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Golgotha

GOLGOTHA . . . between the covers

Dyson017

guy-portman2Guy Portman (left) introduced us to Dyson Devereux in Necropolis (2014). I gave it 5* when writing for another review site, and I’ll include a link to that at the end of this post. Dyson was Head of Burials and Cemeteries in a fictional Essex town, and a rather individual young man. He is narcissistic, punctilious, cultured and, outwardly polite and thoughtful, but with an anarchic mind and a terrible propensity for extreme violence. The book both horrified and fascinated me but made me laugh out loud. Dyson Devereux was a Home Counties version of Patrick Bateman and his antics allowed Portman to poke savage fun at all kinds of modern social idiocies.

Dyson returned in Sepultura (2018) and he has moved to another town to do more or less the same day job. His main recreation is still killing people who upset him, either personally, or because of their unpleasant manners or appearance. He has fathered a son and takes but a passing interest in his upbringing. He is, however, appalled that Latin isn’t on the curriculum at young Horatio’s infant school. Having stayed just one step ahead of the English police Dyson comes a cropper when he commits murder while on a municipal exchange visit to Paleham’s twin town in Italy, and ends up in the hands of the Carabinieri.

Golgotha begins with Dyson a treasured guest at San Vittore Prison, Milan, awaiting his trial for murder. It is no place for someone of his refinement:

“ Tottering in this direction is a posterior-wiggling transexual. When he passes by, he winks at me and smiles, revealing a mouth crammed with chipped, rodent-like teeth. Up ahead a prisoner steadies himself against the wall with an emaciated, needle-track-ridden arm.”

Dyson views the prison as something like an amateur drama company acting out Dante’s Nine Circles of Hell, but he holds his poise thanks to frequent visits by his Italian girlfriend Alegra, who supplements the meagre prison fare with Amaretti biscuits and cremini al pistacchio chocolates. Neither is his taste for fine wine neglected, as his weekly sessions teaching English to the convicted gangster – who effectively, rules the prison – are enlivened with glasses of Amarone Classico Costasera 2012.

GolgothaWhen he finally has his day in court, Dyson scorns the efforts of his lack-lustre lawyer and relies on his own charm and nobility of bearing to convince the court that he is an innocent man. He escapes the clinging arms of Alegra and returns to England without delay, anxious to be reunited with something from which separation has become a cruel burden. A loving family? A childhood sweetheart? The clear skies and careless rapture of an English summer day? No. A tin box containing several memento mori of his previous victims. Little oddments that he can sniff, fondle and treasure. Little bits of people who have had the temerity to upset him, and have paid the price.

Dyson has a new job in what he calls the Death Industry. “Good morning. Raven & Co. funeral directors. How may I help you?” Back where he is most comfortable, among the cadavers and embalming fluid, Dyson seems to be settled. Until Horatio is excluded from school for not being sufficiently ‘woke’. What happens next is a bloodstained and visceral orgy of revenge and death. Our man is not only going to war against the police, but also against losers who play their music too loud in the next flat and school teachers who parrot politically correct gobbledygook.

The best satire is supported by strong girders of anger, and there is much on display here, most of it righteous. Horatio has been given the heave-ho for having the temerity to mock a fellow five year-old who has decided to change gender. The school’s reply to Dyson’s query throws a lighted match into a pile of dry tinder:

I would hope that in today’s world, gender dysphoria wouldn’t cause confusion to a grown adult. As for children, yes, it can be confusing. But here at Burton Finch we have a proven track record of educating our charges in gender identity related issues.”

Dyson Devereux has a jaundiced view of the delights that decades of multiculturalism, diversity, and pandering to the lowest common denominator have bestowed on English suburbs:

“I pass a Sports Direct, a betting shop and a halal butcher, from which a disorderly line of veiled women protrude, chattering animatedly in several Maghreb-hailing languages. Iceland supermarket is followed by a pound shop, a halal chicken establishment and a Congolese social club.”

Sad to say, Dyson pushes his luck once too often after underestimating the collective momentum of a spurned Italian beauty and a seven feet tall Hungarian embalmer known as The Grim Reaper. If you are a sensitive soul who mistakes words for actual misdeeds then, please, go and read something else. If you share the view that life is essentially a grotesque comedy, acted out by individuals so preposterous that it is only satire that exposes them, then grab a copy of Golgotha. It is wicked, outrageous, and scandalously funny.

Golgotha will be available from 3rd December.

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THE POSTMAN DELIVERS . . . October 2019

TPD October header

I make not even the slightest trace of an apology for not jumping on the regrettable Halloween bandwagon. Someone on my Twitter timeline was emoting about “this time of darkness and evil deeds, when spirits of the dead walk the earth.” The only beings that walk the earth where I live are over-excited children dressed in plastic tat from ASDA (other suppliers of mass produced seasonal rubbish are available) disturbing my peace and begging for tooth-destroying sweets (also available from exploitative mass retailers in handy packs) while their aggressive parents lurk not far behind, ready to leap in with an oath or three should I reject the advances of their offspring. Rant over. Instead of pumpkins I offer publications – four of the best to get stuck into as the nights lengthen.

A MINUTE TO MIDNIGHT by David Baldacci

Atlee Pine is a female FBI agent with what some like to describe as a kick-ass attitude. Like all the best fictional law enforces she has a troubled past, and hers involves the abduction and presumed murder of her twin sister when they were little. She is convinced that a serial killer called Daniel Tor – now serving thirty life sentences in a Colorado jail – either did the deed or knows who did. When Pine takes enforced holiday leave after nearly battering a child rapist to death, she is drawn back into the search for the truth about what happened to sister Mercy all those years ago. Ignoring Nietzsche’s famous homily about the Abyss, Pine becomes snared in a web of secrets, lies – and indescribable evil. A Minute To Midnight is published by Macmillan and will be out on 14th November.

THE GRID by Nick Cook

Thrills of a different kind now, from celebrated defence analyst and journalist Nick Cook. His latest novel explores the complex and controversial world of surveillance and counter intelligence work. US Presidents have an unenviable record of becoming assassination targets, so much so that it might as well be in the job description. The current occupant of The Oval Office, President Thompson has been subject to vivid recurring dreams about his own demise, so much so that he confides in Josh Cain, his personal doctor. Cain’s background is in military psychiatry, but even his experiences of dealing with the trauma caused by battle doesn’t prepare him for what he is about to discover. When a sniper’s bullet ends a startling confession from a former US Marine, Cain is served dramatic notice that he is about to participate in his President’s nightmare. Also out on 14th November, The Grid is published by Transworld.

Authors

DIE ALONE by Simon Kernick

A novel with the words Simon Kernick on the front cover is pretty much guaranteed a second look from most readers who enjoy their crime with a political flavour. We may have our doubts about the respective merits of Boris Johnson and Jeremy Corbyn (other party leaders are available) but I don’t think it is seriously suggested that either is a serial killer. Not so with Alastair Sheridan, the central character in Kernick’s latest novel. Suave, handsome and charming, Sheridan is everyone’s tip to become First Lord of The Treasury and occupant of London SW1 2AA. Everyone? Well, almost. A select group, a modern day illuminati, know that Sheridan is a killer, and they employ disgraced detective Ray Mason to kill him before he gains power and silences those who know the truth about his actions. Mason soon realises that things are not entirely what they seem, but how can he – to mix two body metaphors – keep both his hands clean and his head on his shoulders? Published by Century, Die Alone is out on 28th November.

GOLGOTHA by Guy Portman

It is a sad reflection of the state of British cultural life in this second decade of the 21st century that satirists like Guy Portman should have to go down the self-publishing route to bring his books to readers. Yes, his books shock. Yes, they direct a flamethrower into the bunkers inhabited by the politically correct and woke glad-handers in the publishing world. Yes, Portman fails to respect the notion that some cultural practices must remain immune from criticism.

His anti-hero is the delightfully despicable Dyson Devereux. We first met him as an iconoclastic manager of a municipal cemetery in Necropolis. His homicidal streak appeared to run into the buffers at the end of Sepultura, and Golgotha starts with him in an Italian jail awaiting his trial for murder. Guy Portman has an extraordinary talent to amuse – and raise eyebrows. Leave him alone if your sense of humour is only tickled by offence-averse sitcoms. If you were raised on a diet of M*A*S*H*, Catch 22 and American Psycho, then take a chance – if you injure yourself laughing, then blame me. You can buy Golgotha here.

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