Born in Nova Scotia, and having held any number of odd jobs, from Hotline Psychic to Gravedigger, Patrick de Moss has always been writing. Or trying to avoid writing. A playwright, poet, and occasional prose writer, he feels somewhat uncomfortable talking about himself in the third person, and oft times relies on humour to save himself from being embarassed. This is one such time.
on March 24, 2013 :
This story distils the essence of what it is to be different from our peers. I strongly suspect that more of us would have remained dysfunctional in the eyes of society if we had had a Unicorn and South Wind as best friends. Lucky Nicholas!
Patrick de Moss’ powers of description, the evocation of character, scene and time, are unsurpassed in my opinion. His use of language is poetic, rich and original. For example:
a first whisper of darkness against white
So cold you can see every granule of snow, can hear the brittle, spent branches scrabbling towards the midnight sky, black on black, as they rattle the bones of summer.
Yes, I know that sentence is not strictly correct, but could you better describe that feeling of winter? To my mind, certainly in context, it would lose something if it started It is so cold. It is a feature of the author’s writing that the unusual formatting and the breaking of the rules of grammar are done deliberately to enhance the atmosphere in the limited space of a short story. Like poetry. Bravo! Encore!
(review of free book)
on Aug. 07, 2012 :
Another great story by Mr de Moss. What a talented writer!
(reviewed 70 days after purchase)
on May 31, 2012 :
I was very impressed by the structure of this short story. It is thought-provoking and extremely well written. I would certainly like to read much more by this author.
(reviewed the day of purchase)
on May 30, 2012 :
A strange boy. A strange youth. A strange adult. Or so he appears to the “normal” people around him. A person who lives very much in his own head and imagination and just wants to be left alone. "He would always be a little distant because of it, always just a little out of the reach of the hands of lovers, of the laughter of friends, because of it... "
The reader’s heart goes out to Nicholas as one is taken through the inner workings of his mind–and the uncomprehending, callous adults around him. The talented writing probes the very depths of this distressed young man who, in the opening pages, confronts the death of his father. The flashbacks and puzzle pieces are vividly described in the brilliant prose and dialogue which categorise de Moss’s writing.
This short story is filled with hidden depth and subtle nuance. A layered verbal mosaic of loss, love, coming of age, miracles and the strange and unexpected. A story filled with magical fantasy and pure poetic escapism – “...she picks him up with a rush and a kiss full of Soweto choirs, full of orchids, full of stars.” A story filled with sad, harsh realities – “There was a time he thought he had been made. That his father had made him (and apparently had made him badly, the way he shook him! The way he rattled his creation!)"
I do not have the words to give adequate praise to this writer. An anthology of his short stories – which I eagerly await — should receive the accolades due to a fresh new literary genius of the 21st century. It has been a long time since the world has had a Faulkner.
The cover design by the writer’s wife, Tanya Linnegar, is striking, original and eerily evocative of the brilliant layered text within.
(reviewed 2 days after purchase)