“What sort of thing, Irma, my dear? What sort of thing are you referring to? I have done all sorts of things, I have removed a gallstone the size of a potato, I have played delicately upon my violin while a rainbow shone through the dispensary window; I have plunged so deeply into the poets of grief that save for my foresight in attaching fish-hooks to my clothes I might never again have been drawn earthwards, ha, ha! from those excruciating depths!”
Irma could tell exactly when her brother would veer off into soliloquy and had developed the power to pay no attention at all to what he said.
I wonder if Peake intended the irony here? His writing veers off in many places just like Prunesquallor and I can imagine many a reader tuning out now and again!
Illustration borrowed from the official Gormenghast website.
I’m reading Gormenghast as part of the Farm Lane Books readalong (and I’m a bit behind so won’t be adding to the discussion until tomorrow).
#Affiliate
