Yes, one of the greatest artists ever, but a disaster as a human being. With an ego bigger than the sun, Salvador Dalí loved no-one but himself and was loved by no-one in return. Having cemented his reputation as an artist by his early thirties, his greed for gold helped flood the art market with counterfeits. Turning every trick in the book, he became a star in America. Gala his wife, manager and muse, helped nail him to the cross. Still swinging into her nineties, she kept Salvador slaving to the bitter end to pay for her toy-boys (boy-toys). Recent findings on her childhood in Russia reveal a Romantic side to a tormented soul. These chronologically arranged stories of the Great Masturbator trace his life from spoiled childhood to the pathetic exhumation of his corpse in 2017. To inject a modicum of relief into Dalí's surrealistic extravaganza, author Patrick Farnon ― a Spanish-speaking Scot who lived in Dalí Land for more than a decade - offers intertwined tales of village folk and mountain men. Binding them together is the Tramuntana. Howling for long days on end, its hurricane force is reputed to drive locals mad. Salvador was immune. The Catalan windbag was born madder than the wind.
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