Order of the Golden Sprout The New Robert Rankin Fan Club

Robert Rankin's fondness for demented conspiracy theories is complicated by time travel in The Witches of Chiswick--which demonstrates again that everything you know is wrong, that Brentford is the true centre of the multiverse, and that nobody is quite as weird as Robert Rankin.

Will Starling lives in a dystopian 23rd century where Brentford Utility Conurbation is crammed with 303-storey tower blocks and synthetic food has made everyone vastly obese. Except for Will, who's mocked for morbid slimness and eccentric tastes--art, for example. When he notices the digital watch in a well-known Victorian painting, a murderous cover-up begins. The sinister Witches of Chiswick are determined to erase all traces of the other past.

Time-travelling Terminator-style automata keep arriving, not from the future but from that lost Victorian age of Babbage supercomputers, flying cabs running on beamed power from Tesla transmitters and the imminent launch of Her Majesty's Moonship Victoria. Thanks to the convenient time machine of a Mr Wells, Will finds himself in that other 19th century, complicating the stories of his own ancestors.

There he's tutored by the flamboyant guru or conman Hugo Rune. He stands in for Sherlock Holmes--called away to a Dartmoor case--and investigates the Jack-the-Ripper murders. As tends to happen in the Rankin universe, he acquires a Holy Guardian Sprout called Barry. Will even meets himself, another Will from a very different future. Even aided by his best friend Tim, by the Brentford Snail Boy (raised like Tarzan by wild animals, not apes but snails), and by the deadly martial art Dimac, can Will hope to foil a witchy plan to reprogram time and send high-tech Britain back to gaslight as midnight strikes on December 31, 1899?

Other walk-ons include Queen Victoria, the Elephant Man, William McGonagall (Poet Laureate), Doctor Watson, the Invisible Man, Oscar Wilde (a notorious womaniser), Wells' Martians, and--in unfamiliar guise--Satan. It's all suitably dotty, larded with running gags and bursts of disarming frankness:

... Perhaps both futures always existed. I don't know. This is very complicated, Tim, and I don't understand it. I'm just making it up as I go along. Like the author," said Tim.

But rather than wrap-up this novel with any of a dozen deus ex machina possibilities, Rankin leaves his hero with a very tough decision indeed. The insane, goonish humour made more effective by a touch of grimness. --David Langford

In Robert Rankin's latest warped fantasy, a serial killer is murdering notable nursery-rhyme characters and leaving very special sweeties as calling cards at the scene of each crime: The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse.

Humpty Dumpty is the first of Toy City's upper crust to sleep with the fishes. Boiled alive in his own swimming pool. A nasty fate, but maybe not as nasty as Little Boy Blue's, with his own shepherd's crook thrust a long way into a place where the sun does not shine.

Bill Winkie the P.I. has gone missing, and his hard-drinking teddybear sidekick Eddie takes up the case. Down these mean streets a bear must go. He needs a hand, though--two hands, owing to a lack of opposable thumbs--and reluctantly teams up with "gormster" country boy Jack, who foolishly thinks he can make his fortune in Toy City.

Of course the police, jolly bouncy rubber policemen who are sadistic at heart, object to interfering freelances. So does the mystery assassin, who seems to be a curvaceous woman in a kinky rubber outfit--death on high heels. Even kindly old Mother Goose, madame of the Toy City brothel, gets her neck wrung before she can talk, and Eddie is in serious danger of losing his very stuffing.

Fast, demented, fairytale-noir action, filled with gruesomely silly deaths, self-referential thriller gags, and the true meanings of those nursery rhymes whose royalties made Humpty and the rest so rich.

Robert Rankin is fond of introducing peculiar, repeated figures of speech, and this book's is the Maddeningly Incomplete Simile. Like this: Hollow Chocolate Bunnies is as good as. It's as weird as. It's as deeply bonkers as. In short, it's as Rankin as.--David Langford