Paperback out now!

December 13, 2017

My novel To The Bridge is now available as a paperback on Amazon!

It tells a story of obsessive love, marital heartbreak and eventual redemption, set against the backdrop of Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s wonderful suspension bridge here in Bristol. Isambard himself also puts in an appearance later in the novel.

This is definitely my best and most literary work so far, and I’d love it if you took a look….

The US link is

The UK link is

Feedback would be very welcome!

To The Bridge - paperback cover Vs 1.0


Some light protection for The Book of Nine

May 11, 2014

Book of Nine Copyright Statement

“The Book of Nine” title, content and concept, the Slavic future-medieval setting and the nine gods theme are the intellectual copyright of Luke Andreski.

Luke Andreski has also asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of The Book of Nine. All rights to publication, distribution or serialisation, in any form or in any media, are reserved by the copyright holder. No part of The Book of Nine may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission in writing of Luke Andreski. Electronic copies may at some point be purchased from or Amazon but are sold for sole use only and must not be copied for the use of anyone other than the purchaser or as a once-only gift from the purchaser to one other person for their sole use. The concept, ideology, creed, philosophy, belief system, slogans, logo, trademark, games applications and brand of The Book of Nine are the sole property of Luke Andreski and must not be used without his prior written permission.


May 27, 2012


Draft text from pending Instalment 2 of Green Messiah:


The philosopher on the wall is meant to be Socrates – as ugly as he is honest – or Aristotle, perhaps: a better looking man. Or perhaps Pythagoras or the historian Plutarch. He is at the very least someone, Mattie thinks, who means something to Marshal, something important. She lowers Marshal’s hand to the duvet. She is exhausted, depressed. Depression is anger turned inward, she understands that. Depression is a corrupt form of wrath, denied its rightful expression. But why is Marshal angry? She studies the lines around his eyes, his clamped lips, his cramped jaw. She wishes… imagines… oh, god, she imagines… lowering her night gown to expose her diminishing breasts. Despicable, milkless mother, unmothered by age! Through Marshal’s closed eyes – because, in her genes, she is nine million point nine nine percent Marshal – she sees herself digging at her breastbone, scrabbling and tearing at her poor, haggard chest, digging and scraping and hacking and clawing with increasing desperation until at last her fingernails penetrate the skin and reach into the flesh. Through Marshal’s eyes she sees her fingers pluck her own chest open, her ribs parting and unfolding with hardly any mucous and even less blood to reveal at last the small, hissing mouth of a new umbilical cord.

She sees herself, through Marshal’s tight-closed eyes, draw loop after loop of nacreous cord from the cradle of her ribs. She sees herself raise the sucking umbilical mouth to Marshal’s lips. She sees herself ease her new umbilicus across his flaccid tongue, over his gulping epiglottis, into his oesophageal tube. She reaches forward. She feels the bite of his teeth on the side of her hand. Bite me. Hurt me. As if this is real.

And thus will her child be healed.

And thus will she sustain him with an energy and a life force entirely of her own.

Thus will she redeem him, thus bring to him his lifeline, thus provide him with an exit from the place in which he is trapped. Here… the knotted, bloody cord up which to climb. Here… pinion, cleat and rope with which to scale the looming valley walls. Here… faith to believe he can succeed…

Oh, see him skirt precipitous overhang and crag!

See him climb, inch by hazardous inch, from darkness and depression, from rancour and self-loathing, from self-pity and despair towards a perfect, plangent light. Thus will he overcome the darkness in his soul. Thus will he rise from his self-created hell, from bitter, clinging murk, from cloying, stinging smog to a new and better place, to a world where despair no longer signifies, where all can be rebuilt, where joy has been reborn, where every object upon every surface of every home within every city of every nation of the entire world glimmers and pulses and glitters with the radiance of hope.

– and thus will she bring him to the heaven his earth should always have been…

And thus will a mother’s duty be done.


© Luke Andreski 2012. All rights reserved.



September 2, 2011

My short story Armada is now available (for a week or so) on Bridgett Walther’s website, It can also be found on

I wrote this story to explore the feelings of transcendence and metamorphosis sometimes available to the lonely. I sympathise with the need of those who are strange or unusual or different to find acceptance and recognition – but I also know that isolation and loneliness can offer an intensity of perception unavailable when you are immersed in the crowd.

The stillness of being alone, wherever you are, can amplify your thoughts and offer you insights you would never otherwise achieve.

I hope you like the story. Feedback is welcome.