Something of an ambitious garble. It promises much, has a certain sense of vision, but the actual execution left me somewhat cold. The nexus point of the plot, the moment that the threads seem to be reaching backwards and forwards to meet in, is the self-immolation of a cult, believing they must transcend their physical forms in the mode of Heaven's Gate. But it's clear that this is where we're headed from the opening (from the back cover, even), and the revelation of the incident itself is merely an ironic flourish. Around this moment are arranged:
-a pregnant teen runaway, in the early pages the most empathetic character in the book, drawing me in, but quickly lost to the reader in cult rhetoric and questionable decisions
-her son, years later an absolute blank of a cult escapee, who now spends his life staring at cows
-a writer without readers, whose latest book may be the one you're holding, and who admires those submerged in brain damage
-a guy who really likes juice, particularly strawberry kiwi
The problem, to me, is that these people are all so difficult to relate to that it's hard to find any guidepost when Jeppesen starts to slide into the metaphysical. (The guy who likes juice, despite his character being largely reduced to that detail and a sense of confusion, is by far the easiest to identify with). There are some deeply strange sequences here, but existing alone, without any real attachment point that would give them their full weight. The characters are largely so empty, that when a minor player reappears late in the novel to reflect on his drug-fueled small town ennui, I was so starved for recognizable human behavior that I was ready to latch onto him even though I knew he was a girlfriend-abandoning jerk. I usually wouldn't even think that I was so hung up on empathetic characters, but in a text with so many disparate parts, it can help to have a guide you can care about.
I grabbed this from the Strand dollar racks, made curious when I saw it was on Dennis Cooper's sub-imprint of Akashic Books. Cooper called it one of the most exciting first novels he'd read in a decade, and there is a definitely interest here, despite my reservations. The ambitious scope, the metaphysical strangeness creeping in and overwhelming the ostensible narrative in the mid-section. And Jeppesen's gone on to publish a number of books since this one, most recently for Chris Kraus's Semiotext(e). So while we didn't click this time, I may well be back.