Startred reading this while sitting at the back of a bus, returning home from a boobie-babble filled day, and had no memory of the bus journey beyond wherever Michael Moorcock took me in his novellette.And yes, that is Michael Moorcock on the cover. On a camel.Merely doing in Rome as the Romans do. Which is to say, easing into his own pleasant abstraction. Jerry Cornelius is back. Or rather, Jerry Corneilius 2.0 is here now so come and see. i cannot use the term "back" as he never went away. Can a fictional character ever really go away? Into the land of fiction perhaps. We all live in the overlap these days anyway, so hold on tight, its going to get bumpy. It always does when Jerry Corneilis is about. This one is tinged with a modern satircal edge. Edging in every sense of the word. Hes always on the edge of something, is our Jerry, just ask his ma. Bouncing aroud having a gasm of one kind or another. In this case anarchogasm, I suppose.There you go, Michael Moorcock driving me to invent a new word just to keep up with him.
Always a fish out of water, Jerry Corneilius is really swimming with sharks in this story. A right bunch of pirahnas to be sure. Its become a swirling mass of decadence and moral decrepitude, almost everything stinks. It makes his previous ammoral activities seem almost child like in comparison. And thats only America, sweet Fanny Cradocc. He seems all at sea in this snakes wedding of modernity. thankfully, this small novella is accompanied with a rewardingly recorded interview with Michael Moorcock himself. As he spins fourth from his own personal confession dial, probably through the music press. Its an interview which affords the reader a glimpse into the mercurial master of surreal adventurism working and thinking processes. Which will not reveal the true wizard behind his mind curtain, just another glimpse at a possible reality.
Michael Moorcock 2.0.
Its a tasty life aint it.
