Excerpt from a chapter of my novel

Here is a little part of one of the chapters of my novel. (It hasn't a title yet, the novel) (Maybe it could be something like "Little known lands and their inhabitants"). The title of the chapter instead is "The Kingdom of the Shit King".

(...) The Kingdom of the Shit King is not a place that can be described as pleasant. It is an uncultivated land, mostly hilly and flat, which, judging from the vegetation, could be in Germany, say, or at least at that latitude and with that type of climate. There is a city, the capital, and some scattered villages. The city consists almost exclusively of ruins on which arise impromptu and evenescent huts  made of sheets, boards, shreds of pillars, plastics, wooden poles. The ruins, here and there, reveal a previous building glory: remnants of gilded stuccos, iron knockers with zoomorphic effigies and marble orphan capitals emerge between the stones and the cement of the rubble.

In the center of the city stands the king. He does not have a palace either, but rises up above his subjects, sitting on his throne on top of a huge pile of excrement. The King of shit is a fat man with a contemptuous look. He wears worn clothes and a kind of coppola like a crown.

Around his towering throne the inhabitants of the city and the kingdom approach in a continuous stream, as pilgrims to the sanctuary. They wear rags, sometimes they are naked. They approach lenses with head bowed, then they kneel close to the throne, they stay there a little, as if in recollection, and then they go walking backwards, in maximum deference. Some carry containers filled with shit, which they carefully pour at the foot of the royal heap. (...)

That's the thing.