Alison Armstrong

When twelve-year-old Sherrie-Lee witnesses a failed bank robbery in her neglected town, she seizes an opportunity to claim a new identity for herself. Escaping her troubled home life, she tries out a new name and invents stories and personas to cover her tracks. Sherrie-Lee finds both possibility and loneliness in this new freedom, as well as an unusual friendship which she nurtures. But harsh realities close in, and she’s plagued with foreboding – from her vulnerable brother at home to the climate crisis. While she dreams of a kinder world, it won’t be long before her own deceits start catching up with her. This arresting debut challenges assumptions and captures the powerless yearning of adolescence with a voice that is fresh, magnetic and often funny – one that pulls you in and won’t let go.

These stories are the result of imagination stimulated by lessons learned from various creatures, both wild and tame, who understand the immutable and eternal laws of the Natural world and in whom justice and truth are innate.

Incorporating essays, short stories, film and book analyses, Consorting with the Shadow examines the psychological bond between women and the archetypal creatures of imagination, the vampires, shape-shifters, and other monsters we fear, love, and wish to emulate.

The virtual realities that works of literary and visual art provide us are loosely the concern of these essays. Working methods are touched upon in some, as in my interviews with William Anastasi and Robert Kipniss. The intentionality of the artist, however, is never my concern, nor should it be of interest to the reader; the intentions cannot necessarily be derived from the work (as the New Critics reminded us long ago). Rather, to see and feel how the text or work of visual functions is our pleasant task. So we do not ask why, a dead-end question. How is the question that can lead to infinitely more rewarding discoveries.

The virtual realities that works of literary and visual art provide us are loosely the concern of these essays. Working methods are touched upon in some, as in my interviews with William Anastasi and Robert Kipniss. The intentionality of the artist, however, is never my concern, nor should it be of interest to the reader; the intentions cannot necessarily be derived from the work (as the New Critics reminded us long ago). Rather, to see and feel how the text or work of visual functions is our pleasant task. So we do not ask why, a dead-end question. How is the question that can lead to infinitely more rewarding discoveries.

The Craft of Narrative If memory valorizes ones life, it humbles us as well. As the saying goes, Life is what happens while we are making other plans. In retrospect, those choices and consequent events may cause delight as well as remorse or delay in realizing dreams that are replaced by unexpected events but also give us the time necessary to achieve some ambitions and perhaps allow insight into lifes patterns. Writing a memoir combines fictional monologue and essay. Both genres are intimate first-person addresses to a reader, preferable to use Roland Barthess terminology from his book S/Z, a writerly reader. The selection of the title for these three disparate memoirs is taken from a term used in painting: the showing through of a past image overlain by a more recent one. Lillian Hellman used this term for her memoir and the subsequent film, Pentimento. I am a writer and a teacher of literary fiction, including Homers Odyssey, James Joyces Ulysses, and Virginia Woolfs various novels, in particular Mrs. Dalloway and To the Lighthouse, in which written memory, the superimposition of current feelings and observations onto past events results in an ordering of what may otherwise be forgotten or fragmented or considered as irrelevant and disconnected events. Virginia Woolf reminded her teenage nephew and later biographer Clive Bell to remember that nothing has happened until it has been recounted. Recollectionthe ordering of remembered events, feelings, and their consequences, external and internalgives us order through crafted narrative. Homer set the stage for this recognition when he begins the journey of his long epic with an address to the Muse, saying, Begin whereer thou wilt to retell the tale for our time too. And so we begin a crafted set of memories, beginning in medias res, the middle of things, rather than accounting for every event in an uncrafted chronological order. Retelling produces awareness of patterns of cause and effect. Flashbacks can reveal apparent prophecies too. This awareness, thanks to years of teaching and discussing literary works of art, has prompted me to present these brief memoirs from three apparently distinct stages of my life. Only connect as E. M. Forster advised is worthy of remembering, if difficult to apply.

The Craft of Narrative If memory valorizes ones life, it humbles us as well. As the saying goes, Life is what happens while we are making other plans. In retrospect, those choices and consequent events may cause delight as well as remorse or delay in realizing dreams that are replaced by unexpected events but also give us the time necessary to achieve some ambitions and perhaps allow insight into lifes patterns. Writing a memoir combines fictional monologue and essay. Both genres are intimate first-person addresses to a reader, preferable to use Roland Barthess terminology from his book S/Z, a writerly reader. The selection of the title for these three disparate memoirs is taken from a term used in painting: the showing through of a past image overlain by a more recent one. Lillian Hellman used this term for her memoir and the subsequent film, Pentimento. I am a writer and a teacher of literary fiction, including Homers Odyssey, James Joyces Ulysses, and Virginia Woolfs various novels, in particular Mrs. Dalloway and To the Lighthouse, in which written memory, the superimposition of current feelings and observations onto past events results in an ordering of what may otherwise be forgotten or fragmented or considered as irrelevant and disconnected events. Virginia Woolf reminded her teenage nephew and later biographer Clive Bell to remember that nothing has happened until it has been recounted. Recollectionthe ordering of remembered events, feelings, and their consequences, external and internalgives us order through crafted narrative. Homer set the stage for this recognition when he begins the journey of his long epic with an address to the Muse, saying, Begin whereer thou wilt to retell the tale for our time too. And so we begin a crafted set of memories, beginning in medias res, the middle of things, rather than accounting for every event in an uncrafted chronological order. Retelling produces awareness of patterns of cause and effect. Flashbacks can reveal apparent prophecies too. This awareness, thanks to years of teaching and discussing literary works of art, has prompted me to present these brief memoirs from three apparently distinct stages of my life. Only connect as E. M. Forster advised is worthy of remembering, if difficult to apply.

A sequel to Revenance, Toxicosis is a surreal, hallucinatory novel featuring supernatural entities, psychotropic feline muses, the transmission of deranging diseases, and the awakening of creative as well as destructive possibilities. Contagion lures, infestation gestates, feral energies resurrect.

Blending aspects of vampire myths with other supernatural and psychological archetypes, as well as punk music culture, Revenance presents a dreamlike world of horror and passion.