Stephen Palmer

What is love? One evening at the Suicide Club three gentlemen discuss this age-old problem, and thus a wager is made. Dissolute fop Sheremy Pantomile, veteran philosopher Kornukope Wetherbee and down-on-his-luck Velvene Orchardtide all bet their fortunes on finding the answer amidst the dark alleys of a phantasmagorical Edwardian London. But then, overnight, London Town is covered in hair. How the trio of adventurers cope with this unusual plague, and what conclusions they come to regarding love is the subject of this surreal and fast-paced novel. And always the East End threatens revolution... "Stephen Palmer is a find." Time Out "Science fiction has gained a distinctive new voice." Ottakar's "Stephen Palmer's imagination is fecund..." Interzone "... (a) supremely odd yet deeply rewarding experience." CCLaP Fine blonde hair growing on Waterloo Bridge makes it impassable. The young man, trapped by a rampant beard on the southern banks of the river, looks to the stanchions on the northern side that once were grey stone, but which now are hirsute. He cannot see how he will cross, but he must, because the hair beneath his feet is so luxuriant he is in danger of sinking into it, drowning, smothering in that yellow tide. In his pocket he finds a rope with a grapnel on the end, and this he uses to haul himself up to the thinly haired bridge parapet. Like a monkey on a branch he moves along the parapet, slipping on clumps of hair, ducking when the wind gusts, almost losing his balance – but not quite. In ten minutes he is on the northern side. He leaps down into the mass of blonde hair that waves in the breeze coming up Victoria Embankment. The locks cover him to waist level. With no other alternative he begins forging his way towards High Holborn, where he has an engagement...

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