Strong winds, fine company, and thoughts on mortality: World Fantasycon 2025

 



In my last blog I promised to give my impressions of World Fantasycon, which I am more than happy to do. I've not attended a major convention in many years, falling as they do at times when more often than not I am working, but thanks to an extremely generous gesture from a very dear friend I was able to turn down work and head off to Brighton over the Halloween weekend. And what a wonderful, invigorating time it turned out to be!

Brighton was alive with marauding packs of young people in spooky/horror garb whooping and hollering as they moved from pub to club in the perennial search for a good time. I am happy to report that I felt neither unsafe nor intimidated as I navigated my way between them on my way back to my hotel late at night - for believe it or not, I too was once a young, intoxicated and staggering student. It is for many a rite of passage, after all.

The convention was excellent, well organised, extremely informative on a wide range of subjects concerning Fantasy and Horror (and even a smidge of Science Fiction, though that wasn't really within its remit) and offered a welcome opportunity to catch up with some old friends, make new ones, and buy far too many books. In short, I believe a thoroughly good time was had by all!

As always, however, being in Brighton triggered some poignant emotions, as my late wife and I spent a good deal of time visiting the city while my son was at university there (strictly speaking he attended BIMM, but since their courses are accredited by the university, it's easier to say that as a kind of shortcut), and my wife received her degree (from the OU) at a graduation ceremony at the Brighton Dome. So the place positively bristles with memories.


One blustery morning as I walked along the beach making my measured progress toward the convention hotel, I stopped to take some pictures of the ruins of the west pier, a landmark that I have photographed many times, and which has always held a certain fascination for me. As I stood watching the waves breaking violently against what remains of the ironwork skeleton, I realised that it could be seen as a workable analogy for the life of grief. It is after all a hollow shell of what it used to be; ravaged by events beyond its control; cut off from all that once gave it meaning. Yet somehow it continues to stand as the storms rage around it. Buffeted and broken it may be,  but what remains is pure iron, and endures against all odds.

Were I to anthropomorphise the structure, I might wonder how it feels about its situation. I like to think that perhaps it would echo the answer that I often give when asked how I am doing."Keeping going," I say. "Just keeping going." 

For what is the alternative?  

I'm sure the pier would tell you, were it to be asked, that there is always the chance that one day there may come that final colossal storm, that one massive wave, impossible to withstand, that sends it crashing into the sea, to be lost forever within the churning maelstrom. 

But not today, my friends, not today. For today we endure. 

And just keep going.

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