Reactions to a Whale and a Chimp.

Here are a couple of pullulating reviews I got for my first two novels... 

This is from Mary Fletcher's Art Blog:

"The Horned Whale by Jeremy Schanche

The Horned Whale is a collection of two stories, a novel, some poems and a ‘Dream Manifesto’
There are even three drawings.

I began with the poems which being shorter are easier to digest.
I liked the manifesto with its echo of the American constitution.

My favourite was the ‘Ghost-Hulk of a Phantom’ which swept me willingly along a flood of allteration, lists, fantasy, made up and foreign words, rhythmic repetition and  humorous surprises in a pleasurable ride to its hero-rescuing climax which made me laugh out loud in a delighted way.

The other two parts are similarly fanciful. The Kramvil has more plot but even then that  could be summarised in a few sentences- it’s the whirling deluge of language that is striking. Occasionally certain words I found over used such as ‘pullulating’.
Again the hero encounters physical dangers and falls for a beautiful woman with whom he exits the tale in a rosy tinted halo of glory.
There’s not much character development or emotional enquiry.
It’s not the sort of writing I usually go for but it’s remarkable, unusual and flows under its own head of romantic steam.

Jeremy Schanche lives in Penzance and as well as writing is a versatile musician."

Originally published here:

Also by Mary Fletcher:

President Chimp by Jeremy Schanche

 "President Chimp is a short work presenting the escape from Detroit zoo of a monkey who takes over the Presidency of America.

Jeremy Schanche satirizes the Chimp story colourfully, showing us a creature bearing grudges from his past treatment, wildly unpredictable  and dangerous, ludicrous and grotesque.
’Chimpy hugged the limelight  and worked the crowd with a deftness of touch that made Ziggy Stardust seem a bumbling amateur dramatist in a village panto.’

Along the way the author manages to bring in serious swipes at the death penalty, the Mexican border wall, built with non Union Labour, the English Prime Minister, Bojo, etc.
 England is ‘a tiny island swarming with a bizarre mixture of effete intellectuals  and turnip munching medieval peasants,’
Elton John comes in for criticism and whistling ability is seen as a sign of humanity. I wasn’t so keen on that as I cannot whistle but I have heard the author is accomplished in that art.
Chimp flies into rages,’his face quivered in simian mania, going from pale orange to deepest  darkest blood red, like a tequila sunrise.’
It’s this inventive turn of phrase that carries the narrative flying along to what I found to be a satisfying conclusion.

There are two more sections in the book which contrast dramatically with the first section.
In ‘More of everything’ the author gives us a fable about wanting  to make one’s senses develop and how the hero comes to a profound conclusion. This fable can go off at any tangents, surprising the reader.

The third section, ‘Into the  thunderbolt  land’  takes us to Tibet, the Chinese invasion, and the quest for Buddhist enlightenment.
What a contrast- kindness and transcendence.

Thus the book gives us three levels of existence, from lurid gross materialism, through surreal sensations to acceptance, ending with spiritual enlightenment.
The journey leaves this reader in no doubt which is preferable."

Originally published here: 

Finally, this review is by Cornish author Linda Camidge:

The Horned Whale by Jeremy Schanche

"Within this book you will find a 340-page Gothic novel (The Kramvil), a novella (Ghost-hulk of a Phantom), a short story (The Janetta Stone), and some poetry. Thus the reader may nibble and feast by turns, according to appetite. Although all three tales are set in West Cornwall with a particular focus on ‘New Lynsmouth’, and there is enjoyable play with the names of streets and pubs, no insider knowledge is required or expected of the reader. You don’t need to know where Florence Place is, to enjoy the character of that name.

There are appealing love stories running along beside Elias and Arthur’s adventures, which avoid the traps of sentimentality and unnecessary detail. Both men enjoy the occasional sight and sensation of female bodies in a straightforward manner, without prurience, equivocation or guilt. There is also a rich collection of steam-punk style technology, and if you’ve ever warmed to the pioneers of early flight, or find human invention to be a glorious thing, you’ll love the ornithopter in The Kramvil and the underground transport system that animates The Janetta Stone.

The main characters of the three prose pieces share the same endearing features: Elias, Arthur and Pat are courageous, good-hearted optimists, who face discouragement with good cheer and triumph over difficulty. Ghost-hulk of a Phantom is a broadly present-day satire, but the other two play about with time, mixing in elements from the 18th to early 20th centuries. Think Michael Moorcock ‘s Pyat trilogy and Mother London, Jules Verne, Mary Shelley. But Schanche also seems to have a deep-rooted optimism – a faith in humankind – all too rarely seen in either literature or life.

The Kramvil, in particular, is a banquet of wordage cooked up into glorious combinations. I enjoyed the celebration of words that really should get out more (eg. ‘singularities’); ‘I used to know what that meant’ re-acquaintances (eg. ‘autochthonous’); and ‘I didn’t even know that was a thing’ discoveries (eg. ‘gambrels’, ‘blet’). Sound patterns – alliteration, rhythm, near-rhyme - are deployed with joy and skill. There’s some Tudorbethan whimsy to the spelling, just the right amount of Cornish in the mix to give flavour without overwhelming the English monoglot… and a glossary.

Meanwhile the plots rattle along without annoying complications or sub-plots – leaving the reader free to enjoy the language, characters and thrills. I read most of the book on a long train journey, and found it a most agreeable travelling companion.

In short, a sample:

I dreamed my way down Ox Road and reeled past the Keel Alley and Nagdarf Place… snaking my way serpere like a seething serpent crawling ‘long Creeping Lane… I whirled through alleys of moss and liverwort, of myrtle and podocarpus, blet on apples, mottles, speckles, spicules… I must gather my wits and steer my way to that bleak house that lurks, shutters shut, cobwebbed curtains fluttering in afternoon flyblown slow breeze… Then the thought of our beast-thing back there in the tank, in the lab, it all came crashing back into my minde… God! What have I got involved in?

Great herrings! Whatever next!"

Originally published here:

I was very happy to receive this feedback. My only slight caveat is that I was not actually criticizing Elton John in particular, but rather I was trying to satirize the former U.S. Attorney General, who bears a striking physical resemblance to the aforesaid histrionic pianist!