...it feels appropriate enough to quote Matthew Arnold's words on Shelley here. If you come to Shamanspace looking for a completely assured, furious gagfest you may be disappointed - or perhaps not: the line between comic and tragic is never that impermeable, and real insight is often readable both ways. (Could you really imagine a production of Waiting For Godot that elicits no laughs?)
Shamanspace is novella-length, treating the subject of an assassination attempt on God by organisations scalding with rage at the universal suffering that comes with sentience. The exposition is handled slightly, even off-handedly at points, and often the action, motivations and themes are conveyed more through descriptive, allusive language than straightforward narration. This approach is suggestive of half-veiled meanings and significance, almost like reading an ominous dream. My only problem with it is one of balance; although the style generates more real poetry than I can locate in many poems, it isn't in every single instance fully successful at propelling the plot, occasionally giving an impression of a slightly over-ornamented short story, or perhaps an idea for a full-length novel incompletely realised: hence only four stars instead of five.
Nevertheless, these ambitious traits contribute to what makes Shamanspace interesting and atmospheric rather than blandly action-oriented, and Aylett's felicitous phrasing and startling acuity combined with a compelling central concept make this well worth reading. Afterwards I found myself wondering whether it was glorious or terrible that humans are left with nothing to worship but one another. Any author that makes you have such thoughts while you are trying to eat your lunch really is a star.