Sunday Telegraph
‘A work of formidable imaginative scope . . . the writing is so good, the language so surprisingly subtle and the characters so beautifully delineated’
Daily Telegraph
Past Mortem
‘Engaging and smartly plotted’
Observer
‘Fans will love it’
Heat
‘
Past Mortem
confirms Elton as craftsmanlike, thoughtful and readable. Fans will find plenty to enjoy’
Daily Mail
‘He has not lost his canny eye for the preoccupations of his peers . . . its warm-hearted characterisation and deft pacing should make the paperback popular on next summer’s beaches’
Sunday Times
‘You expect a witty, engaging storyline when you pick up an Elton novel – and his latest doesn’t disappoint’
Fresh
magazine
‘In the tradition of Ben Elton’s previous novels,
Past Mortem
is a gripping read’
City Weekly
‘Elton is such a readable author’
Sydney Morning Herald
‘Elton melds his story, part comic romance, part page-turning thriller, with a subtext that explores schoolyard bullying, lightly and broadly, by taking every opportunity to include thought-provoking passages on the issue’
Sunday Territorian
High Society
‘As I raced to the end, I found myself applauding Elton. This is a tough subject tackled with courage and commitment’ Will Hutton,
The Observer Review
‘A fix of high comedy from a writer who provokes almost as much as he entertains’
Daily Mail
‘Tremendous narrative momentum . . . genuinely moving’
The Times
‘A return to Elton’s top fiery form’
Glamour
magazine
‘Very racy, a compulsive read’
The Mirror
‘Full of passion and plenty of one-liners’
Scotland On Sunday
‘A joy to read . . . a startling head of narrative steam’
Evening Standard
‘A throat-grabbing thriller which also manages to savagely satirise this high society we all live in . . . Excellent’
Ireland On Sunday
Dead Famous
‘One of Ben Elton’s many triumphs with
Dead Famous
is that he is superbly persuasive about the stage of the story: the characterisation is a joy, the jokes are great, the structuring is very clever and the thriller parts are ingenious and full of suspense. And not only that – the satire (of Big Brother, of the television industry, of the arrogant ignorance and rabid inarticulacy of yoof culture) is scathing, intelligent and cherishable.
As House Arrest’s twerpy contestants would put it, wicked. Double wicked. Big up to Ben Elton and respect, big time. Top, top book’
Mail on Sunday
‘Brilliant . . . Ben has captured the verbal paucity of this world perfectly . . . devastatingly accurate in its portrayal . . . read Elton’s book’
Janet Street-Porter,
Independent on Sunday
‘Elton has produced a book with pace and wit, real tension, a dark background theme, and a big on-screen climax’
Independent
‘Very acute about television and the Warhol-inspired fame for fame’s sake that it offers . . . certainly delivers a readable whodunnit’
The Spectator
‘One of the best whodunnits I have ever read . . . This is a cracking read – a funny, gripping, hugely entertaining thriller, but also a persuasive, dyspeptic account of the way we live now, with our insane, inane cult of the celebrity’
Sunday Telegraph
Inconceivable
‘Extremely funny, clever, well-written, sharp and unexpectedly moving . . . This brilliant, chaotic satire merits rereading several times’
Mail on Sunday
‘Extremely funny without ever being tasteless or cruel . . . this is Elton at his best – mature, humane, and still a laugh a minute. At least’
Daily Telegraph
‘A very funny book about a sensitive subject. The characters are well-developed, the action is page-turning and it’s beginning to seem as if Ben Elton the writer might be even funnier than Ben Elton the comic’
Daily Mail
‘This is Elton doing what he does best, taking comedy to a place most people wouldn’t dream of visiting and asking some serious questions while he’s about it. It’s a brave and personal novel’
The Mirror
‘A tender, beautifully balanced romantic comedy’
Spectator
‘Moving and thoroughly entertaining’
Daily Express
‘Somehow Ben Elton has managed to write a funny, positive love story about one of the most painful and damaging experiences a couple can go through’
The Weekend Australian
‘Anyone who has had trouble starting a family will recognize the fertility roller-coaster Elton perceptively and wittily describes’
The Age
, Melbourne
‘With his trademark wit and barbed humour, Ben Elton tells a poignant and heart-rending story . . . a novel that is both entertaining and emotionally rich . . . This book is a marvel’
Pretoria News
, South Africa
Blast from the Past
‘The action is tight and well-plotted, the dialogue is punchy and the whole thing runs along so nicely that you never have to feel you’re reading a book at all’
Guardian
‘A strong beginning, and the reminder that it is fear itself that makes you jump wouldn’t be out of place in a psychological thriller.
Blast from the Past
is a comedy, but an edgy comedy . . . a slick moral satire that works as a hairy cliffhanger’
Sunday Times
‘Elton at his most outrageously entertaining . . . Elton is a master of the snappy one-liner, and here the witty repartee hides a surprisingly romantic core’
Cosmopolitan
‘Elton again underlines his mastery of plot, structure and dialogue. In stand-up comedy, his other forte, it’s all about timing. In writing it’s about moving the narrative forward with exciting leaps of imagination and, as before, he seems to have the explosive take-off formula just about right. This literary rocket burns bright’
Sunday Times
(
Perth
)
‘
Blast from the Past
is a wicked, rip-roaring ride which charts the fine lines separating hilarity from horror; the oily gut of fear from the delicious shiver of anticipation’
West Australian
‘Only Ben Elton could combine uncomfortable questions about gender politics with a gripping, page-turning narrative and jokes that make you laugh out loud’
Tony Parsons
‘As always, Ben Elton is topical to the point of clairvoyancy . . . Fast, funny and thought-provoking’
The List
Also by Ben Elton
STARK
GRIDLOCK
THIS OTHER EDEN
POPCORN
BLAST FROM THE PAST
INCONCEIVABLE
DEAD FAMOUS
HIGH SOCIETY
PAST MORTEM
THE FIRST CASUALTY
and published by
Black Swan
For the ninety-five thousand
And Still to Come
Some years from now
The nation had watched Shaiana cry so many times. Heard her voice crack as she struggled to complete her sentence.
‘I just want this so much. I really, really want it
so much
. It’s all I ever wanted. Since I was a little girl . . . It’s my . . . It’s my . . .’
She couldn’t do it. Words failed her. Her lip quivered, her nostrils flared and a watery film spread across her eyes. The lids closed in an agonized grimace and squeezed out a glistening tear.
Just a tear, a single tear, but such a tear. One of the most scrutinized tears that was ever shed. Few tears in all history would be seen by so many and so often. Over and over again it had teetered momentarily upon the thickly mascaraed lashes of Shaiana’s lower lid before tipping forward and rolling heavily across the downy expanse of that now nationally familiar cheek, tracing its course through the heavy blusher with which the make-up artist had struggled in vain to cover the tiny blemishes on Shaiana’s quivering face.
The people in their millions had absorbed this scene immediately before the last break and also before the break which preceded that. They had seen it at the very beginning of the programme and in the trailers that had played throughout the earlier part of the evening. Those with access to the digital channels had been able to watch the tear for nearly a week already and grainy stills of it had appeared in the press. It was also possible to download it to one’s mobile phone by accessing the ‘preview highlights’ section of the
Chart Throb
website.
But despite all this massive exposure, up until now that tear had always been a future tear, a tear which, in the endlessly repeated phrase of Keely the presenter, was ‘still to come’.
‘And still to come, it’s all too much for Shaiana.’
‘Still to come, Shaiana struggles to keep it together.’
‘Is Shaiana’s dream turning into a nightmare? All that and more,
still to come
.’
And so the tear had teetered. A maybe tear, present and entirely familiar but nonetheless a tear in waiting. But now finally it had arrived. No longer a tear that was ‘still to come’ but all of a sudden a clear and present tear, a tear that was on its way. And for the first time (but most certainly not the last) the viewing millions saw it disappear beneath the square white plastic nail of Shaiana’s outstretched finger as she rested her chin upon Keely’s gorgeous skinny shoulder, and failed to find the word for which she was struggling.
‘I just want this so much,’ she repeated. ‘I really, really do. I want it so much. It’s all I ever wanted. Since I was a little girl . . . It’s my . . . It’s my . . .’
At the very last linguistic hurdle, emotion defeated Shaiana and words failed her.
‘Dream?’ Keely coaxed. ‘Is it your dream? Is that what you’re trying to tell us? That it’s your dream?’
‘That’s right, Keely,’ Shaiana sniffed. ‘That is
so
right. It’s my dream.’
Keely’s bronzed, cadaverously muscular arms enfolded Shaiana’s shoulders. Momentarily entwined, they made quite a contrast: the golden girl and the girl with the dream. It all looked slightly uncomfortable as Shaiana’s arm (the one which she had raised to wipe away the famous tear) became trapped in Keely’s skeletal embrace. Briefly Shaiana’s hand rested in the hollow of Keely’s armpit and Keely’s teeth rattled against Shaiana’s big hoop earrings. Neither woman seemed to notice the awkwardness or if they did, they did not care. Emotions were running too high. It was all too much.
‘You go, girl,’ Keely whispered. ‘Just you go, girl.’
‘Yeah,’ Shaiana sniffed, raising her eyes towards what would have been the stars had it not been daytime and had she not been indoors. ‘God gave me this chance and I’m going to rock their asses!’
Calvin Simms
Some months earlier, one of the asses whom Shaiana intended to rock had been quivering with violent fury as its owner, Calvin Simms, came to the shocking realization that he, the ultimate manipulator, the man who with a single glance knew a person better than they knew themselves, had been had. Calvin always believed that he could read anybody. Anybody, it now turned out, except the woman he had married.
‘A divorce?’ he stuttered.
‘Yays, Calvin,’ his beautiful American bride of just two weeks drawled in her sexy, sultry Southern accent. ‘Ah want a dee-vorce.’
They were standing in the hallway of the vast detached mansion in Belgravia that Calvin had assumed would be his and Dakota’s marital home. Numerous items of matching luggage surrounded them. The two drivers who had helped them into the house had only just closed the front door behind them. He had
carried
her over that threshold not two minutes before. His passport was still in his pocket, he still had sunscreen on his neck, he was still wearing
shorts and sandals
, which made him feel particularly ridiculous in the light of the shocking revelation that the honeymoon was most definitely over.
‘We’ve only been married a fortnight!’ he protested.
‘Way-ll, believe me, darlin’, it felt lahk a ye-ah,’ Dakota purred.