This must be the first book I’ve ever read in its year of publication. Living in London is giving me a taste for contemporary fiction, and I enjoyed this one very much despite initial suspicion that it would be banal in its treatment of alt sex.
Really moving, captivating and raw. The footnotes and art essays, and their unfolding relationship with the narrative, give the reader a responsibility for orientation and judgement that sometimes seems to be taken for granted by contemporary art.
I love it when a book makes me feel as though it’s reading a part of my mind, knows secrets about my own experience, needs, unknowings. Hard to put my finger on what exactly Ewan Morrison has done to give me that frisson, but something to do with the shifts in perspective, the relations of power between his characters.