Chapter One: Glasgow Kiss
A woman with odd powers is in Scotland looking for her long lost sister. There is swearing, sex, monsters, nudity and death. This was okay but the narrative arc makes no sense. The heroine is nonchalant to the point of indifference about vague implausibilities and madly creepy goings on but hey she’s an orthodontically correct bien-pensant liberal so who cares about narrative conceits?
“Are you really sitting alone, reading Camus at a Nirvana tribute band gig?”
“It was already far too late to undo what my drawings had done.”
Chapter Two: Rebel of The Underground
Thorn some mad fair who really wants to be David Bowie in ‘Labyrinth’ lurks. Red Caps prance and people have a weird reluctance to notice the tunnelling horror. The tyranny of narrative leads the heroine in a dark direction in startling unrealistic fashion. The heroine has no aesthetic shock regarding the almost primeval Thorn. This experiential reality is not a compelling rendition and is hideously homogenous.
“The fool married Morag the Bloody Fingered. Ye’d think the name woulda been a giveaway, eh?”