8 of 10 people found the following review helpful
4.0 out of 5 stars
something, 18 Jun. 2013
I find his writing like entering an antique shop. A whimsical collection of lexical trinkets, (social mathematics, art commentary, obscure historical characters, sober reflections and their discourse), scattered in space and time on shelves with unrelated affection and quaint curiosity. Brilliant sentences crafted with superfluous consideration and gift for those fortunate enough to have the luxury of time to browse through them. But it is only on leaving, that last glance back from the door, when the tiny old bell on the doorframe tinkles, that you realise he has laid out this room with the most intimate neatness. Not a corner without care. It is precisely loose and poetically relevant. And he has woven all these objects, abstractness, into something succinct and complete. With such personal honesty and taste that you cannot help but feel somewhere unique and special. This store of jumble is deceptively stocked with everything you need to tidy up the universe a bit. In this thrifty little book he has made a wonderful display of those subjects we all struggle to package into our barcode boxes. Love. Loneliness. Loss. Grief. Death. It makes a lot of sense, and all the more poignantly so in an endeavour to settle his own dust.