Author: Gordon Keirle-Smith
Genre: Fantasy, Alternate History, Conspiracy Theory
Facts stifled for 50 years revealed at last! In 1962 a cache of ancient urns was discovered in Antarctica dating back tens of thousands of years. They contained writings proving our ancestral myths are rooted in the history and culture of a pre-glacial utopian civilization…
“Zandernatis” retells the most fascinating storycontained in these texts: “The Song of Gorin”, an epic poem describing what really led up to the “Fall of Man” in “Paradise”. Initially, it reads like a fable – only here it is backed by robust corroborative evidence and endorsements from researchers, the media and eminent experts, despite efforts from the establishment to block publication.
Volume One of the trilogybreaks the silence, laying the foundations of this multi-faceted revelation, combining alternative history, conspiracy theory, allegorical fantasy, suppressed archaeology and insider analysis, all in a single work – whiledefining a whole new literary genre in theprocess…
Fabulous facts or fabulous fable…
Where do you draw the line?
Gordon Keirle-Smith’s current home is Nîmes, in the south of France. His preferred form of expression was always writing, particularly drama, although he has also lived several other “lives”. He was a successful visionary artist in the late 1960s (when his studio was located in a famous London West End theatre). He regularly exhibited – and sold – his work in a top Cork Street gallery.
He moved to France in the early 70s and decided to put all the paintings he would never have time to complete into a book. This became the first version of “Zandernatis” in 1974.
He then worked in tourism, headed a Paris language school’s team of 40 teachers, coached top advertising executives in communications skills, won the Toastmaster’s European Speechmaking Championship (twice), contributed articles to house magazines for market-leading companies (e.g. Oracle and GDF SUEZ) wrote advertising copy for major international brands (Air France, L’Oreal, Renault, Heineken, Delsey, etc.), founded and managed his own highly successful marketing transcreation agency…
All of this experience was then applied to reworking the original version of “Zandernatis” and developing its “meta-realist” aspect with the aim of creating a new kind of reading experience.
Author Blog: http://zandernatis.com
This is how the “retelling” of “The Song of Gorin” begins:
III – The Awakening
“The Beginning was Cosmipotos,
of all things and formless,
being and creating of Itself,
one essence, one conception
and one power.”
Book of Magres, Aeon I, Age I, Chap. I, v. i
From “The Song of Gorin” Stanzas 14-31
orin regained consciousness slowly, his senses gathering together one after the other as if breathed into him by the wind.
He became aware of the unyielding rock he was lying on and the warm sun beating down on him.
He moved his hand to one side and felt the roughness of the stone and the warmth it held. He touched the small tufts of grass eking out a bare existence in the tiny hollows where a little earth had collected and the dampness sustaining them. There was the delicate fragrance of wild flowers in the air, brought to him on the gentle, caressing breeze…
He lay immobile for several moments, as a strange sensation of incomprehension began to steal over him. Where was he? How did he come to be there? He must have been asleep for a long time to feel so confused… Just be patient, he thought… Everything would come flooding back in a minute… But it did not.
At last, he opened his eyes and tried to sit up. Only to discover his limbs would not obey him; they were stiff and tired as if they had lain in the same position for many, many hours on end. He managed to roll over onto his side and look out at the world surrounding him.
Then he knew that however he had come to this place, and the circumstances involved, were all far beyond his grasp. Simply because the landscape he now saw spread out before him was quite alien to anything in his conscious memory.
Nevertheless, he marvelled at the spectacle, for its sheer beauty was breathtaking. Particularly for someone with no previous recollections of such splendour.
He was lying on a rocky piece of ground inclined towards the edge of what appeared to be a precipice, some 10 measures distant. On either side, tall pine trees reared up like sentinels, guarding the place where he lay. A mass of green undergrowth flourished around their roots and amidst it, he could see the blues and yellows of the flowers whose scent had come to him on the breeze.
Then his attention became focused on what lay beyond his immediate surroundings, as he struggled to take in an apparition of such wonder he did not know whether to believe in it as reality or as part of a dream. Yet the vision, if such it was, persisted. If anything, it became clearer as his eyes adjusted to the light.
They were mountains, he was practically certain. Lofty, white-capped peaks rearing into the sky with awe-inspiring defiance and majesty. Yet how did he know they were called “mountains”? Come to that, how did he know he was called “Gorin”? For a moment his head swam in even greater bewilderment. The known and the unknown… The mystery of before and the unknowing of now… There was one thing he was absolutely certain about, though. This was the first time he had ever seen “mountains” in such detail, so close at hand. And he marvelled at them.