A mother grows something to love from her son’s lung – a monster, a person, a monster. Strange, dark, hopeful, heartbreaking. A story of loving on purpose. Find a cozy spot to hang from your arm tail, unhinge your novel-jaw, and devour this book.
Reading this book is clinging to the edge of a hole. Finishing is falling in. It swallows whole horror and philosophy and string theory and the occult. Entangle yourself in this novel.
“‘Everything that exists…’ […] ‘…comes out of a hole.’ […] ‘Holes retrieve…and retain…what appears to be lost.’ […] ‘When you study a cavity […] you’re studying the material the cavity is in, that holds—that’s holding, the cavity. You don’t see a hole there…You don’t see the hole, you see the…omission, or deterioration, in the material that the cavity is…is in, is bored into. So for example if hypothetically you were to go into a cave or a mine, you’re doing geology or industrial engineering or mining engineering, but the one thing you’re not studying is the hole itself. How do you study a hole as a hole?’”
https://matthewbean.net/ 