Rancid Pansies

Rancid Pansies est le 3ème livre (et dernier, semble-t-il) des aventures de Gerald Samper, esthète homosexuel, grand amateur de cuisine et d'opéra, et, pour son malheur, auteur de biographies pour des célébrités stupides. Ce 3ème volume est dans la continuité des précédents (qu'il vaut mieux avoir lu) et ravit le lecteur par son humour jubilatoire, ses situations improbables, ses jeux de mots, ... C'est drôle, très drôle, hilarant même par moments.

James Hamilton Paterson is a great writer. I've read all his books: short stories, fiction, non-ficton and they are all brilliant. Rancid Pansies continues the story of Gerald and despite hilarious set backs he finally triumphs! Paterson's cutting wit is marvelous.

I've read the preceding 2 books with relish, and this did not disappoint as a final romp through the world of Gerald Samper and his assorted cronies. Perhaps less acerbic than the other 2, this was a fitting tying up of ends and final fleshing out of characters.

It was hard to imagine how James Hamilton-Paterson could follow-on from 'Amazing Disgrace' with such sublime and seamless ease, but the hapless Gerry Samper is at his best - and his worst - right from the beginning of 'Rancid Pansies'. Hamilton-Paterson's surgical eye for detail, his highly-attuned antennae for human foibles together with his fragile ennui that seemingly ricochets from high delight to the depths of despair in his monstrous yet undeniably lovable protagonist: arch, self-obsessed and deeply neurotic, Gerald Samper's observations on us all are unflinchingly - if buttock-clenchingly - deadly accurate.I lost this book last week - in the course of my third reading - when a SWAT team of Ninja aircraft cleaners in Dubai took it upon themselves to view anything left in the seat pocket, even if only for an hour, as discardable. Despite my protestations to the Purser, it was clear that Gerry, Marta, the Vomiting Gorilla et al, had been irretrievably consigned to the Bin Liners of Efficiency.Owing to, and, perhaps, in spite of, the immense disappointment of my loss, I, like Gerry, found myself at my spineless best, when, disembarking at Heathrow seven hours later, the Purser called over the heads of a dozen people standing in front of me, "what was the title again of that book you lost in Dubai?" and I replied, "Oh, James Hamilton-Paterson". My bare-faced cowardice was duly played back to me with uncalled-for rapidity by my adorable 14-year-old daughter as we walked through the aerobridge: "Dad, why didn't you say the proper name of that book when the cabin steward asked you?", she loudly enquired.Here I am back buying another copy of 'that book' without delay.

The author has extraordinary humor and command of language. This comedy of manners is one of the best ever.