![]() LovecraftĪround August, I hit a wall and stopped reading for a long while. It's a nice reminder that you don't have to love something in order to be affected by it. It provides an orgry-like handbook of styles so dense it took me most of the year to swallow it all, and though I honestly didn't love it along the way, I've maybe thought more about the book in full than most any other I read this year. ![]() ![]() Coover's most known for his satire and deconstruction of the major campy genres, but this one in particular takes on an epic, acid-bath-like quality, more like a petri dish of absurd send ups of human behavior and destroyed takes on social custom than any kind of linear exhibit or who-dun-it? The amount of linguistic mechanics Coover packs into every page here feels like a Ulysses-sized redux of the board game Clue. I think it was partially a function of the the plot, which pretends to be basic-a noir-ish dinner party in which people end up getting killed in strange circumstances-but is in fact anything but. For some reason with this particular Coover, I found myself drifting in and out of the narrative every five or six pages. ![]() Once I start reading something I typically like to stay with it and only it until I reach the end. ![]()
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