 Hello. This is 246 2321.
John-Paul
is not available at present, but if you
leave your name, phone number and
a short message . . .
"I like to hear his name, especially when he
says it. His voice is rich and dark, like those jams
they sell in tiny pots at twice the price of normal
jars and then call 'preserves', to justify the
cost. I chose him for his name, in fact - half
Mayfair hairdresser and half Vatican incumbent."
So speaks Nial, a woman with a man's name, and
confused about her gender - uncertain about most
things, save her obsession with John-Paul. She
shares this obsession with modest Mary and
conscientious Bryan. All three lead secret lives. Mary,
a conventional housewife with a dream-home in the
suburbs, is stockpiling vibrators. Bryan, a city clerk,
takes his snake to bed and dreams of parcelling up
his mother and posting her off to far-flung islands with
useless postal systems, so she cannot be returned.
Nial swaps sex for the blood-drenched dreams
of an ex-Nazi butcher in the High Street.
All seek help and healing from the
mysterious John-Paul, but is he sage and
saviour, or untrained, unlicensed con-man?
The novel moves from John-Paul's phallic Tower to
the Eternal City of Rome, home of the present Pope,
who himself features as a character - indeed a rival
to his namesake. All the characters pursue each other to
this holy city of emperors and gods, which provides
a violent and unexpected climax to the novel.
Reviews of "Fifty-Minute Hour"
Fifty-Minute Hour hits the G-spot!
Sunday Times
A screamingly funny book which almost blows the
mind and will outrage the prudish. Psychoanalytic therapy
is strapped down on to its own couch, stripped and ruthlessly
raped, in this startling black comedy by Wendy Perriam,
an established mistress of the genre.
Sunday Telegraph
Highly comic, as well as horribly plausible.
Evening Standard
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Author’s Comment
"I went to Rome myself, as a trial run for Nial. In trepidation I walked up the imposing steps to St Peter's, to attend a canonisation Mass. How would I get
past the security guards with a gun in my camera case? Miraculously, I did, and was
ushered to the very front of the basilica, where the Pope was within point-blank range.
I dedicated Fifty-Minute Hour to my
own psychotherapist, who, alas, refused to read it. But as therapy pervades our society in
ever more numerous (and sometimes dubious) forms, I wanted to weigh up its benefits and
its risks."
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You can buy this book with a personal hand-written inscription by Wendy Perriam.
See the contact details at the bottom of the newsletter or buying books section.
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