Monday, June 17, 2013
Like David Markson’s wonderful late fictions, Powell takes you on a similar reckless adventure in pure thought and language. Just questions after questions but every page and every line is remarkable; it is wickedly funny and deeply effecting in ways many more structure bound fictions are rarely. Powell along with Markson takes the spirit from Beckett and Barthelme and crafts darkly funny, evocative fictions, crafted in impeccable language that without even a hint of plot keep you turning pages drunk on the language alone. This is Literature without an ounce of fat, perfect in most of the ways that you want it to be, just an enigmatic text that forces you to contend with it but so funny and entertaining that pretentious thoughts as I have just voiced never comes to mind.