I’ve recently finished a novel that I’ve been working on for the last two years… If you want to read it, email me, and I’ll enthusiastically post you a hardcopy for free.
The Fist of a Bum Called god follows one character’s erratic and haphazard adventure to find a schizophrenic vagabond with an unsavory reputation for bruising the faces and bloodying the noses of the bored and charitable few that still bother to look him in the eyes anymore these days. The bum calls himself god. And he’s been reeling ever since he fell from grace.
What kind of stuff is it? It’s rapid fire, stream of conscience, lotta insight, lotta nonsense. Like an infinitely gritty onion, it’s got as many layers as you can be bothered to peel away, and has been described as:
- “one massive search for where exactly we locate god in culture these days.”
- “Hunter S. Thompson raps with Michel Foucault”
- “Borges and Kafka take some speed and then hop in car driven by a drunk Kurt Vonnegut“
Illustrations are being undertaken in collaboration with Bristol-based artist Becca Rose.
There’s 25 chapters. Here’s the table of contents and chapter one. Comments – positive, negative, neutral, editorial – will be received enthusiastically.