Affirmation

After all those months of reading, recording, mixing, editing, nearly throwing the computer our of the window, weeping, howling with laughter, dreaming of the finished product, and finally pressing the Good-to-go for audiobook production button, we are starting to get excellent feedback. Some from dear friends, and some from unknown listeners; and today, one from someone who really knows his 'sound' stuff. Sir Robin Millar, CBE. The man with the golden ears - as named by Boy George.

I'd asked him a while back if he might have a chance to listen to Londonia - he'd enjoyed a couple of my short stories - and he said he would. He's a very busy man so I put the idea firmly on the mental back burner and got on with house renovation, working on paintings, planning the next audiobook, and life generally, until an email from Sir Millar this afternoon. 

  . . . Adored the whole thing conceptually and stylistically, Kate. I would compare it favourably to Gormenghast . . .

Both Mark and I are utterly rubbish at following up anything to do with statistics, demographics of listeners, possible earnings - ha ha, so the audiobook had somewhat slipped away into the cupboard of 'things we've done'. Mr Millar's comment has nicely shaken up our thoughts on the project, and given us a welcome bit of affirmation that it was, and will be, worth all the hard work.

Londonia the audiobook is available on Audible and other platforms. Link below.

https://kateahardy.com/londonia-audiobook

The Londonia audiobook team. Mark Lockett - sound design. Kate A Hardy - author and narrator.

Button pressed

After many months of work, possibly a year . . . I forget, we pressed the Findaway Voices, publish button, and the Londonia audiobook whizzed off into the net, and to somewhere in the USA where someone - I think a real being - will check it all meets their requirements and on the 3rd of February Londonia should emerge as an ear-engaging tale.

Of course, optimists like Mark and myself always assume doing such a project will be fairly straightforward, take a couple of months, bit of learning on the way . . . yeah, jobs a good'n. In fact the whole project has been a vast learning curve - a good one, but vast, for sure. Narrating, sound production, hours and hours of editing, composing and playing the compositions, and learning new software, working with our PR man, and much more. But it's been a brilliant journey, and one we shall embark on again very soon.

Press release by Will Gethin of Conscious Frontiers.

Londonia: Dystopian Drama Hits Close to Home

Dickens meets Mad Max in this stunning audiobook adaptation of Kate A. Hardy’s post-apocalyptic masterpiece

Mirroring the crises of today’s post-Covid world, the author’s vision for future London feels eerily prescient …

LONDONIA AUDIOBOOK RELEASE: MONDAY 03 February, 2025  

Londonia Podcast Launch: Monday 20 January, 2025  

“This is a beauty! I was captivated by the protagonist’s situation in a heartbeat. Kate A Hardy is a highly compelling storyteller.”  Sir Robin Millar, record producer and social commentator 

 

Monday 03 February 2025 heralds the launch of the spellbinding new Londonia audobook, adapted from Kate A. Hardy’s gripping dystopian novel, which envisions a post-apocalyptic London set in 2072 and imagines how people might survive in that future time. The audiobook will be available on Findaway Voices by Spotify, Audible and all major audiobook platforms.

Narrated by Kate A. Hardy, and with musician/composer Mark Lockett designing the immersive soundscape and musical score, the new audiobook brings the momentous satirical tale and visceral fantasy world of Londonia - with its time-altered language and outlandish cast of characters - vividly to life. 

Originally published by Tartarus Press in 2020, Londonia, recounts the adventures of sassy 30-something protagonist, Hoxton, who having lost her memory, takes up residence in a disused church in Shoreditch with her horse Kafka, and sets out to uncover her past, embarking on a precarious new work path as a ‘Finder’ (sourcer/trader of rare goods). As Hoxton weaves between the lawless sprawl of Londonia (the city’s outlying area) and the hyper-central power state, the Cincture, the story unfolds to the backdrop of an apocalyptic event of 2038, referred to as the “Final Curtain”.  Popularly held to have been caused by a global internet crash, the Final Curtain has plunged the world into a technological descent, which combined with the devastating effects of climate change has transmuted the formerly high-tech cityscapes of London into a visceral urban jungle, reminiscent of Mad Max meets Oliver Twist.

Kate A. Hardy, whose previous books include childrens’ story Alfi Beasti, don’t eat that! (published by Puffin) and the Going out in the Midday Sun trilogy, says: “The Londonia audiobook offers a deeper dive into the world I created. With Mark Lockett's bespoke sonic environment amplifying the tale’s mood and atmosphere, we’ve brought Londonia to life in a way I could only have dreamt of when writing the book.” 

This new audiobook adaptation invites listeners to fully immerse themselves in Hoxton's world, with the evocative narration and captivating soundscape capturing the essence of life in Londonia – a feral hinterland whose gun-toting inhabitants variously sleep in disused rail carriages, trade teeth fixing for sex, wash in bath houses, toast bread over fires, correspond via messenger pigeons and risk death from violence and poxes. Meanwhile, behind the towering metal walls of the Cincture, the wealthy elite continue their lavish, speed-fashion lifestyles in denial of the impoverished Dickensian quarter that surrounds them. 

As in real life, we face economic crisis and impending climate breakdown, the Final Curtain and the disordered post-internet world described in Londonia may be nearer than we like to think. Yet the book brings a message of hope, as Kate elucidates: “My aim has been to present Londonia as a dyst-hopian tale. There may be strife, hunger and plague but this harshness is placated by times of convivial community spirit, humanity and humour.”  

A raucous satire on our consumer society, the gap between haves and have-nots and the vacuous, fickle nature of fashion, Londonia is a rollicking romp of a ride, which also offers timely signposts for how we can live more lightly on our beleaguered planet - recycling and reusing, growing food and foraging, less immersed in screens and more connected to ourselves, to each other and to nature. “I hope the audiobook accentuates the book’s mission to explore what can emerge in the future while also satirising where we are now,” Kate concludes.

Providing a free taster for the audiobook, a Londonia podcast series will launch on Monday 20 January in advance of the audiobook’s release (03 February), sharing the first six chapters of the audiobook over a six-week period.

For more information about the new Londonia audiobook and podcast, visit: https://kateahardy.com

To listen to an introduction to Londonia, complete with visuals and a glossary of Londonia-speak, visit: https://youtu.be/NEiBJzKmMTk

Press preview copies of the full audiobook are available on request  

Press Images are available in this DROPBOX

Kate A. Hardy and Mark Lockett are available for interview

Biographies are attached  

For Media Enquiries contact Will Gethin at Conscious Frontiers: 07795 204 833 • will@consciousfrontiers.com

Notes to Editors:

• Narrated by Kate A. Hardy, with music and soundscapes by Mark Lockett, the Londonia audiobook will be released on Findaway Voices by Spotofy (and all major platforms) on Monday 03 February 
• To preview the first few chapters of the audiobook, visit: https://www.youtube.com/@londonia-e5b
• To watch the showreel for the audiobook, visit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DP14XkBEBaI&t=53s
• The Londonia podcast, launching on Monday 20 January, will be available on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, YouTube and all major podcasting platforms
• Smithi, Kate A. Hardy’s hotly anticipated sequel to Londonia, is coming soon – watch this space!

Critical praise for Londonia (the novel):

"A deeply engaging and always-entertaining novel, the author’s superb use and invention of future language is brilliant." Paula Guran, Locus magazine

"Enchanting . . . Hardy’s almost hopeful view of the world’s inevitably chaotic future lifts this entertaining and well-told tale.”  Publishers Weekly 

"Fantastical yet believable, it also shares hopeful messages for the future about how we can live more simply.”         Psychologies magazine

"This is a superbly written book retaining dialogue, place and characterisation to a masterful level. You believe in Hardy’s world and it should hardly be long before a producer is clamouring to make her highly visual future London into a film or series… it strikes at the heart of what we consider to be important in life – something all of us are thinking about at this strange time." Kindred Spirit

Londonia, the audiobook out-takes

Our recording studio (mostly the kitchen) resounded for many months with swearing that would make 'Jarvis' (a principle character) proud. I have read my work to audiences quite often but narrating for recording is quite different . . . a steep and enriching learning curve! Here's a little glimpse into some of the moments of frustration, and hilarity.

Painting revisited

Recently, two visitors kindly remarked on a few of my languishing works of art dotted around the house; kindly, and with genuine interest on subject. technique etc. I felt the faint awakening of interest in paint applied to canvass - or rather wood in my case. I had partly stopped painting as writing had taken over, but also as I felt unsettled about using so much plastic - in the form of acrylic - the paint, plastic tubes et al. I'd vaguely thought about using earth, naturally made colour - onion skin, beetroot etc but writing was my key interest leaving little other time for paint experimentation. I've kept sketching, mainly when in cities - especially London, so have a good backlog of stuff to work from. 

So, thought I'd leap in between narrating the Londonia audiobook (nearly finished...) and running our B and B. This time I'm using only old board - mainly abandoned pictures found in our local recycling place, and 'second hand' paint - from online old stuff selling sites, or paint donated to said recycling place; stuff that would end up dried out and heading towards landfill. My pictures might too one day but I'd like to have a chance at selling a few. It's all tied in with the Londonia project so who knows . . . audiobook, art expo, film deal . . . :0)

  work in progress - train window London sketch

London sketch from 2011

From a sketch done in 2023 - Muswell Hill (Mossy Well)

Londonia extract capitula 23

We're steaming along with the project, and felt it was time to put out another little taster - this one from chapter 23.

Only a few chapters to go, then a HUGE check through, mastering and then - how to get it out there... Watch this space.

Londonia audiobook showreel

So, we're past halfway on the Londonia audiobook, and I decided we should make a small sample video mainly to let our Kickstarter backers know how it's going.

Obviously it's an audiobook so either just listen or watch the images that we had fun putting together - as you like.

Mark is creating a wonderfully atmospheric soundscape with all original music and sound effects, and I'm tackling the narration. Londonia is a big book and the audio version is a long project but we're thoroughly enjoying the process.

The audiobook should be completed by the end of April.

Londonia characters

It was suggested by Steven - the narrator I am working with on the Londonia audiobook - that it might be interesting to use a drawing/painting for each chapter. I'd already started a few pen and ink Londonia sketches - see some posts back - but it was an interesting challenge how the characters in my head would translate to drawing.

A few examples:

Jarvis - Hoxton's sidekick Finder and genial gangster.

Bert the Swagger - a dubious, crafty and porn-obsessed personage who lives in a stilt house at the edge of Lady Thames unearthing her treasures of the past at low tide. Pictured here suggesting a trade to Hoxton of a 2025 phone for something rather undesirable...

                      

The bread-mec - The local bread maker, pictured here soaking his aching back in a copper bath after a hard days bread-graft.

In contrast to the shadowy colours of Londonia, three of Mrs Caruso's pampered Cincture friends arriving in a well-preserved 1960s jaguar.

Two more pen and ink glimpses into 2073

 Lady Thames, and Hoxton riding into Hackrovia on Kafka. Londonia, 2073.

Paperback writer

I am one!

Londonia has been made into a paperback following its earlier appearance as a hardback.

When I started writing the book about seven years ago, my invented London's dystopian future seemed a long way away; something dark, a climatically and societally complex time.

These last few years have clearly shown that our taken-for-granted human-made political, monetary and life support structures exist on a knife edge; that the planet and its climate can no longer take the constant battering we have been giving it for decades, and that we have to figure out, and very rapidly, new systems, and accept that never-ending growth is not the future, rather, a humble acceptation of de-growth while there is still time...

Oof... Anyway, Londonia is certainly not all dark, a genre I would term Dyst-hopeia, dystopia with warmth heart, humour and hope. 

The new paperback is available on Amazon, Blackwells or from Tartarus Press directly, as is the hardback and ebook format.

The follow-up book is at completion point and I am seeking new representation to carry forward the Londonia series.

“British author Hardy debuts with a dystopian yet enchanting novel set in the early 2070s…Hardy’s almost hopeful view of the world’s inevitably chaotic future lifts this entertaining and well-told tale.” Publishers Weekly

Londonia's book jacket intro:

Londonia, that’s where we are. A sprawl of a place surrounding The Cincture - all of it once London town. 

Some persons say we’re in the year 2073, others cycle 60 . . . who gives a creepin’ beetle where we are in the history of man. Fukked it up good and proper didn’t we – they, humankind generally. 

All I know is I got my shed, my friends and a little bit of an angle on stuff – visions, see inside persons, y’know. 

Anyway, ain’t about me so much this book, more about Hoxton and her life. 

Within half a clockface I knew she was different . . . not so many damefolk would take over a church after waking on a bench with not so much as a gnat’s knowledge of what happened in their life before that moment. Got it sorted she has: a finder’s life for her – whatever you want: coffee, a shootstick, fresh meat, Zeitporn, snash, gnole . . . her ‘an Jarvis, they’ll find it – for a goodly trade, of course.

All sorted until a jaunt into The Cincture caused her to learn something that opened up a chink into the past; something that started the ultimate finding mission. 

Anylane, I’m getting ahead of meself here. Pull up that armchair to the fire, turn this over and start reading. I’ll put the kettle on if the watermec’s been. Jake’s the name – Jake the prophet.

 

 

Post for no reason other than colour

I strayed onto the Twitter platform this morning to 'Like' something - and I did genuinely like it, a Tweet from my publisher, Tartarus Press, about their latest book, Fifty Forgotten Books, an interesting tome I will buy for a certain person's Christmas present.

Twitter is a place of intense noise, less tweet, more Tinnitus. I used to add the odd comment but found I was thinking up banalities in order to receive my brain-hit of affirmation and backed away again. I'm sure it has its important uses, politically and informationally but it feels like just another layer of image and sound to be absorbed.

Anyway, as I started to scroll, almost unaware I was doing so, I noticed the image below and was struck by the pure beauty and calmness of the portrayed pile of plant dyed fabrics. After reading a Guardian article yesterday morning about the amount of chemicals, including, clothes dyes found in Raptor livers, noting something as simple as colours made from nettle, acorns and gorse flowers was somehow incredibly reassuring and at the same time overwhelmingly sad. How have we made such a mess of everything in such a short time on this planet?

Thank you to who ever posted the picture - sorry I failed to note the name. I might wander into the realm of plant dyes and incorporate them into my artworks that I will be starting . . . soon. After the building project is finished, see previous post.  

 

Mind library

I was going through some recent images on the computer and came across a photograph of a certain type of fishing hut used largely on the French Atlantic coast - and probably elsewhere. It reminded me immediately of Bert-the Swagger's stilt house. I then thought back to the original ink drawing I had made a few years back of said house and wondered where the inspiration had come from. I must have previously walked that stretch of coast and been intrigued by the house and its net arrangements and stocked the images in my mind for some future use.

Here is the photo, and I will try and find the ink drawing...

Bert-the Swagger? A greasy, wily and Dickensian character in my Londonia series of books who lives on the edge of the Thames in afore-mentioned black-planked house, retrieving previously hidden items from the river's mud; often items we would today regard as common place, but in 2073, valuable rarities.

Here is a section of Londonia in which our heroine, Hoxton, a gifted 'finder' is (reluctantly) visiting Bert-the-Swagger to see if he has a stock of early 21st century mobile phones that certain wealthy clients of hers are seeking.

                                                                         ***

The strident sound of barge horns cause Kafka’s ears to crank up; we are nearly at Black Lake and our destination. A few paces on and Bert’s territory comes into view. Despite his stature, he manages to command eerie respect over would-be raiders of his patch. The legs of his black-planked stilt hut are no longer immersed in mud as the tide heights have gradually decreased again over the cycles. The building now stands like an angular crane fly some distance from the water’s edge, the rest of Bert’s domain behind it in the shape of a large metal hangar guarded by two bored heavies by day and roaming hounds during darking time.

At my approach one of the mecs stands up and squints at me. Then he recognises my top hat and Kafka’s grey hide.

‘Miss ’Oxton . . .’ Striding over, he wrestles the gate lock with meaty hands. ‘Ze Guv ees in ze small ’ouse—’e said to go up.’

This is not a good sign—Bert in the small house . . . anylane, I slip down from Kafka and hand over the reins. The mec leads Kafka over to Bert’s horse-parking and I lift my long coat ends from the mud, step around the puddles and take the thin ladder up to Bert’s abode.

I rap on the glass of the door and his oddly aristocratic voice answers. ‘If it’s you, Hoxton, come in. Anyone else can vertically saunter off again.’

Opening the door, I am greeted by the sight of the house- owner clad in a paisley silk dressing gown, tied worryingly loosely about his ample waist.

‘Goodly morn, Bert.’
‘And to you too, beauty.’
‘You got my pigeon message?’
‘Indeed. Four fine ladies in need of antique communication devices . . . well, antique in age but a technology beyond our usage at this present time. Curious that, don’t you think?’

Bert—a philosopher . . . and he’s right. It is odd. Humans taking a step backwards. A technological descent.

‘It is curious,’ I agree. ‘Do you think people in that era imagined technology actually going downhill?’

‘They didn’t,’ he says, relighting the stub of a cigar, ‘onward and forward with the next gadget. Take these phones for example —always bigger and brighter, more detail and definition.’

‘But what were they for—these small screens? Why are my clients so fascinated? They already appear to have telephones to contact each other.’

‘Ah, dear Hoxton. Have you not read up on the subject after I showed you these jewels on your last visit?’

‘No. I don’t have time, or light. Any I do manage currently are about improving soil and water capture.’

‘Tsk. These things of metal, plastic and glass were quite extraordinary. Just with the brushing of one finger across the surface, you could find out, listen to, look at any article you desired to access.’

‘Unlimited access?’

He nods, a manic look in his eyes. ‘Virtually visit the interior of a world-famous site, watch amusing films of peoples’ domes- tic creatures, find out any historical fact, learn how to make bread . . .’

‘But books can tell me that, and I can make bread.’

‘Ah, but there’s so much more.’ A slight film of sweat has appeared under Bert’s sandy comb-over. He leans closer. ‘Imagine an ocean of sexual acts available to you through that little screen—whatever your persuasion.’

I step back and trip over a small embroidered footstool. He grabs my arm and pulls me back, face close to mine, whisky and tobacco breath wheezing through his overworked lungs.

I push him away and present my carpet bag.

‘Well, while technology is rotting away in your barn over there, enjoy some paper substitutes.’ He stops pawing me and looks hopefully at the bag as I pull out and splay three lurid works.

‘Mm, quite titillating . . . but four devices you say, with their necessary cabling?’

‘Four, yes.’
‘And, no doubt, they will require pristine examples.’

I can see only too well which direction this is heading in.

‘Within reason, yes. But you have many—I was given the tour, if you recall.’

‘Yes, I have many but a large percentage of them are beyond any possible reconnection—their interiors leached away by rotting batteries, bodies dented, smashed, only useful for their components. I do, however, have a small collection which are completely mint—with their boxes . . .’

‘I see. One question, Bert.’
‘Seraph?’
‘How do you come to have all these items?’

He smooths the strands of hair that have flopped loose and smiles, revealing an array of gold teeth that would impress a Vaux-haulers gang member.

‘Because, my dear, I had a shop that sold these very things.’ 

‘You did? In the Cincture?’

‘This was long-cycles before the Cincture walls were built, when London was just London, made up of many boroughs. I left, with a lot of my stock, during the chaos of the Final Curtain and the Fashocom party took over, albeit for a short reign. I’d heard they were planning a scoop of all technological equip- ment, so for that, and other reasons I thought the largely ignored outer zones might be a better place to disappear to.’

I wonder if other swaggers might have squirreled away such things from that time. He guesses my thoughts.

‘I wouldn’t bother, Hoxton. They come to me—I have the biggest collection of pre-Curtain communication. And I know the supply limitations in the Cincture. They may be starting up the internet, or inner-web as they are calling it but it’s only for central computer usage—public playing about is a long way off.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘I come from there, Seraph. Still have family in Mayfair, and the occasional letter communication.’

‘So, if I take these things back they may not be able to use them?’

‘Do you care?’
Do I? ‘I suppose not.’
‘And what do you get in return.’
‘That’s not really your business, is it?’
‘It must be more than just straightforward trading. Perhaps I could assist you.’

I feel the day slipping away. ‘It’s fine. Thanks. Perhaps I couldsee the items?’

He gestures to a floral armchair. ‘Certainly. Make yourself comfortable—whisky in the decanter there if you wish—and I will return tout de suite.’

I sit as invited and glance around his curiously feminine and fussy abode full of Victoriana objects, needlework cushions and twee paintings that sit uncomfortably with his taste in more fleshy activities. He reappears attired in a brown and black checked suit, fraying yellow shirt and odd shoes. Staring at them, I recall the brogues.

‘Shame the shoes don’t do the suit justice, Bert. However, I may be able to assist you.’ I open my bag and hand him the cloth-wrapped beauties.

He gawps, checks the sizing, kicks off the odds and tries mine.

‘Well played, mademoiselle.’ 

‘So, we’re on the same page. Shoes and magazines for the four phones.’

He looks up from admiring the leather. ‘Not quite.’

We begin the trade standoff—weighing up the other’s will. I’m close to pushing him over onto his chintzy sofa, yanking the shoes from his feet and scrambling back down the ladder . . . but, to fail this Find? God’s own phone, these dames will be paying.

‘D’ac. Show me the articles. And not in those shoes.’

He grins, removes them and slips back on the tan mis- matches.

‘To the hangar then.’

After the warmth of Bert’s fuggy stilt-house, it’s vile outside. A greasy wind gyrates around the muddied compound, flicking up ash and bones. We hurry over to the hangar and the two guards leave their bin-fire to slide open the massive, wheeled door. Inside, Bert wrenches gruntily at the cord on an ancient generator and it reluctantly spits into life disgorging sooty fumes. Two suspended metal-shaded lights pop on and I gaze at the lines of shelving, their perspective lines disappearing into darkness at the back of this metal behemoth.

Bert waves a leather-gloved hand at each section.

‘River mud finds—metal, wood and ceramic. Nails, screws, tools . . . there, wheels and vehicle parts. Over here, computers and associated paraphernalia, and what you are after.’ I follow him to a compartmentalised section of metal containers. He draws one out, unlocks it and carefully takes out plastic-encased flattish white cardboard boxes. ‘These were de rigueur in 2025 —the iPhone soft-screen Z and the Samsung Orgo. Note how exquisite they are, how smooth the glass is.’

I take the slippery object, hold it to my ear and nearly drop it.

‘Why is it flat and not shaped like a . . . handle, or something ergonomic.’

He smiles at me as if I am a very, very old person. ‘I think it is impossible for someone of now to understand the design element and usefulness of such a thing.’

‘I think you are probably utterly correct. Spades are useful, horses, wood-burning stoves, paper, ink pens, books and strong boots are useful, with or without a design element.’

He takes the object back from me, wraps it lovingly and places it back in its moulded nest.

‘Four of these with their chargers will trade out at: the shoes, the three magazines, that bottle I saw in your bag—an excellent year—and five minutes of your time.’

‘Doing what exactly,’ I say, having a fairly clear idea.

A short while later, I gallop Kafka along the river edge, concentrating on the sound of his hooves drumming on the mud- flats, shutting out the sounds of Bert the Swagger gasping in a shadowy corner of the warehouse. My hand still bears the imprint of his unpleasant member . . . at least he had been accurate in timing. A few turns of my pocket watch’s hands and he was a happier Swagger and I was out of there with my trade accomplished including a remote for Mrs Caruso’s television. 

Curriculum vitae of me

Or at least the writing side of me, not all the: 'I worked in a chip shop/ Mars Bar factory/I was an architectural drawings maker/ photographic stylist (driving around London like a manic cabbie) for far to many years / etc.

Time to knit together all the years that I've been doing this writing thing and lay it out on paper, or screen. This post will become paper sooner than later as I don't at all trust this spooky internet place which will no doubt disappear within a not so far off point…(see Londonia).

I've been making blog books as I go along, a strange and rather expensive procedure where one downloads the chosen posts into afore-mentioned internet place/Blog-to-Book company, and a shiny hardback appears from somewhere a few weeks later.

Actually . . . I think CVs usually start with the present day's activities, but it feels more relevant to me to start at the beginning.

 

Anyway, anyway. So . . .

Mr mint and the monster

My first wax crayon, pencil and floppy exercise book novel at the age of about seven.

 

Third year art school final project - collection of short stories, sadly (for me) lost somewhere in a move.

 

Alfi Beasti, don't eat that!

A story of fussy eating habits inspired by our own fussy eater, published by Puffin Books in 2004. 

 

After a period of illustration and painting I started writing for the adult market, starting with my trilogy: 'Going out in the Midday Sun'. These books have links with Londonia, and most of my other novels. In fact, all my novels have links with each other . . .

 

Londonia

 The idea for the novel commenced, as often happens for me, during a swim - woman, in the future, living in a church with a horse named Kafka. The story changed many times but the main character, Hoxton, remained true to my first idea of a feisty female trader living in the chaos of a lawless city sprawl beyond the order and constraints of a central power base. The novel is dystopian but I'd rather term it 'dyst-hopia'. Grimness with hope. 

 

...Londonia by Kate Hardy is a magnificent book on many levels. It's impossible to categorise this as a dystopian or sci-fi work, although it is both. It's much more than that, completely shorn of every tired cliché from that genre; it manages to combine no small dread of an only too prescient future with a glorious story of human spirit...

 

Londonia was published by Tartarus Press in 2020.

 

Smithi, Hatfield and the South (working title) is the follow-up book to Londonia and has been edited to publication standard.

Jez

Adapted from a short story, Dog; from Dog, and other tales, my short story collection.

 

An alien arrives on Earth in Epping Forest and makes his way to shelter in a woman's shed. Assigned to study humans and report back to his planet he instead falls in love with the shed-owner and becomes marooned. His presence on the planet slowly but surely changes everything for mankind.

The Seventy-Seventh Book

The tale of luckless, book shop owner, Hamish Harris, and how the discovery of a never-before-seen book rockets his life into euphoric chaos. 

 

The original short story which inspired the novel was chosen to be read by Anton Lesser on the excellent and now sadly defunct site, 'Cracked Eye'. I still have the recording and it is delicious...

 

 

The Panto Horse End.

After an untimely death within the back end of a pantomime horse, Marion Peel arrives in what she assumes is the local hospital but is in fact, Perpetuania, where she faces certain complicated time-travel choices concerning her future existence.

 

The Couch.

 An eighteenth-century couch's narration starts within a Loire chateau as he/she observes the antics of the building’s new owner, rockstar, Todd Brightwater. The story follows the changing fortunes of Todd, his offspring, and on into future generations of the Brightwater family to conclude during a far-off time on Hampstead Heath as the couch becomes the centre of the then inhabitants' evening rituals.

 

Outcrier.

My current novel set in an unspecified time following the life of boatman and ex-town crier, Opera-Jo.

 

6,000 words in and I feel it's going to be a very   long   story - in a good way; already the tangents are taking hold of my pen/index fingers/keyboard.

 

 

So, there we are. Writing is essential to me, and I work on whatever my current project is every day, the most productive time being 6:00 am with tea and hot water bottles in my study (bed).

LONDONIA review by PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

Rather a delay in reviewing due to Covid confusion but worth waiting for.

British author Hardy debuts with a dystopian yet enchanting novel set in the early 2070s, a period some three decades after the Final Curtain, a cataclysmic occurrence whose exact nature is never revealed.

The elite live in the Cincture, an area that corresponds to central London, which is now contained within walls of 'shining coppery metal'. The citizens of the sprawling area outside the walls called Londonia muddle along by sharing what little they possess and bartering.

Hoxton, a beautiful woman in her 30s, wakes up one morning in Londonia with no memory of what went before. She is soon befriended by Jarvis a wily old soul, who immediately reckons that she would make an excellent Finder: someone who barters for goods and seeks out items that clients want, such as spectacles or an 'Ikea cabinet, circa 2025.'

During a visit to the Cincture on business, Hoxton discovers she has a son, and her search to find him and understand her past begins. The author does a fine job portraying her Dickensian characters. Hardy's almost hopeful view of the world's inevitably chaotic future lifts this entertaining and well-told tale.

Agent: Sandra Sawicka, Marjacq Scripts (U.K). (July)

Londonia is available from Tartarus Press/Amazon/Bookshops as a magnificent hardback or in Kindle format.

Click link on right to buy book from Tartarus. Pdf of first chapter also available.

Latest Londonia review

Another positive and in depth review by Sarah Tanburn at HORLA - the home of intelligent horror.

I ENJOY a good sprawl of a novel about London and Kate A Hardy has served up a good one in her big stewpot of ideas and images with a solid side order of mystery. This is a long, immersive read, excellent for those of us waiting out lockdown... Hardy has created a complex world, rich in allusion and geography. It is satisfyingly sensual, full of smell and touch and noise ...

Live reading from my novel, Londonia.

An extract in which our heroine, Hoxton, visits a 'shouting house' (auction rooms circa 2072) to seek a requested Ikea cabinet.

Book launch in unusual times....

Londonia is a dystopian tale, albeit a relatively cheery one, but I didn't expect to be shoving it off from its moorings in quite such an extraordinary moment in time.

Having planned the event for many weeks the thought of the whole thing being called off was depressing to say the least - and I know thousands of other folks are in a similar and worse situation with far bigger events to worry about. Anyway, we did it - just in time, on Friday the 13th of March 2020.

Wednesday.
Arrived early evening in London and headed for our favourite home-from-home cheapy hotel, St Athans, in Bloomsbury. Visited the local Indian restaurant for a plate of veg curry, returned and slept soundly.

Thursday.
Mad day of trawling Oxfam shops for a selection of plates, mugs, glasses etc to 'prop' the food section of the venue. (As the book is largely concerned with the heroine's profession of Finder and super scavenger, I felt an eclectic mix of old crockery would be appropriate). Also found a suitable recycled outfit for me, including a goodly hat from a clothes jumble emporium in Covent Garden, red stiletto boots from Goodge street Oxfam and a five quid Aquascutam jacket to which I added a large embroidered bird motif - added later at three o'clock in the morning when I couldn't sleep...
Took it all back to the hotel, replied to about fifty emails all concerning whether the launch was going ahead - some people being nervous, most encouraging me to do it. The venue staff were fine, my brother doing the food was fine, nearly everyone was coming, so I stopped worrying and continued writing lists.
Supper in bizarre 70s time-warp Italian restaurant on Southampton Row, where there were many suited men with tattooed bald heads, and appalling music. The food was good - after I sent it back for being undercooked.

Friday.
I didn't sleep apart from about two hours during which my dreams were more chaotic than usual, so was feeling somewhat dazed. Had breakfast in a caf round the corner and earwigged lots of conversations about The VIRUS, one including the phrase: 'so does pasta and bog roll kill the virus then? Har-har-har-har...'
Went and queued up outside Waitrose along with many people peering through the glass doors to see if bog rolls had been re-stocked. Eight o'clock, the doors opened and their was a gentle, middle-class stampede for the afore-mentioned items. I was after unusual beers that I could soak the labels off and use for my own 'Stripy Horse Drinking-House beers' plus some wine box wine that could be bastardised and put into demijohns and a few cakes to alter. Paid scary bill and left it all to be collected later.
Went back to bed for a bit and stared at the ceiling. Got up and met our lovely relatives who were going to help with the event - Nick having agreed to be MC. Indian resto lunch, collected all the china, food etc and went to the venue. Gill and I went to buy a vast quantity of Indian sweets (barfi) and got lost; cab back and three hours of really mad prep. All exhausted as the venue is up three flights of stairs - but well worth it. Link below.

So. The soiree.

                      

                                         The wonderful Shoreditch Treehouse



the Oxfam china



food table and Sid from 'The Gorecy Potatoes'

 

Me making 'gnole' labels



Me and my bro - Adrian who did all the magnificent food, with the help of Sophie and Terry



   

                   



                                           Rosalie, Ray (publishers) and me









Nick the MC - questions and answers

                               

                                              Me, sister in law, Katherine, and Nick

           



                    

                                                                   book signing



Mark playing his 'Londonia Suite' at the close of the evening

Wonderful in every way. Ray and Rosalie from Tartarus - my publishers, appeared with incredibly heavy boxes of books (it is a big tome); Nick was brilliant as MC; his and Gill's son, Charlie wonderful as Bert-the Swagger in the introduction; my brother and team surpassed themselves with the food; intrepid and lovely friends, family, agent and new acquaintances all appeared, and Mark (husband) arrived hot-foot from the airport only a little late.
Music was provided brilliantly by Mark, Sid and Ruth - who appear in the book as the Gorecy (hot in Polish) potatoes.
I answered Nick's questions, read three sections of the book, and, yes, even though I am British, totally enjoyed being the centre of attention for an evening; to mark this personally important moment in time when a long-standing project finally came to fruition.
After Mark had played his 'Londonia suite' on the venue's magnificent Steinway, people gradually left and a mad clear up followed. Stood yawning waiting for a cab outside and back to the hotel where one of the lovely staff suggested in his slow, mesmerising Russian accent: 'I get you nice cup of tea?'
Which he did and it was nice. Very.
Saturday.
Good sleep but not enough.
Breakfast at the Bloomsbury coffee-house downstairs, then a long walk around Regents Park, Camden, and Euston to meet friend Claire for the Diwana Bel Poori House (wonderful vegetarian buffet) experience.

Nap, and met more friends for tea in Museum Street after which I gazed at my book in the window of Atlantis Bookshop.... Wow. Author happiness indeed. Signed books and then carried on to my favourite street in London - Cecil Court, where sits the very dangerous Storey's antique map shop. Had a browse, resisted buying a huge 1765 map of London, had a good chat with the owners then called in to Watkins and Goldsboro books to go on about my book - which they put up with charmingly.

  
Covent garden was scarily business as usual mass eating, drinking, self-admiration, shopping... Walked swiftly back to the hotel and out to very quiet favourite Italian restaurant called Montdello in Goodge Street which has all its 70s decoration and original owners firmly in place, praise be! Hotel. Bed.
Sunday.
Taxi to Liverpool St Station, Train to Stansted (we have given up flying but this was the only option for this occasion). Airport was similar to Covent Garden in its shopping frenzy-ness. We didn't partake of shop, eat and relax as we were late. Boarded three quarter-empty plane and spent most of the time gazing down at all the thousands of tiny villages and towns, wondering about each household's reaction to the eerie and rapidly changing virus advice unfolding via the various governments media teams.
Home. Dogs were fine, our lovely dog-sitter, Amy, fine; chickens, fine . . . all the madness and planning finished and end result very much enjoyed.

I'm writing this on Tuesday, back in my writing studio (bed with hot water bottles). It's Mark's birthday and we've just eaten a very fine roast lunch. Strange times, and I think I will stop at this point and make a new blog book. Feels like a fitting time. If the dystopian scenario in my novel were to come to pass . . . blog safe on paper and within cardboard . . . well, seems like a good idea.
Toodle-oo.

Book can be ordered on link below, or from most bookshops/Amazon, etc.

http://tartaruspress.com/hardy%2C-kate-a-londonia.html?LMCL=I773tb


                        

                                               A quieter London - canal near Camden