The Smell of Telescopes

If Hieronymus Bosch had, after imbibing ten pints of lager and a dodgy vindaloo, found himself press-ganged onto a pirate ship of uncertain date, captained by a silken-locked Welsh corsair, he may still have been unable to create visions as crowded and luxuriant as those of Rhys Hughes in The Smell of Telescopes. Existing devotees and new readers alike will be delighted to discover this new collection of stories, in which Hughes has not been afraid to prod the murky underbelly of such cultural bastions as Welsh heritage, Anglo-American academia and metaphysical gastronomy, and all in the swirling, kaleidoscopic, mesmerising style for which he is so justly admired.