Resisting Proper Observation

FF60DC0C-1CCC-4388-AD83-B9FCE6F658BBSeriously, this is too good to describe, having read the first part, in one happy and sad sitting, so smooth, so entrancing, so moving from place to place in the emotions, adolescents with artificial consciousnesses powered by the indeterminate sun, such embodied consciousnesses on sale as friends for adolescents with real consciousnesses, I infer, one of the former being Klara as narrator in the AF store, in sight of the RPO Building if you as an AF are displayed in the store’s front window and rubbing shoulders with the other different brands of AF and often seeing the passers-by (some of them would-be customers), passers-by outside with human quirks, a scenario so teeming with so much life out and in — with your accretive observational skills being learnt… but the book itself so far is somehow Resisting Proper Observation or Objectivity. It seems at first likely to become one’s book of a lifetime. And perhaps I shall know this for certain sooner or later. Or it’s a tantalisingly ungraspable gestalt, forever.

So I will try to remain abstemious with the content of this real-time review. Knowing it will come together whatever I otherwise think. You will buy it, I am sure, whatever I say.

As quoted from this first part of the book: “Because you know how lousy it feels, people telling you how perfect things will be and they’re not being straight.”

KLARA and THE SUN by Kazuo Ishiguro – my real-time review:

Variants of Emptiness


I thought at first Tom was going to get a rope to hang himself, but it turns out to be a potentially clever pulley-system to help rescue those distressed and lost in the morphing hallway, whatever the length of the rope’s dubious capability to span such morphing or expanding — like today’s morphing and expanding Covid variants produced by Covid’s own existentialism to dupe any cleverness humanity uses to make it vanish towards an eventual nothingness, like the expanding blanks, too, here on the pages ‘written’ long before anyone had even a single co-vivid dream! An irony not lost on me in now recognising this book as a remarkable co-vivid dream in itself as retrocaused by mankind’s fell inability of emptiness to deal with a pandemic of doubt and global change and empty populism. A bookhouse that is ‘not for you’, because it is beyond you? This real-time review of it, unbeknownst to me till now, is perhaps my humble provision of another version of Tom’s rope…

from my ongoing review of

House of Leaves

by Mark Z. Danielewski


The parrot ambled slowly through the air, with, as it were the jog of a fat pony translated into flight.

Elizabeth Bowen

Stephen Jones & Kim Newman HORROR: ANOTHER 100 BEST BOOKS

My review of THE SHADOWY THIRD by Julia Parry:

Paradox as a Belief System

971A958C-0543-470A-8747-0E8568E7313A I am usually a reviewer of fiction. I shall try to read this book — of seeming academic strength as well as, no doubt, authorial sentiment — as fiction, but I already sense it has a preternatural truth about it that often makes fiction, from my empirical work upon it, even truer than truth. A paradox, perhaps. Yet this beautiful first chapter confirms me in such a belief.
I have publicly called ‘A World of Love’ by Elizabeth Bowen, although a novella, the greatest ever ghost story. And now we have this chapter that fulfils my belief on a level yet to be established. A “psychic affinity” between not only sender and recipient of a letter (any letter but I suppose LOVE letters in particular), but also sender and recipient of fiction. A two-way filter, perhaps. A mutual synergy. An “electric connection.”

“I heard the dynamic voice not just of one of my favourite novelists, but one of the great writers of the twentieth century.”


From the start of my review of THE SHADOWY THIRD by Julia Parry:

I thus hope I am

CCA211CF-31DB-4E1C-9858-2FE8FF5BEB5C And just as Homer and Virgil and other poets are the only means for recording places and spirits thereof and hearts and souls and histories and peoples for posterity and memory, otherwise they’d cease to exist, I, too, I hope, am similarly ‘the poet of the book review’ and of the Platonic Form of Book as gestalt, in such a mode of priceless preservation of things that would otherwise vanish into the lost time of ungraspable distances without my real-time reviewing them… Seriously, I thus hope I am.

Above is from my ongoing review of THE SOT-WEED FACTOR by John Barth: