Astrum by Faramond Frie

This book is amazing. A story about an adventurer and warrior, recounted to an audience at the Savoy, and written as an epic poem. That’s right the whole book is one amazing epic poem.

Indians living on the moon. Ships that fly, I’m not sure Faramond Frie describes it as such, but there is definitely a Steampunk element to this story, in so far as it is a parallel world of fiction where the science has developed in an alternative way to our own. The blurb on the back of the book describes it as being in the spirit of Jules Verne and HG Wells so I guess that confirms it.

It has grand themes about the way technology is developed by powerful men and misused for their own power and development. The kind of men who in our own world benefitted from the slave trade and develop the machinery of war.

There are elements of love and friendship. Integrity and soul.

The poetry is wonderful. No nonsense poetry that carries the story on a wave of rhyme. It would make a brilliant play.

“I only wanted to test my ability.
I never thought my creations
would come with such responsibility!
And yet the truth is very clear.
My conscience speaks in words of thunder.
I must become a Father.
I will show him love and wonder,
and teach of pain and fear as well
and grow a human heart
beneath the metal shell.”

Copyright Faramond Frie © 2016

Did I mention the robots and dragons?

This is an amazing book and I heartily recommend it.

 

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Burns Night

I want to raise a toast, get whisky in your hand

For tonight we celebrate Burns, and drink throughout the land

For Robbie Burns’ a poet, and fires ya Scottish blood

And if it’s weak, don’t worry, eat haggis, ’cause it’s good

 

It’s made from moulding stomach, ripped whole, from bleating sheep

And it’s only bleeding tourists, who tremble and then weep

For the haggis making process is not fit for sassenachs

Who haven’t got the stomach to hold their puddings back

 

And yet they’ve got to eat it, for they can’t offend yon Scots

Who love to live in old crofts, keep sheep, and shag a lot

It is said in Scottish legend that the women are rampant flirts

Which is why, to save on time, the men also wear skirts

 

So get ye to the bottle, your groaning trencher there ye fill

And down some more good whisky, ’cause you’re surely feeling ill

From stuffing all that haggis whilst feasting with your friends

And remember that you’re Scottish, God’s chosen, and love Burns

 

 

 

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