Imagine you work for a grubby Soho publishing company (the fictional Glass Eye Press) in the late 1960s and an unhinged anarchist gets in touch, offering to send you his memoirs which will detail how and why he will commit the crime of the century. Such is the premise of Richard Milward’s clever dark comedy, Man-Eating Typewriter.
Coded messages are sprinkled throughout the book, with a faulty typewriter playing a key role
The novel’s severely unreliable narrator is Raymond Marianne Novak, the son of a French surrealist (semi-affectionately called Madam Ovary), who is brought up in a war-damaged London squat. Novak is breathtakingly ugly, pansexual, a dab hand at the old maquillage and can run up a spectacular cossie on his sewing machine in minutes. His adventures take him into high society, swinging 1960s London, a mental institution (where he is castrated), Gibraltar (where he falls for a Barbary ape) and Paris (where he gets involved in the riots).
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in