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The Indescribable Beauty of the Gormenghast Series
  • Post published:October 27, 2020
  • Post category:Literature
Gormenghast made me fall in love with illustrious words once again. The magnificence of its lexicon, the tumultuous waves of gothic intrigue insipid and intrepidly winding along with with the veritable array of wonders woven by the weaver Mervyn Peake. It makes me love the English language again. And in an age where people become lazier in their usage of words and in their speaking, by falling prey to poor communication through usage of social media and mass information, our love of words seems as important as ever.

Pick up a classic tale, lose yourself in the incredible works of the past. Be that a great classic work (great books) or a modern classic that is enough to make you fall in love with the worlds that have painstakingly been created, already, and widely available for us.
This is the opening line of Gormenghast, the 2nd book in the series:
Titus is seven. His confines, Gormenghast. Suckled on shadows; weaned, as it were, on webs of ritual: for his eyes, echoes, for his ears, a labyrinth of stone: and yet within his body something other—other than this umbrageous legacy. For first and ever foremost he is child
What are your favourite lines and worlds to get lost in, in these particularly cold and long dark nights of winter?
The first lines of the series are awash in such frightfully fruitfully distilled word crafting that it frighteningly akin to be basked and set aglow in a fiery bonfire of words.
The wordsmith Peake has known to be classically respected for his revolutionary imaginings of the splendid gothic realm of Gormenghast. But, upon beginning a novel and working my way through it, nothing can prepare you for the meticulously comprised stories and lives that envelop your imagination from a few sparse words.
So instead I thought I might muse on its inspiration and source of such delectable gothic delight that it so flawlessly performs in such select pages, I have chosen to be my favourite.
The book makes me feel strange ideas and complicated feelings, that I dont think i have ever experienced before. It is rather hard to descrobe. Never really have I experienced such things, except maybe when I was a lad, and the novel realm of words first unfolded before me, how the author does it and writes with such arduous and enveloping fervour I do not know.
Poetry is power. And words through poetry can transcend their limitations as much as realistically possible. That is the heart of poetry and the pinnacle of the English language.
It does make me wonder profusely how such writing is achieved, and on some research,, it appears that the author did in his later years suffer from his health. So I ask, is this the price to pay for art? Do we all have to suffer for our creations? It seems so, and the ones who say otherwise are usually those who have and will never come close to the level of art and poetry of Peake.
Our creations, if coming from our purest depths, manifestations of our innermost desires, dwelt and ground out and set afire in whatever means available is bound to provide impossibilities that without would never see the days of light.
The poetry of literature of such quality found in Gormenghast inspires me again, and I thank the author for his veritable sacrifices and I envy his love and lust for the wondrous worlds of words.
What are your favourite lines and worlds to get lost in, in these particularly cold and long dark nights of winter?n

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