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adamrbrooks 's review for:
Wolf in White Van
by John Darnielle
I've enjoyed John Darnielle on a few podcasts, and listened to a little bit of Mountain Goats. He's an interesting guy.
But this book is brilliant. Dense but accessible, twisty but clear, devastating but hopeful. Intricate and sweet and terrible.
I can't do much more to describe it, however. It feels too different than anything else I've ever read.
And while I highlighted a few passages of great writing, it comes at you in waves, with too much momentum to stop and record. Can't wait for his next books.
(Here are a few lines I highlighted)
The screen throbbed in its familiar way and the darkness around it spread out to the farthest corners of the room.
It was the product of someone’s hard work, a vision brought into the world of real things.
I hated how much I needed all the help they gave me, hated needing to call the nurse, hated feeling like my greatest success would be in making childhood my permanent condition.
He is like a jellyfish adrift in the sea, throbbing quietly in the warm waves of the surf just off the highway where the dusty white vans with smoked windows and indistinct decals near their wheel hubs roll innocently past.
It isn’t really much of a mystery, this occasional need I have to comfort my father. I did something terrible to his son once.
But this book is brilliant. Dense but accessible, twisty but clear, devastating but hopeful. Intricate and sweet and terrible.
I can't do much more to describe it, however. It feels too different than anything else I've ever read.
And while I highlighted a few passages of great writing, it comes at you in waves, with too much momentum to stop and record. Can't wait for his next books.
(Here are a few lines I highlighted)
The screen throbbed in its familiar way and the darkness around it spread out to the farthest corners of the room.
It was the product of someone’s hard work, a vision brought into the world of real things.
I hated how much I needed all the help they gave me, hated needing to call the nurse, hated feeling like my greatest success would be in making childhood my permanent condition.
He is like a jellyfish adrift in the sea, throbbing quietly in the warm waves of the surf just off the highway where the dusty white vans with smoked windows and indistinct decals near their wheel hubs roll innocently past.
It isn’t really much of a mystery, this occasional need I have to comfort my father. I did something terrible to his son once.