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Posts tagged ‘Sean Moncrieff’

Christmas nostalgia : Our authors about the best book gift they have ever received (Part 1)

December 12, 2017

BetimesBooksNow

Jackie Mallon, author of Silk for the Feed Dogs

It was a copy of The Dud Avocado by Elaine Dundy. A certain someone knew I’d appreciate the paperback’s many idiosyncrasies: the title, so goofy and slapstick-sounding, in direct contrast to the elegant Hitchcockian blond stretched out nude on the cover in an image by Erwin Blumenfeld, a fashion photographer of the 40s and 50s. Published in 1958, in the tradition of the Henry James/Edith Wharton ‘American abroad’ stories, it describes the Parisian exploits of a 21-year-old Missouri native, unleashed with reckless abandon on the bistros and champagne bars off the Champs-Élysées. And he was right. What’s not to love?

     Sean Moncrieff, author of The Angel of the Streetlamps

I must have been thirteen or fourteen and I was given a copy of The Catcher in the Rye. I read it during the quiet days between Christmas and the New Year, and it was revelatory. There was no such thing as YA fiction back then, but here was a character not much older than me and who also seemed to feel that there was something ‘wrong’ with the world around them; or with themselves. Or both. I hadn’t known that fiction could do that: and I’ve been chasing that dragon ever since.

Donald Finnaeus Mayo, author of Francesca and The Insider’s Guide to Betrayal

I was given a copy of Bruce Carter’s B Flight as a boy and have since returned to it numerous times and read it to both of my sons. An astonishing story of love and war that resonates with a deceptive simplicity, and a final sentence any author would kill for. A real lost gem well overdue for rediscovery.

David Hogan, author of The Last Island

David HoganMaybe it was because the novels had to do with the decadent and entitled British upper class, which I generally have less interest in than a sloth’s synaptic processes.  Or perhaps it was the author’s name: Could the so-called Edward St. Aubyn be expected to write prose that was any less burdensome?  So I resisted, despite myself, and despite the reviews and awards and the fact that time after time the books were recommended and prominently displayed at my local bookstore.  I was strangely conflicted, however.  I wanted to read them, and talked about reading them, and once or twice perused a page or two, but dared no further until one fine day my wife slapped Never Mind on the kitchen table and said, “Maybe this will finally shut you up.”  It did.  I tore through the other four Patrick Melrose novels in quick succession and wondered what had caused my great resistance in the first place.  I now think it was the ‘St.’ in his name, which seems the height of pretension.

To be continued…

Christmas Prize Draw!

November 27, 2017

BetimesBooksNow

Vote for your favourite Betimes Books cover for a chance to win a print copy of one of our books!

  1. The Prize Draw is open to people aged 18 and over who provide their email address by voting for their favourite cover and would be happy to provide their postal address if they win.
  2. Please select your favourite cover and send us your vote by email, to betimesbooks@gmail.com with “My favourite cover” as Subject.
  3. No purchase is necessary!
  4. Only one entry per person. Entries on behalf of another person will not be accepted and joint submissions are not allowed.
  5. Two winners will be chosen from the draw of votes: the person who was the first to vote for the most popular cover + one random draw.
  6. The winners will be notified by email on Monday, December 4, 2017.
  7. The prize will be sent to the winner by post.
  8. The prize is non-exchangeable and is not redeemable for cash.
  9. The first name and country of the winner will be announced on this blog and Betimes Books Twitter, Facebook and Instagram accounts. The winners are most welcome to share their prize in social media tagging Betimes Books.
  10. The closing date of the Prize Draw is 23:59, Dublin time, on the 3rd of December 2017.Votes received outside this time period will not be considered.

All our covers are designed by JT Lindroos.

If you wish to have a closer look at each cover, go to our Home page.

You can also see the back covers of the print editions on Amazon. We’ve provided the links below.

Fav. cover contest Dec2017-page-001Fav. cover contest Dec2017-page-002

List of Titles

  1. The Painter’s Women
  2. Permanent Fatal Error 
  3. The Red-Handed League
  4. The Death of Tarpons
  5. La Frontera
  6. The Last Island
  7. Central Park West Trilogy
  8. Dirty Pictures
  9. Silk for the Feed Dogs
  10. Francesca
  11. The Insider’s Guide to Betrayal
  12. Borderland Noir
  13. The Angel of the Streetlamps
  14. Killarney Blues
  15. The Starved Lover Sings
  16. Reach the Shining River
  17. In Love with Paris
  18. One True Sentence
  19. Forever’s Just Pretend
  20. Toros & Torsos
  21. The Great Pretender
  22. Roll the Credits
  23. The Running Kind
  24. Head Games
  25. Print the Legend
  26. Death in the Face
  27. Three Chords & the Truth

Interview with Sean Moncrieff

October 5, 2015

BetimesBooksNow

Sean Moncrieff interviewed by Vincent P Bartley of IrishInterest.ie in the Irish Writers’ Centre about his novel The Angel of the Streetlamps

 

From “The Angel of the Streetlamps” by Sean Moncrieff

May 26, 2015

BetimesBooksNow

 ANGELx2700                  30 – Michael Bourke

I opt to meet her in the office, not the house. The church had to be re-opened anyway: outrageously selfish of me to have kept it closed. I also hope to project a more officious nature, surrounded by the trappings of ecclesiastical power. Not to impress the journalist – she is bound to be contemptuous of such things – but to bolster myself. In truth, I want to cancel the meeting but lack the strength even for that.

I hear her well before she appears: her high heels clacking down the centre of the church, proclaiming their vulgar selves against the tranquillity around; yobs in an art gallery.

I move to the door of the office and beckon. She’s not what I imagine a journalist looks like: far worse, in fact. I expected some power-dressed vamp with scarlet fingernails, but this creature is quite scruffy, her unbrushed hair featuring a vivid slice of red; as if she has accidentally tipped a can of paint over herself. Her suit is wrinkled and seems in need of a wash: rather like its owner, who is making heavy weather of the walk through the church. She smiles as she approaches me, then sighs, then makes what I assume to be a comical face, indicating that this wouldn’t take so long if she exercised more.

That is self-evident.

While I wait, I glance around the church, which is empty save the two of us. Been that way for years, it seems. Even on Sundays it is barely half full and at Christmas only reaches the three-quarter mark. But we have kept the place well, Jack Kelly and I, agreeing to avoid all the modernist dabblings many churches go in for nowadays. We have kept it traditional. Rich golds at the altar, with faux-renaissance paintings lined up on either side, marking the Stations. Each pillar is partially shrouded by magnificent velvet drapes which lead to the ornate wooden roof. The roof, however, is badly in need of repair: a task we fear we will never complete. We simply don’t have enough parishioners, who would be too poor anyway to fund such a project. Jack has beggared himself before the Bishop, but the money offered was far from sufficient to bring the roof back to glory; just enough, in fact, for the ugly scaffolding which now holds it in place. The roof consists of interlocking joists, between which are once-vivid depictions of the stars and god-men. Sadly, it will probably be replaced with something plain and modern; something altogether more secular.

The panting hackette finally reaches me. She jabs out a sweaty hand and declares: “Oh, I need to do more exercise.”

Already, I loathe this woman; but I loathe myself even more. I have the attitude of a willing penitent, ready to submit myself to righteous punishment. I lead her into the office, slump into a chair and wait while she divests herself of her jacket and searches through her massive leather bag for the tools of her sordid trade.

“Well,” she says as she sits opposite me. I ignore this prelude, this marked attempted at charm. I commence speaking. I tell her everything, or almost everything: my experience of this girl’s death, followed by my contact with the Gardai and everything they told me about this unfortunate girl, this Manda.

I don’t mention Jack, naturally. Wisely, the reporter doesn’t interrupt, but scribbles furiously: the sound of a mouse trapped in a small space.

I finish, and expect her to go. It is evident that there is nothing more to say, that I have fully exhausted my usefulness to her. I don’t look up. I can’t.

But she remains where she is, rustling and groaning and shifting on her seat; as if something has trapped her there and she is struggling to escape.

Then it comes: the softened tone, the elongated vowels which no doubt she imagines sound the same as compassion; a limping totter of words which take their time to stop off at every condescending cliché they can find. She suggests that I was a comfort to Manda during her final seconds. It is a vomit of well-meaning insults which reach their zenith with the harshest of all: that she, this bedraggled pimp of words, knew Manda. And of course, believing it would please me, she has to mention Manda’s great Faith.

Faith. Hundreds of years of mistranslation has the Galilean exhorting all he meets to ‘believe’ in him. But the word he uses in the original Greek texts is pistis: which doesn’t mean faith. It means loyalty.

Now the anger comes. But it is not energising; more as if black walls suddenly partition my vision, screening out all but my failure: not just in relation to the girl, but everything I have set out to do since the seminary. It has all been wrong. Worse: it has been cowardly and hypocritical. I have peddled myths just like the rest of them, hoping that others might sense the music hidden behind my stock phrases. There are no others like me; or at least, none who will admit it. I am alone with a howling truth which for the last two decades I have denied.

This is the truth behind what has happened to me.

I wish to say these things, to declare them, but the words shoot through my mind far too quickly to marshal. Like grabbed raindrops, they splatter against me. I have nothing, but must make her go. So I descend to her level.

“Fuck off.”

She makes a noise; as if she is genuinely surprised by such vulgarity; as if it’s certainly not the kind of language she’s used to hearing in the salubrious offices of the Daily Tit or whatever her rag is called. She stands, picks up her leather sack and flounces out, leaving me to listen to the blood raging around my brain and watching the shake in my hands. I know what I must do; all I can do. I must burn it to the ground.

“The Angel of the Streetlamps” by Sean Moncrieff is available HERE

Sean Moncrieff interviewed on RTE Radio 1

May 14, 2015

BetimesBooksNow

If you want to learn more about THE ANGEL OF THE STREETLAMPS from the author himself, listen to Seán Moncrieff‘s interview on RTE Radio 1 after the release of the first edition of his novel:

http://www.rte.ie/radio1/arena/programmes/2013/0104/361338-arena-friday-4-january-2013/?clipid=981681

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“There is mystery, death and love in The Angel of the Streetlamps; there are wolves and there are sheep. Seán Moncrieff presents us with a cacophony of genuine voices strutting their views on politics, religion and class wars. Moncrieff is a master of the vicious aside, the canny comment and the funny twist, and he brings insight and intelligence to this novel of a damaged, confused and all too recognisable 21st century Ireland.”     —Nuala Ní Chonchúir, author of Mother America

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Our edition is available here: viewBook.at/TheAngel_Moncrieff

 

Check out our Pinterest “collection” of angels in street art

May 14, 2015

BetimesBooksNow

We’ve used a street art image by Eelus for the cover of Sean Moncrieff’s novel THE ANGEL OF THE STREETLAMPS and come across more great works featuring angels. Here is a selection, from all over the world:

https://www.pinterest.com/betimesbooks/angels-in-street-art/

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