Utterly beyond words, comprehension and any kind of paraphrasis, admittedly rendering this review somewhat futile, yet still, pressing on, I will conclude by saying, my tiddlywinks, that High John and his band of fiddling Milton loving flagellant anarchists provides many, well several, hours of the finest literary entertainment you are ever likely to find this side of Charles Dickens on the one hand, that side of Thomas Pynchon on the other, thus rendering it a book of the most unexpected and estimable quality, a fullsome breath of fresh hallucenogenic air in the soapy quagmire of unoriginality that is the hallmark of virtually every given human endeavour.