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.
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
What do You think about Titus Groan (1991)?
“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 PeakeA 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 TitusWhen 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.
—Megha
Dear book,I am breaking up with you. It is not me, it is you. It is not you, it is me; others think you are really cute. I thought you were more romantic and mysterious. I got bored with you, but this is really just me. There were moments I was really happy and excited with you, even if they were few and between. Unfortunately these moments came too late in our relationships. You are good guy and I hope you will find happiness in your life. Please do not invite me to a date: I am washing my hair tonight. And tomorrow. And every other night.This first paragraph is exactly blow-by-blow description of my impressions about this novel. Let me retell it in different words. I did not like the book much. It was really just me as a lot of people consider it very original and classic of genre. From its descriptions I expected something different; I thought it would be a very tale with lots of atmosphere of a dark castle with gloomy people living in it. Instead I got a tale of really unexciting bland people going through pointless rituals. There was a villain who manipulated events and people into doing his bidding in his quest for more power; the guy brought some excitement to the story, but there were two problems with it. He started acting in the second half of the book which made the first part boring; he managed to make people to do his bidding not because he was an evil mastermind, but for the simple reason that the said people had an IQ in single digits range. This by the way is all I can say about the plot - nothing else happened; almost nothing to be exact. A male heir is born in castle Gormenghast : seventy seventh in long line of Earls. Most of the events are centered on him, but he is off-screen 99% of the time. The author was a professional illustrator and it clearly shows in his writing. His descriptions of places, most notably the castle itself are excellent and with the quality rarely seen in literature. The plot however is not the strongest point and neither are the characters. The pretty descriptions alone could not carry the book for me and it became boring fairly fast. After finishing the book I was still curious enough to read the synopsis of the second installment on Wikipedia. It left me cold. I read the synopsis of the last book. At this point I was glad I stopped reading it. The only justification for it was the fact that the author wrote it while being terminally ill. He did not exactly finish it and the editor had to do a lot of work assembling written notes and leaving big chunks out. This is a big excuse, so I will not call it bad names which I would do otherwise without hesitation. What is my final verdict? If you are really curious to see what the fuss is about read the first book. If you really like it proceed to the second one. Avoid the last one as a plague in any case. My rating is 2.5 stars rounded up out of my respect for its classic status.
—Evgeny
Looking for a drive on the dark side? Something grotesque and dripping with unwarranted behavior? How about some characters that are so repulsive, you can't help but be drawn into their world? A world of such descriptive horror that you're both terrified to watch, yet oddly hypnotized? Well, then step right in, into the world of Titus Groan, the next Earl of Groan, the heir of Gormenghast Castle, the castle which is pretty much our main character in and of itself. It's a place where time seems to have stopped, while the world outside goes on, and nothing, absolutely nothing, is more important than ritual, no matter how ridiculous. From the slimy, used-car-salesman-type, Steerpike, to the child-like, yet loyal Fuschia, from the sweaty, stuffed, obese Swelter to the Countess with her hundreds of white cats, you will both hate and love these Dickens-esquely named characters. I had a long list of books I was trying to get through that month, when I was invited to join the "Gormenghast Novels Read" Group on Goodreads. Many know that I love classic literature and anything that is even slightly considered a classic or anything that is well-known or unusual in its genre interests me. I had never heard of the Gormenghast trilogy. Upon further investigation, it seemed that everyone else had. Even my friends in real life who love classic literature had not only heard of them, but had already read them! How had I not heard of these books? These enigma's that no one could seem to place in any one genre? I was immediately fascinated and although my to-read list became longer, I joined the group. I am not sorry I did. Peake is so beautifully loquacious, nothing I could write in description of the writing of this novel would do it justice. So instead, I've decided to just include a few quotes from the book to show you. On love..."Again she was affected by an uprising of love. The mad smile making incongruous every remark which the Earl ventured, for he spoke with tenderness and moderation, had for the moment ceased to frighten her. In her short life she had been brought face to face with so many forms of weirdness that although the uncanny horror of the sliding smile distressed her, yet the sudden breaking of the barriers that had lain between them for so long as she could remember overpowered her fear." On the architecture..."...along side this structure was a rectangular area of some length entirely filled with pillars set so closely together that is was difficult for a man to squeeze between them. Over them, at the height of about forty feet was a perfectly flat roof of stone slabs blanketed with ivy. This structure could never have served any practical purpose, the closely packed forest of pillars with which it was entirely filled being of service only as an excellent place in which to enjoy a fantastic game of hide-and-seek." On how much Fuschia loves her secret attic..."This is a love that equals in its power the love of man for woman and reaches inwards as deeply. It is the love of a man or of a woman for their world. For the world of their centre where their lives burn genuinely and with a free flame. The love of a the diver for his world of wavering light. His world of pearls and tendrils and his breath at his breast. Born as a plunger into the deeps he is at one with ever swarm of lime-green fish, with every coloured sponge. As he holds himself to the ocean's faery floor, one hand clasped to a bedded whale's rib, he is complete and infinite. Pulse, power and universe sway in his body. He is in love." On blood..."The blows had no more than gored him. Of Swelter's acreage, only a perch or two here and there might, if broken, prove vulnerable loam. That he bled profusely could prove little. There was blood in him to revitalize an anemic army, with enough left over to cool the guns.t Placed end to end his blood vessels might have coiled up the Tower of Flints and half way down again like a Virginia creeper - a vampire's home from home." And that's just a very small sampling of such exquisite writing. There are many things that can be discussed about this book. In other reviews you will no doubt find many different discussions. In one you might find one on the inability to put the novel into a specific gender. In another you might find a lengthy discussion of the undefined time period of this book. Everything from existentialism to the characters in relation to the theme of Gormenghast as their home, to religion verses ritual as topics could be discussed. I find all these interesting. But for my first read, I can do no more than gawk at the resplendent writing. I've never read a book that was able to pull me in with such pulchritudinous dissertation while at the same time horrify me with such vile attempts at human nature. I absolutely loved it. For deeper conversations on themes and such, well, I'll save those for my second read perhaps. But right now I just want to wallow in the loveliness of this prose. I want to bathe in it, soak it in, and just enjoy it.tI really loved this book. If I had to label it at this point, I'd probably call it horror. Some have labeled the trilogy Fantasy, and so I look forward to the next book, wondering what sort of "Fantasy" is involved. As for whether or not this is a classic, that is an opinion I'd like to reserve for after I've completed the third book in the series. ClassicsDefined.com
—midnightfaerie
