‘Where is the Welsh short story going? Wherever Rob Mimpriss takes it.’ John O’Donoghue. Pugnacious Little Trolls, a new collection of short stories published by Cockatrice Books. ‘bathed in white fire in every sense... Borges would happily own them.’ Gee Williams on Pugnacious Little Trolls, a new collection of short stories published by Cockatrice Books. ‘a work of great beauty and subtle force… a fine, distinctive voice.’ Jim Perrin on Pugnacious Little Trolls, a new collection of short stories published by Cockatrice Books. Books: Fiction. ‘Dark, complex, pensively eloquent’ (Sophie Baggott, New Welsh Review) — Reasoning, For His Warriors and Prayer at the End, three short-story collections now published by Cockatrice Books. 10th May 2021: Following Richard Suchorzewski’s vow to ‘return to terrify’ the functional parties of Wales, I would like to announce that I will return to terrify the Nobel Prize for Literature committee. Books: Fiction. ‘Heaving with loss, regret and familial bonds.’ Annexe Magazine on ‘Gemini,’ a short story in Prayer at the End, published by Cockatrice Books. Books: Translations. ‘Lucid, skilful, and above all, of enormous timely relevance’ (Jim Perrin). Rob Mimpriss’s new translation of Morgan Llwyd’s allegorical masterpiece, A Book of Three Birds. ‘There is nothing ostentatious about his writing: most of his characters lead unremarkable, even humdrum, lives; there are few dramatic plot developments... And yet the best of these pieces express something important...’ Brian George, The Short Review. ‘These stories are a rare kind of joy. Even when they approach moments of discontent and danger they bring an optimism founded in human relationships. This is a wonderful collection.’ Prof. Graëme Harper, editor, New Writing. Books: Translations. ‘An invaluable translation.’ Angharad Price on Hallowe’en in the Cwm, the short stories of Glasynys, translated by Rob Mimpriss. ‘Humour and pity often arise from the characters’ inability to understand themselves and those close to them. In suggesting the truth and the self-deception Mimpriss not only engages our sympathy but makes us question our assumptions about ourselves.’ Caroline Clark, gwales.com ‘Quietly written, contemplative... whose powerhouse is the depth of its moral reflection.’ Siân Preece, Rhys Davies Competition on ‘Hamilton Park,’ published in Prayer at the End. ‘an immaculate collection.’ Nigel Jarrett, twice winner of the Rhys Davies Award, on Prayer at the End, a collection of short stories by Rob Mimpriss published by Cockatrice Books. ‘Through the stealthy movements of his prose, Rob Mimpriss enacts the quiet enigma of people’s lives and relationships. The result is an understated fiction of compelling intensity.’ Prof M Wynn Thomas. The story is called ‘Valiant’ in the collection, For His Warriors. I recommend it. Highly. It feels to me already like a classic.’ Fiona Owen, editor, Scintilla. A quiet writer with a loud voice... I’ll be listening for more.’ Michael Nobbs, gwales.com on Reasoning: Twenty Stories, published by Cockatrice Books. Books: Fiction. ‘In the most seemingly unremarkable of Rob Mimpriss’s pieces there is a skill, and a mystery and elusiveness to that skill, which other short-story writers might envy.’ Gee Williams. Books: Anthologies. ‘Industry in the Country of the Blind,’ new fiction in Land of Change, radical prose from Wales edited by Gemma Howell and forthcoming from Culture Matters. Books: Anthologies: ‘this exemplary collaboration’ (Philip Gross). Dangerous Asylums, an anthology of fiction by leading Welsh writers, inspired by Denbigh Mental Hospital, edited by Rob Mimpriss.

‘The Conquest of Angles A and B by the Superior People of Angle C’ was first published as part of ‘Reflections on the Destiny of the British Race’ by the peer-reviewed New Writing: The International Journal for the Practice and Theory of Creative Writing on 23rd April 2019, DOI: 10.1080/14790726.2018.1520895, and appears in Pugnacious Little Trolls by kind permission of the publisher.

The Conquest of Angles A and B by the Superior People of Angle C

These stars… these vast worlds which we can never reach. I would annex the planets if I could.

Cecil Rhodes

Let history know that in the ninetieth year of our habitation, the people adjacent to Angle C mounted an expedition against the peoples of Angle A and Angle B, whose chants and imprecations were a nuisance by day, and whose concupiscence disturbed our sleep by night. Let it show that we marched from the vertex of Angle C towards the hypotenuse, broke in two at the point where our territory met theirs, and set upon their people in their lechery and slumber, just as the light was increasing. Let history know also that People A and People B sued for peace, and ceded to us one third of their territories along the Euler line. Finally, let it tell that we evicted the people we found there, set up camp at the median M of the hypotenuse, brought our supplies and settlers from Angle C, and so established our civilisation in the farthest corner of our new territory. Towards the third meal there was a brief uprising. Fighters from Angle B advanced towards Point M, meeting their allies from Angle A: attacked from both sides, our settlers defended themselves with cooking pots and knives, killed some, and took others captive, whom they stripped and bound at hand and foot, beating them as the light decreased, until their groans and curses echoed through the Triangle.

Then, for the first time our ancients could remember, the hours of darkness were broken not by the taunts and provocations of their warriors, nor by the moaning and crying of their lovers, but by the sounds of their lamentation as they lay by their unlit cooking stoves, and took stock of their shared defeat. We heard their poets denounce the perfidy of People C, while their women cried out the cowardice of their warriors who had quit the field, and our captives added their voices to the clamour, proclaiming their nakedness and bonds an insult to the honour of their peoples. By the ruddy light of torches which gleamed on the hypotenuse, and dimly lit the Triangle’s roof, we dragged our captives home to the vertex. There we stood resting our backs against the catheti a and b, while the most stertorous of our leaders raised his voice above the clamour, threatening a total war to which the violence of that morning would seem like a pale tranquillity. Such were his threats that a quietude fell over People A and People B, broken only by the murmurs of their discontent, by the attempts of their poets to find nobility in defeat, and by a woman who raised her voice in piercing ululation as she cried out the name of her lover. One of our hostages gave reply, but was silenced with a blow, and at last even those protests faded into silence, as our defeated peoples consoled themselves in an exhausted sleep, and we, the victors of Angle C, were left to discuss our discipline and fortitude in conflict, our prudence and intelligence in peace.

That we, the people of Angle C, are rightful leaders of the Triangle is confirmed by vulgar observation, and by the doctrines of our trigonometers. First, we are the most numerous of its three peoples, amounting always to exactly half its one hundred and eighty souls, for always the rasping breaths of the ancients cease at the wailing of the new born. Second, we now rule over half its area, from the vertex of Angle C to the median points of the catheti, and from there to the bisecting point of the hypotenuse in lines that form a perfect square. From this it will be seen, third, that our point of origin, Angle C, is also a perfect right angle, superior in its radius to the acute angles, A and B, and asserting its uniqueness against their conformity. And we observe that what is true of the angles is true of the peoples which they have borne: for we, the people of the Angle C, concern our minds with what is right and fair, and busy ourselves with the practical arts, while the peoples of Angles A and B fritter their time in wrestling and boasting, in antic fables, and in the shadow-plays of their illusionists, cast in the flickering light of their cooking stoves on the wall of the hypotenuse.

When we gaze towards the vertex of Angle C, we find ourselves consoled by the perfection of its ninety degrees; when we pace back and forward along its rays, we find our minds made right and straight in a model of our habitation. We are likewise refreshed in the number and the quality of our kind, in the clarity of our speech and the probity of our dealings; when we turn our gaze along the catheti, we observe the wretched acuteness of Angles A and B, and the harshness of manner and the contraction of mind that they instil in their inhabitants. Yet if we glance up along the Euler line, we confront the grim expanse of the hypotenuse, one thousand paces from end to end, and infinite, as we believe, in depth. This hypotenuse is ever present in the darkest of our thoughts, and more so in the thoughts of our settlers at Point M, defying the order and comfort of Angle C, and terrifying, or so we infer, those half-wretched peoples whose angles are beneath it, separated from each other by its gargantuan breadth.

A little after the first meal, we dispatched couriers to appeal to such intelligence as Peoples A and B possessed, and to impress upon them the justice of our expanded rule. We demonstrated the elegance of the new geometry, replacing the forms of their old trapezoids with models of the Triangle itself, joined by and abutting our perfect square, which henceforth would maintain a peace between them. We flattered the quaint acuteness of Angles A and B, and the sublimity of the hypotenuse, which exalts the peoples A and B, we claimed, to their genius in the arts. We even encouraged a little laughter at the simplicity of our customs, depicting a future in which all three peoples would live as one, augmenting the sense and good order of People C with the energy and spirit of its neighbours. And we demanded their submission on behalf of our captives, whose lives we could take hostage in retribution for revolt, or make comfortable in their slavery. Later the peoples of Angles A and B sent heralds to sit at our third meal. Our captives brought food, and our guests displayed their grandiloquence with slaps and petty kicks, boasting to each other of their future importance in the new geometry. A voice arose from Angle A in crude and jeering rhyme. A few of the heralds fell to brawling among themselves. One of our own number attempted to intervene, and as a hidden blade lashed out, we heard the moans of a woman just beginning labour. We arrested the heralds, and as the light faded on our dying man, his head cradled in the hands of his lover, we spent the hours of sleep in growing discord.

And now let history understand the contentions that then arose between the people of Angle C. There were disagreements, first, over whether we should execute all of the heralds as a warning to their peoples, or the one most likely to have wielded the knife. Then some among us began to dispute the new geometry, which had doubled the size of our territory, yet sacrificed its form; there were those who now felt stricken with remorse for the blood we had shed. Still others feared the revenge of Peoples A and B, whose numbers combine to rival our own, and who exceed us in guile and malice. Then our arguments came almost to blows as some demanded that we release our slaves, withdraw our settlers and sue for peace, and others that we assimilate Peoples A and B into our own people, and exterminate their cultures, or even that we wage pre-emptive war against them, and claim the whole of the Triangle as our own.

Where do Angles A and B begin? Our patrols set out from the vertex of Angle C, proceed along the catheti towards the median points, and there turn inward to converge upon our settlement. Yet if they were to continue along the catheti, they would encounter no barrier to our expanded rule until they met the vertices of Angles A and B themselves. And if our enemies, who fear and hate us, combined their forces and advanced, they too would meet no barrier except the vertex of Angle C, and except the steadfast courage of our warriors.

So now we prepare ourselves for war.

Where does Angle C end, if it can be said to end? Our trigonometers have begun to doubt that the hypotenuse is real. Rather than a barrier of infinite depth, it is, they suggest, a mere line, or even another shadow cast by the illusionists of Angles A and B in some cowardly and duplicitous plot to cheat us of our greatness. And if the illusionists were put to death, or the whole of their peoples were put to death, then the illusion might be dispelled, as ignorance is dispelled in a child when it is instructed.

If the wall of the hypotenuse were to disappear, then we would face no limits to our advancement as a people. Behind us would be the vertex of Angle C, from which we come, and from which we claim our destiny, and on either side of us would be its rays, stretching away beyond the Triangle into a limitless habitation, peopled perhaps by our future slaves, towards infinity.

I am the author of four short story collections. Reasoning and For His Warriors, originally published by Gwasg y Bwthyn, Caernarfon, with Welsh Books Council support, now join Prayer at the End and Pugnacious Little Trolls in revised editions at Cockatrice Books. My anthology of fiction, Dangerous Asylums, including work by Gee and David Williams, Glenda Beagan, Carys Bray, Simon Thirsk and others, was published by the North Wales Mental Health Research Project, October 2016. I am a contributor with Nigel Jarrett, Rachel Trezise, Tristan Hughes and others to Brush with Fate, an anthology of Welsh fiction translated by Hala Salah Eldin, and to Land of Change, an anthology of radical writing forthcoming from Culture Matters. My work has appeared in Albawtaka Review, Annexe Magazine, Blue Tattoo, Cambrensis, Catharsis, East of the Web, The Harbinger, The Interpreter’s House, New Welsh Review, New Writing, Otherwise Engaged, The Swansea Review, Tears in the Fence, Writing in Education, and elsewhere. I hold a Ph.D. in Creative and Critical Writing, and am former Artistic Coordinator of the North Wales Mental Health Research Project convened by the Betsi Cadwaladr University Health Board. In 2011 I was elected to membership of the Welsh Academy in recognition of my contributions to Welsh writing.

I am the translator of Going South: The Stories of Richard Hughes Williams (Cockatrice, 2015), Hallowe’en in the Cwm: The Stories of Glasynys (Cockatrice, 2017), and A Book of Three Birds, the seventeenth-century classic by Morgan Llwyd (Cockatrice, 2017). In addition, I have translated fiction by D. Gwenallt Jones, Angharad Tomos, and Manon Steffan Ros.