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(Slightly OT) Loons, Worms & John Pelan's Obsessions



 
 
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Old September 23rd 03, 06:17 PM
Chris Barker
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Default (Slightly OT) Loons, Worms & John Pelan's Obsessions

In this site John Pelan said with characteristic antagonism:

"Of course, Mr. Barker is a well-known loon that I no longer bother
replying to and the Adams creature is in my killfile where he belongs
so I haven't read all of Barker's bleatings. Ramsey's comments on the
interest in a given author despite (or because of) their personal
lives are perfectly on-topic and were it not for the unwlecome
presence of the mad pamphleteer in this thread, the entire discussion
would likely be of interest to a good many more people."



To be called a "loon" by John Pelan is like being gibbered at through the
window of an asylum by one of the sadder inmates. Indeed, his constant
swiping at others betrays both an obsessive interest that worries not a few,
and also suggests that he is only happy when antagonising others (akin to
trollery, perhaps, whatever a troll truly may be). Certainly he wishes to
rekindle old arguments, hoping no doubt to fall back upon friendships within
this group, as opposed to the winning a debate because of the issues on the
table.

Recently Pelan has embarrassed himself with such gaffes as:

· Setting up an obsessive stalking site at Yahoo whilst arguing that he can
make a responsible host in more popular groups (Hoppy Toadly, currently
inactive whilst Yahoo investigate the abusive content)
· Joining a discussion group under a sock-puppet pseudonym whilst arguing in
his own groups that to do so was wrong (he was summarily evicted)
· Posting profane & abusive messages in the Yahoo group 'Ghost Stories'
resulting in the group becoming censored first time ever (NB: This is
standard Pelan practise. He has been cynically trashing the
alt.books.ghost-fiction site in order to herd potential customers into the
alternative Horrabin forum that he had set up.)
· Defending ridiculous boasts on his website, but quietly removing them when
he thinks no one is looking
· Alleging that I had been visiting the home of a leading genre authority to
siphon off rare books (I've never even set foot in the man's house, as the
man himself has by now no doubt confirmed)
· Populating the ghost-town that is his own dedicated message board with
sock-puppet members to make it look like someone cares about his boasts
· Stealing ideas and credit e.g. we had announced plans to publish a Murray
Gilchrist collection, which would include our discovery of a hitherto
unknown vampire tale, resulting in Pelan's purloinment of said project, and
passing of of the discovery as his own
· The disgusting - and possibly evil - contention that because I unearthed
the hitherto unknown source for M R James' THE ASH-TREE, and tied in the
author's concealed plagiarism with his repressed homosexuality, ergo I must
myself sexually abuse my own children (though coming from the publisher of
novels that revel in sadism, incest and depravity, one needn't be surprised
at Pelan's libidinous obsessions!!)

This is quite serious stuff. Why does he do it?

Pelan's envious attempts to undermine the integrity of successive rival
Haunted River publications have been well documented on our website.
Unsurprisingly, practically everyone else in the wider world disagrees with
him:

http://www.users.waitrose.com/~haunt...ll%20press.htm

http://www.users.waitrose.com/~haunt...r/contribu.htm

Only in an imaginary world of chat rooms and abuse sites does Pelan hold
virtual sway. In their Aickmanesque "Inner Rooms", a small and clearly
defined cabal of pride-puffed malignant dolls have created an illusory world
in which they seek to gobble up anyone who doesn't prostrate themselves at
their respective egos. Thus where the world at large highly praises the
Reggie Oliver book, the Inner Room Cabal brand it a terrible monstrosity;
where the discovery of an important M R James source tale should be
acknowledged as a very useful find, it is ignored or denigrated because of
spite and envy.

John Pelan has been criticised in many forums for his obsession in attacking
me and for his tiresome and relentless attempts to brand me a troll. I
apologise to this group for having dragged this obsessive savant into this
group but unfortunately it would seem that Pelan trots from group to group
constantly nipping at my heels like a lovesick puppy. Pelan has been
harassing both me and my rival small press ever since I dared to question
the production quality of his book THE CORPSELIKE.

Finally, with regard Pelan's dismissal of our highly-praised productions as
"pamphlets", I attach a recent adaptation of Michael Reeves' THE WITCHFINDER
GENERAL which may help illuminate the whole situation more concisely than a
thousand antagonistic posts. I hope that the humorous content mitigates any
boredom that a member of this newsgroup might now be feeling.

(A quick anticipation of responses: Pelan's friends whip up a lynching mob
and try to brand me a troll, everyone else smiles wryly, or clicks
disinterestedly onto the next post.)


Chris Barker
The Haunted River

Over Five Years Selling At ABE
www.abebooks.com

Small Press Publisher
www.users.waitrose.com/~hauntedriver

Review of "The Dreams Of Cardinal Vittorini" by Reggie Oliver (Published
July 2003)

"This, the first collection by the playwright nephew and biographer of
Stella Gibbons, could almost be a lost book from the days when the English
ghost story was generally restrained yet contained nuggets of horror. The
style is urbane and witty, the authorial personality cultured and observant,
and the roots of the tales are in the great tradition of the genre."

Ramsey Campbell



THE WITCHFINDER GENERAL

Or: The Conqueror Weasels


Starring:

Christopher Roden as Matthew Hopkins
John Pelan as John Stearne
Chris Barker as Suspected Witch
David Anderson as Village Yokel
Jim Rockhill as Hip Priest


Featuring:

Reggie Oliver as A Possible Witch
Peter Haining as Himself


ACT 1:

East Anglia. Somewhere near Attleborough. Three riders canter along a richly
wooded open plain as black clouds begin to muster overhead.

HOPKINS: Tis said that down Besthorpe way the Devil practises most evil
deedery, plotmongering and pernicious subterfuge. Methinks we must hasten
therewards and stamp out all opposition to the Chosen One.

HIP PRIEST: Tis true. Most foul reports emanate from Besthorpe parish. Tis
said the man Barker owns a black cat and twas seen clipping his box hedge
with a strange bladed knife.

HOPKINS: Dark deeds, my friend, dark deeds. Which good fellow reported on
this Son Of Satan?

HIP PRIEST: A neighbour that goes by the name of Anderson. This man claims
to have witnessed the foul practises from his bedroom window, concealed
behind his own casement hangings.

HOPKINS: He sounds a good man, this Anderson. Does he know of any goodly inn
wherein we could rest awhiles in contemplation of swimming this Devil
Worshipper Barker? I have a most abominable thirst that fain requires
quenching.

STEARNE: Heh heh heh. Your thirst has many tongues, Master Hopkins.

HOPKINS: John Stearne, you are the most profane and debased individual I
have ever had the misfortune to know. Yet for some inexplicable reason, I
have chosen you to help me spread God's word. Pray keep your uncoothments
and mouthtumbles firmly stoppered in that belly which so plainly craves
cheap tavern ale.

HIP PRIEST: I spy the lodging house yonder, my lord. Shall I precede your
entrance and fluff up your bed cushions? Thou has had a hard day.

HOPKINS: Thank you Master Rockhill, your noble thoughts contrast strangely
with Master Stearne's murky utterances. But what pray is the name of thine
tavern? The sign appears to depict two greasy men wrestling?

STEARNE (rubbing hands with glee): Tis the Horror Bin, my lord. So called
because it is a notorious wrestling den. Hopefully we'll get to see some
action.

HOPKINS: Ugh, how ugh-making. Is there not a manor house or parsonage that I
could commandeer? Surely there are good God-faring folk about who would give
up their home so that I might torture their young daughters?

HIP PRIEST: Squire Haining lives only some two miles distant. He is an old
man and weak of defence, but tis not known if he has young girls who can be
put to your questions, my lord.

HOPKINS: Then to Squire Haining's we shall go. Stearne, you may stay here
and indulge your base interest. We shall see you on the morrow.

STEARNE (drooling): Thank ye, master, thank ye!



ACT II

Squire Haining's front parlour. It is dark outside. Inside, a fire blazes.
Squire Haining has been stripped of his shirt and his back is covered in red
weals. He cowers in the corner. Matthew Hopkins and the Hip Priest sit at
the table eating his supper, served by a wench. The Witchfinder General
follows her round the room with a sour and disapproving leer.

HOPKINS: Squire Haining, why make it difficult for yourself? The Devil has
shown himself in your very own writings. Your reference works are littered
with error. Your claims are ill-founded. Your sales figures grossly
exaggerated. Tis Devil's work of the most foul and heinous nature.

HAINING: You lie sir! You covet my good name, my large estate and my
undeniable success! This witchcraft allegation is nought but licensed
pillage; sanctimonious depravity masquerading as God's work!

HOPKINS: You will have cause to regret your words, Squire Haining. Priest
Rockhill, pray escort this spawn of the Devil down to the basement and
enchain him until the morrow. Perhaps the persuasive influences of Mister
Stearne will prove more efficacious than our own attempts.

Priest departs with Haining.

HOPKINS (eyeing servant girl): Now my little pretty. Do you wish to make a
case for your Master's innocence? Or perhaps you are in league with the
Devil too? I should hate to burn so promising a convert..



ACT III

Next day. Having collected Stearne, Hopkins and the Hip Priest ride towards
Besthorpe.

STEARNE: But you said I could interrogate old man Haining, sire. You said I
could interrogate him real good.

HOPKINS: The case of the Squire is not clear-cut. There are complex
investigations being undertaken that you can have no knowledge of.

STEARNE (s******ing): Investigations with his servant-girl, perhaps?

HOPKINS: Silence! But tis true, the girl is proving strangely beguiling. I
remain uncertain of her faith, and so needs must investigate her until the
morn of our departure.

STEARNE: And then what sire? May I then investigate her too?

HOPKINS: Certainly not! She will be swum and then burnt just like everybody
else.

HIP PRIEST: Tis Besthorpe boundary, sir. There lies the river Bessey. On the
banks of said rivulet, the demense of Barker yonder stands.

HOPKINS: What of that crumbling hovel there? From which the foul stench
emits?

HIP PRIEST: Master Anderson's home, my lord. Methinks this is Master
Anderson now approaching.

ANDERSON: Forgive my blundering good sirs, for I am unused to daylight. Can
it be true that you fine personages are indeed the saviours known as Matthew
Hopkins Inc?

HOPKINS: Aye, tis true Master Anderson. Speak your words, and place before
us your complaint.

ANDERSON: It's that Barker, 'e's a divil-worshipper if ever I saw one.

HOPKINS: And can you see much from through your privy net curtains?

ANDERSON (licking lips): Oh yes sir, I sees much. I sees a large book
collection what is of a mysterious nature. I see blank paper bundles going
in and finished books going out. There's a black cat, an' 'e's allus out
pruning 'is plants. Strange 'erbs, I've heard say.

HOPKINS: Are you informing the Crown that Master Barker possesses a large
bibliographic library and that he manufactures individual pamphlets and
casebounds for wider distribution? Also, that he propigates exotic plants
for witchcraft purposes?

ANDERSON: Eh? Bibliowhat?

HIP PRIEST: Does he make Devil's Books, my good man?

ANDERSON: Oh, yeah, that's what he does. Divil's books! 'Undreds of 'em!

HOPKINS: Is he alone?

ANDERSON: Not today. I saw a visity going in just arter the bone man came
round doin his collecting. I ...err..just happened to be looking out of the
winder at the time, and..

HOPKINS: Yes, yes, yes. No one condemns your prurient practises. Who is the
visitor?

ANDERSON (puffing up): Prunient? I is prunient? Why, thank ye sir, thank ye
very much. Not sure what it means, but it's a reel pleasure hearing a big
word on such an important man's lips. Visity..nope, I ain't rightly sure who
it could be, but it was another tall feller wiv a silk scarf. He looked all
arty like.

HIP PRIEST: Is it safe, sire? We know from experience that tis best to
attack - erm, I mean 'question' - potential heretics when on their own?

HOPKINS (rubbing chin): God's work shall not be shirked. Besides, those
raffish theatre dandies are all pop and fizz. There are three of us - and
Stearne is quick with his fists. Master Anderson, know ye of a local
constable or magistrate?

ANDERSON: There be no magistrate what covers this district, yer honour. It
'as long been declared a No Man's Land what no self-respeckin' constable
wants owt to do with.

HOPKINS: Hip Priest, pray translate for me. And do wipe the creature's
spittle from my boot.

HIP PRIEST: The district is deemed ungovernable, m'lud. It has no constable.


HOPKINS: Even better. Sometimes the Law stands opposed to The Lord's
Justice. Let us be about our task.

ANDERSON: Can I come? Can I watch the torture? Can I 'ave his books arfet
your finished with 'im?


ACT IV
Interior of 'Haunted River'. Barker and Oliver are handcuffed to their
chairs. Hopkins strides up and down importantly; Stearne trots close behind
in his master's shadow; the Hip Priest stands attentively to one side at a
rostrum, quill pen in hand. Master Anderson sits in the corner rocking with
glee.

HOPKINS: Master Oliver, you were ill-advised to journey to this house. And
here, I find a manuscript written in your own hand, a dark scribblance which
hints at even darker things. What say ye to the charge of Devilry, Satanic
Inference and Word Fornication?

OLIVER: A hand on someone's knee? If you read anything darker into that then
it springs from your own dark subconscious.

HOPKINS: Eh? What's that?

OLIVER Nothing. I said I would rather be a serf working by day for another
than be the prince of all the dead.

HOPKINS: Fie, man, what trickery and subtlety is this? Yet your face is
rather familiar...hmm..

HIP PRIEST (whispering): Sire, be it advisable to put Oliver to the
question? He may have friends in high places. Ahem - Royal connections.

HOPKINS: Stearne, release Master Oliver. Oliver, you are free to go. And
here, take your confusing manuscript. (You must let me know where it was
bound: most appealing.)

OLIVER: Omnes eodem cogimur, omnium versatur urna serius ocius sors exitura
et nos in aeternum exsilium impositura cumbae.

HOPKINS: Erm..quite. (I do hope that isn't a curse.) 'Au revoir' to you as
well.

Oliver leaves winking at Barker.

HOPKINS: Now, Master Barker, we come to your own hellish deeds.

BARKER: My hellish deeds? That's a bit rich coming from the country's most
notorious bully and mokeslagger. Why, your greed is legendary, as is your
sly and manipulative use of the law to exert a vicious stranglehold on the
dubious enterprise of witch-hunting. Everyone knows that you brand hapless
vulnerables and potential enemies as 'witch' in order to execute in the name
of your so-called God. And not a God in the conventional sense: I refer to
the God Mammon.

HOPKINS: Silence! Stearne - cut out his tongue! Throw him in the river!

BARKER: Oh that's right, oppress the masses without even giving them a fair
trial. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not
from some farcical aquatic ceremony!

HIP PRIEST: Ahem - technically he is allowed the right to a fair trial sire,
but might I suggest .... (inaudible whispers).

HOPKINS: Yes, very wise Master Rockhill. Stearne, bring forth the evidence.

Stearne deposits a curious metal implement, a couple of leaves and a
manuscript entitled WILLIAM SHAKESPEA PLAYWRIGHT OR PLAGIARIST? on the
table.

HOPKINS: These bizarre objects are the tools of your trade, Satanist. Admit
it! With these despicable tools, you conjure up strange demons, alluring
wenches, and advocate all manner of uncensored devilry. Confess!

BARKER: Actually, that's a potato peeler. I made it myself.

HOPKINS: Truthbender! That is a well known tool with which witches skin
small babies.

BARKER: 'With which witches?' Tricky one that, especially after a pint or
two. But no, I assure you, tis merely an innocent potato peeler. And those
leaves are from my apple tree. They blew in when you kicked the door open.

HOPKINS: Lies! They are valerian leaves and boiled down create a powerful
soporific by which young women can be lulled into vulnerable dreamlike
states!

BARKER: I am sure you are an expert on valerian leaves. But that still doesn
't get away from the fact that those there are apple leaves.

HOPKINS: And now we come to this...this...disgusting 'pamphlet'.

BARKER: Actually, it's a tract. Perhaps more properly described as a
discourse.

HOPKINS: Silence you devilfish! I know a pamphlet when I see one..I bet it's
full of dark innuendo and wry satire, poking subversive fun at one of our
greatest playwrights. Oh yes, Master Barker, I've got the goods on you.

BARKER: Actually, it assesses the evidence for attributing many of
Shakespeare's most important plays to rival Christopher Marlowe-

HOPKINS: Oh yes, I bet it does! (Poring over the pages.) Dirty stuff..I
hazard that it is full of disgusting sexual imagery too..yes, it all looks
horribly dirty.

BARKER: I say, would you please ask Anderson not to do that on my Turkish
rugs? There is a perfectly good earth closet outside.

STEARNE: You shut yer mouff. There's worse things than soiled floors...

BARKER: My dear fellow, far be it from to criticise your dietary
preferences, but do please try not to breath so close upon my face. The
odour of fried shrew is quite overpowering.

STEARNE: Wise guy, eh? You won't be such a wise guy after we get you
strapped down to the table and get going with the red hot pokers.....

Sound of horses from without. Several men dismount. The door bursts open and
several soldiers burst in, led by a large man with a horribly warty nose.

CROMWELL: Hopkins, word has reached me that you have been abusing your
privileges.

HOPKINS: Who says that sir?

CROMWELL: I say that, sir. I say that you have been cutting a swathe through
East Anglia, riding a wave of witch-hunting euphoria in order to line your
own pockets and satisfy your manipulative ego. Whilst honest pikemen from
these very shires stand by my side engaged in combating the royal tyrant,
you burn their womenfolk and raid their coffers. How plead you?

HOPKINS: I am about God's business, sir. I answer to a higher authority than
you.

CROMWELL: Hmm. I despise your avarice and your affectations. You bring much
dishonour to both sword and cloth sir, but I would have your devil's blood
on neither my steel nor conscience. Guards, seize Master Hopkins and escort
him to Mistley. I understand that there are several parties from that
settlement who crave counsel with our good friend of the Lord.

HOPKINS: No! Not that! I dare not return to Mistley! They are ignorant of
God's work. They did not understand my ways. They will kill me!

BARKER: Wahey, nice one Centurion! Like it, like it! It's a victory for the
oppressed masses, that's what it is.

CROMWELL: Ah, Master Barker, you support my plans for a republic?

BARKER: Too right guv'nor. I'm a Republican through and through.
Mandates.....meetings....if there's a mandate in the offing, I'm your man.

CROMWELL: Yes, well, most of my Republican friends have been *parried*
through and through..untie him, men. We shall give Master Barker his wish:
we will allow him to fight by our side in the front line.

BARKER: Eh? Now hold on squire...I'm more of an ideas man. Hand-to-hand
fighting isn't strictly my strongpoint. Strategy - resource management
maybe - now *that's* where I could be of some use to you....

CROMWELL: Nonsense, man. There's nice little town in Ireland called Aughrim
that would suit you down to the ground. Pack your bags, there's a good
comrade. I'll look after those property deeds..........
























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