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A review by allegedly_miri
Geek Love by Katherine Dunn
5.0
This is possibly my favourite book in the world, despite the title which prohibits me from recommending it to people lest they think it’s a John Green novel about two nerds who hook up.
But this was the first book that ever held me, when I was about 13/14, in that ravenous and desperate state that some books suspend you in - causing you to ignore everything else around you and devour the pages, only to find it’s 4am and you’ve got school in the morning. I read it again this week and felt the same way.
Every page is quite literally thrilling. There are things that are allowed to happen here in between the covers that are disgusting, horrifying, and heartbreaking - but somehow tender and enthralling all the same. There’s cults, radiation, abuse of all kinds, circus freaks, romance, body horror, sexual crime, violence, telepathic doctors, and self-mutilation. The lilting pace is pitch-perfect, each scene painted beautifully and given such character by everyone who inhabits it. It’s a joy to read. A squelchy, foul joy.
Since then there have been others. Invisible Monsters, The Late Hector Kipling, and others straddling that bizarre-comic-tragic-grotesque line. But this was where it started and it’s left me worried I’ve already read the best book at the age of 24.
But this was the first book that ever held me, when I was about 13/14, in that ravenous and desperate state that some books suspend you in - causing you to ignore everything else around you and devour the pages, only to find it’s 4am and you’ve got school in the morning. I read it again this week and felt the same way.
Every page is quite literally thrilling. There are things that are allowed to happen here in between the covers that are disgusting, horrifying, and heartbreaking - but somehow tender and enthralling all the same. There’s cults, radiation, abuse of all kinds, circus freaks, romance, body horror, sexual crime, violence, telepathic doctors, and self-mutilation. The lilting pace is pitch-perfect, each scene painted beautifully and given such character by everyone who inhabits it. It’s a joy to read. A squelchy, foul joy.
Since then there have been others. Invisible Monsters, The Late Hector Kipling, and others straddling that bizarre-comic-tragic-grotesque line. But this was where it started and it’s left me worried I’ve already read the best book at the age of 24.