Oh man, where to begin?
Well, to start - this is without a doubt one of my favorite novel-length-fictional-things ever written. What's it about? What is it? Uh...
-the semi-straightforward story of a person who falls thru an open manhole cover & dies, gets possessed by some sort of demonic force and reanimated, falls in love w the blind daughter of a cult leader/mystic, goes on a psychedelic mission to gain a magical object to aid said cult, fights against the forces of death and fascism, and gets hit by trains and knocked into sewers a lot
-an ecstatic ode to the forces of life in all of its most humble and scorned forms (subway rats, dirty pigeons in grimy alcoves, panhandlers, subway musicians and eccentrics, mold, filth, bacteria, etc etc) vs death (stasis, nothingness, void, paying off student loans and going to your shitty job, etc etc)
-an overtly 'experimental' novel that repeatedly underlines the constructed nature of the narrative/characters/fiction but somehow still keeps you giving a shit about said characters and narrative
-one of the few novels that ACTUALLY FEELS like how a nightmare/dream/psychedelic trip is experienced within your own body on a page-to-page/sentence-to-sentence basis
-uh, the most incredible homage to PUBLIC TRANSIT and GARBAGE and WEIRD CITY GRIME ever (I don't think I've ever read more perfect descriptions of, say, the exact way that the nasty gunk that builds up between the wooden ties of the train tracks in the subway looks)?
-a glorious bataille-inflected abject repulsive/joyous/hilarious book-form looney tunes cartoon
-all this and a bag of chips
I love this book so much that I fear recommending it to people because it would be unfair to expect everyone else to have the experience I did with it. I feel like being a New Yorker helps: it is a VERY NYC book although it is not explicitly placed there; no way the subway described in the book is anywhere else - honestly there are scenes in there that exactly pull me back to being 20, stoned and hyperalert to strangeness, waiting for the J train at the old decrepit Chambers street station at 2 AM, watching the late night garbage/repair trains go by (which BY THE WAY ARE PERFECTLY DESCRIBED IN ALL THEIR FUCKIN WEIRD MAJESTY IN THIS BOOK). The tone of the book is miraculous, switching on a dime between ornate, dense, descriptive passages that remind me of idk Poe or Melville or M John Harrison or something to loose, funny, jarringly 'normal' dialogue or exclamations.
I keep wanting to paste in some incredible passages or quotes from the book (there are endless perfect scenes and moments) but am held back because they all truly work best in context; the flow is a part of the magic of the novel. I keep coming back to a line I read in a review of this book (maybe in Weird Horizons?) describing it not a novel per se, but as a text written with the goal of DOING SOMETHING to you and your perception, like a spell or trance-inducing hypnosis monologue or something, and that feels really apt. That also means that the book can be slow going - but NEVER in a way that feels like a slog; page by page it has given me more pleasure and surprise than almost any novel I can think of - it just means that it requires a different headspace and level of focus than your typical novel.
I LOVE THIS FUCKIN BOOK; if ANY of this sounds like it would be remotely of interest to you, I cannot recommend it enough.