His maddest yetý
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Robert Rankin's 15th novel shares the same stylistic feel as A Dog Called Demolition, with its central plot intersected by a number of (occasionally related) tall tales and bad poetry. If anything though it's even madder than that quite insane book, and is quite possibly the looniest bit of nonsense that Rankin has written thus far. The story proper is presented as Rankin's fictional autobiography, with the author blessed (or cursed) with the ability to control Chaos Theory, so that by making small actions he can make great changes to the world. Running parallel to this is the even more bonkers story of a sporran infested by a race of sentient sprouts attempting to take over humanity. While this is a stand alone novel its general level of insanity coupled with a number of recurring characters (Pooley and Omally and most of the rest of the 'Brentford' regulars, Barry the Sprout from the Armageddon Trilogy, and Sir John Rimmer, Dr Harney and Danbury Collins the psychic youth from The Garden of Unearthly Delights to name a few) makes this less suitable for the Rankin novice, who may mistake this as a pile of gibberish. For confirmed addicts though, this is gloriously deranged stuff. Some good concepts and tall stories coupled with some great comedy moments, it's Rankin at his most undisciplined and free flowing, but madness of this level is tantamount to genius.
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We have a phrase for this where I come from
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Funny" is hard to do; Woody Allen, PJ O'Rourke, SJ Perelman, Ring Lardner. Not this. This is a shopping list of stylistic and conceptual faults, neatly compiled and duly executed. The book is just an endless spout of crap, frankly. Not funny, not surreal or off the wall, as the title reference would have you believe. This guy lives in Brentford, and this is printed proof of what happens to people who live there, if they're unlucky and don't die quick. I haven't read any of his other suicide notes, and hey - I'm not going to.
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Amusingly Scary
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These two words about sum up this great work by one of my personal favourite authors: amusingly scary. Full to the brim with parodies, humour and twisty storylines, Sprout Mask Replica is a brilliant book for Rankin veterans and new-comers alike.
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Rankin Throws Up A Dud
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You have to judge any book by any writer against their previous work and, therefore, against what you know they're capable of. Given the sheer genius of the now legendary Brentford Trilogy, it has to be said that this particular RR effort is pretty dire. The whole point of his comedy is that he forms his insane ramblings into some form of storyline. In Sprout Mask Replica, he doesn't even try to form a story - he just rambles....
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The culmination of a life's work (sort of)
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First up, this isn't the book to start reading Rankin with. It's got so many references to earlier books, that wouldn't be doing it justice. This should have been his final novel; it draws together many of the earlier plotlines, and pretty much all the expected running gags, into a (slightly warped) whole. Yet at the same time, it manages to throw in enough short stories and new ideas to make the book stand on its own as one of his best. Yes, there are poems (unfortunately), but they're much better than in the Garden of Unearthly Delights. There's even a pretty good one about a devil-possessed matchbox. This and the Voodoo Handbag are the capstone of the sprout-powered great pyramid of Brentford. Or the chromium-plated mouthpiece of the megaphone of destiny. Of course.
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