If you got the answer then pour yourself a drink. Both men created fictional painters active in 1926. Lovecraft came up with Monsieur Ardois-Bonnot, a French painter who ‘… hangs a blasphemous Dream Landscape in the Paris spring salon of 1926’, for his short story The Call of Cthulhu.
Ardois-Bonnot is an example of the worldwide psychic disturbances signifying the reappearance of the alien god. Cthulhu is obviously an art lover.
Waugh’s contribution is Monsieur Jean de Brissac la Motte who appears in his novel Brideshead Revisited. De Brissac la Motte joins the narrator and friends in London at the time of the 1926 General Strike. He claims to have been in Budapest after WWI when Admiral Horthy rolled in and crushed the Bolsheviks; but ends up in hospital after an elderly widow drops a flower pot on his head from a top floor window.
‘We were joined by a Belgian Futurist, who lived under the, I think, assumed name of Jean de Brissac la Motte, and claimed the right to bear arms in any battle anywhere against the lower classes.’
Paratexts and Minor Characters
They’re both very minor characters, barely walk-on parts. I’m surprised that in today’s self-devouring, self-referencing culture no-one’s written a book or graphic novel about one or both. Perhaps they could team up to fight crime.
So much of our culture is self-referential cannibalism. We sample music, we sample films, we mash up. The speed of communication (thank you internet) means we create something, expand it, parody mercilessly, and meld it with unrelated cultural constructs in a matter of days. Hours maybe.
Originality is objectively difficult as hell. Some say impossible. Is deluding yourself you’re being original better or worse than luxuriating in vulturing the corpse? God knows. But combine it with an inexhaustible hunger for new product and we’ll find out pretty soon. The well might run dry.
A priceless mummy with rumoured magic powers is missing from the Egyptology section of the Louvre Museum in Paris. A ransom note demands independence for the colonies in exchange for its return. The police are baffled, the government paralysed. Inspector Lacroix calls in a Franco-Belgian duo who’ve saved the day before. De Brissac la Motte thinks a gang of Bolsheviks is behind the theft. But can he rouse Ardois-Bonnot from his opium slumber in time to save the Francophone world?
For more warlike weirdness, you can buy my books in paperback or ebook: