Is there a prospective literary editor with a bit of time on his hands out there?  Or, at least, someone who fancies shaping-up a translation from the German of the first volume of Alexander Merow’s Prey World series.

Prey World is a dystopian fiction series currently standing at three volumes with a fourth in progress.  To quote Merow, only a fool would think it nothing more than fiction.  The narrative opens in 2027 and concerns the efforts and sacrifices of people and peoples in Europe and the East to free themselves from a totalitarian new order - a global state sustaining an elite of a clearly Jewish and Masonic character above peoples bound to a life of kafkaesque greyness, poverty and official brutality.

Merow is a thriller writer, not a creative artist.  But he is not writing for the reader with a developed aesthetic taste.  He is writing for the mass audience.  Here is what the translator (I presume) has to say about his work:

“Prey World” is no ordinary book and no easy entertainment. There is enough “easy entertainment” in our times – far too much. On the other hand, there are not enough books like “Prey World”. Books that make you think about the world we live in. And it is important that people begin to think.
The author has found yet a lot of interested readers all over Germany, and we hope that he will find also some readers in the English-speaking countries. Furthermore, we would be glad, if a “real” mother-tongue speaker would edit this English version one day.

Editing the translation is, I feel, less than it really needs.  I found myself less offended by the translator’s understandable and admitted shortcomings than by the author’s evident refusal to pause and really finish each paragraph he has written.  At the close of this first volume there is a passage in which the World President dismisses his secretary’s concern over a brutally put-down rebellion in Paris.  I’ve corrected both the grammar and word selection and also completed the artistic portrait.  The latter, of course, is well outside the task of Anglicisation requested by the translator, and would probably ruffle the authorial feathers.  Nonetheless, it’s what the narrative needs to make it attractive to a game publisher and a wide readership - and it is a wide readership that the message deserves.

The World President, who made him stand as always and this time even turned his back to him, harrumphed and answered, “Not right? Of course it was right! The masses shall know that we control them. They can hate us but, first, they must fear us. Their world, the old world, is broken into pieces and will never return. The new world is our creation. Yes ... we want to show our power openly, as the elders of our past always intended it. They were forced to spin their threads secretly. We don`t need secrecy any longer, because we are the rulers of this earth. In our hands is all the might of the world, and the sign of invincibility is our banner, the banner of our new world order.”
“I believe you, Mr. World President!”, said Morris, almost under his breath.
“No,” replied his master emphatically, “I know that you do not mean that, deep inside. But that`s quite immaterial. What you believe has no meaning. The people also believe much, but it is perfectly irrelevant. They believe in a better world, in a rescue, in their god!  Well, Mr. Morris, if that god in whom these animals believe would really exist, I would personally liquidate him!”
The words of this man, for whom he did the most menial paperwork, visibly intimidated Morris. Liquidate God! Morris looked around, as if searching for an escape should one become necessary, but didn`t dare to bestir from his place.
“There are only a few who could really become dangerous for us, but they are quiet at present,” the World President continued, “At least, they don`t show themselves openly. But this is nothing for you, Mr. Morris,” he said, his contempt undisguised, “really nothing for you.”
He clasped his hands behind his back, and seemed to lapse into contemplation. “We are the darkness of the world,” he said.  But he was musing to himself now, and Morris did not catch the words, “Whoever follows us, will never walk in light again.”
The servant inquired what the master had said, but the question remained unanswered.
Instead, the World President raised his tone and said, emphatically, “We bring the yoke of slavery to all nations. Who knows us knows also that we are the lords of hate ... the dark messengers of destruction, hating the light of other men, always eager to extinguish it. We tore down the old world we hated so much - we gnawed at the roots of civilization, and finally we brought it down. We hid for a long time under the cloak of lies and distortions - our greatest art. Our enemies - those fools! - even hailed us. Childish maggots! Now the time of our triumph is at hand and who shall deny us our pleasure.”
“I ... I don`t know,” Morris stammered, and even scratched his head to display the necessary confoundedness.
“You don`t need to know, my faithful servant. Because wisdom is reserved only for the wise. Ignorance casts a shadow in the minds of those like you. That has always been a strength to us,” said the World President, and he spun around. His dark eyes sparkled at the nervous little man. He took the glass of orange juice, sipped it and waved Morris dismissively in the direction of the door. Then he turned away again.
“Goodbye, Mr. Morris!”, he said flatly, his head nodding slowly as if in affirmation of some damning, private judgement about this ordinary little man, indeed about all ordinary men.