Monday 12 May 2014

Inspiration for Delirium: The Rimbaud Delusion PART FIVE

Inspiration for 
Delirium: The Rimbaud Delusion


Terence Tanfield 

Terence Tanfield was a controversial figure amongst beta readers of the novel. Some loved him, some hated him. Some said he did not belong in the book at all. 

F Murray Abraham would make a good Terence Tanfield - if he was a bit older.
There may be some truth in this last viewpoint. Terence Tanfield could be removed without affecting the main story of Delirium: The Rimbaud Delusion. I believe, however, that he does add something important to the novel. 

Terence Tanfield is a cynical old man who manages at last to find some tranquillity. To me he is a reflection both of what Rimbaud might have been like had he lived to old age, and of what Andrea could have become without Albert’s intervention. 

Terence Tanfield muses on the big questions of life and though he believes in nothing, cannot quite help himself from wishing that he did.

Excerpt from
Delirium: The Rimbaud Delusion

Terence Tanfield's Blog

Still on the Hunt for the Spiritual...

I thought it was all over this morning. The End.

     Brain was still functioning, just, but the old bones declined to join in the fun. Thought I was going to have to wait for whats-er-name, little blonde bird. Nursey. She comes to get me up and get me ready but I always beat her to it. Francesca Hutton, Or Fran-tchess-ka Uh’un, as she says, spitting it out with a great smacking of tongue and stopping of glottis. As if she’s tasting her own name and finding it unpleasant. Managed to shuffle my bits together before she turned up though, and rose to greet the dawn. Deo Gratis!

     Decided to go through all my files again in case I’ve missed something. There are clues in there; there have to be. One day—is this a vain hope?—one day I’ll find something that will lead me to the prize. I know they went back to France. The papers. After their sojourn in Gairmany, Düsseldorf or Dresden or wherever it was.

     I have wind of them later, being sold at auction. Where is that note? Here: A packet of documents changed hands in 1952 for an undisclosed sum. They must be the same ones. There can’t be two sets of missing Rimbaud manuscripts doing the rounds.

     It’s not a lot to go on. Tenuous. Still, a suggestion that the chase is not in vain. That somewhere, at some time, some bloody documents did indeed exist.

     Fran-tchess-ka left me some soup. Well, she opened the bloody tin and sloshed it into the pan. Down chew forget it Mr T, she squeaks, yoonow wotchor laike. Carer, that’s what she is. Not a nurse. Employed to sling the gaga into their wheelchairs of a morning. To tyke em dahner shops for a breffa fresh air. And mop up their drool. I have not yet resorted to drooling. 


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