TheLastWinter is JackProctor's first novel; it is based on notes he made in spare moments towards the end of the war, but he did the majority of the work while he was institutionalized at the RosebyClinic in 1919, following his nervous breakdown. It was published shortly afterwards (details to be decided), and, while not a best-seller, received some critical acclaim. It is a short book (a little less than two hundred pages), but heavy going; in some places, because of it's ferocious intensity, but in others simply because of turgid, purple prose (Jack is skilled with language, but he still has a bit to learn about the craft of writing).

Summary

Count Antoine de Rochelle, and his sister Emmanuelle, live a life of cruel, amoral debauchery amongst the disgustingly rich aristocracy of pre-revolutionary France. Soon, however, their consequence-free existence is shattered as Paris is overrun by revolutionaries. They are forced to flee to the countryside. At first, they attempt to recreate the sadistic pleasures of court life in miniature (and it emerges that their vices include incest), but they soon find that, in the wider world, their actions have consequences. As they descend further and further into their own personal purgatory, they are offered multiple chances for redemption, or at least escape. However, they resolutely take none, instead striving to recapture their hedonistic past, until they turn on each other, bloody and beaten, in the Alps. Emmanuelle kills her brother, and throws his body into a deep gorge, but in the struggle is wounded, and realises that she cannot make it down the mountain to safety. The book ends with her, defeated but still unrepentant, looking over the cliff and trying to decide on the most painless way to die.

As you can probably gather, the book is somewhat bleak in outlook. It is also relatively explicit, in it's descriptions of sex and violence, for the 20's. Hence, more conservative readers may find it shocking. However, despite this, has much literary merit, although as has been mentioned there are significant technical flaws.

Excerpt

<<< Unlike Jack, I don't quite have a Craft(Writing) of 75%, but this should give you an idea of the flavour, if not the quality, of the book. -- RobHague >>>

It was a shame, I reflected as I wiped the knife with a rag, but it had been necessary. We had both enjoyed the boy, but it seemed that he did not share these sentiments. When he had woken in the night, still groggy from the wine we had given him, he remembered what we had done. He was going to run to the village. We couldn't have that.

Emmanuelle had tried to calm him down, sooth him with words. I must admit, she has a remarkable talent for that. The boy was mesmerised, and, for a moment, so was I. I shook myself free, though, and walked up behind him. He was so captivated that he didn't even realise I was there until the moment I slit his throat. Emmanuelle said that the look in his eyes was not pain, but bafflement. She had found this highly amusing, and had stood there laughing as his blood fountained over her. I glanced over to the other side of the barn, where she stood, naked to the waist, washing herself with water from the large butt. After a moment, she looked up, her eyes bright.

"What should we do with him?" I asked, waving the knife at the corpse on the straw. She smiled, and was about to say something, but I cut her short. "I mean, what shall we do with the body? It's almost dawn."

"Why can't we just leave it here?" she asked, picking up her corset and shrugging it on, "Now, come and help me tie this up." She lowered her head and looked at me through her lashes. "You know you enjoy it."

I crossed over to her, and she turned to allow me to pull the laces tight. Perhaps I used a little more force than was necessary. A little while latter, I was driving the carriage away, with Emmanuelle chattering in the back, and the barn was alight.

<<< The rest of the book is, obviously, far less trite and hackneyed. -- RobHague >>>