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Necrophenia
The symptoms have been studied, the diagnosis is confirmed, the prognosis is bleak. The universe will cease to exist in just 12 hours during which time all of the loose ends must be tied up, all of the Big Questions answered, and all of the Ultimate Truths revealed. It promises to be a somewhat hectic half-day. During which a Brentford shopkeeper will complete a sitting room for God, a Chiswick woman will uncover the Metaphenomena of the Multiverse, an aging supervillain will put the finishing touches to his plans for transdimensional domination, serious trouble will break out at the New Messiah's Convention in Acton, and a Far-Fetched Fiction author will receive Divine Enlightenment. Will the universe end with a bang or a whimper or something else entirely, possibly involving a time-traveling Elvis Presley with a sprout in his head?
393 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2008
19 people are currently reading
402 people want to read
About the author
Robert Rankin
61 books860 followers"When Robert Rankin embarked upon his writing career in the late 1970s, his ambition was to create an entirely new literary genre, which he named Far-Fetched Fiction. He reasoned that by doing this he could avoid competing with any other living author in any known genre and would be given his own special section in WH Smith."
(from Web Site Story)
Robert Rankin describes himself as a teller of tall tales, a fitting description, assuming that he isn't lying about it. From his early beginnings as a baby in 1949, Robert Rankin has grown into a tall man of some stature. Somewhere along the way he experimented in the writing of books, and found that he could do it rather well. Not being one to light his hide under a bushel, Mister Rankin continues to write fine novels of a humorous science-fictional nature.
(from Web Site Story)
Robert Rankin describes himself as a teller of tall tales, a fitting description, assuming that he isn't lying about it. From his early beginnings as a baby in 1949, Robert Rankin has grown into a tall man of some stature. Somewhere along the way he experimented in the writing of books, and found that he could do it rather well. Not being one to light his hide under a bushel, Mister Rankin continues to write fine novels of a humorous science-fictional nature.
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May 1, 2017
Not the best book by Rankin, he seems to have gotten less funny with age, though his ability to go off on amazing tangents that don't interrupt the plot, rather they contribute by the end, hasn't fainted away at all. However, his lyric writing abilities seems to be on par with the best and any mention of George Formby wins triple thumbs up. And zombies. It was still highly amusing and his wicked sense of running gags was on top form here, but I wouldn't suggest reading this one as a starter for Rankin, try The Brightonomicon (which gets a reference in here, too, as does the man himself. Rankin knows how to self promote better than anyone, O master of Far-fetched Fiction that he is).
April 6, 2014
"It's turned out nice again"
-George Formby
Robert Rankin is a hard author to review. Not for any textual reasons, he's not like a William Gaddis or a Mark Z. Danielewski who keeps things willfully obtuse, no, everything is right there in the open for your perusal should you wish to peruse it. No, Rankin is a hard author to review because of what I call the "Rankin Metaverse". You see, in the tradition of many other authors of weird fiction (and Rankin is weird, to be sure), many of Rankin's books connect to each other in sometimes small, sometimes rather huge ways. The way everyone has knowledge of the phrase "Taking Tea With The Parson" and the odd sexual position it represents. The ubiquity of Lazlo Woodbine, PI and Hugo Rune. The constant fourth-wall asides to both Robert Rankin and his work, which all the main characters (sometimes inexplicably) read. So, much like with Tim Dorsey a few weeks ago, how best to approach something when you're not sure whether or not the person you're recommending it to is in on all the jokes? Especially when someone such as your not-quite-humble reviewer harbors a certain grudge against reviewing single books as single books when they fit into a larger work?
By saying it like this: Necrophenia is not Robert Rankin's most accessible work-- for the non-metaverse entries that would be The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse and for the metaverse works that would beyond a doubt be the twelve-part six-hour radio adaptation of The Brightonomicon, where they had to make it an accessible entry into Rankin's work while preserving the strangeness and some of the characters who make repeat appearances throughout (The ending of the series even caps off with an advertisement for the nine-volume Brentford Trilogy). But despite being not as accessible as the works I've just mentioned, Necrophenia is a damn fine read in and of itself, one that ties itself into the universe nicely while still leaving enough points of entry that newer readers can get right into it and pick up on the absurdity of Robert Rankin's novels. It's also a touching meditation on age and the passage of time, and the only novel I can think of where not having the slightest idea of what's actually going on in the story does nothing to affect the enjoyment of it. It's a strange, at times boldly absurd book with a lot of heart, and well worth the read.
More, as always, below.
Necrophenia is the story of Tyler, rock star, private eye, and psychic detective. Tyler begins the story as a schoolboy in England sometime in the 1940s or 50s (it's unclear when) who wants to start a rock band. He and his friends break into their school music room with the intention of stealing instruments, only to find that the only instruments the school has left are five ukuleles in a safe. Undeterred, he and his friends start the Sumerian Kynges, the greatest rock band the world will ever know. Well, except for Michael and Keithy, who want to call the band The Rolling Stones. But they leave and Tyler isn't really concerned with any of them. At least, not until the Rolling Stones and the music teacher who coached them pre-empt the bill, leaving Tyler and his friends playing to an empty house. But even then, they are offered a contract by a man named Mr. Ishmael, a contract they have to sign in blood, and all of them experience a strange degree of lost time from ten to midnight. But Mr. Ishmael did offer them the chance to become the greatest rock band ever, and they were all into that, so they don't think much of it.
And then things get weird.
It begins when a group of undead transvestites steal the Sumerian Kynges's equipment and van. Or perhaps when an Elvis lookalike erases Tyler's memory. Or when Andy, Tyler's brother who was sent to an asylum for thinking he was a wild animal, decides he's going to open a detective agency and muscle his brother out of the search for the stolen instruments. Soon, Tyler is experiencing long periods of lost time. Lazlo Woodbine, another Private Eye, hijacks Tyler's story, because "he only works in the first person". And a sinister restaurateur may just be planning to turn all of earth into a dead world called a Nectosphere. What follows is a strange, sometimes twisted, sometimes funny story involving private eyes, Elvis, Aleister Crowley, rock and roll, a huge psychedelic jawbreaker, and very possibly a world where one out of every three people in New York City is dead. And at the center of it all, rather confused and trying to find his way out of the mess, is Tyler. Tyler, the cosmic pawn who is destined to (almost) save mankind. If only he manages to figure out what's going on first.
I've always admired Robert Rankin's steadfast resolve in playing just up to the line, and Necrophenia is no exception. While the book's narrative progression is conventional, it's all the stuff around the edges that clues the reader in that something is definitely Going On Here. It's revealed fairly early on that Tyler is kind of an unreliable narrator, as he tends to exaggerate certain events and sometimes outright lies about the past in ways people usually do. Rankin also manages to keep a lot of the story hidden on the edges to keep the reader from guessing too much by grounding us firmly in Tyler's head. This actually manages to excuse a lot of the storytelling that would, in any other case, be a little suspect. The reader doesn't know what is going on because Tyler is inept at figuring it out, and therefore doesn't narrate it well. Plotting of convenience actually has a rational explanation, because Tyler develops a thing called "The Tyler Technique", where things will always be exactly where they are supposed to be, because they're supposed to be there at that time. Even the passage of time has an explanation.
And it's a good one, too, with a fair amount of heart. Tyler, you see, keeps losing time every few years. For a whole decade. It first occurs in small amounts, like the time he doesn't realize it's after midnight, but it keeps going, from the time he wakes up on a train with his friends talking about the occult and the Lady from Croydon well after their Hyde Park gig where they topped the bill to the time he wakes up in a retro-futuristic New York full of jetpacks and teleportation booths. Every time he wakes up, he's older, he looks older, and yet he feels exactly the same. It's an interesting way of approaching the aging of a protagonist, and one that works. As people grow older, to them, they remain the same. They may not like things as much, they may decide for certain reasons to give things up, but they stay almost completely the same. To the person inside the body, they haven't changed. And so it's jarring to find that when you blinked last, suddenly ten years went away, and the only thing that hasn't seemed to change is your money. Rankin handles this through somewhat fantastic means, but it's still handled very well, and it also dovetails nicely with his meditations on memory.
Finally, the dialogue is brilliant. Characters talk in interrupted, sometimes bizarre conversations that reveal things about them without infodumping, a private investigator insists that he narrate in first person (yes, I know, I brought it up earlier, but still) and the villain's "everything's all right" tone of voice is so cheerful you wish someone would just deck him and get it over with, even though you know you have pages and pages to go. Even the descriptions are saturated with language, though part of that has to do with the first-person narration, but Robert Rankin has a way with words, a way that ties language into knots and makes it get up and dance, though hopefully not both at once, or accidents could occur. Necrophenia has the unhinged, gleefully-insane tone that makes you feel like you're in on the joke, even if it's concealing from you exactly how much of the joke you're in on,
But I do have to offer my misgivings about a few things. First,, while Rankin's narrative control is great, the book is more or less a mess of short stories and vignettes connected through a single character. It's a sprawling, messy book, and when someone has so much control over how they tell the story, for it to be this much of a mess is a little disheartening. Also, as I stated previously, the book is not as accessible as some of his others, and although Necrophenia does try, you're better off starting out with one of his other books.
In the end, though, should you wish to attempt Necrophenia, you will find a book with a good heart, a strange sense of humor, some odd narrative quirks, and most of all, a punchline that makes the setup all worth it. Find it in a library, find it at a bookstore, borrow it from a friend, but do at least give it a try. You'll find the destination and the journey are both worth it.
NEXT WEEK:
We start Peter Straub Month with, in order:
-Koko
- Ghost Story
- Floating Dragon
- Shadowland
AND THEN
- Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon
-George Formby
Robert Rankin is a hard author to review. Not for any textual reasons, he's not like a William Gaddis or a Mark Z. Danielewski who keeps things willfully obtuse, no, everything is right there in the open for your perusal should you wish to peruse it. No, Rankin is a hard author to review because of what I call the "Rankin Metaverse". You see, in the tradition of many other authors of weird fiction (and Rankin is weird, to be sure), many of Rankin's books connect to each other in sometimes small, sometimes rather huge ways. The way everyone has knowledge of the phrase "Taking Tea With The Parson" and the odd sexual position it represents. The ubiquity of Lazlo Woodbine, PI and Hugo Rune. The constant fourth-wall asides to both Robert Rankin and his work, which all the main characters (sometimes inexplicably) read. So, much like with Tim Dorsey a few weeks ago, how best to approach something when you're not sure whether or not the person you're recommending it to is in on all the jokes? Especially when someone such as your not-quite-humble reviewer harbors a certain grudge against reviewing single books as single books when they fit into a larger work?
By saying it like this: Necrophenia is not Robert Rankin's most accessible work-- for the non-metaverse entries that would be The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse and for the metaverse works that would beyond a doubt be the twelve-part six-hour radio adaptation of The Brightonomicon, where they had to make it an accessible entry into Rankin's work while preserving the strangeness and some of the characters who make repeat appearances throughout (The ending of the series even caps off with an advertisement for the nine-volume Brentford Trilogy). But despite being not as accessible as the works I've just mentioned, Necrophenia is a damn fine read in and of itself, one that ties itself into the universe nicely while still leaving enough points of entry that newer readers can get right into it and pick up on the absurdity of Robert Rankin's novels. It's also a touching meditation on age and the passage of time, and the only novel I can think of where not having the slightest idea of what's actually going on in the story does nothing to affect the enjoyment of it. It's a strange, at times boldly absurd book with a lot of heart, and well worth the read.
More, as always, below.
Necrophenia is the story of Tyler, rock star, private eye, and psychic detective. Tyler begins the story as a schoolboy in England sometime in the 1940s or 50s (it's unclear when) who wants to start a rock band. He and his friends break into their school music room with the intention of stealing instruments, only to find that the only instruments the school has left are five ukuleles in a safe. Undeterred, he and his friends start the Sumerian Kynges, the greatest rock band the world will ever know. Well, except for Michael and Keithy, who want to call the band The Rolling Stones. But they leave and Tyler isn't really concerned with any of them. At least, not until the Rolling Stones and the music teacher who coached them pre-empt the bill, leaving Tyler and his friends playing to an empty house. But even then, they are offered a contract by a man named Mr. Ishmael, a contract they have to sign in blood, and all of them experience a strange degree of lost time from ten to midnight. But Mr. Ishmael did offer them the chance to become the greatest rock band ever, and they were all into that, so they don't think much of it.
And then things get weird.
It begins when a group of undead transvestites steal the Sumerian Kynges's equipment and van. Or perhaps when an Elvis lookalike erases Tyler's memory. Or when Andy, Tyler's brother who was sent to an asylum for thinking he was a wild animal, decides he's going to open a detective agency and muscle his brother out of the search for the stolen instruments. Soon, Tyler is experiencing long periods of lost time. Lazlo Woodbine, another Private Eye, hijacks Tyler's story, because "he only works in the first person". And a sinister restaurateur may just be planning to turn all of earth into a dead world called a Nectosphere. What follows is a strange, sometimes twisted, sometimes funny story involving private eyes, Elvis, Aleister Crowley, rock and roll, a huge psychedelic jawbreaker, and very possibly a world where one out of every three people in New York City is dead. And at the center of it all, rather confused and trying to find his way out of the mess, is Tyler. Tyler, the cosmic pawn who is destined to (almost) save mankind. If only he manages to figure out what's going on first.
I've always admired Robert Rankin's steadfast resolve in playing just up to the line, and Necrophenia is no exception. While the book's narrative progression is conventional, it's all the stuff around the edges that clues the reader in that something is definitely Going On Here. It's revealed fairly early on that Tyler is kind of an unreliable narrator, as he tends to exaggerate certain events and sometimes outright lies about the past in ways people usually do. Rankin also manages to keep a lot of the story hidden on the edges to keep the reader from guessing too much by grounding us firmly in Tyler's head. This actually manages to excuse a lot of the storytelling that would, in any other case, be a little suspect. The reader doesn't know what is going on because Tyler is inept at figuring it out, and therefore doesn't narrate it well. Plotting of convenience actually has a rational explanation, because Tyler develops a thing called "The Tyler Technique", where things will always be exactly where they are supposed to be, because they're supposed to be there at that time. Even the passage of time has an explanation.
And it's a good one, too, with a fair amount of heart. Tyler, you see, keeps losing time every few years. For a whole decade. It first occurs in small amounts, like the time he doesn't realize it's after midnight, but it keeps going, from the time he wakes up on a train with his friends talking about the occult and the Lady from Croydon well after their Hyde Park gig where they topped the bill to the time he wakes up in a retro-futuristic New York full of jetpacks and teleportation booths. Every time he wakes up, he's older, he looks older, and yet he feels exactly the same. It's an interesting way of approaching the aging of a protagonist, and one that works. As people grow older, to them, they remain the same. They may not like things as much, they may decide for certain reasons to give things up, but they stay almost completely the same. To the person inside the body, they haven't changed. And so it's jarring to find that when you blinked last, suddenly ten years went away, and the only thing that hasn't seemed to change is your money. Rankin handles this through somewhat fantastic means, but it's still handled very well, and it also dovetails nicely with his meditations on memory.
Finally, the dialogue is brilliant. Characters talk in interrupted, sometimes bizarre conversations that reveal things about them without infodumping, a private investigator insists that he narrate in first person (yes, I know, I brought it up earlier, but still) and the villain's "everything's all right" tone of voice is so cheerful you wish someone would just deck him and get it over with, even though you know you have pages and pages to go. Even the descriptions are saturated with language, though part of that has to do with the first-person narration, but Robert Rankin has a way with words, a way that ties language into knots and makes it get up and dance, though hopefully not both at once, or accidents could occur. Necrophenia has the unhinged, gleefully-insane tone that makes you feel like you're in on the joke, even if it's concealing from you exactly how much of the joke you're in on,
But I do have to offer my misgivings about a few things. First,, while Rankin's narrative control is great, the book is more or less a mess of short stories and vignettes connected through a single character. It's a sprawling, messy book, and when someone has so much control over how they tell the story, for it to be this much of a mess is a little disheartening. Also, as I stated previously, the book is not as accessible as some of his others, and although Necrophenia does try, you're better off starting out with one of his other books.
In the end, though, should you wish to attempt Necrophenia, you will find a book with a good heart, a strange sense of humor, some odd narrative quirks, and most of all, a punchline that makes the setup all worth it. Find it in a library, find it at a bookstore, borrow it from a friend, but do at least give it a try. You'll find the destination and the journey are both worth it.
NEXT WEEK:
We start Peter Straub Month with, in order:
-Koko
- Ghost Story
- Floating Dragon
- Shadowland
AND THEN
- Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon
June 9, 2010
I liked Rankin's The Brightonomicon better, I must admit, but this rather labored and inconsistent entry in the "dry British fantasy humour" sweepstakes (winner and still champeen: Douglas Adams; runner-up: Tom Holt) is still entertaining enough to while away a few hours.
Tyler is Our Hero, or at least Our Protagonist, and from his point of view the world is a cold and unsympathetic place. All Tyler really wants is sex, drugs and rock-n-roll (he is growing up in the Sixties, after all) and so he and his schoolmates start up The Sumerian Kynges, a five-piece ukulele band (that's what was in the school's musical instrument locker) which seems destined to eclipse... well, stand next to... well, be somewhere in the same venue as the Rolling Stones.
Of course, it doesn't turn out that way, but Rankin's kitchen-sink approach to comic prose—throwing in zombies, lost cities of gold and ace detective Lazlo Woodbine, as well as his really rather funny and self-referential song, "Writing Far-Fetched Fiction" ("It's blinking J.K. Rowling/Who rakes in every buck.")—keeps us from thinking about it overmuch.
Perhaps Rankin won't win a Nobel Prize for this one, but hey, there's still a lot of distance between a Nobel and the bottom of the barrel.
Tyler is Our Hero, or at least Our Protagonist, and from his point of view the world is a cold and unsympathetic place. All Tyler really wants is sex, drugs and rock-n-roll (he is growing up in the Sixties, after all) and so he and his schoolmates start up The Sumerian Kynges, a five-piece ukulele band (that's what was in the school's musical instrument locker) which seems destined to eclipse... well, stand next to... well, be somewhere in the same venue as the Rolling Stones.
Of course, it doesn't turn out that way, but Rankin's kitchen-sink approach to comic prose—throwing in zombies, lost cities of gold and ace detective Lazlo Woodbine, as well as his really rather funny and self-referential song, "Writing Far-Fetched Fiction" ("It's blinking J.K. Rowling/Who rakes in every buck.")—keeps us from thinking about it overmuch.
Perhaps Rankin won't win a Nobel Prize for this one, but hey, there's still a lot of distance between a Nobel and the bottom of the barrel.
December 12, 2009
I normally love Robert Rankin, but this book wasn't working for me. Maybe it just wasn't the type of book I needed to be reading right now. I have too many other things in the book bag that are much more appealing, so I'm letting this one go.
June 11, 2011
What a colossal waste of time. This attempt at being a younger, edgier Douglas Adams has produced one of the most boring, ego-stroking messes I've read in a long time. Avoid it.
September 13, 2011
This is the weakest Rankin book yet. It is just not funny. Blergh!
January 26, 2020
It's a long time since I've read one of Robert Rankin's surreal and zany novels. This doesn't let the side down with the story of Tyler who has to save the world from the wicked homunculus who plans to bring death to the whole world. The cast of characters ranges from Hitler (passim) to Aleister Crowley, George Formby, Mick Jagger, Elvis Presley and Mama Cass. During the course of the narrative, the author introduces a pastiche of the Aemerican noir detective novel. Great stuff.
June 19, 2017
That 4 Star rating is a cop out - an act of cowardice on my part - I really don't have it in me to give Robert Rankin a lower rating, even though this skirted around three or even two stars for more than most of the time I spent reading it.
If I was pretending this was an objective review I'd pretend that this dragged to start with but picked up towards the end. But that's not true - it was pretty consistent in style and content throughout.
There's no such thing as an objective reviewer at the best of times and on Robert Rankin I'm less objective than most. Between roughly 1999 and 2004 I read virtually everything Robert Rankin had in print*, and it got me at an impressionable age. His rambling, surreal monologues became how I told stories, to the extent I had at that age many stories to tell, his idiosyncratic approach to sentence structure and grammar was dutifully emulated as often as I felt I could. It's fair to say that The League of Gentlemen, PG Wodehouse, Terry Pratchett and Robert Rankin were the foundations I built a sense of humour on. Even allowing for the fortnightly apocalypse Rankin's Brentford, a world where what *really* matters is avoiding the dread Nine to Five as much as possible and scraping together enough in the bookies for a night's drinking in the Flying Swan, was as Arcadian to me as Blandings Castle.
But then in 2004 I stopped and stopped utterly - I rewatch the League every few years or so, I always have some emergency Wodehouse in the house for existential crises and reading the new Terry Pratchett when it comes out in paperback is a key part of the Thompson-turning of the seasons**. But like most other things that I loved in that period of my life - the music of Nofx for example - Rankin didn't carry over into my twenties and I have no idea why.
So when I saw a hardback copy of Necrophenia - a signed hardback copy of Necrophenia no less - in the Reduced to Clear section of Waterstones I felt the hand of fate reach into my coat pocket and retrieve my wallet.
So it turning out to be a bit rubbish left me understandably pretty put out.
Now I've read bad Rankin books before - I seem to recall "A Dog called Demolition" was pretty poor and it's probably best not to mention that one where Sherlock Holmes gets replaced with a robot or something - but this seemed different. This wasn't a temporary dip in quality or an understandable misfire. No, worringly it felt like the whole Rankin Enterprise was flawed.
The prose style grated, the characters were non-existent and the flights of fantasy, like a 60s towerblock stuffed to the rafters with retired pirates, just felt desperately wacky. Even worse a lot of it felt peculiarly mean-spirited as if the author himself wasn't particularly relishing his time with the characters. Perhaps Rankin was best left to 15 year old Jim who could appreciate him properly...
But then somewhere around the 100 page mark I realised I was smiling at the old familiar running gags. Nothing unusual there perhaps - a smile of recognition to show I was in on the joke; like that Woody Allen Film where Owen Wilson is a time travelling Woody Allen who meets famous literary people from the 1920s who announce their name and we all laugh to show we recognise the famous literary person. Not exactly something to get terribly excited about.
By the 200 page mark though I was chuckling - I mean not a classic book by any means but perhaps just a below par entry into the canon. The eccentric dialogue, the demented progress of the plot, the enthusiastic attacks on common sense... it was all reminding me why I had loved these books so much at one point.
At the 300 page mark I was really enjoying myself. Then we got to the final 50 pages; the ending of these kind of shaggy dog tales is frequently the least satisfying part but here it was a brilliant magic trick that was so cleverly and subtly set up 200 pages previously it's easy to imagine that the entire book was written around it.
The dark storyline and the relentless torture of the fairly unlikable main character place this firmly in the vein of Rankin stories ("Website Story", "Fandom of the Operator") that I never enjoyed quite so much as some of the other stuff but it'd be a pointless rationalisation to pick that as my reason for being slow to get to grips with this one.
The standard line, as I understand it, when returning to books or authors after a stretch of time is to talk about getting back in touch with an old friend. Reading Necrophenia wasn't a bit like that... honestly it was more like picking up a good solid vice, smoking perhaps, from yesteryear. A bit of a struggle at first perhaps but before you really notice you're getting through a pack a day and wheezing alarmingly when tackling stairs.
Ultimately I think the man himself would be rather pleased with that.
*If you were wondering the only ones I can really think of having not read are "Nostradamus ate my Hamster", "The Most Amazing Man who Ever lived" "Armageddon III" and "Sprout Mask Replica.
**Even when they're not particularly good... "Dodger" was an absolute chore.
If I was pretending this was an objective review I'd pretend that this dragged to start with but picked up towards the end. But that's not true - it was pretty consistent in style and content throughout.
There's no such thing as an objective reviewer at the best of times and on Robert Rankin I'm less objective than most. Between roughly 1999 and 2004 I read virtually everything Robert Rankin had in print*, and it got me at an impressionable age. His rambling, surreal monologues became how I told stories, to the extent I had at that age many stories to tell, his idiosyncratic approach to sentence structure and grammar was dutifully emulated as often as I felt I could. It's fair to say that The League of Gentlemen, PG Wodehouse, Terry Pratchett and Robert Rankin were the foundations I built a sense of humour on. Even allowing for the fortnightly apocalypse Rankin's Brentford, a world where what *really* matters is avoiding the dread Nine to Five as much as possible and scraping together enough in the bookies for a night's drinking in the Flying Swan, was as Arcadian to me as Blandings Castle.
But then in 2004 I stopped and stopped utterly - I rewatch the League every few years or so, I always have some emergency Wodehouse in the house for existential crises and reading the new Terry Pratchett when it comes out in paperback is a key part of the Thompson-turning of the seasons**. But like most other things that I loved in that period of my life - the music of Nofx for example - Rankin didn't carry over into my twenties and I have no idea why.
So when I saw a hardback copy of Necrophenia - a signed hardback copy of Necrophenia no less - in the Reduced to Clear section of Waterstones I felt the hand of fate reach into my coat pocket and retrieve my wallet.
So it turning out to be a bit rubbish left me understandably pretty put out.
Now I've read bad Rankin books before - I seem to recall "A Dog called Demolition" was pretty poor and it's probably best not to mention that one where Sherlock Holmes gets replaced with a robot or something - but this seemed different. This wasn't a temporary dip in quality or an understandable misfire. No, worringly it felt like the whole Rankin Enterprise was flawed.
The prose style grated, the characters were non-existent and the flights of fantasy, like a 60s towerblock stuffed to the rafters with retired pirates, just felt desperately wacky. Even worse a lot of it felt peculiarly mean-spirited as if the author himself wasn't particularly relishing his time with the characters. Perhaps Rankin was best left to 15 year old Jim who could appreciate him properly...
But then somewhere around the 100 page mark I realised I was smiling at the old familiar running gags. Nothing unusual there perhaps - a smile of recognition to show I was in on the joke; like that Woody Allen Film where Owen Wilson is a time travelling Woody Allen who meets famous literary people from the 1920s who announce their name and we all laugh to show we recognise the famous literary person. Not exactly something to get terribly excited about.
By the 200 page mark though I was chuckling - I mean not a classic book by any means but perhaps just a below par entry into the canon. The eccentric dialogue, the demented progress of the plot, the enthusiastic attacks on common sense... it was all reminding me why I had loved these books so much at one point.
At the 300 page mark I was really enjoying myself. Then we got to the final 50 pages; the ending of these kind of shaggy dog tales is frequently the least satisfying part but here it was a brilliant magic trick that was so cleverly and subtly set up 200 pages previously it's easy to imagine that the entire book was written around it.
The dark storyline and the relentless torture of the fairly unlikable main character place this firmly in the vein of Rankin stories ("Website Story", "Fandom of the Operator") that I never enjoyed quite so much as some of the other stuff but it'd be a pointless rationalisation to pick that as my reason for being slow to get to grips with this one.
The standard line, as I understand it, when returning to books or authors after a stretch of time is to talk about getting back in touch with an old friend. Reading Necrophenia wasn't a bit like that... honestly it was more like picking up a good solid vice, smoking perhaps, from yesteryear. A bit of a struggle at first perhaps but before you really notice you're getting through a pack a day and wheezing alarmingly when tackling stairs.
Ultimately I think the man himself would be rather pleased with that.
*If you were wondering the only ones I can really think of having not read are "Nostradamus ate my Hamster", "The Most Amazing Man who Ever lived" "Armageddon III" and "Sprout Mask Replica.
**Even when they're not particularly good... "Dodger" was an absolute chore.
January 23, 2019
Weak, drawn out, tired format, not as good as his other books
April 19, 2019
Read most of it then thought - what’s the point.
Did not keep me interested at all.
So decided to go for something better,
Did not keep me interested at all.
So decided to go for something better,
November 12, 2024
I couldn't get into this. There were chunks I liked, but then I'd get bored.
January 27, 2011
Taken from my blog:
************************************
I started to read the book in November. I finished it last week? Maybe it was due to my past hectic work in December but I was a slow reader for this book. I can only manage a page or two for a day.
A summary of the plot I carelessly lifted from some website that actually lifted it from the back of the book:
ONE IN EVERY THREE PEOPLE LIVING IS ACTUALLY DEAD! It is a matter of historical record that during the latter part of World War II, England's top-secret Ministry of Serendipity enlisted the services of arch-magician Aleister Crowley to create a Homunculus. Why? Well that's a long story, spanning almost seven decades as it follows the life and career of Tyler, rock star, private eye - and notable for the fact that he almost saved Mankind. The cast of millions also includes ukulele maestro George Formby, Mick Jagger, Mama Cass, Elvis Presley and Lazlo Woodbine. And Tyler's brother, Andy, who impersonates animals (and who single-handedly brought about the Swinging Sixties). And a lady named Clara from Croydon, who unlocked the meta-phenomena of the Multiverse. And a corner shopkeeper from Brentford, who created a sitting room for God. And a great many living dead. Oh yes, and it also involves a monster in human form whose intention it is to turn the Earth into a Necrosphere, a planet totally devoid of life
If you are bewildered reading the summary above, you should try reading the book. Many mentioned it as funny. It does have its funny moments occasionally. But the plot. Dear God, where do I start.
Let me say this. I believed that the author write this book while he is all cracked out from cocaine and high from weeds and drunk from whiskey. All at the same time. Maybe he's not. Maybe when he type the story he wrote it in a posh office while smoking pipes during the winter with a hot tea beside the computer, but that is the impression that I got when reading it.
It absolutely meanders. It goes from one point to another point, needlessly long. It rambles on and on and on. It started with Tyler when he was in school then without realizing it, you yourself are unsure how long the time had passed and Tyler are not too sure too. Tyler is not likable, but he is not meant to be likable, but there is no other characters for you to hang on to except Tyler. And Tyler himself is flung from one point to another helplessly to his and my indignation. And by the middle of the book, I myself am not sure what's going on and just give up and just read. I really can't describe the story because it really does goes from one place to another in a dizzying speed without reason or explanation.
It is not a traditional book. The writing is stellar but prepare to go on a ride. I was bewildered reading the book. Throughout the book. While I mentioned at my review for Sundays at Tiffany that I can take a ridiculous plot. I do, but maybe this is too much of a ridiculousness for me. I had not yet give up Robert Rankin yet. Maybe I'll try another book by him. This book; like the character love to say in the book, speaks too much toots for my taste.
********************************************************************
That was long. I actually don't know how to give it how many stars just because at times, I was thinking "get a move on plot~" while the other time I was laughing. So just ok it is.
************************************
I started to read the book in November. I finished it last week? Maybe it was due to my past hectic work in December but I was a slow reader for this book. I can only manage a page or two for a day.
A summary of the plot I carelessly lifted from some website that actually lifted it from the back of the book:
ONE IN EVERY THREE PEOPLE LIVING IS ACTUALLY DEAD! It is a matter of historical record that during the latter part of World War II, England's top-secret Ministry of Serendipity enlisted the services of arch-magician Aleister Crowley to create a Homunculus. Why? Well that's a long story, spanning almost seven decades as it follows the life and career of Tyler, rock star, private eye - and notable for the fact that he almost saved Mankind. The cast of millions also includes ukulele maestro George Formby, Mick Jagger, Mama Cass, Elvis Presley and Lazlo Woodbine. And Tyler's brother, Andy, who impersonates animals (and who single-handedly brought about the Swinging Sixties). And a lady named Clara from Croydon, who unlocked the meta-phenomena of the Multiverse. And a corner shopkeeper from Brentford, who created a sitting room for God. And a great many living dead. Oh yes, and it also involves a monster in human form whose intention it is to turn the Earth into a Necrosphere, a planet totally devoid of life
If you are bewildered reading the summary above, you should try reading the book. Many mentioned it as funny. It does have its funny moments occasionally. But the plot. Dear God, where do I start.
Let me say this. I believed that the author write this book while he is all cracked out from cocaine and high from weeds and drunk from whiskey. All at the same time. Maybe he's not. Maybe when he type the story he wrote it in a posh office while smoking pipes during the winter with a hot tea beside the computer, but that is the impression that I got when reading it.
It absolutely meanders. It goes from one point to another point, needlessly long. It rambles on and on and on. It started with Tyler when he was in school then without realizing it, you yourself are unsure how long the time had passed and Tyler are not too sure too. Tyler is not likable, but he is not meant to be likable, but there is no other characters for you to hang on to except Tyler. And Tyler himself is flung from one point to another helplessly to his and my indignation. And by the middle of the book, I myself am not sure what's going on and just give up and just read. I really can't describe the story because it really does goes from one place to another in a dizzying speed without reason or explanation.
It is not a traditional book. The writing is stellar but prepare to go on a ride. I was bewildered reading the book. Throughout the book. While I mentioned at my review for Sundays at Tiffany that I can take a ridiculous plot. I do, but maybe this is too much of a ridiculousness for me. I had not yet give up Robert Rankin yet. Maybe I'll try another book by him. This book; like the character love to say in the book, speaks too much toots for my taste.
********************************************************************
That was long. I actually don't know how to give it how many stars just because at times, I was thinking "get a move on plot~" while the other time I was laughing. So just ok it is.
August 24, 2012
Necrophenia comes from the mind of author Robert Rankin who is the self proclaimed grandfather of "far fetched fiction" - of which this book is no exception.
Re-writing history as we know it - particularly in the music scene of the sixties and seventies and stretching it far beyond what you could ever have imagined.
A group of lads with a high school band with second hand school instruments are trying to make it big, so when they are offered a record contract - brand new instruments and promised to be touring the world - of course they say yes.
Unfortunately for them there is far more to this deal than they ever thought was possible; what with the undead trying to take over the world and make it into a necrosphere, finding out that Elvis' is a sextuplet and there was that business with the cross dressing zombies around the time the contract was signed.
Dabbling into the world of religion and magic makes for a bit of controversy.
This far fetched writing style of Rankin's is what really attracts me to his books - they are out there, but then it is all explained how these things come to be. History is re-written but with great references to icons of the time such a Elvis who makes an appearance (well several actually), The Rolling Stones, Wimpy (and how it came from the US to the UK) and of course the drug scene of the 60's and 70's.
The characters develop greatly with the villains being ever mysterious.
Rankin always leaves you wanting to know what happens in the next chapter, but no in an over-done cliff hanger way. The chapters are fairly short (2-7 pages hardback) which for me makes for a more comfortable read, as I have more convenient stopping places.
I particularly like how the story spans several decades with the story developing at different paces, whilst the ever impending doom of earth becoming a dead planet hangs over the heads of the human race.
As always the banter between the characters is great and really adds to each character and builds on the story.
Overall, I would say one of Rankin's best books.
You will find that many of Rankin's characters cross over from book to book, and although in some cases this can get a bit "samey", those characters are classic to Rankin and retain their original loveable (or unloveable) personalities.
I would recommend this to anyone who loves particularly fantasy, sci-fi and humour fiction - but it really does have elements in it for anyone who loves a great story.
If you have never read any of Robert Rankin's books, you may find his writing style a little different than what you are used to but I would encourage people to stay with it as you will soon be sucked in by it.
Re-writing history as we know it - particularly in the music scene of the sixties and seventies and stretching it far beyond what you could ever have imagined.
A group of lads with a high school band with second hand school instruments are trying to make it big, so when they are offered a record contract - brand new instruments and promised to be touring the world - of course they say yes.
Unfortunately for them there is far more to this deal than they ever thought was possible; what with the undead trying to take over the world and make it into a necrosphere, finding out that Elvis' is a sextuplet and there was that business with the cross dressing zombies around the time the contract was signed.
Dabbling into the world of religion and magic makes for a bit of controversy.
This far fetched writing style of Rankin's is what really attracts me to his books - they are out there, but then it is all explained how these things come to be. History is re-written but with great references to icons of the time such a Elvis who makes an appearance (well several actually), The Rolling Stones, Wimpy (and how it came from the US to the UK) and of course the drug scene of the 60's and 70's.
The characters develop greatly with the villains being ever mysterious.
Rankin always leaves you wanting to know what happens in the next chapter, but no in an over-done cliff hanger way. The chapters are fairly short (2-7 pages hardback) which for me makes for a more comfortable read, as I have more convenient stopping places.
I particularly like how the story spans several decades with the story developing at different paces, whilst the ever impending doom of earth becoming a dead planet hangs over the heads of the human race.
As always the banter between the characters is great and really adds to each character and builds on the story.
Overall, I would say one of Rankin's best books.
You will find that many of Rankin's characters cross over from book to book, and although in some cases this can get a bit "samey", those characters are classic to Rankin and retain their original loveable (or unloveable) personalities.
I would recommend this to anyone who loves particularly fantasy, sci-fi and humour fiction - but it really does have elements in it for anyone who loves a great story.
If you have never read any of Robert Rankin's books, you may find his writing style a little different than what you are used to but I would encourage people to stay with it as you will soon be sucked in by it.
July 28, 2013
From the Goodreads reviews, this doesn't appear to be one of Rankin's more popular books. I liked it, but it is kind of all over the place, which is not unusual with his more recent work. He returns to some familiar themes and characters: an embodiment of evil wanting to cause the end of the world, Elvis playing a significant role, fifties genre detective Lazlo Woodbine showing up, and the main character frequently being knocked unconscious (here, it sometimes happens for decades at a time). In addition to Elvis, we see the Rolling Stones' unrecorded first gig (they played ukuleles at the school dance), and the protagonist comes across a subterranean city where the inhabitants worship George Formby. The story is basically a stand-alone, without even referencing Elvis' previous appearances in the Armageddon Trilogy. Laz does refer to the events of Waiting for Godalming, which is kind of odd as he's currently in 1967, and Godalming appears to take place around when it was written (it was published in 2000). I would imagine Rankin purposely does this kind of thing to screw with people who are familiar with his previous works. Besides, as more of an embodiment/parody of a particular genre archetype than just a person, Laz frequently displays supernatural abilities, and maybe remembering the future is one of those. There are also a few mentions of Count Otto Black, although he doesn't appear. I do have to say that, for all the buildup about the walking dead, they don't really figure into the plot that much. There is an explanation at the end for why a guy determined to wipe out all life on Earth would bring the dead BACK to life, but the zombies themselves are mostly just used for quick gags. Still, when you get a group of zombies disguised as transsexuals stealing guitars and amplifiers, you know you're dealing with a bizarrely creative mind. The tale of the mad alchemist who turns himself into gold is another amusing aside that never really goes anywhere. Overall, it may not be one of Rankin's best, but it's quite funny in his Far-Fetched Fiction manner.
December 9, 2011
'The boy has a point there,' said my mother, who, I must say, in praise of her loving humanity, hated to see my father laying about me with his belt.
She always thought he went far too easy on me and would have much preferred to have done the job herself.
There were some times when I actually wished that we did not live in the enlightened times of the nineteen-sixties, but back in Mediaeval days.
Because in those days I could have denounced my mother as a witch.
Tyler and his schoolfriends form a rock band called the Sumerian Kynges during the 1960s, playing ukeleles because they are the only instruments that have not been stolen from the school's music room. their first gig is stolen from them by the Rolling Stones, who happen to go to the same school, and Tyler's life goes from bad to worse. His whole life is being manipulated by a music who manager who isn't what he seems, he loses years of his life to amnesia and a coma, he never manages to get laid, and when being a rock star doesn't work out he becomes a private detective, in the mould of the great Lazlo Woodbine. But Tyler does almost save the world, and but being able to play the ukelele comes in handy when he discovers a tribe of golden-skinned George Formby worshippers living below a disused subway station in New York.
It's several weeks since I finished it, and as usual with Robert Rankin's books, it all seems quite confusing in retrospect, although I'm sure it more or less made sense at the time. Not one of my favourites.
She always thought he went far too easy on me and would have much preferred to have done the job herself.
There were some times when I actually wished that we did not live in the enlightened times of the nineteen-sixties, but back in Mediaeval days.
Because in those days I could have denounced my mother as a witch.
Tyler and his schoolfriends form a rock band called the Sumerian Kynges during the 1960s, playing ukeleles because they are the only instruments that have not been stolen from the school's music room. their first gig is stolen from them by the Rolling Stones, who happen to go to the same school, and Tyler's life goes from bad to worse. His whole life is being manipulated by a music who manager who isn't what he seems, he loses years of his life to amnesia and a coma, he never manages to get laid, and when being a rock star doesn't work out he becomes a private detective, in the mould of the great Lazlo Woodbine. But Tyler does almost save the world, and but being able to play the ukelele comes in handy when he discovers a tribe of golden-skinned George Formby worshippers living below a disused subway station in New York.
It's several weeks since I finished it, and as usual with Robert Rankin's books, it all seems quite confusing in retrospect, although I'm sure it more or less made sense at the time. Not one of my favourites.
September 6, 2010
Crap...with no redeeming features....and I paid for this damn book. Breaks the heart!!!
Rankin used to be a good writer but beginning with the Da Da whatever Code he has been turning out crap.
The earlier books really worth your time are 'The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse' and 'Brightonomicon' to mention only to...but 'Garden of Unearthly Delights' is another. In these case the narratives, characters, and one-liners were tightly controlled and focused. This is no longer the case...
Necrophenia is better than The DA DA but that isn't saying much.
I will continue to read Rankin but I hope he pulls his sh*t together in the near future because I'm about ready to jump ship.
There have been moments in the past when he had struck gold but unlike Pratchett he has not been going from strength to strength. He needs some new ideas or to take a break and re-think whatever his agenda is.
Recommendation: DO NOT BUY THIS BLOODY TRIPE!!!!!
Rankin used to be a good writer but beginning with the Da Da whatever Code he has been turning out crap.
The earlier books really worth your time are 'The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse' and 'Brightonomicon' to mention only to...but 'Garden of Unearthly Delights' is another. In these case the narratives, characters, and one-liners were tightly controlled and focused. This is no longer the case...
Necrophenia is better than The DA DA but that isn't saying much.
I will continue to read Rankin but I hope he pulls his sh*t together in the near future because I'm about ready to jump ship.
There have been moments in the past when he had struck gold but unlike Pratchett he has not been going from strength to strength. He needs some new ideas or to take a break and re-think whatever his agenda is.
Recommendation: DO NOT BUY THIS BLOODY TRIPE!!!!!
January 29, 2012
I thought this was supposed to be funny, but it was a dog's breakfast of thick, muddled prose, poor dialogue, anachronisms, and unlikely plot twists. Rankin copiously overwrites to force-feed us bad jokes and a plethora of cultural references irrelevant to the story. Laughs are few and far between as he creates his own frustrated teenage fantasies on the page: our first-person narrator becomes a rock star, a private detective, and an explorer - all in one novel. At one point, he even makes the characters reference himself as the writer, although it seems mere ego stroking on his part rather than adding anything to the story. In addition, he seems to be completely unaware of the differences between American and British English (two examples: Elvis would never say "Mummy", and an American private eye does not illuminate the dark with a "torch"). This book is certainly creative, but Rankin has tried to do too much at once and ended up spoiling the result.
March 17, 2016
So far the few books that I have read by Robert Rankin kept getting better in order of publication date. Necrophenia is definitely an exception in this upwards trend.
The story and the characters are confusing and rambling, making it hard to stay interested. And there is a serious lack of cohesion between one ludicrous situation and the next.
And my biggest problem is that Necrophenia is unrealistic to an annoying extend. Obviously fiction, especially of the fantasy persuasion, has a certain right to be unrealistic, but there are limits in my opinion. And this novel goes leagues above and beyond those (personal) limits, to a point where I had a pretty hard time finishing it.
And the fact that about a quarter of the sentences (often several sentences in a row) starts with “And” is highly annoying as well.
There were however some really funny jokes and word-plays, which managed to lift this book (just) above the one star level to a meager two stars.
The story and the characters are confusing and rambling, making it hard to stay interested. And there is a serious lack of cohesion between one ludicrous situation and the next.
And my biggest problem is that Necrophenia is unrealistic to an annoying extend. Obviously fiction, especially of the fantasy persuasion, has a certain right to be unrealistic, but there are limits in my opinion. And this novel goes leagues above and beyond those (personal) limits, to a point where I had a pretty hard time finishing it.
And the fact that about a quarter of the sentences (often several sentences in a row) starts with “And” is highly annoying as well.
There were however some really funny jokes and word-plays, which managed to lift this book (just) above the one star level to a meager two stars.
July 12, 2009
Rankin is working at full chaos in Necrophenia, throwing anything and everything at the wall and using it whether it sticks or not. It's a bit overwhelming, and maddening, and it must be said that Rankin does get on one's nerves occasionally. But there's a lot of insane creativity on display, and as unbridled as Rankin gets, at least he's not boring.
It's all well and good to appreciate your fans, but Necrophenia is almost too insular, punishing the reader for being unfamiliar. It does work on its own, but an appreciation of Rankin's previous work (particularly the eight-volume-and-counting Brentford Trilogy) will go a long way toward alleviating the mass confusion.
Find the full review here.
It's all well and good to appreciate your fans, but Necrophenia is almost too insular, punishing the reader for being unfamiliar. It does work on its own, but an appreciation of Rankin's previous work (particularly the eight-volume-and-counting Brentford Trilogy) will go a long way toward alleviating the mass confusion.
Find the full review here.
March 5, 2010
Ok, this book requires ALOT of attention in my opinion because there is ALOT going on in this book. First time reading Rankin and I don't think I will ever pick up any of his book again. I like the fact that he tries to keep the interest with his 'stories' in readers glued to his book but I find that it's too messy and too distracting sometimes that I find it difficult to go back to the main story. The Synopsis of the book sure looks interesting but it got pretty exhausting along the chapters that I decided to skip some of the chapters throughout the book (i know it's bad). It just didn't keep my interest going. Maybe if I'm really bored and there's no books around to read, I will (MAYBE) read Necrophenia again.
April 17, 2011
Sorry, Mr Rankin, but I really struggled to finish this one. I've been reading Rankin for 20 years, but this... I dunno. I loved his early stuff so much and am saddened when a mojo is lost and I can only give out two stars.
Maybe there was too much self-reference. They were all there, Rankin's usual suspects - Lazlo Woodbine and Fangio, Elvis, Dimac, the Ministry of Serendipity, unpopular vegetables, the woman in the straw hat - because it's a tradition, or an old charter, or something, but still I wasn't gripped. Tyler only became interesting to me about 200 pages in when he encountered Laz, but if it wasn't for the fact I'm not a quitter I wouldn't have read that far.
The next Rankin is sitting by my bedside but I think I'll wait a while before tackling it.
Maybe there was too much self-reference. They were all there, Rankin's usual suspects - Lazlo Woodbine and Fangio, Elvis, Dimac, the Ministry of Serendipity, unpopular vegetables, the woman in the straw hat - because it's a tradition, or an old charter, or something, but still I wasn't gripped. Tyler only became interesting to me about 200 pages in when he encountered Laz, but if it wasn't for the fact I'm not a quitter I wouldn't have read that far.
The next Rankin is sitting by my bedside but I think I'll wait a while before tackling it.
June 21, 2010
Will I like this more in future?
I don't like it very much now.
150 pages too long with characters and plot points that I think could have been excised.
Just freakin' heaped with cleverness to the point where I lost interest. And I really like cleverness! But, come on, now.
Occasionally funny, but unlike my other recent review, not propulsive or dynamic. Put it down for days before finishing.
Does anybody agree with "I am your brother.." is a bulls**t way out?
And that song near the end: is the author laughing that we are reading this crap?
I can't recommend this unless it gets severely abridged.
I don't like it very much now.
150 pages too long with characters and plot points that I think could have been excised.
Just freakin' heaped with cleverness to the point where I lost interest. And I really like cleverness! But, come on, now.
Occasionally funny, but unlike my other recent review, not propulsive or dynamic. Put it down for days before finishing.
Does anybody agree with "I am your brother.." is a bulls**t way out?
And that song near the end: is the author laughing that we are reading this crap?
I can't recommend this unless it gets severely abridged.
November 7, 2012
I am a HUGE Rankin fan, but this one was a little hard to get to grips with (and believe me I have read everything else he has done, and normally find it quite easy to be transported into his bizarre, far-fetched fiction...) I think if you get past the first half which didn't really engage me and get right down to the talking of toot, and the chewing of the fat it gets better. But I was a little disappointed in this one.
Still won't stop me reading anything else he does - his earlier stuff is a joy... And I trust there's more to come from him yet...
Still won't stop me reading anything else he does - his earlier stuff is a joy... And I trust there's more to come from him yet...
August 4, 2011
Rankin's stuff is always entertaining but he's been out of form with his last few efforts by his standards. This one is disjointed (and not in the good way a lot of his books are) and the Tyler character just annoying with no real redeeming features. Still worth the read but he's written much better.
May 30, 2012
I was unable to read this. I picked it up cause I've read and enjoyed some other Rankin books (in particular, I like "The Hollow Chocolate bunnies of the Apocalypse"), but this left me cold. The writing is way too cute. He tries very hard to be clever, but mostly ends up looking like he's trying too hard to be clever. I could imagine someone else liking this more than me. 2.5 stars.
May 11, 2013
While I enjoyed this book, I don't think it was the author's best effort. It was unnecessarily rambling in places and took a very long time to reach a conclusion I felt it could have reached in less time, with less words, but with no lessening of satisfaction on the part of the reader.
Still a fun read and very amusing though.
Still a fun read and very amusing though.
July 5, 2011
This took me a long time to finish. It's not as interesting for me as his other works such as Brightonomicon and Knees Up Mother Earth. It picks up the pace in the middle when the detective is introduced. But afterwards, it drags on a bit.
August 8, 2011
I'm an avid reader of Mr Rankin's. Some might say fan.
However reading through the old books on my shelf starting way back in Brentford had me yearning for more of that humour.
I started this one they day it arrived in Waterstone's and I put it down at page 253 and haven't picked it up again.
However reading through the old books on my shelf starting way back in Brentford had me yearning for more of that humour.
I started this one they day it arrived in Waterstone's and I put it down at page 253 and haven't picked it up again.
August 9, 2015
Have read a few of his books before, a long time ago, and remembered them as being very funny. This one was disappointing, the writing style grated after a while and although there are a few funny and clever parts in the book, there aren't enough to save it from being a disappointing read overall.
March 27, 2014
Great fun, as usual. Rankin's 30th novel is a rollercoaster ride with time travel, the antichrist, a city of lost people of gold, and George Formby.
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