By Will Self
Henry Wotton, homosexual, drug addicted, and husband of Batface, the irrefutably aristocratic daughter of the Duke of This or That, is on the heart of a clique devoted to dissolution. His good friend Baz Hallward, an artist, has found a tender guy who's the very epitome of male attractiveness — Dorian grey. His deploy Cathode Narcissus captures all of Dorian's attract, and, might be, whatever else. definitely, after an evening of debauchery that climaxes in a veritable conga line of buggery, Wotton and Hallward are stuck within the hideous net of a retrovirus that turns into synonymous with the last decade. 16 years later the Royal Broodmare, as Wotton has dubbed her, lies loss of life in a Parisian underpass. yet what of Wotton and Hallward? How have they fared as shares leap and T-cell counts plummet? And what of Dorian? How is it that he continues to be so younger whereas throughout him shrivel and die? Set opposed to the AIDS epidemic of the eighties and nineties, Will Self's Dorian is a shameless remodeling of our most vital fable of shamelessness, brilliantly evoking the last decade within which it used to be nice to stare into the abyss, as long as you have been donning pairs of Ray-Bans.
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I agree to visit Tanrose's mother tomorrow. Tanrose hurries off downstairs, to cook. As she leaves, Makri walks into my office. " Makri frowns. " "Well that's unfortunate. Thraxas the Investigator does not reveal details of private consultations with his clients. " Chapter Five I'm sitting in front of the fire, musing on Tanrose's tale. There's probably nothing in it other than the confused ramblings of an old woman, but I'm willing to check it out. For one thing, I like Tanrose, and for another I'm greatly in need of money.
As I inhale, the world, already not looking so bad, improves considerably. There are some strange noises outside my inner door, the one that leads down to the bar. Normally I'd be annoyed at such an early interruption to my day but I wander over genially and drag the door open. Out in the corridor I find Palax and Kaby, two young street musicians. There was a time when I'd have been displeased to see them because the young couple are not what you'd call your standard citizens of Turai. They affect the strangest clothes and hairstyles and have facial piercings never seen before in the city, and they live in a caravan which they park behind the tavern.
Can't get over the time I punched him in the face. Probably he's been looking for revenge ever since. And now he thinks he can humiliate me at the card table. Poor sap. " Makri is doubtful. " "That's because you don't appreciate how much he dislikes me. " "You've done that to most people in the city," says Makri. "That's true. " We walk on towards Quintessence Street. " asks Makri. I admit I don't. The most I can raise is about forty. Which might be a problem. " I ask. "Of course I don't," says Makri.