Apocalypso, Robert Rankin's 18th novel, struggles a little during it's first half, with two seemingly unconnected tales; one concerning a young lad called Porrig who inherits a magical bookshop, and the other telling the tale of a god-like alien vegetable's awakening from cryogenic suspension and it's plan to enslave humanity - this being Robert Rankin the alien bears a liking not dissimilar to that of a giant sprout. The tale of the alien also features that trio of investigators Sir John Rimmer, Dr Harney, and Danbury Collins, the psychic youth and masturbator, who appeared in The Garden of Unearthly Delights and Sprout Mask Replica, although as they had previously only really appeared in cameos this book is well suited for the first time Rankin reader.
The first half of the novel ambles along in a reasonably pleasant fashion, but it's nothing we haven't had from Rankin before, and with his typically Rankin-ish mysterious family inheritance, and his foot in mouth habit not quite working as a running gag, hero Porrig fails to really engage with the reader.
It's only when the two story strands combine in a tale taking in alternate realities vibrating on different harmonic frequencies, a stage magician called Apocalypso caught in his own version of hell, and an 18inch tall imp called Rippington (that's him on the cover) who is obsessed with his own genitalia (or 'rubbing parts' as he calls them), that Apocalypso clicks into top gear, and the novels second half is as good as anything Rankin has ever written, with some laugh out loud jokes and terrific set-pieces.
While I wouldn't say Apocalypso was consistent enough to rank as one of Rankin's very best books, its still a damn fine comedy - an inventive satire on Hollywood action film cliché with even more bum jokes and knob gags than normal. Apocalypso is a marvellous example of good toilet humour, so come on in, the water's lovely!