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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE
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6M P3 |
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Between Two Worlds By Neil Roper |
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“…when the exterior world is disgusting, enervating, corruptive and brutalizing, honest and sensitive people are forced to seek somewhere within themselves a more suitable place to live….” Gustave Flaubert.
This novel is a parable on madness and modern society. Who is mad? Society? The individual madman? It examines the NHS, terrorism, prophecy and personal relationships.
Here follows the first 2 pages of my novel BETWEEN TWO WORLDS in the form of a diary. It takes place in the present day in the Channel Islands.
Midday, May
Faintly at first, growing later to a crescendo, the drumming, the throbbing, the hammering, pound even now in my ears. It was no dream. Waking up this morning I perceived beyond the frame of my small attic window, the long steel neck of a crane. I breakfasted on pneumatic drills, bulldozers and excavators from below. It has not stopped since. In comparison the roar of cars, the wails of sirens and ambulances and police cars, the growls of motorbikes, are mere birdsongs. Peering out of my window just now, I noticed that the concrete foundations had already been laid, while the structure of the building is evident: square. Still, in my mind, I can see an old, white painted mansion with green shutters, as it always was: striking and classical in elegance. For hours I used to admire the layout of its rooms, and imagine the elegance of its chandeliers and carpets. At night in the oblique rays of the streetlights, its white façade seemed spectral and sad, as if it were reminiscing to itself eternally. Recently it had appeared empty. No one had entered or emerged for weeks. On either side, its neighbours were tall, concrete blocks of flats, so it was dwarfed, lost and forlorn. It seemed the symbol of a way of life long since vanished. Now it has gone. Demolished, wiped out. The only evidence of its existence was some colour photos I had taken months ago, when it seemed inhabited. Enclosed between four walls, the size of a cell serving as kitchen, bedroom and living room, I focus on the handle of the door: someone may come in at any moment. They may want to demolish MY house. To be sure, it is not my house. I have a rented room. Yet it could be demolished and I homeless.
Midday, end of May
In this town there is but one place to assemble, but one place where notoriety is achieved unconsciously, without willing it. There, feeling with a light heart, that One can only thoroughly enjoy being idle when there’s plenty of work to do (Jerome K Jerome), did my steps take me. The square by the sea. It was lunchtime, so, on all sides the sun seemed to give an unaccustomed lustre to the slate roofs, while the breeze seemed to lazily caress the chestnut trees beneath which I chose a seat. There was a constant procession of skirts cascading colourfully in the sunshine. It was a welcome escape from my room and its view of cement, concrete, dust, noise, trucks and bulldozers. While admiring this parade of female fashion, my eyes suddenly caught sight of a most beautiful girl who expressed a finesse quite lacking in this seaside exile of mine. The owner was a young woman dressed unexceptionally in a blue cotton skirt and white blouse Her roving eyes seemed to absorb everything in their path. She sat down barely a few inches from me on the bench, in the full glare of the sunshine. Next to her, an old man was muttering to himself as well as to flocks of pigeons, among which was a white terrier yapping excitedly and ignoring her commands. He ran off chasing a bird, so she rose in alarm and cried out: “Jesus! Jesus! Come back at once!” “Why, if I may be so bold as to ask, do you call the dog Jesus?” Astonished, the girl abruptly brought the full focus of her blue eyes onto me. A fleeting shadow of irritation passed over her face as she weighed up the intrusion. “Oh, the dog! I call him Jesus because he has a habit of disappearing for three days, and then turning up where you least expect him And he attracts crowds of people.” Tail between its legs, little Jesus skulked back to its mistress, who put a leash on him. I felt quite envious of the creature.
Etc, etc.
EXCERPT from a one-act PLAY entitled CHECKMATE
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The theme of this play is alienation, isolation and loneliness in a modern city.
DRAMATIS PERSONNAE
Marius………………………………………… A YOUNG MAN, ABOUT 20 TO 23
Samantha……………………………………… A PLASTIC DOLL
TIME; The present
SETTING: A one-bedroom flat in a modern city, in Europe.
NEWS ANNOUNCER ON TV
A man who had just recently been separated from his wife, today went berserk with a kitchen knife killing her together with their two young children before committing suicide himself. Earlier there had been a dispute over the children’s custody. The government has become so alarmed at the increase in family violence, and problems with child custody that it has decided to set up a royal commission to look into the matter…..
AT THIS POINT MARIUS GOES TO THE TV AND SWITCHES OFF THE SOUND LEAVING ONLY THE PICTURES. RETURNING TO THE SOFA, MARIUS FEVERISHLY TEARS APART THE STRINGS FROM THE PACKAGE, UNTIL AT LAST ONLY A FOLDED PLASTIC FEMALE DOLL LIES ON HIS LAP. IMPATIENTLY MARIUS EXTRACTS A MANUAL AND STARTS TO BLOW UP THE DOLL. IT TAKES THE SHAPE OF A NAKED WOMAN OF EXAGGERATED PROPORTIONS. AS IT IS FULLY BLOWN UP. MARIUS HOLDS IT AT ARMS LENGTH AND ADMIRES IT. GINGERLY PUTTING HER ON THE SOFA BESIDE HIM, MARIUS GOES TO THE MUSIC SYSTEM (CD) AND PUTS ON L’AMOR BRUJO.
BACK ON THE SOFA, MARIUS TAKES THE DOLL IN BOTH ARMS AND FONDLES HER LOVINGLY
MARIUS
Now we have all the elements of a perfect relationship! No moods, no periods, no rejections, available at all times! What more could I want from a woman?
KISSES THE DOLL IMPETUOUSLY AND HUGS IT CLOSE TO HIM.
I think that calls for a small celebration, don’t you?
Etc, etc.
MSS seeking a publisher in the UK
A novel entitled BETWEEN TWO WORLDS
About 7 short stories in English (1 in French) seeking to be published in one hardback collection.
A collection of translated (by me) poems by LUC VUAGNAT (deceased) (French to English)
Plays seeking a theatre producer are:
CHECKMATE (ONE ACT)
RUN OF THE MILL (ONE ACT)
LAND OF HOPE AND PROMISE (ONE ACT)
Long plays:
THE NIGHTMARE
THE BUREAUCRATS
LES EXCLUS (all in French) |