Book Review: Nostradamus Ate My Hamster by Robert Rankin

Again we enter into the bizarre pseudo-world known as Brentford with the master of weird fantasy-comedy, Robert Rankin.

Nostradamus Ate My Hamster, is the tale of a small film studio down on its luck that suddenly finds itself able to cast high-calibre actors. The fact that they are all dead is no obstacle to the meteoric rise of the studio and its bizarre third-rate Director. Clearly nothing is as it seems and as the plot unravels, it is typically surreal as we expect of Rankin with the jokes coming thick and fast.

With tales of time-travelling Nazis, pubs that get atomised when the Ark of the Covenant is opened, holographic projections of long-dead actors doing… shall we say things that they were not noted for… this is one of the more amusing of Rankin’s earlier work. I’ve said before that I much prefer his later work such as Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse, Knees Up Mother Earth and The Da-Da-De-Da-Da Code but this is one of those exceptions. Like his earlier work though it is less of a satire and more surreal in its approach. The theme is a little dark in places with and ending that has both dark elements and a sense of justice.

The time-travelling tale will make your head spin and it is more cerebral than most of his other earlier work, amongst my least favourites are The Greatest Show Off Earth and The Book of Ultimate Truths which had few laughs and a plot I found it difficult to care about.

Not a bad addition into The Brentford Trilogy (how many are there now, about eight or nine?)


2 thoughts on “Book Review: Nostradamus Ate My Hamster by Robert Rankin

  1. I’m not sure if this is really a book I would read, but that title sure is catchy! That alone must draw people in to see what it is about. At the very least, your review of it sounds interesting.

    1. mgm75

      Robert Rankin is a bit of an acquired taste. He ought to appeal to fans of Pratchett but his stuff is far more surreal. As odd as Nostradamus Ate My Hamster sounds, it is far less surreal or bizarre than most of his other earlier work (see my review of “A Dog Called Demolition”)

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