Charles’ material, on this, his first performance, doesn’t quite fill the hour.
Charles Quarterman Heroes @ The SpiegelYurt, Edinburgh * * *
“I shall simply start from the beginning again,” he announces. And does. It is ridiculously funny.
He is a man of words, but he uses them in very much his own way. The ‘a’ in the name Gerald is silent, he takes issue with roads being said to ‘stretch’ and his poetry anthologies have titles like Sandwiches of Sorrow. He is scrupulously honest and will always tell you, to the word, if something he has said is untrue. The section he intones from his incomplete autobiographical novel will stay with me always, although bee lovers should really get a trigger warning.
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He seems to have been incredibly prolific, choosing excerpts from a huge number of poetic anthologies and novels (finished and otherwise). It is amazing that the Fringe has not welcomed him before. His delivery is very much after the manner of a male Alexa, whether reading from his Book of Regrets, sharing tales of hitch-hiking, or telling the tale of his old friend, the barman at the Happy Anus. Poetry and prose make up a strange but absolutely compelling (not quite) hour.