Lewis is a great friend of mine. For the past few years he’s been shying away from his responsibilities in the pub and writing a book. It must be good because somebody’s publishing it.
I read a very early draft version and it was a revelation (unblinkered and unbiaised product review). Any novel that has the word “syphilis” in the first sentence is alright by me.
It’s the embellished biography of dirty old painter Egon Schiele, protegé of Klimt and imprisoned for creating porn. It charts his father’s insanity, his suppressed lust for his sister and a fair bit of homo-erotic fumbling with famous characters from an age gone by.
The publication date isn’t until next year, but you can be guaranteed to get a pristine first edition, bound to be worth a fortune, by pre-ordering NOW your copy of The Pornographer of Vienna. Click away.
(He doesn’t know this yet, but he’ll be doing free beer and personalised book signings for anybody who shows up at his signing event in Brussels next spring.)