A review by hognob
Enon by Paul Harding

4.0

What a strange, infuriating, lovely, weird book. A sort of sequel (but not really) to the Pulitzer prize winning "Tinkers", Enon follows Charlie Crosby, the grandson of "Tinkers" main character, as he navigates the death of his daughter. What's most striking about this novel is that there's almost lead up to the death itself, it occurs in the first paragraph of the book, and is given as fact. There are no big twists, no real "plot" here, other than watching Charlie descend into his grief and become transformed by it. There's no goal, no quest, just a man interpreting cosmic violence, and in small moments enacting that violence back out into the world. There are beautiful images throughout the novel (in particular there's a rather distressing image towards the end of a cape made of the bones of dead birds, which grows as live birds begin to nest and live in it), but there are also long, frustrating descriptions that felt flat to me or cliche in some ways. Charlie takes refuge from his despair in booze and painkillers, and there are moments that just feel... almost too stylized, too bumbling, or too "this is how drugs work"... I'm not sure how to describe it, but there's something in how his addiction developes and plays out that didn't sit right with me. If you were a fan of "Tinkers", I'd say this is worth picking up, but it's different, and not as powerful or beautiful. However, it's a different story, a different focus. The strongest parts of this book are when Charlie remembers moments of his life with his daughter, as she is possibly the strongest and clearest character in the whole novel, and the love depicted between them is gorgeous and heartbreaking. I enjoyed reading it, but was frustrated as it felt like it continually had fallen short of what it could be.