Gormenghast.

To north, south, east or west, turning at will, it was not long before his landmarks fled him. Gone was the outline of his mountainous home. Gone that torn world of towers. Gone the grey lichen; gone the black ivy. Gone was the labyrinth that fed his dreams. Gone ritual, his marrow and his bane. Gone boyhood. Gone.

There’s something startlingly unique about the language used by Mervyn Peake. He writes in ways I just can’t comprehend doing myself, and could only ever offer a hollow imitation of if I tried, but when I read his letters they just seem perfect. His sentences are slow, lengthy and weighted with adjectives, but they read so well. His descriptions are unlikely and shouldn’t work but they do. A favourite of mine in the first of his Gormenghast books, the knuckles of rock and blasphemous towers paint images so clear I actually found myself wondering just how the BBC adaptation ended up looking like it did.

Then again, though I quite liked the BBC version, it pales to the books because the books are so magnificently unfilmable. The vast and magnificent Countess Gertrude, the stick insect of Flay, the ungainly and sinister charm of Steerpike, even the wrinkled midgetness of Mrs Slagg; none of these things could ever be portrayed right, because Peake’s language conjours visions that could only ever work in the mind. Celia Imrie is an amazing actress, but (even fat suited as she was) Peake’s image of the slow dignity of the Countess as she escapes the library can never be matched on-screen to on page.

The final chapter of the first book (without a doubt the greatest ending I’ve ever read) when the city of Gormenghast is deserted, and Gertrude’s cats swarm in frantic horror among deserted halls looking for her... well, it’s impossible for me to replicate, impossible for anyone really. I’m thinking about this because I just picked up the third book and idly started reading, had to force myself to stop because it was sucking me in and I have other books to finish first. But soon (“my sweet” as the mountainous cook Swelter would doubtlessly add). Soon.