March 7, 2007
A bit more Groan
This, from Peake’s recounting of the life-and-death fight between Swelter and Flay, when Swelter makes a leap:
“For a moment there was so much flesh and blood in the air that a star changed colour under Saturn’s shoulder.” (p. 366)
Yes, the chapter ends with a man’s death. But I had to laugh.
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And that sums up so much of the appeal of Gormenghast, the Gothic Groteque, the impulse to titter in the face of the horrible. Nowadays, the cognoscenti prefer to call it po-mo, but it’s as ancient as the the “in-jokes” in Homer and Aeschylus.
But let’s hear Swelter’s address to his cleaver as he prepares what he thinks will be Flay’s death blow.
“Would you like to be wiped, my pretty one?” [Swelter's] voice said, as though certain that a reply would be forthcoming from the brutal head of steel. “You would, wouldn’t you–before you have your supper? Of course. And how could you ever enjoy a nice warm bath with all your clothes on, eh? But I’ll soon be washing you, little blossom. And I must wipe your face, dear; wipe it blue as ink, then you can start drinking, can’t you?” He held the lean metal head at his bosom. “It’s Just the thing for thirsty ones, my darling. Just the very nightcap.”
And that is why the very name “Abiatha Swelter” is a watchword for cosy horror.
And then there are those petits-fours deposited on the stairs leading up to the lordly quarters guarded by Flay. Each emblazoned with an S for Swelter, each deposited closer and closer, night after night.