An Early Christmas Present Book Giveaway: The Boleyn Wife & The Confession of Piers Gaveston

This is the very last Advance Readers' Copy I have of THE BOLEYN WIFE, due out 1/26/10, so I'm teaming it up with an original first edition copy of my first novel THE CONFESSION OF PIERS GAVESTON and giving them both to one lucky winner as an early Christmas present. To enter simply leave your email address in the comments section. US residents only please, due to postage costs I cannot ship outside the USA. The winner will be randomly chosen November 16th.

THE CONFESSION OF PIERS GAVESTON:

The history books tell us that Piers Gaveston was many things: arrogant, ambitious, avaricious, flamboyant, extravagant, reckless, brave, and daring, indiscreet, handsome, witty, vivacious, vain, and peacock-proud, a soldier and champion jouster, the son of a condemned witch, who used witchcraft, his own wicked wiles, and forbidden sex to entice and enslave King Edward II, alienate him from his nobles and advisors, and keep him from the bed of his beautiful bride Isabelle.

Edward's infatuation with Gaveston, and the deluge of riches he showered on him, nearly plunged England into civil war.Now the object of that scandalous and legendary obsession tells his side of the story in THE CONFESSION OF PIERS GAVESTON:

"Mayhap even now, when I have only just begun, it is already too late to set the story straight. My infamy, I fear, is too well entrenched. Whenever they tell the story of Edward's reign I will always be the villain and Edward, the poor, weak-willed, pliant king who fell under my spell, the golden victim of a dark enchantment. There are two sides to every coin; but when the bards and chroniclers, the men who write the histories, tell this story, will anyone remember that?"

THE BOLEYN WIFE:

Shy, plain Lady Jane Parker feels out of place in Henry VIII's courtly world of glamour and intrigue—until she meets the handsome George Boleyn. Overjoyed when their fathers arrange a match, her dreams of a loving union are waylaid when she meets George's sister, Anne. For George is completely devoted to his sister, and cold and indifferent to his bride. As Anne acquires a wide circle of admirers, including King Henry, Jane's resentment grows. But if becoming Henry's queen makes Anne the most powerful woman in England, it also makes her highly vulnerable. And as Henry, desperate for a male heir, begins to tire of his mercurial wife, the stage is set for the ultimate betrayal. . .

Encompassing the reigns of four of Henry's wives, from the doomed Anne to the reckless Katherine Howard, THE BOLEYN WIFE is an unforgettable story of ambition, lust, and jealousy, of the power of love to change the course of history, and of the terrible price of revenge.

Breathe The Sky A Novel Inspired By The Life of Amelia Earhart by Chandra Prasad

Of the three novels about Amelia Earhart I have read recently, "Breathe the Sky" is my favourite. It paints a revealing portrait of the dark side of fame. Courting the public and press was a necessary evil in the life of Amelia Earhart; in order to finance her flights speaking engagements, writing books and magazine articles, product endorsements, and public appearances were a must. Ms. Prasad's novel shows us the private Amelia, a woman approaching forty but still bedeviled by feelings of inadequacy, a need to prove herself, to push herself to achieve more and break records, egged on by her husband/manager G.P. (George Palmer Putnam) the ringmaster presiding over the circus of her life. This Amelia is a tired woman, intensely aware of the pressure to keep up appearances, who feels spread too thin between her various commitments to flying, fame, and family. This is a woman who sometimes pulls her car over to the side of the road to catch a quick nap or checks into the hospital for recurring sinus infections just to snatch a little peace and quiet away from the clamor of grasping hands and the adoring masses. Even her mother and sister take advantage of her and even sell stories about her to press.

The novel shifts between the story of her ill-fated last flight and revealing vignettes from her past. Through these tantalizing windows we catch glimpses of her beloved ne'er-do-well drunken father; her friendship with First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt who pays for secret flying lessons with baskets of blueberry muffins at Amelia's request; her harrowing solo flight across the Atlantic through thunderstorms and equipment failures; we go inside an illegal doctor's office with Amelia when she has an abortion; attend the funeral of a dead cat with G.P, Amelia, and the socialite wife he would divorce in order to wed Amelia; the six marriage proposals it took before she would say "yes"; and we see firsthand how G.P. bamboozled the President of Purdue University into buying Amelia a new plane with a bottle of cognac he claimed was 100 years old but was actually made in a none too clean bathtub not even a year ago.

And there are vivid scenes recreating that famous last flight. Unlike many other accounts of that voyage into oblivion and enduring mystery, this is not a chronicle of details and data or mishaps and misadventures inside the cockpit of the gleaming new Electra, readers get to eavesdrop on conversations between Amelia and her navigator Fred Noonan, in whom Amelia sees the shadow of her alcoholic father, and upon whom Amelia has what she describes as a "ridiculous, even masochistic little crush," as the pair share exotic meals and go see the sights during their pitstops in South America, Africa, Indonesia, Singapore, India, and Australia. We see Amelia vexed with the unfamiliar new gadgets in her new plane, including the radio, which Amelia, with her live and learn philosophy, cannot be bothered to take the precious time to master, and we see Noonan battle the demon rum that has him in its thrall. Then there are stomach upsets, romantic tensions, and monsoons to contend with before the couple vanish into the realm of real-life mystery.

If you are fascinated by the enigma of Amelia Earhart, I highly recommend you give "Breathe The Sky" a try; I don't believe this slim little novel will disappoint.

I was Amelia Earhart by Jane Mendelsohn

This surrealistic little novel was the book I was reading, or rather trying to read, when my mother died back in 2002. With the buzz about the new Amelia Earhart movie roaring like an airplane engine and feeding my longstanding fascination with her still unresolved fate, I decided to give this tiny volume another try.

In its pages, Amelia Earhart and her navigator, Fred Noonan, find themselves marooned on a desert island. Here time, without calendars and clocks, proves elusive and as slippery as an eel, darting randomly between past, present, and future, and this may confuse readers to some degree. The narrator, Amelia Earhart, with her hair grown long as it was before she became famous, thinks of her former life as like a dream, almost as if it had all happened to another person, hence the title: I WAS Amelia Earhart.

She sees herself and Noonan as two damned souls; the drunk navigator who didn't care where he was going and the reckless pilot who didn't care if they ever got there. The two dislike each other almost from first sight, and they alternate between constant bickering, giving each other the silent treatment, and separate accommodations on opposite ends of the island. But circumstances force them to come together; on this minuscule godforsaken little island, which they jokingly name "Heaven," each other is all they really have. Noonan, who began his career as a kitchen boy when he went to sea at fifteen, cooks their dinner every night on the beach, serving up the catch of the day--fish or crabs--or, in times of empty-bellied desperation, stringy rats, all washed down with toothachingly sweet coconut milk. Afterwards, he plays his harmonica and Amelia sings Shirley Temple's theme song "On The Good Ship Lollipop" or advertising jingles. Sometimes the two even make love, but "it's understood that it doesn't mean anything," even when they both know that it does.

The whole book has a hallucinogenic quality; reality blurs and time drifts and shifts. The tale told within its pages could just as easily be a hallucination suffered by the aviatrix flying at too high an altitude, or it might all be a waking fantasy or a sleeping dream, or, as the immortal bard once said, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," it might even be true. After all, stranger things have happened, and the castaway theory is not new to the list of possible fates for Amelia and Fred.

My Harry Potter Parody

Some years ago during the height of the Harry Potter hype and mania I stumbled across the fan fiction phenomena and was rather amused by all the speculation about who Harry would end up with romantically (if he survived to adulthood of course) and I penned this as a joke. The characters are all the creation and property of author J.K. Rowling and I derive no profit from this at all, so please, don't sue me.



THE MATRIMONIAL MISADVENTURES OF MISS HERMIONE GRANGERA HARRY POTTER PARODY
by Brandy Purdy


It all began with the most lavish wedding of the season. Everyone who was anyone was there, friends of the bride and groom, the wizarding world elite, and even a few Muggles too. The Daily Prophet and the Quibbler had even sent reporters and photographers to cover the event.

The month was June, and the radiant bride eighteen-year-old Miss Hermione Granger, stood at the altar wearing a beautiful flowing full-skirted white gown trimmed with delicate pink that came all the way from Paris, France as her mother was fond of telling anyone who would listen. Beside her stood the groom Mr. Ronald Weasley, also aged eighteen, tugging nervously at his pink bowtie while his eyes darted about as frantically as the Golden Snitch during a Quidditch game. Indeed, bets were being placed regarding whether and, if so, when, he would faint or vomit on the bride's Paris gown.

All of a sudden, Ron Weasley burst into tears; loud, wracking, blubbering sobs that liberally watered the pink gardenia on his lapel.

"I...I'm s-sorry, Hermione," he stammered, "but I just can't go through with it!" Then he turned to his best man, who, like all the rest of the audience, was regarding him with wide-eyed incredulous wonder. "I LOVE YOU HARRY!" he cried, seizing hold of his best friend. dipping him back, and kissing him with years of pent-up passion.

This was quickly followed by two loud thuds as both the mother-of-the-bride and the mother-of-the-groom fell senseless to the floor.

Meanwhile, in Ron's arms, Harry Potter recovered from the shock that had momentarily left him speechless and paralyzed, and came vibrantly to life, returning Ron's kiss wholeheartedly.

Gasping for air, the two broke apart.

"Absolutely brilliant timing, Ron!" Harry exclaimed sarcastically as his green eyes surveyed the dumbstruck crowd. "What, you REALLY couldn't find a better time to tell me?"

In response, Ron blushed and grinned sheepishly. "Better late than never," he shrugged as he grabbed Harry's hand and broke into a run, dragging him down the aisle as the befuddled organist, uncertain what to do, reprised the Wedding March.

Through it all, Hermione just stood there, her face flushed a furious shade of red, so angry she couldn't even speak, her mouth gaping open and closed just like a fish out of water.

There was a rustling in the pews as a few people started to rise, to come forward to comfort the abandoned bride.

"Right!" Hermione shouted, holding out a hand to stay them like a hot-tempered Muggle traffic cop, "Don't ANYBODY move! I came here to get married and that's just what I mean to do! NEVILLE!"

Neville Longbottom, seated in the third row beside his ancient grandmother, nearly jumped out of his skin at Hermione's piercing shriek. Stumbling and stammering, and treading on several people's toes, he hurried to her side. And moments later they left the chapel as man and wife. The happy moment was almost spoiled when several tiny white mice were thrown upon the bride. When the bride's parents had explained the Muggle marriage custom of throwing rice Arthur Weasley had apparently misunderstood and thought they said "mice" and had equipped his family accordingly.

Much to the surprise of everyone, Mr. and Mrs. Neville Longbottom defied the odds and enjoyed the happiest of marriages. Had they been given a silver Sickle for every time someone confidently asserted "it won't last" they would have been millionaires many times over. It was like the marriage between an affectionately exasperated drill sergeant and a bumbling but lovably inept private. Neville was even nicknamed "Yes, Dear!" by their friends because that was the way he always responded, snapping to attention, at his wife's commands.

Hermione relentlessly pursued her law degree and after attaining it she resurrected S.P.E.W. (The Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare), swearing that she would dedicate her life to the liberation of house elves. Dressed in stylishly tailored suits with her wild bushy hair braided and coiled into a chignon at the nape of her neck in the style made famous by Evita Peron, she delivered rousing speeches on balconies, platforms, and street corners, and showered the populace with badges and informative literature.

In time she even forgave her two best friends. The truth was she missed them, and it was just too bloody hard to hate two people who were so very much in love. Harry and Ron were obviously meant for each other and she should have seen it from the first. Besides, it was just plain selfish to squander her thoughts and energy on anger, which was such a draining emotion, when the house elves clearly needed her! Harry in particular became her most trusted confidante, and when she launched S.P.P.T.A.M. (Stop the Prejudice of Public Transportation Against Merpeople) and demanded that all buses and trains provide suitable accommodations for mermaids and mermen, he was right there beside her, telling her how utterly absurd it was. After all, why would a mermaid even want to ride on a bus? But Hermione insisted that he was missing the point--by denying them the opportunity society was trampling on their rights and something had to be done about it.

With her rigorous campaign schedule, Hermione decided early on that motherhood was not in her future, but she and Neville adopted a grindylow whom they christened Irving, and a boisterous two-headed, two-tailed ginger-haired pup called Rupert. And everyday when he came home from work after a busy day spent wrapping joke sweets in the packaging division of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Neville would distribute the cookies their housekeeper baked to the garden gnomes and read them interesting items from the newspapers while they clambered over his lap.

On the whole, it was a happy life, but happiness is rarely lasting. After seventeen years of wedded bliss, Neville went out on his sailboat and never came back. Hermione had invited a group of centaurs over to discuss the shackles of societal prejudice that had kept them imprisoned in magical forests for centuries instead of allowing them to take their rightful places as full-fledged citizens, and Neville was severely allergic to horsehair--it made him break out in hives--so he kissed his wife goodbye and went fishing. His boat was found at noon the next day, drifting aimlessly, with Neville lying on the deck in a pool of blood, impaled upon the sword of an immense blue and silver swordfish. Hermione had that fish preserved and mounted above the fireplace where the urn containing Neville's ashes sat upon the mantel; had he lived Neville would have been so proud of that fish.

Hermione was bereft. No balm it seemed could soothe her grief. Dressed entirely in black, she made countless journeys out to sea, to fling flowers, always pink gardenias like they had had on their wedding day, on the spot where Neville had been found. She watched the pink petals bobbing on the blue-green waves and cried until she had no tears left. Thus, in the face of such profound grief, everyone was astounded when , exactly a year and a day later, Hermione Granger Longbottom became a bride again at thirty-six.

Oh yes, it was a shining moment in the history of the House Elf Liberation Movement when Hermione married Dobby! Guards had to be stationed outside the chapel to keep the bride's parents and the white-coated Muggle doctors clutching a straitjacket and net from swooping down the aisle and whisking their daughter away to some facility where they felt she could get the help she so desperately needed.

Given her previous marriage, the bride didn't feel it was appropriate that she wear white, so with Harry's help she selected an elegant satin suit the colour of pumpkin juice with a chic pillbox hat with a short net veil and high-heeled shoes to match. And Dobby was so overcome that he couldn't decide which of his pastel silk neckties and jeweled stickpins to wear so he wore them all, all two dozen. Silver thread glistened on his white silk brocade waistcoat, and diamonds twinkled like stars on his white spats and the buttons of his black velvet coat, the tails of which dragged along the floor, sweeping up rose petals, dust, and other debris. But he was proudest of the tall, gleaming black silk top hat that Harry and Ron had given him, and raved about it all through the ceremony. Privately Harry and Ron were convinced that Hermione had gone bonkers, but they loyally stood by and offered what support they could.

But, alas, the marriage was doomed from the start, if it could rightly be called a marriage since despite Hermione's vigorous campaigning the wizarding world did not recognize inter-species marriages any more than the Muggle world did a marriage between a man and a golden retriever. For how could their union be expected to prosper when the groom's whole existence revolved around making sure Harry Potter and "his Wheezy" were served breakfast in bed each morning? Dobby was utterly devoted to Harry, and after three months Hermione had no choice but to issue an ultimatum--"Harry's morning cup of tea or me!" Dobby was thrown into such deep despair that he landed in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Hermione kept vigil at his bedside, stroking his hands and pointy ears. The poor little fellow was just pining away and she couldn't bear it, so finally she sent for Harry.

"I'm sorry," Harry said sincerely as he took her place at Dobby's bedside and prepared to speak the magic words: "Oh Dobby, I don't know what I am going to do!" he sighed. "Ron bit the buttons off my charcoal grey trousers and like an idiot I tried to sew them back on and ended up stabbing myself with the needle and now not only do they have no buttons but they are spotted with blood as well!"

And in that instant a miracle occurred, Dobby rose from his bed in the full bloom of health, vowing that Harry Potter's trousers would be restored to pristine condition within the hour. Watching by the door, Hermione smiled weakly, and while Dobby went home with Harry and Ron she went to speak with her attorney. By nightfall this marriage of questionable legality had been dissolved.

After that came the actor. Author J.K. Rowling had turned Harry's life story into a series of seven highly successful novels and, as is often the case in the Muggle world, film versions inevitably followed. Hermione paid little attention to the Harry Potter mania that was taking the world by storm. In fact, she didn't even see the first three films. 'Honestly, Ron," she exclaimed, "how can I go to the cinema when merpeople are being denied proper facilities on trains?" Then during a visit to her parents' dental practice when Hermione, ever the perfectionist, was straightening a stack of magazines in the waiting room her heart received such a jolt she felt as if she had been struck by lightning. That was the moment when she saw "Ravishing Rady" on the cover of Entertainment Weekly magazine. Sweet sixteen, with a mop of unruly dark hair, a zig-zag lightning bolt scar painted on his forehead, and the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen staring out at her from behind the lenses of a pair of round-rimmed glasses. Except for the difference in eye colour, the resemblance to Harry as a teenager was uncanny. Hugging the magazine to her heart, Hermione swooned into the nearest chair. The next thing she knew her father was slapping her hands and her mother was holding a vial of smelling salts under her nose.

Still clutching her treasured copy of Entertainment Weekly, Hermione went straight to Harry and demanded that he arrange a meeting. Naturally, he resisted. Even though Hermione, despite her many misfortunes, was still quite beautiful, there was no escaping the fact that she was forty and young Mr. R. was in the legal sense still a child, though most articulate and mature for his age and impressively polite. But in the end she wore him down, and, against his better judgement, Harry picked up the phone.

A series of highly publicized court appearances followed where guards armed with tape measures rigorously enforced the ever increasing distance Hermione was required to keep from her "Darling Daniel," and all 3,000 of her love letters were submitted into evidence with several choice passages being read out in court. And afterwards a Muggle postman would deliver a large bill from the young man's personal therapist to Hermione's house every month for many years to come. In the end, Hermione decided that the noble thing to do was file for divorce, which turned out to be rather difficult since they had never been married in the first place. But Fred and George Weasley could always be counted on to help out in a crisis and Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes soon supplied her with an official looking certificate of divorce that spat gold stars into the air and played the theme music from the Harry Potter films every fifteen minutes without fail. Hermione hung it on the wall just below Neville's swordfish and beside her wedding portrait with Dobby and decided to move on.

Her next stop was Vegas. Hermione decided that a holiday was just the tonic to cure all her ails. And so to the gambling mecca of the United States of America she went. She was enthralled by the vast array of festive drinks with provocative names and decided to try them all. Then at three o'clock in the morning across the roulette wheel she came face to face with an old enemy--Draco Malfoy. The haughty patrician blonde had also apparently fallen under the spell of Las Vegas bartenders, and gazing deep into each others' eyes they realized that two people couldn't possibly hate each other as much as they did without secretly being in love. Ten minutes later they were joined in holy matrimony in The Little Chapel of Neon Love by a minister who did double duty as an Elvis impersonator.

Thirteen hours later when they woke up together, stark naked in a heart-shaped pink satin bed under a mirrored ceiling surrounded by garish pink flamingos painted on all four walls, they realized that they had made a huge mistake. Two people really could hate each other as much as they did without being secretly in love. So, to the immense disappointment of bartenders and blackjack dealers, Draco and Hermione pooled their remaining funds and purchased a quick annulment. After they had each signed the papers with Draco's fourteen carat gold fountain pen they exchanged vows--both of them swore NEVER to speak of this ever again to anyone, in sickness and in health, as long as they both lived.

At the age of forty-two Hermione Granger Longbottom Dobby Radcliffe Malfoy plunged once again into the matrimonial pool. This time she found the love of her life in Fred Weasley.

Hermione took over management of the legal department of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, though her devotion to the house elves and merfolk never for a second faltered. In fact, her husband's factory became the first major corporation to employ house elves on equal terms with humans, and a special tank with glass walls was even constructed so that a team of merfolk could test the performance and durability of their merchandise underwater.

Fred was the most indulgent of husbands, he humored his wife's political activism, allowed her to hang the swordfish that had killed Neville in the place of honor above the mantel in their sitting room, and didn't even object when she had their bedroom wallpapered with photographs of Daniel Radcliffe. Their marriage lasted twenty years until the sad day when Fred perished of a candy related fatality. A Too Salty Saltwater Taffy totally dehydrated his body and left him as dry and shriveled as an Egyptian mummy in less than five seconds. There was nothing anyone could do.

Hermione's grief for her husband knew no bounds. And George's grief for his twin was equally intense. They continued to take their meals together in the mansion they shared, always setting a place to honor Fred, and every evening they sought solace in each other's company, talking when they needed to talk, reminiscing about Fred and all the good times they had shared, or just sitting together in silence. No one was surprised when a year later they married. Nor was anyone surprised thirteen years later when George was also killed by a piece of candy. The Too Salty Saltwater Taffy that had ended his brother's life had haunted him throughout the years. Grief had put the project on hold, but as time passed George felt that finishing his brother's work was the only way to truly honor him. When George didn't come home for dinner that night, Hermione went to his office. All that was left of George was a pile of dust and a candy wrapper.

Two years later she walked down the aisle again, a lovely silver-haired bride gowned in silver lace, determined to find lasting happiness. After all, she and her husband-to-be were both seventy-eight, so statistically speaking lasting happiness for them probably wouldn't have to last all that long. She smiled tenderly at the sight of him nervously pulling on his gray silk bowtie, his red hair now faded to a pale peach streaked with white.

All their friends and family who remained, feeble, gray, and white-haired in their old age, smiled as Hermione took her place at Ron's side and a hush fell as the minister began to speak.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and woman..."

He was interrupted by a loud, pain-wracked, heart-rending sob.

"I...I'm s-sorry, Hermione!" Ron sobbed. "But I just can't go through with it! I've tried, but I just can't live without Harry!" And then, before anyone could stop him, he pulled out his wand and put the tip against his temple. There was a loud crack and Ron fell to the floor. "Harry!" he sighed, a beatific smile on his lips and lighting up his eyes before he closed them forever.

Hermione's shoulders sagged in defeat and tears rolled down her cheeks. But a moment later her chin shot up at the sound of panicked voices and running feet as every eligible bachelor bolted from the chapel. Heaving a deep, doleful sigh, Hermione Granger Longbottom Dobby Radcliffe Malfoy Weasley Weasley slowly walked back up the aisle. Alone.

Five Star Featured Review for The Boleyn Wife at Manic Readers

This review was posted at www.manicreaders.com

Thank you Cheryl for the glowing review, I am glad you enjoyed my book.

"You know her name…Anne Boleyn. You know her story but do you really know what happened? This is the story of King Henry the eighth and Anne Boleyn from the angle of someone who was there from the beginning…Lady Jane Parker.

Jane was the wife of George Boleyn, Anne’s brother. Jane only had eyes for George, even though her father despised him. He warned her that she would never be able to change him and he would only cause her heartache. Jane didn’t care what her father said, she planned to marry George. What Jane didn’t realize at the time was that she would always play second string for her husband’s affections as he showered Anne will all his love.

I really enjoyed this book. The Boleyn Wife is not only deserving of royalty but it also rules as one of the best new books for 2010! This book transported me back in time to a place where kings ruled and the ladies shined in beautiful gowns. I had a very hard time putting this book down. In fact, I think the longest I went without holding this book in my hands was a few minutes. Experiencing things through Jane’s eyes was a nice twist on a classic story. This book takes the readers through King Henry’s wives from Catherine of Aragon to Katherine Howard. Author, Brandy Purdy did an excellent job with The Boleyn Wife. I would gladly read another novel by her."

Trick or Treat! Little Tabby All Dressed Up For Halloween

Dressing up is hard work! I think she'd rather nap instead.

My Halloween Monster Marathon

I usually spend Halloween curled up in bed in my dark bedroom watching my favorite movie monsters stalking across the silver screen. Despite all the advances in special effects since the dawn of moviemaking, I don't think Hollywood has ever done it better than with the original Universal Studios Movie Monsters, those beloved icons of classic horror films that still fuel our imaginations and are loved by legions of film fans to this day.

CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON has always been my favourite movie monster. There's just something about "The Gill Man" that touches me; when you look past the gills and green scale-skin, and fearsome, sharp claws, he seems so lonely.


The Creature dwells in a peaceful lagoon untouched by modern civilization until scientists invade his territory, arousing his ire and--when he sees the beautiful brunette they have brought with them--his lust. The subliminally erotic pas de deux underwater scene where the Creature watches the white-bathing-suit-clad object of his obsession swim, and even joins her, swimming below her, without her knowing, is, in my opinion, one of the most memorable scenes ever filmed. It is a film that proves once again that the fairy tale of Beauty and the Beast, whatever the era, costumes, or whether it be set in a French chateau or an isolated lagoon, is a formula for success.


In the sequel, REVENGE OF THE CREATURE, the Gill Man is transported back to civilization and put into a public aquarium/fun park, sort of a 1950s Sea World, where he becomes the main attraction to be gawked at by inquisitive camera-toting tourists. To gauge his intelligence, scientists poke him with an electric cattle prod. Naturally, the Creature objects to such cruel treatment, and when he escapes he runs amok like some sort of (rightfully) outraged aquatic King Kong and tries to carry his new female fancy (a blonde this time) back to the sea with him.


THE CREATURE WALKS AMONG US is, in my opinion, the weakest, as well as my least favorite, of the three films. When scientists pursue the Gill Man back to his peaceful lagoon habitat he is accidentally burned. To save his life, they perform radical surgery that removes his damaged gills, and makes him more man than fish, and thus a freakish outcast in a world of human beings. Removed from the water, the gracefully swimming Gill Man becomes ponderous, clunky, and awkward, wearing clothes and staring wistfully at the sea, yearning for the underwater home he can never return to. Without his gills, the water that once was his life now means death.

THE MUMMY (and its four sequels of increasingly lower quality) with its special blend of horror and romance, is another favorite, perhaps dating back to my interest in Ancient Egypt which began in early childhood. It's always great fun watching the Tana-leaf-fueled Mummy dragging his dirty linen behind him, lumbering clumsily across the screen in search of the modern reincarnation of his ancient love, and making short shrift of anyone who dares try and stop him. The original film, which starred Boris Karloff as The Mummy was inspired by the continuing fascinating with the discovery of King Tut's treasure-laden tomb and the enduring rumours of a curse that would strike down anyone who disturbed the Pharaoh's rest.

Subsequent films in The Mummy series--THE MUMMY'S HAND, THE MUMMY'S TOMB, THE MUMMY'S GHOST, and THE MUMMY'S CURSE--disintegrated into rather cheesy B-grade horror movies, more laughable perhaps than thrilling, but still good fun.

And there was never a better screen incarnation of the monster created by FRANKENSTEIN than Boris Karloff nor a more famous movie monster makeup than that Jack Pierce, the brilliant head of the Universal Studios Makeup Department, designed for him. Despite his grotesque, lumbering appearance, there is a poignancy about Karloff as Frankenstein's misunderstood, misbegotten creation that touches the heart at the same time as it strikes terror into it. The childlike innocence that causes him to unintentionally kill the little girl who befriends him is heartbreaking, and the scenes with the blind hermit who offers him shelter and friendship are also quite touching.

The sequel BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN is one of the rare examples of a sequel that can actually hold a candle to the original.

Elsa Lanchester's makeup and Nefertiti-inspired hair, with the white streaks up the side reminiscent of lightning, are as instantly recognizable and iconic as the face and form of her intended mate, Frankenstein's monster.

Several sequels followed, including SON OF FRANKENSTEIN, with Basil Rathbone in the title role, GHOST OF FRANKENSTEIN, and HOUSE OF FRANKENSTEIN, but, as is often the case, quality began to slip, and when Karloff dropped out of the series it was never quite the same; no other actor could give the monster that bittersweet touch of pathos.

Though it plays fast and loose with werewolf lore, freely inventing where it will, THE WOLF MAN, and its sequel FRAKENSTEIN MEETS THE WOLF MAN, is nonetheless a treat even when it isn't Halloween. Larry Talbot, portrayed by the son of "The Man of a Thousand Faces," Lon Chaney Jr., is more to be pitied than scorned as the decent, good guy who is bitten by a werewolf and becomes one himself, for "even a man who is pure of heart and says his prayers by night may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright."

And Bela Lugosi found true immortality to be both a blessing and a curse as DRACULA. Despite the liberties taken with the Count's appearance and Bram Stoker's novel, Lugosi's Dracula is in our blood; his suave, dapper interpretation of the fiendish, blood-sucking Hungarian Count is the screen vampire that lingers most in human imagination.