Kill the Dead(2)

Paul Darrow then, unwitting at the time, stepped into the role of the main male character in Kill the Dead. A description of Parl Dro (a clue, too, is in the invented name—this is occasionally also obvious with other actors I have ‘written in’) reveals Mr. Darrow at the stage and era he then occupied. But here I must stress, for this is the erroneous myth which somehow attached itself to this novel, it is not Avon I am writing about. Indeed, to have done that would have been not only an infringement of strict copyright, but also a bloody cheek. Although I had much enjoyed examining Avon’s character a little, inside the legitimate bounds of Blake’s Seven, I would not have dreamed of trying to reproduce him elsewhere. So, it is Paul Darrow the actor, who is acting Dro in these pages. A man damaged both physically and mentally by his bizarre and tortured trade, a man who, frankly would have, I think, earned both Avon’s contempt, and Avon’s complete horror. And in addition, to be quite fair, even Paul Darrow’s handsome appearance and manner of interpreting character underwent, during the book, endless changes. That usually happens. I think actually only Vivien Leigh, Elizabeth Taylor, and Jacqueline Pearce remained exactly physically like themselves throughout those several Lee novels they have adorned.

Meanwhile, I did write a play for Paul Darrow–my fourth for BBC–The Silver Sky. I even got my photo in the Radio Times for that one! The other part was for lovely Elizabeth Bell. Again, I was enormously lucky that they both agreed to do it. Their performances are gems, especially Elizabeth’s blend of courageous and sexy, tender femaleness, and Paul’s faultless rendition of that last, very demanding, monologue. (As ever, there was a great supporting cast, and glorious director—Kay Patrick.)

Incidentally, when I later told Paul Darrow (at a Blake’s Seven party) that I had had the sauce to recruit him to act Parl Dro, he was very nice about it, and laughed with some amusement. The few actors I have told have never been unkind. They laugh, or even seem interested.

The last misunderstanding that has added itself to Kill the Dead is that Michael Keating (Vila in Blake’s Seven) plays the part of Myal Lemyal. Sorry, he doesn’t. I believe that mix-up came about because I also wrote a play for Michael–Darkness, which the BBC didn’t want. It is a good play, and with more of the sort of imput producers and actors have always given me, it could, maybe, have been very good, but there. Meanwhile, I had compared Kill the Dead’s Myal to myself. Again, a clue is in the name –my all, etc: A talented idiot.

That then is the Truth about KTD’s relation to Blake’s Seven. I do myself think that something of the style–wisecracks, put-downs, even long areas of dialogue–that I used in the show, also inform the book. And I do think too that Paul’s ‘performance’ in the character of Dro, even if changing into a real and separate being–as all my characters seem to do, to me, in that parallel universe I am blessed to have access to–added immeasurably to the novel.

If curious enough, one might also look up another book of mine, Sung in Shadow. It is a wild re-telling, in a parallel Renascence, of Romeo and Juliet. He has a secondary starring role in that, one of the non-teenage figures. It’s a meaty part. He more than did it justice.

A handful of years back I wrote a monologue specifically for Jacqueline, and later one for Paul, as part of MJTV’s CD series The Actor Speaks. The disks are highly intriguing and entertaining, both for their frank interviews and their other examples of terrific drama written by actor-producer Mark Thompson. While for me, it’s particularly magical to hear both JP’s and PD’s (musical) voices rendering my words–at the touch of a button.

Writing is my life. It is among the best of all the best things for me. But those times when I’ve been fortunate enough to be interpreted by so many actors of such golden calibre, on radio, CD, TV, and film, I consider some of the most radiant events in my career.

Tanith Lee 2010

CHAPTER ONE

“Cilny—we are in danger.”

The shadows did not answer.

The only way down from the mountain was by a steep, tortuous steel-blue road. About ten miles below the pass the road levelled grudgingly and curled itself around toward an upland valley where trees and a village were growing together. Half a mile before it reached the village, it swerved by the wall of a curious leaning house.

There were trees growing by the house, too. Their roots had gone in under the foundations, seeking the water course that was otherwise evident in the stone well just inside the ironwork gate. Gradually, the roots of the trees were levering the house over. Extravagant cracks ran up the walls, and a dark-green climbing plant had fastened on these. Over on the north side, however, the house itself had at some time put out a strong supporting growth: a three-story stone tower.