Prose fireworks can't keep an episodic view of divinity manifest in art from becoming an intolerable slog. For every good segment about the beauty and terror in a great work of art, there are several dragging passages of old academics being unhappy written. The whole thing is written in dense, multiple page long sentences but hardly any of it is striking enough to justify its own style. I'm absolutely filtered by how boring this is. Probably a reflection of me as a poor reader

Second time reading this. Abandoned at the section about the temple reconstruction when I realized that it was an unenjoyable chore. If you want to read Krasznahorkai go pick up The Melancholy of Resistance or The World Goes On, which are both riveting and successful prose experiments