By David Peace
On January 26, 1948, a guy posing as a public future health legitimate arrives at a financial institution in Tokyo. He explains that he’s there to regard every body who could have been uncovered to a contemporary outbreak of dysentery. quickly after consuming the medication he administers, twelve staff are useless, 4 are subconscious, and the “official” has fled. Twelve voices inform the tale of the homicide from various views together with a journalist, a gangster-turned-businessman, an “occult detective,” and a well known painter. every one voice enlarges and deepens the portrait of a urban and a humans making their manner out of a war-induced hell. instructed with David Peace’s brilliantly idiosyncratic and enthralling voice, Occupied urban is a stunningly audacious paintings from a unique author.
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Extra resources for Occupied City (Vintage Crime Black Lizard)
Sample text
The Theatre & the Plague, Antonin Artaud, 1933 IN THE OCCUPIED CITY, you are a writer and you are running – In the wintertime, papers in your arms, through this January night, down these Tokyo streets, you are running from the scene of the crime; from the snow and from the mud, from the bank and from the bodies; running from the scene of the crime and from the words of the book; words that first enticed and entranced you, then deceived and defeated you, and now have left you in-snared and in-prisoned – Beneath a sky that threatens more than night, more than snow, now you huff and breath-puff, puff and breath-pant, pant and gasp – For in your ears, you hear them coming, step by step, whispering and muttering.
In the Ab-grund, in the Un-grund, the without ground, the non-ground / Here, other voices in this other-dom will speak this other-place with other-name – In this un-place, in this un-city, between two places, in this other-dom / There are no swallows, no swallows fly here / Here, we shuffle across the carpet of their corpses, up and down, their bloated chests, their barren wings / Here, where their still eyes accuse us, yellow / Here, where their empty beaks stand open, yellow – In this place of no place, we lie.
In the rain. To the hospital. To the morgue. In the sleet. To the mortuary. To the temple. In the snow. To the crematorium. To the earth and to the sky – In our twelve cheap wooden coffins – In these twelve cheap wooden coffins, we lie. But we do not lie still. In these twelve cheap wooden coffins, we are struggling. Not in the dark, not in the light; in the grey, we are struggling; for here is only grey, here we are only struggling – In this grey place, that is no place, we are struggling all the time, always and already – In this place, of no place, between two places.