rating: 5 of 5 stars
Where the hell are my words? There's something truly great to say about this book. Something that nails it down like a Roman soldier would an impertinent messiah. Those words lurk in the head of a wise orangutan shaman in Borneo or something like it. Layers of headspace peel back or rush ahead with new revelations constantly in My Landlady the Lobobotomist, a story about heartbreak, the artistic process and the nature of one man's hell. And Godzilla. And his love for She-sus, the female messiah. And a dragonfly's love for an angelfish, which is a man's love for a woman. And an author's passionate love of language. This fourth great love, not that of one of Gerdes' conceptions but of Gerdes himself drives the book and where does it drive it? Into an uncharted, uncomfortable, occasionally overbearing country that belongs to him completely. My Landlady the Lobotomist is a pleasure to read, a blend of Bizarro and experimental fiction that is sure to leave the reader surprised and impressed. But these aren't quite the words. I've got a feeling an orangutan would know.
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