The single best SFF novel of the year, I'd say. And here are my strangely horizoned thoughts as to why. This was quite a long-pondered review, actually, although still not quite articulating, I fear, what it is about this fine work that affects me so very much. It has something to do with the way bats don't fly straight and owls do, certainly. Something, that is to say, to do with lyric as opposed to narrative poetries, and so presumably to do with my personal writerly problems with the latter always straining to collapse into the former. One day I'll write a novel as good as this one. I mean, I tell myself so. A man's reach should exceed his grasp, right? Or ... I forget how the rest of that goes.