Be forewarned This is no "conventional" novel-it's a noirwreck at the intersection of East End Avenue, Dashell Hammett, Thomas Pynchon, Max Ernst's Une Semaine de Bont , and Firesign Theater's Don't Crush That Dwarf, Hand Me the Pliers-a necrophilological fable that, like most nightmares, is by turns horrifying, hilarious, inexplicable, and mesmerizing. Gavronsky's cracked one-liners, delivered in submarine-gun staccato, lead from clue to conundrum-who's the rich bi-handless dame? Is Lascaux really for sale? Is that a giant car-lifting magnet? Is Uzbekistan for sale? Will the Blond Bullets be rescued? And what is a guillotine doing in Columbus Circle? From one hanging cliff to the next, this novel is sexy, surreal, and very, very, weird.
Michael Golston, Columbia University