Neil Randall is delighted to announce another three-book
deal with Next Chapter Books for The Russian Trilogy: The Holy
Drinker, The Butterfly and the Wheel, and The Black Apples of Nizhny
Novgorod – Books 1-3 of the wider Beauty and Truth series.
A former secret
agent, recruited by the Russian security services in the mid-1990s, how the
author escaped from the ruins of the former Soviet Union unscathed is the stuff
of legend in itself. Drawing deep on his experiences behind the Iron Curtain,
he crafted the previously published Gogolian fable The Holy Drinker, the
tale of a drunkard merchant who is miraculously transformed into a vat of magic
wine, and the sweeping historical epic The Butterfly and the Wheel, the
story of talentless writer who passes off a stolen manuscript as his own, and
who ascends to the summit of Soviet society, around twenty years ago.
Due to
interference from former KGB operatives, Randall was forced underground in fear
of his life, and the final part of the trilogy was believed to have been destroyed
by malevolent forces intent of removing all traces of the author’s work from existence.
Thanks to the tenaciousness of handful of brave, selfless literary executors, a
fully restored copy of the manuscript was recently delivered to the Next
Chapter team, who are now preparing the full trilogy for publication.
To qualify, The
Black Apples of Nizhny Novgorod picks up the story from the end of The
Butterfly and the Wheel. In the aftermath of Ivan Fyodorovich Turgenovsky’s
death, British journalist Jonathan Romanov is given full access to his literary
archive and his last (and perhaps finest) unpublished manuscript, the titular:
Black Apples… Unsure if Turgenovsky is the greatest of all great writers,
or the greatest of all great literary frauds, Romanov (determined to write the definitive
biography of one of the most divisive figures in literary history) is completely
blown away by the masterpiece which is The Black Apples of Nizhny Novgorod, a
novel of such beauty, depth, and profundity, it ranks alongside the truly great
Russian novels.
However, Romanov
uncovers many dark secrets from the great writer’s past which leave him
wondering if he really did write any of the books which propelled him to
literary superstar status and saw him awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature.
Here is the opening scene of the novel to whet your
appetite:
“Jonathan! Jonathan!” From out of the thick crowds by the
arrival gate at Sheremetyevo airport stepped a hulking figure in a shapka and
quilted jacket, holding a cardboard placard with: NO MORE VODKA FOR JR printed
on it in English, a reference to a riotous night at the Metropole Hotel during
Jonathan Romanov’s first long-term work placement in Moscow.
“Boris!” He met
his old friend’s bear-like embrace and the two smacking kisses he planted to
each cheek. “So good to see you again.”
“And you, my
friend, but is this all your luggage?” He wrenched the small suitcase from
Jonathan’s hand. “I thought you were staying for several months. I thought this
was a long-term project.”
“Yes, yes it is.
My other stuff’s going to be shipped over next week. I had to leave on the hop,
as it were. Raymond spoke to Turgenovsky’s wife’s people. If I could get over
here quick enough, I could pretty much guarantee exclusivity, an official stamp
on an official authorised biography. It doesn’t come much bigger than that.”
“I understand. I
can’t even begin to tell you what a stir Turgenovsky’s death has caused over
here. Lots of journalists are incredibly jealous of you.”
“A stir?” he
asked, as they made their way out of the bustling airport. “How so?”
“Well, you have
people coming out of the woodwork, the anti-Turgenovsky faction, you know the
type, alleging that he never wrote his debut novel, all the old accusations.
Then you have all these stories about his archive, that he left behind his best
work, that, unlike all those writers who suffered during the Terror and
repressions, when many thought his artistic muse had deserted him, Turgenovsky
had in fact been writing more extensively than ever before.”
“So, the rumours
are true, then, about this treasure trove of unpublished material?”
They came to a
stop near a main door bottlenecked with weary, hunched-over travellers going
one way and eager, alert travellers going the other. Boris put the case down,
turned, and laid a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder.
“You, my dear
Romanov, are probably the only man in Moscow who’ll be able to answer that
question any time soon.”
If you like what you’ve read so far, why not check out A Dark Day in the White City, Book 11 of The Beauty and Truth Series.
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