Isserley climbed into the field and found the carcasses. She dragged the nearest one back to the fence and lifted its limbs onto the barbed wire so that Esswis could grab hold of something. The creature that had thrown the clod of earth was distinctively tattooed all over its chest and arms; as she heaved the flesh over the wire to Esswis, she remembered something oddly specific about these tattoos- they were done in Seattle, by a 'fucking genius', the vodsel had told her. Isserley had been struck by the word 'Seattle'. A beautiful word, she'd thought then, and she thought so again now."
Been reading this book.
It's an advance copy (before actual publication) from QPB (a great book club with an insanely esoteric selection) of "Under the Skin" by Michel Faber.
It's freaking CRAZY.
I don't know exactly what's going on yet with it... but it's so incredibly strange that I can't put it down. Started reading it last night to help me sleep and ended up reading full half of it before I finally decided that the light outside probably meant I should try sleeping. It's this guy's first novel and the description of him on the back is apt.
"Michel Faber's work has been described as a combination of Roald Dahl and Franz Kafka, as Somerset Maugham shaking up with Ian McEwan."
I'm sorta flummoxed.
By the strange quote as well. All arrows are pointing west, young man, west.