Madness Fills Lulls With Wallop



If you read this story, they’ll likely take you away in the ‘plain van’, and my review is to save as many people as possible from its smouldering insanity taking hold as fire. Not sure though if it’s too late for the likes of me. Seven chapters in all. About firemen bored by a lull in duties with there now not being a Blitz as there was in 1940, but one chapter mentions ‘syrens’ so there’s hope. Not sure why Henry Green had a girl in Hyde Park quote Paul Verlaine’s verse in the original French without translation, perhaps to provide a sort of bridge between Germany and England that could be also used to translate bombs across its obscurely unseens of foreign passage, perhaps also as a way to act as abridging this whole exercise in Lights being too gassy for me (the barman being light-handed!) and Wallop’s not served in this Firemen’s bar where someone thinks Wally Race had a brother called Sam or Sambo, while the last chapter has someone called Wal. Not to speak of the officially posted ‘stranger’. The woman who spears sheep with her umbrella or submits pets to ‘strangilation’, notwithstanding.
But I still try to rescue you, especially from the bit about a blubbery barrage balloon, or to help you down from seeking the seat of the fire in the roof of your head. Anyone reading this review will be saved all the dangers of reading this story for themselves, thus avoiding lethally simple words harbouring a blitzkrieg of meaning that would otherwise directly translate through to the mind under the subterfuge of slippery meaninglessness or ignorable passages of pretentious French. Even ‘The Heat of the Day’, I say, would be safer Blitz fiction. Or Mysterious Kôr. 

Gerald had a check shirt.

“This was a reference to the fact that, because he pleaded he had to check his stock, the barman was excused fatigues.”


Anthology context of above review:

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