Steve Erickson, Days Between Stations

[eub]

I was prompted to read this because Threepenny has a hardcover copy of Arc d'X, another book of his, so I should see if I want that. This one was not my thing, though; I didn't find much story in it. One subplot -- about a boy raised in a brothel, and the movie he made as a young man, and the lengths he had to go to to make it -- made an engaging story, but the bulk of the book -- love triangle, amnesia, shocking discoveries about past, apocalyptic dreamscape -- had a lot of happenings and surreal imagery but not much significance. And it's told in a manner that never lets it accumulate significance, because the writing insistently injects showy metaphorical significance that makes me go "oh please."

This Helprin-in-a-jimsonweed-delirium effect is quite probably intentional through and through, a planned "Story is dead" aesthetic and so forth. I just get tired of reading it.