It’s better to be honest. I’m not really Dominic Penhale. The book was written by a team of award-winning Chimpanzees, who laboured long and hard under the theoretical pretence that they could recreate the Complete Works of Shakespeare by bashing frantically on their 1950’s Hermes 3000 typewriters, day and night, banana or no banana. Using the infinity principle of Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity, only death could prevent success.
In the end, death couldn’t come soon enough, but they did thrash out Looking for Eden in the meantime.
And what it lacks in literary prowess it makes up for in profanities. In this respect it is a truly prodigious force.
Enough of all this digressing. I am a divorced middle-aged man from middle England. I suppose I went through a small mid-life crisis. Others may describe it as bigger than that, but let’s keep a lid on it.
During this time I had the enormous (dis)pleasure of speaking with friends of the same age and status, and realised that all those thoughts I had been having about purpose and hopes and lost dreams… well, most everyone else was having them too.
One morning I woke from a treacherous dream, a dream which became the trigger for the book that I had wanted to write during those post-divorce years. It’s not that I wanted to unleash a cynical virus upon the world, I just wanted to understand this life, a little better… and I thought that in writing it down, it might become a catharsis.
So, that’s how a troop of Chimpanzees came to write Looking for Eden.
I now have a team of Bonobos writing the sequel ‘The Iron Age Man’ – a sex fuelled romp through the shires of middle England – as befits a troop of bonobos. They have so far typed 65,000 words on my indolent behalf… bless them.
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