Chosen destinies Book

Mervyn Peake's writing was formative for me. I repeatedly read The Gormenghast Trilogy at the age of 14 and daydreamed of endless towers and stone pavements. Gormenghast, in a combination of Peake's writing and the BBC adaptation, permanently influenced my dreams. Gormenghast is a dreamlike place of course, but the causation goes both ways; it feels like a dream and has anchored itself within my dreamscape. My dreams are often set in vast, crumbling castles of winding corridors, long stairways, and secret passages. I haven't re-read the trilogy for more than a decade now, as I am afraid to. I have such vivid memories of how much I loved it, such a strong emotional attachment, that if my current self didn't feel the same pull, or found flaws my teenage self hadn't noticed, it would be very upsetting. Its place in my memory seems too important to imperil. I still own my old tattered copy, though, and sometimes remind myself of the opening paragraph or flick through Peake's drawings of the characters. Despite not reading any of his books for years, I would still describe him as my favourite writer, and one of my favourite artists for that matter. The British Library had an enchanting exhibition of his drawings a few years ago, and I saw his stunning painting of glass blowers in the Imperial War Museum. Everything he created seems to be touched by a mysterious, dark, dreamlike sensibility that I find deeply appealing.

So when I saw this book of short stories on the library shelf, I obviously pounced on it. I hadn't realised that Peake wrote short stories, presumably because they were all out of print when I was a teenager. This little volume includes a novella about Titus Groan's 14th birthday, a beautiful selection of Peake's drawings and paintings, and five short stories. The titular novella reassured me that when I do re-read Gormenghast I will still adore it. Peake's long sentences, languorous descriptions, and unfamiliar words ('mollience' was new to me) remain utterly beguiling to me. In the foreword, Joanne Harris suggests the possibility of 'Boy in Darkness' as a political allegory. Although I'm usually ready to see those everywhere, in the case of Peake's work there is something too primordial for clear allegories to be discerned. Titus acts as if in a dream and appears to be confronting avatars of his own fears. Haven't we all had dreams in which we followed an unknown path, conveniently found ourselves with a torch in the dark, briefly encountered enigmatic creatures, and faced a terrifying monster? I certainly found the story sufficient intense and involving that I had to take a break in the middle and read some of Drugs Without the Hot Air: Minimizing the Harms of Legal and Illegal Drugs. Like Borges, Peake's work must be consumed with care lest you slip into a sense of unreality, which is not always desirable. This is a particular risk if you've slept for a particularly long time the night before.

I am taking a very long time to say that if you love the Gormenghast Trilogy, Mr Pye, and Peake's art, this short book will delight you. It took me right back to my teenage years, during which I had zero interest in drinking, partying, or romance (no change there), and spent much of my time reading stacks of library books or daydreaming while listening to trance music on a walkman. While reading 'Boy in Darkness', it was deeply reassuring to discover that I can still enter the world of Gormenghast; I suppose it showed me that my adult self hasn't become alienated from who I used to be in the past decade and a half. I don't know how other people define the phases in their life, but books serve that purpose for me. Reading anything by Peake gives me a sense of stepping back in time, or perhaps revisiting a space in mind where I don't spend as much time as I used to. It's a profound and hard-to-articulate feeling.

What is it about Peake's writing that strikes such a chord for me? I think I discovered it at exactly the right time, which is always wonderful. The significance of places, especially gigantic ruined buildings, is something I've always loved. I have a very visual imagination and crave a sense of space and place in fiction. His characters are strange, grotesque, and yet sympathetic, never accorded simple or clear motivations. Their names are elaborate, bizarre, and always always memorable. The plots of his stories have a circumspect yet undeniable momentum and flow just like dreams. His use of imagery and metaphor is distinctive, visceral, and haunting. Haunting is by far the most appropriate word for his work; I am haunted by it like nothing else I've ever read. C.S. Lewis agreed, commenting on Gormenghast, 'You have seen nothing like it before you read the book, but after that you see things like it everywhere'.

Dragging myself back to the review in hand, 'Boy in Darkness' tells of a nightmarish 14th birthday for Titus Groan. To pick an illustrative quote essentially at random:

And while the mocking sun poured out its beams, and while there was no other movement in the whole vast amphitheatre, there was something stirring, something far below the level of the ground. Something that was alone and alive, something that smiled very gently to itself as it sat upon a throne in a great vaulted chamber, lit by a crowd of candles.

But for all the effulgence thrown out by these candles, the greater part of the vault was thick with shadow. The contrast between the dead and glowing light of the outer world with its hot, metallic sheen, and the chiaroscuro of this subterranean vault, was something that the Goat and the Hyena, insensitive as they were, never failed to be aware of.

None of the pieces of Peake's art included in the book were intended to accompany the stories within, yet they fit beautifully. Somehow, he was equally adept with pencil, pen, and watercolours. His portraits are especially striking - all the faces he drew or painted have a striking vividness. His picture of a dying girl in Belsen concentration camp is extraordinary (albeit not included in this book).

The remaining five stories show Peake's range as a writer. They include two comic vignettes, a ghost story, a vivid dream, and a harder to classify final tale. I have to admit, I didn't really like this concluding story, titled 'Same Time, Same Place'. It was the only occasion in his writing when there was a lack of sympathy for one of his peculiar characters. Perhaps because, unlike much of his oeuvre, it was set in the real, mundane world. After immersion in the world of Gormenghast, followed by the surrealism of 'The Weird Journey' and 'Danse Macabre', normality felt shocking and abrupt. In 'Same Time, Same Place', the narrator does not accept the weirdness he encounters, which is a stark contrast to the rest of Peake's writing. Peake has a gift for presenting the deeply odd, quasi-supernatural, and horrifying as unexceptional. I wonder what made him write a story that repudiated this?

The pervasive unexceptional weirdness, to me, is what brings reading Peake so close to dreaming. In a dream, you don't ask for explanations, you accept the experience. It's paradoxical, in a way, that I love to analyse what I read, while also yearning for writing that transcends the need for analysis. In the Gormenghast trilogy, Steerpike is essentially a Marxist serial killer, yet I find that description deeply unsatisfactory. It seems to dismiss rather than explain him as a character. Peake (and Borges) bypass my analytical side by presenting visions that appeal on a different level. I don't want to say deeper, as I don't believe that emotions and reason are stacked neatly on top of one another. I think certain writing calls to my unconscious, while also delighting my conscious mind with adept use of language. Imagine being able to do that! What an incredible, potentially dangerous talent to have.