Despite the relentlessly controversial subject matter, there is variety here, meaning a few stories are structured more satisfyingly than others. Those that disappoint (‘Fly’, ‘IIIVVWVVIIIVV’) are very short, and their language opaque to the point of impenetrability. But when Kendall permits us to access a character, over a longer, first person narrative, the results can be as intimate as they are unnerving. ‘Solid Gold’, for example, performs a careful, insidious seduction on the reader. In it, a woman drags an abandoned motor engine from the street and into her bedroom. Just so she can sleep beside it. As if it were her lover. The scenes of tenderness here are more powerful than those of dismemberment elsewhere. The image of black motor oil sluicing over white carpet is as chilling as a bloodstain on a bedsheet. Similarly, the dreamy-dark metaphors in the eponymous ‘The Bride Stripped Bare’ deserve your attention: “a horse lies broken in her dream street, sleek-bellied, white-eyed, not yet dead but near enough”. That’s an opening sentence that buys you half an hour with me, anytime.

Maybe don’t read them all in one sitting, or on a full stomach. But Kendall’s twisted tales have more than just shock-value in their favour.

3 stars.

It’s not that the book was merely repugnant in the borin’ old guts, pestilence & death department. It wasn’t even that his tale of depression and biology was inherently amoral; it barely raised issues beyond ‘Geneticists, you so crazy!’. It was that you felt a little too close to the author. You felt that his cautionary tale was actually only loosely dressed up as such; really it was a kind of hypothetical manifesto. You finished it feeling deeply uneasy about running into Michel Houellebecq on your way home.

A warning then: Houellebecq gets even closer in his latest work. The Prix Goncourt-winning The Map and the Territory is afflicted by that wacky post-modernist device used only by twats: Houellebecq has inserted himself as a fictional character. Called Michel Houellebecq. And within pages he prefixes the name with ‘the great writer,’. He’s allowed to make this self-aggrandizing claim because it’s not really Michel Houellebecq, It’s just a character called Michel Houellebecq that writes books with identical titles to the ones that the real Michel Houellebecq writes, get it? No? Well, sux 2 b u sunshine, because this is the insaaaane world of literature we live in now, and you better be ready for it.

After a while, the books begins to seem like nothing more than an excuse for the author to type his own name, or casually remind the reader of his, Michel Houellebecq’s, existence. Could it be Houllebecq would rather the spotlight be trained on him than his work? Read this review again and decide.

1 star.

I’m re-reading ‘White Teeth’ by Zadie Smith. It’s actually one of the books on my course for a Literature module. I enjoyed it first time round and thought I’d give it another whirl.

In the briefest possible terms, the book revolves around wartime friends Archie and Samad, an Englishman and Bangladeshi. The book goes on to cover the next 45 years of their lives with lengthy stops made in 60’s and 70’s, and also the occasional flashback.  The true protagonists are Archie’s daughter Irie, and Samad’s twin sons, Millat and Majid; with the story following their struggle for identity in Britain from minority backgrounds.

Does it have lots of footnotes like those annoying Houellebecq novels? Are you constantly thinking ‘Shall I read to the end of the sentence or stop in the middle and look at the footnote? Christ, I hate this.’? 

No footnotes, thankfully. It is quite a long read, but I think if you pursue it, it is worth it. Or maybe I just love novels to do with cultural conflict. And historical reference points I pretend to know then secretly Wikipedia them later on.

Do you switch off for long periods, look at the words for 20 pages then realise you haven’t actually been reading it?

First time round, I honestly could not stop reading it. I’m cool and have friends, honest. Second time round, I’m finding Smith to be quite pretentious in her prose.

How often are the characters boozing and smoking? Is it loads?

Bare times, you know. Especially that Millat. What a naughty character.

Have you ever had a nosebleed while reading a book, then frantically tried to stop it but it just got worse and your book forever looks like it went through the shower scene in Psycho? Not relevant to what you’re reading but I’d like to know.

Nah, sorry. I have got food stains on my books before though because I always think eating things like ice-cream or soup are acceptable when reading. Or nail varnish. Painting my nails while reading isn’t one of the best ideas I’ve come up with.

How did you happen upon this book? Sighted across a crowded room? Recommended in a letter? Discussed on a street corner?

The University of Manchester English Literature reading list for the module of ‘Writing, Identity and Nation’. I did actually want to read it prior to taking this course but I suppose all the more reason now.

With my final question, I’d like to take the opportunity to ask you to tell me any single solid, interesting fact about this book.

It won the Guardian First Book Award. And a TV adaptation was made. That’s two facts but I play by my own rules.

It was more than good, it was superb. ‘Sacred Hearts’ tells the story of the convent of Santa Caterina, at its core sixteen year old Serafina, who pounds and cries against her cell doors as she is imprisoned in her new convent life. Yet this is not a solo piece – for constantly in the background of our main players are the women, and the life of the convent – and it is for this coming of despair, and condemnation, and the banal, and the divine that the show really deserved its encore.

Sarah Dunant, the writer herself, and Deborah Findlay acted beautifully as did the singers of Music Secreta. Niamh Cusak very intensely, perhaps slightly affectedly starred too. However, I venture that it was the group’s so wonderful singing, in the truly atmospheric Manchester Cathedral, that really made you feel, there was something sacred in the air.

Those who braved the blustery trip were rewarded with an honest, humourous and evocative examination of the genre, its stake in society and its fair share of controversy, with wonderful guidance from compere Barry Forshaw. Residing were two Norwegian authors; hotshot Thomas Enger, with his first book Burned published to critical acclaim, and veteran KO Dahl, with four of his grand catalogue now published in English, alongside Icelandic bestseller Yrsa Sigurdardottir whose work is translated in over thirty countries.

Contrary to expectation, the three aren’t indebted to the work of genre establishers such as Henning Mankell. Rather, they draw upon themselves to create striking characters; Enger states that his greatest fear is losing his children, and so for Burned’s protagonist fear becomes reality. Refreshingly, politics do not pervade their work; they seek to entertain and on occasion portray Nordic society, but feel no pressure to do so. Sigurdardottir is keen to reference the expectation of female writers to shy away from gratuity, a sexist sentiment that masks the trio’s desire to favour characterisation and the craft of a thrilling narrative. Despite further reservations in regards to the faltering economy and a potentially fickle international audience, it is bracing to see a genre flourish under passionate writers remaining true to themselves.

“In my Grandmothers case she only becomes more and more remarkable to me. She was certainly the easiest to write. She had a gift for warping reality. In terms of my parents, to any child their parents are gods. My parents were colorful people and I lived in an interesting place.”

This is certainly true. Eminent authors like Mario Puzo and other stars mingle with the memoirs colorful cast, I wondered if she felt that this affected her. “In terms of Mario he was to me just very sweet, he had written a book that he didn’t think was very good and much preferred his earlier work. He was just a nice guy, most people around weren’t famous though.”

Her response is typically grounded, I asked if it was easy to shake of her father’s extraordinary success, or if it was intimidating. “It always felt strange for me when people treated him as famous. He was a writer not a rockstar, we were not fabulously wealthy there were just certain things we could do that we couldn’t do before ”

We move to more painful aspects of her book. As well as frankly discussing subjects such as her battle with cancer it tells the story of her parents explosive divorce. “Was it cathartic to write?” I asked. “No. It was not cathartic at all, I have a feeling that if you took apart any divorce it would be more painful than people imagine.”

One of the most astounding episodes is her father’s behavior surrounding the divorce. She writes her father was intent ‘not just divorce but to annihilate’ her mother. I asked how these episodes affect her, as the book, perhaps remarkably given his actions, is free from a lasting sense of resentment. “Well he’s dead and you learn to live with it. The game is over. I’m not 12 anymore and you make peace with everybody. My basic feeling is that we’re all nuts and do the best we can, he did the best be could.”

She does admit, “Their divorce was more difficult than most, more prolonged.” We discuss the trauma surrounding the publication of Something Happened a practical assault by Joesph towards his family that contains a chapter entitled “My Daughter’s Unhappy.” I asked how she felt about it now. “Dreadful.” Though, “It’s an interesting dilemma. There were things I wanted to write about in this book, but I didn’t share his feeling that everybody is fair game.”

However, like her father she clearly writes from bitter experience and her writing contains a sharp eye for humor. I ask if she has inherited his wit. She is cautious but admits, “It would certainly make sense I guess. I think we all turn into our parents in some ways.”

I asked, “Who would you count among your literary influences?” “Good question, Edna O’Brien is someone who has meant a lot to me also J. P. Donleavy’s novel The Ginger Man” however she stopped reading fiction during this project “I didn’t want to be intimidated by others.”

I asked her if she planned to write again. “I’m lucky to survive this! I wouldn’t write fiction, that didn’t work out too well.” However she has “discovered that I do like telling stories. I see things as stories, I’ll go across the street for a cheese sandwich and I’ll come back with 19 more stories.”

We finish with Catch 22 and I asked her if she thought she would ever read it. It’s an emphatic “No.” “I could, the writing is overwhelmingly good to me, especially for the time. I suppose I’ll always have it to read.” I tell her she would enjoy it but I sense perhaps her feelings are more complex than reading for pleasure, however she did add “people have said they’re jealous of me because they wish they could read it for the first time again.”

The memoir cites Kinky Friedman in drawing the distinction between ‘important’ and‘significant’ novels placing Catch very definitely in the latter group. I finish by asking why her father’s most famous work is so enduring.

“The more time that goes by since from World War Two the more appropriate it becomes. At that time you couldn’t show a lack of respect to certain things. My father was not the first to write about the war but was the first to poke holes in the mythology. The worse we get, the better it gets. It makes me proud and makes me feel old.”

Starter for Ten is a novel published back in 2003 by David Nicholls about Brian Jackson and his first year at University during the 80’s. The title refers to the television programme, University Challenge (every University student’s ambition), the BBC quiz show where students answer questions on subjects like the 18^th Century Literary movement, Viking mythology and what the common name for the narcotic analgesic is (It’s morphine, by the way).

The plot revolves around first year student Brian Jackson—navigating his way through a world of social mores, protests, parties and first love without a compass.

Reading this, various friends popped into mind from my first year and now second year also. I may have met a couple of guys very similar to the protagonist, but I have also certainly met a lot of the peripheral characters too.

Nicholls nails each University stereotype to a T; yet you don’t feel angry with him for placing you in such a pigeonholed ideal. Instead, you agree. Why yes, I am a little nerdy and openly enjoy my degree. Oh wait, or am I the one who sleeps in and thinks “shit! Overslept again” each morning?

It’s a coming of age novel that is sharply observant and witty.

Nicholls has managed to convey real warmth and character, and Brian comes across as an unselfconfident teenager, who is aware wholly when he’s saying or doing something stupid but just can’t seem to stop himself, like most.

Just as bad would be to give in and read some wholly vacuous trash that you can skim through in the same amount of time it takes to watch the Jennifer Anniston film it’s based on. So where, where can you find a wonderful middle ground? A book which is a riot to read but which you wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen leafing through in public? Well, of course, there are loads. But no other author seems to write books as tailor made for students as Haruki Murakami.

Murakami is a highly original Japanese author, whose novels often utilise magic realism and dark, looping narratives. Seemingly paradoxically, his books are as utterly baffling as they are completely accessible. If you’re a fan of predictable plots and tied-up ends, steer well clear of this one. His novels don’t follow any formula I can think of. Constant, bewildering madness hits you at every page, until you’re almost physically reacting to it. Truckloads of apparent nonsense whirl around in no particular order, acres and acres of it, like a swirling vortex of incomprehension. You have absolutely no idea what is going on most of the time, but are still incurably gripped. Their unconventional, bounding plots and unexplained occurrences and symbolism make them almost poetic, but also wholly un-putdownable.

If you’re not gasping and wincing and laughing and crying in confusion (which you usually are, simultaneously and all the time) then you’re reading an incredibly explicit sex scene. You’ll always think there’s some context or reason for it happening, but there isn’t. In fact, sometimes you don’t know if it even is happening, or if it’s just the imagination of the main character. That’s the case in Kafka on the Shore, a 600 page monster but which you will get through in two days purely by its incredibly gripping, lucid writing style. And maybe, if you’re not reading excruciatingly descriptive sex scenes, you’re reading scenes of unimaginable horror that will keep you awake for two weeks after you read it. There’s a section I still think about and shudder in The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. I won’t give it away, but it involves skinning.

None of what I have said fits the description of Norwegian Wood, which is Murakami’s most famous and most popular novel for some reason. That one is an almost completely by-the-books tragic love story. It’s the sort of book you’ll tilt your head at once you’ve read the last page and generously give a B+. Something mad like 60% of the Japanese population has read Norwegian Wood and there’s recently been a predictably ‘kind-of-alright’ film based on it, released on the island to mind-bending box office success. Their love of that novel over his other more surrealist works is almost as confusing as the plots of those books themselves.

The prior mentioned Kafka on the Shore and The Wind-up Bird Chronicle are the ones to look out for. If you liked them, pick up a copy of After Dark, and maybe Dance Dance Dance and Sputnik Sweetheart. He has recently released a novel called 1984. Don’t know if anyone told him that that title is taken already.

A lot of the time the characters in Murakami novels are students at university, flitting between doing student things and being manipulated by the labyrinthian maze that is Murakami’s mind. So there you are. If you want a real contemporary page-turner, which is also semi-relatable and genuinely good literature, look no further than this sparkling gem of an author.

Calvin (named after John Calvin, the 16^th century Reformation theologian) and Hobbes (after the 17^th century political philosopher, Thomas Hobbes) are two acutely well-realised characters birthed from the brilliant mind of Bill Watterson in the mid 80s. Set in an unspecified suburban area of North America, Calvin is an intelligent and imaginative boy who does badly at school due to his inward-looking, misanthropic attitude. To the lonely six year old, Hobbes is his walking, talking, fuzzy and philosophizing best friend. To everyone else, he’s just a stuffed tiger.

More than anything, Calvin’s sheer intensity of imagination is the dominant theme of the strips, and it quite quickly becomes obvious that Watterson has put absolutely no limits on what he can draw or what he can have the characters say. I have only included a few of the more conventional Calvin and Hobbes panels on this page, but Watterson often utilises his staggering artistic capacity to conjure entire worlds borne of Calvin’s imagination. Calvin often blames his alter-egos ‘Spaceman Spiff’ and ‘Stupendous Man’ for his behaviour, claiming that ‘mild-mannered Calvin’ would never do such things, as well as frequently dreaming about dinosaurs in class and lamenting his own boring human features (‘No retractable claws, no opposable toes, no prehensile tail, no compound eyes, no fangs, no wings. Sigh.’)

Calvin is surrounded by people who don’t understand him. His never-named mum and dad are deeply loving, but almost literally living in another world – four times taller than him and unlike Calvin, firmly rooted in reality. He hates virtually everyone else: his teenage babysitter Rosalyn, the grunting school bully Moe, his equally lonely neighbour Susie Derkins – only with Hobbes does he find solace, playing his own made-up game ‘Calvinball’ (where the only rule is that you can’t play it the same way twice) as well as sledging, building grotesque and macabre snowmen and pondering his existence in the world (Calvin: Me! Everyone exists in the world to please me! Hobbes: It’s nice to have that cleared up.) Calvin frequently goes for walks in a nearby wood, where he expresses countless thoughts to Hobbes, for example: ‘I don’t need to make friends. I’d settle for being ignored’. That, I think, is a perception on the condition of a lonely childhood no less profound than those found in dark children’s books such as A Dog So Small.

Hobbes serves as Calvin’s conscience, but it isn’t quite as black and white as that. Sure, Hobbes advises Calvin against taking his sled down an almost vertical hill, and suggests that in the interests of more Christmas ‘loot’ from Santa he shouldn’t throw any snowballs at Susie (‘I wanted to put a rock in the snowball, but I didn’t. That’s got to count for something, right?’) but most of the time he has just as little subtlety and foresight as Calvin, and therefore just as much fun as him. At one point he accidently pushes the car into a ditch so that they can use the garage as a den, and packs a single honey, maple syrup and chocolate sandwich for their 500 mile hike to the Yukon. Calvin has enough people in his life telling him not to do things – Hobbes is his manifestation of the perfect friend.

Seem to have managed to get this far in the article without mentioning the one immediately accessible thing about Calvin and Hobbes. It is really, really, really funny. And not in that ‘that was a clever joke, time to smirk appreciatively at it’ way – in an embarrassingly writhing and breathless sort of way. Full of truisms, observations, nostalgia and, also, loads and loads of jokes, Watterson’s masterpiece is the pinnacle of the late 80s satirical comic love-affair, which started with the incredibly influential Peanuts and Bloom County and faded out in the 90s after Watterson set the bar too high. Watterson proved that 3 panel-jokes aren’t shallow sound-bites, but are capable of concise, deep characterisation and incredibly likable personalities, as well as sharp lampooning of consumerism, poll-taking and public apathy among other things. And did I say there are loads of jokes? LOADS AND LOADS OF FUNNY JOKES.

Calvin and Hobbes (1987)

Probably the weakest one, Watterson hadn’t quite found his feet at this point and some of the strips are clearly failed pilots for ideas. Still bloody good by normal standards though.

Something Under the Bed is Drooling (1988)

The drawings still look a bit ill-defined here but the jokes are much sharper and more satirical.

Yukon Ho! (1989)

My personal fave, the story of Calvin’s seceding from his family to the Yukon is side-splitting.

Weirdos from Another Planet (1990)

Features the only ever appearance of Uncle Max, and he’s badly missed after this.

The Revenge of the Baby-Sat (1991)

The first to make a big deal of Calvin’s hated baby-sitter Rosalyn, and the opinion poll jokes come hard and fast too.

Scientific Progress Goes “Boink” (1991)

One of the funniest, this one doesn’t put a foot wrong.

Attack of the Deranged Mutant Killer Monster Snow Goons (1992)

According to Calvin, what’s the moral of this book? ‘Snow goons are bad news.’ That should be applicable in other areas of life then.

The Days Are Just Packed (1993)

The first ‘big’ book, colour rains gloriously down upon these strips for the first time.

Homicidal Psycho Jungle Cat (1994)

Probably has the best cover of the lot.

There’s Treasure Everywhere (1995)

Watterson really got on the ball with Calvin’s imaginary alter-egos in this one. Brilliant stuff.

It’s a Magical World (1995)

A sparkling ending to the series, with a final panel that really tugs at the ol’ heartstrings.

Watterson spent a lot of his cartoon scribbling days battling with newspapers to get comic strips the space, respect and recognition they deserved. Editors would fob him off with three equally sized panels if he was lucky, but Watterson knew that the most potent, challenging, and concisely intellectual points could be made through the medium of the comic, if only he was allowed more freedom in his drawing. He attacked the idea that comics were a vacuous and shallow art form, and questioned who had the right to define the line between ‘high’ and ‘low’ art. This notion is frequently satirized in Calvin and Hobbes (see the example below).

It’s notoriously difficult to get an interview with Watterson. He refuses to see any journalists and has moved house on several occasions after the locations had been revealed. He is a positively elusive creature but you can learn a lot about him just by reading Calvin and Hobbes, which he has said is, character-wise anyway, semi-autobiographical.

For any of you who have just arrived at the university and are doing a Creative Writing degree, I’m afraid our own crème de la crème Martin Amis has fled to other pastures. But don’t reach for the noose just yet, no sir – widely celebrated Irish author Colm Tóibín has taken his place at the university and is dispensing his wisdom at the opening of the festival on 10^th October.

Something I’m not going to miss is ‘Crime in a Cold limate’ on 17^th October. Scandinavian authors have all come together for a night to discuss the incredibly gripping crime novels that have exploded out of their country in recent years. Anyone who’s partial to a bit of Stieg Larsson or Henning Mankell, or who likes The Killing or the TV adaptation of Wallander (original Swedish version obviously – sod off Kenneth Brannagh) can’t let this little number slip through their fingers.

And remember Anthony Horowitz? He did all those cool Alex Rider books with the gadgets and the flying. Now he’s written a new Sherlock Holmes story that he’s going to talk about on 3^rd November – a week or so after the festival ends as a kind of one-off. That might be worth some nostalgia value, and if you didn’t like the whole Robert Downey Jr./ Jude Law thing you can take a punt at this.

There’s so much more than what I’ve just mentioned. I haven’t scraped the surface. I didn’t really even manage to get to the surface. Just have a look on the website. And did I say how cheap all this is? With student discount a lot of the events cost just £3. We’ll be covering this as it happens too, so if anyone wants to go completely free and write a short review of any of the events then look down the page to the ‘Get Involved’ section!

I make sure to wake up late. Because that’s what Dean Moriarty would do. I don’t shave, and go find a roadside cafe to get a coffee and some apple pie. I roll a cigarette and contemplate the day ahead. 24 hours as the semi-fictional contemporary of Kerouac and Ginsburg. Soon I will step onto the pavement and, for a second, consider the open road ahead. Then head south. All the way to Withington.

I have no second wife to leave, so instead I just don’t tell my housemate where I’m going. I arrive, unexpected, on a friend’s doorstep, wondering whether he has whiskey and amphetamines, tales from the Great Midwest or beat poetry to recite. He doesn’t, but does have an Xbox 360 and cigarettes. Jazz cigarettes. So I stay and play FIFA. Because, I decide, Dean would want to.

Later that evening, I tell my friend that we need to find women and music. I suggest Mexico City and ask him if he has a Cadillac. He does not, so we are forced to compromise. We get the 142 into town.

We go looking for a smoky jazz bar, and arrive at Matt & Phreds in the Northern Quarter. The music is wild. I sit at a table and start drumming along to the beat until people eventually shush me. I go to the bar and ask how much a Manhattan is. The bartender tells me it is seven pounds. I quickly decide that, actually, Dean would probably prefer to go to The Deaf Institute tonight, so we leave and go there instead. I buy three drinks for myself. This, I decide, is somewhere I will truly get into character.

The next day I wake up early, because I’ve left my curtains open and way too much light is streaming in to the room. My head hurts. I stumble downstairs to get some orange juice and paracetemol. Then I begin to try and remember, as I turn the TV to E4, my day as Dean Moriarty.

I was hoping for a realistic portrayal of a street with so much history and instead was left feeling disappointed. Although amusing at times, in particular ‘Dr Nizami’s Pizzas’ which was set in the student epicentre of Fallowfield, I struggled to engage with most of the stories. They all too often featured two dimensional characters in downright bizarre situations – nudist pancake day, anyone? Instead of the grit and realism that was promised, David Thame presents a collection of stories that verge on being just a little bit unbelievable and dull at times. The potential for a great story to be told is still there, and at times we do see glimpses of it in Thame’s work; ‘Regulars’, the book’s opener is a promising start, featuring real, believable characters. It is just unfortunate that ‘Canal Street Gothic’ runs out of steam before it really gets going.

What are you reading, who’s it by and what’s it about?

‘Quartet’ by Jean Rhys. Marya is living in 1920s Paris with her reckless husband. When he is imprisoned she’s left broke and alone. She’s taken in by her recent acquaintances, the Heidlers, who slowly overwhelm her with their own desires. The novel is based on Rhys’ relationship with Ford Maddox Ford, his wife Stella Bowen and Jean Lenglet, Rhys’ first husband.

Is it un-putdownable or un-pickupable?

Un-putdownable.

You must always judge a book by its cover. Does it have a
pretty cover?

Penguin Modern Classics always do.

Do you identify with any of the characters, and if so why?

You can definitely sympathise with Marya and her position, even though she is very self-pitying at points.

What’s the writing style? Is it, for instance, dialogue heavy or is it mostly excruciatingly lengthy Lord of the Rings style description?

I think you could say it fits in with Modernist style literature. The novel is satirical and full of emotional descriptions of Marya’s surroundings and the people she encounters.

Can you predict the end?

I don’t think it’s going to be a happy one. The fatalistic tones in the novel are less than promising.

Do you think other students will like this, or will they cry and gnash their teeth as they read, shaking the book and screaming abuse?

I think it’s very likely it would be enjoyed and not yelled at.

Thomas gave some interesting insights into writing and the creative industries. She answered questions ranging from how she creates a character, to how she found moving from theatre production into screen writing. However, as for getting that much wished for big break into the industry, I’m sorry guys she didn’t give much away!

The discussions quickly swung to the long-running debate, concerning the snobbery that horror writing faces in the literary arena. Both Matt Haig and Conrad Williams had some fascinating insights and there talent, coupled with their relative obscurity, suggests that horror may still be receiving a raw deal.

Thomas gave some interesting insights into writing and the creative industries. She answered questions ranging from how she creates a character, to how she found moving from theatre production into screen writing. However, as for getting that much wished for big break into the industry, I’m sorry guys she didn’t give much away!

The afternoon included readings from contributors to both magazines, as well as discussing the best ways for new, low budget magazines to get material and recognition. Both magazines are sold in Cornerhouse; to contact the magazines visit www.corridor8.co.uk and www.bewilderbliss.com.