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3/19/08 12:47 PM
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IndianaBrandon
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Edited: 19-Mar-08
Member Since: 04/03/2003
Posts: 4247
 
I started a trilogy of books last night named Gorgemghast. Its about a castle and seems to be good so far. Has anyone read the trilogy?
3/19/08 2:48 PM
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Willybone
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Edited: 19-Mar-08
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Holyfuckdudeyeahshityeahdamn!!

Titus Groan is my favoritest book evah. Evah evah.

The second one is also awesome. The third is a pretty radical departure from the other two and I'm perpetually on the fence about it.

Flay vs. Swelter is one of the greatest rivalries ever written.
3/19/08 3:08 PM
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Willybone
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Edited: 19-Mar-08 03:41 PM
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I'm typing (with some editing) this because I LOVE it.


SWELTER

The chef of Gormenghast, balancing his body with difficulty upon a cask of wine, was addressing a group of apprentices in their striped and sodden jackets and small white caps. They clasped each other's shoulders for their support. Their adolescent faces steaming with the heat of the adjacent ovens were quite stupefied, and when they laughed or applauded the enormity above them, it was with a crazed and sycophantic fervour. As Mr. Flay [the Lord's manservant] approached to within a few yards of the cluster, another roar, such as he had heard a moment or two earlier, rolled into the heat above the wine barrel.

The young scullions had heard this roar many times before but had never associated it with anything other than anger. At first, consequently, it had frightened them, but they had soon perceived that there was no irritation in its note today.

The chef, as he loomed above them, drunken, arrogant and pedantic, was enjoying himself.

...

"Gallstones!" and in the dimness he flung his arms apart so that the buttons of his tunic were torn away, one of them, whizzing across the room and stunning a cockroach on the opposite wall. "Close your ranks and close your ranks and listen mosht attentivesome. Come closer then, my little sea of faces, come ever closer in, my little ones."

The apprentices edged themselves forward, tripping and treading upon each other's feet, the foremost of them being wedged against the wine barrel itself.

"Thatsh the way. Thatsh jusht the way," said Swelter, leering down at them. "Now we're quite a happly little family. Mosht shelect and advanced."

...

"Now tell me thish, my stenching cherubs. Tell me thish and tell me exshtra quickly, who am I? Now tell me exshtra quickly."

"Swelter," they cried. "Swelter, sir! Swelter!"

"Is that all you know?" came the voice. "Is that all you know, my little sea of faces? Silence now! and lishen well to me, chief chef of Gormenghast, man and boy forty years, fair and foul, rain or shine, sand and sawdust, hags and stags and all the resht of them done to a turn and spread with sauce of aloes and a dash of prickling pepper."

"With a dash of prickling pepper," yelled the apprentices hugging themselves and each other in turn. "Shall we cook it, sir? We'll do it now, sir, and slosh it in the copper, sir, and stir it up. Oh! what a tasty dish, sir, oh! what a tasty dish!"

3/19/08 3:34 PM
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Willybone
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Edited: 19-Mar-08 03:56 PM
Member Since: 01/01/2001
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"Shilence," roared the chef. "Silensh, my fairy boys. Silence, my belching angels. Come closer here, come closer with your creamy faces and I'll tell you who I am."

...

"Firshtly," said the chef leaning forward and dropping each confidential word like a cannon ball smeared with syrup. "Firshtly, I am none other than Abiatha Swelter, which meansh, for you would not know, that I am the shymbol of both excellence and plenty. I am the father of exchellence and plenty. Who did I shay I was?"

"Abafer Swelter," came the scream.

The chef leaned back on his swollen legs and drew the corners of his mouth down until they lost themselves among the shadows of his hot dewlaps.

"Abiatha," he repeated slowly, stressing the central 'A'. "Abiatha. What did I shay my name wash?"

"Abiatha," came the scream again.

"Thasht right, thasht right. Abiatha. Are you listening, my pretty vermin, are you lishening?"

...

"Food," said Swelter, "is shelestial and drink is mosht entrancing - such flowers of flatuence. Such gaseous buds. Come closer in, steal in, and I will shing. I will lift my sweetest heart into the rafters, and will shing to you a shong. An old shong of great sadness, a most dolorous piece. Come closer in."

It was impossible for apprentices to force themselves any closer to the chef, but they struggled and shouted for song, and turned their glistening faces upwards.

"Oh what a pretty lot of little joints you are," said Swelter, peering at them and wiping his hands up and down his fat hips. "What a very drippy lot of little joints. Oh yesh you are, but so underdone. Lishen cocks, I'll twisht your grandma's so shweetly in their graves. We'll make them turn, my dears, we'll make them turn - and what a turn for them, my own, and for the worms that nibble."

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