In brief: Young Jim Hastings, his eccentric father William, his bookish uncle Edward and his best friend Giles (who has webbed fingers and vestigial gills), become involved with an odd collection of poets, madmen and explorers in a frantic race through (and under) Los Angeles, seeking a way to the center of the hollow(!) earth. If you have read Blaylock's later novels this wild, funny, gentle, occasionally dark valentine to all our silliest and noblest pulp dreams may surprise you. Ostensibly set in Southern California, it actually takes place in a kind of book-lover's fantasy world: ALL the protagonists are eccentric, bookish, single males, whether bachelor, widower or prepubescent boy. None of the characters seem to have a job (except the terrifying Dr. Hilario Frosticos, who runs an insane asylum). This lack of real world attachments gives the book a refreshing purity: these dilettantes, pseudo-scholars, poets and madmen have nothing to do but pursue, and be pursued by, their magnificent obsessions, which include immortality (literary and otherwise), merman hunting, miraculous inventions (the eponymous machine, antigravity), and attempts to encourage amphibious habits in mice. Blaylock's writing has since become more assured, his characters more real, his themes more mature, but there is a crazy joy in this book, and a lyrical beauty that charms me silly every time. This is a book about dreamers, for dreamers. If you grew up reading Edgar Rice Burroughs and Jules Verne, seek out THE DIGGING LEVIATHAN but be warned: it may break your heart. I leave a little piece of mine inside everytime I read it.