Horror writers don’t come much more elusive than Garth Marenghi, AKA “the dream weaver”, AKA the “titan of terror”. The author (who bears an uncanny resemblance to comedian Matthew Holness) is best known for his 1980s hospital horror “dramamentary” Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace, starring Marenghi himself and featuring actors also bearing uncanny resemblances to comedians Richard Ayoade, Matt Berry and Alice Lowe. Assumed lost for decades, the series eventually surfaced on Channel 4 in 2004, as a result of the “worst artistic drought in broadcast history”. While some incorrectly assumed it was a spoof, for Marenghi the world of horror fiction remains an extremely serious business. As of 2006, he had personally written 436 horror novels, but since the release of Darkplace, we’ve heard next to nothing from the author/shaman. Now he’s back with a brand new book, TerrorTome – a horror tale in three parts – for which he has been contractually obliged by his publishers to complete a single piece of press, not of his choosing: this one. We caught up at a top-secret location (though I can reveal the No 36 bus went all the way there) to find out just how 2022 is about to get a whole lot horrible-er …
Hi Garth! Lovely to meet you [proffers handshake] …
[Abruptly] I think I’ll decide that … Have you washed your hands?
Yes. Well, probably. No. Anyway, you’re back with brand new horror book Garth Marenghi’s TerrorTome. Apparently it’s been 30 years in the making. How come it took so long?
[Wiping anti-bacterial gel into hands] The nature of time has been the main issue. Seconds and minutes quickly form themselves into hours, transmuting by degrees into days, weeks, months and, ultimately, years. Before you know it, decades have elapsed. The essential issue was the ever passing of time between the commencement and conclusion-ment of my task.
Would it have been quicker had you bothered to learn how to type with more than two fingers?
Writing balls-to-the-walls horror is extremely physical. Typing with more than two fingers is counterproductive for any horror writer; you need to concentrate your strength on two fingers alone. I get quite hard when I write, so the best way to channel that energy is by banging – bang, bang, bang. If you type with your hands dancing all over the keyboard [mimes touch-typing], you’re essentially rubbing without release. It’s far more potent to jab.
What’s your writing process?
Get up, eat, consider the news, reject it (the news, not my breakfast), lunch, nap, have a hot chocolate, then I’m hard at it for a solid hour or two before either Pointless or Tipping Point.
Is your lead character, horror novelist Nick Steen, based on you at all?
I’d say I’m less of a deviant than Nick Steen. In one of the stories – TerrorTome is a triumvirate of three mini-stories that form one epic portent – he develops a questionable psychosexual relationship with his typewriter. I’ve only done it once with a typewriter, and that was for research for this book.
As the self-described “master of the macabre”, where do you sit among other horror writers such as Stephen King or Clive Barker?
I won’t sit between anybody. If it’s the annual horror convention curry, I am always head of a long, rectangular table. One year, I wasn’t sat there and cancelled the entire event. Last year, Richard Osman – who was in the area and had been staring in at us for 20 minutes through the window – tried to cadge a free pudding, saying he was hoping to segue into horror after conquering cosy crime. I sat him at the far end and we all completely ignored him. He left two of his three scoops entirely untouched.
Did you come up against any problems getting the book out there?
We had a bit of problem trying to find a publisher, mainly because the content is so terrifyingly prescient. But my job as a shaman is to evolve mankind. These are stories that need to be told. So, having fired several editors, I got chatting with Ken Hodder, head of Hodder books, who was sat to my immediate right at the same horror convention curry, but not level with me, as I was head of a rectangular table, remember? He’d agreed to read my manuscript in exchange for a free bhuna, but when the hot towels came I swapped his glass for the metal goblet I insist on quaffing from – which is deceptively deep – and got him to sign there and then. Give or take another bottle.
Low-budget 80s hospital horror Darkplace only finally aired in 2004 in the form of documentary/presentation Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace. Would Darkplace be easier to get off the ground now? They commission all sorts of rubbish on Netflix and BBC Three …
The term is “dramamentary”. That’s difficult to answer, because I’m legally bound not to discuss the show, anyone I worked with, nor – in fact – anything in my life up to 2009. I don’t think we could remake Darkplace because, the last I heard, the tapes had been covered in 300 metric tonnes of industrial cement by Channel 4. In many ways the current state of the world can be entirely blamed on Darkplace failing to enter the mainstream. Had more people absorbed its teachings, we would have evolved as a species. But that’s mankind’s problem now, not mine.
Horror shows set in the 80s are all the rage now. Do you watch Stranger Things with a tinge of jealousy?
Rage is an apt word here. All I will say is that TV is broken. And I refuse to mend it twice.
Is there room for comedy in horror?
No. Having said that, horror can create emotions akin to laughter. When I initially took my horror show to the Edinburgh festival, people were so terrified that they screamed with laughter. It’s a survival instinct: extreme fright either induces chronic laughter or the immediate vacating of the bowels. It’s all contingent upon the essential integrity of one’s sphincter.
Were the gates of hell opened by Darkplace hospital a clever premonition of the current state of the NHS?
Not the literal gates, no. They were made from wood and plastic. But yes, metaphorically they were indeed a clever premonition, with the emphasis on clever.
It’s a pretty miserable time to be British. Which Darkplace horror plot would you most like to happen in real life to cheer us all up a bit?
2022 certainly seems like the perfect time for a hellhole to open beneath us. But if said hellhole were to open up and swallow the entirety of the UK like the jaws of some primordial hellbeast emerging from the Earth’s living core – which is also sentient, by the way – mankind would certainly need a shaman, or sha-woman, to plan our ascent back up the hellface. Hence: TerrorTome.
Dean Learner, your publisher, describes you as “the Orson Welles of horror, and not just because of your weight”. How are you keeping in general these days?
Still in my prime, thank you for asking. Though we’ve all put on a bit of weight. One of the main problems with remaking Darkplace is we’d have to change the aspect ratio to fit everyone on screen, probably going up to 16:9 or, on a particularly fat day, 21:9.
What do you think Dr Rick Dagless, your Darkplace character, is up to now?
He is undead, as are most of the other members of the hospital, except for the receptionist, who is part moth.
What happened to the film you were working on – War of the Wasps?
Sadly, the wasps escaped and got into the salad, then attacked the entire cast and crew. So, unfortunately the whole film got pulled, which was a blow to us – and a sting to the wasps. Heh heh heh.
Are you working on any other film ideas?
Yes, a violent horror thriller called Joist. A man is found half-dead inside an elaborate wooden crate, his entire body racked with pine splinters and Ronseal fence varnish. Elsewhere, the local B&Q has run out of loft panelling and cherry timber planks. With the victim identified as a former exec on the advisory board at Jewsons, police suspect the work of Joist, an insane psychopathic serial killer recently escaped from a local asylum. Joist, an embittered ex-carpenter and joiner once fired for constructing shoddy, splinter-strewn treehouses for the local orphanage, is now wreaking revenge on his former employers, plus anyone else failing to appreciate the craftsmanship of his fine planing. To stop Joist, Chief Detective Blake Packbury must first sand his way through the plywood Larsen trap blocking the door of the station Portaloo, followed by a wire-meshed mahogany ladder trap encasing the precinct lockers, using only his tongue. It’s currently housed in the second circle of development hell, draft four, third revision. I’m going to walk.
Many other writers and comedians cite Darkplace as a massive influence on their work …
Yes, and I will be suing them all.
What do you think is the secret to Darkplace’s lasting appeal?
Some would cite the script, the acting and the essential message of Darkplace as the reason for its longevity. It’s all of those, of course, but Darkplace was ultimately the result of my brain alone. So I would say: my brain alone.
What are your tips for getting into the glamorous showbiz world of horror writing?
If you are fortunate enough to enter my sphere at a convention, never hand me your own “book” and ask me to read it. If necessary, I will respond with violence.
Is horror writing a life worth living?
For the third time, I’m a shaman; I have no choice. But luckily I’m the best at what I do. When I put two fingers to keys, I evolve mankind. I don’t know what would happen if you put two fingers to a typewriter. Can you even hammer hard?
[Mimes touch-typing]. No. I’m clearly a dancer.
There’s your problem. Don’t dance on the keyboard – pound like a Norse god, which apparently I am, by the way.
Garth Marenghi’s TerrorTome is out from Hodder on 3 November.
