This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual persons, Old Ones or Elder Gods is purely coincidental.
Matt Thomas' "Green Unpleasant Land" is a fun, often mind-scrambling look into an alternate Earth, perhaps merely a few skips and jumps away via mystic tunnels from our own. In this bizarre reality - and history mind you - magick is very real and not in the good, "oh Dearest One, how can I grant your every gentle and innocent wish?" kind of way. For just as a brave, lantern-jawed Bruce Campbell found out himself, the evil shenanigans of Hotep, Highest Priest Dude and Summoner of The King (no, not Elvis) bodes only the very worst for mankind. This despite claiming that he is "just a humble shepherd; sent to this septic isle, this green unpleasant land" (ok, so we get the title now, right?). Still, if you can get past the language of the time - Queen Victoria still being seated with her ample royal bo… ttom planted firmly on the Throne - as well as some weird reimaginings, you'll be okay. Why even the admittedly enjoyable cultural references will serve to tickle whatever bone you're willing to display to the punters along the way.
There are so many other realities, some benign, many horrific.
In this world, Paris lies in ruins, having fallen prey to the great summoning of the King in Yellow and now filled with demons most foul under a spinning maelstrom of evil that blots out the City of Light (hint: IRONY!). But fear not, as at very least Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, everyone's favorite height-challenged painter of renown has taken up residence in London, living not a million miles away from the newly constructed Eiffel Tower (but luckily not apparently coming across Jack the Ripper during his Whitechapel-centered reign of terror). As you can see, you'll need to be on your toes as not only the language and history and even social justice reforms are quite different, but also keep your eyes peeled for cultural references the author makes throughout. I did manage to spot the nod towards Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness (one does not forgot the scars of "higher" learning so easily) that we're reminded of after the final scene.
In England weirdness stalks the land. The shires are beset with trade unionism and lycanthropy.
Furthermore, I am still convinced that I also caught at least one mention of the most famous scyfy classics beginning with the word "Star", though I'll be damned if I can find it now (UPDATE - here you go: "Resistance? Invalid!" Suck it Borg!). Maybe the salute to one Mick Jagger or even the cinematic masterpiece that is "C.H.U.D." knocked the sense away from me. And speaking of which, who would fail to applaud the dedication towards Monty Python's Flying Circus? "Tis but a flesh-wound" Sir Percy cries out to at one point to an injured dueller! Why it reminded me of another quote from that most hilarious of comic troupes, to whit: "Bicycle Repair Man! But...how?!" No, wait, that's a line from my own favorite sketch, what I meant to say was: "My brain hurts!" Which is honestly what I'll be saying repeatedly as I'm walking away from this fantasy/scyfy/what the hell was it adventure. Oh and I probably shouldn't touch on the fact that my wife is French what with the plethora (trust me, count them) of insults toward same scattered throughout.
He associates with the scum of humanity - refugees from the Paris demi monde, writers, Americans.
Though the book itself (ah, yes, we need to talk about that, don't we?) does not fly by at some as yet undiscovered speed, it is still a well-paced read. And that is with the confusing banter between particularly the two very, very different multiverse participants, namely, Bill Higgins - gentleman's gentleman and manservant to the somewhat (read: completely) irritating Alexander Faversham, youngest of Lord Bracknell’s sprawling brood (and thus of no true consequence to proper society except for keeping the papers loaded with bullshit adventures and other tales of derring-do-what-now?s). Still, Master Alex of course is known throughout the land as "England’s foremost gentleman adventurer and renowned chasseur de skirt". Mind you, Bill isn't exactly innocent as he is exceedingly opinionated about many things ("Not even the Baptists were this eccentric in their ways.") but if anything, he is a definitive example of his class and loyalty from the time and space he occupies. And then there's Gwen. Who is… someone… for sure… Did I mention that her boss seems to be a hologram taken directly from the set of The Matrix?
That was when the wheels of reality began to depart the rails.
Anyway, Gwen is of course of keen interest because she is obviously here at the behest of those "in the know" about this whole multiverse issue (hint: not Marvel Comics or Films! Though an appearance by Loki would have been very welcome!) and quite the kick-ass female protagonist that so many applaud with great, um, rousing clapping whenever one appears in fine literature. She's more than adept at battling demonic monstrosities and crazed psychopathic monks and has one of those guns with her that you can rely on more often than not to send the bullets in the proper direction. She also likes to call out things like "let's get ready to rock and roll" which, surprisingly, no one even bats an unbathed eyelash at in terms of comprehension and/or confusion. OK, OK, this is not at all to say brave Bill is totally useless - he's both well-read as well as being, quote, "master of my master’s cupboards - I kept the skeletons within all neat and tidy." So there's someone to pull for for just about every reader out there, n'est-ce pas?
Proper preparation prevents piss-poor performance… probably…
Their adventures then take them from obviously London through to the decrepit country-side of England (not an opinion but, again, with the social policies of this reality, pretty much everything outside of London is just plain gods awful!), where they even have to face quite nasty creatures of great fame and exposure. I'm not sure what to call the hairy - and tentacled! - beastly "hounds of the Tivertons" as the W-word is used only a grand total of one time in the book! Let's just say that you need to keep your eyes open - STILL! he reminded the audience - every time we see something constructed of silver. Then they - Bill and Gwen, not your eyes! - naturally catch a reinforced, armor-plated boat - the Nostromo - which should not be confused with the book they're seeking, namely, the Notsonomicon, which should not be confused with… ok, you get it. As I mentioned, by this point, my brain was threatening to squeeze itself out of my ear canals and make a run for it.
A bleakly-attired conjurer took the stage. He pulled hats out of rabbits…
(read it again!)
There are of course then climatic battle scenes with at least one utter bastard catching a bullet square in the middle of his forehead along with further confusion as to who (or is it whom?) is really the one - or ones - who saved the day. And I won't even mention the apparent gory death of Baker Street's most famous detective and his helpful assistant at one point, I really shan't (hm, tall guy with a cape, deer-stalker and over-sized pipe with a shorter companion who had a moustache…). That being said (even though I promised I wouldn't) it's a good ending where I have to admit to being relieved that we didn't have an utter "Phantom of the Opera" moment once Andrew Lloyd-Webber was name-dropped (speaking of dropping, I can't be the only one that expected the chandelier to do same). Again, fair readers, this is multi-verse action of which we speaketh, so things like exact locations, times, and even the laws of physics need to be taken with a grain of salt. Make it a full soup ladle full come to think of it…
His kingdom will be cannibalism . . . scientology . . . musical theatre. Hell on Earth!
Overall then, a fun adventure for my first foray into whatever qualifies as a "steampunk" re-imagining. I really enjoyed the author's sense of humo(u)r, no matter how xerothermically dry it got. And the book definitely has some really solid fantasy twists to it, especially once things started flying out of and then back into the giant swirling evil anus in the sky! The editing comes in at what I'd call "a little bit shaky" - some mixed up words or spellings (Hobs or Hobbs Lane he wondered) and also a few homophonic hiccups - but nothing that hurt my cranial material any worse than it was already feeling. If you'd like any comparisons to go with your post-review tea and biscuits, then you'll just have to accept my own opinion of this having somewhat of a "Laundry Files" vibe to it. And with that being said, I'm off to do my very best at not being seen. Oh bollocks, I'm still saying this out loud, aren't I….