A nun passed as I walked to the school. I touched her with my eyes and believed she blushed. Avalanches of melting snow fell from the rooftop and released a thud. No other sound, no one to be seen, the only sound was the thawing snow. The Headmaster and Mrs. Draper were out of town, far away in deepest Exmoor surrounded by fellow ghouls; thank God for that. I decided to take charge. I was to be the Headmaster for the week.
Clifford Coles, Headmaster of Falston; it had a ring to it.
‘It was, it is me. I take responsibility with all that has happened.’
And so we follow the life of Clifford Coles, prep school master, fantasist, alcoholic. If there is a place Coles should not be, it is at an English boarding school, responsible for shaping young lives. He would disagree: remaining adamant that the boys would have no better teacher and that his life had been unfairly judged.
A disturbing novel that blazes with originality, Mr Coles is a searing study of modern amorality. It compels our immediate response and serious reflection.
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