The Literary Works of
Philip Goddard
www.philipgoddard-fiction.co.uk
Who of you Michael Maus? If you not tell, you all die.
The Holy Leader of an extremist 'religious' sect has pronounced sentence of de'ath. In this complex satirical fable - an ebullient mix of the sublime, the profound, the profane and the scurrilous - the Holy Leader's arrow of de'ath seeks out its target. Michael Maus, author of that book 'The Blank Pages', must die. He has blasphemed against The Prophet. De'ath to Michael Maus!
But this is only one facet of a more general contradiction facing humanity that is explored in this fabric of absurdities and wisdoms. A doom-bound southbound hitch-hiker leads us somewhat traumatically to the delightful country town of Pewkely Snorton. The main narrative covers just five days in the life of several of the town's inhabitants, up to the day of the Queen's visit, with its attendant celebrations - and then night. But it also takes us in retrospect on an exciting mountain traverse in the Scrottish Highlands with three of our central characters, William Blurdsworth (controversial poet), Vagn Langgaard (symphonic composer), and Nathaniel Glubb (teenage gay three-legged salamander).
The world quickly reveals itself as full of cruel contradictions and plagued by dark forces. The most pervasive and immediate adversary is the Werewolf Squad, detailed to eliminate werewolves from the land. Everyone is in some fear of being designated a werewolf, for it takes just one phone call to the Squad to set them into action. Sporadically throughout the narrative dark hints of the Holy Leader's arrow of de'ath appear, the avengers tending to get thwarted by the stupidity of their blinkered obsession.
Could there be any connection between Ivor Brown-Bottock's disappearance and his father's car running-over a hedgehog? Talking of which, the local cinema is showing a devastatingly horrific film, in which the ultimate horror thing appears: the werehedgehog. Jason Death discovers first-hand the reason why almost all gravediggers at St Judas' churchyard meet their de'ath on the job within two weeks of starting. Nathaniel Glubb is in disgrace for publicly declaring himself to be a gay three-legged salamander and for denouncing the anti-werewolf campaign; perhaps we should draw a veil over what he does when the Queen passes by. Meanwhile, not far away, a bastard has appalled the neighbours by coming out and not taking his dreadful destiny exactly lying down.
At the celebration lunch Danny Makebelieve is confronted by the head of his own sister, served up roasted. (Now, now, Danny, no need to get so upset - it was only a werewolf.) Naturally the ensuing celebrations have everything (well, almost); even something disturbingly like the last scene of Petrouchka...
The main narrative is cut with a series of bizarre dreams, sometimes with startling effect. Complex structuring, with multiple meanings and abundant internal cross-references, some tenuously hinted at, will reward those who re-read the work. Yet despite the riddles and shadows that hover over it, it is above all a readable and entertaining story. As the werewolf in Nathaniel's mountaineering dream conundrum ambiguously declares, 'Thrice shalt thou delight me before the clock goes'.
Towards the novel's end the distinction between dream and waking life seems to break down - indeed if it had ever really existed. The end itself is as surprising as it is stark and discomforting, and it boasts a double sting. The darkest hour has come.
(N.B. In this novel the author has not portrayed anyone's Prophet doing anything naughty. Neither is he an ex-Muslim, so this novel can cause only a few ruffled feathers - not a death sentence!)
A mystery sausage-thrower's activities culminate in a dead pig being pushed over a wall into Mrs Mawkish's garden - an especial cause for concern as the devil appears to be involved. A piglet is smuggled out of Pukesters bacon factory during a Hogleigh Women's Institute outing. This grows up as Alice the endearing pet of the Crunt household. Behind the scenes, Mike Mousley is running a sophisticated computer model of the town of Hogleigh and its inhabitants. With these three themes this bizarre and complex black satire starts its exploration of human sense and nonsense, of love, generosity and diabolical nastiness, and, above all, of responsibility and irresponsibility. As Geoff Wurdling, the man who smuggled the baby Alice from Pukesters, recognises, "In every person is a spark of God - it's just that sometimes that spark takes a bit of finding".
Once again there are reports that the ARA is extending its terrorist campaign from Northern Animalrightsland to the British mainland. As though that were not enough for the police to contend with, some of the most decent of Hogleigh's policemen are killed in a Poll Tax riot: PC George Crunt meets a particularly shocking and grisly death at the hands of a band of skinheads. Local opposition to Alice (yes, the pet pig), with a pub-bombing incident along the way, culminates in a lynching in which Alice is hanged - an undignified and harrowing scene.
Many Hogleigh inhabitants experience
unaccountable changes in their lives - mostly for the worst -
accompanied by an apparent rewriting of aspects of their past. In this
connection we see a tragic downturn affect Geoff Wurdling, starting
with a strangely retrospective sacking and the loss of his friend John
Chicktrusser in a terrifying thunderstorm on Darkmoor (sic).
Among other strange occurrences, we even observe the whole congregation
plus preacher at Agnus Dei church turn into sheep. Rest assured, they
don't find it very funny. (Stop giggling, you! 
)
Behind all these happenings, Mike Mousley, who ceases to be amused by the idea of pigs flying, continues to be addictively, unhealthily absorbed in his Hogleigh computer model. But the writing's on the wall for him, and he's in for some horrible shocks (including waking up from an erotic dream to find himself being ravished by a pair of severed hands), which lead on to the unthinkable moment of confrontation, when the Author meets his victim. This transforms into an unorthodox and desolate vision of hell. The final page or two, for better or worse, is probably unlike anything you've seen in a novel before.
N.B. This novel is not the 'Dead Pigs' by Michael Maus, alluded to in the first novel. That 'Dead Pigs' would be too dangerous to contemplate writing!
Out of the black of night in darkest Africa comes an urgent message. On no account must you shake hands ever again - with anyone at all. For a most unspeakable scourge is now spreading through the population. To be frank about it, people's genitals are disappearing. This dreadful affliction is being passed on by, of all things, the shaking of hands. May the Lord have mercy!
This is no laughing matter. The messenger of doom may cause great mirth to our three botanical explorers in Bongobongoland, but not many days later that smirk is wiped off their faces. Not that this is the only problem they have to contend with in their expedition to the remote mountain of Bongobongo-Ghakh to start a habitat and air pollution monitoring programme there. It so happens that the particular mountain group is cut by a major fault which has been predicted to produce a huge earthquake in some ten to twenty years' time, the only trouble being that the quake comes exactly that many years early, stranding the three botanists and their local guide on remote Bongobongo-Ghakh itself...
But meanwhile the dashing new King Fred and Queen Susie of England have visited the capital of Bongobongoland on a State visit and - yes, you've guessed - have been shaking rather a lot of hands...
So it comes to pass that the unmentionable affliction spreads throughout the world, bringing strife and turmoil in its wake - until everybody surviving the various suicides, massacres and executions is now free of the encumbrance of these wretched genital things and all the complications which they bring.
Life takes on a new childlike simplicity (admittedly with certain complications), genitals are forgotten, and History is suitably amended or ignored. That is, until... Of course rumours have never really stopped - for example, of evil tribes of cannibal savages in remote tropical countries who somehow inconsiderately retain the mysterious things between their legs, and who, it's said, can pass on their disgusting affliction and habits by means in keeping with their sordid and alien character. But then one Sunday night best forgotten - Oh, the shame! - ...
Meanwhile, eleven years after their rescue from Bongobongo-Ghakh, our three (well, actually now four) botanists, now on an expedition to remote mountains in Nogonogoland, are overtaken by events and discover just how hot it can become in darkest Africa. And finally, the touching irony of the novel's ending culminates in a last sentence that must surely go down as a classic.
But heed this warning. In the course
of this
apocalyptic narrative (or lot of old balls, depending on your
viewpoint) you will encounter a freak with such hideous and dreadful
pedigree that you may be turned to stone on the spot or have some other
terrible effect or corruption visited upon you. In particular, whatever
you do, do not attempt to picture the face of that fateful monster. You
have been warned.
This complex love-story-with-a-difference, satire upon Britain's discreetly camouflaged middle-class racism, and parable about nature's cycle of death and renewal, has many ramifications and sub-themes, and comes complete with porn film and baby-eating scenes, not to mention Longsquat nuclear disaster and pestilential scourge of Portuguese Man-of-war. Certain to ruffle the feathers of the squeamish and the uptight, it's as entertaining as it's serious, and as serious as it's absurd.
This novel has the dubious distinction of opening with the naughty 'F' word: a dustman's purple exclamation echoes round the block when some rather unusual sharp objects in a refuse sack stick into him. Thus begins the unfolding of a crazy multifaceted satirical drama (indeed a grotesquely humorous caricature of a soap opera), whose main target is society's failure to relate to the individual, as distinct from the label, the category. In this context the common plight of the eccentric and genius is starkly portrayed.
The Government of the day has closed mental hospitals and old people's homes as part of what they call their 'Care in the Community Scheme', which, to put it uncharitably, has dumped inmates amongst the population at large and left them to 'stand on their own two feet' - which would be almost laudable, were it not merely politicians' language for abandoning the poor buggers and saving a little money.
Of the various central characters the most central is Tim Bawlscroper, cruelly nicknamed the Polecat - one of a number of ex-inmates from the recently closed-down Tetch Vale mental hospital, who have been parcelled out into Council flats along a street in central Tetchborough. The narrative follows some of Tim's struggles there, starting with his brief love affair with Henry, a very affectionate polecat ferret. But Tim's life is not a happy one. Quite apart from continuing verbal bullying from his father on the phone and torment from his lonely frustrated homoeroticism, he is plagued by visitations from demons and very demoralizing angels. But then a porcupine quill mysteriously comes into his life. It appears to have the power to make the demons and angels disappear. Tim soon starts gaining success and public recognition as one of this century's greatest painters - even to the extent of beginning to overshadow such masters as Pablo Picrasso and Salvador Dalek. Nonetheless, as though cursed by God, he still has a dark and desolate cross to bear...
Gossip abounds in and around the older people's flats across the road from the Tetch Vale flotsam. From sharp things in refuse sacks to the most unfortunate death of Mrs Bugler after a lavatory blockage; from the local 'Archimedes' to the alarming exploits of the Singing Woman; and from a disgraceful affair between two real 'oldies' to the perplexing matter of the elusive and mysterious new tenant of 2b Badgworthy Court - a certain Tony Volefondler, who nobody seems ever to encounter despite intermittent signs of somebody being present in that flat.
Talking of porcupines, yes, something mysterious and crazy is happening behind the scenes. Dead, or sometimes live, and occasionally giant, porcupines are starting to turn up, often in the most unlikely places - even inside a piano and causing sewer blockages. Black magic? Insanity of the author?
Well, any answers that do come are provided in the form of further, quite unexpected riddles. After one gruesome denouement, when a demon wins the night, we plunge straight into an even more bizarre happening, when police constables, followed by squads of riot police, then lorryload upon lorryload of troops with enough weapons to win a war, successively enter that mysterious Flat 2b (which is only a small single top floor flat), most of them never to return, at least alive. The final culmination puts a compelling, if surprising, seal of inevitability upon the whole work, and the far-from-comforting 'happy' ending carries an almost savage double edge, leaving the reader with at least two new mind-boggling conundrums to contemplate for eternity.
On what is destined to be remembered as Good Saturday, darkness and earthquake come to Dave Unglebury's very own town of East Thruxted; he has chanced upon the lynching and crucifixion of Fred, the new Messiah. On the Third Day an extraordinary letter arrives amongst Dave's mail, resurrecting a childhood ambition of his; it's an invitation to join a team of eminent mountaineers to ascend a new and extremely challenging route up the South-West face of Mount Everest. The catch is that Dave is no mountaineer and can't imagine why such an invitation has come his way - except for the possibility that a monumental boob has occurred as a result of the similarity of his name to that of a very famous mountaineer, Dave Inglebury. Unbelievably, however, when the 'error' is pointed out to the team organizer, he insists that there is no error, both Daves being in the computer list, and indeed both having been invited.
More for a bit of a laugh than anything, the non-mountaineer Dave (who at least did climb a few Lake District crags and walk up Ben Nevis a couple of times in his youth), prompted and spurred on by his wife, Jane, decides to play along with what still has to be an almighty cockup. Jane is soon included in the invitation, and the two incredulously find themselves increasingly committed to going. The whole thing becomes more and more like a weird dream, the upper reaches of the ascent of Everest drifting into the realms of hallucination.
But what could have been purely a light-hearted romp of a story - and is indeed permeated with the author's characteristic mischievous humour - is disturbed and troubled by shadows and undercurrents. For example we eventually discover that the relationship of Dave and Jane isn't what it had seemed all along; on the surface the marriage was intended as something of a protection for Jane from various erstwhile suitors, and for Dave from the attentions of a certain Marilèna Flatbladder, who he's still trying to shake off after several years of being on the run from her. And, marital problems aside, one particularly shady undercurrent that becomes apparent here and there in the work is an echo of the Nazi persecution of Jews - in particular the Kristallnacht pogrom. What, you may well ask, has this latter to do with a duck by the name of Eric?
It's not giving too much away to say that one of the villains in the piece is East Thruxted Social Security office. And another thing that spawns a few problems is the aftermath from the new Crucifixion, which is already beginning to surface...
The ambiguity implicit in the novel's title, which in the first instance refers to Dave's phobia of mice, is the starting point of a surrealistic linking of images that cloak the narrative with mystery and menace, leading us through a succession of phantasms and bogeys which culminates in the final denouement upon Mount Everest that's suggested in the subtitle. This is the focus for a startling - even traumatic - fusion of title and subtitle images in an unexpected way. And the betrayal referred to is only the last of several betrayals and letdowns that beset Dave on his progress toward the highest point on earth to which Man can aspire...
This novel is a dreamlike exploration of the strengths and frailties of human endeavour. As in The Hunting-Down of Michael Maus, it also gives a very circumspect look at religious fundamentalism and related human attitudes, which are seen as the antithesis of the explorer, the thinker and questioner - the holder of belief versus the seeker after truth.
In practice quite an emotional roller coaster, the novel hits some very disconcerting depths as well as reaching rarefied heights of experience, and despite the pervasive mischievous humour it gathers a haunted quality that is illuminated by a burning anxiety. It also has the odd moments that will 'shock' the uptight and the squeamish.
Although not a travel novel as such, and in places satirically embellishing reality (such as placing a McDonald's takeaway near Everest Base Camp), it will be particularly enjoyed by readers who love the mountains and wild countryside, for more than half of the work is set on a trek to and ascent of Mount Everest. Other extended trekking and mountaineering scenes are on a formidable Glencoe mountain and part of the north Cornwall coast path (in Britain).