One chapbook, two novels, loose ends

Here I complete, somewhat brusquely, my selection of work available. starting with a chapbook from Michael Mc Aloran's Bone Orchard. It's called the children without guns, and it's here at Lulu. It is now at long last also at Amazon.

 

This chapbook is actually not bad, but now for the fiction, the two novels that were both originally published by Oneiros Books.

One is Henrietta Remembers, and it is here at Lulu. And here follows the Amazon link. Och här finns den på Bokus. EDIT: This is substantially revised in 2021 & has a nice cover.

A novel without plot about a murder rising from the emptiness that is words. David McLean's first novel demonstrates that the form is neither dead nor the exclusive province of literary establishment windbags. "A very nasty book. The repetition, rather than diminishing the effect, served rather to hammer home the innate nastiness and bleakness until it rang like a heavenly bell.
David Mitchell - author

 The other is flesh & resurrection, and it is here at Lulu. It is also here at Amazon, och, här ligger den hos Bokus i Sverige. EDIT: This is substantially revised in 2021 & has a nice cover.

The blurb says: 

Even more fucked up than McLean's first novel (Henrietta Remembers), which makes it well better, it abandons all pretense of plot & degenerates nicely into an inchoate prose poem.

Here's a free sample from the children without guns.

health warning

we regret to inform you
you are watching this life
with contaminated eyes.

and it is not even your life,
except a minuscule fraction
of you we might hope to find

a dead cold dream inside

no drugs for the dead

we pour no snowy libations
over the noses of corpses
and put no faith in names
that have slept insensate a night

till memory is impotent dust,
like words were once, like love;
their powder hearth and home
and nowhere,

implicature and absences to share.
we put these dead in zombie god's
forgotten pocket, with pornography
and other historical documents,

the sexual palimpsest that religion
is. we waste no luscious drugs
on the dead: they have gone now,
and once they were full of shit;

mourning amounts to nothing more than this