Gormenghast by Mervyn Peake

#2 of the Gormenghast Novels

This book did not consume me as completely as did the first of the series. (See previous review.) The overwhelming presence of the castle itself is largely absent, along with the claustrophobic atmosphere and the lengthy descriptions of light and dark. Instead, Peake concentrates much more on plot and the development of his main character, Titus Groan. This places it much more in the realm of an adventure, coming-of-age novel, more accessible to the average reader, I would expect. Ironically, the lessening of description and of the use of words for words' sake decreased my absorption, although the plot was suspenseful and the character development masterfully done and logical.

As to plot: A great deal happens here. The coldly calculating Steerpike continues his schemes to become master of Gormenghast, including the planned seduction of Fushia, Titus's sister. Titus becomes fascinated by The Thing, an exiled child who lives in the forest and represents, for him, freedom from the stultifying adherence to traditional observances that is his heritage. A chase through the labyrinths of an uninhabited portion of the castle results in a horrifying discovery. A flood of almost biblical proportions brings the action to a climax.

Peake did not plan this as a trilogy, but as a series of books following Titus from birth to death. These first two novels form a unit. The next one, according to the end-notes of my edition, takes off into an entirely new direction, and was not actually totally finished by the author, because of his illness and death. I may stop here.

These two Gormenghast novels are recommended for those who really love words--their sounds, their meanings, their combinations. I cannot resist including here an admirable example.

"He no longer wanted to kill his foe in darkness and in silence. His lust was to stand naked upon the moonlit stage, with his arms stretched high, and his fingers spread, and with the warm fresh blood that soaked them sliding down his wrists, spiralling his arms and steaming the cold night air--to suddenly drop his hands like talons to his breast and tear it open to expose a heart like a black vegetable--and then, upon the crest of self-exposure, and the sweet glory of wickedness, to create some gesture of supreme defiance, lewd and rare; and then with the towers of Gormenghast about him, cheat the castle of its jealous right and die of his own evil in the moonbeams."

Now, that's writing. I stand in awe.