Un verdor terrible is... blue, black, and devastating. It's a strange moment: the reality and unreality folded together, nonlinear and noneuclidean. You really could blot out the sun with this book. Hold it just high enough—the shadow it casts is a dark, ancient thing.

        The chapters fling themselves in all directions at breakneck speed. A comet, and a coma. "What wind drags it off with the fury of an angel cast out from heaven, falling, and falling, and falling?" Only the tail end of it can tell.