I’m a conventional reader, not usually given to experimental
fiction nor styles that make me work too hard.
If a prose passage is too dense to penetrate or transitions too
confusing my factory-installed monkey mind will wander off on its own for a
while. I might try it again, but if it
keeps happening, I put it in a special stack of books destined for eternal
procrastination. From time to time I
glance at that stack and say, “It’s not you, it’s me.”
There are passages that light up my brain in Hawthorn & Child by Keith Ridgway. And I found moments of intense engagement,
but I could not stay for the duration. To try to read it is like trying to
recall a night of dark dreams, their jagged edges butting against each other. I
wake up confused, yet moved. I’d tell you what the book is about, but I can’t. Ian Rankin is quoted by the publishers
on the back cover:
“Brilliantly weird.
The novel that has impressed, mesmerized and bamboozled me most this
past year is Hawthorn & Child.”
The Times Literary
Supplement compares Ridgway to Beckett
The story escaped me, but I love the cover.
2 comments:
Just between us, I think I'd prefer to be called "weirdly brilliant," rather than "brilliantly weird." So next time you need a review, quote me thusly "Wow can that Tierney fellow write! His books charm, enlighten, stimulate. I'd sum him up as weirdly brilliant."
And you can quote me!
But, do I bamboozle?
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