Title: The Exploits of Engelbrecht
Author/Artist: Maurice Richardson
Publisher: Savoy Books
Media: Book
Reviewer: James Marriott
This is the first in a proposed series of fantasy classics from Savoy - others to follow include the possibly even more obscure ' Zenith the Albino' by Anthony Skene, 'The House on the Borderland' by William Hope Hodgson and 'The Killer' by Colin Wilson. As the good people of Savoy are keen to point out, these are no ordinary reprints. Unlike Millennium's current Fantasy Masterworks series, these are not set from old galleys, but are exquisitely produced, limited edition hardbacks with a good deal of supplementary material - in this case artwork from John Coulthart, Kris Guidio and James Cawthorn, a further Richardson story, an introduction by Cawthorn and an epilogue by Michael Moorcock. This last casts Richardson as a boozy chancer, as quick with his fists as his wit and ever keen to trade a story for a drink - a writer who'd fit seamlessly into any Iain Sinclair book - but for me the defining reference point is a photo of him in late middle age, looking like a cross between JG Ballard and Terry-Thomas. The style of prose here isn't far off such a cross, either: English Surrealism with the psycho-sexual seriousness replaced by a sense of theatrical fun.
Unlike most other Savoy products, and to the inevitable disappointment of the Greater Manchester authorities, Engelbrecht is a book which contains no graphic bloodletting, no sexual deviancy - unless you count the pugilist dwarf's date with a Giant Sundew - and nothing to make it inaccessible or dull to, say, a nine-year-old who liked Harry Potter books. And mescaline. What it does contain is a series of extracts from the Surrealist Sportsman's Club Chronicles, in which the titular boxer, a gentleman of short stature and simian aspect, is pitted against an assortment of foes and obstacles, from villainous octopi to Butlins Redcoats. That the dwarf should prevail each time is the only thing to be expected - otherwise there's a gleeful sense of play at work here, unlikely juxtapositions carried by a lean, pacy prose style and offset by perfect comic timing. You can imagine Richardson honing the stories on bleary-eyed cronies in favoured drinking dens - they're made to be listened to - and a 'Sir Henry at Rawlinson's End' musical treatment would work perfectly. It's criminal that 'Engelbrecht' hasn't enjoyed the same degree of exposure as 'Sir Henry' - both are true classics of English Surrealism - and hopefully this Savoy edition will go some way towards restoring the balance. Unmissable.