Mopus by Oisín Curran
My rating: 4/5 cats
my first post-reading response is: “yes!!” my second is “huh?” this is my version of a glowing review.
i got this at the brooklyn book fair last week, and it was the most exciting “discovery” of the day. i felt obligated to buy something at the booth because greg told me the man behind it was eugene marten and i shook his hand because i liked his book so much, only it wasn’t him, and i barely managed to reconstruct my dignity. tip: to regain dignity, spend money. but the book sounded really good the way the man-who-was-not-eugene-marten was describing it—very much my cup of lost scrapbook, sea came in at midnight, infinite jest tea. and while it is not quite like those books, it is indeed a beautifully written, loopy chronology, poetry stew of a novel. there is an “i” and a “you” and a dog, and the ghost of a womb-ingested twin, and a ruminating man in a wheelchair. some of these characters are the same. it definitely requires a second reading, and even though it is only 152 pages, it reads slower than you would think, because you don’t want to rush it. there is some beautiful, beautiful prose in here, and even though there are things about it i am a little puzzled about, my overall feeling is positive and intrigued. i managed to get the one copy in the warehouse into the store, so hurry up and buy it. but greg is allowed to borrow mine—the last thing he needs is more books…
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