A beautiful and sinister novel about memory, loss and emotional decay. I dipped into All the Perverse Angels expecting a quirky artsy story about love and loss, but what I got was a dark, surprising journey downwards into a damaged mind that can only grip the realities it can reach through a picture frame. I sank completely into this book, biding my time, soaking up the cold atmosphere and agonising over the awful things the characters put each other through. There are ‘slow’ books and ‘quiet’ books, but I now suspect they are failed prototypes for this, which is neither.
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