I am not a fan of dystopian novels (the author defines his
work as post - exotic literature, which I'm not disputing; I am merely
indicating how my brain processed this novel). Despite all the horrific novels
I've read, this genre makes me feel an indefinable interior darkness that is
difficult to comprehend. Nonetheless, I am intrigued by Draeger's (pseudonym for
Antoine Volodine) novel. It is interspersed with beautiful prose, creative
folktales, horrific scenes and, dare I say, some very dark humor. His command
of the written word is exquisitely complex and tormented. Volodine states that
the meaning of post - exotic literature is found, “not in the book’s pages
but in the dreams people will have after reading it”. I have little doubt Volodine
will infiltrate my dreams for days to come.
The novel's hunting idée fixe:
"You are burning. I go to you. In this moment, we
are with you. We are all moving toward you. We are exchanging our last breath.
Your memory trickles from your eyes. My memories are yours."
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