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But Peake doesn't seem to know if he wants allegory, high satire, or low parody, and all to often settles for the last in a grimy ramshackle way that the "Fantasy of Manners" label I see applied to this book does only so much to excuse. I'll give fantasy of manners to Fuchsia, and maybe (maybe) Irma Prunesquallor and Bellgrove, although Peake all too often seems to be looking down his nose Britishly at their marriage with sneery vignettes, rather than the good-humoured touch they demand. But the schoolmasters and pupils, the way they intrude like broken-record trash knockoffs of the sort of just-over-the-top public-school parody you might see in e.g. Waugh, the way you're constantly invited to take this book seriously and then get your nose pushed into turgid slapstick comedy, is demoralizing.
And it saps the book's might to an extent. Too much of the time you feel like they could all be called Prunesquallor. Peake should have decided whether he wanted a Jungian fable or credit for preemptively writing Pink Floyd's The Wall, and then stuck with it.
And Titus is a cipher, grimmer than Prince Hal or Hot Rod/Rodimus Prime and that's all. He has another chance to shine, though, in book 3, and by the end of this one I was starting to care a little. But I think Peake wants me to think "Can he be free?", when I really just think "Will he turn out to be damaged goods?" (