by Kurt Fawver
The apotheosis of Pwdre Sêr, as filtered through Faw Vêr.
“It reminded us of an inflamed wound clotted by auroras. It reminded us how far from the rest of the world we really were.”
Gash rift tear climate centennial celebration an ovoid glob
“…a small town that crouches at the lonely end of a peninsula which, at its base, sprouts off into a much larger peninsula…” – an insular community near the equator in mutual synergy with that folk horror peninsula of Ostermeier (here) in a contrastive climate. But a community just as susceptible to Samhain et al…even to Samsara or the Collusive Soul, a Collusion as Collision, explicitly matching a startling conception in Fawver of “immaculate collision”: a rush to subsume ourselves towards inserting the word ‘that’ in the middle of this rarefied apocalyptic book’s overall title…just as we have with the presumed, once happy child-like penisula’s jelly-and-cream of the Internet that has swept us towards the Trumpster and the Bodger, and even further!
A compelling Fawver narrative suspense a genuine tour de force …
Not enough space to write all I want to write about this rollercoaster of religious jelly and so I need to write words by etching them on our own blank flesh. Words that are unclouded and literally uncloudeable.
“So, as the object hurtled ever closer, the importance of our centennial dissipated.
King High School”
Sky jelly star jelly cosmic rot our cherished containers for the glob’s garnered jelly and with stretched-out people wobbly people who claim half of us as hostages and half of the jelly back from our vessels, from our holy grails that we used to contain it…
The calls, the disappearances…and possibly one of the most poignant descriptions of something that needs describing against all good sense of human sensibility that it should have been written at all, let alone repeated in real-time here…
“…a noise like you’d get if you took two pieces of rusty metal about the size of planets and scraped them back and forth over each other. It was such a huge, distant, lonely sound. It made me want to wrap myself up in blankets and pray for strength.”
“Zen state or a religious fugue”
“When they complained that wobbly, rubbery people were leering at them through their bedroom windows…”
‘Immaculate collision’, yes, indeed, immaculate conceit. What’s the word I’m looking for?
The ultimate gestalt real-time reviewing…and now I know that I started doing this type of reviewing in readiness for this so-called novelette. Till now, I have been keeping my powder dry or sere. (Sere is an old literary adjective for withered or dry.)
…turning to jelly…
“..we turned to the jelly for defensive support. We studied its embedded, glimmering shards for intelligible patterns of refracted light, for coded signals, for any form of direction or knowledge.”
“Day in and day out, an unnamable anxiety bored its way into us.”
Jelly talks with images, fundamental, a coronal virus, collucid, co-vivid…
Gospel of the Jelly unclouded and literally uncloudeable.
Writing like scrimshaw, or, I guess, stigmata such as Christ’s or as a scared or sacred self-harming…
Self-deception (how can you know, if you are already self-deceived, that it is indeed self-deception?), a clouding of minds from the cosmos itself or from ourselves, from our unevolved jelly brains — we are happy that we are doomed.
Full context of this review: https://dflewisreviews.wordpress.com/2021/12/15/we-are-happy-we-are-doomed-kurt-fawver/