Des Lewis will be 77 years old on 18 January 2025
Those who have read these episodic brainstorming reviews of mine must know they are very personal — rough-shod and spontaneous. Synchronicity and anagram mixed. I know they are not professional, never potentially publishable other than in the madness of my head, but I do hope they show grains of dark truth and cosmic panache.
These Des Lewis Gestalt Real-Time Reviews were founded in 2008.
‘What’s the loveliest word in the English language, officer? In the sound it makes in your mouth, in the shape it makes on the page? What do you think? Well now, I’ll tell you: E-L-B-O-W. Elbow.’ — THE SINGING DETECTIVE
“How shall a man find his way unless he lose it?” — Walter de la Mare
To any current genre author I have reviewed before — if you have a new story recently published or soon to be published in a collection or anthology, you may have a review by me of the story that also showcases where it is published. See HERE. (This is because I am no longer well enough to review as many books as I once did.)
Fresh Fictions, free to read HERE.
No AI input in preparation of my texts whatsoever.
THE NEW NONSCENIC
Photos here: https://conezero.wordpress.com/2024/02/24/d-f-lewis-recent-photos-1/
The Orange Book:
The Eibonvale chapbook: 50 pages
The first half of the title story was published in MARKED TO DIE (Snuggly Books 2016), the second half being brand new to the Eibonvale Press book.
Other works:
A Halo of Drizzle Around an Orange Street Lamp
Thoughts and Themes
Origami Shadows
The Soft Tread
The blurb on chapbook cover:
“The story missed a beat. It was sad. It never knew it could create such utter truth from such utter fantasy.”
These stories of D. F. Lewis are deeply rooted in both horror and dreams, yet told in a way that maybe comes closest to ‘outsider art’. These works are dreamlike in a true sense of the term, capturing that feeling of portentous yet seemingly random shifts in narrative, state and environment with complete ease. The results are both subtly unnerving in ways few horror stories manage and also demonstrate the author’s unique writing style.
This collection includes an expanded version of the title story plus four smaller pieces.
Arguably an earlier apocryphal sequel to THE BIG-HEADED PEOPLE here as A MINIMUM REFRAIN: http://www.ligotti.net/showthread.php?t=11292
The paperback edition –
Goodreads
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/37549706-the-big-headed-people-and-other-stories
CAROLINE CALLAGHAN of ‘Frightful Horrors Publications’ put this chapbook collection together from my available work, and I specifically extended the title story for these purposes. She also arranged for it to be published by Eibonvale Press in the light of her public announcement below. So enormous thanks to her. (My previous reviews of Eibonvale books: https://dflewisreviews.wordpress.com/eibonvale-press/)
The title story is about my head, true, with added themes and variations. Francis is my middle name; I am genuinely an only child named after my Welsh Uncle Desmond who died in action during the second world war and my London East End Uncle Frank who died in 1980. My wife has a much smaller head than mine and so our two now grown-up children have normal sized heads. Otherwise, what is the story about? I do not know, other than it is very dumpty.
The extra stories chosen by ‘Frightful Horrors’ are typical of my later work and I would welcome interpretations. Thoughts and Themes as nurtured by life in our current chalet bungalow at the seaside and by my stage in life when in a few days I am 70? And the sound of a future lung collapsing like a Circus big tent about to be moved on.
I am more than delighted with the Eibonvale production. THANKS.
PS: The Tower in the first half of the Big-Headed story? My tribute to young Marked to Die’s eponymous Tower, I recall. Not a seaside Martello tower but a Markitty one.
If you are a FB friend please PM there to see if I have any of the above available with my signature at the normal going rate that I can send to you.
The dumpty house mended with vinegar and brown paper –
The Maroon Party
A maroon-party is a picnic over several days, rather than the more usual single occasion spanning, say, a single afternoon. Old Dick had arranged this particular shindig for no obvious purpose: with several stellified ladies, buckets of sloshing trash-ice, slubberdegullions of the village performing pirouettes in pierrot costume, nigh birthless kids with their vanishing-fractions and shilling-dreadfuls, old men with fatty livers or waxy kidneys, geldable steeds, boning-sticks, cantilena-boxes, night-fossickers, lopping-shears, caged horny-winks, whirring orreries, two-seeded slowbacks, makeshift horse-hitching hooks and simple tablecloths. Of course, unlike an ordinary picnic, a maroon-party needed a focussed purpose. And settled weather. Old Dick had been watching the skies for several days now and, also, scrying a deer’s grallock and testing the warmth of tree-coffins near the village. The young maidens who were an important ingredient of the party’s festivities were prevented from bringing their umbrellas which would have tempted feckless fate – until one particularly comely wench winsomely suggested that they could pretend their parapluies were parasols.
So, in short, one optimum day, when the dirt-beds were low and the dog-teeth retracted in the gums, the whole village, except Chuck Will’s widow, set off under a blazing star, past the brick-nogging works, through the frost-smoke of the eggery and, in drowsy-flighted ailerons of fancy, stuck their noses high in the air to avoid the foot-level cess-pipe clysters. They spent cherysshed days in water-bewitched jollity. Only one silly pierrot suffered a greenstick-fracture of his funny-bone and, yes, I nearly forgot, I fell into a donkey-drome rescuing a bespangled lady’s currish lopping-shears from a natural cess-pipe. They all laughed and pointed, called me cockle-brained. They claimed it served me right for crack-trysting little Ruth all those years ago, before she became Chuck Will’s wife. Old Dick then reeled off by rote a series of my vanishing-fraction liaisons with the fair sex and, it was then, I screeched NONE OF YER BIZNIZ! But I soon realised that the whole maroon-party was for my benefit or, rather, for my being strung up from horse-hitching hooks, for my dunking in the trash-ice, for my prodding by sunshades, for the ripping out of all my wires, for my stuffing with the loamy livers, for my being terror-smitten by the birthless childer, for my being cess-piped and clystered in grallock. And, oh, yes, lopped by the lady’s shears which I’d rescued from the donkey-drome (and then gelded by night-fossickers as belt-and-braces). I wish I’d stayed home in bed with a shilling-dreadful. Or, even, with Chuck Will’s widow.
First published in ‘Ball Magazine’ 1993
THE ROUND-HEADED CLUB as published in 1997: http://weirdmonger.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/round-headed-club.html
If there are any further reviews of this chapbook, I shall link to them below.
All my other self-commentaries: https://dflewisreviews.wordpress.com/self-commentaries/
Now escaping…
http://www.ligotti.net/showpost.php?p=144764&postcount=89
Important connection to The Trial ( Der Prozess) by Kafka.
https://twitter.com/monster_soup/status/962370044876423170
The big-headed and the small-.
St Petersburg 2010
A remarkable review of TBHP
http://www.georginabruce.com/?p=1555
nullimmortalis
Today’s quoted passage from THE GLASTONBURY ROMANCE (1933) by John Cowper Powys. This represents the first appearance of Geard: with a head like mine! But can one ‘own’ one’s head that is joined to the body. Don’t you only own things that need not be yours to own until you do own them?
“Here there was a suspended gas-globe, and here the strangers turned, revealing the black bowler hat and hooked Roman nose of Mr. Owen Evans, and a broad-shouldered, rather fleshy individual, without any hat, whose grizzled head under that suspended light seemed to Sam the largest human head he had ever seen. It was the head of a hydrocephalic dwarf; but in other respects its owner was not dwarfish. In other respects its owner had the normally plump, rather unpleasantly plump figure of any well-to-do-man, whose back has never been bent nor his muscles hardened by the diurnal heroism of manual labour.”
A review in October 2018
http://www.britishfantasysociety.org/reviews/the-big-headed-people-by-d-f-lewis-book-review/
Pingback: Frankie and Desmond’s Soft Tread of Origami Shadows within a Halo of Drizzle | DES LEWIS GESTALT REAL-TIME REVIEWS
From here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2828149749?book_show_action=true&from_review_page=1
“I am enraptured with this book, with its tone and surprising turns, and a world where things stand beside themselves to be noted and assessed. The first and last stories are particularly fine, though this is a small book and all the stories have a new voice,a new vision, a strangely compelling assumption of oddness that made me feel full of wonder. Highly recommended.” – Karen Heuler
Cate Gardner: http://www.categardner.net/2020/05/read-2020-51-big-headed-people-by-df.html