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Gormenghast #1
Titus Groan
Starts with the birth and ends with the first birthday celebrations of the heir to the grand, tradition-bound castle of Gormenghast. A grand miasma of doom and foreboding weaves over the sterile rituals of the castle. Villainous Steerpike seeks to exploit the gaps between the formal rituals and the emotional needs of the ruling family for his own profit.
396 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1946
About the author
Mervyn Peake
93 books1,061 followersMervyn Laurence Peake was an English modernist writer, artist, poet and illustrator. He is best known for what are usually referred to as the Gormenghast books, though the Titus books would be more accurate: the three works that exist were the beginning of what Peake conceived as a lengthy cycle, following his protagonist Titus Groan from cradle to grave, but Peake's untimely death prevented completion of the cycle, which is now commonly but erroneously referred to as a trilogy. They are sometimes compared to the work of his older contemporary J.R.R. Tolkien, but his surreal fiction was influenced by his early love for Charles Dickens and Robert Louis Stevenson rather than Tolkien's studies of mythology and philology.
Peake also wrote poetry and literary nonsense in verse form, short stories for adults and children ("Letters from a Lost Uncle"), stage and radio plays, and Mr Pye, a relatively tightly-structured novel in which God implicitly mocks the evangelical pretensions and cosy world-view of the eponymous hero.
Peake first made his reputation as a painter and illustrator during the 1930s and 1940s, when he lived in London, and he was commissioned to produce portraits of well-known people. A collection of these drawings is still in the possession of his family. Although he gained little popular success in his lifetime, his work was highly respected by his peers, and his friends included Dylan Thomas and Graham Greene. His works are now included in the collections of the National Portrait Gallery and the Imperial War Museum.
Peake also wrote poetry and literary nonsense in verse form, short stories for adults and children ("Letters from a Lost Uncle"), stage and radio plays, and Mr Pye, a relatively tightly-structured novel in which God implicitly mocks the evangelical pretensions and cosy world-view of the eponymous hero.
Peake first made his reputation as a painter and illustrator during the 1930s and 1940s, when he lived in London, and he was commissioned to produce portraits of well-known people. A collection of these drawings is still in the possession of his family. Although he gained little popular success in his lifetime, his work was highly respected by his peers, and his friends included Dylan Thomas and Graham Greene. His works are now included in the collections of the National Portrait Gallery and the Imperial War Museum.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 2,161 reviews
August 26, 2021
What an odd fantasy! No swords, no sorcery, no elves, no thieves, no imaginary beasts, no multiple planes of existence . . . nothing but a cavernous castle peopled by eccentrics with Dickensian names (Sepulchrave, Prunesquallor, Swelter, Flay) whose lives are determined by centuries--perhaps millenia--of complex rituals. Although the people themselves seem to be British, the enormous burden of tradition under which they labor seems Asiatic in its detailed intensity, and it is instructive to learn that Peake spent his formative years in China, not far from the Imperial City.
This is superior fantasy, but like The Worm Ouroboros it is not immediately accessible. Peak was a painter, and as a writer he exercises his painterly imagination by creating scenes--particularly his major ones, like the death-duel of Flay and Swelter--as if each moment were a tableau, part of a series of individual canvases. The reader is then faced with the duty of internalizing each of these stationary images, combining them into a progression, and then animating them--sort of like ruffling the pages of a cartoonist's flip book--in order to release the cinematic power of the scene. For someone like myself who possesses a third-rate visual imagination, this requires re-reading certain passages more than a couple of times.
I must admit, though, that Peake's approach has a certain cumulative power. It serves to preserve these odd, angular characters of his like flies in amber, trapped forever in their traditions like individual frames in an epic film, circumscribed by the labyrinthine spaces of the monstrous castle that is Gormenghast.
May 29, 2015
I know of no author in all of the English language who is like Peake, or who could aspire to be like him. His voice is as unique as that of Milton, Bierce, Conrad, Blake, Donne, or Eliot, and as fully-realized. I am a hard and critical man, cynical and not easily moved, but there are passages in the Gormenghast series which so shocked me by the force of their beauty that I would close my eyes and snap the book shut, overwhelmed with wonderment, and take a moment to catch my breath.
I would drop my head. My eyes would search the air; as if I could find, there, the conclusion I was seeking. My brow would crease--in something like despondency or desperation--and then, of its own accord, a smile would break across my face, and I would shake my head, slowly, and laugh, and sigh. And laugh.
Peake's writing is not easy fare. I often needed room to breathe and time for contemplation, but he is not inaccessible, nor arduous. He does not, like Joyce or Eliot, require the reader to know the history of western literature in order to understand him. His story is deceptively simple; it is the world in which he sets it that can be so overwhelming.
Peake writes with a painter's eye, which is natural enough, as he is more famous as an illustrator than a writer (the only self-portrait in the National Portrait Gallery). He paints each scene, each moment, in such careful, loving, playful detail that it can only be described by the original definition of 'sublime': a vista which is so grand and beautiful that it dwarfs our humanity, evoking a wonder akin to fear.
But Peake's writing is not so entirely alienating; on the contrary: he is vividly concerned with life. Gormenghast is the story of a life starting at birth, though our hero only got as far as the cusp of manhood before Peake was seized by malady and death. Each character is brightly and grotesquely alive. The 'fantasy' of this book is not, like so many epics, magic signifying some allegorical moral conflict. The magic of Peake's world is the absurdly perfect figures that people it.
They are stylized and symbolic, but like Gogol, Peake is working off of his own system of symbology instead of relying on the staid, familiar archetypes of literature. Unusual as they may be, there is a recognizable verisimilitude in the madness imbued in each. Their obsessions, quirks, and unpredictability feel all too human. They are frail, mad, and surprising.
Like the wild characters of his sketches, Peake writes in exaggerated strokes, but somehow, that makes them more recognizable, realistic, and memorable than the unadorned reality of post-modernists. Since truth is stranger than fiction, we find reality in his off-kilter, unhinged world. This focus on fantastical characters instead of fantastical powers has been wryly dubbed 'Mannerpunk' or a 'Fantasy of Manners'. It is a much more enveloping and convincing type of fantasy, since it engages the mind directly with visceral artistic techniques instead of relying on a threadbare language of symbolic power. Peake does not want to explain the world, but paint it.
Tolkien can certainly be impressive, in his stodgy way, but after reading Peake, it is difficult to call him fantastical. His archetypal characters, age-old moral conflict, and epic plot all seem so hidebound against the wild bulwark of Peake's imagination. The world of Gormenghast is magical and dreamlike, without even needing to resort to the parlor tricks of spells, wizards, and monsters.
Peake's people are more fantastical than dragons because their beings are instilled with a shifting and scintillating transience. Most dragons, fearsome as they may be on the outside, are inwardly little more than plot movers. Their fearful might is drawn from a recognizable tradition, and I question how fantastical something can really be when its form and behavior are so familiar and predictable.
Peake's world--though made up of things recognizable--is twisted, enchanted, and made uncanny without ever needing to stretch our disbelief. The real world is full of wonder, confusion, and revelation, so why do authors think that making it less real will make it more wonderful? What is truly fantastical is to find magic in our own world, and in our own lives.
But then, it is not an easy thing to do. Authors write in forms, cliches, archetypes, and moral arguments because it gives them something to work with; a place to start, and a way to measure their progress, lest they lose themselves. To write unfettered is vastly more difficult, and requires either great boldness, or great naivete.
Peake is ever bold. You will never catch him flat-footed; his pen is ceaseless. He drives on in sallies and skirmishes, teasing, prodding, suggesting--but always, in the end, he is an electric presence, evading our cumbersome attempts to catch him in any one place. Each sentence bears a thought, a purpose, a beauty, a consciousness. The only thing keeping the book moving is the restless joy of Peake's wit, his love and passion for his book, its places, characters, and story.
He also has a love for writing, and for the word, which is clear on every page. A dabbler in poetry, his careful sense of meter is masterful, as precise as Bierce. And unlike most fantasists, Peake's poetry is often the best part of his books, instead of the least palatable. Even absent his amusing characterization and palpable world, his pure language is a thing to behold.
In the introduction, Quentin Crisp tells us about the nature of the iconoclast: that being different is not a matter of avoiding and rejecting what others do--that is merely contrariness, not creativity. To be original means finding an inspiration that is your own and following it through to the bitter end.
Peake does that, here, maintaining a depth, pace, and quality that is almost unbelievable. He makes the book his own, and each time he succeeds in lulling us into familiarity, we can be sure that it is a playful ruse, and soon he will shake free again.
Alas, not all readers will be able to keep up with him. Those desiring repetition, comfort, and predictability will instead receive shock, betrayal, and confusion. However, for those who love words, who seek beauty, who relish the unexpected, and who find the most stirring sensation to be the evocation of palpable wonder, I have no finer book to suggest. No other fantasist is more fantastical--or more achingly human.
My Fantasy Book Suggestions
I would drop my head. My eyes would search the air; as if I could find, there, the conclusion I was seeking. My brow would crease--in something like despondency or desperation--and then, of its own accord, a smile would break across my face, and I would shake my head, slowly, and laugh, and sigh. And laugh.
Peake's writing is not easy fare. I often needed room to breathe and time for contemplation, but he is not inaccessible, nor arduous. He does not, like Joyce or Eliot, require the reader to know the history of western literature in order to understand him. His story is deceptively simple; it is the world in which he sets it that can be so overwhelming.
Peake writes with a painter's eye, which is natural enough, as he is more famous as an illustrator than a writer (the only self-portrait in the National Portrait Gallery). He paints each scene, each moment, in such careful, loving, playful detail that it can only be described by the original definition of 'sublime': a vista which is so grand and beautiful that it dwarfs our humanity, evoking a wonder akin to fear.
But Peake's writing is not so entirely alienating; on the contrary: he is vividly concerned with life. Gormenghast is the story of a life starting at birth, though our hero only got as far as the cusp of manhood before Peake was seized by malady and death. Each character is brightly and grotesquely alive. The 'fantasy' of this book is not, like so many epics, magic signifying some allegorical moral conflict. The magic of Peake's world is the absurdly perfect figures that people it.
They are stylized and symbolic, but like Gogol, Peake is working off of his own system of symbology instead of relying on the staid, familiar archetypes of literature. Unusual as they may be, there is a recognizable verisimilitude in the madness imbued in each. Their obsessions, quirks, and unpredictability feel all too human. They are frail, mad, and surprising.
Like the wild characters of his sketches, Peake writes in exaggerated strokes, but somehow, that makes them more recognizable, realistic, and memorable than the unadorned reality of post-modernists. Since truth is stranger than fiction, we find reality in his off-kilter, unhinged world. This focus on fantastical characters instead of fantastical powers has been wryly dubbed 'Mannerpunk' or a 'Fantasy of Manners'. It is a much more enveloping and convincing type of fantasy, since it engages the mind directly with visceral artistic techniques instead of relying on a threadbare language of symbolic power. Peake does not want to explain the world, but paint it.
Tolkien can certainly be impressive, in his stodgy way, but after reading Peake, it is difficult to call him fantastical. His archetypal characters, age-old moral conflict, and epic plot all seem so hidebound against the wild bulwark of Peake's imagination. The world of Gormenghast is magical and dreamlike, without even needing to resort to the parlor tricks of spells, wizards, and monsters.
Peake's people are more fantastical than dragons because their beings are instilled with a shifting and scintillating transience. Most dragons, fearsome as they may be on the outside, are inwardly little more than plot movers. Their fearful might is drawn from a recognizable tradition, and I question how fantastical something can really be when its form and behavior are so familiar and predictable.
Peake's world--though made up of things recognizable--is twisted, enchanted, and made uncanny without ever needing to stretch our disbelief. The real world is full of wonder, confusion, and revelation, so why do authors think that making it less real will make it more wonderful? What is truly fantastical is to find magic in our own world, and in our own lives.
But then, it is not an easy thing to do. Authors write in forms, cliches, archetypes, and moral arguments because it gives them something to work with; a place to start, and a way to measure their progress, lest they lose themselves. To write unfettered is vastly more difficult, and requires either great boldness, or great naivete.
Peake is ever bold. You will never catch him flat-footed; his pen is ceaseless. He drives on in sallies and skirmishes, teasing, prodding, suggesting--but always, in the end, he is an electric presence, evading our cumbersome attempts to catch him in any one place. Each sentence bears a thought, a purpose, a beauty, a consciousness. The only thing keeping the book moving is the restless joy of Peake's wit, his love and passion for his book, its places, characters, and story.
He also has a love for writing, and for the word, which is clear on every page. A dabbler in poetry, his careful sense of meter is masterful, as precise as Bierce. And unlike most fantasists, Peake's poetry is often the best part of his books, instead of the least palatable. Even absent his amusing characterization and palpable world, his pure language is a thing to behold.
In the introduction, Quentin Crisp tells us about the nature of the iconoclast: that being different is not a matter of avoiding and rejecting what others do--that is merely contrariness, not creativity. To be original means finding an inspiration that is your own and following it through to the bitter end.
Peake does that, here, maintaining a depth, pace, and quality that is almost unbelievable. He makes the book his own, and each time he succeeds in lulling us into familiarity, we can be sure that it is a playful ruse, and soon he will shake free again.
Alas, not all readers will be able to keep up with him. Those desiring repetition, comfort, and predictability will instead receive shock, betrayal, and confusion. However, for those who love words, who seek beauty, who relish the unexpected, and who find the most stirring sensation to be the evocation of palpable wonder, I have no finer book to suggest. No other fantasist is more fantastical--or more achingly human.
My Fantasy Book Suggestions
August 7, 2024
Titus Groan is a charming and hypnotic story… And the foremost marvel of the tale is its language – it is otherworldly and miraculous.
Good and evil: good is open but fragile, evil is strong and it hides… Good and evil collide.
Titus Groan is a conflict of the new and the old, a clash of the newfangled and traditional ways… But first of all it is a collision of the extraordinary and the commonplace…
The story takes place in the fantastically grandiose scenery…
The place is fabulous and it is populated with fabulous characters and the most sinister and eerie intrigues are brewing within the walls of the immense castle.
There are always those who want to stand against beauty and destroy it.
Good and evil: good is open but fragile, evil is strong and it hides… Good and evil collide.
Titus Groan is a conflict of the new and the old, a clash of the newfangled and traditional ways… But first of all it is a collision of the extraordinary and the commonplace…
The story takes place in the fantastically grandiose scenery…
Gormenghast, that is, the main massing of the original stone, taken by itself would have displayed a certain ponderous architectural quality were it possible to have ignored the circumfusion of those mean dwellings that swarmed like an epidemic around its outer walls. They sprawled over the sloping earth, each one halfway over its neighbour until, held back by the castle ramparts, the innermost of these hovels laid hold on the great walls, clamping themselves thereto like limpets to a rock. These dwellings, by ancient law, were granted this chill intimacy with the stronghold that loomed above them. Over their irregular roofs would fall throughout the seasons, the shadows of time-eaten buttresses, of broken and lofty turrets, and, most enormous of all, the shadow of the Tower of Flints. This tower, patched unevenly with black ivy, arose like a mutilated finger from among the fists of knuckled masonry and pointed blasphemously at heaven. At night the owls made of it an echoing throat; by day it stood voiceless and cast its long shadow.
The place is fabulous and it is populated with fabulous characters and the most sinister and eerie intrigues are brewing within the walls of the immense castle.
Although Mr Flay had avoided the cook whenever possible, an occasional accidental meeting such as today’s was unavoidable, and from their chance meetings in the past Mr Flay had learned that the huge house of flesh before him, whatever its faults, had certainly a gift for sarcasm beyond the limits of his own taciturn nature. It had therefore been Mr Flay’s practice, whenever possible, to ignore the chef as one ignores a cesspool by the side of a road, and although his pride was wounded by Swelter’s mis-pronunciation of his name and the reference to his thinness, Flay held his spiky passions in control, merely striding to the doorway after his examination of the other’s bulk and spitting out of the bay window as though to clear his whole system of something noxious. Silent though he had learned by experience to be, each galling word from Swelter did not fail to add to the growing core of hatred that burned beneath his ribs.
There are always those who want to stand against beauty and destroy it.
July 30, 2022
Groan. This book exhausted me too much to even give it a proper tongue-lashing.
On one hand, the concept is interesting, even fascinating. An almost Gothic vast castle populated with dreary people rigidly clinging to rituals and ceremonies, people both grotesque and pathetic, with a healthy dose of weird creepiness. And those vividly artistic descriptions, painting every scene with precise brush strokes. It’s like a fever dream where you are trapped, like trying to run through gelatin air, a fly trapped in amber. It’s a masterfully conveyed setting, so meticulously created that it’s like looking at paintings and movie stills.
But on the other hand, it’s a glacially slow story with little direction, characters dully doing senseless things, and dreariness becoming oppressive as pages and pages crawl by. Its soporific pacing adds to dreamlike quality, but after a few dozen pages my brain got restless and wanted more, wanted to look past the lovely stage sets and find within a bit more of a story. There came a point where my eyes started glazing over and bouncing off even the most lush descriptions in search of something - anything - more.
My edition (a trilogy which I am certainly not going to finish) has a lovely introduction by China Miéville, and I can easily see how this book inspired some of his settings. But the difference is that even the best and the strangest setting needs an actual plot to be set in it, and perhaps an interesting character or two — and here it was too thin and dilute and meandering to sustain the attention it captured initially, and the characters were irritatingly one-dimensional, with senseless motivations. And this way lies bewilderment and eventual disappointed boredom.
Now if there was a writer to take this setting that Peake so meticulously and lovingly created and populate it with interesting characters that do stuff that amounts to plot and actually have motivations that make a modicum of sense — yeah, I would have loved it. But as it is, it’s a pretty but tedious set piece, a 500-page absurdist prologue full of Dickensian-style names, fizzing out listless and dull after a promising start. And all I’m left with is a thicket of words through which I have to struggle and fail to arrive at any meaning in the story.
And I’m out. By the end of the book Titus Groan - barely a prop in this story - is not even two years old, and I’m perfectly happy skipping the rest of his life.
1.5 groaning stars.
——————
Also posted on my blog.
On one hand, the concept is interesting, even fascinating. An almost Gothic vast castle populated with dreary people rigidly clinging to rituals and ceremonies, people both grotesque and pathetic, with a healthy dose of weird creepiness. And those vividly artistic descriptions, painting every scene with precise brush strokes. It’s like a fever dream where you are trapped, like trying to run through gelatin air, a fly trapped in amber. It’s a masterfully conveyed setting, so meticulously created that it’s like looking at paintings and movie stills.
“It was not often that Flay approved of happiness in others. He saw in happiness the seeds of independence, and in independence the seeds of revolt. But on an occasion such as this it was different, for the spirit of convention was being rigorously adhered to, and in between his ribs Mr Flay experienced twinges of pleasure.”
But on the other hand, it’s a glacially slow story with little direction, characters dully doing senseless things, and dreariness becoming oppressive as pages and pages crawl by. Its soporific pacing adds to dreamlike quality, but after a few dozen pages my brain got restless and wanted more, wanted to look past the lovely stage sets and find within a bit more of a story. There came a point where my eyes started glazing over and bouncing off even the most lush descriptions in search of something - anything - more.
“Lowering himself suddenly to his knees he placed his right eye at the keyhole, and controlling the oscillation of his head and the vagaries of his left eye, he was able by dint of concentration to observe, within three inches of his keyholed eye, an eye which was not his, being not only of a different colour to his own iron marble but being, which is more convincing, on the other side of the door. This third eye which was going through the same performance as the one belonging to Rottcodd.”
My edition (a trilogy which I am certainly not going to finish) has a lovely introduction by China Miéville, and I can easily see how this book inspired some of his settings. But the difference is that even the best and the strangest setting needs an actual plot to be set in it, and perhaps an interesting character or two — and here it was too thin and dilute and meandering to sustain the attention it captured initially, and the characters were irritatingly one-dimensional, with senseless motivations. And this way lies bewilderment and eventual disappointed boredom.
Now if there was a writer to take this setting that Peake so meticulously and lovingly created and populate it with interesting characters that do stuff that amounts to plot and actually have motivations that make a modicum of sense — yeah, I would have loved it. But as it is, it’s a pretty but tedious set piece, a 500-page absurdist prologue full of Dickensian-style names, fizzing out listless and dull after a promising start. And all I’m left with is a thicket of words through which I have to struggle and fail to arrive at any meaning in the story.
And I’m out. By the end of the book Titus Groan - barely a prop in this story - is not even two years old, and I’m perfectly happy skipping the rest of his life.
1.5 groaning stars.
——————
Also posted on my blog.
August 2, 2017
How to review this weird and wonderful book? The setting, characters and plot etc are extraordinary, but it is the language that is utterly bewitching. The fact Peake was also an artist is evident in the special care with which he describes light (or absence of), skin and textures. Anthony Burgess wrote that it “has the kind of three dimensional solidity which we often find in pictorial artists who take to words… illustrations would have been supererogatory” – even though Peake sketched in the margins as he wrote, and later editions were published with the pictures.
Peake's illustration of Titus going to his tenth birthday masque
Writing in Tatler, novelist Elizabeth Bowen said:
Genre
It is usually classed as fantasy, but it is more like historical fiction, with a dash of magical realism. Or is it? This first volume has a profound sense of place (Gormenghast castle is arguably the main character and its inhabitants “could not imagine a world outside it”) but a very vague sense of time. They have got to the 77th earl, but electricity, motor vehicles and even guns are unknown.
Plot
The title relates to the birth of Titus, a male heir to the ancient house of Groan. However, it is really a richly imagined story of an enclosed world, suffocating under the weight of detailed and largely pointless arcane ritual: “If, for instance, his Lordship... had been three inches shorter, the costumes, gestures and even the routes would have differed from those described in the first tome.” and “It was not certain what significance the ceremony held... but the formality was no less sacred for it being unintelligible”.
It explains how a clever upstart, Steerpike, quickly goes from orphan kitchen hand, to rebel to opportunist to schemer, plotting his rise to power and influence. There is also a sub plot concerning Keda, a woman from the mud huts outside the castle where the skilled Bright Carvers live.
It is always a page-turner though at times the plot is slow because the descriptions are so rich. Peake sometimes meanders along lengthy diversions (e.g. when likening the cracks in plaster to an ancient map, he goes on to imagine journeys across such a landscape) and conjure strange metaphors,” clean she was... in the sense of a rasher of bacon”! It will certainly improve your vocabulary, though even the unfamiliar words are used so carefully that you can get the gist if you don’t have a dictionary to hand. At other times, Peake conveys a great deal in relatively few words: “Lord Sepulchrave walked with slow strides, his head bowed. Fuchsia mouched. Doctor Prunesquallor minced. The twins propelled themselves forward vacantly. Flay spidered his path. Swelter wallowed his.” which tells you most of what you need to know about almost all the main characters.
There are macabre episodes (Peake is not afraid to kill off significant characters in nasty ways), but also moments of wonder (the sky pavement), mystery (the death owl) and humour (a comic cat-and-mouse fight in almost total darkness, except for occasional flashes of lightning).
An Artist Writes
Peake’s artistic eye is evident in vividly visual descriptions, especially, skin, masonry and candle wax (“His face was very lined, as though it had been made of brown paper that had been crunched by some savage hand before being hastily smoothed out and spread over the tissues.”). Perhaps that is also why carvings are such a big deal in Gormenghast: the annual competition is explained near the beginning of the novel, rivalries are fierce and the carvers’ skill is the only reason the “dwellers” are tolerated so near the castle. Yet what value is really placed on their skill when all but the best three carvings are ceremonially burned, and even those winners are stored in a dusty attic, rather than revered?
For a few chapters, the narrative switches to the present tense, for no obvious reason (“A Change of Colour” to the end of “Here and There”) and Peake is oddly and confusingly inconsistent in how he refers to some people (The Earl of Groan and Lord Sepulchrave are one and the same and his sisters are indeed his sisters, even though they are also referred to as his daughter’s mother’s cousins and his daughter’s cousins).
I love the second volume as well (Gormenghast, reviewed HERE), but be warned that the third (Titus Alone, reviewed HERE), is totally different and harder to appreciate.
Nevertheless, I still think this is one of the best-written books I know and, like all great works, only improves with each rereading.
Quotes
• “Lord Sepulchrave walked with slow strides, his head bowed. Fuchsia mouched. Doctor Prunesquallor minced. The twins propelled themselves forward vacantly. Flay spidered his path. Swelter wallowed his.”
• Swelter’s voice is “like the warm, sick notes of some prodigious mouldering bell”.
• Cracks in the wall “A thousand imaginary journeys might be made along the banks of these rivers of an unexplored world”. (A similar idea in Boy in Darkness, when Titus looks at a mildewed spot on the ceiling.)
• The Countess’s room was “untidy to the extent of being a shambles. Everything had the appearance of being put aside for the moment.”
• “His [Sourdust] face was very lined, as though it had been made of brown paper that had been crunched by some savage hand before being hastily smoothed out and spread over the tissues.”
• The Earl’s life, and to some extent everyone else’s, is governed by detailed and largely pointless arcane ritual. “The second tome was full of blank pages and was entirely symbolic... If, for instance, his Lordship.. had been three inches shorter, the costumes, gestures and even the routes would have differed from those described in the first tome.” “It was not certain what significance the ceremony held... but the formality was no less sacred for it being unintelligible”.
• “She [Fuchisa] appeared to inhabit, rather than to wear her clothes.”
• “as empty as an unremembered heart” (the “stage” in Fuchsia’s attic).
• "Today I saw a great pavement among the clouds made of grey stones, bigger than a meadow. No one goes there. Only a heron. Today I saw a tree growing out of a high wall, and people walking on it far above the ground. Today I saw a poet look out of a narrow window... I saw today... a horse swimming in the top of a tower: I saw a million towers today."
• The twins’ faces “were quite expressionless, as though they were preliminary layouts for faces and were waiting for sentience to be injected”.
• An extraordinary metaphor at the end of this one about Irma Prunesquallor: “more the appearance of having been plucked and peeled than of cleanliness, though clean she was... in the sense of a rasher of bacon”!
• “Treading in a pool of his own midnight”.
• “We are all imprisoned by the dictionary. We choose out of that vast, paper-walled prison our convicts, the little black printed words, when in truth we need fresh sounds to utter, new enfranchised noises which would produce a new effect.”
• Burned books are “the corpses of thought”.
• “lambent darkness” is a good oxymoron.
• Lightning is, “a light like razors. It not only showed to the least minutiae the anatomy of masonry, pillars and towers, trees, grass-blades and pebbles, it conjured these things, it constructed them from nothing... then a creation reigned in a blinding and ghastly glory as a torrent of electric fire coursed across the heavens.”
• “The outpouring of a continent of sky had incarcerated and given a weird hyper-reality of closeness to those who were shielded from all but the sound of the storm.”
All My Peake Reviews
All my Peake/Gormenghast reviews (including biographies/memoirs and books about his art) are on a shelf:
HERE.
Peake's illustration of Titus going to his tenth birthday masque
Writing in Tatler, novelist Elizabeth Bowen said:
“It is certainly not a novel; it would be found strong meat as a fairy tale… one of those works of pure, violent, self-sufficient imagination… poetry flows through his volcanic writing; the lyrical and the monstrous are inter-knotted… in the arabesque of his prose… I predict for Titus Goran a smallish but prevent public… [that] will probably renew itself, and probably enlarge, with each generation.”
Genre
It is usually classed as fantasy, but it is more like historical fiction, with a dash of magical realism. Or is it? This first volume has a profound sense of place (Gormenghast castle is arguably the main character and its inhabitants “could not imagine a world outside it”) but a very vague sense of time. They have got to the 77th earl, but electricity, motor vehicles and even guns are unknown.
Plot
The title relates to the birth of Titus, a male heir to the ancient house of Groan. However, it is really a richly imagined story of an enclosed world, suffocating under the weight of detailed and largely pointless arcane ritual: “If, for instance, his Lordship... had been three inches shorter, the costumes, gestures and even the routes would have differed from those described in the first tome.” and “It was not certain what significance the ceremony held... but the formality was no less sacred for it being unintelligible”.
It explains how a clever upstart, Steerpike, quickly goes from orphan kitchen hand, to rebel to opportunist to schemer, plotting his rise to power and influence. There is also a sub plot concerning Keda, a woman from the mud huts outside the castle where the skilled Bright Carvers live.
It is always a page-turner though at times the plot is slow because the descriptions are so rich. Peake sometimes meanders along lengthy diversions (e.g. when likening the cracks in plaster to an ancient map, he goes on to imagine journeys across such a landscape) and conjure strange metaphors,” clean she was... in the sense of a rasher of bacon”! It will certainly improve your vocabulary, though even the unfamiliar words are used so carefully that you can get the gist if you don’t have a dictionary to hand. At other times, Peake conveys a great deal in relatively few words: “Lord Sepulchrave walked with slow strides, his head bowed. Fuchsia mouched. Doctor Prunesquallor minced. The twins propelled themselves forward vacantly. Flay spidered his path. Swelter wallowed his.” which tells you most of what you need to know about almost all the main characters.
There are macabre episodes (Peake is not afraid to kill off significant characters in nasty ways), but also moments of wonder (the sky pavement), mystery (the death owl) and humour (a comic cat-and-mouse fight in almost total darkness, except for occasional flashes of lightning).
An Artist Writes
Peake’s artistic eye is evident in vividly visual descriptions, especially, skin, masonry and candle wax (“His face was very lined, as though it had been made of brown paper that had been crunched by some savage hand before being hastily smoothed out and spread over the tissues.”). Perhaps that is also why carvings are such a big deal in Gormenghast: the annual competition is explained near the beginning of the novel, rivalries are fierce and the carvers’ skill is the only reason the “dwellers” are tolerated so near the castle. Yet what value is really placed on their skill when all but the best three carvings are ceremonially burned, and even those winners are stored in a dusty attic, rather than revered?
For a few chapters, the narrative switches to the present tense, for no obvious reason (“A Change of Colour” to the end of “Here and There”) and Peake is oddly and confusingly inconsistent in how he refers to some people (The Earl of Groan and Lord Sepulchrave are one and the same and his sisters are indeed his sisters, even though they are also referred to as his daughter’s mother’s cousins and his daughter’s cousins).
I love the second volume as well (Gormenghast, reviewed HERE), but be warned that the third (Titus Alone, reviewed HERE), is totally different and harder to appreciate.
Nevertheless, I still think this is one of the best-written books I know and, like all great works, only improves with each rereading.
Quotes
• “Lord Sepulchrave walked with slow strides, his head bowed. Fuchsia mouched. Doctor Prunesquallor minced. The twins propelled themselves forward vacantly. Flay spidered his path. Swelter wallowed his.”
• Swelter’s voice is “like the warm, sick notes of some prodigious mouldering bell”.
• Cracks in the wall “A thousand imaginary journeys might be made along the banks of these rivers of an unexplored world”. (A similar idea in Boy in Darkness, when Titus looks at a mildewed spot on the ceiling.)
• The Countess’s room was “untidy to the extent of being a shambles. Everything had the appearance of being put aside for the moment.”
• “His [Sourdust] face was very lined, as though it had been made of brown paper that had been crunched by some savage hand before being hastily smoothed out and spread over the tissues.”
• The Earl’s life, and to some extent everyone else’s, is governed by detailed and largely pointless arcane ritual. “The second tome was full of blank pages and was entirely symbolic... If, for instance, his Lordship.. had been three inches shorter, the costumes, gestures and even the routes would have differed from those described in the first tome.” “It was not certain what significance the ceremony held... but the formality was no less sacred for it being unintelligible”.
• “She [Fuchisa] appeared to inhabit, rather than to wear her clothes.”
• “as empty as an unremembered heart” (the “stage” in Fuchsia’s attic).
• "Today I saw a great pavement among the clouds made of grey stones, bigger than a meadow. No one goes there. Only a heron. Today I saw a tree growing out of a high wall, and people walking on it far above the ground. Today I saw a poet look out of a narrow window... I saw today... a horse swimming in the top of a tower: I saw a million towers today."
• The twins’ faces “were quite expressionless, as though they were preliminary layouts for faces and were waiting for sentience to be injected”.
• An extraordinary metaphor at the end of this one about Irma Prunesquallor: “more the appearance of having been plucked and peeled than of cleanliness, though clean she was... in the sense of a rasher of bacon”!
• “Treading in a pool of his own midnight”.
• “We are all imprisoned by the dictionary. We choose out of that vast, paper-walled prison our convicts, the little black printed words, when in truth we need fresh sounds to utter, new enfranchised noises which would produce a new effect.”
• Burned books are “the corpses of thought”.
• “lambent darkness” is a good oxymoron.
• Lightning is, “a light like razors. It not only showed to the least minutiae the anatomy of masonry, pillars and towers, trees, grass-blades and pebbles, it conjured these things, it constructed them from nothing... then a creation reigned in a blinding and ghastly glory as a torrent of electric fire coursed across the heavens.”
• “The outpouring of a continent of sky had incarcerated and given a weird hyper-reality of closeness to those who were shielded from all but the sound of the storm.”
All My Peake Reviews
All my Peake/Gormenghast reviews (including biographies/memoirs and books about his art) are on a shelf:
HERE.
December 21, 2022
تا یه جاهایی از کتاب که رسیده بودم دیگه ذهنم درگیر این موضوع شد که چرا این کتاب در مقایسه با ارباب حلقهها تا این اندازه کمتر دیده شده. درسته آثار تالکین و دنیای عظیمی که خلق کرده محشره ولی یه همچین کتابی که 8 سال قبل از یاران حلقه منتشر شده هم دیگه نباید اینقدر مهجور میموند
حتی خودمم قبل از اینکه نشر تندیس چاپش کنه چیزی در موردش نمیدونستم و تا وقتی یکی از دوستانِ همینجا پیشنهادش نکرده بود، برنامهای برای خوندنش نداشتم
بعد از تموم کردنش توی گاردین یه مطلب خوندم که یه توضیح داده بود و نوشته بود احتمالا دلیلش جنگ جهان�� دوم بوده. مردم تازه از جنگ خلاص شده بودن و طاقت چیزهای دارک و گوتیک رو نداشتن و دنبال قهرمان، پایان خوش و کورسوی امید بودن و به همین خاطر کسایی هم که اون موقعها میخوندنش احتمالا به کسی پیشنهادش نمیدادن چون این کتاب چیزی نبوده که اون زمان کسی بهش نیاز داشت�� باشه و همینطور کمتر و کمتر دیده شد و این موضوع تا زمان حاضر ادامه پیدا کرده
با این حال هنرمندهای فانتزی مثل چاینا میهویل، گیرمو دلتورو و نیل گیمن ازش غافل نموندن و حسابی آثار مروین پیک رو تحسین کردن. به علاوه تلاشهای نیل گیمن نتیجه داده و قراره یک اقتباس تلویزیونی ازش بسازه و گفته بود اقتباسی که سال 2000 بی بی سی ازش ساخته بوده به خاطر عدم پیشرفت کافی تکنولوژی خوب نشده. ولی با وجود پیشرفت تکنولوژی بازم چشم بنده آب نمیخوره که بشه چیزی رو نشون داد که حق مطلب رو در مورد گورمنگاست ادا کنه چون بخش خیلی وسیعی از کتاب مربوط به توصیفاته. نه فقط توصیفات خارقالعاده پرجزئیات قلعه، بلکه توصیفات حالات روحی، درونی و بیرونی شخصیتها، توصیف چیزهایی که میبینن و افکاری که توی ذهنشون دارن و همهی اینها با سبکی شاعرانه و معرکه نوشته شدن و نمایش این موارد روی تصویر تقریبا غیرممکنه
تیتوس گرون در مورد شخصیتهاییه که داخل یه قلعهی عظیم به اندازهی یه شهر زندگی میکنن که اسیر سنت هستن و وظیفهی هر شخص حتی قبل از به دنیا اومدنش هم تعیین میشه
قلعهای به اسم گورمنگاست و پیوند و ارتباط و اهداف و انگیزههای شخصیتهایی که به شدت اغراق شده هستن، حالا چه از لحاظ ظاهری و چه از لحاظ رفتاری. شاید بهترین نمونهاش شخصیتهای عجیب و غریبِ فیلمای تیم برتون باشه
مروین پیک علاوه بر نویسندگی، شاعر و تصویرگر بوده و از نقاشیهاش داخل کتاب هم استفاده شده و روی جلد هم که مشخصه
این نقاشیهاش رو هم از توییتر گیرمو دلتورو پیدا کردم
https://uupload.ir/files/m4ie_1.jpg
https://uupload.ir/files/dmso_2.jpg
https://uupload.ir/files/0h5u_3.jpg
این نقاشیها هم اثر پیک نیست ولی میتونید برای اینکه با محیط کتاب بهتر آشنا شید ببینید
https://uupload.ir/files/0mxn_4.jpeg
https://uupload.ir/files/bhjx_5.jpeg
https://uupload.ir/files/33ld_7.jpeg
https://uupload.ir/files/782_8.jpeg
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پیام بازرگانی:
شب توی تاریکی و زیر نور چراغ مطالعه داشتم یه بخش از کتاب رو میخوندم که وسط کلی تار عنکبوت و عنکبوت میگذشت و یهو یه عنکبوت هم اومد لای کتاب و منم دستپاچه شدم و صفحه از دستم در رفت. بعد با کلی ترس و لرز هی کتاب رو تکون دادم که این لامصب بیفته، ولی انگار نه انگار. دیگه یه معجون ویچری نوشیدم و ترسم رفت و رفتم سراغ صفحهی گمشدهی کتاب و دیدم اون بدبخت از شدت حجم و ضربِ بسته شدن کتاب له شده بود :))
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ترجمهی کتاب هم فوقالعادهاس! مترجم واقعا زحمت کشیده براش و حسابی گل کاشته و حتی بعضی جاها واجآرایی رو هم رعایت کرده. دوتا بخشش رو میذارم براتون که بخونید
متاسفانه مترجمش برنامهای برای ادامهی مجموعه نداره و بابت این موضوع واقعا ناراحت شدم. گرچه سرنوشت تعداد کمی از شخصیتها توی کتاب اول مشخص نمیشه ولی به عنوان یه کتاب مستقل هم میشه خوندش و از این بابت مشکل چندانی وجود نداره
و در آخر که این کتاب رو پیشنهاد میکنم به فانتزیخونهایی که دنبال یه فانتزیِ گوتیک و کلاسیکِ درست و حسابی میگردن
از اونجایی که کتاب جادو و موجودات خارج از این جهان هم نداره، به کسایی که دنبال یه کتاب با توصیفات عالی هم میگردن پیشنهاد میشه
دقت کنید که خوندنش نسبتا سخته و تند تند نمیشه خوند و باید براش وقت و حوصله گذاشت
حتی خودمم قبل از اینکه نشر تندیس چاپش کنه چیزی در موردش نمیدونستم و تا وقتی یکی از دوستانِ همینجا پیشنهادش نکرده بود، برنامهای برای خوندنش نداشتم
بعد از تموم کردنش توی گاردین یه مطلب خوندم که یه توضیح داده بود و نوشته بود احتمالا دلیلش جنگ جهان�� دوم بوده. مردم تازه از جنگ خلاص شده بودن و طاقت چیزهای دارک و گوتیک رو نداشتن و دنبال قهرمان، پایان خوش و کورسوی امید بودن و به همین خاطر کسایی هم که اون موقعها میخوندنش احتمالا به کسی پیشنهادش نمیدادن چون این کتاب چیزی نبوده که اون زمان کسی بهش نیاز داشت�� باشه و همینطور کمتر و کمتر دیده شد و این موضوع تا زمان حاضر ادامه پیدا کرده
با این حال هنرمندهای فانتزی مثل چاینا میهویل، گیرمو دلتورو و نیل گیمن ازش غافل نموندن و حسابی آثار مروین پیک رو تحسین کردن. به علاوه تلاشهای نیل گیمن نتیجه داده و قراره یک اقتباس تلویزیونی ازش بسازه و گفته بود اقتباسی که سال 2000 بی بی سی ازش ساخته بوده به خاطر عدم پیشرفت کافی تکنولوژی خوب نشده. ولی با وجود پیشرفت تکنولوژی بازم چشم بنده آب نمیخوره که بشه چیزی رو نشون داد که حق مطلب رو در مورد گورمنگاست ادا کنه چون بخش خیلی وسیعی از کتاب مربوط به توصیفاته. نه فقط توصیفات خارقالعاده پرجزئیات قلعه، بلکه توصیفات حالات روحی، درونی و بیرونی شخصیتها، توصیف چیزهایی که میبینن و افکاری که توی ذهنشون دارن و همهی اینها با سبکی شاعرانه و معرکه نوشته شدن و نمایش این موارد روی تصویر تقریبا غیرممکنه
تیتوس گرون در مورد شخصیتهاییه که داخل یه قلعهی عظیم به اندازهی یه شهر زندگی میکنن که اسیر سنت هستن و وظیفهی هر شخص حتی قبل از به دنیا اومدنش هم تعیین میشه
قلعهای به اسم گورمنگاست و پیوند و ارتباط و اهداف و انگیزههای شخصیتهایی که به شدت اغراق شده هستن، حالا چه از لحاظ ظاهری و چه از لحاظ رفتاری. شاید بهترین نمونهاش شخصیتهای عجیب و غریبِ فیلمای تیم برتون باشه
مروین پیک علاوه بر نویسندگی، شاعر و تصویرگر بوده و از نقاشیهاش داخل کتاب هم استفاده شده و روی جلد هم که مشخصه
این نقاشیهاش رو هم از توییتر گیرمو دلتورو پیدا کردم
https://uupload.ir/files/m4ie_1.jpg
https://uupload.ir/files/dmso_2.jpg
https://uupload.ir/files/0h5u_3.jpg
این نقاشیها هم اثر پیک نیست ولی میتونید برای اینکه با محیط کتاب بهتر آشنا شید ببینید
https://uupload.ir/files/0mxn_4.jpeg
https://uupload.ir/files/bhjx_5.jpeg
https://uupload.ir/files/33ld_7.jpeg
https://uupload.ir/files/782_8.jpeg
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پیام بازرگانی:
شب توی تاریکی و زیر نور چراغ مطالعه داشتم یه بخش از کتاب رو میخوندم که وسط کلی تار عنکبوت و عنکبوت میگذشت و یهو یه عنکبوت هم اومد لای کتاب و منم دستپاچه شدم و صفحه از دستم در رفت. بعد با کلی ترس و لرز هی کتاب رو تکون دادم که این لامصب بیفته، ولی انگار نه انگار. دیگه یه معجون ویچری نوشیدم و ترسم رفت و رفتم سراغ صفحهی گمشدهی کتاب و دیدم اون بدبخت از شدت حجم و ضربِ بسته شدن کتاب له شده بود :))
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ترجمهی کتاب هم فوقالعادهاس! مترجم واقعا زحمت کشیده براش و حسابی گل کاشته و حتی بعضی جاها واجآرایی رو هم رعایت کرده. دوتا بخشش رو میذارم براتون که بخونید
ادعای سبک قدمی استیرپایک لافِ گزاف نبود؛ پسرک با چالاکی شگفت آوری از سنگی به سنگ دیگر پرید، خود را به دهانهی آبکند رساند و از آنجا به سرعتِ صوفیانِ سماع کار از سینهکشِ سراشیبِ صخرهها پایین سرید. صد البته که این سرعت سهلانگارانه نبود؛ هر گام استیرپایک محصول تصمیمی حسابشده بود که مدتها پیش از فرود آمدن قدمِ قبلی اتخاذ میشد
راستی بگو ببینم ای مَهریشهی نازنینم، احیاناً خودت در سالهای مدیدِ اخیر، دور از چشم من، به شغل شریف شمشیرخواری که مشغول نبودهای؟ ها ها. بودهای؟ سالهای مدید و شمشیرهای حدید! پردهی صماخم پکید از این اصوات پلید! هدیه چه باید خرید از بهر دوستی جدید که تن کُنَد تنبان تنگ و دَر پوشد دامن دورنگ چون پلنگ؟
متاسفانه مترجمش برنامهای برای ادامهی مجموعه نداره و بابت این موضوع واقعا ناراحت شدم. گرچه سرنوشت تعداد کمی از شخصیتها توی کتاب اول مشخص نمیشه ولی به عنوان یه کتاب مستقل هم میشه خوندش و از این بابت مشکل چندانی وجود نداره
و در آخر که این کتاب رو پیشنهاد میکنم به فانتزیخونهایی که دنبال یه فانتزیِ گوتیک و کلاسیکِ درست و حسابی میگردن
از اونجایی که کتاب جادو و موجودات خارج از این جهان هم نداره، به کسایی که دنبال یه کتاب با توصیفات عالی هم میگردن پیشنهاد میشه
دقت کنید که خوندنش نسبتا سخته و تند تند نمیشه خوند و باید براش وقت و حوصله گذاشت
February 9, 2017
As I was reading this, I kept thinking of all the great and richly-detailed fantasies I've ever read, from Tad Williams to Robin Hobb, and then I just had to look up when this book had come out.
You see, I have this thing. I like to read a book, or at least books that are considered classics or the best of their genre, with a clear and un-jaundiced eye. So sometimes I don't even read the blurb or the date of publication. Actually, I rarely look at the date. I can usually figure it out by the style.
On the other hand, this one had me stumped. I got through nearly 3/4 of the novel before I broke down and found out that this was published in '46. I was shocked. The level of detail, the creepy magical realism, the ritual-building, the clever descriptions, and especially the the plot just screamed out, maybe, late seventies with a reliance on fully traditional fantasy with an evil minister-type bringing down a kingdom. But 1946?
I have to readjust everything.
Sure, this has a lot of great gothic elements and a heavy reliance on Dickens, feeling more like a timeless and isolated castle full of a loving people (at first) only to have it fall to the whiles of a lying snake.
And then I slowly realized just how much of an influence Titus Groan had upon so much modern fantasy. You know those authors I mentioned? Yeah, I'd eat my boots if they weren't heavily influenced by Peake. It's that clear. :)
But how did I like this novel? I loved it. What it didn't have in dastardly wars, it did have in masterful prose, sneaky action, creepy and delightful and complex characters, and truly brilliant descriptions.
I'm really looking forward to reading the next one. :)
You see, I have this thing. I like to read a book, or at least books that are considered classics or the best of their genre, with a clear and un-jaundiced eye. So sometimes I don't even read the blurb or the date of publication. Actually, I rarely look at the date. I can usually figure it out by the style.
On the other hand, this one had me stumped. I got through nearly 3/4 of the novel before I broke down and found out that this was published in '46. I was shocked. The level of detail, the creepy magical realism, the ritual-building, the clever descriptions, and especially the the plot just screamed out, maybe, late seventies with a reliance on fully traditional fantasy with an evil minister-type bringing down a kingdom. But 1946?
I have to readjust everything.
Sure, this has a lot of great gothic elements and a heavy reliance on Dickens, feeling more like a timeless and isolated castle full of a loving people (at first) only to have it fall to the whiles of a lying snake.
And then I slowly realized just how much of an influence Titus Groan had upon so much modern fantasy. You know those authors I mentioned? Yeah, I'd eat my boots if they weren't heavily influenced by Peake. It's that clear. :)
But how did I like this novel? I loved it. What it didn't have in dastardly wars, it did have in masterful prose, sneaky action, creepy and delightful and complex characters, and truly brilliant descriptions.
I'm really looking forward to reading the next one. :)
June 27, 2017
dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
Imagine a gigantic, gothic-like edifice with an endless maze of galleries, roofs, stairs and secret passages. There are the Stone Lanes and the Hall of Bright Carvings, cat room and Hall of Spiders, the Tower of Flints and somewhere up in the clouds a Field of Flagstones; there are forgotten wings, dark corridors, dusty attics; there are primeval cedars and emerald mirrors of lawns. The castle, truly stony monster, is huge and inconceivably old, developed by seventy-six generations to such an extent that now some of its parts fell into oblivion. Its life’s been going on for generations with unchanging rhythm, in accordance to countless laws and sterile rituals enshrined in tradition , which meaning no one even tries to investigate or question. Can you see it ? It is Gormenghast, the family residence of Groans.
Because Gormenghast it is not only rambling castle but also its inhabitants Peake populated it with unforgettable characters. Titus’ family and their servants are a tragicomical mixed bunch of neurotics, psychopaths and eccentrics; grotesque in appearance and behavior, sometime arouse laughter, more often horror or compassion.
Titus’ father, Sepulchrave, tragic and melancholic seventy-sixth Earl of Gormenghast and the owner of the whole caboodle, bricks, guns and glory ; Gertrude, his wife, always surrounded by furry and winged menagerie, her snow-white cats and her ravens, and magpies and owls; chief servant, Mr. Flay with his knee joints cracking while he walked; Swelter, the huge and sadistic head cook; the librarian Sourdust, authority of all rituals and laws; Rottcodd, the curator constantly dusting the carvings or lying in his hammock; Slagg, old nanny; Dr. Prunesquallor with his uncontrollable laugh; dim-witted twin sisters Cora nad Clarice; ambitious and cunning Steerpike, like Dickensian Uriah Heep, patiently weaving web of intrigues; and of course Titus himself, newborn heir to the family, seventy-seventh Earl of Gormenghast. Boy with violet eyes.
But my favorite is Fuchsia Groan. When we meet her she’s about fifteen with long, wild black hair and smouldered eyes. She is gauche in movement and in a sense, ugly of face, but with how small a twist might she not suddenly have become beautiful . She wears shapeless robes though in fact she appears rather to inhabit, than to wear her clothes . She is sensitive and imaginative, she's moody and changeable, she's reckless and at the same time fragile, and she's unhappy for not being the only child in the family any more. But from the moment when she sees her brother for the first time she feels for him that mixture of pity and tenderness, we could as well call it love, because she senses that except of her Titus is the only one who needs to escape pompous glory of Gormenghast.
I know the title is Titus Groan and I believe his time is yet to come. I know there would be echoes in the passageways, and quick lights flickering along the walls. There would be tears and there would be strange laughter. And dreams, and violence, and disenchantment. And love itself will cry for insurrection ! For tomorrow is also a day and Titus has entered his stronghold . I know it all. But by now it is Fuchsia who stole the show.
Titus Groan is a majestic and epic vision and the crowning glory of that extraordinary novel is its style. Glamorous, monumental, full of accurate, evocative comparisons and personification, so that not only people but also Gormenghast itself gives an impression of a living being. Ancient castle is a scene for all human passions, need for power and revenge, anger and greed, love and hatred; it’s a place of immense solitude and sorrow; it is a hermetic realm of quirkiness and dark beauty. And yearning for the world outside the walls.
August 30, 2010
Mervyn Peake was one of those gifted people you burningly resent, he was a brilliant artist and then he thought oh I need something else to occupy my time when I'm not doing brilliant drawings and paintings, hmm what can I do, ah yes I'll write one of the century's greatest fantasies in one of the most individual and beautiful prose styles, and create about a dozen of the most memorable and delightful characters in all of fiction, including a real heartbreaker of a heroine called Fuchsia, yes, hmm, that's what I'll do, why not...
Well I really want to read this again, I have such great memories of being elevated into a genuinely different, gorgeous, horrifying but completely seductive world that I want to go back, I want to go back. But I remember also my unhappy experience re-reading Something Wicked this Way Comes (see elsewhere). Should I, shouldn't I.
Mervyn Peake wrote an equally glorious sequel called Gormenghast, also 500 pages, then he developed dementia, to the point where his wife attached a big label to his clothes which said something like "If found wandering aimlessly, please return to the following address..."
Update : okay, I went and bought the new illustrated edition of the whole trilogy in one big fat volume (illustrated by Peake himself that is). So there, it's going to happen.
Well I really want to read this again, I have such great memories of being elevated into a genuinely different, gorgeous, horrifying but completely seductive world that I want to go back, I want to go back. But I remember also my unhappy experience re-reading Something Wicked this Way Comes (see elsewhere). Should I, shouldn't I.
Mervyn Peake wrote an equally glorious sequel called Gormenghast, also 500 pages, then he developed dementia, to the point where his wife attached a big label to his clothes which said something like "If found wandering aimlessly, please return to the following address..."
Update : okay, I went and bought the new illustrated edition of the whole trilogy in one big fat volume (illustrated by Peake himself that is). So there, it's going to happen.
July 8, 2021
“Siempre me han fascinado los que quieren trabajar, ja, ja. Es apasionante observarlos.”En nombre de la máxima indecisión, me encuentro ante un dilema inquietante. A ver, el libro está descatalogadísimo y cuesta una pasta en mercados de segunda mano. Aun así, me lo regaló con mucha ilusión una persona, para quién, por lo que sea, esta novela es uno de los libros de su vida. Vamos, que cabría preguntarse si comparado con ella hay alguna otra persona en el mundo mundial que pueda afirmar que le guste aún más. El caso es que ahora me sabe mal decirle que me encuentro bastante lejos de sentir su entusiasmo. ¿Qué hago?
No puedo mentir y decirle algo así como que su pluma palpitante me ha embelesado, que sus páginas se iban abriendo como flores de cristal, que su voz diáfana era como una campana de cristal en la noche de nuestra confusión.
Y menos si tenemos en cuenta lo mal que miento… Además, me entraría la risa hablando como el pobre loco del conde Sepulcravo.
Tampoco creo que pudiera eludir la cuestión recurriendo a la palabrería del ambicioso Pirañavelo, en plan todos somos prisioneros del diccionario, y en esa inmensa prisión de paredes de papel no encuentro las necesarias palabras impresas en negro que debiera escoger para explicarte lo que el libro me ha hecho sentir. Debería emitir nuevos sonidos, ruidos emancipados e insólitos que produzcan efectos también insólitos para que lo entendieras, pero lo que no se puede no se puede y además es imposible.
Aparte de que ya me fastidiaría tener que imitar al gañán de Pirañavelo: nunca le perdonaré su asuntillo con aquella magnífica biblioteca.
Casi mejor, o sin casi, sería decirle parte de la verdad, que la historia me ha parecido ingeniosa, que me he divertido con sus estrafalarios personajes, con su dosis de mala baba, hasta con su ocurrente lirismo, como ese que, hablando de unas cortinas separadas mínimamente, Prunescualo dice:
“Hay una languidez de añoranza entre ellas. Una fisura de noche impalpable las separa.”Hasta podría decirle que lo he encontrado justo a mitad de camino de un mugriento corredor, ruinoso y mal iluminado que comunicase a La princesa prometida con Alicia en el país de las maravillas, que no es poca cosa.
Bah, lo mejor va a ser que lea esto, que lo leerá, y me ahorro el mal trago. Ya sondearemos juntos las profundidades de la magia y discutiremos sobre el significado de la existencia en otros castillos y en otros bosques… será por castillos y bosques.
February 1, 2016
”The darkness came down over the castle and the Twisted Woods and over Gormenghast Mountain. The long tables of the Dwellers were hidden in the thickness of a starless night….”
This is the book hailed by Tolkien separatists as one to rival The Lord of the Rings. This is the book that supposedly is the best book in the fantasy genre. We are all entitled to our opinions, but after having read Titus Groan, I simply cannot understand why anyone would even come close to that conclusion.
To me, this is fantasy devoid of anything that makes the genre special. None of the reasons why I love fantasy can be found in this book. Not a single one. And in addition to that, I found the plot to be moving so slowly that every page was a struggle. After having read almost a third of the book, I felt ready to put it down and forget about it.
That was part of the reason why I did not enjoy this as much as I could have: that it does not really fit into my concept of fantasy (which is probably different from the concept of fantasy in the minds of Peake's followers). Frankly, this book reads like a slightly modernised but very stereotypical fairytale, with all the positives and negatives that comes with.
But I desperately wanted to like this book, and to some extent I did. Despite being a fanatical supporter of Tolkien and his successors, I found the prospect of reading something wholly different to be quite interesting. Unfortunately, the book didn’t live up to any of my expectations. That does not mean that its quality is non-existent.
Most commenters are saying that the writing is the best part, and they are absolutely right. Mervyn Peake can certainly write, and even though it was not completely stunning, I did enjoy it once I got into it. But unfortunately, the writing is the only good aspect of Titus Groan. This book is the epitome of sacrificing substance for style.
But as many of you know, I do enjoy flowery writing. A lot. And that, instead of the crown on top of a masterpiece, became for me a saving grace. The wonderful descriptions of Castle Gormenghast and the Twisted Woods provided some small measure of enjoyment at times when I found the rest of the book to be painfully tedious and surprisingly mediocre.
I can see the positive aspects of it, and I’m sure it’s a magical book for the right people. But as far as I can see, this is a fantasy book for those who do not appreciate fantasy. Or for fantasy readers in need of a break.
This is the book hailed by Tolkien separatists as one to rival The Lord of the Rings. This is the book that supposedly is the best book in the fantasy genre. We are all entitled to our opinions, but after having read Titus Groan, I simply cannot understand why anyone would even come close to that conclusion.
To me, this is fantasy devoid of anything that makes the genre special. None of the reasons why I love fantasy can be found in this book. Not a single one. And in addition to that, I found the plot to be moving so slowly that every page was a struggle. After having read almost a third of the book, I felt ready to put it down and forget about it.
That was part of the reason why I did not enjoy this as much as I could have: that it does not really fit into my concept of fantasy (which is probably different from the concept of fantasy in the minds of Peake's followers). Frankly, this book reads like a slightly modernised but very stereotypical fairytale, with all the positives and negatives that comes with.
But I desperately wanted to like this book, and to some extent I did. Despite being a fanatical supporter of Tolkien and his successors, I found the prospect of reading something wholly different to be quite interesting. Unfortunately, the book didn’t live up to any of my expectations. That does not mean that its quality is non-existent.
Most commenters are saying that the writing is the best part, and they are absolutely right. Mervyn Peake can certainly write, and even though it was not completely stunning, I did enjoy it once I got into it. But unfortunately, the writing is the only good aspect of Titus Groan. This book is the epitome of sacrificing substance for style.
But as many of you know, I do enjoy flowery writing. A lot. And that, instead of the crown on top of a masterpiece, became for me a saving grace. The wonderful descriptions of Castle Gormenghast and the Twisted Woods provided some small measure of enjoyment at times when I found the rest of the book to be painfully tedious and surprisingly mediocre.
I can see the positive aspects of it, and I’m sure it’s a magical book for the right people. But as far as I can see, this is a fantasy book for those who do not appreciate fantasy. Or for fantasy readers in need of a break.
March 21, 2016
Titus Groan is another one of my favorite books and it, along with The Worm Ouroboros, had a big influence on me while writing the Inheritance Cycle. The prose is incredible—it’s the ultimate gothic fantasy. And it’s so rich, it’s actually a little bit hard to read in one sitting; it’s better taken in small chunks.
Mervyn Peake, like so many authors who survived and endured the World Wars—World War One particularly—had a sense of the grotesque and the grotesquely beautiful that is hard to find. For anyone who’s looking for something that captures those elements, I would recommend this series. You’re not going to find anything like this among any other modern day writers. The closest would be perhaps China Miéville, but even he does very different things than Mervyn Peake.
Mervyn Peake, like so many authors who survived and endured the World Wars—World War One particularly—had a sense of the grotesque and the grotesquely beautiful that is hard to find. For anyone who’s looking for something that captures those elements, I would recommend this series. You’re not going to find anything like this among any other modern day writers. The closest would be perhaps China Miéville, but even he does very different things than Mervyn Peake.
July 10, 2015
Titus Groan is the tale of a bunch of truly odd and grotesque people living in a grotesque old castle.
Maybe it's just me (neither bleak nor grotesque is my thing; put them together and I'm liable to slit my throat), but I just could not with this book. I generally love fantasy of all kinds, but I found this book very creepy in an off-putting kind of way, sort of like one of Tim Burton's weirder movies. (I still haven't forgiven him for Batman Returns.)
It was also grim and gruesome and boring. So boring that I'm surprised I managed to finish it. Somehow I slogged through to the end, but it never felt to me like there was a coherent plot, just a series of bizarre and gloomy vignettes. Between all those things, this book was pretty much a losing effort for me in every way.
Maybe it's just me (neither bleak nor grotesque is my thing; put them together and I'm liable to slit my throat), but I just could not with this book. I generally love fantasy of all kinds, but I found this book very creepy in an off-putting kind of way, sort of like one of Tim Burton's weirder movies. (I still haven't forgiven him for Batman Returns.)
It was also grim and gruesome and boring. So boring that I'm surprised I managed to finish it. Somehow I slogged through to the end, but it never felt to me like there was a coherent plot, just a series of bizarre and gloomy vignettes. Between all those things, this book was pretty much a losing effort for me in every way.
January 31, 2013
“This tower, patched unevenly with black ivy, arose like a mutilated finger from among the fists of knuckled masonry and pointed blasphemously at heaven. At night the owls made of it an echoing throat; by day it stood voiceless and cast its long shadow.”There stands the Gormenghast - as if sealed inside a crystal ball - looming in all its grotesque wonder. The old, musty smell. The susurrus of narrow passages. The torches casting an eerie circle of light. The hustle and bustle of the castle dwellers, while the Gormenghast watches stoically. It has seen 77 generations of the Earls, and by now it is ageless - as if it has worn this air of decay since the beginning of time.
The dwellers of the castle - no, they don't merely live in the castle, they are organic offshoots of the Gormenghast. They scurry through its passages as blood runs through our veins. You can take them out of Gormenghast, you can't take the Gormenghast out of them. These characters are easily a great candidate for the title of the best ensemble cast to be found in literature . And Peake makes it so without obliterating any of their individual personalities. (Fuschia! you are such a sweetheart.) The characters often get an irreverent treatment from Peake, portrayed as exaggerated caricatures, comical and outlandish.
Beyond this cartoonish humor, Peake offers many a leisurely descriptions as he crafts spellbinding scenes, laying down the little details one by one. And just as easily, he conjures up ominous moments sending a chill down the spine. If any authors insist on detail-oriented writing, I wish they would write like Peake (winks at Paul Scott). Such atmospheric writing which brings alive a whole new world, casting a mild spell, works wonderfully for me. It is Peake's masterful depictions that make the setting, not the characters and not the story, the protagonist here.
This book here is unique and perfect, I say.
______________________________________
The Voice of Peake
A few out-of-context excerpts from here and there:
"Swelter, as soon as he saw who it was, stopped dead, and across his face little billows of flesh ran swiftly here and there until, as though they had determined to adhere to the same impulse, they swept up into both oceans of soft cheek, leaving between them a vacuum, a gaping segment like a slice cut from a melon. It was horrible. It was as though nature had lost control. As though the smile, as a concept, as a manifestation of pleasure, had been a mistake, for here on the face of Swelter, the idea had been abused."
"Lady Groan raised herself in bed and looked fiercely at the open door, bellowed in the deepest and loudest voice, 'SQUALLOR!'. The word echoed along the corridors and down the stairs, and creeping under the door and along the black rug in the Coldroom, just managed, after climbing the doctor's body, to find its way into both his ears simultaneously, in a peremptory if modified condition. Modified though it was, it brought Doctor Prunesquallor to his feet at once. His fish eyes swam all round his glasses before finishing at the top, where they gave him an expression of fantastic martyrdom. ...."
"His face was very lined, as though it had been made of brown paper that had been crunched by some savage hand before being hastily smoothed out and spread over the tissues."
"The crumbling castle, looming among the mists, exhaled the season, and every cold stone breathed it out. The tortured trees by the dark lake burned and dripped, and their leaves snatched by the wind were whirled in wild circles through the towers. The clouds mouldered as they lay coiled, or shifted themselves uneasily upon the stone skyfield, sending up wreaths that drifted through the turrets and swarmed up the hidden walls."
______________________________________
The Importance of Being Titus
When reading this book, I had looked up the name Titus on Wikipedia. Among the notable people who were named Titus was the Roman emperor from 79 to 81, under whose reign the construction of The Colosseum was completed and it was inaugurated with games that lasted for 100 days.
Titus was also the name of Rembrandt's fourth child and he was often a figure or model in his father's paintings and studies.
September 17, 2020
Well...sorry. I'm sure many will be a bit shocked and saddened by my rating. It only goes to show that as I've said before when it comes to novels it's a bit of "to each their own".
This is a wonderfully well written novel and has been around since 1946. There are different types of fantasy. To simply say this is epic fantasy doesn't really tell you anything as it simply tells you the "tale" is of epic scale. I'd say that in a way (as they are in some sense contemporaries)This book and The Lord of the Rings could be said to represent two widely divergent types of fantasy.
Titus Groan leads us into and introduces to the world of Gormenghast Castle and is the first of the Gormenghast series. Mervyn Peake did not live to complete his planned series though Maeve Gilmore Peake (his wife) and biographer wrote Titus Awakes: The Lost Book of Gormenghast.
Many mention these books (Gormenghast and Lord of the Rings) in the same breath but where the LotR is a dark story but bright with hope Gormenghast drips with futility and hopelessness. As the book opens the Castle is "celebrating" the birth of the new son and heir Titus. Titus himself plays very little part in the actual story of this book but he is very central to the action. Gormenghast is an ancient place hidebound with rituals that can be ridiculous in their complexity but rule the lives of all. The central player here...or at least a central player is Steerpike who manages to play the family and residents of the Castle against each other to climb up the ladder of power.
That of course is a very rough description of a classic novel. As I noted the writing is excellent and the characters are deep and complete...in their own way.
For me however I didn't enjoy the book. It is (in my opinion) a depressing, oppressive experience. Simply because a book is well written for me it doesn't make it a pleasant or worthwhile experience.
So, the best i can do here is a 2 and I can't really recommend this other than to try it for yourself. many love this book. It is rife with plots and plotting, underhanded schemes, hatred and a foreboding sense of doom.
To each their own where taste is concerned.
This is a wonderfully well written novel and has been around since 1946. There are different types of fantasy. To simply say this is epic fantasy doesn't really tell you anything as it simply tells you the "tale" is of epic scale. I'd say that in a way (as they are in some sense contemporaries)This book and The Lord of the Rings could be said to represent two widely divergent types of fantasy.
Titus Groan leads us into and introduces to the world of Gormenghast Castle and is the first of the Gormenghast series. Mervyn Peake did not live to complete his planned series though Maeve Gilmore Peake (his wife) and biographer wrote Titus Awakes: The Lost Book of Gormenghast.
Many mention these books (Gormenghast and Lord of the Rings) in the same breath but where the LotR is a dark story but bright with hope Gormenghast drips with futility and hopelessness. As the book opens the Castle is "celebrating" the birth of the new son and heir Titus. Titus himself plays very little part in the actual story of this book but he is very central to the action. Gormenghast is an ancient place hidebound with rituals that can be ridiculous in their complexity but rule the lives of all. The central player here...or at least a central player is Steerpike who manages to play the family and residents of the Castle against each other to climb up the ladder of power.
That of course is a very rough description of a classic novel. As I noted the writing is excellent and the characters are deep and complete...in their own way.
For me however I didn't enjoy the book. It is (in my opinion) a depressing, oppressive experience. Simply because a book is well written for me it doesn't make it a pleasant or worthwhile experience.
So, the best i can do here is a 2 and I can't really recommend this other than to try it for yourself. many love this book. It is rife with plots and plotting, underhanded schemes, hatred and a foreboding sense of doom.
To each their own where taste is concerned.
September 29, 2013
My favourite book of all time is “The Alexandria Quartet” by Lawrence Durrell but I have now met a worthy contender in Mervyn Peake’s “Titus Groan” to bring to the same elevated level. The books marry very well indeed and the two distinct structures span the gamut of every conceivable emotion that the human brain is capable of absorbing I believe. So I’m on a win-win situation here with both books.
And as for this tour de force, how can one even attempt to describe the amazing prose that Peake had in introducing so many colourful characters and, with the addition of these magical illustrations thrown in, this makes a truly stunning combination.
Also, where does one start with this tale of intrigue, revenge, death, love and the rich tapestry of life? With Titus the child I guess for this book covers two years in the life of Titus Groan, 77th Earl of Gormenghast. I actually do compare him to Ivan Denisovich purely by the fact that the toddler survived this gruelling period of time. Mrs Slagg, his nanny, often wondered “Why won’t he smile?” she whispered. “Why won’t his little Lordship ever smile?” I’m not surprised that he didn’t and all soon becomes revealed in the fullness of time.
I could not resist though in adding this comment from Titus’ christening:
As the castle is governed purely by ritual, the procedure for such an important event as a christening entails following such a high degree of precision that the human element unfortunately is forgotten. The infant with the little iron crown is placed inside Sourdust’s “great book” then:
“Lord Sepulchrave folded the two pages over the helpless body and joined the tube of thick parchment at its centre with a safety pin. Resting upon the spine of the volume, his minute feet protruding from one end of the paper trunk and the iron spikes of the little crown protruding from the other, he was, to Sourdust, the very quintessential of traditional propriety”.
All well and good but then the aged body of Sourdust sadly intervenes and ….
The main plot takes place within the Gormenghast Castle with the backdrop of the mountain of the same name. It revolves around the life of Titus, of course, but also his father Sepulchrave (who has a dreadful loss in life that sends him on a downward spiral), Sepulchrave ‘s extrovert, somewhat wild daughter Fuchsia (with her black inky hair), zany Doctor Prunesquallor (Doctor Prune to Fuchsia), his boring sister Irma, The Twins (Sepulchrave’s sisters Cora and Clarice (who always wore purple), Swelter (the objectionable chef with his Grey Scrubbers, Raft Makers and apprentices), Flay (the Earl’s personal servant), Sourdust (the librarian – also Warden of the immemorial Rites - who maintains order and ritual throughout the castle), followed upon his death by his son Barquentine, Steerpike (a seventeen year old opportunist who is thoroughly evil and manipulative). Various individuals also soon fall from grace within this two year period.
The castle contains the individuals who live within the Outer Wall, and those who live outside the castle, namely the Dwellers, whose women lose their beauty very early in life. The men are the master carvers, whose works, due to yearly competitions, reside in the Hall of the Bright Carvings within Gormenghast Castle.
There is also, however, a very poignant sub-plot involving the Dweller Reda (a very strong character which I always like) who is asked to be a wet nurse by Nanny Slagg to Titus as the mother, Countess Gertrude (and what a sight she is to behold) cannot possibly be involved with breastfeeding and all those other boring female past-times. No, the countess has far more interesting things to do such as tending her hundred white cats and the variety of wild birds that surround her. Amazing descriptions abound with this very unusual woman:
“ ‘At last the Countess descended the ladder, step after mammoth step (she was a rather large individual!), until both feet on the ground she turned about, and began to move to the shadowy bed. When she reached its head she ignited the wick of a half-melted candle and, seating herself at the base of the pillows, emitted a peculiarly sweet, low, whistling note from between her great lips.
For all her bulk it was as though she had, from a great winter tree, become a summer one. Not with leaves was she decked, but, thick as foliage, with birds. Their hundred eyes twinkled like glass beads in the candlelight.
‘Listen,’ she said, ‘We’re alone. Things are bad. Things are going wrong. There’s evil afoot. I know it.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘But let ‘em try. We can bide out time. We’ll hold our horses. Let them rear their ugly hands, and by the Doom, we’ll crack ‘em chineways. Within four days the Earling – and then I’ll take him, babe and boy – Titus the Seventy-seventh.’ ”
And what did she plan to do with him? Well that’s for you, the reader to find out; and to think that the Countess used to ride side-saddle. The poor horse!
Reda only agreed to be a wet nurse as she had recently lost her husband, a master carver and her child. She also had two lovers in the background but that is a fascinating tale in itself. By her milk, there’s the implication that a spiritual connection has been made with Titus. Her encounter with the old Brown Man who helps Reda on her spiritual journey is also a super part of the book.
As for Steerpike, well he’s always on the lookout for something to his advantage and he doesn’t care who gets stamped upon as he does this. There are those who can see through him though, such as Barquentine:
“ ‘What will my salary amount to?’ said Steerpike, putting his hands into his pockets.
‘Your keep, you insolent bastard! Your keep! What more do you want? Hell fire child! Have you no pride? A roof, your food, and the honour of studying the Ritual. Your keep, curse you, and the secrets of the Groans. How else would you serve me but by learning the iron Trade. Body of me – I have no son. Are you ready?’
‘I have never been more so,” said the high shouldered boy.’ ”
As for the illustrations, they are worth acquiring the book purely for this fact. We meet Mr Rottcodd, the castle’s curator (he lives and works in the dusty Hall of the Bright Carvings). His job is to dust all the carvings and the illustration shows him lying in his hammock, with his feather duster in his hand and surrounded by carvings and layers of dust on the floor.
The ending was of course divine. Children can sometimes behave strangely but I have to add a spoiler in addition. I couldn’t resist it:
“A tiny voice. In the absolute stillness it filled the universe – a cry like the single note of a bird. It floated over the water from the Dwellers, from where the woman stood apart from her kind; from the throat of the little child of Keda’s womb – the bastard babe, and Titus’ foster-sister, lambent with ghost-light.”
All I can possibly equate this book to is the anticipation of setting out on an early morning ride on your favourite horse; in my case Scottie. Firstly, there’s the anticipation before you set out; getting ready for the ride, breathing in the crisp autumnal morning air and seeing the clear blue sky. Climbing onto the back of Scottie and then the slow walk crossing a nearby brook en route to take note of the beauty of one’s surroundings; then a short canter along the narrow lanes, feeling the wind rushing through your hair, and finally on to a quick gallop to finally arrive at the fields that lead into the woods. But there are also the highs and lows apart from the pleasures of the ride; that of being unaware of the vagaries of a horse’s mind, the sudden desire from time to time, amongst other things, to toss you off as if you were an insignificant being along for the ride. And also the possibility of serious injury or death. That truly describes “Titus Groan”.
This is the first book in Mervyn Peake’s “Gormenghast” trilogy. We have a multi-faceted author here with the distinct talent of being first and foremost an artist. “Before the Second World War he was considered to be one of the best portraitists in England, publishing wonderful studies of writers, actors and painters; Laurence Olivier, Graham Green, Dylan Thomas and others all sat for him. He was said to be the only living portraitist who could capture the individuality of a baby and his pictures of Maeve (his wife) and his children are superb.”
Secondly, he was a poet, thirdly a first class illustrator and finally a novelist. With all these remarkable talents, how could we possibly not have the enthralling book that we have here?
I was delighted with this book for many reasons, one being that I knew nothing whatsoever about this author. There’s a most informative introduction by Michael Moorcock 2011 (this new edition being written then to coincide with the centenary of Peake’s birth in 1911) and explaining his life, works and his unfortunate early death at the age of fifty-seven as a result of declining health, and being diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in 1957 certainly didn’t help.
The tribute by Moorcock at the end said it all: “And his sorceries continue to entrance us”.
The other tribute coming from Peake’s son Sebastian who wrote a note on his father’s illustrations stating they were “humorous, evocative, poignant, even quite cartoon-like in style”.
I’ve been on an odyssey whilst reading “Titus Groan”, and have now finished my re-read, within a three week period. This is the first time in my life that I’ve reread a book so soon after my first reading. I wanted to ensure, I guess, that I hadn’t missed any relevant details and also to savour again the richness of this book. I’ve found that this is truly the literary pot of gold to be found at the end of the rainbow.
In conclusion, the upshot is that my Kindle copy is going to be sent up into the “clouds” and I’m now on the lookout for a hardback showing these incredible illustrations to proudly display on my bookshelves, and to be able to browse through from time to time as is my want.
This work is truly a gothic masterpiece.
And as for this tour de force, how can one even attempt to describe the amazing prose that Peake had in introducing so many colourful characters and, with the addition of these magical illustrations thrown in, this makes a truly stunning combination.
Also, where does one start with this tale of intrigue, revenge, death, love and the rich tapestry of life? With Titus the child I guess for this book covers two years in the life of Titus Groan, 77th Earl of Gormenghast. I actually do compare him to Ivan Denisovich purely by the fact that the toddler survived this gruelling period of time. Mrs Slagg, his nanny, often wondered “Why won’t he smile?” she whispered. “Why won’t his little Lordship ever smile?” I’m not surprised that he didn’t and all soon becomes revealed in the fullness of time.
I could not resist though in adding this comment from Titus’ christening:
As the castle is governed purely by ritual, the procedure for such an important event as a christening entails following such a high degree of precision that the human element unfortunately is forgotten. The infant with the little iron crown is placed inside Sourdust’s “great book” then:
“Lord Sepulchrave folded the two pages over the helpless body and joined the tube of thick parchment at its centre with a safety pin. Resting upon the spine of the volume, his minute feet protruding from one end of the paper trunk and the iron spikes of the little crown protruding from the other, he was, to Sourdust, the very quintessential of traditional propriety”.
All well and good but then the aged body of Sourdust sadly intervenes and ….
The main plot takes place within the Gormenghast Castle with the backdrop of the mountain of the same name. It revolves around the life of Titus, of course, but also his father Sepulchrave (who has a dreadful loss in life that sends him on a downward spiral), Sepulchrave ‘s extrovert, somewhat wild daughter Fuchsia (with her black inky hair), zany Doctor Prunesquallor (Doctor Prune to Fuchsia), his boring sister Irma, The Twins (Sepulchrave’s sisters Cora and Clarice (who always wore purple), Swelter (the objectionable chef with his Grey Scrubbers, Raft Makers and apprentices), Flay (the Earl’s personal servant), Sourdust (the librarian – also Warden of the immemorial Rites - who maintains order and ritual throughout the castle), followed upon his death by his son Barquentine, Steerpike (a seventeen year old opportunist who is thoroughly evil and manipulative). Various individuals also soon fall from grace within this two year period.
The castle contains the individuals who live within the Outer Wall, and those who live outside the castle, namely the Dwellers, whose women lose their beauty very early in life. The men are the master carvers, whose works, due to yearly competitions, reside in the Hall of the Bright Carvings within Gormenghast Castle.
There is also, however, a very poignant sub-plot involving the Dweller Reda (a very strong character which I always like) who is asked to be a wet nurse by Nanny Slagg to Titus as the mother, Countess Gertrude (and what a sight she is to behold) cannot possibly be involved with breastfeeding and all those other boring female past-times. No, the countess has far more interesting things to do such as tending her hundred white cats and the variety of wild birds that surround her. Amazing descriptions abound with this very unusual woman:
“ ‘At last the Countess descended the ladder, step after mammoth step (she was a rather large individual!), until both feet on the ground she turned about, and began to move to the shadowy bed. When she reached its head she ignited the wick of a half-melted candle and, seating herself at the base of the pillows, emitted a peculiarly sweet, low, whistling note from between her great lips.
For all her bulk it was as though she had, from a great winter tree, become a summer one. Not with leaves was she decked, but, thick as foliage, with birds. Their hundred eyes twinkled like glass beads in the candlelight.
‘Listen,’ she said, ‘We’re alone. Things are bad. Things are going wrong. There’s evil afoot. I know it.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘But let ‘em try. We can bide out time. We’ll hold our horses. Let them rear their ugly hands, and by the Doom, we’ll crack ‘em chineways. Within four days the Earling – and then I’ll take him, babe and boy – Titus the Seventy-seventh.’ ”
And what did she plan to do with him? Well that’s for you, the reader to find out; and to think that the Countess used to ride side-saddle. The poor horse!
Reda only agreed to be a wet nurse as she had recently lost her husband, a master carver and her child. She also had two lovers in the background but that is a fascinating tale in itself. By her milk, there’s the implication that a spiritual connection has been made with Titus. Her encounter with the old Brown Man who helps Reda on her spiritual journey is also a super part of the book.
As for Steerpike, well he’s always on the lookout for something to his advantage and he doesn’t care who gets stamped upon as he does this. There are those who can see through him though, such as Barquentine:
“ ‘What will my salary amount to?’ said Steerpike, putting his hands into his pockets.
‘Your keep, you insolent bastard! Your keep! What more do you want? Hell fire child! Have you no pride? A roof, your food, and the honour of studying the Ritual. Your keep, curse you, and the secrets of the Groans. How else would you serve me but by learning the iron Trade. Body of me – I have no son. Are you ready?’
‘I have never been more so,” said the high shouldered boy.’ ”
As for the illustrations, they are worth acquiring the book purely for this fact. We meet Mr Rottcodd, the castle’s curator (he lives and works in the dusty Hall of the Bright Carvings). His job is to dust all the carvings and the illustration shows him lying in his hammock, with his feather duster in his hand and surrounded by carvings and layers of dust on the floor.
The ending was of course divine. Children can sometimes behave strangely but I have to add a spoiler in addition. I couldn’t resist it:
“A tiny voice. In the absolute stillness it filled the universe – a cry like the single note of a bird. It floated over the water from the Dwellers, from where the woman stood apart from her kind; from the throat of the little child of Keda’s womb – the bastard babe, and Titus’ foster-sister, lambent with ghost-light.”
All I can possibly equate this book to is the anticipation of setting out on an early morning ride on your favourite horse; in my case Scottie. Firstly, there’s the anticipation before you set out; getting ready for the ride, breathing in the crisp autumnal morning air and seeing the clear blue sky. Climbing onto the back of Scottie and then the slow walk crossing a nearby brook en route to take note of the beauty of one’s surroundings; then a short canter along the narrow lanes, feeling the wind rushing through your hair, and finally on to a quick gallop to finally arrive at the fields that lead into the woods. But there are also the highs and lows apart from the pleasures of the ride; that of being unaware of the vagaries of a horse’s mind, the sudden desire from time to time, amongst other things, to toss you off as if you were an insignificant being along for the ride. And also the possibility of serious injury or death. That truly describes “Titus Groan”.
This is the first book in Mervyn Peake’s “Gormenghast” trilogy. We have a multi-faceted author here with the distinct talent of being first and foremost an artist. “Before the Second World War he was considered to be one of the best portraitists in England, publishing wonderful studies of writers, actors and painters; Laurence Olivier, Graham Green, Dylan Thomas and others all sat for him. He was said to be the only living portraitist who could capture the individuality of a baby and his pictures of Maeve (his wife) and his children are superb.”
Secondly, he was a poet, thirdly a first class illustrator and finally a novelist. With all these remarkable talents, how could we possibly not have the enthralling book that we have here?
I was delighted with this book for many reasons, one being that I knew nothing whatsoever about this author. There’s a most informative introduction by Michael Moorcock 2011 (this new edition being written then to coincide with the centenary of Peake’s birth in 1911) and explaining his life, works and his unfortunate early death at the age of fifty-seven as a result of declining health, and being diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in 1957 certainly didn’t help.
The tribute by Moorcock at the end said it all: “And his sorceries continue to entrance us”.
The other tribute coming from Peake’s son Sebastian who wrote a note on his father’s illustrations stating they were “humorous, evocative, poignant, even quite cartoon-like in style”.
I’ve been on an odyssey whilst reading “Titus Groan”, and have now finished my re-read, within a three week period. This is the first time in my life that I’ve reread a book so soon after my first reading. I wanted to ensure, I guess, that I hadn’t missed any relevant details and also to savour again the richness of this book. I’ve found that this is truly the literary pot of gold to be found at the end of the rainbow.
In conclusion, the upshot is that my Kindle copy is going to be sent up into the “clouds” and I’m now on the lookout for a hardback showing these incredible illustrations to proudly display on my bookshelves, and to be able to browse through from time to time as is my want.
This work is truly a gothic masterpiece.
August 21, 2023
Gormenghast è un enorme castello, sconfinato, edificato ed ampliato nei secoli da molte generazioni, è talmente vasto da essere una città, con quartieri abbandonati e dimenticati, cunicoli e scale, muffa e sotterranei bui, sembrerebbe lui stesso il vero protagonista della storia.
Qui però vivono e si muovono gli altri personaggi al seguito del Conte e della sua stramba famiglia.
Ogni personaggio è una caricatura, grottesca e peculiare da rimanere impressa e finire per amarne ogni minima sfaccettatura fisica e mentale.
Lo stile di Peake è elaborato e gotico, non semplice e con descrizioni minuziose.
Un libro che va goduto lentamente e che rimane impresso a fuoco.
Unico.
------------------------------
Gormenghast is a huge castle, boundless, built and expanded over the centuries by many generations, it is so vast as to be a city, with abandoned and forgotten neighborhoods, tunnels and stairs, mold and dark dungeons, he himself would seem to be the true protagonist of the story.
Here, however, the other characters live and move following the Count and his strange family.
Each character is a caricature, grotesque and peculiar to remain impressed and end up loving every single physical and mental facet.
Peake's style is elaborate and gothic, not simple and detailed descriptions.
A book that should be enjoyed slowly and that remains imprinted.
Unique.
Qui però vivono e si muovono gli altri personaggi al seguito del Conte e della sua stramba famiglia.
Ogni personaggio è una caricatura, grottesca e peculiare da rimanere impressa e finire per amarne ogni minima sfaccettatura fisica e mentale.
Lo stile di Peake è elaborato e gotico, non semplice e con descrizioni minuziose.
Un libro che va goduto lentamente e che rimane impresso a fuoco.
Unico.
------------------------------
Gormenghast is a huge castle, boundless, built and expanded over the centuries by many generations, it is so vast as to be a city, with abandoned and forgotten neighborhoods, tunnels and stairs, mold and dark dungeons, he himself would seem to be the true protagonist of the story.
Here, however, the other characters live and move following the Count and his strange family.
Each character is a caricature, grotesque and peculiar to remain impressed and end up loving every single physical and mental facet.
Peake's style is elaborate and gothic, not simple and detailed descriptions.
A book that should be enjoyed slowly and that remains imprinted.
Unique.
June 15, 2019
I've decided to review this in instalments, otherwise my reading challenge for the year will be kaput. It's a very long novel - my copy runs to 996 pages.
An interesting aspect of any novel is how much energy and imagination the author has invested in it. Mervyn Peake has clearly invested every last drop of his energy and imagination into creating the world of Gormenghast. He wants you to see every detail he sees. Which is both the virtue and flaw of this novel. It is probably overly described but then the descriptions are so brilliant and vivid. Although this is a fantasy Peake has created all his characters are hampered by human shortcomings. There's nothing magical about this world though, cleverly, it appears magical. It centres on a castle and the power struggles among its residents. The characters are fabulously alive in all their absurdities. And it's very funny. A Machiavellian character called Steerpike is plotting the downfall of the Groan royal dynasty. 4.5 stars so far…
An interesting aspect of any novel is how much energy and imagination the author has invested in it. Mervyn Peake has clearly invested every last drop of his energy and imagination into creating the world of Gormenghast. He wants you to see every detail he sees. Which is both the virtue and flaw of this novel. It is probably overly described but then the descriptions are so brilliant and vivid. Although this is a fantasy Peake has created all his characters are hampered by human shortcomings. There's nothing magical about this world though, cleverly, it appears magical. It centres on a castle and the power struggles among its residents. The characters are fabulously alive in all their absurdities. And it's very funny. A Machiavellian character called Steerpike is plotting the downfall of the Groan royal dynasty. 4.5 stars so far…
May 17, 2018
Semplici, rari e solenni noi siamo
“Chi può dire quanto tempo occorre all'occhio dell'avvoltoio o della lince per afferrare la totalità di un paesaggio? Forse basta un solo istante perché quello che sembra un caos irresolubile di particolari si raccolga, nel loro occhio, in un disegno ordinato e intelleggibile di forme e distanze, dove anche l'elemento più insignificante viene percepito nei suoi rapporti con l'insieme. O forse il falco non vede altro che un mare erboso di colli e laggiù, tra l'erba folta, unico particolare nettissimo in un paesaggio che non può cogliere per intero, il topo o il coniglio. Forse il falco afferra solo, in un lampo come di torcia, il guizzo della preda, mentre il terreno circostante resta ai suoi occhi gialli una scura coltre nebbiosa. Sia che l'occhio freddo e indagatore dell'animale da preda abbracci tutto e tutto osservi, sia che si concentri sulla vittima, escludendo ogni altra cosa, è certo che l'occhio umano, infinitamente più debole, non può, neanche con una vita di esercizio, afferrare una scena in tutta la sua complessità. Per l'occhio umano vedere non è un atto imparziale, una comprensione istantanea del tutto. Fanciulla, cavallo, mosca, vi si imprimono con una violenza che precede ogni riflessione. Così è anche per i sogni e le fantasie più segrete. Perché le ossessioni del cuore, scoperte, balzano fuori accecando la vista, e ogni altra traccia di vita sprofonda nel buio”.
Questa saga, se non fosse stato per la malattia dell'autore, un gentiluomo inglese figlio di un medico missionario, nato in Cina, avrebbe potuto avere uno sviluppo ad infinitum: come scrive Michele Mari inserendo il testo tra i suoi Feticismi ne “I demoni e la pasta sfoglia”, l'opera chiede ai lettori un compiuto rapimento, una duratura evasione. Con Tito di Gormenghast entriamo nel territorio del grottesco, del gotico barocco, come provato dalla smisurata e quasi paranoica attenzione ai dettagli, in senso figurativo e plastico. Vediamo il castello, la fortezza, con i labirintici corridoi, i cortili e le torri, dispiegarsi davanti ai nostri occhi e ospitare le vicende della dinastia protagonista, nella follia e nella decadenza, l'esplicarsi di un'avventura fantastica e rituale dove gesti e incontri creano un'atmosfera spaventosa, comica e alienante. Il paesaggio è chiuso e sconfinato, il mondo strano che Peake crea ha la consistenza e l'incoerenza di sogni fiabeschi e aberranti. La prosa di Peake è fervida e satura, sviluppa una trama infernale e piena di contraddizioni e inconcepibili discontinuità. Il romanzo di Peake alimenta ossessioni e fantasie, con una tecnica che guarda indietro, in una dimensione magica; è irregolare e si definisce per quello che non dice. Ci restituisce il riverbero di un'epoca di orrore, lo spessore del presagio in un momento che annunciava la fine di un ordine antico. Del resto, come artista disegnatore in guerra, Peake fu testimone di indicibili efferatezze; e questa storia presenta un'aura di paura e terrore primordiale, di inquietudine arcaica, e ha uno sviluppo complesso e poliedrico che apre a concrete e molteplici possibilità di intreccio e di fuga. L'unicità dei personaggi è garantita da ripetizione, humour e senso del ridicolo, da abili antitesi capaci di disegnare contorni di eccezione e caratteristiche originali. Gormenghast è un conte malinconico e bibliofilo e una contessa con una corte di gatti bianchi e uccelli in canto; un dottore irragionevole e druidico, gemelle maliziose e vanitose, uno sguattero ambizioso; una nobile ragazza ribelle e sognatrice, domestici devoti, infedeli e eroici e cuochi permalosi e violenti, una magica nutrice in lotta per la libertà. Gormenghast è questo è molto altro, molto altrove. In tutto ciò, la tradizione è narrata con regole e rituali, alla nascita di un erede, il nuovo successore, prossimo conte della fortezza, e il cambiamento si attua in un'epica meravigliosa e illogica e le descrizioni e le azioni si oppongono agli archetipi surreali, alle tematiche di rovesciamento dell'ordine e alla mitologia oscura di un luogo perturbante, asimmetrico e incantato.
Mervyn Peake
“Chi può dire quanto tempo occorre all'occhio dell'avvoltoio o della lince per afferrare la totalità di un paesaggio? Forse basta un solo istante perché quello che sembra un caos irresolubile di particolari si raccolga, nel loro occhio, in un disegno ordinato e intelleggibile di forme e distanze, dove anche l'elemento più insignificante viene percepito nei suoi rapporti con l'insieme. O forse il falco non vede altro che un mare erboso di colli e laggiù, tra l'erba folta, unico particolare nettissimo in un paesaggio che non può cogliere per intero, il topo o il coniglio. Forse il falco afferra solo, in un lampo come di torcia, il guizzo della preda, mentre il terreno circostante resta ai suoi occhi gialli una scura coltre nebbiosa. Sia che l'occhio freddo e indagatore dell'animale da preda abbracci tutto e tutto osservi, sia che si concentri sulla vittima, escludendo ogni altra cosa, è certo che l'occhio umano, infinitamente più debole, non può, neanche con una vita di esercizio, afferrare una scena in tutta la sua complessità. Per l'occhio umano vedere non è un atto imparziale, una comprensione istantanea del tutto. Fanciulla, cavallo, mosca, vi si imprimono con una violenza che precede ogni riflessione. Così è anche per i sogni e le fantasie più segrete. Perché le ossessioni del cuore, scoperte, balzano fuori accecando la vista, e ogni altra traccia di vita sprofonda nel buio”.
Questa saga, se non fosse stato per la malattia dell'autore, un gentiluomo inglese figlio di un medico missionario, nato in Cina, avrebbe potuto avere uno sviluppo ad infinitum: come scrive Michele Mari inserendo il testo tra i suoi Feticismi ne “I demoni e la pasta sfoglia”, l'opera chiede ai lettori un compiuto rapimento, una duratura evasione. Con Tito di Gormenghast entriamo nel territorio del grottesco, del gotico barocco, come provato dalla smisurata e quasi paranoica attenzione ai dettagli, in senso figurativo e plastico. Vediamo il castello, la fortezza, con i labirintici corridoi, i cortili e le torri, dispiegarsi davanti ai nostri occhi e ospitare le vicende della dinastia protagonista, nella follia e nella decadenza, l'esplicarsi di un'avventura fantastica e rituale dove gesti e incontri creano un'atmosfera spaventosa, comica e alienante. Il paesaggio è chiuso e sconfinato, il mondo strano che Peake crea ha la consistenza e l'incoerenza di sogni fiabeschi e aberranti. La prosa di Peake è fervida e satura, sviluppa una trama infernale e piena di contraddizioni e inconcepibili discontinuità. Il romanzo di Peake alimenta ossessioni e fantasie, con una tecnica che guarda indietro, in una dimensione magica; è irregolare e si definisce per quello che non dice. Ci restituisce il riverbero di un'epoca di orrore, lo spessore del presagio in un momento che annunciava la fine di un ordine antico. Del resto, come artista disegnatore in guerra, Peake fu testimone di indicibili efferatezze; e questa storia presenta un'aura di paura e terrore primordiale, di inquietudine arcaica, e ha uno sviluppo complesso e poliedrico che apre a concrete e molteplici possibilità di intreccio e di fuga. L'unicità dei personaggi è garantita da ripetizione, humour e senso del ridicolo, da abili antitesi capaci di disegnare contorni di eccezione e caratteristiche originali. Gormenghast è un conte malinconico e bibliofilo e una contessa con una corte di gatti bianchi e uccelli in canto; un dottore irragionevole e druidico, gemelle maliziose e vanitose, uno sguattero ambizioso; una nobile ragazza ribelle e sognatrice, domestici devoti, infedeli e eroici e cuochi permalosi e violenti, una magica nutrice in lotta per la libertà. Gormenghast è questo è molto altro, molto altrove. In tutto ciò, la tradizione è narrata con regole e rituali, alla nascita di un erede, il nuovo successore, prossimo conte della fortezza, e il cambiamento si attua in un'epica meravigliosa e illogica e le descrizioni e le azioni si oppongono agli archetipi surreali, alle tematiche di rovesciamento dell'ordine e alla mitologia oscura di un luogo perturbante, asimmetrico e incantato.
Mervyn Peake
May 26, 2018
Tito di Gormenghast è un libro che bramavo da tempo, era uno di quei libri che ti segni e poi... si vedrà, ma alla fine te ne scordi. Così mi sono deciso, l'ho preso ed iniziato.
Le prime pagine sono state qualcosa di indescrivibile, un colpo di fulmine totale, scrittura densa, molto densa di descrizioni, di similitudini, mi pareva di stare all'interno di un quadro gotico-surreale e di vagabondare per le miriadi di stanze, corridoi, antri con quella sottile nebbiolina, tipica dei film horror classici.
Pagina dopo pagina, ho conosciuto personaggi straordinari, fuori dal comune, per nulla banali. La storia è raccontata con una maestria rara, lenta, a volte lentissima, la storia prosegue inesorabile e tu stai lì sdraiato su un'amaca nella sala principale e Peake ti racconta, a volte sussurando, a volte urlando, ciò che è Gormenghast: questo luogo remoto, isolato, lugubre, crepuscolare...
La scrittura mi ha sbalordito come poche altre prima, per complessità narrativa, per la capacità di descrivere, che mi ha catapultato nella storia!
Le prime pagine sono state qualcosa di indescrivibile, un colpo di fulmine totale, scrittura densa, molto densa di descrizioni, di similitudini, mi pareva di stare all'interno di un quadro gotico-surreale e di vagabondare per le miriadi di stanze, corridoi, antri con quella sottile nebbiolina, tipica dei film horror classici.
Pagina dopo pagina, ho conosciuto personaggi straordinari, fuori dal comune, per nulla banali. La storia è raccontata con una maestria rara, lenta, a volte lentissima, la storia prosegue inesorabile e tu stai lì sdraiato su un'amaca nella sala principale e Peake ti racconta, a volte sussurando, a volte urlando, ciò che è Gormenghast: questo luogo remoto, isolato, lugubre, crepuscolare...
La scrittura mi ha sbalordito come poche altre prima, per complessità narrativa, per la capacità di descrivere, che mi ha catapultato nella storia!
July 21, 2013
The World of Gormenghast
"Titus Groan" is a work of fantasy constructed in a painterly manner without much obvious concern for narrative dynamism.
First, Mervyn Peake builds the static grey stone world of Gormenghast Castle, then he populates it with Lord Sepulchrave (the Earl of Groan) and a few key members and servants of his family, and finally bit by bit he permits them to interact.
The world of Gormenghast has a Gothic solidity about it. It has been built from the hallowed ground up out of both stone and ritual.
Like the castle, the people have become ossified with a feudal respect for blood and stock, the meticulous preservation of heritage, the precise tabulation of experience, the unquestioning observance of tradition, the strict adherence to precedent, the absolute primacy of obedience.
The Royal Family is weighed down, oppressed and darkened by both its status and its stasis. Theirs is a world of melancholy, depression and schizophrenia.
Into this world come two forces of change.
An Heir on the Side of Caution
All Royal Families are perceived as eternal:
"The course of this great dark family river should flow on and on, obeying the contours of hallowed ground."
However, for all of its apparent durability, the life of a Royal Family must be a cycle. The sovereignty of the realm must accommodate the death of the sovereign. The King is dead, long live the King. So to witness the birth of a new member of the Royal Family is to experience an essential part of the seamless (albeit sometimes unseemly) transition of sovereignty from one generation to another.
The first force of change is the birth of Titus Groan, the heir to the throne, although at the end of this the first volume in the series, he is only two years old, so he features more as portent than as participant.
One Less Glorious Revolution
A cycle, by definition, revolves, and each cycle represents a single revolution. However, all sources of power are subject to the possibility of revolt, a different, involuntary revolution.
Enter the second force of change, Steerpike, a rebellious seventeen year old, bent on some kind of mischief.
When we first meet him, he seems motivated by his own contentment. The females see in him a capacity for the observation, tenderness, love and reverence they crave. He contains not just the promise of his own happiness, but theirs as well. However, in the eyes of one of the Earl’s servants, happiness represents "the seeds of independence, and in independence the seeds of revolt."
Steerpike appeals to the Earl’s daughter, Fuchsia, with the assertion that equality is the "only true and central premise from which constructive ideas can radiate freely and be operated without prejudice. Absolute equality of status. Equality of wealth. Equality of power."
These are the hallmarks of socialism. Yet, he seems to have a different political manifesto for each audience. He promises the Earl’s disentitled and disgruntled twin sisters revenge, power, glory and the throne.
Steerpike preys on pre-existing weakness, inadequacy, envy, jealousy, hatred and rivalry. He is practised in "the art of personal advancement and deceit". He is a consummate manipulator and opportunist, a teen-aged but true, Machiavellian.
His one goal seems to be to insinuate himself into Gormenghast and the Family Groan at a moment of maximum vulnerability and pull them down around him.
Glacial Prejudice
This is the world of Gormenghast: "Things are bad. Things are going wrong. There’s evil afoot."
The plot moves with the beauty and silent force of a black Gothic glacier. However, as it passes, apparently imperceptibly, it gouges the surrounding landscape and leaves it changed forever.
The novel is not for everybody, but if you’re patient, if you’re prepared to slow down to glacial pace, you’ll find it has much the same impact on the reader as the landscape. You will be lifted up, moved and deposited somewhere fantastic and remote. And you will never forget the experience.
VERSE:
[After and in the Words of Peake]
Abiatha Swelter's Masterpiece
I am the great Chef
Abiatha Shwelter,
Hish Lordshipsh' cook,
Who'sh cooked in all hish castlesh
And shailed on all hish shipsh
Acrosh sheven shlippery sheas.
My enemeesh, imaginary
And real, they all do shay
That I'm thick and hairy,
An evil hard-hearted monshter,
Though, in truth, I'm just a fairy
Who wants to be a shongshter.
Sho, come my pretty vermin
And diligentshiumsh,
Hearken up your earsh,
And have a little ship
Of thish drink that'sh
Mosht entranching.
It'sh shure to help you
Lishen ash I shing
To you my shong,
It's a gorgeoush
Little ditty and a
Dirgeoush mashterpeesh.
And while you're at it,
My ghastly little fillets,
Pleash gather all around me,
Tashte thish food scheleshtial.
Itsh shecret ingrediensh
Are baked in fat and greash.
On the morrow you will shmell
The flowersh of such
Monstroush flatulench
That you won't forget,
Forever or for long,
Schwelter's famoush Housh of Shtench.
A Little Brother for You, My Pretty
They say, you'll find her, Fuchsia,
Atop a steep winding stair,
Inside a windy attic,
Sitting on a high-backed chair.
From there she looks down below,
Beneath tangled inky hair,
Upon a panorama,
Rooftops, towers, battlements.
Though her imagination
(A flame that burns true and free)
Conjures up her own image
Of a land she wants to be:
A world of pearls and tendrils,
Of exquisite essence rare,
Of lavender and glory
That is far beyond compare,
Yet she finds a brush with which
To paint on this quadrangle
Of diminished canvas,
Stretched tight across her easel,
A picture of alley-ways
Pranked with little knots of folk,
Whose voices rise through the air,
Telling tales of how they woke
To witness the christening
Of the next heir to the throne
Of the castle Gormenghast,
Her new brother, Titus Groan.
"Titus Groan" is a work of fantasy constructed in a painterly manner without much obvious concern for narrative dynamism.
First, Mervyn Peake builds the static grey stone world of Gormenghast Castle, then he populates it with Lord Sepulchrave (the Earl of Groan) and a few key members and servants of his family, and finally bit by bit he permits them to interact.
The world of Gormenghast has a Gothic solidity about it. It has been built from the hallowed ground up out of both stone and ritual.
Like the castle, the people have become ossified with a feudal respect for blood and stock, the meticulous preservation of heritage, the precise tabulation of experience, the unquestioning observance of tradition, the strict adherence to precedent, the absolute primacy of obedience.
The Royal Family is weighed down, oppressed and darkened by both its status and its stasis. Theirs is a world of melancholy, depression and schizophrenia.
Into this world come two forces of change.
An Heir on the Side of Caution
All Royal Families are perceived as eternal:
"The course of this great dark family river should flow on and on, obeying the contours of hallowed ground."
However, for all of its apparent durability, the life of a Royal Family must be a cycle. The sovereignty of the realm must accommodate the death of the sovereign. The King is dead, long live the King. So to witness the birth of a new member of the Royal Family is to experience an essential part of the seamless (albeit sometimes unseemly) transition of sovereignty from one generation to another.
The first force of change is the birth of Titus Groan, the heir to the throne, although at the end of this the first volume in the series, he is only two years old, so he features more as portent than as participant.
One Less Glorious Revolution
A cycle, by definition, revolves, and each cycle represents a single revolution. However, all sources of power are subject to the possibility of revolt, a different, involuntary revolution.
Enter the second force of change, Steerpike, a rebellious seventeen year old, bent on some kind of mischief.
When we first meet him, he seems motivated by his own contentment. The females see in him a capacity for the observation, tenderness, love and reverence they crave. He contains not just the promise of his own happiness, but theirs as well. However, in the eyes of one of the Earl’s servants, happiness represents "the seeds of independence, and in independence the seeds of revolt."
Steerpike appeals to the Earl’s daughter, Fuchsia, with the assertion that equality is the "only true and central premise from which constructive ideas can radiate freely and be operated without prejudice. Absolute equality of status. Equality of wealth. Equality of power."
These are the hallmarks of socialism. Yet, he seems to have a different political manifesto for each audience. He promises the Earl’s disentitled and disgruntled twin sisters revenge, power, glory and the throne.
Steerpike preys on pre-existing weakness, inadequacy, envy, jealousy, hatred and rivalry. He is practised in "the art of personal advancement and deceit". He is a consummate manipulator and opportunist, a teen-aged but true, Machiavellian.
His one goal seems to be to insinuate himself into Gormenghast and the Family Groan at a moment of maximum vulnerability and pull them down around him.
Glacial Prejudice
This is the world of Gormenghast: "Things are bad. Things are going wrong. There’s evil afoot."
The plot moves with the beauty and silent force of a black Gothic glacier. However, as it passes, apparently imperceptibly, it gouges the surrounding landscape and leaves it changed forever.
The novel is not for everybody, but if you’re patient, if you’re prepared to slow down to glacial pace, you’ll find it has much the same impact on the reader as the landscape. You will be lifted up, moved and deposited somewhere fantastic and remote. And you will never forget the experience.
VERSE:
[After and in the Words of Peake]
Abiatha Swelter's Masterpiece
I am the great Chef
Abiatha Shwelter,
Hish Lordshipsh' cook,
Who'sh cooked in all hish castlesh
And shailed on all hish shipsh
Acrosh sheven shlippery sheas.
My enemeesh, imaginary
And real, they all do shay
That I'm thick and hairy,
An evil hard-hearted monshter,
Though, in truth, I'm just a fairy
Who wants to be a shongshter.
Sho, come my pretty vermin
And diligentshiumsh,
Hearken up your earsh,
And have a little ship
Of thish drink that'sh
Mosht entranching.
It'sh shure to help you
Lishen ash I shing
To you my shong,
It's a gorgeoush
Little ditty and a
Dirgeoush mashterpeesh.
And while you're at it,
My ghastly little fillets,
Pleash gather all around me,
Tashte thish food scheleshtial.
Itsh shecret ingrediensh
Are baked in fat and greash.
On the morrow you will shmell
The flowersh of such
Monstroush flatulench
That you won't forget,
Forever or for long,
Schwelter's famoush Housh of Shtench.
A Little Brother for You, My Pretty
They say, you'll find her, Fuchsia,
Atop a steep winding stair,
Inside a windy attic,
Sitting on a high-backed chair.
From there she looks down below,
Beneath tangled inky hair,
Upon a panorama,
Rooftops, towers, battlements.
Though her imagination
(A flame that burns true and free)
Conjures up her own image
Of a land she wants to be:
A world of pearls and tendrils,
Of exquisite essence rare,
Of lavender and glory
That is far beyond compare,
Yet she finds a brush with which
To paint on this quadrangle
Of diminished canvas,
Stretched tight across her easel,
A picture of alley-ways
Pranked with little knots of folk,
Whose voices rise through the air,
Telling tales of how they woke
To witness the christening
Of the next heir to the throne
Of the castle Gormenghast,
Her new brother, Titus Groan.
January 22, 2018
"Vedere un Conte che fa il gufo sulla mensola del camino e lasciarsi portar via metà faccia da un gatto, tutto nella stessa mattinata, è sufficiente a minare l'autocontrollo di chiunque."
Una strana, stranissima faccenda. Un dreadful imbroglio. C'è una parte di me che vorrebbe assegnargli cinque stelle perché riesce a percepire il genio della visionarietà, il valore di un enorme e arzigogolato affresco appeso a un filo di ragnatela. L'altra parte di me dice di rifilargli la sufficienza stiracchiata per causa della esasperante lentezza e assoluta inconsistenza del tutto (il filo di ragnatela, appunto).
Non è un fantasy, laddove per fantasy si intende ormai un ben preciso tipo di trama, ambientazione e carattere epico. Qui, invece, al posto dell'epica tradizionale ci sono un senso del grottesco e umorismo significativi, e che tutto sommato incontrano il mio gusto. Per spiegare cos'è attingerò alla prefazione scritta da Burgess: un'opera che "genera compiacimento raffinato per un oggetto squisito", o anche "un corposo distillato dell'immaginazione che l'intelligenza ha raffreddato alla giusta temperatura". Un lavoro interamente di fantasia e interamente visivo. Il ritmo della narrazione è lentissimo perché l'azione è pressoché inesistente, è quasi tutto visivo ossia quasi tutto descrizioni. Un'opera che apparentemente resiste ai tentativi di enuclearne una lezione o un avvertimento. Non sarà il romanzo gotico per eccellenza, e tuttavia indulge e indugia in atmosfere e ambientazioni decisamente gotici.
Impressionante – in positivo – la somiglianza con Pietroburgo di Belyi, in special modo nelle deformità e nella originalità dei personaggi, e nella sapiente mescolanza di verosimiglianze e inverosimiglianze. Il senso di tragedia incombente e di decadenza di tutto un mondo antico di secoli, richiamano non solo Belyi ma anche Tolkien. La mescolanza della tragedia incombente con l'afa estiva e i miasmi della palude ricorda Mann in "La morte a Venezia". E quel continuo insistere su ordine e tradizione: in verità è un argomento attualissimo, dunque non è proprio del tutto vero quello che dice Burgess nella prefazione, secondo il quale questa opera si sottrae a qualsiasi interpretazione storico-sociale. Il romanzo propone invece un esperimento come sotto una campana di vetro, ossia il grande castello. La comunità isolata dal resto del mondo mi ha ricordato anche "Il giuoco perle di vetro" di Hesse: siamo su due piani completamente diversi eppure un certo qual significato decadente li accomuna.
Se leggere un bel libro significa vedere mentalmente un bel film, qui mi sono vista un cartone animato: ma non di quelli pacchiani stile Disney, no; piuttosto uno raffinato tipo Yellow Submarine (bravi i Beatles ma soprattutto bravo George Dunning). Là mille colori, qui mille grigi, ma stessa psichedelia. I personaggi sono figurine piatte, oltre che grottesche: sono volutamente bidimensionali ma ben lungi dall'essere allegorie univoche. Non c'è il bene e il male, il buono e il cattivo, giusto e sbagliato. Ciascuno può essere guardato dal punto di vista dei suoi difetti o delle sue ragioni.
E comunque: per chi vuole perdersi tra sale polverose, angusti passaggi, oscuri androni, viscide scalette a chiocciola e torri svettanti che puntano "come una bestemmia verso il cielo": non lasciatevi ingannare, non fate come la sottoscritta che quest'estate si è lasciata irretire dalle sirene de Il Trono di Spade. Era questo il libro da leggere. Del resto, pare evidente come il sor Martin si sia del tutto ispirato da qui: il lungo adagio che si perde nelle descrizioni degli ambienti, gli intrighi della trama che sembrano prendere vita dall'intrico architettonico che li circonda, temi antichi come il mondo stesso (il dilemma tra rispetto della tradizione o dare il via alla rivoluzione/evoluzione, l'ambizione e avidità di alcuni, l'ignavia di altri), le cinquecento pagine di descrizioni che poi altro non sono se non un lungo prologo a qualcos'altro. La differenza tra i due è che il sor Martin imposta il suo racconto su di un'epica che si prende dannatamente sul serio, mentre questa intenzione non ha sfiorato Peake nemmeno per un secondo, nemmeno per sbaglio. Pensandoci bene devo ammettere che preferisco la mancanza di serietà e di etichettabilità del secondo. E del resto qui c'è più sostanza in quanto, al di là del lavoro di fantasia della trama assurda, il lavoro linguistico e letterario è quanto mai solido e significativo. Nota di merito anche per la traduzione.
Una strana, stranissima faccenda. Un dreadful imbroglio. C'è una parte di me che vorrebbe assegnargli cinque stelle perché riesce a percepire il genio della visionarietà, il valore di un enorme e arzigogolato affresco appeso a un filo di ragnatela. L'altra parte di me dice di rifilargli la sufficienza stiracchiata per causa della esasperante lentezza e assoluta inconsistenza del tutto (il filo di ragnatela, appunto).
Non è un fantasy, laddove per fantasy si intende ormai un ben preciso tipo di trama, ambientazione e carattere epico. Qui, invece, al posto dell'epica tradizionale ci sono un senso del grottesco e umorismo significativi, e che tutto sommato incontrano il mio gusto. Per spiegare cos'è attingerò alla prefazione scritta da Burgess: un'opera che "genera compiacimento raffinato per un oggetto squisito", o anche "un corposo distillato dell'immaginazione che l'intelligenza ha raffreddato alla giusta temperatura". Un lavoro interamente di fantasia e interamente visivo. Il ritmo della narrazione è lentissimo perché l'azione è pressoché inesistente, è quasi tutto visivo ossia quasi tutto descrizioni. Un'opera che apparentemente resiste ai tentativi di enuclearne una lezione o un avvertimento. Non sarà il romanzo gotico per eccellenza, e tuttavia indulge e indugia in atmosfere e ambientazioni decisamente gotici.
Impressionante – in positivo – la somiglianza con Pietroburgo di Belyi, in special modo nelle deformità e nella originalità dei personaggi, e nella sapiente mescolanza di verosimiglianze e inverosimiglianze. Il senso di tragedia incombente e di decadenza di tutto un mondo antico di secoli, richiamano non solo Belyi ma anche Tolkien. La mescolanza della tragedia incombente con l'afa estiva e i miasmi della palude ricorda Mann in "La morte a Venezia". E quel continuo insistere su ordine e tradizione: in verità è un argomento attualissimo, dunque non è proprio del tutto vero quello che dice Burgess nella prefazione, secondo il quale questa opera si sottrae a qualsiasi interpretazione storico-sociale. Il romanzo propone invece un esperimento come sotto una campana di vetro, ossia il grande castello. La comunità isolata dal resto del mondo mi ha ricordato anche "Il giuoco perle di vetro" di Hesse: siamo su due piani completamente diversi eppure un certo qual significato decadente li accomuna.
Se leggere un bel libro significa vedere mentalmente un bel film, qui mi sono vista un cartone animato: ma non di quelli pacchiani stile Disney, no; piuttosto uno raffinato tipo Yellow Submarine (bravi i Beatles ma soprattutto bravo George Dunning). Là mille colori, qui mille grigi, ma stessa psichedelia. I personaggi sono figurine piatte, oltre che grottesche: sono volutamente bidimensionali ma ben lungi dall'essere allegorie univoche. Non c'è il bene e il male, il buono e il cattivo, giusto e sbagliato. Ciascuno può essere guardato dal punto di vista dei suoi difetti o delle sue ragioni.
E comunque: per chi vuole perdersi tra sale polverose, angusti passaggi, oscuri androni, viscide scalette a chiocciola e torri svettanti che puntano "come una bestemmia verso il cielo": non lasciatevi ingannare, non fate come la sottoscritta che quest'estate si è lasciata irretire dalle sirene de Il Trono di Spade. Era questo il libro da leggere. Del resto, pare evidente come il sor Martin si sia del tutto ispirato da qui: il lungo adagio che si perde nelle descrizioni degli ambienti, gli intrighi della trama che sembrano prendere vita dall'intrico architettonico che li circonda, temi antichi come il mondo stesso (il dilemma tra rispetto della tradizione o dare il via alla rivoluzione/evoluzione, l'ambizione e avidità di alcuni, l'ignavia di altri), le cinquecento pagine di descrizioni che poi altro non sono se non un lungo prologo a qualcos'altro. La differenza tra i due è che il sor Martin imposta il suo racconto su di un'epica che si prende dannatamente sul serio, mentre questa intenzione non ha sfiorato Peake nemmeno per un secondo, nemmeno per sbaglio. Pensandoci bene devo ammettere che preferisco la mancanza di serietà e di etichettabilità del secondo. E del resto qui c'è più sostanza in quanto, al di là del lavoro di fantasia della trama assurda, il lavoro linguistico e letterario è quanto mai solido e significativo. Nota di merito anche per la traduzione.
September 13, 2023
Lord Groan, ha enloquecido definitivamente y cree estar metamorfoseándose en búho; su esposa, la obesa Lady Gertrude, que convive con centenares de pájaros, algunos de los cuales residen entre sus cabellos; el pequeño Titus, el heredero de ojos violeta; Agrimoho, el anciano maestro de ceremonias que tiraniza a los trágicos aristócratas. Y Pirañavelo, el joven cocinero, héroe y villano que confabula para destruir a la familia y conquistar el poder..
Suena muy raro todo, eh. Pues ni se acerca a la realidad.
Este elenco de excéntricos personajes circula por los oscuros corredores del colosal castillo de Gormenghast, laberíntico e inabarcable, violento y sofisticado como el universo literario de Peake.
Las vívidas imágenes, las pinceladas poéticas y el humor hacen de "Titus Groan" la primera entrega de la trilogía de Gormenghast, una obra que hipnotiza pero que conmigo no lo ha logrado ni seguiré. No por la trama o historia que siendo rara no está nada mal. Sino por su estilo.
Es muy difícil reseñar este extrañísimo y a su vez curioso libro. Prosa muy compleja pero a su vez si te decantas por el lado de la balanza que te gusta lo vas a disfrutar. Complicado y raro.
Ha sido mitad sí, mitad no. Siendo la mitad no, más profunda.
Me recuerda un poco a la familia Addams. La ambientación y los personajes es algo fuera de serie parece más una necesidad del autor.
O te embelesa por completo o te cuesta e incluso puede llegar a aburrir.
Es muy compleja pero igual que puede ser un aspecto que te conquiste puede ser el factor por el que eches el libro que un lado.
Oscura, poética, rara, muy surrealista con unas caracterizaciones muy detalladas y perfiladas en una ambientación obsesiva.
Admito que tiene una prosa muy buena pero a partes es densa. Se apoya mucho en describir y en la ambientación. Los sentimientos, la luz y las texturas. Muy denso.
Considero que es una saga que de primeras el lector averigua si es lo suyo o no va a ser plato de su gusto.
Complejo de valorar y recomendar.
El escenario, los personajes y la trama, para mi están trabajados de matrícula, pero la prosa y el estilo del autor en parte me gustó y en otras tuve malos días.
Me pilló en un buen momento y valoro los aspectos detallados y currados de esta historia y del autor. Me jode que no me haya conquistado, me costó. Y quizás llega a ser otro momento y hubiera sacado el hacha a pasear..✍️🎩
Suena muy raro todo, eh. Pues ni se acerca a la realidad.
Este elenco de excéntricos personajes circula por los oscuros corredores del colosal castillo de Gormenghast, laberíntico e inabarcable, violento y sofisticado como el universo literario de Peake.
Las vívidas imágenes, las pinceladas poéticas y el humor hacen de "Titus Groan" la primera entrega de la trilogía de Gormenghast, una obra que hipnotiza pero que conmigo no lo ha logrado ni seguiré. No por la trama o historia que siendo rara no está nada mal. Sino por su estilo.
Es muy difícil reseñar este extrañísimo y a su vez curioso libro. Prosa muy compleja pero a su vez si te decantas por el lado de la balanza que te gusta lo vas a disfrutar. Complicado y raro.
Ha sido mitad sí, mitad no. Siendo la mitad no, más profunda.
Me recuerda un poco a la familia Addams. La ambientación y los personajes es algo fuera de serie parece más una necesidad del autor.
O te embelesa por completo o te cuesta e incluso puede llegar a aburrir.
Es muy compleja pero igual que puede ser un aspecto que te conquiste puede ser el factor por el que eches el libro que un lado.
Oscura, poética, rara, muy surrealista con unas caracterizaciones muy detalladas y perfiladas en una ambientación obsesiva.
Admito que tiene una prosa muy buena pero a partes es densa. Se apoya mucho en describir y en la ambientación. Los sentimientos, la luz y las texturas. Muy denso.
Considero que es una saga que de primeras el lector averigua si es lo suyo o no va a ser plato de su gusto.
Complejo de valorar y recomendar.
El escenario, los personajes y la trama, para mi están trabajados de matrícula, pero la prosa y el estilo del autor en parte me gustó y en otras tuve malos días.
Me pilló en un buen momento y valoro los aspectos detallados y currados de esta historia y del autor. Me jode que no me haya conquistado, me costó. Y quizás llega a ser otro momento y hubiera sacado el hacha a pasear..✍️🎩
April 25, 2017
Gormenghast Castle by Ian Miller
“Lowering himself suddenly to his knees he placed his right eye at the keyhole, and controlling the oscillation of his head and the vagaries of his left eye, he was able by dint of concentration to observe, within three inches of his keyholed eye, an eye which was not his, being not only of a different colour to his own iron marble but being, which is more convincing, on the other side of the door. This third eye which was going through the same performance as the one belonging to Rottcodd. Here apparently on this stifling summer afternoon was the eye of Mr. Flay at the outer keyhole of the Hall of the Bright Carvings, and presumably the rest of Mr. Flay was joined on behind it.”
The above beautifully oddball passage represents – for me – the reason to love and not to love Titus Groan. Titus Groan is full of passages like this, literary and eccentric. Sometimes I love it, sometimes, when the prose seems too convoluted, my attention just drifts away. Some fans of the book (on Reddit) describe the experience of reading this book as like being in a dream. Unfortunately, for me this is sometimes literally the case, I found myself dozing off from time to time. I first attempted to read this book a few years ago and progressed as far as 50 pages when I gave it up, I did notice the artistry of it but it kept sending my attention drifting like a balloon. That was during my pre-Goodreads era, and when I read Cecily’s monumental review I just had to give it another go. I am glad I did, though it did not work out as well as I had hoped. Cecily mentioned that this book is a “page turner”, this cannot be objectively refuted but the fact is that the impetus for turning pages of the book is different for her from what it is for me. In the early parts of the book turning pages for me often require some exertion of willpower. Still, I persevered, I really want to know what the fuss is about.
The first half of the book was not a complete loss for me, it starts off quite well with Mr. Rottcodd the curator on his hammock in The Hall of the Bright Carvings and some chaotic happenings in the castle’s kitchen. Soon afterward I came to the stumbling point, Lady Fuchsia, the earl of Gormenghast’s only daughter, starts to potter around the castle, everything she comes across or observes is meticulously described in pages and pages of lyrical prose. Unfortunately, I could not tell you a single thing of what she saw, my mind was drifting away towards lunch menu speculations among other things; I was not taking in a single sentence. This is the point where I previously gave up the book. Not this time, I reeled back my wandering attention and pushed on.
I am glad I made the effort as toward the halfway point Steerpike, the villain of the piece, starts scheming and manipulating various characters.
Steerpike by Gemedette
Steerpike is a complete bastard without any redeeming features but he heroically saves the book for me, so yay for Steerpike! While lady Fuchsia brings home leaves, shining pebbles and fugnesses (whatever they are) from the woods like a manic pixy dream girl, Steerpike plots and schemes and galvanizes the narrative into a riveting reading experience. However, this level of intensity is not maintained throughout the rest of the book and catatonia-inducing passages make unwelcome returns from time to time.
Still, I don’t want to dwell on negativities, there is much to value in this book. While the author’s narration does not always work for me I tend to like the dialogue, and – most of all – the characterization. The castle Gormenghast is populated by very odd characters, like a “dysfunction junction” where everyone has some kind of disorder or issues. The Groan family reminds me a little of the Addams Family. Most of the characters are rather grotesque, for my money the weirdest one(s) are the twins Lady Clarice and Lady Cora Groan, the novel’s Twiddledum & Twiddledee, but even more bizarre because they are semi-synchronized humans. Better still, their quarters include the Room of Roots which is the weirdest room in a castle full of weird rooms (Room of Spiders, Room of Cats, Hall of the Bright Carvings etc.).
The Room of Roots by Ludi.
The Gormenghast trilogy is often described as a fantasy, in spite of the absence of magic or supernatural creatures; with characters this odd they don’t really need dragons, orcs and other fantastical trappings, besides the novel does not indicate where and when in space and time the story takes place.
It is too easy to say that “this book is not for everyone”, the thing is, I don’t know of any book that is for everyone. Is there a book that enjoys universal approval? It is probably more meaningful to point out any areas of difficulties the average reader may encounter. Therefore, I would recommend Titus Groan with some reservations, if you are fan highly lyrical writing this book may suit you very well. If, like me, you prioritize storytelling far ahead of literary prose you may have a struggle on your hands; perhaps try reading a sample chapter first.
3.5 stars
• Mervyn Peake himself has drawn many wonderful and surreal illustrations for the Gormenghast books, I have not included any in the above review because I like a bit of colour! I do love this one of Dr. Alfred Prunesquallor and his sister Irma though.
Go to Mervynpeake.org to see more.
• Perhaps this passage will work as a litmus test of whether you will appreciate the more lyrical side of this book:
“A bird swept down across the water, brushing it with her breastfeathers and leaving a trail as of glow-worms across the still lake. A spilth of water fell from the bird as it climbed through the hot air to clear the lakeside trees, and a drop of lake water clung for a moment to the leaf of an ilex. And as it clung its body was titanic. It burgeoned the vast summer. Leaves, lake and sky reflected. The hanger was stretched across it and the heat swayed in the pendant. Each bough, each leaf—and as the blue quills ran, the motion of minutiae shivered, hanging. Plumply it slid and gathered, and as it lengthened, the distorted reflection of high crumbling acres of masonry beyond them, pocked with nameless windows, and of the ivy that lay across the face of that southern wing like a black hand, trembled in the long pearl as it began to lose its grip on the edge of the ilex leaf.”
There is a fine line between evocative and boring, which side of the line this passage falls on is for you to decide. For me, Mr. Rottcodd has the right idea:
Mr. Rottcodd by Mervyn Peake
• Next volume Gormenghast promises to be more eventful and violent. I'm there (probably).
________________________
Quotes:
“And don't be alarmed. Smoke, you know, is only smoke: it's not composed of crocodiles, oh dear no, nothing so tropical.”
“Do you mean, your Ladyships, that you have become used to being treated in this offhand and insolent manner? Do you not mind whether your natural and hereditary dignities are flouted and abused—when an old commoner slams the doors upon you and speaks to you as though you were on her own degraded level? How can the Groan blood that courses so proudly and in such an undiluted stream, through your veins, remain so quiet? Why in its purple wrath is it not boiling at this moment?”
“What is Time, O sister of similar features, that you speak of it so subserviently? Are we to be the slaves of the sun, that second-hand, overrated knob of gilt, or of his sister, that fatuous circle of silver paper? A curse upon their ridiculous dictatorship!”
The Twins' Tree outside the Room of Roots by ThatArtistFeller
April 11, 2023
“Go away. I would like to see the boy when he is six”
The writing doesn’t so much as polarize readers as it polarizes itself. At times it is lush, mellifluous, poetic and moving. At other times, it is overwrought, turgid, lugubrious and opaque. More than that, it is never in between the two extremes and it makes for difficult, slow reading even in those passages where you’ve got a satisfied smile on your face. The offbeat and often archaic vocabulary that Peake dredged out of a dusty, enormous dictionary is so outrageously overbearing, extensive and complex as to appear purposely haughty, pedantic and self-righteous. It took me well over a month of hard-work to read a book whose plot-line, such as it is, could be summarized easily in a single paragraph. And that summary, even if it completely covered the story from first page to last, wouldn’t need to worry about containing spoilers because nothing actually happens.
I’ve taken the liberty of including this single example of Peake’s description of one of his less virtuous characters peeking around the crack of a slightly opened door:
“Doubling his body he opens the door the merest fraction of an inch and applies his eye to the fissure. As he bends, the shimmering folds of the silk about his belly hiss and whisper like the voice of far and sinister waters or like some vast, earthless ghost-cat sucking its own breath. His eye, moving around the panel of the door, is like something detached, self-sufficient, and having no need of the voluminous head that follows it nor for that matter of the mountainous masses undulating to the crutch, and the soft, trunk-like legs. So alive is it, this eye, quick as an adder, veined like a blood-alley. What need is there for all the cumulus of dull, surrounding clay – the slow circumscribing wodges like a marble of raddled ice?”
See what I mean?
As a lover of other epic fantasy classics such as LORD OF THE RINGS, William Morris’ THE WELL AT WORLD’S END, Ursula K LeGuin’s EARTHSEA CYCLE and Patrick Rothfuss’ KINGKILLER CHRONICLES, I really, really wanted to like TITUS GROAN. Goodness knows, my dated and badly yellowed copy sat on my bookshelf for the better part of forty years awaiting my attention. Well, now I can chalk up the experience of reading TITUS GROAN to a, “Been there, done that” disappointment. Reading the sequels, GORMENGHAST or TITUS ALONE, is definitely not on my life bucket list. Nor is a re-read of TITUS GROAN.
Paul Weiss
The writing doesn’t so much as polarize readers as it polarizes itself. At times it is lush, mellifluous, poetic and moving. At other times, it is overwrought, turgid, lugubrious and opaque. More than that, it is never in between the two extremes and it makes for difficult, slow reading even in those passages where you’ve got a satisfied smile on your face. The offbeat and often archaic vocabulary that Peake dredged out of a dusty, enormous dictionary is so outrageously overbearing, extensive and complex as to appear purposely haughty, pedantic and self-righteous. It took me well over a month of hard-work to read a book whose plot-line, such as it is, could be summarized easily in a single paragraph. And that summary, even if it completely covered the story from first page to last, wouldn’t need to worry about containing spoilers because nothing actually happens.
I’ve taken the liberty of including this single example of Peake’s description of one of his less virtuous characters peeking around the crack of a slightly opened door:
“Doubling his body he opens the door the merest fraction of an inch and applies his eye to the fissure. As he bends, the shimmering folds of the silk about his belly hiss and whisper like the voice of far and sinister waters or like some vast, earthless ghost-cat sucking its own breath. His eye, moving around the panel of the door, is like something detached, self-sufficient, and having no need of the voluminous head that follows it nor for that matter of the mountainous masses undulating to the crutch, and the soft, trunk-like legs. So alive is it, this eye, quick as an adder, veined like a blood-alley. What need is there for all the cumulus of dull, surrounding clay – the slow circumscribing wodges like a marble of raddled ice?”
See what I mean?
As a lover of other epic fantasy classics such as LORD OF THE RINGS, William Morris’ THE WELL AT WORLD’S END, Ursula K LeGuin’s EARTHSEA CYCLE and Patrick Rothfuss’ KINGKILLER CHRONICLES, I really, really wanted to like TITUS GROAN. Goodness knows, my dated and badly yellowed copy sat on my bookshelf for the better part of forty years awaiting my attention. Well, now I can chalk up the experience of reading TITUS GROAN to a, “Been there, done that” disappointment. Reading the sequels, GORMENGHAST or TITUS ALONE, is definitely not on my life bucket list. Nor is a re-read of TITUS GROAN.
Paul Weiss
April 19, 2019
Too often does the fantasy genre feel contented with a good concept at the expense of style. In Titus Groan, Peake's unrelentingly descriptive and asphyxiatingly atmospheric writing is as much a part of the experience as the concept, and one wouldn't be complete without the other. His style is a velvet glove tailored to fit a clammy, cadaverous hand.
This is a perfect example of a book impervious to film adaptation. One can take the story to the big screen, sure, and it might even be great, but the book will remain unaffected, as it offers an experience that goes beyond story.
(In my mind, the perfect film adaptation would be something stylistically akin to Lynch’s Eraserhead: a twitchy, heavy, contained, slightly off-putting and yet utterly magnetic grotesquerie.)
One thing I couldn’t stop thinking is that Gormenghast castle and its environs feel so real. I’m not even sure the concept ‘worldbuilding’ applies here, because everything in this world feels like it was built long ago and we are merely stepping in to visit.
The characters that inhabit this gigantic castle are so lonely and duty-bound by the rigid traditions they adhere to with Talmudic fastidiousness, they hardly know how to express their feelings to one another, and when forced to talk, they do so in nervous tautological outbursts.
With its snail's pace and ridiculously overlong descriptions, this book has no right to be as entertaining as it is. I feel like Peake is getting away with murder, and we the dumbstruck readers acquiesce like rubbernecked voyeurs.
This is a perfect example of a book impervious to film adaptation. One can take the story to the big screen, sure, and it might even be great, but the book will remain unaffected, as it offers an experience that goes beyond story.
(In my mind, the perfect film adaptation would be something stylistically akin to Lynch’s Eraserhead: a twitchy, heavy, contained, slightly off-putting and yet utterly magnetic grotesquerie.)
One thing I couldn’t stop thinking is that Gormenghast castle and its environs feel so real. I’m not even sure the concept ‘worldbuilding’ applies here, because everything in this world feels like it was built long ago and we are merely stepping in to visit.
The characters that inhabit this gigantic castle are so lonely and duty-bound by the rigid traditions they adhere to with Talmudic fastidiousness, they hardly know how to express their feelings to one another, and when forced to talk, they do so in nervous tautological outbursts.
With its snail's pace and ridiculously overlong descriptions, this book has no right to be as entertaining as it is. I feel like Peake is getting away with murder, and we the dumbstruck readers acquiesce like rubbernecked voyeurs.
May 22, 2012
It is much easier to like Gormenghast after you are done reading it. Because reading it is a torturous experience like none other.
It has taken me close to three and a half months to finish this 470 pages book, that too with enforced discipline and self goading way beyond my normal will power (I finished a book of 270 pages in a day - yesterday, just as a comparison).
It is very well written, no doubt, and aspiring writers perhaps could read this again and again. For a reader who is looking for a story however, ah but I don't need to warn you. You should put the book down in less than 10 pages. There is a reason why the synopsis of the first book is never more than two lines. Titus Groan is born. Titus Groan turns two. You might remember old televised serials where the entire cast stands infront of the camera, one character says a dialogue, and then the camera spends the next ten minutes with a close up of the reaction shots of each and every other character. Then someone else says something, the camera goes back to each of the other faces, one by one, so on and so forth. That is exactly what the writing in Gormenghast reminded me of. A never ending series of reaction shots, over and over and over again.
When I started reading it, I was buoyed with the over the top positive comments about the book. "His voice is as unique as that of Milton, Bierce, Conrad, Blake, Donne, or Eliot". "This is how fantasy is written". Bloody Best book ever. I have a tendency to quit books midway when they cease to interest me. Before starting this however, I committed to finishing it. I bought a physical copy, put an epub version on the phone, a mobi version on the Kindle. Facilitated myself in every single way I could to read this.
The first few days when I excitedly started upon it, I would fall asleep just after reading a few paragraphs. This was quite unheralded. I started waking up in the morning, taking a shower, and sit reading it bright and ready. No difference at all. Fast asleep in 15 minutes flat. I just couldn't get it. Maybe the start was like that and I needed to plough on. I had to goad myself, set targets like finish two pages AT LEAST every day (Yes, it was that tough).
But nothing helped. NOTHING happens in the book for the first 150 pages. And I don't kid when I say that. NOTHING ABSOLUTELY. Titus is born and then one hundred and fifty dredging pages of reaction shots of all the characters. The characters are incredibly dumb, their concerns unbelievably stupid and childish (the snooty readers call it grotesque characters, a fantasy of manners), so much so that one starts sympathizing with the so called villain of the piece, who at least is DOING something. I am surprised when readers here have been raving about Fuschia as "a heartbreaker of a heroine". To me, she sounded like a dumb teenager who needed to be spanked.
Mervyn Peake must have been a gifted illustrator, because that is exactly how his writing is, static. Nothing moves. As a grotesquery, I think he started by painting an illustration for each chapter, and then spent as many characters it would take to describe what he saw. It is unique writing, of course, but is like scraping chalk on a blackboard turned REAL loud as a reading experience.
I am well versed with speed reading (skimming a paragraph or page quickly to glean meaning, a skill necessary for paragraph comprehension exercises), but I never apply it while reading a book (it requires a mental switch). I believe every word in a piece of writing should be read and savored. I am quite anal about reaching a theatre well in time before the start of a feature. These little things matter a hell of a lot to me, to experience a piece of creativity end to end. With Titus Groan however, I just could not take it. After about 350 pages, something snapped in me, it got me really angry. I started skimming pages, large blocks of text speedily to glean what an entire page was saying. I realized entire chapters could pass by without taking away anything from where the book was going. (The last time I did this was almost 12 years ago, while reading 'Gone with the Wind').
I had approached Gormenghast like I would have a really old man. With respect, curiosity and an open mind to understand what he has to say. Even after the initial shock of utter boring text, I stuck on in the hope of hearing something wise, maybe he would stop his blabbering for a minute to say something interesting. In utter vain. It was so unbearably boring and pointless that even at the peak of it's adrenaline, where for a chapter things are moving quickly enough at the expense of fear of death to major characters, I shut it and went out for a breath of fresh air. No attachment to the characters whatsoever.
I stuck by the book and finished it because I realized immediately how this could be a snooty book reader's ultimate retort. Not many people could finish reading this to pass judgement.
Perhaps my impressions of the book might change on a second read, but right now that prospect sounds more painful than gauging my eyes out with a rusted spoon.
It has taken me close to three and a half months to finish this 470 pages book, that too with enforced discipline and self goading way beyond my normal will power (I finished a book of 270 pages in a day - yesterday, just as a comparison).
It is very well written, no doubt, and aspiring writers perhaps could read this again and again. For a reader who is looking for a story however, ah but I don't need to warn you. You should put the book down in less than 10 pages. There is a reason why the synopsis of the first book is never more than two lines. Titus Groan is born. Titus Groan turns two. You might remember old televised serials where the entire cast stands infront of the camera, one character says a dialogue, and then the camera spends the next ten minutes with a close up of the reaction shots of each and every other character. Then someone else says something, the camera goes back to each of the other faces, one by one, so on and so forth. That is exactly what the writing in Gormenghast reminded me of. A never ending series of reaction shots, over and over and over again.
When I started reading it, I was buoyed with the over the top positive comments about the book. "His voice is as unique as that of Milton, Bierce, Conrad, Blake, Donne, or Eliot". "This is how fantasy is written". Bloody Best book ever. I have a tendency to quit books midway when they cease to interest me. Before starting this however, I committed to finishing it. I bought a physical copy, put an epub version on the phone, a mobi version on the Kindle. Facilitated myself in every single way I could to read this.
The first few days when I excitedly started upon it, I would fall asleep just after reading a few paragraphs. This was quite unheralded. I started waking up in the morning, taking a shower, and sit reading it bright and ready. No difference at all. Fast asleep in 15 minutes flat. I just couldn't get it. Maybe the start was like that and I needed to plough on. I had to goad myself, set targets like finish two pages AT LEAST every day (Yes, it was that tough).
But nothing helped. NOTHING happens in the book for the first 150 pages. And I don't kid when I say that. NOTHING ABSOLUTELY. Titus is born and then one hundred and fifty dredging pages of reaction shots of all the characters. The characters are incredibly dumb, their concerns unbelievably stupid and childish (the snooty readers call it grotesque characters, a fantasy of manners), so much so that one starts sympathizing with the so called villain of the piece, who at least is DOING something. I am surprised when readers here have been raving about Fuschia as "a heartbreaker of a heroine". To me, she sounded like a dumb teenager who needed to be spanked.
Mervyn Peake must have been a gifted illustrator, because that is exactly how his writing is, static. Nothing moves. As a grotesquery, I think he started by painting an illustration for each chapter, and then spent as many characters it would take to describe what he saw. It is unique writing, of course, but is like scraping chalk on a blackboard turned REAL loud as a reading experience.
I am well versed with speed reading (skimming a paragraph or page quickly to glean meaning, a skill necessary for paragraph comprehension exercises), but I never apply it while reading a book (it requires a mental switch). I believe every word in a piece of writing should be read and savored. I am quite anal about reaching a theatre well in time before the start of a feature. These little things matter a hell of a lot to me, to experience a piece of creativity end to end. With Titus Groan however, I just could not take it. After about 350 pages, something snapped in me, it got me really angry. I started skimming pages, large blocks of text speedily to glean what an entire page was saying. I realized entire chapters could pass by without taking away anything from where the book was going. (The last time I did this was almost 12 years ago, while reading 'Gone with the Wind').
I had approached Gormenghast like I would have a really old man. With respect, curiosity and an open mind to understand what he has to say. Even after the initial shock of utter boring text, I stuck on in the hope of hearing something wise, maybe he would stop his blabbering for a minute to say something interesting. In utter vain. It was so unbearably boring and pointless that even at the peak of it's adrenaline, where for a chapter things are moving quickly enough at the expense of fear of death to major characters, I shut it and went out for a breath of fresh air. No attachment to the characters whatsoever.
I stuck by the book and finished it because I realized immediately how this could be a snooty book reader's ultimate retort. Not many people could finish reading this to pass judgement.
Perhaps my impressions of the book might change on a second read, but right now that prospect sounds more painful than gauging my eyes out with a rusted spoon.
June 12, 2023
Mervyn Peake was a poet, a word-slinger extraordinaire, who, despite his untimely demise due to dementia at the age of 57, managed to leave behind the deservedly famous Gormenghast trilogy, a cyclopean masterpiece of "Fantasy-flavored albeit genreless literature" the likes of which had never been seen before or since. The first installment, Titus Groan, was published in 1946 to rapturous reviews. And rapture is indeed the state you will find yourself in if you only allow Peake to take you by the hand and lead you through the nooks and crannies of his most memorable creation, Gormenghast Castle. As you slowly become acquainted with its architectural monstrosity and meander through the addled or downright deranged minds of its inhabitants, you cannot help but be amazed at Peake's prose whose archaic yet lyrical beauty is a pure reflection of his love of the English language. For that is what this book is all about--not plot, not twists, not quest, not some unlikely hero trying to save the world because of a far-fetched prophecy, but merely a reverie painted to perfection with vibrant words, streaks of poetry, and a dark but glossy satirical polish.
OLIVIER DELAYE
Author of the SEBASTEN OF ATLANTIS series
OLIVIER DELAYE
Author of the SEBASTEN OF ATLANTIS series
September 29, 2016
Titus Groan is Peake's magnificent addition to the oeuvre of 20th century gothic. Peake takes the genre and rather than subvert it, he embellishes it on every level. The dense descriptive language; the isolation that exists within this intricate castle; the macabre and gothic array of exquisite characters; all combine to create a cold, greying atmosphere, but with the most exquisitely colourful characters you'll find in literature.
Titus Groan is the finest of the Gormenghast Trilogy - possibly due to the initial plunge you take when dipping into Peake's vivid world. Gormenghast is a castle is ruled by tradition, yet the threatening presence of the arch villain Steerpike means that this balance may be upset permanently.
The world of Gormenghast isn't for lovers of conventional fantasy. It's for lovers of absurd characters and rich atmosphere. The otherworldliness - the fantastic - comes via the characters and the castle's labyrinthine intricacies rather than anything magical. The odd relationships are, in a way, painted by Peake's detailed imagery. The duel between Flay and Swelter would be up with the most unforgettable scenes ever written in literature. It's bizarre, mesmerising and wonderfully executed.
While the world of Gormenghast won't be for everyone, it deserves to be respected and viewed as a dense, original, gothic masterpiece of the 20th century.
Recommended for lovers of the gothic and anybody who seeks unique literature.
Titus Groan is the finest of the Gormenghast Trilogy - possibly due to the initial plunge you take when dipping into Peake's vivid world. Gormenghast is a castle is ruled by tradition, yet the threatening presence of the arch villain Steerpike means that this balance may be upset permanently.
The world of Gormenghast isn't for lovers of conventional fantasy. It's for lovers of absurd characters and rich atmosphere. The otherworldliness - the fantastic - comes via the characters and the castle's labyrinthine intricacies rather than anything magical. The odd relationships are, in a way, painted by Peake's detailed imagery. The duel between Flay and Swelter would be up with the most unforgettable scenes ever written in literature. It's bizarre, mesmerising and wonderfully executed.
While the world of Gormenghast won't be for everyone, it deserves to be respected and viewed as a dense, original, gothic masterpiece of the 20th century.
Recommended for lovers of the gothic and anybody who seeks unique literature.
May 29, 2013
It is difficult to believe that this book was written by a human. It reads like an unearthed mythology, discovered on a far away planet in a cave filled with treasure.
Derivating from the Tolkien model for fantasy, Peake's genius is certainly the progenitor for all non horses-and-swords books of the genre. And his ability to create an ensemble book without a strong lead character is simply amazing. There should be a graduate class taught on his methods of characterization and the importance of coming up with the perfect name (no one has done it better).
I look forward to reading the other two books in this trilogy.
Derivating from the Tolkien model for fantasy, Peake's genius is certainly the progenitor for all non horses-and-swords books of the genre. And his ability to create an ensemble book without a strong lead character is simply amazing. There should be a graduate class taught on his methods of characterization and the importance of coming up with the perfect name (no one has done it better).
I look forward to reading the other two books in this trilogy.
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