I suppose much of what I like about the book resembles what’s mentioned in the blurbs, but not quite. I really like how the book constantly talks about political woes but isn’t exactly political. That’s hard to achieve.

I like the courage for the inevitability of exclusion, the fragmentation along the many links and threads of events. There is a continuous fusion and disruption between elements, the personal and the universal. I also love how the quotidian is used as a transition towards political statements. I see at least three parallels that Intersect and separate.

There is a linear narrative of sorts, but the primary attraction is the spin, which isn’t linear at all. Fragments adhere to form various shapes, then fly off into the ether, only to return to recombine with new fragments. Like stalagmites, perhaps, they accrue. 

I’m reminded of Robert Smithson’s essay on “a pile of language”, an activity of forward motion, relentless running over cliffs, rushing toward its own destruction which has always already occurred. Erasure – space by way of dislocation, the constant jarring, filling of pages that empty just as fast. Unlike writing that is intended to fix finalize and preserve, here forgetting is just as important.

Claudio Gaudio’s second novel is an ambitious book. What comes to mind is Beckett, but a Beckett who isn’t supercilious about history and would rather forget it in favour of ontology. He instead crowd any metaphysical quivers — shall we call them that –  with all sorts of references to the here and now. There is a stillness rather than a waiting, which accumulates, as it cuts into the consecutional features we associate with narration.