Of all the curious artifacts one might unearth on the campaign trail, the 2017 novel The Blood Waltz by Reform UK by-election candidate Rob Kenyon stands out as a particularly unexpected treasure. Marketed as an “epic journey of one man’s attempt to readjust an alternate future whilst wrestling with his moral compass, lust and ego,” the book’s blurb could, perhaps cheekily, be mistaken for a description of a political crusade. But this is a work of fiction—a self-published thriller that throws its protagonist, Lance Corporal Bradley Clyde, into a maelstrom of time travel, wartime espionage, and illicit romance. For the curious voter in Ashton-in-Makerfield, or indeed any reader in search of pulpy adventure, the novel offers a fascinating, unfiltered portal into the imagination of the man seeking their vote.
The connection between author and character is deliberately thin. Like his creation, Rob Kenyon served in the Royal Engineers and hails from the North-West, a detail that grounds the narrative’s more extravagant elements in a bedrock of personal experience. This authenticity shines through in the novel’s meticulous, almost obsessive, attention to military detail, from the specifications of the British Army’s SA80 rifle to the economic realities of 1940s Germany. Such passages reveal an author deeply engaged with the machinery and history of conflict, even as he uses them as a backdrop for a decidedly non-historical romp. The plot is a whirlwind, whisking Clyde between timelines as he battles nefarious forces, primarily Nazis, in a narrative that proudly cites influences like Where Eagles Dare and Goodnight Sweetheart.
Where the novel truly diverges from a standard war story, however, is in its steadfast commitment to the romantic and libidinous pursuits of its hero. The book is, in the words of its reviewer, the work of a “red-blooded male.” The central storyline involves Clyde’s dangerously illicit affair with Anna, the wife of his Gestapo nemesis, Captain Jaeger. Mr. Kenyon the author approaches these sequences with a restrained, almost teasing style, preferring suggestion over graphic description. The reader is treated to a sustained, almost comical, focus on Anna’s physical allure—her breasts, her cleavage, her bosom—observed not only by Clyde but by every peripheral character in the scene. It is a courtship dripping with cinematic nostalgia, channelling the doomed glamour of Casablanca and the rugged charisma of a Clint Eastwood line delivery.
Beyond the romance, the novel attempts to build tension through dialogue, with one particular scene standing out as a bold, if curious, authorial gambit. In a clear homage to Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds, Kenyon constructs a lengthy, psychologically charged confrontation between Clyde and Captain Jaeger. The exchange revolves around an extended metaphor involving a jug of cream, with Jaeger using the analogy to subtly communicate his awareness of the affair. The scene strives for nail-biting suspense through circuitous and elaborate verbal sparring, an ambitious attempt to expand upon a cinematic moment the author clearly admires. It is a testament to Kenyon’s dedication to his genre inspirations, even if the execution may strike some as overwrought.
For all its genre trappings, the book occasionally offers glimpses that feel personal. When Clyde expresses a disdain for desk duty and a need to be “full throttle” in the fight, one can sense a reflection of the author’s own drive for direct action, whether on a battlefield or a political doorstep. The prose is unapologetically bold, featuring dramatic escape plans, playful regional banter, and the blunt, tantalizing premise of using time travel for the ultimate historical correction: “I could kill Hitler.” It is this unabashed, energetic commitment to its own premise that gives the book its peculiar charm. In a literary sense, it operates with a confidence that acknowledges no critic.
In conclusion, The Blood Waltz is a singular piece of political ephemera. As the reviewer notes, while his opponent Andy Burnham may boast a weightier political record, he cannot compete with Kenyon in this specific artistic arena. The novel is pitched as “the finest Nazi-battling, time-travelling, affair-having book currently on the market,” a niche it may very well own. The underlying suggestion of the review is that this creative energy, currently channeled into a political campaign, might be better suited to the literary world. After the by-election, regardless of the outcome, the author will indeed have more time on his hands. For fans of this uniquely spirited genre blend, that prospect holds the promise of a long-awaited sequel. The fate of Makerfield will be decided on one day, but the adventures of Bradley Clyde could, it seems, continue indefinitely.
