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This title is printed to order. This book may have been self-published. If so, we cannot guarantee the quality of the content. In the main most books will have gone through the editing process however some may not. We therefore suggest that you be aware of this before ordering this book. If in doubt check either the author or publisher’s details as we are unable to accept any returns unless they are faulty. Please contact us if you have any questions.
Along the tavern’s back wall he found a small writing desk, around which the floor was stained ink-black and littered with loose scraps of paper. Atop the desk he found a small stack of handwritten newsletters entitled The Archive of Human Nonsense. He picked one up. It was dated 17 April, 1817–eight months previous–and had been hand-penned in German running script. From front to back the small newsletter was eight pages long. It opened with a list of names, twenty-two in all, and closed with a watercolour picture of a giant red rooster …
Thus begins an existential journey through Vienna’s streets and one man’s guilt-laden memories. From mountebanks, puppet showmen, and trainers of performing monkeys, to the strange Mechanical Theatre of Sebastian von Schwenenfeld, the journey becomes a quest not to find meaning but to define it.
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This title is printed to order. This book may have been self-published. If so, we cannot guarantee the quality of the content. In the main most books will have gone through the editing process however some may not. We therefore suggest that you be aware of this before ordering this book. If in doubt check either the author or publisher’s details as we are unable to accept any returns unless they are faulty. Please contact us if you have any questions.
Along the tavern’s back wall he found a small writing desk, around which the floor was stained ink-black and littered with loose scraps of paper. Atop the desk he found a small stack of handwritten newsletters entitled The Archive of Human Nonsense. He picked one up. It was dated 17 April, 1817–eight months previous–and had been hand-penned in German running script. From front to back the small newsletter was eight pages long. It opened with a list of names, twenty-two in all, and closed with a watercolour picture of a giant red rooster …
Thus begins an existential journey through Vienna’s streets and one man’s guilt-laden memories. From mountebanks, puppet showmen, and trainers of performing monkeys, to the strange Mechanical Theatre of Sebastian von Schwenenfeld, the journey becomes a quest not to find meaning but to define it.