![]() Where Ham’s plotting might falter is the plethoric piling-up of unrelatable hate-figures, whose meanness of soul might seem incredible had we all not lived through the past four years. (This is no bad thing in itself, but maps need compasses.) After all, any novelist is something of a Penelope: web-weaving and unravelling are integral to plotting, especially if the denouement is full of blood, vengeance and mayhem. It seems to me that the second book would have been friendlier with those little pointers, because the plot is labyrinthine. ![]() The first book was organised around sections titled with textiles: Gingham, Felt, Shantung, Brocade – you could feel them their textures adumbrated much of what was to happen to the characters. Ham’s devils are never completely eradicated.) (Ennis simply kills God, but also kills the Devil. ![]() There are other strange congruencies with Preacher: at one point Ham, like Ennis, puts God on trial and finds ‘‘him’’ wanting. I was irresistibly reminded of ‘‘Arseface’’, Garth Ennis’ character from Preacher, except that Arseface’s fate is kinder. She is being pursued by some familiar figures of fun-hatred, notably Beula Harridene, whose grotesque injuries in the previous novel have left her blind, noseless and practically toothless. It’s 1953, the Coronation year, and Melbourne’s society women want special clothes for all the balls and celebrations. In The Dressmaker’s Secret, we find that Tilly has escaped to Melbourne. ![]()
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