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288 pages, Hardcover
First published March 10, 2022
A doctor would probably have said I was depressed, psychotic, suffering some sort of break down. A less considered view might have been that I was barking, bonkers, not the full shilling. I wouldn't be so clinical, nor so droll. My way of living may not have been normal, nor my experiences run-of the-mill. But then what is normal? Turn on your television, consider what you're doing, what you're seeing. Sit with your dinner on your lap watching bombs fall on people in a city somewhere, then switch channels and watch a couple buy a house in Cambridge. I know I'm not saying anything new here. There are countless, equally prosaic examples we could all give. Which is the point. Normal is what we're conditioned to accept, and we accept it so readily. But there's nothing normal about any of it. As for the visions, I'd seen far rougher beasts when I was a child. Bodachs, apparitions, ghosts – whatever you want to call them. Full-blown hallucinations as alive as you or me. These current manifestations weren't nearly as intense. And whatever demons I was being pursued by - and God knows there were many - I now realised that during all those lost days and nights, I hadn't been trying to hide from them. I'd been trying to find them. I wanted passage back to that land, back to myself. Preferably without winding up in prison, a psychiatric ward, or turning up dead in a car somewhere. A reckoning was at hand. I could feel it in my mad bones.