In the second half of the first millennium, the legends say that London disappeared for over four hundred years. We know almost nothing about what happened during that time. But if we could shine a light on the city’s ruined walls, we would be in for a shock.

The Romans are long forgotten. It is now King Scarabold who rules what little remains of the city, together with his over-entitled daughter Giniva, her effete brother Leperdandy and their wayward, lunatic relatives – all squabbling and fighting amongst themselves for the future of their corrupted dynasty while trying to hide their most terrible secret.

And ranged against Scarabold is a horde of bitter enemies from both without and within his dysfunctional household – the eerie Sheathwing, Lord Carapace Earl of Beetles, the warlike nuns of Étranges Cadeaux, a primate called M’Lin, Orobus the serpent, the terrifying Mater Moribund and the sinister child-spies Spackle and Peut – united in their desire to bring king’s troubled reign to a bloody end.

But the arrival of a mysterious outsider into the midst of the beleaguered Scarabold’s snake-pit of a court that seems to offer a semblance of hope. The stranger’s name is Watborn and he is a birdcatcher – strong, silent, he will infiltrate the royal family for a purpose that is all of his own . . .

As fiendishly-armed warriors gather beneath the walls, the battle for London, its body and its soul as much as its bricks and mortar, is about to begin – and who will be left unscathed at the field’s end?

‘Perceptive, wise and illuminating . . . an unmissable farewell.’ Barry Forshaw, FINANCIAL TIMES

‘The most hilarious, life-affirming book you’ll read this year.’ SAGA magazine

‘Wit and wisdom that make every page turn . . . what a fine talent the world has lost.’ STARBURST

This is the memoir Christopher Fowler always wanted to write about ‘writing’.

It’s the story of how a young bookworm growing up in a house where there was nothing to read but knitting pamphlets and motorcycle manuals became a writer – a ‘word monkey’ – and pursued a sort of career in popular fiction. And it’s a book full of brilliant insights into the pleasures and pitfalls of his profession, dos and don’ts for would-be writers, and astute observations on favourite (and not-so-favourite) novelists.

But woven into this hugely entertaining and inspiring reflection on a literary life is an altogether darker thread. In Spring 2020, just as the world went into lockdown, Chris was diagnosed with terminal cancer. And yet there is nothing of the misery memoir about Word Monkey. Past and present intermingle as, in prose as light as air, he relates with wry humour and remarkable honesty what he knows will be the final chapter in his story.

Deeply moving, insightful and surprisingly funny, this is Christopher Fowler’s life-affirming account of coming to terms with his own mortality.

‘A remarkable book by a remarkable writer: amazingly entertaining and informative and also, for obvious reasons, one of the most moving.’ SIMON MASON, author of the DI Wilkins Mysteries

‘Wonderful . . . there is no bitterness here, but a hearty celebration of how art defines a life, with dark humour on the right occasions and the deliberate aim to leave a positive message . . . his enthusiasm is infectious and sobering when you are aware that he was dying as he wrote these pages.’ Maxim Jacubowski, CRIME TIME