Der Mann, der den Regen träumt, and Litro Magazine Q&A

AliThe Man who Rained

Der Mann, der den Regen träumt is published in Germany in January and script5, the book’s publishers, have put together this neat little trailer.   I’ve also done a Q&A with London’s Litro Magazine, who I used to blog a bit for.  You can read it online here.  Expect more from me tomorrow, when I explain whose furry paw this is…

The Man who Rained audio book

AliThe Man who Rained

W F Howes have just released an audio book version of The Man who Rained, read by actress Laurel Lefkow. I think she reads it beautifully, but I guess I’m biased. The Man who Rained by Ali Shaw – audio book excerpt Coinciding with this is a large-print edition of the novel.  You can find all the details of both versions at W F Howes’ site.

Finn Munro

AliThe Man who Rained

His body was as smooth as a weathered pebble on the sea shore.  He had very little complexion: he was not so much a white man as a grey one.  He had a flat pair of buttocks and skin as hairless as that of his head. He stood on the ridge between her viewpoint and the sun.  His tall body was an eclipse and the light was a corona behind it.  He spread his arms in a pose of dejected surrender. Then, very gradually, he began to dissolve. Like chalk washed into a blur by the rain, his outline began … Read More

The Landscapes of Thunderstown

AliThe Man who Rained

I love writing about landscapes.  I’m probably guilty of finding them far more interesting to write about, at times,  than human beings.  That’s because I think so much of humanity is defined by the natural world we emerged from (and I include the weather as a part of that).  For so many thousands of years we depended so crucially on the land, on the fertile earth and the just-right ratio between sunshine and showers, that the behaviour of the landscape dictated the terms of our culture.  I bet you could root everything that we do and are in the way … Read More

The Mountains

AliThe Man who Rained

She opened her eyes.  The headlights shimmered across nests of boulders and trunks of stone on either side.  No grass, only slates splitting under the weight of the car, each time with a noise like a handclap.  Eyes closing, opening.  The clock moved on in leaps, not ticks.  Either side of the road were trees bent so close to the earth they were barely the height of the car, growing almost parallel to the shingly ground.  A wind whistled higher than the engine noise. ‘Awake again,’ said Kenneth jovially.  But she was asleep once more. Awake again.  The moon lonely … Read More