The Mazemaster

by Peter Twohig

Melbourne, 1960. One Saturday morning, in the middle of busy Richmond, the Blayney kid’s brand new brother is kidnapped right out of his pram, setting off a train of events that couldn’t possibly have been anticipated. First, the Blayney family, who are a very mysterious crowd with dubious connections all over town, decide to take matters into their own hands. Then, the kid himself decides to conduct his own enquiries, knowing that this is probably a very bad idea, but driven as he might himself be a target for the kidnappers. Adopting the guise of The Mazemaster , he mobilises his friends, some of whom come from the dodgiest of families, and swings into action, collecting evidence all over the place, getting involved in a shooting, another kidnapping, an unwelcome hospitalisation, the theft of a train, being chased down into the maze of drains and tunnels beneath Richmond - territory he regards as his own - all in spite of dire warnings from his grandfather, who is a very scary bloke in his own right, a man from ASIO, and a beautiful gypsy lady who knows a lot more than she’s telling, finally getting into the stickiest mess you can possibly imagine. A brilliantly daring, touching and downright funny novel about loss, discovery and the kid in all of us. The Mazemaster is a crazy ride.

394 pages, Paperback

Published October 18, 2021

About the author

Peter grew up in Melbourne in the Fifties and Sixties and attended a series of very nasty Catholic schools. One night, during an air raid he escaped - no, wait, I made that up. What really happened was a very ordinary life, punctuated.

By the age of nine Peter was an accomplished raconteur (‘Dear Mrs Twohig, Peter tells stories,’ was his first and fairest review). His mother, a journalist and peerless BSA, explained to him that bullshit is even more convincing (and memorable) when written down. She pointed out that the radio serials he loved were actually scripted. He got it.

It was an easy leap from performing art to literature. During his De La Salle years he wrote quite a bit, and regularly contributed in the school magazine, the Eagle. Getting published was easy; getting censored was even easier. Back then, you didn’t get rejection slips, you got rejection beatings. Nevertheless, Peter kept on writing.

He attended several universities, and studied till he was blue in the face (literally true, though that’s another story). He became a prolific diarist with a view to publishing a novel. But the Lord of Reincarnation intervened (again) and sidetracked him. At least, that’s his story. Eventually, discouraged, he eventually became a Naturopath & Homoeopath, but really, he was a just a disenchanted artist.

Then the L of R took pity, and sayeth unto him, 'Okay, pal, you wanted it; now you got it, ' or something (That's how the L of R spakes [sic]). And he got it.

Reviews

[Jade O'Donohue · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Mums are always overreacting. I think God's elbow must have bumped against something when he was pouring the getting-shirty stuff into the original mum mix. But whereas Peanut's mum drew the line at kids' gangs, she always let him hang around with me, because she's Mum's best friend. Also, now that there's just the one of me, she has been a lot nicer.”