Hypnotic, geometrical, and repetitious. This is my second Robbe-Grillet—and the first work of his that I bought, both before and after The Erasers, this little contingency being attributable to the comparatively accessible plot of the latter. Robbe-Grillet is fascinating to read. I'd like to write like him, here or there; his writing is perfect for motivating a kind of draughtsmanlike attitude. Rote descriptions of the dust in your bedroom, or the patterns left by fingerprints on your mirror, or by adhesive residue painted over by your landlord prior to your arrival.

The plot actually does wind up being relatively straightforward; it turns out that the first 20 or so pages deterred me for the better part of five years for no particular reason. The denouement is, I think, imperfect (and even spoken in a different voice, reminiscent of Kraznahorkai's Satantango), but forgivable. This is not the sort of book that one reads for the plot anyways.

Hypnotic, geometrical, and repetitious. Endlessly inspiring. I say et cetera, although I've run out of words to say.