Retromancer

It is a fact well known to those that know it well, that pseudo-cosmic antimatter, (properly transperambulated of course) will solve most any quantum conundrum, or if not solve then cause. It works best when judiciously applied in the presence of an observer, preferably female and if at all possible wearing a straw hat.

And who can argue with that.

This is just one of many cosmic truths that I have learned from my many years reading the works of one Robert Rankin. Who may be very well be a genius. Or certifiable. Or possibly both, I'm not sure.

I've never tried to explain a Rankin book to anyone before. I've turned people on to his work, but that has usually just been a case of throwing one of his books at them and saying "read the first chapter and tell me what you think". Something which it is impossible to do, because either you share his sense of humour, in which case there is no way you're stopping at one chapter, or you don't, in which case I guarantee you will keep reading, if only to reassure yourself that you didn't dream the first bit.

Retromancer features the lad himself, Hugo Rune (Hugo Artemis Solon Saturnicus Reginald Arthur Rune to be precise. And I can't tell you how nerdy I feel whenever it pops into my head that I know that, months or even years after I last read it. It's one of those things that just sticks, you know?), who enlists the aid of his Acolyte, Rizla, to travel back from Rizlas native 60's to the bombwracked streets of London at the height of the blitz. Their mission? To prevent Count Otto Black (The Most Evil Man Who Ever Lived) from using futuristic technology to help Hitler win the war.

Along the way we visit The Ministry of Serendipity (the real brains behind Britains military strategy), learn the shocking truth about Winston Churchill, find out what the emergency services were really up to while people were huddled in shelters and of course find out the secret origin of the Steel Pan, as played by Trinidadians in the Notting Hill Carnival. (Or more accurately the Mark Seven fully chromatic/acoustic metallic idiophone. Which is an improvement on the Mark Six in that it doesn't give you spots.)

Pirates get involved at one point, as do a couple of werewolves. The Statue of Liberty is destroyed, a bottomless pit is discovered in a newsagents and much of the now legendary old toot is talked. By, amongst others, Fangio the barman, who is not yet a fatboy although he has already taken to the chewing of the fat.

I love Robert Rankin. A review of one of his earlier books compared his writing to hard drugs, in that it will make you feel sick at first but is extremely addictive. It certainly was in my case. The reason for my love of his work though is that no matter how many plot holes there are, how many loose ends dangling, how many unexplained anachronisms, how little overall sense it all seems to make, he knows exactly what he is doing at all times and it all makes sense come the denouement.Except the bits that don't, which he'll point out to you with a cocky grin and a "I don't care and you don't either, because we're all having so much fun." You find yourself chuckling at the audacity as the author basically sits and says "I bet you thought I'd forgotten that bit" and "see, that does make sense, you just weren't paying attention". His finales are scarily tightly plotted, making the seemingly random, stream of consciousness nonsense all the more impressive. Genius? Certifiable? Definitely both.