A fearless faith in fiction — Employing, since 2008, a Kantian or Jungian sensibility and an ‘intentional fallacy’ consciousness — Various passions of the reading moment — Walter de la Mare, ELizabeth BOWen, ROBERT aiCKMAN and many others old and new — Please click my name below for this site’s navigation and my backstory as intermittent photographer, writer, editor, publisher & reviewer.
Another Fracassi novella that I have been impelled to read in one sitting. I am here to report that again this is an amazing reading experience, one about four men – two brothers, their father, and the elder brother’s best friend, their backstory giving significance and credence to a fishing trip to suck clean – in ironic assonance with the novella’s title’s sound if not its meaning. The fifth character, the captain of the boat, the dreamcatcher craft, as I see it, a hawler, not a trawler, is another character with significance and credence. Not unlike at least part of myself. A huge fart of bubbles from the ocean, and scenes you will hardly forget, as they are skilfully built up, hemming the way to the edge of God’s imagination organ. Factoring in the brothers’ mother’s death from the past with dream and memory. Some self-hugging scenes of sorrow at a body’s belly and its shaved sex. Rubber suits. Pulling the skin up, as another form of hawling, “categorising away the landmines”, “whispering sweet need”. Ligottian antinatalism versus some strange, as yet uncultured, hope, I sense. “A flair.” A flare. “Jack’s calm began to fissure. ‘Fishies?’” Loaded down with one’s own barnacled cancer towards unexplored gulfs of personal exploration. But all told simply as a story.
This is potentially massive.
“Find something to love about life’s miracle, which more and more seemed like the ultimate joke.”
The Des Lewis Gestalt Real-Time Reviews 
“; against intent they’d have no chance at all.”
Another Fracassi novella that I have been impelled to read in one sitting. I am here to report that again this is an amazing reading experience, one about four men – two brothers, their father, and the elder brother’s best friend, their backstory giving significance and credence to a fishing trip to suck clean – in ironic assonance with the novella’s title’s sound if not its meaning. The fifth character, the captain of the boat, the dreamcatcher craft, as I see it, a hawler, not a trawler, is another character with significance and credence. Not unlike at least part of myself. A huge fart of bubbles from the ocean, and scenes you will hardly forget, as they are skilfully built up, hemming the way to the edge of God’s imagination organ. Factoring in the brothers’ mother’s death from the past with dream and memory. Some self-hugging scenes of sorrow at a body’s belly and its shaved sex. Rubber suits. Pulling the skin up, as another form of hawling, “categorising away the landmines”, “whispering sweet need”. Ligottian antinatalism versus some strange, as yet uncultured, hope, I sense. “A flair.” A flare. “Jack’s calm began to fissure. ‘Fishies?’” Loaded down with one’s own barnacled cancer towards unexplored gulfs of personal exploration. But all told simply as a story.
This is potentially massive.
“Find something to love about life’s miracle, which more and more seemed like the ultimate joke.”