โ€œWhat 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!โ€
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).

Week One | Week Two