One Too Many Mornings
Jenny Fabian and Johnny Byrne
foreword by Mick Farren
foreword by Mick Farren
Jay was haunting my dreams. He kept telling me he wasn’t dead, even though we’d buried him nearly a year ago. He still seemed to be inside my mind, like he’d been all those years ago. Just before he’d died he’d asked me to get the book published, the book we’d written after the dust had settled on the Dandelions era. He’d handed me a tattered orange folder that I’d never expected to see again, covered in a web of rejected titles in his spidery writing. So many of the people who lived within this manuscript were dead, dimmed into memories, yet once they had been so much part of my life. I was getting used to death by now. Not only Jay, lying beneath the sod in a small graveyard in distant Norfolk, but also Theo, that lynchpin of our lives, whose time had come high up in the altitude of a Bolivian mountain. He’d been trying to track down an obscure Inca dialect when he’d run out of breath, and life. There had been a splendid memorial for him at the Chelsea Arts Club, with a ceremonial burying of his false teeth under a tree in the garden followed by fisticuffs between two scrawny remnants of the sixties. Who was left now from those glory days? Caplan had been the first to go, one too many speedballs, Maxwell McKewan had shot himself though the eyeball babbling about Borges, and Shultz had checked out when he’d learnt he had an incurable disease. Ben had just faded away, he’d really died many years before he actually left this earth. Pentron still survived, relentlessly revising his Jungian thesis in a smoke-filled room he’d hardly left for the last twenty years. He’d finally found infinity within his grasp via the internet. Maddie Snow, my comrade-in-arms, had floated off to Mount Ecstasy
Hardback £15, Kindle edition £5
fiction/roman à clef
Spring 2012
fiction/roman à clef
Spring 2012
