ARTHUR DIES – The new installment now available!

 

NEW RELEASE!

The wait is over: The second chronicle of my

ARTHUR DIES

series is kicked off & readable today,

thanks to the legendary Luna Bisonte Prods!

Chronicle II, Volume 1

 The sixth book in the series, but the first one actually about Arthur and morgAnna (Chronicle I being essentially the prequel) – basically, this volume is the s'Word in the s'Tone.

Of all my books, 'Arthur Dies' is the book I most AM.

Purchase Here!

 Listen to these Folks:

John M. Bennett: 

Olchar Lindsann’s Arthur chronicles are narrated by
someone or someones afflicted with chronological
schizophrenia, a syndrome which is perhaps humanity’s
real and universal condition. Meta-referential, auto-
referential, de-referential; exploding and recreating the
English language; the volumes are a great work of Baroque
poetry or literature, totally and wonderfully out-of-step
with the current whimpering swarms of clichés that
characterize current North American poetries. Thank you,
Olchar, thank you! 

Warren Fry:

Attend! Here comes Wort, Arthurs and all! As if sprung from a centuries long incantation, Arthur, in ink and blood, achieves the s'Word in the s'Tone, in this his maiden quest, moving from kitchen-waif to child-king (all in in one morning shift!), and handily evoking the legends of Perceval and Beaumains, in this tidal contribution to the Arthurian trade, by one Sir Lindsann. Beyond an ordinary origin story of the boy-king, the Wort of Arthur Dies: Chron. II, Vol. 1 is reflected forward in the cycle, through the parlance of modern empire, to the present moment, and then back again to pre-Vulgat roots. It, Arthur; who, yes, must indeed die, has a symmetrical sister. morgAnna, a beyond-sense force who must contend in psycho-swashbuckling combat with an order-besotted Saes colonizer -- not to mention his all too close-to-home feeling clan of anti-god worshiping materialists, rendered in a style evoking Bernard Cornwell in both flavor and grit, is something to behold. Jam on the L'apprenti sorcier-like prosody of the sword drawing scene. Chew on every word -- none left un-entangled in themselves and others, much like the characters themselves. Bang your nonce, you Arthur-heads, as Malory, Monmouth and more are properly honored and shredded! These spear-gored legends need more mytho-poetic battering rams like this!

 

Scott MacLeod:

Readers, within Lindsann’s chronicle everything is myriad, multiple, teeming with invocations and exclamations, like hydra-heads spouting chaotic marvels, shifting us in and out of time and space like ten-year-olds locked in the trunk of a 1957 Chevy Bel Air during a long and bumpy ride to a dilapidated summer resort, possibly named Avalon, able to hear their parents’ voices but unable to make out more than a third of the words. Are the parents arguing or singing along to Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs Stay? Like kidnapped children, we experience this perilous text within which nothing is familiar; syntax and style shift and shimmer, tiring us so that our scrutiny flags, letting the text writhe with fragments, anachronisms and interjections, unraveling the World (Word) at the instant it forms, re-weaving itself, making itself the Centre, simultaneously dissolving and assimilating itself (and our selves) as we read (better to sing it, perhaps) this ballad/anti-ballad that follows the mis(sed)adventures of mythical heroes King Verdegris, Lord Portmanteau, Sir Mondegreen, Sir Galavant and Lady Vivacious Pentagon. Come ahead, follow the slippery trail into this literary Death March. Sit down, spread the pages, prepare for war: with each new word, your consciousness will be further absorbed into the emerging attempt to draw the Word from the Tome.