I loved the beginning of the book. I love the combo of cosmic horror and noir crime novella.

But...Purple prose has limits and I hit the wall around the 75% mark. I slogged on. A formerly interesting character changed into a wild, vindictive Mary Sue! The plot fell apart into tiny, shining shards of black beetles scuttling about my little device. As the beetles fell to the floor, the book lay in villa covered ruins, covered in brown viscera, my hands limply falling to my side unable to wipe away the tears streaming down my sweaty face. The street grew quiet. My eyes still followed the nonsensical words spilling from the crazily powered electronic device, but it was only the words I saw, not meaning, as I contemplated what book I would read next.

I have no idea what happened at the end of the book except words. Ten pages of words. I think it had to do with the "power of lurve" or something. Can you even “Cthulhu fhtagn”? ( )

this Persons Non Grata series features the occult detective John Persons. this short story's an inspired and seamless cross between hardboiled sf and lovecraftian horror, a version of a crossroads story, moody and evocative and well worth the read. ( )

My gods, I loved this! Deep DEEP Jazz meets gibbering horrors and the connections between memory, selflessness, and total sacrifice WITHIN the music.

The prose was jazz in its most intensely lyrical and dense and evocative!

Like... total purple prose, man. But here, it was absolutely gorgeous. Syncopated tune with counterbeats to a Cthuhlu horror eating memories even as the most delicious riff, harmony, and melody bridged two souls together on the stage.

Deep, emotional, utterly horrific. I imagined this as a riff on The Ballad of Black Tom, taken short, sharp, and as heartbreaking as the best set ever played, known to man or monster, used as a way to abort a gibbering horror JUST about to be born into this universe. :)

This is something of almost pure poetry. :)

HOLD NO PUNCHES! ( )

"Thanks, April. You're a lifesaver." ( )

Just so you know, Cassandra Khaw's work is my aesthetic.

I mean this 100%.

This book makes me hurt with how viscerally, disgustingly, triumphantly good it is. It's Lovecraft elevated to human art instead of just dry cosmic musings; the characters in this book are so real you ache for them, you feel your own bile rise as they confront nameless horror. There is a such a strong thread of call-and-answer in this story, questions characters ask being asked of the reader as well, sacrifices the characters make turned into sacrifices the reader chooses too. It's a way of writing that I don't find often--the directness, the questions hidden in the void, the pulp and gore a reminder of what existence costs.

I say it so often I feel like I'm a broken record but Lovecraft without the actual Lovecraft is my favorite genre. Especially Lovecraft written by women, by people of color, by voices Lovecraft himself would have shouted silent in his sniveling way. This story is evidence of how powerful cosmic horror can be when the human isn't neglected, when the human is elevated, when humanity is given power too--nonsensical, horrifying, destructive power, sure, but power all the same--a place within the cosmic scale.

I recommend Cassandra Khaw's work 100% and I can't wait to read more. ( )