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A review by witzelsucht
Titus Groan by Mervyn Peake
dark
funny
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
5.0
I half-read this book as a kid, in that sort of obsessed but uncomprehending way that kids do, so reading and finishing it as an adult was an exciting mix of the nostalgic and new. It’s a fantasy book with nothing ‘fantasy’ in it, really—simply the machinations of some strange characters in a densely atmospheric setting. It’s gothic, grotesque, beautiful, bizarre, surprisingly poignant, and often funny.
It’s such an eccentrically written book, with a cavalier attitude towards punctuation, a scattering of half-wrong and nonsense words, and stylistic changes out of the blue. These are things I don’t think I’d embrace from a lesser author, but in Mervyn Peake’s hands they’re all part of a singularly strange and wonderful vision that I wanted to see raw and unvarnished. His writing can be meanderingly ornate or bitingly precise; sometimes daft and obscure, other times achingly real.
Peake’s characters are his strength: visceral and larger than life, stylised in a beyond-human way that speaks to his experience as a talented visual artist. I don’t think any author-artist has achieved such a perfect synergy between their written and drawn output as he did. So many of my favourite, most remembered character descriptions are in this book, as well as some of my favourite character illustrations. In an age of blandly beautiful, under-described, insert-yourself-here characters who speak the same and look like whatever you prefer, reading characters like Peake’s—whose features and mannerisms are so unique and peculiar that I’ve remembered their descriptions for at least 20 years—feels as nourishing and refreshing as a big glass of cool water. Fuchsia’s stoop and Flay’s cracking knees are dear to me.
I don’t love the story outside the walls of Gormenghast as much as the story inside, but the former has some of the most beautiful and moving writing, and a lot of the book’s emotional heart lies there. So maybe I do love it after all.
There are moments where the writing gets a little too obscure for its own good, but, for me, those are far outweighed by the moments that are brilliant and unforgettably vivid.
It’s such an eccentrically written book, with a cavalier attitude towards punctuation, a scattering of half-wrong and nonsense words, and stylistic changes out of the blue. These are things I don’t think I’d embrace from a lesser author, but in Mervyn Peake’s hands they’re all part of a singularly strange and wonderful vision that I wanted to see raw and unvarnished. His writing can be meanderingly ornate or bitingly precise; sometimes daft and obscure, other times achingly real.
Peake’s characters are his strength: visceral and larger than life, stylised in a beyond-human way that speaks to his experience as a talented visual artist. I don’t think any author-artist has achieved such a perfect synergy between their written and drawn output as he did. So many of my favourite, most remembered character descriptions are in this book, as well as some of my favourite character illustrations. In an age of blandly beautiful, under-described, insert-yourself-here characters who speak the same and look like whatever you prefer, reading characters like Peake’s—whose features and mannerisms are so unique and peculiar that I’ve remembered their descriptions for at least 20 years—feels as nourishing and refreshing as a big glass of cool water. Fuchsia’s stoop and Flay’s cracking knees are dear to me.
I don’t love the story outside the walls of Gormenghast as much as the story inside, but the former has some of the most beautiful and moving writing, and a lot of the book’s emotional heart lies there. So maybe I do love it after all.
There are moments where the writing gets a little too obscure for its own good, but, for me, those are far outweighed by the moments that are brilliant and unforgettably vivid.