
Enright's novel is rife with Irish despair, but I can't remember the last time I stopped so often to marvel at a sentence, which is in itself a cure for melancholy.

I realized with some surprise that this was my first Pahliniuk book. It reminded me of the work of the best magicians - seemingly wondrous, partly in its ability to discourage you from looking too close. I accepted on faith that the time travel plot's math would work.

Furst's ability to craft a realistic female voice is to be commended; I just didn't really like the women enough to care that much about them.

Yes, yes, Mary Otis. More, more. You got me writing again. Thank you.

I never read books like this, but who could resist a rock star who buys a haunted suit on eBay? Not me. Hill's thriller wasn't free of the elements that keep me from this genre, but I had a darn good time nonetheless.
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