This is about seven days in the life in a psychotic schizophrenic.
That sounds redundant, but one of the two words by itself wasn't strong enough to do it for me. Crumb's last days--maybe--are chronicled in Johnny Glynn's Seven Days of Peter Crumb (New York, Harper, 2007), as I said yesterday, an evil, disturbing, violent, psychotic novel. But a really good one.
Glynn starts this way:
Write it down, he said--every dirty word, he said--the truth of it--the awful truth of it.Well this tells you you're in for it. The only questions are who the narrator is and who the "he" is.
Well, in the third paragraph we find out who the "he" is. The rest of it you have to slog through the whole novel. But what grips us about this is that Solzhenitsyn quote that started it out. This guy is in every one of us. We spend the novel denying it and accepting it at different levels. We're moved by it and are different at the end, which is the goal of great fiction.
I wouldn't put up up there with The Great Gatsby, but it's worth a read. If you have a strong stomach.
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