LOST THE SEA by Theodore Sturgeon

“…for they were all one and the same thing . . . the thing called unreachable.”

A stream of consciousness like Joyce and Beckett, but one that makes exquisite sense, the boy with the beta model in his hand, a model gradually becoming more sophisticated down or up the Greek alphabet of prototypes, the sick man when he was a boy or the man is the boy himself: the extension model used to fit the sick man’s footprints in the sand, reconciling the seeming madness of some reality of what has happened, the mathematical conundrums of the satellite that brought him here. A Mars a day helps you work, rest and play. Rest in sand, play with model, work at summoning the sheathing swaddling sea…
A masterpiece. cf REPORT ON PROBABILITY A by Brian Aldiss…
Like real-time reviewing towards a gestalt. Not only this story on its own but this whole big book of stories. So Far.