Omega (28) "Peregrine was clearly very encouraged by the success of this novel, and this encouraged a great change of direction where he started writing a series of science fiction and science fantasy trilogies. His Swords of Andromeda trilogy featured wizards, hairy-chested heroes, large breasted heroines, large doses of mysticism and the meaning of life, and became a classic of the genre. The books are incredibly thick and in places unreadable as he became rather obsessed with neologisms and in places it is quite difficult to know what is supposed to be happening as every noun and most of the verbs were invented by Peregrine. His Gannium Arsenide trilogy is set in a future dominated by homosexual drug-pushers and computer games, and he set himself the difficult task of understanding a sub-culture of which he had only the vaguest previous knowledge. This was why for a period he and his fourth wife, later to die of inhalation of hydrogen peroxide and MDMA, became rather more famous for their drug-taking excesses than for their literary output. "He was later to receive treatment at one of the best detoxification units in the City, where he returned to more overtly literary novels. His novels now struggled to penetrate beneath the veneer of vocabulary and syntax to get at the deeper and more profound meanings of life. In his novel Having, he retains conventional English but the plot is randomly organised and events occur in deliberately haphazard fashion with regards to their normal temporal sequence. In What, he takes English sentences and reorganises them, so that the sentence may begin with present perfect verb and finish with the subject noun. In Xbldwq, Peregrine abandons the conventions of language altogether, making this undoubtedly the most difficult of all his books to read. Few of his neologisms contain vowels in expected places and few of the words are anything but invention. Many critics accused Peregrine of self-indulgence, but now most agree that this may indeed be the man's masterpiece. It stands as a statement of the impotence of language against the pressures of an impossible world. "Peregrine took the criticisms to heart however and abandoned his project to write a novel composed entirely of the letter X. Instead, he started work on his unfinished masterpiece, Winchester Revisited, in which, to a certain extent, he returned to a more naturalistic style of writing. This book tries to incorporate everything within it. There are great themes of love, death, war, peace, crime, punishment, pride and prejudice. There is the clash of sword, the didacticism of religious discourse, great mythological symbolism, digressions on feminism, poetry, politics and sport. The book brings in characters and themes as immense as those of any book. Each page is a towering structure of carefully crafted style, beautifully drawn characterisation, vivid dialogue, and, yet, it is unfinished. It is barely a tenth the length that Peregrine would have desired. A mere fourteen chapters long: even though they still comprise well over two thousand closely printed pages." "Why didn't he finish it?" Beta demanded. "His sixth wife killed him with a dictionary. We now know that she was a homicidal maniac who feasted on aborted foetuses. In any case, he was making very slow progress with it. He would constantly write, revise and rewrite every page, every paragraph and ever word of the novel. He wanted it to be perfect. He worked from early morning until late at night, pausing only to eat sandwiches and go to the toilet (chores which he reputedly resented). So now all we are left with is an unfinished canon of work and a bottomless source of material for doctoral theses." There suddenly erupted from the bar, a very loud neighing and clicking of claws. We turned our heads round to see several young people dressed in dark green collarless suits, rather similar to those I 'd seen in the town of Rupert. "Illicit Party!" Sniffed the penguin disdainfully. "Since they've been around, they've been nothing but trouble. I don't know much about their ideology. In fact, if you ask me, I don't think they really have an ideology at all. They've just got a leader and an excuse to cause trouble. Just look at them!" A large crab held a spaniel by locking his arms behind him, while a horse taunted him and insistently pressed a hoof against his chest. The spaniel was wearing a tee-shirt proclaiming Go To Bed With a Red. The horse shoved his muzzle malevolently against the spaniel's face, eyeball to eyeball. "So you Red bastards are going to change things, are you? Rob the rich and feed the poor, will you? More like raise the flipping taxes and turn the country into a glorified trades union! You might think you're going to flipping change things, but not before we do a bit of changing you first, you ugly bastard!" "I didn't say anything!" Protested the spaniel as one of the aggressors spat in his face. "I'm just wearing a tee-shirt, nothing more!" "I distinctly heard you bad mouth me!" Exclaimed a young jackal wearing a large button emblazoned with Chairman President Rupert's face. "You told me that the Illicit Party was scum and didn't deserve to win the Election. You said that the Reds were going to flipping wipe the floor with the Illicit Party." "I never! I never!" Gasped the spaniel shaking his muzzle from side to side. "I wouldn't! I'm a pacifist! I don't believe in violence!" "Don't Believe In Violence..." Repeated the crab hitting the spaniel forcefully on one side of the face, forcing his head to reel back, blood dribbling from his nostrils. "Don't Believe In Violence! Yellow Red scum!" The bar speedily emptied while these representatives of the Illicit Party tormented the spaniel. The bar steward had disappeared and no other staff could be seen. "We'd better get moving!" Remarked the penguin softly. "These Illicitists look like they're gunning for trouble." "Why's that?" Whispered Beta helping him down from his chair and handing him his book. "Election disappointment, I suppose. Hatred of all the other parties. In fact the Illicit Party, like the Black Party, are a rather violent lot on the whole." "Did I hear you bad mouth Rupert and the Illicit Party?" Asked a small pony wearing a Rupert badge on his harness and a green beret on his head. "Not at all!" The penguin said carefully. "I was simply saying ..." "You're a flipping Red too, aren't you?" The pony repeated pushing his muzzle against the penguin's face. He glanced at the book that the penguin dropped. "And Red propaganda too! It's you bastards who're going to bugger up this country..." "I'm not a Red!" Insisted the penguin as the pony pushed him back against the wall. Beta glanced at me fearfully, unsure whether to interfere. The decision however was made by the jackal who had been punching the spaniel in the face and left him on the floor for his equine companion to kick with his hooves. "If my friend says you're a Red, you're a Red!" The jackal stated emphatically poking the penguin in the chest. "You're a flipping Red. And your flipping friends are Reds, too, I guess!" He snarled at us and was soon backed up by a group of his companions who loomed over us. "You're all Reds! And we're going to kill you!" He thumped the penguin very hard on the face with the book and left the penguin in a pool of blood where the pony feebly prodded him with his hooves. "Illicit Bastards!" Shouted a group of gorillas in black leather outfits decorated with swastikas and iron crosses. "You making trouble again at the expense of the pacifist Reds! You just don't know what a real fight is!" One gorilla unravelled a long chain from around his waist and flicked it aggressively on the ground. "Come on lads! No trouble here, eh?" Spoke the large crab we'd met at the door accompanied by some bestial acquaintances. "Let's just make our way home before the police arrive, eh?" "Don't you flipping count on it!" Snarled the jackal pulling out a flick-knife from a pocket and brandishing it. "We better run!" I cautioned Beta urgently. We took advantage of the stand off between the three groups to race down the stairs and onto the main dance floor, leaving the penguin and spaniel groaning in pools of blood. We hadn't left a moment too soon, as a terrific yell erupted as we ran away followed by the crash of large bodies impacting against each other. A stool flew through the air a few yards ahead of us and smashed against a mirrored post. Glass shattered in an explosion of shards, so we ran the faster. While we ran in one direction, young people of all species were running in the other direction towards the scene of the conflict: several carrying knives, broken bottles and even guns. We found ourselves in the main dance floor where the music was still pounding out loudly, but emptying rapidly. Most people were picking up their things and leaving. The exits were jammed with people struggling to get out. "Thank goodness I've found you!" Exclaimed Xenana running towards us with some very similarly dressed friends. "What's going on? Why's everyone leaving?" "There's a big political fight, I reckon," one of her friends remarked. "The Illicit bastards have been spoiling for one all day. I saw a few really aggressive looking people. Like they were looking for a flipping fight rather than a good time!" "It was where we were," Beta breathlessly replied. "They attacked this penguin we were talking to. They beat him up really badly!" "Come on, Beta! We're getting the heck out of here!" Xenana cried. Then just as we were about to run to the exit, some very loud bangs rang out in rapid succession. This was followed by a frantic chasing from the exit to our direction as horses in black leather outfits came galloping in carrying some very ugly small men dressed in black on their backs waving guns and clubs. "More Blacks!" Someone shouted. Beta and I ran off to a chink of light in the distance that turned out to be an emergency exit that had been opened. Behind us the violence was getting worse, illustrated by loud crashes and what may have been the wholesale destruction of the record decks judging from the abrupt manner by which the music came to a scratchy end. We panted in the cool air outside, along with others similarly frightened and worried. "Where's Xenana?" Wondered Beta looking around her. There was no sign of her, but we didn't feel safe in such close proximity to the Night Club, from which came a cacophony of screams, shouts and commotion. We were soon running down dark alley-ways framed by towering buildings, occasionally illuminated by the light from windows above or the neon lights of smaller night clubs and wine bars that were still open. Eventually we were far enough away from the Cancer Club to consider ourselves fairly safe from attack, but now we had the inevitable worry about where to sleep for the night. The answer was actually fairly evident as we passed people huddled up in doorways or inside cardboard boxes. The street was the only hotel we knew that wouldn't turn us away, so we reluctantly searched for somewhere to sleep in the alley-ways less uncomfortable than most. We eventually found a pile of cardboard boxes behind what might well have been a shop during the day, judging from the exotic nature of some of the rubbish. We nestled in some artificial fur toys broken free from a box and tried to sleep in the sinister and haunting night sounds of the City. Even now, there was a constant roar of traffic emerging from nearby streets. Occasionally hoots, screams and other nocturnal noises interrupted our sleep. Beta huddled close to me for company. She was unquestionably upset by the turn of events. "I'm so frightened!" She whispered, hearing the howl of wolves. "I hope we're going to be all right!" I nodded, grateful for the intimate closeness of her body and fearing every sound we could hear. The rustle of rubbish, the whistle of wind through metal fire escapes and the distant sounds all had a sinister edge to them. It was also not that warm, although Beta appeared to notice the cold rather less than I. 15 On awakening, the alley in which we had been sleeping seemed if anything rather less inviting in the early morning light. I looked over to Beta who was still sleeping. Clearly she was rather less accustomed to the comfort of modern mattresses, duvets and electric blankets than me, and even without clothes to wrap around her had succeeded in slumbering through the chill night air and the now rather more insistent, if distant, roar of traffic. We were far from alone: a family of horse-shoe crabs was dozing fairly close to our elbows even though I had been totally unaware of their presence up until then. A scrawny goat was wandering down the alleyway towards us, poking his muzzle into the waste bins and pulling out unappetising items of food and chewed them in his mouth with little discretion and less relish. I watched as the goat gradually approached us, and nudged Beta to wake up. She stared at me through a bleary film of sleep and smiled sadly. "The second night of sleeping rough!" She remarked. "We mustn't make this too much of a habit." "Indeed not," I agreed, standing up and helping her to her feet. "What we need now is breakfast." Beta yawned, blinking her sleep-swollen eyes. "That would be very welcome!" She glanced up and down the alley, where the goat was now joined by a ewe with a pronounced limp and a rolled cigarette dangling from her mouth. The two of them nuzzled through the dustbins and black plastic rubbish bags. "Where shall we go?" I didn't know any better than Beta, but we followed the trail of narrow back-roads past others who were waking up from a night of uncomfortable rest. I had never before seen such a sorry collection of ragged sleeping bags and unravelling blankets, any one of which, nonetheless, would have been extremely welcome when I was trying to sleep. Eventually, we emerged into an area of much wider and busier roads. However, it was apparent that we were in a quite different part of the City than the one where we'd arrived the previous day. What had most impressed us when we had come off the train was the grandeur, scale and opulence of the City. Everything was so shining, bright and modern. Here, however, the atmosphere was noted more for its poverty and dereliction. Although the roads were busy, this was mainly of vehicles drawn by sheep or goats or ancient bicycles. The cacophony of bicycle bells and occasional klaxon swamped the roar of car engines which in any case belonged to vehicles that were very old, rusted and barely roadworthy. The uneven pavement was constructed of badly cracked flagstones and potholed by menacing holes where black water festered from past rain showers. Along the kerb were the occasional lamp-posts, some standing at peculiar angles to the horizontal and many with wires dangling loose from vandalised lamps. The buildings shared the same general air of dereliction. Many shops had boards covering the windows or were rimmed by sharp icicles of glass. Those windows that were still intact were protected from vandalism by panels and individual letters were missing from the shop-signs. The places where people lived were equally as unwelcoming and decrepit. The buildings were not nearly as tall as most of those we'd seen the day before, but still much taller than any to be found in the Suburbs. All the walls were luridly decorated by aerosol graffiti which in imaginative graphic letters and interesting flourishes said nothing either comprehensible or pertinent. RamRods. Claw Killer. Pretty as Sugar. Some graffiti were more understandable and complemented the faded Election posters for the Red, Black and Illicit Parties. Reds Roger. Blacks Suck. Cats Out. Rivers of Black. Every inch of wall underneath and between the thickening and peeling coat of posters was splattered with aerosol paint, and most posters were obscenely defaced. "I don't feel very welcome here," shivered Beta, huddling up close to me. "I don't like the way people are looking at me." The goats balanced above our head on unsteady scaffolding, the small crabs in overalls scattering by my feet and the chimpanzee sitting idly on the stairs all appeared more intent on their own thoughts than on us, but now that Beta had put the thought into my mind it did seem to me that we were followed by suspicious eyes as we walked along. A gang of baboons in black leather outfits and motor-cycle helmets blocked the way as they strode slowly along. As we overtook them one scowled extremely menacingly at me, sending a bolt of static through my cheeks. We stopped for breakfast at a ramshackle van parked beside the remains of a demolished building enclosed by a ring of high electric wire and boards warning people not to enter the site. More ominously were the silhouetted illustrations of a figure being hit by lightening and the unsubtle warning Danger of Death. Two or three vultures had ignored the signs and were perched on top of what had once been the main entrance to a large building, where they were smoking some exceedingly long cigarettes and playing idly with flick knives.
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