This book was published in 2022 to little fanfare. It came out of what is IMO the highest-quality micro-press, Corona/Samizdat. Seriously, it's on the same level as Dalkey or New Directions. Much as I like to brag that I discovered this book when it was truly obscure, I admit I only read it in January/February by which point it had been picked up on by many within Pynchon's fanbase. So much for my contrarian taste ...

The tale is a satire of an American plantation owner named Bradley Pinçnit in the 60s. There's a man named Dyxsov, which should be enough to convince any Pynchon fan to read it.

I'm a firm believer in the idea that an author's words speak stronger than even the most skillful reviewer's (which I am not):

In this place, outside elements are rendered useless. Gusts of wind eddy through a barricade of limbs and leaves and are left diminished in a subarboreal world where they harmlessly whirl, confusing lightweight materials such as finely woven garments and crocus leaves. This expansive canopy of intermingling oaks shelters a swath of land and its occupants from the brunt of discomposing forces pestering lime besetting sin.