The review in the Guardian is, as with Padgett Powell's novel, written entirely in questions. You can tell, I think, that reviewer Stephen Poole is enjoying himself:
"Am I halfway through this review yet? Is it getting difficult to keep asking questions? Is it getting difficult to keep reading them? Would you like me to stop? Have you, in a curious way, almost forgotten what a simple declarative statement sounds like in your head, its comfortingly parabolic music? Do you feel as though you are talking to a teenager? Or are you fully acclimatised, by now, to the interrogative mood? Do you even like it?"
After reading this, it seems to only proper way to respond to such a book. Perhaps a reminder that often its not the answers we love, but the questions.
Read the full review here.
Enjoy (?)
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