I've just found out, via the BBC, that the British horror/ dark fantasy author James Herbert has passed away at the age of 69.
In the UK, certainly, he was one of the writers responsible for the horror boom of the 1970s and 1980s with such novels as The Rats and The Fog which were, in many ways, the forerunner of Splatterpunk, with their graphic depictions of violence (although, as Herbert himself pointed out, they were never as graphic as people assumed them to be).
Together with Stephen King he was one of the writers who ignited my love for horror and fantasy and I am sorry to hear of his passing.
As a teenaged boy I read his novels avidly and always got a delicious thrill from them. Later, when I re-read them (particularly The Fog) I was struck by how well-crafted they were and how he managed to drag the reader along and immerse them in situations that were often terrifying and always - in context - utterly plausable: London under siege by mutated rats that fed on human flesh, a strange fog that drove ordinary people to violence and madness, the sole survivor of a plane crash driven to revenge by the ghosts of his fellow passengers, the revenant of Himmler and the spear that pierced Christ's side... Herbert brought the horrific into the everyday and helped to bring horror out of the gothic and into the contemporary.
A godfather of modern horror and dark fantasy, he will be sadly missed.
My short story Bones Heal is now up at Swords and Sorcery and you can find it at http://www.swordsandsorcerymagazine.com/story-2.html. As I've mentioned before, it's the first in what I hope to be an ongoing series of tales involving the two central characters - Varus, a Roman legionary displaced in both time and space, and Barcaradin, a sorceror without a soul.
It's been a while since I've written any 'pure' S&S, so it's nice to see this one out and about in the world, hopefully folk will like it.
In other news, The Man Who Loved a Gaunt will be appearing in the anthology Dark Bard, which should be available fairly soon.
Afer a reasonally lengthy lay-off, I've been writing quite a lot recently. Or rather, I've been finishing quite a lot of stories (folliowing Robert Heinlein's dictum of 'finish what you start') even going back to some tales that had been sitting half-done and getting them completed.
Doubtless, there'll be a few rejection letters in my immediate future, but hopefully a few acceptances as well.
After a fairly thin year, in publishing terms, I finally have a couple of bits of good news to impart.
My short story “Bones Heal” will appear on-line in Swords and Sorcery Magazine, and another short - “The Man Who Loved a Gaunt – has been accepted for publication in an, as yet, untitled anthology from Indigo Mosaic.
“Bones Heal” is the first in what I hope will be an ongoing series – I've already started on the next tale, tentatively titled 'Kingdom of the Devil Trees' – a of sword and planet sequence, in the ERB tradition (I hope). 'The Man Who Loved A Gaunt' is a kind of off-cut from my Shining Cities series of stories, but set much farther into the Latter Days than the other stories.
One of the giants of science fiction and fantasy, Ray Bradbury has passed away at the age of 91.
Author of, among many others, The Martian Chronicles, The Illustrated Man, Something Wicked This Way Comes and innumerable classic short stories, Ray Bradbury was - and continues to be - a guiding light of science fiction, often moving the genre away from its 'rockets and ray guns' roots, although equally often at home using the familar tropes of the genre.
For me, as for so many others of my generation, Bradbury was one of the first writers I read that showed me the possibilities of sf as a literary rather than generic form and I still have a battered copy of The Illustrated Man somewhere on my shelves, a book which I have owned for nearly thirty years.
I've been doing a lot of outlining recently. There, I've said it, and I'm glad I said it. Anybody who's been reading previous posts will know about my on-again-off-again battle with writer's block. (Which also explains why I don't blog as often as I might). One of the things I'm doing to plough through this current one is to do story outlines and hope that when I come back to them in a stumble through the Collected Notes I might find the odd useable nugget.
It's kinda fun to outline, particularly if you know there's no pressure either internally or externally. I find it reasonably liberating to just see if I can make connections between things in a logical, narrative way.
Very few of them have even the basics of, say, character names – the characters get denoted with a fairly basic archetype (or even stereotype) put them in a situation and then try to work out the how, what, where, when and why. I've found myself using the expressions “and then what?” and “for some reason” quite a lot: for example “a future where Earthmen are highly prized as mercenaries in a galactic war – for some reason” and then try to figure out what that reason be. (If anybody wants to use that as a starting point, be my guest, I'd be interested to see what other folks make of this and I can almost guarantee that no two answers will be the same).
This has partly been sparked by my current reading material, which is Kate Wilhem's excellent “Storyteller.” It's a book I can't recommend highly enough. Not so much a book on writing as a book about writing that also has some incredibly used advise within its pages. Mostly, it's a memoir of Kate Wilhem's involvement with the Clarion Workshops (and if you don't know about them, then shame on you – unless you're not a writer in which case, fair enough). Not that it specifically says to outline but it got me thinking about the way in which connections are made in a narrative way.
At it's most basic level it's taking the “what if Earthmen were prized galactic mercenaries” notion and thinking out from it. But why? After, all humans are a relatively puny species, physically speaking. But what if that wasn't the case? What if they were the most robust species in the galaxy? What if the warring Empires where ones of pure thought, able to infect the minds of all sentient beings except those humans born on Earth. So our hero is an Earth mercenary? Maybe, but what if.... well, you get the idea, I hope.
I think it's about making those connections, however unlikely they may be and seeing if they can be justified in any narrative sense, then trying to add an archetype into the mix and see what happens.
I've come up with a few notions that way, not all of which stand up to close scrutiny, it must be said, but in some ways it's a 'broad sweep, go back and fill in the details later” way of looking at the canvas of a story. On the other hand, the outlines are running much longer than my usual notes (perhaps naturally enough) and I've started to find that some of them are outlines for novellas or, God help us, even for novel length works. However, they're most finger exercises to get me thinking about plotting as opposed to my usual 'right, let's start and see where we go' way of doing things.
This does not mean that, should any of these outlines become actual stories, there would be no room to manoeuvre or even change tack completely within the story, but sometimes it's good to know where you're headed (it's also fun to wander though the corridors of your own imagination sometimes as well).
So I've become an unashamed outliner – now all I gotta do is go back and write the stories, outlines on their own being of no use to anyone but me – and I can already feel the cracks in the Block .
Last year, whilst suffering one of my periodic bouts of writer's block, I made an attempt to write my way out of it, vowing to write a thousand words a day, regardless of quality, narrative sense or any of the other things that writers should adhere to.
Wrote quite a bit, too, before the project got shelved.
Today, after a lapse of several months, I went back to the story, just to see what it was like.
And, do you know, it's not actually that bad.
Yes, some of the names will have to be changed when it comes to a redraft, there's a lot of repetition of phrases and a pulpish feel to the narrative (when in doubt, have someone come through the door with a gun, to paraphrase Raymond Chandler) and, yes, my influences are showing (there's a wee bit of Michael Moorcock in there somewhere beyond doubt)
On the other hand, it's quite fast paced, the characters are, if not exactly three dimensional, then at least recognisable as a certain type of character. There's an (internally) logical reason why they do what they do and the background, although done in fairly broad sweeps, comes across reasonably well (if not by any stretch of the imagination totally unique). And there's that wee bit of Michael Moorcock in there.
It's a fairly old-school sword and sorcery tale where a powerful, yet troubled hero goes a-questing (for Death himself in this instance) fights against, and overcomes, impossible odds, has a wisecracking sidekick, a couple of enchanted weapons (which, in terms of the story, he has to lose rather than gain) and a doom laden destiny.
Not the most original of tales, admitted, but there's a good feel to the story, I think, and it's more character than plot driven (probably due to the fact that it was made up on the hoof so the characters dictated what happens next rather than try to shoehorn things in for the sake of Plot).
I quite enjoyed reading it - so much so that I added another 1,200 words and a new plot development to the story.
More importantly, I want to see what happens next.
Writing, as I think someone once said, is an addiction.
Since I have decided that February is my own personal sword and sorcery month (as opposed to any other time of the year when I'm reading s&s) I decided that the time has come to check out a few of the recent movies, that, broadly speaking, fall under the s&s banner.
I've already written at length about Nicholas Winding Refn's 2009 film ValhallaRising, but it's worth mentioning again, if only because it's such an absorbing and intelligent piece of film making and because it seems to me that that relatively obscure gem has set the tone for quite a few of the quasi-historical fantasies that have followed in its wake.
Of course, it all depends on your definition of sword and sorcery and there's an argument to be made that movies like Zach Snyder's 300 (2006) or 2004's Troy (and, it goes without saying Peter Jackson's Lord of The Rings) brought fantastical warriors back to our screens, but these films are more epic in scope, more concerned with spectacle than the down 'n' dirty which is the hallmark of sword and sorcery.
That having been said, some of the films I've watched in the last while – BlackDeath (2010), Ironclad (2011), SolomonKane (2009) and Season of the Witch (2011) wear their 'sorcery' aspects fairly lightly, Ironclad in particular being content to give its hero a mystic aura of sorts and leave it at that.
And then there is the recent remake/reboot of Robert E. Howard's iconic Conan theBarbarian (2011). Howard is inarguably the wellspring of sword and sorcery, although his legacy has rarely been treated well. But that, and the film, is a topic for another time.
One of the things that virtually all the above mentioned films do is to play fairly fast and loose with history (or in the case of Conan, with the established literary 'facts') never letting it get in the way of a rollicking good yarn – Ironclad is a particularly good example of this, with its bloody uprising in the wake of the Magna Carta and its re-envisioning of the Knights Templar as medieval supermen. Season of the Witch, on the other hand, sees no disparity between the shameless American accents of its leads – Nicholas Cage in fairly restrained form and Ron Perlman – even going so far as to tack a Transatlantic twang onto the Liverpudlian actor Stephen Graham. Similarly, all these films exist in an odd Mittle Europa, regardless of actual setting, that is sometimes reminiscent of a big-budget Hammer film or, perhaps more pointedly, the muck and slime of Monty Python and theHoly Grail. Partly this is for the sake of expedience, we all know that the cinematic Middle Ages look like, with muddy green tones and sweeping untouched, if hostile, landscapes. What the best of these films (and to be honest, with the exception of Conan, most of them are worth an hour or two of your time) also manage is that moral ambiguity so common to sword and sorcery, the heroes here are troubled men, sure of nothing but their own prowess with a sword, racked with doubt (James Purefoy as Solomon Kane and as Marshal in Ironclad) or seeking redemption for past misdeeds (Purefoy's Kane once again and Nicholas Cage as Behmen in Season of the Witch “No man has spilled more blood in God's name that I.”). Mads Mikkelsen's One Eye in Valhalla Rising is, at first glance, an exception to this, but his still and sombre performance still hints at something deeper, some unspoken tragedy that haunts the character.
They are also, without exception, unashamed and unabashed about their violent content. Great gaping wounds and clouds of CGI blood decorate Ironclad, Mad Mikkelsen is a remorseless killer, Cage and Perlman are seen happily slaughtering huge bands of Infidels (“You take the three hundred on the left, I'll take the three hundred on the right”) Sean Bean in Black Death does not flinch from killing a suspected witch and there are few problems in these films – physical or ethical - that cannot be solved the point of a sword (or a spear, dagger, axe or, in Ironclad, by beating an opponent to death with a severed arm).
So much for the sword, what about the sorcery?
Since at least two of the films mentioned above (Ironclad and BlackDeath) purport to be historical adventures (or historical action films, although Black Death does have a suspected necromancer as its central maguffin) rather than out-and-out fantasies, the sorcery aspect is fairly low key, but nevertheless resonates in the background - the fighting ability of the Templars in Ironclad, its seemingly invincible antagonist (the Elric-like Tiberius) or the unexplained mysticism of One-Eye in Valhalla Rising. Both Solomon Kane and Seasonof the Witch have no such compunction, Season of the Witch in particular relishing its status as an unashamed fantasy (featuring witches, demon possession and the blackest of black magic). But in some ways, sorcery is a state of mind in these films, since the milieu in which they are set is one far removed from the modern mindset, a time of deep religious belief and equally strong superstition. The default tone here is a dark one, where cruelty is common and violence never far from the surface.
Another thing that the majority of these films share in common is the use of venerable, mostly British, actors in minor, if important roles – Christopher Lee in Season of the Witch, Charles Dance in Ironclad, David Warner in Black Death, Max Von Sydow in SolomonKane. More importantly what they all share is a sense of being outside contemporary Hollywood pattern, frequently being financed by European backers, with small budgets compared to the average Hollywood production – Season of the Witch, the most costly of the films looked at here, cost $40 million, whereas Conan the Barbarian, its big budget counterpart, cost $70 million (and a mere $6 million in the case of Valhalla Rising).
The crux of all this meandering – and there should always be a crux – is to suggest that sword and sorcery cinema is in relatively good shape at the moment, the seemingly endless parade of loincloth clad barbarians that wandered across our screens in the wake of the John Milius/ Arnold Schwartzenegger version of Conan the Barbarian (1982) have been replaced by a new breed of cinematic sword-swingers, grimmer and more 'realistic'.
It might not always declare itself as such, and sometimes the trappings are hidden just beneath the surface, but sword and sorcery cinema is alive and well, if not always on prominent display at the multiplex.
News from the British Fantasy Society that the British author Samuel Youd, who wrote under the pen-name of John Christopher, has died.
Best known as the author of the Tripods series of young adult novels (which was dramatised by the BBC in the 1980's) and, perhaps more importantly, as the author of the bleak eco-disaster novel The Death of Grass (retitled No Blade of Grass in the USA).
Seen by some as a response to the 'cosy catastrophe' novels of John Wyndham, The Death of Grass is a powerful and relentlessly downbeat novel, that in many ways prefigures the early work of J.G Ballard and is without question one of the high water marks of British sf in the 1959's.
The novel was filmed by Cornel Wilde as No Blade of Grass in 1970 and is a fine example of Wilde's more esoteric work; staying relatively faithful to its source material while embroidering it with Wilde's trademark surrealistic touches (something that can also be seen in other Cornel Wilde films such as The Naked Prey and BeachRed).
As well as Samuel Youd and John Christopher, the author wrote under a number of other pen-names (including Stanley Winchester, Hilary Ford, William Godfrey, William Vine, Peter Graaf, Peter Nichols, and Anthony Rye) but it is for his sf that he is probably best known and admired.
His other novels included The Year of the Comet and The Caves of Night.
It's amazing how easily things can get derailed. It was my fullest intention to start reading Lin Carter's The Wizard of Lemuria - the first in his Conanesque Thongor series - but while searching for the book in question I stumbled across my copy of The Many Worlds of MagnusRidolph by Jack Vance.
I have to confess that I haven't read much Jack Vance recently, and TheManyWorldsofMagnus Ridolph has the advantage of being a short story collection. So, I thought, a quick bit of Jack Vance and then on to Lin Carter. However, I'd reckoned without the rather seductive power of both Jack Vance and Magnus Ridolph and quickly found myself lost in his many worlds.
The Magnus Ridolph stories are early Vance (the lead story, The Kokod Warriors first appeared in 1948) but still display the light touch and wild inventiveness that characterises his best work. The prose is nowhere near as jewelled as, say, The Dying Earth, but the stories are flamboyant and Ridolph himself an engaging central character.
In some ways Magnus Ridolph could be a second cousin of C.L Moore's Northwest Smith, inasmuch as both men are interplanetary adventurers, but where Smith was a hard-bitten, wanderer with a quick gunhand, Magnus Ridolph is a much more urbane figure - older, for a start, part consulting detective, part businessman, a character who solves problems with his intellect rather than his fists.(To get Hollywood about it, think Sherlock Holmes meets Indiana Jones... in Space!).
In The Kokod Warriors, Magnus attempts to solve an age old problem on the planet Kokod, where the inhabitants indulge in ritual and very bloody warfare as a very basic survival method and, at the same time, he seeks to get some revenge on couple of double-crossing former business partners.
Double crossers also feature in The King of Thieves, in which Magnus briefly finds himself as king of the Men-men, and in The Howling Bounders where a business opportunity that is too good to be true turns out to be just that... except the tables are turned by some clever thinking on the part of Magnus Ridolph (and some wonderfully comic support from an alien cook who's idea of breakfast, dinner, lunch and supper all boil down to the same dish - stew!)
Coup de Grace (my personal favourite) is a who-and-why-dunnit in space where a murder and a murderer are not all they seem, and shows Vance at his dazzling best, piling idea upon idea to create an engaging little mystery and, at rarest of things, a genuinely funny sf story that doesn't rely upon subverting genre conventions but rather actively embraces them.
Of course, what's so good about these stories is the sly humour in them and the deft ways in which Jack Vance creates the various alien worlds and environments which Magnus Ridolph passes through. Sure, there's an occasional info-dump here and there (and Magnus always seems to find just the information he's looking for when he's looking for it) but it doesn't take the shine off the stories.
Colourful, inventive and hugely entertaining, the Magnus Ridolph stories (six of which are collected in TheMany Worlds... ) are a refreshing change from some of the more blaster-happy Earthmen who have roamed through science fiction over the years and a reminder that sf can be great fun sometimes.
The actor Bill Hinzman - best known as the first zombie seen in George Romero's NightoftheLivingDead - has passed away at the age of 75.
He also appeared in the Romero movies There's Always Vanilla and TheCrazies as well as directing a number of feature films, perhaps most notably ZombieNosh aka Flesheater (1988) which capitalized upon his most famous role.
I'm going back to my roots, reading wise, this month. In practical terms this means reading a heapin' helpin' of sword and sorcery. I've had Lin Carter's Thongor and Brian Lumley's Primal Land series sitting on the shelves for a few months now, and the time has come to get stuck into them. I know that for some critics/aficionados of the fantasy, Lin Carter is practically He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but I recently read Imaginary Worlds, his excellent (although somewhat dated now) history of fantasy/sword and sorcery. If nothing else, it's clear that Carter genuinely loved fantasy, even if his own work within the genre was often perceived as 'second hand' (if not downright derivative and heavily influenced by writers such as Robert E. Howard, Edgar Rice Burroughs and Jack Vance). However, he seems as good a place as any, Thongor was, so to speak, one of the first direct descendants of Conan (a lineage that also includes John Jakes Brak the Barbarian and Gardner Fox's Kothar Barbarian Swordsman, both of whom I've intended to read for a while now) As a genre (or rather as a sub-genre) sword and sorcery has been somewhat maligned, sidelined even, by the growth of epic fantasy, although epic fantasy tends to use some of the tropes of s&s, especially in some of its more down 'n' dirty incarnations (Joe Abercrombie's First Law trilogy and subsequent novels or Peter Brett's Demon series, for instance). However, and to paraphrase Lin Carter, sometimes there's nothing quite so enjoyable as a bit of s&s for pure fun. I read a lot of Michael Moorcock in my early teens, particularly the Elric stories, and it was only after these that I started to explore other writers like Howard and Clark Ashton Smith (both of whom I have 'rediscovered' in the last few years) and then later again, Fritz Lieber. Charles Saunders and Karl Edward Wagner. Sword and Sorcery has been described by wiser heads than I as 'the genre that wouldn't die' and even now there are writers producing colourful tales of warriors, wizards and magical lands. In some cases the writers are moving the genre on, moving it away from the Eurocentric, quasi-Medieval settings and such other trappings that have defined sword and sorcery for so long, happy to explore new ways of telling a story.. Others are embracing the traditions of the genre, favouring action over characterisation, straightforward prose as opposed to a more experimental approach. Still, the fact is that the genre that refused to die has, quite simply, still refused to die. Hence my delve back into its history.. Lemuria, here we come.
Some interesting news from the UK publisher Angry Robot
Following a successful Open Door period in 2011 (we signed 3 debut authors from it!), we’ve decided to do it again! This time around, we’re looking for classic fantasy (for Angry Robot) and all sf/fantasy flavours of YA (for Strange Chemistry).
If you have completed a novel, and are unagented, between April 16th and 30th this year, we’ll happily read it for possible publication. If you are agented, this isn’t for you – submit via the usual route.
What we’re not looking for: • Anything other than classic fantasy – swords, magic, kingdoms, castles. You might describe it as high fantasy, epic, magical, low, classic, medieval, or whatever. If you’ve written an urban fantasy or supernatural modern day chiller, that’s great, but not what we’re wanting this time around. • Book 2 or later in an existing series. • Books that have already been published elsewhere (including podcast, self-published as eBooks or print-on-demand). • Books that have not yet been completed. • Children’s books. • Anything shorter than novel length (approx 95,000 to 140,000 words, but there is some flexibility in this). • Books submitted in last year’s Open Door Month (even those that have been redrafted).
Some news from the BBC reporting that the Scottish born actor Nicol Williamson passed away last month.
Regarded by many as one of the finest actors of his generation, his varied and award-winning career encompassed both film and theatre, from the the powerful war drama, The Bofors Gun (1968) to the anti-apartheid thriller The Wilby Conspiracy (1975) and, both on stage and screen, title roles in Macbeth and Hamlet.
However, for genre fans, his most notable role was probably that of Merlin in John Boorman's Excalibur (1981) a mesmeric performance that gives the film its heart and soul as well as its primary focus. A bold retelling of the Arthurian myths, Excalibur remains one of the few examples of intelligent fantasy on screen, mixing its more fantastical elements with gritty realism and superb cinematography.
Other genre roles included Little John in Richard Lester's Robin and Marian (1976), Sherlock Holmes in The Seven Per Cent Solution (1976) Badger in Terry Jones' The Wind in the Willows (1996) and Father Morning in the much underrated Exorcist 3 (1989).
Mervyn Peake was a man of many, many talents – painter, illustrator, playwright, novelist, poet – but it is as a writer, more specifically as the author of the Gormenghast novels that he is best remembered.
Set in the sprawling, ritual-ridden castle of Gormenghast, the first two novels in the cycle – TitusGroan and Gormenghast - deal with the birth and coming-of-age of the new Earl, Titus Groan and the rise and fall of Steerpike, a would-be usurper. The novels are lush and richly decorated – not only in terms of their language but also in terms of the illustrations that Peake provided for them – filled with Dickensian grotesques (characters such as the obscenely obese cook, Swelter, or the dusty and gangling Mr Flay, the foppish Dr Prunesqualor or the doomed Lord Sepulchrave) and a painter's eye for detail they are among some of the finest fantasies ever written (although, in all truth, it is perhaps a matter of reader perspective as to whether or not the novels could be considered fantasy in the commercial sense).
Remarkable as both TitusGroan and Gormenghast are, the third novel in the cycle – TitusAlone – is an equally remarkable book and one which is, sadly, often overshadowed by it predecessors.
When Titus finally leaves the confines of Gormenghast castle, he is plunged into a world equally as strange and dangerous as the one he has just left, populated by characters every bit as grotesque as those of his abandoned realm. Whereas the first two novels in the cycle could be considered to have a Dickensian feel, or to have a skewed Ruritanian aspect to them, TitusAlone is set in a world not too far removed from the mid 20th century, almost as if Titus has stepped forward in time to an age of aircraft, automobiles, secret policemen, and stark, foreboding architecture.
Befriended, albeit reluctantly at first, by the gaunt giant Muzzlehatch, imprisoned for ill-defined crimes and set free by the good graces of the ageing but still beautiful Juno, who briefly becomes his lover, Titus finds this new world no more to his liking than the old. But his further wanderings – firstly to the Under-River and then to the sinister environs of The Factory – offer little or no purpose and the loss of Gormenghast itself – although his exile is entirely self-imposed – leads Titus to the verge of insanity as he beings to question his own memories.
A picaresque novel which casts Titus as a latter-day Candide, TitusAlone is a dark and sometimes nightmarish read, often obeying its own narrative rules (a technique that Peake had explored in his novella Boy In Darkness). Yet it is also a novel that shows Peake's delicate touch as a writer, with gleeful, sometimes morbid, slapstick thrown into the mix – Titus's impromptu arrival at Lady Cusp-Canine's over-crowed and mirthless party, the failed writer Crabcalf who carries the unsold copies of his novel everywhere with him or the horrific, almost cartoonish, death of Mr Veil (“Crushed and prostrate, he rose again, and to Titus's horror it seemed as though the features of his face had all changed places.”)
The extended climax of the novel – where Cheeta, daughter of the scientist who owns the Belsenesque Factory, tries to drive Titus past the point of madness by recreating Gormenghast in the crumbling Black House – is by turns thrilling and terrifying and demonstrates Peake's mastery of the written word. (“Under a light to strangle infants by, the great and horrible flower opened its bulbous petals one by one...Out of his fear and apprehension something green and incredibly young took hold of Titus and sidled across his entrails... Something was emerging from the forgotten room. Something of great bulk and swathing. It moved with exaggerated grandeur, trailing a length of dusty, moth eaten fustian...)
A critical and commercial failure upon its publication in 1959 (due in large part to editorial tampering which Peake - by then firmly in the grip of the Parkinson's Disease which would end his life tragically short – was unable to correct) TitusAlone was subsequently re-edited by the British author Langdon Jones in the early 1970's to emerge as a truer version of the text and one which is as close to Mervyn Peake's original vision as possible.
Sometimes and unfairly regarded as a bizarre postscript to the Gormenghast cycle, TitusAlone is a novel which defies expectation – and, to a certain extent, category – never content simply to be 'the third book', taking the story of Titus Groan into strange new places, a unique and unsettling novel from a writer who's imagination was boundless and who's legacy should be treasured.
(By way of addendum: Mervyn Peake's intention was to continue the story of Titus Groan beyond Titus Alone and he had planned a fourth novel – TitusAwakes – for which only a few fragmentary notes existed.. The novel was taken up by his widow Maeve Gilmore and retitled Search Without End. In 2011 it was finally published as Titus Awakes – The Lost Book of Gormenghast. A review should be forthcomingon The Computerbank soon)