The Weird of the Wanderer

by Frederick Rolfe

Frederick William Rolfe (1860-1913), better known as Baron Corvo, and also calling himself Frederick William Serafino Austin Lewis Mary Rolfe, was an English writer, novelist, artist, fantasist and eccentric. He converted to Roman Catholicism in 1886 and was confirmed by Cardinal Manning. With his conversion came a strongly felt vocation to priesthood which persisted throughout his life despite being constantly frustrated and never realised. He was an occasional contributor to the Yellow Book published by John Lane; these contributions consisted of a series called Stories Toto Told Me (1898), humourous retellings of Italian peasant legends about the saints, later collected in book form with that title and with a larger sequel, In His Own Image. These made his early reputation, such as it was, and this was enlarged by his Chronicles of the House of Borgia (1901), a serious if idiosyncratic historical study in refulgently Baroque prose. His other works include: Tarcissus the Boy Martyr of Rome (1901), Nicholas Crabbe (1903), Hadrian the Seventh (1904), Don Tarquinio (1905), Don Renato (1907) and The Weird of the Wanderer (1912).

Genres: Fiction

200 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1912

About the author

English writer, novelist, artist, fantasist and eccentric. Rolfe is also known as Baron Corvo. His best known work is the novel Hadrian the Seventh.

Reviews

[Damian Murphy · Rating 3 out of 5]

Weird of the Wanderer is an unofficial sequel to Nicholas Crabbe (along with The Desire and Pursuit of the Whole, which was written around the same time and is much more conventional). The chief virtue of this book is its incredibly unlikely narrative, especially in light of the other two Crabbe volumes. By way of a colorful selection of Kemetic rites, Crabbe travels back in time, where he discovers that he's both Odysseus and King Balthazar of Arabia, descends into Hades, ascends to Olympus, and takes his place among the intrigues of the gods, all the while retaining his trusty pistol. The prose, for the most part, is fairly dull, if elegant enough and certainly not without cleverness. This book doesn't nearly reach the exalted prose of Hadrian the Seventh or the narrative charms of Nicholas Crabbe, yet it's not without interest as an eccentric piece of writing. I hover between three stars and four.