In Goodbye Me, George Tabakov delivers an immersive and emotionally resonant debut novel. This profoundly moving narrative explores the transformative power of self-love—not as a concession to our flaws, but as a celebration of our true selves. Through a deeply personal journey, Tabakov invites readers to embark on a quest for self-esteem and acceptance, illuminating the beauty of embracing who we are. What’s the worst seat on an aeroplane? I reckon it’s the middle seat, right at the back, next to the toilets. If you’re on an A380 doing a longhaul flight from Australia, the award goes to seat 57E in economy class. This exclusive seat offers: the heaviest turbulence – you get close to hitting the overhead luggage storage when it’s a good bounce; a lovely, lingering waft of shit and microwaved fish, and; unless you’ve popped a pile of sleeping pills, you’re stiff and miserable and very conscious of it for an entire 24 hours. I poked my head up from seat 57E and strained my neck to look out of the tiny window about four metres away. We’d gone over the English Channel so that meant we had to be close to Heathrow. As the A380 followed the Thames, I could make out endless terraced brick houses and motorways intersected by overpasses and more motorways. It was happening. I was about to land in London with no job, no friends, and no family. Absolute freedom. Or was it free-doom? I chucked on Smalltown Boy, Bronski Beat and played with my printed boarding pass, flicking it up and down in time with the song’s beat. I liked reading the boarding pass: Mr Peter Hristov Singapore Changi Airport – London Heathrow Seat 57E, Boarding Group E, Economy class Reading it made me feel like I had a plan in life, like I was a proper grown up. I placed the boarding pass into the seat pocket in front of me – I was probably going to forget that now – and scrolled through photos on my phone. I saw one of my old beat-up Mazda. Good ol’ Parker. I’d called the car Parker so that together we could be known as Peter Parker: Spider-Man. This was something I kept to myself, for obvious reasons. After I graduated from university in Brisbane, Australia a few weeks ago, I sold Parker and bought the cheapest one-way ticket across the world to somewhere relevant. The plan was that there was no plan. I wanted to experience extremes of emotion; to see the world for how it truly was and understand the human psyche. I sought rebirth and reintegration of my soul. I was dirty and I needed cleansing. And what else can you do when you’re messed up other than move somewhere else in an ignorant and desperate hope of forgetting every thought and experience that’s ever happened to you? If you’ve tried everything to fill the void inside of you, maybe the problem isn’t you, it’s the place you’re in. If you can’t fight, fly. I stood up and shuffled past the passengers sitting next to me. I chose to have my arse, instead of my crotch, in line with their faces as I squeezed by. It was more polite in case the plane jolted me and my crotch went into their faces. I got past my fellow weary souls aboard this flying cattle express and went down the aisle to use the toilet. A flight attendant’s voice came over the speaker which made me jump. ‘Good morning passengers. We’re now approaching London Heathrow. The captain has switched on the seatbelt sign. Can all passengers please return to their seats? Thank you.’ I took my chances and took the final steps to the toilet only for the flight attendant to appear from around a corner. ‘Please, sir, you need to return to your seat now,’ she said with her glowing, beautiful face and moisturised skin. ‘Oh, I’ll be really quick,’ I said with my dark, puffy eyes and sandpaper-like skin. She was a marshmallow fresh out of the packet and I was a speck of dried ash at the bottom of the campfire. ‘Sorry, sir, but the captain has switched the seatbelt sign on.’ ‘Oh, of course. Sorry.’ I gave the green vacancy sign on the toilet a final, longing look. ‘I’ll go back now then.’ I returned to my seat and held my piss for another 40 minutes, stressing my bladder in ways that would no doubt have long term consequences to my health. I got into the airport terminal and logged in to the WiFi. No messages. Great. I went through UK Border Control, waiting in each queue like the obedient farm animal I apparently was, and popped out of the airport. I lugged my suitcase onto the Piccadilly line and collapsed on a dusty blue seat. My goal was Oasis Hostel in Earl’s Court, which would take a while to get to from Heathrow so I could relax. The London Underground was – at best – dated, yet charismatic and – at worst – mice-infested and eardrum shattering. I looked at the deep-blue metal handrails of the Piccadilly line. They were clasped by hands with a mix of skin colours: the world was here. Well, the English-speaking Western world was. What’s it like to see London for the first time? Grey. So very grey. I looked out of the Tube window at the sky; its blue covered by a fluffy grey blanket. The buildings outside were a mix of concrete, 1950s council house tower blocks. The only things that broke up the grey were fried chicken shops with neon signs and bright laboratory-style lighting inside, and food delivery drivers on mopeds loitering in a pack on a side street or darting through traffic with panache. ‘Sorry to bother you, everyone.’ A skinny man with cuts all over his arms stood in the middle of the carriage, ‘But I’m homeless and lookin’ to get some money to find
Q&A: Bertie Beeching on his dystopian novel Dreamer’s Grid, an imaginative and surprisingly plausible narrative set in a post-apocalyptic world ravaged by an epidemic which erases joy that follows the inhabitants of a commune battling for survival. Their only hope lies in escaping the bleakness and emotional turmoil to a place known as the Grid, where rehabilitation through simulated dreams is possible. Congratulations on your debut novel, Dreamer’s Grid! You’ve set the story in a dystopian world – why did you choose this genre? I think the same reason that the genre resonates with both the tail end of the Millennial generation and also those generations that follow: the real world is always in a bit of permanent, potential doom. We’ve heard of the ‘scary stories’ of the World Wars or Nuclear Winter, and equally we’ve had semi-apocalypses like the spread of COVID, plus the news is constantly saying the environment is inches away from utter destruction. Many dystopian texts present characters that feel they are mostly powerless to do anything about such oncoming doom, and I sense these generations might relate to this as we watch world leaders pull out of climate agreements and suchlike. Dreamer’s Grid presents a future where humankind is reeling from a ‘virus’ that makes people suicidal – depression has become an epidemic. The protagonist Marly is so tired of life, to the point of almost letting a starving dog maul him in the opening pages of the story. What inspired you to explore such a powerful theme? I’ve already mentioned COVID (and there are influences), but it all started with Swine Flu. Again, it’s the sheer uncertainty of it all – both viruses made an awful lot of people panic even if no one they knew had actually had contracted it. In contrast, recent statistics suggest one in six people could have a mental health problem, and yet especially as a student I found it curious no one seemed bothered by this. The central crux of the novel has always been this: if depression could be as contagious as a virus, would more people start caring about it? As for the dog attack – surprisingly there is a sudden positive hidden within the violence, but you’d have to read and find out what that is… Marly only really has three close connections – a father figure in Rev, an old priest who lives on the outskirts of the village; Juwel, a close friend who saves Marly from the dog attack at the beginning of the story and Clotwell, Marly’s teacher. Can you tell us something about the developing relationship between these characters and what you think each of them brings to the story? Rev finds Marly as an infant, and so there is a sort of pseudo-biological trust there, but it also brings Marly to one of his first dilemmas – Rev is essentially one of the founders of the village where the story is set, yet time has made him an outsider, so whenever Marly visits this place of familiarity and safety, he risks isolating himself. Naturally, his life-long friend, Juwel, would not likely leave him entirely shunned, but it is partially due to something Juwel did in the past that helps convince Marly to leave the village later in the story. Then, Clotwell. The name is symbolic in that disgusting English-teacher way. While Rev talks philosophy and Juwel talks about life before societal collapse, Clotwell gives more pragmatic advice that tends to address issues quickly – such as how it is not a good idea for Marly to hide alone in a dark corner just as a cohort of female pupils are led past him. I expect people will notice that Marly does not have much variety in the way of female role models, but this too becomes quite an important quality in the wider story. Dreamer’s Grid is, if not exclusively, aimed at Young Adults. There are elements of sci-fi and modern technology alongside important themes of food poverty – they all live in a post-apocalyptic commune, where life revolves around the endless farm work needed to feed the village without unnecessary starvation – mental illness, friendship, loyalty and betrayal – can you offer any tips to teachers on how to use your book to discuss these issues? God forbid it end up in a classroom! I suppose much discussion could be had by simply reading it and asking ‘which issues or anxieties can you [the pupils] see appearing that you’ve also thought about?’ or perhaps more simply just asking ‘why did that happen?’ When the dog is preparing to attack Marly, the thought crosses his mind that ‘a dog has to eat too,’ and so we can ask what would need to happen to a human being for them to think in this morbid way. This is, after all, the world they might be inheriting one day. How long did it take to write Dreamer’s Grid, and what does your writing process look like? Do you type or write in longhand? How many drafts did you go through before submitting the final version? Ah, yes. The mildly embarrassing question! If we can somehow spin this into a tale of resilience (rather than procrastination), I think it truly began around 2015 thanks to some kind words from an English teacher, when I first wrote down ‘would people care about mental illness if you could catch it?’ That, and a number of statistics I had read regarding suicide in young people, quickly became the opening lines of the stranger who announces ‘The Grid’ to Marly’s village. I then thought I should probably practise and learn a little more about writing – thank you, [University of] Nottingham – and so in reality the ‘real’ writing started closer to 2019. As for the process, I tend to carry a notebook around with me everywhere, and buy a fresh one each year. First drafts usually go on paper, and then as I type them up I
SPACE RACE CHAMPIONSHIP – a unique, out-of-this-world, no-holds-barred sci-fi adventure for Young Adults. Good old-fashioned Formula One of the 90’s BUT IN SPACE! – BOOK CLUB. Chapter 1 – New Competitors “And it’s that season again where we get hyped for the biggest event of the year. The official host of the season is back, so for the next four months of this year you will have me – Pyra Summers – talking you over the Championship and the rumours, stats, and official news that makes itself known. And since I’m back on the airwaves, you can be sure that first piece of news you all look forward to will be coming sometime this week.” Pyra Summers of Radio Racer [15/2-0085] Two spacecraft waited together at the starting line within the cruiser’s hangar bay. The improvised line was nothing more than two mini cruisers parked either side of the two ‘craft. The first ‘craft was a Galaxy model – designation Y/26t. Oblong in shape, it had a rear rectangular section that fit around the control cabin’s viewshield – which was also oblong in shape. The other ‘craft was a Rotablade – designation G/0ld5n. A rectangular shape with rounded corners, it had a tubular rotating blade set either side that were as long as the ‘craft itself. These were auto-defence weaponry emplacements, but were disabled for the moment. This ‘craft also had an oblong shaped viewshield. The two mini cruisers flashed their lights, and the pilots of the ‘craft lifted them up and shot out of the hangar. There was a lot of clutter that the two racers dodged around – the pilot of the Rotablade doing better than that of the Galaxy. Numerous lights marked the way for the racers, and as the ‘craft sped past the lights changed colour. The Rotablade was in danger of smashing straight into the hulk of a damaged mini cruiser, but a quick drop was all that was needed to avoid it. There was the issue of more debris beyond it, but the Rotablade smashed through all of it without a care in the world. When the Galaxy hit this point, it rose above instead of going below, and seemed content to stay above most of the debris. It was forced back into the debris field when one of the sections of a cruiser floated into its path. It tried to dodge around the debris instead of going through it, which caused it to lose some speed. The distance between the two ‘craft had increased. The Rotablade was now within the outer limits of an asteroid field, effortlessly flying through them. After passing a few more, it was out of the field and hugging the plating of a cruiser as it travelled down the length of it. The next light indicated the start of a structure that the racers needed to travel through. It was large, looking as though it was a cruiser in the process of being built. Or at least had been, as it looked abandoned considering the angle of it. The Rotablade flew straight in, being completely aware of the girders that made up the structure. Despite that awareness, it didn’t stop the ‘craft from clipping one of them. The pilot was quick to react and saved it from colliding into a second. The Galaxy had now opened up in speed, having hit the asteroid field. It made it through without hitting any, but there had been a few close calls. Then it was flying the length of the cruiser. The Galaxy had made sure to keep a larger gap between the two than the Rotablade had. When it reached the structure, it slowed down to enter, and kept that speed while traversing through. The Rotablade was almost back to the starting cruiser, following the last few lights that created a winding path back to the hangar it had first started at. It was still paying no mind to the debris scattered around, and was able to bank and turn hard to avoid larger obstacles quickly. It slowed down to enter the hangar at the same time the Galaxy exited the structure of the abandoned cruiser. It took about a minute more for the Galaxy to follow the path and enter the cruiser to land as well. When both had landed, a results screen appeared with the time both had taken to complete the course. “And it’s a victory for the current champion!” a voice rang out. The screens of light dispersed, revealing two boys sitting on chairs with a controller in hand. “Will the current champion be beaten sometime soon?” the other of the two stated. “Tune in next time when we race in about… Five minutes?” “The current champion will not be beaten,” Tom Hughs said. “Not if the competition refuse to push their ‘craft to the max.” “I just don’t feel I can react fast enough,” Lee Johnson responded. “If you are used to the controls and the way something feels, you should be able to react no matter what speed you’re going.” “And I always try.” Lee looked around the room, picturing the race that had just happened. Then he looked back further to the last time he had pushed to near the max. It hadn’t ended well for him. The game was a tie-in to the most popular event of the world they lived. One which happened once every five years. As it turned out, this was the year in which the next was to happen. Lee hadn’t mentioned anything about it yet, but the news had confirmed the selection of the entrants for this year had happened. Within a week, those names would be revealed, and the hype for the event would begin fully. “So, are we getting to a new race?” Tom asked. “Yeah, sure,” Lee replied. “But wouldn’t it be great to be entered into the event for real?” “As much fun as it would be, what chance do we stand without
