Richard Jurgens

Surviving the Love Flood

‘I have lived both in hermitages and whorehouses,’ Eddie Woods writes in one of his short stories; ‘I have yet to find one more spiritual than the other.’

In Amsterdam, though, Woods lives near the Amstel. The apartment, which he shares with ex-wife (and still closest friend) Jane Harvey, is authentic Old Amsterdam, too: one floor in a house that was no doubt once the respectable residence of a well-off city official, now converted into a strange collection of small rooms that connect with each other only by virtue of the fact that they are contiguous.

Woods’ tiny bedroom contains only some shelves of books and a narrow mattress on the floor neatly made up with a colourful blanket and a single pillow. It might almost be the room of a bookish monk.

‘The prince sleeps here when he’s in town,’ he says. ‘Then I move to Jane’s bed, and she moves to the couch.’ The prince is Rama Varma, an Indian musician who comes to town every so often. ‘Well, every six months or so.’ He’s also one of the patrons of Woods’ latest book of poems.

THE THIRD EARL

Richard Jurgens

Hilton Ellis is a renegade white South African who leaves his native country at a young age to escape the military draft. With his world in chaos around him, he arrives in Amsterdam full of high hopes for a life in the city's thriving alternative cultural scene. While living there he experiences a series of comical adventures that challenge his ability to overcome the often surprising obstacles involved in becoming an artist—and more importantly, in gaining greater maturity as an individual.
Written in the tradition of the episodic novel, The Stolen Scenario follows this complex and ironic character as he gradually acquires an increased understanding of the complexity of human nature and of the ironies of his own existence. 'The Third Earl' is chapter eight.

I

‘A storm had gathered at the borders of the garden. Giant blue stick men stalked stiffly among the dense clouds on the horizon, stooping here and there to aim lightning bolts at street lamps, roofs, trees. With each step they drew nearer.

‘Inside the imposing Victorian villa lurked a boy. He was in the library overlooking the lawn, staring wordlessly at the gathering darkness. Rain was beating against the leaded casements. All around him the old house groaned under the weight of the wind.

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