Joined: 11/17/2011
Posts: 1016
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Mimi 'Screwball' Speike presents her IPO (Initial Peculiar Offering):
Chapter one of Sly! The Rogue Reconsidered.
Convoluted nonsense augmented with sham history.
Ludicrous assertions bolstered with semi-plausible detail.
My fall-back strategy: inane disclaimers.
A rigid feudal culture was crumbling. The unprecedented upheaval gave rise to heros, welcoming wider opportunity for all, and to scoundrels, clinging to their traditional prerogatives. The Age of Discovery, a period of astounding change, had plenty of both.
You had all-powerful despots, the world at their command; entitled toffs, also well insulated from want; cunning climbers, eager to exploit the new liquidity; a small, vulnerable middle class, and the great unwashed, (actually, in those days everyone went unwashed) low-lifes from cream-of-the-crop slicks and sharps to your run-of-the-mill drunk and disorderly, a legion in itself, for on the bottom rung of society, an endless struggle to survive, strong drink was an affordable indulgence, providing a modicum of relief.
Into the muck and the murk, I’ve flung Sly, Sylvester Boots, a stinker himself.
This is fantasy, goosed with what appears to be a wealth of fact. Take the history with a grain of salt. I’ve fudged the truth. I’ve embellished. I’ve plundered sober histories and deliciously maudlin Victorian novels for zany material (those El Cheapo library book sales are a treasure trove of tripe you won't find anywhere else) and I've woven the scavenged bits into my narrative, so that it (hopefully) sounds like I know what I’m talking about. I've lifted salt-soaked terms and chatter from nautical adventures dating back to the early nineteenth century, including Two Years Before The Mast. I'm admitting it up front, so don't nobody jump on me over it. I don't know a damn thing about ships, and I've sure never put to sea on a square-rigger.
In short, I'm a light-fingered opportunist, like Sly. Where do you think he gets it from, eh?
Sly! the saga is an intricately plotted chronicle of misery and mayhem, every bit as ridiculous as I could make it.
Sly the critter is a rowdy, full of beans. He's a wit, quick with a quip. He considers himself an original thinker, but his intellectualism owes everything to an eroding Aristotelian world view, despite the fact that he's fascinated by the up-and-coming system of exacting scientific inquiry. Luckily, his peculiar strain of Natural Philosophy accommodates both schools, and provides us with a few giggles in the bargain.
On top of all else the boy is a poet, churning out charming verse. 'Ode to a Nose' is his advice to one who agonizes over her prominent schnozzle, a haughty monkey mascot, a Gloriana mini-me obsessed with aping (sorry, couldn't resist) the tastes and attitudes of her adored benefactress, the English Queen.
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ODE TO A NOSE
by S. Boots
Where does your foremost fascination lie?
I tell you, Madame, not where you suppose.
You are magnificent of brow and eye,
but I rejoice, above all, in your nose.
Abundance of the snout is no vile thing,
an aperture odd, no horrific flaw.
Enormous nostrils suck the scents of Spring
more readily than dainty dents. What law
requires that a nose be slim, or pert,
to be admired, to be reckoned fine?
Handsome is less responsive, less alert,
so enthralled is the snot with a divine profile.
The buttonholes, so sweet, so pale, so pink,
just darling!, do not snort with the same greed
as your own critter, fragrance. Also, stink.
For good, and ill, they are another breed.
Your thug has more exuberance than those
lady-like honkers. Celebrate your nose!
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It's time to let the cat out of the bag.
Sly! is my smirk-filled reinvigoration of a childhood classic. Sly Boots is my take on a nursery icon, Puss-in-Boots. Find him, he's waiting for you, in Comic Fantasy.
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