'THE INVISIBLE TWINS' BY ANDY NOWICKI: MENGELE'S MUSE

Andy Nowicki has published the first part of his new fictional work, The Invisible Twins, which now may be purchased via Kindle. The Invisible Twins—a sequel to Nowicki's 2012 novel Heart Killer—will be published in serialized form. An exclusive excerpt from Part One follows below.

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At our last meeting, you began by speaking to me with as much dispassion as ever.

ANDY NOWICKI: ALT-RIGHT NOVELIST

THE PEAT PARTY

A (re)peat offender?

by Brett Stevens

Back in the day, people were more alert and attentive to what was going on around them. They were not obsessed by detail, but trusted themselves because of their intuitive connection to their world, and so when they noticed a general change in the “shape” of events, they knew it was time to act.

The boys would break into the mead early one afternoon and talk it over. There would be some low, quiet voices from the elders, and louder voices from the young. Eventually, they would identify nodal points where things were going wrong. These points were people.

FICTION: SCHNITZEL FOR HERR SCHMITT

An everyday tale of moral signalling by German Volk

by Albrecht von Kuckenstein

It was another beautiful Spring day in Merkel’s Germany. The new rainbow flag fluttered proudly in the southerly breeze, high above the little town of Fritzmal.

“Perhaps that same breeze is right now carrying here to us yet more migrants from the Southern Lands,” thought Heinrich Schmitt in syntaxically challenged German, as he cycled leisurely home along the “Eco Lane” from his job at the automobile factory.

Back in 2017, Merkel had been installed as Chancellor-for-Life after democracy itself had been declared “racist.” This followed the moderate success in local elections of the soft civic nationalist party Alternative für Deutschland. Once granted supreme power, her first act had been to change the flag from the accursed black, red, and gold that she loathed to the new rainbow flag. Next week it was to be changed yet again, with the addition of a dildo bisecting an Islamic crescent moon over the coloured bands.

THIS MALIGNANT MIRAGE: NOWICKI ADDRESSES THE WORLD PRESS

World-famous author Andy Nowicki generously entertains questions from the pesky, poncy, pablum-puking press concerning the paperback release of his anthology THIS MALIGNANT MIRAGE: TALES OF EROTIC RAGE AND CARNAL MELANCHOLIA (now available from amazon.com via Hopeless Books).

Subjects discussed include Donald Trump's Muslim problem, angry Muslims, angry Jews, the tactical skill of employing air quotes without thus becoming an insufferable person who deserves to die, the demise of "brick and mortar" bookstores (see "airquotes"), Richard Spencer's pronunciation of "Angela Merkel," Nowicki's unsuccessful efforts to reconcile antisexualism with erotica-writing, Nowicki's unsuccessful efforts to reconcile Catholicism with erotica-writing, Nowicki's unsuccessful writing in general, and Nowicki's impending assassination.

Listen here, O ye denizens of this malignant world of naught:

https://soundcloud.com/jnow1101/this-malignant-mirage-press-conference

A NOVEL IDEA ABOUT NOVELS OF IDEAS

by Ryan Andrews

If personal anecdote is poor evidence of a more universal truth, then fictional anecdote is even worse, and the foundation of a great novel deserves better.

So I propose that there is a place for direct, sustained, quantitive analysis/argument in literary fiction. 

The main characters and their immediate story need not, and absolutely should not, be touched by this. But the establishment of setting is also important, and this ought to be done, well, with direct, sustained, quantitive analysis/argument.

HEART KILLER NOW AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK

Andy Nowicki's 2012 novel Heart Killer, published by ER Books in electronic format, is now also available in paperback form, courtesy of Hopeless Books.

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO OUR OLD FRIEND?

No man is a prophet in his own land. On this, Sir Oswald Mosley's birthday, here is a short piece of fiction that attests to this fact.

by Colin Liddell

Here in the bars, bazaars, and dens of iniquity that make up the ex-pat Far East, you run into your fair share of cads, chancers, and 'rum' fellows – the sort of chaps whose eccentricities and slight quirks go unnoticed amid the teeming masses of Asia. The broad-minded and perpetually distracted Oriental, it seems, has a nasty habit of lumping all White men in together and glossing over the subtle codes and hierarchies by which we define ourselves.

THE DAY BROTHERHOOD DIED

by Brett Stevens

They woke up confused from fractured dreams, then groggily dug through memories to remember only a strange hooded figure, a brief pinch near the neck and then blackness.

Now they found themselves bound by ankles and wrists in a tent of plastic sheeting. A figure in a tyvek safety suit with a plastic window in the head-covering came closer, but the person was wearing a balaclava under the safety hood. He raised a syringe, but there was no needle on it. Their eyes tracked down the length to see that it was full of blood.

Each of these new subjects had been captured in the midst of an illegal but more importantly un-documented activity: illegal aliens, smugglers, homeless drug addicts. Each was now gagging down 10ml of blood injected into their mouths. This blood bore what the project leader called the “spore”: the Ebola virus.

THE BIRTH OF PRUDENCE: IDENTITARIAN FICTION

                                                 

What follows is an interview between Alternative Right coeditor Andy Nowicki and author Ryan Andrews, who has published a novel with VDare.com' entitled The Birth of Prudence. Andy and Ryan discuss Ryan's novel as an example of "Identitarian fiction," tying in with Andy's previous essay "Alt Right Art" concerning the necessity of art to buttress the claims and overall cause of the "movement" in general.

AN: Ryan Andrews, you have called THE BIRTH OF PRUDENCE an example of "Identitarian fiction." Could you elaborate on what you mean by this?

Ryan Andrews: As everyone who has seen The Amazing Spider-Man knows, there is only one plot in all of literature: Who am I? The Identitarian also asks; who are we? The Birth of Prudence also asks this question, and above all, is an attempt to answer it. 

THE BEAUTIFUL AND THE SUBLIME: A MATT FORNEY PODCAST

                                                                         

Alternative Right co-editor Andy Nowicki joins controversial manosphere blogger Matt Forney on the latter's "podcast extravaganza" to discuss sex, politics, beauty, Nowicki's latest published fiction, and Lee Harvey Oswald's noisy ghost.

http://mattforney.com/2014/02/25/matt-forneys-podcast-extravaganza-episode-25-the-beautiful-and-the-sublime/

OSWALD TAKES AIM

--reposted from the old site-- January 5, 2014

(Fifty years ago today, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas. But what if November 22, 1963 had been a day like any other? What if JFK's head had remained intact that day, instead of getting struck by a bullet and exploding open, to the shock and horror of those assembled to watch the presidential motorcade wind through Dealy Plaza? How might history have turned out differently following this crucial point of divergence?

What follows is an excerpt from Andy Nowicki's short story "Oswald Takes Aim," part of a collection entitled Lost Violent Souls, now available from Counter-Currents and on Amazon.com.)


Lee Harvey Oswald sat in the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository building and gazed out at the lazy traffic flowing down Elm Street towards Stemmons Freeway, bound for destinations across the city of Dallas and beyond. His thin lips twisted into a smirk as he regarded the mass of humanity beneath his feet.

Stupid Americans, he thought.

THE HOLLOW MEN OF MODERNITY: A REVIEW OF ANDY NOWICKI'S LOST VIOLENT SOULS

by Cecilia Davenport

     Shape without form, shade without colour,
     Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

     Those who have crossed
     With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
     Remember us-if at all-not as lost
     Violent souls, but only
     As the hollow men
     The stuffed men.

                        – T.S. Eliot, The Hollow Men