It is a story of how we remember those who are lost, and how we rebuild those who shattered in life.
Nine months after his wife’s death, a man is abducted from his house by a band of violent thieves and taken to a nightmarish city called Weatherhead. There he falls under the dark attentions of the cruel, despotic ruler of the city: the wife he thought dead.
This a love story between a person still living and a person still dead. It is also a hate story between the same, a violent story populated with all manner of ruffians, crimes, running street battles between Love and Hate (a particularly nasty bunch who hang out at soda fountains and dress terribly) and knife-fights between mourning and evening spouses. It is a story of how we remember those who are lost, and how we rebuild those who shattered in life. If life is a place in which we die, what does that make death?
Here’s What Several Reviewers Had To Say:
To paraphrase Cixous, reading this novel is like walking on a dizzying silence reading one word after another on emptiness. She actually said that about the writing process itself but here it applies to this strange, savage landscape that Hushour has brought to life. Amongst the phantasmagoria and humor there is an unease, the feeling that the ground will give way beneath you or that you will fall into the maw of the sky. The author has a Kubrickian claustrophobia and his love of mazes as well, not only borne out by the topography of Weatherhead itself but in the labyrinth’s of his character’s souls. This is a big work that invites you to live in it a while, to try on its weird garments and act differently in the face of the world’s chaos
Remember when you were just outside Barstow in Bat Country? Remember when you suckled on Mugwump jism in Tangiers or peeled the layers of Calvino’s Venice? Remember getting caught in the geometry of Pynchon or the poetry and meditation of Lispector? Remember discovering the gentle melancholy of Georges Perec? Remember Weatherhead. Relish the terror of existence.
To quote Cixous more directly, “I learned infinity limits love. One must never stop giving it limits to devour.”
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I can’t, in its entirety, exactly explain what happened in this novel and what it’s about. It was trippy and bizarre and really rather sad.
There were parts of the book (flashbacks) about the protagonists and their doomed marriage that were clear and beautiful. These were dispersed between surreal scenes with unnerving and distorted characters.
This it not something I’d normally claim to have loved reading, but, despite getting a little lost and confused during the longer abstract scenes, there was also an awful lot I did love, especially the slow build. Full marks from me!
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Hello?? Look I don’t have much time. The connection is very unstable. I don’t have the time or the bandwidth to explain just how important this is. There’s not many of us left now, and this will use up the last of the emergency generator’s fuel reserves. If you dont want your grand children to wind up like the ones outside, you will read this book. Its the only way to stop The Event. But this is the important part – you *must not* read it ironically. We still don’t know how ‘J. M. Hushour’ did what he did. We probably never will. But we can’t think of any other way. Also, if it doesn’t work, please remember to leave can openers in the shelters.