Coromandel

Ah, ’Coromandel’ by John Masters, a title that rolls off the tongue like a bad pun at a cocktail party. Published in 1965 by the esteemed Penguin—those literary penguins who have waddled through time, bringing us both the profound and the utterly perplexing—this novel promises to be a literary experience more elusive than a London bus on a rainy day.

Set against a backdrop that likely features more palm trees than people, ’Coromandel’ invites you to bask in a world that flirts with exoticism while simultaneously nodding off into a comfortable snooze. The title itself conjures images of sun-drenched beaches and the tantalising scent of coconut oil, yet one must wonder if that’s an invitation to paradise or merely a ruse to lure you into a labyrinth of plot twists that are as tangled as a particularly stubborn piece of spaghetti.

Masters, a writer best known for his sweeping narratives and vividly drawn characters, has crafted this tome with the deftness of an artist wielding a paintbrush dipped in confusion. Readers might find themselves pondering whether they’re in for a literary adventure or a whimsical stroll through an endless maze of descriptions. Will they encounter philosophical discussions about the nature of existence, or merely a parade of characters whose motivations are as clear as a Yorkshire fog? Only time, and a good cup of tea, will tell.

And then there’s the era—ah, the glorious 1960s, when everything was in flux, and so were the plotlines of many a novel. In a time when the Beatles were singing their way into our hearts and bell-bottoms were becoming a thing, one can’t help but wonder what kind of cultural commentary lurks within these pages. Will you find yourself grappling with the turbulence of the post-colonial world or simply lost in the metaphorical weeds of a garden party? It’s a gamble, dear reader, but isn’t that the joy of second-hand literature?

As you navigate this labyrinth of narrative, you might come across several delightful—or perhaps maddening—elements, such as:

• An abundance of metaphors that could rival a Shakespearean sonnet
• Characters who may or may not be figments of the author’s imagination
• Dialogues that sound suspiciously like they’ve been lifted from a script of a long-forgotten soap opera
• Descriptions of landscapes that could have been written while the author was on a particularly vivid holiday
• Climaxes that leave you as perplexed as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs

Condition: Used. It’s had a life before it landed on your bookshelf, and it shows. The spine is as creased as a well-loved pair of trousers, the pages are yellowed with age, and the occasional coffee stain tells tales of late-night reads and poorly timed beverages. This book wears its history like a badge of honour, so if you’re the type who recoils at the sight of a cracked spine, you might want to look elsewhere—perhaps for something that smells less like a library and more like fresh ink.

In the end, whether ’Coromandel’ will become a cherished part of your literary collection or simply a curious oddity that sparks conversations at dinner parties is up to you. It’s a true testament to the unpredictable nature of second-hand literature—a mishmash of histories and stories waiting to be rediscovered. Don’t forget, this book is brought to you by Crappy Old Books, where the past is just a dusty shelf away, and every title has a story more bizarre than the last.

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