Tall Tales From Pitch End

Nigel McDowell
"A richly imagined gothic tale of friendship, loss, rebellion and adventure"
Tall Tales From Pitch End – picture

A richly imagined gothic tale of friendship, loss, rebellion and adventure

Ruled by the Elders, policed by an unforgiving battalion of Enforcers and watched by hundreds of clockwork Sentries, Pitch End is a town where everybody knows their place. Soon-to-be fifteen-year-old Bruno Atlas still mourns the death of his Rebel father ten years ago, and treasures the book of stories he secretly uncovered: the Tall Tales from Pitch End. After discovering a chilling plot planned by the Elders, Bruno flees, escaping to the mountains where a bunch of disparate young Rebels are planning a final attack on Pitch End. With secrets and betrayal lying around every corner, Bruno will find himself fighting not only for his life, but the life of the town.

Publication Date: Thu 6 Jun 2013
ISBN Paperback: 9781471400407
ISBN Ebook: 9781471400414



Nigel McDowell

Nigel McDowell grew up in County Fermanagh, rural Northern Ireland, and as a child spent most of his time battling boredom, looking for adventure - crawling through ditches, climbing trees, devising games to play with his brother and sister, and reading. His favourite book as a child was The Witches by Roald Dahl.

After graduating with a degree in English he spent almost two years living and working in Australia and New Zealand. With him he took a small notebook containing notes about a boy called "Bruno Atlas", and a seaside town called "Pitch End". When he returned to Ireland after his travels, one notebook had multiplied into many, and eventually his notes for Tall Tales from Pitch End filled a large cardboard box... TALL TALES FROM PITCH END was Nigel's first novel, followed up by THE BLACK NORTH.

THE HOUSE OF MOUNTFATHOM was Nigel's final novel, before his death in early 2016 at the age of thirty-four.


Bruno could hardly breathe, his mother's arms tight around his chest. The Marshall held the gun aloft again, hand steady. 'Don't make me repeat meself,' he said, chest heaving but with a voice so very calm. 'Yer name, yer title, and the location too of Dr Jonathan Bloom. Now.' For the briefest moment, Bruno looked into the eyes of the Rebel - two cauldrons reflecting firelight. He had hoisted himself onto his elbows, looking upwards into the sky - then into the face of the Marshall. 'Never,' said the Rebel, his voice just as calm and clear as the Marshall's. 'I will never ever, never ever . . .' The refrain went on and on - Bruno felt it would never cease. 'Rebel,' spat the Head Enforcer, as though he could think of no muddier insult. He fired. Bruno shut his eyes and cried, 'Stop!' and without a thought freed himself from his mother, scrambled to his feet and threw his body blindly against the solid figure of the Marshall, his small fists striking. But each weak attempt was in vain. 'Stupid child,' said the Marshall. He settled one hand across Bruno's face - the stench of leather like instant suffocation - and pushed him backwards onto the ground. His mother pulled him close again, but not into an embrace. She pinched his arm and said, 'Never ever do that again, ye hear me? Just like yer father. It's not sensible to behave like that.' 'Ye need to watch that one, missus,' said the Marshall. 'He's got too much fire in him.' The Marshall grinned, the Enforcers laughed at the joke, and still the flames rose. Like the Rebel, slumped, a heap on the ground, Bruno and his mother's home finally folded, defeated, into the earth.