They call me Peacock. Why?
The tattoo. I wear it on my shoulder. I had it done in my teens, in admiration of the bird. I still admire the bird today. I admire the way it looks. I admire the way it struts. I admire the way it preens.
And did it hurt? Did it fuck.”
Peacock Johnson’s got an idea. A masterplan to help him escape his criminal past. But he needs someone who can turn ideas into something real, so he’s taking his idea to America.
Join him on the craziest journey of your life, but a word of warning, don't fuck with Glasgow’s own Rhinestone Cowboy, because nothing is going to stand in his way. Not the nagging of his mad missus, Bev, nor the weird antics of his Yankee sidekick, Evil Bob.
As Peacock careers from one crisis to another, his aspirations and plans spiral out of control in a frenzy of hilarity, disaster, sadness and insanity. But this is America, the land of dreams, where anything is possible, even The Peacock Manifesto...or is it?
The Peacock Manifesto is probably the best black comedy you'll read this year. It weaves farce with danger, splicing sensitive undercurrents with brutal reality, sucking the reader into Peacock’s well-dressed, badly advised and always utterly compulsive world.
“If Stuart David ever gives up the day job, pop music’s loss would be literature’s gain.” The Times